#chapter 1 the lower chamber | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

annievrse · 2 months ago

Text

How'd You Turn It Right Around? / Act IV

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader Summary: When your captain, Luffy, tells you to run from Bartholomew Kuma on the Sabaody Archipelago instead of fighting, you end up on a submarine. Takes place post-time skip. W/C: 20.3k C/W: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Zou spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content: Mentions of torture and violence, Doflamingo (& his past), anxiety, descriptions of injuries, blood, and more violence. A/N: Welcome to the final instalment of Labyrinth! I'm so beyond excited to share this with you, and I hope you find it a fitting ending for a story I've poured so much of myself into. This chapter is more reader-focused, but Law isn't far away! Enjoy!!

Labyrinth Series Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

Much to your chagrin, the Palace is nothing short of elegant—it disgusts you. You sit on the highest level, gazing over a country ruled by a sadistic, arrogant psychopath, and wonder how you ended up here. You could have fought him back on Green Bit, but with Law so close and Doflamingo so ruthless, you took the first out offered to you. Law isn’t weak, you know this, but with his motive so personal, he would act irrationally and maybe get himself killed in the process. So, you took it upon yourself to save him, which cuts him deeply. You know you shouldn’t be putting him through this, but it’s his life or yours. And he deserves to live.

There’s shuffling behind you, Doflamingo’s executives preparing the chamber for something. They give you wary looks, some laced with terror and some with curiosity, and you wonder what he told them.

“Dreamweaver.”

You scowl at the name and turn. “Don’t call me that.”

Doflamingo leans against the massive throne that faces the window, his looming figure ominous. You stumble backwards, the backs of your thighs hitting the other throne behind you. There are specks of blood splattered on his pink, feathered coat, but you don’t linger on them for too long, scared of what your mind will conclude.

“Touchy,” He mutters, sucking his teeth. “Your dear Law will be here soon.”

Your eyes narrow. “What?”

A grim smile paints his lips. “I captured him, you know, so that I can kill him… if he isn’t already dead.”

You squint at him, the urge to ask what he means by that on the tip of your tongue. The awkward air between you is palpable, but you don’t turn your back to him. “You said—”

“Did I?” Doflamingo interrupts, and then you close your eyes and scold yourself for being so naive, so trusting. He lied about resigning from the Warlords, even got the newspaper to cover it, yet you believed he’d stay away from Law in exchange for your cooperation. How foolish.

“He fought so valiantly for you,” He continues, pouting. “Too bad it wasn’t enough. He’s just as weak as he was as a child.”

Vexation churns in your stomach, and you regard him with such revulsion that Doflamingo cackles. Angry tears burn your eyes as you clench your jaw.

“Who knew the brat could have someone like you caring for him? Someone with an ability so beyond the realm of human comprehension—”

“Young master,” A man says from the doorway, effectively cutting Doflamingo off. “There are some issues on the lower levels.”

He scowls, his fingers jagged. It’s too late before you fathom what’s happening. The man falls to the floor, his body writhing. His cries are broken, and you watch in horror as the man’s limbs twist and snap grotesquely. You blanch at the sight of his mangled body, his bones turning to ash under his skin.

Doflamingo's malice is unlike anything you've ever witnessed, his wicked grin stretching wider with each passing moment. He chuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he looks down at the man, who lies unconscious from the torment.

“They never learn, do they?”

You don’t breathe. The man’s body dangles like a marionette, invisible strings controlling his limbs.

“Stop,” You whisper. The sound is almost muted, but a strangled cry escapes your throat when the corners of the man’s mouth rise into a sick, unnatural grin. “Stop!”

Doflamingo looks over his shoulder, his arm raised as he plays with the man like a toy. “Make me.”

If you were thinking clearly, you'd realise this was a test—a twisted way for Doflamingo to gauge the limits of your power. But at this moment, all you can focus on is the overwhelming urge to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze—for Law, for this man, for everyone who’s suffered at Doflamingo’s hands. You can hardly believe you fell for his manipulative words.

Then Law’s face flashes in your mind, and you feel the tension in your fist ease. You have to stick this out. You can’t let your emotions take over—not with Doflamingo. You can’t let yourself die before seeing Law finally exact the revenge he’s carried since childhood. You cling to the loathing and raw fury that fuels you, and a smile twists your lips.

“I’m not playing games.”

The King of Dressrosa pauses his assault and drops the man to the floor, his body tumbling like slime. “I’m glad. Neither am I.”

He faces you, sunglasses reflecting the sun shining through the windows. Behind him, the man’s soul exits his body and enters Seam. You hope he has a nice time there.

A crash echoes from below, muffled by the palace's many levels, but neither of you moves. You lock eyes with him, and the way he runs his tongue over his teeth tells you everything—you’re confident no one has dared meet his gaze like this in a long time.

“Wanna tell me why you kidnapped me in the first place?”

“Fiesty.” He was having fun. Nobody has spoken to him like this before and gotten away with it.

You cock your head.

“Not one for jokes, then,” Doflamingo sighs with a hint of humour. “You possess the Sew-Sew Fruit, correct?”

Nodding warily, you watch as he gestures with his hand.

“There’s your answer.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Doflamingo pauses, almost dumbstruck. “You really don’t know what you are?”

“Clearly not.”

“Calm it with the fire, sweetheart.”

You feel your body go numb, and suddenly, you feel like you’re floating outside of yourself. “Don’t call me that.”

Doflamingo smirks. “What? Sound familiar?”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t think Law would like that very much. Though, I’ve never cared what that brat likes.”

You take a step back, gaze sweeping his body with disgust. “Are you done?”

“Who do you think is in control here, dollface? Because it sure as hell isn’t you.”

“I’m not fighting you.”

“Smart.”

A knock on the wide-open door draws you from your staring contest, and you swallow thickly.

“Yes?”

“Young master, we’re here to deliver your package.”

The thought of Law being treated like nothing more than a package ignites a searing rage inside you. Your lover sways unsteadily on his feet, clearly unconscious, as massive men drag him through the door. Sea-prism stone cuffs bite into his wrists so tightly that blood drips from his fingertips.

They throw him onto the throne, their hands moving swiftly to attach chains to his cuffs on either side of the chair. His head hangs limply, his body a dead weight. The sight twists something dark and cold in your gut.

“Pity. He’s not dead.”

You’re too immersed in a state of shock to react to Doflamingo’s comment. What happened after Green Bit that could’ve led to this?

He greets the newcomers with a casual nod—Baby 5 and Buffalo, both familiar from Punk Hazard. Doflamingo lets out a long sigh as he moves toward the chair opposite Law, stretching his arms high above his head before settling into the seat. You watch, tense, as he relaxes into the position: one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, head tilted in a way that suggests he’s ready for an interrogation—or at least, that's how it seems to you.

Doflamingo uses his strings to reel you in, his grip on you almost suffocating in possessiveness. You bite your lip, fighting back the surge of nausea. How dare he.

Law sits slumped, his hat missing and his clothes in tatters. Upon closer inspection, you see the skin of his stomach streaked with dried blood.

“Nice of you to join us, Law.”

Your eyes snap to his face, and your breath catches when his weary gaze locks with yours. It takes him a moment to register it’s you, and then he’s struggling against his restraints. You force yourself to bite your tongue, stopping yourself from doing something reckless.

“Let her go! This is between you and me!”

Doflamingo blinks, a slow, mocking grin stretching across his face. “Oh, I didn’t take her unwillingly. There were... conditions. I made that clear in front of the Colosseum.”

Law’s usually indifferent, half-lidded gaze is now sharp and wild as he scans your body. You seem unhurt, standing there unrestrained, but Law knows you too well. He knows exactly what Doflamingo must have said to make you comply, and he realises that tearing out his own heart without his power would hurt less than seeing you like this.

“Well, your conditions don’t mean anything, do they? I’m still here.”

You lunge forward, anger burning in your chest, hands poised to strike at Doflamingo. But before you can move, you stagger back, the strength of invisible strings pulling you against the wall. Law grunts, realising you are physically being controlled by Doflamingo.

With a low snarl, you glare at Doflamingo, focusing on the minuscule needles aimed at his eyes. He senses the danger, and with a flick of his index finger, he effortlessly swats the nearly invisible metal rods away from his face.

“Try that again, and Law dies. Got it?”

Your lover looks up at you through his lashes, the blaze in his irises sparking brighter. “Don’t touch her.”

Doflamingo smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Pathetic. You’ve become a fool, Law.”

His breaths are ragged as he squirms in the chains. Law is losing his composure. “I will fucking kill you!”

Doflamingo lets out a low chuckle beside you, and Law shoots him a venomous glare.

"Don’t even look at her."

A whimper escapes you as the restraints tighten, and Doflamingo pulls you roughly in front of him. His eyes slide over your body, making you shiver with disgust.

“What are you gonna do if I do? Huh? Keep throwing empty threats at me?” He spins you around so you’re body is facing Law, and he drags a finger along your throat.

Law huffs through his nose, his muscles straining as he tries to wrench the cuffs off his wrists. He grunts with pain, but the blood dripping from his skin doesn’t stop him from trying again. You focus on him, silently willing him to meet your gaze, to understand the message in your eyes—that everything will be okay.

When he finally looks at you, you inhale sharply, furrowing your brow in a silent promise: no matter what happens, you’ll both make it out of here alive. The unspoken exchange lingers between you briefly before Doflamingo clears his throat, breaking the tension.

“Enough.” The expression on Doflamingo's face indicates his disturbed attitude towards the connection between you and Law, and he stands.

“Something wrong, Young Master?” Buffalo asks, oblivious to whatever understanding his master has of his two hostages. “Did you hear something?”

Doflamingo ignores him and approaches Law, his hands in his pockets. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, brat. I’m not about to let you mess this one up too.”

Law scowls up at him, his lip curling. “You can’t control me anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” The King laughs, his hand jerking quickly to draw you toward him. You stumble but catch yourself before you fall. “As long as I have her, you’re nothing but a slave.”

Suddenly, a giant boulder comes out of nowhere, crashing from the left side of the room with a slick zing of a sword to lob off Doflamingo’s head. You stand there in awe and bewilderment as you see the blonde head tumble to the floor and bounce away. The scene before you is grisly and horrifying, but where you expect blood, there’s nothing. You blink in horror at the lack thereof, and your brain struggles to catch up to the present.

There are screaming and guttural cries around you, but you stare at the stump where Doflamingo’s neck is—how is he still standing?

Everything makes sense: how he flies, controls a body like a puppet, and can stand without a head… it all stems from the strings. The same strings that control the country’s citizens, the ones that held Law against the tree on Green Bit, and the ones that wrap around your waist to keep you compliant are controlled by Doflamingo.

You gasp and turn, spotting a man battling Baby 5 and Buffalo. It wasn't a boulder after all, but a gladiator-clad figure who had just sliced Doflamingo’s head clean off his body—or, his fake body. Thinking fast, you conjure a needle and swiftly sever the strings binding you. A wave of relief washes over you as they drop to the floor.

Law watches you, his expression calm, though he knows exactly what you're planning. You rush toward him but halt abruptly, the sea prism cuffs sending a jolt of dread through you. "Shit."

"There’s no time," Law snaps, his voice laced with urgency, making the anxiety in your stomach spike. "Go while you still can."

“Like hell.”

“Traffy!”

You let out a scoffing laugh, recognising that voice all too well. Luffy calls your name moments later, his smile stretching wider. His timing is, as always, perfect.

“You’re okay!”

“I am,” You reply, exhaling with relief. Your heart clenches at the sight of him, and for a brief moment, all you can wish for is that Luffy would scoop you and Law up and whisk you both away to some peaceful, far-off island.

A woman runs alongside Luffy, a key in her hand. Luffy grabs it from her and nearly tackles you in his rush. With Doflamingo’s headless body, his executives battling a gladiator, and you finally free from his grasp, Law sits frozen, overwhelmed by the commotion around him.

“How’re you here, Straw Hat?”

The key is shoved into your hands, Luffy shaking with anticipation. “Do it.”

“Me?” You blink. “I can’t touch sea-prism stone either.”

“Did you destroy the factory?” Law side-eyes Luffy.

“Why’s it always business with you?” Luffy asks, pouting. “What if I just wanted to save you guys?”

Your hands tremble as you aim the key at the cuff's keyhole. Without touching them, you can’t unlock the cuffs properly. “I can’t do it.”

“What if we—”

A chill spreads through your body like a bucket of ice water has been dumped directly over your head. A sinister laugh echoes through the room, and when your eyes lock with Law's, fear and alarm are evident in his gaze. You were right—it’s all connected to the strings.

The entire chamber goes deadly still, and then, instantly, you’re lifted into the air. Your legs flail, searching for something to land on. You hit the ground with a slide, landing on your feet, followed by Luffy and the woman. Law remains seated on the throne, which comes to a halt a few feet away, tossing him sideways onto the ground.

A stone pillar juts up from the floor, but before you can process where it came from, Doflamingo’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“That was a surprise.”

Luffy gasps before you do, but you’re too stunned to move.

“The whole country’s in chaos now that the toys are free.”

Toys? The word sends a jolt through you, and memories of the clown from when you were shopping for disguises flicker in your mind. You gape in shock as the realisation hits—it was a toy, not just a figment of your imagination.

“Tragic, really. I was having fun.”

You squint at Doflamingo’s body, the tendrils of string emerging from the base of his neck.

Doflamingo’s head lets out a heavy sigh, a look of mock contemplation crossing his face.

“Looks like I’ll have to use the Birdcage to get this under control.” His voice is smooth, almost casual.

Across the room, you hear a chair scrape against the floor, followed by the frantic sound of chains rattling. Law’s body thrashes against the restraints holding him in place. His eyes are wide with panic, his breath coming in short, keen gasps.

“No! You can’t!” His voice cracks, raw and desperate.

Doflamingo’s eyes flick over to him, his expression unreadable as he raises a brow. "Oh? You seem concerned, Law. You remember, don't you?"

Law’s chest heaves as he glares at the man before him, his usually composed demeanour wholly shattered.

"You would subject innocents to this?" His voice is filled with disgust, and his tone’s an apparent tremor—a mix of dread and revulsion.

Doflamingo’s lips curl into a cruel smile.

“Nobody is truly innocent.” His tone is flat, devoid of empathy, as if he'd long abandoned any notion of moral boundaries. The words hang in the air, chilling in their certainty.

Law's face contorts with frustration. “You’re wrong,” He spits, the words thick with disdain. "Innocence isn't something you can just take from people, Doflamingo."

Before Doflamingo can respond, a figure steps forward from the shadows—the imposing gladiator, his muscles rippling beneath his armour. The man draws his sword fluidly, the blade gleaming in the sunlight. His face is set in a grim, determined expression.

“Enough!” the gladiator bellows, his voice booming with authority. Without hesitation, he leaps from his position, sword raised high as if preparing to charge. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife, the room brimming with the sense that everything is about to escalate into an uproar.

You watch the scene unfold, heart pounding, as Doflamingo’s smirk deepens into something more sinister. Law’s struggle intensifies, his body twisting and writhing in his chair.

The tension is unbearable, the calm before the storm.

Doflamingo materialises behind the gladiator, fully intact—no longer the headless phantom he once was. You blink, heart racing, a wave of horror washing over you. The sheer force of his power is palpable, and for a moment, you wonder if you could pull off the same technique. The thought lingers, both terrifying and fascinating.

A low, menacing growl rumbles from Doflamingo’s throat as he steps forward, his leg swinging from the right with a devastating force.

“I’ll show you how to behead a man properly...” His words drip with malice, and before anyone can react, the room erupts into screams of terror. But just as Doflamingo’s leg is about to make contact, Luffy shoves the gladiator out of the way, sending him sprawling to the floor, and plants himself between you and Doflamingo. The world feels like it shifts around you. Sunlight bursts through the cracks in the building, dancing on your skin, and when you glance up, the sky seems impossibly vast, stretching above you.

Your mind struggles to process what just happened. There’s no way a single kick could have taken the roof off a building.

You push the thought aside, focusing instead on the fight before you. Amid the rubble and mayhem, you sprint toward Law.

"It's no use," Law says, his voice strained, his eyes filled with frustration and helplessness. "You can't touch it..." His words are heavy, laced with a deep sense of defeat, and there's a desperate plea behind them. "Please, just leave."

Your breath catches in your throat. His face, normally composed, is filled with an urgency you can’t ignore. But there’s no time for hesitation.

"Where's your katana?" You ask quickly.

Law shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his teeth gritting in pain. "Don’t know—please, just leave."

You ignore his pleas, your focus honing in on getting him free. You search desperately around the space, looking for anything to help cut through the chains. But before you can find anything, a scream cuts through the air, a distinct cry of panic that stops you dead in your tracks.

Instinctively, you turn, your gaze snapping to the scene unfolding before you. Your voice catches, but it escapes, barely pushing through the rawness of your throat.

"Luffy! There’s two!"

He looks up just in time to see two figures of Doflamingo descend upon him, one headless and the other fully intact. The sight is enough to make your blood run cold, but Luffy doesn't flinch. With a burst of speed, he rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding the attack.

Seizing the brief moment of distraction, you face Law again, checking his condition. Your breath catches as your eyes fall on his abdomen.

“He shot you,” You gasp, your fingers trembling as they hover over the dried blood and bulletholes that mar his skin.

Law’s lips curl into a pained but rueful smile. “Three times.”

A billowing rage floods your chest, and your hands begin to shake, your anger threatening to overtake your thoughts. You clench your fists at your sides, barely holding back the venom in your voice.

“I’m gonna kill him,” You mutter, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Law’s gaze narrows, his voice low and calm but with a hard edge. “I will, for taking you away.”

You shake your head in disbelief, the intensity of the situation rendering an argument pointless. But before you can respond, an explosion of rock to your right makes you stumble, and you instinctively reach out for something to steady yourself.

A jagged spike from the shattered floor shoots upward, embedding itself into your calf. You cry out, the intense pain momentarily blinding you. It’s small, nothing you can’t handle—but just as you compose yourself, the ground beneath you shifts.

Once solid beneath your feet, the tiled floor begins to ripple, moving like water, sending waves of disorienting motion through the room. The world tilts as the ground you stand on seems alive, pulsating with someone’s power.

Your heart pounds. This is bad. Too bad. And it’s only going to get worse.

“I need to get you out of this,” You grit out, your jaw tight as you reach for Law’s forearm. The chair gives way beneath you, and apprehension sweeps through you. In one swift motion, you extend your hand, desperate to free him from the chains that bind him to the throne.

Threads of power shoot forward, wrapping tightly around the chains, constricting them. The tension in the air is suffocating, but your focus is razor-sharp as you glance toward Luffy and Doflamingo. They’re locked in combat, the two moving like a whirlwind of destruction, a brutal dance of fists and fury. You clench your hands, and the sound of metal ringing through the chaos is like a jolt to your senses.

With a sudden, determined jerk, Law breaks free, his body lurching forward despite the weakening effects of the sea prism stone. He stumbles against you, and you wrap your arms around him, supporting him the best you can. But the ground beneath your feet begins to shift again, the floor undulating like the surface of water, and you brace yourself as the room shakes violently.

Before you can fully react, the palace tilts. Gravity pulls at you both, and with a sickening lurch, you tumble, dragged by the chaotic motion. The wind slashes at your face like knives, the world a blur of spinning rock and dust.

You grip Law tighter, but his weight is too much. He’s slipping. You can feel it—his body going limp in your arms, the lack of strength in his limbs a grim reminder of the toll the sea prism stone has taken on him.

I can't carry him, you think, not like this, not without help.

Desperation surges through you as you fight against the pull of the mountain, your hands shaking as you try to keep him upright.

Luffy yells above you, his body flying toward you. The gladiator’s sword flashes as he falls past you, and the realisation hits immediately. The tiles beneath you give way, and you scream as you drop toward the ground. Law yells something, but his words are drowned out by the rush of wind in your ears before he slips. You watch with horror as Law plummets ahead of you, a strangled cry leaving your throat.

Just as you’re about to crash into the solid ground, Luffy expands, and you land with a jolt on his stomach. It happens so quickly that you can barely process it, but you're grateful for the soft landing. You groan as you sit up, tears streaking down your cheeks and adrenaline blurring your vision. No one speaks—no mention of Luffy’s ability or that you all nearly fell to your death. Instead, everyone’s gaze is fixed upward, staring at the sky in stunned silence.

You don't care what Doflamingo is doing now. All that matters is getting to Law. You crawl over to him, and his eyes flick over you with a curt intensity, his gaze locking on the gash in your leg—a deep, jagged cut from the pointed rock that had impaled your calf.

“I can stitch it up,” You murmur, your hands trembling slightly as you cup his face. It’s not the most reassuring of statements, but it's the best you can offer now.

His frown deepens, his brows furrowing in that way you know all too well. The silver of his eyes flickers with concern, even as his tone remains steady, though laced with frustration. “It’ll get infected if you don’t clean it out first—”

“Law,” You cut him off, your laugh breathy and strained. You don’t have the energy for an entire conversation right now.

Luffy groans beneath you, his body deflating like a balloon, and you roll off him, helping Law to his feet with a quick but careful movement.

Law blinks at you, his breath catching as he stands on shaky legs. “It’s starting.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you follow his gaze, dread pooling in your stomach.

Above you, the sky begins to twist.

Strings.

Hundreds of them, thin as silk, fan out in every direction, their glowing ends weaving together at a central point directly overhead. The air grows thick and heavy with the impending doom, and the calm summer day is suddenly replaced by a storm cloud gathering ominously above you. It’s as if the Gods themselves are bracing for what’s coming.

That’s the Birdcage.

“Traffy!” Luffy yells suddenly, his voice full of urgency and confusion as he runs toward you, his eyes wild. “What’s the Birdcage? What does it mean?”

Law’s eyes widen with something you’ve only seen a handful of times in the two years you’ve been with him. The last time was when you were shot on Hachinosu when poison coursed through your veins and left you unconscious for eight days. He displays such uncharacteristic, raw emotion that your heart skips a beat, suddenly gripped by the weight of what it could mean.

“It means he’s going to kill everyone in Dressrosa.”

You swallow hard, words failing you for a moment. The Birdcage isn’t just a cage; it’s a trap.

The group gasps, the woman whimpering as she looks at the gladiator. They exchange a quiet, wordless conversation, and you avert your gaze, giving them space. Luffy, however, locks his eyes on Law, his lip curling in frustration.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you suddenly feel a tug along your spine. It’s subtle like someone gently testing the tension.

Law immediately senses your discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s still got me,” You whisper, and from the way Law’s jaw tightens, he understands precisely what you mean. “Luffy, where’s that key?”

“Uh…” Luffy pats his clothes, scanning the ground. “I gave it to you.”

You freeze, trepidation rising in your throat. “Shit, I must’ve dropped it.”

Law curses under his breath, pulling at his restraints in vain. It’s no use.

Suddenly, your body jerks and you instinctively reach behind you to grab the string. Your name rings out from the mountain, Doflamingo’s voice echoing like a twisted melody. He sings it, dripping with cruel, sadistic pleasure.

Your feet leave the ground, but you fight against the pull, driving a needle into the earth to anchor yourself. Law’s gaze is wild, his eyes locked on Doflamingo as he toys with you.

“We have to go!” The woman yells, nearly tripping as she starts to run. The deafening crack of stone makes you flinch, and a massive shadow looms overhead, casting its dark presence over you and the country below.

“I’m not leaving,” Law growls, his voice steady with resolve. “You guys go ahead.”

You watch as the gladiator and Luffy hesitate, their eyes wide, bulging with shock at the sight above you.

Law gives you a stern look, but you urgently shake your head. "Law, go."

"Like hell."

He throws your words back at you, and you clench your jaw in frustration. "Law—"

Doflamingo roars again; his voice laced with a deadly promise. The venom and wrath in his tone send a chill down your spine as he urges you to stop resisting the pull of the string. You’re yanked forward, a puppet under his command, but you manage to attach a thread to the ground, pulling yourself back toward Law.

“Trafalgar, go.”

He ignores your command, his voice laced with defiance. "No."

You yelp as it feels like your spine is being torn from your body. Doflamingo’s rage pulses down the string, and you shove Law away, desperate to protect him.

"Go!" You plead, your voice shaky, almost desperate. "Go with them, please!"

Law’s brow furrows, confusion and concern flickering across his face as he meets your frantic gaze. "No! I’m not leaving you here!"

You grab hold of the fabric of his coat, your hands shaking, fingers digging into the material as if you could hold onto him forever.

"You have to!" Your voice cracks with the effort it takes for you to say it. "If Doflamingo gets to you again, if he kills you—if I lose you, I—" The words catch in your throat.

Law's eyes soften for a split second, but then his voice comes out strained, raw, like he's trying to hold it together, too.

"No... No way in hell I'm leaving you," His gaze shifts away, and when it comes back to you, there's a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—determination laced with acceptance. He knows you can handle yourself. You hadn’t been training with him for two years for nothing.

"You better not fucking die," He spits out, his voice thick with emotion. "You have to come back to me. You hear me?"

Your heart twists painfully, and you pull him closer, your forehead pressing against his. The warmth of his skin against yours is the only thing that feels real right now.

"I’ll never not come back to you," You whisper fiercely, your words a vow, a promise etched into every fibre of your being. "You have my word."

For a moment, neither of you speak. The chaos around you fades into the background as you hold each other, the storm raging inside your chest more painful than anything the outside world could throw at you.

“Hurry up!” the gladiator yells, his voice pulling you away from Law, snapping you back to the destruction around you.

Luffy takes a step forward but freezes when your eyes meet. His eyes are full of concern, something you rarely see in the gaze of someone so carefree. You offer him a smile, though it's shaky.

"I’ll be fine, Luffy," You reassure him, the words slipping out with more confidence than you feel.

"But we just got you back!" Luffy protests, his voice tight with panic. "I’m not letting him lay another finger on you!"

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your tears in check. "I’ll be okay. I’ll see you soon, alright?"

Luffy’s eyes narrow, his face a mask of determination, but you can see the storm brewing underneath. He doesn’t want to let go.

You meet his gaze, steadying your breath. "Please, Luffy. We can’t fight him right now."

Luffy huffs, frustration flickering across his face, but after a long beat, he nods once, his jaw set. "See you soon."

You turn back to Law, your heart heavy. A lump forms in your throat, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the tears threatening to spill.

"I’ll see you soon, too, okay?" You whisper, but it’s barely audible.

"I love you," Law mutters, his voice hoarse, his chest rising and falling as he breathes raggedly. The words are heavy like he’s trying to say everything at once, and it hits you harder than expected. You push him gently toward Luffy, your hands trembling.

"I love you," You repeat, your voice breaking. "Now, go!"

Luffy catches him quickly, his strong arms wrapping around Law’s body like a vice. With one last glance at you, Luffy carries him away, moving swiftly, but you’re left standing there, your heart in your throat.

The tears you’ve held back finally break free, but you can’t look away. You won’t look away.

Your body is yanked upward when you release the thread, your limbs hanging limply as you cry. You watch Luffy run off with Law, wishing you were anywhere but here—somewhere safe, warm, surrounded by everyone you love. The desire for peace, for something ordinary, washes over you. But you were born to be a pirate, and your cries cease.

You stay with Doflamingo, not because you want to, but because he seems to know more about you than you do yourself—and that’s something you can’t allow.

— Scene 2 —

You’re sick with trepidation. Night has fallen, and the strings of Doflamingo’s Birdcage glitter under the full moon. He sits across from you, stabbing his fork into the medium-rare steak on the plate before him. You decided to forego dinner, feeling far too queasy to stomach anything.

“When’d you eat the Sew-Sew Fruit?”

You control your breathing, calming yourself from both anger and fear. “When I was seven.”

Doflamingo’s eyebrow arches, and he bites the steak off his fork, the metal scraping his teeth. “And you still haven’t awakened your true power?”

Curiosity outweighs caution. “No.”

He hums. “Would you like me to teach you?”

Your muscles tense under your skin, and your heart rate increases so rapidly that you can hear the roar of your blood in your ears.

“Our abilities are intertwined, you see,” Doflamingo says when you take too long to answer. “But your power is unlike anything on this planet. Have you heard of the legends they call Dreamweavers?”

Your head shake is slight, and he takes it as a sign to continue. The clink of his metal fork on the ceramic plate jolts you from your thoughts, and you breathe deeply as he prepares his speech.

“Devil Fruits embody humanity’s evolutionary potential, with each power representing a distinct path for the future. Born from humanity's collective hope and ambition, they are a tangible manifestation of what we could become.”

You recall hearing this story in your grandfather’s library as a child, though you’d long forgotten it since his death. Devil Fruits had been one of his greatest passions, something he obsessed over. When he finally acquired one, he gave it to you, his most prized possession. It had been his life's single greatest achievement, and he entrusted it to you, asking you to eat and wield it. You smile softly at the memory.

“There were three original rulers at the dawn of time: The Dreamer, The Monarch, and The Reaper. One to blend dreams with reality, one to rule over the seas, and one to govern life and death. That’s how they lived. That’s how they thrived.”

It strikes you as strange that Doflamingo speaks so openly, with no venom or mockery. You don’t know much about his past, but somehow, you get the sense that if he’d been raised in an environment devoid of cruelty and ambition, he might’ve been a very different person—a far more pleasant one.

“Following?” He asks, his dinner now forgotten on his plate. The sight of untouched food causes a flare of irritation in your stomach. Sanji would have a fit if he saw this.

You nod, rolling your shoulders and propping your chin in your palm, trying to seem casual about his strange demeanour.

“Nobody knows what happened during the Void Century, but it’s been theorised that a revolt, now known as the Celestial Dragons or the World Nobles, overthrew the Big Three, rendering the world a hopeless, war-torn hell hole.”

The upset and surprise are evident on your face, but Doflamingo pays no mind—you know he revels in the misfortune of others. There’s a nagging piece of information about the World Nobles that Law told you about Doflamingo that you struggle to remember.

“The Dreamers were beheaded, their ideals and prophecies branded as blasphemy and forbidden. The Monarchs were slaughtered, their weapons far less advanced than the Celestial Dragons. The Reapers were sentenced to eternity underground, where even the brightest light couldn’t penetrate. It was a fate worse than death.

“From their deaths, the Devil Fruits were born. The people of the four seas, lost and enslaved, clung to the ideals they inherited—the ones foretold by The Dreamers. The hatred for the World Nobles and the hope that their reign would one day end fueled the creation of the Fruits. This very defiance gave them life, allowing humanity to fight back.”

“What’s this got to do with me?” You ask, your throat dry.

Doflamingo smirks and lifts his head from where it leans on his palm. “You’re a Dreamer.”

You scoff, pushing yourself halfway out of the chair. “You’re delusional. You just said they all died out.”

Before you can fully rise, strings shoot out from his fingers, wrapping around your wrists like chains. They yank you back into the seat with an unyielding force, pinning you to the chair.

“You don’t get it,” Doflamingo says, his voice low and cold, as if explaining something obvious. “Your Devil Fruit is the direct descendant of a Dreamer. The Sew-Sew Fruit was created as a way to continue the practice of weaving reality with fantasy or dreams. You defy the Celestial Dragons every second you’re alive.”

Then it hits you what Law said about the World Nobles: how the Donquixote family were considered Celestial Dragons, and then they lost their privileges when Doflamingo’s father wished for a normal life… Your lip curls, the bitterness rising like acid in your throat.

“And you want to use me for what? Some kind of revenge plot?”

Doflamingo’s smirk shifts, dark satisfaction shining in his eyes as if amused by your defiance. “You’re a smart one. Law doesn’t deserve someone like you—someone so far beyond his reach.”

The words hit you harder than you’d like to admit. You swallow thickly, your heart heavy in your chest. "When you said I could be a god..."

The thought lingers between you, and you can see the twisted mirth in Doflamingo's eyes like he's savouring the moment. “You could be more than a god. You could reshape the world, bend it to your will.”

A chill runs down your spine.

“You can control the minds and thoughts of everyone across the four seas,” Doflamingo continues, his voice dripping with malice. “You can create entire false realities that people will live in as though they’re true. Weaving dreams into the fabric of reality—it's what your Devil Fruit was made for. You’re the last of the Dreamers.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you take a moment to steady yourself. Who’s to say whether or not he’s telling the truth? Doflamingo is a master manipulator, a liar who thrives on controlling others. This could easily be another of his twisted games—getting you to unlock your power only so he can use it for his own ends.

But then, Law’s face flashes in your mind. The way he spoke on Punk Hazard, his words were heavy with something you didn’t fully understand then. “I’ve heard of legends with the same name.”

That strange surge of power stirs inside you again, stronger now, urging you to act. You yank your wrists free from the chair, the strings Doflamingo had bound you with snapping quickly under the force of your will. His smirk deepens, watching you with a mixture of pleasure and dark anticipation.

As you stand, the chair screeches against the tiles, its sound jarring in the room's silence.

“Leaving so soon?” Doflamingo taunts, leaning back with a lazy air like he’s entirely in control. “You’re going to take all that juicy information I gave you and not even thank me?” He lets his tongue flick out, brushing the gap in his grin, his amusement evident.

You tense, your hands curling into fists, and despite the disorganisation of your thoughts, something inside you cements. He’s not going to win this.

“I’m not killing Celestial Dragons for you. I won’t let you hone me into your personal weapon just because you told me some fairytale.”

Doflamingo tilts his head, his grin morphing into something far more sinister. The veins in his forehead pulse, a telltale sign of his growing frustration.

"Why would I go through all this trouble to bring you here and then lie to you?" He sneers, his voice low and chilling. "You're special. I'm trying to help you."

You narrow your eyes, unfazed by his theatrics.

"And what about your power?" You retort. "You use strings to control others."

"That's where we're different," He says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice at your question. "I control people with my strings, but your power creates entire mindscapes, places where people live—spanning across the four seas. Your ability doesn’t drain you; mine does. You were made to weave dreams into reality, to rule the world. You're more powerful than you realise, and even I don’t fully understand the extent of it. The Dreamers kept much of their knowledge hidden."

"I don’t want to rule the world," You say firmly.

"Yet," Doflamingo mutters, his voice dripping with condescension.

You shake your head, unwavering. "I don’t."

His expression darkens. "You're selfish. Ungrateful. Do you know how many lives you could save with your power?"

"Save?" You let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "You don’t want to save anyone. You only dream of a world where you hold all the strings, where death and destruction are the price for your sick version of control."

His face hardens momentarily, but without missing a beat, his scowl fades into a twisted grin. "Yeah, you're right."

You crash into the wall, the impact force stealing the breath from your lungs. Doflamingo approaches, his fingers curling and weaving in the air with a sinister grace. Your mind struggles to process what's happening, still disoriented from the surprise of his power coiling around you and pulling you backward.

“If you’re not going to cooperate, I’ll have to force you. Do you want that?”

You grit your teeth, and your jaw hurts with how hard you tense. “Fuck you.”

“That’s all you seem to say to me,” He chuckles darkly, leaning his face close to yours. Doflamingo is so close you can see the strings moving under his pores. “But I need you to work with me here. I need to destroy the Celestial Dragons.”

“Not gonna happen,” You spit before stabbing him between the shoulder blades with a needle. Doflamingo keels over, and you take the opportunity to get away from the wall. Blood swells from the puncture and drips down the feathers of his pink coat.

"Bitch," He mutters under his breath. You gasp for air, sprinting toward the door, but the wood splinters into chunks before you can reach it. Skidding to a halt, you whip around, only to find Doflamingo’s clawed hand pointed directly at you. “Strings.”

Turning your focus inward, you activate your Observation Haki. Time seems to stretch as five metallic strings streak toward your torso. You pivot to the left, narrowly avoiding the attack. Each time you dodge, another string is sent flying in your direction. You can’t waste energy fighting him head-on—not when you know you’ll lose.

“Fight back,” Doflamingo growls, his frustration growing with every evasive move you make. He closes the distance between you, his attacks becoming more rapid and precise. You wince as a string slices across your shoulder, but you force yourself to keep moving.

The palace begins to shake. At first, you don’t understand why, but then it becomes clear—Doflamingo is the cause. He bares his teeth at you, pausing his assault for a moment, and that’s when you feel it—tendrils of string weaving into your mind. Without hesitation, you rip them out with Seam Ripper, a technique you mastered a year ago when a pirate with the Persuasion-Persuasion Fruit attacked the Polar Tang.

“Fight me!”

You glare at him, your hands clenched at your sides. "Why? So you can taste my power and figure out how to control me?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, the movement stiff thanks to the needle lodged in his back.

You pause, taking a breath, considering your next move. A manic smirk slowly pulls at the corners of your lips. “What do you say, Doflamingo? Ready to have some fun?”

He chuckles lowly, his twisted grin mirroring yours. “Finally, a worthy opponent.”

Your eyebrow arches, and you fling your arm out. Threads, woven into a tight rope, whip out to sweep Doflamingo off his feet, but just as quickly, his own ropes send you flying to the side.

You sniffle, a thought flashing through your mind—maybe your abilities are more intertwined than you realise.

“Bullet String.”

The pellets ricochet off the needle you wield like a sword. Your movements are fluid and precise—if someone from the outside were watching, they’d mistake you for a swordswoman. You silently thank Zoro for drilling the motions into you over the years.

You press forward, matching his attack with your own. “Darts.”

The battle rages on, both of you exchanging strikes, dodging, weaving, and countering with perfect synchronicity. It's a standoff—an even match.

You gulp down a breath, your lungs burning as you round a corner of the palace, the fight spilling out of the chamber when Doflamingo reveals his Excess String Whip.

Your head hurts with the stamina you’ve used, and you feel the effects of not using Seam in your hands. With a definitive, fragmented sigh and a burning urgency to end this and get back to Law, you position yourself in the hallway, waiting for Doflamingo to close the distance. Blood slides down the side of your face, and you wipe it away with your shoulder, smearing it along your skin.

“You can’t hide,” A sing-song, ragged voice taunts. “I will defeat you, Dreamweaver.”

You bite your lip, his words only spurring you on. “We’ll see about that.”

Without waiting to face him, you summon Seam.

Your body aches when he enters, his pure, unadulterated power already clawing at the walls of your mindscape. You scream as you collapse to the floor, your hands squeezing the sides of your head.

There’s a faraway crash, but you ignore it to concentrate on keeping Doflamingo’s soul inside you.

Your name cuts through the foggy pain reverberating in your skull. You strain your eyes, trying to bring the figures in front of you into focus, but they remain distorted, shadows dancing just out of reach. You think you're screaming—an agonising, blood-curdling scream that forces the two figures back, hands clutching their ears in desperation. Tears pour from your closed eyes, and blood streams from your ears; the white-hot power of the man’s soul inside you wreaks havoc.

A touch comes, someone trying to lift you from the floor, but they recoil instantly, your skin burning too hot to bear.

Your throat is raw, searing with every breath, but you know it’s time. And with a final, desperate breath, you enter Seam.

— Scene 3 —

It’s eerily quiet when you appear, the world around you a vast stillness, interrupted only by the crash of distant waves. The air is thick with salt, stinging your nose, but you push it aside. Doflamingo sits some distance away, his fingers threading through the blades of grass, lost in his thoughts.

You don’t move to attack him, instead standing behind him, watching. The chirp of birds passes overhead, their flight a gentle reminder of something once familiar, something that hurts to remember.

“Is this your mindscape?” He asks, his voice slicing through the silence.

“Yes,” You respond, your tone cool.

The feeling here differs from the usual pull of Seam, but you can't tell if it's unsettling or calming. Seeing Doflamingo, a monster who now taints your thoughts and memories, sitting so casually in your mind makes your stomach churn. The images of what he’s done to Law, Dressrosa, and the other nameless people who now live in his shadow burn you with disgust.

Law’s words echo in your mind but do nothing to quell the hate rising within you. The emotions collide—hate, revulsion, and a quiet, simmering fury. The mix churns beneath your skin as you study the man before you, wondering how much further you'll have to go to make him pay.

In the end, you’re seething, each breath coming faster and harder. “You deserve everything that’s coming for you.”

Doflamingo doesn’t even bother to turn around, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. “So you can see the future?”

You step forward, the words barbed. “No, not the future. Just what I’m going to do to you.”

Before Doflamingo can move, you focus on the back of his head, your mind swirling with something ancient and unwelcome. The words slip from your lips like an instinct, more felt than thought, the word slipping free before you can stop it.

"Eyelet."

You’ve never ventured into someone else’s mind before—not like this. You’ve only ever existed within Seam, a realm born of your own memories. But this—this is different. Doflamingo’s consciousness feels like a cold, jagged thing, cruel and suffocating, and the skin on your body prickles under its intensity.

Your senses flare as you absorb the full force of what you’ve unleashed. This power is vast, far darker than anything you’ve touched before. It feels like a shadow of something you’ve long forgotten, something that the voices once whispered to you about, teaching you to wield it with cautious reverence. But now? It feels like part of you—a second skin that fits in ways you hadn’t imagined until now.

Indifferent, you remain still, allowing the new, raw power to wash over you.

“She’s awakened.”

“The Dreamweaver has returned.”

“Welcome, young one. We’ve been expecting you.”

Feminine voices surround you, their whispers caressing you like a soft breeze, warm and gentle. A smile tugs at your lips as you feel their presence, and slowly, you open your eyes.

You find yourself standing in the ruins of a house, its decay a reflection of the destruction within. The bed is a mess, drenched in unspeakable filth, and the air is thick with the stench of rot and hopelessness. Every instinct screams at you to flee, but fear paralyses you, making it impossible to breathe freely.

In the corner, a small boy curls up, his face buried in his knees as he sobs in agony. Though his features are familiar, resembling Doflamingo in a way that twists your stomach, you know, deep in your bones, that this is not him. There is something pure about how he cries—innocent in a way Doflamingo never was.

Without warning, the door crashes open, and another figure enters. This one, unmistakably Doflamingo, strides into the room with the same arrogance you’ve come to associate with him, even at his current age. His glasses gleam in the dim light, and his presence fills the room with a suffocating sense of authority.

“Get up!” He commands, his voice harsh, the words dripping with disdain as they land on the boy. Your heart clenches when you realise that the child on the floor is none other than Corazon, his face streaked with tears and his hair matted to his forehead. The contrast between the two is striking, and the moment's violence weighs heavily on you.

Doflamingo’s following words are chilling. “Stop crying, he deserved it.” His voice cracks like the snap of a whip, and the cruelty in it hangs in the air.

Still shaken, Corazon lifts his head, his face red from emotion and pain. His voice is quiet but full of desperation. “But why?”

The eldest Donquixote child scoffs, stomping towards him with the same disdain he carries now, a gun dangling carelessly in his small, trembling hands.

The scene before you fades, its bitter hatred dissolving into the ether. This isn't the memory you need.

Another materialises in its place—a young child wearing the same patterned hat Law always wears. He looks up at Doflamingo, and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t bear to watch this.

Just a boy, Trafalgar Law stands there with a fierce scowl, hurling his small body against the towering man’s legs. Around his waist are dozens of grenades, each one wrapped in a dull khaki green. "Let me in!"

Doflamingo scoffs, his gangly form looming over the child. "Not a chance, brat. Get lost."

Law’s face morphs into something unreadable, and before you can process it, the door slams in his face. He stands frozen, staring at the wooden panel, his heart sinking at the stark reality—he’s unwanted, unwelcome. Alone.

He stumbles away, fighting back the tears, as he trudges down the grimy stairwell into the waste processing plant, swallowed by despair.

At that moment, the hatred you feel for Doflamingo crystallises into something darker and more dangerous. You lift your arm, your movement fluid, and a new memory plays before you. A cruel satisfaction fills you as you make your choice, knowing this is the memory that will hurt Doflamingo more deeply than any before it.

His soul thrashes violently within the confines of Seam, shaking the very core of your being. Doflamingo’s Haki-infused strings press against your mind, sharp as daggers, their relentless pressure threatening to tear through the walls of your consciousness.

The same voices you heard earlier whisper to you again, guiding you with soft, melodic tones, their words like a balm to the chaos swirling within you. They gently walk you through extracting the memory from Doflamingo’s mind, showing you how to pull it into reality.

“Who are you?” You ask, your voice tight with anxiety and your stomach churning with unease. You hesitate, your hands shaking as you halt the process, the air heavy with the question.

“We are the Dreamers of time past. You are our descendant, chosen to consume the Sew-Sew Fruit and restore balance alongside The Monarchs and The Reapers. You are the saviour of this world.”

Your throat tightens as you struggle to swallow the lump forming there. “But I don’t want to rule.”

“There is no need to wish for power,” they reply, their voices soft and understanding. “You are one of us—someone who hopes for the best for others and desires nothing for herself. We bear no ill will toward you for not seeking dominion. But time is of the essence. You must hurry the extraction; the man you harbour within you is far too dangerous.”

A screeching, hollow sound echoes in your mind when they depart, but you ignore it, focusing on your task. With a swift motion, you pull yourself free from his mind. As you return to Seam, Doflamingo’s pale face stares back at you, his eyes wide and full of disbelief.

“What did you just do?” His voice is laced with fear and fury, but it doesn’t rattle you like it once would have. Beneath his arrogant mask, you see him for what he really is—a boy given too much power too soon, thrust into a world that demanded cruelty over compassion.

You don’t pity him. But you do feel a deep, sorrowful sadness. When you look into Doflamingo’s eyes, hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, you don’t see a man but a child—one who was placed on a pedestal and taught to wield power for destruction, surrounded by people who saw weakness as something to be stamped out, never nurtured. He’s a product of a broken system, raised to carry on the twisted legacy of the Celestial Dragons. Whether it’s tragic that he failed is irrelevant—you’re not here to play Gods.

With a deep sigh, you leave Seam, taking his soul with you.

Doflamingo’s body jerks as he’s violently pulled back into himself. He gasps, his anger flaring as he shoots you a venomous glare. “You little—”

Before he can finish, the words slip from your mouth without thinking. You don’t know where they came from nor what they fully mean, but they feel natural. They feel right.

“Binding and Stitch.”

Your mindscape bleeds into the material world, the scene seamlessly overlapping with the palace hallway. Doflamingo blinks, his confusion turning to dawning realisation as he senses the shift behind him.

His mouth opens and closes as his eyes fall on the fire, the brick wall, the deep crimson stains of blood, and the iron shackles—memories he tried so hard to bury. “No…”

Doflamingo’s voice falters as the raw, jagged edge of the memory snaps shut, locking it into the space around him. The scene solidifies. It’s a frighteningly beautiful thing, and the power thrumming through you makes your skin hum with exhilaration. There’s a gnawing hunger for more.

“Pin.”

With a keen snap, Doflamingo vanishes from the ground and reappears, pinned high against the wall. His curses echo in the air, his iron shackles rattling, but you don’t flinch.

The voices of the women in your ears sing praises, urging you to unleash more, to continue the assault. But you remain unmoved, standing still as Doflamingo’s defiance and rage bounce harmlessly off your calm, unyielding focus.

As expected, the shackles shatter almost immediately, and Doflamingo’s hand shoots out in a blur of savagery.

“How dare you?” He spits, his voice seething with venom. Razor-sharp strings whistle through the air, their edges a hair’s breadth from your neck. The memory replays in the room, the screams of children flooding your senses, and dizziness pulls you into its dance. Blood pricks your skin like ice, and you shut your eyes tight, trying to block it out. “You think this is funny, huh?”

“Binding and Stitch,” You murmur, the words laced with raw power. White-hot energy lashes out, searing the skin of your neck as the cords of Doflamingo’s strings tighten.

The world tilts, and your vision blurs as a fierce white flash erupts behind your eyes. Another memory erupts, pulling you deeper into its grip. The room is heavy with dread and bitter resentment, the fading embers of an inflated superiority complex thickening the air with suffocating smoke. The ground beneath you trembles, the polished tiles warping into grimy cobblestones, shifting with the tremors of a long-forgotten trauma.

“Father! What are they doing?”

Doflamingo freezes, his face draining of colour. His lips press into a thin, tense line as his gaze shifts quickly to the right.

“Stay calm,” Donquixote Homing orders, his voice laced with apprehension. “Take Rosinante and lock yourselves in the house. Quickly.”

“But, Father—”

“World Noble scum!”

A rock, the size of a man’s fist, hurtles through the air, striking the child and sending him sprawling to the ground. Donquixote Doflamingo pushes himself up on his elbows, a steady stream of bright red blood spilling from his temple. Another stone slams into the cobblestones beside him, followed by another. Then, a shower of pebbles and larger rocks pelt a father and his son, rendering their pride irreparable.

“You deserve to die!”

“I heard they live on top of the hill! Burn it!”

Flames lick the palace's ceiling, and Doflamingo’s grip around your neck loosens.

“They’re burning down the mansion!”

“I hope they’re still inside!”

The Donquixote family stumbles down the steps of their burning house, the wood cracking and metal warping as the flames consume everything behind them. A woman with an intricate braid, the strands of her hair barely holding together, presses a small boy tightly to her chest. Donquixote Rosinante clings to his mother’s shirt with desperate strength, as if his very survival depends on it—and perhaps it does. His eyes are swollen and red, his face streaked with the remnants of tears and sheer terror. The eldest Donquixote son hides his emotions beneath a mask of silence, his heart stewing with profound and unsettling darkness, honing it into a weapon he will eventually unleash on the world. His young mind processes the entropy around him in ways no child should.

“Stop…”

"Interfacing." You move like a shadow, spinning a labyrinth of thread. The sheets you create stretch as tall as the ceiling, as wide as the walls, as strong as the thickest metal in all four seas—an inescapable barrier.

You sprint down the hallway, heart pounding. You only have a little time. Doflamingo won’t stay contained for long. Soon, he’ll be hunting you again, relentlessly.

A door slams open ahead, and you duck to the side just as figures rush from the stairwell, pausing for a split second before giving chase. You push yourself harder, dodging and weaving through the narrow corridors. Every corner blurs into the next, every hallway the same, and the sound of footsteps pounding behind you grows louder closer. You throw attacks desperately to slow them down—prompt, precise strikes, but there’s no time to stay and fight.

Hey! Stop!”

You flinch as a bullet zips past your ear, its shrill whistle still ringing in your head. Instinctively, you activate your Observation Haki to anticipate the next shot.

But you’re interrupted when you sense a Devil Fruit user nearby, their presence suffocating.

The overwhelming force of their power presses in on you like you’re being crushed under an invisible hand. You strain to pinpoint their location, but they’re everywhere. In the walls. The floor. The very air around you.

“Pica.”

Though the name rings a bell, it's faint, barely a whisper in the back of your mind. The face of the person who said it is a blur, but you recall a massive, terrifying figure breaking through the ground in the chamber where Doflamingo held Law captive.

You piece it together—like your own, it’s a Paramecia-type Devil Fruit. You sift through your knowledge of Devil Fruits and their weaknesses. The two years with Law were spent training and learning about the many different fruits, some useful and some deadly. The knowledge is proving more valuable than ever.

Suddenly, the cobblestones beneath you begin to crack and give way. Before you can react, the ground collapses beneath your feet, and you’re falling, only barely managing to catch yourself on the level below.

You scan the area, relieved to see the people following you remain unaffected by the Devil Fruit user’s power; it gives you the edge you need to make your escape.

