#they all deserve a chance at a life after the death game no matter how bittersweet it is jfjcjck | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahhhwomen · 7 months

Text

I don’t know why I bite.

Vampire Empire

Part 1

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: We are going to ignore how long I disappeared, okay thank you. Also, y/n will not be in a proper relationship with the girls, she will very much be viewed and treated like a pet not a partner, but she will obvi still get the love.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death (later on)Minors DNI 18+

Summary: Your Master is a cruel woman, but you would never stand a chance against her, but what if they can?

Word Count: 3.5k

The keys jingle in a pattern.

With each step, the clash of metal calls out. It changes tune, depending on the day. If she’s tired, she drags her feet, it’s a slower melody. When she’s angry, there is a harshness to the smashing of the chain against her belt and a thud to her heavy boots.

You don’t know what her happy steps are, you think the sound would be smooth. Maybe, like she´s floating?

You wonder if you are ever going to hear it? If you are being honest with yourself, you don’t really know if you want to. At least her other behaviors are predictable, you can handle predictable, uncertainty however, that is an entirely different game. Not one you are very keen on playing.

Today, her steps boom like thunder, and her keys shriek like lighting.

Chills run down your spine; you press against the cold concrete wall. It scratches your skin. You press harder and cower closer.

You are shaking as she sweeps around the corner of your prison; she’s frowning today.

But…?

It hurts.

From yesterday. It still hurts.

She always gives you a day.

It still hurts.

You need a day.

It doesn't matter. You know you can’t stop it.

You close your eyes and submerge yourself in the void. You don’t like the dark, but she doesn't like it when you see.

Your cage opens with a shriek. You flinch as she touches your face, she is breathing down your neck and you feel yourself panic as she struggles with your collar.

It's never good when she takes away your collar.

Before you do something stupid, like fight back, a soothing voice guides you. It’s a whisper, that only you can hear. Drag in slow breaths, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Rinse and repeat. You do as they tell you.

You're in a sunflower field.

The heavy feeling in your stomach is from the big dinner you had, half an hour earlier.

The sun is setting, and you are smiling and laughing as you run through the field of flowers. They're ginormous, almost bigger than you. There is a weight to them as you push past. They scratch and irritate, but it's only temporary, so you keep laughing to yourself.

There is a whip to the wind, the sound loud and frightening. The flowers are louder, so you pretend not to hear. They rustle and dance in the harsh wind.

It's dark, but the yellow glow of plant life guides you. You don’t know where you are running to, maybe home, maybe the ocean. It matters not. You are happy, just you and the flowers.

When the wind calms and the sun peaks over the horizon you know it’s time to leave.

You trek through the soil and ignore the sharp stones that prick your pale skin, you wish you could stay, but it’s time to return.

You open your eyes when she leaves. She almost killed you today.

It's okay.

You deserved it.

Tomorrow, you rest.

Maybe.

Natasha smirks over the rim of her whisky glass. One would think the blonde would be professional after almost a century of doing business, yet she still stomps around like a child throwing a tantrum when she doesn't get it her way. The redhead almost feels bad for the poor pet that was going to be at the end of Carol's rath tonight, almost.

“Knock, knock.” Wanda stands in the doorway, her knuckles lightly tapping against the dark oak.

She’s dressed modern today. Her suit is fitted to perfection, it hugs her waist and expands her hips. She also went for a smokey makeup look, her eyeshadow a mix of dark brown and black, her lips a deep amber, just like her suit.

If attraction could kill Natasha would be one dead woman.

She smiles at her wife before signaling her in with a wave. She’s surprised to see Wanda, her wife comes by occasionally, and she has always dressed nicely, but this is new. Due to her desk stealing her view, Natasha can't see, but she can hear her wife's high heels as she passes through the threshold. Same color as the suit she imagines.

“What brings you here?” Natasha questions as she pours her wife a drink.

Wanda settles herself in the plush chair in front of her wife before bothering to answer. “Do I need a reason lovely? Maybe I just want to see my beautiful wife in her place of work.” Wanda grins while the other redhead hands her a glass of whiskey. Neat, just how she likes it.

Natasha scans her wife with suspicion, she wants something. She can tell by the way Wanda leans her body slightly to the left while her lips lift into a flirtatious half-smirk.

The shorter redhead lifts her eyebrow. “As nice as that may be, why are you really here?”

Wanda deflates slightly at her wife’s accusatory tone. She is right, of course, but Wanda was hoping she could butter her up a little before getting to that. Wanda will have to ask her out on a date soon and make herself a little less predictable.

She is ashamed to say it's been a while since their last dinner date, or movie night for that matter. However, it's hard to find the time when you have been married since the eighteen hundreds, and you both work more than any human would be capable of.

Which brings her to her point.

Wanda pulls in a breath, “I want a pet.”

Before Natasha can get a word in Wanda continues to ramble all in the same breath, “And I know, I know, we have already gone over this. But I'm lonely. The business has been slow since the Stark clan agreed to our peace offering. And while you are busy here, I want someone to come home too.” Wanda keeps her tone open and light.

She wasn’t here to accuse her wife of not giving her enough attention, they both knew that their different work would keep them apart, but while Wanda would spend long nights in her home office, Natasha would spend them in her company office on the other side of the city.

Natasha drums her fingers sharply against her desk, she wants to shut the idea down immediately.

Having a frail human pet would mean having a weakness. Natasha knows her wife well. She knows her wife will get attached, and she knows it will never end well for either of them.

On the other hand, she understands her wife's needs. Natasha spends most of her days in the office, working to uphold their cover, while Wanda spends her days all over the city settling their other business. Their schedules never align either, Natasha works days, Wanda nights. She has to admit, it doesn't sound half bad to have someone to come home to the few nights she can afford it.

Wanda is waiting with bated breath as her wife concludes.

“You have already set up the meet, haven’t you?”

Wanda gapes slightly but conceals it before her wife sees. She knows her too well indeed.

She slumps into her chair, “Yes.” She lifts her finger to stop Natasha from commenting, “In my defense, I was coming here to get your approval.” Natasha chuckles to herself.

“And if you didn’t get it your way?”

Wanda smiles bashfully, “Then I would go without you.” Natasha has to blink away tears from how hard she laughs, she is gripping her stomach, wheezing while answering, “I would expect nothing less my love.” She rights her posture and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. She glances at her wife hiding her blush behind luscious red locks.

She can never say no to her.

Clapping her hands together, she responds. “Fine, you win.”

Wanda practically shines with mirth and joy, “But,” her companion eyes her carefully, nodding to confirm she´s listening. “I get to pick the name that goes on her collar.”

The other redhead huffs, “Fine, but it better not be something stupid.”

Natasha shrugs and her wife leans over the table to slap her shoulder in warning. Natasha smiles all the same and shakes her head, “Yeah, yeah, nothing dumb.” As much fun as she is having with this, she is a busy woman.

She runs her hands down her black suit, thinks of what paperwork to finish, and mumbles a question about when they need to leave while sorting through the latest update about their progress on Project X. Wanda, without missing a beat, states a simple, “Now.”

Nat drops her pen and pinches the skin between her eyebrows. Wanda shrugs half apologetically as Natasha fixes her with a hard glare.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grumbles a short, “Right, we better get going then.”

It's been almost a decade since she has set foot in one of these shitholes. Nothing has changed, the cages are just as small, and the odor stinks the same, alcohol, blood, and fear.

Wanda shifts uncomfortably as they wait for the salesman to get his spreadsheet, Natasha silently watches from the sideline as he sorts through a mess of paper and fast-food containers to find what he is looking for. She chastises Wanda for not finding a better establishment. Back in their time, this was the usual, but nowadays they have far better alternatives.

Wanda leans against Natasha to whisper, “It was the only place by a few miles Tash, and it’s the only place we have time for.” Natasha stays unimpressed. Wanda smirks at her wife and tucks a strand of loose hair behind the other redhead's ear before discreetly licking the shell of it and whispering sweetly, “I will make it up to you.” Natasha shivers under the attention and the salesman grunts a weak, “found it” before leading them into the main hall.

The ocean swishes in the background as you lie on your blue, shark-themed blanket in your modern bikini. The sun gleams over your head. Your skin stings and you shift onto your stomach, you must have forgotten sunscreen again.

Nonetheless, you purr under the shine of good weather; you wish you had taken a book with you. Maybe next time. For now, you stretch out and lay your bare arms against the warm sand. It will be stuck in every crevice, but it's nice.

A light breeze passes you.

You suck in a big breath, it burns, but you ignore it. It smells of salt and….. salt… and….?

Ice-cream.

It smells of salt and ice cream.

You think you may stay for a while today. You might visit tomorrow, but you would rather not.

If it doesn't burn too much, you hope to sleep tomorrow through. After all, if you are really lucky, you may not wake up again.

This place is even more depressing than Wanda had anticipated.

She and the other redhead had been to a similar place a few decades ago, but this was just sad. Not even the potent scent of blood can get her to ignore the uncomfortable sound of churning, empty, stomachs.

If they lived in a different city she would have taken her wife to a more humane operation, but with limited time comes limited opportunity.

The male and female sections are separate, in the left hall she can smell the odor of young men eager to please, while in this hall she can see the curious and smell the fearful. The gruff man showing them around had introduced them to a few pets by now, but she had to admit they were not what she was hoping for.

There had been one pet she took a slight liking to; a young woman, in her mid-twenties, she was in the puppy section, an enthusiastic little thing. But in the end, she was a little too pushy for Wanda’s liking, Natasha hadn’t seemed too keen either, so they left it there.

The kitten section wasn’t too bad, but every time she thought she was building a connection, Natasha would step into the pet's line of sight and they would cower away one by one. She knows her wife is putting on a stern face to test the poor little things, but it was starting to piss her off big time.

Wanda rolls her eyes as the feeble man struggles with yet another lock, she lifts her suit jacket and checks the expensive gold watch ticking away, fifteen more minutes or they will have to come back another time. Given that this was the only available time she and Nat had had in a few weeks the dire truth of not getting a pet today was settling in.

“Here she is, now she's not much to look at, but since you wanted to see them all,” the man shrugs and Wanda has half the mind to bite his head off. Before she can do anything of the sort Natasha takes her by surprise by stepping into the cage before her.

Nat ignores her wife as she steps into your cage, she has seen you before.

You were Carol's pet, or at least she thought you were. But it seems you were a less permanent part of the blonde’s life. Your cage was different, it was slightly bigger, the poorly dressed man had said something earlier about you being a leased pet.

You look horrible. She is studying you from a few feet away and she can still see the horrors you must have been through.

She knows Carol is violent, it's why she has spent so long trying to negotiate with blondie. Their clans were never on the same page and yes, threats were constantly made, but this was something else. Natasha would never think the pathetic woman would do this just because she could.

She hears Wanda step in and gasp at the sight of you.

You are lying on the hard floor with your back turned to them, a rag the size of a hand towel barely covering your bottom. Your hands are stretched out under the lamp, the only heat source you have, you have been beaten to a pulp. There are deep lacerations covering you, your entire body is one big bruise, and dried blood covers every crevice of both your skin and even part of the walls. But that was not what caught either of their attention, no, it was the lack of life they could sense from you.

Natasha kneels a few feet away from you and studies you carefully. Her hand rests against her cheek as she tries to focus on your heartbeat. It beats, but there was something off about it. It's slow like you are asleep, but she can hear in your breathing that you are still conscious.

She tilts her head and talks off-handedly at the man behind her.

“Is she sick?” She hears him scoff but ignores it in favor of closing her eyes and trying to feel you.

“Of course not-“ He waves his hand, “all that,” he gestures at your body, “was her own fault.”

Before Natasha has time to reprimand the pig, she hears a crunch behind her followed by a heavy thud.

She huffs and raises herself slowly before opening her eyes and looking at her wife with her peripheral vision. “I thought we agreed to not kill anyone today.”

Wanda stares at her with empty eyes. “No. We agreed on not killing any innocent people tonight. As far as I am concerned, I am just following his logic, after all this was all his fault.” Wanda gestures at the dead man's body.

Natasha turns to her wife while rolling her eyes.

Wanda ignores her wife's sass and looks past her to take you in once more. “Who is she?”

Natasha shrugs and gazes at you over her shoulder. “She was Carol´s plaything, but I guess Carol never owned her like I thought.” Wanda raised her eyebrows in surprise and stared at Nat, “That’s y/n?”. Her eyes move down to you again, “last time I saw her she sure as hell didn’t look like that.”

Natasha nods and crosses her arms in thought, “well it seems Carol is an even worse owner than she is a negotiator.”

The last time Wanda had seen you was when she joined one of Natasha’s meetings a few months ago, you were a new thing back then. You had scars, but they were pink and healed, you were a skittish little thing, but you ate, you had some color to you, and you sure as hell didn’t feel like this.

You could feel their eyes all over your body. You hated it, you never liked it when people looked too hard or thought too long, it always meant the same thing. They were assessing whether or not you are a feasible option as a pet. You know you aren’t, you know they will scoff and turn their backs to you as if you disgust them, like you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as them.

You get it though, they are probably right.

Usually, such a thing wouldn’t bother you, you are used to it by now, but there was something about their scents that put you off, you felt out of place even more than usual, and you hated it.

You were too focused on pretending to be asleep to assess what the heavy thud against the concrete could have been.

Whatever it was, must have had something breakable inside of it as you could hear a clear crack as something bounced off the floor. You decided you didn’t care, you only cared about the sudden voice that took over all the space of your enclosure. Powerful enough to command any and every room, you know this voice. It belongs to one Natasha Romanoff, and suddenly the voice behind her made sense too. You had only seen the redhead once, but you would remember her anywhere, just as commanding as her wife, and even more scary, Wanda Maximoff.

If you weren’t scared before, you were positively shitting your nonexistent pants now.

You try to keep your breathing even so as to not show any hint of awareness, you have no idea what they could be doing here. Had Master sent them? Were these the last moments you would have, were you going to die in this tiny, claustrophobic hellhole?

You were panicking, and you know they can sense it. Feel it. No matter how many times Master called you such, you weren’t an idiot. You know what they are, you know what they can do, what they will do.

As you hear one of them take a step closer you turn into a stiff board. You stay completely still as you feel your lungs start resisting the air you desperately try to force into them, you have this sudden need to flee or to bear your neck and beg for them to finish it quickly. Right after the thought passes your mind you shrink in shame, Master will kill you for ever thinking of bearing your neck to another.

You can hear them pause for a moment as you feel their eyes on you again. You have been made.

You don’t know what comes over you, you don’t know where you suddenly find the strength, but before you even know what you are doing you are leaping towards the women, your hands ready to claw out their eyes if need be.

