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zara-renata · 28 days ago

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Creature Feature with Sylus Qin | ao3 | lads fic masterlist

Summary: You and Sylus dress up for a Halloween gala. This is a short little Sylus series interlude, occurring after these idiots finally get together. Can be read as a standalone.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV Established relationship This story contains: fluff, banter, two utterly infatuated fools, mentions of alcohol use, smooches

You stand in front of Sylus’s ornately framed, three-paneled mirror in his disgustingly large dressing room, turning your body this way, and then that way, admiring the silver and gold sheen of the full set of plate armor you’re wearing from every angle.

The whole thing fits you perfectly, from the greaves covering your feet with their wicked points, perfect for kicking an enemy while they’re down, to the strangely sexy cuisses encasing your strong thighs, up to the cuirass, the breastplate shining brightly under Sylus’s tasteful spotlights. The pauldrons soaring from your shoulders are huge, imposing, probably designed more for intimidation than for use, but you feel like a badass as you flex your arms. The whole suit is made from what seems to be super lightweight plates, but underneath is a form fitting, incredibly soft leather bodysuit. It fits you like a glove—like the gloves currently on your hands, underneath elaborate gauntlets with built-in brass knuckles. They don’t look brass, but you can imagine punching the living daylights out of someone with these bad boys, even so.

At the edge of each piece of armor, where one plate ends and is layered over another, the silver bleeds into gold. Intricate, savagely flowing designs are engraved into the silver from your greaves to the bevor protecting your neck, and each gleams as if carved and then filled with liquid gold. The engraving of an anatomically correct diagram of a heart, gripped by the uncanny hand of some humanoid monster with sharp claws instead of nails, shines like the sun over your own heart. You stare at the design for a while, in awe of the delicate yet vicious design of the hand, the details of the heart’s chambers, its arteries, its meat gripped by the sharp, sharp claws.

You shake yourself out of your trance and gently touch the hilt of your greatsword. The plate armor is not real; it can’t be, with how light it is. You suspect carbon fiber, or some other strong yet lightweight material that mimics the shine and strength of real metal plate, but without the weight. But this sword… it’s real. Forged from carbon steel, sharp enough to slice paper. The hilt is intricate, encrusted with rubies but not in such a way as to affect the comfort of the grip. You could kill a very large wanderer with this as your weapon, if you could lodge it at the base of its skull or through its heart. You heft the sword with both hands, swinging it through the air experimentally. It feels fucking good .

You hear Sylus’s voice drifting from outside the dressing room.

“Are you ready, darling? May I finally gaze upon your wondrous, surprising form, oh conquering knight of my heart?”

You scowl. Sylus had balked at your insistence that the two of you put on your Halloween costumes in separate rooms, so that you could surprise each other. Well, so that you could surprise Sylus at least a little bit, since he had picked both his and your costume out, while you had no idea what either looked like before he presented you with the elaborate black box, as large as a coffin, tied with a red ribbon and giant bow. The two of you had agreed to go as a dragon-slaying knight and the dragon-to-be-slayed, but you had expected to go to one of those temporary pop-up Halloween stores to get your costume before Sylus surprised you with the coffin containing this exquisite work of art. He has been making petulant, snarky comments ever since you pushed him out of the dressing room and slammed the door.

“It’s not like I am going to actually be surprised, beloved. I did design the thing, after all,” he grumbled. “I’d much rather watch you put it on.”

“Think of it as a test of patience. You like challenges, right?” You twirled your finger, as if to say turn around and go on, now, shoo.

He frowned. “It’s not fun if it means you’re far away.”

“I’m literally right in the next room,” you laughed. “Now, out!” You planted your shoulder against his back and pushed as he planted his feet and leaned back against you with equal force, refusing to budge.

The tendrils of his evol drifted from your ankles, slithering up your legs, winding around your waist—up, up, up, until they brushed against your lips in an insubstantial, shiver-inducing kiss.

“Using your evol to distract me is not going to work,” you gritted out, blowing a raspberry at the tendrils. They dissipated where your breath blew through them, but reformed almost instantly. You decided to switch tactics.

“If you concede, and allow me to put on the costume by myself, I’ll let you take it off me after we get tonight over with,” you offered as you step aside so quickly that Sylus, who was leaning so much of his weight on you that your sudden move sent him stumbling backward with a huff before catching himself gracefully—a falling cat spinning in mid-air to land on its feet. He immediately tucked one thumb into his trouser pocket, the picture of studied casualness after almost falling on his big, fat, sexy ass.

“Fine. But only if I decide which parts I get to take off… while you keep the rest on for me, until I’m satisfied,” he counter-offered, the tip of his tongue sweeping out to lick his lower lip as his eyes raked you from your toes to your eyes.

Eyes which you rolled at him. “Yes, if you’re a good boy for me right now, and get the fuck out so I can pretend that you’re stunned to see me in the whole getup.”

“I can’t believe I let you kiss me with that mouth,” he laughed softly. “Deal, but you won’t have to pretend.” He then disappeared in a whoosh of air, ink and scarlet tendrils, and a puff of feathers. You ran to the dressing room door and slammed it shut before he could change his mind.

And now here you are, dressed as a knight in shining armor. You feel like a real knight, capable of slaying the largest of predators, impervious to fire and claws. You bare your teeth in the mirror and then grin in satisfaction. This costume is so cool that it almost makes up for the fact that you have to wear it to a Halloween masquerade gala hosted by one of Sylus’s business rivals, where Sylus hopes to conduct some shady deal that you asked he not discuss with you in case things go south and you need plausible deniability regarding the aftermath. You grip the sword a little tighter. At least you’ll be armed.

You’d much rather stay at home tonight on one of his big couches in the theater room, stuffing yourself with Halloween candy (full sized candy bars, thank you very much, because your boyfriend is fucking rich and can afford to give away the good stuff), watching horror film after horror film until you’re too sleepy to keep your eyes open. You don’t care what you watch, really, as long as it’s scary. Sylus prefers the classics—films shot in black and white, filled with the golden age of cinema ingenues and actually scary looking vampires. You snort, remembering his reaction to the Twilight vampires after he agreed to watch the entire quadrilogy with you. He promptly got bored, asked if you’d like to play a drinking game with soju shots where you had to take a shot every time Bella bit her lip or Edward stared menacingly. You one-upped him, adding a shot for every time Edward acted like a red flag and every time Jasper looked like he was in pain. You were both quickly tipsy, and the rest of the movie was ignored while he argued with you about what behavior, exactly, qualifies as a red flag, until he gave up in the face of your tirade, nodded until you seemed to run out of steam, and leaned in, licking up your neck, licking into your mouth, and kissed you breathless. You never made it to the second film.

Tonight, however, you’d just be happy watching the Alien series, or a bunch of indie horror films that you haven’t managed to watch this year. Sylus likes to lie on you, crushing you into the couch underneath him, as he rests his cheek on your stomach, insisting that you pet his hair through the whole movie. If you’re watching something scary and he senses you tensing at a particularly suspenseful part, he’ll gently lift the hem of your shirt and press soft kisses into your abdomen, nosing along your skin. If he is ever frightened by anything you watch, you’ve never been able to tell.

“Are you so desensitized to real life fear and violence that movies do nothing for you?” you asked him once.

He just stared steadily back at you, eyes glowing like fire-lit gems, until he drew you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. “Only one thing scares me, darling.” He breathed deeply. “And when you’re in my arms, I don’t need to fear it.”

You didn’t ask what scares him, and he didn’t tell.

But no. No scary movies for you tonight. No eating snickers until you could burst and tossing almond joys at him for having the audacity to include such inferior candy bars on your Halloween menu. You have to go to a fancy-ass gala full of rich criminal bastards because you love Sylus more than you hate being at large public events and the underworld in general.

You bare your teeth in the mirror again, and then yelp as a whoosh of air, black and red mist, and your beautiful boyfriend materialize at your back, scaring the shit out of you.

You gape at his reflection behind you in the mirror, feeling your heart begin to gallop. His soft silver hair is swept up and back from his high forehead, from which sprout two large … horns? Black, smooth and shiny like obsidian, spiraling up and back, ending in sharp, wicked points. His cheeks are layered with gorgeous jewel-like scales, red and black, slowly blending into the pale cream of his skin. He’s wearing a black leather collar, and a large ruby rests in the hollow of his throat. A black leather harness is strapped over his torso, but it doesn’t do much to cover him except to frame his tits in the most delicious of ways, because most of his chest and stomach is bare. The same pretty scales cover his big shoulders, the thick biceps of his arms, his pecs, his 8-million pack. He’s wearing tight black leather pants and knee high black leather boots. But the showstopper of his costume is the long tail, fully covered in those jewel-like scales, thicker the closer it gets to his ass, thinning towards the tip, which ends in a beautiful, sharp-looking blade the shape of a feather. It’s crimson, edged in black, like the rest of his costume’s color scheme. The tail flicks back and forth, like a cat’s, in a motion that seems completely organic, even though you know that’s not possible. This is just a costume, after all. Right?

“My eyes are up here, kitten,” he teases, and you have a really hard time tearing your eyes away from that swishing tail.

You try to cover your utter fascination with his tail by scoffing. “If you wanted my eyes on yours, you wouldn’t be wearing that harness with your big tits out.” You let your eyes drift to said pillow pectorals. You want to put your face in them, but you’re worried you’ll mess up the.. Make-up? Stick-ons? of the scales. They look so real.

His response is to hunch a little and then flex one pec, sending it bouncing, and then repeat on the other side. “It’s one way to ensure that your eyes are on me all night, instead of wandering,” he says smugly.

You laugh. “As if my eyes aren’t always on you, no matter how you’re dressed,” you murmur, the affection for this man swelling inside you.

“Yes, but tonight there will be lots of interesting costumes, and I know you’ll be fascinated with them, and insist on asking their owners why they chose them, and if they made them by hand or had them ordered, and they’ll be so captivated by your charming interest that I’ll have to interrupt business in order to remind them that you came with a date,” he says fondly. “You look magnificent, by the way. Just as I knew you would when I had this costume made for you.” He sounds satisfied, in the way an artisan is satisfied with his masterpiece.

You feel yourself glowing under his praise. “It’s so badass, Sylus. Thank you.”

His tail flicks faster. You want to ask him how it works, but he distracts you. “Does the badass costume make up for the fact that I’m dragging you to a gala instead of letting you laze around, intent on giving yourself diabetes and a heart attack?”

“Candy and a scary movie do not automatically lead to diabetes and heart attacks, you big drama queen.” You turn around so you can see him in real life, and not just in the reflection. Your costume is silent as you move, unlike a real suit of armor, and so comfortable and easy to move in. It’s truly a work of functional art.

He opens his arms, and you go to him. He wraps his arms around you, despite your oversized pauldrons. He kisses the top of your head. “I know you’re disappointed though. I will make it up to you, when we get back tonight,” he murmurs.

You look up, luxuriating in the softness of his eyes, the fond smile on his beautiful, and now slightly foreign face. The scales glitter under the dressing room lights. You notice now, from this close, that he must be wearing contacts. His pupils, instead of the usual round shape like any human’s, are now slit like a cat’s or a reptile’s. You admire them for a moment—he really paid attention to the details of his slutty dragon costume, just as he cared for the details of your dragonslayer knight costume.

“Sylus,” you breathe his name. Being able to say it—to roll it around your mouth, the name of this man you love so much—is a joy for you, every single time you say it, and every time he looks at you in response. “I don’t care what we do, or where we are. Tonight, or any night. I just like being with you.”

Sylus’s tail whips back and forth so fast that it knocks over one of the dressing room benches before it wraps around your armored leg and curls round and round, the flat of that blade-like end patting your plated ass in a sharp little rhythm, like it can hardly contain itself.

“How does that thing work—” you try to ask, but suddenly Sylus’s lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you softly, slowly. One big hand drifts up the back of your neck, cups the back of your head as the other drifts along your jaw. As he licks your lower lip, he thumbs it to open your mouth—you part your lips, bare your teeth, and bite his thumb.

“My fearsome dragonslayer,” he says softly on an exhale. You close your lips around his thumb and suck, never taking your eyes off his. “We’re going to be late,” he sighs, not sounding upset at all. You just nod.

He lifts you, armor and all, and in a poof of feathers, a whoosh of air, and the dissipation of black and red mist, he transports you to his big bed, where you make each other very, very late for the Halloween gala.

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #my fanfic #i only had a little time at work today to write a halloween specific thing #i hope it's fun #lads sylus

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months ago

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Bad Day at Black Rock | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: panic attack/PTSD, recovering from a sexual assault (HEED THESE WARNINGS ESPECIALLY FOR THIS CHAPTER), canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 6673

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

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“What?!” you exclaimed. “She’s a demon, and you didn’t gank her?!”

Sam had just finished telling you and Dean about this Ruby girl he’d met.

“No, (Y/N), I mean, she seemed pretty helpful on the Seven Deadlies case.”

“Wait, she’s the blonde chick?!” you realized. “Why the fuck would a demon help me?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “That’s what I’m trying to understand, too. And if she helped us then, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have at least listened to what she had to say.”

“Because ‘demon,’ that's why,” Dean snapped angrily. “I mean, the second you find out this Ruby chick is a demon, you go for the holy water! You don't chat!”

“No one was chatting, Dean,” Sam huffed.

“Oh yeah? Then why didn't you send her ass back to Hell?”

“Because she said she might be able to help us out!”

“With what, though, Sam,” you chimed in. “You’ve never said how she’s supposed to be able to help us. Or with what.”

“She told me she could help Dean,” Sam said quietly.

Dean seemed to not understand.

“With the crossroads deal, I’m assuming,” you told him.

Sam nodded.