Ahead, double doors swing open to reveal a balcony. You push through them, skidding to a halt, when you catch sight of the drop. The wind howls in your face, stinging your skin as you squint to get a better look. Below, the city sprawls far beneath you. The palace perches precariously on a jagged rock, its foundations slanted at an unnatural angle as if defying gravity itself.

Your heart drops when you spot the Birdcage. Its metallic threads are shrinking like a noose around the island. You watch in horror as buildings are sliced to pieces, their shattered remains falling to the streets below. Citizens scream in fright, some crushed, others mutilated by the unrelenting power. The carnage is just beginning—only the outermost areas are being affected for now.

Doflamingo must have finally escaped the maze of threads. And now, the island is in turmoil.

With little hesitation, fueled by a surge of courage, you wrap a thread around your waist, leaving just enough slack for a rope to slip through. Your eyes dart nervously down the hallway, ensuring no one is watching as you toss another strand over the edge, letting it drop as far as it will go. Carefully, you thread the end of the long strand through the web of threads at your waist, securing it to a needle.

Climbing over the railing with shaky hands, you crouch down and stab the floor with the needle, imbuing all the Armament Haki you can into it to keep it stable. The stone cracks with the force, and when you wiggle it, it stays in place.

You don’t dare look back at the sheer drop behind you, the nerves tightening your chest, making it hard to focus. But the thought of Doflamingo catching you in such a vulnerable position is enough to propel you forward. Without hesitation, you push off the edge of the balcony.

Coating your hands with Haki, the purple sheen shimmering under the full moon’s light, you descend the long thread. The wind dies down, and you’re left with only the sound of your breath and the city below. With each slow movement, the pain of distant screams grows louder and harsher, as though the suffering in the streets is chasing you down.

The palace groans, a deep rumble vibrating through the thread. Your grip tightens, but the adrenaline dulls the anxiety that would usually freeze you in place. The sounds of shouts and breaking glass rise from the palace as it starts to collapse. You focus on the thread beneath your feet, inching closer to the ground, and when your feet finally hit the street, a violent tremor shakes the rock beneath you.

You pull away from the thread and sever it from your waist. You need to find someone who can help you. You need to see Luffy and Law.

— Scene 4 —

Civilians scatter around you, frantic cries and desperate prayers filling the air. You don’t know how long you’ve been running, each step a blur. The only thought consuming you is the desperate need to find Law and Luffy.

But you’re distracted; the screams around you only focus on a colossal man destroying the city. You finally choose to look, and when you do, your heart skips a beat when you see the figure clearly—a massive stone giant attacking the skies as if trying to catch something—or someone. Squinting, you spot the figure attacking back— a swordsman, three blades flashing in the moonlight as he cleaves the stone into chunks.

A gasp escapes your lips, and you sprint toward the battle, cutting through the sea of panicked people gathering in the centre of the Birdcage. Some try to push you back, telling you you're going the wrong way, but you shove them off without breaking stride.

Zoro moves with the precision and power of a force of nature, his every motion fluid and controlled. His black blades slice through the stone like paper, each strike sending debris flying. There’s no hesitation, no wasted effort—just raw, unrelenting precision. With every swing, the ground trembles, and the air ripples from the force of his speed. The once-solid stone crumbles beneath him, a testament to his honed skill and dedication.

You watch in awe, a swell of pride rising in your chest. This is the result of two years of gruelling training. Zoro’s mastery is on full display, and you can’t help but feel emotional when you see how far he’s come.

"Zoro!" You shout, your voice cutting through the turmoil. A lump forms in your throat, but you push it down, your heart swelling with pride. Your friend has grown beyond what you thought possible, and it fills you with both awe and a tinge of nostalgia.

As you push through the crowd, the chaos seems to slow, but Zoro remains focused, every movement an extension of his purpose. Despite the destruction around him, you catch a slight smirk tugging at his lips, a flicker of mirth in his eyes as they meet yours.

“I’ll be a sec, just have to drop this guy,”

The words catch you off guard momentarily, and a tiny laugh bubbles in your throat despite the dread. Only Zoro could be fighting a stone giant and still manage to make time for a cocky joke.

But there’s no time to lose. Luffy and Law need you.

And, as if he’s read your mind, a piercing scream echoes through the night, abruptly cut off. Zoro lands atop the rubble, sheathing his swords with a fluid motion before he makes his way down to you. You can tell by how he walks, his smirk practically a permanent fixture, that he’s pleased with himself.

“Did you see that?”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly amused by his cockiness. “I did. Enjoy yourself?”

Zoro chuckles, shrugging with a grin. “Psh, of course I did. You know me.”

You roll your eyes, the smile fading as you nudge him to walk with you. "Have you seen Luffy?"

"Yeah, he's at the palace on the hill. With Law."

You halt in your tracks. “They are?”

Zoro nods, scratching the side of his head. “They should be.”

You glance at the crumbling lookout beside you, the rocks threatening to give way at any moment. It looks like the perfect vantage point.

"Get me up there."

Zoro raises an eyebrow, his expression doubtful as he follows your gaze. "Right now?"

"Yes, now!" You snap, urgency thick in your voice.

“Damn, okay.”

Zoro crouches and wraps his arm around your legs, effortlessly hoisting you over his shoulder.

"Zoro!"

"This is faster, alright? Relax, I won’t drop you. I swear you guys have no faith in me."

You grip the back of his suit jacket, feeling the fabric wrinkle under your fingers as he springs back onto the stone man’s remains. He then nimbly leaps to the jagged rocks of the lookout. As he climbs, your mind drifts back to the events at the palace.

There had been two people when you sent Doflamingo into Seam, but then they were gone. The hands on you had felt familiar, comforting even—but then they disappeared, and that was the last thing you remember before infiltrating Doflamingo’s mind.

“Quit thinking so hard; you’re giving me a headache.”

“Sorry,” You mumble, lifting your head to study the palace in the distance. If Luffy and Law were there when you trapped Doflamingo in Interfacing, how furious would he be to find them roaming his castle without care?

“I need to get back to the palace.”

Zoro pulls himself over the lookout's edge, gently setting you down on the grass.

“You’re not making any sense,” Zoro sighs, his brow furrowing. “You just escaped. Why the hell would you wanna go back?”

“If Luffy and Law are in trouble, I—”

Your name echoes through the air, and you turn to see Usopp standing there, sweating, with his oversized slingshot gripped tightly in his hands. “What are you doing here? Violet said you were fighting Doflamingo.”

Usopp glances back toward the woman you saw earlier, the one you left behind when you parted ways with Law. She’s standing still, her eyes wide and filled with fear as they lock onto you.

“Usopp,” You gasp, your breath coming out in shaky bursts. “What are you doing up here?”

Violet’s voice breaks in before Usopp can answer, her tone tinged with desperation. “Luffy and Law are in danger. Sugar’s closing in on them.”

“Sugar?” You ask, confusion mixing with the rising alarm.

Usopp nods. “She looks like a little girl, but she’s not. She’s actually—”

“How are they in danger?” You cut him off, your heart pounding in your throat.

“Sugar is the one who turns people into toys,” Violet explains quickly, her words like cold water splashing over you.

The gravity of her words hit you, and everything seems to freeze for a moment. A wave of panic floods through your veins, and your heart races uncontrollably.

“If she turns you into a toy,” Usopp adds quietly, his voice heavy with dread. “Everyone you know forgets you—until she’s taken out.”

The realisation slams into you, and you can barely catch your breath. “I have to get over there.”

You’re not about to be launched by Usopp’s slingshot, but you can’t waste any more time.

“Just get the guy to throw you there,” Zoro mutters, sounding like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s how he got me onto that rock guy.”

Usopp gives him a flat look, clearly unimpressed. “We’re not launching her through the sky, Zoro.”

You hesitate momentarily, and the idea starts to take shape in your mind.

"That doesn't sound half bad," You say, already weighing the possibility. "Where is he?"

Usopp blinks at you, his face frozen in disbelief. "You two are out of your minds."

Zoro grins, leaning over the edge of the lookout, scanning the area like it’s a casual day out. “He should be around here somewhere...”

"God Usopp!" A civilian's voice suddenly shouts, causing you to jump. You turn, startled, and see a crowd of people behind you. "Come with us, and we'll make it as painless as possible!"

"Why are they so angry?" You ask, brows furrowed.

"Did you hear the bounties?" Zoro mutters with a hint of amusement in his voice.

You shake your head, confused. "What bounties?"

Usopp whimpers next to you, eager to avoid further conversation about it.

Violet gasps before Zoro can explain, her voice trembling with fear as she recounts what she witnessed. You can’t help but be impressed by her ability, and Usopp fills in the gaps, telling you that she has clairvoyant powers.

“She’s getting closer! Usopp, get ready to fire!”

Usopp fumbles with his slingshot, his hands unsteady as he slides the bottom of the handle under his foot. He pulls the elastic back as far as it will go, then carefully loads a large ball, nearly the size of his head, into the leather pouch.

Zoro perches on the ledge as he searches for the man, his feet swinging dangerously close to the drop below. You swallow thickly, your throat tightening as the reality of the situation sinks in. Usopp's shot has to be perfect—if he’s even a millimetre off, Luffy and Law will vanish from everyone’s memory, lost to the curse of forgetting.

Usopp trembles, his body shuddering with the weight of the pressure. The steady drip of sweat mingles with the rapid beat of his heart; each drop is a reminder of just how high the stakes are. His breath comes in shallow gasps, and he wipes his forehead only for more to replenish it, the tension building with every passing second. Every movement feels too loud, too heavy as if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for him to make the shot.

You hold your breath, the tension thick in the air, your pulse drumming in your ears as you wait for the moment to unfold. But time seems to stretch, and the climax never comes.

“Usopp,” You whisper, your voice soft but firm enough to cut through the silence and bring his attention back to the task. “Slow your mind. I can hear your thoughts from over here.”

He doesn’t respond verbally but nods, his fingers loosening slightly on the slingshot as he adjusts his stance.

“Hurry!” Violet squeals, her voice high with anxiety as she covers her eyes with one hand, unwilling to watch what could be the final moment of reckoning. “I can’t watch!”

Usopp, however, remains focused. His expression hardens, and the resolve in his eyes returns with full force. He takes a deep, steadying breath and, with a swift motion, lines up the slingshot again. His gaze sharpens as he aligns it perfectly, focusing on the left-bottom pane of a window in the distant palace. The world around him blurs as he enters the zone—calm, centred, and ready to make the shot that could change everything.

And then, everything seems to slow.

Usopp pulls the rubber band back just a fraction further, his eyes never leaving the target. He takes one final, steady breath before releasing it. The slingshot snaps, sending the plant ball flying through the air, cutting through the silence of the lookout.

Everyone watches, holding their breath as the ball hurtles toward the window. It’s too far to see exactly where it lands, but the tension in the air is palpable.

And then, a loud cry breaks the stillness.

“I-It hit! It actually hit!” Violet screams, her voice trembling with joy, her hands shooting up to her face in disbelief. Tears stream down her cheeks as she laughs, overwhelmed with emotion. “It worked! Oh my God, it worked! Sugar is down!”

Her voice rings across the lookout, and you can't help but smile at her relief and joy. The tightness in your chest lessens just a little as the reality of Usopp’s success sinks in.

But even amid relief, trepidation clings to you like a leech. The looming dread always shadows the joy of victory. If one of Doflamingo’s executives is down, he’ll be livid—and the consequences of that rage could be catastrophic.

"Zoro, where's this guy?" You ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Zoro’s eyes scan the area, his gaze flicking over the crowd.

"There!" He points, his finger stabbing through the air. "That guy, the one with the weird hair and the huge jacket."

You follow his gaze, narrowing your eyes to spot the figure amongst the crowds of people. It’s like a countdown now—every second matters. “Thank you.”

Usopp’s voice calls out behind you, laced with concern, but you don’t slow down. The wind catches the edges of your thread as you descend the cliff, the rush of air filling your ears. With a thud, your feet hit the rocky ground, and you’re off, heart pounding as you dart towards the man. His massive frame cuts through the crowd like a towering figure, and you catch up to him in no time.

"Hey!" You call out, skipping the pleasantries. "You're the one who tossed the green-haired guy onto that rock, right?"

The man turns, his expression shifting to irritation. “Yeah? What’s it to you?”

You don’t waste time. “Think you could throw me toward the palace?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the request. For a moment, there’s a flicker of disbelief in his eyes as he assesses you—your determination and the desperation leaking through your tone. The air feels thick with tension. He looks you up and down as if trying to gauge whether you're out of your mind or if there's something more to it.

“You want me to throw you?” His voice holds a mocking edge, but something is calculating in how he studies you. “Like I did that green-haired guy?”

You step closer, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You can almost feel the pulse of time slipping away. “Yes.”

His gaze flicks to the horizon, then back at you, a reluctant sigh escaping him. “Fine. You better make it count.”

He steps forward, closing the distance, and you can see the glint of something fierce in his eyes. “You get one shot at this. If you fall short... well, that’s on you. Don’t come crying to me.”

You nod; relief is evident on your face. With a grunt, he positions himself, his muscles tensing. His hands find their place around your waist, and you barely have time to brace yourself before—

With a swift motion, he launches you into the air, and for a fleeting moment, you feel weightless.

The wind rushes past you as the world blurs below. You barely have time to process it all when the palace looms ahead, much closer than anticipated. And as you hurtle toward it, all you can think about is how you’ll kill Doflamingo.

The palace looms closer, towering above the landscape like a jagged mountain of stone and marble. You can see the windows gleaming like cold eyes, watching you as you fly toward them. The sounds of the battle reach your ears: distant shouts, the crackle of energy, the rumble of disarray.

The ground rushes up too quickly, and dread claws at your chest. You adjust your body midair, instinctively tucking your knees beneath you to brace for the impact. There’s no time to think about using threads to break your fall—you’re a Straw Hat, after all… logic is only a sometimes thing.

Without thinking, your body hardens with Armament Haki, and you hit the ground with a sickening thud that shakes your bones and rattles your teeth. The shock of the landing sends a burst of pain through your legs, but it’s nothing you can’t push through. Your body rebounds from the impact, rolling quickly to absorb the force. Your Haki melts away, leaving you with the aftershock of landing.

Your palms scrape against the stone, ripping the skin of your palms as you scramble to your feet. You wince at the ache in your legs, but there's no time to slow down. Your vision clears, and you stand just a few meters from the entrance. You glance around quickly, assessing your surroundings. The area is eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of battle. A deep rumble shakes the ground beneath you as something significant crashes far off in the distance—probably another of Doflamingo’s executives wreaking havoc.

You step forward, your feet steady despite the pain, and then another. You’re sure adrenaline plays a significant part in how you feel, and Law will no doubt scold you for your recklessness afterwards.

You spot a group of soldiers moving toward you from the side, weapons raised, and you instinctively draw in a breath, ready to spring into action.

But before you can move, a shadow falls across the courtyard, and you freeze.

It’s a figure—a familiar one—with a signature straw hat perched atop his head.

“Luffy!” You shout, relief flooding through you, but there’s no time to waste on catching your breath. You point toward the palace entrance, urgency creeping into your voice. “We gotta go.”

“You made it!” He exclaims, a grin spreading across his face. “Thought you’d never catch up!” He pulls you into a quick, tight hug.

“I’m fine,” You say, shoving him off with a smirk. “We don’t have time for this. Where’s Law?”

Luffy doesn’t hesitate, pointing toward the palace doors. “He’s inside. He’s been holding his own, but things are getting worse. Doflamingo’s up to something big.”

You nod, heart pounding. You don’t need to be told twice. The air inside feels heavy with the tension of a thousand possible outcomes, and you know that every moment you spend out here only increases the risk. But there’s no turning back now, not that you want to.

A voice calls from the darkness of the palace halls. “Over here!”

It’s Law, unmistakable even through the strain in his tone. His voice cuts through the madness like a beacon, and in that moment, you have a one-track mind. The weight of everything that’s happened—the battles, the separation, the endless dangers—melts away. You dart toward the sound, your heart hammering, emotion clogging your throat.

As you round the corner, you spot him. Law is standing there, leaning against the wall, bloodied but alive, his breathing shallow, and his expression pained but focused. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades. There’s no madness. No fight. Just him and that familiar, steady look in his eyes that you’d thought you might never see again.

You can’t stop the rush of relief that powers through you. Without thinking, you sprint toward him, your feet pounding against the cold stone floor. When you’re close enough, you throw your arms around him in a fierce hug, the rush of love almost knocking the air out of both of you.

“Law…” You whisper, your voice hoarse. He's warm against you, his pulse beating steadily beneath your hands. Law hesitates briefly, surprised by the intensity of your hug, then wraps one arm around you, pulling you in just as tightly. His voice, rough but filled with that familiar edge, cracks the fragile silence.

“Took you long enough,” He mutters, though you can hear the relief in his voice despite the sarcasm.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him, breathless and with a shaky laugh.

“I had to get back here somehow,” Your fingers graze the cuts on his cheek, and you can see the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He gives you a keen, tired look, but there’s something almost tender in how he searches your face.

“You’re insane,” He says, his voice low but softening. “You shouldn’t have come back. You were free.”

“And leave you here alone? Never.” You can feel the heat of the battle around you, the urgency creeping back into your veins, but it doesn’t matter. Everything feels right for these moments with him in your arms.

“I gotta go,” Luffy interrupts. “Doflamingo is on a rampage.”

You furrow your eyebrows and open your mouth to ask him where he’s going when he runs out of the palace.

“We need to get to a rooftop near the middle of the Birdcage. Luffy and I have a plan.”

You nod and go to grab his hand when you freeze, your hand hovering in midair. The absence of his touch—of the weight of his hand—sends a shock through you, an emptiness settling in your chest. No, your mind screams as if in denial. This can’t be happening.

His left arm, the one you were trying to reach for, is gone. Still fresh and raw, the stump of it stares back at you. Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at the empty space where his arm should be.

“...What?” He asks, his voice rough.

The space where his hand should be feels like a chasm. Your fingers brush against the blood-soaked fabric of his sleeve, but the emptiness where his hand would’ve been is a painful reminder of what’s been taken from him.

“I’m fine,” Law whispers, realising what you’re staring at. “I can fix it. We just need to get to a rooftop, and I’ll do it there.”

“Fine,” You sigh, knowing he’d brush it off. “Let’s go.”

— Scene 5 —

The battle rages below you, Luffy’s roar of fury echoing in the distance as he clashes with Doflamingo. The sky above the palace is alive with the storm of their fight, but there’s no time to linger. The tension within you tightens with each passing second. You know what’s at stake.

With your hand braced against his back, you lead Law toward the nearest edge of a building. The sounds of Luffy’s fight grow louder—the sickening crack of bone against flesh, the ferocious sound of rubber meeting the wind—but you can’t think about that now.

You survey the drop. Small ledges, scattered stones, and an open rooftop with a short drop—just enough for a quick jump. Law’s eyes narrow as he watches you study the distance. His breath quickens as he shifts his weight slightly, clearly reluctant but understanding.

"Don't—" He starts, but you’ve already decided.

When you inch closer to the ledge, Law grumbles something under his breath, a curse or two. The wind howls as you push off from the edge, feeling the weight of Law in your arms. Everything is suspended in time for a moment—the world beneath you shrinking and the rooftop ahead growing closer.

You land with a jarring thud, your legs reverberating with the second landing of the night. The rooftop is elevated, and you have a clear view of Luffy in the sky, his body larger than you’ve seen—a new technique?

As you carefully lower Law onto the cool stone, the wind whips around you, your hands trembling as you check him over. Your muscles ache, but you’re glad the journey to get here wasn’t that hard.

You’re both hidden from Doflamingo’s view, the sounds of Luffy’s battle clearer than before, but for a brief moment, it’s just you and Law—quiet and away from the mayhem of Dressrosa.

"Good?" You ask, looking at him with concern.

Law glances at you briefly, his silver eyes stark with focus, before looking back at the chaotic battle between Luffy and Doflamingo. He tugs his hat from his head, his hair sticking in all directions. You watch Luffy in his Gear Fourth form, his strikes thunderous, and wonder when he discovered that. A flicker of something crosses Law’s face — a mix of frustration and the ghost of a smirk.

“This should be fine.” His face remains impassive, but there’s a tightness in his jaw, a subtle flinch when he moves.

You watch as he expands Room, using Shambles to summon his arm. It’s odd to see Law handle his own limb like this.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a sideways glance. “Do you want to reattach your arm? Or do you want me to?”

Your words hang in the air, though you can hear the slight edge of amusement laced within them. The situation, grim as it is, feels strangely familiar — him, injured and stubborn, not wanting to ask for help.

He pauses briefly, eyeing you with a hint of that usual deflection. "You’re not going to let me do it myself, are you?"

You smirk, inching closer to him. “I could let you try, but you might get your stitches tangled.”

Law snorts, a small, pained laugh escaping him despite himself. “My stitches are perfect.”

“Tell that to my torso,” You quip, remembering how often your stitches ripped when you first met him.

“That was your fault,” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t know how to sit still.”

“And you do?” You meet his eyes, an unspoken understanding between you. The situation is dire, and Law needs to use his power soon, so without hesitation, you summon Sew.

“Don’t move.”

Law doesn’t respond—but his half-smile, which barely tugs at his lips, is enough to settle your heart.

As you begin working, Law remains surprisingly quiet. The battle rages above; Luffy’s shouts and Doflamingo’s curses punctuate the tension. But for now, in this small moment amidst the chaos, the two of you sit in a rare silence, the past few days of turmoil and bloodshed settling into something almost calm.

You make quick work of the sutures, conjuring a gauze from Sew when they are finished.

“Done,” You say, your voice a little breathless, as if sewing him together has taken more out of you than you care to admit. You secure the end of the gauze before leaning down and pressing your lips to his shoulder.

Law flexes his fingers, testing the strength of the arm. His usual mask of cool indifference slips just a little, and, just for you, a smile plays at his lips.

“You sure you’re not going to be a little more gentle next time?” He teases, his voice still raspy from the strain of the fight earlier.

You laugh, though it’s a little breathless. “Maybe I’ll take it easy next time,” You say, lightly brushing over his arm's now-healed skin, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

Law speaks again, voice softer than before. “I never thought I’d be in a situation where I’d allow someone to put me back together again.”

You glance up, locking eyes with him.

“You don’t need to do everything alone, you know.” You whisper. “That’s why I went with you to Punk Hazard despite your relentless arguing.”

“I didn’t want you to be in danger. I can’t handle it.”

His gaze shifts away for a moment as if the vulnerability of his words unsettles him. The admission catches you off guard. But then, that’s always been his way—never one to show weakness, yet here he is, allowing himself a glimpse of it. The vulnerability behind the facade is just for you.

You close the distance between you instantly, your hands reaching his chest.

“I know,” You say softly, your heart swelling at the raw honesty in his eyes. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you close. His fingers tighten ever so slightly as if ensuring himself that you’re here.

“You better not,” He mutters, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m not leaving you,” You say, your voice firm. It’s in moments like this, when everything else goes silent, that you know for certain: no matter what happens or the dangers that await, you’re not letting him go.

His forehead rests against yours, and you close your eyes, the weight of his breath mingling with yours. The world outside could burn, and you'd still feel this—this unshakable connection between you two.

“You know,” Law says, his voice low, but there's a playful edge. “I don’t need you to save me.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the sound a little too close to a sigh of relief.

“I’m not saving you. I’m just making sure you don’t bleed out on me,” You tease, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness behind the words.

“I could’ve done it myself,” He mutters, brushing his lips against your forehead before pulling back slightly, his gaze darkening as he meets your eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, aware of the subtle change in his tone.

“What, now you're going to fight me about how much I love you?” You laugh, though you know the real fight is just starting. This brief moment of peace is fleeting.

“Always,” Law replies, and you don’t need him to say more. His actions have always spoken louder than words ever could. “Because I love you more, sweetheart.”

And just as you roll your eyes and go to answer, there’s a voice.

“Law?”

Violet and a pink-haired girl emerge from the darkness, their expressions tainted with fear.

“Here,” He mumbles. “Is Luffy almost done?”

“We’ve got two minutes.”

But now, Luffy’s struggling—his body pushed beyond its limits, his Fourth Gear faltering. He won’t last much longer.

And then, as if on cue, he collapses. The look in his eyes as he stumbles back, bloodied and exhausted, makes something snap inside you. The night rages on, the Birdcage encapsulating only a mere kilometre of Dressrosa.

"No..." You mutter under your breath. You’ve seen Luffy take hits before, but this time, it’s different. The familiar power he had just moments ago is slipping away, and Doflamingo is already closing in, that smug grin plastered across his face.

Your eyes narrow as you look up at the sky, your gaze zeroing in on his body.

Law tugs you into him, his breathing rapid and his voice low. “You have to kill him.”

You blink, your eyes wide. “What?”

“Luffy’s down; he’ll be out for ten minutes. We don't have that much time.”

“But you—”

“I can’t. My stamina’s run out, my power’s useless,” Law says quickly. “It has to be you.”

“Law…”

“Please,” He begs. “For me, for Cora.”

You frown, tears welling as you nod. “Okay.”

Rising on shaky legs, you take a deep breath.

“Doflamingo!” You shout, your voice slicing through the air. He turns toward you slowly, amusement curling his lips.

“Oh? And what do you think you can do, Dreamweaver?” His voice is condescending as if he already knows the answer. “You can’t possibly think you’re going to stop me. You’re weak!”

His strings whip through the air, targeting you, aiming to pierce, constrict, and control. But this time, you don’t dodge; you don’t need to. The power inside you surges, something ancient and primal awakened by the desperation coursing through your veins.

Your hands snap to life, fingers moving with purpose as you channel your power.

The strings Doflamingo sends toward you come in slow motion as your mind takes over. You flick your wrist, and the threads appear mid-air, their shimmering lines of power intertwining with the strings Doflamingo controls. Your threads, woven from sheer will, latch onto his, effortlessly pulling them apart.

“What the—?!” Doflamingo snarls as his strings begin to unravel, sliced through by your own, snapping under the force of your mastery. Once awakened, it feels like there’s no limit to your power.

Law, Violet, and the girl you’ve come to know as Rebecca gasp, their surprise a welcome sound.

The battlefield quiets momentarily as Doflamingo is forced to retreat, confusion flickering in his eyes. You can feel his shock; he wasn’t expecting you to be able to manipulate his strings. You’re not just fighting him now; you’re bending the very laws that govern his power—just like he said you could, but you don’t think he thought it possible.

You’re done letting him control innocent people and drink their grief as he pleases. This isn’t about survival anymore—it’s about protecting your crew, your friends, your family. With one last look at Law, you nod.

The pressure of the moment weighs heavily on your shoulders, the culmination of years of pain, battles fought, and lives lost. His life, in particular, comes into sharp focus—Corazon.

You never met him, only catching fleeting glimpses of his face through Doflamingo’s twisted memories, but his legacy reverberates in every part of Law’s soul. The boy who had once been a scared, isolated orphan, consumed by the need for vengeance, has grown into one of the most extraordinary men you’ve ever known.

You think back to that first meeting. The awkwardness and confusion. Law had been so guarded, so closed off. He didn’t trust you. You weren’t sure why you felt compelled to help him at that time—perhaps because you saw something in him that was so familiar: a pain that mirrored your own—a loneliness. You were away from the Straw Hats, unaware they were alive, and felt utterly useless.

Now, standing in the eye of the storm, with Doflamingo finally glaring down at you with a scathing hatred, you understand the truth. Corazon had never wanted anything for himself. The way he saved Law from Doflamingo’s cruelty, even when his own life hung in the balance… It was a gift that could never be repaid.

And now you were going to avenge him.

Law’s Adam’s apple bobs, and he nods once back, recognising the fire in your eyes. The moment is fleeting, and you step onto the rooftop's ledge.

“Go get Luffy,” You say, Violet and Rebecca hurrying off the roof to retrieve your captain. You roll your head, cracking your neck as you breathe out.

You pull the threads together with a single, fluid movement, weaving them into a perfect net of power. It’s not just about cutting or controlling anymore; you can reshape and rebuild. And you can feel Doflamingo’s control over Dressrosa slipping with each string severed.

"You’re brave," He laughs. "I’ll have fun with you.”

You don't answer. You don't need to. With a single thought, you twist his strings, feeling the connections snap and pop under your command. His stance falters, just for a moment, but it's enough. You seize the opportunity, sending your threads into his body, sinking deep into his flesh, pulling him toward you with an almost sickening precision. His body jerks as he tries to resist, but the more he struggles, the more your threads tighten around him, squeezing, constricting, making him fight against his own body.

The Sew-Sew Fruit isn't just about control; it's about creation. And you're about to reshape the battlefield itself.

With a brutal yank, you rip the strings of his power from his body, using them against him. The tension in the air becomes palpable as Doflamingo's strength turns on him, his movements jerking in unnatural directions. He roars in anger, but you're not listening anymore. You're focused, the world shrinking to the space between you and him, where you will make the final strike.

A flurry of movement, a desperate swing of his hand, and you dodge just in time, the strings grazing past your cheek. You respond with a sharp movement of your own—your hands flashing through the air as you manipulate the threads around him, tying his limbs together, pulling his body into an intricate web that he can't escape. His attempts to break free are fruitless; your threads are everywhere now, pulling and twisting him into submission.

"Stop!" Doflamingo howls, his voice strained and desperate. But the sound of his frustration only spurs you on.

“You think you’re the only one who can control strings?” You sneer, your hand outstretched as you weave more threads into the air. They dance in the sky, intricate braids of thread coming together to sing a song of destruction.

Doflamingo’s face twists in anger, but his eyes show an undeniable hint of fear. This is not the kind of power he expected from you. His usual smugness falters, replaced by a growing sense of unease.

“I’m the one who made you like this!” He spits, trying once more to tap into his power. “If I didn’t tell you the truth of your power, you’d be dead!”

You pull tighter, weaving the threads through his joints, making him bend to your will, contorting him into painful positions. His skin tears where your threads dig in, the blood staining the light pink of his coat. But you're relentless. The control you have over his body now is unadulterated. The ground beneath you vibrates, a low hum running through your body as you extend your reach.

His eyes flash with panic as he realises he is now a marionette, and you're the one pulling the strings.

Needles fly toward him, overlapping and creating a network. Doflamingo is surrounded by a metal cage, the gaps closing with every second that passes. He gasps for breath, but it’s futile. The reality you’ve woven around him is his prison, and now he can only watch as his defeat unfolds.

You don't give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you gather every ounce of energy left in you, and with a final, swift motion, you break the threads. The sickening sound of his body, his soul, being torn apart echoes in your ears as your power rips through him, pulling his strings free from his body like a shattered puppet.

Needles clatter to the street below, and his soul screams before tapering off with a whimper.

“You’re done,” You whisper with finality and a deep sense of resolve.

And Doflamingo’s body falls to the earth, defeated.

— Scene 6 —

The first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, painting the sky with soft hues of pink and gold. It’s a slow, gentle rise—like the world waking up after a long, restless night. The ruins of Dressrosa, still scarred by the battle, bathe in the early light, casting long shadows that slowly fade into the warmth of the sun’s touch.

The oppressive weight of victory slowly begins to lift from your chest, replaced by a quiet reverence. The Birdcage retracts, the strings pulling up from the ground and disappearing when they meet in the middle of the sky. As the dust settles, the tension in the air gives way to something deeper, something far more personal.

“Luffy,” You gasp, turning around and making a beeline for his exhausted body. His face is smeared with dirt, his body bruised, but that light in his eyes, the unshakable spark of life—that hasn’t changed.

His grin spreads even wider as if seeing you standing there, alive, is the greatest victory of all. But when he sees the look on your face—something softer, something raw—his expression falters just a little. His voice, always full of energy, carries that familiar comfort.

"You alright? I knew you'd pull through. You’re tougher than you look!"

You walk toward him, your chest tight, your throat thick with emotion. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come at first. How do you convey the years of struggle, the battles fought together, the times when it felt like everything was falling apart, and yet you never gave up because he was there, always believing in you, in all of you?

Luffy doesn’t push you to speak. He just watches with that patient, understanding look in his eyes. He knows you’ve been through something heavy. He knows the weight of a captain’s responsibility, the loss of friends, and the pain of living a life filled with blood and betrayal.

You kneel before him. His wide eyes blink in surprise, the usual bravado of his face softening. The words are stuck, but then, something inside you breaks. You feel it—the flood of gratitude, of relief, of everything he’s done for you, for all of you. The way he’s always believed in you, even when you couldn’t believe in yourself. The way his stupid, unwavering faith pulled you back from the edge time and time again.

"I don’t know how to say it,” You say, smiling through tears. “I can’t… But thank you. For everything."

Luffy’s expression softens, a rare vulnerability creeping into his eyes. The words might be simple, but they carry significance. You can see it in how his shoulders relax, and his chest rises with a deep breath. He opens his mouth, but instead of some teasing remark, it’s something much quieter, much more real.

"Don’t say that. You don’t need to thank me. It’s just... it's what I do. You’re my friend.”

You feel something swell in your chest, a quiet release, like all the tension you’d carried for so long, just melts away in those words. The bond between a captain and their crew is unshakable.

“You did most of the work,” You laugh, moving the hair from his face. “I just finished him off.”

Luffy’s laugh bursts from him, loud and unrestrained, as if he’s just heard the funniest thing in the world. The same carefree, reckless sound has always been a beacon of hope and unshakable confidence, even in the darkest times. He throws his head back, his arms flailing in the air as his laugh echoes across the ruins of Dressrosa.

“You’re really something, you know that?" He grins. The weight of reality doesn’t seem to reach him, not when he’s laughing like this.

You shrug helplessly, a laugh leaving your lips. Luffy’s laugh—it’s infectious. It makes the whole world feel just a little bit lighter. And in this moment, despite the scars and bruises, bloodshed and loss, it’s as if his laughter proves that everything you’ve been through was worth it.

“Are you okay?” You ask, noticing the exhaustion painting his demeanour. He nods, but then his eyes roll to the back of his head, and snores erupt from the deepest parts of his chest.

You stand, your gaze meeting Violet and Rebecca, and you thank them for caring for your captain.

Law’s eyes lock with yours across the rooftop, and it’s as if time slows—the world around you blurs into nothingness, and in that single, suspended moment, all the pain, the loss, the suffering fades into the background. Only the two of you exist in this space, your hearts racing to meet one another.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t need to. The relief is in how his shoulders ease, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his usually stoic face.

"...You did it."

His voice is quiet, but there's weight in the words—more than just acknowledgment, it’s gratitude, it's understanding. It's the recognition of everything he’s sacrificed, everything you've fought for. He steps forward; the movement is almost tentative, unsure whether to close the distance or give you space. His gaze never leaves you like he’s making sure you're there, standing after all the carnage.

Law is in shock at the extent of your power, but he holds off on asking about it when you take a step toward him and then another. Before you know it, you’re close enough to feel the heat of his body, to breathe in the scent of him—the faint trace of salt from the sea, the worn material of his coat, the familiar scent that’s somehow always anchored you. Without a word, your hands find him, and it feels like a release.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him. His body tenses for just a heartbeat, and his arms encircle you in return. It’s not a gentle embrace; it's raw, urgent like a drowning man grabbing hold of something solid. His fingers press into your back as if to remind himself that you’re real, that you’ve made it through this hell.

"I never realised how... far you could take your power,” Law muses. “You awakened, didn’t you?”

You watch him momentarily, letting his words settle, and nod. Law isn’t the type to be easily impressed. He’s been surrounded by people with powerful abilities his whole life, seen every form of strength and technique. And yet, here he is—staring at you like you’re something new, something beyond even his experience.

You glance down at the threads suspended in the air between you, your hands still tingling with the power you’ve just unleashed. For a second, you wonder if he’s afraid of it, the sheer weight of what you can do, and the responsibility that comes with it. After all, not everyone can control such power without losing themselves.

"No. Not a curse,” He shakes his head, his lips pursed. “I’m... I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. This is bigger than I thought. But I trust you. I always have."

His words don’t surprise you. Law has been your biggest supporter for two years; always one to improve your techniques rather than shy away from them. But the way he says it—quietly but with complete certainty—it’s like he’s acknowledging the full depth of you, not just the person you were, but the person you are now—the strength you’ve built and the raw power underneath your skin.

“We make a good team," You smile, tucking stray hairs behind his ears.

Law licks his lips, his eyes piercing in the dawn sun when he leans in. He captures you in a searing, dizzying kiss that sends you reeling. He pours everything he can into it, using his injured arm to draw you closer. Law doesn’t care that Luffy’s there or that Violet and Rebecca giggle behind you; all that matters is you.

“Hey! Guys!”

You pull away from the kiss, the taste of Law still lingering on your lips as you catch your breath, your heart racing from both the intensity of the moment and the joy that surged through you just a moment ago. His hand still lingers in the space between you, but you break free, playful mischief dancing in your eyes.

Law’s gaze flickers with something between amusement and frustration, his fingers still reaching for you as you step back a few paces, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Hey, don't just run off like that."

You laugh, a teasing sound that makes his brows tug together, his lips curving downward in that way he gets when he’s trying to act annoyed, but the small tilt of his head and the gleam in his eyes betray him. He doesn’t mind the chase, especially not when it ends with you.

You glance over at the street below, where half of the crew is waving up at you, their bodies worn and tired from the night's battles. They’re standing in a disorganised, ragged line, but each wears that unmistakable, heartwarming smile despite their exhaustion. Zoro, ever the stoic, looks a bit more dishevelled than usual, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes—relief, pride, maybe even a hint of amusement as he watches you.

“Are you all okay?" Your voice calls down to them, and they all respond with bored yeses, like they’ve been waiting for you to acknowledge them, to pull you out of the moment with Law.

Zoro doesn’t answer, but you can tell he’s fine by the way his sword is casually slung over his shoulder, his stance relaxed despite the weariness in his eyes. A faint smile on his lips is too small to be noticed at first, but it’s there.

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and concern. The battle was brutal, and seeing your friends here, battered but smiling, brings warmth to your chest. You step closer to the rooftop's edge, gripping the stone and leaning out just enough to be closer to them.

“Are you sure? You all look like you’ve been through hell."

Franky throws both hands in the air, his signature mechanical arm extending dramatically. His grin is as wild as ever. "Franky’s super! I’m built to last, baby!"

He strikes a ridiculous pose, flexing his robotic muscles, and you can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, even after everything. His body’s covered in scratches and scuff marks, and there's a noticeable dent in his arm, but the energy radiating off him makes him seem fine.

Robin’s laughter rings out next, soft and knowing. She stands a bit behind the group, her eyes glinting with something more than just the weariness of battle. Her power unfurls from your shoulder to gently pat your hair, a comforting touch that feels almost like a reassurance. You lean into it instinctively, feeling the faint flutter of her tendrils against your scalp.

"We’re all alive, at least,” She says; her smile is quiet, but her voice has a deep sincerity.

"All thanks to captain Usopp!!" Usopp’s voice rings out from behind the others. He waves from where he’s leaning against a nearby building, a blinding smile on his face. He flexes his bicep, much like Franky, and laughs. Exhaustion is evident on his face, but there’s that ever-present glint of optimism in his eyes.

"Zoro?" Your voice rings through the silence.

His eyes flicker toward you for just a second before he smirks, that familiar, infuriating grin creeping across his face. "Tch, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me."

His voice is hoarse, and you catch the subtle strain in his tone, but you know better than to press him.

You laugh softly, shaking your head.

"You’re all impossible," You mutter under your breath, but there’s a fondness. Even with their bruises and injuries, they are alive, and that’s all that matters. You’ve all made it through yet another fight, another battle against overwhelming odds.

You turn back to Law, who’s still standing there watching you, his expression unreadable but his eyes softening with something more profound. He steps forward, his hand reaching out to you, a silent invitation. Without a second thought, you slide into his side, leaning into him. Your fingers brush his, intertwining with his as the two of you stand there, watching the crew. There’s a quiet understanding between you; Doflamingo has been defeated, and the crew’s safe, but there’s still a long road ahead.

A loud, enthusiastic yawn sounds from behind you. Rolling your eyes, you glance at Luffy, who stretches his arms high above his head as if he’s just had the most peaceful nap of his life. The moment he blinks open his eyes, he’s already grinning—like nothing could ever be wrong in the world. His laughter rings out, even though he’s barely even fully conscious.

"Mmm, I’m hungry! What’s for breakfast?"

Everyone groans, ignoring your captain as you figure out where to go from here.

“The Navy’s still here. I think they’re on to us.” The moment Robin’s words cut through the air, the lighthearted mood of the crew evaporates like smoke in the wind.

“We don’t have a ship,” Usopp says. “The others took the Sunny to Zou.”

“I can help!” A voice squeaks. You raise an eyebrow as the man steps fully into view, brushing dust and debris off his ragged clothes. He stands there, almost nervously, before raising a hand with a glint of determination in his eyes. “My ship can carry everyone and more!”

“Rooster Head!” Luffy exclaims, rising to his feet. The nickname makes you blink again, but it’s clear that Luffy knows him.

The man’s face lights up, recognition clicking in his eyes as he hears the name. You can practically hear the stars in his voice as he continues.

“Mister Luffy,” The guy cries. “I saw you fighting with Doflamingo. You are so incredible.”

Luffy laughs, jumping off the roof and landing on the street with a rubbery thud. “Nah, that was all her.”

You blink, caught off guard as his grin broadens, and he turns to you. There’s something in his eyes, something deep that makes your heart skip a beat.

“She’s the one you should be thanking.”

The green-haired man Luffy calls "Rooster Head" is staring at you with wide eyes now, his mouth hanging open like he’s just realised who you are.

“Incredible... this is perfect! I can’t believe it! I didn’t know I’d get to meet the hero of Dressrosa today!”

Luffy bursts into laughter, clearly delighted by the reaction.

“Oh,” You feel your cheeks warm. “I’m no hero.”

“So humble!” Rooster Head fawns. But as quickly as the starstruck glint in his eye comes, it disappears. He seems as though he almost forgot his initial reason for approaching. He starts to fidget a little, his hands moving as though he’s trying to figure out the best way to get to the point. “Oh! Right, right! I’ve got a ship nearby, a fast one. It’s perfect for getting away from the Navy.”

“Fast, huh?” Robin teases.

“Yeah, yeah! It’s small, nimble—should be able to get you all out of here before they even know what happened!” His eyes are sparkling like this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. For a second, it almost feels surreal.

You look at Luffy, who’s grinning wider than ever. “See? I told you, everything works out! We’ll get out of here, no problem.”

You nod, a little smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you look back at the green-haired stranger. “Alright, let’s get moving then. Lead the way.”

Rooster Head nearly jumps out of his skin at your words, already turning on his heel to lead you to the ship. Luffy, as usual, follows in his wake, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

Violet and Rebecca thank you and the crew for all your help; hugging each of you tightly. Their teary goodbye makes you feel guilty for leaving so abruptly, but you’re eager to see the rest of your crews—both of them.

Nami, Sanji, Brook, Chopper, Bepo, Shachi, Penguin, Ikkaku, and the rest of the Heart Pirates are on Zou.

Law’s steady presence beside you feels like a quiet reassurance as he helps you down from the rooftop. You glance at him, but he already knows what you're thinking.

“You ready?”

Nodding, you send a tired, easy smile as you reach for his hand with quiet certainty, your fingers brushing his as you clasp it. The gesture is simple, but it speaks volumes. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

As you both fall in step, you notice the Straw Hats already ahead of you, their movements light, laughter and chatter flowing easily between them.

You follow them for a few moments, and the distance between you and them does not feel far at all. It’s just a ten-minute walk to the port, a short journey to the ship Rooster Head had told you about. The air feels fresh after Doflamingo’s defeat, as if the world feels free from the grips of a man like him.

“Rooster Head said the ship’s fast, right?”

“That’s the plan.” His voice is almost dry, but there's an undercurrent of amusement like he’s already resigned to the inevitable chaos when the Straw Hats are involved.

As you watch your crewmates ahead, you chuckle softly, the tension easing out of your shoulders. The thought of the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates forming an alliance, even briefly, fills you with something close to fondness.

The ship comes into view, and you halt when you look at it. Law deflates beside you. It’s a strange, oddly shaped vessel painted with bright colours. The ship’s sails are adorned with a distinctive green and white colour scheme, and you can see the figure of a tall, spiky-haired man waving excitedly from the helm. The ship is unlike anything you’ve seen before—a testament to its captain's wild, fearless personality. The ship's exterior is covered in graffiti-like designs and emblems that pay homage to Luffy and his crew. Even the figurehead at the front is a massive, exaggerated bust of Luffy, grinning with unrestrained joy.

Luffy’s cheers echo through the air when he steps onto the ship, throwing his arms up. “This ship’s great, Bartolomeo! You really know how to pick ‘em!”

Bartolomeo, practically glowing with pride, stands a few feet behind him, his hands gripping the ship's edge as he watches Luffy with awe. His eyes shine with admiration, and it’s obvious how much this moment means to him. This ship—his ship—now has Luffy’s stamp of approval, and to him, it’s the greatest compliment in the world.

“Alright!” Luffy yells. “Set sail! To Zou!”

— Scene 7 —

As you sit on the bow of the ship, the sunsetting and half of your family partying behind you, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. You once believed you were a fool for thinking Law helped you out of the goodness of his heart, but the journey through the labyrinth proved you wrong, and you’d do it over a million times if it meant you’d end up with him.

Whether you rejoin the Straw Hats or stay with Law and the Heart Pirates, you know both sides will be happy with your decision. Because love isn’t about being bound to just one world. It’s about finding the strength to exist in both. The Straw Hats and the Heart Pirates—they’re both your family. And with them, you know you’ll always be home.

You still have a lot to learn about your power, now awakened. If you're not careful, you think you might lose yourself to it—to the overwhelming pull of creation, the seductive promise of absolute control over memories, over fate, over the very essence of existence. At times, it’s hard to remember where you end and the world begins.

Something is lurking just beneath the surface—something that doesn’t make sense yet, a hidden potential waiting for you to unlock. You can feel it pushing at the edges of your mind, urging you to understand it and to delve deeper into the art of weaving the world itself into a tapestry of your design.

But you will learn. The power will be yours to command—on your terms. You will discover the true cost of weaving threads into the world’s fabric. And in the process, you’ll uncover a truth that only those who wield the Sew-Sew Fruit can recognise: You are the weaver, but you must never forget that some things cannot, should not, be sewn. And yet, the temptation to do so, to reshape everything, is always there. It’s just a matter of when you will choose to listen to the warnings or let the threads lead you down a path where only you can understand the full extent of your power.

And somewhere, deep within, you feel that perhaps this is only the beginning. The true test is yet to come.

With a final word count of 73,550 words, Labyrinth is my longest piece of writing to date, and I couldn't be more grateful to share it with you. Thank you so much for reading my fanfic in the first place; your kind comments and sheer excitement for this series warmed my heart so, so much. There may be more fics like this in the future, but for now, I will be sticking to reading them and finishing One Piece, haha! I love you all, and thank you for reading <3

Taglist: In the comments

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #law x reader #law one piece #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #anime

246 notes · View notes

sidthedollface2 · 8 months ago

Text

Something Borrowed (Part 2)

Read part 1 here

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (Rhys sister)

Series summary: Rhys tells Azriel to back off Elain and find release at a pleasure hall. Instead, Azriel finds you, Rhys' younger sister.

Chapter Summary: Right after we find Azriel and Elain in a compromising position, Azriel tries to smooth things over only to drive you further away. Feelings escalate when Azriel sees another male touching you.

Word count: 5k

Series Warnings: MDNI 18+, ANGST, hurt/no comfort, smut (p in v, oral) no use of yn, nicknames, fighting, jealousy.

A/n: Thank you for all the love on part 1, I really appreciate all the comments, likes, and reblogs. This is part 2 of Something Old Something New. Please read that first, this ch continues right where we left off. I’m sorry it took so long to make this part. I’ve decided to make it a mini-series so expect 2 or more parts. It’s not over till I say it’s over. I'm a daydreamer, not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

Rhys clenched his jaw tightly at the scene in front of him. His brother, a broken shell of a male on his knees, pleading for a love that would never be his. “Azriel, my office now! The rest of you go back to your chambers,” he commands, jerking his head towards his office. Azriel stands, wings dragging behind him as he makes his way towards his inevitable demise.

Rhys enters behind Azriel, closing the door to his office with a wave of his hand. “How dare you disobey me. Not only was my demand about Elain ignored, but you went behind my back to court my sister and then decided to break her heart! I told you to go to a fucken pleasure house to get laid not to fuck my baby sister! ” Rhysand yelled, fury evident in how this neck strained from raising his voice. Azriel lowered his head in shame. “I should kick your ass right now, but your lucky Vi said not to, now sit. I’m not done with you yet.”

Rhys gestures to one of the armchairs that are placed in front of a very large bookcase. A round table sits between the two chairs, an intimate setting for friends to converse. Or for a High Lord to intimidate and test his guest. Azriel would know of such tactics, he’s been a witness to Rhysand's techniques.

Two glass cups with amber liquid are placed on the table, followed by its luxurious bottle. A bottle Azriels never seen before. Rhys catches his curiosity, “I hide the good stuff. This one's aged 50 years.” Azriel’s mouth waters. Of course, Rhys would keep the expensive stuff in his stash.

Rhys takes the seat across from his brother, his gaze piercing into him from above the rim of his glass. “Drink.”

Azriel eyes the glass in front of him. Temptation stared back at him in the form of delicious whiskey. He could really use a drink right now, to cure the hatred that he's brought upon himself.

He opens and closes his mouth, suddenly parched and wanting to soothe the dryness in his mouth.

“I’ll have some water.”

“Good choice,” Rhys hums in approval, and the house magically delivers Azriel’s water. Silence falls between them. The ticking of a grandfather clock is the only sound heard, counting down by the second. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each male waiting for the other to break the silence. Azriel takes a sip from his glass, hands shaky as he brings the cup to his lips.

“Care for a smoke?”

Azriel chokes on his water, “sorry?” He questions wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, unsure if he’s heard correctly.

“Mirthroot, to ease the tension,” Rhys clarifies, indeed offering Azriel the drug that he smoked earlier, minus the hallucinogen. With a trick of the hands and some magic, the cigarette appears between Rhys’s fingers, bringing it to his lips, its cherry blazing red. He inhales. His chest expands with how deep he aspirates, holding the fumes within his lungs. Slow and calculated he exhales. Swirls of white smoke leave Rhys lips, landing directly into Azriels face. Its white tendrils carve through his wavy hair, coating each strand with its foul scent. A Lingering reminder of his mistakes.

Azriel swipes his hand in front of him, ridding the air of the smoke surrounding him. A slight cough erupts from his throat, “no, uh, I recently had a bad experience.” Azriel tries to joke, but it lands flatly based on Rhys' stone-cold expression.

“Azriel, what do you think your punishment should be for making my sister run away from her court?”

Oh, straight to it then.

“I do love her, Rhys. She's breathtaking in every way and I don’t deserve her.”

“No, you don’t!” Rhys bellowed, slamming his glass down on the table. “What. Is. Your. Punishment?” He seethed.

