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fushitoru · 1 month

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chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers,

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor.

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write:

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo.

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation. Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense.

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions.

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1.

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet.

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer.

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes.

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue.

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.”

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest.

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

TAGLIST

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@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

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@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

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ilguna · 10 months

Text

☼ whisper of the beast (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; on your own, you try to find your boyfriend in the arena. instead, you run across something much, much worse.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehhh gore, blood mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great."

—

There is something seriously horrifying going on with this arena, and each time you think you get close to figuring it out—it changes.

The only consistent factor in each of your theories is the jungle, and that’s because it’s the root of the fear. When you travel through the greenery for long periods of time, a creeping feeling grows on you, one that you can’t shake unless you make your way back to the beach.

Which is far from safe, itself. Especially since there are nine other tributes alive here, roaming around, hunting for lone victors. For it only being the second day of the Games, it’s remarkable that so many are dead, already. With six of them dying today, alone.

It makes you think that you’re being overly paranoid, because you’re out here by yourself. It’s a completely new experience to you. The first time around, during your Games, the Career alliance lasted up until the very last second. You never had to keep an eye out for yourself, because you had others with you that were doing the same thing.

You were under the impression that you’d be doing that for these Games, too, but nothing has gone according to plan. You and Finnick had a long discussion the night of the interviews on what to expect regarding corralling Katniss and Peeta into the alliance. Neither of you thought it would be easy. Worst case scenario, you’d grab one and he’d get the other, and the two of you would meet up somewhere in the middle.

The Gamemakers really must have it out for you this year, determined to keep you and Finnick apart. That’s why they decided to put you on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, keeping you from seeing Finnick. While also putting Brutus in your water wedge, to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

By the time you fought off Brutus and got to the Cornucopia, all three of them were gone. The only option you had left was to wait for Johanna and Blight, but with them still in the water and the Careers coming to take over, you had to leave. There wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Since, you’ve spent your time traveling through the jungle and taking the occasional rest on the beach, in the hopes that you’ll run across your boyfriend. The search was casual yesterday, as you were more worried about finding drinking water than the rebel alliance. Now that the numbers are spiraling, you know that the rescue plan is right around the corner.

You’re confident enough to say that they won’t do it today, but it’s got to be tomorrow or the day after. They won’t have Katniss and Peeta openly in danger like this for longer than they have to. You likely have less than forty-eight hours to find them, or else you’ll get trapped in here and taken by the Capitol.

You would say that you wish you had a general idea on which direction they went in yesterday, but it probably won’t make much of a difference. With the amount of people dying in these trees, you’re sure Finnick is directing them the opposite way, just in case.

It’s another reason why you can’t stand to be in the jungle for long periods of time. From what you’ve gathered, at least half of the tributes that have died today so far, have come from somewhere in the trees. It makes you think that something is out here, and it’s more than just a rogue tribute.

In fact, it would make more sense for it to be a mutt of some kind. In the last Quarter Quell, they were everywhere. There was not a single animal that a tribute could trust to be friendly. On top of that, there were aspects of the arena that took them by surprise.

It appeared to be the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Cornucopia was in the middle of a vibrantly green meadow, the sky a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds. In the distance, there was a snow capped mountain, one that looked straight out of a picture book. On the other side, a healthy forest with plants you couldn’t name.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. The mountain was revealed to be a deadly volcano, the plants were poisonous, the water was infected with a disease, the insects stung and the flowers could kill when inhaled too closely. Everything that was placed in that arena was working against them.

Who’s to say it’s not the same for this one?

You pause next to a nearby tree to rest your feet, because they’re throbbing in your shoes. You lift one, stretching your thigh, feeling the immediate relief that comes with being off the foot. After a minute, you switch, but it doesn’t feel as good this time around.

When you reach up to run a hand through your hair to smooth it back, you find that your scalp is wet, soaked from sweating so much. It feels much hotter today than it was yesterday, like the Gamemakers are trying to boil you alive. It’s brutal enough being in here, do they really need to make it any worse?

You dip your head, eyes closed while you take a deep breath, sighing it out. You return to walking, paying attention to where you place your feet.

It might make more sense for you to go down to the beach and wait for Finnick, Katniss and Peeta to show up. The issue is that you’re not willing to take the risk of the Careers spotting you while you’re down there. The four of them could easily get you pinned down. You’ll be dead before you can call for help.

A branch rustling behind you makes your next step stutter. Your eyes widen, as you slowly look across the fern in front of you, to the left of your vision. With sensitive ears, you adjust the spear in your hand, turning your body halfway to look behind you, at the tree you were just standing at.

There’s nothing.

You take a minute to search the trees around you, backtracking to get a better look. Even if it’s just a critter, you want to know. If there’s living animals out here, that means there’s a water source—and you won’t have to depend on your sponsors to keep you hydrated.

There’s not a trace. At least, that’s what you think, until your eyes catch the hoof print in the mud. Your face contorts, you drop into a crouch to get closer, curious on what could’ve made a mark like this. As far as your knowledge on the jungle goes, there shouldn’t be anything that could leave this behind.

The goosebumps that crawl up your arms are involuntary, stomach dropping. The safety blanket that the jungle had been providing seconds ago, is gone now. There’s something in here with you, and it was smart enough to run when it made noise.

You raise your head, thinking about the best way to handle this situation, when your heart seizes in your chest.

What the fuck is that.

In one fluid movement, you jump to your feet, turning in the direction of the beach, and beginning to sprint down the slope. A screech cuts through the previously quiet air, piercing your ears enough to make you wince at the pitch.

And then you can hear it galloping behind you, hands and feet pounding against the spongy jungle ground. A scream rises in your throat, terrified to look behind you to see how fast this thing actually is.

You take the chance when you swing around a tree, stealing a glance over your shoulder.

Whatever it is, it’s demonic.

You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s coming at you on all fours, there’s hooves where its feet should be, with long and pointed nails on its fingers. Its fur is so black that you can’t make out where its eyes are, or if it has any skin exposed at all. It’s a beast straight out of one of your nightmares.

It isn’t fast by any means, but it’s not slow, either.

You can hear it tearing up a path behind you, trampling through the bushes, ripping bark off trees. As the path between the trees narrows, the jungle becomes more condensed. You hear less of it coming in contact with the ground, thumping replacing the noise.

Until it stops altogether.

Your instincts take over, jerking to the right, shoulder slamming into the tree. You watch in silence as the beast flies by where you were a second ago, claws out and ready to latch on. It comes into contact with the ground about ten feet away, head whipping unnaturally to see over its shoulder.

“No, no!” You let out, beginning to weave through the trees.

A snarl rips through its throat at the idea of you outsmarting it. It’s coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do besides run for your life and dodge it each time it tries to attack.

You play this game for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes. You make it half a mile down the slope, knowing that the beach can’t be that far away from where you are, when you realize that it’s gone. The monster that has been chasing you has given up.

You lean over your knees, mouth watering, throat beginning to close. As you gasp for air, your body tries to expel some of the heat by making you sweat, but all that’s doing is making you sick. You think you might throw up.

Right as you’ve come to terms with losing all the water and food in your body, spit falling from your mouth in long strings, a shadow on the ground grows larger. Your face twists, thinking that something must be falling, like a leaf.

It hits you, literally, flattening you against the ground, head hitting the dirt. It digs in, nails cutting through skin as it tears through your back and arms, shredding your jumpsuit. A scream leaves your lips, a white hot and blinding pain smothering you all at once.

Your hand tightens around the spear, cheek against Earth as the beast presses into your shoulders, keeping you from moving. Still, with the small amount of mobility you have, you swing the head of the spear up, toward yourself, narrowly missing your left shoulder.

It lodges into the beast, causing it to roar in pain. You shove the pole further back, hoping that it pushes into its body deeper. The weight on your shoulders disappears, you can hear it stumbling away.

In the window you have, you get back to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain your entire backside is in. You just need to make it to the beach, it’s not that far away, you’ve covered this distance in your sleep before. It’s harder to do, though, when every hard step you take makes you grit your teeth to keep from crying out.

The beast is catching up with you, recovering from its wound. It’s faster than you are, and it’s completely disregarding everything in its path. Nothing can slow it down. You can see the golden sand through the trees, you’re almost there.

A body jumps out from behind a bush, making you run into it. For a moment, you’re sure that it’s an exact replica of the monster behind you, but once you realize that you’re staring at another tribute jumpsuit, the panic subsides. But only for a second.

“Move!” You shriek, trying to get around him. He grabs the sides of your arms, holding you there.

You look up, finding that you’re standing face to face with the male tribute from Ten—someone who is not part of the rebel alliance, and doesn’t care whether or not you make it out alive. When you glance over your shoulder, you can see that the beast is getting closer. It’s not going to stop until it gets its hands on somebody.

And it won’t be you.

The only choice you have is to sacrifice him, so that’s exactly what you do. You jerk him around, switching places with him, forcing his back to the beast. His eyes widen, mouth opening to say something, when you pull back from him, lifting your leg to kick him in the chest.

The beast takes him gratefully, landing on his back. He stumbles forward, struggling under the weight of the beast. You watch in horror as its jaws unhinge, revealing razor sharp teeth. It throws its head back, before whipping forward, mouth securing around the tribute’s neck.

And with no resistance, he rips out a chunk of the flesh. A spray of blood hits you in the face, and it coats the jungle floor. You back away with wide eyes, watching as Ten’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, body collapsing in the dirt beneath the beast.

A cannon fires.

You turn, making the final push for the beach before it can come after you, too.

The moment your feet hit the sand, it begins to drag you down, keeping you from running as far away as your mind is screaming for you to go. You make it a few feet before landing on your hands and knees, sucking in sharp breaths and letting them out aggressively.

That was almost you. That could’ve been you.

You try to crawl, hands forming in fists in the sand, tears falling from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” You hear. There’s a headache forming, black spots coming to eat away at the corners of your vision. “(Y/n), hey.”

A hand touching your lower back makes you swing a hand up to get them off. Your wrist is caught, eyes meeting Finnick’s, finding him worried.

“You’re okay, honey. I’m right here.” He pulls at your elbow to make you sit up on your knees.

You grab onto his shoulder, struggling to breathe, “It—it… The—”

Finnick takes your hand placing it against his chest. “Follow me.” He takes a deep breath, you try to follow, stuttering. He blows it out, you sob. “Come on, (Y/n). Just keep breathing. In and out.” You mimic his breaths, allowing them to even out. “You’re doing great.”

“Finnick.” You cry, head falling forward.

He cups your face with both hands, lifting your head. He’s only a couple inches away from you. “You’re safe with me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s in there?”

You look away, eyes too intense to stare into. “A monster.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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redflagshipwriter · 2 months

Text

Fast Car Three (of four)

masterpost

“Why would I ever need help from Victor?” Danny scrunched up his brow and puzzled aloud after his passenger got out. He didn't mean to be rude but he was genuinely confused. Vic seemed nice enough, but he was kinda delicate, wasn't he? He was scared of Batman. What for? He was just some guy who was so risk-averse that he wore a motorcycle helmet out in public. He probably held the world's record for diagnosed anxiety disorders or something.

‘I’m lucky he's so reactive,’ Danny chided himself not to be ungrateful. ‘If he wasn't, like, hyper-vigilant I might have had to talk to Batman. Horrific.’

He shuddered at the thought. He had planned to work a little more, but Danny decided to go back home and rest for a bit. His nerves were a little shot after the excitement of the morning.

Oh, right. He hadn't checked what his tip was yet. Danny unfolded the bills and his eyes bugged out. “This is fifty dollars,” he said incredulously. “He paid me fifty dollars to take him like 10 blocks, with a 50 block detour.”

Was Victor, like, okay? Danny cast a dubious look back in his rearview mirror and caught the barest glance of Victor's ridiculously jacked form disappearing into one of the murder warehouses. What a guy. Why'd he do-

“He was hitting on me?” Danny's voice reached a whistle pitch. Ah! Ah!!! Holy shit. What the hell? His face burnt red and he floored it back to his apartment complex, trying to get his heart rate under control.

It was so obvious in retrospect! The weird awkward pauses in conversation! The huge tips! Asking for his number!

Danny pulled to a stop at a yellow light rather than run it explicitly so that he could bang his head against the steering wheel.

“I don't even know if he's hot,” Danny wailed. Instantly he knew it was a lie. He didn't know what Victor’s face looked like. He didn't remember what the photo had looked like anymore and the information was long gone. But he knew that Victor was tall, fit as fuck, and had really nice hands.

Danny bit his lip and howled sadly. It helped, a little. He stole a glance at the receipt with Victor's phone number on it. He couldn't help but memorize the number.