You know they are stronger, faster, and smarter than you could ever wish to be, but this is a survival instinct, nothing makes sense, nothing matters. And as you collide into a warm body and start ripping into it, to the best of your ability, you realize, you have no idea what you are doing.

Natasha knew what you were about to do, possibly before you, and as you crashed into her and started scratching and ripping at anything you could get your hands on, she realized that maybe you still have a chance at this life. For the first time during their little visit, she can feel something in you, it’s small, scared, abused, but there is a will there, a will to live, a will to fight. That is more than most in this bleak city.

She holds you gently as you rip apart her coat, tear at her skin, and bite her hands. She hears Wanda take an uncertain step toward the both of you, unsure of what to do. But Natasha waves her hands nonchalantly and asks Wanda with a calm voice to stay back.

Natasha understands that to her wife you must look positively rabid. You were in the kitten class, but you were fighting Natasha as if you were a fighter dog. All teeth and claws. However, compared to Natasha, you might as well have been a mite.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t pierce her skin, can’t topple her balance, you can’t win.

Your fingers dig into the soft skin, your nails gripping and tearing, but nothing happens. There is no skin underneath your nails, no blood, no sight of damage against pale skin. You bite the hands that hold you, and you can hear your jaw creek as you strain your weak body, but the skin doesn't break, the only blood you taste is your own.

You are scared, you don’t know what to do, there is no sunflower field to hide behind, no sea to drown in, you feel powerless, even more so than she makes you feel.

You don’t know what they want, you don’t want to die like this.

Even after all your effort goes to waste you can’t give up, you have to keep trying, you have to-

“Stop.”

Wanda looks at you with an unreadable expression, you look up in terror as you realize you can’t move your body. One simple word, in one simple tone, has made you paralyzed.

#dark!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader

653 notes · View notes

archiveikemen · 7 months

Text

Victor 1st Birthday Campaign: Story (2024)

His POV

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Warnings and FAQ

The darkness of the night was my friend, and death was myself.

Today too, I walked, and walked, and walked in the darkness.

Then, I suddenly turned around.

Look, over there – a bloodied, blissful look of death.

…

Kate: Victor, Harrison lent me a book recently, so…

I did my own work, while Kate did the work she had as the fairytale writer.

Working in the same office together and listening to her stories gradually became a part of my everyday life.

(... She looks happy. She’s become a true member of Crown now.)

Kate: Right, about the matter regarding the maid Marianne that I discussed with you a few days back—

Victor: Ah, give her a few days off work. Meeting up with a long-distance lover is a very important occasion.

When I told her that I had already settled the matter we were in the midst of discussing, she blinked in surprise.

Kate: Victor… at approximately what time do you usually go to sleep?

Victor: Usually?

Kate: I understand that you have a heavy workload, and that’s something I can never deal with.

Kate: But whenever I approach you for something I want to discuss, you immediately resolve the matter on your own…

Victor: Ehh~~ are you perhaps praising me? Goodness, I’m overjoyed!

Victor: But unfortunately, I need to sleep as well. I’m a human being, after all. I only have so much time in a day.

Victor: Which means, the matters you bring up to me are of extremely high priority compared to the other things I have on hand.

Kate: … Thank you, Victor.

Victor: I thank you too, for caring about the other staff working here.*

*Victor actually referred to them as “kids”

Kate: Also… you can forget that I said anything if it turns out to be a misunderstanding, but…

Victor: … Hm?

Kate: Do you have something that’s been bothering you lately, Victor?

Kate: Things that make you unhappy…

(This girl is very observant and sharp.)

Those sincere eyes of hers deserve a sincere reply.

Victor: I have a mission with William tonight, and it’s not one that puts me in a good mood.

I was made aware of the existence of an organisation hat made Her Majesty the symbol of their beliefs — in other words, they worship her like a god.

(People are entitled to their religious beliefs, and Crown has no rights to interfere on that, however…)

There was word that the organisation abducted women and imprisoned them to be worshipped, and those who held no physical resemblance to Her Majesty were killed.

Victor: Tonight, we will investigate the organisation and punish them if found guilty.

Kate: … To think they’d kill people over their religious beliefs.

Victor: Kate, because this mission might make you uncomfortable—

Not giving me a chance to finish my sentence, she responded with a stern look.

Kate: Victor, can you allow me to accompany you on this mission as the fairytale writer?

Out of respect for her wish, I accepted her request and we headed to the organisation’s base that night.

…

William: We found the belongings of the missing women, blood stains, and bodies. They have no way to defend themselves now.

Kate: Means to say… they’re guilty?

Tommy Yeager, aristocrat. Leah Rodríguez, congresswoman. Kevin Nicholson…

(This is a lot of important people.)

Out of greed for greater power, they worshipped the Queen and hoped that she would fulfil their wishes.

William: There are two possible venues for tonight’s ritual; one is the top floor of this mansion, and the other is the basement.

Victor: Kate and I will go down to the basement. We shall proceed immediately, in order to prevent any more sacrifices.

Kate: Okay…

William: Victor, how much “mercy” do you want to show tonight?

Victor: — No need for any. Their wrongdoings are deserving of condemnation. Give into your wickedness, Will.

Not wanting Kate to witness anything horrifying, I prayed that we weren’t headed for where our “prize” was.

…

(Ahh, turns out the basement is indeed where our “prize” is at.)

In the basement was what appeared to be an altar, candlelight flickering.

A group of people in masquerade surrounded the altar, laying at the centre was a young girl who looked of tender years.

(Is that the “substitute” for Her Majesty? … Utterly heinous.)

I noticed that one of the men was about to lower the candle in his hand onto the girl’s arm, and I reflexively took a step forward.

— But Kate beat me to it.

Kate: … STOP!

Masked Red-Haired Man: Wha– what’s with this woman!? Let go, get your hands off me…

Kate: Please let that girl go! Ahh…!

In that split second, Kate was shoved into the altar and instantly collapsed onto the ground.

Victor: Kate…? Kate…

(She’s alright, she’s still breathing. She only lost consciousness…)

— There was something on the ground next to her, it seemed that it fell out during her fall.

(Oh, this is…)

– Flashback Start –

Victor: Kate, you’ll be following Elbert and Roger on their mission tonight.

Kate: Okay. I’m still not used to this, I hope I won't get in their way.

Victor: I see. In that case, take this with you.

Kate: … A Cameo hair ornament?

Victor: May it keep you out of harm’s way.

Kate: Fufu, I feel safe knowing that you’re always on a lookout for me.

Kate: Thank you very much, Victor! I’ll be on my way.

– Flashback End –

(... This is the hair ornament I gifted you back when you first joined Crown.)

(You’ve been keeping it by your side like a protective charm…)

Kate lying unconscious on the ground, the girl on the altar, all the innocent women who died there—

Tonight, I had more than enough reason to show absolutely no mercy.

Masked Red-Haired Man: Pfft, haha. This is all because she disrupted our ritual!

Masked Black-Haired Man: … H-Hey. Hold on… this man is…

Masked Black-Haired Man: Isn’t this Sir Victor?

Masked Man with Freckles: I-It really is! How could the Queen’s right hand man show up in such a place!?

I took a good look at all of them, and my gaze focused on one person.

Victor: Was it you who pushed that girl?

Masked Red-Haired Man: Y-Yes… it was me, Sir Victor.

Staring at the man who scrambled up to me, I commanded.

(... It's time for death to come to you.)

Victor: In the name of … I command you. — Now, succumb to my wickedness.

In a trance, the man stared into space.

Masked Red-Haired Man: Ahh… somehow… I feel so happy… I… I…

The man wrapped his hands around his neck, immediately taking his own life.

Masked Black-Haired Man: Is he… dead? Why did he kill himself…?

I turned my gaze towards the alarmed and bewildered men.

Victor: … From right to left, say your names.

Masked Black-Haired Man: Tommy Yeager. … Ugh, gguhh…

I gave another death order.

Masked Man with Freckles: Leah Rodríguez. I- I… ahh!

And another.

All that was left was dead silence.

As though they had a blissful dream, the men died with peaceful expressions on their faces.

William: Is it over? Looks like there’s no chance for me to step into the spotlight.

Victor: Oh, Will. This is where the “prize” was.

William: They died with such peaceful faces, it’s almost as if they were possessed by a god.

(A god, huh.)

It was like saying that “Her Majesty The Queen” was no god.

Victor: … Humans can never become god.

William: Based on what you said, that will surely be the case.

With a calm smile, William picked up the girl on the altar.

William: You can entrust this girl to me. I’ll leave you to look after Kate.

William: Because it seems to me that your rage is heavily correlated to her.

…

Roger examined Kate upon our return to the castle, and he said that she would regain consciousness very soon.

I gently laid the unconscious Kate on her bed.

(Kate. … I’m so glad you’re safe.)

Looking at her face, I was reminded of the night we first met.

When I suggested that she become our fairytale writer, it was partially because I came up with that on the spot.

The other reason being… I anticipated the change she would bring to Crown.

Despite their differences, every member of Crown was a person of strong character.

It was precisely because of that, I believed that “change brought upon by others” was crucial.

Humans could only grow stronger in the presence of others.

(This change will guide those guys towards a more beautiful evil.)

And I would watch her from a distance — that was the original plan, at least.

(Unknowingly, you brought upon a change in me too.)

As William said earlier on, it was clear that seeing her hurt made me fly into a rage.

I felt alive, that was… a “human” emotion.

(Your presence has turned me from a spectator to a player.)

(However—)

I gently placed the Cameo hair ornament back into Kate’s hair.

(Regardless of how lovely you are, I will always remain by your side as “Victor, Aide to The Queen”.)

(No more, no less.)

Or else, my darkness, and death — would swallow her whole.

I gave her hair a gentlemanly kiss.

Victor: Consider this a bad dream and forget everything. Be it nightmares or death, I will never let them reach you.

Victor: … Good night, Kate.

…

The next day, Kate regained her consciousness and came to me at the speed of light to apologise.

Kate: I’m truly sorry, Victor. I was to blame for rushing out without thinking it through…

(You’d still blame yourself even if I tell you I didn't mind, won't you?)

(Ah, that's right. In that case…)

Victor: Would you like to have lunch with me, Kate?

…

Victor: I was about to have a lonely lunchtime today, I’m so glad you’re here.

Kate: Can I make it up to you for last night with this?

Victor: Of course. I find joy in having a delicious meal with another person’s company.

Kate: Fufu, that’s good to hear.

(That captivating smile of yours is finally back.)

— Suddenly, it started drizzling.

Victor: It’s a passing shower. Come here, Kate. Let’s take shelter at the gazebo over there.

Kate: A-Alright…

…

(... That was surprising. The rainfall in London can be so unpredictable.)

Victor: Kate, are you alright—

Before I could ask, Kate wiped my cheeks with her hands.

Kate: I’m alright. You, on the other hand…

Victor: … (surprised)

Despite being drenched herself, she was still more concerned about me. The hands touching me felt so warm, almost like a gentle shower falling from the clear sky.

There it was “again” — the change in my heart.

Kate: Ah, I almost forgot. Liam told me that he has something for you.

Kate: I’m very curious about why he said in a frustrated tone that he was “supposed to give it to you yesterday”.

(Ahh…)

Victor: It was my birthday yesterday.

Kate: … Wait.

Kate: WHAT!?

That was likely the most shocked I had ever seen her from the day we met, I couldn't contain my laughter.

(I never intended to tell you myself, because I know you’ll get unnecessarily worked up over it.)

Kate: I-I’m so sorry I didn’t prepare a present for you, I didn’t know it was your birthday…

Victor: Haha, it’s okay. I already received one from you.

Kate: …?

Victor: You spent the whole day with me yesterday.

Victor: Although I genuinely only wanted to respect your freedom of choice, perhaps I also had the childish wish for you to stay by my side on my birthday.

Victor: … Thank you, Kate.

She looked up at the clear sky with a smile.

Kate: … Hey, Victor. I want to become stronger.

Victor: Why so?

Kate: I know that you’ll always protect me from harm, but… being the weakling I am…

She mumbled “I know there are many things in this world that are better off being left unbeknownst to me” under her breath.

Then, she continued, saying “but if it's things related to you, I want to know all about them”. And—

Kate: When you’re having a hard time, I don't want to just laugh it off and pretend I don’t know.

I was captivated by the way she said those words with a smile.

Not only did she change Crown and I, even she went through beautiful changes with every blink of an eye.

(... This girl is like a storm in springtime.)

Would I someday be caught up in that storm — and tell her the truth?

(But now is not the time.)

Victor: Don’t move too fast towards becoming stronger, I’ll feel lonely being left behind.

(Stay like this just for a little bit longer.)

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #otome #cybird otome #ikevil birthday #victor

164 notes · View notes

12woso12 · 3 months

Text

Dorothy lands in North London- Prologue

Arsenal buy America's top defender: You.

TW: mentions of mental health, suicide, please don't read if you don't feel up to it

You were built to survive pressure. You were moulded perfectly by the drunk slurs of your father and the untimely death of your mother. There wasn't a single moment that you couldn't handle, you took everything the world threw at you as though you'd been and done it all before.

World cup penalty? No problem.

Injury setback? Bring it on.

Arsenal transfer? Hell yes.

You took everything in your stride, laughing at your own misfortune, finding humour in the darkness. That's how you'd handled your mum's suicide: with insensitive jokes and a cheeky grin that never quite managed to meet your eyes. Most of your frustrations were taken out on the pitch, rough tackles or risky arguments with the opposition had resulted in you being the most carded playing in the NWSL at just 16 years old.

But your aggressive nature on the pitch never seeped into your personality away from football, you made sure of that. You'd do anything to ensure you never inherited your dad's temper and hurt people the way he'd hurt people. The way he'd hurt your mum...the way he hurt you. It was essential that your frustrations were kept firmly on football.

The year you were first called up to the USWNT was the year you finally made enough money to move out. You were sixteen and desperate to escape the clutches of your dad and his disastrous ways. The call up was a long time coming, the NWSL hadn't seen a player with as much potential as you since a teenage Alex Morgan first appeared on the scene.

The call up gained you more attention than you were used to. Granted, you were pretty well known in the States already having played with Gotham city for a year but the media attention you gained for a national call up? That changed the course of your life forever.

Your first tournament with the national team had been nothing short of incredible. It was the 2019 World Cup and you'd spent the entire group stage sat on the bench until Becky Sauerbrunn had gone down injured in the round of 16 and suddenly, you'd been given the chance of a lifetime.

Courageously, at your big age of sixteen, you played in every game until the trophy was in your hands and you were being hailed as the next Bobby Moore. A comparison you were incredibly embarrassed about but one that your teammates, Alex especially, were more than happy to keep reminding you of.