The older brother looked at Sam incredulously. “What is wrong with you, huh? She's lying, you gotta know that, don't you? She knows what your weakness is; it's me.” Dean paused for a second. “What else did she say?”

Sam was quiet again.

You and Dean leaned in expectantly. “Dude?” the older brother questioned.

“Nothing. Nothing, Okay?!” Sam snapped. “Look, I'm not an idiot, guys. I'm not talking about trusting her, I'm talking about using her. I mean, we're at war, right? And we don't know jack about the enemy. We don't know where they are; we don't know what they're doing. I mean, hell, we don't know what they want. Now, this Ruby girl knows more than we will ever find out on our own. Now, yes, it's a risk, I know that, but we need to take it.”

“You're okay right, I mean you're feeling okay?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed. “Yes I'm fine. Why are you always asking me that?”

You looked between the two brothers when a phone began ringing. You checked your pockets; no buzzing. Sam and Dean’s phones weren’t ringing either.

“Check the glove box, it's Dad's,” Dean suddenly realized.

“Dad’s?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, I keep it charged up in case any of his old contacts call.”

‘Smart boy,’ you thought.

Sam opened the glove box and found the ringing phone. “Hello? Yes... this is Edgar Casey… No! No, no, no, don't – don't call the police, I'll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just uh, can you just lock it back up for me? Great. Uhm, I- I uh, I don't have my - my book in front of me—” Sam gestured to you for a pen, which you quickly handed to him— “do you- do you have the address so I can... Sure, okay. Go ahead. Right, thanks a lot.” He then hung up and turned to Dean. “Dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Outside of Buffalo?”

The older brother shook his head. “No way.”

“Yeah. And someone just broke into it.”

***

“No demons allowed,” Sam noted upon entering his father’s storage container. A large Devil’s Trap was etched into the ground, and two sets of bloody footprints traveled right through it.

“Check this out,” Dean said, stooping to hold up a tripwire. It was attached to a shotgun hidden in a large animal skull.

“Whoever broke in here got tagged,” Sam said.

“I got two sets of boot treads here,” you announced, “looks like it was a two-man job. And Buckshot Boy looks like he kept walking.” You nodded toward the bloody footprint trail leading into the container.

“So, what's the deal?” Sam wondered aloud. “Dad would do work here or something?”

“Living the high life, as usual,” Dean quipped.

The three of you crept around John’s storage locker, and the two brothers chatted about how much of a mystery their father still was to them. You took in the varying types of clutter. To your surprise, the room was filled with old memorabilia; photo albums, a graduation cap and gown you assumed was Sam’s, and a few boxes whose contents were written on the outside of them in a woman’s handwriting you assumed belonged to Mary.

You smiled at a trophy on a shelf nearby. “Check it out,” you said, picking it up and dusting it off. “Sam Winchester, 1995,” you read aloud, “Soccer Division Championship.”

Sam grinned and came over to you. “No way! I can't believe he kept this.”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled lopsidedly, “it was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy.” He wandered over to another table with a shotgun laid on it. “Oh, wow! It's my first sawed-off. I made it myself. Sixth grade.” The older brother laughed and pumped the dusty shotgun.

“You made that?” you questioned.

“Not bad, eh?” he grinned excitedly.

“No, not at all,” you giggled. “Damn, dude.” You took the gun from him and inspected it, impressed with Dean’s craftsmanship. He smiled proudly at you.

“Guys, over here,” Sam said. You followed his voice over to a door to a back room. The chain on the door had been cut, and you cautiously made your way inside.

You waved your flashlight around the room to find varying weapons and lockboxes that no doubt held nasty supernatural objects.

“Holy crap. Look at this,” Dean called, “he had land mines. Which they didn't take. Or the guns. I guess they knew what they were after, huh?”

You took in the lockboxes on the shelf on the far wall. “This is binding magic,” you pointed out. “Curse boxes.”

“Curse boxes?” Dean questioned. “They're supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right? Kinda like the Pandora deal?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they're built to contain the power of the cursed object.”

“Well, Dad's journal did mention a whole bunch of stuff, y'know? Dangerous hexed items, fetishes. He never did say where they ended up,” Dean added.

“Must be his sulfur-sludge dump,” you joked. You noticed a rectangular-shaped hole in the dust that had settled over the shelf. “Well, they found what they were looking for.”

“Great,” Sam groaned.

“Well, maybe they didn't open it,” Dean suggested optimistically.

“Cute thought, but I’m sure they did,” you replied flippantly. You looked around the exterior of the storage unit for anything that could be of use to you; footprints, tire tracks, and… aha! A security camera.

“That’s helpful,” you noted, pointing up at it.

The boys helped you fish the SD card out of the security camera, and you hooked it up to your computer.

“There, license plate,” you noted. “And now…” you pulled up an alternate tab and copied the license plate number into it. Immediately, pages began scrolling of places the license plate had been seen at. Most recently, an apartment not too far from you.

“Ta-da,” you announced childishly, and the brothers looked at you in shock.

“Jesus, (Y/N), how’d you get access to all this?” Sam asked.

“Oh, y’know,” you smirked, trailing off.

Sam looked at you expectantly.

“Same way any hackers do,” you shrugged. “Had this guy on the hook for a bit when I was, maybe, twenty. Found out he was an FBI agent in the cyber unit— not the brightest of the bunch— and I phished his computer. Of course, as soon as I did, the computer broke and shut down. Told him I was good with computers and could fix it for him, and then, I cut and run. Fixed the laptop up and had access to everything he had access to. Exported it to my laptop, ditched his somewhere in Arizona, and here we are.”

“That is…” Dean trailed off, “incredibly hot.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile.

“Get a room,” Sam mumbled, moving over to the Impala.

***

You and the Winchesters crept into the apartment belonging to the drivers of the stolen Connecticut vehicle, guns drawn. You could hear two men chattering about their poker game, and then you finally burst into the room on Dean’s nod.

“Freeze, freeze! Nobody move!” he commanded.

“He said don’t fucking move!” you ordered, pinning the bandaged, redheaded man to his seat with your gun.

“What is this?” the other man questioned.

“Stop!” Sam demanded.

“Alright, give us the box. And please tell me that you didn't–”

Sam cut Dean off. “Oh, they did.”

“You opened it?!” Dean grunted. He shoved the dark-haired man against the wall.

“Are you guys cops?!” the man pinned wondered.

“What was in the box?” Dean questioned angrily.

You noticed a rabbit’s foot on the edge of the table. ‘Oh, fuck,’ you thought.

“Oh, was that it, huh?” Dean laughed coldly. “It was, wasn't it? What is that thing?”

The man used Dean’s distraction to knock the gun out of his hand. When it fell to the floor, it fired, and you had to drop to the floor to avoid being hit in the face by the bullet.

The bullet ricocheted off the radiator and hit Sam’s gun, and he dropped it. The same bullet somehow ricocheted and hit a lamp, breaking it. You dove across the floor, trying to grab Sam’s gun, and the redheaded man pushed Sam down on top of you.

“The fuck, Sam?!”

“Sorry!”

You scrambled toward the redhead, and he backhanded you, somehow knocking you off balance and sending you to the floor. You normally wouldn’t have been so thrown off by such a simple move, but that rabbit’s foot was definitely working its magic.

“Dean, I got it!” Sam announced. You turned around to see him holding the rabbit’s foot.

“Fuck, Sam, no!” you cried upon seeing him holding the cursed object.

The dark-haired man moved forward holding Dean’s favored gun and cocked it in his face. The man pulled the trigger in Sam’s face, but the gun jammed.

‘Thank god.’

A quick scuffle ensued in which the two men opposing you had a bookshelf fall on them and a carpet got wrapped around their ankles and tripped them. Both men knocked themselves out, and Dean laughed triumphantly.

“That was a lucky break!”

“No, not lucky!” you shrieked. “Sam, that’s a rabbit’s foot!”

“Uh, yeah?” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” you panicked.

“No, what are you—”

“I’m calling Bobby,” you said, storming out of the apartment and back to the Impala.

“Whoa, whoa, why? I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, (Y/N),” Dean countered, catching up to you.

“Because that’s a rabbit’s foot, Dean! A cursed object! Its literal function is to bring bad luck,” you explained.

“How?” Sam asked.

“Once you touch it, you’re marked. Luck’s gonna be on your side.”

“Better buy some lottery tickets then,” Dean chuckled excitedly.

You glared at him. “But if you lose it, you’re fucked. It’ll keep bringing you bad luck till it eventually kills you.”

“Well, I just won’t lose it, then,” Sam tried.

“Everybody loses it, Sam! That’s the whole point!”

The two boys looked slightly shaken; Sam more so than Dean. Dean was laughing all the way to the bank on this one, and he dragged you and Sam to a gas station to get lottery scratch-off tickets. Then, he drove you to a restaurant chain location called Biggerson’s for some dinner.

You sat on the phone with Bobby, the two of you angrily muttering about the insanity of the situation to each other.

“Gotta say, kid,” Bobby started, “was hoping the next time I heard from ya, it’d be on happier terms than this.”

“Trust me, me too,” you sighed. “Do you know of anything that can stop this?”

“I’ll dig around—”

Bobby’s voice in your ear was cut off by Dean triumphantly exclaiming, “twelve-hundred dollars! You just won twelve-hundred dollars!”

You grimaced and put the phone back to your ear.

“I’m guessing Sam’s luck’s still good,” Bobby drawled.

“For now, but I don’t know for how much longer.” You got out of the car, suddenly feeling suffocated in the Impala. You paced around, as did Sam, and you watched as he walked over to something glistening under a newspaper on the ground.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out. Lemme look through my library and make some calls,” Bobby said. “Call me if anything else goes to shit.”

You laughed, and Sam stood up holding a golden watch. He turned to Dean who stood next to you and mouthed something like, “Awesome,” to his brother.

“Will do,” you told the older man on the phone. “Hurry, Bobby.” You hung up as Dean calculated the winnings from the scratch-off tickets he made Sam fill out.

“Oh, man!” Dean grinned. “We’re up fifteen grand!”

You and Sam half-smiled, both feeling unsettled still.

Dean continued to laugh as he walked into the restaurant with you hot on his heels.

“In case you forgot, Dean, we’re still technically fugitives,” you hissed. “If Sam’s luck goes to hell, we could be royally fucked.”

“Don't worry,” Dean said easily. “Bobby 'll find a way to break it. Until then I say we hit Vegas, pull a little Rain Man. Sam can be Rain Man.”

“Look, we just lay low until Bobby calls back, okay?” Sam whispered. He turned to the man behind the host stand. “Hi, uh, table for three, please.”

The man’s face broke out into a grin, and he hollered, “Congratulations!” An alarm began to sound through the restaurant.

“It's exciting, I know,” Dean quipped.

“You are the one millionth guest of the Biggerson's Restaurant family!” the man announced.

The staff surrounding you began singing and taking photographs while they shoved a giant check into your hands. Balloons fell from the ceiling, and you and Sam would’ve rathered been anywhere else. Dean was ecstatic, though, which you were happy to see. You’d suffer tremendous embarrassment fifty times over just to see him smile. That thought scared you a little bit; how you'd do anything for him. You had a tendency to be an extremist.

You were escorted to your table, and a gorgeous waitress in what was clearly a black bob wig approached your table.

Her coy smile was alluring, but something about her wasn’t sitting right with you. Still, nothing seemed off through the rest of the meal. Sam clacked away on his laptop rattling off bits of lore he was reading on rabbit’s foot Hoodoo magic while you and Dean shared a bowl of ice cream.

“I think from now on, we only go to places with Biggerson's,” Dean commented.

The waitress came back over to your table with a pot of coffee and grinned at Sam. “Can I freshen you up?”

Sam nodded. “Thanks.”

The waitress poured, still smiling, and spilled some in her flirtatious stupor. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Let me mop up here. Sorry about that.” She hurriedly cleaned her mess and left the table, appearing to flirt with Sam over her shoulder even as she left.

“Dude. If you were ever gonna get lucky…” Dean trailed off.

Sam smirked. “Shut up.”

You smacked Dean’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Sam went to pick up his coffee, but he knocked the cup over and spilled it all over himself. Before you could process what was going on, he jumped out of his seat and into a waiter with a full tray. Things went flying through the air as Sam rushed profuse apologies.

“Sam, check your pockets,” you said evenly.

He did, and his hands came up empty.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled.

You and the brothers threw a wad of cash on the table and raced into the parking lot after the waitress. You noticed the black bob wig ditched on the ground a few feet from the door. “I knew it was a wig!”

“What?” Sam asked, turning around to you. He immediately tripped and fell flat on his face.

“Wow! You suck!” Dean laughed, turning back to a groaning Sam.

“Ow,” the younger brother whined while you helped him up. His knees were bloody and raw through his ripped jeans.

“So what, now your luck turns bad?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah, Dean, I believe I’ve said that,” you remarked, and he glared at you.

“Well, how bad does it get, genius?”

“Really bad. C’mon,” you urged.

“Where we goin’?” Sam asked.

“Back to the two jackwads that got us into this mess,” you said, hopping in the driver’s seat.

“Whoa, who said you could drive?” Dean questioned.

“Me. Don’t be a child,” you said.

***

You broke into the apartment once again to find the brunet man sadly downing a bottle of tequila.

“Oh, man. What do you want?” the man asked.

“Heard about your friend. That's bad luck,” Dean tsked, referring to the death of the redheaded thief.

“Piss off,” the man spat.

“We know someone hired you to steal the rabbit's foot. A woman,” Dean continued.

“Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because she just stole it back from us.”

The man laughed.

Sam stepped forward. “Listen man, this is seri—” and then he fell to the floor mid-sentence, pulling a CD player and a shelf down on top of him.