“I'm not going to call,” Danny told himself. Even if it was flattering. Victor might be a sketchy guy! Only sketchy people were out at the hours Danny worked. Danny couldn't afford association with anyone like that because he needed the authorities to never ever look at him.

Also, and probably more importantly: you can't go to medical school if you have any kind of criminal record. If Danny was going to be Doctor Fenton the fourth and be able to provide his and Ellie's medical care, he needed to be a model citizen. He couldn’t trust that Vic would keep him out of whatever weird shit he was involved in.

Well. It wasn't like he was complicit in anything. Danny parked his beloved shitty car in the garage and took the stairs up to his apartment. He opened the door, saw Batman in his kitchen, and closed the door.

“Fuck.”

Danny turned intangible and dropped like a rock through the floors. He was back in the driver's seat in less than 5 seconds. He turned it on and called Victor with one hand, because he'd just gotten the guy's number and he didn't exactly know a lot of Gothamites. “Hey, what do I do if Batman is in my apartment?” He said as soon as it connected. He turned the car on and peeled out onto the street.

“Wha- move, I guess. Is he there for fucking real?” Victor's electronic voice somehow managed to come across incredulous. “You probably shouldn't go back there. You're in your car?” A horn honked in the background. “You're faster,” Victor said. His confidence gave Danny a little. “I'll send you my gps point. Come to me and we can strategize how to get him off your tail.”

Danny swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, and violently repressed the part of him asking why this nervous ass Gothamite would know any better than he did. At least Victor was a local. His phone pinged and he opened up the address. “Got it.”

“See you soon.” Victor hung up.

Danny burnt rubber out of there, heart all the way up in his throat. Why was Batman after him? What did he know? He gasped for air, feeling like he was choking. He needed to be normal. He needed to- to get his degree and get his career and never ever have a whole fucking militaristic brancho of the government after him. He was one guy. When he was 14 he'd thought it was a funny game and the GIW were a bunch of chumps. But they were a bunch of chumps with money, weapons, and numbers. He couldn't afford to fuck with them. The fact that his parents gritted their teeth through associating with the GIW was the only thing that kept suspicion off of Danny.

He cycled through a panic attack and then into anger. What the hell, dude? Danny got that Batman had a bee up his ass about metahumans “in his city” (like he fucking owned it??) but Danny wasn't causing crime or fighting it. He was going to classes and trying to survive. Batman had no right to get involved in his business.

He was steaming mad by the time he pulled up to where Victor was waiting for him. Victor hauled open an old style garage door and ushered him in quickly. Danny parked inside and sighed over the steering wheel. It took a few moments to center himself and then he got out. “Hey.” He lifted a hand in greeting and then shoved it in his pocket, feeling unimaginably weary. It wasn't even 5 am, jeeze. What was his life? “Thanks for answering.” He cleared his throat and bumped his butt against the hood of his car. “Helluva morning,” he complained dryly.

“It's no problem.” Victor seemed a little stiff and uncomfortable, standing in the middle of the other parking space. Either that or he was posing. “It's not your fault.”

Danny let out a snort. “It's not, but what does that matter?” He shrugged. And then he realized- “Wait, do you know what I am- scratch that.” He made a hand gesture to wave that away. Victor had known what Amity Park was offhand and he'd had a chance to see Danny phase the car through solid matter. “I guess what matters more is why Batman is on my ass. D’you think he knows?”

Victor looked at him for a long time. “No…”

“No, what?” Danny narrowed his eyes up at the taller man.

“I don't think Batman knows that you're…” Victor made a gesture at Danny that explained nothing. “Whatever you are. I think he wants to ask you what you know about me.”

Danny stared blankly at him. “About you,” he echoed. He gave Victor a dubious look. “Why would he care about you?”

Victor lifted a gloved finger and pointed at his helmet as if that was supposed to mean something. Danny tilted his head to the side like a bird and raised one eyebrow. “Because I'm the Red Hood?” Victor said dubiously. “You know that, right?”

“You're Victor,” Danny said. He furrowed his brows. “Is - is The Red Hood like, your drag persona or something? Cool for you but it's not really relevant -”

Victor tore off the helmet to reveal a face that was a lot younger than Danny had anticipated. “It's not a drag persona,” he snapped. “It's- I'm the Red goddamn Hood! You have to have seen me on the news!”

Danny mutely shook his head. He thought about saying that he didn’t watch the news, but he sort of felt bad for the guy. It was probably safer not to comment.

“It's been non-stop,” Victor said, and Danny could really tell how incredulous he felt without that goofy voice filter effect removing the pout from his voice. “I dropped 13 human heads off at the police station yesterday. Come on!”

He blinked.

Wait.

One.

Second.

“You had me take you to the police with contraband?” Danny roared, incandescent with fury.

“Uh.” Victor looked a little shifty now, even with that dweeb ass mask covering from his eyebrows to his cheekbones. “Yeah, I guess-”

“I'm going to go to medical school!” Danny roared, and suplexed the bastard. Victor went down with a howl and a valiant attempt to dig out Danny's eye with his bent index and middle fingers. Danny went selectively intangible and rolled them both over to start slapping Victor on his stupid face. “I-” slap “can't” slap “have” slap “a criminal record!” He leaned so far forward that his lips were nearly touching Victor's. “Capiche?” Danny jabbed a finger into Victor's stupidly ripped chest.

“Um.”

“Capiche? Understand? Do you get my meaning?” Danny howled. “I am an illegal entity! My paperwork is suspect!” He dug his knees a little harder into Victor's sides, struggling to control his strength.

“Hey man, me too,” said Victor. He seemed mildly surprised by this commonality. “That's why I can't get a driver's license.” He put his hands up by his head. The movement made his incredible biceps sort of…pulse. Bulge?

Danny blinked, attention caught by something about what Victor had said. “How'd you get your Uber account verified without- oh my god!” He threw his hands up in disgust. “You're not even Victor, are you? Your first word to me was a lie?”

Not-Victor laughed. Danny was surprised enough that he loosened his grip. But the other guy didn't try to get out. “You're fun,” he said. He had a nice smile, crooked and kissable. Oh, fuck.

Danny felt his whole face burn red. Shit. Abort. He scrambled up, suddenly mortified that he was sitting on the other guy. “What's your name?” he demanded, trying to sound unaffected and mean.

“Jay.”

“You're sure this time?” Danny managed to work up a little more indignation.

“Hands to god, on my grave,” Jay promised. Danny sort of hated that he believed it.

Danny relented. “Fine.” It wasn’t like he had any moral high ground to stand on about maintaining secret identities, if he was honest. He huffed and crossed his arms. “How do I get Batman off my ass? I'm guessing you don't want me to talk to him about you.”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main

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lovelykhaleesiii · 11 months

Note

hi there! would you be up to writing smut

Dark!Aemond? something for example with age difference, daddy kink, corruption kink, degradation and breeding? If you are comfortable then Reader could be a Targaryen what would be great but if you aren't comfortable then Stark is perfect too

Twisted, Beautiful Minds.

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Niece!Reader

WORDS: 2,677.

WARNINGS: mentions of warfare/murder, mentions of death-threats, swearing, degradation kink, choking, Daddy kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, manipulation, narcissistic tendencies, male oral receiving [cock sucking], mentions of p in v sexual intercourse.

A/N - you know I'm always down for some dark!Aemond... I want to also dedicate this piece, as a small bday gift to my wonderful friend Mar @aemondsmoon you have been an absolute light for me on this hellsite, and one of my dearest friends... thank you for always being there for me, and thank you for being you. you are an absolute gem, don't ever change. ilysm! 🤍

The turmoil and toils of war had finally come to an end, when Aegon the Elder, your Uncle, had commanded Sunfyre to set your beloved mother, Rhaenyra, and younger brother, Aegon III, to death by dragonfire. Your heart shattered, and mind numb, you were certain your own death was imminent in the moments after: at the very least, your Uncle would punish you with a dragonrider's death... Yet that would not be the case at all.

It seemed other plans had been set in stone. Chained and escorted by the Kingsguard to return to King's Landing once more, where you had only days previous, fled in fear, were you welcomed by the cold stares of the "Green" Council. Your chains removed, as neither the King nor his Mother, had seen you as a threat, you felt no purpose to resist nor to fight back... Your family dead, your will had died along with them.

"Fetch for Aemond. Tell my younger brother that his betrothed has returned."

His stern words felt incomprehensible in your thoughtless mind, lagging to understand the notion. You felt a cool, chill course through your weak body, rigid as though you had turned to stone, and yet, you were still breathing, still ever so present. No one had consulted you on such plans or schemes. And you were certain that Aemond himself would definitively refuse to marry the daughter of a traitor [as you presumed he would justify]. Your Uncle, Aemond, was a formidable man, fought against your late father, and had emerged the victor... And as the war, and the recent imprisoned days had taken its toll on you, your eyes darkened with the lack of sleep, unable to eat a crumb of bread, you did not look as you once had in your frivolous court, as he had once remembered you.

Although, as he sauntered into the room with such poise and stature, a certain charisma of that of a victor oozing about him, with not a single word exchanged, other than a devious smirk supplanted across his once serious face...It seemed there was more to the union than meets the eye.

Since your captive return to King's Landing, a place in which you had once considered your home, felt nothing more foreign. The stone sand walls that you had walked and run through as a child, now looked strange, the unfamiliar symbols of the Seven proudly hung around every available wall and space, gave an ominous feel. The halls seemed less brighter, even during the break of day, with the sunlight blatant in the sky, you instinctively felt as though a shadow lurked around every corner, attentive to your every move.

Dragonless, and defenceless, you were less of a threat than the younger Princess, Jahaera. The King and his Council had deemed you stable enough to roam the castle grounds freely, with a close knight in pursuit, only to ensure your own "protection" [as Aegon would admit that Aemond insisted], although you saw it more as means to deter you from being tempted to run away.

Regardless, Aemond had not spoken a word to you since hearing of the betrothal. He attended dinners with you in sight, although you rarely spoke yourself, mostly pleading and bickering with Alicent to remain in the desolate confines of your chambers. She was incessant about you joining the family, as the union was to be set in a moon's turn.

He dared not even to sit beside you: constantly at opposing ends. Although, there were rare occasions you had caught the younger Prince, brazenly staring at you with his one good eye. Unapologetically, his full attention spanned towards you, even if he had noticed you had become aware, he did not cease gawking.

Something about his looming gaze made you feel uneasy, very much on edge: a dark tinge to his violet eye, his pupils darkened as they seemed dilated. It inevitably made your stomach churn, only forcing you to resign in defeat, often excusing yourself to bed.

And often you were left undisturbed to recluse in your chambers... Although tonight, it seemed you were not alone in your ventures.

Retracing the exact steps you would take most nights, often on your lonesome return to your quarters: this time there was an accompanying sound in the distance, echoing down the hallway behind you. Heavy footsteps that caught your immediate attention. Slowly panning around, the shimmer of his lengthy, silver hair against the pale moonlight that peaked through the open crescents of the corridor, was alluring to your eye. Halting in your tracks, your breath hitched against your throat, all in trepidation, as Aemond effortlessly caught up with you in a few short strides. This was the closest he had ever truly come up to you, his towering height against you, made him even more daunting face to face.

"Running off to bed again, I see. And why is that?"

The sudden eruption of his deep, low voice breaking the stillness of the castle passage, startled you uneasily. You had exchanged many words and conversations with your elder Uncle before, during an ancient time long before the Dance had spurred. Although, the dynamics had inevitably changed, blood had been shed viciously and cruel words spat. Despite the same Valyrian blood coursing through your veins as of your betrothed, you felt solitary in their surrounding presence.

"I-I lost my appetite, U-Uncle. I wish to retire for the night," You aimlessly stutter, too weak to hold eye contact with Aemond, whose gaze remained fixated on you. His vibrant lilac orb luring over every inch of your timid body.

"Do you think it wise to roam the castle your lonesome self? Has the war not taught you otherwise? Is my niece still that same stupid, little whore I have known?"

His harsh remarks shadowed by that familiar, sly grin struck across his slim face, was plenty to furnace an incoming reaction from you, your blood boiling beneath your tender skin.

"Ah- tongue tied now, princess? Have I struck a chord with you, hmm? Mayhaps you are as weak as your father was... Now, how would he feel knowing you are to marry me? That I'll fuck his little girl, like the common whores he saw."

Your mind had no correlation to your hand, and yet the simmering rage that blistered through your body sent your mind to abyss. The small palm of your hand, strikingly latched across Aemond's face furiously. And yet, although a sharp stinging sensation poured across your hand, Aemond remained unfazed and sturdy. It seemed you had smacked the grin across his face, and in its stead, that familiar, unnerving dark tinge in his eyes scorned across at you.

Before you knew it, Aemond gripped your sides firmly, forcing your body forward, as he harshly shoved you against the cold, stone wall.