“Death. Because I can’t live without her, I deserve it knowing I’ve hurt her. That I’ve betrayed you and your trust. I’ve lied to you, taken your brotherly love for granted. I’ve killed for much less.” Azriel slouches in his seat, defeated but willing to take whatever his punishment shall be.

“You must truly love her then if you're willing to die. But I find that to be too swift of a punishment. Will torture suffice?”

Azriels eyes snap to his brother, a look of shock and slight terror in his hazel eyes. This wasn’t his brother anymore, but the words of a High Lord. A cunning, cruel High Lord.

Azriel doesn't say a word, he simply nods. Accepting his fate.

“Very well. You will watch over my sister. You will shadow her every move, her every outing. You will not speak with her or make yourself known. You will observe her interactions with other males. If she happens to love someone else then you will witness their beginning, middle and end. You will endure her loving someone else while she falls out of love with you. That will be your punishment. If you love her, truly, you will see her happy, even in the arms of another.”

Azriel swallowed the knot in his throat, shoving down the emotion that was a breathds away from coming forward. His eyes failed to meet his High Lord as he took a moment to process the terms. A slight sheen was coating his forehead, heat climbing up his spine at the thought of you with someone else. Clenching and unclenching his fists, his nails dug into his palms, creating half-moon shapes on his rough skin.

He did want to see you happy, and in love. You deserved it more than anyone he knew, but not with someone else. Azriels mind flashed back to every tender moment you two shared. Every soft touch under the table, away from prying eyes. Each stolen kiss when the two of you were last in leaving meetings. Morning snuggles after a night of intimacy before he snuck out of your bedroom. Flying together under the stars, in the middle of the night when the rest of the Velaris was sound asleep. He could keep those moments to himself, call upon them when he missed you. It’ll break his heart watching you fall out of love with him, but that was the whole point. And that's what Rhys meant by torture. It would happen slowly, painfully peeling the layers of his heart back piece by piece till nothing remained.

His refusal was on the tip of his tongue, “I can’t….” He shook his head, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Letting out a shaky breath, “can I at least apologize without an audience, before I begin this punishment?”

Rhys nodded and flicked his wrist, dismissing his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel knocked on Elains bedroom door, determined to explain himself and confront her.

Her beaming smile when she opened the door caught him off guard. Was she happy? Happy for his misery?

“Hi Az,” she smiled wide and stepped aside to let him in. “No, I don’t want to give the wrong idea. I’ll be quick.” Azriel sighed, running his hand through his tousled hair. He winced as Elains scent off his fingers made its way to his nose. Reminding him that he needed to shower before he spoke to you. “Elain, I’m sorry for-”

“I’m not” she interrupted, her doe-like eyes staring up at him as she stepped closer. Her chest inches away from pressing against him. “The only thing I’m sorry for was the interruption and not bringing you to completion. I liked doing it, I wanted more,” she confessed, attempting to close the distance.

“What the fuck Elain!” Azriel's voice boomed as he jerked back, putting distance between them, hoping to get his point across that he did not reciprocate her feelings. His face twisted in disgust at her scandalous behavior. A side of her he had never seen before. He pointed his finger at her, “stay away from me.”

“You said you loved me.” Elain gulped, a tremble in her meek voice.

Azriel lowered his face to meet hers, eyes red with anger and unshed tears for the situation she put him in. “Those words were not meant for you, I feel nothing for you. And definitely not love. You know I adore her, you heard me tell her in the library and you still took advantage of my inebriation.”

“Az, I’m so sorr-”

Azriel lifted his hand, silencing her apology. He shook his head, upper lip curled in a snarl as he looked her up and down. Not even her beauty would mask the bitter taste she left in his mouth.

~~~~~~~

It was late when he finished speaking with Elain, yet every nerve in his body wanted to find you and apologize. Fix the turmoil he had created and start new. He knew it was better for you to sleep on it, let bygones be bygones. First thing tomorrow he’d reach out and smooth things over.

Azriel had been staring at your side of his bed for hours, running his hand across the empty space. He couldn't sleep without your warm body cuddled next to him. Or your soft breathing fanning across his chest. Your very soul had made a home within his heart, and he foolishly never bothered to secure the doors to keep you safe and nurture your love. You weren't a bird to be caged, but he sang your favorite song and each night you’d perch on his arm and stare into his hazel eyes with a look of love and admiration. Azriel was too scared to return the gaze. Too scared to lose the only person that brought him laughter and joy.

He buried his face in your pillow, inhaling the subtle scent of your hair that still lingered. A silent sob escaped his lips. It had been too long. He tried again, inhaling deeper, searching for those notes of magnolia and rose. Gripping the sheets tight in his fists, Azriel let his tears fall freely; your scent was fading. Loneliness followed him to bed that night. The cold of the night, a blanket holding him till he fell asleep. His heaving chest rocked him faster to the nightmares that would now plague him.

~~~~~~~

You sat in the lower levels of the library, the darkness, a familiar friend that brought you company in your solitude. The hum of Bryaxis slumber filled the air, a solemn soundtrack to accompany the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Sadness dotted the pages of the book that sat on your lap, rippled and wrinkled from the volume of your cries.

You could no longer read the pages, vision blurred and hazy. The more you researched the more it became a reality and in truth, you couldn’t stomach the thought. You’d have to visit Helion for clarification. How to undo or break it off before the other end sna-

A gentle shadow wrapped around your wrist, leaving a cool phantom kiss on your knuckles. You summoned a pocket of darkness and quickly sent the book away in a puff of black mist.

Azriel stepped out of a dark corner, concealed in the shadows like a true spymaster. “Love, I’m so fucking sorry. Please, forgive me,” he begged, as he took slow steps towards you.

“I know where I fall in your list of priorities, Azriel. You followed Rhys into his office like a loyal dog, and after that, you went to Elain and now you're here asking for forgiveness?”

Azriels brows furrow, questioning how you knew when you ran out of the house. “Your shadows,” you reply, already knowing his thought process- it seems they’ve betrayed their own master in favor of you. “They’ve told me everything. What you did with Elain and what you did after.”

“Did they tell you how much I love you? How much I crave you?” he cooed softly.

You shook your head. Those words were everything you wanted to hear ‘I love you,’ yet as your head moved side to side, you weren't sure if it was because you didn't believe the words or because It was too late. You wanted to believe him, fall into his arms, and easily forgive.

But your breathing quickens as your memory takes you back to last night. Azriels head thrown back as his hips thrust into Elains mouth. The pleasure that you hoped only you brought him, was written on his face; from the warmth of another female's mouth.

“Forgiveness? I can’t give that to you, not now. Not when every time I close my eyes all I see is your betrayal. All I hear are the words that I longed for mixed with the gagging of Elains throat as she took your cock down her mouth. I’m going to need time and space to forgive you. If the time ever comes.” You look to the ceiling, eyes stinging as you try to hold back the tears, your brave face faltering in vulnerability.

Azriel kneels in front of you, begging for your eyes to meet his. “I’ll spend forever apologizing and when you're ready to forgive me I'll be here. I’ll always be here, as long as it takes.”

“I heard what you said to Cass. That I was a mistake, and a fucking rebound,” you sniffled, fighting back the tears that once again tried to break free from your waterline.

Azriel doesn't miss the way you bite at your lip, the furrow between your brows. He's hurt you. Made you feel inadequate. You had always felt not good enough. Not good enough for your father, your mother. Not good enough to become High Lady of the Night Court.

Once Feyre and her sisters came into the picture you had no place. Feyre became High Lady, Rhysands equal. Not you. Not his flesh and blood. And now Azriels words cemented that feeling. You were the doormat of The Night Court, beloved by its citizens but stepped on by those that mattered to you, and that hurt more than you could bear.

“That's not what I meant! I wanted… I want to do things right. I want us to be together, finally. No more secrets, no hiding. It was a poor choice of words, and for that I’m sorry. But you are not a mistake. If you think you are, I'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you're not.”

He reaches for your hand to offer a comforting touch. To soothe the doubt within your heart. If anything else, to touch you one last time and caress the smoothness of your skin.

“Don’t touch me. Not with those hands,” you hiss, jerking your hands away and crossing your arms over your chest. A deep sadness settles over you, knowing the hurt you've caused with the double meaning of your words. You knew it wasn’t due to the scars, those hands had been touching someone else. Bringing another female to climax not even 24 hours prior.

It was that single sentence that broke the spymaster. An aching pressure was felt in his chest, growing into a mass of the insecurity he once had. He couldn't hide the quiver in his bottom lip or the way he felt his stomach cave in itself. You didn’t want him to touch you. His hands were now tainted, dare he say more now than ever before.

A soft cry pushed past his lips as the dam holding his composure finally broke. He stood up and turned his back to you. Wiping away the tears that continued to fall. You quickly followed, itching to place a hand on his shoulder, soothing the turmoil within him.

Your caring nature screamed for you to comfort him and apologize. Causing someone's pain wasn’t in your character, a stark difference from most of your family. But you retracted your hand, and wrapped them around your middle, holding yourself together.

“Do you really hate me?” Azriel whispered as he pulled out his gloves from his back pocket, sliding them on in hopes of hiding the repulsion you felt towards them.

You hesitated for a moment if revealing the truth would change anything. If it would alter the path of your relationship into one that was worth fighting for. But there was no Azriel and Vi, so you’d tell him the truth.

“I hate the way you make me feel. I hate that you embarrassed me in front of my family. I hate that you can make me laugh and cry on the same night. Most of all I hate that you didn't choose me.” You end on an exhale, rubbing your arms up and down, attempting to soothe the heartache.

“This is it then? You’re just giving up on us? Let me at least fix this mess I’ve made. I promise I’ll do better,” he pleads, running his hands through his hair, lightly pulling at the root.

You close your eyes and release a heavy sigh, “There was never an ‘us’ Azriel. As much as I wanted there-

“I want ‘us’ now,” he interrupts, closing the distance as he cups your face between his gloved hands. “Please, love. Give me this one last chance.”

Hazel eyes bore into yours pleading with every ounce of desperation in his voice, “please,” he breathes, gently nuzzling your nose with his. The puff of his breath cools the moisture on your lips, a chill that weakens your knees and for a moment you think to give in. It takes every ounce of control for you to wrap your delicate hands around his wrist and pull them away from your face. “I can’t do this,” you choke, shaking your head, trying to hold back the knot of emotion lodged in your throat as you rush past him, wiping at the lonely tears that have breached your waterline.

His happiness was fleeting, running into the arms of another. Except you didn’t. Not yet, not so soon. That was the difference, he realized. Where Azriel drowned in sorrow the moment you first left, his pain lingered on. Holding onto the pain meant; holding onto you. Holding onto what you once were. Whereas You faced the feeling head-on. You talked about what troubled you, about him, through the pain in your eyes and the wobble in your voice.

No matter how painful it was to relive, you pushed through. Felt deeply and wholly, head first into the unknown and you always managed to stay afloat. It scared him, how open you were with your feelings. Heart on your sleeve, willing to give and give. It was easy for you to love, to feel. And if you spoke of your sorrow so openly, then you’d heal faster and surely fall out of love just as quickly or worse forget him altogether.

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

Feyre was the one to scold Rhys for his actions towards his brother. The cunning High Lord indeed had a trick up his sleeve. One that would ensure Azriel had your best interests at heart. Rhys knew all too well how loyal and dutiful Azriel was to him and he wondered how far that loyalty ran. To what end would he go to please his High Lord? Rhys knew sending Azriel to spy on you was invading your privacy. And that would only anger you if you knew. Rhysand hoped though, that Azriels love for you was stronger than the loyalty he held for his High Lord. He was wrong. Azriel took the punishment without thinking how it would affect you. How following your every move would make you uncomfortable and you’d possibly resent Azriel for agreeing to such a thing.

~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed in a blur. You had avoided the Inner circle at all costs, not quite ready to comment on the love triangle that unfolded under their nose. You tried to continue your work in Hewn City as you had been for centuries. Although the High Fae preferred you over Rhysand, you were finding it difficult to sway certain policies with Keir. You were a brilliant light in Hewn City, creating an education system that opened their eyes to diversity and understanding amongst their people. They no longer detested lesser fae, a tradition that had been extremely difficult to break. The residents were now free to travel out of the city and some even enjoyed Velaris. All the work you had done was more than Rhys could expect, yet you still felt as if you lacked purpose. It then occurred to you that perhaps you could fulfill that purpose in another court.

You winnowed back to Velaris instantly, running up the steps of the house of wind towards Rhysands office. Excitement in each step as you imagined a new opportunity at your fingertips. One that puts space between your fractured relationship with Azriel as well as a chance to step out of your brother's shadow and into your own. As soon as you opened the door to his office you stilled-causing the person who was trailing behind you to stumble into your back. Azriel straightened, careful not to touch you. “Apologies, I,” Azriel narrowed his eyes at the guest seated across from Rhys, “who are you?”

“Kit!” you blurted out, bouncing to him and embracing him in a crushing hug. Kit wraps his arms around your waist as your hands clasp around his neck. Azriels eyes zero in on where Kit’s fingers dig into your sides, noticing the small caress against your skin. And how he’s pulled your body so tight against his, relishing in your radiate beauty. Or the way his chest expands as he inhales the scent of your hair. “Good to see you again Princess. I was just talking to Rhysand about a proposition.”

Kit’s gaze lands on the Shadowsinger, “ forgive me, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kit, son of Kallias and Vivienne of The Winter Court.” He extends his palm in a friendly greeting towards Azriel. Ever respectful and kind, just as an Heir should be. Azriel runs his eyes over the Princeling, scrutinizing every inch of the male; from his snow-white hair to his pompous pale blue shirt. Even down to how costly his shoes must have been. Seconds passed and Azriel just stared the Prince down, a challenge in his deadly eyes.

“Please excuse my spymaster, Azriel, he's recently gone through a break-up.” Rhysand shoots a glare at the Shadowsinger with a look of disappointment.

A muscle feathered in Azriels jaw. He didn’t like this, not one bit. Kit touched you. Touched what once belonged to him. His shadows curled around his ear whispering all the ways Azriel could kill him. He saw the look in his eyes, longing and desire. Rhys no doubt divulged that break-up comment to open the doors for Kit to swoop right in.

Your eyes drop to the floor, shifting on your feet uncomfortably. Tension in the room doubled as the silence filled the awkwardness.

Kits' attention shifted to you. Noticing your downturned lips and slumped shoulders. Things must have gotten worse between you and Azriel. His icy blue eyes snapped towards the brooding male. “How unfortunate, that when you looked at her you did not feel cauldron blessed to have her. In that case, she must not have been yours to keep,” he pulled you close around the waist, “hopefully she’ll be another males blessing.” Kit smiled down at you, his dimples deep and adorable. You couldn’t help but melt into his side, his touch offering a comfort that you desperately needed.

A dangerous growl ripped through Azriels throat. He rolled his shoulders back, craning his neck from side to side, cracking the tension in his bones. The loud pop of his knuckles rang in your ears as Azriel flexed his fingers into a fist. You’d seen this rage in his eyes many times; right before hand-to-hand combat in the camps.

You quickly glanced at your brother, pleading mind to mind. "Stop this, they’ll kill each other.” Rhys sat back in his chair, legs spread wide and relaxed, "I’ll bet you all the jewels in Velaris Azriel breaks that pretty boy in two."

“Watch your mouth!” Azriel seethed, as he stalked forward, a predator hunting his prey.

Kit moved you to stand behind him, shielding you with his body. He did not back down from confrontation and did not cower. A fighter with words that will knock his opponent where it hurts the most. For wounds heal but poisonous words rot from the inside out. Latching to the mind to burrow and breed the thoughts keeping the nightmares and failures alive.

With every drop of ferocity that flowed through his veins, he struck at the jugular. Pouring salt on the wound of Azriels inferiority complex with malicious intent to hollow him out. “No Shadowsinger! You’re no Prince, nor are you a High Lord or King of any Kingdom. You do not own property and you are not wealthy. You offer nothing to a Princess but anguish and a filthy cock that's been between the legs and mouths of cheap women. You survive by the scraps your friend gives you out of pity for being a bastard born. It is you who needs to watch your tongue. It is you who needs to remember your place.”

Azriel's face was unreadable as he took the insult with his head held high. His breathing turned rapid, with every second that passed. Azriel wanted to wipe that smug look off the princeling's face and scrub the floor with his perfect teeth. Break every finger that had touched you, gouge out the blue eyes that had fantasized about you.

The second Kit took his eyes off Azriel to gawk at you. Azriel pulled Kit by the collar of his shirt, holding him in place as his hammer fist connected with his jaw over and over again. Adrenaline flowed through his body, as knuckles met solid ice beneath the flesh and blood of the heir. Blood sprayed Kit's shirt as a cut splayed open below his eye, most likely from Azriels rings. Kit's head bobbed around lifeless, blood slipping down the corner of his mouth. Azriel couldn’t stop the onslaught of his attack, as he continued to break the heir's nose with a resounding crack.

“Azriel stop!” you screamed, throwing your fist at his back, pulling at his shirt in an attempt to stop the assault. Azriel tried to stop but Kit's crimson smile taunted him each time his fist landed against his pale skin, enraging him more.

“Shit!” Rhys scrambled out of his chair, using his dark power to throw Azriel off the Prince and into the farthest wall. Crashing to the ground Azriels vision cleared, his heart sank at the image of you on the floor cradling the bleeding Prince in your arms, tending to his battered face. “Vi, I’m so sorry I.. I didn’t,-”

“You brutish Illyrian bastard, when will you stop breaking things?!” You looked at Azriel with glossy eyes and blood that wasn't yours smeared against your bosom.

“Pack the rest of your bags sister. You’ll be living in the Winter Court for the foreseeable future. Re-shaping their crumbling Agriculture and stabilizing their infrastructure for future prosperity. The work you’ve done in Hewn City is remarkable, I’m sure you’ll do great things for Kallias and Vivienne. ” Rhys gaze never left Azriel as he delivered the news to you.

‘I’m sorry Az. This was the proposition brought to me today. Vi needs this, she's no longer happy here. And as her brother, I have to do what's best for her.’

Rhys saw the tears well in Azriels eyes. If he hadn't been shattered to pieces before, then this would disintegrate him into ash. Left alone to wander the skies aimlessly, letting the wind tousle and puncture him as he reached for the sun's brightest ray of light.

“Take a good look at him, Vi, He’ll no longer be allowed in The Winter Court after today's attack,” your head whipped from Azriel to Kit, “My father will ban him from ever setting foot on his land again.” A sly grin crossed Kit’s face, victorious in his plan, “Don’t worry shadowsinger, we’re just borrowing her and I promise I’ll keep her safe.” Azriel snarled as Kit grimaced, pushing against your chest for your comforting touch.

He’d fallen into Kit's trap so easily, allowing his anger to blind him from his true intentions. He didn’t even raise his hand to deflect the blows or bother punching back. He took the punches and played victim, the scheming ice Prince. He knew how it looked. The eloquent Prince who had a future and armies at his beck and call.

A Court that he would one day rule for centuries with a palace to call his own, a throne and crown made of diamonds and sapphires. A Night Court Princess turned High Lady to warm his bed and give him Heirs to sit on his throne. Azriel couldn’t offer you any of that. He was a bastard-born Illyrian who tortured people for a living. You deserve a fulfilling life full of happiness, laughter, and love.

You were leaving because of him, and he decided then, that he wouldn’t stop you. It would make him sick, but he’d survive and the sun would rise one day. The future he dreamed of was slowly fading to black and he couldn't imagine a world without you, but you were leaving. He couldn't think of a way to stop the bleeding or to fix what he broke. He couldn’t hold you back. You were a princess, when you were meant to be a queen.

“Throw me in the prison Rhys I don’t care, but if I have to watch her fall in love with him, by the God’s he’ll die by my blade before he lays another hand on her. Punishment be damned” Azriels words pierced through Rhys mind like a violent storm, destroying everything in its way. Rhys chuckled, grinning like a madman towards Azriels words, “there you are brother.” He stretched out his hand to help Azriel get up off the floor, ‘I know now that you love her, but she still needs space. Please respect her decision.’

Rhys jerked his chin towards the door. “Now get out.”

Azriel walked towards the door, looking over his shoulder for one last glance at you. Even with red staining your face, you were still the most beautiful female he had ever seen, yet he took every moment with you for granted. The cauldron was either cruel or he had terrible luck. How is it that his first and ever love would ruin him? How was he to move on from this? He realized too late that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. You had completely shattered his heart and soul, taking the bleeding organ in your hands. “Be happy, love,” he spoke softly, “and for what it’s worth, I have always loved you.” You saw a lone tear run down his cheek as he turned and walked away.

Part 3 coming soon.....

A/n: Thank you for reading.

Taglist: @fuckthatfeeling @celtic-shadow-wolf @crazylokonugget @leyannrae @rehua @readychilledwine @ellievickstar @siriusblackssun @saltedcoffeescotch @b0xerdancer @tothestarsandwhateverend @anainkandpaper @em-marlenesversion @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe @rogersbarnesxx @nayaniasworld @sam-san-sam @yeahimcrying @olive-main

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x fem!reader #azriel angst #azriel x y/n #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic

414 notes · View notes

aajjks · 11 months ago

Text

The Conqueror (XXI)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader.

warnings. yándèrè thèmès, därk trïggèrïng thèmès, jüngkôôk ïs crâzy, öbsëssïön, mêntïöns öf kïllïng, yn ïs gèttïng ströngèr, a BÏG STÖRM ÏS CÖMÏNG.

series masterlist.

note. plz hi, forgive me for the delay xx send asks for tc characters, send feedback n ENJOY! Please share your thoughts about this chapter because I’m excited. Also, I’m removing the people from the tag list who are not taggable anymore. So if you want to be tagged, just reply to this post.

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @namjooncrabs @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie

You couldn’t sleep last night. But it’s not like you have been able to sleep peacefully without nightmares haunting you or the thought of Jungkook- the monster taking over your mind every time you try to sleep.

But this time it wasn’t just his thoughts, but rather his words- what was he talking about when he said that he was going to tell you the truth about your father, and you’d start to would hate him?

You have nothing to do here, all you have to do is sit around, and… dread the thought of him coming back to you. This chamber is so large but all you feel is suffocated.

The golden chandeliers, the silk bed sheet and the sherbet right next to your bed, it all feels too much- you’re in a golden cage.

And you cannot escape.

Yeah, all you can do is sit around, but you’re not willing to do that anymore. If you cannot escape, you just might as well try to walk around this palace, so maybe you’ll feel a sense of control over your own life.

You decide to get up from your bed you take a few steps you look at yourself in the mirror that’s standing, right in front of you, you look so different in these royal clothes, but.. you don’t feel good about yourself.

What did he even see in you? Sure you’re attractive, but there are a lot of more attractive women than you, especially his consorts.

You are nothing when it comes to them- they are the most gorgeous women in Goryeo.

You would feel insecure, but you don’t care- you want him to leave you so you can escape and leave your life freely but in the few days you have realized one thing: that’s just not possible anymore.

This king will never leave you.

You sigh, crying anymore will do you no good, last night, you even came to a conclusion that you have to face your destiny now.

And fearlessly.

As you open your chamber’s door and walk outside you hear commotion. The guards guarding your chamber immediately hear your footsteps, and they bow their head to you and respect.

You visibly cringe.

You lower your head in embarrassment and just make your way through the golden wing. You keep walking the noises become clearer.

“The Kings wedding is in a week. Can you believe this? I thought he would never marry- at least not someone like her.” a court lady is talking to her fellow and you cannot help but listen..

What wedding? And in Less than a week?

Your heartbeat rises because you know they’re talking about you, especially when they mention someone like her with a scoff, and the hint of jealousy, and disgust in their voices, of course you can see their faces.

“yes I cannot believe that it’s not one of the consorts-especially considering their background.. I don’t know what the king is doing, but it’s a foolish move.”

You Cannot help but feel a little insulted at their remarks, you clear your throat and as soon as the maids notice you, you can feel the color from their face drain. All staff stand in alert as you make your presence known.

But you’re not even a queen yet, so why are they behaving like this?

“M-My lady- I’m so sorry… what are you doing here? Do you need anything?” One of them stutters out while the other one is avoiding eye contact with you.

you want to roll your eyes because you’re done with everyone walking all over you like you won’t do anything and now you’ve decided that you’ll fight back against everyone that will disrespect you.

Including Jungkook.

It’s not your fault that he chose you. “what were you guys talking about? What wedding?” The real question is what the fuck they’re talking about.

They gasp, and one of them finally gathers the courage to look into your eyes.

“Y-Your wedding with the- Baby, they’re talking about our wedding.”

Goosebumps.

You tilt your head to look behind you, and you see him standing. With a smirk on his face, but he looks visibly livid. You’re not surprised because he always looks so crazy.

But what the fuck is he doing here? He must be walking here to bother you once again, but this time you’re here.

“Y-Your Majesty!!” The whole staff present cower. Soon you see them all bow again, but this time all of their heads hang low.

Jungkook is right here- speak of the devil, and he shall appear-or more likely? think of the devil, and he shall appear.

Delusional. He’s delusional if he thinks that you’re going to marry him.

“what wedding?” At this point you sound like a broken record, but he doesn’t mind that, instead, he chooses to focus his attention on the two court ladies that you were talking to just now.

“what were you saying about yn just now? I would like to hear it from your own mouth or I cut off your tongue right here.”

Your eyes widen when he threatens to cut off their tongue with a huge smile on his face. He heard the whole conversation like you.

They both start to shake, you can even smell their fear from here, what the fuck is he doing? All he does is traumatize people. “W-What- no- DO NOT INTERRUPT ME YN.” His voice booms as he cuts you off.

You can hear a few whimpers, people are scared.

You want to roll your eyes but it won’t really bring a difference and he always does what he wants

Jungkook is still glaring at the two, “COME ON NOW, SPEAK UP!” he commands, and his author voice, you go silent, because how could he scream at you like this?

He cannot be serious about cutting their tongue.

He’s got his hands folded behind his back and he’s standing tall, all intimidating. His dark curly hair makes him more intimidating. His figure is definitely huge.

He’s quite literally a beast.

“Y-Your majesty pl-please forgive us. It was an honest mistake.. we are so sorry please- please forgive us!” You watch them as they fall to their knees and bow to Jungkook- their shaking bodies make you pity them.

No one should ever have to beg for their life like this. no matter what they have done and even though they have insulted, you definitely felt stringed but you still don’t want them to die.

The fear in their voice will haunt you forever- they are about to die because of you. You have to stop this.

So you decide to swallow your pride, before he can say anything or take out his sword, you can see his hand reaching for it.

Come yn speak up!

“J-Jungkook.” You call out his name, oh, your heart is going to burst for sure, all of this is so overwhelming and intense but you have to keep your composure if you want to save their life.

You’ve never called him by his name.

And he knows that because the way he looks at you immediately has you a little creeped out, he looks starstruck, “J-Jungkook please don’t punish them..”

Your tongue feels bitter as you say his name. “please.” You say once again. It’s so hard for you beg to him but if you have to save someone’s life, you will do it.

“J-Jungkook.”

Did you just call out his name? Oh, he must be hallucinating. Because you would never call out his name like that so softly. You haven’t even said his name.

And even if you have, he doesn’t remember.

“J-Jungkook please don’t punish them..”

It’s like you can hear his thoughts because you decide to call out his name once again, and all of his anger melts down, he looks at you in surprise.

Fuck.

He feels his knees, go weak as you call out his name- he’s been dying to hear you say it. His hand from his sword attached to his pants loosens.

You’re so kind- they and they deserve to die but here you are begging for their life, even though he doesn’t agree with you, but since you asked so nicely, who is he to deny you?

“Oh baby…” he coos, walking towards you, He cannot focus on anyone right now because you just called out his name so kindly for the first time.

He wants to hear you say it again

He can move the mountains for you. “Yn- YOUR MAJESTY I’M SO SORRY FOR INTERRUPTING YOU LIKE THIS, BUT THERE’S SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOW.”

Oh he’s really going to kill someone now, jungkook scoffs as he halts his steps. “what the fuck is wrong with you? How dare you interrupt me?”

Jungkook looks at the guard instead now, glaring him and if looks could kill he’d be six feet under now. “BARK!” He screams.

“T-There’s an intruder in the Palace! H-He’s asking for the Chief Consort… He is calling her name out like a crazy man.”

What the fuck, he feels his eye twitch and Jungkooks jaw clenches with anger, All of the people are confused and you gasp.

Someone is definitely going to die tonight, Jungkooks sure because he knows for a fact that he is here for you, even though he has no idea about this man.

Without uttering a word, Jungkook storms off.

This man has just come to his own death.

430 notes · View notes

myocsfanfictions · 11 months ago

Text

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

CHAPTER 1

Runestone the seat of ancient House Royce and the Bronze Kings. Ysilla descended from two lines of kings; the Royces and the greatest of them all, the dragon lords, the Targaryens.

Runestone is the seat of ancient House Royce and the Bronze Kings. Ysilla descended from two lines of kings: the Royces and the greatest of them all, the dragon lords, the Targaryens.

Ysilla’s mother was the Lady of Runestone, and her father was Prince Daemon Targaryen, the brother of Viserys Targaryen, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father was never in Runestone; Ysilla knew that he had matters to attend to in King's Landing.

"Mother," she said, running to her mother, who had just come back from her hunt.

"My sweet," her lady mother greeted her, getting down from her horse.

"My egg hatched, Mother!" Ysilla said happily, unable to stay still. A strand of her streaked black and white hair fell against her face.

Her mother seemed not to like those words as she moved so that her back was facing her daughter, tending to her horse. Ysilla was only five, but she could understand that her mother had no love for dragons. Or Targaryens.

"I have to write to Father," she insisted, hoping that her mother would turn to her. He'd want to know that my egg hatched."

"Stop wanting to please him, Ysilla." The girl lowered her eyes, fixing her gaze on her feet. "He adores King's Landing more than both of us." Ysilla felt her eyes stung with tears, and to keep herself from crying, she bit her lips hard.

"I thought that he was not coming back because of the war," Ysilla said with pain in her voice. It was because she remembered that her father was fighting on the Stepstones.

"Yes," her mother answered, "It's been three years now. But there was no war before."

That was true. Ysilla had seen her father very few times, and when her uncle, the King, invited her to King's Landing, she had little memory of him.

"It is because of my hair," Ysilla muttered. He does not love me because of my hair." She knew that she was different from other Targaryens, with their long silver hair. Ysilla did not have it. She was different, and she knew it was the reason why her father never went to Runestone for a visit. But she thought that her dragon could have changed it, that maybe her father would have loved her for that.

"Look at me," her mother said sternly, but Ysilla did not move, "Look at me, Ysilla." When her mother insisted, the girl did as she was told, hoping not to cry. "You are more than him. In your veins flows the blood of the First Men. Be proud of that as you are of your dragon."

"I am proud, Mother," Ysilla complained.

"Then stop seeking your father's approval," her mother said, standing strong. You don't need him; remember this."

Ysilla lowered her eyes again, "I will."

We remember those were House Royce's words. They were strong and full of will, as her mother was.

Ysilla didn't feel strong. She felt lonely and forgotten. Her name was Targaryen, and the blood of old Valyria flowed in her veins as much as the First Men's did. But nobody cared about her, not even her own Father.

The little lady went back to her chamber, holding her tears because she knew that she was not supposed to cry. Her mother didn't want her to shed tears for her Father. Ysilla closed the wooden door with carved runes in it, sliding down until she found herself sitting on the ground.

She wanted to be strong like her lady Mother. She wanted for her to be proud of her daughter, but she missed her Father. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to hold him. And she knew that he wanted the same thing. He was only busy with the matters of King's Landing.

Suddenly, she heard a low noise and a little growl. Drying her tears, Ysilla walked towards the little cradle next to the fire. Her dragon was there. She thought the Maester was tending it.

"I don't think it is going to make it, my lady," Ysilla frowned when she heard the voice of the old man from behind the door. He was talking with her mother.

"And why's that?" Ysilla's mother said while the girl kept looking at the cradle. From where she was, she could only see the little black wings moving.

"The beast is deformed, my lady," Ysilla frowned, standing up from her position. What was the meaning of that? That was her dragon. After so long her dragon egg had finally hatched, it could not die.

She got closer, and there it was. He was as big as a cat, with dark scales and purple reflections, as purple as its eyes. It looked at her, his eyes fixed on her as if he was looking inside her soul. It was beautiful.

The little hatchling made a sound before trying to get closer. At that point, she noticed. It was struggling to do so because it was born without legs.

"We have to find a way to tell her it won't survive."

Ysilla's eyes remained fixed on the little dragon. No one believed he could survive because he was different, only because he was like her.

After a moment, the hatchlings found a way to get closer, moving more like a snake than a dragon, but he was fighting.

"You will survive," she promised, reaching out so that her fingers could brush his scales. "I'll make sure of that."

___________________________________________________________

Next 》

If you want to be add to the tag list just let me know.

If you liked it, please leave a ♥️ and reblog!

312 notes · View notes

writingjourney · 7 months ago

Text

Small Beauties

Life at court while beneficial to your station is above all else one thing – unbearably lonely. With a youth spent in unreciprocated longing, the trap of an unhappy marriage, illness, loss and untimely farewells there is one thing that does not change throughout the years – your infatuation and blossoming friendship with Otto Hightower. After all is said and done, are you not both deserving of the very thing you never allowed yourselves to have?

pairing: Otto Hightower x fem!reader // rated E, 18+ MDNI

content: 19k words in five parts + epilogue, pining, forbidden romance, mostly gentle!otto, talks about pregnancy/infertility, minor character death, grief, religious themes (faith of the seven), smut (thigh riding, hand job, oral sex f!receiving, p in v, unprotected, coming inside, mild hand kink)

This story is available on AO3, split into five chapters ♡

1 The Maiden Days

Otto Hightower lifts the ornate cup to his lips, taking a lazy sip before he slowly lowers it yet again. A crimson stain lingers on the soft skin, the Dornish wine momentarily painting them red. You are transfixed by the sight. No matter how often he repeats this simple action it never fails to incite a war in your chest – heart beating rapidly, your lungs fluttering with every breath.

You fold your hands in your lap to ground yourself, observing him from your spot on the cool stone bench that sits at the far end of the balcony. Around you, a handful of other young ladies has erupted into lively chatter, most of them a few years younger than you.

“Ser Alister is so very handsome,” one of them chirps, giggling under her breath as they all turn to look at the man. “A fine knight, tall and strong and most honourable. His blue eyes are captivating.”

“Have you seen Ser Matthos? I hear that he has never lost a battle, the strongest knight in all the Riverlands.”

“Who do you admire, my lady?”

The voice resounds close to your ear – your friend, the Lady Emeline. You answer in a low hum, feigning contemplation. But your eyes still follow his every movement. Often times the lord will keep to himself, observing these gatherings more so than participating. His auburn hair shimmers golden in the warm sunlight and you are so very grateful to behold him outside of the gloomy chambers of the castle.

“Ser Otto,” you whisper.

They all burst into laughter like you told a hilarious joke, guffawing quite unladylike which garners the attention of the entire balcony, including the man you have been speaking of.

“I am not jesting,” you inform them.

Their laughter stops at once. Emeline’s hand wraps around your forearm. “But, you cannot be serious?”

Your eyes stay on the Lord whose solemn gaze still holds you captive. “The Lord Hand is handsome and tall, he is intelligent and experienced in life. An honourable man who serves our realm most faithfully. Any young lady would be lucky to be wed to him.”

“But he is… old,” she whispers now.

“And he is the Lady Alicent’s father,” another girl adds.

You decide to end your rhapsody, if only because you know they could never understand your infatuation. The Lord Hand is not older than half of the men your father is considering as a match for you, even though he certainly appears to be wise beyond his years. Recently widowed and in no want of a new wife, you are well aware that all your dreams of being with him are hopeless. However, this knowledge does nothing to quench your desires as his eyes remain fixed on you for longer than is appropriate. You confidently hold his gaze, even as your heart threatens to burst from your chest. Finally, he averts his eyes, just as the red stain slowly fades from his pale lips.

✦ ✧ ✦

Your father has been pacing since the sun began to wander westwards, his arms crossed behind his back as he fiddles with the rings on his fingers. You’ve seen this nervous gesture plenty of times in your life, only this time his distress has been inadvertently caused by you. Not even the splendid view over the prospering gardens of King’s Landing seems to calm his agitation. “She is of age, she has been of age for long enough that anything but a swift betrothal would be considered shameful, especially now that we are here.”

“Surely that should not be an issue, my lord?” your mother asks. “I hear from the other ladies that she has many a handsome suitor.”

“Suitors, yes, but no promising match. We have to entertain the possibility of sending her to the Riverlands or even the North, though I would prefer for her to stay in the capital. It is always useful to have a direct line to the crown.”

“Perhaps a Lannister?” she asks. “Or Ser Alister? All the young girls seem enamoured with him and his father sits on the king’s council.”

“What about Ser Otto?” you interject.

“The Lord Hand?” Your father barks out a laugh. “He will not have you, girl.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are not important enough, child, and most certainly not handsome enough to tempt a man like him. If he harboured any interest in you he would have already expressed it.”

“My lord.”

You startle at the sound of the deep voice that haunts your very existence these days, followed by the crunching of heavy footsteps on the gravely path. Your face instantly drains of all colour until you can feel the blood rushing back to your cheeks tenfold. You and your mother are seated underneath a rose-colored pavilion but the shade does nothing to cool your heated skin. At the arrival of your guest, you both stand for a polite greeting. From your spot close beside him you make out a familiar pair of leather boots and the ornate hem of a set of dark green garbs, the elaborate pattern of which you could describe in great detail from memory alone.

You cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“My Lord Hand,” your father greets. “To what do I owe the honour of such an unexpected visit?”

“I was informed of your arrival, my lord. I deeply regret that I was kept busy for most of the day – as you well know from your own time in the capital the council never truly rests.” He stops for a moment when your father chuckles, then his voice softens. “My ladies.”

“My lord, what a pleasure to see you,” your mother replies. “It has been nigh a decade.”

“Indeed, my lady. I trust that your lord father is in good health?”

“He is,” she says with a playful smile. “The only ailment he cannot quite soothe is his growing ennui. He so loved to meddle in politics, now all he gets to dictate are his servants while my brother commands his army.”

The Lord Hand gives a kindhearted chuckle and you can almost feel the deep rumbling of his chest vibrating against you, a quake that has your own body trembling helplessly. You realise that every second of silence raises the risk of appearing unseemly to the lord, and so you finally glance up at him, only to find his green eyes already resting on you.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” you say, wishing the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

“My lady.” The corner of his mouth bends into a kind if not sympathetic smile. He must have heard his name coming from your lips upon his arrival and you cannot help but suspect that he finds the suggestion pitiable.

For the remainder of their conversation you stay quiet, withdrawing into yourself to nurse your deep embarrassment and sneaking glances at the lord only when you’re certain that his attention lies elsewhere. Soon your father follows the Lord Hand back inside the keep for a private audience and you remain seated in the gardens with a broken heart. Your mother inquires about the knights and lords you have met in your time in King’s Landing, riddling you with questions about potential marriage candidates.

She does not ask about Otto Hightower.

✦ ✧ ✦

The lady Alicent pulls the book from the shelf ever so cautiously in the way that she was taught to handle the ancient tomes that reside in her lord father’s library. You stand by her side, reading the spines of the books in the collection that his lordship as well as his predecessors have accumulated over the past centuries. Storybooks and fairytales are scarce, you are quite certain that you have read all of them thrice at this point, and so you and your friend have moved on to the historical accounts that the septa never taught you about.

The Lord Hand is eyeing you from his desk where he is taking care of his correspondence, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as the quill scratches the ink into the parchment. Alicent, who has retrieved the book by now, presents the title to him.

“Hm, a good pick, my daughter.”

You both smile at him and his eyes stay on you for so long that you are inclined to stall your departure even as Alicent makes her way to the door. You have never been very subtle about your feelings for the lord and for the past few moons he has indulged you by meeting your eyes more often than would be deemed appropriate should anyone notice.

“A word, my lady?” he asks, sensing your apprehension.

You glance at Alicent who merely gives you one of her kind smiles. “I shall wait for you in the godswood.”

A nervous sensation spreads in your limbs, numbing your fingers as you link your hands behind your back. His lordship stands and beholds you for a moment, his gaze betraying none of his thoughts as it flits between your face and the rest of your form. You stand still, meeting his eyes as you are wont to do, trying to uphold an air of confidence and maturity beyond your years.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your betrothal, my lady,” he says eventually.

“Thank you, my lord.” You hesitate for a moment in surprise as he is the first to bring up the subject since your father presented you with the news. “I was not aware that it had been announced already.”

He sits down behind his desk, neatly folding his long hands on its surface. “I assisted your father with the arrangements. The match was my suggestion.”

“Oh.” You feel your limbs trembling, the realisation like a knife in your chest. “I see.”

“I know he may not be who you dreamed for yourself,” he continues with a knowing expression that softens his features in a way that makes you want to weep.

“My lord has a keen, observant eye.”

“Indeed I have noticed your glances, my lady.” His brows pull together in a display of almost fatherly sympathy but it only makes the knife twist and sink in deeper. “And while I am flattered by your… infatuation, I must point out that this arrangement spares you a life by the side of a man much older than yourself. Ser Alister is in the prime of his youth, a well-favoured knight, and he will make a fine husband for many years to come.”

You nod, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I am fortunate to be betrothed to such a brave and noble knight. And yet **I feel that I must point out that you are being most unkind to yourself, my lord. Your age only adds to your character, your wisdom and gentle disposition are unmatched by any knight I have met in my life. If you ever chose to marry again, the lady would be most fortunate indeed.”

“Your generous words are appreciated, my lady.” He gives a smile that feels more genuine than the ones you have seen before. You refuse to get lost in the way it makes his eyes glow in the light of the candles. “May the Seven watch over you and bestow you with a prosperous future.”

You swallow around the tears that are painfully forming in your eyes, willing the corners of your mouth to return his kindness. “Thank you, my lord. I am certain with your blessings they will.”

2 The Wedded Days

“Seven blessings on your hunt, my lord. May your arrows fly true.”

You press a kiss to your husband’s pale cheek, the courtyard a cacophony of neighing horses, shouting men and clattering weapons in your ears. The hour is early and yet the keep is already alive as it prepares for a day that promises fresh game and other spoils of the woods.

He mounts his horse with a chuckle. “Can you not hear the deer already bawling? They are quivering with fear.”

You fight off a grimace, feeling sorry for the poor animals, and wave after the party as they depart for the Kingswood. A few other ladies who have bid their husbands farewell are waiting with you, waving until the last horse is out of sight and quiet settles in.

Your husband of three years recently inherited his father’s titles and has risen significantly in the king’s esteem ever since. As a proficient hunter since his childhood days it is no surprise that he was invited to join the party. You are surprised, however, when you encounter the Lord Hand on your way back inside, the quiet of the keep’s interiors enveloping you most welcomely.

“Are you not joining the hunt, my lord?” you ask when he stops to greet you.

“No, my lady, it is a small party.”

“His Grace would leave without his most trusted advisor?”

“His Grace has little use for me in the Kingswood, my lady. I am tending to important matters of the realm during his absence.”

You nod in understanding. Naturally the Lord Hand knows to prioritise his tasks but that does not mean you cannot tempt him to a small diversion. “Perhaps his lordship would allow me to keep him company, then?”

He scoffs mildly. “I hardly think that is appropriate, my lady.”

“Why not?”

The lord stops in his tracks, his gaze suddenly softening. “My lady.”

You raise your brows. “Are you concerned about matters of propriety?”

“I am concerned about the matter of your propriety, my lady, yes.”

“If you are alluding to…” You pause and he quirks an eyebrow, almost as if in amusement. “If you are alluding to my childish infatuation with you, my lord, I can assure you that it has long since passed. All I wish is for some company. It has been quite some time since I had the chance to enjoy the sunrise on a morning walk and I merely wish to share the beautiful view the gardens offer at first light.”

For a brief moment, the lord regards you as though he is trying to decipher one of his books. Eventually he tips his head to the side, locking his arms behind his back. “Very well, my lady. Since you are so fond of the gardens, I shall let you lead the way.”

You chuckle good-naturedly. “That is only because his lordship is so busy with politics that he hardly leaves the council chamber. Something he has in common with my husband.”

“There are duties that require an environment free of diversions, my lady.”

“Beauty is a diversion, then, my lord?”

“It most certainly is.”

You exit the keep onto a rather large balcony, the view opening up to the gardens that are still draped in deep shadows as the sun slowly rises above the horizon. A clear sky stretches out in purples, pinks and oranges, their pastel hues blending into each other with the soft brushstrokes of an artist. The sight takes your breath away for several seconds and when you come to, you notice that the Lord Hand is observing you.

“A marvel, don’t you agree?” you ask.

Otto Hightower smiles softly, his eyes crinkling beautifully in their corners. “A marvel indeed.”

The pink on your cheeks must mirror that of the sky when you descend the stairs and tread along the path. The cool air is not unwelcome even though your gown with its southern cut is not meant to keep you warm. You have only known the warm climate of the capital, hardly remembering your time before you were sent here as a ward, but you imagine that this is what the earliest signs of fall would feel like further up North.

“I don’t think I have properly conversed with anyone but my own servants in over a fortnight,” you muse as your footsteps lead you past flowering bushes, their blossoms still closed from the night. “Not even my lord husband has any time to spare for me these days, so busy is he with the council and his… lordly activities.”

“My lady, if you suffer from feelings of loneliness, I am sure we can make some arrangements to ease that affliction.” The tall lord's footsteps are heavier than yours, a reassuring sound that follows you along the path. “Perhaps we can send for one of your sisters.”

“I do not wish to talk to my sisters who I hardly know and hardly remember.” You pause, trying to hide your disdain as you let your hand hover under a particularly beautiful flower. “My lord, I so long for easy conversation or even just the silent companionship that being in the mere presence of a familiar person offers. Since becoming a wife my social circle has only grown smaller which I find quite odd.”

“Perhaps it simply lacks the carefree nature of childhood,” he says wisely.

“Perhaps it simply lacks another intelligent being to converse with.”

“In which case you flatter me, my lady, by seeking my companionship.”

You cannot hide the small smile that slips onto your face. “I have always enjoyed listening to you, my lord. Your insight and wisdom in any conversation over a shared meal has taught me more than my septa during her lessons.”

He rewards you with a deep chuckle and you glance at him, the way his usually stoic face lights up in a smile. “I should think that your septa did a fine job in raising a knowledgeable, kind-hearted young lady.”

“She did, you are quite right. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” You continue to walk, trying to focus back on the sun that wanders along with you. “However, I cannot deny that I regret the ways in which time has passed. I have lost my friends to motherhood while I myself have been less than fortunate in this area. I now suffer the consequences of these shortcomings.”

“There is still time, my lady. You are quite young.”

The smile you give him is tinged with sadness, even though you appreciate his kind words. In truth, you are close to giving up all hope to ever conceive. You have been married for three years now and in all that time you have not once been with child. Not for a lack of efforts from your lord husband nor from your unwillingness to endure said efforts, no matter how unenjoyable you found them. As of late, however, he has shifted those efforts to other recipients, if your staff is to be believed who has spotted him frequent certain establishments in the city. You are not sure if that is a blessing or a curse.

“You speak very kindly, my lord, and yet deep in my heart I can feel that this marriage will not be as prosperous as anyone would have hoped. Perhaps the Gods did not intend for me to be a mother, as much as it pains me to entertain this possibility.”

“My lady, let me assure you that it is not necessarily the fault of the mother,” he says, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Many good men have not sired a child in all their life.”

You consider his words, consider their implications that perhaps the fault of your childless life is not yours alone. “You may be right, my lord, and yet if the purpose of a woman is to bear her husband’s children then I cannot help but feel like my worth has been impaired by my failure to give him an heir.”

“Some narrow minds may view it like that, yes, but I cannot agree. My own lady wife was much more to me than just the bearer of my children and I miss her dearly to this very day.”

You cannot help the wave of pain this opens in your chest, your eyes stinging the faintest bit. “How beautiful it must be to be loved and cherished as you did her.”

“Do you not feel cherished, my lady?” he inquires.

“I never expected to be blessed with a happy marriage, my lord,” you confess truthfully. “And yet the reality of it disappoints me greatly. They say a lady may not love her husband but that she will love his children. It fills me with great sorrow to find that there is no love in my life when my heart is overflowing with all that I have yet to give.”

He halts right beside you and you do the same, the view from the edge of the retaining wall quite spectacular now that the sun has risen above sea level.

“I know my lady is visiting the city’s orphanages quite frequently,” he finally says. “And that she is very fond of my own grandchildren, generously helping my daughter in her care for them.”

“Indeed and it may not be quite the same as having a child of my own that I can spoil as I please but it brings me a few moments of domesticity now and again that I deeply cherish.”

He nods sagely, his sombre gaze meeting your own. “Seeing that you find yourself lacking for company perhaps I may extend an invitation to join us for supper more frequently, my lady? With or without your lord husband, as his schedule allows.”

You find yourself smiling freely at him, awakening sensations that are altogether too familiar, too intimate. If only he had not married you to a man incapable of such affections. “I shall gladly accept your kind offer, my lord. It would please me greatly.”

There is no pity in the expression he gives you this time but a gentle friendliness that you cannot remember seeing in his eyes before. You resume your stroll through the gardens, the increasing warmth of the sunlight invigorating your cold limbs the further you go, and when you reach a fork in the path that leads either further down or back towards the keep you do not wish to turn around.

“Shall we keep going, my lady?” the lord asks.

You cannot help but smile when you agree.

✦ ✧ ✦

Otto senses some reluctance as he glances at the names of staff that is working for your household, if only because he is keenly aware that the findings of his current research may upset him in ways that will tempt him to folly. However, if your husband is mistreating you then he simply must know. His net of spies within the palace is tight as it is in the rest of King’s Landing but the proximity will make it much easier to have him observed.

It instils amounts of regret in him that border on a stomach ache. Marrying you to Ser Alister had been a logical decision at the time but he cannot deny that keeping you in King’s Landing influenced his judgement severely.

A handsome young knight, to inherit his father’s titles and possibly even his seat at the king’s council, Ser Alister was an easily agreed upon match for your father, easier still for Otto who felt like he was doing you a favour after he had noticed your attentions for a while – attentions he could not return at the time, for your protection and out of the overwhelming grief he still felt after the death of his wife. Even so, Otto has to admit to himself that your very openly displayed affections have always flattered him, that you are a true beauty with a comely face that is not just a joy to look at but also a delight to listen to. You are educated, intelligent, sweet, bold in private but shy in the company of others. Endearing even to his old and fractured heart.

Alister did inherit the title as well as the seat on the council within the next three years after your wedding, having wrapped the king around his finger with his open support for the Princess and his Grace’s adamancy in keeping her as his heir. Otto can see now where he went wrong – a severe lapse in judgement of his character, to think him respectful and harmless despite their political disagreements. To think him even remotely worthy of you.