You turned back to help the younger brother up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, smiling awkwardly in thanks for your help.

“I want you to tell us her name,” the older Winchester continued to the man.

“Fuck you,” was the only response he got.

“It wasn't a freak accident that killed your partner,” you tried, coming out from behind the couch.

“What?”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t been thinkin’ it. I thought you’d be smarter than that,” you challenged. That seemed to get under the man’s skin, so you continued. “That series of unfortunate events that had to happen to kill your partner— like, had you not seen it with your own eyes, you wouldn’t have believed it— that was the rabbit’s foot. If you don’t help us stop this thing, those deaths are on you, my friend.”

The man in front of you looked worried.

“And I gotta tell you, it doesn’t seem you’re cut out for the whole killin’ thing. You don’t wanna be a killer, do you?” you continued to press.

The man shook his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “No.”

***

You left the apartment repeating the woman’s last name over and over in your head. The man told you “Lugosi” was the only name he and his partner were given when they were hired.

You took out your phone and called Bobby.

“Hey, (Y/N), glad you called,” you heard the man say.

“Hey, we got a situation here—”

“I found a heavyweight cleansing ritual that should do the trick,” Bobby continued.

“That’s awesome, thank you, but uh…” you trailed off, trying to decide how to phrase your next words. You decided not to sugarcoat it in the end. “Sam lost the foot.”

“He what?!”

“I know, I know,” you sighed. You turned back around to see Sam and Dean trying to use a broken storm grate to get gum off the bottom of Sam’s shoe. You shook your head at their faces when they noticed you; seeming like two little kids caught with their hands in the candy bowl. You returned your focus to your phone call. “Listen, you know anybody by the name ‘Lugosi’? Maybe mid 20’s, super hot, my height—”

“Aw, crap. It’s probably Bela,” Bobby said.

“ Bela Lugosi? That’s cute, but never heard of her,” you replied.

“Bela Talbot’s her real name,” the older man continued. “Crossed paths with her once or twice.”

“How the hell would she know John had the rabbit’s foot? She a hunter?” you questioned.

“Pretty fuckin’ far from a Hunter, but she knows her way around the territory. She's been out of the country,” Bobby explained. “Last I heard, she was in the Middle East someplace.”

“Well, she’s back!” you mock-cheered, exasperated.

“Which means seriously bad luck for you,” the older man added.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” you quipped.

“Well, kid, if it is Bela, at least I might know some folks who know where to find her,” he finished.

“Thanks, Bobby. For everything.”

“Just… look out for those two idjits.” And with that, he hung up the phone.

You sighed and turned back around to see Dean reaching through the storm drain and Sam looking dejected.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I lost my shoe,” the brunet replied sadly.

Your eyebrows furrowed sympathetically, and Sam’s head hung low. Dean seemed annoyed and huffed, standing up from the floor.

“C’mon,” the older brother asserted.

***

Bobby did actually have a pretty good lead on Bela; she apparently lived in Queens about two hours away.

“So what are we doing here?” Sam questioned, referencing the motel you’d just gotten a room at.

“You, my brother, are staying here 'cause I don't want your bad luck getting us killed,” Dean stated. “And (Y/N), you’re staying with him.”

“What?! Why?” you protested.

“Because Sam actually listens to you when you tell him not to do something. And you’re way more responsible than me,” Dean shrugged simply.

“Fair point,” you sighed. “Knowing you, you’ll touch the stupid rabbit’s foot, though.”

“Pfft, c’mon, it’s me we’re talking about—”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you dryly stated.

Dean glared at you playfully as he walked Sam into a motel room. You followed close behind and peeked out the door to make sure you weren’t followed.

“What am I even supposed to do, Dean?” Sam whined.

“Nothing! Nothing. Come here. I don't want you doing anything. I want you to sit right here—” the older brother pulled a chair into the middle of the room— “and don't move, okay? Don't turn on the light, don't turn off the light. Don't even scratch your nose.” Dean turned to you. “If I’m not back by midnight, take off.”

“What, you gonna turn into a pumpkin or something?” you snickered.

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“Since when?”

“(Y/N)—”

“Okay, okay, fine, I heard you.”

Dean smirked down at you and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back,” he said.

You watched him leave, a bit of your heart tugging at being anywhere without him. Your feelings for him were certainly growing stronger, and it frightened you how constantly you needed to be near him.

You turned back to see Sam wrinkle his nose a few times before finally risking a scratch at it.

“Hey! None of that,” you said.

Sam’s sad eyes turned to yours. “This fuckin’ sucks, man,” he sighed.

“I know it does. Kinda the whole point of the rabbit’s foot curse,” you commented.

He ignored your smart remark.

“Found anything on how to break Dean’s deal?” you asked.

Sam shook his head. “No. Did find out something interesting, though.”

“What?’ you asked.

“All my mom’s old contacts? All her old friends, the nurse who delivered me— they’re all dead,” he explained.

“What?!” you shrieked. “And you didn’t think to mention this before now?!”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Sam said. “Didn’t wanna say anything in front of Dean; he’d go berserk.”

“You know I have to tell him, right?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, no! Please don’t,” he begged. “Please. You know he’d flip. And, uh, probably more because of the way I got that information than the information itself.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Ruby told me.”

“Oh, god.” You rolled your eyes and dropped your head back.

“C’mon, (Y/N), I mean, I called, and it all checks out. It’s got something to do with me and the demon; I know you recognize that pattern,” Sam tried.

“I do, but I don’t like being constantly stuck in the middle of you and Dean,” you said. “I’m supposed to be Switzerland, remember?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean Switzerland didn’t have information on the two sides, she just didn’t pick one,” he shrugged.

“Sam,” you warned, “You know how I feel about keeping things from Dean.”

“I know, I know, but you wouldn’t necessarily be keeping it from him, you’d be…” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to phrase his next words, “fulfilling a promise to me.”

“But I didn’t promise anything,” you argued.

“Please promise me you won’t tell Dean. Not till I’m ready,” Sam begged.

“Sam!”

“(Y/N/N), c’mon. Please, man. Please.”

You stared at Sam for a prolonged moment; you stared intensely and Sam looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes from his chair. You sighed and dropped your head forward. “Fine. But you are gonna promise me that you’ll tell Dean eventually. That’s my one condition.”

Sam nodded. “Deal.”

You shook your head and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sam’s chair. “You Winchesters and your secrets.”

“Oh, like you don’t have any,” Sam deadpanned.

You looked up at the television and saw the reflection of your guard uniform and scratched-up face staring back at you. You took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Touché.” You paused for a moment. “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What are you gonna do when—” you cut yourself off, tears beginning to well in your throat. You took a deep breath to push them down. “When Dean’s gone?”

Sam shook his head. “(Y/N), no. He’s not gonna—”

“Sam,” you said. “We are trying everything we can. We’re two months into this thing and no closer to saving him than we were on day one. I stopped looking. Not ‘cause I don’t care anymore, but because I’m not gonna send you to Hell just so Dean can live. I mean, Bobby’s been lookin’, too! And he hasn’t found a damn thing. So I just think we have to be real with ourselves.”

Sam shook his head, tears in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna lose him,” you said, putting your hand on Sam’s knee to make him look at you and beginning to cry, too. “I don’t. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But… I’m scared, man. When I lost my family…” you closed your eyes at the memory of some of the awful things you’d done and would never forgive yourself for, “I don’t wanna do that again. And… And I just think that if we kept huntin’ together, we could keep tabs on each other. Make sure the other doesn’t go rogue, y’know?”

“I can’t believe you’re just gonna give up on him like that,” Sam spat, disappointed.

“I’m not!” you argued. “But I’m not gonna help you kill yourself, dammit! Dean would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself!”

“Look, we’ve got ten months left. We’ll find something,” Sam continued.

“I hope you’re right, man. I really do,” you said.

Neither of you said anything for the next few hours.

During that time, you took out your journal and wrote. You didn’t usually keep journals when you were done with them as your duffel bag would be filled to the brim with them by now, but you were definitely going to keep this one; especially after Dean was gone.

It was somewhat poetic that the first day you met the boys was the first time you’d written in this particular journal. Its pages were filled with your, at first, disdainful musings about the older Winchester brother and slowly but surely became your attempts at discerning your feelings for him.

You liked to buy quite thick and large journals to have enough room for your drawings and to be able to continue writing in them for months and occasionally years. This was the longest you’d been able to stretch one, though, and you were a little over three-fourths through writing in it.

“I can’t help but wonder what comes next after all this,” you wrote, the pen gliding easily against the page in time with your racing thoughts. “I’ve always been awful about ‘futurecasting’ as Dad called it, but it’s even worse now. Every second I’m with Dean, I can’t help but think about how this is all gonna be over in less than a year. And it’s awful. I wanna be present with him. I just can’t. I don’t want there to be an end to us. I don’t even know if we are anything! He can’t even tell me he loves me.

“And I get it to some extent. ‘I love you’s are hard for him. Fine. I just wish he’d figure out some way to communicate with me that isn’t sex. I mean, the sex is great, but. I don’t know. And just after everything that happened, I’m not feeling great about having sex anyway. And I know it’s upsetting him, even if he won’t say anything; he’d never pressure me, and I know that. And I’m getting better about sex and related things. But it just sucks.

“And I don’t wanna bring any of this up with him and start fights because, as I’m painfully aware, that deadline is getting closer and closer every day. I just want him to be happy with me while he still can be.”

You dropped your pen when the air conditioning unit next to you began to smoke.

“Oh come on, I- I didn't- I wasn't—” Sam whined.

“Just stay put,” you said. You jerked back in surprise when the unit suddenly caught fire. You grabbed the comforter from the bed next to you and began to put the fire out with it. Thankfully, the fire stopped.

“I’m gonna see if I can get someone to fix that for us before your luck kills us both with carbon monoxide poisoning,” you said, starting toward the door.

Suddenly, the door to the motel room burst open. However, it wasn’t Dean who opened it. It was two men. You drew your gun and cocked it, trained on the two men. “Get the fuck out,” you ordered.

“I don’t think so,” said the older-looking man. He almost reminded you of Willem Dafoe, and you mentally pegged that as his name. The other man with a bizarre-looking mustache charged you, and you fired. Somehow, the bullet missed its target despite him being in such close range.

“What the hell, Sam?!” you exclaimed. “Your luck’s rubbin’ off on me!”

“Sorry!” he winced.

The man charging you tried to restrain you in a headlock, but you kicked him squarely between the legs. You jutted your elbow back into his nose simultaneously, and the man dropped you.

Unfortunately for you, though, Sam had been trying to help you by taking on Willem Dafoe. You turned around to see Sam unable to land a punch on the other man’s face. You tried to help him, but Sam ended up punching you across the face, and you were knocked out cold.

***

When you woke up, your arms were bound behind your back, and your legs were taped together as well. The men had laid you on your stomach, and you immediately began to struggle and panic, feeling your current position was too similar to the one you’d been in with the guard.

“Dean! Help me!” you wailed without thinking. Your body was in autopilot as you struggled, and you couldn’t even focus on the men in the room.

“Quit whinin’,” the man with the mustache told you.

You could barely hear him over the roaring in your ears. “Dean!”

“I said shut up!” the man in front of you roared, slapping you across the face.

You couldn’t, though, continuing to flail like a fish out of water.

“Creedy,” the other man said, turning away from Sam and to his accomplice, “shut her up, please.”

“With pleasure.” The man took a rag out of his shirt and shoved it in your mouth, your muffled cries coming out around it.

You vaguely heard Willem Dafoe beating the crap out of Sam while he talked about his mission from “god” to kill Sam. Then, the man drew his gun. His partner was unsettled, too, as you strained harder to get out of your binds.

Suddenly, your saving grace appeared in the doorway. “Dean!” you cried through the gag in your mouth.

Willem Dafoe turned around and aimed the gun point-blank at Sam’s forehead.

“Nope. No destiny,” Dean said coolly referring to the man’s earlier comment about god and destiny leading them to Sam. “Just a rabbit's foot.”

“Put the gun down, son, or you're gonna be scraping brain off the wall,” the man replied, his tone ice cold.

Dean waved his Taurus around. “Oh, this thing?”

“Yeah, that thing,” look-alike-Dafoe responded.

“Okay.” Dean put his gun down on the nightstand beside him, looking smug. “But you see, there's something about me that you don't know.” Dean smoothly picked up a pen off the nightstand beside the gun.

“Yeah? What would that be?”

“It’s my lucky day,” Dean grinned. He tossed the pen toward Willem Dafoe, and it lodged in the barrel of the gun. ““Oh my God, did you see that shot?!”

Forgetting all about your current situation, you started yelling through the gag, “You fucking touched it? You fucking idiot!” But all that came out was a muffled garbling of words.

The man named Creedy lunged at Dean, but missed his punch completely. The man ended up running straight into the wall, and Dafoe was busying himself trying to dislodge the pen from the barrel of his gun.

“I'm amazing,” Dean said smugly. He picked up the television remote and threw it hard at Dafoe. It hit the man square between the eyes, knocking him out cold.

“I’m Batman,” you heard Dean suavely state, but you were too busy returning your focus to getting your binds undone. Now that the immediate danger was over, your body went back into panic mode. You yelped when you suddenly felt a hand on your back and fought even harder.

“Hey, hey!” Dean coaxed. “It’s just me.” He saw you weren’t listening, and he immediately set to work cutting the duct tape binding your legs and wrists. Your hands shakily yanked out the rag in your mouth. Only then did you realize Dean was the one in front of you, and you leapt into his arms.