Five years later and you were coming to the end of your contract with Orlando Pride after playing two seasons for them. You were weighing up options for the future, you'd received enough interest from teams across the world to make the decision challenging enough and it was Marta who'd first noticed your troubled expression at training which was an unusual sight compared to your normal sunny nature.

'What's the matter, kid? Your face stuck like that or something?' Marta approached you after drills, concerned as you struggled to shoot her a smile. If there was someone who had all the answers, it was Marta.

'I don't know what to do' You began dropping onto the pitch as the rest of your teammates scurried inside, eager to get to lunch. Marta sat herself down besides you frowning.

'What?' she questioned

You sign and shrug, deflated. 'I've got a lot of interest for my next contract. Obviously Orlando want me to stay but...Gotham want me back, San Diego have been in touch. Even some stuff from Europe'

Much to your surprise, Marta chuckles. 'Kid if i had your problems i'd never want a problem-free life again. You're a superstar! All this attention is deserved'

A small smile stretched across your face. You supposed that Martha did have a point, you were in an incredibly lucky position.

'The offer from San Diego did sound promising...' your mind began to wonder to the conversation you'd had earlier with your agent. He'd be ecstatic about the deal they were willing to offer, there would be a lot of money involved.

'San Diego?' Marta scoffed 'Anjinho, you should set your sights further. If Europe come looking, you make sure you are found.'

You sighed. Europe was just so far away. 'Arsenal have been interested for a while'

Marta slapped you gently on the shoulder 'Arsenal!' she exclaimed 'You love Arsenal...why would you pass on their offer?'

'They're a top team, i mean Leah Williamson plays there. Alessia Russo, Kim Little. I can't hold a candle to them' It was true, you thought. You were only 21, why would they need a kid when they have all the experience and expertise of England's captain?

'Don't be estupida. They would be lucky to have you. You can't spend your entire career in the states. You're too good for that. Way.Too.Good.'

You feel pride seep into your bones. If the great Marta thought you were good, then that was definitely a compliment worth keeping close to your heart.

'Go to Arsenal.' Marta continued. 'Get as far away from here as possible'

'Yeah?' You asked nervously.

'Make yourself found, kid'

Part 1

#woso #football #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson #arsenal #marta #gotham city

65 notes · View notes

cherrsnut · 8 months

Text

Hostage - Chapter 4

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 8.1 k

Previous // Next

Chapter 4

Breathe. Just breathe. Just like what Edna said.

The palms of your hands kept your face hidden. You were completely still, were it not for the trembles running along your spinal chord. Just remember what Edna taught you.

Almost as if your late mentor were in her flesh and bones standing in front of you, with her usual critical frown looking down at you, you tried to breathe. Mouth agape, you sucked in air, so much so, the oxygen filled your lungs.

It shoudn’t have surprised you in the least when the air particles felt heavier than normal, not with the countless times you were in this very position.

So hopeless, and so hurt. It was especially that, a thundering spark hit you straight in the chest and it felt like your heart had collapsed in surrender. You hiccuped more breaths, the unbearable pain swirling and expanding throughout your body as the air squeezed itself in the inflamed throat, a throat abused by what felt like multiples splinters penetrating the back of your tongue.

Oh, Edna, how much you missed her. She was everything you had. She was your warm home after a freezing storm, she was your teacher and caregiver, and she was your saviour sent for you to have another chance in life. That last thought hurt more, how much she struggled to raise you in such an unforgiving world, only for her efforts to be spent in vain. All the efforts she put into the woman you were now, all your knowledge, all your ideals, all your empathy; none of it mattered now when you would die out into the battlefield.

The Capitol were stripping away all of Edna's perseverance throughout her life. First it was the Peacekeepers trying to take down and dismantle Edna’s and your’s name, and now they were trying to kill all knowledge Edna curated through the only living and breathing version of her, you. Now, you were going to be gone soon. And when you’d be buried under the hard stones, so did everything Edna did to contribute to the world.

You gulped down a whine. Edna’s death was still submerged in your mind, like a hungry shark after smelling the most endearing blood drops scattered aorund in the ample sea. You still missed her, you longed for her heartily touch, for the cruel words that deep down you knew came from a place of love, for her warm presence against her cold facade, and you absolutely missed the way she looked at you, those blue greyish eyes that whispered doting poems about you in her head, never to be revealed and to be otherwise kept hidden hidden within her soul even in her deathbed.

You were squinting your eyes, just as another tear threatened to spill all over your burning face. “Oh, fuck” you cursed between slow breaths. You went to grab the only thing that gave you comfort in that moment, alcohol. The wine was resting by your feet, camouflaged by your dark room.

It was dimly lit, only to be illuminated by a red lamp sitting by your night stand, whose light bulb also stemmed from the same crimson colour.

It was then you remembered the stories Edna used to tell you when it was past your bed time, and you supposed even in the surviving light of the already dark room, it would still salvage you from the night terrors.

You took a sip from the mouth of the bottle, and let the fresh liquid relieving your burning ache. The bottle was around halfway through, and you supposed you had a good resistance to it. That or your helpless body felt too overpowered by the grieving memories you still wanted to cling to.

Another gulp, you didn’t want to think of her, but how coudn’t you? Everything you built yourself up to be, every dream or moment of motivation was because of her.

You still wanted to live. That was what caused you most pain. Your pathetic mental state still whispered to keep going, to never give up in the face of danger. You still wanted to cure people, you liked that, right?

That was your role in the town, to heal anyone who needed it. The whole point of your little existence was to help anyone who neded some healing, no matter how insignificant it may be. And for what? Where did empathic heart of yours take you? Straight to your umbearable pain you’d have to endure in the arena, like a trident piercing straight to your unnerving heart.

You were nothing but a puppet to play with, and the more gruesome your death, the better. You coudn’t help your thought to follow that tormenting path. How would you die? Would it be just like what you had seen on the screen? A rusty knife to your neck? An arrow to your head? Or would you decapitated? You’d seen this when you were younger. You’d been barely ten then, and that’s the first and only time you had been able to see any scene from the Hunger Games.

Two more corners and to the right, that was the direction you had to take to get to the Herbal Shop, which meant you’d pass by the town’s plaza. You could only remember bits and pieces of the leading up, afterall your brain dictated that to be insignificant, but you fairly recalled that you were filled with newly cut supplies of essential herbs. Edna was by your side, she always was when she went out to collect her ingredients to make up new medicinal oils; maybe she always tagged you along with her to teach you, or just simply because she never fully trusted you to do the job by yourself correctly.

Walking by the familial streets, you would have ignored the otherwise lively plaza, often switching on any type of distracting sounds, and passing it by simple white noise. But this time, a foreign sound you hadn’t internalized took you out immediately, stopping in your tracks and following your head to see the unexpected commotion you never remembered seeing.

It was a loud shriek, the one only a mother could do while witnessing the torture of their own child.

She was many feet away, and you coudn’t quite see her face. All you had taken in was the how her lone sobs echoed in every corner and alleyway, just like a telltale from a ghost roaming the streets of your town in a hurry to find their already dead son.

It was in that moment you looked up, a big screen showing the livestreaming of the Hunger Games. You hadn’t seen the fight play out, and by the time your eyes took in the glimpse of what was performing, the Executioner’s act was done. There were two males, one whose hand held the axe of what sealed the fate of the deceased one on the floor, its head ditached from the rest of his body. You didn’t know from which District they were both, and you could only assume the decapitated one represented District 4. The other male, released his grip of his weapon and fell down behind him, retorting his facial expression in self-disgust, as he had sunked in the sin he just committed, just as the eyes of the one he killed, slowly faded into nothing but a vacant lot.

Edna pulled you by the sleeves of your soiled shirt, and muttered a “Let’s go” before the both of you left the mourning mother to be handled by a few passerbyers who seeked to give her comfort.

You nodded to your mentor, but your eyes still stayed on the mother crying out in pain, begging for whatever holy spirit to bring back her child in one piece.

That memory was connected to another one. It had been months since your first time ever seeing the cruelty of the games, and the memory was very much still in your mind, even more when you closed your eyes and tried to sleep. The first month was the worst, having to wake up from very real bloody images from nightmares and scared to even fall back as sleep in the terror you’d find them once again.

But after months you slowly got back to your usual self, one that mixed very well your constant exhaustion and your love to sleep as many hours as you could, without any type of night monster to invade your dreams.

So one day you came back to the Herbal Shop after being ordered to go and buy ingredients that were going to fill your bellies for the week. You asked Edna something that the older Carriers said in passing.

“If I were to be decapitated, would I live for a few seconds more before I died?” that was your question. “Sometimes” was what she answered. “In some scenarios, you could take up at thirty seconds whilst still being alive, even without having your head” she developed further her previous answer.

Did that mean that was a possibility for you? For you to still having to feel that uberable pain of a stranger sawing yout head off, in those slow and excruciatingly painful thirty seconds? You hated thinking about this.

And there went your third gulp of the wine, all so you’d drown yourself in misery. You appreciated the sparkling of the wine, popping bubbled bursts against your blocked off despairing throat.

You thought of her again. You stopped your movements, not even the beverage was keeping you from thinking about your dead mentor. You set it down back to its previous place, next to your feet. Your fingers traced up every cell of your face, and stopped to rest you palms on your forehead. Your fingers snaked to to find a comfortable place just by the front of your hairline. And you cried, you couldn't do anything but cry out in pain.

“Edna” you whined so high pitched you didn’t recognize your own voice. Your cries and breaths stayed in that unnatural tone you had imposed yourself. Breathing hesistantely and desperately, while trying to taking in as many puffs of air as possible, and yet it was never sufficient for you. Your humid lashes found themselves completely wet, as waves of tears swam across your hot cheeckbones.

Your eyes we tired, but at the same time, not tired enough for your depressed form, and definetely not tired enough for your cries to bounce from every sharp corner of your room.

A hand clasped around your shoulder. You were so deep into your own wretched form, you hadn’t noticed someone just came in. A thorn of embarrassment prickled your skin at the thought of someone seeing you cry as uncontrollable as you. And even if that thorn hurt you, there were still a million more stuck in the pores of your back from each and every mistake, regret and mourn from your years lived in your short life, it was easy for your to quickly ignore that one.

You had been told that the walls were soundproof, that no one would be able to hear a peep coming from inside. And after Scarlett’s big talk about the trust she had in the technology of the Capitol, about just how “Top notch” the privacy was. You willingly gave into her prideful mouth, without considering the little fact that the door may be easy to acces in. Naturally, you felt ripped off, privacy my ass.

Mags’s fingers snaked her way up your face, like a snake in the name of retribution, and changing their biting nature into something calming and sweet. She moved your face to hers, and the sweetest smile decorated her pretty wrinkled lips.

“I’m fine” a hoarse breath left your mouth. Those words you kept repeating again and again, today. A lie that didn’t even convince your stammering mind, which was soon to be lost in the gray anyway.

“Really…” you tried to persuade Mags, although the undertone was still directed in reassuring yourself. Because you were the only one who could keep you in check, you were the only one that was able to comfort yourself.

The elder simply looked at you for many seconds, an intense glare slowly finding the cracked pieces of your irises you had worked so hard to hide them to the rest of the world. And this truth, only hurt Mags more.

You realized the woman sitting beside you wasn’t just a person of a few words, but rather she never said anything. And even as silence prevailed your saddening room, she very much felt present in there. Her comforting stace eased the nauseating pain you were enduring all by yourself.

Her fingertips drew a ticklish circle around your cheek, and pushed back a string of hair behind your ear. The action itself whispered sweet nothings, affectionate acts in the form of unspoken words, all because of her empathy towards you.

She always was persistent with herself, if she were to be mentor of many fallen Tributes, she would still lift her head high and carry on her duty as effectively as she could. Especially considering Finnick returned from the arena, it was then, she was sure she wanted to learn about the people from her District, and wanted to see them grow as adults, no matter how slim their chances of their survival actually were.

A wider smile. The wrinkles that stayed in her face, the lines of a visual representation of her old an frail body, and yet still peaceful and optimistic in the face of the cruel fate of this world.

Another glint of hope came across her eyes as her hands moved down to your back, while the other stayed at the side of your face. The exhaustion from your long day finally crashing down, and you felt the weight of your head leaning against her smooth palm.

“Edna… She was my teacher…” You explained to Mags. It wasn’t like she had asked you personally, but you felt like you had to get it off your chest. Maybe it was from your tiredness, or perhaps you simply just moved another stage of vulnerability with Mags, but your fuzzy mind gave up on the idea of trying to switch topics, and for the first time, you had found yourself someone who was more stubborn than you.

The elder was in a way familiar with the way she tried to comfort everyone she deemed necessary for her reassuring eyes, but she was nothing like Edna. Both of them were total polar opposites, but even being so different from each other, you found a piece of Edna inside of her, the sweet motherly care of helping the younger folks, to be present in their good, bad, and their dirt. Even being so different, they still fell under the same identical box, they showed them this delicate and vulnerable side, even to the people outside their family, to total strangers that were goners.

You coudn’t stop once you started. Mags never gave a hint or indication she had asked for the identity of your passed mentor, or what it had meant for you for so many years. But a little voice whispered your brain to keep going, and let our your innermost feelings run wild instead of keeping it hidden for so many years like you had.

“She found me when I was four. And she took me in” you cracked your voice. The spilling tears were dampening Mags palm, squeezing themselves between her fingers and flowing to her wrist and down her arm. God, this was painful. You felt absolutely naked right then, so see-through to her, so vulnerable you could be stomped in any minute. Like a little lost kitten scared of the wide world. You didn’t like that, it was foreign and it felt very much out of your own control. But the demanding sensation only kept resisting against your opposing thoughts.

“She didn’t have to, but she did. And for that, I’ll be in forever debt with her.” you sobbed harder, trying to hide back a cough from your raging salty tears streaming to the corner of your mouth, following further into your inflamed throat.

Mags only looked at you, a sad smile hanging from the rest of her melancholic expression. You scanned her features more, from her sypmtathetic eyes to her nose and mouth, tracing her face with your very red and traveling eyes.

You looked back up at her eyes, just as if they were calling for yours. Begging you to look up at her calming ones. You almost skipped a beat, feeling like something with heavy weight crashed down your heart. Her eyes were filled so many different things that would drive you to the edge of a cliff, to submerge further into the depths of the salty foam you were growing used to. She showed a vulnerable side of her, or perhaps they were telling you, you were safe in her arms and gaze.

But the thing that startled you most, was her dearing gaze to you, filled with the honey-love you grew distant since Edna’s death. Something you thought you forgot, and you never imagined Mags would be the next person to give that to you. It shocked you for a second, all because you had confused her for Edna for a moment.