The questioning of your staff as well as a few of his spies in the city reveals quickly that the man he had you marry is a well-known customer in the Street of Silks. Otto cannot, will not believe that anyone would discard a woman like you so foolishly and after only three years of marriage. Such disrespect to the Maid and the Mother of whom you are such a striking image, deserving of nothing but reverence and adoration and a family to love. There is no honour in men like Alister, in men like Daemon Targaryen and so many others who do not know how to cherish their wives as they vowed before the Gods.

A vivid feeling of contempt takes hold of Otto, at himself as well as your husband. He cannot alter what he did in arranging this match but he can make sure that you are comforted in knowing that you deserve more.

✦ ✧ ✦

The Tower of the Hand has not changed much over the past few years, the narrow staircases, the cool stone walls still caging you in. To be summoned now makes you wonder what his lordship could possibly need from you. When you enter, the Lord Hand swiftly dismisses his guards and they close the door behind you. The chamber is dark, only a few candles flickering from his desk and the mantelpiece of his unlit hearth, and yet you can make out the lines of worry on his handsome aging face.

“My lord,” you address him.

“My lady, I am afraid that I have requested to see you on a rather… delicate matter. Please, have a seat.”

There is hardly enough time to scan the circular room before you sit at a small desk with his correspondence spread over top, the wax still melting over a candle. You can see his bed from the corner of your eye – his private quarters.

“My lady, after our conversation in the gardens…” He stops himself, making sure that you are meeting his gaze. “I could not help but look into matters that you have hinted at, in genuine concern for your well-being, and I am afraid that I have uncovered a concerning truth.”

“Pray tell, my lord, what truth? You do not have to spare my feelings.”

“I got word from a trusted source that your lord husband has been seen in… certain establishments in the Street of Silks.”

“I am afraid that this is not news to me, my lord,” you say and he regards you with surprise.

“You are aware?”

“If it please, my lord, I would prefer for this to remain private. It is already shameful enough without the entire court knowing.”

“Of course, my lady, I merely wished for you to know the vicious acts–”

You have to suppress a dry chuckle, wondering why he seems so astonished by your husband’s ways. “Vicious? My lord, I am hardly the only lady bound to a husband who seeks his pleasure elsewhere.”

Otto’s voice drips with venom. “That does not make it any less despicable.”

You nod, conceding to his point. “May I be truthful, my lord?”

“Certainly.”

“I would rather he takes his needs elsewhere than continue to…” You pause, trying to phrase your thoughts without leaving respectability. “I have given up hopes on a child of my own, so there is no need to continue our efforts. I find no enjoyment in them and with no remaining purpose I find myself incapable of putting my body through the pain.”

His gaze changes now, sympathy perhaps. The crease on his forehead is deeper. “Pain, my lady?”

“Were you not aware that it is painful, my lord?”

“You say this as though it is a fact.”

“Is it not?” you ask, confused as to his meaning.

He looks at you as though there is something weighing on him, something he is desperate to share, but when his mouth opens no words come out. The lord spreads his palms on his desk as he sits up straighter, his hands pale and broad, adorned with rings that reflect the light of the candles. “My lady, I fear that the continuation of this conversation will lead us beyond the realms of propriety.”

You nod, averting your gaze in shame. “Please forgive me, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my lady. I understand there is a… curiosity that grows upon the discovery of such intimate matters.”

You fight back the tears that have gathered in your eyes. “No matter, he is not requesting my presence anymore. I just wonder–” Again, you have to pause, feeling like a child again and not like a woman of two-and-twenty years. “Is it true, my lord?”

He furrows his brow. “Is what true, my lady?”

“Am I not handsome enough? My father–”

“Your father should never have spoken to you like that,” he interrupts, only catching his tone after the words left his mouth. You are surprised he still recalls that conversation. “I can assure you, my lady, that your beauty is greatly admired at court and certainly not the reason that your husband is disrespecting you in such a way.”

“And yet, perhaps he cannot find it.” You swallow the tears of irritation that are threatening to spill. “Please forget that I ever mentioned this to you, my lord. I hope you can forgive me for my transgression. I am aware that my intent is one that does not befit a lady of my station and that you cannot give me counsel in such matters. I thank you for your concern and for looking out for me when no one else does.”

“My lady.” His voice is soft, hardly more than a whisper and when you meet his eyes you see a glimmer in them that is akin to the longing you feel in your heart.

Perhaps it is this notion that gives you the courage. You place your delicate hand on top of his, feeling the lines and ridges, scars of a long life spent with a sword in his grasp. He does not pull away, not even when you smooth your thumb over his skin in a tender stroke. You repeat the movement, his eyes fixated on your joint hands, and round the table without letting go.

Once you are in his lap, you let go of his hand to toy with his doublet, tracing the chains around his neck, the brooch that shows the world that he is the hand of the king, the second most powerful man in all the Seven Kingdoms. And yet the power he wields over you far surpasses that of anyone else. Your faces are at the same height now, your noses brushing together before you lean back. You take his hand in both of yours, admiring how large it is, how you have to use both hands to fully grasp it. For a brief moment you bring it to your lips, breathing a kiss to his knuckles. The silver ring on his finger feels cool against your mouth, his skin softer than you expected.

“My lady,” he warns, the hesitation evident in his eyes.

You place his hand on your waist and to your delight he curls it around your shape. When you reach for his other hand he meets you halfway. They settle over your hips, holding you in place, and you rest your own hands on top of them for a moment to feel the warmth of his skin. This is how a lover’s touch should feel, you think. Gentle and warm. Safe.

“This is foolish,” he comments but his voice is too soft to convey the sentiment.

“Perhaps,” you agree. “Let me be foolish for once, my lord. I want to know what it feels like to follow my desires, to have a memory that I can retreat to when I need it.”

His throat constricts as he swallows, his gentle gaze fixed on you as you inspect the soft wrinkles on his face, the discoloured skin below his eyes that crinkles when they move. You lift a hand to caress him, shy fingertips exploring the shape of his face. Your lord stays still for you, allowing you the innocent touch even as his heart tightens at the intimacy of it all. He has not been touched by a woman in so long that he quite forgot the reactions it lures from his body, the want, the need it stokes when such a sublime creatures offers him the tenderness and comfort he so craves.

You shift forward and suddenly his thigh is pressing against that soft part between your legs. The pressure sends a jolt through your body. You gasp and his eyes flutter closed for a moment. You move your hand to comb his beard, your fingertips grazing the skin underneath until you can cup his cheek. The lord leans into your touch, eyes still shut, and breathes a burdensome sigh.

“Let me adjust you,” he finally says as his eyes open, waiting for you to give a nod before his grasp tightens. He lifts you enough that your leg slides between his, shifting his hips forward to give you more space. You are straddling his thigh now, the fabric of your dress bunched up high enough that you can feel him pressing against your core through your shift and your linens.

“My lord,” you whisper.

“Move your hips,” he instructs. “Gently, and tell me when you feel it.”

“Feel what, my lord?”

“You will know, darling girl.”

With your eyes on his you do as he says, rocking your hips clumsily at first. His hands guide you into a more fluid rhythm and you find more confidence when you feel the first sparks of pleasure his firm leg sends through your body. Your gasps soon fill the room, even as you try to hold them back. You recognise the feeling and the heat, you have felt it at times when your husband happened to touch certain parts of you, when you tried to touch yourself but weren’t courageous enough to continue. Only now the intensity is tenfold, especially with the lord’s keen eyes so focused on your mouth, on every sigh that leaves your lips.

“My beauty,” he whispers. “Carved from marble, a face that even the Gods must envy, and yet he does not see it, does not treasure it. What a shame to be gifted such a beautiful flower and to let it wilt in neglect.”

His words hardly register as he bounces his leg to meet your rhythm. The sparks of pleasure that spread in your body feel wrong, almost shameful, and yet you want to chase, need to chase them. But then the pressure slowly becomes uncomfortable, a tension that you don’t recognise but that is bordering on painful. You whimper, stopping your efforts, whispering that it is too much.

“Keep going,” your lord orders, gripping your hips tightly to drag you across his leg. “Do not stop.”

“I c-cannot–”

“Shhhh,” he coos. “Trust me, my girl.”

You cry out softly, picking your rhythm back up as he helps you with strong hands, the hands of a knight, a powerful man that you have wanted since you knew what wanting really meant. The tension pushes you towards an invisible edge and then you fall–

“My lord. My lord.” You wail as if in pain, your face falling against his as your breathing becomes more shallow and the pleasure tears through your body. He does not stop you as you hide your face, his beard soft against your cheek as he drags out the sensation by moving his leg back and forth, pressing against that spot again and again. The fabric of your linens as well as his pants feels damp against your core.

Your body goes slack and his arms wrap around you, cradling you against his broad chest as you catch your breath. Even as your body stops trembling the warmth and contentment stay trapped within you, your muscles slowly relaxing now.

“My darling girl,” he whispers, breathing a kiss to your hair. “And how well you did.”

“What have you done to me?” you ask breathlessly.

“What you are owed, my lady,” he says with a chuckle. “I have given you pleasure”

“Pleasure.” The word tastes sweet on your tongue but it comes with a sting. How cruel to give you a crumb of bliss only to pull it away again.

You lift your head to look at him, a softness on his face that lets you believe he holds a warm affection for you, at least for this fleeting moment. The desire to kiss him is overwhelming and you place your hand on his other thigh. Immediately you feel the hardness between his legs against your arm and you flinch back in uncertainty. “My lord.”

“Pay it no mind,” he says.

You ignore him and place your hand on his stiff member, feeling the outline clearly even through the fabric of his garbs. The gasp that leaves him sounds like music, the first sign that this is affecting him beyond what he is willing to share. You want to kiss him still, your face inching closer on its own accord. His hand moves up to cup your chin and he places his thumb on your plump bottom lip, only allowing you to hover above his own mouth. It is but a futile attempt at restraint, at keeping up the illusion that nothing here is untoward. You move your hand to stroke him through his pants and his hips buck to meet your movement.

“Gods have mercy,” he breathes, his voice raspy and barely audible.

You wonder how long it has been since someone touched him like this. Mesmerised by his reaction, you do it again and his eyes flutter closed, his unkempt brows furrowing so tightly that they almost meet. After only a handful more strokes he releases a scarcely concealed groan and you feel him kicking against your hand, the thick fabric turning wet as it soaks up his spend.

His ragged breathing betrays his state, even as he controls any other sound that leaves him. You are still trapped in the haze of your own bliss, in the newfound sense of power you have gained from whatever it is that you just did to him. He still won’t let you kiss him, his thumb firm against your lips. Perhaps it is better that way, you think, the only skin of his you have touched being that of his hands.

“My sweet girl,” he says after a moment, clearing his tight throat with some effort. “We can never speak of this again.”

The words tear you back down from your high, their reality so evident, so clear. You nod and allow the pain to spread in your heart, expected but all the more severe. Of course nothing has changed, not in truth, even though you feel like you will never be the same again.

Otto removes you from his lap, making sure that you can stand on your own and waiting patiently until your legs stop wobbling, his hands firm on your hips. His face betrays his regret – he cannot hide his emotions from you anymore, not after what you just did. He is such an honourable man, valuing propriety and respect above all else, that this must pain him more than you can understand.

You make sure your gown sits correctly and smooth out the strands of hair that have fallen into your face from moving so erratically. The door-handle feels cool against your warm hand, a feverish sensation spreading within you. You spare the lord one last glance, your eyes meeting his for a burning hot moment, and then you slip through the door, a profound sense of loss slowly settling in your bones.

3 The Lonely Days

Your handmaiden carefully adjusts the sleeves of your gown, a deep blue fabric with golden accents to match the colours of your husband’s house. Bejewelled earrings and a bracelet complete your look, dainty jewellery with blue stones just like he once told you he prefers. You stare at your reflection in the polished metal for a long moment, struggling to recognise yourself even after years of wearing his colours. You are almost ready when the door to your chambers opens and a footman enters with his gaze lowered.

“What is it?” you ask impatiently.

“His lordship has requested to stay in bed tonight,” he says. “He is not feeling well enough to accompany you to the celebration, m’lady.”

“He is unwell?”

“He has been sleeping for most of the day, m’lady, complained about a headache.”

“Why have I not been informed?”

The servant simply stares at the floor and you sigh as you realise that the signs point to a long night down in the brothels more so than an acute illness. It would certainly not be the first time that he is leaving you to your own devices to nurse the ailments of a night spent drinking and– You clear your throat.

“Send for a maester should he not feel better in the morning,” you tell him. “And inform me of his condition the moment it changes.”

A nod and the door softly closes. Another event you will have to attend by yourself. You would be glad to avoid a night of his indifference were it not for the fact that his absence must appear even more worrisome to the other houses. You are anything but a strong unit and talks about your childless marriage never cease – you see them whispering their rumours from ear to ear whenever you enter a room, followed by pitiful glances.

“Anything else, m’lady?” your handmaiden asks. “Perhaps a shawl in case you feel a chill?”

You falter for a moment as you look down at yourself and suddenly detest your whole attire. Why are you dressing for a man who disrespects you at any chance he gets, who cannot even exert himself to appear by your side when it truly matters? “Apologies, Malena, but I have decided that I will wear the green dress tonight after all.”

She bows and you begin to undress as she fetches the garment. There is only one pair of eyes that you want to feel on your body tonight and it won’t be drawn to blue fabric.

✦ ✧ ✦

The hall is filled to the brim with people of all houses – a banquet to which not only the capital’s nobility has been invited but any noble who was willing to commit to the journey to King’s Landing. It is a celebration in honour of the Prince Aegon’s nameday but Otto insisted on the opulence – the prince has to stay on their minds, his grandson, namesake of Aegon the Conqueror, and as far as Otto is concerned the future regent of the Seven Kingdoms.

Noisy chatter fills his ears as he watches his lovely daughter introducing Aegon as well as the Princess Helaena, her second child, to the lords and ladies who have not had the pleasure yet. His Grace is watching them with a gentle smile on his face and Otto cannot help but feel a hint of complacency. Thanks to Aegon the mess the king created in naming his daughter his heir can be mended, if he plays it well.

Even though he feels a deep affection for his grandchildren, two innocent infants who are blissfully unaware of the role they are going to play in securing peace and order in the realm, Otto’s eyes are drawn to the entrance. You are late, a few minutes of tardiness that Otto spends wondering if you decided against attending after all, perhaps in favour of staying with your lord husband. He was informed just an hour ago by one of his little mice that the lord is feeling rather unwell this evening, that he has been complaining about different symptoms for a while now. Otto is not surprised by the news. These may well be the first signs that his increasingly frivolous whereabouts are affecting the man’s health and, therefore, his accountability.

When you do arrive at last, Otto is quite struck by the sight of you entering the hall – so much so that Alicent rouses him with a concerned look on her face. He gives her a reassuring smile, then trains his eyes back to your form. It is quite distracting, the way your dress accentuates your womanly figure. His colour, he notes, the dark shade of green he usually wears. A mere moment later you eye him with a gentle smile playing at your lips and his suspicion is confirmed that you’re wearing it for him. Gods, he finds that your beauty is taking his breath away even more so than usual. Not that he did not admire you before, you have always been a sight for the Gods, but now that he knows what you sound like in the throes of your pleasure you fully and irrevocably occupy his mind.

Perhaps tonight, then, he thinks, toying with the small box he has been keeping in his pocket for a few weeks now. You are tempting him to folly, evoking emotions of a strength he has not felt in years. Even his work is impacted by this attachment. He finds his hands forming fists underneath the table whenever your lord husband speaks up during council meetings, most days still half drunk from the night before. Pathetic, with no sense of honour, besmearing your good name in the process. Seeing you now without this worm hanging by your arm is most welcome, wearing his colour no less, a beautiful deep green. It seems that you are well aware of who you truly belong to.

No, who you should belong to, Otto must correct himself. A constant reminder of a mistake that caught up to him faster than he would have wished for. A mistake that calls for more mistakes that he cannot allow to happen.

Dinner passes with stolen glances and timid smiles. Ever since the moment you shared in his quarters you seem to blush and turn away whenever you catch sight of him and yet it seems like your gaze never strays too far. It is quite endearing, the shy glances, the rosy cheeks that no one else knows are just for him. As daring as you were in the privacy of the tower, you have respected his wish to never mention it again. It is for your own protection, of course, although Otto fears what it would do to his own integrity if word spread about an illicit affair, no matter that what occurred between you hardly deserves the name. He has been meticulously crafting his reputation for decades now and he cannot allow these foolish desires to taint it.

Soon, the dancing is in full swing. For a brief moment he indulges in the fantasy of asking you to do him the honour, to see the cheerful smile on your face he has not seen since he married you to Alister. Judging by the expression on your face as you observe the dancery, he imagines that you long for a partner to share the delights of a joyful evening. Young as you are, it is a shame that you should sit in your chair all night. Another reason to loathe your husband, not that he is lacking for those.

Perhaps this is the reason why you slip away the moment the steady flow of wine and musical distractions allows you to do so unobserved. It is his only chance. Otto rises as soon as he can without arousing suspicion. The hour is late enough to justify a reprieve.

“Excuse me for a moment, your Grace,” he says without waiting for an answer.

The castle is abandoned and his steps echo loudly, bouncing off the stone walls of the keep. He finds you in an empty hallway halfway back to your chambers, gazing out of a window that overlooks the gardens that he knows you are so very fond of. The two guards who are closest pay him no mind, yet he dismisses them with a nod and they take station at a more unobtrusive spot.

You turn as his steps approach, confused momentarily as to who could be following you. When you recognise the figure as him your expression visibly softens and your guard is let down once more. The effect he has on you should alarm you but on the contrary, you seem to be eager to welcome him in your presence.

“Are you tiring of the festivities, my lady?” he asks, approaching you with cautious strides.

“I do not have much to celebrate, my lord. You might have heard that my lord husband is feeling rather unwell.”

“And yet you are not with him, no?”

You eye him with barely hidden annoyance and he chuckles lowly, satisfied. There is hardly any cause for jealousy when your disdain is so very obvious. Otto approaches, closing the distance cautiously to make sure that you remain comfortable in his proximity. He stops about two steps away from you, a towering and broad figure compared to your shorter frame, and you have to look up to meet his eyes. He drinks you in for a long time, not lustful but in admiration, letting his gaze wander over your body in a way that has goosebumps spreading all over your skin. He would count every single one of them, if he had the time.

“You look beautiful tonight, my lady,” he whispers. “A new colour?”

You meet his eyes, boldly this time, in the way that makes him want to pull you into his arms and ravish you. “My favourite colour.”

“Is that so?”

A timid smile. “I know, I should not, I cannot… But, my lord, you know that it is true.”

“It is alright, my sweet,” he assures you. “Indeed, catching you alone allows me to do something I have been avoiding for too long and I do not mean complimenting your beauty.”

“And what would that be, my lord?”

“I do not wish to offend your sensibilities, my lady, I know it is not my place to lavish you with gifts and you may find it presumptuous, but… I have something that I wish to offer you.” Your eyes widen, so he quickly continues. “I am in no position to put a claim on you and yet it would please me greatly to see you wearing it on occasion. I am certain that you can think of a plausible explanation as to how it came into your possession.”

Before you can protest he retrieves the small box from his pocket. Taking off the lid he reveals a finely crafted ring with a sparkling green gemstone – a real emerald. He must admit the choice of colour was quite on purpose, green as the beacon of the Hightower when his house rides to war. A war Otto cannot win, he knows, but it is a war he is fighting every day nonetheless. To see you fighting it with him, if subtle, would be a great source of comfort.

“My lord, but this is…” You admire the beautiful piece of jewellery, your eyes drawn to the way it shimmers in the moonlight, subtle and delicate but breathtaking nonetheless. “It is too much.”

“I am afraid that no gemstone will ever suffice to express what I truly wish to say, my lady,” he says. “And yet I hope you will honour me by wearing it.”

You nod and stretch out your hand. The lord takes the ring and carefully slides it onto your finger. A perfect fit of course, he made sure of that. His larger hand gently holds yours so that he can admire the jewel and you briefly rest your other hand on top of his. His skin is warm and weathered. It is all you want to feel for the rest of your life.

“Forgive me,” he says and you’re not quite certain what he means until he lifts your hand to his mouth and places a reverent kiss on the back of it. He lingers, his beard tickling your soft skin as his lips travel along your knuckles and finally rest on the gem.

“I shall think of you whenever I wear it,” you supply. Then, with a softer voice: “Though, in truth and in shame I must admit that I already think of you more than is proper, my lord. You occupy my mind and heart at all times. You always have.”

He smiles, a tight-lipped, pained smile. “You honour me, my lady, in ways that I fear I do not deserve.”

“It matters not what we deserve, my lord.” You lift your hand and cradle his face, stroking his cheekbone tenderly with your thumb. “I shall find comfort in knowing that you return my affections at last.”

“My darling girl,” he whispers and the words sound like a prayer from his lips.

You close your eyes for a moment, trapped in the sensation of his lips on your skin, the feeling of his beard against your fingertips just like he is trapped in the gentleness of your touch, in the longing for more of your simple comforts that he has to deny himself over and over again. You both pray in silence that the moment never ends, and yet he has to let go of you eventually and come to his senses. How cruel to ache for a love that he denied himself in the first place.

✦ ✧ ✦

Your sitting room is illuminated by burnt-down candles, the hour late as you have reclined on a settee to read in your book. Truth be told, you should be sleeping, but you cannot bear to let your mind wander as it tends to do in the quiet of your canopy.

To your surprise, the door opens and your husband stumbles in. Even from afar you can tell that he reeks of wine and the fumes of the city. He sits down in a chair and stares at you in a manner that has always made you rather uncomfortable. Rare as it is, you do not enjoy his company.

“I overheard a most interesting conversation in the council chamber,” he says out of nowhere, a smug smile playing at his lips. “About the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower.”

You pause, closing the book as you gaze at your husband in interest now. He is not in the habit of discussing politics with you and certainly does not bring up the council on his own accord.

“He was dismissed as Hand to the King,” he continues, standing now to pour himself a glass of wine from your private pitcher. “Finally, thank the Seven.”

“Pray, what do you mean?”

“The king finally had enough of his little schemes. He does not wish for Aegon to be his heir, he insists on keeping the Princess in the position and rightfully so. Your lord got too bold with his endless attempts at installing his own grandson as heir, spreading rumours about the Princess. His greed for power is so obvious even our blind king can see it now. Perhaps you should go and bid your lord farewell before he departs.”

“He is not my lord, whatever are you talking about?”

He sets the glass down, turning to you with a withering expression. “Do you think I am not aware that you are wearing green more often? That you’re suddenly wearing emeralds instead of blue stones? That your lord continuously eyes me with disdain when I speak up during council meetings and dismisses any of my suggestions, even proceeds to work against them? How his eyes linger on you when we are invited to sup with the king and his family? I may not be the most devoted of spouses but I do have eyes in my skull.”

“Unlike you I remain in control of my desires. As does he,” you reply coldly. “The Gods see what you are doing in the Street of Silks, what you are doing to your own wife.”

“Perhaps,” he admits. “But my sins do not absolve you from your own and, let us be frank, my dear lady wife. The difference between thought and action matters little to the Gods when it comes to corruption. Whether it festers on the inside or the outside you end up rotten. I might as well take what life offers to me instead of pining after someone who could be my own father. It makes you look pathetic and not just in my eyes.”

You bite back a reply. His provocations mean little to you, especially with the knowledge that the Lord Hand has been dismissed from his position. If it is true then he may leave King’s Landing for good.

Leave you.

Without another word you abandon your book and exit your chambers. In the quiet of the old hallways of the keep you take a few deep breaths, the tightness of your dress suddenly suffocating you. This cannot be true, you think, His Grace would never dismiss such a trusted advisor, such a devoted servant of the realm. But then you know Otto is ambitious, that his plans at times may be unpopular and that the peace of the realm has always ranked higher for him than the will of the king. The Princess threatens the delicate balance between the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, threatens the loyalty of many houses to the crown who will not accept a queen where there is a male heir to be had. And while you always loved the Princess and considered her to be a worthy successor you can see why he may have tried to sway the king in Aegon’s favour. He is his grandsire, after all, and he knows the ways of court politics.

As soon as your racing heart beats a more bearable rhythm, you hurry to the Tower of the Hand. However, the guards inform you that you cannot enter as it has been abandoned not long ago. You are unaware as to when this conversation your husband overheard took place and the hour is late, or perhaps too early, when you finally decide to retreat to your own chambers.

You see nothing of Otto over the next day, even though you are pacing the hallways of the keep in a way that must make even the guards nervous. You all but give up on ever seeing him again until from a window you spot Queen Alicent by the gate across the courtyard with a rider who you can only assume is her father.

He is leaving, you realise.

Heart pounding anew you hurry down the stairs, nearly tripping over your dress as you run faster than is deemed appropriate for a lady. But you care not, even as your feet begin to ache and you finally reach the courtyard. It is pouring, the rain mercilessly beating down from the skies above but you cannot wait for anyone to fetch you a coat. When you approach the gate you hear the clicking of the hooves on distant cobblestone but the rider has already left.

You don’t, cannot, stop, not until you are by Alicent’s side, your Queen, your friend, who falls into your arms in painful, shaking sobs that vibrate deep within your chest. Something inside of you breaks with a finality that weakens your very bones. You cannot hold back your tears either, letting them mix in with the rain until you cannot tell them apart any longer.

4 The Widowed Days

Every morning, you observe the murky water rushing down the river and mouthing into Blackwater Bay – a steady, endless stream with harsh currents as well as the occasional softer tide when the weather is more agreeable. Time passes in much the same way.

It has been nearly ten years since the first symptoms showed, made memorable by the night of Prince Aegon’s name day celebration. While the illness progressed slowly at first, with years and years of mild symptoms, your husband’s health has been declining rapidly over the past two years. You take care of him to the best of your abilities but as a proud man he does not wish to be fussed over and more often than not he sends you away. The maesters are clueless as to his condition, perhaps the repercussions of his drinking excesses that would not cease even as his affliction progressed. Whenever you look at him you see a withering face, the face of a man much older than the years he truly lived. Even though you don’t hold much love for him it pains you to see him succumbing to such an undignified illness.

You have not much to hold onto besides the fantasies your mind conjures up in the quiet hours you spend in the keep, a weak attempt at comfort. The years have not diminished your love for Ser Otto, or rather the desire for a love that could have been. He comes to you in dreams, fragments of memories of the feel of his weathered hands in yours, the scratch of his beard against your fingertips.

Alicent knows about your affections for her father as you spilled your heart to her the very moment he had left and you found comfort in each other’s arms upon his departure. Ever since, your bond is as strong as it used to be in your childhood, perhaps even more so with years of hardships added to its weight. Thanks to her you know that he is in good health, that he is safe in Oldtown, and as much as you long to see him again you are comforted in knowing that he is faring well.

You spend much time helping her raise her children, especially the Princess Helaena, an intelligent but misunderstood girl who struggles with the life she was forced into, not unlike her mother. Alicent’s role as queen is demanding and you notice how she is changing, becoming more and more like her father, a clever woman forged by court politics and increasing responsibilities as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Life at court has become tense with rumours about the legitimacy of the Princess Rhaenyra’s offspring, with tensions between her children and those of the queen as well as the notable decline of the king’s health. You do not envy her.

The night he left, you found a letter from Otto on your bed, delivered to you in secret – a brief message that was written in haste before his departure. My lady, I regret to inform you that my time at court has come to a premature end. However, I remain hopeful that we will meet again under improved circumstances. Know that it pains me to leave you without as much as a spoken farewell. In my absence, I ask you to remain by my daughter’s side, if not for the affection that I hope you still hold for me then as her loyal childhood companion and friend. May the Seven keep you in good health, Otto.

You know it by heart, the parchment old and scarcely readable by now. Since then, some letters have been exchanged between Ser Otto and you in which you have informed him about the whereabouts of his grandchildren and he thanked you for your support of his daughter and family. Even so, you remain a married woman and regular correspondence with a man who is not your husband raises too many questions, too many rumours on top of an already strained reputation. So you keep the exchanges sparse, hold the replies he sends you as dearly as you can, and tell yourself that he must be thinking of you fondly still or he would not write to you at all.

With your husband bedridden and often unresponsive, you find yourself a widow in all but law. Though your life feels even lonelier than during the first few years of your marriage, you found solace in frequenting the gardens, supporting the capital’s orphanages as well as keeping the queen’s company. Every morning you go on a lengthy walk, reminiscing about the time you spent here with Otto, following the exact route you took with him the morning of the hunt. It feels as though centuries have passed since then – the bushes have been replaced, the paths altered, even you yourself don’t feel like the same person anymore. What never changes, however, is the beauty of the sunrise over Blackwater Bay, though the colours vary and are never quite the same – every morning a welcome but familiar surprise.

When you return one morning, the Keep is more alive than usual at this hour. Servants are running past you almost as though you are invisible. Perhaps they prepare for the arrival of some noble guests, you think and head to the nearest window facing the outer courtyard. You cannot see any larger wheelhouses, nor do you spot anything out of the ordinary. That is, until one of the riders by the gate lifts his hood.

You scarcely believe your eyes. It must be a trick, an evil one at that, but you could swear that he looks like Ser Otto. It would not be the first time that you see him in someone else’s face, that your mind deceives you so cruelly into believing that he is near. Missing him has been one of the harder burdens of the past decade and sometimes relief means delusion for just a few precious seconds. However, as you continue to observe the man, you cannot help but see Otto in in his shape, his height, in the way he moves.

Of course you know that Lord Strong and his son Ser Harwin recently perished in a fire at Harrenhal but you had not assumed that Alicent would send for her father to replace the Lord Hand. It is entirely possible, however. Suddenly invigorated, you storm down the stairs and head outside in what may be unseemly but entirely necessary for your own sanity.

You nearly stumble when you finally exit the keep, though fortunately the lord does not notice your ineptitude as he gives orders to a footman. Seeing him in the flesh feels like a dream, his tall stature only slightly more slumped with age but not diminishing his dignified presence in the slightest. Your heart begins to hammer in excitement, in relief, and you have to hold back the tears to feign an indifferent politeness.

“My Lord,” you say. “How it delights me to see you back in the capital.”

He turns to offer you his full attention. Within a split second recognition flits across his face. “My lady.” A soft chuckle. “Well, you honour me. How lovely to be greeted by a welcome, familiar face.”

“It gladdens me to see that you are in good health,” you say happily as your eyes meet the very face you have not seen in near a decade. “In fact you have not changed at all, except perhaps for a few grey hairs.”

He smiles at your mild teasing and you wonder if the years away from court have softened him. “As a wise lady once told me: My age only adds to my character. And the same appears to be true for you. You have…” He pauses, weighing his words. “… matured.”

You give a soft laugh. “It has been ten years, I should hope so. Or are you implying that I look old, my lord?”

“I would not dare suggest such a thing,” he says. “Let me rephrase, my lady. The years have served to enhance your beauty.”

Warmth blooms in your cheeks at the first openly spoken compliment after so many years and for a moment you feel like the little girl that used to admire him from afar. If she were here now she would be floating on saccharine clouds for the rest of the day, daydreaming about him reciprocating her hidden desires. But you are not that girl anymore. The past decade has left its ugly marks on you and coveting what you cannot have has only brought you the deepest misery. You vow to protect your heart, no matter how much it wants to beat out of your chest and land in his gentle hands.

“Thank you, my lord,” you say. “I trust that we will see each other more frequently now.”

“I should hope so, my lady, since I am reassuming my position as Hand of the King.”

You perk up in delight at the news, your suspicion confirmed. “I do not wish to keep you, my lord, I am sure you long to be reunited with your family and acquaint yourself with the current state of affairs. I do hope we will get the chance to speak in more depth.”

“I will make sure of it, my lady.”

His expression gives you hope that his promise is sincere.

✦ ✧ ✦

“A green dress,” you order, dabbing some of your scented oils to your neck and wrists.

“Which one, m’lady?”

“The darker one with the lower neckline, I think. Or the green-gold one?”

Your handmaid smiles to herself; you think she must be amused by your antics. “I think he would like the lower cut, m’lady, if I may speak so freely.”

As always she can read your thoughts and you have to agree. “Then that one it is, Malena. And don’t forget to bring the emerald ring.”

You hope his lordship won’t be cross with you. He did not seem opposed to your initiative the last few times you were alone together, even if that was over a decade ago, so you hope he won’t mind you paying him a visit so soon. He has been rather occupied since arriving but tonight Alicent invited you to sup with their family and you are quite certain this means the Lord Hand must be ready for company.

The hour is still early, the sun has only just risen and you are getting ready to start your day with a visit to the Tower of the Hand before your morning walk. You are not sure you could sit through supper without having seen him for yourself first. The past days have been filled with anticipation, the sheer prospect of being in his proximity enough to keep you awake at night.

As your feet carry you up the stairs after many years of absence, your heart is beating mercilessly against your ribcage. You carry a small basket, clutching it tightly to your front so its content comes to no harm.

The men of the Hand’s household guard allow you to enter without a second glance, announcing you briefly. Otto Hightower stands from his chair, surprise but no dismissal in his features. He easily rounds his desk to approach you and you are once again struck by his tall frame, the grace with which he moves.

“Good morrow, my lord,” you say, trying to find your courage. “I have come to deliver a welcome present for you. I thought you might still be weary after your long travels and–” You pause, looking at him and his tired eyes. “Forgive me for being so forward. I am certain that you are quite occupied and–”

“No need for apologies, my lady, I would have sent for you shortly.”

“I wanted to give you more time to arrive, my lord, but I simply could not–” Again you pause, your heart hammering so fast that it drowns out the thoughts in your head. “I could not fight the urge to see you.”

The lord takes a step in your direction, an untamed emotion in his eyes now, and he only falters for a moment before he fully closes the gap between you. His hands grasp your wrists and wander up your arms, careful and slow, as though he is trying remember the shape of you. With a tender expression he finally captures your face and while his openly displayed attention confuses you you can’t help but melt into his touch. The lord leans forward, his beard and nose brushing against your cheek as he inhales, taking a deep breath to have his fill of you. All of his senses satiated, he releases a wistful sigh, the depth of which sends heat pooling into your lower belly.

“I brought you some oils, my lord, lavender for sleeping a– and–” You pause when his lips trail along you jaw, so soft you hardly feel them. “My lord–”

“Tell me,” he urges. “Tell me you feel the same, my sweet girl. That you did not forget me. You must let me know.”

You can’t help but whimper, his insistence making your skin tingle with need. “I have missed you every single day, my lord,” you whisper as if in silent prayer, the truth spilling out despite your resolution to be cautious. “No day would pass that your vision did not haunt me. I have dreamt of the day that the Gods would return you to me, begged for it in the darkest hours of my existence.”

Another deep breath, shakier than before, and he looks at you with a fire you have never before seen in the calm lord’s eyes. “The Maid herself sent you into my arms all those years ago, the sweetest girl I had ever seen, and I was fool enough to refuse her gift. To this day it is my biggest regret.”

“Regret not, my lord, please.” You set the basket down on his desk right by your side, then you place your hands on top of his, gently grasping them where they are still holding your face. “You did what you thought to be right and honourable.”

“And doomed you to a life by the side of a man who could not cherish you as I wished to do.” He huffs out a breath, two long thumbs stroking over your wet cheeks. You are unaware as to when you started crying but now you can feel the tears burning in your lash line, pearling onto his fingers. As you grasp his hands tighter his eyes are caught by the sparkling emerald on your finger and his expression softens with sentimentality. “You still own it?”

“It is my greatest treasure.”

The lord closes his eyes, his brow furrowed tightly in a way that betrays his pain. “I shall make things right, sweet girl. I promise this to you.”

“But my lord, I am still ma–”

A loud knock interrupts your words. You break apart just as a servant enters the chamber and you are certain that you must be red and hot as the flaming tips of dragon’s breath. The servant appears to be quite winded, as though he ran up the many stairs of the tower in quite a hurry.

“Excuse me, m’lord, m’lady,” the man says. “It is urgent. I was sent to come looking for you.”

“What is it?” you ask, brow furrowed in increasing confusion. You look to Ser Otto for help but his expression is filled with sympathy, almost as though he knows what the man is going to say even before you do.

“It is your lord husband, m’lady. He passed in his sleep.”

✦ ✧ ✦

An orange sunset coats the roofs of King’s Landing in its golden light as you let the evening fade out on a balcony with Alicent by your side. You were supping with her family just earlier, for the first time in a decade joined by her father as well. Even though you had to push the occasion back, caused by the recent news of your lord husband’s passing, the evening was pleasant and a welcome distraction. You had not seen the Lord Hand since visiting him in the Tower and though not many words were spoken between you this evening you found comfort in the way he would meet your eyes so reassuringly.

It has only been little over a week since the Silent Sisters took Alister for cleansing, to prepare him for his final goodbye. Since then you have received many offers of commiseration, in letters as well as from people here at court. You wanted to spend your period of mourning alone but your queen forbid it after a mere four days of isolation. She said she needed you, having received her own news of loss, and that you should spend each other comfort in these times. Now, watching the sunset for the first time after you lost him you are glad that she is here with you.

“The Stranger has visited us again and so soon,” Alicent says, pouring you a glass of wine. “First your husband and now Laena Velaryon.”

You accept the wine, even though you don’t drink before your queen has taken her first sip. “And they were both too young, though I am afraid my husband won’t be as direly missed as the Lady Laena.”

“Perhaps he sensed that my father came back, that it was his time to go knowing you would not be alone in your grief.”

“He would not have done me the kindness of letting go so that I could be with your father,” you reply, no emotion in your voice as you speak the words frankly for the first time. “If he had known he would have made sure to live another decade, just to make me miserable. He once said that my feelings for the Lord Hand made me pathetic and I doubt he ever changed his mind. He was always too fond of the Princess.”

She regards you hesitantly, the monotony in your voice no doubt unsettling her. “No matter, he is gone now, a blessing after all the pain and suffering he had to endure. May he rest with the Gods.”

She finally drinks and you take a sip as well, tasting the sweetness of the wine in contrast to the bitter reality of your life. A childless widow now, at just over thirty years of age. Even though you never loved your husband you feel a sense of loss. For the life you could have had, perhaps, a life without the stain of a childless, loveless marriage that ended far too soon. The family he never gave you, the true love he took from you.

“If it is still your wish,” she says, sensing your thoughts, “then I will not object to a match between you and my father when the time comes. You are already an integral part of our family, we might as well make it official. And I want you on my side for what is to come, the both of you.” An awkward smile. “Though I must admit… it will take me some time to get used to calling you mother.”

“Please, do not call me mother.” You both have to laugh at that notion, the first real sign of emotion you allow to bubble out of you in days. “However, I am not sure if the Lord Hand’s affections run so deep that he would propose a wedding.”

Alicent smiles, grasping your hand in hers. “He would be a fool not to marry you and my father is anything but.”

5 The Happy Days

You roll up the letter and place it back on the table, staring at the broken wax seal with the sigil of your father’s house. Amongst the bustle of the royal family arriving back from Driftmark you nearly missed the raven this morning. The keep had been entirely too quiet as the king’s family was away to attend the Lady Laena’s funeral but now that they have returned rumours are spreading like fire.

It is easy to tell that something has gone awry. The Prince Aemond is missing an eye, the people at court whisper when you take a stroll in the gardens to clear your head. A conflict, a bloody fight between the children of Queen Alicent and the Princess Rhaenyra. You have to refrain from intruding as your concern grows after hearing increasingly violent stories, the need to see Alicent and the children overwhelming. It is almost enough to distract you from the news you received that very morning.

You don’t expect anyone to call on you soon in the aftermath of what happened and with the tension still so very palpable within the Red Keep. The very evening of the family’s return, however, a footman arrives at your door carrying a small chest with a familiar crest.

“The Lord Hand sends for you, m’lady. He wishes for you to wear these.”

✦ ✧ ✦

The Tower smells of incense. It is the first thing you notice and you wonder if your lord has been praying, calling to the Gods for his grandson. Unlike many times before you do not find him behind his desk but on a daybed that must have been brought in recently. The padding looks unused, rich green brocade, and it is positioned perfectly in front of the hearth to provide ample warmth during cooler nights. You wonder if his joints are troubling him.

Otto Hightower looks up, the flames casting an orange glow on his handsome face, and his features soften remarkably as he beholds you. Under his gaze you fiddle with the matching pair of emerald and gold cuffs he gifted you and that his eyes are drawn to immediately.

“My lord sent for me,” you say, hovering by the door.

“I should like to have your company tonight,” he says, patting the spot beside him. “I am in need of a gentle face and a soothing voice. But only if it please my darling girl.”

He looks weary, you note. Despite his sweet words there is a heaviness to him that he must have carried here all the way from Driftmark.

“Can I offer you wine?” he asks as you approach.

“Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I am perfectly content.”

As you sit down beside him the scent of incense grows stronger; like perfume it clings to his robes and skin. His hands are folded in his lap and you see the tension in his white knuckles, in the way his rings bite into the soft flesh of his slender fingers.

“May I, my lord?” you ask cautiously.

He nods and you reach for one of his hands, pulling it into the lap of your black linen dress. You gently take off his rings, soothing the abused skin with a kiss. Your lord allows you to linger and when you press your lips to the next finger you meet his gaze. The warm light of the fire has softened his features even more but his eyes are keen as always as they observe your doings. When his lids flutter shut as you press yet another kiss to his knuckles it satisfies you greatly.

After a few more kisses you stand to rid yourself of the rings, placing them on his desk instead. The oils you brought him before his departure still lie in their basket and you take a deep purple phial before you settle by his side once again. Applying some drops to his wrist you begin to massage the tincture into his skin with a circular motion of your thumb. The lord sighs and visibly relaxes as the rich scent of lavender penetrates the air.

“How are you faring after your loss?” he asks after some silence.

“I am quite well, my lord. I have long since started the process of grieving, tethered to his bedside for years. Now the Stranger has ended his suffering and I feel at peace knowing that my husband is with the Gods.”

“I am glad to hear it. I would not wish for you to be in pain.”

“It is a tragedy,” you say, carefully then, “what happened to your grandson, my lord. Will the prince be alright?”

He gives a court nod. “He will, though I am afraid that his eye will not. But that is the price he paid for his dragon.”

“His dragon? You mean Vhagar, my lord?”

“Yes, my sweet. I am certain you heard the rumours.”

You smile at the term of endearment, ending your massage with a kiss to his palm before you reach for his other hand. The lord is rather pliant, allowing you to move him this way or that with the odd grunt of amusement. You do not dare ask for details, aware that he is looking for distraction and comfort tonight.

“Such good care you take of me,” your lord says, his voice deep and calm. “I should like to have you in my chambers more often.”

You glance at him, your resolve melting at the fondness in his expression. “I should like to take care of my lord whenever he is in need of me.”

“Otto,” he corrects softly. “Please.”

You look into his eyes. “Otto.”

A smile, gentle and warm. You continue to relieve his muscles, giving his second hand just as much attention as the first. However, your heart is heavy as you sit on the news you do not wish to bring up. The letter that arrived this morning makes any moment you have with your lord bittersweet.

“I am not sure how many evenings we will have, my lord. It seems that the Gods do not wish to see us together,” you finally say.

His left eyebrow rises. “What do you mean, my girl?”

“A letter arrived this morning in which my father requests my presence at our family’s seat.” You swallow, trying to hide the bitterness in your voice. “An old friend of his has expressed a specific interest in me and the match would bring me much closer to my family.”

“I certainly cannot fault him, my darling. Your presence is a gift to anyone who is fortunate enough to enjoy it.” He begins to stroke your hair with his free hand, gently running his fingers through the loose strands that aren’t pinned to your head. His movement carries the calming scent of lavender back to your nose. “However, I shall not allow it.”

“My lord?”

“Otto,” he corrects again, his brow furrowed in disapproval as his fingers curl underneath your chin, firmly holding it in place.

You try again. “What do you mean, Otto?”

He resumes his attentions, trailing his hands over your shoulder now in a gentle caress that mirrors the movement of your hand. “I claim you as my own, sweet girl. Your father will not dismiss the request of the Hand, I am quite certain.”

You sit up straighter. “And you mean it?”

“I will not see us parted again,” he states and his hand comes to rest on your cheek, more tender now. “If it is agreeable to you then I will send word to your lord father and after a reasonable period of mourning we arrange for the wedding.”

You cannot hide your relieved smile. “That is most agreeable to me, Otto.”

“Very good.”

You resume the treatment of his hand, noting the subtly pleased smile on his lips. He has always been sweet with you, sweeter than with anyone else as you know him to be stern and not too sentimental outside of his family. As a child you interpreted the changes in his demeanour as sympathy, pity even, and perhaps it truly was at times but now you realise that he must have always had this soft spot for you. Perhaps this was inevitable, perhaps it was always meant to be like this.

His hand tenses in yours, then, and his expression sours. “I do not know the extent to which my daughter has let you in on the tensions that are rising within the royal family but I feel that I must–”

“I am aware,” you gently interrupt with a hand on his arm, not wanting him to speak the words that trouble his mind. “My lord – Otto – whatever may come, I promised my Queen to be by her side a long time ago. In what function matters not.”

Perhaps it is his fatigue that makes him accept your decision so easily or perhaps it is the conviction in your voice. You were always rather adamant that you saw yourself by his side, that you were loyal first and foremost to your queen’s party. When your eyes meet you exchange a silent promise and there is no need to speak of it any longer.

Otto’s hands reach for yours then, softened by the oils. His eyes take in the sight of the finely wrought cuffs adorning your wrists, his thumbs trailing their rims where they meet your skin. The bracelets are narrow enough to remain delicate but still allow for the emerald ornamentations that run along their outer curve to stand out. The gems sparkle in the firelight, endless shades of green.

“Do you like them, my darling?” he asks.

“They are beautiful, Otto.”

He smiles, then runs his thumb over the matching ring on your finger. “I had them made for you before I left for Driftmark.”

For a brief moment the memory of him gifting you the jewel flickers in your mind, how hesitant he was at the time and how you both had to stop yourselves from speaking the truth of your feelings. Now he seems less hesitant to stake his claim, less hesitant to open himself to you.

“Thank you for such generous gifts, Otto,” you whisper. “I do not know how I deserve them.”

“You are deserving of more than mere jewels,” he replies, grasping your hands even tighter. You are surprised by the strength he still has in them. “You must know how very dear you are to me.”

You give a weak nod, getting lost in the intensity of his blue eyes. His lips part and you realise that you have leaned closer, a mere hairsbreadth separating you. The rough tips of his beard tickle your chin and you shut your eyes. His breath is warm against your lips.

“Otto–”

You want to ask for it but you cannot bring yourself to say the words. He does not close the distance but he also does not pull away. You blink your eyes back open and find his brow deeply furrowed, his eyes trained on your mouth.

He is conflicted, you can see it plainly written on his face. “You are in mourning, I would not offend–”

“There is no offence,” you whisper. “Otto–”

“If you are sure–”

Your lips meet before he finishes as you desperately press yourself against him. He groans lowly, his grasp on your hands tightening as he leans into you. Your lord tastes of sweet wine and tart berries, the flavours of a fading summer. No kiss has ever felt so warm and inviting but then you have gone without a lover’s touch for so long that you can hardly remember.

With some effort your lord pulls away, a sharp exhale through his nose following. His forehead comes to rest against yours, fingers searching for your cheeks as he cradles your head. “Is this what you want?”

“You said the Gods placed me in your hands,” you whisper in reply, skin prickling where his beard touched it. “I believe you are right.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, long thumbs swiping along your cheekbones. “You would let me have you, tonight?”

“I would let you have me every night.”

“Hm, such tempting promises.”

His lips wander, so very soft in contrast to his beard as they travel along the sharp line of your jaw and down to the much more sensitive skin of your neck. You inhale the smell that clings to his hair, incense, lavender and something that is distinctly Otto, some mix of ink, parchment and the crackling fire in front of you.

“We have denied ourselves for so long.” Your voice is desperate even to your own ears. “I do not think we have to repent any longer for sins of the past.”

“No,” he whispers against your jugular. “We give thanks to the Seven for their graciousness. Worship–”

“Worship?”

He stops as his hands stray, ghosting along your bare neck and then, suddenly, he tugs at your bodice. You gasp in surprise, and after another attempt it finally loosens, your breasts spilling over your dress as you shiver in the cool air. The lord’s warm hands soon find the soft flesh and with his slender fingers he kneads them, drawing noises from you that sound so very unfamiliar to your ears. You can tell that he is quite overcome as well. His breathing comes in hard bursts that betray his state and yet he is gentle with you, careful.

“Worship their gift,” he clarifies, glancing down at your partly revealed body. “Cherish it, treasure it.”

His mouth presses to the pliant curve of your breast and you realise that it is you he is idolising, your body the sole object of his adoration. You are melting under his lips, the reverence with which he kisses every bit of exposed skin exhilarating and new. When his warm mouth closes around your nipple you bury your hand in his hair and he moans deeply, wantonly. You feel yourself clenching at the sound.

It must have been some time since he touched a woman and just like you even the simplest contact seems to affect him. You would explore the possibilities if he allowed you to but presently he is too occupied with the mechanisms of your dress. You gently urge him away and help with the fastenings on your back, but he soon finds that he prefers to peel it off your skin in a rather slow, torturous fashion.

“Black,” he states with a hint of distaste, freeing your arm from one of the wide sleeves.

“I know my lord prefers me in green,” you whisper.

“And soon you shall be wearing it for me, my darling. It suits you so well.”

It gives you a thrill to have him take off your mourning dress with which you commemorate your late husband, a husband who shamed you for your attraction to the very man you are intimate with now. It is a sick feeling, a sinful feeling, to strip off your memory of him so soon and give into your desires with the man he so loathed. It gives you a perverse sense of satisfaction. But you have suppressed your needs for too long and you think it truly must be a sign of the Gods that they have brought you and Otto Hightower together again tonight.

When you are in nothing but your shift, the lord sinks from the daybed and kneels in front of you, bunching up the sheer fabric until your legs are exposed. You want to alert him that he should not rest on his poor joints on the cool stone floor but then his lips press to the inside of your knee and the thought is forgotten. He is yet unhurried, languid kisses pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the roughness of his beard sending pleasant tingles into your belly.

The nearer he draws to your core the more restless you become. You feel yourself getting wet, throbbing in anticipation. You grasp at his hair, a blush spreading over your cheeks and when he does not stop you tug at the thinning strands. The lord’s eyes find yours, heavy-lidded, and you feel the warmth of shame blossoming in your chest at the lustful display.

“My lord, I have never–”

“Otto,” he corrects yet again, a mild reproach with one hand stroking your calf. “Lean back, my girl, I want a taste.”

It is not a request. You rest your back against the brocade and he grabs one of your thighs, placing it over his shoulder to reveal your private parts to him, to angle your hips just right. He holds your gaze and even though your heart is hammering almost too violently you cannot bring yourself to deny him. His lust-blown pupils paint his eyes black, a thin sheen of sweat gathering on his brow. It is an odd sight, a new sight, the usually so composed and controlled lord driven by his carnal impulses in a rare loss of composure.