"You think that wise, whore? After the mercy I fucking showed you. I could have your fucking hand for that, or worse your head. My pretty wife's head on a spike, I'll have it right outside my window."

The cruelty that oozed from his precise lips was relentless. You wanted to burst into tears or more, burst into flames there and then...

"Do you know how long I have waited to have you under my very touch? All the sacrifices I made, the arguments I fought against my own Council to keep you alive? Ungrateful fucking bitch. Did your Daddy not teach you to be a good, obedient girl?"

One of Aemond's calloused, rough hands reached up hastily, his long fingers wrapping just so lightly around your throat, as his thumb gently stroked at your lips. His viable eye ogling tentatively over your mouth, smacking his lips innately.

"I'm your fucking Daddy now. Teach you how to be a proper lady, and a good fucking wife. I'm going to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, till you are dripping of me. I'll have you begging like a pathetic, stupid whore. I'll fuck you till I have heirs of my own, till I see fit that you have disgraced your extinct, traitorous bloodline."

"A-Aem, U-Uncle-" You breathlessly whimper in fear: freshly, swelled tears glaze your vision, as they begin to clear with each shedding streak.

"What did I just fucking say? I'm not your Uncle anymore, bitch. I'm your fucking Daddy. You would be helpless without me. Probably dead without my doing. You fucking owe me."

"Y-Yes-" Another breathless whimper, although Aemond's grip loosened, his other hand began to slowly move its way over towards your breast. His uninjured eye moving in motion with his hand, eagerly wandering over your bust. That same, very hand, began to keenly grope at your plush side, kneading at your breast tenderly, it felt foreign and sensitive under his strange touch.

"All fucking mine... Finally. Did you really think, I would let some insolent lord have you to himself? I'd start a war for you, I won the war for you. And now you're going to repay me, just so-"

A mindless moan flew out of your wet lips, catching you abruptly by surprise, and by the looks of it Aemond, as his blackened pupil dilated with a ravenous hunger, his ears pricking and leaning forward in delight.

"I'll have you moaning for more, precious. Now on your fucking knees-"

Even with the hatred that roared deep within your belly, you felt reluctant to retaliate, as you knew Aemond would effortlessly overpower you. As he had in your youth, when you were caught in a brawl with him, often ending with him wrestling you to the ground. And after his detailed spill of such vile threats, you dared not to risk the second chance of life, you had been granted.

Your knees hit the concrete floor with some brutality, although you regained from the ache. As you steadied your propped position, your hands gripping tightly at Aemond's slim waist, he began to undo his grey, washed out trousers.

The sheer sight of his cock, was intense enough to have you questioning whether you could even take him. Although slim in girth, his length was extraordinary. A reddened tip just oozing lusciously with a white, clear film glistening over the crown.

"Suck Daddy real good, bitch. Show me that, that mouth has other good uses than for talking back."

Your attention lurking from below, dropping from Aemond's face to his cock and back up once more to his face: the sudden change in his mood shifting was palpable. The momentary, light-hearted look of ecstasy dismantled as a cold, unsettling gaze resumed across his handsome face, lingering over your kneeled state.

"Make me fucking repeat myself one more time, whore and I'll treat you worse than a whore. I'll have you forget that you are a Targaryen princess."

Aemond's large hands found their way at the base of your skull, teasingly stroking your loose strands away from your face, within a few seconds the sudden shove towards him, left you physically speechless. Your mouth slightly agape, was enough for Aemond's stiffened, pulsating tip to propel its way into your tight mouth. The friction of his hard cock against your silky, warm flesh inside, was enough to set Aemond's breathing into a speedy pace. Lean chest heaving, the mindless groaning on his behalf was somewhat alluring. You had never seen nor heard such sounds or vulnerability in Aemond before.

"F-Fuck, that feels so fucking good- Just as I prayed to the Gods. I'm going to make your mouth so numb, so fucking filthy of me, you'll be tasting me still in the months to come."

No coherent words exchanged from below his waist, only muffled moans and breath hitches, as you sulked with crave. As much as it infuriated you, pained you to admit, the feeling of Aemond's rigid, throbbing cock in your mouth, was elevating. You had to admit, in your youth, previous to the blood that had been shed, you had a childhood feverish crush on your elder Uncle, although thought it unlikely that anything would flourish from it.

"Seven Hells. Such a pretty whore, with a pretty mouth. J-Just the p-prettiest whore in the Seven Kingdoms."

With each plunge, rhythmically bobbing backwards and forwards, the raw taste of Aemond's cum, tastefully filling your mouth to capacity, as a mixture of his reside and your own saliva oozed from your crevices. The dreading thought of being caught in such a contentiously vulnerable position, especially before being wedded, was disturbing enough, for you were not yet widely favoured by the Council...

"Ughh- Swallow and get up, whore."

Self-disgust stirred nauseatingly in the pit of your gut, as you reluctantly devoured small mouthfuls of Aemond's load, almost convincing yourself you would retch it all up in a matter of seconds. Much to your relief, you remained poised, meekly wiping away the mess across your lips, shying away from Aemond's unmoving regard. As you regained your normal pace of breathing, Aemond lent a hand over, grasping your undivided attention. With such ease, Aemond aided you, lifting you up to stand, before confining you closely between the wall and his heated body once more, closing whatever space was made between.

"Now let's see what that cunt has to offer."

His skilful hands hiking your layered gown up, making way for his arms to snake around your bare thighs, lifting you idly off the ground.

"Can't wait till the wedding to tarnish you, I've waited long enough."

A sudden bolt of lightening pain shot from within your inner thighs, as your tight walls stretched out ceaselessly to accommodate, as Aemond shoved his rigid cock inside. Your back flattened against the sandstone wall, its texture rough against the delicate silk of your gown. Burying his length deeper and deeper with each harsh thrust, his heavy balls collided with your silky folds as he vigorously pumped himself back and forth. His pace, although rough, remained steady. His raw, sensitive tip pummelling at your cervix, felt scorching inside your lower belly.

"And if I fuck you so good, that you begin to swell with my child... What would your dead family think of their precious daughter then, huh? These tits belong to me now, and the mother's milk that comes with it. Your entire being belongs to me now. That babe in your belly will be all because of me, and you'll fucking love every bit of it."

"I-I owe you my l-life, D-Daddy-"

The words mindlessly slipped from you lips, and yet it felt instinctual to say. As Aemond's mouth lapped at the sensitive crook of your neck, you felt the smirk of his grin against your skin, his sharp teeth faintly biting at your soft flesh.

"That's right, baby. That's so right my needy, little slut. You have a Daddy now that can really take care of you, protect you... Love you."

The epitome of his words, the calm depth in his voice, had reached its glorifying peak, as Aemond's hot load shot up directly into you, reverently coating your insides. Like some royal orchestra in unison to his final thrust, did a growling moan escape his lips, followed by an whisper of a swear. Leaning his exhausted, heavier mass over you, as he safely guided your legs back down to the surface, his breath densely hot against your ear, his outstretched palms cladded against the wall for support.

"Clean yourself up, Y/N... Wouldn't want anyone else to see you as the whore that you are, and get any ideas-"

His heavy breathing made his voice less formidable and more husky. Eyeing over your form, as you once more scoured and polished up the mess he made between your thighs, with the inner layer of your gown. You simply nodded in response to his demand, before hastily attempting to rush back to the confines of your quarters.

Yet, a firm pull tugged at your elbow, causing you to halt in your tracks, unavoidably.

"I will seek you out again tonight... Be ready for me."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

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whispereons · 1 year

Text

Oracle!Reader Part 14

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 13, Part 15

Warning as usual. There is blood and gore in this chapter!

Staring up at the Archon parading around in human form, you lick your lips and note how even those minor injuries were healed. Your body aches with phantom pain, some wounds healed too rapidly.

"I don't mind answering some questions, can I get your name first?"

A small smile plays at his lips as his hand is held out in front of you. "My name is Zhongli, I'm the Funeral Parlors consultant. It would be a pleasure to hear yours, outlander."

So he is aware of your origin, well at least partly aware. If he's not going to pull any punches then why should you? Besides if it all goes wrong, you can blame it on the bloodloss that you're still recovering from.

"I'm Y/N, and you're correct that I do not originate from this world. You must not be a normal person either, in fact you look identical to this statue. This one portrays Morax the Geo Archon, but I'm sure you know that, Rex Lapis."

Getting a good look at the statue from your proximity, it was obvious that Zhongli was Morax. You could make the excuse of it being game logic on why no one makes the connection, but that wouldn't work anymore. Maybe the statues are imbued with power that prevents anyone from this world to recognize the similarities?

"So it seems you are more knowledgeable than the traveler was when they arrived here. I should have known considering how the Electro and Geo particles surround you with zeal. Perhaps Teyvat is charmed by the features you share with the Holy One."

His step forward and angled head to look you in the eyes have you staring at glowing amber hues. The red eyeliner and outlined iris make it uncomfortably clear how intensely he's examining you.

"The curve of your lips, a stature so familiar, you resemble the creator so much. Teyvat must be bewitched and awed by an individual so alike as you. If only I could see your face in it's full visage, only then would I know for sure..."

Anyone would feel flattered or embarrassed with how seriously Zhongli studies you, but dread is the only thing you feel. You know that behind those honey-coated words is a trap just waiting for you to spring.

Too bad for him; the last thing you plan to be is predictable.

"My, my what a compliment! A devout and faithful follower like yourself is comparing me to the creator? You should pray for forgiveness to the merciful creator. I'm a servant for them, just in a different league than you. My connection with them is strong enough that Teyvat graces me with qualities alike yet inferior to the Everlasting One."

Zhongli returned to his perfect posture at your words, the flash of envy couldn't hide. "Oh?" Narrowed eyes and a lofty tone that encourages you to smile wider. "And what position could an outsider like you hold?"

"Well, as an Oracle of course! Really, just how dumb are you? An outlander that is incredibly knowledgeable of the Creator? It's painfully obvious." There's no reaction to your test insults, which is fine that wasn't the last you had in store.

"I'm from the world that the Creator is recuperating in. It's due to that, that I can speak to them much more freely than everyone here. Even Teyvat pales in comparison. That's why Teyvat is so attached to me, my aura is overwhelmed by the creators."

Honestly, you had Chongyun to thank for that one. You weren't sure how you were supposed to explain the whole Teyvat clinging to you without sounding repetitive. But if Zhongli was that easily fooled, he wouldn't be one of the victors of the Archon war.

"Then enlighten me on why the glorious creator would need an Oracle of your caliber to spread their word. Surely that's the least you can do." He's fully dropped that faux-polite tone in contrast to the technically proper speech.

"Gladly! It's become common knowledge that the elemental monsters and animals have started to act strangely. Add in the leylines that change from out of control to perfectly calm in a matter of minutes or weeks. These are all signs of the Creator's upcoming appearance! They need to be sure of who in this vast land they can properly trust."

"That still doesn't explain why you in particular were chosen. A wily and fresh child like you wouldn't do the best job." Hard like stone, Zhongli refused to even blink at your words. A god like himself would never falter after thousands of years spent perfecting his worship.

But did he really have to insult you at the same time?

"So you refuse to believe it because of my supposed inability to properly carry out any duties assigned to me? You don't even know all that I had done to arrive here! Surely you should know just how rough the waters were..."

The hand that covers your mouth does a poor job of covering the sly smile. Zhongli stares at you in silence, the wind swaying around the floating chunk of rock that you both stand on.

"Just what are you trying to imply?" His voice is as soft as a whisper but cutting like the sharpest steel.

"Why explain it when I can show it?" Silently rejoicing at such a convenient set up, you peer into your bag and grab the item you've been saving.

Shimmering brightly in the harsh glares of the sun is Beisht's scale, still in pristine condition despite your perilous journey since that day you got it from the sea-leviathan.

It feels like ages ago. Just how much time has passed since you arrived on Teyvat? How much more time will you spend in situations like this? Weeks? Months? YEARS?

The existential dread is quickly pushed away by your beaming smile at Zhongli's reaction to the singular item. The rocky exterior finally breaks at the proof of your 'abilities'. His lips part at the bright teal color and he blinks incredulously at it.

Really, how could you pass up the chance to rub it in?

"Surely a human of my caliber would be capable of this much. I mean, a perfectly intact scale from a leviathan that managed to avoid the whole Qixing that isn't dyed in blood? Child's play for a servant specifically chosen by the Creator. I never doubted the creators' choices!"

Holding the scale in front of you, you smirk at the man with as much snark as you hold in your heart. "The same can't be said for you, Mr. 'That still doesn't explain why you in particular were chosen.' Because the Creator is capable of choosing anyone they want, for whatever reason they desire."

