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arabellasleopardcoat · 2 months ago

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Threefold cord (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon’s wife is presumed dead. But is she?

A/N: Blue beard, to finish my Halloween celebration because I cannot write on schedule. Also @just-some-random-blogger look! The fic I told you about.

Warnings: Hightower!reader x Daemon. Smut. Alicent, Gwayne and reader as siblings. Death of Rhea Royce. Happy ending!

“ARE YOU TRULY about to wed him?” You set your teacup down on its saucer. When your father had summoned you to the capital, you had known it was important news. But Alicent becoming a Queen? It surpassed everything you had imagined.

Your father wanted to make sure you were there to witness her triumph. Alicent lacked allies in court, beyond the Princess. And that relationship would sour as soon as the other girl heard just who her father was to wed.

Alicent was too naive to see it. Or purposefully blind. She claimed to not know what she had been doing when visiting the King, too. You guessed the thought made it easier to bear for her.

You didn’t blame her. King Viserys was old and beginning to show signs of being sickly. The thought of offering yourself to such a man, twice your age, on your father’s orders, wasn’t pleasant. You would rather pretend you were just being kind.

“It is for the best. Father says that he…” Alicent begins justifying her actions, and you tune out. You know it will just be a repetition of your father’s lectures. Duty. Bearing children. Women knowing their place.

You pitied her, for believing in his bullshit. It wasn’t as if either of you could escape your fate, but you at least tried not to lower yourself into thinking you were a lesser, gentler being, made to be bred. Instead, you enjoyed thinking you were a person. Just as human as any man, just as smart, just as strong. Only one trapped by your status as a noblewoman.

You sip at your tea. You are cautious not to make a sound when doing so, and not take too big of a sip. Anyone who gazes at your courtly smile and comely manners would not guess your innermost thoughts.

Alicent continues her tirade, describing animatedly how much she wants to do her duty and birth children. How she knows her body will not fail her as it did for the late Queen. She has an unfortunate thirst for proving herself, your eldest sister.

“And King Viserys asked me about you, the other day. He would like for you to marry Prince Daemon…”

The tea you are drinking goes down the wrong way. You start coughing, and have to hurriedly set down your teacup as to not burn yourself.

“Excuse me?” You say, once the coughing fit subsides a bit, and you are able to wipe your mouth with a napkin. “I will… What? Does father know of this?”

She looks at you, concerned, but says nothing about it. She pours herself another cup of tea.

“Prince Daemon’s wife has been missing for a while. They think she might have…” Alicent leans in, voice lowering. You are in the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by men loyal to your father, and yet she feels she cannot say it freely. You wonder what has Lady Royce done to scandalize her such. “Ran away. With a lover.”

“You prude!” You laugh. You had thought it much worse. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to do so, don’t be nai…”

“A female one.” Alicent interrupts, setting down her own teacup. The movement is a bit harsh, making the porcelain screech.

You open and close your mouth. You had not known that was even a possibility.

“How does one..?”

“Be as it may…” She raises a hand, halting you. “Father says you shall marry him, if he finds you agreeable.”

There was not much you knew about politics, but you were pretty sure the Prince despised your father and your house by extension. You doubted he would find you agreeable. Your father would doubt it too, but he was too blinded by the hope of getting Runestone.

Lady Royce had no heir. Her castle had gone to Daemon, the King needing little convincing to award it to his beloved brother. Imagining all that bronze in your hands, in House Hightower’s hands, would have him salivating. At getting his enemy away from court? That was only an unexpected bonus. If the man liked you and decided he wanted to play Come-into-my-castle with you, you were sure your father would dance a gig.

You wouldn’t. If it did happen… You shuddered, thinking of the man with the lecherous grin, always whoring. Twice your age, and crass as they came. The only times you had crossed paths, he had been busy ogling Alicent or his niece.

“I am not marrying him.”

Alicent frowns at you. Her eyes turn sad. When she gets contradicted, she looks much like a kicked puppy.

“I have never met him.” You explain, feeling guilty over upsetting her. She is just so much like your father, sometimes. It angers you, even when you know it is not her fault. She doesn’t have the same anger in her veins as you do. All she ever wanted was to please your father.

“He is looking for a wife, and King Viserys thinks it would be marvelous if you married him. I have told him all about you.” Alicent sounds excited about the whole thing, and just… No. You do not want to marry a man twice your age. Gross. Her tone turns softer. “I think it would be nice. To belong to the same House even after marriage. To be never parted from my sister.”

The want in her expression makes you soften. It is not often that Alicent admits to desiring anything, and you do not wish to discourage her.

“I’ll meet him.” You decide. “Just that.”

“Oh, how wonderful!”

And the Seven bless her, she actually seems delighted to hear it.

THE WEDDING IS awfully dull. The Septon drones on and on about the Mother and the Father, and the duties of marriage. Alicent looks stunning in her silk gown, beautiful but modest. It is no use. People already speak of what she has done to trap the King into marriage.

Princess Rhaenyra keeps sending her glares during the feast. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in hurt. She is not quite sure what to feel. You can tell from the way she pauses when looking at Alicent. You pity her too.

Losing a mother is a terrible thing. You can only imagine how much it hurts to see her replaced by a girl your own age.

The Princess is a woman who has everything and yet, it's still a woman. No power to stop her father from bedding her best friend, no power to change anything at all. The realization of her powerlessness is clear in her features.

In contrast, you doubt you have ever seen your father this happy. Ever. He is alight with pride. As if throwing his daughter to an old man is some great accomplishment. He has spared no expense on this wedding, the ceremony and feast lavish in a way that feels almost tasteless.

The pomp and luxuries have you feeling morose. You sip at your hippocras, tucked into a corner of the high table, and try to pretend you are invisible. Gwayne has left you far too soon, off to dance with some ladies.

He has always been the courteous sort, just like you. You enjoy watching him charm the ladies, and enjoy more the fact that he hasn’t tried to drag you to the dance floor.

For that, you are grateful. Some ladies are lively and dance as if gliding through water. You do not. Dancing had not been on the list of abilities you had acquired during your etiquette lessons.

It had always felt like peacocking to you. Showing yourself to others, showing how pretty you smiled, how graceful you were. The attention it brought made you uncomfortable. You much preferred blending in.

“Strange choice of drink you have there.” Prince Daemon says, sitting across from you. “Even stranger that you are still sitting at your sister's wedding.”

“I could say the same.” You reply, colder than you planned to. The hippocras is hitting you already, making your temper shorter. You have little interest in Daemon Targaryen.

There is a secret plan in your head. When you reach thirty, you will claim a sudden awakening of Faith and retire to the comforts of life as a Septa. You have done enough charity to know that Septas don’t do as much as they like people to think. The only thing you will miss will be the alcohol.

“Ah, but I am just sitting now.” He idly reaches for the carafe of hippocras you are monopolizing, and serves himself a goblet. “Is this any good?”

“At least it’s not dornish swill.” Dornish wine has to be the worst thing you have ever tasted, not even fit for pigs. Bitter and watery, the mere thought annoys you.

Prince Daemon barks out a laughter.

“Good Gods, where was Otto hiding you?”

“Probably in the same place as your decency.”

“Thread carefully.” Daemon’s expression turns far colder. His hand tightens around the stem of his goblet. “I might like your cheek, but I am still a prince of the realm.”

“One soon to be displaced.” You toast. A bit of hippocras spills from your goblet. You are far too drunk to care about his thoughts. “Be it by my nephews or your niece.”

His face reddens.

“Bitch.” He spits the word from clenched teeth. You laugh loudly.

“Knave.”

“You are an insolent little thing, aren’t you?” Daemon snarls, leaning over the table as if to throttle you. Drunk as you are, you don’t feel any fear. You have just enough rational thoughts left to believe you will be alright, since even the darkened corner you have chosen to sit in is too public for him to murder you without repercussions.

“I am small but fierce.”

“I can see that. Do all Hightower cunts have teeth?”

You smile at him, lazy and warm from the drinks you have had.

“I don’t know, care to find out?”

And Daemon laughs. He asks you to dance instead. As he twirls you and dips you, you come to find he is not bad company after all. And if you laugh a tad more than necessary, and accept his offer to walk the gardens the next afternoon, no one can blame you.

“IT IS BUT a couple of days.” Daemon says to you, softly. You lay on your stomach, head propped up on your arms. You twist your head just so to force him to see your sad little pout.

His hand comes to rub at your shoulders, as if you were a spooked horse he is trying to soothe. His touch is warm and calming against your bare skin.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He has soothed you into complacency, this husband of yours. He allows you to indulge in fine wines, and be as frivolous as you wish. The only thing he asks of you is that you are warm and willing when he is. It is no chore.

Long gone is your rage. Now, you exist in a perfect bubble, where no one constricts your freedom. There is no screeching father to tell you that you are a disaster, nor is there a horrified Alicent. Instead, Daemon encourages all your eccentricities, and teaches you some new ones.

“Will you?” You roll on your side, stretching. You have done nothing today, not even dress. Daemon and you have spent the whole morning tangled in each other, warm and naked.

He smiles. That same grin that had once seemed so lecherous to you, now looks inviting.

You bite your lower lip, already anticipating what is to come.

“Minx.” Daemon laughs, before leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. The contact of his lips against your skin makes you shiver, a delicate sigh leaving you. “You won’t even notice I am gone.”

“Of course I will.” You whine, as he kisses a path down your spine. “Who will bring me such pleasure?”

A sudden, sharp pain on your arse makes you yelp and sit up. Daemon smirks, and feigns taking another bite out of you.

“You are so spoiled.” He laughs. “Cannot take even a little pain. I’ll leave you some coin, and you can invite your sister to keep you company. How does it sound?”

“Think the King can spare his Queen?” You have not seen your sister since your wedding. The ravens fly fast enough that you know the news already, but you doubt King Viserys will allow her to be out of his sight for long. Not when pregnant.

Daemon nips at your thigh. You jerk, but he coaxes you back into laying on your stomach.

“Before she gets too round to travel, yes. In a few moons, it will have to be us making the trip.”

“Gods, I hate babes.”

“So do I.” He rubs at your inner thigh, slowly prying your legs open. “So? Is my spoiled wife happy?”

“Very.” You rub your face in the pillow, all kittenish. You like being called his. “Do I get the keys of the castle, too?”

Daemon kisses the place where your thigh meets your arse. You can feel his smile against your skin, promising sin.

“Of course. Just don’t go into the room with the red door, alright? I forbid it.”

“You do?” You challenge, thinking it part of the game. So far, you have yet to explore all of Runestone, always too entertained by him to do so. There are a few rooms he is cagey about, but you have always blamed it on Daemon being very private and needing his space. He has never allowed you into his personal library, either. Says you would ruin the books.

You have never minded it. You understand your place here, the dumb young wife. Men never like thinking the woman they are with can be more interesting than them. To think you can also have an interest in books, apart from being frivolous, would be too much for him to handle.

The warning about the red door only registers to you as part of the games you usually play in the bedroom. Something he can punish you about later on, something that might excuse a round of rough lovemaking.

But his expression turns into a frightening mask of utter rage. He pinches you in the thigh, and this time, it really hurts.

“Fuck!” You cry out, fighting his hold. His grip has turned from the sweetest chains into unforgiving iron around your hips. You cannot move. Not even as he slaps your thigh, hard enough to make your eyes water. “Daemon, what the..?”

“I mean it.” He is cruel about it, slapping again the stinging flesh. “I do not want you in there. If you disobey, I’ll know.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed, You cannot comprehend how fast he has flipped, from kind lover to whatever this is. The rogue Prince is mercurial, you think, echoing the letter your father had once written complaining about him, his moods dangerous.

“Fine!” You cry out, desperate to evict this creature that has taken sudden hold of your husband’s body. “Fine! No opening the red door.”

Daemon softens then. His shoulders slump, and his face goes back into a mask of devotion.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, to the place he slapped. You tense. “It is dangerous for you. Like the Moondoor in The Eyrie.”

Yet, as his touch turns back into loving, you do not forget. There is something about what lies beyond that red door that turns him into a monster. A creature capable of hurting even you.

You intend to find out what it is.

THE FORTNIGHT SPENT with Alicent is by far, the best of your life. Runestone is grand, with intricate tapestries and artwork decorating the walls. Your sister has always loved art, and the time spent surrounded by beautiful things seems to rejuvenate her.

Her pregnancy appears to be easy and without fuzz. There is no nausea preventing her from having as many lemon cakes as you two wish, or from exploring the Vale’s markets, trying on dresses and tasting expensive food.

The money Daemon has left you is enough to fund your shopping sprees. You have so much fun, running in the halls and trying on dresses, it feels as if you are little girls again. The only thing missing from your childhood is Gwayne.

So you send for him.

Despite how much joy your time spent with your sister brings you, you cannot shake the thought about the red door.

It is situated in one of the towers, near the place where Daemon keeps his books. You pass by it daily, for Alicent’s rooms have been placed in the same tower. Housing a Queen is no easy task, much less when she carries the heir to the Iron Throne inside her. She had come with servants and guards, who had to be housed too. There was no space but that tower.

That tower. Each time you pass it, you have to clench your fists hard to stop yourself from reaching towards it. Every time you open a door, your hands linger on the only key you will never use.

What lies behind the red door? What can possibly upset your husband such and change him from a careless hedonist into a violent man?

When no one is near, you kneel by the door and try to look through the keyhole. The lock on the door is old and smells faintly of iron. The only thing you can see looking through the keyhole is rust.

Trying to look under the door gives you the same results. Rust and iron, and a nagging curiosity that will not leave you alone.