He beholds you for another moment to make sure you are in agreement before he presses his mouth to your cunt. It is entirely too much, the lighting bolts of pleasure it sends into your body, the way he feels so hot and wet against your most sensitive parts. You moan, an obscene sound that you stifle with your hand the moment it leaves your lips. Otto’s eyelids flutter shut and his lips part against you. His tongue is soft in contrast to his beard that is chafing your thighs, licking along your slit and flattening against the sensitive bud at the top that you only rarely found the courage to explore on your own. He continues like this, his nose pressed to the swelling knob while he devours you like a man starved. When the lord pulls away to breathe you roll your hip in his direction, trying for more, and he gives an amused chuckle.

“You are a wanton thing,” he says. “I should have known.”

He says it fondly, running a thumb over the coarse hair that gathers where your legs meet, wet with your arousal and his own spit. He rubs along your slit then, circling the spot that lures the most sensual sounds from you. Your hips move on their own accord, trying to meet his rhythm, and you feel the heat building in your lower belly as he stokes the fire.

“Please–”

You clench around nothing and the lord withdraws, leaving you aching. His beard is glistening wetly in the light and you watch as he cleans the digit with a low hum. “My girl has the sweetest of tastes.”

You do not know whether he speaks the truth but his eyes are filled with devotion and desperate longing. When he stands, you pull your legs to your body to nurse the dampness and unsatisfied pulsing between them. The lord flinches as he straightens his knees, no doubt feeling the pain you anticipated but he recovers before you can inquire and reaches for your hand to help you up. You understand he does not wish to feel old tonight.

“On the bed,” he says.

His voice is firm and controlled. When you stand before him he surprises you with a hungry kiss, hands following the lines of your scantily clad form and squeezing at every bit of soft flesh he can reach. You feel like a debauched woman and modesty seems to be out of place. With shaking hands you pull your shift over your head and crawl onto his heavy four poster bed. The fabric of his sheets feels soft against your bare skin and you sense a thrill running through you at the prospect of what he might do to you. You are nude safe for the jewellery he bestowed you with.

“You are an exquisite sight,” he says as he watches you from the foot of the bed, the buttons of his garments coming undone with practiced fingers. “And you are mine now, sweet girl. Does it please you?”

You forget to reply, quite distracted as he reveals the tunic he wears underneath. The lord knows, as he always does. The admiration for his body must be written all over your face and you cannot look away as he fully exposes his torso to you. Despite his age his body is that of a knight, toned in places but overall softened by decades spent behind his desk. Tufts of greying hair cover most of his chest, the supple curve of his belly resting right above where he is already hard inside of his breeches.

The same bravery you felt all those years ago takes hold of you at the sight of him and on your knees you crawl over to where he is standing. Cautiously, you run your hands through the hair covering his upper body, feeling the soft skin underneath. He seems rather docile, allowing you to squeeze and palm whereever you want to, silence interspersed with the odd hum of approval at your exploration. Starved for the touch of a woman there is no resistance but a deep infatuation in his eyes. Perhaps he is just as enamoured with the sight and feel of you as you are with his.

“Pleased is hardly a word I would use at present,” you finally reply and allow your hand to cup him through his breeches. “Are you aching for me, too?”

A dry huff of a laugh, as though the question itself is superfluous. Two fingers tilt your chin up, the fire burning in his eyes answer enough. His free hand dives into your hair, not gentle but not rough as he frees it from its constraints and allows it to fall over your shoulders. Once he can angle your head how he pleases the lord closes the distance and litters your neck with kisses, teeth and tongue teasing at your skin. You find the fastenings of his breeches but your fingers are too jittery. The more you palm at him the rougher his kisses become until all breaths between you are drawn in desperation.

His patience has run thin. He climbs onto the bed, effectively urging you to lie back as he settles between your legs. His weight on top of you is heavenly, the feel of his skin against yours enough to have you whimpering underneath him. Otto grabs your wrists, one in each hand, pinning them down on either side of your head. The gold cuffs bite into your skin but not unpleasantly so with his warm hands covering them. His fingers slot between yours, grasping them, and you feel your pulse hammering against the ball his hand. Large as they are his hands almost completely cover your smaller ones and as his weight comes to rest on his forearms you feel like he is spreading you open for him.

“You are a sight for the Gods,” he whispers. “Such beauty, even they must envy me.”

You buck your hips, desperate for the feel of him now that he is within reach. “Please, Otto–”

“Needy, shameless,” he chides, voice sultry and deep. “Tell me, how many times have you fantasised of this? Or have you stopped counting?”

The arrogance in his tone only makes you want him more. His hands tighten almost painfully in yours as he kisses you, feverish and filthy, forcing his tongue between your lips with a distinct possessiveness. It is evident that he intents to claim you in more ways than just adorning you with jewels. You are not resisting but you cannot match his pace, overwhelmed with the intensity of your desires for him.

When his mouth releases yours, bruised and wet, you moan at the loss of him. The gasping breath you take burns in your lungs and once again you cannot help but tilt your pelvis to try and find some relief.

“Shhhhh, I know,” he whispers. “I will have you, my girl. You were very patient.”

The blood flows back through your wrists when his tight grasp loosens and he finally works his breeches open. His member is coated in arousal, thick and throbbing after his own stalling. You release a sob when you feel him sliding between your folds, grazing your swollen bud. The lord groans when you reach down to help him find your entrance and you notice how hot he is, how painfully stiff against your soft fingers.

“Yes,” you whisper when you feel his tip parting you. “Please, more.”

He relents, tries to go slow for your sake but you are slick and worked up and one thrust is enough to fill you to completion. The feeling is unlike any of which you have experienced before, no pain or discomfort but just the dizzying need for more of him that burns through your veins. He stretches you open, both of you glancing at where your bodies join so beautifully before your eyes meet once more. Your lord takes your wrists again, softer now, and as your hands link together it is you this time who tightens their grasp.

He begins to rock his hips, gentle at first as he holds your gaze, swallows the first of your moans with his puffed lips. Soon his thrusts harden, the pace he sets merciless as he drives himself into you over and over. You are both too sensitive for it to last long, the lingering fire inside of you spreading into your fingertips, your toes, and you feel as though you could explode with the sheer bliss of it all.

You come undone a moment later, crying out his name and spasming with a force you have not known before. Your lord holds you and you sink into the feeling, trembling and weightless in his arms. Otto hums at the sight but he only pauses for a moment before he resumes his movements, prolonging the pleasurable sensation. He moves to pull out of you as he nears his own end and you catch his wrist, pressing it against your chest.

“No,” you whine. “Please.”

He holds your gaze as he continues to take you, chasing his own pleasure more savagely than before. You cradle his face, brush the sweaty hair back that has fallen into his forehead, and when he finds his release the sound that comes from his throat is broken. His hips still but you feel the heat of his spend as he fills you, his body going slack on top of yours after the efforts of the night.

You recover with his gasping breath warming the crook of your neck and even though he is resting some of his weight on his elbows his strength has ultimately left him. Wet skin clings to wet skin, soft and comforting as you stroke his back through the aftershocks. Your chests heave in sync and you swear you can feel his heartbeat matching your own.

A deep sigh tickles your shoulder, then, and he carefully rolls you onto your sides, wrapping you up in his arms as he gathers you against his chest. The position is much more comfortable and you curl up against him with a warm, sated feeling in your belly.

“Will you stay a while?” he asks.

“For as long as you will have me,” you reply, using the quiet to allow your fingers to explore more of his chest. “I thought you might tell me about Oldtown.”

A smile, so soft and genuine that your heart stutters. The lord brushes your hair back, thumb following the line of your brow down to your jaw and resting on your lips. You can only imagine the mess you look but he does not seem to mind.

“Perhaps you should like to dine with me tomorrow?” he asks.

“I should like that very much.”

“Good,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Very good.”

He is exhausted and you know sleep will take him within moments. Lips softly pressed below his ear you reach for the end of the comfort and provisionally pull it over your entangled bodies. The fire is still burning but you know you will catch a chill once your skin cools. You will have to leave before the morrow but right now dawn is far away and you are too content to rest in the safety of his arms. At last.

Epilogue: A year later

A yawn parts the lord’s lips. He stifles the noise quite quickly but it does not escape your notice how his hand flies to his mouth. He so rarely makes a sound, a man of silent concentration, choosing every word with a deliberation that requires his full attention.

You smile to yourself. “I did not take you for a man who falls victim to ennui, husband.”

“It is a slow night,” he concedes, rubbing an ink-stained finger along his brow.

“And you have copied this letter…”

“Seven times, my heart.”

You softly close the book you have been reading while sitting in quiet companionship with the Lord Hand. You so love watching him when he dedicates his evenings to his correspondence, the scratching of the quill a calming noise in the background.

“Perhaps I can aid his lordship in finding a less tiresome occupation?”

He leans back in his chair, surrendering the quill as well as his efforts as you saunter over. A smile tugs at his lips, amusement. You find him less serious these days, less stern, at least when he’s sharing your company. The months have been kind to you both.

“My darling wife is as insatiable as during our first night,” he muses, pulling you into his lap.

“How disappointing, I made such an effort to become worse.”

He kisses the mock pout from your lips. For a man who has aged so gracefully his hunger has not dwindled. He tells you that your enthusiasm keeps him youthful and perhaps that is true. After over a decade in a love and passionless marriage you have a lot to make up for. Otto is happy to indulge you.

“The hour is late,” you whisper against his lips, a subtle proposition.

“Indeed,” he says, one hand sliding up your hip, then pressing down gently on your belly. “What are we to do with this hunger of yours, lady wife?”

“Perhaps my neglectful husband can sate me.”

“Neglectful?”

“At times I feel that he prefers the touch of his quill over mine.”

He lifts you abruptly, placing you on the surface of his desk where you can hear the parchment crumpling underneath your skirts. Your lord stands tall in front of you, broad-chested yet slender of frame save the small pouch of his belly. You trace the soft curve up to his chest but he quickly grasps your chin to draw your gaze up to his, ever imperious.

“Audacious,” he chides, “that you would make such accusations.”

The hint of teasing in his voice sets you alight. His long fingers curl underneath your jaw, denting your cheeks with his grip. With a raised eyebrow he studies your face, knowingly, your flushed skin betraying his effect on you. His patience is like to drive you mad as he is methodical and studious even in your shared intimacy. You think he reads you as though you are words written on a page of his books, drawing meaning from tracing the shape of you with his eyes.

Only when you are writhing does he close the distance in a heated kiss. As if to prove you wrong his hands eagerly roam your body, unfastening the lacings on your dress and groping every soft spot he meets in the process. Before long you find yourself stripped and heaving under the strain of your passion. It is a well-rehearsed dance by now, the undressing, the way from his desk to the bed where your lord likes to take his time with you, pleasuring you, teasing you until your begs and whimpers fill the quiet of the chamber and at last he is satisfied.

Under the canopy he leaves scratchy, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat as his fingers work you open. So far his seed has not taken and the maesters are not sure it will. You had hoped that you could refute the rumours of your barrenness but even so your second marriage is a much happier one than your first. The Gods have been good to you and you wonder if in time you may be blessed with a son after all.

“Focus on me, my girl,” Otto rasps, then, and you find him staring down at you, pupils so wide that they swallow his irises. His hair has fallen into his face, thin strands clinging to his forehead. You reach out to brush them back and as always he leans into your touch, starved for affection. An ink smudge stains his brow. He works so much that the signs never leave his face.

“Forgive me, I lost myself for a moment,” you whisper and push at his shoulder.

He removes himself and sinks into the pillows beside you, reclining with a soft, weary sigh. You climb on top of him, easing him inside of you. Otto pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you as you both begin to rock against each other. You can feel his soft chest hair tickling your breasts, pressed together as you are, and you breathe broken moans into each others mouths.

“Where were your thoughts, then?” he whispers, biting into the soft skin of your neck.

“I thought about the future,” you say. “I thought about you giving me a son.”

His hips buck and you keen as he hits you deeper than before. You tug at the hair on the back of his head, following his rhythm as he groans into your ear with that deep, raspy voice. You smile, enjoying the feel and sound of him so desperate for you.

Whatever the future may hold, you know that you will never tire of this, the small intimacies with your lord, the knowledge that he burns for you so vigorously after a lifetime forced to spent apart. You can taste your own fire on his lips, feel it as you both crest and his seed drips down your legs. Otto kept the promise he gave you – he made things right, he cherished you, and now nothing shall part you again.

“I am doing something I learned early to do, I am paying attention to small beauties, whatever I have – as if it were our duty to find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.” – Sharon Olds, from "Little Things"; Strike Sparks: Selected Poems, 1980-2002

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

#otto hightower #otto hightower x reader #otto x reader #otto hightower x female reader #otto hightower fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd x reader #hotd #team green fanfiction #team green #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic

331 notes · View notes

b00kdiary · 1 year ago

Text

Dreamer | Rhysand (I)

Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand begrudgingly goes to Hewn City to secure a marriage pact that will indefinitely bond the two Courts together- but the fine ladies of the Court of Nightmares are not what he wants or needs.

Instead, he discovers Lady Y/N, and she has no qualms about telling him how he has failed this City and her. This is more than just coincidence, it’s fate.

Warnings: long chapters, mature content (18 +) swearing, eventual smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

"High Lord, Rhysand of the Night Court."

I reach the top of the dais as my name is announced, my footsteps echoing against the polished floor and the sound bounces through the room, through the tense silence. No one speaks, they barely breathe, as I slowly turn, my face a sheet of ice as I settle onto my throne.

I let a nonchalant smile tug at my lips, the dark mask of a tyrant slipping into place as I eye the endless room before me. A macabre and dreary setting with its ebony walls and onyx ceiling, the beasts carved into the cavernous stone a mirror to the type of Fae who lived in this City.

I emulate the darkness as I lean back, my long legs spreading apart and my fingers curling into the engraved snake form that curves around the throne, the head peering out over my shoulder, my own personal monster.

I cock my head at the dozens of males before me, Council Members, my violet eyes twinkling in amusement as they all remained bowed, knees pressed to the floor, heads lowered and waiting for my word.

"You may rise," I drawl, my tone the picture of boredom, and as Kier and his peers rise to their feet, I see the apprehension and distaste on their faces for me, for my inner circle. Kier observes me, his brown eyes flickering at the prolonged silence. "Kier?"

"As usual, it is an honour to have you here, High Lord," Kier inclines his head, scurrying forward as he speaks, his own mask of reverence slipping into place as he stops before me. "As the steward of Hewn City, I am delighted by your decision to unite our two Courts through marriage, as are the Council present here today."

I see the way my Court stiffens, Mor, Cassian and Azriel all flanked at the bottom of the dais seem to go unnaturally still, the stones in their eyes wholly- unable to hide their disapproval of this whole arrangement.

"We all have our duties, Kier, the Court must always come first," My lips tilt in a mocking smile, and Kier shrivels under the tendrils of dark power that dance around me, an omnipresent threat so at odds with my amused gaze, "My marriage to a Lady of Hewn City will be a victory for us all."

Marriage.

The word tastes like poison on my tongue, any hopes and dreams I had once harboured turning to ash in my mouth at the cold reality I was faced with. To marry a female, I didn't know or love, to mate with her and sire a child, and secure an alliance with the Court of Nightmares indefinitely.

Heavy is the head that bears the crown indeed.

"It will be an alliance venerated for generations to come, I'm sure," Kier smiles, an ugly, wretched sight and I saw Mor shiver in my peripheral, an imperceptible movement, a conditioned reaction to her father. "High Lord, may I introduce to you the fine ladies selected by the Council."

I brace myself, masking my dread with an entertained smirk, drawing on the worst parts of myself, the worst parts of this place to hide the male that roared in warning to me inside. A click of doors opening at my left, and then several soft footsteps echoing into the chamber.

I stare, unyielding and silent, as several young women stride into the room, their heads bowed and back straight, adorned with fine clothes and finer jewellery as they stop at the foot of the dais before me.

They were fine, lovely even, tall, and thin, typical of High Fae female beauty and yet, despite their soft smiles and delicate frames, I frown.

"You can't be serious, even you wouldn't be this cruel," Mor releases a horrified, tight breath and both Cassian and Azriel step forward in unison, an impenetrable wall, as Kier's eyes turn to Mor and his lip curls. "These 'fine ladies' are girls, children, how old are they?"

The room shifted at her sharp words, Kier tensing at the accusation and the males of the Council muttering amongst themselves, their eyes burning as they glared at my cousin- at her supposed insolence for speaking out of turn.

"Their age is of little significance, girl," Kier sneers, that simpering fool mask he wore melting into revulsion and anger as he took in his outcasted daughter. My fingers curled around the throne under me as he spoke, that pit of darkness inside me churning. "They have all had their first bleed-"

"Cauldron," Cassian swore, his dark hair shifting as he moved his gaze over to those girls, and I saw his throat bob at the sight- so young, broken, pawns moved and used in a game of power.

"You're disgusting," Mor hissed, and I heard the pain clawing at her throat, her face pulled into a devastated frown as she took in those girls- and it was as if she were looking into a mirror, to the girl she had once been. "These girls are not chattel; you cannot sell their innocence for your own gain-"

"These ladies are being honoured, girl, an honour that you will never understand," Kier snarled, his emphasis on honour so clear, an indirect assault on Mor's character, on the choice she made to free herself. "To marry the High Lord is a privilege, one these ladies are eager for-"

Azriel's shadows thrum around him, restless, wild, and I knew his control was wearing thin the longer Kier spoke, the longer those girls stood before us, trembling under the burden on their shoulders.

"Enough." One word, low and sinister, and every mouth in the room closed, every Fae in the room turned utterly still at the command.

I grit my teeth, letting the furious power within me radiate into the room, let it dance through the air, brush against my subjects, let them feel the warning, the threat, that I was. I smile as their faces pale, flinching back from the vile magic, a reminder that I could destroy them without even lifting a hand.

"Kier, I am going to choose to believe that this decision was made out of sheer stupidity rather than insolence," My voice is a calm storm, but my eyes- they rage with a current of violence and death, the kind that made males twice my age blanche- and they do. "I will choose to believe that you did not invite me here to waste my time- you wouldn't dare be so foolish, would you Kier?"

I shifted forward in my seat, my eyes narrowing down at the male, and it took all the restraint in me not to shatter every bone in his body, to not pluck his eyes from his head and tear his tongue from his mouth- and he sees that desire to inflict pain upon him in my gaze.

"Never, High Lord, I would not dream of-" Kier barely contains his stuttering words, a mixture of fear, indignation and humiliation lacing through his widening gaze, but like the worm he was, he bowed his head to me in remorse. "It was a grave misjudgement, one that will not be repeated again."

"Good- I desire to sire a child, Kier, not marry one," I sneer, my disgust prevalent across every hard inch of my face as I turn from Kier, moving my eyes across every last council member, "Just as I am sure you all agree, these girls have many more years left to enjoy their youth, yes?"

I make the threat clear in my words, make them clear in my eyes- touch these girls and die.

None oppose me, their hearts hammering in their chests as they nod their head in agreement, subservient and controlled- and a small kernel of satisfaction fills me, that they felt a fraction of what the girls before me did.

"Kier, join me in the Council Room," I stand from my chaise, and as if it were muscle memory, every single person in the room falls to a knee and drops their heads as I descend the stairs. "Let us discuss the consequences you'll all face should you disappoint me again."

***

"Y/N, a union between the High Lord and a Lady of Hewn City is exactly the chance we've been waiting for," Cassandra pestered, her wide eyes pleading with me, but I ignored her again, choosing to instead clean the Council Room for the next meeting with haste. "It's a chance for change."

"Who are you trying to convince, Cassie- me or yourself?" I mutter, raising a dark brow at her as I tuck in the oak chairs, shoving them into place harder than was needed. "This marriage is a farce, and you're deluding yourself by thinking otherwise."

Cassie groans, the sound reverberating through the empty room, and I try to not laugh at her as she rushes around the endless table, her sea-blue eyes rolling as she stops beside me.

"Why must you be such a pessimist?" Cassie demands, her cold, slim fingers ripping the papers from my hand and slamming them onto the table before me. "With a lady from our Court married to the High Lord, we can finally hope, we will have someone on our side- to help us, to fix this Cauldron-forsaken City-"

"And who would that be?" I scoff out a laugh, a bitter, hollow sound as I turn my hard gaze to her, strands of my loose hair brushing my hot cheeks as I move, "Thanatos's daughter despises the Court of Dreams, Kier's nieces care more about fine jewels and clothes than people, and the other daughters are afraid of their own shadows, they would shit themselves at the sight of the High Lord and his inner circle."

Cassie purses her lips at my harsh words, and I frown, sighing deeply at the look of dejection on her lovely face, hating myself for snuffing out the light that had filled her eyes. But it had to be done- some people were not meant to dream.

"I'm sorry, Cassie, I know you wish it were otherwise, I do too," I force back the lump in my throat as I turn from her, hating the way my lip trembled and my hands felt weak, "But this marriage will benefit nobody but the High Lord, his court, and the males of the Council- that's it. They have never and will never care, there is no one on our side but us."

Silence fills the room at my hoarse dead words, and the reality of them, the reality that we were truly and irrevocably stuck in this life, in this cycle of hell made my eyes burn.

"It saddens me that you feel that way, My Lady," A deep, velvety voice rasped from behind me, and the air went taut at the unfathomable power that penetrated the room.

Cassandra gasped, something spilling from her hand and dropping to the floor with a deafening crunch. My stomach twists into knots as I brace myself, all the blood leeching from my face as I turn- to where the High Lord stood, his inner circle and Kier watching on either side.

"High Lord," Cassie choked on the title, choked on her fear and before the male before us could speak, she stumbled down to a knee, her head bowed and her golden hair falling forward to shield the terror on her face.

I couldn't move, not even as the voice inside me screamed and begged for me to bow, to submit myself to him- for I had heard stories of Rhysand.

Of his abilities as a Daemati, able to shatter a person's mind without lifting a hand, of his ruthlessness as High Lord, reducing people to ash with a smile on his lovely face, of all the horrific things he had done in his five hundred years of existence.

And it seemed he saw it on my face, perhaps even saw it in my mind, the nightmares and tales, the horrors spread about him in the City, about the kind of male he was.

His violet gaze narrowed, the constellations in them beaming as he stared at me, as he cocked his head, his lips pursed into a thin line- as if observing me. I shook under the silent act, the unyielding hold he had over me, as well as the gazes of his court at his side.

"Y/N!" Cassie hissed under her breath, her head turning and her silver-lined eyes meeting mine, tears sullying the usually tranquil blue as she pleaded with me to move, to bow.

"Insolent girl," Kier spat, his gaze hard as he glared at me and the breath caught in my lungs as a dark eclipse of magic shot from him, striking against my stomach, hard enough that I lurched forward in pain and then another hit a second later, slamming into my jaw. "Bow before your High Lord."

I groaned as I fell to a knee, the impact of the bone against the polished floor striking through my whole leg and up my body, but that was nothing compared to the throb that burned through my stomach and the cut at my lip, the taste of metal filling my mouth.

I heard a gasp, a feminine sound of surprise and concern from above me as I leaned forward, my eyes pinched shut and every breath feeling like glass in my lungs as I tried to compose myself- forcing down the pain in my jaw, in my stomach, in my heart.

I heard footsteps and then the room went still, as if a blanket of ice had fallen over us.

"High Lord, she-she was being impudent-" Begging and broken words, riddled with fear and my eyes shot open at the sound of a sickening crunch, an agonised scream following it, and the aura of death filling the space.

"No, you are impudent, Kier," That voice again, but now it sounded different- the kind of mercilessness that could haunt a person's nightmares, that could be found in the darkest hollows of hell. "You do not touch her, or any other female, ever."

Another crunch and I recognise the sound now, it was bones splintering, tendons tearing, blood gushing and Kier cried out again, a horrible, strangled sound.

"Leave," The High Lord breathed the command, and I felt the floor shake under his restraint like he was funnelling his power down into the ground as an anchor. "and do not heal that hand, I want you to remember my words today, Kier."

I keep my head low, staring at the floor, unable to look up as footsteps bound away, fast and stumbling and I cringe at the sight of blood leaking against the floor, a trail following after Kier as he exits the room.

And despite the tendrils of pain still wrecking through me- I internally groaned at the thought of having to clean the blood up.

An amazed huff of air left the High Lord, it sounded almost like a laugh, but I didn't dare raise my head. Not even as he slowly sauntered over, his footsteps deliberate and slow, I didn't even look up when that trail of blood vanished, magicked away, leaving behind not even a stain in memory.

He stopped before me, and my heart thrummed so loud I knew they could all hear it.

"My Lady," Rhysand murmured, his voice soft now, like a caress of wind against my skin. I swallow down the bitter taste in my mouth, my eyes fluttering as I lift my head- to see the hand he had reaching down for me. "Please, rise."

I blink at the outreached hand, heat filling my cheeks at Rhysand's tender gaze, any whisper of violence or darkness gone, replaced by something so much sweeter. I gnaw on my cheek, my hand sweating and shaking as I reach forward, gently placing my palm in his.

The second our hands connect, something charges through me, bright and sharp and strong and for a second Rhysand's eyes widen, just for a second, but then he blinks at it's gone- as if I had imagined it.

"Thank you, High Lord," I breathe and his fingers curl firmly around my palm as I wince, my knees shaking and knocking as I rise to my feet. He whispers something gently under his breath, his head glancing sideways, and I sigh when Cassandra rises too, her slender frame curling back as she stands.

I crane my neck to meet Rhysand's eyes, and upon seeing my face, seeing the cut leaking blood at my lip, his expression hardens. He still hadn't let go of my hand, his large, ringed fingers still gripping around me like a vice, calming the trembling shakes that ran through me.

"I apologise for Kier's actions," Rhysand sighed, his dark lashes fluttering as he slowly slipped his hand from mine, moving to the pocket of his jacket, his fingers pulling free the cloth there. My hand felt cold as it fell back to my side, but as Rhysand lifted the cloth between his fingers, my head hazed.

I didn't breathe, couldn't, as Rhysand gently brushed the soft cloth against the cut at my lip, soaking the material with blood and being so careful that I didn't even feel the pain stinging at the touch. I feel the surprised stare of Cassie at my side, of his family at his back, but nothing deterred Rhysand.

"I should be the one to apologise, High Lord," I stutter, finally feeling like I can breathe as he pulls his hand away, and I blink away the fog, clearing my throat as I step back, as I let the bubble, he created around us pop. "I spoke out of turn, and I should have bowed-"

"You don't need to apologise for your honesty or anything else," He shook his head, the soft waves of his blue-black hair shifting with the movement, and I forced myself to not stare at every inch of his handsome face. "I don't punish Ladies for words spoken in earnest between friends."

I nod, uncertainty and weariness shining in my gaze as I take in his intense half-smile, a smile that seems to brighten when I glance at Cassandra, looking equally as confused as me, and I shrug weakly.

"Though I will admit I am rather taken aback by your words, Lady Y/N," I shiver at the sound of my name on his silver tongue, at the way he cocked his head down at me, a purely predatory move, as he spoke. "I would like to hear more of your thoughts on the matter."

Hear my thoughts?

I go still at his easy words, at the question rather than a command, and Cassie releases a puff of air- like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room to placate her aching lungs.

"What?" I croak and then wince at the insolence behind my words, a habit that I couldn't shake in front of the High Lord. I pinch my eyes shut at the way his lip quirks, and my embarrassment is worsened by the small chuckle that General Cassian huffs out. "I mean- I'm not sure that's-"

"Now, now- don't go all shy on me, My Lady," Rhysand purred, nonchalance highlighted in every inch of his muscled form as he tucked the cloth back into his pocket and grinned at me, like a lion before devouring a lamb. "I think we're past the point of formalities, yes?"

***

"There is no one on our side but us."

The words were so hollow and defeated, the type of ruined that spoke of no hopes, dreams, or future, just nothing. And it was hard to explain what I felt at the words, like a sharp pain as if she had reached into my chest and torn out my heart with her bare hand.

She said that they have never and will never care- 'they' being me, my court, the people around me now and the ones left behind in my City of Starlight.

Sincere words, loaded words, spoken by a female behind closed doors, in confidence to her friend- and yet, I had overheard.

I wasn't sure what to expect when stepping into this room and wasn't sure what kind of female I would be confronted with. I had anticipated a female full of loathing and darkness, a kind of anger that would burn in her eyes, that could be seen through every breath she took, in every inch of her skin as she moved.

And yet, as I stared at the girl before me, I was met with the exact opposite.

The other lady, Cassandra, had become a shaking mess the second her blue eyes laid upon me, her breaths gasping from her as if everyone would be the last. She was terrified because that was all she knew in this city; it was all she knew of me.

But Lady Y/N was different- she was frightened by me, yes, I saw it in her doe-like eyes, saw it in the memories that flashed through her mind of me, the tales of my cruelty and brutality, the blood that stained my hands and the darkness that tainted my heart.

But she didn't look away, as if she couldn't.

Here she was faced with a monster that mothers warned their children about, yet she stared at me as if she saw me- and was as beguiled by me as I was by her.

"Now, now- don't go all shy on me, My Lady," I smile, the tightness in my chest easing as a stain tints her plump cheeks, and her chocolate eyes widen, "I think we're past the point of formalities, yes?"

Her friend swallows, audible and thick, as if struggling to get down air and Azriel shifts on his feet, his brow furrowed as if concerned the girl might collapse. Y/N glances at her, and amusement fills me at the small, confused shrug she gives her.

"You won't uh-" She clears her throat, her hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, and I watch every single movement as she tucks the silken strand over a perfectly arched ear, revealing the smooth column of her neck. "You won't turn me to dust, right?"

I snort, a short and amazed sound, and she gnaws on her lip, avoiding the cut there and I have to begrudgingly tear my gaze away when my court steps forward, my brothers half-smiling and Mor looking at Y/N as if she was as charmed by her as I was.

"No, no, Lady Y/N," My mask slips and slips until it's completely gone, and I'm glad that Kier left, glad that none but her saw me like this because it felt freeing, to be in this Cauldron-forsaken place and be able to genuinely smile. "No one will be turned to dust, on my honour as High Lord."

"Please do tell us," Mor steps forward, a small smile on her red-pained lips and Y/N's breath hitches at the eyes on her, at the attention. "Contrary to what you may think, we do care."

Y/N considers, and I can hear her heart hammering in her chest, fast and loud and endless, but despite that she lifts her chin and something raw runs through me at the look in her eyes- the bravery.

"I- I think that Hewn City is a cesspit, full of the worst kind of Fae and every amoral despicable thing a person could do happens here," She breathes, and her soft body trembles with the exhale, as if speaking these words aloud were exactly the catharsis she needed. "And to be honest, I blame you for that."

Surprise- it fills me and every single other person in the room.

"Y/N!" Cassandra gasps, and her eyes seem to widen further, impossibly big, latching onto me and full of pleading, "She doesn't mean that- she must be more delirious than anticipated from the-"

"Cassie, please," Y/N scoffs, a hollow and low sound, and the tension in the air goes thick as they glance at each other. "Someone needs to say it, it might as well be me."

I fold my arms across my chest, my lips pursing as they stare at each other, some internal telepathic conflict waging between them, in their eyes and despite my abilities, despite the fact, that it would be so easy for me to slip into their minds and wade through all their thoughts, I don't.

I glanced back at my Court, who stood just behind me, and their faces were contemplative too- not angry, nor offended, but shocked- here was this girl, no older than twenty, with eyes as soft as a doe's, telling us exactly how we have failed.

"Please, continue," I nod, and I hope my eyes are encouraging, because even if I do not wish to hear her words, she was right, they needed to be said and I needed to hear them.

"For centuries, the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams have been segregated and somehow we've fallen into two categories: good and bad," She swallows, and something aches in my chest at the sorrow on her lovely face, the burden, "But no one is born bad, people aren't inherently evil but growing up in a place like this? What else is there but the horrors we see and endure, what else are we destined to become?"

Another shaky inhale, a more broken exhale, and my magic burn inside me as if every desperate breath from her is like a call and my body is begging in answer.

"Your court has washed their hands of us, all of us because it was easier to believe that we were all damned than to try to help- the small minority have ruined the majority," Silver lines her hardening gaze, and I feel us all, every single one of us, go tense at the single tear that trickled down her cheek.

I hear a strangled sound come from behind me and my burning gaze glances back- to Mor, tears brimming her eyes and her lips trembling, watching the girl before us, and feeling every single atom of hurt as if it were her own.

"Morrigan was lucky enough to escape this City, these people because she had you- but do you truly think that she is the only good person born here, that in all these years, she is the only one worthy of salvation?"

More tears leak down Mor's face and Y/N's, endless, eternal, years of suffering in one single moment and I feel the guilt of my actions barrel down at me, a truth that I have spent years avoiding coming to light, like a thunderbolt to the heart.

I let my magic hold me down, let it root me in my spot- because those tears on her cheeks are tormenting me, ruining me, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and brush them away.

"So, forgive me if I have no hope left, that died in me, in all of us, long ago," Y/N clears her throat, her chest rising and falling in powerful waves and my throat is as dry as sand as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, "I- I think we could have all been dreamers- if only you had given us the chance."

In five hundred years, the mask I wore never slipped, never faltered, never was hard to wear- until right now. Right now, as my gaze locked with her, as I saw all the horrors she endured, because of my neglect, I couldn't even find that mask within me- it was gone.

There's silence, heavy and long and burdensome for what feels like hours as I stare at her, and I don't think I could look away even if I wanted to do and I don't, I don't want to.

Y/N inhales a sharp breath as I stalk towards her and the magic in me dances and whirls and strikes through the air, dark and ominous and wholly powerful. My jaw locks as she grabs out to her friend, Cassandra whimpering as Y/N yanks the girl behind her- a shield, against me.

Brave- so utterly brave. Willing to face off with a male five hundred years her senior and her High Lord, to protect her friend.

A Queen in her own right.

I stop before her, so close that I feel her breasts brush my chest, feel the small trembles that wreck through her body, can smell the lavender and jasmine on her perfect skin. She raises her eyes to me, and I see every ounce of her character, her heart and soul, as she tries to not cower before me.

"How old are you, My Lady?" I mutter, and she shivers under my easy words, her brow furrowing at the non-threat. "And what do you do here, your role?"

"Twenty-one, High Lord." She swallows, her tongue flicking out nervously to wet her lips and my hands clench at the sight, at the moisture on her pink mouth. "My father was Captain of an import chain for the City, I was given the role of Lady-in-waiting as a reward for his work."

I sense the curiosity and shock of my court behind me, the way they imperceptibly inch closer to me, to us, drawn in by my words- by the intention behind them.

"You believe the alliance is a farce, that it wouldn't change anything?" I ask, softer, and my power slips from me, curling around her curved hips and soft thighs, moving through her silken hair and over her sensitive skin- and she shakes her head, unable to speak. "What if I were to find a Lady of Hewn City who shared your sentiments, who desired for change and salvation just as you do- would that make you more inclined to hope?"

Cassandra sucked in a sharp breath, her blue eyes widening- in realisation. And I felt the air tauten, my inner circle going still, knowingly.

But Y/N cocked her head, a youthful move, not seeing what was right in front of her.

"Yes, I think that you marrying a Lady who genuinely cares for this City and its people would be a step in the right direction," She considers, and I can't fight my smile at the tender, sincere, confusion that pinches her lovely face. "Thought I seriously doubt you will find any such female here."

"Hm," A lazy grin stretches across my face, bright and sure, drawing from the feeling blooming in my chest, raw and new and terrifying as I stare down at her, "I already have."

"High Lord? I don't understand-" Her words melt into a gasp as my fingers caress her cheek, moving ever so gently against that sore cut at her lip- and satisfaction fills me when her eyes flutter, a breathy sound slipping from her.

"I have already found the perfect Lady to marry," Her face burns as I run my eyes languidly down her figure, across her entire face and body- and she stills as realisation fills her, "All you have to do is say yes, Y/N darling."

#acotar #rhysand #rhysand smut #rhysand x reader #smut #sarah j maas #azriel acotar #cassian acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand x y/n #acotar fanfiction #sjm #the bat boys #acotar smut

533 notes · View notes

a-killer-obsession · 6 months ago

Text

Whoops, you got hit by a bus, and now you're in the world of One Piece. But not everything is quite as you remember it...

General Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, isekai, monsterfucker reader, vampire!kid, werewolf!killer, wyrm!heat, minotaur!wire, everyone has a human form, smut heavy, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, serious violence, spoilers for Wano arc, starts pre-timeskip. There will be a lot of more intense kinks, please check AO3 for all current tags.

Chapter 4 - Toy Mouse

Heat is being greedy, so Kid puts him in his place.

WC: 3.6k

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 1

At first things seemed fine and normal with Heat. He was clingy, definitely, but at first you just chalked it up to him being a little touch starved. It wasn't until he refused to leave when you needed to use the bathroom that you realised something might be off, not even turning away to give you privacy. It was difficult to do your business like that, but something about the dark look in his eyes when he watched you made you aroused and more willing to do what he wanted. He kept you by his side 24/7, with no chance of going off on your own even at night, when he kept his tail coiled around you like a boa constrictor with its prey. He never hurt you, but the lack of privacy was starting to get grading, not to mention your cunt hurt from how many times he'd mounted you. Sometimes you woke up with him already inside you, which you didn't mind so much, except for the fact you were exhausted and he was interrupting your sleep constantly. If you tried to scold him, he'd just give you sad little puppy eyes, and you couldn't help but give in. By day three it seemed like all you did was eat, sleep and fuck. He barely left the bed or let you leave, instead having someone bring meals to the bedroom so he could keep you to himself, and you were beginning to feel like you had no agency in your own life at all. As much as you enjoyed being used like a personal fleshlight, some fresh air would've been nice.

On day four of Heat keeping you captive, the others decided they'd had enough. Heat was slacking off on his chores to play with you, and Kid was sick of his insubordination. He had warned Heat right from the start what would happen if he acted too possessive, knowing full well it was in the wyrm's nature to act like this, and with Sabaody on the horizon he decided to do something about it. Both you and Heat were summoned to Kid's room, where he had his own private dining room he sometimes used for meetings.

As it turned out, the stairs in the stern castle led to the captain's quarters, in other words: Kid's floor. Only the commanders and whoever was responsible for cleaning his chambers were allowed up those stairs unless invited, so you felt highly intimated as Heat led you up. At the top of the stairs was a short hall with two doors, the first of which, Heat explained, went to Kid's workshop, and the other to his living quarters.

The main part of Kid's quarters was made up of two rooms, separated by a large archway. The first chamber held the dining room and bar, a similar setup to the commander's table on the stage downstairs in the galley, while the second chamber held his bedroom. Another door led through from the bedroom, you would learn later that these led through to a walk-in closet, and beyond it a bathroom which also connected to the workshop, making one large loop that took up the entire expanse of this floor.

Kid's main chambers were decorated as you had expected in reds and blacks, with deep scarlet wallpapers decorated with an embossed baroque pattern that was glossier than the base, but the same colour, giving a subtle texture to the walls where the light caught it. The lower third of the walls were shiplapped with a deep ebony wood, almost black, the doors, framing and much of the furniture being made of a matching wood. The floors were a slightly brighter wood, with large black and red ornate rugs with purple accents laid out under the dining set and bed. The bed itself was a gothic styled canopy bed, with an ornate headboard and deep red sheets, set with red velvet blankets and a red fur much like his coat draped over the end. At the end of the bed was a long purple ottoman, and the room also held several dressers that matched the bed; side tables, a purple velvet loveseat and matching armchair, a small glass topped coffee table in front of the sofa, and wrought-iron faux candelabra lighting fixtures scattered around the walls of each chamber. Each chamber also had a grand matching chandelier in the centre of the room, both sections lit in warm orange light. The dining section also held two china cabinets with glass panelled doors, one one either side of the room. The first held a multitude of expensive looking liquors and crystal glasses to enjoy them with, while the other seemed like a collection of antique weapons, a variety of well kept guns and knives of all kinds.

Kid, Killer and Wire already sat at the dining table as you and Heat entered, Kid in a throne-like seat at the end of the table that was taller and more ornate than the other chairs. Heat pulled you into his lap as he sat, wrapping his arms around you protectively. The others rolled their eyes at the overly possessive action.

“Come now,” Kid tutted, “come warm my lap instead, mouse.” He pushed his seat a little away from the table, patting his knee to invite you over. You made to move to him, wanting to be obedient, but Heat made a growl behind you and held you tighter. “Heat, what did I say? Do I need to take your toy away from you permanently? Prove to me this wasn't a mistake to let you take responsibility of her”

Heat grumbled but let you go, knowing that if he didn't give in then Kid would have to send you back down to the brig, and he didn't want to give up having you warm his bed. You spared Heat an apologetic look as you walked to the head of the table, and Kid quickly pulled you into his wide lap, the large, jewel encrusted belt buckle he wore digging into you as you tried to get comfortable. His hand rested on your inner thigh as he held you still, the other against your waist to pin your back to his chest. You could feel the vibrations in his chest from his deep voice whenever he spoke, while Heat watched on with a deep, unhappy scowl on his face. Kid's hand was so high on your thigh that he could swipe his thumb over your slit, making you bite your lip and squirm as he put pressure against your clothed cunt.

“Wipe that fucking look from your face, snake, she offered herself to everyone, quit being selfish,” Kid barked at him.

“Don't call him a snake,” you said quietly, a slight quiver to your voice, “that's not nice. He's a dragon, not a snake”

“Damn, you showed her your full form already?” Kid laughed, “no wonder she fuckin’ stinks of you. I'll just have to put my own scent on her,” he jeered, running his sharp canines over the pulse point of your neck, making you shiver. Heat made a growl, black smoke leaking from his mouth, and Kid openly laughed at him, running his hand further up your thigh to cup your cunt while his other hand grabbed a tit, making you let out a surprised squeak. “Sounds like I'm gonna have to put your boyfriend in his place, mouse. Be a doll and bend over the table for me.”

You moved to do as he asked, apparently not moving fast enough for his liking as he suddenly manhandled you, pushing your front down against the table and yanking down your borrowed sweatpants and oversized briefs. You couldn't help but let out a whine as he ran two fingers between your folds before bullying them inside you, finding you already wet from just his earlier teasing. “Little mouse is already soaked, you want this don't you, whore? Want me to use your greedy cunt? It's sucking my fingers in.”

“Y-yes captain,” you whined, blushing heavily and trying to ignore the other three men in the room who were watching you discerningly, most of all Heat who was growing angry as Kid played with his toy. There was wet squelching and the metallic jingling of gold bracelets as Kid finger fucked you, showing no mercy as he scissored his fingers to stretch you out as quickly as possible, adding a third thick finger and curling them down to press against your g-spot. “Ahh- hnng- Kid-” you moaned, writhing against the table, one of his hands still pressed to your back to keep you from getting up. He forcibly ripped an orgasm from you, not letting up even a little as he felt you clamp down around his fingers, and you heard the soft pattering of fluid hitting the rug as he made you squirt.

“Fuck, now there's a good whore,” Kid praised, pulling his fingers from you and licking them clean, savouring your sweet taste. If he had more time he'd eat you out, but this wasn't about making you feel good, this was about putting Heat in his place. “You didn't say she was a squirter, Heat. Sweet little mouse, making a mess on my rug. I'm gonna make a fucking mess of that pussy. See who you dream of then.”

You heard the unbuckling of his belt behind you, his blue sash thrown to the floor beside you as he yanked down his pants. You turned enough to see his erection, gasping at how impossibly thick he was, somehow even thicker than the base of Heat's dragon form cocks, though not as long. The man was built like a fucking soup can. Kid gave Heat a shit eating grin as he pushed your head to face forward again, lining himself up and pushing his cock into you far too fast, knocking the air from your lungs and making you sting from the stretch. If it wasn't for how regularly Heat had been mounting you, the stretch would have no doubt made you scream in pain, but thankfully Heat had been giving you no time for your cunt to recover fully.

“Fuck, so tight,” Kid growled, grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise and immediately starting a brutal pace, his heavy balls slapping against your thighs with every snap of his hips. He couldn't care less if you came again, his only goal was to cover you in cum so Heat would smell him on you for days and remember you didn't belong to only him. He was enjoying your tight cunt though nonetheless, seriously considering keeping you around for a while just to fuck even if you turned out to be full of shit.

You squirmed and moaned at Kid's rough treatment, moving too much for his liking. He made a frustrated growl and lifted a leg to the table, pressing his boot against your head, threatening to crush it. “Stop fucking squirming bitch,” he barked, “take what I fucking give you.”

You could smell the dirt and dried sea salt on the sole of his boot, as well as the polish he used to shine the leather (or more likely, that another crewmate used). You couldn't help the string of moans that left you at the degrading treatment, your nails digging into the wooden table top as your clothed tits slid back and forth against it. You made the mistake of looking ahead, making eye contact with Wire, who looked highly amused, his eyes dark and hungry as he twirled his trident on its base. You whined at his expression, he was watching you like you were nothing more than a plaything, practically seeing the cogs in his head turning as he considered all the things he would do to you when he got his turn. Killer's face was of course unreadable, but he watched you with crossed arms, sitting in a relaxed looking slouch with his mask pointed right at you. You expected Heat to look upset, but instead his eyes were wide and blown out with lust, finding surprisingly that he actually enjoyed watching Kid fuck you. He could get used to this, he thought. Possessiveness still prickled in the back of his mind, already planning on coating you in cum the second he got a chance, maybe he'd even piss on you for good measure, but for now he was enjoying watching Kid use you, and seeing the way your eyes rolled back at his merciless pounding.

“Oi, you two,” Kid pointed at Killer and Wire, “jerk yourselves off, we're gonna paint this bitch with our cum so Heat knows to share in future.”

The two of them didn't hesitate for a moment, already rock hard from watching as they each unfastened their pants and pulled out their cocks. You couldn't see how big they were from this angle, but just knowing they were fucking themselves while they watched you was enough to make your legs shake, clamping down hard around Kid's cock and near screaming as you came. “Oh you like that huh? You like seeing them jerk off while they watch me fuck you?” Kid laughed, “you were born to be a whore. That's the real reason you ended up on this ship, a perfect little whore, made just for us.”

Heat made a move to touch himself, but Kid growled and snapped a finger at him. “Not you, selfish cunt, you're just gonna sit there and watch. You've had enough turns already.”

Heat whined, putting his hands on the table, his fingers twitching and shifting nervously as he struggled to control his urges, black smoke puffing out of his nose with every strained breath. Kid removed his boot from your head and pulled his cock out of you, flipping you onto your back unceremoniously before he grabbed your thighs and pulled your ass to the edge of the table, reshealthing himself with a grunt. He grabbed your shirt and tore it open easily, exposing your breasts which bounced with every thrust. He tweaked and pinched your nipples, making you whine and your back arch of the table. “Fuck, look at those tits, these natural baby?”

“Y-yes captain,” you whined, thighs squeezing around him involuntarily as he started rubbing your clit hard with a calloused thumb.

“Fucking nice,” he growled, groping your tit hard before his hand moved further up and squeezed around your neck. The restricted air flow made you light headed, adding to the dizziness you were feeling after two hard orgasms. You vaguely registered the creaking of the table behind you and the striped mask hovering over your face, before Kid released your neck, only for Killer to grab your face and tilt your head back, shoving his cock in your mouth and giving you no time to adjust before he was gagging you with it. You had to keep your eyes shut as they watered, trying hard not to gag as Killer's cock choked you, so you didn't see how Wire stood at your side, playing with the tit that Kid wasn't already occupying as he continued to fist himself, rolling your nipple between his fingers and slapping your soft mound. Your hands came up to grab at the lacing on Killer's jeans for support as you slid back and forth on the dining table, unable to concentrate on anything except for breathing through your nose.

You moaned around Killer's cock as Kid pulled at your clit and you came again, your gummy walls squeezing him and pulling him to his own peak. He pulled out just in time to coat your pussy with cum, thick ropes beading between your labia and dripping to the rug below as he panted. The other two took that as their cue, Wire spraying hot ropes over your tits while Killer unloaded over your face, leaving you thankful that your eyes were shut. The three of them left you whining and panting on the table, leaving you cold as the three hot bodies around you suddenly disappeared. You felt used but in the best kind of way, running your hands over your body and playing with the cum, pushing Killer's into your mouth and moaning around your fingers as you sucked the frosting from them.

“What do you say, mouse?” Kid purred, sitting back in his chair, pushing his cock back into his pants.

“Thank you captain,” you whimpered, touching your oversensitive clit with gentle circles. You couldn't help yourself when you felt unbelievably lewd covered in the collective cum of three different men.

“Look at her, can't get enough, she's jerking herself off with my cum,” Kid laughed, “go on then mouse, make yourself cum, show us how much you like being our little cum rag.”

You whined as you touched yourself harder with purpose, knowing it wouldn't take much to get yourself off given how sensitive you were right now. You dipped your fingers inside yourself, curling them the way you knew you liked best, zeroing in on the spot you knew would make you squirt, wanting to impress Kid. You sat up a little to reach better, seeing Kid's shit-eating grin as he watched you, looking pleased and amused as you fingered yourself in front of him. “Good girl mouse,” he purred, “you gonna cum for us sweetheart? Show us how much you love being the ship whore.”

“Ahhh- Kid~” you whined, your torso falling back to the table as your back arched, pumping your fingers fast in and out of your overused and gaping cunt as you felt the coil in your abdomen pull tight, your free hand running over your breasts and spreading Wire's spend over them. “Gonna- gonna cum- can I cum captain?”

“Good mouse, you can cum,” he purred, impressed by your naturally submissive behaviour. You did so immediately, squirting hard with a scream the whole Grandline would hear. With nothing for your release to catch against you almost got Kid with it, which pleased him greatly to watch as your release sprayed out over the rug and tabletop. You collapsed against the table with your legs draped over the side, shaking and twitching with aftershocks, entirely spent. Kid pulled your fingers from your cunt and licked them clean, making you whine as he gave your pussy a playful slap. “Good girl, mouse, you did good. You can go back to Heat now sweetheart.”

Heat helped you off the table, pulling you into his lap where you could feel his raging erection straining in his pants under your ass. He buried his face in your shoulder with a needy whine, and as exhausted as you were you couldn't do much to comfort him, so you just pressed your face against his. Killer and Wire had already returned to their seats, acting like nothing had happened, like there wasn't a puddle of fluids on the table or a stain on the rug, and like you weren't still covered in cum, not that Heat or yourself minded. He hated smelling the others on you, but he was too turned on to complain.

“Right,” Kid cleared his throat, “now that we've gotten that out of the way, Sabaody is a few days away.” You did your best to show him you were paying attention, but it was difficult given your half asleep state. “So you better have a plan for how you're gonna prove you're not full of shit. As tight as that pussy is, you ain't stayin’ on the ship if you can't prove your story.”

“Mmm, I have a plan, Captain,” you replied with a half-lidded gaze, “I can write down everything that'll happen, give it to one of you so you know I'm not changing it. Then afterwards you'll see everything I wrote down happened. I don't think you should read it till you're back though, I don't know yet if telling you will change things, so while I'm proving myself it would be best to play it safe.”

“Hmm,” Kid hummed, “alright then. But Heat is coming with us, so you're gonna have to come too. I don't trust anyone else to babysit you when we have no proof right now that you don't have powers.”