Silence envelopes the area as you stare at him, a beat passes with no movement until a gruff chuckle leaves him.

"The more you speak, the closer I come to a conclusion." Recovering quickly, Zhongli's gloved hand rises to tap his mouth contemplatively. "You're either something far worse than I've seen in a long time, or a hope for the Creator's return."

That white outline around his iris seems to spin with the malicious joy that he refuses to show. It's like his body screams that he'll either enjoy your presence or your destruction. Nerves and anxiety grip your heart but ignoring it has always worked better for you.

"Maybe I can say the same thing about you considering your past, but I see you still aren't convinced. And how could I ever let you, one of the longest standing worshippers, have doubts about me? So tell me, were Beisht and her husband devout or sacrilegious beings?"

The answer he'll say is obvious, not only because you hold such a confident stance showing that you know the answer but because of Zhongli himself. A noble dragon that willingly bows to someone would feel ashamed at the thought of resorting to lying to boost his own pride.

Quite ironic how you hold so much trust in his answer due to the acolytes' faith in the creator. The same faith that led you to this position, and the same thing that'll keep you from ever exposing the truth of your identity. A constant force preventing them from meeting their 'beloved' creator.

"You met Beisht in the flesh, there's no doubt that she is solemn and serious in her worship. The same can be said for Osial, it was one of the few things I could agree with the leviathan. Even still, I'm the superior believer. After all, I'm the one who is left after all this time."

"Yet I met Beisht before you."

The scoff and know-it-all tone he used pricked at your nerves long enough to cause an annoyed response to slip out. Unfortunately, that seems to be what Zhongli was baiting for as he laughs, the low sound making the rock platform tremble.

"That's if you're even an Oracle. You may be from that world and even heard about Teyvat from the Creator, but for all I know, you could have been banished here for us acolytes to execute. Whether it be for avenging the Creator or entertaining them."

Damn, it was almost scary how fast he turned the situation around. But how could you falter now? Getting tongue-tied at such a crucial moment would be a pathetic way to lose your life.

"And what will you do if I truly am an Oracle? When the creator's return is delayed months, years or even decades due to your rash actions, what will you tell the creator when confronted with the consequences of your own actions?"

"Then you should work hard enough to prove to skeptics like myself. To put blind faith in whatever is dubbed the creator's is a fool's belief. Temptation and sin ravage Teyvat from the long drought of the Creator's presence."

For a split second, sorrow clouded his eyes. He's hiding something. It’s important and you can feel it in your soul. The only thing that really stains his and Venti's reputation is their war with Khaenri'ah. It must be connected to that.

But it's too early to try digging in for information on that. He doesn't even believe you to be the Oracle, how could you possibly get that out of him? What if he's under a contract and must stay silent on the matter?

Lost in his memories, Zhongli doesn't realize how your face pinches in frustration. You'll have to get his approval as the Oracle before you can even-

Oh.

Oh, why didn't you realize this before?

A grin spreads across your face as you circle in on the heart of the problem and the perfect way to fix it.

It's not that Zhongli doesn't believe you to be the creator's Oracle, he just doesn't want to believe it! He's envious: envious of why a random outlander like you got such a nice position in comparison to him who probably spent most of his life molding himself to the creators standards.

All that's left is to reel him in and you know the perfect way how.

"Prove myself? I've done plenty to prove myself, but what about you?" Mockingly, you tilt your head as your empty gaze peers into Zhongli's eyes, digging deep into him. He focuses back on the conversation at your shift in tone.

"If anyone should have to prove themselves, it should be you." This time it's you who takes the bold step forward. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? And try to keep in that temper too so that I can finish my words. A dragon your age should know such simple things."

"As Morax you were quite powerful, though a brute to be completely honest. Still, you knew your limits well and paired up with the Lord of Dust before the Archon War, who served as the 'brain'. Tell me, just how did it feel when you found her as nothing more than a statue that day?"

Your words have a strong effect on the imposing man, his fist trembling at the mention of such a beloved god, one whose death still pains him. Paying no mind to his pain you ask the monumental question.

"Just how much resentment do you hold against the Creator for her death?"

A hand slams you against the Statue hard enough to bruise your skin. It doesn't squeeze around your throat but there's no need to as the Geo begins to petrify your legs, locking you in place. The Statue is in a constant state of healing in defense to the bruises on your neck.

"Just what are you trying to imply by saying that?" Cold and apathetic is the voice that flows from the stoic man. It's what you would imagine Morax would sound like before Guizhong taught him how to care for humans.

"C'mon, that's the second time you've asked me that. Don't make me speak the obvious-" A shuddering gasp leaves you as he tightens his grip. But it's gone just as fast; a flock of birds tackle Zhongli.

You can only watch in shock as what was only 4 to 5 birds grow to become at least 15 birds of all kinds attacking him. The throbbing of your neck being healed as the Geo instantly releases you is overshadowed by Zhongli swatting at the birds as he takes continuous steps back.

But that's all it took for Zhongli to fall off the edge as the birds flew away cawing happily. Standing and staring at the spot where Zhongli fell off in shock, you begin to chuckle. It grows to a giggle before you're laughing hysterically as you buckle to the ground. Loud peels of laughter ring around the area as you hold your stomach from the ache of laughing so much.

To think Teyvat took the initiative to help you out for once. Why couldn't it do it sooner? Was it only after gaining some power from activating a new nations statue of the seven that it could? You couldn't focus on the question anymore as the look on Zhongli's face when he fell came to mind again.

The sight of his eyes blown wide and a split second of pure panic sent you straight back into a fit of laughter. The ground far below you shakes as a Geo pillar constructs a bridge high enough to reach the stone you sat on.

The sound of footsteps make you open your eyes and giggle at the sight of a disheveled and annoyed Zhongli. Annoyed is still an improvement compared to his enraged state earlier. With giggles slipping out, you stand back up and laugh louder at his appearance in full view.

His hair was pulled out of his rattail with his earrings nowhere to be seen. Bits and pieces of the weaker cloth of his suit were missing, giving him a poor look that didn't match his flawless posture. The red marks and light cuts only added to the joy you feel at his expense.

"Are you finished laughing, Y/N?"

"For now at least. I would suggest buying a new set of clothes but I don't think you have the mora for it!" Zhongli only lets out a long-suffering sigh as you crack up again.

You would be scolding yourself for not taking the chance to escape while he was away but it was better this way. You didn't need the information about Khaenri'ah, it was nice to know but the information wouldn't help you live.

The main reason you stayed was because running away would prove Zhongli right to be suspicious about you. It would let him know that you're scared and have something to hide. Plus, that would mean having to escape Liyue the same way you did Ei, just in a worse situation.

That's not something you want to repeat.

"Alright I'm done laughing." You say while wiping off the budding tears from the corner of your eyes. Zhongli sends you a look that screams that he doesn't believe you but you shrug it off.

"Really, that question was more of a test if you will. My main job is simply to see who the Creator can trust. Your relationship with the Creator beyond that is between you and them."

The calm and peaceful tone you use is such a contrast to the one you used earlier that Zhongli is clearly apprehensive. Paying it no mind you continue to speak.

"If you truly want a reason to at least try and believe me to be the oracle even if you don't fully believe me, then I'll give you one. I'm sure you still have the stone dumbbell from Guizhong that you've never been able to open. I know how to open it."

Those last words have Zhongli staring at you intensely as you gaze off into the distance. The Dragon-Queller tree is visible through the fog with its glowing blue branches and yellow leaves.

"How?" He breathes out, scared to trust but scared to lose this opportunity too.

"It requires a naturally grown glaze lily cultivated by the Creator. That's because it requires a 'pure' glaze lily and the only one who can grow such a thing at this day and age is the Creator. All the natural glaze lilies have died after all."

Zhongli's shoulders slump at your words. It seems he started to let his guard down after he fell off. He must no longer view you as a threat or, at most, an annoyance. That's okay with you, underestimation is the most useful viewpoint they could have for you.

"Should I even make an attempt to ask you why it can only be unlocked with that? You're only telling me this as a last resort to keep you alive, correct? Even if I told you that I would keep you alive without that information, you wouldn't believe me. As childish as you may be, foolishness does not seem to be a quality you hold."

"That may be true, but if you really want an answer to that first question then I'll tell you." You look over to lock eyes with him and smile. It conceals every sneaky and vicious thought you hold. "I have no clue. The Creator instructed me to use it as a last resort, if you want that answer then try praying. Perhaps you'll get an answer."

You would like to know the answer to the stone dumbbell too. After all, you only made up the solution! Seeing as Zhongli spent all these years after Guizhong's death, failing to unlock it, it's a good bet that it'll never open.

It's silent as you both get lost in your own thoughts. Unlike before it wasn't tense, it was more comparable to the silence you would spend alone in your apartment. The nights you would only be accompanied by the thoughts of the 'what-if' situations. Thoughts that would only stay thoughts just as the past would be just that, the past.

Wanderer learned that the hard way too. You wouldn't let yourself hold so many regrets before your inevitable death. Even in Liyue you weren't truly safe, so wouldn't it be best to speak to Zhongli while you still could?

"I have questions about Khaenri'ah… Well, the better way to put it is that the Creator has questions about them. It's one of the few things that they mourn the most. A whole nation devoted to worshiping solely the creator, destroyed by the Archons that swore their life and loyalty to the creator. So will you explain it to me?"

His eyes fill with the same sorrow you saw in him earlier. It seems you were right in guessing that his line on blindly trusting things labeled with the creator was connected to Khaenri'ah.

"I have spent all my years after that day asking for forgiveness, for some way to atone. It was one of the few contracts that I did not properly balance in equivalent exchange. I regret signing it, not for myself but for my beloved God."

"So it's a no."

"It's an agreement not to speak of it."

"Then don't speak about it." Zhongli seeds you a questioning glance as you mischievously smile at him. "Just listen to my words and don't look away. I'm quite sure nodding and shaking your head doesn't count as breaking your silence."

A huff of amusement leaves him at your solution. His eyes close with his lips curling into a small smile. He nods his head in acceptance, not having the drive to poke holes into your stubbornness.

You were quite confident in the conclusions you've drawn so far. Genshin Impact was nearly the sole reason you were living back on Earth. Family and friends were nonexistent, you had given up hope on making any new connections as well. The only thing you did when you weren't home was work and your work made you be everything but yourself. So combining everything you know from the game with everything of the cult that you've learned thus far shouldn't be too hard.

"When the Archon War broke out, I'm sure most of you were merely looking to keep your people and nation alive. The original design of having the gods powered solely on their people's worship paled in comparison to Celestia's offer of power by obtaining a spot in a group of seven. At the end, you all had a choice. Accept your spot by accepting a Gnosis, or go against them similar to how the Dragon King once did."

Zhongli perks up at the mention of the Dragon King. Not many people know about the original Dragon King. Most people assume it's Azhdaha when in reality, the original was a far greater dragon.

"You all must have been quite against it. The only God you would all bow under would be the Creator who had left before those events to sleep in my world, yet Celestia probably whispered to you all that it was allowed on Teyvat because it was approved by the Creator. That the Gnosis was a reward for all your hard work and as Celestia was the first descender, all of you accepted it.”

The way he begins to stare at you is invasive, like he's just dying to jump you to get every bit of knowledge you hold on the topic. He's starting to suspect you.

"Yet when Khaenri'ah was revealed to exist years afterwards, everything was thrown into confusion. I'm sure you and the other Archons were fine with their presence as Khaenri'ah worshiped the Creator, but was Celestia?"

A sly smile creeps upon your face at the memory of when it was revealed that Khaenri'ah wasn't the first civilization to be turned into hilichurls. No one liked Celestia so you had no problem pinning almost all the blame onto it.

"I'm sure they were enraged, especially as Khaenri'ah grew more and more bold with their inventions. Gold in particular was quite dangerous seeing as she not only created life but also Durin and the Golden Wolflord. And even that was unintentional!"

You laugh cheerfully as Zhongli chuckles in surprise at your words. Had you successfully deterred him? Probably not, but he hasn't stopped you so you'll keep going till the end.

"Celestia ordered you all to aid them in destroying Khaenri'ah but you all refused. How could any of you harm a nation so devoted to the creator even if they refused to worship Celestia or the Seven? But that Gnosis you all accepted comes with a price. A price that serves as leverage and a control device."

The thoughts of what Beisht told you on how Celestia had caused them to forget the original way of worship resurfaced. Celestia was just too suspicious for that to be the only thing they had done. It would take a lot more than that to force the Archons to listen to them.

"That Gnosis was like a drug. It gave you all so much power, tasting and making you feel like you're on top of the world! Just for it to come crashing down when the unpleasant side effects hit you. It corrupted you all like poison forcing you to wage war against Khaenri'ah. My best bet is that it was like mind control. What do you say?"