He caught you easily, one hand around the underside of your back and the other around the topside your legs. You curled up into him and buried your face in his neck.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Dean tried, but your shaking wouldn’t stop. You could feel your sobs slowly subside, but it took quite a while of Dean holding you for you to regain your composure. He pressed kisses into the side of your hair while he held you and tried to soothe you by telling you you were safe.

You finally uncurled your legs from around Dean and let him put you down.

Sam came up behind you to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded as you sniffled.

“What happened?” Sam asked in that very unique-to-him soft voice.

“I dunno,” you lied.

Dean gave you a look that let you know he’d be asking more questions later.

“C’mon, we gotta get the hell outta here,” you said, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You could feel the boys giving you questioning looks as you gathered up yours and the boys’ things and stalked out to the car.

*** “Alright,” Sam began, sprinkling cayenne pepper into the embers of a small fire you and the Winchesters had started in the middle of a cemetery. “Bone ash, cayenne pepper, that should do it.”

“One second…” Dean said absentmindedly, scratching off the last of his lottery tickets.

“Dean—” Sam complained.

“Hey, back off, Jinx. I’m bringing home the bacon,” Dean quipped. He stashed the cards in his jacket that he’d slung over a gravestone. “Alright, say goodbye, wascally wabbit.” He dangled the rabbit’s foot over the top of the fire.

“Hey!” you shouted, whipping out your gun at the sound of a twig cracking. You aimed it at the sound, and Bela emerged from the darkness with hers drawn as well.

“I think you'll find that belongs to me,” she said firmly. “Or, you know, whatever. Put the foot down, honey.”

“Oh, hell no,” you said, cocking your gun.

Bela cut her eyes at you, shooting Sam in the shoulder.

You exclaimed, “What the—!” and Dean cursed, “Son of a—” as Sam collapsed to the ground.

“Back off, tiger,” Bela told you. “Back off! You make one more move, and I’ll pull the trigger. You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit. But your brother? Him, I can’t miss.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” the older brother roared. “You don't just go around shooting people like that!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Relax. It's a shoulder hit; I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? Put the rabbit's foot on the ground now.”

“Alright!” Dean mollified. “Alright. Take it easy.” He moved to drop the rabbit’s foot, but instead, he threw it at Bela. “Think fast,” he smirked.

Bela caught the foot and immediately realized what she’d done. “Damn!”

“Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?” Dean smiled in satisfaction.

Bela sighed, aggravated. She dropped her arm and uncocked her gun, but you kept yours aimed at her as she moved over to the fire.

“Would you stop pointing that at me?” her smooth voice came without looking at you.

“Sorry, love. Don’t trust you,” you smiled in fake-politeness.

She rolled her eyes and moved back to the fire. She dropped the foot into the fire. “Thanks very much,” Bela continued. “I'm out one and a half million, and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer.”

“Wow. I really don't feel bad about that. Sam?” Dean turned to his brother.

“Nope. Not even a little.”

Bela’s gaze hardened. “Hmm. Maybe next time, I'll hang you out to dry.” She turned around and moved toward the gravestone where Dean’s jacket laid. You knew exactly what she was doing.

“Have a nice night, girls,” Bela smirked.

You glared at her. “Uh, uh! Turn around!” you ordered.

“What?” she sighed, clearly annoyed.

“Gimme the tickets,” you commanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied.

“Yeah, you do. You can’t con me, angel.”

She grumbled angrily but took the stolen tickets out of her pocket and threw them to the ground.

“Thanks a million,” you called after her.

“You’re fuckin’ awesome, woman,” Dean admired, you assumed in reference to the tickets you noticed Bela stole. He came over to you and kissed you boldly. You giggled against his lips, and he held your waist firmly.

Sam cleared his throat. “Hey! Bleeding out, here!”

You broke away from Dean. “Oh, sorry!” you grimaced, moving to head back to the Impala. “C’mon, I’ll get you patched up.”

When you ensured the rabbit’s foot was burnt to a crisp, you and the Winchesters moved to the car.

“You good?” Dean asked his brother.

“I’ll live,” he responded.

“I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. And we're up forty-six thousand.” Dean threw his arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple, waving the tickets around in the air.

“Maybe we should hit Vegas, see how good our luck still is,” you suggested, smiling lopsidedly.

“I like the way you think,” Dean nodded. “Whaddaya say, Sammy?”

“I think you guys are gonna end up blowing all our money on slot machines,” the younger brother dryly commented.

“Ye of little faith,” you said. “If not Vegas, we can at least get ourselves a nicer motel room. Maybe we can graduate to hotels!”

“Ooh, yeah. One of those hotels with a jacuzzi tub.”

“Hell yeah—”

“Guys,” Sam groaned. “Still bleeding out, here.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years ago

Text

The Challenge {1/2}

Aemond Targaryen x fem!bladesmith!reader Summary: Prince Aemond commissions your services but it gets off to a rocky start. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, sassy attitude, masturbation, unprotected sex WC: 5.6k

HOTD Masterlist || Part One || Part Two

The full force of the heat from the forge blasted your face as you grabbed the length of steel with your tongs. The long sword would be mighty when she was complete but it was a long way off from that.

Your arms were aching from the hours spent in the workshop but you ignored the weight of them as you lay the steel on the anvil and hefted a hammer off the tool rack. Every hit was aimed with precision as you folded the steel over adding strength and shaping the blade until the glowing metal dimmed as it cooled.

Sweat dripped down your forehead and you swiped it from your eyes with the back of your sleeve before making your way back to the fire pit and starting the process again. It was repetitive work but you were never bored by the process because every blade was unique and made especially for its owner. Swords like yours could not be found anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms and that was why buyers travelled from far and wide.

“Boy, where is your master?”

You turned slowly away from the dancing flames that had kept you mesmerised while the blade heated. “Excuse me?” you asked as you tugged at the cloth that was tied across your face to save inhaling smoke all day and protect your hair from being singed.

“Oh,” the man chuffed as his dark brows shot up his forehead, “you are the bladesmith?”

You looked around the workshop that was void of anyone else before looking back at him. “You are a clever one.”

His lips pursed at the sarcastic remark and he stepped forward, his armour clattering with the movement. It was then you noticed the white cloak that was pinned to his shoulders by a dragon broach. “You are a long way from King’s Landing.”

“I was told there was a master bladesmith in this town but there must be a misunderstanding, though I did not see another workshop around,” he trailed off as he looked at a few of the swords hanging on the walls.

You turned back to the flames and rotated the blade to even out the heat dispersation. “No misunderstanding, there is no other bladesmith here.”

The soldier crossed the small room to get a closer look at the swords and made a small sound of surprise at the details and designs of the hilts. “These are remarkable.” He turned back to you and watched as you tightened the hold on the tongs and removed the blade from the fire to rest it on the anvil. “My prince is in need of a new sword, one that is fitting of his title. You will make it and personally deliver it to King’s Landing to present on his name day.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him as you raised the hammer, one well aimed hit would be enough to knock the entitled tone from his mouth but one word would also do. “No.”

The coins in the purse that sat in his hand jangled as his fist tightened around it and you ignored the flare of anger that tinted his cheeks as you beat the steel into shape while it was hot and malleable. “Your prince demands a great sword.”

You paused to look around the room once more, waving the hammer to the empty doorway as you spoke, “I do not see a prince.”

A growl of frustration gurgled in his throat before he turned on his heel and stormed out of the workshop, slamming the old wooden door closed behind him.

“Arrogant prick,” you muttered under your breath as you returned to work.

The sun had set hours ago but the workshop was alight with the forge fire as you made the finishing touches on a curved scimitar for a client who had come from Braavos with the design.

The blade gleamed in the firelight as you ran the whetstone down its edge until you were satisfied it could cut through a skull with a single slice. Along with an engraving of the shield of Braavos, the hilt was gilded with gold and had a small blood-red ruby nestled into the top. It really was a magnificent piece, even if you were a little biassed.

Placing the sword into the velvet lined box that had been built by your trusted carpenter, you closed the latch and placed it on a clean benchtop so it would be ready for the gentleman to pick up on the morrow.

You double checked the windows were locked before stoking the fire one last time to keep it warm overnight and making your way out of the workshop that was littered with projects. Lists of jobs to be done and ore to be bought ran through your head, the endless stream of debt and credit being calculated as you walked. You were so caught up thinking about your business that you missed the body that filled the dark doorway you were stepping out of.

“What in the Seven Hells do you-” your words died out as you looked up from the leather clad chest you had hit and found a smirk on the lips above.

It wasn’t the immaculate tunic, silvery hair or violet eye that gave away the man before you, though they all screamed royalty, it was the long-healed scar and eye patch. Prince Aemond, or Aemond One-Eye behind his back, had come to your workshop.

Beside the prince stood the soldier who had visited only a few days earlier and his attitude did not appear to have lessened in his time away. Recovering from the shock of a prince standing before you, you dipped into a curtsey and stepped back into your workshop.

“Your highness, what brings you here?”

Prince Aemond walked in with a straight spine and puffed chest, taking in the shadows with a keen eye to spy any threat hiding within. He ignored your question and his soldier remained in the doorway, watching his prince see the work of your craft.

“The hour is late and I am tired, why have you come all the way from King’s Landing?”

“My Prince is here for his sword,” the soldier answered.

“I have no sword for the prince.” You placed your hand on the box holding the latest creation as the prince reached for it. “That is not yours.”

Prince Aemond placed his hands behind his back and pursed his lips. “She is rude, isn’t she, Ser Criston, and filthy.”

“I did warn you,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here,” you commented dryly. “Your manners are no better barging in here not once but twice. I suppose you are used to getting your way.”

“I could have your head for disrespecting me,” Prince Aemond warned as his hand came to rest on his hilt.

Your chin lifted higher in defiance as you retorted, “Then you will ensure you never possess a sword of the greatest craftsmanship. That is why you are here, is it not?”

Aemond stepped closer and dipped his head as he towered over you to catch your chin in his hand. “There are plenty of other bladesmiths like you. Ones that do not come with such a mouth.”

Your lips pulled back at the insult and you wretched your head from his tight grip as you snarled, “There is no one like me.”

The smirk playing at his bow shaped lips grew as he dared you, “Prove it.”

“Fine,” you hissed before smacking his hand away that reached for the scimitar’s box again. “I shall make you a fine sword that will be the envy of all who see it. It will be longer than all others and require two hands just to wield it, a fair compensation for what lords who request such swords are often lacking.”

Ser Criston looked away with a pinched face while Prince Aemond chuckled darkly and pulled the protective cloth from your head. “I cannot speak for these other lords, but I assure you Targaryen men do not lack in length.”

You looked him up and down. “I was not talking about your height.”

His lips twitched in amusement and he tossed your cloth back before turning away. “Neither was I.”

The prince stopped beside his soldier and whispered something before he clattered his way over and grabbed your arm tightly. “You’re coming with us.”

You struggled against the hold but it was impossible to break as he dragged you out the door and down the street to the only inn the small village had. “You’re a damn brute!” you hissed as you kicked at his shin only to cry out as your toes slammed into the metal armour.

“Such a temper,” Prince Aemond tutted with a laugh. “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself and I don’t want any delays in getting my sword.”

Ser Criston pushed you into a booth and stood guard while the prince slipped into the other side, waving a hand towards the waitress who rushed off to the bar. A few heads turned to the prince before blanching and quickly giving their attention back to the stew and ale in front of them. They were afraid.

“How is dragging me here going to help finish your sword any faster?” you asked as a draft of beer was placed in front of you by the waitress.

The prince delicately sniffed his drink before taking a sip and his nose crinkled slightly at the taste of the penny ale. “You look like you could use a hot meal. You will be of no use to me if you fall sick.”

Your eyebrows pinched together and you looked down at your filthy fingernails, soot covering you from head to toe. You looked like a beggar, possibly even worse, but you were far from it. “My staff keeps me fed far better than anything that can be found in this place, thank you very much. And, I know I don’t look it after spending a long day in the workshop but I am very well off so I do not want to see pity in that eye of yours.”

You enjoyed the surprise that flitted across his face as you pushed the disgusting ale away and rose from the table. “If you wish to eat whatever diseased ridden animal they have found in the alley, feel free to stay and take your chances.”

You pushed past the soldier and he let you, instead turning his attention to the prince still sitting at the table stunned. “My prince, I believe she was inviting you to dinner.”

Aemond frowned at his guard. “Then why would she not just say that?”

You heard the metal armour rattle as Ser Criston shrugged and looked back over your shoulder to catch the prince’s confused stare. “I did, you just do not understand woman-speak unlike your counterpart here. Do you not talk to the ladies in your court?”

“I have better ways to spend my time,” he uttered as he followed you out of the inn. “Fetch the horses, Cole.”

“No need, my home is not far,” you interrupted, continuing on your way and letting them decide whether to follow.

You chose the workshop because it was close to the home you had inherited from your father. He had been a merchant, bringing precious metals from his travels until his heavily laden ship had been caught in a storm and been dragged to the bottom of the Narrow Sea. You could hardly remember losing him as a child but you could remember the pretty metals he had brought home. It was what led you to learning the art of metalwork, eventually finding your niche in high quality swords.

The men walked in silence, though you saw Ser Criston constantly keeping track of the surroundings with his hand on the pommel of his sword. Soon enough the stone walls of your property came into view and you reached the gated archway that was always kept locked since there was no ‘lord of the house’ to protect it.

The property would have been long lost to the taxman if your business were not so successful, the wealthy buyers willing to part with large sums of coin to have a sword made by you. It was satisfying to see the shock and surprise on the prince's face when the trees parted and the large home appeared.

The ornate front door swung open as you reached the steps and Gerry curtseyed as she saw the company you kept. “Mistress, I was about to come in search of you.”

“You worry too much.” You pulled the heavy fireproof cloak off your shoulders and passed it over to her to hang in the coat closet. “We have company for dinner and will require two more settings.”