“Oh, Mags” you cried lowly. You swung yourself to you new mentor, wrapping around your arms around her frail and much smaller body. You found stability by the back of her neck, leaning deeper into her touch. You didn’t want her seeing you so broken down and depressed. You didn’t want to have see her roaming eyes promising you a new home you could stay the night. You hated it, because everything Mags did, reminded you of Edna, and the hurt that came from her returning image clasped in your tumultuous mind.

Mags just grabbed your scalp and drew lovely circles around it, keeping you closer to her. The helpless you, coudn’t help but sob harder against her shoulder, screaming out the pain you kept hidden and locked away from everyone else to see.

Maybe tonight you’d stay by Mags warm house. In a way, it made you feel closer to Edna, or at least the presence she left on earth. The ghostly finger touches you had oh so missed trailed up your back, and it turned your hair on end by the vertical column, just as if the spirit of Edna was standing beside you, wanting to give you the touches she missed giving you. Yeah, you’d stay by Mag’s tonight.

Mags was resurfacing nostalgic memories of Edna, the ones you missed the most about the time you had spent with your mentor together. And maybe for tonight, you’d stay by Mag’s to feel closer to the ghost of the person you loved the most. But only for tonight, because you knew too well it was not worth getting used to someone’s love too much, not when your days alive were numbered.

Your senses were completely numbed, aside from that disgusting taste in your tongue. You coughed up some more, while your eyes swelled up with tiny prickly tears. They didn’t come from sadness, but from an overexertion of your body. You felt like your face was stomped by giant feet, just as you tried to squeeze your throat to purge the remaining acidic vomit.

And once your started, you coudn’t stop the little squirts exerting out your tongue. You coughed again, your hand gripping tight onto the toilet cover that was leaning up. Its not like it was dark, the automatic lights had found your clumsy movements the very moment you had walked into the bathroom, and in the sheer brightness of the room, the was lamp neatly placed on the middle of the ceiling.

The shining light was betraying your vision by the sheer brightness in the middle of the dark night, and you thanked that your head was covering the main source, otherwise the lamp would burned right behind your pupils. And while you were only able to squint just slightly your eyes, you could very much take in the piece of art of your vomit right in front of you.

An escaped grunt hoarsed through every vocal chord you could muster, the sight of the shortcakes you had to expulse from your belly, as a means to get rid off the alcohol in your system. You lamented then, having to see the mushy lumps of a pale yellow colour that left you as equally revolting in both your mouth and sight.

You closed your eyes in exhaustion. You were in a horrible state. A line of saliva, slightly pigmented of that horrible color, travelled down to join what used to be the delicate food of the Capitol. You spat down into the toilet a few times more, desperately trying to take away the acidic taste that seemed to only grow stronger by the second.

Your hand traveled wobbly to get toilet paper. It clanged and banged everywhere before achieving the simple task of getting something to clean yourself up. You gripped onto the piece of paper and fastly brought it up to your mouth.

The claustrophobia from the tiny compact space you locked yourself in was starting to eat your soul away, and you let another blasphemial word as another of the many waves of nausea hit you point blank.

A flashing light filled your sight for barely a second, knocking yourself to the side of the toilet. You recomposed yourself, at least tried to by using the wall to lean your back with. And all because of the rapid movement of snatching away the toilet paper so your fingers wouldn't get lost in the way back. You were in a horrible state.

Your fingertips brushed past your lips against the thin layered paper, in hopes it would take away remains of the vomit scattered around the corners of your mouth, your mind was too fuzzy to even deal with the possibility that your clothes may be stained by the disgusting substance. All the while, cursing at yourself for the moment you had the genius idea to drink as a means to ease your depressive state.

Another spit joined the purged covered inside of the toilet bowl. More tired breaths ragged around in the air of the bathroom. Anyone would assume you had run away from an angry bear with the determination filled in her mind of protecting her cubs. And while you were trying to escape her grasp, the mother bear saw the opportunity for their next meal in you; of course, this would have been an interesting anecdote, if it weren't for the fact that you never came across a bear in your life, with the addition that you were in a slightly different situation, a story that had to do with decorating with putrid the inside of the toilet.

You threw away the stained paper, and flushed it. Earning a mentally pat on your back, no matter how silly, you were proud you were able to do that much.

Next step, you needed to leave the bathroom. You managed to get on your feet by gripping your hand onto the sink. Somehow, by using your whole force of your nonexistat tricep muscles, you got up in a stamering manner. Moaning after noticing your legs were trembling

Your feet had a big gap in between, and you once again cursed, this time outwardly at the sudden realization, your drunken legs refused to move accordingly. Just as if they had a brain on their own, and claiming they were to tired to do the task, and completely shut off. You coudn’t feel your knees, and that was good indicator, that your legs were going to be really difficult to handle for your mission, which consisted of making your way to your room.

You coudn’t believe your head was the most sober of all the your body parts, and now you had to manage your disoriented legs that didn’t seem to know from left to right.

Another flash of nausea slapped you across the face, leaving your head hunged low. You were glad your hands were still holding onto dear life to the sink. Otherwise you were sure you would have fallen face down to the pretty white tiles of the floor. And you would have lost some teeth for sure, you drunkenly thought.

This was a bad idea. You moved your head to see your own reflection, but you coudn’t. Everything was just jumbles of your eyes and mouth disorderly moved against each other. Even when you concentrated your glare to see yourself in the real you, what reflected back seemed the picture drawn by a small infant with no sense of direction or scale. You were absolutely wasted.

You groaned at your clumsy eyesight, and the more you seemed to curse at yourself, it became more nervous, and the moving images became more agitated. You blinked slowly in the low hopes it would help your vision to become more stable.

“Fuck…” you hoarsed out. The alcohol was still burning you in your veins. You had gotten to the bathroom to take out the uncontrollable depressant. But even when vomiting it out, you soon realized you had gotten worse, and you groaned at the idea that maybe pure alcohol filled your senses now that your only source of food was gone.

“Shit, fuck” you continued on, you didn’t know what else to say but curse at everything, and especially at yourself. You just needed to get to your room, it would take twenty steps at most. You gulped down hard readying yourself to do what seemed the most difficult task known to mankind.

“Just twenty steps” your words jumbled around in the thin air, the nonsense of what came out of your vocal chords were soon lost anyway. You sighed, and your eyes locked onto the door handle, or at least the best it could with your drunk eyes. With a mental slap on the back to fill you up in determination, you found your target for your next move.

You counted to three and jumped to your target to find stability from your lazy legs that didn't want to work. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, which was probably from the nausea disturbing all your six senses. A despairing emotion run along with the intoxicated drug in your veins; just as you brushed past the shining metal handle, so close you could feel the cold emanating from it, someone opened it before you could even touch it. And that was enough for your body to try and convince your stubborn mind to simply give up.

You fell down, just by the feet of a person you coudn’t help but feel nothing but resentment. Your head was out the doorway, in full view of the dimly lit salon car.

Your already migraine got worse from the impact, and now you had to deal with not only the internal pain from your head, but the external one as well when your forehead took the blow to the floor. And for once you thanked you were so out of your own control. Your banged forehead’s pain was already fading away, and you knew if you were completely conscient that would hurt like a rock throw straight to your body.

But in good, there’s bad, and so another complication filled you up. Your head was spiraling and seeing a million stars that were already confusing your already messed up head.

You simply stayed still, just as you mentally wove a white flag to give up on this impossible mission.There was no way you’d make it to your room in your condition, especially not when your body remained on the floor of the bathroom. Your body ceased all the strength your brain kept ordering, and even when pressuring them to do their job as your limbs, they were on a strike and refused to even want to move an inch by the nauseating exhaustion.

You heard a low chuckle, and you felt it was within your right to feel at the very least annoyed by whoever that was. Your brain was multitasking at this point, and was ready to retort something sarcastic back, but you coudn’t. You body was starting to get comfortable in the position it had taken in your fall, and to your head’s dismay, ready to slumber for the night.

So you closed your eyes to rest, the thought of another person present already erased by your tiredness. Just as you drifted to sleep, the repeated words you wrote in your mind over and over again, as a means to make sure your remembered your lesson would cling to you. Never. Again.

That person though, didn’t mind your new sleeping bed, and got down to your eye level. A shit-eating grin among his pretty features. God he was so gorgeous even when you coudn’t see his face straight, all in crazy hazy motions swirling around your vision, you could only but daydream about his outstanding beauty.

“You alright there, love?” his raspy voice came in contact with your ears. He was like a beautiful god, one that anyone upon seeing him could agree was the definition of a sculptural piece of art, the type of god that could ask anyone to join him in his darkest desires and anyone would accept without hesitation.

He was any girl’s daydream man, but in that very moment his, awoken and overly energetic presence, frustrated your sleep deprived muscles. You groaned at him in response, too out of reality to even care. The mix of your drunk noises and the blocked sounds through the tiles of the floor, because you were still face down, only amused Finnick further. “What was that? Couldn’t quite understand you” he teased next to your limp form.

“Wha do chu think?” you spit back at him with slow syllables. “If chu could felp, thad be gret” you struggled to say the words. And you were sure they sounded worse in the ears of a sober person who wasn’t going through a hell hole like you were.

You tried to move your head on the side, all to give him the privilege of letting the man in front of you, hear you better.

He could only chuckle more at that. Even in your drunken state you could still see the lines of his smile, and for a moment you thought you were in a some sort of dream. There was no way someone that beautiful could exist, and it became stranger to you when he was simpy talking to you normally. Another drunk thought passed by your mind, and you were sure if he wanted to, that smile could be the tide to end all catalystic world wars. You were in a trace, and rightfully so, it was impossible for anyone not to fantasize by a guy like him.

You wanted to touch his face, but your fingertips stubbornly stuck themselves to the floor. Then it dawned on you on a mortyfying fact, you were in the bathroom floor, face down after just vomiting, and very much ready to sleep in there, until morning shined bright throught the windows.

Well, that was embarrassing. And you had to slap yourself again within the depths of your consciousness.

“Here. Let me-” he cut himself, and you felt his creeping fingers walking over you waist, so light and ticklish, that even after being so numb you could feel this featherly touches. His built body may be seen to be hard, which probably was, but you found yourself learning he also could be as soft as the dry falling leaves of fall.

His hand gripped onto he corner of your waist, and after placing your closest hand over his neck and hook it around the arch of his shoulder by the side of his face. Letting out a shaky breath, he helped you up after exercising his muscles with the weight of your corpse.

But even so, you were fascinated just how he was able to lift you up in your silly body. This was most girls deepest desire, and you had to suppress a giggle from forming in your heart. All the while he was holding you in that hypnotic state. It was hard for your mind not to linger anywhere other than him.

Your feet touched ground and you were extremely thankful to find the contact of the tiles at the flat of your feet. Your heavy head hunged low. You made a move to look up at him, and he was still holding onto your waist, untrustworthy of your senseless state.

You were sure he squeezed at your side playfully several times. It felt oddly affectionate, but for your hazy brain, it translated that and got even sleepier by those light tuches.

“There you go” he whispered at the side of your face. Unknowing to him that he left a burning mark right on your flustered ears. An inflaming sensation traveled along your every bloody vein, making it a more vibrant red, more colourful than what’s supposed to be. The living corpse of your body felt very much ligher against his ticklish fingers, like a flowing feather through the wind. Both of your irises met his, and his close proximity left you in the silence of your shyness.

He let out a husky giggle out at your expression. “Don’t look at me like that. Might start thinking there’s something deeper you want to tell me” he mumbled with a cheeky grin along his lips. His teeth were out in the wild, white and as strong as his unfiltered words.

Oh, how it irritated you his smuggish intention; but how much you loved seeing his lovely face complexion just the same. You coudn’t deny it, and he wasn’t blind either, he knows just how everyone looks at him, Finnick was built like an ancient Greek god.

You tilted your head to the side, this time careful not dragging yourself yet another nauseating impact from the sudden movement. You spoke some drunken mutter that was difficult to understand, so much you had confused yourself as well.

“You’re so pretty” you repeated those words that were incomprehensible for the English language. But Finnick had understood you the first time, and so when you confirmed for a second time, he was slightly taken aback from the boldness of you words.

Your constant thought pattern whenever you thought of the man just beside you, never came from a place of infatuation, and he could feel it in the way the sclera of your eyes shone, and the way you mustered those words, it was from utter fascination, not so much from than seductive desire.

A laughing huff escaped though his lips just as a giggle rang through his vocal chords in amusing disbelief.

You eyes pierced his soul. The intention of his words came rather late to your consciousness, and you blamed the alcoholic drink for the slow pace of your current thought process. And you made yet another mental note, never listen to Scarlett’s recommendation of especially alcoholic drinks, in the off chance that the concentrated drink’s percentage would be through the roof. Really, never again.

An annoyed puff forced out of your mouth. His mocking laugh felt unnecessary to your ears, especially in this vulnerable position you just got in. You moved your legs, and you were glad they had properly woken from the sleepy illusion from a minute ago. You moved forward, at least tried to, and away from his presence.

You reprimanded the alcoholic you. The drunk you seemed to more jumpy, and let off harmless confessions. It was obvious the wine riled your sensitive senses up, especially when they learned from your little secret of your physical attraction of the the one and only, Finnick Odair.

The drunken you had declared your concient mind’s sole enemy; as sneaky as a scorpion, camouflaging itself as to get unnoticed, only to strike you when you were in your most vulnerable, which meant targeting the very much good looking man close to you. Yeah, you were convinced the drunk you had something agasint the concient you.

“Anyway. Tanks, an Goodnight-” You spoke best you could, and made your way ahead of you.

You tried to walk away, before yet another disastrous fall. The drunk you had definitely had something against you. Your legs seemed to twist themselves into a senseless knot from your numb knees and before you could even recognize the problem, your vision fell apart instantly. Again another wave of nausea punched you straight in the jaw. Luckily your quick hand grabbed onto the wall next to you, refusing on having to deal the earlier’s ordeal.

You cursed out again, followed by a groan in pain. Your hand crept to the side of your head to try and keep your vision still in vain. God, you absolutely hated this.

Another low chuckle from the man behind you was present in the air both of you breathed in. And you turned around, a disapproving glare threatening him to keep going on his laughing spree, which only made him find you all the more amusing.

You sighed defeated. A pointed migraine was swirling in the sea of you mind, which in turn only made the grip of your hand stronger in your face. You scrunched up your nose in pain, crumpling your features.

Just as you were losing yourself from the pain of your headache, you body got completely readjusted. Your burning head very much still present and screaming for your attention, and if it that wasn’t hard enough to deal that alone, your mind got once again disoriented. After tonight you knew, you would definitely quit alcohol altogether.