He looks at you with a blank expression, as if trying to see the secrets you hid in your soul through your eyes. But there's no response from him, not even the occasional nods that he was giving before.

"Well if it was mind control, perhaps it made you believe that Khaenri'ah had plans to overrule the Creator and create their own human god. Or maybe it made them out to be traitors to the creator. Perhaps both? That doesn't really matter, what does matter is that only after the war was in full throttle were you all brought back to your senses."

You didn't have any proof of that last part, it just seemed like something Celestia would do. Not only to prove their superiority but also force the Archons to put their best effort in defeating the people of Khaenri'ah to save their nations.

"After the war ended, you all wanted to get rid of it but Celestia wouldn't allow such a thing. Even if you most likely tried to find some loophole, Celestia doesn't play nice. It would make sense if they threatened to give a punishment similar to what they had done to Khaenri'ah. So long as none of you destroy or throw it away, they'll leave you all be,”

Venti was a god, no matter what fans said, there was no way he would lose to Signora. It made more sense if that was his way of 'handing' it over to the Tsaritsa. There was also Nahida who threatened to break her Gnosis to one-up Dottore. That was always funny, you would kill to have witnessed that in person.

"Of course none of you would actually use it or even desire it in your vicinity. Everyone wins when the Tsaritsa uses her various methods to acquire the gnosis'. And thanks to the traveler appearing during that time, Celestia was probably too busy freaking out over that to pay too much attention. For a while at least."

Finally looking back to Zhongli, you smiled proudly. "I must be pretty close right? At no point did you laugh at me like you did with Alice so I'll take that as a good sign. And even if I'm wrong, everything will be solved when the Creator descends."

Stretching to loosen the tension in your back, you applaud yourself for the brilliant thinking. It's not like anyone can actually fake gold blood for long when even hair dye didn't exist yet. You're basically leaving all these loose ends to the you that would be believed to be the Creator. Which is never going to happen!

"Would the Creator scorn me for asking you once again if you're truly an oracle?"

"I'm sure the glorious creator would be fully justified in doing so, but I'll scorn you in their stead.. And don't get it twisted, it's not because of your feelings concerning Guizhong's death. It's how you, by your own negligence, offended the Creator!"

An utterly baffled expression paints his face at your accusation. Unrelenting, you point your finger at him with a serious face that you haven't shown him till now.

"Did you really believe that the creator wouldn't realize? Just how little you changed from that brute of a dragon that saw humans as plentiful yet insignificant as dust? To think that you believed yourself to be comparable to the primordial dragons."

Zhongli stiffens at the mention of the primordial dragons. After all he is the prime of the Adepti who's exuvia is a dragon, not a primordial dragon. Wouldn't it be fun if he held some sense of inferiority when compared to the primordial ones?

Zhongli sits on the ledge of the rock with his elbows on his legs and his hands covering his face. It was time. He would question just what you were talking about and you'll explain the elemental sacrificing that he forgot. That'll be the end and he'll have no choice but to support you!

Smiling knowingly you approach him and lean down to see behind the shadow casting over his eyes. Your eyes twinkle victoriously as his breath leaves a cloud from the crisp air.

"I should have known that the creator would not forgive me for failing to arrive on time."

What?

"How could I have been beaten to that shooting star by that astrologist? No matter who may have been her master, I failed to arrive on time."

Zhongli sulks there as he continues rambling to himself on 'missing' the shooting star due to his old age. Was he seriously talking about how you lost him the first time to Mona?!

Memories come back of you using the last of your wishes on his banner and being greeted with Mona instead. The first 50/50 you lost and was forced to use nearly all your primogems to get him. A fact that you never let Zhongli forget through your adventures.

Just what would he do if he knew how you always switched to a different character whenever his idle starts to play? Would he sew his lips together in repentance? That must be the difference between a true believer and a fake believer...

Holding back a sigh you begin brainstorming on how you were supposed to bring the conversation back to the sacrificing. Zhongli is too lost in his own head as he begins to continuously blame himself for any mistake he could have made.

"Being unable to answer the travelers' questions must have worsened their view on me too."

"That and how you were willing to let Liyue flood if they couldn't defeat Osial."

"Human life may be precious but they're as numerous as the dust that make up stone. I would rebuild Liyue for the rest of this long life until I cultivate a nation that I could humbly present the creator with."

"Then shouldn't the creator just grind you down and raise a different Adepti to their exact liking? You should work hard to be exactly what they desire to be truly loved."

"Are you saying that the Creator loathes me?" He finally looks away from the sea of clouds to stare at you. Sparing him a glance, you listen to him grow more panicked by your silence.

"Do they wish to see me crumble and be reabsorbed into the earth for my mistakes, for my sins? Was it the way I mechanically went through the motions of worship for the few years after Guizhong's death? Or does my benevolent god crave me and my nation to fall for aiding in the destruction of Kh-?"

Abruptly Zhongli grasps at his chest where his heart lays as he coughs. More out of politeness than concern you rub his back as fluid flies from his lips to his closed fist.

The thick inky plum colored fluid stained his fist with droplets of crimson swirling within it. His coughing fit slows to a halt as his hand slowly releases the clothing over his heart. Harsh breathing and a shallow pained groan is all that can be heard as he cleans himself up.

“Pardon me-”

“Was that a warning from Celestia or a side effect if you get too close to speaking?"

"The implication is the same no matter what it may be from." He whispers as you begin to move back to return his personal space. Yet his now ungloved hand is what wraps around your grass stained sleeve.

"Now answer my question." Determination and a barely concealed unruly emotion simmer beneath his composed surface as he asks. "As an oracle, tell me what I have to do to earn their forgiveness. What must I reap to begin repenting for the sins I sowed?"

Eyes widening at the sight of the disheveled man, you stare at him quietly. The messy hair, cut up clothing and grip tight enough to keep you still all while being careful not to bruise.

Hook, line and sinker.

"Is that a question for me to answer? Am I the god that you wronged? If you wish to communicate with the creator yourself, then there is a way. A method to begin regaining the pebbles that make up the mountain of trust you once shared with them."

You grab the arm that connects to his hand wrapped around your own and pull him up. He obeys the silent command and stands up, his gaze never faltering from your form. Silent and towering like the mountains he's created, he simply listens.

"Celestia has hidden more from you than you originally thought. But I'm sure you already know that. Offer yourself to the merciful creator and they'll surely hear your pleas of forgiveness. Whether they forgive you or not is up to them."

Releasing your hold on him, you turn to survey the area. Now where could you have him perform the sacrifice? His free hand comes to rest on your shoulder for your attention.

"What must I offer of myself? My blood? My body? If need be, I'll even be willing to offer my life. My life is worthless without them. I'm nothing more than a grain of mineral if not for them."

"There's so many things you can offer, but if you want to make the most impact, then you'll offer up your body parts. Your life may be precious but just how much longer do you have left?"

"Then will the private temple I have built for them work? We can head there immediately." He points south to the sole unnamed mountain in Minlin. You vividly remember unlocking the teleport waypoint there.

"The only way I'll know is when I see the interior. I'll meet you there Zhongli!"

Pulling yourself away from his grasp, you close your eyes and calmly imagine what the scenery around the waypoint looks like. The rocky feel of the floating stone changes to a lush green beneath your feet. Opening your eyes you're greeted with a valley of viridescent brustles with degraded stone ruins at the edges.

"To think that the Creator even allowed you access to the waypoints. They must treasure you greatly." He appears at your side in a matter of minutes. His tone has a hint of longing and bitterness.

It's sweet like the flavor of a childhood candy that you would sneak behind your parents backs. Almost sweet enough to make up for the starvation you would face later on as punishment.

"Instead of focusing on that, why don't you show me that private temple you created? As the Geo Archon, I hold high expectations for you."

"This temple is the one I created for me. If you want the glamorous shrine built for the mass and appearance then you're better off viewing the public one that the Qixing now control."

He walks down the hill until the grass is tall enough to cover his calves. You follow behind him and stare blankly at the plain that is covered with a healthy amount of tall marigolds. Just as you're about to repeat the question, the earth begins to rumble.

It starts with just one stone rising from the ground, until it multiplies into a roof like structure. You watch in awe as a temple surges out of the mountain with the slightest bits of dirt falling off it.

Stone of high quality and clearly careful upkeep shines with small cracks from the passage of time. Gold, silver, and bronze layer the nooks and crannies of the pillars that keep a roof over the doorway.

Marveling at it, you follow Zhongli into the temple... He couldn't kill you in it, right? Surely you could still teleport even if he locked you in it… Teleporting without using the map might not work due to the focus and effort it required, but doing it with the map has never failed you yet.

The inside was even more impressive; statues of all kinds surrounded the hallway. It was you, always you, just in different poses, clothing and materials. From thin robes crafted entirely from Cor Lapis, to suits made of Noctilucous Jade.

Arriving at what seemed to be the main room, you're greeted with a huge statue comparable to the public one in Inazuma's plaza. Sunlight bathed your statue from the skylight above it.

Your body was made of Cor Lapis decorated in an Archon-like robe made from Noctilucous Jade. A fresh Glaze Lily sat in your palm as Silk Flowers adorned your head in a crown like structure. You sat on a blue stone throne that seemed to grow brighter as you approached it. The sleek yet dense mineral looked like the magical crystal chunks you would give to the blacksmiths.

"Be careful to not venture too close to that one, the elemental energy may leave it to join you." Zhongli warns as he steps into the middle of the room. Smiling casually to hide your amazement, you head back to him.

"What an impressive statue, the Creator is feeling quite pleased with the display but still wishes to see your true remorse." Digging into your bag, you brought out the ceremonial knife and the handbook you took notes on.

"Go get the softest cloth and lay it on the ground. This ritual is simple, you'll cut off whatever part of your body you wish to offer, pray, and wait for a response. If 10 to 20 minutes pass with no response, then you can leave it at that or offer more in hopes of a response."

Closing the book and shoving it back into your bag you offer the knife to Zhongli. He looks up from where he laid the gilded gold fabric to stare at the knife before letting out a drawl laugh.

"That knife will do little to my scales, Y/N. A ceremonial item is to be bathed in liquid gold to be used so I have more than enough weapons that can actually cut my skin."

Scoffing, you stuff the knife back in as he leaves and returns with a variety of weapons. The largest was an ax that smelled faintly of blood. Was it used to sacrifice someone not too long ago? The thought makes you uncomfortable, yet you're no longer alarmed at the thought.

My, have you changed.

You move to stand away from the center closer to the exit. Zhongli's bare hand turns to a pattern of black and amber hues. Shedding his thick coat, his flexed muscles in draconic form are left in full view.

If you were back on Earth, you would have killed to view this. An Archon’s skin was something the majority of the players wished for, for quite a while. Even now, you would love to see his true Archon form, but the thought of actually living was far more tantalizing.

Rolling up his sleeves, he chooses a sword and examines it carefully. Without fear he raises it high and slices downwards cutting his hand off cleanly. The ruby liquid sprays onto the floor as the droplets drip off his sword and dismembered limb simultaneously.

It doesn't matter how many times you witness or smell blood, it still disgusts you. The only blood you truly cherished in shedding was the one that left that man's body when you stabbed him in that cold alleyway.

His hand lands onto the expensive textile with a wet thud as the ivory bone sticks out. Zhongli lays the sword down gently resisting the urge to groan in pain. Gritting his teeth he returned his attention and gaze back to you. You, who stayed in perfect position ahead of him, clad in gems and minerals carved by his own hand.

Closing his eyes, his lips followed the adored pass time of praying with intensity. Too lost in his regret, joy, and infatuation his words slipped out clear like the perfectly carved jewels he’s crafted for you.

"My god, my god. For I have sinned against you so. The mistakes I cannot fix or change, I pray for your forgiveness." Your unmoving, unchangeable eyes stared at him with an expression so familiar to him, one who worshiped you in this temple for centuries.

"From allowing myself to be tricked, to the lack of devotion I felt to you in Guizhong's death and finally with how I treated a servant of yours with disdain. Envious, I am envious to an extent that I shouldn't hold to my righteous god like you. Even now I still haven't broken the habit of referring to you as 'my' god."

Once again, just like the first time, Teyvat seems to overwhelm you with his feelings. You stare at his back as his lips murmur the words of devotion without an end in sight. Silently, you accept his offering, this first one was only to put the last nail in the coffin of you being an oracle.

The sky darkens as Zhongli's hand crumbles into a pile of primogems that dissolve into the air. Blue and purple stars dance across the sky as a lone gold star makes its way closer.

You didn't plan to always accept his offerings. After all you did lose a 50/50 to him and was forced to put up with his paranoid possessiveness in regards to your creator self. Shouldn't you make him lose a few times to even the score?