“Of course, mistress. Your bath is already drawn upstairs and I will have Kasia lay out more,” her eyes flicked to the prince, “fitting clothes.”

You laughed at the preposterous idea and shook your head. “This is my home and I am not a doll to be dressed up for anyone’s amusement, least of all the prince’s. I will wear my usual.” You dismissed her with a nod of your head and pointed to the adjoining room where most receptions were held. “You two can wait in there.”

“So bossy,” the prince murmured as he turned away to see the paintings that lined the walls.

Ser Criston took more offence and coldly warned, “Remember who it is you are speaking to.”

“How could I forget,” you teased as you made your way to the stairs and swept into a curtsey to the prince who had followed your movement with his eye. “I am but your obedient servant.”

“You little-”

Aemond caught Ser Criston’s arm as he made to reach for you and shook his head. “Tis a game, Cole, and she is playing you.”

Your bottom lip pouted as he ruined your fun and you realised the prince was smarter than you had given him credit for, assuming he was just another entitled, spoilt lord. Those types of men you could deal with but this one was different and wasn’t afraid to call you out. It was intriguing.

His eye lingered on your pouting lip and from the dark look you wondered if he enjoyed the attitude you gave him or wanted to spank it from you. After a moment you decided you would be happy with either one. He might have been an entitled asshole, but he was a handsome one and you were not immune to his looks.

You spun away and hastily climbed the stairs when you realised you had been staring at him for too long.

You could only breathe again once you were safely shut behind your bedroom door and wished you hadn’t seen the look in his eye. The heat of it still remained on your lips and you traced a finger over them before shaking the thought away.

‘He’s just like every other lord you have worked for,’ you told yourself as you began to strip out of your sooty and sweaty clothes. ‘Actually, he’s worse. He didn’t even have the decency to ask for a sword politely. Coming into my shop and demanding one,’ you scoffed at the conversation in your head, ‘who does he think he is?’

You dropped into the warm water that was nowhere near as hot as you usually had but the late hour had let it cool so you worked quickly to wash your body before it turned tepid. There was a moment when you were towelling yourself dry that you looked at your closest and thought of wearing one of the many dresses your old governess had purchased for you before you came of age, but it soon passed and you grabbed the pair of loose breeches and cotton shirt that was laid out.

The two men were conversing quietly in the reception room after helping themselves to the carafe of wine that was kept there and they both turned as you entered. Ser Criston spluttered on his wine, the red drops splattering down his armour as he coughed and looked away.

The attire was certainly not what they would have been used to seeing from the ladies in the Red Keep but you would always choose comfort over style and that would not change just because there was a prince in your home.

“You act as if you have seen something scandalous, Ser Criston,” you said, impelling him to interact while his ears burned red.

“Those are underclothes,” he said without looking away from the curtains he was transfixed on.

You chuckled and looked at the prince instead. “I would never wear such things in front of his highness. I find them far too cumbersome.”

Ser Criston dropped his goblet entirely and you bit your lip to hide the laughter that was bubbling in your chest as the red wine cascaded across the floor.

“Oh dear, you would think your guard would have a steadier hand.”

Whatever retort was on the prince's lips was forgotten when Gerry entered and announced that dinner was ready. But it wasn’t forgiven as he sent his guard to follow your housemaid and caught your arm in his large hand when you walked by, pressing his body close so he could dip his head to your ear and whisper, “You are playing with fire.”

You tipped your head back to look him in the eye and the movement gave him a clear line of sight down the front of your shirt, proving you were in fact not wearing any underclothes. “I play with fire everyday, my prince, but I have yet to be burned.” You pulled away with a smirk and swore you heard his teeth grind in his clenched jaw. “Dinner will be getting cold.”

“That mouth will be the end of you,” he uttered as he swaggered behind you into the dining room.

The table was laden with all manner of dishes but you could hardly eat as you kept catching Prince Aemond’s eye in the seat opposite. Gerry had likely set the plates that way on purpose, so the prince would be at the head of the table like you.

It was how the table would be formally set if you were to ever take a husband. That was an unlikely event. Despite enjoying the company of men on occasion, you had no interest in sharing your home with one. Men were best set free after you were spent.

The table had just been cleared and a sweet pudding was on its way from the kitchen when rain began to patter softly on the roof. The downpour only grew louder over dessert and you placed your spoons down with a sigh. “Gerry?”

Your housemaid stepped into the room a little too eagerly and sent the prince a small bashful smile and it irked you that his lips curled up slightly in return. “Prepare two rooms. They can hardly walk back in this weather.”

“It’s only a little rain,” the prince said.

“I’ll not have you catch your death on my watch,” you shot back.

He wiped his lips with his napkin to hide the smile growing on his face. “Sounds like you care.”

You scoffed at his arrogance and reassured him, “I care about my money, which I won’t get if you die.”

“My prince,” Ser Criston whispered loudly, “I don’t think this is wise.”

“It appears safer than the inn, and we have determined she would rather me survive our stay - for her money of course.”

You nodded in agreement as you reached the stairs and the soldier barely suppressed the resigned sigh that came from the heavy breath he took. “It’s settled then. I will take your measurements and preferences for the sword on the morrow then you may be on your way back to King’s Landing.”

The bath had been removed, the fire had been stoked and the room was balmy when you bid your guests farewell and stepped inside. The door next to yours closed and you heard the men speaking in the room but couldn’t make out their words before the door opened and closed again and Ser Criston’s armour clattered with him to the room further down the hall.

Satisfied you wouldn’t be disturbed until morning, you tossed your clothes to the floor and climbed atop the blankets knowing it would be too hot to sleep under them until the fire dwindled. Despite being exhausted your mind refused to quiet and let you rest, instead you were hyper-aware of the male specimen on the bed that shared your wall.

It had been too long since you last indulged in a man and now it showed.

Your fingers traced the swell of your breasts before dancing their way down your navel to where you needed to be touched most. You jolted as the pad of your middle finger swept over your clit and found you were already sensitive from the verbal sparring of the evening and a soft moan escaped with your exhale.

Your core ached with the need to be filled and you palmed your breast with one hand, teasing your nipple, as you parted your folds with the other. Fuck, you were wet. The evidence sounded around you as you curled your fingers in search of the delicious spot that would send stars twirling around your vision.

You were completely absorbed in your own pleasure and could no longer bite your lip to keep quiet as you erupted around your fingers, your walls clenching around them as your palm rubbed your clit and sent aftershocks trembling across your body.

A final deep groan filled the room and it took a moment to realise the sound had not come from you. It was purely masculine. And coming from the other side of the wall.

The satisfaction of your release was lost to a new need and you shifted up the bed, pressing your ear to the wall in the hopes of hearing it once again. Holding your breath, you waited.

“Uh,” the prince grunted and there was a thud beside your head, as if he had callously thrown his own back from where he sat among the pillows. “That filthy mouth. This would shut you up.”

You inhaled sharply and stared at the wall as if you could magically see through it.

Was he thinking about you as he touched himself? Was he stroking his cock and imagining your lips wrapped around it?

You sat back against the wall and let your knees fall apart as you hung on every word that spilled from the prince's lips. Your fingers could not fill you as a cock could and did not reach the depth you were chasing and you gave a strangled cry of frustration before slamming a hand over your mouth.

The room fell silent, and so did his.

The air was heavy as you waited to hear any sign he was still there but nothing came and the tightening in your core was lost to time.

Knock. Knock.

They were quiet, almost silent knocks, but there was no denying that someone was at your door.

You tore the blanket from the bed as you rose and wrapped the material around your naked body before opening the door just a crack. Even without candlelight it was impossible to mistake the shadowed man for anyone but the prince with his silvery hair.

He did not wait for an invitation as he pushed the door wider and closed it behind him, a finger pressed to his lips before pointing to the messy bed and whispering, “Trouble sleeping?”

In the firelight you could see the flush on his cheeks and his tunic buttons were not aligned after hastily dressing himself in the dark. You reached a hand out of the folds of the blanket that swamped you and flicked the clasp he hadn’t done up low on his hips. “Thin walls, your highness.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed and you swore you felt the deep reverberations in your core. “Then you shall have to keep quiet.”

Your heart beat rapidly at the thought and the need between your legs throbbed in time to your pulse but, defiant to the end, you lifted your head and challenged him once more. “Make me.”

The fire reflected in his eye and those bow lips curled up at the dare. He would not back down, not when you were so provocative.

His hand moved faster than you could follow and in a heartbeat your blanket was torn away to bare your entire self to him. The hunger in his eye exploded and your body heated as he feasted upon every inch, unblinking. He drank in the sight from your peaked nipples, stiff from your touch, down to the glistening evidence of your release at the junction of your thighs.

His movements flowed like water as he spun you around, one hand splayed across your chest to hold you against him while his other parted your legs. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispered in your air as he dragged his fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick before gliding over your clit. “I could hear you too.”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder and your hands reached up to tangle in his hair as you rolled your hips. “I don’t want this,” you said with a suppressed moan. “But I need it so just fuck me already.”

“That filthy mouth,” he growled before clamping his hands on your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. The clasps of his tunic were torn open as he circled you and freed his cock, the hard length springing forward. His thumb traced your bottom lip as it parted and your tongue darted across it in anticipation as he said, “Put it to good use.”

You snapped your teeth at him and smirked as he narrowed his eye at you, but he didn’t retreat when you reached for him. His cock was warm and hard in your hand and you stroked the length that he had definitely not exaggerated, teasing him as you swirled your tongue around the swollen tip.

A throaty moan filled the air and you rolled your eyes up to see his jaw slack with the pleasure you were giving him.

It was satisfying to see the calm and collected prince come undone. He was so completely vulnerable at your hand, and the thought set your body on fire as you took him deeper in your mouth.

“Seven hells, you are sin.”

Your fingers danced over the silken skin of his balls, gently squeezing and rolling them until they began to tighten and another guttural sound erupted. It was your turn to hum as you pulled back and tasted the bead of precum that escaped the slit before rising to your feet.

“Come.” You took his hand and led him to the bed, pushing him down among the sheets. “It’s my turn.”

He let you get as far as straddling his hips before he twisted and flipped you beneath him, pinning your hands above your head. “You are a very bossy woman.”

“How else am I to get what I want?”

His dark smile grew and you knew you wouldn’t like his answer. “You could always say please.”

You sent him a dangerously sweet smile and blinked innocently at him. “Unless you are going to fuck me, please get out of my room.”

He clamped a hand over your mouth as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance and filled you with a rough thrust that stole the air from your lungs. Your moans were silenced by his hand as he reached the parts of you that your fingers could never truly satisfy and your fingernails found purchase on his tunic as you arched closer to his body.

“You knew what you were doing at dinner,” he growled in your ear as he pulled your leg higher over his hips. “Do you do this with all of your clients?”

His hand slipped away and you gasped in a deep breath, the ability to focus difficult with the pressure building in your core. “Only the attractive ones.”

You couldn’t tell if the honesty angered him or spurred him but he drove in deeper, pistoning his hips with a relentless pace.

Your cries would have woken the entire household if he didn’t cover your mouth again but it didn’t stop him from pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The tightening low in your belly reached breaking point and your eyes rolled back as the force of the orgasm ripped through your body from head to toes.

You were a quivering mess when he pulled out and fisted his cock that glistened with your release, pumping up and down, once, twice, then spilled his seed across your skin. His chest rose and fell quickly and his cock twitched as he drained every last drop with a shaky hand.

Unable to resist another taste, you dragged a finger through the mess he had painted on your skin and tasted his come. It was just as decadent as indulging in a nip of brandy after a meal.

“You have no shame,” he chuckled as he tucked his cock back in his trousers and began to clasp his tunic back together.

“I like what I like, I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise.” You climbed off the bed onto weak legs and grabbed the corner post to stabilise yourself. The look of pure masculine pride filled his face as he saw your stumble and he swiped your blanket from where it had been discarded on the floor. You took it from his hand and noticed the temperature in the room had dropped since the dalliance began, draping it over your shoulders but leaving the middle open so he could enjoy the sight a moment longer. “Goodnight, your highness.”

He opened the door and grinned as he combed his mussed hair back from his face. “Twas.”

The door shut silently and you fell back onto your bed with a satisfied sigh and the smile on your lips remained until long after you fell asleep.

The prince was quite the actor when you met him in the dining room to break your fast. Given the fresh face and lack of reaction to your entrance you almost believed you had conjured last night's events in a dream.

Almost.

The ache between your legs could not be imagined, nor could the evidence of your union that you had washed off your skin.

“Good morning,” you greeted the men as you took your seat and looked over the prince. “I trust you slept well.”

He spared a cube of melon with his fork and inspected the fruit. “The bedding was adequate.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Ser Criston said after giving his prince a questioning look that was ignored. At least he appeared to have woken with better manners. He didn’t even choke or comment on the fact that you wore a silk robe imported from Lys, and nothing else.

You inclined your head at the compliment before turning your attention back to the prince. “Do you have an inclination to any particular sword type?”

“A long sword, straight blade.” He placed the fruit back on the table without eating it, as if he had lost his appetite. “Light-weight, so it can be wielded with one hand should I need it. And, a dragon’s head carved into the pommel.”

You committed the details to memory, already imagining the finished piece, and rose from the table to get a measuring tape from the table in the study. You gestured for the prince to rise from his seat and dropped to your knees.

You were acutely aware of last night's memory in the same position and from the deep swallow the prince took you knew he was seeing the same scene too. The tape unravelled from your fingers and you measured the distance from heel to hip to know the maximum length the blade could be.

“Your sword will be ready to be picked up in three weeks,” you said as you rolled the tape up again.