You try to forget about it. You owe obedience to your husband, and you remember all too well the tale of the woman who owned a jar that should never be opened. It had been a favorite of your father during your youth.

A wife must never pry. For she might find something she doesn’t like.

Yet, when you think of Daemon grabbing you hard enough to bruise, you realize you already have found something you do not like. It is that thought what helps you make up your mind. One afternoon, when Alicent claims to be too tired to keep you company, you decide to open the door.

Your hands are slick with sweat, and shaking so much it takes you two tries to fit the key into the keyhole. Your heart feels like it will leap out of your chest. Suddenly, you are paralyzed.

You cannot turn the key. Your hands have gone rigid. Your fear overwhelms you. What could possibly be in here, if not a terrible secret?

You turn it. The lock clicks, and the door gives with an ominous creak. You step inside, as careful as you can. The floor is slick and sticky. When you look down, your shoes and the hem of your gown are tinted red.

You scream. You turn towards the walls, only to find more blood. Bloodied rags, stains, a bloodied dagger. You begin to feel lightheaded. When you stumble towards a corner, you see her.

A corpse of a woman, hugging her knees to her chest. Her body is rotting, half of her face gone, but enough of it remaining so you can see that it has frozen in an expression of utter horror, much like your own. She wears a rune covered armor, and has several cuts all over.

This time, you fall down. The keys slip from your grip, and you scream so loud, you are sure you wake the whole castle.

The missing Rhea Royce.

“Good gods!” Alicent cries out, behind you. You stumble to your feet, terrified. She cannot see it. Daemon… Daemon was going to kill you both. “What is this? By the Seven, is that..?”

“He is going to kill me.” You say, wiping the blood clinging to your hands on your dress. You try to clean the keys as well, but the stain won’t come out. No matter how hard you try. “He’ll know.”

“He is not going to, we can go to the King, and I am sure there is…” Alicent sounds horrified. She lingers on the doorstep, already on her nightshirt. Her belly is barely beginning to show.

“Alicent!” You say, sharply. “He’ll know. You have to run, Alicent. He will kill us both.”

“And leave you to die?” Your sister sounds indignant. “I cannot. You cannot…”

You cannot run, you wish to say. You cannot because if you do, Daemon will know even quicker, and chase you both. If you stay, maybe you can fool him. Or at least, give your sister a fighting chance.

“Please!” You cry. “Do it for the babe.”

Alicent’s lips turn white from the force she uses to keep them closed. She looks into your eyes, and hesitates. You fear she might not go through it.

“Go!” You cry, slipping on all the blood.

And Alicent, big brown eyes wide, hikes up her skirts and runs.

DAEMON NOTICES AS soon as he asks for the keys. You have never been a good liar, and the blood still stains them. When handing them over, you shake.

His smile drops. He no longer is the happy husband, but the creature that had frightened you the other night. The creature that had killed Rhea Royce, and took her lands.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He grabs you by the neck, snarling.“I told you to leave it alone.”

Your pulse begins to race. You cannot speak, and you can only take shallow breaths. Your panic must show on your face because Daemon smiles at you, coldly. He squeezes a tad harder, enough to cut off your breath.

You gasp. It comes out more like a choked hiccup.

“Look at what you are making me do.” When you are starting to feel lightheaded, breath coming out in desperate wheezes, Daemon gives you a shove. “I never wanted to do this. This is all your fault.”

“You don’t have to kill me.” You plead, voice shaking. “I’ll keep your secret.”

Daemon looks at you, and laughs.

“I assure you, I have not gotten away with it this long because I believe every pretty thing telling me they will keep their mouths shut.”

Your eyes widen. The phrasing is strange. Every pretty thing…

“There had been others?” Daemon scoffs at your question, but doesn’t answer. You look into his eyes, and try pleading once more. At this point, tears are streaming down your cheeks. You are sure you make a very pathetic sight. “Just… Don’t kill me.”

“Good Gods. Are all Hightowers this dumb or is it you and Aliwhore?” Daemon grasps your face, roughly. You cannot believe your ears. Where is all this hatred coming from? It seems like the man you loved, the one that had courted you for endless summer days, is gone. All that is left is his profound hatred for you and your family. Had he only pretended not to hate you, and was showing his true colors now? “At least die with some dignity, you pathetic cunt.”

Dignity. Dignity could buy you time. You need it, to think of a way to survive.

“Allow me to pray, then. To make my peace with my death.”

Prayer wasn’t your strong forte. But you guessed you could possibly buy an hour with it. You had never been as devout as your siblings, but you could pretend well enough to fill the time as you tried to make your own miracle happen.

Daemon studies your expression closely. He tilts your head up and down, and then gives you a patronizing little pat on the cheek.

“Fine.” He spits out. “Pray. Only a few minutes, not a second more.”

You walk past him, intent on going back to the tower where a statue of the Mother stands. You watch his face carefully when you pass by him, worried he is only toying with you and has no true intention of allowing you to pray in solitude. But he doesn’t stop you.

You make your way to the highest tower, kneel by the feet of the statue and weep. Your weakness only lasts you a moment because when you lift your gaze, you catch sight of a green standard approaching the gates.

Could that be..?

“Are you done?” Daemon asks, from behind the closed door. You can hear the drag of steel against steel, and picture him in your mind’s eye. Taking Dark Sister out of her sheath, face full of bloodlust.

“Just a minute more.” You beg, watching the rider stop at the gates and being allowed in by the guards. “Don’t kill me, please! Not yet!” You cry out, as loud as you can, hoping your voice carries.

Daemon bursts in, Dark Sister held by his side. His smile is cold, his face the image of calm. One would never guess he is about to kill someone by watching his expression. You notice the dagger he carries at his hip, but do not dare to try to take it. Not when Dark Sister’s reach is much longer.

“Oh, spare me the hysterics. More prayer will not spare you.” He lunges at you, and you evade him, but there are only so many places one can run to in a small room. Daemon catches you by wrapping your braid in his hand, giving you a harsh tug that makes you tumble down. You scream.

“Shut up. Seven Hells, quiet.” Daemon places the sword at your throat. “You will…”

The door is thrown open by a kick, the loud bang startling him and making his grip falter.

“She will do nothing.” Gwayne says, firmly. You can see Alicent standing behind him, wrenching her hands together. You have never been more grateful to see them. “Or I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“Oh?” Daemon shoves you. You do not fight his push, laying limply on the floor. He turns towards Gwayne, sword no longer focused on you. “You think you can beat me, boy?”

Gwayne cannot. He had lost to him in a tourney not even six months before. You do not hesitate. You grab the dagger at Daemon’s hip and stab him in the stomach, hard. And you do it again, and again, until your hands and face are covered in blood, and Daemon does no longer move.

You look up at your siblings, then. Alicent’s face is horrified, but when she senses your eyes on her, she smooths down her expression. Gwayne watches with vague interest. At some point, he seems to have taken Dark Sister from Daemon’s hand because he now holds it.

The three of you stare at each other. The blood on your hands is rapidly cooling and turning sticky. You wipe your hands on your dress.

You had thought you would feel something if you killed another person. Instead, you only feel numb. Empty. Daemon is gone, and so are his things. His kisses, his threats, the monster that lurked beneath.

It’s Alcent who first speaks, face pale. “The red room. We need to get to work.”

By the end of it, it is as if he never came home at all. The three of you hug, on the brink of tears. Another string tied you now, beyond the sibling bond. The man you had murdered, and the duty to forget him.

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opiopal · 25 days ago

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imagine just a regular human OM au,

as in like, no angels, no demons, no magic, none of that whatsoever, everyone is just their character trope but in a regular kinda sitcomy romance

RAD is just a fancy private school, Dia is like, the rich principals son who’s also like class president, and Luci is vice, snd luci made all his brothers join student council because he wanted them all to have at least one activity that would look good on a resume for them, mams is still known for being scummy, Levi is rarely seen at school cause he’s a shut in nerd, Asmo is super popular, ect. Ect. Literally it’s just them but… human. and mc showing up is just like, they qualified for this program and didn’t really know it(bc public schools suck at communication dog), and so they are suddenly told they’re gonna be flown halfway across the world for this, and the rest is history.

now, you guys are probably thinking, “Opi, you basically just said imagine OM but without the thing that makes it OM” and to that I say,

Yah lol,

BUT LISTEN!

it has potential to be cute, like, instead of big cool pact marks, it’s just the brothers who like mc doodling on their arms in pen when they’re bored, like they all do it and don’t really know why, but mc lets them so they do it. or like, mc is just given an item to signify that they gained that brothers friendship, like a bracelet, painted nails, a keychain, hairclip, a book, literally anything at all.

So maybe mc and mams becoming friends would have to be more of a hostage situation rather then an exchange??? Like, instead of “if I give you your credit card you gotta make a pact with me,” it’s “if you don’t give your brother his toy back I’ll cut your card,” and somehow it turned into mams hanging around mc more often, maybe he liked them being mean or something lol, we know how he is.

also, maybe this would make the brothers whole situation sadder?? Since it would practically be a highschool au, they’d all have to be like 16-19, so would this mean they got kicked out of their home after the death of their sister? Maybe their father, while in grief, decided to blame the seven of them for encouraging her? Maybe she got attacked/mugged, or got into a car crash with her bf? Obviously this work leave zero room for mc and her being related in a sense(maybe they had been friends in the past?) so the brothers beginning to like mc more would have to happen more organically instead of being pushed further along with the Lilith plot point.

Thought moving onto the other characters, Solomon is probably just a weirdo that’s into scifi stuff, and believes in a bunch of stuff(maybe ghosts are still real or something? So he gives mc things to ward off evil spirits as gifts) he’s probably still a student as well, but has back problems or something so everyone calls him old. Thirteen prolly just skips class whenever she feels like it(which is prolly always) so she’s rarely seen/isn’t seen until later into the series, but whenever she’s around she’s like, that one super cool side character that you want to hang out with but luci doesn’t allow it because he worries that she smokes behind the school or something wild like that. Mephisto I feel like would be that one kid you rarely see because he’s in all the honors and honors college classes, so unless you also get into one there’s a rare chance of seeing him around the school, though when you bump into him, he’s so weirdly passive aggressive, like sorry for breathing wrong I guess???? (He would totally get into a fight for someone stepping on his designer shoes) I could also imagine him pulling the whole “my father will hear of this!!” Crap. Though eventually he’d warm up and be pretty nice! Though wouldn’t wanna show it often in public, but he just might, only for mc of course. Raphael simeon and Luke are most likely those close family friends that you legit forget aren’t actually family because they’re so insanely close, and I can imagine they’re basically the same, though maybe luke isn’t a little speciest. Luke is most likely either just like, a 6th grader that is around sometimes, or is in a higher grade cause he was moved up. Simeon is on ao3, and TOL is totally an on going story he wrote in like the 5th grade and just kept it going because he realized people really really liked it. Levi is probably just one of those WEEEIRRDOOS who got the fics printed out into book format to keep physical copies of lol, rapheal.. I don’t know him very well, though I feel as if he’d be one of those like, eerily quiet kids, not like “the quiet kid” just.. he’s quiet, but you chat with him and he’s a bit of a nerd, not a raging one, but a chill one, and he likes his hedgehog, I could see him carrying a photo of his hedgehog around to show people.

now here’s the gag guys..

barbatos is the exact same, like there is nothing with him that seems different at all, he’s odd, he shows up randomly, he’s very attentive, and has his strong hate/fear of rodents. no one knows if he actually has any classes of his own because he just follows dia around all day long,

but yea, also no I’m not running out of ideas gang lol, this is just one of my many many OM AU’s I think about often, and I guess I’m just in a domestic mood today lol

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justagalwhowrites · 6 months ago

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The Savage and the Sanctuary - Prologue

Tommy offers Joel help one last time. The prologue to The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Grief. Mentions of child death. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 1.3k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Next Chapter

“If you think I’m not going to fight for what’s mine, you’re insane!”

Joel remembered the woman on the screen. She was young, beautiful, her perfectly made up face snarled in rage. He remembered her. He always remembered her.

He remembered the scene, too.

Sarah had loved this show. She was obsessed, one of her friends at school put her onto it and she watched it all in a matter of weeks on Netflix.

Joel had hated this show. There were drugs and sex and Sarah was just 13 when she watched it but he’d been such a sucker for her that he let her. He’d always been a sucker for her. He always gave her whatever she asked for.

Maybe that had been wrong.

Maybe if he’d stood his ground more, maybe if he’d been a better father instead of just giving his daughter whatever she wanted, she wouldn’t be dead.

“Mr. Miller?”

Joel looked away from the television, reminded that he was in the hospital and that it must be after 3 a.m. by now. The nurse stood in the doorway, an almost pitying look on her face.

“Your brother is here to see you.”

Joel just went back to watching the TV. The woman he remembered was still there, beautiful face streaked with tears.

“I can’t believe you,” she whispered. She was a good actress, he thought. Convincing. She sounded like she was in pain. He doubted someone like her even knew what that would really feel like, what that would really sound like. He did. He knew.

“Joel.”

He looked to the door, his brother standing there, the early morning beginnings of a beard on his chin, in athletic wear instead of the suit he saw him in so often these days. He looked back to the TV.

“You can’t keep doing this, man,” Tommy said, coming in and standing beside him. The woman on the TV raised a gun. “You can’t keep beating the shit out of people you don’t like, I can’t keep trying to buy them off, Maria can’t keep talking you out of trouble with the cops… Hell, I only really talked Maria into it this time because it’s the anniversary of the day she… we know it’s hard but you’re this close to ending up in deep shit with an actual rap sheet, man.”

She screamed and sobbed as she pulled the trigger.

“Joel.”