The gold star shines brighter and bigger as Zhongli gazes at it with a smile purer than anything he's ever felt since his creation at your hands. It flies through the window enveloping him and the whole room with a beaming light.

--------------

When his eyes open, the skylight shows the sunny sky but he can already feel his connection to you stronger. The brilliance you bore shines beautifully in him like a star he wished to keep hidden for only him to see.

It worked, it worked! There is no need for him to be wary or envious of you for claiming to be so close to the creator anymore. In fact, you were a sign specifically designed for someone like him. A sign that the creator had not grown complacent in simply watching Teyvat, you were now showing interest in coming back soon. And through you, he can find out details about the creator that were kept secret all these millennia.

A wide and joyful grin is bared with obsession tangling within it. He turns his head to where you stood and his smile drops abruptly when all he's greeted with is an empty spot.

He built this temple for him and the creator to enjoy in privacy due to his possessive nature born from his dragon lineage, yet the sight of Y/N who up and vanished after fulfilling their duty struck his core like the abyssal gunk that used to constantly corrupt his body.

You may have left, you may think that he wouldn't treat you, a fellow devoted servant well due to his earlier behavior. And he understands that, he truly does but that simply means he has to rectify his mistake before it's too late. You were a mere human while him, a god.

Finding you before any terrible consequences from his mistakes won't take too long.

-------------------

Unaware of the dragon's changing tune, you eye the Dragon-Queller tree from outside the temple with interest. After all the work you've done thus far, indulging yourself with a nice close up of the magnificent landmark would be a good treat for yourself.

This one took a while and it was edited by the same jerk. I really hope all the work was worth it and that the next part can be done faster. But as my college is starting this early Sep, it might be even longer. Genshin's lore is a hot mess so I tried my best to keep it simple while touching on the important parts. All the lore I put in is almost completely accurate. If you don't include the sagau parts. If your name is italic then that means I couldn't tag you. I manually put everyone so hopefully this fixes the notifications problems. Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife, @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0

#whisp's amateur work #genshin impact #genshin sagau #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #yandere sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau oracle au #genshin cult au #sagau cult au #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere zhongli #sagau #yandere morax #yandere rex lapis

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targaryenluvs · 9 months

Text

MISS OFFICER

pairings: finnick odair x fem!officer!reader

summary: you’re tasked with training finnick odair for war and to fight in the captiol. only problem? he’s completely enamoured with you.

warnings: war mentions, combat, flirting, inappropriate jokes, kisses, short

a/n: was aiming for nazeera x kenji as in grumpy x sunshine

his smile was blinding. or at least finnick liked to think so. he always relied on his charm and wit to get him through whatever. but for once he was dumbstruck, only around you. whenever you walked past he’d throw a joke your way but he could barely ever get a rise out of you and it annoyed him to no end.

but you certainly had no plan to indulge in his comedy. and you didn’t have the time. coin has appointed you to the training program and much to your chagrin you weren’t assigned to a group. rather one victor.

today was your first day with finnick. in closed quarters. just the two of you. alone.

this was going to be hell.

“soldier.” finnick jumped up to his feet once you entered. “y/n.” you stared at him, crossing your arms. “are we friends soldier?” finnick smiled, “i’d like to think so, we could be good friends yknow. if we weren’t already.” you took a step closer, “you’re not family, you’re not my friend and i barely know you. i am your commanding officer and trainer as of now, you will treat me with respect and announce me as such.” you were stern and angry and for some reason it only fueled him on.

“of course miss officer.” he saluted you as you rolled your eyes. “it’s one thing to be in the games and fighting for yourself but here, with me you’ll learn how to fight with a squad. you are protecting others as well and your squad is your family. do. you. understand. me?” he nodded and you walked away, picking up a staff you turned to him.

“now, let’s get to training.”

he was good you’d give him that.

he’d actually managed to get a few hits in but you were obviously better trained. this was your turf in a matter of speaking. hand to hand combat. you were sure if this was in the water or if he’d had a trident in his hands he’d have the upper hand.

“that’s enough for today.” you told finnick as you finished packing away the equipment. “you’re kidding right? it’s only been two hours.” you laughed for once. “it’s been four.” finnick turned around surprised, “you’re kidding.” you shook your head before getting up, “you’re good finnick. just a few more sessions and rifle training and you’ll be cleared to enter.” finnick leaned against the doorway, blocking your exit. “as great as entering the field sounds, i’d much rather spend some sessions with you.” again you rolled your eyes at his words before shifting to the side as finnick moved the same way.

“you’re kidding me. soldier move to the side.” he shook his head, “not until you call me by my name.” you bit your lip and rocked on your feet. “or i could do this.” you pushed him to the side and pinned him to the wall, your arm on his throat. “move or be moved soldier. you chose wrong.” he gazed into your eyes and couldn’t help but smile at you, “for your information i quite like the position i’m in right now.” you scoffed and released him before twisting his arm behind his back and throwing his legs out from underneath him.

“i don’t like repeating myself, finnick.” you teased before picking up your bag and exiting the training room.

and as he laid on the floor, recalling all the times you battered and bruised him, he couldn’t help but laugh. he’d get beaten a hundred times as long as it ended up with you ontop of him.

the next few sessions were similar. you’d enter, not knowing he’d been waiting for over an hour, you’d train he throw a million dirty jokes your way with a bunch of stunning smiles and you’d shake them off as if they did nothing to you. you had an image to maintain and you tried your hardest not to let him in. but a girl can only hold out for so long.

special privileges are earned and somehow finnick managed to weasel his way in.

the lake was calm and you were so close to falling asleep. but, per usual, he came along. whistling of all things. “yes please disturb my quiet time finnick, i’d been waiting for you.” finnick sat down next to you, “of course you were. you can’t resist me.” you turned to him and pouted, “am i that transparent? i want you, i need you, oh baby, oh baby.” finnick beamed as you smiled back involuntarily.

“i see a smile.” you shoved him in the arm, “no you didn’t soldier.” finnick laughed, “soldier? am in trouble now?” you nodded, “yes you are. i’m going to tie you up-” finnicks eyebrows shot up as you groaned, “not like that, why do you always think like that.” he shrugged his shoulders, “you tell me. i see the same gorgeous woman every single day. how can i resist?” this time he wasn’t joking, you could tell. “you think i’m pretty?” he shook his head as you feigned shock.

“i think you’re breathtaking.”

and that was all it took for your defences to come crumbling down as he moved closer, and you let him. his hand on your cheek and his soft kiss. you felt as if you were floating and you’d finally given in.

a girl can only hold out for so long.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #hunger games x reader #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick odair x female reader

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archiveikemen · 28 days

Text

Elbert Greetia 1st Birthday Campaign (2024): Story

His POV

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Kate: Lord Elbert, please open your eyes.

Elbert: … May I?

Kate: Yes, go ahead.

Led by Kate who told me to keep my eyes closed, I found myself in the dining room of Crown’s castle.

(Wow…)

Mornings in this castle weren’t usually lively, so it was common for it to be empty.

But this morning— the dining table was lined with a variety of vibrant looking dishes.

Victor • William: Happy birthday, Elbert.

POP! With a light sound, a party popper burst open and confetti danced in the air.

Elbert: …

Elbert: Is this… a birthday celebration?

Kate: Yes! Since you and I have plans to go out together tonight, I discussed it with everyone and we decided to celebrate your birthday over breakfast.

Kate: Happy birthday, Lord Elbert.

Standing next to me, Kate smiled brightly with sparkling eyes as though it were her own celebration.

(... Cute.)

The sight of that smile was enough to warm the coldest part of my heart—,

Elbert: … Thank you.

When I received her greeting, a smile naturally formed on my face.

I immediately realised that it was my first time ever smiling like that.

Ellis: … [surprised]

Harrison: … Oh?

A few observant Crown members stared at me in surprise.

Kate: …?

Not understanding what was going on, Kate blinked in confusion.

(There's no need to explain to her why everyone’s surprised.)

(Thinking about all the birthdays I’ve had up till last year will definitely hurt your kind heart.)

Alfons: I do wonder if a breakfast this heavy would be too much for Lord Elbie’s stomach so early in the morning.

Having sensed what I was feeling, Al changed the topic.

This childhood friend of mine was always quick to notice the little details.

I thought it was admirable that he and I were opposites in that aspect.

Liam: He might not be able to finish everything, but he should at least have some cake.

Victor: Kate and I handmade it together last night!

Alfons: I had a hard time dealing with Elbie’s urge to barge in and ruin the surprise.

Roger: How did you manage to distract him?

Alfons: By making him choose a dress and accessories for tonight’s party.

Kate: Eh!? Another new dress…?

The party we were to attend tonight was hosted by one of the companies running the estate.

Although Kate felt that it was odd to have a party on the lord’s birthday, the hosts weren't to blame… because my birthday wasn't widely known.

Kate: Thank you, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: Hope you like it.

Alfons: I can't believe this man tried to buy out the entire store because he didn’t know which one you'd like.

Elbert: … I narrowed it down to what would suit you most.

Kate: Uhh… now I feel like my present for you is nothing compared to this…

Elbert: A present from you?

Kate: Of course I had something prepared. I’ll give it to you tonight when we return from the party.

(A present. From Kate to me.)

I was so happy, my face felt strange. Was I smiling? I didn't know myself.

One thing for sure was that… I was glad I met you and had you by my side.

Elbert: Thank you.

Kate: Fufu, it's too early to thank me. I haven't given it to you yet.

Alfons: Can the two lovebirds over there please cut the cake already?

Alfons: How about you feed each other too? It’s a special occasion after all.

Kate: Huh!?

Elbert: … Shall we?

Kate: Lord Elbert, you too…

Victor: Yes, yes… that’d be so precious to watch, I might cry. Harry, can I borrow your handkerchief?

Harrison: Use your own.

Roger: Looks like the corrupted heart is being purified, huh, Al?

Jude: If this guy gets purified, he’d probably disappear completely.

Alfons: Ahha! What cruel words. It was I who set up this wonderful scene, you know?

Kate’s face turned as red as an apple at the teasing around her.

Elbert: Mm… delicious.

Kate: I- I’m glad you think so.

Kate: … I hope this birthday will be a happy one.

(It’s already the happiest birthday of my life…)

However, I kept that from her because I wanted more.

…

After we enjoyed the breakfast feast and got ready for the party, we boarded the carriage while I resisted the urge to keep her, dressed in her new dress, all to myself.

The party we were attending went smoothly.

Since my birthday wasn’t widely known, the reactions I received from the people around me were as per usual.

Elbert: Kate, I’ll go chat with the host for a little bit.

Kate: Alright. See you.

Elbert: Be careful. Call for me immediately if anything happens.

When I had to leave Kate’s side, a wave of regret washed over me.

(If only I had made it known that it’s my birthday today.)

(That way… I can stay by Kate’s side the whole time.)

Those were things I never would've thought of in the past.

(If I think of it as something Kate brought into my life… perhaps this feeling of regret isn’t so bad.)

(... I should go back to her as soon as possible.)

…

A few minutes after Elbert left Kate’s side, a soft voice spoke to her from behind.

Calm Elderly Woman: Are you the young lady Elbert is dating?

Kate: ! Yes, my name is Kate. Pardon my discourtesy, but may I ask who you are?

Sharon: I’m Sharon, Elbert’s great-aunt. Sorry for approaching you all of a sudden.

Kate: Great-aunt? A pleasure to meet you! I apologise for not greeting you sooner.

Sharon: Fufu… no need to be so formal. I’m glad to finally meet you.

Kate: Would you like to speak to Lord Elbert? He’s currently with the host…

Sharon: No, it’s fine. I made use of my connections to enter this party, that boy doesn’t know I’m here.

Sharon: He rarely shows his face at social events on his birthday… I’m a little worried about him.

Kate: Huh…?

Sharon: Elbert’s father held birthday parties for him in his childhood. He only showed his face once.

Sharon: Although his mother was still alive back then, she would always stay in her room and never attended.

Sharon: I heard that he collected beautiful things, so I gave him several frames of pressed flowers.

Sharon: That boy looked overjoyed when he received them, however… he wore a pained look on his little face when he returned to the party.

Sharon: After that happened… I finally understood.

Sharon: There was not a single present that boy could accept as a celebration of his birth.

Kate: …

Sharon: After his mother’s passing, we were told not to give him any more birthday presents… and that was it.

Kate: … So that’s what happened. Um…

Kate: By any chance, did one of those framed pressed flowers include a blue poppy?

Sharon: Oh… you know about it?

Kate: Yes. It became a keepsake for Lord Elbert, myself, and… someone dear to us. So…

Sharon: … I see. I’m glad it became something meaningful to him.