“No,” Prince Aemond interrupted, “you will bring it to the Red Keep and present it yourself at the tourney for my name day. What better way to win than with such a fine sword at my hip.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the information. “You, competing in a tourney? That is something I would pay to see.”

“Prince Aemond is one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms,” Ser Criston stated boldly as he rose to his feet in anger. “His swordsmanship skills are unrivalled.”

“With what experience - fighting soldiers that are fed by the coin of the king?” you challenged. “Unless he is to enter the tourney anonymously he has already won by default. No one would dare strike the prince for fear of their own death.”

Ser Criston opened his mouth to argue but the prince beat him to it. “You are right. It would not be a fair fight.” Prince Aemond pursed his lips as he paced the dining room. “Cole, I shall enter the tourney under your name. And you,” he faced you with an arrogance only a prince could muster, “will present me with the sword when I win.”

He held his hand out to seal the deal and you paused, your palm almost touching his. “And if you lose?”

His smirk grew as he looked to his guard and laughed, “I never lose.”

Click here for part two.

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond smut #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic

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ghoulishly-clue · 1 month ago

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(Reference to my fave cover art)

#my art #ruby gloom #the nightmare before christmas #skull boy #doom kitty #tnbc zero #ruby x skull boy #reupload

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kakusu-shipping · 1 year ago

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Emile Hides - He/She

Agender - Fray/Panromantic - Asexual - Polyam

24 years old

Autistic - OCD - Anxiety

Age Regressor - Permakid - Age Locked

Proship - Self Ship - Fudanshi

Art Tag: Emile’s Arts

Writing Tag: Emile’s Writing

Edit Tag: Emile's Edits

This is my Ship and Let Ship blog where I post about ships I like, Self Ship as loudly as possible, write X Readers curated to me and me alone, and ramble about my F/Os in the tags of other people’s posts.

Full F/O list under the cut (Very Long)

Romantic F/Os

Koro-Sensei - Assassination Classroom

Toshinori Yagi (All Might) - My Hero Academia

Nezu - My Hero Academia

Mashirao Ojiro + Neito Monoma + Hitoshi Shinso - My Hero Academia

Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fatgum) + Kendo Rappa - My Hero Academia

Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress) + Jin Bubaigawa (Twice) - My Hero Academia

All For One - My Hero Academia

Makarov Dreyar - Fairy Tail

Toma E. Fiore + Mako - Fairy Tail

Jackpot - Fairy Tail/OC

Zanoba Shirone - Jobless Reincarnation

Leuvis - The Promised Neverland

Kyube - Madoka Magica

Ginko - Mushishi

Takashi Morinozuka - Ouran Highschool Host Club

Kometani Chushaku + Naruse Shisuto - Komi Can't Communicate

Masato Hanzawa - Sasaki and Miyano/Hirano and Kagiura

Gonzaburo Taishiro - Sasaki and Miyano/Hirano and Kagiura

Franky Franklin - Spy X Family

Riri - Romantic Killer

Junta Hayami - Romantic Killer

Harunobu Nikaidou - March comes in like a Lion

Otsu + Minegishi - Manly Appetites

Muta - The Cat Returns

Scorpia - She-Ra

Bismuth + Peridot + Lapis - Steven Universe

Eda Clawthorn + Raine Whispers - The Owl House

Hieronymus Bump - The Owl House

Good Billions + Bad Billions - Kipo and the age of the Wonderbeasts

Tad Mullholand - Kipo and the age of the Wonderbeasts

Ruby Gloom + Skull Boy - Ruby Gloom

The Snork - Moominvalley 2019

Lynn Angel + Nick Hoult - All Saints Street

Teddy - Bob's Burgers

Heimerdinger - Arcane

Sisu - Raya and the Last Dragon

Zack Binspin - Moshi Monsters

Allhands - Drawga

Gyorik Rogdul + Grendan Highforge + Rosé - Drawtectives

James - Pokemon Anime

N - Pokemon Black/White

Lillie - Pokemon Sun/Moon

Molayne + Sophocles - Pokemon Sun/Moon

Guzma - Pokemon Masters

Milo + Gordie - Pokemon Sword/Shield

Jacq + Saguaro + Salvatore + Hassel - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet

Kieran + Drayton - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet

Hydreigon - Pokemon Black/White2

Chesnaught - Pokemon XY

Inteleon - Pokemon Sword/Shield

Armarouge (Charlos) - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet

Sirfetch'd - Pokemon Anime

Captain Pikachu - Pokemon Anime

Heracross - Monster Mind

Smeargle + Kecleon - Monster Mind

Mario + Luigi - Super Mario

C.Q. Cumber - Splatoon 2

Mr. Grizz - Splatoon 3

Jel La Fleur - Splatoon 3

Isabelle + Tom Nook + Redd + Brewster - Animal Crossing

Papyrus - Undertale

Vulkin - Undertale

Swatchlings - Deltarune

Viktor Humphries - Slime Rancher

Dick Gumshoe - Ace Attorney

Raymond Sheilds - Ace Attorney

Phineas Flilch - Ace Attorney

Hifumi Yamada + Celestia Ludenburgh - Danganronpa 1

Teruteru Hanamura - Danganronpa 2

Toko Fukawa + Genocide Jack - Danganronpa UDG

Ryoma Hoshi + Gonta Gokuhara - Danganronpa V3

Monokuma - Danganronpa series

Shirokuma - Danganronpa series

Kyle Klim (K) + Luna - Virtue's Last Reward

GTM-CM-G-OLM - Virtue's Last Reward

Kazuaki Nanaki + Hitori Uzune - Hatoful Boyfriend

The King - Hatoful Boyfriend

Zenyatta - Overwatch

Ramattra - Overwatch

B.O.B. + Bars - Overwatch

Maximillien - Overwatch

Lynx17 - Overwatch

Iggy - Overwatch

Toy Freddy + Funtime Freddy - Five Nights at Freddy's AU

Nightmare Fredbear - Five Nights at Freddy's 4

Sun - Five Nights at Freddy's Security Breach

Leshy - Inscryption

Magnificus - Inscryption

Theodore DaCabe (The New Prince) - Chzo Mythos

Anna (The Huntress) - Dead by Daylight

Al-An - Subnautica Below Zero

Candyman - Lethal League

Gabocha - Suikoden 2

Richmond - Suikoden 2

Neclord - Suikoden 2

Luca Blight - Suikoden 2

Andras - Hell's Library

Jill Wolcott - Wayward Children

Reed + Leigh - Middlegame

Queerplatonics/Metamours

Aguri Yukimura - Assassination Classroom - Queerplatonic

Mei Hatsume - My Hero Academia - Queerplatonic

Reedus Jonah - Fairy Tail - Queerplatonic

Pantherlily - Fairy Tail - Queerplatonic

Peridot - Steven Universe - Queerplatonic

Nemona - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Queerplatonic

Raifort - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Queerplatonic

Bowser - Super Mario - Queerplatonic

Cobb - Animal Crossing - Queerplatonic

Genocider Syo (Genocide Jack/Jill) - Danganronpa UDG - Queerplatonic

Winston - Overwatch - Queerplatonic

Goobert - Inscryption - Queerplatonic

Neito Monoma + Hitoshi Shinso - My Hero Academia - Metamours

Naruse Shisuto - Komi Can't Communicate - Metamour

Minegishi - Manly Appetites - Metamour

Baron Humbert Gon Gikkingen - The Cat Returns - Metamour

Nick Hoult - All Saints Street - Metamour

Brassius - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Metamour

Princess Peach + Princess Daisy + Prince Peasely - Super Mario - Metamours

Shuu Iwamine - Hatoful Boyfriend - Metamour

Maugaloa Malosi - Overwatch - Friends with Benefits

Abra - Monster Mind - Friends with Benefits

Grovyle - Monster Mind - Friends with Benefits

Buizel - Monster Mind - Friends with Benefits

Rhydon - Monster Mind - Friends with Benefits

Sandslash - Monster Mind - Friends with Benefits

Lucario - Monster Mind - Friends with Benefits

Drayden - Pokemon Black/White - Trainer

Wilkstrom - Pokemon X/Y - Trainer

Salvatore - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Trainer

Shiintonic - Pokemon Anime - Partner

Stoutland (Rusty) - Pokemon Anime - Partner

Mincinno (Nezu) - Pokemon Sword/Shield - Partner

Armarouge (Charlos) - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Partner

Koraidon - Pokemon Scarlet - Partner

Ogerpon (Clementine) - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Partner

Weavile - Pokemon - Partner

Familials

Heatran + Entei - Pokemon - Parents

Marlo + Dora - Animal Crossing - Parents

Ginko + Adashino - Mushishi - Parents

Tony Mario - Mario Movie - Father

Mr. Grizz - Splatoon 3 - Father

William Afton - FNaF Series - Father

Ridley Wizen - Suikoden 2 - Father

Bumi - Avatar: The Last Airbender - Father

Singed - Arcane - Father

Frank Columbo - Columbo - Father

Opal - Pokemon Sword/Shield - Mother

Briar - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Mother

Beware - Pokemon Anime - Mother

Toriel - Undertale - Mother

Reaper Leviathan - Subnautica - Mother

Alder - Pokemon Black/White - Parental Figure

Toadsworth - Super Mario - Parental Figure

Mondatta - Overwatch - Parental Figure

Nezu - My Hero Academia - Parental Figure

Clavell - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Grandfather

Rizzo - Animal Crossing - Grandfather

Craig Cuttlefish - Splatoon - Grandfather

Kaoru Toudou - Baka and Test - Grandmother

Drayden - Pokemon Black/White - Uncle

Aang - Avatar: The Last Airbender - Uncle

Petri - Animal Crossing - Aunt

Elizabeth Afton - FNaF Series - Big Sister

Mitsuki Bakugo - My Hero Academia - Big Sister

Sekijiro Kan - My Hero Academia - Big Brother

Boris Wizen - Suikoden 2 - Big Brother

Micheal Afton - FNaF Series - Big Brother

Molayne - Pokemon Sun/Moon - Big Brother

Jelonzo - Splatoon - Big Brother

James Ratari - The Promised Neverland - Big Brother

Peter Ratari - The Promised Neverland - Little Brother

Victini - Pokemon Black/White - Little Brother

Arven - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Little Brother

Mirai Sasaki (Sir Nighteye) - My Hero Academia - Twin Brother

Kyoya Ootori - Ouran Highschool Host Club - Found Sibling

Cyrus - Pokemon Platinum - Found Sibling

Genji Shimada - Overwatch - Found Sibling

Ramattra - Overwatch - Found Sibling

Micheal Bleak - Wayward Children - Found Sibling

Mario + Luigi - Super Mario - Cousins

Ingo + Emmet - Pokemon Black/White - Cousins

Callie + Marie - Splatoon - Cousins

Sophocles - Pokemon Sun/Moon - Cousin

Samson - Animal Crossing - Cousin

Ira Blood - All Saints Street - Cousin

Cosmog (Nebby) - Pokemon Sun/Moon - Daughter

Amy Rose - Sonic Series - Daughter

Berdly - Deltarune - Daughter

Akito Sohma - Fruits Basket - Daughter

Julie - Jobless Reincarnation - Daughter

Jack + Jill Wolcott - Wayward Children - Daughters

Bede + Allister - Pokemon Sword/Shield - Sons

Pecharunt (Momotaro) - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Son

Rabbid Luigi (Louis) - Mario + Rabbids - Son

Espio - Sonic Series - Son

Neito Monoma - My Hero Academia - Son

Inasa Yoarashi - My Hero Academia - Son

Ichiban Natsuno - Mix; Meisei Story - Son

Black Hat - Villainous - Son

The Collector - The Owl House - Son

Hastur - The Baby in Yellow - Son

Sam - Trick R' Treat - Child

Luz + King + Hunter - Kids

Bowser Jr. + Koopalings - Super Mario - Kids

The Lab Kids - Animal Crossing - Kids

Boss Salmonids - Splatoon 3 - Kids

Warriors of Hope - Danganronpa UDG - Kids

The Monokubs - Danganronpa V3 - Kids

Rosalina - Super Mario - Niece

Sonic + Tails - Sonic Series - Nephews

Jelfonzo - Splatoon - Nephew

Katsuki Bakugo - My Hero Academia - Nephew

Snufkin - Moominvalley 2019 - Nephew

Laxus Dreyar - Fairy Tail - Grandson

505 - Villainous - Grandson

Zanoba Shirone - Jobless Reincarnation - Student

The Squidbeak Splatoon - Splatoon - Family

The Rising Volt Tacklers - Pokemon Horizons - Family

Wonderworld Inhabitants - Balan Wonderworld - Family

Danganronpa V3 Cast - Danganronpa UDG - Family

The Fairy Tail Guild - Fairy Tail - Family

Class 3-E - Assassination Classroom - Family

Fatfam - My Hero Academia - Family

League of Villains - My Hero Academia - Family

The Sohmas - Fruits Basket - Family

The Evil Slasher Orphanage - Various - Family

Besties

Toshimitsu Kubo - Baka and Test

Shoko Kirishima - Baka and Test

Irina Jelavic + Tadaomi Karasuma - Assassination Classroom

UA Teachers - My Hero Academia

Lucy's Celestial Spirits - Fairy Tail

Samuel - Fairy Tail

Yuuko Ichihara + Kimihiro Watanuki + Shizuka Domeki - XXXHolic

The Host Club - Ouran Highschool Host Club

Ritsu Sohma - Fruits Basket

Makoto Katai - Komi Can't Communicate

Miyano Yoshikazu + Sasaki Shuumei - Sasaki and Miyano

Hanazawa Masato - Sasaki and Miyano

Kuei - Avatar: The Last Airbender

Entrapta + Hordak - She-Ra

Grime + Sasha - Amphibia

Iris + Misery + Frank and Len - Ruby Gloom

The Joxter - Moominvalley

Flug Syls - Villainous

Jessie + Meowth + Wobbuffet - Pokemon Anime

Cheren + Bianca - Pokemon Black/White

Hau + Gladion - Pokemon Sun/Moon

Dendra + Miriam - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet

Team Star - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet

The Leauge Club - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet

Grimer - Monster Mind

Elvin Gadd - Super Mario

Metal Mario + Gooigi - Super Mario AU

Doctor Mario + Mr. L - Super Mario AU

Pearl + Marina - Splatoon

Spyke - Splatoon

The Mad Scientist Team - Animal Crossing

Chara - Undertale

Kris - Deltarune

Chihiro Fujisaki + Kiyotaka Ishimaru + Mondo Owada - Danganronpa 1

Kazuichi Soda - Danganropa 2

Ultimate Imposter + Ryoma Mitarai - Danganronpa 3

Hiroko Hagakura + Yuta Asahina + Taichi Fujisaki - Danganronpa UDG

The Nightmare Animatronics - Five Nights at Freddy's 4

Bonbon - Five Nights at Freddy's; Sister Location

Moon - Five Nights at Freddy's; Security Breach

Helpi - Five Nights at Freddy's; Security Breach RUIN

Huggy Wuggy + Mommy Long Legs - Poppy Playtime

Jamison Fawks (Junkrat) + Mako Rutledge (Roadhog) - Overwatch

Younster Squad (All heroes in their early 20's) - Overwatch

Team Talon - Overwatch

Nina - Suikoden 2

Klaus Windmier + Sierra Mikain - Suikoden 2

Claire + Brevity + Hero + Ramiel - Hell's Library

Thankyou very much for Reading

Crush List - Fictonal Foe List - Agere List - Ship Lists - Kin List - Koro-Sensei's F/O List