All your blood crashed down to your head, leaving you with a pressured face, and it was starting to feel painful. God, your brain was suffering from all stages of Hell all at the same time. The pain was overtaking your body, and you ceased all your movement. In that very moment you welcomed the idea of dying if it meant stopping your outstanding headache.

With your head low and you arms flying over them, or better said below them as gravity did its work , you noticed the pointy bulk of muscle was just below your breast, and you figured Finnick had to be securing you with his arm over the back of your knees.

Finnick seemed to have the brilliant idea to throw you over his shoulder like a big heavy sack of dead fish ready to be sold off to the market.

Your hands fell to whatever thing you could find, which happened to be his shirt. You had figured he had manhandled to be in that position, because of the way your nose and forehead kept making contact to a broad smooth surface, one that emanated sweet warmth, and you could drown in his natural thick scent.

It had been barely half a minute, although for you it felt almost like an eternity from the succumbed curse of the ugly pain in your head, whoose fault was none other but the man holding you tight over him. It’s not like you put up a fight anyway, already too weak and defeated to even flinch at the scorching hurt.

So you welcemed the sea of covers and pillows when you were plopped down all of a sudden. Your before hurting eyes that you could barely manage to even open them, felt confident enough to redo the task they weren’t able to do a few seconds ago, and you looked up at the ceiling.

You were safe now, you were safer in here. Even in the amidst of your spiraling mind, you could that much, feel relaxed enough to ready yourself to soon sleep. You didn’t need to dance in utter misery of your drunken state like before, like a blind duck that also happened to have twisted his ankle.

The new room also brought short nostalgic memories, which evaporated the little optimism you would have gathered before you died, and who knows, maybe it would be the last time you’d feel truly at peace. The new ambience still had that heavy sour mood from when you had talked to Mags, from when she had to comforted you. The suffocating air was still like a toxic gas, and you regretted that you still let the melancholy poison you.

Finnick sat down beside you. A smirk creeping his beautiful facade just as he looked at your form, still in his playful mood after having you found on the floor almost passed out. It was amusing in a way, it had to do more about the way you responded to him that entertained him to go further in his banter.

He quickly took notice of your sudden somber expression, and with that the bits and cracks that you body spoke. The energy from before was all but gone now. Maybe you were emotional because you were drunk, but in that moment you were ready to cry off yourself to sleep in self pity, right then and there with or without Finnick.

You curled your arms around yourself, trying to imitate the warm hug that Mags had given you earlier, but to no avail. It was impossible for you to even recreate a feeling that felt soul crashing from such a simple act. Because afterall, it was something that had left you taken apart so easily.

You bent your knees slightly up. You were lying on your side, and Finnick could feel the mournful look without the need to see your eyes. But when he did, he heard the breaking crack of his heart. That hurt had haunted him since the day the Reaping when it took him two years ago.

“Thank you” you muttered with the ringing of you vocal chords. And he answered in courtesy, his raspy tone still vabirating each words. “No problem”

Both of you let the spoken words be slowly evaporated through the air, with nothing else to add in. Finnick took the courage to look at you once again, and you had taken in his concerned expression feeling in every nerve cell. You also realized the presence of his scanning eyes watching over your still form like a creeper of the night. But you were too comfortable in your position, too tired and depressed to mind it, so you let him be.

The silent particles the both of you shared swirlied around through the air like a little gust of wind between your breathing forms. You wanted to cry again, but you lost the capability to even do that, and as another amusing thought came across your senses, was still fully loaded with grief’s emptiness. I cried so much, I don’t have any more tears to spare.

Finnick felt impotent there, unlike you, he had volunteered to be in Games. He considered that to be his greatest mistake, all because he thought it would be just fun and games, being brainwashed that it was more light hearted than what the actual suffocating reality really was, and oh boy did reality run him over. Just like a deer, and the unchanging decision of willingly walk in the arena a unmercyful fast truck.

He got up whilst you were still submerged under powerlessness; like the little dry kisses brushing against your back, whispering in the most seductive way, a despairing and exhasuting prediction, one that had you convinced, you were simply just a dead girl walking.

His head turned around to look at you once again, and it confused you as to why he was apologizing within the depths of his sea eyes. So he went and opened his mouth to say something, to ask you if you were alright. But he closed his lips momentarily after, knowing fully well that you weren’t.

He had and internal debate between mixing opinions. Your ominous stance was begging him to ask about your own welfare, and maybe that was a signal he should stay for a while longer until he could hear the breaths of your sleeping form. But then again, he wasn’t sure your empty eyes longed for sympathetic eyes, the ones from a total stranger that as far as he knew, you probably thought of him as a calculated murderer, and maybe then his presence was nothing but a burden in your heavy shoulders.

“Hey, Finnick?” your weak voice alerted his attention. He turned his head, he was grateful that you’d taken him out of his own thoughts. He locked his eyes on your very irises, studying them as a means to try and understand the question before you’d even formulated it. “You think I’m going to die?”

He looked away. Although in normal circumstances your drunken accent might have been a delight to his ears, and he would be ready to tease you further with that. But right now, the drunken syllables that came out of your mouth were deafening, only wanting to take in and alaysze the question itself.

You knew what you had asked him went straight to him like an unexpected bullet, and to his dismay, he wasn’t wearing any bulletproof gear to save him from you. He opened his mouth, and even in your swirling vision you could see the ugly truth hidden somwehere within him, and opting to say sweet lie with a cherry pop on top. “Please, be honest with me” you added in.

The past victor let out a stilled breath before speaking. “Yeah…” Finnick finally said.The words you didn’t want to hear, broke your jaw like an incoming brick to your face. And yet, although he was speaking his truth, he seemed conflicted with what he said.

You knew this would be his answer, so why did it hurt you so much? Perhaps it was his confirmation from the bitter words from your inner monsters, and finally you felt your reality crumbling down. And even in that emotional turmoil, you had to agree with Finnick, because deep down you knew that your betraying mind was right all along “I thought so too”.

Something gripped onto your throat again, a grieving pain of the knowledge you were most likely going to die. Your expression started to wrinkle in on itself, just as you felt like something had caught onto you leg and pulled you deeper in to the poisonous sea, making sure you’d drown yourself in further agony. Finnick was just standing there, and he felt your sea whirlwind like he was there with you, joining you in the mercifuless sea currents that started to leak from your room with dark muggy water.

Finnick could only but feel your agonizing stare, and within his empathy, he wanted to say something to you. Because your dreadful pupils struck him all over his body like thin needles.

“But something I learned through the Games is that, its supposed to be planned to be irregular. Even if you aren’t as strong as others, you could still have a chance to survive” he added to reassure you. Finnick hoped that would set you mind at ease, at least before you’d hit the arena. He wanted to drift away the consternation from your scraping mind, and let it become more level headed.

Soon all of you would arrive at the Capitol, and for a chance for either Vito or you to survive, you’d need to be put away the insanity that was slowly licking your body, and to focus on a plan. To scheme up ways into getting sponsors, to anylyse the rest of the player coldy, but the most difficult one was to gather up ideas whilst in the fighting arena while pressuring your mind to stay sane throughout all of it. “Its intention is for anyone to be able to win this. Its not a competition, just pure entertainment”.

You stayed silent, taking in everything your mentor was telling you. In a way it helped you thinking of him that way. He may be just a year older than you, but he was still your mentor, and he was supposed to help you survive this afterall.

“Thank you,” you were slowly surrendering yourself to the cage of sleep, one where you wished for your night terrors to leave for another night. A sleep deprived voice was all Finnick could hear, the raspy weak tones from your smnolent voice made Finnick content enough to set his mind at ease for the night. “For everything”

The energy you wasted in the last day was too much for your body to handle, and you felt optimistic enough to finally go to sleep without any negative energy swimming across your mind.

Finnick chuckled, he repeated himself again. “No problem, Dove” he grinned at you. He found you so endearing, especially with the image of you closed eyes, and your mouth half opened, in a way so peaceful, like nothing lurking between the shadows could attack you.

“Good night” you lastly said slowly crawling to your sleeping chamber in the depths of you soul.

Finnick grinned further and said a “Good night” back to you.

The last images before you went to sleep were of him. The drawing of his face in your imaginary world, and you wished you could dream of him that night. The world made him almost untouchable, but it was surreal to you about his caring slip ups you had discovered that night; his soft face, feathery gentle hands, and his warm whispering voice brushing your ear like the slight breeze of the forest.

Yeah, you wanted to sleep with that in mind, with the ilusion of him.

Previous // Next

NOW, this was a way longer chapter than I had intended, so you'll hopefully enjoy it cuz DAMN!

TagList: @marvelescvpe @meri-soni-meri-tamanna

#finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #the hunger games #thg finnick #thg x reader #thg #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games finnick #finnick odair fanfiction #finnick fanfiction

73 notes · View notes

satureja13 · 11 days

Text

The Boys prepared as good as they possibly could for their attack on Ji Ho's grandfather to return that spell back to him. They will only see if their plan works out when they return to the mundane world. They just have one try. And no plan B.

So they quickly took a souvenir photo, packed the TukTuk and left Verdantis beyond the Veil.

Meanwhile at the Headquarter of the Council at Tartosa. The Council is prepared. Ji Ho's Grandfather influenced Ji Ho in the Therapy Game so the Boys now know about the spell. And he unleashed Ji Ho's feelings, it's just a matter of time they'd try to attack. About time the little mice get caught in their trap.

Principal Prescott (who was the Boys' Principal at Belgraves Institute) tensed as the monitor lit up to announce the Boys' highly anticipated arrival in the mundane world: "Here they are! *her eyes widened in surprise and then she laughed* I don't know if they are dumb, oblivious or overly confident in their measly powers!" The TukTuk brought the Boys to the Villa Elba at Tartosa - right within the range of vision of the Headquarter!

Principal Prescott: "Quick now! Sebastian, Morgan - give note to the scientists and King Triton. We are starting now, before they have time to settle in and start with whatever useless nonsese they've planned!" Morgan (who has a crush on Vlad since the very beginning) and Sebastian (who is Kiyoshi's 'friend' and overseer): "Yes, Principal Prescott!" And there is also Mr Ito, Kiyoshi's father! (who lit up the pyre at Kiyoshi's execution...)

Back at Villa Elba. Saiwa looked over to the Headquarter. No time to waste! Saiwa: "Ok, let's begin. We have the advantage they can't turn on the Anti Magic Devices (which had been invented by Kiyoshi's father...) since Ji Ho's Grandfather has to use his Siren's Spells. And whoever creature else they blackmailed to help them... Let's hope the Bond does not let us down." The Bond between Vlad and Ji Ho had been silent since they went beyond the Veil.

Ji Ho felt awful. Teleporting makes him travel sick. He isn't sure he can resist his grandfather's powers in this state. Jeb hugged him: "We've got you." The statue next to them looks exactly as the statue of Vlad in the Therapy Game...

And then they started. Vlad and Sai are shielding Jeb and Kiyoshi's minds from being influenced by Ji Ho's Grandfather's Siren's Songs while they protect Ji Ho and try to loosen that spell inside of him so Ji Ho can send it back to the initiator through the mirror.

But it's too late! Ji Ho's grandfather already began to sing ö.ö Council's scientists (one of them is Felix, who was co-responsible for Sai and Jack's torture in the Lab!) started the devices.

As last year at Sulani, Ji Ho stands no chance against his Grandfather. And his grandfather tells him to kill Vlad. And all the rage, the jealousy and anger of the last weeks hit Ji Ho. And Ji Ho's mind went to goo. Despite Kiyoshi and Jeb's shields. He could only think of white-red hate boiling up inside him. Yes, Vlad deserves to die for what he did to him.

'King Triton', as the Council calls him, obviously also managed to take Kiyoshi and Jeb out of the game. No matter how hard Saiwa and Vlad tried to shield them. He's just too strong. Sai was the only one able to think clear, but he couldn't move! And Vlad was walking blindly towards Ji Ho - and certain death! Ji Ho is the only one able to kill Vlad - and Vlad smiled!

Sai screamed and screamed but he couldn't stop Vlad. And then Vlad kissed Ji Ho. Because he knows it all ends here. No matter who wins this fight. And it doesn't matter either if he dies or lives. Life is not worth living without Ji Ho's love.

The Bond awakened, thrilled to feel their arousal after all these months! And it helped Ji Ho to come back to conciousness. He draged out that spell and pushed it through the mirror!

The chamber at the Headquarter lit up and Principal Prescott smiled, pleased with their victory. Now she will finally get the recognition from the Council she deserves! But King Triton and Mr Ito knew at an instant that something went terribly wrong. Or right? They blinked.

King Triton grabbed Mr Ito: "I'll make you the Queen of my Kingdom!" Mr Ito, breathless: "As you wish, my King."

And then they kissed hungrily. The spell King Triton cast on his grandson returned right back to him and gave him a taste of his own medicine, as it seems! Principal Prescott was shocked. Again she failed! Luckily she didn't insist to capture this attempt to defeat those damn kids on camera again, let alone try a live broadcast! No one will ever learn about this! She has to make very sure the Scientists who witnessed this keep their mouths shut... And she doubts they are ever going to see King Triton and his 'Queen' Naoki ever again... and that is all the better.

'Follow me now to a place You only dreamt of before I came along

When I first saw you, I was deep in clear blue water The sun was shining, calling me to come and see you I touched your soft skin and you jumped in with your eyes closed And a smile upon your face Você vem, você vai, você vem e cai E vem aqui pra cá porque eu quero te beijar na sua boca Que coisa louca Vem aqui pra cá porque eu quero te beijar na sua boca Ai que boca gostosa

After the rain comes sun After the sun comes rain again

Underwater Love - Smoke City

It's a relief the Boys didn't witness any of this ö.Ö' And there still seems to be something between Vlad and Ji Ho! Even without the spell! Aouwww

Sai is so happy! He just hopes they get Jeb and Koyhshi out of that daze soon. And poor Vlad looks as if he's near to tears.

And then the door to the kitchen opened and Jack came out - with a pizza?! Jack: "Are you done? Pizza is ready!" Sai: "Omg Jack!"

Jack: "What? I never doubted you. And I'm useless in magic stuff anyway. So I did what I can do best - and that's pizza!"

Saiwa sighed and they dragged helpless Jeb and Kiyoshi outside for lunch. Saiwa: "I can't believe we made it!" Jack: "Yeah, yeah - let's eat already!" And they dug in.