Sharon: That boy’s facial expressions have become more pleasant than they used to be. I wonder if it’s because he now has someone like you by his side.

Sharon: I couldn't do anything for him because I live far away, so I’m not in the best position to say this, but…

Sharon: I wish you both happiness.

After a complex conversation with the host, Elbert went to the balcony where Kate was waiting for him.

Kate: Lord Elbert… have you finished your conversation?

Elbert: … Yeah.

(Did I… leave you at the party looking like this?)

Even though her dress and accessories were personally chosen by me, I was momentarily stunned by how beautiful she looked standing at the balcony.

Elbert: Sorry for leaving you alone. Did anyone bother you? Did you experience anything unpleasant?

Kate: I’m alright. Everyone was very kind.

Kate: … It looks like someone has been going around telling everyone that I “belong to Lord Elbert” every day.

Elbert: … That might've been me. … Or Al.

Kate: Fufu. I’ve heard rumours about both of you.

Kate laughed and moved to stand closely next to me.

Kate: I met Great-aunt Sharon.

Elbert: ! … She came? That’s rare.

Elbert: She has always lived alone in a deserted lakeside mansion… and was treated as an eccentric.

Elbert: But being around her makes it feel… a little easier to breathe.

Kate: I understand that feeling.

Kate: … I heard from her that you’re not a fan of being celebrated.

(Oh…)

It seemed that Kate had learned the reason why Crown was surprised in the morning at breakfast.

The day of my birth was the day my parents’ suffering began.

I never felt that it deserved to be celebrated.

And yet, I couldn't help but feel envious whenever I saw someone else's birthday being celebrated.

(I wanted to be reborn so that I could feel happy from the bottom of my heart about being celebrated. But…)

Not wanting to dull Kate’s facial expression, I spoke.

Elbert: Kate, but now—

Kate: You think that you’re genuinely happy… right?

Elbert: eh…

Elbert: How did you know?

Kate: While waiting for you, I thought about Crown’s surprised looks this morning.

Kate: They were surprised because of your smile when I said “happy birthday”.

Kate: For sure, it was a different facial expression than your usual one.

Kate: You smiled because you were genuinely happy to receive the birthday greeting.

(... I’m no match for Kate, aren’t I.)

There wasn’t a trace of sorrow in her affectionate smile.

She must've been hiding it, knowing how much I hated seeing her feel hurt.

Elbert: Yeah… you’re right.

(It's because you allowed me to be reborn.)

Elbert: Today, I think I feel genuinely happy about being celebrated.

Kate: … That’s great. I’m glad to hear that, Lord Elbert.

(Yeah, look at you.)

(You smile like that, looking truly happy when I’m happy.)

Her kindness and warmth made me want to tear up from how much I loved her.

I pulled her into a tight hug, the warm body of my beloved fitting snugly in my arms.

Elbert: I wonder if I can just take you away right now for the night.

Kate: … Even though the party is still ongoing?

Elbert: Yeah… I don’t want to let you out of my embrace anymore.

Kate: Fufu. Still, it’d be hard to leave the party venue like this.

Elbert: Not if… I do this.

Kate: Kyaa…!

I lifted Kate in a princess carry and carried her back to the party venue from the balcony.

Kate: Lord Elbert…?

I looked around the venue and called out to a server I saw.

Elbert: Can you call me a carriage?

Server: Y-yes. Right away…!

The server blushed and hurried off.

Amidst the buzzing of the guests surrounding us, the host approached with a surprised look.

(Oh, great. Saves me the trouble of searching for him.)

Elbert: Lord, thank you for today’s invitation. I apologise, but we shall take our leave now.

Host: Are you leaving already? … Is your partner perhaps feeling unwell?

Host: I can arrange a private room for her to rest if you’d like…

Elbert: No… she’s not unwell. I’m doing this because I want to.

Kate: …っ

Kate frowned in embarrassment at my honest response.

The sight of her ears turning red was adorable.

Host: I- I see. Please pardon my discourtesy. But it’s a pity… you went through the trouble of attending, after all.

Elbert: Sorry. I’ll compensate you another time.

(Oh, right… I might as well tell him now, since this is a rare chance.)

Elbert: This is because it’s my birthday today.

Host: … Huh!?

Kate: Lord Elbert…

(It’s a special day you redefined for me.)

I dropped a gentle kiss on Kate’s lips to convey that to her.

Kate’s shoulders trembled slightly at the touch, but she accepted my feelings along with the kiss.

Elbert: I want to spend my birthday with the person who means the world to me.

Everyone present turned red like Kate.

The host apologised frantically for not knowing it was my birthday and escorted us to the carriage.

…

Elbert: It's a relief I didn't have to do much to convince them, although I don’t understand why everyone was blushing.

Kate: … That’s because you said such sweet words while doing something a prince would do.

Kate: That would… make anyone's heart race.

(Prince… sweet words… did I seem that way?)

I thought I was just being my usual greedy self, but I let it slide.

Elbert: Does that mean it made your heart race too, Kate?

Kate: … Yes, my heart was beating like crazy. Ah, but this doesn't mean you should do that whenever we go somewhere, okay?

Elbert: … I can’t?

Kate: You can't. … My heart won’t be able to take it.

Elbert: Fufu.

As I held her on my lap and rested my cheek against her head, a warmth spread in my chest again… and then came the slight feeling of thirst.

I want, I want. A desire started stirring in my heart.

Elbert: … I want to receive your present soon.

Kate: I’ll give it to you when we return to the castle. Bear with it a little bit more, okay?

Elbert: I want you too after that.

Kate: … That’ll also have to wait till we return to the castle…

Elbert: Kate… I want a kiss right now.

Kate: … That’s fine, of course.

Kate: Happy birthday, Lord Elbert.

I closed my eyes and received a celebratory kiss that was so blissful—,

I found myself having the seemingly foolish thought of how I wished it would be my birthday again tomorrow.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikevil translations #otome #ikevil birthday #elbert greetia

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littlemarianah · 2 months

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I have a headcannon that it was Peeta's mother who used to decorate the bakery's cakes before him.

She learned it as soon as she married the baker, and is kinda good at it.

Maybe that's why she's so picky about the cakes Peeta makes. "If I had done it..." is what she always says when is about to criticize him. But the truth is that the boy is so good that it's difficult to find something in his cakes to complain.

Peeta took his mother's artistic essence. She is good at crafts, always painting the bakery sign with elegant calligraphy, decorate them with flower designs.

Mrs. Mellark would be a good artist if it weren’t for her complete lack of imagination. For her the books are nonsense, and the illustrations are children’s drawings.

That’s why she didn’t let Peeta draw too much when he was growing up. “go do something useful.” She said “You will not learn to knead bread making doodles.”

She never wanted to be a baker, she never wanted the life she chose, but she knew it was the only way. Her father was a drunk, her mother was neurotic

She didn't choose her husband out of love. She chose him because he was stable, because he was disciplined, because he could be a good father. She didn't have children because she wanted to be a mother, but because she needed more hands to work.

The first was planned, the second tolerated, the third an accident.

After the games, when Peeta returned home, limping and with deep-set eyes. She went to visit him a few times in the victors village.

Peeta's house wasn't organized like she taught him to leave his room. Was a mess. His room was full of pages with scribbles, tubes of paint amd unfinished paintings. Art and more art, everywhere... Mrs. Mellark didn't even know that her son still painted. After he became a teenager, was good at hiding who he really was from his mother. She never saw him draw again, but the truth is that the little artist she tried to repress so much never stopped drawing.

Drawings of landscapes and places, many doodles from the small bakery where he grew up. Drawings of people, neighbors, customers, many drawings of the hunting girl. Peeta paints her much better than she really looks, without marks, without scars, without the frown she has. For Mrs. Mellark, it's just another sign of the madness her son has fallen into.

To the woman’s surprise, she find some drawings of herself, all unfinished. Peeta always seems to stop drawing when he get on her face. Lots and lots of unbedded scribbles of herself. She has always preferred to be feared than loved, to be the tough guy when her soft husband doesn’t have the courage to discipline his children. But it pains her to see that her husband’s drawings at least had the decency to be finished before being thrown into the pile of forgotten scribbles.

Peeta. Her youngest boy. Weak like his father, sentimental, scared, soft. She was perhaps a little heavy on him growing up. She saw how very fragile he was when he was little. He wasn't like his brothers, Peeta was always an outsider. And she always saw that... So she doesn't even try to scold him for the mess in his house.

After he came back to the games she could only see in him the small, scared boy who always tried to hide under her skirt when he was young. And with that memory, comes all the times she pushed him away and told him to become a man. That a six-year-old boy shouldn't cry like a soft girl.

But Mrs. Mellark regrets nothing, even if the memories make her uncomfortable. Was because of that he won the Hunger Games. She taught him to endure, she turned the weak boy into a grown man. She never apologized for that, even though her son hates her forever.

She didn't visit him much in the victor's village, but one of the few times she did, Peeta thought she would fill him with complaints about the dirty house. But she just does said:

"It's not because you're crippled that you have to stay inside this house all day, go sunbathe and open the curtains." And then she left a fresh loaf of bread on the kitchen table and when home.

That was it.

One of the last interactions Peeta had with his mother before she died. Buried under the rubble of the bakery that she fought her entire life to maintain, with the children she raised to become respectable bakers. Men enough to take care of their wives and children. Everything she fought for her entire life was left in ashes and the only one of the boys left was the one she never thought would prosper.

Peeta misses her sometimes.

He thinks his eldest daughter looks like her grandmother a bit. Big blue eyes and dimples on her cheeks. He sometimes thinks he even forgives his mom, not all the time, but sometimes. Peeta misses her discipline and resilience. Sometimes he wants to hear her voice telling him to stop whining and come back with his head held high.

Perhaps the only lesson she taught him and stuck with him until the end is that the Mellarks never give up. Every morning, they wake up early, turn on the oven and work until sunset. That the Mellarks are never content with little, that they never accept mediocrity.

So he teaches his children to lift their heads after a defeat, to try again after they fail. Because The Mellarks never give up.

#the hunger games #sorry for the typos #I cried a little writing this #peeta mellark #headcanon #mrs. mellark #mommy issues #thg #character essay

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yesimwriting · 10 months

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okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

571 notes · View notes

avoxrising · 10 months

Text

The Feral One • Chapter 1

Finnick Odair x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

The first thing you remember after they lifted you from the arena was the hands of Capital doctors grabbing at you. Three weeks in the arena had left you extremely weak and you had a bad cut on your face but none of that mattered. They were touching you and you didn’t like that.

The second thing you remember after they lifted you from the arena was waking up chained to your hospital bed, surrounded by peacekeepers and President Snow.

“Miss Y/L/N,” the old man stated. “I wish you wouldn’t be so difficult with us.”

“Difficult?” you ask with what little voice you have left.

“It seems that you won’t let us treat your wounds, or let anyone get close to you for that matter,” he states. “The poor doctor was just trying to take your temperature when you stabbed him with a scalpel.”

“He was touching me,” you reply.

“Oh my dear we have a long road ahead of us if you are planning on remaining… difficult.”

You hadn’t meant to kill so many people. First it was 6 in the arena, then it was the doctor in the capital, then it was your first client, then it was another capital doctor and a peacekeeper trying to restrain you. By the time you came down from your lapse in sanity, you had been sentenced to house arrest in District 4’s victors village.

“Feral” is what they called you. To everyone outside of your home you were uncontrollable; crazy; even dangerous. To yourself, you were broken; confused; misunderstood. To him, you were everything.

“Y/N Y/L/N!” Linessa, the District 4 escort, calls out as she reaps the tributes for the 75th annual Hunger Games. Mags moves to volunteer but you quickly shoot her a look and she backs down. She knows you won’t hurt her, in fact, she’s one of the few people who genuinely cares for you, but she knows not to interfere when your mind is made up.

Annie shrinks into Mags’ side as you shuffle past her towards the escort. She’s another poor, misunderstood being like you. The two of you have never been friends for the simple reason that she is absolutely terrified of you and sometimes her meltdowns set you off. Maybe in a different reality you two would be friends, but not in this one.

Peacekeepers follow you to the front of the stage as you drag your shackled feet forward. This is the first time anyone besides the victors has seen you in around 5 years, and they’re getting a good look at what “feral” looks like.

The peacekeepers hold a gun to your back as you stand on the stage, head high. It’s so hot out you’re hoping you’ll sweat enough to slip your hands out of your cuffs. The district center looks the same as the last time you saw it all those years ago.

“Finnick Odair,” Linessa reads out and your head immediately snaps towards her. She lets out a small shriek and the peacekeepers tighten their hold on their guns as Finnick makes his way to the front to stand next to you. Of course, they don’t let him get anywhere near you, but you wouldn’t hurt him. You would burn the whole world to the ground if it meant protecting him.