The woman panted for breath before lifting the gun to her temple. It cut to commercial.

“Sarah loved that show,” Joel said, looking away from the TV to see Tommy close his eyes and shake his head with a sigh.

“I know you’ve been strugglin’,” Tommy said, crossing his arms and looking at him again. “And I don’t blame you, alright? What you’ve been through… I’d be a wreck too. I know it ain’t the same but it killed me too, for a while, losing her that way. Can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. But Joel… it’s been three years now. You can’t keep destroying yourself like this, you just can’t. It’s killing me to watch you do it but I don’t got it in me to keep saving you. I cannot let you drag me down with you, not now, not with…”

He clenched his jaw for a moment, looking back toward the door and back at Joel again.

“Maria’s pregnant.” Joel’s heart clenched. “She’s my focus now. I want to be there for you, Joel. Lord knows I owe you after everything you did for me but I can’t do it at the expense of myself or my wife and my kid. You understand?”

Joel nodded slowly, looking to his boots. There was a dark spot on the left toe, the leather never really clean from the blood.

“Here,” Tommy held out a business card.

Joel frowned.

“Think I know how to get ahold of my own brother.”

“This ain’t for me,” Tommy said. “It’s my hiring manager. This is the last thing I’m doin’ for you, Joel. Come and work for me. I can help you that way, make sure you’re not out there on your own. You don’t got the formal training of the other guys but we can handle that. Christ knows you got the raw skill, just ask the asshole whose face you rearranged…”

“He’s lucky that’s all I did,” Joel snapped.

Tommy ignored him.

“Once your hand heals up, we can get you started,” Tommy said, card still out. Joel took it, running his fingers over the embossed lettering. “I want to help you, Joel. I want to be there for you. This is the last way I can do that. Understand?”

He just looked at the card, Miller Security in large letters, Military Grade Personal Protection in smaller ones below. The email address was for someone named Marlene.

Joel had probably met her at some point but he didn’t remember her. Joel had been to a few company BBQs and happy hours for the private security company his brother had founded about six months after his daughter died.

Tommy used to work alongside Joel, the two of them taking contracting work together. If wasn’t easy work but it was satisfying. Joel liked building things, liked working with his hands and seeing the physical manifestations of his labor. It wasn’t a bad life, in hindsight. Not since he’d blown it.

After his daughter died, Joel couldn’t keep working. He tried, after a few weeks, to get back to it but he sometimes showed up drunk, sometimes didn’t show up at all. It wasn’t long before he was fired and word spread. Soon, he got shot down for every job he tried for. He’d screwed over not just himself but Tommy, too.

That’s how Tommy came to create the security company to begin with. He had a few old special forces buddies move back to town looking for work and Tommy realized he had a lot of highly trained men with time on their hands at his fingertips. What better way to put them to use than to start a security company?

The business took off. Joel was proud of him. Or, as proud as he could be while the rot of guilt gnawed at him for letting down his then struggling brother so badly he needed to start his own fucking business to fix it.

And now his brother - six years his junior, the kid he’d promised his mother he’d look after when she was on her death bed - was offering him a job after bailing him out at least a dozen times in three years.

“I want to help, Joel,” Tommy said. “Please let me. Work with me, get back on your feet, have a support system. I want to help but you have to let yourself be helped. Please.”

Joel tucked the card into the pocket of his shirt and looked at Tommy, a pleading look in his eyes. Eyes that reminded him of Sarah.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll email in the mornin’.”

Tommy closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he said as a nurse came in around him. “I’ll be out here, give you a ride home…”

“We’ll have him out quick,” the woman smiled kindly as Tommy turned to go. “I’m here to handle discharge. Can you confirm your name and birthday for me?”

“Joel Miller,” he said. “September 26, 1982.”

“Oh!” She looked up from the chart and smiled at Joel. “Happy birthday!”

Next Chapter

A/N: Welcome to The Savage and the Sanctuary! I like to introduce my new fics as I'm finishing up an existing one. This likely won't get chapter one for a few weeks yet but you never know what might happen! I hope you're excited to go on this journey as Joel learns to find himself again after surviving the loss of Sarah. There's a lot of angst and excitement and smut ahead! Fingers crossed you enjoy the ride.

Love you!

Taglist: @christinamadsen

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #The Savage and the Sanctuary #Bodyguard!Joel #bodyguard au #enemies to lovers #slow burn #no outbreak!joel miller

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howi99 · 2 months ago

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Prince of Vale part 4

JNPR's room

Jaune: *slowly reading a letter* ... *Sigh*

Ren: Another love letter?

Jaune: *shake his head* I wish it was. *Put the letter down* i was summoned to my mother's funeral.

Nora: *questioning look* Weren't you going anyway? You even told us you were leaving this weekend for them.

Jaune: Going isn't the problem, it's who sent the letter. *Look through the window, seeing people walking by* ... My older sister is the one organizing the event, and last time we saw one another... *Sigh, massaging his eyelids* She's probably the person that hates me the most. She's probably blaming me for her death.

Ren: *wince* She was there when you decided to leave, right?

Jaune: ... Yeah. With everything i said to my mom, she's probably not that far from the truth. *Looking down* Words cut deep, and i bleed her without a thought.

Nora: *shake her head* I think you are assuming too much, fearless leader. She probably knows how you must feel, with how much you beat yourself down every time you make a mistake. *Point to the letter* She also sent you an invitation, which i think is more so you'd feel included, instead of out of obligation...

Jaune: *shaky breath* Maybe. But how can i face her or the rest of my family? I still tried fleeing my duties.

Pyrrha: *sitting next to him, sighing* As Ruby said, when she was consoling you, you are a teenager. You wanted freedom and your mom probably knew that. Your sister probably knew that too. I... Can't say i had as much pressure as you when i became famous, but do you really believe i never screamed at my parents? That i never told them i hated them?

Jaune: *now looking at her, all his attention on her*

Pyrrha: I... *Looking ashamed* I ran away, once... I told them i hated them, blaming them for driving all my friends away, for the expectations everyone pushed upon me... *chuckle* I even blamed them for not having a boyfriend. *Shake her head* It wasn't fair for them, they were doing what they thought was best for me. *smiling kindly at him* They searched for me in every corner of Argus. The sponsors were furious and told them that if they didn't bring me back before the end of the week, they would cut all ties with us. Do you know what my father said to them?

Jaune: ... That they would bring you back?

Pyrrha: *shaking her head, smiling* Nope. He told them, and i cite: "You can put your fucking money up your ass, i want my daughter back!" *Blushing with an embarrassed laugh* They were just next to me when i heard him say that, they didn't recognize me since i was more coat than girl. And that's nothing compared to what my mom said to them.

Jaune: *weak smile* You made up with them?

Pyrrha: *nod* Yeah... They weren't mad, all they felt was relief at seeing me well. *Look at Jaune* When you told me about your family, you spoke of them with so much love, i can't even imagine them thinking for one second you are the reason for her death. *Gentle smile* They know how much you truly loved her, Jaune. Heck, you even told us how much like you your oldest sister was. She's probably worried sick about you.

Jaune: ... *Little smile* Yeah... You're probably right... *Sigh* But... i still feel responsible, you know? I hurt her when she was at her lowest and i can't forgive myself.

Pyrrha: *hugging him* Yeah... I know. I won't tell you to stop blaming yourself, but we are here to get you through this.

Nora: *goes and hugs him too* We are your team. And as a team, we will help you all the way until you feel better.

Ren: *nod* You are like a brother to me. Your pain is my pain as well.

Jaune: *slightly blushing* G-guys... *hug them back* Thanks.

#jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #pyrrha nikos #rwby #rwby au #Prince of Vale au

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yannaryartside · 17 days ago

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A brief essay of Sydcarmy breaking the old curses in Carmy’s life

There is something so beautiful about Carmy falling for someone that is such a honest person (sometimes even to her own detriment) as Syd is.

Carmy grow up being gaslighted by his abusive mother and his emotionally absent brother (that despite everything is probably the closest thing Carmy actually had to a parent). Even really important things like why his father left of what is the source of income of the family are trapped on in mistery. The stories Michael repeated to serve (what he thought) was his function as the glue of the family (that were all some bullshit), failing to be up front about his addiction and asking for help. The toxicity, the pain, the problems. Nothing is ever addressed or called for what it really is. Avoidance was the way to cope. Lying to themselves was the way to cope.

You can see this still affects Carmy, how he jumps every time someone seems to give him passive aggressive hints (and it’s something that is happening, even Nat does it regularly). He seems to be very vigilant as a kid of what he could do to upset people (also because people around him were not honest about the actual issues, so he thought every time mommy was angry it had to be something about him) and that’s probably why he was so shy.

And then there is Syd, she was just so earnest and transparent even if the beef was not the ambience that supports or celebrates people like that. They still reject Pete, which is kinda the extreme of this concept. I think they even hightailed it by making Pete a lawyer (yk the representation of black and white the law should be).

This family tends to swipe things under the rug until there is an explosion.

(This is not me blaming them for Michael’s death, but his depression and addiction were festered in that house, in those dynamics)

That scene in fishes when he tried to convey to Michael that he felt ignored and abandoned by him and Michael just dismissed it? Carmy really doesn’t seem to be able to distinguish honesty from fakeness, maybe because he desperately wants it to be true.

This is also the reason why I think he hadn’t picked up on some of Claire’s toxic tactics where they were getting to know each other “you own me” “say that again” “I will let the Faks to beat you up”. I think Claire is putting a nice girl facade and he is eating it up (so is everyone else).

His anxiety on the other hand may be his instincts ticking up. If she is so much peace, why his anxiety seems to be around (and even created) in their most intimate moments (he remembering their love making scene, and when they were talking about traumatic experiences and Claire admitted to malpractice)?

This man really doesn’t have much self assurance or boundaries. I imagine he developed the anger outbursts despite himself as a way to defend himself (and mirroring the behaviors around him)

And then there is Syd, she says out loud what she wants or needs even if the environment around her may challenge her. She has not lied to Carmy or assumed anything of him even when at this point she had every reason to do so. She could have given up on him since s2, stop communicating all together and being passive aggressive as the rest of the crew in s3,

Idk, I even wonder if the reason he doesn’t admit he has feelings for her is because what he is feeling cannot be love, because, for him, love is supposed to be half good half bad, that you have to give parts of your dignity to be loved, that your loved ones may manipulate you or lie to you “because they love you so much”

But of course, Syd is not like that.

The scene of them in the back of the restaurant is so special for me because of this. They talked. They were honest. They made compromises and amendments. I don’t think he had much of this growing up

“I love you” was love but a knife at the same time, because it was used to paint over wounds that were still fresh, without ever addressing the issue that were causing it.

And I know in s3 Syd is at fault too, she really cannot stand in front of Carmy and put a stop on the madness yet and I wonder what may give her the courage to do so. While carmy was frozen, it felt like Syd was paddling desperately in dark waters and managing to sink deeper the more she fight it.

This was kinda the most intriguing element of Syd’s character for me recently, how she is super aware of what she wants and how she feels but seems equally incapable of going against whatever flow she is trapped in. She could have seen Sheridan Road was not stable. But she ran into it full speed until it burned. She could have left the beef at one sight of the toxicity. She had reasons to leave every season.

In that sense she also mirrors Carmy. The difference between these two is that carmy keeps doing the same thing hoping for a different result because he thinks the toxic way is the only way (of being a chef, to be the best). He sees toxic as good/professional/justifiable, even only subconsciously. While Syd is capable of seeing the toxicity for what it is. She knows what to do to fix it. Is lot like she id afraid to implement change it, that’s why she got here in the first place.

Idk what it is that terrifies her so much. Maybe she is subconsciously is afraid of her own truths? Maybe she is afraid of the person she will be in the other side of this equation. Is there something that happened in the past (maybe her mother’s death) that left her feeling like a broken doll, an incomplete equation, afraid of her own voice? Maybe she (subconsciously) doesn’t want to go full intent into the right direction just so she doesn’t have to find out if she really has what it takes to do this?

Whatever it is, if she is the one that can see the toxicity and react to it, (because everyone else is still trapped in it) then I believe Syd completing her arc could be the catalyst for all the other elements of the story to fall in order, for better or worse.

#my ramblings #I love how this show breaks my brain #sydcarmy #the bear #sydney adamu #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear meta #carmy x sydney #carmy the bear #sydney x carmy

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months ago

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Hey girlie, I'm such a big fan of yours!! I think your work is PHENOMENAL, like IM LITERALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH EVERYTIME YOU POST. So, the other day, me and my baby cousin were watching Frozen. And you know how there is this one big sweet guy that got mad because he got offended (I think his name is Oaken? You can look him up) and I IMMEDIATELY thought of König. Imagine him having his own little wooden shop( like that man from Frozen) up in the cold Alps, and one day, our dear Engel comes through the door, shivering from the big snow storm outside, saying that she's seeking shelter at least until the storm outside subsides. What would König do?

Omg this is just another cabin König to me! But with a pinch of silliness 🧚🏼‍♀️

Guy wanted some solitude after failing in life big time, he has no interest in socializing (or so he tells himself at night), he’s perfectly happy here in the middle of nowhere with no one to hold close his heart when there’s a blizzard outside…

Even hot chocolate tastes better alone, yeah, and ski trips are nice when you can set the pace yourself and admire the mountains with no one in sight. It’s not like he ever imagined a cute girl beside him on those warm sunny days when the snow looks like gelato and glitter, just the sort of thing he'd wrestle her into and then steal a kiss...