“Ah, I'd rather you lock me in the brig, to be honest,” you replied anxiously, “not to spoil things but Sabaody will not be… uneventful… and I have no way of defending myself. I'm a decent shot with a rifle from a stationary position but I have no experience with fighting. I only know how to shoot because my dad used to take me hunting, I'd be no good in a real fight. I'll just be a burden out there.”

“Fine, but if you turn out to be full of shit, don't think we won't drag you straight to the closest human auction house,” Kid threatened.

“Noted,” you shivered, hoping like hell that you just being in this world hadn't already fucked up the series of events due to play out. You weren't keen on getting branded and sold off to some Celestial cunt. Being used like a sex doll was only fun if it was with your favourite boys.

“Heat, get her cleaned up,” Kid barked before standing, “you're dismissed.”

Heat quickly picked you up bridal style and carried you out of the room without another word before Kid could change his mind, eager to have you to himself again. He'd clean you up, for sure, but not before he put his own mark on you.

[Next Chapter]

Like my stuff? Consider buying me a ko-fi

Taglist: @chershire23 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @nocturnalrorobin @eyes-ofhell @hellcatsworld @miyomoko-sora @loserbee14 @tzimiscequeen-blog @lansy-4 @luvnistuff @bbnbhm @fanaticsnail @ocean-mochi

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #one piece x reader #kid pirates #kid pirates x reader #killer x reader #heat x reader #killer one piece #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #kid one piece #eustass captain kidd #kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #wire x reader #wire one piece #monsterfucker #monsterfucker smut #monster au

149 notes · View notes

onebadassunicorn · 18 days ago

Text

The Spy Who Loved Me

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: none really, just some kissing.

word count: 5.9K

Taglist: @motheroffae

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please leave me a comment!

Chapter 1

********

Chapter 2

The Summer Court’s palace shimmered like a mirage against the sapphire sea, its golden spires reflecting the sunlight as waves lapped gently at the white sand below. It was a picture of peace and prosperity, but you knew better than to be lulled by its serene beauty.

Beneath its calm surface, the court was as rife with politics and subterfuge as any other.

You stepped into Tarquin’s private council chamber, where the High Lord awaited you. The room was filled with the scent of salt and sun, the light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the sparkling sea. Tarquin stood by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, his turquoise eyes scanning the horizon. He turned as you entered, his expression calm but sharp, his gaze immediately locking onto you.

“You’re back,” he said simply, his voice rich with curiosity and authority.

You inclined your head, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind you. “I am. The ball went as expected—perhaps better.”

Tarquin gestured for you to sit at the table in the center of the room, and you took your seat as he lowered himself into the chair opposite you. His focus never wavered, his sharp mind already piecing together the weight of your expression and the tone of your voice.

“Tell me everything,” he said.

You recounted the events of the Autumn Court’s masquerade in meticulous detail. The atmosphere, the key players, the whispers you overheard. When you reached the part about Eris Vanserra, Tarquin leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued.

“He noticed me immediately,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “It took little effort to draw his attention. He was… enchanted, or at least pretended to be. We danced several times, and he invited me to walk with him in the gardens.”

Tarquin’s brow furrowed, though not in disapproval. “And?”

“I kept to the persona we crafted,” you assured him. “Kaela, from a lesser court with ties to the Summer Court. I dropped your name subtly, as planned. He seemed intrigued but didn’t press too hard. If anything, he seemed more interested in my… presence.”

Your words trailed off, and Tarquin’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “Eris is well-known for being easily swayed by beauty, especially when it serves his ambitions. I take it he was quite forward?”

You nodded. “He kissed me before we returned to the ballroom.”

Tarquin leaned back, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed the information. Finally, he spoke, his tone measured. “It’s a good start. If Eris is already that taken with you, it will make the next steps easier. But you must tread carefully. Eris may seem infatuated, but he’s as cunning as his father. He’ll test you, and if he finds even a hint of deception, he won’t hesitate to turn on you.”

“I understand,” you said firmly. “What do you want me to do next?”

Tarquin’s gaze hardened slightly, the weight of his responsibility evident in his expression. “We need to confirm what Beron is planning. The rumors of an uprising have reached too many ears to be mere speculation. If Beron is aligning himself with outside forces—Hybern sympathizers, rogue courts, or even traitors within the High Lords—then we need to know. Eris is your way in. He’s ambitious, yes, but he’s also desperate to prove himself superior to his father. Use that.”

You nodded, already anticipating the intricacies of what would come next. “The Autumnal Equinox is in a week. Eris will expect me to be there.”

“Good.” Tarquin’s voice softened slightly, though his resolve remained unshaken. “Keep the ruse intact. Push for more, but don’t overplay your hand. Beron is ruthless, and if he so much as suspects you’re working against him, no alliance with me will save you.”

His warning was clear, but there was also trust in his gaze. He had chosen you for this mission because he believed in your skill, in your ability to navigate the perilous waters of Autumn’s politics. You had spent years honing your craft in the shadows of the Summer Court, learning to become whoever the situation demanded.

This was no different.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“There’s one more thing,” you said carefully, hesitating for the first time. “Someone else was there. From the Night Court.”

Tarquin’s brows furrowed, a shadow of concern crossing his face. “Who?”

“Their spymaster,” you replied. “Azriel.”

Tarquin’s reaction was subtle, but his eyes darkened. “What did he want?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “He danced with me, asked who I was, and seemed… suspicious. He watched me the entire night, even when I was with Eris. He’s perceptive, Tarquin. If anyone can sense something is amiss, it’s him.”

Tarquin’s jaw tightened, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. “That complicates things. The Night Court has no love for Beron, but Azriel’s presence suggests they’re watching Autumn closely. If he suspects you, he may try to intervene—and that could ruin everything.”

“I’ll be careful,” you promised. “I don’t think he trusts me, but he has no proof of who I really am.”

Tarquin studied you for a moment, his gaze weighing something unspoken. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Continue with the mission. But be wary of Azriel. The spymaster is not someone to underestimate. If he’s watching you, then he’s already planning his next move.”

“I understand.”

As you rose to leave, Tarquin’s voice stopped you. “One more thing,” he said. “I trust you to see this through, but remember: your safety is not worth the secrets we seek. If it becomes too dangerous, pull out. Do you hear me?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I hear you.”

But as you left the chamber and stepped out into the sunlit halls of the Summer Court, the weight of the mission settled heavily on your shoulders.

You couldn’t afford to fail—not for Tarquin, not for the Summer Court, and not for yourself.

The stakes were rising, and the lines between loyalty and deception were beginning to blur.

********

The Autumn Court was alight with the golden hues of the equinox, a celebration of harvest and fire, of the season’s fleeting beauty before the long, cold descent of winter. The festival sprawled across Beron’s grand estate, spilling from the opulent halls into the sprawling courtyards and gardens, where lanterns cast flickering shadows across the leaves.

This time, you wore no mask.

Your gown was a masterpiece of autumn’s essence, crafted from silken fabrics in shades of burnt orange, deep crimson, and gold that shimmered like fire when you moved. The neckline framed your collarbones elegantly, and your honey-colored eyes gleamed with intelligence and quiet determination as you stepped into the festivities. Your dark hair was loosely braided, intertwined with strands of gold and tiny jeweled leaves, as though autumn itself had claimed you as its muse.

The court was alive with music and laughter, the scent of spiced cider and roasted meats wafting through the air. Long tables groaned beneath the weight of seasonal delicacies: golden pastries, rich stews, glistening fruits, and warm breads. Dancers swirled in the courtyard to the lively hum of fiddles and drums, their movements as wild and untamed as the season they celebrated.

You moved through the crowd with effortless grace, your every step drawing attention. Males turned to look as you passed, their gazes lingering too long on the sway of your hips, the way the lanterns caught the fire of your gown. You felt their stares, their whispered words, but you paid them no mind.

You were used to this by now—attention was a tool, and tonight, it was one you wielded with precision.

Eris, as always, was pleased by the effect you had on others. He stood near the main table, clad in deep red and gold, his fiery hair catching the light. His amber eyes followed your every move, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he noticed the way other males watched you.

He liked that they wanted you.

He liked it even more that you remained by his side when he summoned you.

But tonight, someone else was watching you, too.

Azriel stood at the edge of the festivities, his form cloaked in the shadows that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. He wore no mask either, and his Illyrian leathers had been traded for a simple, elegant black jacket that made him look no less dangerous. His hazel eyes—keen, sharp, and piercing—followed you as you moved through the crowd, his jaw tightening each time another male drew too close.

He had come for answers, but the sight of you, unmasked and radiant, had unraveled something inside him.

Before you could make your way to Eris, Azriel stepped from the shadows and intercepted you, his approach silent but purposeful. His voice was soft but firm as he spoke, “You’re hard to miss tonight.”

You turned, startled at first, but you quickly schooled your expression.

Seeing him without his mask was a shock.

The stories hadn’t done him justice—Azriel was devastatingly handsome, his features sharp and angular, his scarred hands folded behind his back. But his eyes, those hazel eyes flecked with gold, burned with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“Shadowsinger,” you greeted, your tone calm, though your heart raced beneath your ribs.

“Azriel,” he corrected, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you are?”

“No one of importance,” you replied, the familiar words slipping easily from your lips.

Azriel’s mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You said that before. I don’t believe it now any more than I did then.”

You raised a brow, your gaze steady. “And what brings the spymaster of the Night Court to an Autumnal Equinox festival?”

“The same thing that brings you, I imagine,” he replied, his voice low. “Curiosity.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Curiosity about me? Or about the Autumn Court?”

“Both,” he admitted without hesitation.

There was something in his tone—something raw, honest, and entirely unexpected.

It unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Before you could respond, Azriel gestured to the long tables laden with food. “Would you sit with me? I think we could both use a reprieve from… wandering eyes.”

You hesitated, glancing toward where Eris stood, still speaking with a group of nobles. For a moment, you considered refusing, but something in Azriel’s gaze stopped you.

He was looking at you not like you were a prize to be won, but like you were a puzzle he was determined to solve. And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself nodding.

“Very well,” you said. “Lead the way.”

He guided you to a quieter corner of the courtyard, where the lanterns cast a softer glow. You both filled your plates with roasted meats, golden squash, and warm bread before sitting at a smaller table away from the chaos. The sounds of music and laughter faded slightly, leaving you in a pocket of relative quiet.

Azriel studied you as you ate, his gaze thoughtful but unrelenting. “You’re different tonight.”

“Am I?” you asked, keeping your tone light as you picked at the food on your plate.

“You aren’t hiding,” he said simply. “No mask. No pretense of blending in. You’re…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right word. “…bold.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “And what about you? I doubt the Night Court sent you here to enjoy the festivities.”

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips. “Perhaps I came for the food.”

“Liar,” you said softly, but there was no malice in your voice.

He leaned forward slightly, his expression serious. “I came because I couldn’t get you out of my head after the last time I saw you...And because I think you’re hiding something.”

You froze for half a heartbeat before forcing yourself to smile. “Aren’t we all?”

Azriel didn’t look convinced, but before he could press further, a familiar voice broke through the moment.

“Kaela.” Eris’s tone was smooth but edged with subtle irritation. He was standing a few feet away, his amber eyes flicking between you and Azriel with barely concealed disdain. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You rose gracefully, offering Azriel a polite nod before turning to Eris. “I was just… meeting new people.”

Eris smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Come. There’s much more to see.”

As Eris led you away, Azriel watched, his shadows curling tightly around him, restless and frustrated.

You didn’t look back, but you felt his gaze like a brand on your skin. You knew this wasn’t the last time he’d seek you out.

Eris seemed to swell with pride as he took your hand, guiding you through the heart of the Autumn Court’s festivities. The firelight gilded his crimson hair and sharp features, making him look every inch the heir to a throne of flame and power. His grip on your hand was firm, possessive, as though parading you through the crowd was as much about his status as it was about you.

You allowed him to lead, a delicate smile playing on your lips, your demeanor graceful and composed. Inside, you were calculating. Every introduction, every gaze that lingered on you, was a potential piece of the puzzle you were here to solve. Eris introduced you to noble after noble, his voice smooth and charming, but there was always a sharp edge to his tone—a warning to those who looked at you too long or spoke too boldly.

“And this,” Eris said, his hand tightening slightly on yours as he addressed an older male in an autumn-orange cloak, “is Kaela. A guest of the Autumn Court and… my most delightful companion this evening.”

The male’s eyes swept over you, appreciation flickering in their depths. “Delightful indeed,” he said, his voice rich with insinuation. “Tell me, my lady, how is it that the Autumn Court has been graced with such a beauty?”

You smiled politely, keeping your voice light. “It seems your court has a way of drawing people in, my lord.”

The older male chuckled, his gaze lingering on your face. “If only I were a younger man,” he said with a mock sigh. “Perhaps I’d have a chance to steal you away from Eris.”

Eris’s smile was tight, his amber eyes narrowing slightly. “Perhaps,” he said, his tone cold enough to make the noble falter. “But I doubt you’d get very far.”

The exchange was brief but effective, the older male bowing slightly before excusing himself. Eris’s hand remained firmly on yours as he guided you onward, his smirk returning as he leaned closer. “It seems everyone here is desperate for what they can’t have.”

You glanced at him, your tone carefully neutral. “And you enjoy that, don’t you?”

He didn’t deny it. “Why shouldn’t I? Let them look. Let them wish. At the end of the night, they’ll all know you’re with me.”

The words should have unsettled you, but they didn’t.

Eris’s possessiveness was a tool you could use, a shield that kept others from prying too deeply into who you truly were.

Still, you felt the weight of every gaze on you, men and women alike casting bold looks your way, their compliments growing more brazen with each introduction.

“You look like a goddess of autumn herself,” one male said, his voice dripping with admiration. “Surely no mortal could compare.”

“If only I were brave enough to ask for a dance,” said another, his eyes trailing over you shamelessly.

Eris, to his credit, didn’t allow their words to linger. “Bravery wouldn’t save you,” he said coolly, his arm slipping around your waist now, pulling you closer. “Some treasures aren’t meant to be touched.”

The possessive gesture drew murmurs from those around you, whispers that only seemed to inflate Eris’s ego further.

He thrived on the attention, on the envy that radiated from the other nobles.

And though you played along, offering a charming smile or a soft laugh at the right moments, you couldn’t shake the feeling of another gaze, one that burned hotter than all the rest.

Azriel.

You hadn’t seen him since Eris had taken you from his table, but you felt him. Felt the weight of his hazel eyes on you from the shadows, the intensity of his focus like a tangible thing.

It wasn’t just jealousy—you knew that.

It was something deeper, more complex.

He was watching you not as a predator watches prey, but as a hunter studies a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

As you moved through the crowd, you caught glimpses of him at the edges of your vision. Always in the periphery, never too far but never too close. His shadows curled around him like restless vipers, their movements barely restrained.

His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his body, the sharpness of his gaze, told you all you needed to know.

He hated seeing you like this—on Eris’s arm, surrounded by adoring nobles.

Hated the way Eris leaned into you, whispered in your ear as if you were his to command.

And yet, he did nothing.

He stayed hidden, his hands clenched at his sides, his shadows betraying his frustration.

Eris, oblivious to the spymaster’s presence, led you to a quieter corner of the courtyard where another group of nobles gathered. They greeted you warmly, their compliments flowing freely. One particularly bold male, tall and broad-shouldered, leaned close enough to make your skin prickle.

“If Eris ever tires of you,” he said, his voice low and dripping with innuendo, “I’d be more than happy to show you the true charms of the Autumn Court.”

Before you could respond, Eris stepped in, his voice sharp as a blade. “Careful, Halric. Flirting with what’s mine is a dangerous game.”

The other male chuckled, though he stepped back, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Of course, my lord. No harm meant.”

Eris watched him retreat, his hand sliding lower on your back, his lips brushing close to your ear. “They’re fools,” he murmured. “All of them. They see only what’s on the surface.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze with an enigmatic smile. “And what do you see?”

Eris’s eyes flickered with something more—something darker. “I see fire. A fire that can burn everything to ash if it’s not handled carefully.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you hid it well, your expression unreadable as you allowed him to guide you back toward the heart of the festivities. All the while, you felt Azriel’s gaze following your every step, his shadows whispering to him in the darkness.

And though you couldn’t see him, you knew he was there, watching, waiting.

You could only imagine the storm brewing in his mind as you played your part, as you allowed yourself to be paraded like a trophy at Eris’s side.

The celebrations had reached their peak, the golden lights and laughter fading into a blur as Eris finally pulled you away from the crowd. His hand was firm around your wrist as he led you down a quiet hallway, away from the revelry and into a shadowed alcove tucked between towering stone walls. The flicker of distant torches barely reached this secluded corner, casting everything in dim, golden light.

The moment you were alone, Eris turned to you, his amber eyes gleaming with desire and triumph. He didn’t waste time with words, didn’t ask permission. His lips were on yours, hungry and demanding, his hands sliding over your waist, your back, your hips as though he was staking a claim. You didn’t resist, couldn’t—not when playing the part demanded compliance. So you kissed him back, letting your hands rest lightly on his shoulders, your movements calculated to seem eager, even though your heart wasn’t in it.

Eris groaned against your lips, his hands wandering lower. You caught his wrist subtly, guiding him back up without breaking the kiss. He smirked against your mouth, mistaking your restraint for coyness. He pressed closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours, but before he could push further, a voice called his name.

Eris cursed softly under his breath, pulling back with a frustrated sigh. “My father always has the worst timing,” he muttered. He cupped your chin, his thumb brushing over your lower lip as he smiled lazily. “Wait here for me. I won’t be long.”

With that, he left, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared into the distance. You exhaled slowly, your heartbeat steadying as the heat of his presence faded. But before you could compose yourself fully, a shadow moved in the corner of your vision.

Azriel.

He stepped from the darkness like a wraith, his hazel eyes burning with fury, his shadows coiling around him like restless predators. The sight of him in the dim light was enough to steal your breath. His sharp jaw was clenched, his scarred hands at his sides, though tension radiated from every inch of him.

“What game are you playing?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. His words cut through the stillness like a blade.

You stiffened, meeting his gaze with as much calm as you could muster. “I’m not playing any games.”

Azriel scoffed, taking a step closer. His presence was overwhelming, his shadows licking at the edges of the alcove like they couldn’t contain themselves. “Don’t lie to me.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to flinch under his scrutiny. “I’m not lying. My name is Kaela, as I told him. And I’m genuinely interested in him.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you said them anyway, your expression carefully blank. Azriel’s reaction was immediate. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as if the very idea disgusted him.

“Interested in Eris?” he repeated, his voice laced with incredulity. “Why would you want anything to do with someone like him? He’s—” He broke off, his wings flaring slightly behind him, as if he couldn’t find words strong enough to describe his disdain. “He’s vile. And you let him put his filthy hands on you.”

You held his gaze, refusing to waver. “What I let him do is none of your concern.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes darkened, the shadows around him swirling faster. Before you could react, he closed the distance between you in a single, fluid motion. His hand shot out, pinning you gently but firmly against the stone wall. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to his as his lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t like Eris’s kiss—calculated and arrogant. This was fire and desperation, a storm breaking after too long held back. Azriel kissed you like a man starved, his mouth devouring yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. A soft moan escaped your lips, and his grip on your jaw tightened slightly in response, his body pressing closer to yours.

Your hands fisted in his jacket, pulling him even closer, and he responded in kind, his kiss deepening, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that sent sparks shooting through your body. Heat pooled in your core, and you felt yourself melting into him despite every logical thought screaming at you to stop.

When he finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Azriel’s eyes bore into yours, his own breathing ragged. His thumb brushed over your cheek as he stared at you like you were the answer to a question he hadn’t even known he was asking.

“Now I know you’re a liar,” he said, his voice rough. “You didn’t kiss him back like that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. He leaned in again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Who are you? The truth this time.”

You swallowed hard, your resolve cracking under the weight of his gaze. But before you could speak, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the moment. Azriel stepped back, his shadows swallowing him as he disappeared into the darkness once more, leaving you alone, shaken and utterly undone.

You barely had time to compose yourself before Eris reappeared. His amber eyes glinted with the light of the torches as he stepped into the alcove, a slow, satisfied smirk curling his lips as he looked at you. He appeared every inch the confident heir to the Autumn Court, but his gaze carried a possessiveness that made your skin prickle.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he drawled, stepping closer until the heat of his body was brushing against yours. He cupped your face with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheek as his eyes roamed over you. “Where were we?”

Before you could reply, his lips captured yours again, the kiss hungry and insistent. He pressed you back against the stone wall, his hands wandering over your waist, your hips, and lower still. You stiffened slightly, your hand darting up to catch his wrist, stopping him just as his fingers began to stray too far.

“Eris,” you said softly, your voice calm but firm. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his brows furrowing slightly. You kept your expression neutral, offering him a small, teasing smile to soften the rejection. “Not here.”

He studied you for a moment, clearly debating whether to press the issue. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he stepped back, though his hands lingered on your waist. “You’re maddening, you know that?” he said, his tone a mixture of irritation and amusement.

“Perhaps,” you replied, tilting your head slightly. “But I don’t think you mind.”

His smirk returned, his amber eyes glittering with amusement. “No, I don’t.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispered, “But you’ll have to make it up to me later.”

You didn’t respond, just smiled faintly as he pulled away. He straightened his jacket, his confidence undiminished, and reached for your hand. “Come on,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I’ve been gone too long already. Let’s not give the vultures anything to gossip about.”

He didn’t wait for your response, simply laced his fingers with yours and led you back toward the heart of the festivities. His grip was firm but not harsh, his stride confident as though parading you through the crowd was a display of his power.

When you re-entered the courtyard, the music and laughter enveloped you once more. The crowd had thickened, and the firelight cast a warm glow over the dancers swirling in the center of the space. Eris held your hand tightly as he wove through the crowd, pausing every so often to speak with a noble or exchange pleasantries. Each time, his arm would slide around your waist, pulling you close as if to remind everyone watching that you were his for the evening.

The attention was as suffocating as it was useful. Nobles cast envious glances your way, their eyes filled with curiosity, admiration, or outright jealousy. Compliments were thrown your way with little subtlety, each one bolder than the last.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Eris,” one male said, his tone dripping with envy as his eyes roved over you. “I didn’t know the Autumn Court could attract such… radiance.”

Eris’s smile was sharp, his arm tightening around you. “Some treasures find their way to the right hands,” he said smoothly, his gaze daring anyone to challenge him.

You played your part perfectly, offering polite smiles and soft laughter, but you felt the weight of another gaze on you—one that burned hotter than all the rest.

Azriel was still watching.

From the shadows at the edge of the courtyard, he stood like a sentinel, his wings folded tightly against his back, his hazel eyes following your every move. He was a master of stealth, but you knew where to look now, could feel the intensity of his focus even when you didn’t meet his gaze.

His presence was a storm brewing on the horizon, and each step you took with Eris felt like walking closer to its center.

Eris, oblivious to the spymaster’s watchful gaze, led you toward the center of the festivities, where the music swelled and the dancing was at its most fervent. He turned to you, his hand still on your waist, and offered a slight bow. “Dance with me.”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Refusing would raise questions, and so you placed your hand in his and allowed him to guide you onto the dance floor. The music was lively, the rhythm fast and playful, and Eris was a skilled partner. He spun you with ease, his movements graceful and commanding, his smirk growing with every admiring glance cast your way.

But no matter how charming Eris was, no matter how well you played your role, your mind was elsewhere.

You could feel Azriel’s gaze on you even now, searing into you from across the courtyard. Every step, every twirl, felt like a challenge—a test to see how far you could push the illusion without breaking.

When the song ended, Eris pulled you close, his lips brushing your temple. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Every single one of them envies me tonight.”

You didn’t respond, simply offered him a small smile as the next song began. But as he led you into another dance, your thoughts drifted to the shadows, to the figure watching you with a gaze that felt more intimate, more piercing, than any touch Eris could muster.

The festivities were finally winding down, the golden light of the torches dimming as the Autumn Court’s revelers began to thin. The music had slowed to soft, wistful melodies, and the air carried the scent of burnt leaves and smoldering embers. Eris stood at your side, speaking with a small group of nobles, his arm draped loosely over your waist as though to remind everyone of your place. His laugh was sharp, cutting through the night like a blade, but his attention wavered when a steward approached, murmuring something low in his ear.

Eris sighed dramatically, his hand brushing over your hip as he leaned in. “It seems I’m needed again. Don’t stray too far—I won’t be long.” His amber eyes gleamed with promise before he turned and disappeared into the shadows with the steward, leaving you standing alone at the edge of the courtyard.

You exhaled slowly, the weight of your role settling heavily on your shoulders now that his presence had lifted. For a moment, you considered retreating to a quieter corner to compose yourself, but before you could take a single step, a familiar figure emerged from the darkness.

Azriel.

His approach was silent as ever, but his presence filled the space like a storm rolling in. His hazel eyes were sharp, cutting through the autumn haze as they locked onto yours, and the faint flicker of his shadows around his shoulders made him seem even more menacing.

“You’re alone,” he said, his voice low but carrying an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You straightened, meeting his gaze with as much calm as you could muster. “Not for long. Eris will return soon.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened at the mention of Eris, his wings shifting slightly behind him as though the name itself irritated him. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate and controlled, and you instinctively took a step back, your shoulders brushing against the rough stone of the wall behind you.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone sharper now. “And don’t give me the same rehearsed lie you told Eris.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to let his intensity intimidate you. “It’s not a lie. I told you the truth—I’m Kaela, from a lesser court with ties to the Summer Court. Tarquin encouraged me to attend these festivities to build connections.”

Azriel scoffed, his expression darkening. “Do you think I’m a fool? That I’d believe you’re here for some… socialite mission? With him?” He stepped closer still, his body radiating heat and tension. “You expect me to believe you’d associate yourself with Eris Vanserra for connections?”

“Why does it matter to you?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “What I do and who I do it with are none of your concern.”

“It matters because you’re lying,” Azriel growled, his hands suddenly gripping your arms as he pulled you close, his face mere inches from yours. His scent—night-chilled mist and cedar—filled your senses, making it harder to focus. “You’re not who you say you are. I see it in your eyes, in the way you carry yourself. You’re hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing as his piercing gaze pinned you in place. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then tell me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Tell me who you really are, and why you’re letting that vile male touch you.”

You hesitated, the weight of your mission warring with the intensity of his presence. But you couldn’t let the facade crack—not now, not after all you’d worked to build. “I told you who I am,” you said, your voice quieter now but still firm. “And as for Eris… perhaps I see something in him that you don’t.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening slightly, though not enough to hurt. “You can’t seriously mean that. Eris is a snake. A power-hungry coward who’d sell his own court for a sliver of advantage. And you—” his voice faltered, a flicker of something raw flashing in his eyes, “—you’re too clever to fall for him.”

You exhaled shakily, your heart pounding in your chest. “And what do you think you know about me, Azriel? You’ve seen me at a ball and a festival. That’s hardly enough to claim you know anything.”

“I know enough,” he said, his voice low and rough, the tension in his body palpable. “Enough to see you’re not who you say you are. Enough to see that you didn’t kiss Eris like you kissed me. You say you are interested in him but your body says otherwise.”

Your breath hitched, and his gaze dropped briefly to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. He leaned closer, his voice a whisper now, but no less commanding. “So tell me, who are you?”

You stared at him, your mind racing. His proximity, the heat of his body against yours, the way his shadows curled restlessly around you—it was too much. Your carefully crafted persona felt like it was slipping, but you held onto it with everything you had.

“I’m exactly who I told you I am,” you said softly, forcing the words out even as your chest tightened. “And you have no right to demand otherwise.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his frustration evident as he released your arms and took a step back. His shadows writhed around him, their whispers like faint echoes of his turbulent thoughts. “You’re lying,” he said again, his tone quieter but no less certain. “And I’ll find out why.”

With that, he turned, disappearing into the darkness as swiftly as he’d arrived, leaving you standing there, shaken and breathless. You pressed a hand to the wall to steady yourself, your thoughts spinning.

You’d held your ground, but Azriel was relentless, and deep down, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d confront you.

Chapter 3

#acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel fic

64 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Man with the Cold Lips

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, domination, violence, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Yesterday's trailer and the panel with ewan did something to me, so I think that dark aemond is the most appropriate thing I can give you today and that's it. It begins!

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Although she knew it was dangerous, after what had happened she forbade telling the King about what she had discovered. Some part of her hoped that Prince Aemond was alive − she was willing to help him regain the throne if only he would agree to spare her brother's life.

She spent the rest of the day alone in her chamber, covered in thick furs, thinking hard about what had happened.

About Vhagar.

He told her she knew his name, so he must have been someone she had seen on a daily basis before. Her discovery frightened him enough that he was willing to kill her − however, did he really want to do it out of fear of her father's wrath and the fact that he would lose his position, or was it something else?

She bit her lower lip at the thought that a part of her suspected she might be working with the Prince, to be his liaison, a devoted servant who by some miracle had managed to get into her father-king's closest guard.

He gave up the idea of murder because he knew that even if he had faked her suicide − the King would have blamed him for not watching over her and he would have lost everything, so he came up with another excuse, hiding himself behind sheer terror, hoping that she would believe him.

However, what purpose did what happened between them afterwards?

She pressed her lips together, feeling the heat in her body at the memory of that overwhelming feeling of fulfilment, that wonderful tickling and tension rising in her lower abdomen with each of his thrusts.

She placed her hand on her womb, swallowing hard at the thought that he had come inside her, that she could expect a child because of his seed.

She squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to breathe calmly, thinking only of how much better it would have been if he had let her die that night.

Her father had demanded, despite her objections, that she join the funeral feast in her mother's honour, so she walked reluctantly down to the great hall, her ghost following her at a greater distance than usual.

She thought that he himself was horrified by what had happened between them and the consequences that might follow.

She sat down at the table next to her brother, her father smiled at her and she reciprocated the gesture, thinking with amusement about how easy it was for her to pretend.

"There she is, my daughter. My treasure, my greatest support." He said with a pride from which her throat squeezed.

Only a few years ago she would have believed his words.

She felt him grasp her hand and she reciprocated the embrace, stroking his skin with her thumb.

"She's no longer a child and I've decided it's time to find her a suitable candidate for a husband." He said lightly, she felt her heart stop, the smile disappeared from her lips, on her face only pain mixed with disbelief.

They were at a feast dedicated to the funeral of her mother, his queen, and he was discussing her marriage.

"I ask that willing lords report to me on this matter." He said contentedly, letting go of her hand, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

She felt him standing behind her, felt his menacing, dark aura, and wondered what he was thinking.

If he imagined her lying in bed with another man, letting him sink deep between her thighs.

She left the feast quickly that evening, explaining to her father that she was tired, which he accepted with understanding. When she stepped into her chamber her servants helped her to pull off her mourning gown, once again offering her condolences, blowing out all the candles one by one.

She lay comfortably under the thick layers of furs, looking out the window at the cloudless sky full of stars, thinking about what had happened, unable to believe that by some miracle she was still alive.

As she began to slowly fall asleep she shuddered suddenly; she heard the door to her chamber open − Vhagar stepped inside without a word and closed it quietly behind him.

She watched with a rapidly pounding heart as, with an unhurried, lazy step, he approached her windows, untied the curtains and covered the only source of light with them, repeating this act until complete darkness fell around them.

She could see nothing but blackness.

She heard the sound of steel hinges opening, then the sound of a belt being unbuckled and the rustling of robes falling to the floor.

She lay still, her lips parted in horror and disbelief, felt once again this familiar, throbbing sensation between her thighs and embarrassing, sticky wetness.

She listened to his footsteps, the old wood creaking under his feet as he finally climbed onto her bed, she heard it bend under his weight.

She felt the touch of his big hand on her cheek and trembled, taking a deep breath, realising he wasn't wearing gloves, his warm breath wrapped around her face.

She tightened her hands on his bare, muscular shoulders as his fingers slipped into the ties of her nightgown and just ripped them open − she squealed when she heard the sound of the fabric being torn and a cool breeze surrounded her flesh.

"− I won't stop −" He said in a trembling, deep voice, so startlingly clear that shivers ran through her, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan when she realised he wasn't wearing a mask.

She squealed loudly, her body arching all over, her hands clenched in his hair when she felt it, his cold, wet mouth clamped down on her warm breast, playing with her nipple, sucking and licking it, the spot between her thighs throbbing with pleasure and desire.

"− oh − oh, gods −" She mumbled out, never having felt anything like it in her life, his hands ripped her chemise off her and only then did she feel his whole naked body pressed against her skin − it was such an overpowering, shocking sensation that she was out of breath.

She wanted to enjoy every second of what was happening, his lips teasing her nipple with a loud click, clearly taking great pleasure from it, his hands tightened on her hips, forcing her to spread her thighs wider in front of him, her fingers stroking his hair − she thought with a trembling heart that they were unexpectedly soft and long.

"− we can't −" She choked out with an effort, wanting to retain the remnants of her sober thinking and decency.

He, however, only chuckled under his breath, amused, his hand from her hip slid down between her thighs − she whimpered loudly as his fingertips ran over her heat, collecting the moisture that had already managed to flow out of her, oversensitive and delicate.

"− should I leave you like this? − I'm not that cruel −" He hummed under his breath with a kind of excitement from which she quivered all over. She heard him raise himself higher on his elbow, his nose ran over her cheek − she gasped as she felt his fingers begin to apply more pressure, in sure, circular motions teasing the bud hidden between her folds.

All she could think about was that he wasn't wearing a mask, her hand rised involuntarily to touch his cheek.

"Tsk-tsk." He hissed as he caught her wrist − his tongue ran over her upper lip as his middle finger made its way inside her, searching with it for the spot he had rubbed earlier with his length. "Don't."

She mewled with delight and her body shook with a shiver of pleasure when he finally found it, her hips responded to his touch with desperate rocking, her mouth parted invitingly, letting his tongue deep into her throat, their lips joined in a sticky, loud, hot kiss.

She panted loudly along with him, stroking his hair as she felt him slide his finger out of her, impatient, his lips sucking and brushing her fleshy skin again and again as the tip of his manhood pushed against her swollen slit, thrusting forcefully inside her.

She clasped her hands on his bare back feeling the scars beneath them and cried quietly into his mouth, trying with difficulty to fit him inside her − he throbbed all over in arousal, her breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their bodies.

They both started to moan between loud, wet kisses as he began to root into her hot core − this time she was so wet that a few pushes of his hips were enough for him to begin slipping into her with ease.

"− mmm − that's it − so fucking good −" He panted into her mouth, gripping her hips tightly with his hands, stretching her tight walls with his length with every movement of his hips.

She moaned helplessly beneath him, stroking his hair, neck, shoulders and back, all sweaty from exertion, their lips finding each other in messy kisses over and over again.

"− fuck − do you really think I'm going to share what's mine? − that I would allow some mere, petty lord take you? − hm? −" He hissed out and she felt her walls clench tightly on him at his words in pleasure, heat surged through her lower abdomen from which her head completely spun, her helpless whimpering answered him.

"− p-please − I − ughmm −" She babbled, unable to focus on anything other than how he slammed his manhood into her, how wonderfully it teased the spot hidden in her walls.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel him closer, tightening her fingers on his back − she heard him groan low feeling it, speeding up, thrusting into her like crazy.

"− you want it, don't you? − my seed − deep, deep inside you − fuck, say it −" He breathed out between quick, deep, brutal thrusts − she felt him looking at her, felt his hot breath on her face, his forehead pressed against hers.

"− y-yes − please − fill me, fill me, fill me −" She mewled, both of them moaning loudly as a powerful orgasm shook her body, her core began to clench against him, forcing him to let go, his length twitching all over as his semen spilled deep inside her.

"− good gods, yes, take it −" He exhaled in delight, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, pushing his seed as deep into her as possible.

"− you're mine − I'm going to fill you every night − gods, you're going to bear me so many children −" He gasped in bliss, slowly coming down from his peak, the whimpers of pleasure coming out of her lips at his words − she wasn't sure she'd ever experienced anything like this in her life.

"− please −" She mumbled quietly like a helpless child, running her hands over his naked skin, wanting to remember that wonderful feeling − they were both hot and sweaty with pleasure, their bodies sticking to each other, her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

They both sighed when he finally fell on top of her, embracing her, their fingers sinking into each other's bodies, wanting to feel each other as much as possible, though she wasn't sure if two people could connect in any physical way more than they did now.

She could feel his loud, raspy breath against her cheek, the tip of his nose running over her hot skin, as if he wanted to check that it wasn't all just the result of his imagination.

"− stay − stay inside me −" She whispered, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, with a gentle movement of his hips sliding his already half-soft manhood fully into her, hiding himself deep inside her.

Even though she knew it was wrong and irresponsible, that she couldn't trust him, that he was a traitor, she had never felt safer with anyone before, her eyelids closing involuntarily, having not experienced a peaceful sleep for so long.

"− don't open your eyes until I leave −" He whispered in her ear and she nodded, stroking his soft hair, her lungs filled with his scent, male sweat, steel, dust and fire.

His arms held her in a tight embrace through this night and many nights to come, making the days blend into one for her.

Each time he came to her he would cover the windows with curtains so that she could see nothing, and then sink his lips and tongue into the warmth between her thighs, groaning in delight as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her, only to end up rooting deep into her, as he promised, filling her with his seed.

He always rose before dawn − she could see through her closed eyelids that the first rays of light were sneaking into her chamber despite the curtains, that if she opened them she could see his face.

She feared, however, what she would see.

All she could think about all day was the night, what he brought to her along with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips.

When he took her, he would say that he was her husband, that only he had the right to touch her, that she would only bear his children.

She was his.

He used to show this to her by standing closer than usual when she was eating or reading, by no longer leaving when she was taking a bath or changing, staring at her shamelessly, promising her servants in her presence that if they said anything to the King, he would end their lives.

"Vhagar doesn't mean it and he would never hurt you against my will. Am I right?" She asked coldly, frowning at him as the terrified girl tried to attach the long sleeves to her gown with trembling hands.

"Mmm."

When they were alone he would dare to approach her from behind as she sit, his leather-gloved hand running over her throat only to grasp her cheeks tightly and lift her face up, forcing her to look at him.

She stared into his eyes obscured by the dark material, at his mask, indifferent, cold, mocking, his thumb gently massaging her skin.

He didn't need to say anything − she could feel the tension between them quivering in the air, making her feel a throbbing inside her.

"Tonight I'm going to make use of those lips." He hummed softly, parting her lips with his finger − she closed her eyes, feeling that she couldn't last, her hand lifted swiftly the thick layers of her gown and slid deep between her thighs, sinking into her moist warmth.

He sighed quietly, looking down at it, clearly taking satisfaction from the fact that his mere presence made her unable to bear it, that she needed to relieve herself.

"− do you want it so badly? − me fucking those moist, sweet lips? − hm? −" He cooed, and she only whimpered, tilting her head back, resting it against his stomach, with a loud, embarrassing click rising and falling on her fingers, teasing her pearl at the same time, feeling her nipples grow hard with arousal.

"− please −" She mumbled, although she didn't know what she was asking for, they couldn't do it now − they had to wait until night fell, like every day.

"− you look wonderful like this −" He murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb, his voice trembling slightly − she knew that he was already completely hard, that he was dying at the thought of being deep inside her at night. "− so devoted −"

She mewled at his words and felt him clamp his hand over her mouth, stifling her moans that escaped her throat as she reached her peak − she felt her walls clench hungrily on her fingers, wonderful waves of heat surged through her body again and again. She heard him gasp with satisfaction as he saw her body spilling in front of him on the chair.

"− mine −"

That night as they lay in complete darkness, both of them falling asleep, his nose snuggled into the hollow of her neck, his soft manhood deep inside her, she dared to ask him the question that had long been pressing against her tongue.

"Are you Prince Aemond's envoy?"

Her question hung in the air as if in the void; she felt his body freeze − for a moment he did not breathe, his fingers tightened on her soft skin.

Silence.

Long, cruel, cold.

"Yes."

She swallowed loudly, a shudder went through her at his words. He felt it and leaned in, placing a soft, warm kiss on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her breast with affection.

"I want to help him. Can you convey this to him?" She asked in a whisper and felt him flinch all over, letting the air out of his lungs in disbelief − she felt him lift a little, his hot breath on her cheek.

"What do you mean?" He asked in a trembling, low, deep voice, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She pressed her lips together feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"I will support him if he spares my little brother. If he agrees, I'll do whatever he wants." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat − his lips pressed quickly against her skin, greedily, violently, kissing and sucking her, his length throbbing hard inside her.

He began to move again, slowly rooting into her with a sigh of delight and relief, saying no more until they reached their peak together, panting loudly, their bodies heated and quivering with exertion.

"− be patient −" He whispered in her ear with such tenderness that she felt her heart squeeze, heat spilling over her lower abdomen. "− soon − I promise you, we'll be married soon −"

After what he said, she fell asleep filled with hope, with the fact that she wanted to believe his words, that he would really protect her, that perhaps a great bloodshed could be avoided this time.

That they would really get married.

She thought that now, that everything had come together in her mind, she could finally look at him − her future husband, the man who had taken her for himself, who brutally and indivisibly stormed into her heart.

That was why, even though she had sworn to him that she would not do so, hearing him get dressed in a hurry she lifted her eyelids.

She felt her heart freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she couldn't catch her breath.

He sensed something was wrong, subconsciously realised she had broken her promise and lifted his gaze to her, his hands clenched on the belt of his coat.

A large scar ran across his right cheek, in his eye socket not a blue iris, as it seemed to her when she looked at him through the thin black material, but a sapphire, glinting dangerously in the first rays of the sun, his lips clenched into a thin line, in his healthy eye pain, disappointment and anger.

"You shouldn't have done that."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

413 notes · View notes

paulyenvol6 · 3 months ago

Text

Called to the Devil (Chapter 1)

Contains: no warnings

Wordcount: ~2.52k

Masterlist of this story

'Crash', it made. And then another.

Servants in the corridors widened their eyes in fear unknowing to how to handle this situation. At last they opened the door to the damned room and saw her sitting on the floor with the doll in her hands hitting the nightstand over and over again.

"My lady….", one of the brave servant boys said quickly and the girl hesitated and looked at him.

"What?", she breathed and he lowered his head.

"Forgive me for the disruption, my lady. I was simply wondering if you mayhaps… Could do this a little more quiet." She squinted her eyes and the boy uncertainly looked to his compaignon, another sevant.

"Forgive me, my lady. I – "

But he didn't finish his sentence because Elayne threw her hair back and stood up from the floor.

"No need.", she hissed with flashing eyes. With these words she threw the doll in front of the servants on the floor.

"Send this to my father. I think he will understand the message."

The two servants watched as the girl left her chambers and once she was gone one of them exhaled loudly.

"She is difficult." The other nodded. "She is a little beast. I wonder how the King will be able to tame her."

~~~~~~~~~~

Elayne Baratheon was a girl of 16 years with long brown hair that was as wild as her character. She was small, smaller than her younger sisters even but with green eyes so fierce that every person she looked at felt as though she was burning a hole through their bodies.

Her mouth always was either tense with anger or drawn to a smug smirk but right now fury was controlling her senses as she had stormed out of her chambers. She grew up at Storm's End with her parents Marcyn Baratheon and Aenyra Targaryen and 3 sisters and two brothers. The girl had always been difficult to handle, as she used to taunt and torture her younger and older siblings, left the city without her parents' permission and played tricks on her servants.

Mayhaps Lord Marcyn had hoped that as his daughter grew older she would also grow more mature but he couldn't have been more wrong. She was choatic, messy and completely out of control, to her parents' misfortune. Elayne did whatever she felt like doing and didn't let anybody tell her what to do so when she was 15 years old her father had decided to wed her in an attempt to finally get her under control.

He did love his daughter, but he feared that she would bring scandal over their house. And though Elayne was of ethereal beauty and youth and had enchanted every lord that entered Storm's End she scared off each and every of the suiters which had given her parents a headache. They tried everything, talking her into getting to know the lords, forcing her to spend time with the suiters but Elayne had remained stubborn and refused every one of them. And most of the time she wasn't even polite. She'd ask rude questions or ignore them and humiliate them in front of every one else until the last of them had run off.

That had left Lord Marcyn with no choice but to think of something else. And he had. He had decided that it was finally time for his daughter to learn to behave like a proper young lady so he had asked the King Viserys, who happened to be his wife's cousin to take Elayne as his ward. She could spend some time in the capital, be in a different environment and perhaps learn to act like a real lady with the presence of all the other highborn ladies in court.

His daughter had refused, disobeyed, screamed and cried but he had remained stubborn. Lord Marcyn had a gentle and kind heart and a special love for his children but this time he knew he had to be strict so within a fortnight Elayne had been sent on a boat heading to King's Landing. Her father also had hoped that her time in the capital may end with a betrothal and had even told Elayne that he would be fine with any match as long as he was highborn, so desperate was he because of his daughter's fiery temper.

~~~~~~~~~~

And now there she was. Pouty lips and red eyes from all her crying.

She wouldn't give in, of course not. Elayne was hurt and sad and most importantly angry. How could her father ship her off like this? How could he send her to a strange city while the rest of her family remained at Storm's End? Aimlessly she walked around the gardens of the Red Keep. She had arrived only two hours ago and already wanted to leave.

She looked around. Maybe there was a gate or something that she could climb over and then find her way to the port of King's Landing. She didn't have any money but she had jewelery…. She could ask a captain to travel with him and one of them would certainly head to Storm's End.

Elayne's thoughts were interrupted when she saw a person on the other end of the road that led through the garden. She watched him with small eyes; he was tall, probably was about 25 years old, had silver hair and now seemed to have spotted her as well. And seven hells he was beautiful.

Slowly he walked in her direction and Elayne crossed her arms in front of her chest. She thought that he looked handsome but feared that he might bore her like all the other Targaryens she had met, especially the king. He had greeted her in his chambers, welcomed her in the name of the whole family and the rest Elayne had forgotten.

The man in front of her now smirked and his eyes were flashing.

"You must be Elayne… Elayne Baratheon, my cousin's difficult child."

Before he had spoken Elayne had looked at him curiously because his beauty and aura had left her in awe but now her mouth tensed and she clenched her hands in fists.

"I'm not a child.", she hissed.

"Oh forgive me… my lady."

"And w-who are you?"

The man chuckled. "I can already see why they sent you here, girl. Where have you left your manners? If there ever were some."

Elayne couldn't help but smirk. She liked him. He was interesting at least. He returned the smile and crossed his arms.

"Daemon. Targaryen."

Elayne widened her eyes. The Rogue Prince, the King's fierce and violant brother. But she didn't want to show her surprise so she bit her lip.

"Daemon Targaryen. In the tales I have read about, you are described as taller."

Daemon's lips were drawn to a smirk and he chuckled inaudibly. "Good. Perhaps they fear me more then."

Elayne raised her eyebrows. "Fear you? In this place where one only has to raise his finger and there are a dozen servants doing whatever he desires?"

"They are your servants now as well."

Elayne's eyes were small and her opposite clearly enjoyed her reaction. "Do not pout, little girl. You're supposed to learn how a proper lady behaves here. And that's not the way."

His voice was oozing with sarcasm so instead of further sulking Elayne smirked and came a step closer.

"Then you should learn how to properly address a lady, my Prince." Daemon looked amused as he observed the young Baratheon.

"Forgive me. My lady. Though I don't think that title suits you a lot."