The peacekeepers allow Mags to join you and Finnick on the train but they don’t let her anywhere near you. Finnick tries to tell them that you’re fine and won’t hurt anyone but they won’t listen.

You’re done trying to advocate for yourself. In fact, it’s useless. You haven’t spoken to anyone besides Finnick in five years. Not since your client…

Anyways, peacekeepers escort you to your room and set up guard in the hall. They’re too scared to be in the room with you, and none of the avoxes will go near you.

You wouldn’t have even been fed if it weren’t for Finnick barging into your room (despite the peacekeepers’ protests) with a plate of food. The peacekeepers made him keep the door open so they could monitor the situation but at least you could eat.

“How are you feeling?” Finnick asks as you pick at your food. You shrug your shoulders in response. He goes to lay his hand close to yours in comfort, causing one of the peace keepers to pipe up.

“Hey!” he yells, causing you to jump. “Back up Mr. Odair. We’ve been advised not to let anyone get within five feet of it.”

Finnick stands up and moves himself between you and the peacekeepers.

“First of all,” he states. “She is not an ‘it’. She’s a human being like the rest of us. Secondly, she is not a danger to me. She would never hurt me and even if she tried we both know I would win that fight. Scaring her like that is only going to set her off, and I won’t hold her back if she does. The best thing you can do, for everyone’s safety, is treat her like a human being, absolutely do not touch her, and no yelling. She’s not an animal, she’s traumatized.”

“Sir we’ve been ordered to shoot her at the first sign of agression. The capital doctors have advised us that she’s a danger to those around her,” the peacekeeper states.

“The capital doctors haven’t seen her in over five years!” Finnick exclaims. “They don’t know the first thing about her. Now get out and let us eat in peace. Don’t forget I’ve killed people too.”

The peacekeepers, visibly shaken, leave your room and allow the door to close. Finnick sits back down on your bed with you to resume your meal.

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x oc #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #catching fire #the feral one

686 notes · View notes

maidragoste · 10 months

Text

Promises

THG AU

Victor!Aegon II Targaryen x Victor!Reader

Summary: President Snow announces that in the next Quarter Quell, the tributes will be reaped from among the victors.

Logically I should have posted the Jace games first but it's been a while since I posted anything about Aegon and I was excited haha

Edit: The first chapter of the Jace games is now available.

Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Please, if you enjoyed this reading, let me know in the comments or in my inbox, that always motivates me to continue writing 💖💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

You were in the house of Viserys Targaryen like the rest of the victors from your district. Of course, you had to drag Aegon's drunk ass out of his house and bring him here first. Everyone was waiting for the broadcast about the seventy-five Hunger Games. All the Hunger Games were bloody but this year was the third quarter quell and in each quarter quell they modified the rules with the purpose of making the games even more brutal and more difficult to win. In the last quarter quell instead of sending two tributes per district they sent four so you couldn't even imagine what they planned to do now.

You locked eyes with Rhaenyra as you heard her father laugh at his own joke. She, like you, seemed to be anxious about the announcement because she kept spinning her rings.

“That's enough,” you said when you heard Alicent, Aegon's mother and Viserys' wife, sigh for the fifth time when she saw that her son wouldn't stop drinking. You tried to take the bottle from him but he slapped you and looked at you annoyed. Rhaenyra was ready to intervene but you waved her hand at her telling her you could handle it. “At least you can share a little,” you complained.

Aegon looked at you suspiciously. It wouldn't be the first time that you asked him to share his alcohol with you and then didn't return the bottle or in any case threw away all its contents. He groaned as he watched you pout before handing you the bottle. You smiled at him making a small smile appear on his face. Even so, he watched you carefully as you drank his whiskey, when he thought it was enough he abruptly took the bottle from you, causing the liquid to drip onto your chin. He laughed at your annoyed look as you wiped yourself with your hand. Rhaenyra shook her head at their foolishness.

President Snow finally appeared on the screen. Aegon's laughter stopped as did the conversation between Daemon, Viserys, and Harrold. At first, there was nothing out of the ordinary, as every year he talked about the uprising against the Capitol and how significant the games were until…

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol"You didn't know why but you couldn't help but get tense, you felt your stomach drop, you tried to calm by telling yourself that surely it was just the drink you had that was bad for you and you leaned back from the couch, listening even more attentively to the speech. "the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

You heard Alicent's screams. You watched as Rhaenyra got up from the couch and left the house. You flinched at the sound of breaking glass. The president's voice was no longer heard and the smell of whiskey filled the place. Aegon was no longer next to you, he found himself banging his head against the wall as he screamed. You felt like your heart was going a mile a second. You had a lump in your throat and your chest hurt and all you wanted to do was join in the screaming and smash things but that wouldn't help. Aegon needed you, Aemond and Daeron were busy trying to calm their mother down while Viserys carried a frightened Helaena to her room and Harrold along with Willis was trying to stop Daemon from destroying the kitchen as he had done with the vases in the living room.

You stood up and didn't bother to dodge the glass as you walked towards the youngest male victor in your district. You tugged at the back of his shirt, managing to move him away from the wall for a brief moment.

“Aegon! Stop” you shouted in a broken voice as you saw her hit herself again.

Hearing your voice like that Aegon turned to see you. There was now a bloody gash on his forehead and his eyes were manic. For a brief moment you thought he would attack you but all he did was pull your body towards his and entice you into a tight hug.

“We can't go back. I can’t go back” You felt his body shake as he sobbed and your heart broke for him. You knew Aegon's head couldn't handle surviving another arena, he spends all his time drinking to stay groggy and avoid thinking about all the people he killed. Even most of the time he only managed to fall asleep after having been drinking non-stop. "I can not do it"

“You won't,” you promised, caressing his cheeks, your head already hatching a plan. District One has five living male victors: Viserys, Daemon, Aegon, Willis Fell, and Harrold Westerling. There were chances that Aegon's name wouldn't come up in the reaping but if it did then Daemon could offer himself as a tribute. He would do it if you volunteered in Rhaenyra's place and if you promised to help him keep his girlfriend from District Four alive.

“I can't lose you,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. Maybe he was lucky and his name didn't come up in the reaping but you had less chance. You and Rhaenyra were the only living victors in the district. If your name came up he knew his sister wouldn't show up as a tribute. She may not depend on being drunk to keep her calm but he had witnessed how she would sometimes wake up screaming and the dark circles under her eyes were evidence that she could sometimes go days without sleep.

And those words ended up destroying you. You started crying with him. You wanted to be strong but you couldn't. You didn't want to go back to the arena either, you were supposed to be free after winning the games, and you didn't want to kill again, much less people you know. You may not be friends with every victor but during these years as a mentor, you had at least spoken once with each one.

Your stomach twisted as you thought that maybe it was one of your friends who would finish you off. Would they be merciful and give you a not-so-painful death? You didn't believe it because you knew that the people in the Capitol liked the show, they got bored with a simple death, and they wanted to see blood. So if Arryk, Tyland Johanna, and Sabitha wanted to live they would have to put on a show to gain sponsors.

Perhaps the easiest thing would be to commit suicide in the games, you would bring dishonor to your district—you wouldn't be the first, people still didn't see Viserys as a true victor after having betrayed his cousin by killing her while she slept—but at least you wouldn't have to kill anyone. The president couldn't punish you, he had already taken away your loved ones after you refused to prostitute yourself and killed the one who was supposed to be your biggest sponsor, he had only wanted you to come out alive so he could obtain your body.

You could die by eating some poisonous bug, plant, or fruit like Jacaerys Strong and her district mate had tried to do at the last minute. Supposedly they had done it because they were in love and didn't dare to be in a world without each other but you were sure it was an act. You could come to believe that the girl is in love but the boy does not seem natural with every display of affection in public.

“It's not fair,” you whispered in disbelief when you realized that they were all being punished because of the last victors. They had done their act of rebellion by threatening to eat poisonous berries so that there would be no winner of the games after announcing that the rule that there could be two winners if they were part of the same district was revoked. “It's not fair,” you moved your hands away from Aegon's face for fear that in your state of fury, you might end up scratching him. “I want them dead.”

You were too deep in your head to notice Aegon looking at you in dismay. Tears didn't stop flowing from your eyes but there was no longer fear in them but fury and determination. You have the same look you had during your Hunger Games.

You may die in these hunger games but at least before you leave you would make sure to make the so-called lovers of District Twelve pay for ruining what little peace you and Aegon had. You would make them wish they had died in their games.

These days it seemed like all you felt was anger. Angry at President Snow, at the Capitol, at Jacaerys Strong, and the girl from Twelve. But right now the one you were angry at was Aegon. The day after the announcement about vassalage was made, all the victors agreed that they would train together and get in shape for these games. The only one who had continued training all these years was Daemon, so the rest had a lot to catch up on, especially Viserys and Harrold—because of their age—and Aegon—because of his alcoholism—so when it was about to be a week and the idiot still didn't leave his house, you got angry.

You entered his house with the key he gave you a year ago. You found him sleeping on the couch with several bottles, some empty and others still unopened, on his table. You bit the inside of your cheek to avoid waking him up by screaming. The best thing would be to take advantage of the fact that he was asleep to get rid of any alcohol that was in the house. You started by inspecting the entire house and ended up throwing the contents of two flasks that were in his bathroom, five bottles of whiskey that you found in his room, and five bottles of vodka in his kitchen, down the drain.

When Aegon woke up he found you putting the bottles that were on his table into a garbage bag. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and once his vision fully focused he slowly stood up. He walked towards you and he hugged you from behind. Feeling your body he tensed he left a kiss on the back of your neck hoping you would relax but instead, he earned a slap on his hands that were on your waist. The blonde grumbled and walked away from you, finally realizing your bad mood.

“Go take a bath” you ordered without looking at him and continuing with your cleaning task.

Aegon listened to you, of course, he left before grumbling, revealing his displeasure at your cold tone towards him, hoping that once he was clean you would let him hug you and kiss you. At the thought of having your sweet lips, he soon took a quick shower and didn't even bother to dry his hair well before coming down to meet you in the kitchen. I smile at you when I see that you have made him eggs and toasted him bread. Before eating he wanted to look for a bottle of vodka to accompany the meal but he found his shelf empty.

“No more alcohol,” you declared, making the blonde turn to look at you with a frown. “Don't even try, I got rid of everything” you said when you saw him opening another shelf.

“You have no right!” He reproached you, pointing his finger as he walked towards you. You didn't flinch at his angry look nor did you try to escape when he placed both of his hands on the table, leaving you caged between his body and the table.

“You told me you couldn't lose me” The man looked at you confused without understanding what this had to do with you taking away his alcohol “So I'm training and I'm trying hard for these games for you” You felt heat on your face because of what you were about to say, you weren't used to being so open with your feelings. “I want you to do the same for me. I want you to train with me and the rest of the victors. I want you to promise me that you will give everything you have to win these games because I can't lose you either, I couldn't bear to live without you” Your voice broke at the end and you closed your eyes.

You needed Aegon to promise you so you could be a little calmer, you had already spoken with Daemon and he accepted your deal but you were still afraid that he would betray you at the last minute, you needed to know that Aegon would not give up if he went to the arena.

Feeling his chest warm at your words Aegon grabbed you by the waist to bring you even closer to him and captured his lips with yours. It didn't take long for you to move your lips in tandem with him. While he got drunk with the sweetness of your lips and melted before your touch, he couldn't help but think that this was the way he wanted to spend his last days, by your side. He also wanted to hit his past self for not taking advantage of every moment he had with you. If only he had made the effort to be a decent man and become someone worthy of you he would have told you a long time ago that he loves you. But he didn't and he didn't want to tie you down to spending the rest of your life with a useless drunk so he kept his feelings to himself and settled for those shared nights.

A growl left his lips as you broke the kiss. He tried to kiss you again but you moved your face making him pout.

"Please, Aegon. I need you to train. I need you to try and fight for us."

He hated that look in your eyes. He could see the fear and sadness in them. And knowing that he was one of the reasons you were unhappy made him feel a pit in his stomach. He didn't like the idea of having to fight Daemon and obey his orders, but he would do it for you.

"I will do it, I promise"

Maybe later when he is crying and with sore muscles he would regret it but seeing how your eyes lit up and the bright smile you gave him he didn't believe that would happen.

"I love you" he finally confessed his feelings and smiled when he saw the surprise in your eyes "I love you. I love you. I love you" he repeated while he spread kisses all over your face.

A mixture of laughter and sobs escaped your lips. You were happy to know that he also felt the same as you, you had long wanted to hear those words, but your heart ached knowing that you would not be able to spend the rest of your life at Aegon's side. It was a bittersweet feeling.

"I love you too," you declared through tears.

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