Nor does he miss the sound of soft, light-hearted giggle as he skis downhill to his cabin and heats up the sauna, wondering how lucky he is that there’s so few customers here and all of them are men. Otherwise he would have to be careful when he’s walking around in nothing but a towel–

The bell chimes, and someone comes in, of course it’s a woman, the first woman he’s seen in these parts or in his little shop ever. And here he is, sheened in sweat... Wearing only a thin white towel about his waist, the linen already wet and clinging to his thighs from the heat of the sauna.

There's an actual woman standing inside his humble tradepost, looking like a creature born from wind and snow, like a little Christmas tree decoration that has frosting all over it.

Cute little lips, a kissable mouth; that’s the first thing he notices on her, and he never thought of kissing Christmas decorations before… Men usually look like ice devils when they arrive inside his hut, but this little lady only looks like a winter night’s spirit, a little confused and lost. Her spirit eyes are glued to his junk before they rise to meet his softening stare, and who can blame her for staring when the first thing she sees upon coming in is a half naked man?

“Uh, welcome,” he manages to say while his cock gives a happy little jump under the towel as well, giving its own excited welcome to this woman.

She'd not dressed properly at all for a weather like this – why anyone would insist on wearing a dress in these temperatures is beyond him, but if he was her, uhm, brother or father, he would never have allowed her to go outside without proper winter gear.

Poor thing looks like she’s freezing to death, the bottom half of her dress coated in crystalline snow. If he had known that this lady was out there, trying to get somewhere warm, he would’ve come to her rescue at once…

“Um. Are you the shop owner…?” She asks delicately, still hugging herself from the attempt to stay warm.

“Yes. I mean, no... Uh… This is a trading post,” he stutters with his words, as if talking to women was somehow completely different than talking to men.

She furrows her brows and examines his body again, not at all interested in the items he has in stock. No woman has ever seen him in this state, no woman has ever looked at him like he’s the item here. She looks like she’s not sure if she wants to buy him or not.

“There’s also a sauna,” he says with a hint of pride in his voice, because he is damn well proud to have such luxury here. “Do you want to come…?”

“Do I want to come to the sauna…? With you?”

“No, I mean, you can go by yourself. It’s free of charge for the ladies.”

Such brazen discount he came up with just now, desperately wanting for her to stay. Besides, she needs the warmth after whatever adventure she’s been through. It would not be gallant to charge her for warming herself and getting that dress dry.

He wonders how she would look like in one of his woolen shirts. She would have to wear his clothes after the sauna, of course, he has no spare women’s clothing here. He will have to remember to be apologetic about it while presenting her with his clothes, secretly hoping they will catch her scent once she snuggles safely inside them and thanks him for everything he's done for her so far... She would probably look the cutest in his dark green knit, or the midnight blue one...

“Oh,” she says, slowly warming up to his offering. His cock is more than half hard by now, and he clasps his hands in front of it, trying to feign the movement as a casual posture shift although he’s anything but casual and relaxed.

And she’s not easy to trick; he might as well have pulled the towel away and shown her his cock in all its glory. She eyes his covered erection with a cat-like curiosity, a small little smile playing on her lips. Long lashes reveal a playful stare, slowly melting under the dim lamps of the cabin.

“I mean, of course you can come with me, if you want…”

Shit... That just came out of his mouth even if he tried to swallow the words. The inviting smile on her lips starts to quiver: she’s stifling a laugh, she’s giggling at him.

A flush rises on his cheeks, he can feel it, the erection now jumping against his palm, wildly and demandingly, as if wanting to join her in her mirth.

#this is so silly lmao #I'm just imagining him lounging at the sauna #maybe jerking himself off #languidly cause he's finally somewhat relaxed #he's trained himself like pavlov's dog that sauna time = fapping time #and now he's supposed to go to the sauna with this BABE and tell his erection that now is not the time???#impossible!

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hughiecampbelle · 5 months ago

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Imagine being Frenchies younger sibling and finding him again after years of being apart:

Requested: anon / based on this preference

"Je suis un monstre."

"No. You are not a monster. Do not say those things about mon bébé." After all these years, you never stopped being his baby. You were different, of course. Older. Colder. Worn. Your features became sharper, losing the baby fat. But you were still his. He thought about you every single day. Years ago, he asked Mallory to look for you. But even with the technology she had available, the last anyone had heard from you was when you were a teenager. He didn't want to be hopeful or naive, he had to face reality. She was so sorry, but if she couldn't find you, you were probably gone. Dead. He blamed himself for your death, for leaving you behind with your father, for being a bad big brother. You told him you never once blamed him. He got out. You were grateful for that. Eventually, you would too.

"It's been a long time, you don't know me anymore." You didn't talk about the years in-between, what you did to get by, only that you couldn't outrun the shame. You hurt a lot of people and you hurt yourself. You did things you weren't proud of, things you could never tell him. He spent your childhood protecting you, saving you, and in return you sold your skills and talents to horrible people. It was the only way to get out. It was the only way to make a life for yourself. Seeing your brother again, it reminded you how much haf changed. You weren't little kids, you weren't playing in abandoned buildings and coming up with elaborate escape plans to get away from your father. You were adults, adults who made decisions that turned you into a monster. You couldn't look at him. You didn't want to see the pity in his face, there was enough of it in his voice to push you over the edge.

"Nonsense. I raised you, I know you better than I know myself." When you got to New York you tracked him down. It was easier than you expected. Everyone knew about him. Frenchie, they called him, but he would always be your Serge. He didn't recognize you at first, him and his friends instantly defensive that a stranger had broken in. But as soon as you started speaking, as soon as he heard your voice, he dropped his knife. Before you could react his arms were around you, cradling your head, apologizing over and over again. He stopped looking for you. Eventually he introduced you to everyone who, immediately and affectionately, nicknamed you Mini Frenchie. You met Kimiko, too, who loved you from the start. You had a home here, a family, something you hadn't been allowed to have in a very long time.

#requested #frenchie #frenchie imagine #the boys #the boys imagine #ennasfavorites

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3d-wifey · 1 year ago

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And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s.

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally.

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done.

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five.

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—"

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—"

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left.

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife.

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue.

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit.

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face.

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails.

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on.

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away.

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you.

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress.

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down.

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills?

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?”

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose.

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that."

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet.

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least."

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth.

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation.

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech.

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe.

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you.

But Snow could find your mom.

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead.

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

#the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #catching fire #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #and they'd find us in a week

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thebadboyfanclub · 2 years ago

Text

I Want My Life Back (Aemond x Reader)

As you guys have realised I adore writing morally gray moments and subtle scenes of endearment between the reader and the character so I hope you like it as well

Rhaenyra was furious, she had lost so much so fast, gave birth to a stillborn, her father was dead, Aegon was crowned king by Alicents command and now her daughter was nowhere to be found, what could she have done when Otto came to Dragonstone with “civil conditions” in order to negotiate but to also announce that her beloved daughter, her precious (y/n) was in Harrenhal with prince Aemond.

“You killed my daughter and now you dare to kidnap my dearest (y/n)?!”

“Nobody took your daughter princess, Aemond and (y/n) eloped”

“You expect me to believe that? My (y/n) would never do this”

“She is her mother's daughter, as you were forbidden by your father to marry Daemon she was also kept away from Aemond, no blood need be spilled, your daughter can create new lineage for the Targaryens, let us unite in harmony again”

“By harmony you mean we bow down to the drunkard bitch that you call king? (Y/n) is probably in some dungeon begging for mercy and you dare to indicate she went willingly? Let me make something clear to you Otto, if I need to kill someone, best believe I am going for Aemond first”

Daemon threatened in a hissed tone while he stood next to Rhaenyra, her hands formed fists from anger and agony, (y/n) was her only daughter, little raven-haired beauty with eyes at the color of the wooden tree she liked to rest under on the summer days in their garden, this was a calculated move from Aemond so Rhaenyras hand will be forced into violence… and he had succeeded.

“My daughter is not a broodmare, she is a princess, I will not allow you to force into squeezing Aemonds children just so you can have leverage over me. We are done here”

There was no way for Rhaenyra to predict this, she scattered her brain that night unable to sleep for glimpses of intimacy between Aemond and (y/n), (y/n) was a sweet girl and Aemond was a brooding prude that blamed his shortcomings on her sons, there was no way (y/n) could have fallen for him.

But (y/n) did, Rhaenyra might not remember though Rhaenyra was unable to see their hands intertwining under the table or how (y/n) looked at Aemond while at the training grounds, nor was she aware of the raven scrolls that were exchanged between them all these years, (y/n) was apprised of the consequences of her actions, she expected her mother to be livid, demanding her to come back home, she predicted everything apart of her grandsires death and the greens scheming.

“We must go back, my mother will listen to me, we can explain”

“My dear I always found your naive nature adorable besides this moment, Rhaenyra will ask for my head the moment she glances upon us”

“Then I shall go alone, Aemond your brother usurped her, if we declare for her perhaps Alicent will soften and bend the knee”

“That cannot happen, it is too dangerous, Daemon will throw me in the cells of dragonstone, is that what you want? To be kept away from me?”

Aemond reached for his lover's hands and brought them up to let them rest on his chest while he gawked deeply into her eyes with a pleasing look, the raven that was sent to them by Aemonds grandsire Otto should have been burned, foolishly he let her know of the events from Kings Landing, (y/n) was overcome by grief for Viserys even though it was Aemonds father.

Aemond was worried for the future with his intentions, not for kings or queens, they could kill each other for all he cared, in fact, what a bright idea would it be to see his lovely (y/n) wearing a crown while she stood by his side? A child or two next to them, the picture was rudely ripped from his imagination by (y/n) who paced around the room like a mad woman, whispering plans to go back, Aemond would rather eat dragon glass than see Rhaenyras face right now.

“No, of course not, Aemond, she is my mother”

“And my sister, my brother, my own mother, still I stand here by your side I do not whine and beg to run back to her”

“Whine? Is that what you think? That I’m simply homesick?”

“Truth be told I do not know what to think of you anymore”

“they need us”

“I need you, me! The one that came to your chambers and promised you a future as bright as the sun and children as many as the stars above, our families kept us from one another for so long I will not let them do it again”

Aemonds voice boomed through the room, (y/n) was left as still as a grain of salt, stiff as she lowered her gaze to the ground before she looked back up to him, fear and sadness written all over he faces, Aemonds deep breaths were the only thing you could hear at the same time that (y/n) was left with countless things to say, strangely she had seemed to lose her voice, no, he had taken it from her.

“I love you, Aemond, I love my family too”

“I am your new family and you better get that through your thick skull”

“You promised me that we would be happy”

“We will, once you give up those foolish ideas of going home”

“Aemond no, please”

She tried to run after him, instinctively she was sure of what was to come alas she was not fast enough, the door shut before her eyes and the sound of keys twisting was heard as she slid down the door to the ground.

Aemond stood on the other side, listening to her whimpering and (y/n) calling for him whilst she banged on the door in desperation, every fiber of his being was screaming to open the door, hug her, kiss her, give her everything her heart wishes, thought the fear of their families intervening and twisting their fate around until there was nothing left kept him from doing what his heart truly wanted.

“Please, I have never asked for much, keep her from hating me, in the Mother's name I pray”

Aemond had earned his piousness from his mother, the fear of the seven often sneaked into his consciousness making him beg for forgiveness for seeking the companion of (y/n) in a manner that was unbefitting his station, now he was left in his own devices to navigate his relationship and properly stir it to the safest route.

“Aemond, please, let me out”

Her voice cracked as her bangs on the door were becoming smaller, slowly giving up at the attempt to change his mind.

Aemond was the only man (y/n) ever wanted, she adored her mother as deep as bones so to run away with Aemond meant a lot, on the contrary (y/n) wanted to stand by her mothers' side, why must she choose between love and family?

Minutes passed, minutes turned to hours and (y/n) stayed on the cold floor while the sun said its goodbyes and was replaced by the moon, a serene night, sounds of nature filled her ears that usually calmed her, the wind passing through the leaves was melodic yet (y/n) felt like an empty shell of a person, weak from crying she dragged herself to her bed, she did not even try to take her clothes off, she just laid there, waiting for the sweet feeling of sleep to take her away, take her to her mother.

It was a pointless task, (y/n) could not just sleep like nothing has happened, besides, the bed was too cold for her liking, it was their second night away from home and they were spending it away since Aemond decided to lock her away like a child in punishment, safe to say that it wasn’t unraveling the way (y/n) had pictured it.

While (y/n) was dwelling over the bad turn of events a shuffling of keys in the lock forced her to raise from the bed and turn her attention towards the wooden door.

“(Y/n)?”

Aemonds voice was as light as a feather as he walked into the room, the candles snarfed out hours ago meant the only source of light came from outside which wasn’t that helpful, still as the moonlight laminated in the room Aemonds silver hair alerted her.

“You are being cruel”

“You mean everything to me”

“I want my life back”

“You chose to come with me”

“Not as your prisoner”

“Can you promise me that if I set you free you won’t try to run away?”

Silence, utter silence took over as (y/n) bit her bottom lip, Aemond waited patiently before a smirk appeared on his lips.

“I thought so”

“I still need you, intensely at that, my love for you is deeper than this, I just- do you understand why I am resisting?”

“I do, do you understand why I want us to stay away”

“Yes”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Lay with me”

Her voice was meek and hoarse from crying almost until this moment until the tears dried up and the gagging from the sore throat became insufferable, her eyes swollen and red, Aemond hated seeing her like this, he wanted to claw himself and rip his skin to pieces for putting her through such emotional suffering.