The sun came out just after they returned that spell back to Ji Ho's grandfather and he seduced Kiyoshi's father. And a beautiful rainbow spanned the sky above the Council's Headquarter 🌈

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

42 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 4 months

Note

hi! i wanted to get your opinion because i admire the way you write these characters and you're so knowledgeable of the lore.

do you think robert actually loved lyanna or do you think she was just something he felt he was owed? like a prize that was taken away from him by someone else rather than her being her own person.

keep in mind i've only ever seen the show but his behaviour always struck me as obsessive rather than a man truly mourning "the love of his life."

i also don't see lyanna liking robert as 1) he was much older than her right? and 2) arya was a lot like her right? so she was a free spirit and wanted to learn and fight and not be a lady and robert doesn't strike me as someone ok with that in a wife. 3) robert's always been a whore so even if he did "love" lyanna he wouldn't be faithful regardless.

i know ned loved robert but he too saw the type of person robert was (and became after the war) and i don't see ned being truly comfortable with him being with his sister.

anyway i just have a lot of feelings about lyanna even tho i don't know much about her (i've just started the first book!) and i feel for her because girls are never allowed to just be girls. men always ruin everything with their wars and their egos and it's always the women who suffer, especially in game of thrones.

i think often of what it would be like if she lived and how horrid her future would be because of men in her life especially if she still gave birth to jon. she didn't deserve to die but maybe death was a kinder fate.

So interestingly enough, Robert in the show actually provides a lot more interesting perspective on this. Robert in the books is a lot more blatantly dislikable and unsympathetic, but the show provides us a new version of Robert that is actually as tragic as he is pathetic.

The simple fact of the matter is Robert didn't really know her. Robert liked the idea of Lyanna, but because she was gone so early before he could know her, he doesn't actually have a memory of her that is solid and concrete. He only has the memory of the idea of her, and he can only mourn that. So as the years go on, by the time we meet him, he has really nothing left but those scraps of a girl he hardly knew.

It's more explained in the books, but Lyanna did not like Robert. She didn't like he got around so much he had bastards yet was betrothed to her, she didn't like the fact that she knew he would be unfaithful, and clearly did not wish to marry him. Now Ned did try and tell her otherwise because partially yes Robert is his friend, but also because Ned knows he has no control over that marriage and would rather try to make his sister feel better and say maybe it will get better then just tell her what a miserable life shes in store for. Ned wanted to give her hope rather then give her literally nothing.

But Robert in the show is much more interesting, because he in the show, knows exactly what he's turned into. Robert in the show is smart, we see in the way he senses war coming, the way he understands what would happen should the Dothraki invade and in reterospective he was right about getting rid of the Targaryean threat early on before they slaughtered the people of Westeros. We struggle to see he's right though because both what we know about Jon and how that influences Neds responce to all this, and also his passion for his own hatred is off putting, but he's right, he's smart and he knows he is washed up from his own hand.

But Robert too, knows hes pathetic. He knows he has given himself no life to value now, so all he has is the past to cling onto. It's why he cannot give up Lyannas memory. She died before he had the chance to know her as a person and thus his memory of her loss is shrouded in the falsehoods he painted about her.

There's this scene he has with Cersei discussing her, and it's why I think Robert both does and doesn't love Lyanna, it's also one of the most emotionally honest scenes in season 1 from Robert of all people:

"You want to know the horrible truth? I can't even remember what she looked like. All I know is she was the one thing I ever wanted. Someone took her away from me, and Seven Kingdoms couldn't fill the hole she left behind."

Robert is trapped at Lyannas loss. He has never moved on, and he still mourns her as if right in that fresh memory. But he also knows he has so little of Lyanna that he barley has her image in his head, all he has is the memory of loss. It's pathetic and he knows he's pathetic because he laments with shame to Cersei just after this that he never could've loved her in Lyannas place.

He loves the memory of Lyanna rather then her, but Robert in the show is more sympathetic about it. Him saying Seven Kingdoms couldn't fill the hole she left behind is such a good line. He's saying being King did not fufill that loss and thus nothing at this point ever will. He's admitting being King was not a solution to trauma but he knows no other way anymore.

Now would she have been happy with Robert? No. I don't think Lyanna wanted to marry at all, or at least at that age she held no interest in marriage. She was wild and fun and passionate about her people, her brothers, her friends. She wanted to be a girl who still had time to live her passions and maybe pursue something more to her duties as a highborn girl later in life.

Now, some people think Ned would never have stepped in on Lyannas behalf with Robert, but no. Ned hid Lyannas son from Robert, which considering who the father was, that act by Ned could've been considered treason for Jons whole life. Ned does not value Roberts friendship or his loyalty to Robert over Lyanna. And some people equating how Ned handles Cersei to how he'd handle Lyanna is wrong.

Ned KNOWS Cersei is the enemy. Ned KNOWS Cersei would rather see him dead then what she's built up dismantled. Ned feels for her abuse at Roberts hands but will not step in because Cersei has given him no reason to be loyal to her more then his oldest friend.

But Ned cared more about Lyanna then Cersei and more about Lyanna then Robert.

Some people think Ned wouldn't have intervened if Lyanna suffered with Robert but thats not true. Ned hid the biggest secret Robert would've killed for, from him even beyond Roberts death. If Ned wouldn't have stepped in for Lyanna against Robert, he wouldn't have taken Lyannas son in as his own and hidden him from Robert his whole life.

Ned also DOES push back against him. Talks him out of stupid ideas, tells him off, quits being Hand of the King (which too is actually about Neds own fear about Robert learning the truth of Lyanna and Jon, its actually not about Dany at all). Ned clearly does not put Robert ahead of his family until he is given no choice but to stay and serve him. Robert all but orders him to stay in Kings Landing, which even then, Neds plan is to still send his children home even when he couldn't go with them.

I can't say for sure if Robert would've treated Lyanna the way he did Cersei, but I don't think it would be like that. He'd still be unfaithful and hostile, but he hates Cersei partially because he was forced to marry a woman soon after losing Lyanna. He resents Cersei for not being her.

If he married Lyanna I don't think he'd mistreat her the way he blatantly does Cersei but no, it wouldn't have been a happy marriage. But I don't think the degree of abuse and marital rape would have occurred the way people think it would've.

Robert and Ned both do not value Cersei's life the way they both valued Lyannas, and thus the way she'd be treated or protected would be vastly different then how both of them separately handled Cersei.

Robert in the show is more tragic then he is hateable. He didn't know Lyanna and cannot move past the trauma of how she left this world. But in the show, he knows that and he knows he's pathetic for it. Now, what would've happened if Lyanna still gave birth to Jon but lived?

Thats a harder thing to hide. I think Ned still would've done the same thing, still lie and claim Jon as his own son, but would've done everything he could to ensure Lyanna does not marry Robert so she could stay in Winterfell with her son.

The question comes down to, would Robert treat Lyanna and Jon the way he tried to do with Dany when learning she was pregnant. And I don't think I can say conclusively one way or another. Clearly Ned is terrified that the answer is yes, and thats why he quits and desperatly tries to leave the captiol with his daughters. He's terrified of this reaction not for Danys sake but because hes realizing that Roberts love for Lyanna STILL would not protect Jon. He tries to leave the captiol because hes terrified that his best friend would murder Jon if he learned the truth even now, and is living in a trauma asking himself if he'd have killed Lyanna too.

But how Robert would handle Lyanna if she lived, objectively, I do not know.

Robert would try to kill Jon, but would he really harm Lyanna? It's impossible to say. But Lyanna should've lived no matter what. Rhaegar kidnapping her and she survived childbirth, or if that scenario never happened, I fully believe Ned and his brothers would've stepped in if Lyanna was mistreated by Robert. Brandon literally rode to Kings Landing to confront Rhaegar to resuce his sister, had he lived, at the least, Brandon absolutely would've stepped in on Lyannas behalf since he has no emotional attachment to Robert. And I fail to see why Ned would put his friend over the sister he literally risked everything for.

The Starks protect each other. If Ned wasn't willing to side against Robert on his sisters behalf, he never would've hidden Jon from Robert in the first place. He protected Jon because it was his final way of protecting Lyanna.

In the books, I think theres more of an argument to say Robert would've mistreated her, but in the show? I cannot say yes or no, Robert Baratheon in the show is a completely different version of this character.

And I think show Robert is a lot more sympathetic then haters of book Robert will give him credit for. Which I can say, because I, a fan of show Robert actually fucking hate Robert in the books. Get away from Cersei you abuser, I know she's crazy and evil but hiss hiss bite bite.

But really that one line I quoted earlier tells me that he has always had a soft spot for Lyanna, and he knows that being King didn't actually help him move on. In his own way he loves Lyanna, but the way he loves her is just different then the people who are Lyannas actual blood. The same is true for Robert, Ned, and even without realizing so directly, Jon too.

Seven Kingdoms couldn't fill the hole she left behind.

#show robert is FASCINATING to me #his characterization in the books is much more black and white and unlikable #but show Robert?#You see why people loved him why they followed him #but you also see why he isnt a good King anymore and Robert himself knows it too #somewhere in there is still a man who won a rebellion #but hes buried so deep under 2 decades of trauma and coping and hate and spite that its so hard to come out #you see with Ser Barristan in that war stories scene #that he sees the tragedy in what Robert could've been in a different life and the shame that a great warrior #allowed himself to become what he is today #show Robert I actually like quite a lot he is so much more complex then book Robert ever was #and thus his relationship to Lyannas memory is much more sad and pathetic then it is obsessive and unwarrented #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #robert baratheon #lyanna stark #ned stark #eddard stark

28 notes · View notes

juyeonszn · 11 months

Text

WHAT IS LOVE? — THIRTY FOUR

PAIRING ₊˚⊹ lee juyeon x f!reader

SUMMARY ₊˚⊹ all is well in the business of matchmaking. except it’s actually not, because lee juyeon, the school’s star baseball player, has just come to you for help in obtaining the girl of his dreams. oh yeah! and he happens to be the guy you’ve had a crush on since your first year of university.

MORE ₊˚⊹ i’m gonna throw up

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

THIRTY FOUR — Our Love Loop (2.62k)

Juyeon was in way over his head, he concluded after your conversation.

The truth of the matter was, he was lying out of his ass. He did not actually have two tickets to see the Barbie movie. He just knew you really wanted to see it and he didn’t have any other elaborate ideas to make a confession. If he did everything right, maybe you’d accept him.

This was what brought him to Soyeon’s apartment, begging on his hands and knees.

“Please, I need them, Soyeon,” he pleads, clasping his hands together. “This is a life or death situation. Do you want me to die? You want me to die, huh.”

She scoffs at him from her spot on the couch. “Get up, you fucking weirdo. Why do you even want my tickets so bad? Miyeon and I have been wanting to see this movie for months, why should I give them to you?”

Juyeon gives her the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster as he gets up from the floor and sits on the ottoman in front of her. “Because, I panicked and told Y/N that I had tickets and I would take her. She’s also wanted to see this movie for a really long time. This is my chance to tell her how I feel.”

Soyeon sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. On one hand, she knew Miyeon would throw a fit because she was so excited for the movie, having bought an entire pink outfit and everything. But on the other hand, her friend looked really desperate and she felt bad for him.

As stupid as he could be sometimes, Juyeon had a big heart. He was the type to make really dumb decisions without thinking them all the way through, but he meant well. This entire situation was a headache for sure. However, she wanted nothing but the best for her friend. And that included a happily ever after.

“Fine,” she groans, opening up her phone to transfer him the movie tickets. “You can have them. Only ‘cause I want you to fix things with her. She’s been suffering for way too long.”

Juyeon smiles widely, fist bumping the air and then shaking her by the shoulders. He doesn’t stay at the apartment much longer, going back to his own to put the evening together perfectly. When he truly thought about it, he doesn’t know how he didn’t realize he had feelings for you sooner. He rented out a fucking roller rink for you. And supposedly that was a fake date. While he only took Tzuyu out for lunch. Clearly there was some bias there.

He figures that you’ll be too invested in the movie for him to confess then, besides the whole no-talking-in-the-theater thing. He decides he’ll do it during dinner, after he’s already gotten into your good graces with the movie. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but wants to leave that for later. If he practiced his speech then it’d sound scripted and he wanted to speak from the heart. You deserved something authentic.

Back at your own apartment, you’re losing your mind.

You were entirely confused by this turn of events. It was a bit odd that Juyeon wouldn’t go with any of his friends to the movies. It was even weirder that he wouldn’t take the girl he was seeing. You were like, at the bottom of the totem pole when it came to his list of friends. You assumed you’d be the last person he thought of.

In fact, you hadn’t even talked to him much since he asked out Tzuyu. You were too upset to see his face and even more upset that it was game over for you. Looking at his name at the top of your screen hurt you more than you’d like to admit. But right now you were trying to ignore that. This was a win in your book and you needed to appreciate it.

That’s your mindset as you get ready for the evening. Much like you did for the roller rink, you dressed very Barbie-esque. You wore a light pink cami dress with some white kitten heels. Even though you wanted to look your best, you also didn’t want to overdo it and try too hard. This wasn’t a date. You were just friends. It’s as you’re applying some lip gloss, that a knock echoes through your empty apartment. (Yuqi had left earlier in the day to hang out with her friend Shuhua, so you were alone as you got ready.)

You grab your purse and quickly go to answer the door. Juyeon stands there, his back to you as he waits. When he hears the door open, he turns around, hands in his pockets. You think you might faint from how good he looks, clad in a white dress shirt and some black slacks. You don’t even care that the two of you are completely overdressed for the movies. Your brain feels like it had just been shaken around like it was tossed in a cocktail shaker and you’re sure you’re staring.

But because you’re so distracted, you don’t see him doing the same. You were actually breathtaking, Juyeon thought to himself. There was no wonder Lee Minho looked at you the way he did. Anyone could fall in love with you upon a glance and he’s surprised it took him as long as it did. The sight of your smile alone was enough to make the strongest of men weak.

When a couple moments have passed by of just the two of you gawking at each other, he realizes you should probably get going if you want to make it to the movie on time. He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck.

“Are you ready to go?” His voice is a little strained and he hopes you can’t hear it.

You nod, afraid your own voice will betray you. He grins and leads you to his car. You were too absorbed with how handsome he looked to even think about him coming to your door to get you, rather than standing outside his car like he usually did. He goes as far as opening and shutting your door for you, running around to get in his own side. He reaches into the backseat and you hear some crinkling, only for your eyes to be met with a familiar bouquet of lilies.

Before you can even process anything, he’s driving off and to the theater. Your mind feels mushy, like potatoes given to a toddler. What were you supposed to make of any of this? Of the flowers? Of the paid for movie and dinner? Of the dressing up? God you can even smell his cologne, the scent lingering around you in his car. It’s woody and so very Juyeon. You want this to fill your nostrils for the rest of your life.