#Pinned Post #F/O List #Long Post #Proselfship #Proship Selfship #Introduction #Constantly updating so please check back regularly #Please at least skim before interacting #PLEASE interact if we share any F/Os or even Source Material #I actually love sharing F/Os and writing my Self Insert around other people's S/Is #What if our S/Is were friends 🥺#Thankyou very much for reading

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konigsblog · 2 years ago

Note

Ma’am, thank you for the part 2 of Yandere Ghost 🫶🏻 👁️👄👁️

Am wondering, would this be part of a series or one-shots? 🥺

this is gonna be a series but im planning on making a few one-shots + headcannons!

yandere ghost x singer!f!reader

warnings: yandere behaviour, violence; gun wounds, stab wounds, simon is an abusive yandere when you misbehave, being chained and tied up, love bombing, reader does not like simon, and never will throughout this series (unless i make a separate oneshot about reader liking simon, but it won't be apart of the series.)

masterlist

-simon riley, is a yandere who lovebombs on you, he isn't clingy but makes it his goal to get you to love him, yet fails and fails.

you know this, you know what he's doing. ever since the day he met you, it seemed that he was obsessed. addicted to you. all the words that came out his mouth gave you shivers up and down your spine.

when you woke up, cuddled into him forcefully, you knew that your suspicions were right. you couldn't help but slightly blame yourself. would you have been better if you told someone? told security for another bodyguard? even throughout the guilt you felt for yourself, you made it your goal never to like him.

-punishments. oh boy, he has a list of them. from forcing you to kiss him, to cutting you up and breaking your nose. it mattered on the severity of your actions.

cried when he touched you? you're being forced to sit on his lap and kiss him, "be a good girl.' he whispered, low and husky in your ear as disgust filled your veins.

to attempted escaping, that would result in a more severe punishments. smashing your head against a wall, making sure to not go too hard so he could keep you as his pet, his doll.

you remember once, you slapped him, harder than you'd ever. you tried to kick him in the balls but he caught your leg and turned you around as he smashed your head against a wall. the blunt force causing blood to rush up your throat as you threw up blood. the ruby colour liquid dripping down your face and staining the wall. a reminder to watch your tone.

-i see him not calling you human. maybe he'd call you a doll, or his puppy, or his toy. why? if you were human you would be considered equal, and you are not equal to him.

depending on your attitude, he might lock you in a cage. forcing dog food down your throat, holding your mouth closed so you wouldn't be able to throw it back up. "if you vomit, i'll force you to eat your vomit."

he might drug you up, so you're nice and calm. or atleast calm enough not to feel him touching you up.

-thinking back to the day you first tried to escape. the pain you felt was nothing compared to the pain you felt as he shot two gun wounds in your fathers skull, and stabbed your mother countless times. forcing you to watch everything.

"stop, please! take me instead, please simon!" you begged, the guilt you felt afterwards. parts of you blamed yourself, you should've told someone, why didn't you? maybe simon thought you liked him like this? or maybe he just likes to see you suffer. "no, pet. you're mine."

-he loves seeing you cry, in a way it turns him on. he knows he's evil, he's not delusional. he wants you to be scared, scared enough to morph you into his toy.

you fight back against this, making sure never to fall that far. you know he wants this, you know what he wants, and you will never listen.

who knows? maybe one day he'll realise that there's no hope, or maybe he'll start to love how resistant you are.

-he'd let you call his friends, you could beg to them, "help me, simon kidnapped me. i need your help." but it's hopeless, they're friendship with simon matters more than whatever you're complaining about, it falls to deafs ears.

@lauraliisa

@bittersw33t-lotus

@thedevillovesflowers

@thriving-n-jiving

@kiruoris

@radishdoodles

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pillowseastar7 · 1 year ago

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My top 10 favorite ships

REMEBER THIS IS MY OPINION, DON'T BE MEAN

10. Nuzi (N x uzi)

9. Bubbleline (PB x Marcline)

8.Penball ( Gumball x Penny)

7. Carwin( Darwin x Carrie)

6. Ruby x Skull boy ( Ruby Gloom)

5. Storm E. Sky x Forest EverGreen (Lalaloopsy)

4. Dot Starlight x Haley Galxy (Lalaloopsy)

3. Nina x Pocoyo (Pocoyo)

2. Oscar x Ms. O (Odd squad)

Illy x Tiffney (My ocs)

#the amazing world of gumball #penball #n x uzi #ruby gloom #lalaloopsy #pocoyo #odd squad #oc #shipping #bubbline #carwin

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mysteryideasgroup · 4 months ago

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MSA X Scooby-Doo and the Witch's Ghost Chapter 3: Meet Two Mayors of Oakhaven and Two Pharmacists/Hex Girls Rocks and Girls Rock Team called Metal-Stars Team/T-Shirt with I met the 2 Ghosts of Oakhaven (and Lived)

They go to him. He’s talking to a tourist.

Mayor Corey: Welcome to old Oakhaven. Have a wonderful time. So glad you can come.

Ben: Mayor! Mayor Corey!

Flik: Mayor, Mayor Blaine!

Mayor Corey: Ben, my boy! I'm glad you can come home to see this. And I see you brought some friends and their dogs.

Mayor Blaine: Flik! I’m good seeing you coming home to see this, you came with Mystery Teams.

Scooby-Doo: Dogs? Where?

Sarah: I think he means us, Scooby.

Sapphire with Two Sisters, Samantha and Ruby is shocked and confused

Mayor Corey: (Laughs) Welcome! The more the merrier!

Ben: But what is all this?

Mayor Corey: It's great, isn't it? Business is booming, not like a few months ago when it was slower than maple syrup on a cold day.

Another man walks up, carrying a box. 2 Another man walks up, carrying a box of Metal-Stars Girls Team.

Man: Hey, Ben.

Man: Hey, Flik.

Ben: Hi, Mr. McKnight.

Flik: Hi, Mr. Delightson.

Mr. McKnight: Welcome home. Here, have a T-shirt before my store sells out. You can wear it to the concert, tomorrow.

Mr. Delightson: Welcome home. Wait, need ready to before my store sells out. They can wear it to the rocks, tomorrow ready.

Ben: Concert?

Fred: The Hex Girls.

Lewis: Oh, it’s Metal-Stars Girls.

Daphne: You've heard of them, Fred?

Fred: Just now.

He points to a banner tied to two lamp posts.

Daphne (Reading the banner): “Oakhaven Autumn Fest. Featuring the Hex Girls”.

Vivi (Reading the banner): "Meeting with Metal-Stars Girls in the Tonight".

Sarah: Whoa, just the name alone sounds rockin’.

Ruby: You said it, Sarah.

Mayor Corey: A local group. You'll like them, kinda spooky.

Ben: (Reading the T-shirt he was given) “I met the ghost of Oakhaven and lived"?

Shaggy and Scooby: Ghost?!

Sarah: Oh my God! A ghost! This place has everything!

Velma: Jinkies! Looks like you got a ghost in your own backyard, Ben.

----

For @laurasanchez36

AUs Alternate Universes Crossovers belongs to me

All belongs to my msa x sd ocs sonas and my new msa x sd ocs sonas

All belongs to her msa x sd ocs sonas and her new msa x sd ocs sonas

Mystery Skulls Animated MSA belongs to Ben and MysteryBen27 of YouTube YT Series Shows

Scooby Doo SD belongs to WB (Warner Bros) and HB (Hanna Barbera) of Animated Movies and TV Series Shows

#msa x scooby doo #msa x scooby doo au #msa au crossover #my msa ocs #her msa ocs #scooby doo #scooby doo and the witch's ghost #mystery skulls #my new msa ocs #her new msa ocs #msa x sd #msa x sd au #mystery skulls animated #mystery skulls ghost #my msa x sd ocs #her msa x sd ocs #my new msa x sd ocs #her new msa x sd ocs

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cosmiischillin · 7 months ago

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Back when I was a kid I used to ship Misery with some werewolf dude and Len with Iris.

Literally the only ships that stood the test of my absence from the ruby gloom fixation is Skull Boy X Ruby and Halo X Frank

Jackie sorta never had a ship until now

#cosmichats #TwilightTownAU #ruby gloom #somehow I just never changed my Angel X monster ship

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nomsfaultau · 1 year ago

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13) “Give me your hands” and 22) Survivior’s guilt.

Disclaimer: this blurb is set in the SCP SBI AU I have called Fault, and dances over the timeline so good luck. Explanation of AU; tldr.

“Give me your hands.” The stranger’s voice was gruff and demanding, and Tommy complied at once. It wasn’t that he was intimidated! Sure the random demon he’d summoned was massively tall, extremely strong, and just killed a lot of people, but Tommy was an alpha male! And anyway, the bloke technically saved his life in the barest sense of the word, so he had to be a good guy. Nevermind that Tommy watched people be reduced to smears running down the walls. They were villains. That was what they deserved. Right?

Tommy held a little stiller than he preferred, acutely aware of how easily the boar hero’s fists crunched skulls in. But the enormous hooves were surprisingly gentle as they held Tommy’s hands, prodding in their examination. His hero adjusted his dorky glasses and peered closer, curiously studying the strange crimson color curling around Tommy’s fingers. Blood mixed into the ruby power dancing across Tommy’s palms, indistinguishable.

The Blade hadn’t been the only one killing the villains.

“...huh. I’m guessing this red stuff is what summoned me?”

“I think so? Do you know what it is?”

His hero grunted. “I was hoping you’d know that.”

“Nah, it only showed up a few minutes before you did.” Tommy studied his own hands just as intensely. With great concentration, he tried to get the swirling scarlet liquid to grow. Then, to disappear. It ignored him, and he frowned, not sure how the power worked. Wait. “WAIT! I have superpowers now?!”

The Blade squinted at the boy. “Uhhhhhh. Suuuuure?” Tommy pumped his fist in the air rather excitedly. He had to admit it was kinda cute even if he wasn’t a kid person. “Probably don’t tell anyone, alright?” he hazarded, suddenly a little worried the twerp was going to get himself nabbed immediately. This kid needed to shift away from Marvel to X-Men fast if he was going to survive.

“Yes! Like a secret identity! So you’re a superhero, right?” Tommy peered up hopefully. The crimson hitched upwards. “Right? Those guys were villains because they tried to murder me. That’s why you killed them, right?” There was almost a note of desperation to the question.

“Um. No.” The Blade pretty much murdered them because he was suddenly teleported into a hostile situation and was immediately attacked. Self-defense, baby.

The ruby power spiked then, the scent of fear sharpening. But then bull-headed determination flashed in his eyes. “A vigilante then, that makes sense. Like Batman. Hey! And now I can join you and save people too! You can be my sidekick.”

“Wait hold on, no, you’re MY sidekick, not the other way around,” The Blade argued before realizing that meant he inadvertently supported Tommy’s absurd notion. He was a survivor, he didn’t have time to be a savior. If the kid wanted to read any morality into his actions that was their problem.

“Ok. I’ll train under you until I’m too powerful and surpass you completely, and THEN you’ll be my sidekick.” For some reason, the voices didn’t feel threatened by his open intention to usurp him. Weird. For once in his life The Blade was getting zero intrusive thoughts about brutally murdering the dude he was talking to. It was kinda relaxing actually.

Tommy held out a fist, and after belated realizing it wasn’t a (very wimpy) attack The Blade completed the fist bump. Tommy beamed at The Blade. “Thanks for saving me.”

It was…strange. No one had ever thanked him for something like that before. And sure he’d really only incidentally saved the boy through a combination of weird coincidences, otherworldly machinations beyond their comprehension, and the fact something about Tommy’s power literally prevented him from even contemplating attacking him, but The Blade did have to admit it felt pretty nice.

Nice, but not the reason his tail was wagging. Nope, not at all. That was all post-bloodlust high. Definitely.