He complied by taking off his jacket, then shoes and pants, slowly to not startle her he crawled into bed with her, his arms snaked around her and his one hand found her thick strands of hair while the other ran circles on her back, (y/n) took a deep inhale at the contact, his touch always had a strong influence over her, Aemond was (y/n)s milk of the poppy, addictive, sweet and numbing to point of delusions, a faint smile appeared from (y/n) as she nuzzled closer to him, her hands clung on to him for dear life.

Aemond was her prison, he held the keys to her freedom yet she wanted to stay, to love him, some would call it the stupidity of a young girl, the poets would say that the love had poisoned her blood and (y/n) was letting the snake bite her because of how sweet the kiss was.

“I will always be here for you”

“I know, I just wish things had been different”

“They will be”

“You don’t know that”

“I will do my best”

“That is still not good enough, I am sorry but it’s not, Aemond we could-“

“I will not breathe more life into the matters of our families, the people that kept us apart if you recall, I just want to enjoy your presence for one night”

(Y/n) only puffed out a breath of frustration, she hated to admit that he was right, going over it again and again would not sway him to her side of things whatsoever, if anything it angered Aemond to a bigger extent and that would make things worst for (y/n).

“Hopefully one day we can look back on this time period and laugh, your hair will be great and our grandchildren will run around us”

“That sounds like a wonderful future dearest”

“Do you think we can make it?”

“I don’t know”

He was honest as he stroked her head and she inhaled sharper to take in his scent, a scent that soothed her, a scent that reminded her of a time that they sneaked around the castle at the hour of the wolf in Aegons chambers while he was already out of the gates doing Gods know what.

“What I do know is that I will not stop until I create a haven, for you, and for our new family”

“Until we can open our gates to our families”

Aemond chose to bite back his tongue, it irritated him that she always found a way to bring them up, Aemond was certain that this rivalry for the throne would end in a bloodbath for both sides, nobody could tell with certainty that Rhaenyra or all the others would survive.

Of course, it left him anxious as well, his lovely sister, Heleana, his adoring mother, Alicent, his sweet brother, Daeron, and even the agitating Aegon who had his moments, he had to give it to him that Aegon was the only one that helped him keep his affair with (y/n) under wraps.

“We should rest, an important morrow awaits us”

“Will you help me pick out a dress?”

“I have already arranged a dress for you, did you think I was going to let my bewitching bride wear a simple gown?”

Requests are open!

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yuri-is-online · 7 months ago

Note

Okay so Trey in the Blotpocalypse timeline or where Yutu comes from also Overblotted right??

And I like to imagine he became an extreme sadist or really really evil once he overbloted, and his Yutu does NOT buy the stories of Trey being actually a very chill and “I don’t want problems, don’t involve me with whatever shenanigans you have” guy.

And when goes to the timeline of now he just.

“Wait, this guy fr??? I saw this guy overbloted and being a sadist maniac, the FUCK you mean he is just the son of the baker”

¬‿¬ you read my mind camrastuff. Overblot Trey is a sadistic bastard, and his children are three of his favorite people to pick on... because yeah the original idea for Trey! Yutu passed peer review, and Furubatsu was kind enough to give us the names Yutres and Yushi for the other two triplets. You will regret giving me this power because I am going to use it to hurt you ψ(｀∇´)ψ

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. This post is heavier on the angst than the other Yutu posts and contains references to gore, depression, and major character death. Please engage responsibly.

They grew up associating home with violets.

Yuu would always keep a few plants on their bedroom windowsill, but the violets spilled all over the house. "They remind me of your father." They would always say, with a gentle look in their eyes that turns sad when they reach for the memories that just aren't there. As the triplets grow, they take turns caring for them so Yuu can rest and wonder about what that man was like and how Yuu came to associate him with the flowers. Yutres is the one who brings up their association with newlyweds and wonders if they were planning a wedding.

"There would be a record of it if they got married." Yushi says it like she's searched for the license already, and knowing his sister like he does Yutu is pretty sure she has. Yutres pulls her blanket around herself in embarrassment and Yutu finds himself speaking up before she can feel any worse.

"She was just saying it's romantic." Yutu doesn't like fighting with his sisters. He likes it even less when they fight with each other, everyone who isn't the two of them says it's because he's the oldest. That he has an instinctive need to protect them as their big brother, . "A lot of the things they say about dad are very romantic." Yushi rolls her eyes, but doesn't disagree. Domestic is the word Yutu would prefer to use for how Yuu talks about his father. They think about him most when they're cooking or taking care of him and his siblings. It's not enough to give him a clear picture of the man, but it's enough to feel like he might have loved him. He's willing to go with what Yushi theorized after looking far harder than he or Yutres, that Yuu ran away from home and settled down with their dad, only for him to die and ruin the good future they were trying to build with each other. It does nothing to dissuade Yutres from seeing it as romantic, or Yushi from blaming him for all their problems. Yutu refuses to take sides, forever the peacemaker destined to drown his own opinion under the weight of not wanting to make anyone mad. Deep down though, he doesn't care about what his dad was like. He just wishes someone was there to help, to make things less financially strained so he could play a sport at school and maybe make some friends.

When he meets his father he takes it all back. He wishes he never met the man at all.

Yutu per tradition is the oldest sibling, Yutres is the second born and Yushi the third. I like to think they have darker colored hair since Trey's green hair is rather dark, their eyes are "normal" for Yuu's world but turn yellow when they arrive in Twisted Wonderland. Yutres inherits Trey's height and poor eyesight, and she's deeply insecure about both due to the large amount of bullying she received growing up. Yutu is also tall, just not as tall as his sister while Yushi is at least a half foot shorter than her siblings and enjoys complaining about it. She accuses her siblings of stealing her height in the womb, but says it's ok because she got all the brains.

The kids grew up extremely poor. Three kids on a single parent's salary is no joke, Yuu was deeply stressed for a lot of their younger years. None of the fyuuture kids like Yuu's home town but the triplets especially hated it there. They felt like animals in a zoo or cast members of a freak show with how acceptable it was to point and stare at them. When they moved away once Yuu managed to secure a place with a better middle school for them to attend they were ecstatic. It was a nice change of pace to just be bullied for being poor.

They spent a lot of time as children playing made up games with each other, a lot of them revolved around cooking since Yuu seemed to really like doing that. They used to run pretend restaurants, or ice cream parlors, or cafes, anything that served food really. They always colored the menus together and asked Yuu to give them good reviews (5 stars for the babies obviously, yuu has a bunch of them in a folder somewhere they look at when things get rough)

I really like the idea of Trey being with a Yuu who has a vague interest in candy making? Because it's a similar interest to baking but still very different and I really like the idea of one of the triplets being interested in it. As the three get older, Yutu and Yutres learn as much about cooking and baking as they can, from Yuu, from the internet and the local library while Yushi applies herself more to experimenting with making things like taffy and caramel. She convinces her siblings to sell their product on the down low at school to bring in some money they can hopefully use to start a business someday. She's the most business minded of the three of them, Yutu privately thinks she has the biggest personality in an effort to make up for being the shortest.

The three of them are obviously major sweet tooths, but they disagree about what desert is best. Yutu loves custards and ice creams, Yutres thinks cake is best especially if it's fluffy, and Yushi likes things made with jams and candied fruits. It made trying to do something for their birthday a nightmare until Yuu realized they all loved hot chocolate and was able to convince them to have a "tea party" for their birthday where they got copious amounts of hot chocolate and some homemade cookies. It's a memory they all treasure and recreate when they arrive in Twisted Wonderland.

That arrival is much easier on the three of them than it is on a lot of the other Yutus. It helps having two other siblings you're deeply connected to when learning you're from another world, your parent is dying from a curse, and that magic is real but only two of you have it. NRC has ceased to be a boys only or even a mage's only school at this point, but it's still hurts for Yutres to learn that her siblings have something special about them while she's still just her. Crewel takes her aside to speak with her as the ceremony goes on without him, asking her if she thinks poorly of Yuu for just being themselves and Yutres can't fathom why she would do that. "Because that's what you're doing to yourself. Your siblings won't love you any less and you won't be of any less help. You are your parent's child after all." Something that Crewel sees as being made all the more true when two first year Heartslabyul students burst through the door and start whining for their sister to do their make up.

Yutres draws a Spade on Yutu to represent a knight's spear, because she thinks of her brother as someone who wants to protect people, and she's deeply grateful for all of the times he's stuck up for her. Yushi gets a diamond because Yutres thinks her sister is very classy and well put together, "diamonds are a girl's best friend or something" is how she words it, but that trademark Clover smirk is there to suggest there's more to it than that. She settles in to Ramshackle almost immediately after meeting the ghosts, who are overjoyed to have another Yuu in their happy haunt.

Heartslabyul suits her siblings well enough. Yutu thinks all these rules are exhausting but he tries his best to do his best so as not to rock the boat. Yushi is more or less the same, but she sort of wants to become Dorm Leader so she can throw a bunch of Unbirthday Parties because those sound fun. The lack of fresh food available to cook with is a drag sure, but she's sure she can at least find some good teas to serve... she just feels like the people around her could use some hope and she drags Yutu into figuring out how to find it.

That journey is long, at the end of it are six known phantoms wreaking havoc on their father's world and one that so few people know about they aren't sure he exists. At some point, all three triplets join a mission to the Queendom and debriefed by S.T.Y.X. about the phantom that roams there.

"Your quest is not to kill the Queen or her mini boss level minions." Idia is a strange person, Yutu can tell he's on the same page as his sisters without bothering to look. "You're just there as support for the front line mages and to get a realistic idea of what they're fighting against." He lets his hands fall to his sides and drops eye contact, chewing on his lower lip as he hesitates. Finally he takes a deep breath and turns towards the display, flicking through footage of the various monsters he had been talking about earlier. "A phantom is a husk using what's left of an overblotted mage to find and feed off of new magic sources. They can get very creative in how they do that." He focuses on a video of the Phantom Hatter, enlarging it so the triplets can get an uncomfortable look at it's facial features and know why Idia was struggling to talk to them. The monster is tall, with glasses and a top hat that would be sort of comical if he wasn't overseeing a table filled with rotting cakes and pastires for a party attended by corpses in varying states of decay. "This one talks. Don't listen to a word it says."

Trey has lines during lessons and in various other places suggesting he could never obey the Queen, and since Riddle is more Queen now than himself Trey has a degree of independence when compared to the other card soldiers. The S.T.Y.X. staff classify him as a rogue phantom and highly dangerous. He can talk, he uses his unique magic to make people confused about their surroundings, to mimic the voices of their loved ones and lure them towards packs of monsters where he'll watch silently as they die. He's picky about who he "invites" to his mad tea party, it's difficult to get a drone close enough to his base to analyze who the victims are.

Idia was vehemently against sending the Clover triplets anywhere near an area that the Hatter could be. That's beyond cruel to them and extremely dangerous, he just knows that Trey will find them and that it won't go well. Phantoms corrupt the natural instinct of the person they're feeding off of, and while Idia thinks Trey was always a sketchy bastard he knows that he was a domestic one too. If there's enough of him left to recognize his children... his worries are soothed by Ortho promising to keep an eye on them and the fact the mission isn't in Trey's usual territory.

It doesn't help. A familiar sees the strange looking children and speeds off to fetch its master. The Phantom Hatter doesn't show himself immediately, he watches, waits for everyone to relax just a little bit before he strikes, chasing everyone into one of the Queendom's many hedge mazes and isolating them from one another. The stress causes Yushi to discover her unique magic as she desperately tries to feel for her siblings, she is able to form a brief telepathic connection with someone she knows and see things as they are. She can tell that Yutu and Yutres are in danger, and decides to run for her brother first. She's sure he'll be half way to their sister by the time she finds him, he's the oldest. He always knows what to do. And while she's right she's also wrong, by the time she finds Yutu he's already found Yutres, but someone else has too. The Hatter doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe either she notices, but her sister still shrinks back, pulling an injured Yutu closer to her.

"Well that's just rude." It's not a voice they've heard before, but he's somehow so familiar. Like they heard this voice before, sometime long ago, whispered into the warmth that existed before they were torn from this world to be born in another one. "I'm just trying to say hello." Yushi doesn't think he's noticed her yet, she focuses on holding her breath and looking for a way out. Yutres maintains eye contact with the monster as she applies a potion to Yutu's wound and prays, to who or what she doesn't know, that he heals. "Have we met before? You seem awfully familiar." The monster summons bones up from the ground, closing in around the triplets and knocking Yushi out of hiding as the phantom looks over his shoulder to tip his hat and wink. It's an opening Yutres immediately takes, throwing Yutu behind her and jumping to hit at the monster's rib cage, landing a blow that causes a sickening crunch.

"RUN!" Yushi screams, she thinks she grabs her sister and brother's hands and drags them on instinct and adrenaline back to the base camp until a senior smites down the phantom the Hatter had mimic her sister and takes an unconscious Yutu to the medical tent.

Ortho tries to track down Yutres, but he's unsuccessful. It's months later when Idia finally thinks to send drones to check what's left of the Clover family bakery and finally finds her body. She's been laid in a children's bed, covered with a blanket. He can't tell if what's left of Trey couldn't bear to look at his dead daughter or if the phantom thought he was just putting her to sleep. It's too much even for Idia, he personally retrieves her and helps the surviving kids plan the funeral. It's not the first time he's felt responsible for getting someone's child killed, but it's the most personal.

Yutu's numb. Yushi is looking to him for guidance, and he doesn't know what to say to comfort her or to make it better. They're missing a part of themselves and are much too quick to agree to Idia's plan to send them back in time, their parents are the last thing on their minds they just want their sister back. When Yushi arrives in the Queendom she's able to tell where everyone is and go searching for them. When Yutu arrives at NRC he's terrified he's lost his only remaining sister, and that's before he has to deal with his dad.