It was official. You’d lost your sanity.

You’re thankful he brought you to a movie you’d actually been wanting to see, so it’s easy for you to momentarily forget about the boy in the seat next you as you’re immersed into the world of Barbie. At least the big man upstairs thought you deserved one win for once.

Because you’re so into the film, you fail to notice that Juyeon is not. He really tried to pay attention, especially since he literally begged for these damn tickets, but he couldn’t. His eyes would stay on the screen for a total of five seconds before flickering back to you in his peripheral vision. The smile on your lips didn’t leave the whole hour and 54 minutes you were in that theater.

The way the colorful lights flashed across your features and lit them up had his heart swelling. If he thought you were beautiful earlier, that was incomparable to how you looked sitting there and watching the movie, so blissfully unaware of how you were ten times more fascinating.

The one part he could recall, was the way Ryan Gosling’s Ken stared at Margot Robbie’s Barbie like she was the only thing in the world. There was a tenderness in his eyes that Juyeon understood all too well. It was the same look he was giving you throughout the film, only knowing when to laugh because you were laughing or knowing when to clap because you were clapping.

He couldn’t believe it was possible to be this down bad.

For dinner, he takes you to the same cafe you always find yourselves at. Except instead of eating actual dinner, you both order French toast. He bites down a grin when the waitress makes a comment about how cute of a couple you are. You flare up with heat and you attempt to hide your face by sipping at your iced tea.

“Thank you for the movie, Juyo,” you finally speak up, playing with your straw. “I was kinda sad that I wasn’t going to see it after all.”

“Truth is, I might have lied about the whole ticket thing...” He admits sheepishly, nibbling the inside of his cheek.

Your eyebrows furrow together. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t actually buy tickets two weeks ago,” he chuckles nervously. “I begged Soyeon to give me hers.”

“Why would you do that?” You ask, dumbfounded.

“Because you wanted to see it, and I needed an excuse to see you.”

Your eyes widen, not at all expecting that answer. You don’t even know what to say to that. What were you supposed to make of this information? What did he mean he “needed an excuse to see you”? The delusions were beginning to run wild in your head.

“W-Wha— huh?”

“What I wanted to talk to you about— what I needed to talk to you about,” he says, avoiding your eyes. “Taking you out tonight is a part of it.”

You feel like you just died and resurrected all at once. Something akin to a mixture of choking and a strangled cry escapes from your throat, causing you to slap a hand over your mouth. This was taking you out? Did Lee Juyeon realize he was driving you insane? Or was that just a hobby of his?

“I’m confused,” you blink, talking through the cracks of your fingers. “What did— what did you want to talk to me about?”

The waitress brings your French toast and places the plates in front of you just as he opens his mouth to speak. As sweet as she is, you think you might wrap your hands around her throat and wring her neck for interrupting. The longer your questions are left unanswered, the more your rationality wears thin. The older lady comes back with some syrup and a can of whipped cream before disappearing, leaving the two of you alone.

“Tzuyu and I are not a thing anymore.” He informs you, so blunt and nonchalantly like it was no big deal as you’re digging into your food. You’re pretty sure you actually choke this time.

“Wha— why? What happened?” He’s not giving you much to work with, so you don’t know if you should express feigned sympathy or cheer with glee.

“Two things,” Juyeon squints at you, licking his thumb and wiping something off of the corner of your lips. “Sorry, you had some whipped cream there.”

You died and resurrected again.

“Two things?”

“Reason number one is because she actually turned out to be a lesbian.” He snorts, taking a bite of his own French toast and humming in satisfaction. Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets after that revelation. That was a plot twist you were not expecting. You’d have to apologize to Eric later for the Hwang Yeji incident.

“How did you find that out?” You unintentionally pout. Juyeon thinks it’s the cutest thing ever and he kind of wants to kiss it away.

Woah, dude, reel it in a bit. Too soon.

“Thanks to reason number two,” he sets his fork down, putting his full focus on you. “I told her that I had feelings for you.”

If planet earth itself could pause for a minute, that’s what this moment felt like. It felt like everything around you came to a halt like the scratch of a record. All you can hear are the sounds of blood rushing to your ears and face, your pulse kicking into overdrive, and your heart rate racing. You almost pinch yourself to confirm that this is real life. When the world resumes its normal speed, you gape at him. Your lips are slightly parted and you don’t dare move a muscle, because despite your surroundings moving at a regular pace, you’re still operating in slow motion.

“Y-you what?” Is all you can muster, is all your brain can generate.

“I told her there was no way I could continue things with her because ever since the roller rink, all I could think of from the second I woke up to the second I went to sleep was you,” Juyeon confesses, not breaking eye contact. “And even then, I still saw you in my dreams. Isn’t that funny? That I never had a single dream about her? But you, God, I could dream about you forever and never get sick of it. You’re the true girl of my dreams, Y/N.”

You think you might cry, or maybe you already are, because your bottom lip is quivering and your cheeks feel wet. This is all you’d wanted to hear from him for years. Juyeon gives you an affectionate smile, reaching across the table to wipe your tears with his thumbs, cupping your cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” He laughs as you nuzzle your face into his palm.

Truthfully, you don’t know why you’re crying yourself. Perhaps you were just overjoyed, or overstimulated, or both. You thought you’d be stuck with unrequited love forever, that you’d be a background character as he moved on with his love life. This was so much better.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” you tell him, sniffling. “Since first year College Algebra, I’ve wanted to be yours, Juyeon. Other guys came and went, but they never held a candle to you. My heart always wandered back to you.”

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” he frowns. “I’d love nothing more than to have you as mine. If you’ll have me too.”

You nod almost frantically, like he might retract the offer. He leans over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, and then to your nose, then your cheeks, then each corner of your mouth, pausing when he gets to the center. You feel the warmth of his lips over yours, testing the waters to see what he can get away with. His eyes glance back and forth from yours to your mouth.

“Can—”

“Please kiss me already.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Yes, Ma’am.”

As soon as his lips envelope your own, it’s like the stars have aligned at last. It’s as sweet as candy. It feels like you're flying in the sky, passing each and every cloud in your path. It makes everything so much more beautiful, like the sun shining after a rainy day. This giddy, fuzzy feeling courses through your veins and you don’t want it to stop, content to stay like this for the rest of time. You could’ve never predicted that you’d end up here, kissing Lee Juyeon over two plates of barely eaten French toast. But it’s enough for you.

It’s just what you needed to fill that piece of your heart that had been missing.

PREV ₊˚⊹ THIRTY THREE — 11:11 make a wish

NEXT ₊˚⊹ THIRTY FIVE — graduated from bitchless university

MASTERLIST

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

TAGLIST ₊˚⊹ @matchaoreocrepes @maessseongs @tannieflix @winterchimez @kyusqult @itsbeeble @ericlvr @planethyuka

#the boyz #the boyz smau #tbz #tbz smau #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon #lee juyeon x reader #lee juyeon smau #lee juyeon social media au #juyeon x reader #juyeon smau #juyeon social media au #juyeonszn #what.is.love.juyeon🩷

85 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 9 months

Text

Wonderful

CW: Intimate whump, frank/mocking noncon discussion, captivity, forced relationship (... sort of), threats of violence/death

(As always, Jax is @comfy-whumpee's OC and is used with permission and oversight)

Brayden Marcoset has never hated a single soul as much as he hates his cousin’s stupid fucking English muffin of a man.

Savvie had taken a perfectly good house slave, trained by the best man in the business, and then she somehow ruined him entirely. Placid and obedient had become watchful and cunning. As if she’d turned a fucking housepet into a caged, half-rabid… coyote, or something.

Not that Brayden’s ever seen one other than on television, but… still. Metaphors don’t matter.

She’s given the man delusions of grandeur, pulled him into her bed when he should have spent his nights in the servant quarters or bedded down with the hunting hounds where he belongs.

It’s one thing for a Marcoset man to take a liking to staff - that's just part of life - but none of them ever demanded to marry one. And no Marcoset man ever tried to make any of the resulting little bastards into legitimate Marcoset heirs.

It’s disgusting.

Brayden’s eyelid twitches just looking at him, where he sits on the long end of the sectional like he even deserves to be there. Savvie dresses him in clothes that are worth more than he is, simpers and smiles and kisses him, calls him sweet little nicknames and all but throws herself at him 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

It’s hell, having to play along with her ridiculous little games.

But… here they are, he and the man Savvie insists on calling her husband sitting across from each other like this is normal or fine and not Savvie twisting and bending the rules of reality to her will like she always does.

Jax should be standing unobtrusively in a corner waiting to be given an order. He should be wearing the staff uniform of white shirt, black pants, black collar, and eyes on the ground.

He should be her little secret she brings to her bed and then sends away right after and he should be grateful for being her favorite.

Instead, he’s sitting on the couch as miserable as Brayden is, wearing a pair of tailored jeans and a sweater Brayden owns himself in a different color and now can’t wear ever again, not now that the muffin has worn it.

Not now that he realizes Jax looks better in that style of sweater than he does.

Grudgingly, he admits to himself that Jax looks pretty good in general. Too thin, thanks to Savvie’s iron control over how much he eats and when he gets the chance to eat it, but… good. He’s got that hint of lean muscle you can’t quite hide, and his hair looks good. Maybe he’s got shadows under his eyes, but really… that’s not so bad. He’s handsome enough, even with the shock collar permanently locked around his neck.

Next to him, looking ethereal - she thinks, anyway - in an empire-waist gown with too many layers of faint pastel shades that she believes turn her into some kind of watercolor queen, Savvie has a hand on his knee as she gestures. She pauses, looking between he and Jax, and Brayden feigns a reaction - he has no idea what she just said.

Neither does Jax, he thinks - he’s staring slightly off to one side as Savvie chatters about their most recent ‘babymoon’, a trip down to the beach house to enjoy the waves, work on her next album, and really just focus on being ‘us’ for a while. She’s only twenty-three weeks pregnant and they’ve already gone on two of the damn things, Savvie dragging Jax with her like the idiot little dog on a short leash he might as well be.

How many more can she plan? How many more of these stories is he going to have to pretend he’s listening to?

Brayden watches Jax instead.

His jaw is angled more sharply than it was when he’d first arrived, years ago, as if he’s always biting something back. Brayden had seen him a few times before back then, before he’d gone to the cops and it had nearly cost them all everything… Jax had been blank, then, too, but it had been… different.

Now he isn’t really empty.

Jax's face always looks like a computer with the monitor off but programs still whirring all the same. Whatever there is going on behind his eyes, Brayden can’t see it. And he’s usually pretty good at reading the shit the servants think they’re hiding. Or roughing them up until they tell him anyway.

But with Jax, it’s like looking through completely frosted glass. Shadows, a hint of a color, maybe, but… nothing clear. Never enough to get any understanding. Being trapped in Savvie’s life - in her bed, in her arms - has made Jax into a better liar than he’d been when he first arrived.

That’s not just irritating.

That’s dangerous.

But Savvie doesn’t see it.

Savvie pauses, leans over, whispers into Jax’s ear as she gives his knee a squeeze. Brayden watches a soft smile flicker across his face, gone as fast as it came. He whispers, Yes, Miss Savvie in that hushed voice that makes Brayden’s teeth itch. Savvie pushes herself to her feet. Her stomach isn't really that rounded but she acts like it’s already huge, rubbing her hand over it, up and down. Brayden barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

He gets the sense Jax feels the same as he does, for once.

“I’ll be right back,” Savvie says brightly. “Keep an eye on him for me, won’t you, Bray? Just… part of the magic, I guess, is having to go to the bathroom every six minutes. I swear…” She’s still talking when she leaves the room. Has she stopped since she got here? He’s pretty sure she hasn’t. She barely even pauses to breathe.

But at least the room gets quiet, now.

He glances over at Jax, who doesn’t look back. But, like a shark scenting blood a mile away, Brayden sees how his scarred hands shift where they rest, falsely relaxed. Brayden watches his ring finger twitch, the simple band Savvie put there glinting dimly in the light.

“How badly do you wish she would just drop dead right now?” He asks, seemingly idly, tipping his cut-crystal glass to watch the whiskey and ice swirl around each other. “More than before she got herself pregnant, or less?”

Jax’s jaw shifts. Those eyes move to his, briefly, all innocent uncertainty. “Don’t know w-what you mean,” He says, voice low.

“Oh, give up the bullshit,” Brayden says, huffing as he takes a drink, leaning over with his elbows on his thighs. He finds a half-smile, but he doesn’t mean it, and he doesn’t try to look like he does. “We all know how you feel. You might as well be honest with me about it. Besides, we’re basically family, now, right? I was at your wedding. I was your best man, your best-... what, d’you call it your best mate in merry old England?”

He laughs at his own mockery of an accent that has only the slightest relation to Jax’s own, taking a drink. This is his fourth whiskey of the evening and the other three went down smooth. The world is getting brighter, with sharper edges - just how he likes it.

At the mention of the wedding - where Jax had gone where he was told, done what he was told to do, said the words Savvie gave him to say, and probably gone back to Savvie’s home that night and whispered sweet nothings like a man with a gun to his head - Jax’s fingers twitch again. They close into loose fists. He doesn’t even bother with a reply, this time.

Just looks away again.

“Hey.” Brayden frowns, snapping his fingers, but Jax doesn’t even flinch. “I’m talking to you.”

More silence.

“Come on. Give me something to work with.” He sits back again, raking a hand back through his hair. “You’re a treat to have around for a visit, aren’t you? So very talkative. Goddamn chatty. Jax, why are you even here, anyway? You don’t have to be.”

That gets him the briefest bit of eye contact, but nothing more. “Miss Savvie was invited for dinner,” He says, voice low and blank and empty. It makes Brayden’s anger rise like a storm surge inside him, battering his resolve.

The rest of the staff… react. They murmur obedience, they smile when he tells them to, they answer every question with yes, Master Brayden or no, Master Brayden, or whatever you want, Master Brayden. But Jax, the worst of them all, has to be treated like he matters just because Savvie thinks his dick hung the moon.

Brayden moves fluidly onto his feet, ignoring the way the world spins a little. Maybe, he thinks, he shouldn’t have another whiskey after he finishes this one. He moves around the coffee table, closing the distance between them. Jax’s fists close tighter and tighter, until his nails must be breaking skin. As Brayden bends and then leans in close, Jax subtly leans away, trying to keep distance between them.

But Brayden isn’t in the mood for distance.

Not tonight.

Instead, he shifts gears, switches over to easygoing, we’re all guys here friendliness. “Seriously, man. We all know she’s batshit, she always was. We all know it. Nobody really thinks this is Romeo and Juliet but her. You know? You should be scrubbing floors right now. Or… I don’t know, maybe you should be somewhere else. Like back home, huh?”