“Give me your hands.” Mum smiled as she said it, but it made trepidation build in Tommy’s gut.

Tommy fixed his smile, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, you’re so clingy. I’m not a kid anymore!”

“You’re fifteen—”

“Only for a few more weeks! I’m practically an ad-” Deviously, she lunged for his hands and he jerked back sharply. “Don’t,” he yelped a little too desperately. Tommy gulped, trying to swallow his panic. “Don’t do that I have a- have a reputation to maintain Mum, can’t be doing cheesy girly stuff like hand holding haha.”

“Tommy-” her tone was far, far too serious as he retreated.

“I’ll get a hold of it eventually, just give me some time. We’re working on it.” Tommy was a little frustrated he hadn’t figured out how to control his powers yet, but all the other guys said it took a while so that was okay. At least it didn’t work on The Blade or Philza. The same couldn’t be said for Wilbur, which was really bad. It just made him bicker with the others, which, while funny, still meant he couldn’t control the Red. Tommy didn’t know what had made it so lethal in the villain encounter, but he needed to find out before he risked getting someone hurt.

He’d find a way to use it for good, though. One way or another, Tommy was going to be a hero.

“What does your power do?”

Tommy laughed nervously. “Sorry, that’s confidential hero stuff, Mum.”

Tommy refused to tell her what happened in that room. Her baby boy witnessed -enacted?- a massacre and that wasn’t something that would ever be undone. He went in normal and came out with blood permanently fresh on his hands. All she knew was a haunted look came across him in quiet moments, and she didn’t trust the new ‘friends’ he’d made in the aftermath, and he absolutely refused to touch anyone.

She reached up carefully to avoid his hands, craning his head down till their foreheads touched. For all that she had to rise to her tiptoes to meet him, Tommy was still her little boy. He’d grown a lot in the last year, and even more so on that dreadful day his powers showed up, but she’d never stop seeing that golden-haired child with his mischievous, gaptoothed smile and dirt staining the knees of his pants.

“Just talk to me when you’re ready, okay? And if those men try anything I’ll destroy them.”

Tommy’s laugh was far brighter this time. “Mum! You wouldn’t stand a chance! Besides, The Blade and his friends are nice.”

Scruffy was the word she would use. She’d vetted them, of course, she wasn’t going to just let her son lose with complete strangers and just trust he came home safe. The Blade was intimidating, but a dork. That Wilbur fellow was just a hopelessly broke musician as far as she could tell, though had a worrisome collection of scars. She respected Philza to some degree though, since he had an ounce of manners. Hopefully, he’d keep the others in line.

“Tommy. You’re spending hours with homeless people, I have every right to be concerned.” Still, they were the only ones with any idea of how to help Tommy explore the new aspects of his identity. Unfortunately, Tommy’s mother was the supportive type, and was trying to give him room to experiment despite her reservations.

“You’re always worried though.”

She pressed a kiss into his forehead. “With a brat like you, I have to be.” He pulled a face, feathers ruffled at the utter indignity of affection. But she let gravity seep into her tone. “I know it scares you. But I know you’ll do the right thing, you’re a good kid at heart. Okay? This isn’t going to change anything.”

But it did.

Tommy had been abducted and locked in a padded room for days now, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. He wanted his mum. In Tommy’s books, that was a pathetic thought for a sixteen-year-old to have, but it was true, he wanted to see his parents so bad it hurt. He wanted his friends. Or even not his friends, random people at school, hell even people he didn’t get along with so long as it was a face he recognized. Or even one he didn’t. At this point, Tommy would settle for one of the freaky scientists or soldiers just so there would be someone to talk to. Or, more accurately, shout at and demand answers from. Like, were they villains, where the hell was he, what did they want, why did they kidnap him…

And then someone finally entered the room. Or, more aptly, the guns entered before the squad of soldiers, so Tommy actually found it suddenly easy to continue saying nothing at all. His hands shot up in the air in surrender, scarlet ribbons of liquid dancing around him.

“Cease the threat display,” a guard barked.

The power only poured out further. “It doesn’t- I don’t control it, it won’t-” he was ordered to be silent. Tommy had never been good at that, but he managed, biting down questions. Doctors circled like vultures, and he had the strangest premonition shivering down his spine. He felt like a lamb being inspected for imperfections before the slaughter.

“Give me your hands.” Gloves were dropped into his outstretched palms. Thick, sturdy, and frankly pretty ugly. Tommy had no idea how deeply he’d come to despise them. In fact, Tommy had very little idea of anything, head still caught in the little stories people liked to tell. Lies about powerful heroes rescuing civilians, or good triumphing over evil, or the world caring about people like him.

“Um. What are the gloves for?”

The guard grinned. “So you can’t fight back.”

The demon was tall and slender with bright white eyes and a literal beam of a smile. He seemed nice. That was the problem, the Foundation always sent Tommy to meet the nice ones so that he could fix that.

Tommy approached cautiously, carefully weighing threats between the D-Class prisoners behind him and the towering demon ahead. Anomalies were safe at first though, and Tommy knew exactly how to protect himself now. And if he were honest, Tommy didn’t want to get to know the D-Class before their imminent execution. It only made the nightmares worse.

“Hi!” the demon chirped. “I’m Halo! Wow, I haven’t seen someone new in…” he trailed off uncertainly, a faint furrow of his brow. But he shrugged quickly enough. “A couple years I guess. Sorry, they think I’m boring. No one really pays attention to me anymore. Not violent enough to be interesting I guess. They certainly tried, though.” Tommy caught the flash of horror flickering across glowing eyes. He knew that pressure intimately given how he’d broken beneath it. Still, Tommy perked a little, not expecting the hope. A sour consolation, but neglect had to be far better than cruel attention. Maybe one day he’d be left alone too.

“I’m…” he swallowed roughly. “I’m the Instigator, I guess. I’m the newest attempt.”

“Begin threat assessment test,” came a strict voice over a com system.

At Tommy’s wince, Halo gave him a reassuring smile and a snort. “Don’t worry about that. These muffin-heads have been trying to get me to murder people for years and I’ve yet to break.” Tommy…didn’t have that kind of strength. He didn’t know how Halo had endured it.

All he knew was that was finally ending today.

“Instigator, give it your hands,” ordered the overseeing worker. He could feel the eyes of observers for all that he couldn’t see them.

“Ignore them. What’s your story?” Halo asked. “I haven’t talked to anyone in ages, what’s it like? Are you a recent capture? Do you remember the outside still?”

Tommy glanced nervously at the observation window. But he was almost just as desperate for conversation. “I’ve been here a few weeks. And. And I miss trees. It’s weird, but I miss how tall they were. Like, because that meant there was space, not these cramped cells and hallways.”

“Yes! And the sky! Oh how I miss the freedom of the sky,” he sighed, dark wings flaring out.

“Stars,” Tommy added. “Just scattered out, millions of them. And people, everywhere, and you can just talk to them and they’re nice, not like here at all. I just want to m̵̮̙͗u̷̺̦̇̀f̷̟̀̄̈́f̶̯̯̈́̍̀i̸͕̭͎̅̌n̶͔̣̭̏ing talk to someone, you know?”

“Language,” the demon chided, barbed tail lashing. “But yes. Listen, this is important, did you know a guy called Skep-”

“Give it your hands,” the human demanded. “Or you’ll be wearing gloves the next three days.”

Tommy went sheet white, rigid to the point of breaking. Halo gave him an odd look, awkward but politely sympathetic if utterly confused. He looked to the observation window. “I’m, erm, guessing that’s some type of punishment?” Tommy nodded, relieved someone understood. But of course Halo would, hadn’t held out for years against the Foundation’s demands?

It was his kindness that betrayed him. Halo bent to his level, hand outstretched. “Well alright then. Don’t want that happening of course! It’s okay, just do what they say.” He didn’t understand what was about to happen. Tommy did, though. But Tommy had made this choice before. It was easier afterwards, took a little less coercion each time once you’d crossed that threshold. He knew he was selfish, prioritizing himself over other’s lives, but once you made that choice you made it again, and again, and again.

He swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat. “I’m sorry,” Tommy shoved it out fast like that was any type of salvation. Tentatively, he reached for Halo’s talons, grasping firmly.

The executor shook hands with his weapon. Crimson seeped from their joined grasp.

Halo’s friendly smile dropped. This close, Tommy could make out the sharp fangs hidden amidst white glow. The demon stalked past to the chained prisoners, sharp words ringing out. Condemnation hissed out, giving way to shouts, to anger, to violence.

Tommy was told that the D-Class deserved it. Death row inmates, the vilest of humanity. Tommy’s arms wrapped around himself, frenzied scarlet curling around, spreading, exacerbating. Halo’s snarls gurgled through thick viscera, visceral ripping noises rending the humans apart. The Foundation said they deserved it, just like they said Tommy deserved to wear gloves when he disobeyed or get hit whenever he wouldn’t stop talking, begging, screaming. He kept his back carefully to the unfolding slaughter, eyes squeezed shut. Pretending he couldn’t hear the ragged howls of agony.

Pretending he couldn’t hear the way Halo started to sob the moment the bloodlust faded.

The air was dusty as Tommy climbed into the abandoned hayloft, clambering over to where Tubbo perched. His nose wrinkled, still unused to all the various smells of the outside world. It was still startling how much world was in the world, overwhelming at times but exhilarating always.

Tommy scooted over to sit as close to Tubbo as he dared, distance carefully calculated to keep them safe. His legs swung back and forth over the edge of the loft, his friends scattered below, happy and free.

Tubbo waved at him, looking excited. There was a strange intentionality to the gesture, exaggerated. But Tommy couldn’t blame them for that. He wasn’t a stranger to pretending everything was normal. The escape was…rough, to put it mildly, let alone the horrors of the Foundation. It felt nice to laugh even if it was a tad forced at times. But it made the next one easier, so it had to be worth it.

“Give us your hands.”

Red spasmed along his arms. Tommy leaned away, unpleasant memories flickering in his head. Given the fact that Tubbo was unique (a word which here means ‘made out of hundreds of thousands of bees’), Red didn’t work traditionally. Mostly, it resulted in pure self-destruction. Tommy shuddered to remember the way Tubbos’ skin tore apart as frenzied insects slaughtered themselves. Not something he was in a hurry to repeat.

“No, it’ll explode your hands,” Tommy said, not knowing that was exactly what Tubbo wanted.

They gave him a sweet smile, half crooked. “It’ll be fine, Tommy. We won’t get Red’d, we just want to compare our hands. Our grandpa always said big hands meant you were going to grow up to be tall, kinda like puppy paws.”

Tommy scoffed. “Well I already know I’m going to be massive, and anyway it’s not worth the risk.”

“We’ll be careful. But if you think ours are that much bigger, that’s fair. You still only have kid hands after all~”

“No! I’m basically an adult! Just…hold still, I guess…” Tommy approached cautiously, still conflicted but splaying ruby fingers out to match their own hand. The fingers shook a little from the tension poured through them, little curls of Red unfurling off the back of his hand like sprouts poking through topsoil. Tubbo slipped their own close, lining up the newly finished digits to match the angle of his. Tommy’s fingers were longer than their own, stockier, his palms broader. They hovered closer and closer, shrinking the gap. “Hah! See! I told you. Um, that’s close enough, I think.”

“We can see from a bunch more angles than you can, Tommy. We’ll know if it's too close.” He flashed a nervous smile, but trusted Tubbo. Still, it felt wrong to tempt himself like this. It took just about everything he had to not lace their fingers together and pull his best friend into a tight hug. Just…hold Tubbo, feel the buzzing warmth of life and the purr of bees working within their hollow body.

A quiet cage around his heart forbade him from ever reaching out. Tommy couldn’t touch almost anyone in the entire world. It felt near suffocating at times to yearn for something regardless of how disastrous Tommy knew the consequences would be.

It didn’t occur to Tommy that some people welcomed disaster.

Tommy’s fingers curled in slightly, unconsciously wanting to close around Tubbos’. Closer, closer, till they were almost touching…

“I’ve done some really, really awful things, Phil.” But it didn’t stop Philza’s arm from wrapping around his back and drawing Tommy in. If he were honest, he didn’t want it to. Tommy melted into the embrace for all that he didn’t deserve it.

“I know,” Philza murmured, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean you’re evil. The world isn’t heroes and villains, Tommy.”

“Okay then I’m a bad guy.” Philza rolled his eyes. “I mean with a power like this what else could I be? I’m a baddie. A wrongun. A ‘malignant, misbegotton ne’re-do-well of a knave’–” Tommy sang, rattling off the old man insults Philza sometimes fell into when he got angry and forgot what century it was.

“Stop deflecting and give me your hands,” Philza interjected. Tommy griped at him for being rude, but relented easily. Philza cupped Tommy’s hands in his own, reverent almost.

“If you’re going to try to say there isn’t really blood on my hands don’t even m̷͙̞̈͋ư̵͍̬̒͝ͅf̶̡͉̽f̶͇̬͌í̵̻͇̺n̵̛̛̠ing try it. We both know that’s a lie.” Red spasmed, tendrils looping around Philza’s talons.

“But your hands aren’t evil. They are simply hands. Red is the exact same. Power doesn’t possess its own morality, that’s up to the weilder. Your power isn’t evil, and neither are-”

“For you, maybe. Anyone else and it’s just brainwashing bloodlust.” He’d been stupid for ever thinking he could save anyone.

“You can have precautions without having terror.”

“I can’t control it. I’ve tried so, so hard, and I just can’t. All it’s done is ruin my life.”

“The Foundation did that, not the Red, and most certainly not you. Surviving doesn’t make you evil.” Philza lifted Tommy’s hand, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “I hope one day you can find love for every part of yourself.”

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