Trey is a freak, but he's a domesticated freak. A domesticated freak who is deeply in denial about being in love with you or anything other than normal. He appreciates that Riddle feels comfortable enough to invite you to Heartsabyul, whether it's for a casual tea or for an Unbirthday party since it saves him the trouble of having to do it himself and you're always so eager to help... but then Yutu arrives and suddenly your attentions are a bit split. You still come around for the parties, but casual teas are becoming less and less. He tries to tease you about it, asking where else you're going to get your cakes from and that's when you mention it. "Oh Yutu bakes a lot and he's really good at it. I always feel bad for bothering you so, it's nice to not have to do it so much anymore." Oh? Well isn't that just cute, Trey isn't bothered by this at all. He might not think there's a difference between something bought from a store or something "made with love" but he certainly thinks there's a difference between him and another guy. And he wants you to choose him.

Yutu is terrified of his father. He still has nightmares of what happened to Yutres, and he's afraid he's lost Yushi now too. No one had much to say about Trey in the future, most all of his friends were either dead or phantoms and while Grandpa Crewel was enthusiastic in describing his interest in science he didn't give them much backstory. Idia never spoke poorly of him, and tried to impress on him that what killed his sister was a monster using his dad's magic and not actually his dad but when that thing kills your sister...

He doesn't know what to make of him. Trey's extremely chill so long as no one is causing trouble, he convinces himself to keep an eye on the Phantom Hatter, but he doesn't see any signs of that. The guy is really weird about teeth, and definitely in denial about his feelings for his parent but he is, weirdly enough, closer to that word Yutu would have associated with him before he came to Twisted Wonderland than he is anything that would describe that monster. He's domestic, a guy who looks like he'd be more at home in socks and sandals than surrounded by corpses. He overworks himself and takes naps on the Guest Room couch, he confesses that he was hoping to join some sort of cooking club but settled for the science one, and the way he looks at Yuu when he thinks no one is looking is so soft Yutu wants to choke. Idia's original warning, that a phantom isn't a person anymore and that the monster will do anything to convince you otherwise. But what would his sisters think if he ever thought about forgiving him?

"Is there a specific reason you wanted to grow violets?" Trey tries to keep his voice down, but Yutu still starts when he hears him. He didn't jump 10 feet in the air this time, so he likes to think he's making progress, though towards what he doesn't know. Yutu looks at the flowers, Trey can't see his eyes, but his grip on the watering can is tense. "Not judging, just curious." He tries to soothe him in the same tone of voice he would one of his younger siblings, and it does seem to work somewhat. "I really like them myself."

"My sister..." Yutu chokes on what sounds like a half sob, and Trey immediately regrets trying to help. "My sister really liked them she... she always thought they were romantic." The past tense catches Trey's attention immediately and something in him aches, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose one of his own siblings and he does talk about them a lot... was he being insensitive? Did he hurt Yutu by reminding him of his sister?

"Are they?" He isolates a few particularly well tended blooms and snips them to add to his basket next to Riddle's strawberries. "I'm not really good with those sorts of things." Yutu snorts, and Trey can't help but feel slighted somehow. "To me they just taste good."

"They taste good?" Yutu squeaks. He sounds indignant and Trey just shrugs.

"Yeah, candied flowers are really popular in the Queendom of Roses. I really like candied violets, ha when I was a kid I didn't realize you needed to cook them first and my parents had to stop me from eating them off the ground." There's quiet for a moment, Trey wonders if he's pushed it too far but Yutu's mouth finally lets out a small noise before he breaks into loud peels of laughter that sound like a weight is lifting off of Yutu's shoulders.

The first thing Yutu thinks when he hears about his father eating flowers is how Yushi tried to do the same thing when she was little. The second is how funny Yutres had thought that was, how she had smiled and laughed and Yutu cannot keep himself from laughing as well. How did this man become that creature? Did the loss of his home hit him that hard? Yutu doesn't know, but he's not afraid anymore. Some of his tension lifts, Yuu tells Trey during one of their hang outs that he's started speaking about his sisters more and that they now know he's a triplet (trey: wow those poor parents yuu: i know right? i could never). He starts getting into lighthearted (from his perspective anyway) spats with Trey over who can bake better. Trey says he has no complaints because he doesn't have to make as much for Unbirthday Party's now but ooooooh he'll be so upset if you say you think Yutu is better than him. If that was the case why's the little shit so interested in listening to what he has to say huh? And how did he pick up on Trey's feelings enough to reassure him he's got nothing to worry about?

The truth about Yutu is revealed during another monster attack. It happens during a science club trip to Crane Port, the sky grows eerily dark, and Yutu tenses out of instinct. Everyone else is confused, is it going to rain? And why is Yutu sprinting away from the group like a bloodhound with a scent? Rook is the one to give chase, Trey tagging along begrudgingly determined to keep the two of them from causing more trouble. But a bunch of trouble is exactly what they find, a monster that resembles an undead, overblotted version of Yuu is thrashing about as a group of... mages they don't recognize attack them. Trey and Rook prepare to help when Yuu notices them and their eyes narrow onto Trey and two of the unfamiliar looking mages absolutely lose it.

Yutu's disguise is knocked off, and Yushi was never wearing one to begin with so it's difficult to deny the similarity between the two now that Trey has a look at them. It's the eyes that he notices first, yellow just like his but bereft of glasses. Yuu's story about Yutu being a triplet rings dully in his mind as the fake Yuu fades from view, banished back to wherever it came from and Trey closes his eyes to do some math.

"There's one of you missing." It's not the statement they're expecting clearly, all justifications for their existence die on their tongues as they exchange a painful glance. Yushi was able to use her magic to see some of what Yutu's life was like at NRC, and she warmed up to what she saw of her dad much faster than Yutu did. Yutu doesn't want to be the one to tell Trey he killed their sister, but he also doesn't want to push that burden onto Yushi so he steels himself, and explains his story. Trey listens and he thinks. He's silent, arms folded as Yutu stumbles through his story before he interrupts his grief by pulling both of his children into his arms. He's a big guy, but they're big kids and he can barely get his arms around them both but he still feels empty.

Trey hates doing work he isn't responsible for, but he loves his family and doesn't see them as constant work. Three children? That Yuu was forced to raise by themselves? Unacceptable, the closer he has been getting to Yuu the more plans he's made for the future he wants with them. He knows what he wanted for these kids, and none of it is what they're describing. Trey might not want to be the best of all time, but he still wants to be the best he can be. Changing the future sounds like a big ask, something that Trey Clover should see as none of his business and easy to ignore. But it's not, it's different when it's his own family. If Idia thinks he's scary now just wait until three Clovers show up on his doorstep demanding he get in their party and stop the apocalypse. Four technically if you count yourself, something they really hope you do.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #trey clover x reader #trey clover x yuu

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grievedeeply · 9 months ago

Text

the less time the better. pt 9.

PREVIOUS | SERIES TAGLIST

pairing: heimdall x gn!reader

summary: you make a trip to midgard and try to cope with brok's death.

notes: again not a lot of heimdall this chapter but...... y/n needs a moment (or multiple) LOL enjoy everyone and thanks for all of the support! probably 2-3 more chapters depending on how long i make them. decided to add more recent people to the taglists, but if you want to be removed let me know at any time! tws: a VERY dead brok. a lot of angst, probably an ooc sindri but i just wanted a nice scene where reader gets to open up to someone about faye and how hard it was for them to deal with her death. this felt like a good time to do it with a comforting moment between them and sindri.

the silence was deafening.

usually the branches of the yggdrasil felt like nothing. they weren't affected by the weather of the 9 realms, as they were the things literally holding them up. but now, you felt strangely cold as you stood on sindri's doorstep.

10 minutes ago, brok was alive. he was making jokes as he always did, but now... he was gone. he was gone forever, and there was nothing you or anyone else could do to bring him back.

"father," your brother's voice cut you out of your thoughts, "where are we going?" he asked, taking his place by your side. you subconsciously wrapped your arm around his shoulder. you knew atreus far too well and you knew that he would blame himself for brok's death. he was the one who wanted to find tyr, but he wasn't the only one who was fooled by odin's ruse, either.

how didn't you notice it? you had never met the real týr before, but you could only assume that he was a god who put the needs of others before himself. could he still be alive? if he was, could you ever think of him as týr, and not the man odin portrayed him as? he was a god with an incredible reputation and an even better legacy— a god of war who advocated for peace. you could only imagine how he would feel, knowing his image was used for something as cruel as deception.

"home." your father responded. he lifted the key to the mystic gateway, and the door opened. you followed after him wordlessly, and atreus matched your step. he still hadn't moved out of your grip yet and a part of you didn't want him to at all.

your feet touched the branches once again, and your thumb pressed into atreus's shoulder, running circles against his armor. he had gotten so big. where had the time gone?

"father, can we.. i.. i wanna go hunting," he said.

"i will follow."

"we're with you, atreus."

the door to midgard opened, and you stepped through silently. you were met by the cool breeze and light snow hitting you face. the last time you were here was because you were going back to asgard. heimdall wouldn't be with you now if you hadn't went back. you wondered how he was doing back at the house. it was probably just as quiet there. brok was usually the one keeping the place lively.

"which way we headed, lad?" mimir asked.

"in.. the direction of deer." he responded simply. you let go of him, but didn't move to follow him. your father turned to look at you. his eyes were filled with a sadness that you had only seen a few times in your life. when your mother died.. when atreus was ill.. and now, at the death of a friend. "go on," you said. "i'll catch up. there's just.. something i want to do here first." you told him.

"i understand." he murmured in response. you put on a smile, the smallest on you could muster, as a way to reassure him. atreus needed this alone time with him. you would have your moment some other day. he needed this.

"be careful," he said to you. you nodded. he turned, following after atreus. he was probably already visiting with speki and svanna by now. those wolves of his were far too intelligent for their own good. you were sure they knew something was wrong. you doubted he would even notice you were gone right away, and you couldn't blame him for it either.

you looked away from your father's back as he walked away from you and instead turned to look at your house. it was a tiny thing, practically built with sticks and prayers, but it held strong and always did what it was supposed to do. it kept you safe. it kept you safe from baldur all of those years ago, and again with thor and odin. you remembered thor breaking the ceiling as he threw your father and his hammer through it, but even then you knew he would be alright. he always was.

you pushed open the door, and it creaked on it's hinges as it always did. you kicked the snow off of your boots before you stepped inside. it was something your mother did every winter before she died, and you picked up on it at a young age. you closed it behind you and took in a deep breath. in a way, it still smelt like her. your mother's presence was all over the home. no matter how long she was gone, you would always feel her here in midgard.

you ran your fingers across the wood of the walls, and closed your eyes. what would you say to her now, if she were here? what would she say to you?

you thought of the dream you had with her in it, where she told you about the importance of making your own decisions. you could only hope she would be proud. you did exactly what you thought was best, without anyone else's input. if you hadn't gone back to asgard, heimdall wouldn't be on your side. he fought beside your father. he fought for you.

you breathed deep, letting the smell of the wet wood fill your nose. heimdall had changed so much since the first time you met. he was arrogant back then, selfish and cruel. now.. he felt like someone else entirely. was that because of you? if you hadn't shown up— dodged his attacks like they were nothing— would he still be loyal to odin? yes, you supposed. he would be. the thought of changing him made you feel good, like you had finally done something right. going back to asgard was worth it because you helped him see the truth. he hadn't spoken about it, really.. but you hadn't asked about it, either. you figured that he needed the time alone to think, but you would be sure to talk to him whenever you got back to sindri's house.

sindri.. the thought of him filled your heart with sadness. before, he never slipped into the realm between realms in plain sight like that. he always went behind something. you always guessed it was the polite thing to do.. but he had done it directly in front of everyone that time. you had to see him, soon. let him know that you were there for him. you'd been through loss too. losing anyone was hard, but family even harder. you couldn't ever imagine losing atreus. you didn't want to think about it.

you sat down on your old bed— a bed that you haven't slept in in weeks— and sighed. things had changed so much since the day you departed to spread your mother's ashes. you never would've met brok and sindri if it wasn't for that journey. or mimir.. or freya. you met almost everyone you cared about because of her. even heimdall, now. it was weird, saying you cared about him. but you did. you couldn't change that now.

you lied down. your head touched the pillows, and you took in another breath. you had spent so much time here with your mother. this was the place she died, too. at home and warm. at least you could give that to her.

it felt like hours before you got up again, but in reality, it was just a few minutes. everything here reminded of her, and you were glad for it. just thinking of her kept her with you. you never wanted that to change.

you thought back to your dream once again, and pushed yourself to your feet. the river you fished in so many times with her wasn't too far from the house. before she got sick, the two of you would venture out further downstream. in one of those places on the river.. that was where your dream took place. it was the peak of her life with you. but as her illness progressed, she became too tired to fish. she would go out less and less, staying closer to home. you would fish for her, but you were never as good as she was. still, you would come home with a pail full, and she would praise you for it.

you would do anything to hear her voice again.

you opened the door once more and stepped back out into the cold. you had spent so much time in midgard during fimbulwinter, but you swore you would never get used to the weather. you made your way into the woods, and you were met with the river once again. it hadn't changed much over the years, even though it had been some time since you had visited. after her death, you came less and less. the memory of her was too painful, and all fishing did was remind her of her and how she was gone.

you took in a quick breath through your nose and stepped into the water. she had told you once that you would get used to the cool temperatures of the water, and she was right. you didn't shiver or flinch at the cold. instead, you welcomed it like a warm blanket that washed over you.