Jax takes in a breath, his eyes determinedly focused on a spot on the wall somewhere over Brayden’s shoulder, but he doesn’t reply. This close, Brayden can smell the cologne Savvie makes him wear.

“It’s okay,” Brayden murmurs, looking towards the door Savvie went through and then back. “It’s just the two of us here. Be honest with me, Mr. Marm-... Marcoset.” He’s slurring a little as the whiskeys catch up to him, but it doesn’t matter. “You spend half the night thinking about putting a pillow over her fucking face, and you know nobody who actually knew her would even blame you, so why not do it? Or… look, it’s just us here and now. Just you and me. Tell me why you don’t just… go, get out of here, get the fuck out of my sight. And don’t say the collar. If you’re here at this house, the shock collar can’t be set to make you stay at her house, so… why not just fucking take off before she can get to the remote? You could make it outside before she even notices. I wouldn’t even say anything, I’d just sit here and wait. I’d even give you a good head start.”

He drops his voice lower, soft and poisonously seductive. The kind of voice he might use on a pretty servant girl, not his cousin’s idiot husband. Just above a whisper. The same way he might have otherwise murmured to one of the staff to be in my room at midnight, to Jax he offers a different kind of poison laced with sugar.

“She left the keys in the car, didn’t she? You know she did. Go on, Jax. I won’t say a damn thing. Just go. Get the fuck out of our lives and be free and then I never have to see your ugly fucking face again.”

He’s nearly breathing whiskey-breath in Jax’s face, and still, the man doesn’t move. Doesn’t even wrinkle his nose.

Brayden chuckles, forcing it, because he’s getting absolutely nothing from the man still seated in perfect still silence on the couch, but he can feel under all that empty space the rising tension. He can tell he’s getting to Jax, at least a little.

He wants to throw him to the floor, kick his ribs until he hears the satisfying snap when one of them breaks, and then keep going. Give Savvie back her man with black eyes and busted-out teeth, a broken jaw. Show him how little he means, no matter what Savvie tells him.

He’s just staff.

He’s just something else the Marcosets own.

He doesn’t deserve their name, and he isn’t even grateful for it.

“Come on,” He murmurs, nearly close enough to touch now. “You know you want to go. You could get out before there’s some little monster screaming for you alongside her all night, some bastard baby you’ll hate as much as you hate her. Throw a punch, I’ll let you hit me even. Make it look like a fight and not like you’re just following my orders, too. Go on. Or… well, wait a second.”

He sits down next to Jax, slinging an arm around his shoulder like they’re the best of friends, leaning in until he’s nearly close enough to kiss.

“Do you... do you not even want to go? Huh? Is the problem that you really want to be here? Got a lil case of the Stockholm Syndrome? That’s not real, you know. They made it up... doesn’t matter. But hey, maybe you have it anyway. Maybe you like fucking her every single night. That’s why you never take the chances, because… because we know there are chances, don’t we, you and I? After you dick her down real good, she falls asleep and you have hours, but no… you stay right there and wait to be told to dick her down again, huh? Because you want to be here." He laughs again, barely making a sound. "You sad little shit, you actually love her and you don’t even know it. Love her so much you’re having a baby together. Some little fucking clone of my cousin, but hey. Maybe the little goblin will have your eyes, huh? You can teach it to say yes, Miss Savvie like a goddamn moron just like you. Gonna be the baby's first words, right?"

There.

Jax’s back and shoulders feel like iron, tense as steel bearing too much weight under the soft cashmere, beneath Brayden’s arm. The way that tension turns to shaking makes him smile. Jax’s knuckles are bleached against the fabric of his jeans, his face paper-white beneath some red that lingers in his cheeks.

It’s a good look on him.

It’d be better if he was bleeding.

Too much whiskey has Brayden’s hand creeping back up, over the back of Jax’s neck to the shock collar’s lock. He knows the combo, the whole family knows the combo they use for the shock collars. “I’ll take it off,” He whispers, “And give you twenty minutes. How far can you get, I wonder? I want to see. Don’t you want to see how far you can get?”

Jax’s eyes, locked as they are on the wall in front of him, flare slightly. Brayden’s close enough to hear his breathing suddenly go shallow, and then catch.

“Come on,” Brayden whispers. “Run, rabbit. Run.”

Brayden’s fingers brush over the lock, the hair that just barely curls over it at the nape of Jax’s neck.

“Don’t,” Jax says, voice tight.

Brayden’s lip curls in disgust. “Why not?”

“Because, Brayden, in this particular moment he is smarter than you are.”

The voice of Brayden’s father booms from the doorway,.

Brayden feels blood somehow both rush to his face and also drain from it at the same moment. Then his vision goes red. Jax had seen Isaac coming, hadn’t he? He'd seen, and he hadn’t said a damn thing.

Brayden gets back to his feet, stumbling forward before straightening his posture. Even in his late thirties, he’s still got a hint of nerves around Isaac. Being too drunk in front of his father feels like a great way to get himself in deep shit all over again.

Isaac Marcoset, always the biggest presence in any room he enters, moves casually as he rolls his sleeves back down. Smears of faint red on his knuckles are the only sign of the work he’s been busy with for the past hour. The head of the Marcoset family is all charm and darkness. He’s sly smiles and handshakes that sometimes go on just a little too long, and he’s also agonizing, lingering death in a back room, with staff removing bodies out the back door.

Brayden takes a breath. He feels the strangely teenage urge to hide his whiskey glass behind his back and fights it. “Hey... Hey, Dad.”

Isaac only raises an eyebrow, pouring himself a drink from the bar cart in the corner. The silence draws out, awkward and heavy.

Brayden clears his throat. “I-I wasn’t really going to take it off, I was… I was just fucking with him, that’s all.”

“I certainly hope you’re not fucking with him, Bray.” Isaac takes a drink, waiting for Brayden to understand his terse joke. No one laughs. “I realize he has some sort of attractive quality to him, although I have no idea what, but still. It’s bad enough that my niece lowers herself to bedding him, surely you can abstain?”

Brayden's face burns so hot he half thinks he'll catch fire. "Dad!"

In the corner of his eyes, Brayden sees the corners of Jax’s smile shift into a shit-eating little smirk.

The little shit. How dare he looks like that, like he's gotten one over on Brayden, and how dare he wear the fucking wedding ring that means Brayden can’t even do anything about it. Not anything permanent enough to count, anyway.

Brayden drops back into his seat, hunching his shoulders and glaring over the edge of his glass. He tells himself if Jax so much as cracks a fucking joke, he’ll break this glass, carve that smirk into the stupid fucker's face, and beg Savvie for forgiveness afterward.

When he looks, though, Jax isn’t even looking at him. Those hazel eyes are locked on Isaac, as if Brayden simply ceases to exist when his father walks in the door. It’s a feeling that’s far too familiar, and it makes Brayden feel… small.

Which pisses him off even more.

And Jax knows it.

“Hello, Uncle Isaac,” Jax says, serene. As if they were all simply discussing the weather. But that shit-eating grin doesn’t leave his face, even if it never makes it to his eyes.

“Hello, miscreant,” Isaac replies, apparently in a good enough mood to humor him. “I have to assume, if I’m forced to endure your presence, that my niece is here as well?”

“She went to th’bathroom,” Brayden mutters, drinking the rest of his whiskey in two gulps, using the burn as a distraction from his embarrassment and fury at even being embarrassed in front of glorified staff, Savvie’s little toy. “Mother said… what, twenty minutes ago? I think? She said supper’s served at seven.”

“Hm. Not much longer, then. Good, I’ve worked up an appetite.” Isaac settles into his favorite armchair in the sitting room, tapping fingertips on the upholstery. “You should learn to control yourself, Bray. My niece’s choice of men may not run to the most handsome or most intelligent-... or men with brains at all, really-... but despite his many faults… well. There isn't anything we can do about those. The miscreant remains whether we like it or not."

“Now you’re just hurting my feelings,” Jax says, with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. “Thought we were family now, Uncle Isaac.”

Brayden glares at him - he’s been silent, but now he talks? Now he has little quips to say, once Brayden looks like a moron in front of his father and Isaac is the one holding fucking court?

Jax’s smile widens ever so slightly as he finally meets Brayden’s eyes. “Didn’t you just say so? You were at the wedding. You were my best mate.”

“I’m going to pull your teeth out with pliers!” Brayden lunges forward with a roar. He winds one arm back and whips his glass right at Jax, whose hands are up fast enough that it just bounces off his forearms, sprays half-melted ice cubes and whiskey-flavored water in Jax’s hair and clothes, and then cracks into pieces on the floor. “You little shit! I’ll pull out each and every fucking fingernail and make you regret-”

“Brayden Marcoset!” Isaac’s voice is louder than the pulse of fury in Brayden’s mind. “Calm yourself!”

For a long, drawn-out moment, he can’t move. All he can think about is choking the life out of Jax until his smirk dies, until his eyes go dim, and then the emptiness isn’t fake anymore, it’s real. And he can see that Jax knows he wants to, knows just how little there is keeping him from turning him into a smear on the floor for the staff to scrub out.

He wouldn’t even be the first.

Then, he takes a breath and sits down.

“Hannah!” He yells over his shoulder. “Come clean this mess up in here!”

She’s always close by. Hannah, one of the aforementioned bastards the Marcosets hold onto for their own purposes, looks entirely too much like Savvie. She, though, wears the white-and-black uniform, her collar snug around her neck, and her hair - that Marcoset hair, wavy and thick - is cut to her chin. She swallows, hard, when she sees them all. “Master-... oh, good evening, Master Isaac,” She says, feigning cheer, but Brayden isn’t in the fucking mood for it. "Master Jax."

"He's nobody's fucking master. Shut the fuck up. Just clean up the fucking mess,” He says, and waves his hand. Hannah takes in the sight of the cracked glass on the floor and droplets of water, Jax sitting there marked with it himself, and then her gaze moves to the fury on Brayden’s face.

She pulls a towel from where it had been tucked over her belt for easy use. Her face is carefully expressionless. “Yes, Master Brayden.”

That’s more like it.

The three of them watch her clean in awkward silence - or Isaac and Brayden do, who the fuck knows what Jax is actually looking at - and then she vanishes as quickly as she came.

Brayden points after her. “That should be you,” He says to Jax, voice flat. “Cleaning up my mess, saying yes sir and no sir, and never giving me any shit. Got it? Savvie’s weird obsession with you is the only thing that keeps me from making sure you work your hands to the bone here on my orders.”

Jax opens his mouth - Brayden’s going to kill him, whatever he says next - but Isaac speaks before he manages to say whatever was on his mind.

“Oh, let it go,” Isaac says, waving a hand. “You’re letting him work you up. When you do this, you teach him that he matters to you.”

“He-”

The door bursts open and all three men tense, then, but it’s only Savvie returning. She’s breathless and flushed and her eyes are shining. She looks like a princess in a fairytale as she rushes forward to grab Jax’s hands in her own and pull him to his feet. “Jax! Honey, come feel!”

She doesn’t even seem to see her cousin or uncle. Only Jax.

Only.

Jax.

Brayden’s teeth grind together watching Jax’s sly cunning disappear, replaced with the play-acting at earnest, if nervous, adoration that Savvie demands from him. Everyone else on earth could disappear and Savvie wouldn’t care, as long as she had her fucking English muffin to cling to.

Nothing fucking matters but him.

“Feel what, Miss Savvie…?” Jax’s confusion, at least, is genuine. His hands hang slightly limp in her grip. She pulls him to her, pressing his palms over her stomach through her dress, biting her lower lip and looking downward.

Brayden groans as he realizes what it is.

Jax glances at him and then back, but it doesn’t seem to have sunk in for him, not just yet. Then he flinches, minutely, eyes widening. He pulls his hands back. “M-Miss Savvie-”

There are bloodstains, small but vibrant, on her dress now, from the wounds he’s made with his own fingernails in the palms of his hands.

Savvie doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.

She pulls him right back, her hands pressed down a little too hard over his to keep them where she wants them. Hard enough to make him wince. Savvie’s forehead touches his, and she whispers excitedly, “Did you feel her? Did you feel her kicking?”

Jax stares down, then, at their hands, and her rounded stomach. As if he could look right through it and see the growing life inside. “Yeah,” He whispers. He looks like he wants to sink into the floor, like he might be sick. “I-... I feel it, I th-think. That’s-”

“That’s her kicking,” Savvie whispers. “That’s her. Jax, sweetie, that’s…” She sniffs, taking pause for dramatic effect. “That’s our daughter. Our baby.”

“Th-that’s our baby,” Jax repeats. He sounds numb.

“Oh,” Savvie whispers, sounding a little amazed. It’s an oddly genuine sound, dropping the theatrics, the eternal performance. As if this has knocked even Savvie out of her usual song-and-dance. She hesitates, and then shifts Jax’s hands a little. “She’s kicking harder for you, isn’t she? She knows it’s you already.”

“Y-... you think she does?” Jax’s voice nearly matches Savvie’s. The awe in his voice might almost be real. It’s brief, but they almost look and sound like a real couple. Just for a second. Just if you tilt your head, squint, and pretend you don’t see the shock collar locked on his neck and the way she holds his hands too tight.

“Yeah,” Savvie says, and her smile is sweet as she lifts one hand to touch his face. There’s a pause, Jax’s eyes are locked on her stomach, he doesn’t react to her touch at all. Some of the syrupy-soft smile on her face starts to fade. The warmth in her chills. “Jax. She knows you’re her daddy, isn’t that wonderful?”

Half of Brayden is amused that she still has to prod Jax to give his line, to keep up the performance. Half of him is disgusted that Jax goes along with it, tips his head into the palm of her hand and gives her the big doe eyes she loves so much.

“Yes, Miss Savvie,” Jax answers, automatically, meeting her gaze now. He turns his face and it might almost seem like he’s kissing her palm, although even drunk Brayden can see that he isn’t really doing that at all. Savvie, though, sees what she wants to see - she always has. Jax’s fingers twitch where his hands are still laid on her rounded stomach, feeling the shifting movements of the growing child, the fucking anchor Savvie has tied around his neck. He manages something like a slight, faint smile. “It’s w-wonderful.”

It’s fucking depressing, is what it is.

“Fuck,” Brayden mutters, wishing he had another drink.

#the motherfucking gallaghers #jax gallagher #jax #savvie marcoset #sadistic whumper #captivity #whump #multiple whumpers #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #defiant whumpee #it's quiet here but jax absolutely is pissing brayden off #also features: brayden being weirdly homoerotic about jax #you uh #you got something to share with the class there buddy #alcohol use tw #pregnancy tw

52 notes · View notes