"What title does, then?", Elayne asked in a slightly seducing tone and the Rogue Prince answered equally playful:

"I'm yet to find that out."

~~~~~~~~~~

A little later Elayne was sat against the edge of her bed on the cold floor and stared into the darkness. The hour had grown late and she knew she should be abed to get rest but she hadn't been able to. She was hurt, sad and angry and deep down just missed her home.

Here, everything was always so warm and humid and Elayne missed her stormy home. In the keep the sun burned on her skin through the windows while in her chambers at Storm's End the rain and wind would lash against it and make the whole castle tremble. That were always her favorite nights. When there was this tension over Storm's End and the hair on her arms stood up. But here everything was boring and heavy.

Elayne wondered what her siblings were doing right now. The should be sleeping but she knew that at least Kayl wasn't. He was her youngest brother and loved to read. 'No', the girl thought. 'He is probably in his bed using a candle as a light to read about dragons all night.' Elayne scoffed when she thought about it. Mayhaps her father should've sent him rather than her because Kayl had an obsession with dragons and their riders, she thought with a grim smile.

Her stomach was aching when she thought about her family but that sadness was overthrown with fury really quickly. How could her father do this to her? His own daughter? Did he despise her so much that he would send her to a strange city despite her pleas and begging? Elayne could feel tears welling in her eyes but quickly dried them with the sleeve of her night gown. She wouldn't give them that. She wouldn't cry like a baby but simply show them that she wasn't the kind of person to accept her faith.

Fiercely, the girl stared into the darkness as though her enemy sat before her. If anyone did, they would have thought her to be a cat with her green flashing eyes. But she was the only one in the room and right now Elayne even thought to be the only one in the world, so lonely did she feel.

All throughout the afternoon she had watched every of her encounters with a disapproving look. After she had met Daemon Targaryen in the gardens she had spent some time in the gardens though she had felt terribly bored. Then it had been time for supper and she had met the rest of her relative from her mother's side. She had already forgotten most of their names and hadn't softened up for once while her cousins and uncles and aunts had introduced themselves.

Even when she had seen the king's brother again, she hadn't shown any sign of interest though she had found it hard not to stare at him. He simply had a magnetic aura and Elayne caught herself biting her lip when he had walked from the door to the big table in the middle of the room. She thought that he was beautiful and she didn't care about what anyone could say or think so though she felt a little intimidated by the man she glared at him with a playful look in her eyes and decided to test his waters during supper.

"My prince.", she spoke to him, who sat on her opposite and Daemon's looked mischiveous.

"I do hope you acclimatised, love.", he smirked and leaned back in his chair with crossed legs.

A few people around them glanced at each other questioningly as they didn't know how came they already knew each other. But Elayne didn't notice any of the looks and if she did she wouldn't care anyway.

"I did. Enough for me to find my likings and dislikings."

The prince's smirk intensed. He really liked this wild little girl who seemed so eager to cause troubles. It was time for some fun after the past boring months and she brought some new wind into the castle's walls.

"What is to your disliking?", he asked while taking a sip from his wine. He didn't care who listened to their conversation either and just had his eyes on Elayne.

"Oh, the bows.", she spoke and her opposite lifted his eyebrows.

"The bows?", he repeated and the girl nodded.

"Yes. The wood is not flexible enough and they're too big for my liking. I prefer the ones in my home."

"I learned that the fighting pit is not a place for a young lady.", Daemon said while watching her intensely.

"I do not care what place is for me.", she hissed and the prince chuckled. "I thought so."

Then he inhaled loudly. "I shall send word to the masters-at-arms then. You're supposed to feel homely here so we might as well offer you what you're used to in Storm's End."

Elayne watched Daemon with small eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I'm used to far prettier boys than what my eyes see here as well.", she whispered and Daemon chewed on his lower lip.

"Then perhaps we shall make some adjustments here as well. Though I think you're supposed to find a husband so I don't think it matters what he looks like. Only his house and his wealth should matter to you, little one."

Elayne's eyes were flashing as she raised her chin but didn't answer immediately. She just observed the prince and then scoffed.

"And you?" She lifted an eyebrow and smiled crookidly. "What about your lady wife?"

She knew that she had hit a raw nerve. Everyone, even the Targaryen relatives in Storm's End knew that Daemon had married the Lady Rhae Royce few years ago. But everyone also knew that the bond between the Rogue Prince and his lady wife couldn't be more cold and distanced, if, perhaps one could even spoke of a bond.

"My lady wife is none of your concern, girl.", he said through clenched teeth.

She was satisfied with herself and took a sip from her cup while keeping her gaze on the cold expression on his face.

"It truly is not.", she then said. "And yet I can't help but wonder who keeps your bed warm at night with the lady Rhea miles away from the capital."

She looked at him with sweet big eyes but of course Daemon could look right through the girl's innocent look. Aenys, Elayne's young cousin and clearly the only one who had listened to their conversation as of late watched her anxiously because he couldn't really understand what it was about but was old enough to know that it wasn't a proper conversation for supper.

Daemon looked far from being angry or ashamed though and a playful smirked appeared on his lips.

"That should be none of your concern either.", he whispered. "But let me tell you that this is the city of possibilities and prospects, little one. Even for whores. And King's Landing offers opportunities to the finest in the seven kingdoms."

Daemon didn't even know why he played this game with her. Most of the times he was bored by the themes discussed during supper or what happened during councils. But something about that brunette sassy girl from Storm's End excited him and made him want to tease her the same way she clearly wanted to tease him.

So he enjoyed playing along.

82 notes · View notes

dianawinchester03 · 2 months ago

Text

Season 3, Episode 1 - The Magnificent Seven

Series Masterlist

Author’s Note: ITS FINALLY FUCKING HERE (saying this as if I haven’t written their sex scene for months now LMFAOOOO) This chapter is LONGGG overdue and for that I apologize once again, thank you my beauties for being so patient and understanding❤️

So the song inspos for the first part of this chapter are One Of The Girls by The Weeknd, JENNIE and Lily-Rose Depp and Good For You by Selena Gomez.

I would 100% suggest listening to the remix version of the songs smashed together while reading for the full experience :) (if y’all know me, I don’t have to say that I’m obsessed with that song LOL)

Don’t be too harsh on me, I’m not versed in writing smut scenes yet so😭be gentle! (unlike dean to y/n hehe) In this scene, you’ll find out where Dean’s nickname ‘Charming’ comes from🙃

Also heads up, you’re probably gonna cuss at me a little for this chapter but it’ll be fineeee XD

WARNINGS: smutty smut smut, fingering, oral (female receiving), p-in-v intercourse, praise kink, dom!dean (minor sub!dean) ENJOY❤️

____________________________________________

Y/N’s POV

Lake Preston, South Dakota

Currently we’re all at one of my safehouses in South Dakota. Sam’s downstairs doing god knows what while me and Dean are upstairs…putting the wand in the chamber of secrets.

Third Person POV

Y/N and Dean were up in her room getting hot and heavy, tongues colliding, bodies bumping. Straddling him while in a passionate make out session, he pulls back, out of breath, his calloused hands resting gently on the sides of her face, “You sure about this princess?? You don’t gotta do anything just because-” His voice is gentle.

Y/N cut him off with a kiss. “Baby I’ve been waiting too long for this and now I know you have too. You asking consent however, is sooooo fucking hot” She said, out of breath, causing a smirk to widen on Dean’s features.

He leaned her back slowly on the bed, both hands bracing the small of her back as she lowered, her back finally hitting the cotton sheets. “Oh yeah?” He teased, kissing along her jaw and down her neck, running one of his hands inside her shirt, unclasping her bra with one hand from behind expertly. She’s stunned by the skill.

He pulled her shirt fluidly off, then her bra by each arm, tossing them both aside, taking his time to gawk at her exposed chest. “Goddammit Y/N” He groaned amazed, peppering kisses all over her chest, then taking a nipple into his mouth, playing with the other between his fingers. “Fuck..” She gasped, throwing her head back into the pillow, Dean’s mouth latched into her nipple.

“See something you like, Winchester?” She teased him. He growled in response. Taking that as a yes, she tugged at his shirt and peels it off of him to reveal his chiseled toned chest. Y/N sucked in some breath between her teeth when he reattached his lips to her sensitive nub, sucking like a starved man on her tits.

She felt a sense of deja vu wash over her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful” He groaned in pleasure, kissing down her body. “Deeann” She moaned his name and he snapped his gaze up at her, his eyes clouded with a mixture of lust and love. He felt that, ‘Deannn’ in the pit of his stomach, and son-of-a-bitch, did he love it. “Fuck you sound so hot moaning my name” He tugged at her jeans, pulling it down to reveal her lacy black panties.

She made sure to put on a pair after both showering separately at Bobby’s house just for this. As much as she would’ve liked Dean to join her, she refused with every bit of self-control she had, ensuring him she’d rather do it here and he respected that, of course.

Dean moaned at the sight and she smirked at his reaction. “Fuck, baby. You’re gonna kill me” He groaned, trailing his fingers along the slit of her clothed mound. “Oh shit” She moaned as he teased her.

He slid her panties to the side, revealing her glistening wet folds. “All this just for me?” He smirked at her, his voice husky and filled with lust. Teasing her clit a bit, a long breathy moan escaping her throat.

“Only for you, charming” She winked back with a moan as he slid her panties off. Positioning his head in-between her legs, he kissed her inner thigh, teasing her and she groaned impatiently. “Dammit Dean, don’t be a tease” She whined, thumping his head lightly, earning a chuckle from him in return.

“Patience Princess” He dove straight in, teasing her sensitive folds, circling around her entrance and now swirling around her clit. She let out a loud breathy moan.

Throwing her head back and grabbing onto the back of his head with her hand. “Oh god Dean!” She moaned his name loudly, arching her back off the bed, burying her fingers into his hair, pressing her pussy deeper into his mouth. “You taste so fucking good” He moaned into her pussy, turning her on even more.

Dean growled around her clit, sending shivers up her core like electricity in a socket, sucking gently as she moaned his name. His fingers trace the outline of her pussy lips, dipping inside of her. “Fuck, you're so tight” He whined, looking up at her, thrusting his fingers in and out of her at a steady pace.

She hissed lightly at the cold feeling of his ring brushing her lips. “Oh fuck oh fuck! Dean!” She cried out in pleasure as he hit her g spot with his fingers, already feeling to cum. “Scream my name, princess” he bellowed out, his voice gruff, almost animalistic. Usually she’s not an easy woman to please but somehow it’s like Dean already knew her body.

“Don’t stop please don’t stop I’m gonna cum” Y/N pleaded, begging for release. Dean whined as he felt her tighten around his fingers, milking his hand. He continued to pleasure her, pushing her further and further over the edge until she’s screaming out his name in ecstasy. “Fuck yeah. That's it. Soak my fingers” He ordered her with a growl.

With that, she heeded to his command. “DEAN!!!!” She bellowed into the empty room, drenching his finger with her juices as he continued to tease her clit. “That’s a good girl” He praised her softly. He slowly retracted his fingers out of y/n’s pussy, slick with her juices. Inching it closer to his mouth, wrapping his lips around his fingers, swirling his tongue like a starved beast.

Sucking off all of her from it. His eyes fluttered shut as he did this. She’s dazzled by the sight of him enjoying the taste of her on his tongue she couldn’t help but say “I need you please” She begged him to fuck her, needing the feeling of his cock filling her up.

Dean's eyes flashed with lust as he crawled up her body, his hot breath tickling her neck as he whispered mockingly. “You want my cock, baby?” His dirty mouth just turned her on more, he seemed to notice the way his dirty talk added fuel to her pleasure and he basked in it.

Y/N had a fair idea Dean would be vocal in bed but THIS. This was just perfect. She nodded slowly, biting her lip as she looked up into his lust filled eyes, “Please…” Y/N pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper, not caring how desperate and slutty she sounded. Her voice was needy and whiny. The tone added to Dean’s desire.

Dean smirked, his eyes full of desire. He threw his legs off the side of the bed, y/n followed, sitting at the edge reaching for his belt, undoing it and sliding his pants off. Her eyes never left his as she did this, a playful smile playing on her lips while Dean’s were parted.

He helped her pull down his boxers, fully taking them off before tossing them aside. Revealing his hard cock, bobbing eagerly. Y/N licked her lips, desperate to know how he felt inside of her, he wanted to know too but she wanted to taste him.

As fucking weird as it sounds, his cock was so damn pretty.

The smile on her lips told him exactly that as Y/N playfully kissed right below his stomach, before licking his trail, earning a desperate whine from Dean. The sound from him practically had her soaking the sheets.

“As much as I would love to feel your mouth on me…” He groaned as he leaned towards her, she moved back, lowering herself onto the back again.

Dean then positioned himself between her legs, teasing Y/N’s entrance. “…I wanna feel you so fucking bad” Staring into his eyes. Her lip tucked between her teeth, “Fuck me” Y/N’s never been so vulnerable with anyone before, so needy, so comfortable. Sure she’s had sex many…many times, but never with this level of tension. Little did she know, Dean was in the same boat.

He shook his head. “No sweetheart, I’m gonna make love to you” Dean whispered into her ear, chuckling darkly as he lined up his cock to the entrance of her pussy.

He thrusted in, claiming y/n as his own, earning a loud gasp from her as her eyes rolled to the back, tilting as he slowly inched inside of her. “Sooo much better than I imagined” He gasped as he entered her, throwing his head back slowly. “Oh god yes!” Y/N’s back arched off the bed as he fills her up slowly. Dean's hips roll smoothly against hers like water, his cock filling her completely.

“That's it, baby. Take it all.” The second he filled her up, allowing her to adjust to his size. Y/N knew it wasn’t anything like what she’s had many times before. With Dean it was so passionate, so raw, so fulfilling, so….real. He groaned, the sound vibrating through her body. “God Y/N. You feel so good” Dean winced in her ear as he kissed her neck sloppily, nibbling on her collarbone.

“Fuck Deaaannnn” Y/N gasped, as she cried out in ecstasy, her mouth agape. “Shit! You’re so fucking big oh my god!” His muscles tense up when she moaned his name, grunting in sheer pleasure. She could feel herself clenching around his big hard cock, grazing over her g spot.

“Faster, please” she whined, Dean immediately picked up the pace, fucking her hard and fast. His hips slam into hers, driving his cock deeper into her pussy. “You're so wet, baby. I can feel how much you love my cock.” He moaned shamelessly.

“Don’t get cocky now, Winchester” she growled at him, gripping onto his bicep, her nails digging into his arm. Y/N’s tits bounced out of control with each thrust. “You mean like the one you’re taking right now, L/N?” He countered, smirking, rolling his hips into hers.

Even having sex these two are flirting relentlessly. Her heart skipped a beat at this, but she’s too turnt on and filled with desire to answer. Dean pumped his hips faster, hitting that spot inside her directly, over and over. She gasped loudly when he did this, practically made of jello under him.

“Oh my god, Dean! Don’t stop pleas- Oh fuck, Deaaannn!” She screamed his name shamelessly, eyes screwed shut from pleasure. “Found it” He growled, the sound sending shivers down her spine. Proud of himself for finding her g spot so quickly. “Oh shit OH SHIT RIGHT THERE!” She gasped, lips parted.

The sounds of their skins slapping against each other in a wave combination of passion, love and lust. Butterflies rising in Y/N’s stomach, her pussy clenched around his cock as his deep moans fill the room along with her moans of pure ecstasy.

“You like that, don't you? You like how hard and deep I fuck you?” A gasp escaped her throat at his wicked tongue. “Yes yes YES!!!” She screamed, not caring who heard her. To hell with who hears, Dean wanted the world to know that Y/N was now his and his alone.

“Deannnnn!!!” She whined needily, a pornstar worthy moan leaving her throat. Dean growls, unable to contain the sound. His body shudders as he feels himself getting closer. “Fuck, Y/N. You're so goddamn sexy. I'm gonna make you scream for more.”

Dean slid cock out of her dripping cunt before yanking her by her feet to pull her back to the edge of the bed, flipping her over her stomach before gripping her hips and pulling her onto all fours, He spanked her ass cheek, leaving a red handprint. The yelp that escaped her was embarrassing but so soooo hot from the way it made her soak.

The dominance radiating off of him, usually y/n’s dominant in bed. But right now, she’s loving the way he’s taking control. He lined his cock up with her pussy again, teasing her entrance then thrusting in, slowly. “Shitttttt” Her back arched as he slowly fucked her from behind. Dean groaned, his cock sliding in and out of her glistening cunt.

Currently it’s taking all in his power not to cum already but he’s loving pleasuring his girl. His hands grip onto her hips, holding her in place as he fucks her harder from behind. The sight of her tattoo on her lower back was adding more fuel in his engine.

“God you feel so fucking amazing princess” He whined, throwing his head back, gripping her hips as he moans, his eyes closed while he guides his cock in and out of her wet pussy.

“Mhhhmmm just like that. Fuck me just like that, just like that baby. You’re doing such a good job” She urged him on, praising him. This encouraged Dean to pick up the pace, his cock slamming against her cervix with each thrust. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her up. Y/N’s back now against his chest. His teeth grazed her earlobe as he growled. “You like that? You want more?”

“Yes! Please!” She begged shamelessly. “Fuck yeah, make a mess all over this cock” He grunted as he slams his hips against her ass, his cock filling her up to the brim. Dean gives her perky ass hard slap before pulling out of her.

He flipped her over onto her back, his cock still hard and glistening with y/n’s juices. “Now, who's in control here, huh?” His tone is filled with authority and dominance. She stared back at him smirking, not answering.

Dean grinned wickedly as he lined his cock up with her pussy again. “If you want this cock, you gotta use your words, princess” He whispered menacingly in her ear, nibbling on the lobe. She whined at his teasing.

“You’re really gonna make me say it? Come on charming, don’t be a teaseee” She whined, making him chuckle deeply. He slowly sunk back inside of her, taking his time to savor the feeling. “I think we both know who's in charge here.”

“You sure about that?” She quipped, egging him on. Knowing that the more she teased him, the better he’s gonna fuck her. Dean growled, his hips slamming into Y/N hard. He snatched her legs and spread them wider, taking more of her pussy each time he thrusts.

She gasped loudly, moaning relentlessly as he ravaged her. “You better believe it, sweetheart.” He growled. Dean slams into Y/N harder, his body covered in sweat. He gripped her hips and yanked them towards him, giving her an extra deep thrust.

“That's it, such a good girl.”

“Deann baby”

“Say it again”

“Deaaaannnnn!”

“Oh fuck, Y/N!”

“Yess. Fuck me just like that! Just like that, oh god!!” She screamed out in pleasure as he claimed her as his own. Dean groaned, his body trembling with pleasure. “This pussy is amazing. You're amazing. I love you so much” He moans into her ear lovingly.

He continued to ramble as the pleasure filled his body. “I love you so much more” Y/N moaned. Dean's eyes roll back in his head, lost in the sensation of her wet tight pussy squeezing him. He grunted and moaned, his hips slamming into her mercilessly. She said his name over and over like a prayer.

“Oh god yes!” She grabbed one of her tits, squeezing the nipple and playing with it. She reached down to play with her sensitive clit. Dean growled, his cock throbbing inside her. He snatched Y/N’s hand from her clit, pinning them above her head, his free hand gripping onto her throbbing clit. “Move your hand baby. You're mine.”

“I’m all yours please, please let me cum” She begs him for release. Dean's eyes flash with dominance, his hand firmly holding onto her clit. He doesn't let up, thrusting into her with more force. “You’re so pretty when you’re begging” He growled menacingly. “Patience. Watch me make love to you. Watch how good it feels.” He teased her.

“Oh fuckkkkkk!!!” Y/N screamed out so loud shes sure everyone heard “Soooo fucking good. Pussy so wet and tight just for me. You’re all mine, princess” Dean's thrusts become even more powerful, his hips slamming into hers. “And you’re mine” Y/N growls back possessively.

His hand detached from her clit, reaching up to pinch and roll her nipple, eliciting a moan from y/n. “That's it, baby. Take it all.” He praised her. She took all his cock filling her up, reaching closer and closer to her orgasm. He gripped her hips tightly, pulling her onto him with every thrust.

Suddenly his pace faltered, slowing down. “Wh-what are you doing?” Y/N stutters a bit.

“I can feel you getting wetter. You want it so bad, don't you?” He whispered in her ear menacingly, edging her along. She could feel his cocky smirk against her neck. “Goddammit Dean! If you don’t let me cum I’ll-” Y/N yelled in a rage of ecstasy, needing to cum but he cut her off. “You’ll what?” He smirked, calling her out on the empty promise as he thrusted into her slowly.

“Dean!!” Y/N yelled at him and he let out a deep chuckle, driving his cock deeper into her, feeling the tight warmth of her pussy squeezing him. This continued for at least five minutes, he grazes oh-so-gently on her g spot each time.

She’d whine, indicating that she’s close. Part of her is enjoying the edging because of how it’s prolonging the love making between two of them but the other part just wants to empty herself all over Dean, show him how good he’s making her feel.

In a snap, his pace resumed to how it was previously and he began to thrust with increasing force the way he was prior. Y/N’s lips are parted, her eyes screwed shut from the pleasure that’s coursing through her body.

“DEAN!” Is all she could muster up, the coil in her stomach is ready to snap. His orgasm approaching closer. “Now be a good girl for me and look at me while cum all over that cock” He whispered into her ear lustfully, pushing her over the edge. Her eyes locked with his, her orgasm hitting her like a train.

“Oh fuck oh fuck OH FUCK DEAAANNNNN!!!” She came all over his cock, her orgasm taking her over in a white hot flash as he hit her g spot repeatedly.

Dean’s eyes widened in shock when Y/N’s eyes flashed white in the way it does when she used her powers as she rode out her high. Oddly enough, it got him going even more. He continued to pound into Y/N, moaning as he felt her tight muscles squeezing him in orgasm.

“Oh fuckkkkk baby. That’s it.” He moaned into her ear, beginning to tip over the edge. He picked up the pace, his cock throbbing inside her as he approached his release. A wicked thought crosses y/n’s mind and she decides to get some payback.

“You wanna cum don’t you? You wanna fill up my tight pussy, Dean?” She teased him in a sultry voice, tightening her legs around him. His gaze snapped to her in one of shock and lust, she just smirked at him and continued saying,

“Cum for me, charming. And then, you can bend me over in the bathroom and drill your cock into my tight aching pussy, let me watch you ravage me in the mirror, make me take it like a good girl. Then we can fuck in the backseat of the Impala, watch my ass bounce when I ride you.” She nibbled on his ear, letting out a seductive giggle.

Before adding in a low sexy tone, “Maybe then I can show you how good my mouth is gonna feel around your big hard cock…” She trailed off from whispering dirty sweet nothings when his cock began to throb inside of her.

“Oh FUCK Y/N!!!” He screamed out in ecstasy, spilling his seed into her pussy, his thrusts growing sloppy and slower. “Fuck! I thought I talked a good game. You got a wicked tongue, princess” He gasped, chuckling heavily as she smirks proudly. “You wanna feel it baby?” Y/N retorted with a wink and a coy smile.

He laughed at her perverse comment, feeling so blessed to know his girl is just as nasty as him. “I love you so goddamn much” He whispered, kissing her lovingly on her lips. Y/N returned the kiss passionately,

“I love you so much more” She whispered back against his lips. “I can win that fight” He smiled slyly at her as he pulled away. She lightly glared at him due to his untimely comment. “Too soon?” He snorted and she nodded as if it’s obvious. “Shut up and get me a towel, Winchester” She chuckled weakly and he laughed along obligingly, giving her a kiss on her cheek before getting the towel.

He wiped her off with the warm towel first, making sure to get all of the mess they both made and then proceeded to wipe himself off. Y/N grabbed the blanket from the end of the messed up bed, throwing it over the both of them as he sunk back into the bed next to her.

He wrapped his arm around her and she settled her head on his chest. The two hunters were practically mush on each other. The both of them remain in a comfortable silence, catching their breaths for a few moments as Dean rubbed his fingers up and down the curves of Y/N’s body, settling his hand in her hair, rubbing it gently with the tip of his fingers.

After about 5 minutes or so, Dean finally speaks up. “So..” He began, kissing her forehead. “So…” Y/N added breathlessly, smiling and looking up into his eyes, her head laid on his chest. “God you’re so beautiful” He whispered to himself, the love potent in his voice.

He then tucked a strand of her messed up hair behind her ear as the two lovers stared at each other lovingly. She tried to hide her blush but he noticed. “Even your blushing makes me hard” He groaned, earning a giggle from her. “Damn, you’re whipped” Y/N teased him, kissing his chest. “Shut up” Dean huffed, his freckle nose tainted a tinge of pink.

Going back to his lovestruck awe, y/n’s expression mirroring his. “You’re so adorable” He cooed lovingly, stroking her cheek with his thumb. His pupils dilated at the sight of y/n, her hair messy, her mascara dripping. “I’m gonna say something and you better not make fun of me” Y/N warned him and he smirks. “No promises babe” He joked and she laughed.

“You wanna know why I’ve always called you charming?” She asked him. “Why’s that?” He asked softly, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. “I think it’s because deep down, I always wished you’d be my Prince Charming” She admitted in a gentle tone and she could’ve sworn Dean looked like he was gonna burst into tears.

“Damn you’re whipped” He retorted jokingly, mocking her with her words from before, laying a kiss on her cheek. She giggled, sighing softly as she looked up into his eyes through her eyelashes.

She noticed the soft content look on his face as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I'm gonna save you, Dean, even if it’s the last thing I do. I promise.” Her voice cracked as tears prick at her eyes, her heart still aching. His face softened even more, a guilty pang at his heart.

“We don’t need to discuss that right now, baby. Let’s just live in the moment. Okay?” He whispered in a gentle tone, holding her tightly. She nodded sniffling a bit. “You know, I’m pretty sure Sam heard us” Y/N snorted, trying to lighten the mood. Dean chuckled, “Oh definitely, we’re not gonna hear the end of it.”

“The way I fucked you into oblivion. I’m sure all of South Dakota heard it” He added in a teasing tone, nuzzling his nose into her hair. A blush raised to Y/N’s face, her cheeks practically beet red. She turnt away, trying to cover her face but he grabbed her quickly by her wrists, turning her back around as he tried to move her hand away from her face while chuckling.

“Awwww don’t hide your face now, princess. Not when you just were all like ‘Just like that Dean just like that. Ohhhh godddd’ ” He threw his head back laughing as he jokingly mocked her moans just a couple minutes ago.

Another smack to his chest from his girl caused him to cackle even more. Come to think of it, the way Y/N smacked Dean’s ass around even before they even got together, he’s pretty sure her love language consists of physical violence in a loving way.

“Hey!” She exclaimed in mock offense. “I wasn’t the one that was like ‘Fuck you’re so tight baby’ “ She chuckled, mocking his groans earlier as he blushed. “Did you know your eyes flash white when you orgasm?”

Her mouth fell open at his comment, earning a snort of amusement from her lover. “They what?!” She exclaimed. "No, I didn't know that," Y/N muttered, embarrassed, turning away again. Dean laughed and pulled her back to look at him. "Heyyy, I'm not making fun. It's cute and honestly, really fucking sexy." He assured her, laying a kiss on her forehead.

“Did no one from before me tell you that?” He asked curiously. “No one ever mentioned it before," She said, leaning her head on his chest. "Then again, I usually close my eyes or bury my head in a pillow,” She explained.

“So I’m the only one who’s seen it” Dean observed, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Oh god, don’t get cocky again” Y/N playfully groaned. Dean feigned a dramatic gasp, earning an eye roll as he pressed his hand to his chest. "Me? Cocky? Never. I'm just stating the facts." He smirked, tracing his fingers up her spine.

“Well, you’re the first and last to see it. I’m just starting facts” Y/N retorted with a smirk, brushing her lips with his. “First and last, huh?” He chuckled, kissing her again. “Sounds like I’m pretty damn special, then.” He joked, making her roll her eyes again.

She pushed him back against the pillows, straddling his hips lazily. "Yeah, well, don’t get too cocky or I might change my mind” She said, leaning down to kiss his neck. A low growl rumbled from the back of his throat as she kissed his neck, his hands moving up to grip her thighs. "You wouldn't" he protested, fingers trailing up her sides.

She hummed against his skin, nipping gently at his collarbone. "You sure about that?" She teased, biting down a little harder, leaving a bruise in her wake. “Keep it up, I’ll make you scream again” He grunted, his grip on her thighs tightening. “Oh yeah? I’m pretty sure it’s my turn” Y/N retorted with sass.

His eyebrows quirk up, “You’re on sweetheart” He challenges, smirking at her. She takes him up on his challenge, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She returned the smirk, moving her mouth to his chest, leaving a trail of kisses down to his stomach. "We'll see about that" she murmured, running her tongue along his hip bones.

He threw his head back, moaning softly as she toyed with him, desperate whines leaving his throat. Round two was locked and loaded.

____________________________________________

•One Week Later

Sam was downstairs, his head buried in a book. Trying to find some way to get Dean out of the deal. Jo had resumed hunting with Ellen, the mother-daughter duo were finally on the same page since the Roadhouse burnt down. He had his headphones jacked in his ears in hopes it would drown out Dean and Y/N’s rather loud activities.

Sam missed Jo like crazy, his heart was screaming at him to call her, but his mind was telling him to let her go. After witnessing Y/N’s demise and now his brother’s inevitable demise, in his mind, he could bring nothing but harm to her. He was forcing himself to stay away from her and it tore into him from inside out.

The ringing over his phone cut his music, so he clicked the answer button, pressing it to his ear. “Hello?” Sam answered, “Hey Sam” Bobby’s voice came through the speaker. “Hey, Bobby,” Sam responded. “Whatcha’ you doing?” The older hunter asked. “You know, same old, same old” Sam sighed.

“You buried in that book again?” Bobby said in a knowing tone, causing Sam to gulp. “Sam, if you wanna break Dean free of that demon deal, you ain’t gonna find the answer is no book” Bobby chided him. “Then where, Bobby?” Sam grumbled. “Kid, I wish I knew,” the older man sighed. “So where’s your brother and Y/N?”

Sam internally groaned, hearing what sounded like a lamp get knocked over upstairs and Y/N’s giggle echo through the floorboards. His face scrunched up in disgust, “Pulling the electorate” Sam deadpanned, gagging. “What?” Bobby asked, confused. “Nevermind” Sam shook it off. “Well, you kids better pack it up. I think I finally found something”

Soon after his phone call with Bobby, Sam pushed himself up from the couch, tossing the book onto the coffee table but was stopped in his tracks when his phone rang again.

Glancing down at the screen, his heart skipped a beat when he saw Jo’s name flash on the screen. His heart thumped wildly in his chest with every second he debated what to do. He wanted so badly to answer, to hear her voice again. To talk to her.

But logic put him against it, she didn’t deserve the bad luck that radiated off of him. Sam refused to put her through that. She may have been his angel, but he was the boy with demon blood.

Reluctantly, Sam let the call ring into voicemail. As much as it pained him to do so, he needed to push her away. For her own safety. Even if it was killing him inside.

Sam waited until he assumed Dean and Y/N were done before knocking on the door. Rock music filled the room as the newly-coupled did the dirty, not seeing or hearing Sam enter. “Dean? Y/N? You guys conscious?” Sam asked, pushing the door open before peeking his head in.

“Bobby called, he thinks that maybe we co- Oh God!” Sam groaned in disgust, quickly shutting the door upon seeing a very naked Y/N on top of Dean. Quickly running his fingers over his eyes, trying to burn the image out of his mind, now he really wishes he had taken Jo’s call.

The Impala sped down the road, Dean wore a big smile on his face, Y/N was sprawled out in the back seat while Sam looked like he was ready to vomit. “Let me see your knife” He deadpanned to Y/N. “What for?” She mumbled confused as she began to take it out of her boot. “So i can gouge my eyes out” He quipped back, causing her to quickly retract her knife from him. Sam shot his brother and best friend a look of disgust as they snorted with amusement.

“It's a beautiful natural act of love, Sam” Dean shot back, flashing a wink at Y/N through the rearview mirror. She blew him a saucy kiss before saying, “Yeah, get with the program brother” Y/N patted his head before sinking back into the backseat. “That's part of you I never wanted to see, Dean and Y/N” Sam grimaced, the two chuckled as they shook their heads.

“Hey, I appreciate you giving us a little bit of quality time, man” Dean said to him, his mind still racing about his night with Y/N. The psychic bit her lip as she reminisced, the night seemingly having flashed past their eyes. She tried to ignore the nagging at the back of her mind about Dean's pending departure to hell but it wouldn't seem to let up. “Yeah, no problem,” Sam mumbled.

“Really. I gotta say, I was expecting a weary sigh or an eyeroll or something” Dean poked fun at his brother who just shrugged in return. “Same,” Y/N added. “Nonono, you guys deserve to have a little fun. At least now I don't have to witness your god awful pining for each other” Rolling his eyes, Dean huffed, “Oh, you can kiss my a-”

“Uh-uh, not another word, you don’t know what I went through for years of you guys being idiots” Sam interrupted, raising his hand to signal he did not want to hear whatever Dean had to protest with, causing Y/N to laugh in the backseat.

“Oh, come on. We weren’t that bad” Y/N argued. “Yes. Yes, you were” Sam deadpanned, “You guys were both so damn oblivious” They rolled their eyes in unison, “Takes one to know one, dipshit” Y/N mumbled, poking her tongue out at him before crossing her arms over her chest and sinking back into her seat.

Sam rolled his eyes at the comment, “Real mature, crackhead, real mature” He shot back sarcastically but there was no heat behind his words. He was happy that they both got their heads out of their arses and finally admitted their feelings, he was just hoping that they had enough time now.

“What’s Bobby got?” Dean asked, changing the subject. “Not much, crop failure and a cicada swarm outside of Lincoln, Nebraska. Now it could be demon omens-” Sam answered with a deep sigh. “-or it could just be a bad crop and a bug problem.” Y/N suggested. “But it's our only lead,” Sam countered. “Any freaky deaths?” Dean asked. “Nothing Bobby could find. Not yet, anyway.”

“It's weird, fellas. I mean, the night the Devil's Gate opened, all these weirdo storm clouds were sighted over how many cities?” Y/N asked, pushing herself forward to the back of the driver's side seat. “Seventeen” Sam and Dean responded in unison. “You'd think it'd be Apocalypse Now. It's been five days and bupkis” Dean scoffed with annoyance causing Sam and Y/N to frown, “What are the demons waiting for?” Y/N grumbled, pressing her chin on the leather seat.

“Beats me,” Sam sighed, “It's driving me crazy. “I'll tell you. If it's gonna be war, I wish it'd start already” Dean agreed. “I don't know, babe. Careful what you wish for” Y/N sighed, reaching over to gently rub his shoulder. The two lovers shared a look in the rearview mirror as Dean continued down the desolate road, headed over to Bobby’s house to pick up Quinn.

Just Outside Lincoln, Nebraska

The roar of the Impala and Harley filled the empty field. The only sounds in the early morning were the cicadas humming through their ears as Dean put Baby in park and Y/N peeled off her helmet after shutting off Quinns engine. Bobby was already at the field waiting for them, leaning against his truck. “You hear those cicadas?” Sam asked them as he and Dean stepped out of the Impala. “Well, that can't be a good sign” Dean answered with a mouth full of bacon cheeseburger as they all walked towards Bobby.

“No shit, Sherlock” Y/N grumbled, earning a playful glare from her boyfriend, in which she grinned in response. “So we're eating bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast, are we?” Bobby mused, leaning off of his truck. “Well, sold my soul. Got a year to live. I ain't sweating the cholesterol.” Dean shot back, causing Y/N to get that gaping feeling in her chest again and Sam to roll his eyes at his brothers lack of hope.

“So, Bobby, what do you think? We got a biblical plague here or what?” Sam asked, changing the subject, after noticing Y/N’s shift in facial expression. While Dean continued to munch away on his burger, he offered Y/N a bite but she simply shook her head so he just shrugged and continued eating.

“Well, let's find out. Looks like the swarms ground zero.” Bobby responded.

Y/N knocked her knuckles against the hardwood of the door to the house in the field, “Candygram!” The psychic shouted. Silence and no one in sight. A confused look overcame the group. No one came to the door. “Well, I guess nobody’s home” Dean muttered as he chewed on his last bite of burger.

Y/N shrugged and pressed her palm to the door, she took a deep breath, focusing her energy on the door as her veins began shining blue. Her eyes flashed a brighter white than usual as she used her powers to sense and listen for anything or anyone inside the house. It was eerily quiet. No souls, nothing. Just silence. Her eyebrows furrowed as she was met with no sign of life.

So instead, she sent a blast through the door, causing it to come clean off its hinges. The four hunters cautiously entered the house, peering into each room only to find them empty. “Where are they?” Y/N mumbled, trying to see if she could sense the family anywhere. “I don't know but it stinks like hell in here” Sam cringed, pressing his nose at the horrid stench lingering around the air.

“That’s definitely not a good sign” Dean grumbled in disgust as they quickly pulled out their guns, all gagging from the rancid scent of decay. Guns drawn, they cautiously crept through the house while trying their best to cover their faces from the overwhelming stench, the source of which seemed to be coming from the living room.

Y/N’s face twisted into a grimace as they entered the living room. They could faintly hear cicadas buzzing from the outside but that’s not what caught their attention. A putrid and foul aroma filled the air, stronger than the previous room as they came across three decomposing bodies. One man, one woman and one young boy.

Flies buzzed around the bodies, their faces sunken in. Bobby gasped with disgust as he rushed into the room. “Bobby, what the hell happened here?” Sam asked. “I dont know” Bobby grumbled as they began investigating. The sound of the deck creaking made Dean and Y/N’s ears perk up. Dean whistled lowly, causing everyone to go on guard immediately. Their eyes darted over to the deck as Y/N gestured she and Dean would go check it out while Bobby and Sam stayed on lookout.

They crept on the deck, armed to the T. Both peered around the corner cautiously, the sound of cicadas buzzing growing louder. They threw a suspicious eye out the door before stepping out. Their steps were light as they crept around, looking for any signs of danger and then a twig snapped. Both their heads snapped to the side an African-American man and woman attacked them.

The man grabbed Y/N, causing her to yell out. She quickly recovered, attempting to fight him off by elbowing him hard in his mid section as the woman kneed Dean where the sun didn't shine. Dean's hands flew to cup his manhood in pain, doubling over as his gun clattered to the ground.

While Y/N was backhanded by the man and was sent tumbling to the ground next to Dean. "SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!" "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST" Dean and Y/N exclaimed in excruciating pain, the psychic clutching her bleeding nose as Dean clutched his pearls.

“Isaac? Tamara?” Bobby said in recognition as he and Sam rushed out onto the porch from the sound of Dean and Y/N getting their asses pummeled. Isaac froze when hearing his name as he and his partner looked up in shock at the two new arrivals. Y/N groaned in pain as she sat up on her elbows, while Dean was still doubled over.

“Bobby? What the hell are you doing here?” Tamara gasped, a twinge of an English accent flowing from her words. “I could ask the same,” Bobby chuckled. “Hey, Bobby” Isaac chuckled, uncocking his gun to throw it back over his shoulder as he shook Bobby’s hand. “Uh, hello, bleeding here” Y/N quipped sarcastically, waving her hand in the air.

Dean grunted as he finally began regaining his composure, still clutching his balls. “Could you help a brother out?” he whined to Sam who chuckled at his very obvious pain. “Oh, shut it, jackass” Y/N mumbled as she wiped the blood from her nose.

Later that evening, they all ended up at Isaac and Tamara’s house. Dean was on the phone with the coroner, an ice pack resting nicely on his manhood while he sat on the couch as Y/N, Sam and Bobby were in the living room with Isaac and Tamara.

“Honey, where’s the Palo Santo?” Isaac asked his wife, “Well, where’d you leave it?” Tamara responded. “I don’t know dear, that’s why I’m asking” Isaac shot back in a slightly annoyed but gentle tone. “Palo Santo?” Sam asked curiously. “It’s holy wood. From Peru. It’s toxic to demons, like holy water” Tamara explained as she walked over to her husband.

“Keeps the bastards nailed down when you’re exorcising them” She further explained as she pulled out the Palo Santo, handing it to her husband. “Thank you, dear” Isaac smiled sheepishly at her. “You’d lose your head if it wasn’t for me” Tamara shot back jokingly at her husband while he smirked.

Y/N snickered from her spot on the couch as she watched the interaction between Isaac and Tamara, glancing over at Dean to notice his pained facial expression and the ice pack. “So long have you two been married?” Y/N asked curiously.

“Eight years this past June” Tamara replied, sharing a loving glance with her husband who smiled sweetly back at her. This didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N who had a glimmer of something deep in her eyes as she looked over at the couple and Sam had a thoughtful look on his face, both chuckling. Isaac pressed a kiss to Tamara’s forehead.

“The family that slays together-“ Isaac began. “-Stays together” Tamara finished it with a loving smile towards her husband. “Right, I’m with you there” Sam agreed, before asking, “So, how’s you get started?” The room fell silent by his question, Tamara’s loving gaze dropped to a saddened one.

Sam instantly felt bad by asking, “I’m sorry, he’s sorry. It’s not- it’s none of our business” Y/N apologized on Sam’s behalf as Bobby shook his head at them. Tamara held up her hand, gesturing it was fine. “No, it’s okay. It’s okay” she sighed and gave a soft nod.

Dean finally pushed himself up from the couch, still on the phone with the coroner’s tech as he wobbled over, the ice pack still pressed to his nards. “Well, Jenny, while I appreciate the offer for the appletini, I’m a taken man. Have a goodnight” He grimaced at the sound of the woman flirting with him and the pain in his manhood as he flipped the phone shut.

“What, no number?” Y/N teased him as he flopped back down next to her, earning a grumble from him. “You’re just jealous” he shot back at her, causing her eyes to narrow. “Ha, yeah, keep telling yourself that, darlin’” she smirked in response.

“Oh believe me, I will” he retorted, a smirk on his face. Tamara and Isaac exchanged an amused look at the bickering couple as Sam chuckled in response while Bobby simply rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Okay, you two, knock it off” Bobby grumbled from his seat in the armchair, causing both to immediately shut their mouths. “What’d the tech say?”

“Get this. That whole family, cause of death: Dehydration and starvation.” Dean revealed, causing everyone’s eyes to widen. “There’s no signs of restraint. No violence. They just sat down and never got up” Dean explained, “But there was a fully stocked kitchen just yards away” Bobby pointed out, the situation sounding way too unusual.

“Right, what is this? A demon attack?” Y/N added, equally stunned as she reached into the cooler to get another ice pack for Dean. Dean winced as Y/N pried his hand away and gently placed the ice pack onto his jewels, “Thanks” he muttered sarcastically as he began shifting in his seat and adjusting his position.

“If it is, it’s not like anything I ever say and I’ve seen plenty” Bobby stated, “Well, what now? What should we do?” Dean asked through gritted teeth. Despite the pain, Y/N’s hand began rubbing small circles onto his thigh in a subtle gesture of comfort as he continued to adjust in his seat.

“Uh, we’re not gonna do anything?” Isaac chimed in. Their heads snapped in their direction, “What do you mean?” Sam and Y/N asked in unison. “You guys seem nice enough but, this ain’t Scooby-Doo and we don’t play well with others” He responded bluntly.

“Excuse me?” Y/N asked, dumbfounded, “Well I think we’d cover a lot more ground if we worked together” Sam narrowed his eyes at them, “No offense, but we’re not teaming up with the damned fools who let the Devil's Gate get opened in the first place” Isaac shot back with frustration.

“No offense?” Dean scoffed as he began sitting up, his face becoming hard and cold. Y/N gave him a hard look to calm him down, gripping his thigh to stop him from escalating the situation as Tamara quickly intervened before anything got out of hand.

“Isaac, like you’ve never made a mistake” Tamara reprimanded her husband. “Oh, yeah. Locked my keys in the car. Turned my laundry pink. Never brought on the end of the world though” Isaac sassed, rolling his eyes as Dean and Y/N chuckled dryly and Tamara’s head dropped.

Bobby’s hand slowly went to the bridge of his nose in annoyance as Sam shot his brother a warning look to keep his mouth shut, “Alright, that’s enough” Y/N growled at him, a tight glare in her eyes as her hand gripped Dean’s thigh a little tighter, forcing him to stay seated.

“Guys, this isn’t helping, Y/N/N” Sam said calmly to her. Y/N closed her eyes and exhaled before looking at Sam, “Whatever” she muttered, taking a deep breath and slowly loosening her grip on Dean’s thigh while he continued to grumble under his breath.

“Look, there are a couple hundred more demons out there now. We don’t know where they are. When they’ll strike. There ain’t enough hunters in the world to handle something like this. You brought war down on us. On all of us” Isaac stated firmly as Bobby’s head dropped in shame, Y/N clenched her jaw along with Dean and Sam eyes softened with guilt.

“Okay, that’s quite enough testosterone for now” Tamara snapped, yanking Isaac by his hand and dragging him out of the room. The room fell silent after Isaac and Tamara disappeared into the kitchen. Y/N’s shoulders slacked as if all the fight had gone out of her in an instant and her hand slid from Dean’s thigh as he sat up on the cushion, crossing his legs carefully to reduce the pain on his balls.

It was now later that night, Y/N laid her head gently on Dean's chest as he wrapped his arms around to hold her close as the sounds of the TV playing a western movie softly echoed in the background of their motel room. His chin rested on her head as his eyes were fixated on the screen and Y/N's hand was idly tracing patterns across his chest, the sounds of his breath rising and falling calming her.

“How’re you feeling, sweetie?” She asked him gently, gesturing to his manhood. He sighed, "Still aching, honestly" he grumbled, "But I'll manage, he’s getting better" he mumbled. “Anything I can do to help?” Dean chuckled at her question and shook his head, "I’ll live" he replied.

"Just hope you still find me hot after this" he teased her, earning a gentle smack in the chest from her. "Ow, Jesus. Watch it, woman" he playfully muttered as she chuckled. "I always find you hot, you idiot" she retorted, shifting to bury her face in his chest as his shoulders began shaking with silent laughter.

"You always say the right things," he chuckled, rubbing her back as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But you know what might make me feel better?" he mused with a smirk appearing on his lips. She lifted her head up to look at him with a smirk of her own and raised an eyebrow curiously, "Oh yeah? And what's that, Mr. Winchester?"

He smirked in response and grabbed her hip with his free hand before pressing his lips to hers. Her lips responded to his as she reciprocated the kiss. His hand on her hip moved to grasp her butt and he lightly moved her to straddle him which caused her to release a small yelp in surprise against his lips before she moved her own hand up to cup his cheek, pulling away to look at him with lust-blown eyes.

"You sure, your little guy can take it?" she asked him, a sly smirk still on her lips. A sly smirk appeared on his face as he moved his hands from her rear to cup her hips, bringing her flush against himself, "Trust me, I'm sure he can handle it" he murmured as he nuzzled his face into her neck and began gently nipping on her sensitive flesh.

____________________________________________

The next day, Sam, Dean and Y/N were outside of a department store where a woman killed another woman just hours ago. Seeming over a pair of shoes, Dean was sitting outside on a bench munching on a burger as Sam and Y/N investigated the scene. The entire area flooded with cops and coroners.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam asked, annoyed as they approached him. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked with a mouthful of burger as he glanced at his brother, "I'm taking my lunch break. What’re you two doing?" he added, taking another bite of his burger just as Sam and Y/N shot him an un-amused look. "Werking" Sam deadpanned.

“Dead body. Possible demon attack, that kind of stuff” Y/N sassed, stuffing her hands in her pocket as Dean rolled his eyes and got up from the bench. He chucked his burger in her hands before he began to dramatically cough, clutching his chest. “Sam, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s just, I don’t have much time left and, uh-” He croaked before letting out an exasperated cough.

Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance as Sam let out a scoff, unamused. The two shared a sad look as guilt began weighing on Y/N’s chest, "Yeah, right. Alright, I’m sorry” Y/N sighed, “Apology accepted” Dean spontaneously recovered, attempting to take the burger back but Y/N yanked her hand away, taking a bite out of the burger.

He rolled his eyes at her, "You suck" he grumbled as she let out a scoff. "You should know" she retorted back skittishly with a mouth full of burger, earning a gag of disgust from Sam. “Guys, seriously!” Sam groaned dramatically.

“What?” they both shot back together like innocent children having been caught stealing cookies when they shouldn’t, glancing at him with wide eyes, causing Sam to roll his eyes in annoyance. “I really don’t get how you two manage to be adults with the attitudes of two children” he muttered, causing her to shoot him a glare.

Bobby emerged through the entrance, fully decked out in a suit and tie. His once shaggy greying hair, slicked back neatly. Y/N and Sam’s eyes widened at the sight as they choked back on a laugh while Dean’s jaw had nearly dropped down to the floor, craning his neck. "Whoa, looking spliffy, Bobby. What were you, a G-man?" Dean commented with a low whistle. “Returning from the DA’s office. Just spoke to the suspect.” Bobby told them as he fixed his crooked tie.

“Yeah? So what do you think, then? Was she possessed or what? “ Sam asked as Y/N wiped her mouth, handing Dean back his burger. “There's none of the usual signs. No blackouts, no loss of control. Totally lucid, just think she really wanted those shoes” Bobby explained, the three younger hunters shared a look of disbelief as he continued. “Spilled a glass of holy water on her, just to be sure. Nothing.”

“Well maybe she's just some random wack job” Dean suggested as he trailed his eyes down Y/N body. “If it had been an isolated incident, maybe. But first the family, now this? I don’t know, man” Y/N said, shaking her head. Her eyes met with Dean’s, catching him in the act of ogling her. Her eyes narrowed at him but he simply shot her a smirk in response, taking another bite of his burger. “Yeah, I believe in a lot of things. Coincidence ain't one of em” Bobby agreed with Y/N. “Did you kids find anything around here?” He asked.

“No sulfur. Nothing” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Well, maybe something” Dean chimed in, crumpling up the now empty burger wrapping paper in his hand before pointing to the security camera. “See? I'm working” he sassed, patting Sam's shoulder as he winked at Y/N. This made the two roll their eyes in exasperated annoyance.

They were all now in the surveillance room. Sam and Y/N were sat side by side, her feet kicked up on the table while Bobby sat against it and Dean paced the room. “Anything interesting?” Dean asked them as he leaned between their shoulders. “I don't know yet. Might just be a guy,” Sam murmured as he rewinded the video. In the footage, a man began approaching the shopper. “Or might be our guy” Y/N added as she propped herself up to get a better look.

They watched the video intently, the man approached the shopper, pointing to the woman she killed. It seemed as though he was coercing her, the hunters shared a look as the video ended.

Sam and Y/N were now in town getting food, currently walking back to the Impala. Dean stayed back at the motel room and Sam tagged along, so they took Baby instead of Quinn. Y/N noticed from the corner of her eye that a young blonde woman was seemingly following her and Sam as they crossed the street. Sam had his head in his phone while Y/N's head was on a swivel, taking note of all the possible dangers around her.

She gave Sam an elbow to the arm to get his attention, “Dude, I think there’s something stuck to our shoes” she murmured to him. He looked up from his phone at her, puzzled as he watched her glance over her shoulder to the young blonde woman trailing behind them. He followed her gaze, catching the gaze of the blonde as she quickly looked away.

"Think she's following us?" he asked in a whisper. "Either that or she's checking out your ass” she whispered back to him, causing him to scoff and roll his eyes as they continued walking. As they reached the Impala, the woman suddenly disappeared. Nowhere in sight.

They both exchanged a look before Y/N shook her head. "Probably just my paranoia” she mumbled to him in an attempt to convince herself, they unlocked the car as Sam opened the driver's door, "I'll drive. You're tired." he mumbled, noticing the dark circles under her eyes. She nodded and got into the passenger seat without protest, buckling herself in as Sam started the car.

____________________________________________

“What time is it?” Bobby asked Dean as he yawned, the two were staking out a bar. “Seven past midnight” Dean responded, checking his watch. They were in Bobby’s truck now, “You sure this is the right play?” Bobby questioned tiredly. “No. But I spent all day canvassing this stupid town with this guy's stupid mug..” Dean groaned, taking up a picture of the mystery man from the video from his dashboard.

“…and supposedly he drinks at this stupid bar and- AH!” He exclaimed startled when Sam knocked loudly on the passenger side window, a wide smile on his face. Both Sam and Y/N burst out laughing at Dean’s fearful expression and yelp of surprise. They came back from doing research at a local library on Y/N’s bike, Dean and Bobby didn’t notice them since they parked behind.

Dean scowled at the two as he rolled down the window as Bobby rolled his eyes. “That’s not funny” Dean grumbled as Sam opened his door. “Yeah, okay” Sam snorted, pushing the seat forward, with Dean in it, so he and Y/N could climb in the back. “Alright, so, our John Doe’s name is Walter Rosen. He’s from Oak Park, just west of Chicago. Went missing a week ago” Y/N told them as she fixed herself in her seat.

"The night the Devil’s Gate opened?" Dean questioned, adjusting his seat back to its normal setting. "Yep,” Sam nodded. “So you guys think he’s possessed?” Dean asked, “Well, it’s a good bet” Sam shrugged. “So, uh, he just walks up to someone, touches them and they go stark raving psycho or something?” Y/N mumbled as she stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets.