"i miss you." you whispered. somehow, you knew she was listening. the world was unfair for taking her away so soon. "i love you." you told her. you swallowed the lump in your throat. would she be able to meet brok again? you could only hope so. the thought of it put a smile on your face. at least he wouldn't be alone in the afterlife. he would be with a friend.

you closed your eyes and took in the scenery. the sound of the breeze rushing through the trees, the chirping of birds and cracking of twigs under the weight of an animal somewhere.

it would be okay, you told yourself.

just one more minute.

you hadn't been to týr's temple in a long time.

you hadn't needed to, after all. with all of the towers closed in every realm and no way for travel, you never needed to go back. and now, it was still unable for use. no matter how many times you passed by it while hunting, you never stopped inside until now.

you knew this is where sindri would be though. this is the place where he made up with brok. this is where he would be, and you were sure atreus knew that too. you were sure that he and your father had already paid him a visit themselves, but you wanted to on your own. you needed to let him know you were there for him, even if he pretended he didn't need it.

it was a long walk from home, which meant you had plenty of time to think. plenty of time to blame yourself for brok's death in the first place. how could no one have noticed? you tried not to think about it too much. he wouldn't want blame being passed around. you knew that.

you sighed as you pulled yourself up the stairs. now covered in ice, you remembered when the lake was water. atreus was much younger then— much smaller. once again, you thought of the good young man he was becoming. it hadn't truly been that long since that journey and yet.. it felt like lifetimes ago.

you stared up at the doorway and pushed it open with little struggle, only a grunt escaping your lips as you did so. the inside was much warmer, and you welcomed the feeling. the familiar sound of hammering filled your ears, and as you looked, you were greeted by sindri's back. brok's body lay on the table to his side, and you blinked away your emotions. this wasn't about you.

"go away," he said without even turning to look at you.

you cleared your throat, taking an awkward step closer to him. sindri was different. his clothing was covered in blood and dirt, and so were his arms. he hadn't cleaned since brok died. how much of that was his blood? you bit at the inside of your cheek, trying your best to shove the thought out of your head.

"sindri.." you started. what was there to even say? you didn't know. instead, you stood there. after a few moments of agonizingly long silence, he turned to face you. he sat the hammer down with a thud on the table, and you felt small under his gaze.

"what?" he snapped. now that his face was in the light, you could see how red his eyes were. he had been crying. you wished there was something more you could do, but.. there was nothing you could do to bring brok back, and that was what sindri wanted.

"i just.. wanted to let you know that i'm here." you told him.

you swore you saw his gaze soften.

"i know you probably don't want company right now or.. or anything like that," you swallowed, "but i just.. had to tell you that." you murmured.

sindri remained silent. he looked away from you and towards the ceiling. you only wished you could read his thoughts. he had become someone completely different. yesterday he was happy. despite the fact of ragnarok looming over him, he was happy because he had his brother there.

"i can't imagine.." you whispered out to him, lips pursed together. "i couldn't ever imagine losing atreus. i'm.. so sorry." you told him. by now, you were standing on opposite sides of the table he had spent so much time working at.

"that's what he said." he said. "atreus." he can barely force himself to say his name.

"i figured he would come."

silence fell over the room again and suddenly, sindri shook his head.

"you don't.. you don't get to be sorry." he said. "you still have your brother. because of him and because of you— i will never have mine back." sindri laid his hand on brok's chest. you felt a pang shoot through your chest at his words, but you didn't argue. you couldn't do that to him. you looked down at brok's body. you had to look at him. that was the least you could do.

"i know." you muttered.

"he brought him into my home." he whispered. "and he.."

"i know."

he looked back up at you, gaze narrowed. you could practically see the whirlwind of emotions going through his mind just by looking at is eyes.

"what do you know?" sindri asked quietly.

"i know what loss feels like." you said simply. "when my mother died, i was.. i was inconsolable. i needed her with me to.. to function, to live." you took in a breath, heavy through your lungs.

"my father.. none of us ever told you what happened to her, did we?"

at his silence, you took it as your que to continue.

"she got sick."

his brow furrowed.

"sick? faye?" he asked quietly. you nodded.

"i thought.. how could a woman as strong as her get sick like this? how could she be healthy one day and then in her deathbed a few weeks later? i didn't understand it. i still don't. but i.. i know what it's like to grieve, sindri. i understand."

he only looked at you.

"i know my apologies won't bring brok back." you murmured. "but i.. just need you to know that i'm here for you."

he swallowed. his took a deep, shaky breath. you knew your words meant very little, but if they provided any sort of comfort to him, your trip out here would be worth it. sindri squeezed brok's hand.

"it's all my fault." you heard sindri murmur under his breath. "what?" you asked, head tilted to the side in confusion. "brok.. he died. before." he told you.

"when he.. when he died, i couldn't handle it. i went to the lake of souls and i jumped in. i.. found pieces of his soul. all of them except for one." he whispered, unable to tear his eyes off of his brother. "and now he.. doesn't have them all. he can't go anywhere. he's ceased to exist."

"that's not your fault." you told him without missing a beat. "brok.. what he said before.." you cleared your throat as sindri's gaze finally shifted up to you. "he said he forgave you. this.. that's not on you. he understood." you muttered softly. he blinked a few times, running his thumb across the back of brok's hand. tears filled his eyes, and you forced yourself to give him a comforting smile.

he said nothing in response.

"can i.. say a prayer?" you asked, your gaze shifting from brok's body to sindri's eyes. he could only nod as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

you breathed deeply, in through your nose and out through your mouth. while you didn't have the items you had when you were mourning your mother.. you didn't mind. you doubted brok would've wanted something fancy like that anyway.

"lo, there do i see my mother," you whispered.

"lo, there do i see my father.." you continued, falling onto one knee next to the table. "and my sisters and my brothers. lo, there do i see the line of my people. back to the beginning. lo, there do they call to me. they bid me take my place among them in the halls of valhalla."

"where the brave may live forever."

you finished, pressing your forehead against brok's arm. he was cold. stiff. the last time you did this, it was for your mother. it was the exact prayer you and atreus had said before her funeral. you swallowed, feeling pressure build up in your throat. you stayed there for a moment, and sindri watched you wordlessly.

you knew there was no valhalla for brok. but he was brave. and he would live forever within you, within everyone who loved him.

you pushed yourself to your feet, turning your attention back to sindri. "thank you." you said to him, and he nodded once again. "i'll.. be at the house." you muttered, turning on your heel to leave him to his thoughts. you swore you could feel him watching as you left.

you pushed the heavy doors open and stepped back into the cold of midgard.

lo, there do they call to me. you repeated to yourself.

lo, there do they call to me.

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#god of war x reader #gow x reader #god of war #heimdall x reader #god of war ragnarok #heimdall gow #heimdall god of war #heimdall god of war x reader #god of war heimdall x reader #gowr

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fanficimagery · 2 years ago

Text

La Reina del Inframundo

When your neighbor goes missing, you call upon your seven deadly sins to help get him back.

Words: 8.6K Author's Note: SURPRISE! Finally have something to post, so here it is a day earlier than normal. This imagine is probably ridiculous, but you know what? Blame the Kingdom of the Wicked series. I wanted my own seven deadly sins lol even if they don't make much of an appearance in here. Sons of Anarchy AU. Title translation: The Queen of the Underworld.

When you were little, you were probably the most spoiled girl you'd ever known. Anything you needed or wanted was yours and you ended up quite ignorant of everything going on around you. You didn't know anything about the family business, only that your daddy was an important man and you had numerous uncles who looked after you. And then you became a teenager, and you understood that not only was your daddy important but he was also dangerous too. Your parents did everything to shield you from the life, but when you and your mother were kidnapped and she was killed, you wanted to know the ins and outs of everything.

Your uncles, only a couple by blood, made sure you knew how to take care of yourself. You learned to fight and how to handle weapons, and learned about other families that were nearly as important as yours. You learned who your allies were and who your enemies were, and far sooner than you had anticipated, you were upgraded from Princess to Queen.

Losing your father made you bitter and you held no remorse for sending your men after those who had a hand in his death. It was your turn to lead the family business as your father's only child, and your father's brothers happily let everyone think they were in charge while you watched everyone and everything from the shadows.

Everyone learned to fear your family name since you were quite bloodthirsty, but as the years slowly passed you learned to take it down a notch. Eventually, you grew tired of having no privacy and decided to move out on your own since no one outside of the men you grew up with knew you were the head of the family business.

You chose Charming since it was quite the picturesque little town, but those who served under you didn't like you being so far away. So, to keep them from dropping by or watching you from afar, you anonymously purchased a large plot of land and let them build another compound and warehouse nearby.

The construction of the compound and warehouse gave you more than enough time to find a suitable house for yourself, and have it remodeled and furnished before you moved in. There was lots of talk around Charming about who was disrupting their usual routine, but no one ever found out anything of importance.

When you finally move into your house, it takes some getting used to. There's no noise, and no men lurking around corners or men coming up to you every half hour to see if you need anything. It feels good to make your own food and have a peaceful meal, and to just laze around to watch some television, but you're still the woman behind the curtain, taking phone calls and attending meetings and making sure everything is on the up and up.

You've been in your new house for a couple of weeks now and there's not been a single problem. At least not until you're in the middle of your shower and your scalding hot water turns unbearably cold. With a shout, you hop on out to try and catch your breath. You give it a few seconds before testing the water with your hand and quickly yank back when it's still cold.

You test the hot water in the bathroom sink, but that too is cold. Pulling on a robe, you head to your kitchen and test the hot water there. Cold. All cold.

With a sigh, you head towards the laundry room where the water heater resides. There's a little blinking light at the bottom that should signify the water heater is working properly, but unfortunately it isn't blinking.

"Son of a-"

You've learned a lot of things, but lighting the pilot light was not one of them. So uncaring for the fact that you're merely in a robe with shampoo still in your hair, you slip your feet into a pair of house slippers and head outside. You look around your neighbors' driveways and find a motorcycle parked at the house next to yours.

Scurrying next door, you knock on the front door. It doesn't take long at all for the door to be opened and you give yourself a moment to take in the tall specimen standing in front of you. Wet hair hangs down past the man's shoulders, water droplets clinging to a full beard, and a towel is wrapped tightly around his waist. Water droplets glisten down a tattooed torso and you have to quickly shake your head clear when you realize you're ogling. "Uh, sorry." You glance up to meet his amused gaze. "I, uh, I live next door. I really hope it's not a bad time, besides the obvious nakedness going on, but I could really use your help if you're not in a time crunch."

He arches an eyebrow at you. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I was in the middle of my own shower when my water heater went out. I checked it and there are no leaks which leads me to believe the pilot light went out. I have no clue how to light it and I'm hoping you do."

"Sure. Let me just…" He trails off as he glances down his body. "Let me get dressed and I'll help you out."

You sag in relief. "Thank you so much."

"You can use my kitchen sink if you wanna rinse your hair. You know, just in case the problem is something else."

"Oh. Yeah, thanks. I would rather rinse with hot water than cold."

The man opens his door further and you step in. "I'm Opie."

"YN. Nice to finally meet one of my neighbors."

He chuckles. "Yeah? Everyone 'round here steers clear."

"Motorcycle that off putting?"

"That and the MC." Walking into the kitchen, he points to a kutte hanging off the back of a chair. Sons of Anarchy. And huh. You've heard of them- heard all about the power struggle within the club, but they stayed off your radar and you theirs.

"What a bunch of pussies," you mumble. But Opie still hears you and he grins some more.

"Sink is clean. There's even a hose you can use. I'll be right back."

"Mhm. Thanks again."

Opie turns to walk away, and you tilt your head to admire his back muscles and tattoos. You bite your bottom lip at what you see, but quickly turn to the kitchen sink less you're busted ogling him again.

Turning on the sink's hot water, you grab the little hose and test it out. When the water is hot, you bend over the sink and flip your hair into it.

It takes you longer than anticipated to rinse out the shampoo in your hair and when you do, you're quick to turn off the water and then wring out as much water from your hair as you can. Letting your hair hang in front of your shoulder and over your chest so the front of the robe soaks up any other water, you find paper towels close by and take one to clean up the sides of the sink and counter where water splashed.

"All good to go?" You startle at the words and whirl around, finding Opie leaning against the doorway as he grins at you. His hair has been pulled back into a knot and a black shirt hugs his torso sinfully tight.

You gulp. "Y-Yeah."

"After you then."

You stumble and mutter a quick, shut up, when he laughs at you. He follows you all the way to your house, shutting the front door behind him and then stepping into your laundry room. "This is it. There's a light that's supposed to be blinking-"

"Yeah. I know. I actually have this same water heater."

"Oh, thank god."

Opie squats down and you watch him hold a knob down while clicking another button. It clicks about fifteen times before the light blinks, and you exhale in relief. "That should do it. If it goes out again on its own, just go ahead and come get me. It'll probably need to be cleaned and I can help with that also."

"Thank you! I really didn't want to have to call my uncles. They didn't want me living on my own and they would have teased me mercilessly if I had to call them so soon."

"I bet." Opie looks you up and down in your robe and your shift nervously. "Well, I'll go ahead and get out of your hair so you can finish your shower or whatever. If you ever need help, you know where to find me now. As long as my bike is out front, I'm home."

You smile as you walk him towards the door. "Thank you so much, Opie. I definitely owe you one."

You watch him until he's halfway between your houses and then shut the door before hurrying back to your bathroom.

And hallelujah! You have hot water once again.

After your first meeting with Opie, you seem to see him all the time when you're out and about. You have a smile and wave for him every time you make eye contact, laughing when his club brothers eye you up and down or whistle appreciatively until Opie shoves them hard enough to shut them up.