“Those demons that got out of the gate, they’re gonna be able to do all kinds of things we haven’t seen,” Bobby responded, “You mean the demons that we let out” Sam said bluntly, “Guys.” Dean interrupted upon seeing Walter hop out of a car across the street, right in front of the bar. “Alright, showtime” Y/N said firmly, cocking her gun.

“Wait a minute” Bobby stopped her, “What?” She scoffed, “What did I just say? We don’t know what to expect out of this guy. We should tail him till we know” Bobby reprimanded her. “Oh, so he kills someone and we just sit here with our junk in our hands?” Dean protested. “We’re not good dead, boy!” Bobby shot back firmly.

“We’re not gonna make a move till we know what the score is” He added in a tone filled with authority. Both Dean and Y/N seemed ready to protest again. Sam on the other hand, “Hey, Bobby, I don’t think that’s an option” The younger Winchester chimed in. "Why not?” Bobby asked, confused as they all turned their heads to look in the direction Sam was pointing at.

To see Isaac and Tamara getting out of their own vehicle, both heading towards the bar. "Damn it!” Bobby cursed, smacking the dashboard. They all shared a look before climbing out of Bobby’s truck, "Looks like we're doing this" Y/N grumbled as she shoved her gun into the back of her jeans, slamming the truck door shut.

The hunters stood outside the bar, watching through the windows as Walter made his way to the bar, ordering his drink. Tamara and Isaac were both sat at their table, sipping on their drinks. “How are we gonna do this?” Dean whispered to Y/N as they all ducked down, trying to watch and stay unnoticed.

Walter got up from his seat at the bar and began making his way to the bathroom. Isaac and Tamara kept a close eye on Walter, the male hunter pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek before getting up to follow Walter. Suddenly, a man grabbed Isaac as he was making his way towards the bathroom, snatching his flask of holy water away from his hand before tossing it onto the floor.

His eyes flashing black as he growled, “I don’t like hunters in my bar” indicating he was possessed by a demon. Everyone else in the bar's eyes flashed black, deeming them all to be possessed as Walter emerged from the bathroom, a sickening smirk on his face as he stalked over to them. Fearful expressions flooded Isaac and Tamara’s faces, not realizing exactly what they had walked into. Initially thinking it was only one demon they were dealing with. Not seven.

"Fuck” Sam hissed as they all watched the scene through the window. They all began banging on the door with their bodies but the demons had barred it shut from the inside. They heard Tamara’s screams as the others sadistically laughed.

“Move, move!” Y/N yelled at them to step back, placing her hand on the door. They all stepped back with their weapons drawn as she allowed the energy to flow through her body, her veins shining blue but it was no use, the door simply would not budge. Unknowingly, the door was barred with iron, one of the few things her power couldn’t break through.

“Motherfucker!” She shouted with fury. They could still hear the screams of Tamara and Isaac, the hunters grew more desperate as they kept trying to open the door. “I’ve got an idea!” Bobby said suddenly, rushing back over to the truck. The three younger hunters followed to suit.

“Bobby, what are you gonna do? Ram the place with your truck!?” Dean asked, growing impatient as they all hopped in, buckling up their seatbelts. Bobby started the truck with a firm nod, “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do, son” He stated before flooring the pedal.

They all held on to whatever they could, gripping tightly onto the door and anything else they could for support as Bobby drove the truck straight into the bar, crashing through the door. Glass shattered everywhere like sharp rain before the truck came to a sudden halt and all four hunters quickly hopped out.

Pieces of debris and broken wood fell to the floor, the place was in complete disarray. All seven demons turned to them with wide black eyes, holding back a sobbing and hysterical Tamara. Isaac laid sprawled out on the floor in a pool of his own blood, flowing from his mouth.

They quickly emerged from the truck with bottles of holy water, spraying them at the demons, all hissing in sizzling pain as the water burnt their skin. Y/N began spraying at the demons holding Tamara. She was freed from the demons, screaming for her husband as Y/N tried to push her towards the truck. “No!! Isaac!! Baby, no!!!”

Y/N attempted to pull her away from him as Tamara kept struggling in her grip, trying to get to her husband. “No, no, no, he’s dead. We gotta go!” Y/N shouted back, her heart paining for the woman who desperately tried to get out of her clutches. Sam, Dean and Bobby continued to toss holy water at the screaming demons.

The scene was chaotic as they all fought against the demons while Tamira tried in vain to go back to her fallen husband. “Get in the truck!” Y/N yelled to the hysterical woman, “Tamara! In the truck!”

“Let go of me!!” She sobbed as she wrestled out of Y/N’s grasp but she grabbed hold onto her again, "Dammit, Tamara, get in the damned truck!" She finally used all her strength to toss Tamara into the truck, holding her into place. “Guys!!” Y/N shouted to Sam, Dean and Bobby. Whistling loudly so they can all get the hell out of dodge.

Without hesitation, Sam climbed into the back of the truck, taking over Y/N’s spot as she hopped back out and ran over to her bike parked outside. Bobby quickly went around and jumped into the driver's seat but Dean continued fighting Walter. “Dean!!” Sam shouted, holding onto Tamara, who was screaming and crying, holding onto her like a lifeline.

“I’ve got this!” Dean shouted back while taking on another demon that tried to overpower him. Sam cursed under his breath as Bobby gunned the truck's engine as he waited for Dean to quickly climb up into the truck, “Dean, get the fuck in!!” But Dean didn’t listen to them.

Quinn’s engine roared as Y/N sped towards the bar, ramming her bike straight into Walter. "Oof!" She yelped as she rammed Walter, successfully making him stumbled backwards as he growled in pain. Dean took this opportunity to snack Walter by his collar before tossing him into the tray of the truck.

Leaving him screaming and trapped since devils traps were spray painted around it. He quickly threw his leg behind Y/N, climbing onto her bike, “Go, go, go, GO!!” He yelled Y/N and Bobby to floor it, snaking his arms around her waist.

The two vehicles sped off, leaving the wreckage behind as the demons screeched in anger, unable to chase after them. In the back of the truck, Sam held onto Tamara as he attempted to comfort her but to no avail. "Shh it's okay, you're okay, I've got you, you're okay" He whispered to her as she clung onto him, completely broken by the scene she had witnessed.

Upfront, Y/N revved her engine and sped down the road as Bobby followed behind. Dean tightened his grasp around her waist, pressing his chest against her back as they both raced down the highway in the dead of night, the adrenaline from the fight still flowing through their veins.

But right now, she was thoroughly pissed with Dean for almost getting himself killed, just so he could trap Walter in Bobby’s tray. She could feel Dean’s chest rise and fall rapidly against her back as he exhaled a harsh breath. Although she was furious with him for trying to play the hero, she took note of how comfortable and safe she felt with his arms around her waist, their breaths in sync with one another.

____________________________________________

Now back at Tamara and Isaac’s house, Walter was tied to a chair, under a Devil trap while the sounds of the hunters arguing echoed through the house. “And I say we’re going back” Tamara insisted, furious. “Just hold on a second” Sam tried to reason with her, pleading. “I left my husband bloody on the floor!” Tamara exclaimed, tears in her eyes.

“Okay, I understand that, but we can’t go back” Sam stated firmly, emphasizing with the now widowed woman. “Fine, then you stay. But I’m heading back to that bar” Tamara pointed at him, “I’ll go with her” Dean began heading to the door.

“That place is crawling with demons! If we go back, we risk getting killed!” Sam protested, looking at his older brother with disbelief as Y/N stepped in front of him and shoved him harshly on his chest. “It’s suicide, Dean!” Y/N exclaimed, frustration in her voice as Dean stumbled back.

“So what? I’m dead already!” Dean shouted back. The room went silent for a moment, the only thing heard were Tamara’s muffled sobs. Y/N stared back at Dean with a look of disbelief, the gaping hole in her chest returning as her breath got caught in her throat.

Sam’s nostrils flared at the thought and the choice of words by his brother, “How are you gonna ‘em? You can’t shoot ‘em. You can’t stab ‘em. They’re not just gonna wait in line to get exorcised!” Sam pointed out with anger in his voice. “I don’t care!” Tamara screamed. “You don’t even know how many of ‘em there are!” Y/N yelled.

“Yeah, we do,” Bobby interrupted, walking forward with a book in his hands. All eyes snapped over to him, “There's seven. Do you have any idea who we’re up against?” Bobby said, a mixture of fear and anger in his tone. “No. Who?” Dean shook his head, growing impatient. “The seven deadly sins. Live and in the flesh!” Bobby stated as Dean scoffed, a small smile playing on his face, “What’s in the box?” He chuckled.

His chuckles died in his throat as everyone looked at him with a deadpan expression, “Brad Pitt? Se7en? No?” He tried to see if anyone got his reference. Sam’s eye twitched with annoyance as Bobby chucked the book in his hands and Y/N smacked him upside his head. Gritting her teeth.

Dean scowled at the pain and rubbed the back of his head, “Ow! What the hell?!” He hissed, glaring at Y/N for slapping him. "That's for being stupid and almost getting yourself killed!" Y/N scolded him. Dean scoffed at his girlfriend berating him before opening the book, “What’s this?” He asked Bobby as he rifled through the pages.

“Binsfeld’s Classification of Demons. In 1589, Binsfeld ID’d the seven sins. Not just as human vices, but the actual devils” Bobby stated as the bells went off in Sam and Y/N’s head, realization dawning on them. “The family” They said in unison, putting two and two together of prior victims. Bobby nodded, confirming their suspicions.

“They were touched by Sloth” Sam shook his head as Y/N ran a hand over her mouth before she began toying with her necklace. “And the shopper?” She asked, “That’s Envy’s doing. And the customer we got in the next room” Bobby told them, pointing to the door Walter was behind. Confirming that Walter was possessed by Envy. “I couldn’t suss it out at first, until Isaac” He said, turning to Tamara.

She was rubbing the back of her neck, a look of disdain in her eyes. “He was touched with an awful guttony” She clenched her jaw at Bobby’s words. “I don’t give a rat's ass if they’re the Three Stooges or the Four Tops!” Tamara shouted at them, “I’m gonna slaughter every last one of them!”

“Well, you just can’t charge in like some kind of punk John Wayne” Sam retorted back. “John Wayne? That sounds like a pretty badass way to go out in my book!” Dean spoke with a hint of annoyance. This earned Dean another smack to the back of his head by his girlfriend, Dean gritted his teeth, attempting to protest but she shot him a nasty glare that made him shut his trap.

“We already did it your way! You burst in there half-cocked and look what happened!!” Bobby snapped, getting up in Tamara’s face. Tamara flinched back due to Bobby’s booming voice as the three younger hunters fell silent. “These demons haven’t been topside in half a millennium! We're talking medieval. Dark Ages. We've never faced anything close to this! So we are gonna talk a breath…AND FIGURE OUT WHAT OUR NEXT MOVE IS!!!” The veteran hunter bellowed, absolutely fed up with the lack of logic being portrayed by Dean and Tamara.

Tamara gritted her teeth at him as Bobby let out a deep breath, the hot steam propelling from his nose. He felt bad for blowing up but it needed to be said. Silence filled the room for a few moments, the atmosphere thick with tension and anger. Tamara turned away, her eyes filled with unshed tears as she tried to keep it together. The trio’s heads were bowed like kids being reprimanded by their pissed off and disappointed father.

“I am sorry for your loss” Bobby apologized before trudging out of the room and into the chamber they kept the demon of Envy bound, Tamara’s eyes remained on the floor before she stalked out behind him. Leaving the trio all alone. Sam and Y/N shared a wide eyed look due to Bobby's explosive reaction before glancing back at Dean, then following behind Bobby with Dean.

“So you know who I am, huh?” Envy chuckled darkly as they all entered. “We do. We’re not impressed” Bobby snapped, his eyes narrowed to slits at the demon. “Why are you here? What are you after?” Sam demanded. Envy just smirked in return, causing Y/N’s blood to boil at the vial expression. She was confused as to why she couldn't feel that burning sensation at the back of his neck, typically caused by the presence of demons but she chose not to question it. Brushing it off as the demon's ancient and unusual species. “He asked you a question.” Y/N growled as Dean slammed his jacket down on the table.

“What do you want?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he leaned against the table. Envy began chuckling again, causing everyone to grow impatient so Y/N reached into her jacket. Retrieving a flask of holy water from her pocket before unscrewing it and began tossing it into the demon's face. The holy water splashed all over the demon's face, eliciting a hissing sound from its lips, as its flesh burnt from the contact. It growled through the pain and clenched its jaw as it spoke.

“We already have what we want” Envy hissed at the hunters. “What's that?” Dean asked, tilting his head. “We're out. We’re free” The demon stated as if it were obvious before smirking. “My kind we’re…everywhere. ‘I am legion, for we are many,'” Envy quoted as he laughed maniacally. Sam’s blood ran cold as he and y/n’s eyes connected. “So me, I'm just celebrating. Having a little..fun”

“Fun?” Sam scoffed as he cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah. Fun. See, some people crochet, others golf. Me?” Envy smirked, his eyes glancing over to y/n. “I like to see people's insides…on their…outsides” His eyes trailed down the psychic's body as he licked his lips. Y/N’s body stiffened at his lasering gaze, uneasiness filling her as she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Bile began to rise in her throat from the look Envy was giving her.

Dean's eye twitched as his fingers curled into a fist, his jaw clenching. He was about to pounce on the demon but was held back by both Sam and Bobby. “What, too pretty for you in one piece?” Y/N spat as she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by the disgusting and vile creature in front of her. “Oh no, on the contrary.” Envy practically purred. “I like my women feisty…and bloody” Its eyes raked down her form once more, causing her to grit her teeth and Dean to rile up more. Struggling against Sam and Bobby.

“You touch her, I swear to GOD, I will END you!” Dean continued to struggle against his brother and Bobby’s hold on him. “Dean! Relax!” Sam pleaded. Y/N could see the fire dancing in her lover's eyes, the pure rage radiating off of him as his nostrils flared with each harsh breath he took. “Relax, I’m not gonna touch her…not yet anyway” The demon replied with an evil smile as its eyes locked on her like a predator stalking its prey.

Hearing the demon's response only served to anger Dean even more as he fought back with more power, causing Sam and Bobby to put more force into restraining him. Y/N eyes widened, quickly moving around the men to place her hands on Dean's shoulders. "Charming, calm down!" She shouted as she shook him.

But her words went in one ear and out the other as he continued wrestling with his two brothers, desperate to get to Envy and rip his throat out. "Dean, STOP!" Y/N shouted desperately, her grip on his shoulders tightening as she shook him harder.

He stopped struggling for just a moment to look at her, his eyes still filled with anger, but seeing the pleading expression on her face made him pause. He was still breathing heavily, his nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched, but he stopped fighting against Sam and Bobby.

Tamara’s gaze remained on the demon, filled with vengeance as she leaned down, her hands pressed against her knees. “I’m gonna put you down like a dog” She spat at him, like venom burning her tongue. “Please” Envy let out a bark of laughter, finding Tamara's threat humorous. “You really think you’re better than me?" The demon sneered, its twisted smirk never leaving its face.

“Which one of you cast the first stone, huh?!” Envy shouted as everyone narrowed their eyes at him, “What about you, Dean and Y/N?” He turned his attention to the elder Winchester and the psychic, Dean’s arm draped around Y/N’s waist. “You two are practically the walking billboards of gluttony and lust”

The couple smirked in response, sharing a knowing look as Dean playfully caressed Y/N’s ass. Earning an eye roll from her before Envy turned his attention to Tamara. “And Tamara. All that wrath? Ooh, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk” Tamara growled, gritting her teeth as the demon continued to taunt and mock her.

“It’s the reason you and Isaac became hunters in the first place, isn’t it?” Her hands trembled with anger as they balled up into tight fists at her sides. “It’s so much easier to drink in the rage…than to face what happened all those years ago” This made Tamara snap.

Tamara yelled in anger and lunged at the demon, grunting as she punched him across his jaw, over and over. “Tamara!” Bobby shouted as he and Y/N tried to separate the enraged hunter from the smirking demon. Bobby and Y/N managed to pull Tamara backwards as Sam continued to restrain a still agitated Dean who was glaring at the smug and unharmed demon, laughing.

“My point exactly. And you call us sins” Envy sneered. “We’re not sins, man. We are natural human instinct! And you can repress and deny us all you want, but the truth is, you are just animals” He further continued to berate them. “Horny, greedy…hungry..” He scoffed as Dean narrowed his eyes at him. “..violent animals.” He leaned forward.

“And you know what? You'll be slaughtered like animals too” Envy finished with a deadly whisper before looking behind him. “And the others? They’re coming for me” He said smugly, leaning back into his chair. Dean smirked at his cocky smile, “Maybe” He shrugged before leaning down to get in his face. “But they’re not gonna find you, cause you’ll be in hell” Dean’s words made the demon’s smug look drop.

“Someone send this son of a bitch packing” Y/N sneered as Tamara smirked, “My pleasure” She sneered, accepting the book with the incantation from Bobby. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus” Envy began shaking, groaning and grunting in his chair as he trashed around. “Omnis satanica potestas” Tamara continued reciting the exorcism, her voice filled with determination and a sense of satisfaction.

Sam, Dean, Bobby and Y/N walked out the room as Tamara continued to chant. Envy screaming his head off. “Well, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about hunting them,” Bobby told the trio. “What does that mean?” Sam asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. Bobby sighed deeply, resting his hands on his hips. “I think maybe this joker’s right. They’re gonna be hunting us and they’re not gonna quit easy”

“Great. Awesome. Fantastic” Y/N muttered sarcastically as Dean nodded. “You guys, why don’t you take Tamara and head for the hills? I’ll stay, slow them down, buy a little time” Dean offered. Sam and Y/N’s head snapped to Dean’s direction. “Fuck no” Y/N immediately protested, her eyes narrowing at her boyfriend as she shook her head. “You’re insane, Dean. Just forget about it, okay?” Sam snapped at his brother.

“They’re right.” Bobby chimed in as Dean scoffed, “They’re six of em, guys. We’re outmanned, we’re outgunned. We’ll be dead by dawn” Dean exclaimed, pointing out the obvious. “Maybe, but there’s no place to run that they won’t find us” Bobby shot back. Sam and Y/N shared a look before letting out a frustrated sigh.

Y/N clapped her hand on Sam’s shoulder before snaking her arm around his waist to the side before she turned to face Dean, wrapping her free arm around his shoulder. “Look, if we’re all going down, we’re going down together, alright?” She stated, firmly. Sam shot Dean a pleading look as he snaked his arm around Y/N’s shoulder.

Dean looked down at his girlfriend for a moment, a hint of a smirk tugged on his lips before his eyes flickered over to his brother. Both Sam and Y/N were sporting their classic puppy dog eye look. He knew there was no use in arguing with them, especially when they pull out the big guns to get their way. So instead he nodded his head in agreement and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer into his side. “Well, let’s not make it easy for them”

Envy let out one last scream as the house shook, the candles on the table blowing out. Indicating the demon was now expelled back to hell, inside, Tamara shut the book before exiting the room. “Demon’s out of the guy.” She stated. “And the guy?” Sam asked. “He didn’t make it,” Tamara said without a care in the world.

Tamara’s blunt remark made the hunters' faces harden upon hearing the news about the host’s demise. “Damn it” Y/N hissed as she looked away and leaned into Dean’s side.

Some time had passed and Y/N took the liberty of disposing of the body. She was now digging a hole in the back of Tamara’s house to bury it. Dean was outside, watching over her as she knelt by the shallow grave. His arms were crossed over his chest as his eyes were fixed on her, his sharp green eyes never leaving her form, studying her every movement. He offered to help her but she denied any help, which he respected, not wanting to push any boundaries.

She could feel his eyes on her, so she spun around, shooting him a quick thumbs up. In a way of saying, ‘I’m fine, you can go back inside now’ Dean huffed out a small chuckle. He knew she was fine. But as a man, and her man, he was protective over her. But he also knew how independent and capable she was of handling herself and this situation. So, he nodded back at her, blowing her a kiss before he reluctantly went back inside the house.

Y/N breathed out heavily before turning to face the poor guy. “I’m sorry you got caught up in this, man” She apologized to the dead host, Walter Rosen as she grunted, lifting him up gently. Y/N lifted Walter’s body, resting it over her shoulder. She tried her best to be careful, to be gentle, knowing that the man was no longer here to feel it. But she couldn’t help but wince and feel sympathy as she tried with all her strength to carry and lay him down in the shallow grave she dug for him.

Walters arm poked out from under the tarp, her brows furrowed when she saw an unfamiliar symbol etched into his arm. Almost as if it was burnt in. She knelt to take a closer look, pulling the tarp down to examine the symbol etched into the host’s arm. It was an odd-looking symbol that she had never seen before. It was almost like a cross, but with extra markings and symbols on each end. Her fingers hovered over the mark for a moment before finally touching it, her eyes narrowing as she felt a slight sting on her fingertips from the heat.

The mark was hot, but not scorching hot. It was enough to cause a slight pain in her fingertips as she touched it. Y/N quickly retracted her hand, rubbing her fingertips against her jeans before looking back at the symbol, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had never seen this mark before. It was definitely not a demon sigil. She took a mental note to mention this to the others.

Y/N took one last look at the symbol etched into Walter’s arm before covering it back up with the tarp, making sure to leave some of it free as she rose to her feet. She stood there for a moment, her brows furrowed in confusion and curiosity, wondering what the symbol could mean.

With her mind still occupied with questions about what she had just seen, she quickly dusted off her hands on her jeans, digging into her duffel bag laid right besides her. She retrieved the salt from her duffel and began salting Walter’s body. As she salted the body, something caught her eye. Something very odd this time. A blue glow omitted from under the tarp, on the side of Walter’s waist.

Y/N paused in her movement, her hand that held the salt bag hovered in the air for a moment as her head snapped in the direction of where she had seen the blue glow. Curiosity and confusion took over her as she slowly crouched down and placed the bag of salt on the ground. She slowly and gently pulled the tarp to the side, careful not to make too much noise or disturb the body as she tried to see what that blue glow was.

Upon lifting up Walter’s shirt, Y/N found a knife. Y/N let out a small gasp upon seeing the knife. She slowly reached out and picked it up, her fingers wrapping around the handle as she held it up carefully. Y/N’s eyes widened as she stared at the knife in surprise. It looked old, ancient even. But the craftsmanship of it looked amazing, almost like an heirloom.

She ran her thumb against the cold and smooth, silver blade, being mindful of the sharp edge. The blue glow of the knife’s blade was faint but noticeable enough. It was a beautiful blade, but the question was, where did it come from? And why was it glowing?

She let out an audible gasp as a weird chill ran up her arm, her own veins glowing blue. She didn’t intentionally focus her power onto the knife so the fact that it somehow connected to her, bewildered her. A million thoughts, questions, and scenarios ran through her mind as her eyes stayed glued on the glowing blue veins that now travelled up her arm. Something in her was telling her that something wasn't right with this knife.

The fact that it connected to her should've been enough to tell her that it was more than just an ordinary weapon or heirloom. But another side of her mind was telling her that it somehow found her. Her fingers curled around the handle of the knife as she glanced down at Walter's corpse. Y/N gingerly stuck it into her high leather boots before drenching his body in accelerant.

With the corpse doused in fuel, Y/N stood up and grabbed the matches from one of her jacket pockets. She struck a match, throwing it into the grave before stepping back, watching the body in the pit engulfed in flames. Once she finished setting the man’s body ablaze, she picked up her duffle bag and slung it over her shoulder, turning to head back to Tamara’s house, her mind still puzzled and intrigued by what she had just seen and experienced.

Once she stepped up the porch and into the house, she found Sam filling up flasks with holy water and Dean loading up a shotgun. The brothers seemed to have paused in their conversation as she walked in, their curious gazes landing on her when they noticed the look of despair on her face.

“Hey, sweetheart. Is everything okay?” Dean asked, concern clear in his voice as he set down the shotgun and took a step towards her. “Uh…yeah- yeah” Y/N cleared her throat, giving Dean a tight smile before tossing her duffel on a table. “Um, Sam. Can you look something up for me?” She asked her friend as she took up a paper from the table and a pen from the pencil holder. Quickly sketching out the symbol she saw on Walter’s hand.

Sam looked away from refilling the flasks after Y/N spoke to him. He furrowed his brows as he took the paper from her, his eyes studying the symbol on the paper. He looked up at her with a puzzled expression. “Where’d you see this?” Y/N leaned against the table, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she looked down at the floor. She let out a small sigh before looking up straight into Sam’s eyes and replying. “It was etched into Walter’s arm right before I burned him.”

Dean’s brows furrowed, “That’s all you saw?” He asked, having a feeling she knew more than she was letting on. Y/N’s lips pursed together as she let out a short huff, her gaze shifted to the floor for a moment before meeting his gaze again. She contemplated whether telling them about the knife or not but Dean could read her like a damn book, so there was no point in hiding it. “Actually, I found something else”

Both brothers’ gazes locked on her as she hitched one foot up. Reaching into her boot to retrieve the knife. She held it up, the ancient dark knife in its original form as she twirled it between her fingers. The blade of the knife still glowed blue and the dark iron seemed to almost absorb the light from the room, making it even darker. Sam and Dean stared at the knife in Y/N’s hands, their eyes widening in surprise and slight caution at the sight of it.

“Found it on Walter” She stated before tossing it onto the table, the iron hit the table with a loud thud, the light in it dying as soon as she didn’t have her hands on it anymore. Dean and Sam both took a closer look at the ancient-looking knife, examining its features. Dean stepped forward, picking the knife up and holding it in his hand. He turned it over, observing every detail. “The fuck is this?” The elder Winchester scoffed.

“I have no idea,” Y/N shrugged, her eyes fixed on the knife in Dean’s hand. “And when I first touched it, It “activated” my powers without me trying, shit was weird.” She made quotation marks with her fingers as she explained. “What do you mean it ‘activated’ your powers?” Sam furrowed his brows, turning to face her. “You didn’t do it intentionally?”

She shook her head as she pursed her lips, “That’s what I’m saying” She said as she crossed her arms over her chest. Sam and Dean exchanged a look at her answer. Their expression and body language showed signs of alarm and concern. They both knew better than anyone else about Y/N’s powers and how they could change the outcome of any situation.

So the fact that the knife somehow activated her powers without her intention was incredibly worrying. Before anyone can say anything else, J.B. Burnett’s ‘I Shall Not Be Moved’ started playing on the radio out of nowhere. The device turned on spontaneously by itself, startling everyone. Their heads snapped over to the small old box. The trio exchanged an alarmed look as Dean quickly snatched up his shotgun. “Here we go”

The door and windows were salted to the T, Bobby and Tamara were stationed at the back of the house while the trio readied themselves in the front. Dean and Sam took their positions by the windows and doorway, weapons at the ready. Y/N stayed behind them, positioned in the centre of the room. Her gaze was fixed on the front door, waiting for any signs of movement, any sound or feeling that would indicate the demon’s presence.

“Tamara!! Tamara!! Help me!! Please!!” The sound of Tamara’s recently deceased husband, Isaac’s, voice boomed from outside. Pleading for her help. Y/N stiffened upon hearing the voice of the dead man, her heart clenching in her chest. She could only imagine the look on Tamara’s face, knowing the sound of her husband’s voice must’ve pained her all the more.

“Tamara!!” Isaac shouted, his bloodied hand smacking across the hard wooden railing as he crawled up the steps to the porch, “I got away!! But I’m hurt bad!! I need help!!” Isaac pleaded, Tamara was sobbing and shaking in her place at the back of the house. Her hand clutching at the Palo Santo stake, “It’s not him. One of those demons is possessing his corpse” Bobby tried to drill it into her head, assuring her that whatever was calling out to her was not her husband.

Dean clenched his jaw as he listened to the demon-possessed corpse shout out for help, his grip on the shotgun tightening. He glanced back at Tamara, noticing her shaking and crying. His expression softened as he felt sympathy for her, knowing damn well how she must have felt hearing her husband’s voice. He shot a quick look at Sam and Y/N before focusing back on the door again.

Y/N bit down on her lip as she glanced at Tamara. She could understand the woman’s desperation, the desire to go out and help her “husband”. But as she continued listening to the “voice” of Isaac, she knew it wasn’t him. It was a demon, a malicious creature disguised as someone’s loved one for the sole purpose of getting to them.

The demon knocked his knuckles against the door, “Baby! Why won’t you let me in?! You left me behind back there. How could you do that?!” Tamara’s sobs grew louder as they all listened to the demon’s desperate pleas, the words cutting deep into the woman’s heart. She stumbled forwards from her spot, desperate to get to the door, until Bobby’s firm hand landed on her arm, holding her in place. “We swore at that lake in Michigan, remember? We swore we would never leave each other!”

“How did he know that?!” Tamara sobbed as Bobby kept a firm gaze on her, “Steady, Tamara. Steady, steady” Bobby warned her, caressing the heartbroken woman’s shoulder as she sobbed. “You’re just gonna leave out here? You’re just gonna let me die?” Tamara’s body trembled desperately, her entire being wanting to get to the door and let her husband in, reminding herself that it wasn’t him.

“I guess that’s what you do, dear” The demon sneered. “Like that night those things came to our house. Came for our daughter. You just let her die” Those words made Tamara snap once again, “You son of a bitch!!” She screamed as she pushed the door open, attacking the demon possessing her husband's corpse.

“Tamara, no!!” Bobby shouted as he rushed forward. But it was too late, Tamara and the demon had gone tumbling down the back porch, breaking the salt line to the back door. “You’re not ISAAC!!” She bellowed as she drove the Palo Santo stake into his chest. With Tamara outside and the five demons storming into the house, there was nothing holding them back from attacking the group inside anymore.

As the larger one headed straight towards Bobby, a nasty smirk on his face. He paced towards the veteran hunter, who wore a feigned look of fear. The demon stopped in his tracks when he realized he had been stuck in a devil's trap. Bobby chuckled maliciously as the demon looked down at him fearfully, “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son” He smirked as he got out his book with the incantation.

While Bobby was exorcizing Gluttony, Dean had been caught up with his own demon. A petite blonde woman, dressed quite provocatively. His eyes widened as he tried to douse her in holy water but she caught his hand midair, a lustful smirk plastered across her face as she backed him up into a corner. “I suppose you’re Lust,” Dean pointed out, visibly gulping.

Lust chuckled, “Oh, baby, I’m whatever you want me to be.” She purred, her voice dripping with sultry and desire as she stepped closer to Dean. She moved so close that her body was flushed against his, her hand pressed against his bare skin at the neckline of his shirt. He tried to toss her off but the brute raw strength from the demon overpowered him.

“Yeah, alright. Just stay back!” Dean grunted as he tried to fight off of her grip. “Or what?” Lust challenged, running her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. The demon’s touch made Dean feel a sudden desire to kiss her, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of even laying eyes on someone who wasn’t Y/N. He grinned with relief when he saw the love of his life appear behind the woman.

Y/N snuck up behind Lust, her eyes focused on the demons back. She gripped the handle of the old knife tightly in her hand, her fingers digging into the smooth metal. Lust glanced behind her, sensing the presence of something or someone. Before she could turn around, Y/N jammed the blade right into the demon’s back. She twisted the knife and pulled it free, causing the demon to screech out in pain.

“He’s got a crazy girlfriend who’s gonna kill you, bitch!” Lust spun around to face Y/N, her eyes fixed on her. She winced in pain and anger as she clutched her fresh knife wound, her eyes narrowing at the sight of Y/N. “You little—“ She growled, her eyes glowing black, she screamed as she smoked out through the host’s mouth.

Y/N raised the hand that held the glowing blue knife, looking at it as it trembled. The power of the knife was definitely making itself known. Dean pushed the demon's body aside and made his way over to Y/N, “You okay?” He asked, his eyes scanning over her for any signs of injury. She nodded frantically as she rushed over to the host’s body to check if she had caused the death of the innocent girl the demon was wearing.

Her jealousy of seeing the demon touch Dean had gotten the better of her. Something she had never done before. It was unlike her and it scared her, a slight wave of relief filled her when she saw that the girl’s body had already had a bullet wound right to her heart.

Dean watched her from where he stood, noticing how she checked the body for any signs of life. He knew she was a bit out of character, but he understood why. Anyone in Y/N’s shoes would be. As she confirmed that the girl was already dead, his gaze softened more as he moved over to her, “Hey,” He said softly, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder, “It’s alright, you didn’t kill her.”

“She was already dead” He reminded her gently, his voice soothing and reassuring. “You didn’t do anything wrong, princess.” He took the knife from her hand and examined it. He studied the markings carved into the blade, running his thumb carefully over the carvings. “This thing is giving your powers a boost,” He said, looking back up at her. “Are you sure you’re still in control of yourself?” He asked, his concern still present in his features and tone.

Y/N looked offended as Dean asked this, she was ready to snap at him for his question when the house shook, having no time to answer him. “Sammy!” They shouted in unison, the sound of a door blasting down. The door to the room Sam was in. They darted towards the room, adrenaline pumping through their veins at the thought of the younger Winchester being attacked.

They stumbled into the room, seeing the broken door on the floor. Sam was surrounded by three demons who had meticulously avoided the devils trap. “Come on, you really think something like that is gonna fool someone like me. I mean, me?” The demon smirked at Sam as Dean and Y/N emerged behind them. “Let me guess, you’re Pride” Sam sneered at the demon.

The demon smirked, spinning around to face Dean and Y/N as Sam darted over to them, standing at one side of Y/N while Dean stood on the other. The demon raised his hand to the ceiling with a smirk, causing the devil's trap at the top of the ceiling to be broken into nothing but rubble. “Mm. The root of all sin. And you two, are Sam and Dean Winchester. And you…are little miss Y/N L/N”

Y/N bristled immediately, her eyes narrowing at the demon with defiance. “Those are our names, don’t wear it out now, honey” She snarked, her lip curling in annoyance at the demon’s tone as Sam’s face dropped and Dean’s jaw clenched.

The demon chuckled and stepped closer to them. “That’s right, I’ve heard of you. We’ve all heard of you two” He gestured between Sam and Y/N. The prodigies. The Boy and Girl King and Queen.” Sam raised an eyebrow in surprise, his eyes fixing on the demon. “I’m sorry, what?” He asked, his tone puzzled and alarmed as he looked between Y/N and the demon.

Then shooting a questioning look in Dean’s direction. Y/N was visibly taken aback, her breathing becoming shaky as her eyes darted around. The word ‘King and Queen’ stuck in her mind. “Looking at you two now, I gotta say, don’t believe the hype.” Pride snapped, “You think I’m gonna bow to cut-rate, piss-poor humans like you? I have my Pride after all”

The air was thick with tension as the demon taunted them, his words cutting through the silence and adding to the already palpable stress in the room. Dean was ready to lunge at the demon, to hell with whether he died or not. But Y/N snatched him by his arm, yanking him back harshly. Looking at him as if he were bonkers for attempting to lunge at a demon completely unarmed. Her fingers gripping tightly at the old blue glowing knife between her fingers.

“Relax, sweetie,” She hissed, her voice firm and low, her gaze locked on him intently. He opened his mouth to reply, but she silenced him with a cold glare, silently warning him to shut his damn gob. The demon chuckled again, his eyes gleaming with malice as he watched them.

“Now with your yellow-eyed friend dead. I guess I don’t really have to do a damn thing, do I?” Pride smirked, whistling for his two friends to begin attacking the trio. Y/N, Sam, and Dean jumped into action, ready to take on the three demons. Pride simply stood back as he watched his companions attack. “Have fun, kids” He drawled, a smirk resting on his face as he observed the fight.

Y/N clutched the knife as Sam and Dean dodged attacks from the two demons, she aimed for Pride with her own. Pride dodged the knife easily, his reflexes quick and agile. “Ah-ah-ah, I’m not playing that game with you, little miss” He sneered as he evaded her every attempt to stab him, enjoying the frustration on her face.

Y/N growled, ducking to swiftly swing her feet around, knocking Pride off of his own feet. Unbeknownst, Dean was tossed into the wall by another demon and Y/N straddled Pride and dug the knife into the demon's shoulder. Pride screamed in pain, reeling back from Y/N as she pressed the knife into his shoulder. The pain was excruciating, the holy power behind the weapon was more than he imagined.

“You little—“ He grunted, his eyes narrowed as he clutched his wounded shoulder. The demon began smoking out through its host’s mouth as Dean recovered from being thrown into the brick wall. He staggered to his feet, rubbing his head and wincing at the pain. His eyes widened at the sight of his girlfriend with a knife in the demonic shoulder of a powerful and ancient demon, now limp in her arms.

He swiftly dodged a punch from the demon when suddenly, an familiar blonde woman (Ruby) appeared through the door. Wielding a very similar knife to the one Y/N had found, Y/N had pushed herself up from her feet, only to be shoved back down by Ruby.

As Y/N stumbled to the floor, her head spun, causing her vision to blur for a moment from the immense power the knife was taking out from her. It took a few seconds to clear, once her vision cleared, she looked around, her heart stopping when she saw Sam and Dean both trapped, pinned against the walls by the two other demons.

“NO!!” She cried out, only for Ruby to stab one of the demons, holding up Sam from behind, the corpse lighting up a light orange color from the stab wound and eyes. Dropping limp to the floor. She quickly swung around and stabbed the demon holding Dean up through the back of its neck, retracting her blade from its neck. Both Winchester brothers gripped their throats as air filled their lungs back up.

Y/N scrambled back into her feet, everything happened so fast she barely regained herself, her breath coming in and out rapidly as she rushed over to the brothers. Her hands rested on both their cheeks. “Who the fuck are you?” Dean spat at the blonde woman. “I’m the girl that just saved your asses” Ruby smirked, The two brothers shared a look at the blunt and harsh response, Sam nodded reluctantly at the girl.

“Yeah, fair enough,” He muttered. Y/N was torn between being grateful that she saved the brothers and being suspicious of this random girl until realization dawned on her. “You’re the chick that was following us earlier” Y/N pointed out with a hard expression, now remembering where she knew her face from. Ruby’s cocked a brow and her eyes flickered down to the still glowing ancient knife in Y/N’s hand.

“I’d be careful with that if I were you, Y/N” She smirked, gesturing to the knife before shooting Sam a wink. “See you around, Sam” Y/N’s expression faltered, the comment about the knife was odd to her, especially since Ruby knew her name. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, gripping the knife tighter in her fingers.

“How did you—“ Y/N gasped. Sam raised an eyebrow as the girl left, an odd look on his face. He ran after her, shouting, “Wait!” but she had already disappeared. Y/N’s eyes snapped over to Dean, who was nursing a possibly concussed head. Dean rubbed the back of his head, groaning as he leaned against the wall, his face pale and sweat beading from his forehead. “Ah, man, this hurts like a mother…” He muttered, his vision still a bit hazy.

Y/N stepped towards him, her eyes filled with worry, “Come on, sit down” She ordered, moving closer to support him as she gently guided him towards the wall at his back, he slumped against the wall with a thud. “It’s okay, baby. It’s over”

She pulled his head to her chest, Dean made no attempt to unbury his head from between her boobs as her eyes remained on the deceased bodies. The knife she had somehow..exorcised two demons but the one that girl had full on killed them. Her mind swirled with the new revelation as Dean relaxed against her chest.

Dean let out a low, satisfied hum as he buried his face between her chest, his nose nuzzling between them as he inhaled her scent. “Mmm, you’re comfy” Dean mumbled, his voice muffled. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as he leaned in closer to her, relishing in the warmth he felt from her body. The feeling of her body against his helping to ease his pounding head.

____________________________________________

The next morning, Sam, Dean and Y/N laid the bodies of the four of the fallen hosts that were possessed by the seven deadly sins in a bigger shallow grave. They had examined the bodies to see the symbol Y/N found on Walter was etched into everyone else’s arms.

Their eyes glanced over to Tamara in the distance, standing by a wooden pier with her husband’s body wrapped up in a white sheet. Flames engulfed him as she gave him a proper Hunter’s Funeral. A final farewell to her lost loved one.

“Think she’s gonna be alright” Sam asked no one in particular after salting the bodies and drenching them in accelerant. “No, definitely not” Y/N answered honestly. Her heart gave out to the fellow female hunter, having lost her husband. Her mind reminded her that the clock was ticking with Dean as she clenched her fists. Bobby paced over to them with a look of frustration.

“Well, you look like hell warmed over” Dean commented, “Well, you try exorcising all night, see how you feel” Bobby grunted, rubbing his chin. “Any survivors, Bobby?” Sam asked. “Just the heavy guy, he’ll make it. Lifetime of therapy bills, ahead, but still” Bobby sighed. “Well, it’s more than you can say for these poor bastards,” Dean muttered, gesturing to the four corpses.

Y/N frowned as she laid eyes on them all, a feeling of dread building up when she looked at the two that were possessed by Pride and Lust. She had no idea what that knife she found on Walter or the one Ruby had done and it gnawed at her. “Bobby, these knives…what kind of blade can exorcise a demon? Much less…kill one?” Y/N asked.

“Yesterday I’d have said there was no such thing” Bobby shrugged as Y/N took the old knife out of her boot. Bobby gave the weapon a good once over, his eyes narrowing at it in thought. “I’ve never seen a knife like this before” He said, his voice low. He ran his thumb over the markings on the blade, his face contorting in thought.

“How the hell did you even get this, anyway?” Bobby asked, looking over at Y/N curiously. She shifted uncomfortably, her hands curling into fists as she avoided eye contact with him. All she wanted was to get her hands back on that knife, to have it close by her side. “Walter, the guy Envy possessed. Found it on his body when I was gonna burn him, it just started glowing” She told him firmly, itching to take it back from Bobby.

“And you took it?” Bobby raised an eyebrow, his voice stern. He knew that taking random items, especially magical or cursed ones, was risky. But she had already taken it, that was done and over with. “Well excuse me, it’s not like I could exactly ignore it!” Y/N defended. Bobby didn’t seem convinced by her explanation, his face still stern. “You should’ve left it alone.” He scolded, shaking his head. “You have no idea what this thing is”

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as Sam and Dean pursed their lips. Not butting into the reprimanding Bobby was fishing out to her. “Well it saved our asses, twice. So I’m gonna hang onto it, thank you very much” She snapped, snatching it back from Bobby. This surprised everyone, her snappiness was a trait they were used to but out of nowhere and uncalled for? It raised alarms in their heads.

Bobby’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, surprised by her outburst. He’d never seen Y/N so defensive or stubborn about a simple object. Sam and Dean shared a concerned look, both of them knowing how out of character she was behaving.

Bobby gaped at her snatching back the knife, his eyes wide in surprise. “What’s going on?” Bobby started, his voice serious and sharp, Y/N glared at him as he glanced over at Sam and Dean, shooting them a look that said, ‘Do something!’

Sam nodded in agreement, his expression filled with concern. “Y/N/N, maybe we should listen to Bobby on this one.” He chimed in, his voice soft and reassuring, trying to ease the tension. Dean gently took Y/N’s hand into his, attempting to pry the knife away. “How ‘bout we let Bobby do his research on it and if it’s proven to be safe, he’ll give it back to you, huh?” Dean suggested, pleading with his eyes.

Y/N let out an impatient growl. She couldn’t explain why, but the thought of giving the knife away made her stomach twist and churn. She looked at Dean, her eyes flashing with slight annoyance but it quickly softened when she made eye contact with him. “Fine” She huffed, pulling her hand back, and keeping the knife clutched in her grip, the markings on the blade glowed softly in protest.

Y/N begrudgingly dropped it into Bobby’s outstretched hand. Bobby took the knife, handling it with care as the glow died. He shot Y/N a warning glare, “You’d better hope this thing ain’t evil” He stated before stuffing it into his jacket pocket. Y/N was itching again to take it back from Bobby but once it was out of her possession, she calmed down subsequently.

“I’ve got a troubling question, who the fuck was that blonde chick and how could she fight better than us?” Dean asked out of the blue. Bobby shrugged, his expression contemplative. “Beats me, though it sounds like she knew what she was doing. Could be another hunter.” He mused as Sam and Dean shared a glance, both of them having the same thought.

Sam buried his hands into his pockets, “I’ve got a troubling one too.” He said, “What’s that?” Y/N asked. “If we let out the seven deadly sins, what else did we let out?” Dean and Y/N shared a look at Sam’s question, the elder Winchester twirling matchsticks between his fingers. “You’re right, that is troubling” He said grimly as he struck the match, lighting the paper box aflame before tossing it onto the bodies infront of them.

“We might've let out more than just the sins” Bobby muttered, his eyes narrowing as the bodies of the two flames engulfed bodies. “And heaven knows what else got out of there.” Y/N took a deep breath, her mind running away with the possibilities. The idea of something even worse than the sin’s being let loose was a chilling thought. “Amen,” She sighed.

The smoke had died down and the bodies were now fully burnt, Tamara was getting ready to leave. Her duffel tossed over her shoulder, “See you gents around” She greeted the men before nodding at Y/N, “Tamara?” Y/N stopped her. Tamara stopped, a curious look on her face as she turned to look at Y/N.

“Yeah?” Tamara asked, her eyes flickered from Y/N to the three men behind her. “The world just got a lot scarier. Be careful, hun” She said gently to the other female hunter. Tamara's lips curled into a small smile at y/n’s words, but a look of sorrow was still in her eyes, “You too, darling” She replied, her eyes flickering to the boys before turning to leave.

She jumped into her car, starting it up. Y/N stood next to the boys as they all watched Tamara drive off. A sense of uneasiness fell over them, the fear of something else being unleashed hung heavily in the air. “Keep your eyes peeled for omens. I’ll do the same and I’ll look into that knife of yours” Bobby said to the trio firmly. “You got it” Dean responded as Sam and Y/N nodded curtly.

Bobby began making his way to his truck, only to be stopped by Sam. “Hey, Bobby?” The veteran Hunter faced the younger ones, the three exchanging looks. “We can win this war, right?” Sam asked, a tinge of hope in his voice but when Bobby’s head dropped and he didn’t come up with an answer. All hope died. “Catch you kids on the next one”

With that, Bobby Singer hopped into his truck. The three watched as Bobby drove off, his truck rumbling off into the distance and out of sight. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket. “So, where to?” Dean asked eagerly, clapping his hands.

“Uh…I don’t know, me and Sam were thinking Louisiana, maybe” Y/N told him as they walked over to the Impala and Harley. “Little early for Mardi Gras, ain’t it?” Dean mused as he raised a brow at them. Sam and Y/N shrugged, “Yeah, listen, we were to Tamara and she mentioned this Hoodoo priestess that might be able to help us out with, ya know, with your…demon deal” Sam said as he looked away.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the two, “Nah” He simply said. Y/N and Sam shared an annoyed look, both of them tired of Dean's refusal for help. “Nah? What does that mean ‘nah?’” Y/N asked, her tone slightly irritated. “Sam, Y/N. No Hoodoo spell’s gonna break this deal, alright? It’s a goose chase” Dean stated.

“Yeah, but we don’t know that,” Sam protested. “Yes, we do. Forget it, she can’t help” Dean shook his head, dismissing the subject, “Look, it’s worth a tr-” Y/N tried to protest but Dean cut her off. “We’re not going and that’s that”

“What about Reno? Huh?” Dean smiled, causing Sam and Y/N's patience to wear thin, their brow furrowing in anger. Y/N’s fists clenched by her sides as her eyes fixed on him. “Why do you have to be such a stubborn moron?” She hissed, her tone sharp. “Dean, we have been bending over backwards trying to be nice to you and…I don’t care anymore” Sam snapped.

“Well, that didn’t last long” Dean smirked, knowing his brother and girlfriend would’ve snapped in a matter of time. Y/N took longer than he initially anticipated, however. “Yeah, well, you know what? We’ve been busting our ass, trying to keep you alive, Dean. And you act like you couldn’t care less!” Y/N exclaimed, gesturing between her and Sam.

“What? You got some kind of death wish or something?” Sam added, equally frustrated. Dean’s amused expression was still present on his face, “No, it’s not like that” He said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Then what’s it like, charming?” Y/N asked exasperated. “Sam. Y/N-”

“Please, tell us” Sam pleaded as Dean looked up at them, his eyes filled with pain. “If we trap the crossroads demon, trick it, try to welsh our way out of the deal in anyways, you die and they kill you too” Dean stated firmly, pointing to Y/N and then to Sam. “Okay? You two die. Those are the terms. There’s no way out”

Sam and Y/N’s faces fell at Dean’s explanation. The realization that they were putting themselves and each other in danger just to keep Dean alive hit them hard. Y/N’s lips parted as she tried to find the right words to say but came up short.

“And if you two idiots try to find a way, so help me God, I’m gonna stop you” Dean threatened them, lovingly of course. Sam’s face morphed into one of fear, his heart dropping into the palm of his hands as tears welled up in his eyes. The two scoffed painfully as Y/N ran her hand over her mouth in frustration.

“How could you make that deal, Dean?” Y/N whispered, shaking her head as she tried to stop tears from rolling down her cheeks again. Dean’s face softened, his lips tugging up into a pained smile as Y/N’s tears cascaded down her face. He stepped forward and brought Y/N into his arms, his hand caressing her head soothingly, “You wanna know why?” He asked softly.

“Because I couldn’t live with you dead. Couldn’t do it” He answered softly, her eyes snapped up to meet him at his words. “So what? Now I live and you die?” She scoffed, gently pushing him off. Dean’s hands fell to his sides but his eyes remained on Y/N. “That’s the general idea, baby” He replied in a somber tone before turning to walk away.

“Yeah, well, you’re a hypocrite, Dean” Sam shot back, following after his brother. “How did you feel when Dad sold his soul for you? Because we were there, we remember. You were twisted and broken. And now you go and do the same thing. To Y/N.” Dean’s face hardened, his jaw clenching tightly as the memories of his father sacrificing himself for him flooded his mind.

A wave of guilt washed over him, “That’s different” He muttered under his breath. “No, it was selfish. I love you but it was selfish” Y/N blurted out. Dean’s head snapped in Y/N’s direction, her declaration taking him by surprise. But it hurt most knowing that it was the truth, he couldn’t argue there. “Yeah, you’re right, it was selfish, but I’m okay with that”

Sam and Y/N both stared at him in disbelief, their eyes narrowing, “I’m not” Y/N said, clenching her jaw. “Tough” Dean shot back, mimicking her expression. “After everything I’ve done for our families, I think I’m entitled” Sam’s jaw dropped at his brother’s words. “You think you’re entitled?” Sam echoed Dean’s words, his voice filled with anger.

“You’re not entitled to anything, Dean” Y/N retorted, her tone firm. “You think you can just sacrifice yourself and we’ll be fine?” Dean sighed heavily, “Truth is, I’m tired guys. And- I don’t know. It’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel” He continued, rambling on.

“That hellfire, Dean.” Sam and Y/N deadpanned in unison, their tones harsh. Usually they would laugh about making a witty comeback in unison but right now, there was nothing funny about this conversation. “Eh. Well, whatever.” Dean waved them off.

“You’re both alive. I feel good for the first time in a long time….I got a year to live, guys. I’d like to make the most of it. So why don’t you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little hell? Huh?” With that, Dean unlocked the door to the Impala. Sam and Y/N both remained speechless, their mouths agape as they watched Dean get in the car.

The audacity this man had, was mind-boggling to say the least. It was infuriating. “You’re fucking unbelievable” Sam scoffed as Dean reached over to Y/N’s motorcycle, picking up the helmet before tossing it over to her. Y/N caught the helmet with a grumble as Dean snarked back, “Very true” She glared at him before getting her bike ready to go.

She hated knowing that the man she loved was essentially giving up on life, that he didn’t even care about his impending doom. It killed her.

She swung her leg over her bike as Sam hopped into the passenger seat, placing the helmet on her head before firing up the engine. As she did, Dean started up the Impala, the engine roaring to life. She spared one last frustrated look at him before they both headed off down the road, leaving Tamara’s house behind.

Other than Dean’s impending demise to hell, what was really boggling Y/N’s mind was where the hell did that knife come from and when the hell was she gonna get it back?

____________________________________________

Authors Note: Authors Note: A verrryyyy long overdue chapter has come to an end but that just means the beginning to a new season! Thank you once again for being so supportive, sweet and loving to me within this past month. I’ll forever be grateful for the lovely family I’ve found in this journey.

I hope you guys enjoyed! Feel free to ask any questions, tell me what you loved and hated (I’ll try my best not to spoil my plans lol) and a special thanks to my darling @karrah89 for helping me with a certain idea for this season❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258 @elite4cekalyma

@ladykitana90 @strawberrykiwisdogog @barnes70stark

See you in the next one! (Coming sooner than expected with a little surprise hehe)

Xoxo

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean and sam #sam and dean #supernatural fandom #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you

64 notes · View notes