The next time you have face to face time with him, however, is when you're on the side of the road trying to replace a flat tire.

"Come. On. You. Sonnuvabitch," you grunt as you try to twist the lug wrench to loosen a lug nut. You've managed to get one off, but the others are proving to be a bitch.

The sound of motorcycle engines approaching has you looking up and down the side of the stretch of road you're on, and you spot two individuals riding closer and closer. Only needing their muscle to loosen the lug nuts since you know how to do the rest, you stand up and wave them down. And when you see them slowing down, angling their bikes to you, you sigh in relief.

One of the men has a very familiar beard and you can't help but smile as they stop right behind your car. "Hey neighbor," you muse when they cut their engines.

Opie pulls off his riding glasses and helmet, settling everything on his handlebars. His friend does the same before they both stand, and Opie offers you a small smile. "What trouble are you in now?"

"I just need your muscles, I swear." You chuckle, nodding at his friend and his too charming grin he throws your way. "The last place I got my car a tune-up at, they tightened the lug nuts too tight. I just need someone to loosen them up really quick and then I can take care of the rest."

"No need to worry that pretty little head of yours, darlin'," Opie's friend says. "I'm sure my boy Ope can take care of it for you." He claps Opie on the shoulders, squeezing and nudging him forward.

Opie's eyes roll. "YN, this is Jax. Jax, this is my neighbor YN."

You and Jax exchange greetings as Opie gets to work on changing your tire for you.

"So, how's that water heater treating you?" Opie asks. "No more naked knocks on other people's doors?"

"Naked knocks?" Jax arches an eyebrow at you.

"First of all, shut up," you tell Jax. And then looking at Opie, you say, "It's working fine. Haven't had a problem since you helped me."

"Good. That's good."

"So where did you come from?" Jax asks.

"From Salinas."

"Yeah? Why Charming?"

You shrug. "When my mom passed, my dad and his brothers raised me. And then my dad passed, and my uncles took my wellbeing a little too seriously. I needed some space from them."

"Pretty sure they're expecting her to throw in the towel any moment now and go crawling back to them," Opie says.

"Exactly." You grin at the biker that's nearly finished with changing your tire for you. "They know I know how to take care of myself, but they're still hoping I fail and call them up. Can you imagine how put out they're going to be when they realize I have a perfectly friendly biker living next door who doesn't mind lending me a hand every once in a while?"

Opie laughs as he lowers your car from the small car jack. He then grabs up the flat tire and carries it to the trunk of your car while Jax grabs up the jack and the lug wrench. Once everything is put away, the men face you as Opie says, "You're all set. If you stop by Teller Automotive, we can get the tire fixed for you and put the spare back in the trunk."

You arch an eyebrow at him. "You work at an auto garage?"

"Try own it," Jax muses. "It's mine. The club runs it," he says while pointing to the President patch on his own kutte.

"Huh. Nice." Then glancing back at Opie, you say, "Well I guess I owe you. Again."

"I'm just racking up those favors, aren't I?"

"Yeah, yeah." You smile as you pull open the driver's side door. "Thank you. I'll, uh, I'll see you around."

The men make their way back to their bikes, but they wait until you drive off before taking their leave as well.

As music blares throughout your room, you mouth along to the lyrics as you ready yourself for a party with the Sons of Anarchy. You had taken your tire to Teller Automotive when you found the time and Opie fixed it up for you like he said he would. Then after putting it back on your car, he made sure your spare was okay before putting it away back in the trunk. Jax tried to refuse payment by saying you get a freebie for being new to Charming, but you weren't having it and bullied the man in his office to take your money.

Needless to say, the Sons were impressed with how you didn't back down.

Jax then extended an invite to their party, and you agreed since you didn't have any plans. Opie tried to tell you that you didn't have to attend because their type of parties usually got out of hand, but you assured him you could handle your own with an all-knowing grin. Jax whooped and Opie looked a little apprehensive but still told you what time to be there.

So here you are, in a backless black bandana tank top and a pair of faded skinny jeans with rips along your thighs and knees. Your makeup has already been applied and your hair straightened, and you readily slip your feet into a pair of chunky heeled Doc Martens. And instead of taking a purse or wallet, you decide to slip your ID and Driver's License into the back of your phone case before slipping it into one pocket while shoving several twenties in the other.

Then after making sure everything is turned off, with the exception of two small lamps in the living room, you lock up your house and head out for the night.

The drive to Teller Automotive isn't that far and you get there fairly quickly. The entire lot is enclosed with a tall chain link fence that has some form of material draped on the inside so you can't see through, so you're not sure where to park, but one of the Sons who's speaking with a woman outside the fence spots you and tells you where to go. After following his directions, you park and get out of your car. Then pocketing your keys, you turn around and take in your surroundings.

There are barrels of fire scattered around the lot, as well as numerous picnic tables and a single boxing ring that has two men going toe to toe inside of it as many spectators cheer on the violence. The auto garage portion of the building is shut down, but the club portion has its bay doors rolled up. As you make your way towards it, you can see a bar and numerous tables scattered about the room. There are a couple of couches and even a pool table, and many scantily clad women working the room.

Chuckling, you enter the club with all the confidence in the world. Immediately you can feel the stares on you- both lecherous and envious- and you make your way towards the bar.

Sitting on the stool across from the bartender, you smile at him. "Can I have a beer? Whatever you have is fine." As the bartender grabs you a beer, you pull a twenty from your pocket and hand it over.

"It's only six bucks."

"Then I'll grab another two throughout the night. Don't worry about any change."

The bartender nods and puts the money away under the counter, and you turn around on your stool. Crossing one knee over the other, you lean back against the bar while taking your first sip of your drink.

"Hey. When'd you get in?" Jax takes the stool next to you and you grin at him.

"Just now. Was taking in the scene before I went looking for familiar faces."

"Ope would have greeted 'ya, but he's currently trying to fend off a couple of sweetbutts."

"Sweetbutts?"

"Women who want to fuck a Son in hopes of him giving her his crow."

You frown. "How does one give someone a crow?"

Jax chuckles. "You know, it's kind of refreshing that you don't know anything about the MC life."

"Yeah, well…" You shrug, trailing off as you take another sip of your beer.

"It can be a good thing or a bad thing," he continues. "Good because we know you ain't looking at Ope just because of his kutte and bad because this life is tough. Especially for the women."

You flash him a grin. "Who said I was lookin' at Opie?"

"Please." Jax huffs. "I put on my best smile for you when he was changing your tire and you only had eyes for him."

"It's the height. And the muscle definition in his back." You sigh wistfully, sipping your beer. "God, his back."

Jax laughs as he grabs himself another beer and you gesture the bartender to give you another. "Well, Ope can use a saving grace whenever you're ready. Don't let anyone push you around."

"Trust me. I won't."

As Jax takes his leave, you meet every woman's glare that had been directed at you because he had chosen to spend a few minutes of his time on you. You give them the most deadpan stare ever until they look away and then smirk as you start in on your second beer. A couple men try their luck with you, but you're quick to reject them before they can get too comfortable. Your gaze occasionally falls back on Opie, and you make your move when you see him drain his beer and the so-called sweetbutts on either side of him lean further into his personal space.

Rolling your eyes, you grab a fresh beer from the bartender and start towards your neighbor. The gathered Sons seem to perk up, making the women on their laps pout, but you only have eyes for Opie.

Coming to a stop in front of him, you smirk as he looks up and the women vying for his attention glare at you. Holding out the new beer to him, you say, "Come on. Let's go get some fresh air."

His lips twitch as he accepts the beer and the woman on his left scoffs. "Excuse me!"

"You're excused."

Opie and his brothers all laugh and then the woman on his right gets bold. "Back off, bitch. Seniority rules here. If you're gonna be a regular, you start at the bottom of the totem pole. Now go clean the toilets or something."

Opie looks offended on your behalf, but you merely laugh as you step so you're directly standing in front of her. "Oh honey, I'm way too pretty to do the toilets. You, on the other hand…" She gasps and leans forward to stand, but you're quick to lift a foot and plant your boot in the middle of her chest. Her eyes widen as you shove her back into her seat and you lean forward as much as you can with your foot pressing against her. "Trust me, you don't wanna go down this road. You think I'm easy prey because this is my first time here but let me assure you that they will not find your body if you decide to piss me off."

"And that's our cue to go." Opie is quick to stand, gently grabbing you by the wrist to tug you away. His brothers all whoop and laugh as the one woman tries to console her friend who had balked at your words. You follow after him as he leads you outside, walking up to a picnic table that he ends up stepping up onto the bench to sit atop the table. You do the same and as you settle side by side, he asks, "So we wouldn't find her body, huh?"

You snort, covering your mouth where beer had dribbled out since he asked the question when you were mid-sip. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

"I'll say." Opie takes a pull from his own beer bottle. "So how are you liking the party?"

You shrug. "It's decent." Then you point towards the boxing ring with the neck of your bottle. "You ever get in there?"

"If I ever have any aggression to work out, yeah."

"Most people fuck their aggression out; you fight it out." This time it's Opie's turn to snort his beer and you smirk. "So how are you liking tonight's party? Are the women always so…"

"Slutty?"

"I was gonna say bold."

Opie shakes his head as he chuckles. "Yeah. It's their life's mission to either get knocked up by someone in a kutte or get a crow or a ring."

"That's the second time I heard something about a crow. What is that?" You ask.

Opie looks at you, seeing that you're honestly curious. "In our MC, a crow is a big deal. Bigger than a ring."

"No shit?"

"It's basically the men branding their women as their property."

"Wow," you drawl, completely unimpressed. "The women around here really need to rethink their priorities."

Opie chuckles some more. "So, you're saying you wouldn't get a tattoo for your man?"

"I mean…" You trail off, shrugging. "It all depends on the situation."

"How?"

"Take me and you for example," you say and roll your eyes when Opie smirks. "If we started hooking up and a month or two from now you asked me to get a tattoo personalized for you, I'd say you were out of your damn mind. I'd have to be with someone for years before getting a tattoo dedicated to my partner."

"That's fair." He takes a moment to watch you, watching you take in your surroundings and be at ease in this new environment. "So how was your day?"

"So-so," you say, watching the men duke it out in the ring. "It was a bit of a bore if I'm being honest."

"No work?"

"I work from home." You turn to face him, grinning softly. "I, uh, I have a family-owned private security schtick going on. My uncles work from the office, but I take calls and answer emails at home."

"Does working from home turn a decent profit?"

"I'm living pretty comfortably, so I'd say it does."

Opie doesn't question your answer and then turns back to the fight himself.

For the rest of the night, the two of you keep one another company outside by the fire. You switch to water so you're able to drive home and you learn a little bit more about how the MC handles themselves and the people milling about their territory.

Over the next couple of weeks, you find Opie hanging out at your place more and more. After the faucet at your kitchen sink had deteriorated and leaked beneath the cabinets, Opie installed the new one for you after you bought everything you needed. You repaid him with dinner and a beer, and he just kept showing up after that. Sometimes with Jax or Juice or even Happy who reminded you of some of your uncles.

You've gotten to know each other really well that you have a date-slash-not date planned with him, so you're a little surprised when he doesn't show.

Or answer your call.

Or your text.

You keep listening for a motorcycle, but two days go by and nothing.

On the third day there's a pounding on your front door that immediately has you agitated. You march over to it, yank it open to give whoever it is a piece of your mind, only to gape as Jax marches in.

"Have you heard from Ope?"

"Well hello to you too," you deadpan as you swing the door shut. Sighing, you follow him to the living room where he's pacing.

"I'm being serious here, YN. Have you heard from Ope?"

His worry and tone give you pause, and then immediately sets you on edge. "No. We had plans two days ago, but he never showed up." You frown when you realize how exhausted Jax seems. "What's going on?"

Jax sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Nothing. Don't-"

"Don't tell me not to worry about it," you say. You step in front of him, arms crossed. "I was ready to bitch out Opie the next time I saw him, but then you marched in here all worried and now I'm worried. If he left town on his own, then fine. But if he was taken because of the club-"

"What the hell would you know about club life?" He scoffs.

"Don't get pissy with me, presidente." You snap back at him. "You'd be surprised at what I know."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes." You lightly glare at him, but then the glare softens as you smirk at him. "Weren't you a little bit skeptical at how easily I made myself comfortable at your parties? How I didn't cower to your women or how I stood up to the men who tried their luck?"

Jax tenses. "Who are you?"

"A friend, I hope." Jax frowns and you sigh. "Look. I didn't come to Charming looking for trouble. I didn't plan on Opie being my neighbor or getting to know you guys. In fact, I just wanted to fly under the radar, but you guys… you guys threw a wrench into everything."

"Who do you work for?"

You scoff. "I don't work for anyone."

"What the hell is going on here, YN?" Jax wonders, getting annoyed. "I'm confused as shit right now and my brother is missing and-"

"Hey." You step right into his space, reaching up to lightly pat the side of his face as you stare up at him. "I can help you look for him, but you're gonna need to trust me. I know this is MC business, but if you want Opie found then you're gonna have to spill."

"This isn't going to bite me on the ass?"

"Nope. In fact, I'm pretty sure you'll benefit from it. Now what do you say?" You hold a hand out to him. "If you say you trust me, you have to tell me exactly what's going on. The nitty gritty details won't ever be repeated from my lips."

Jax takes a moment to think about it before throwing caution to the wind and grasping your hand. "Fine. We have a deal."

"Good." Pulling out your phone with your other hand, you press on the name that's saved in your first favorite slot. It rings twice before the call is answered. "Gather my favorite sins and send them to my house. Discreetly. Someone important to me was taken and I am not happy."

You disconnect the call and Jax just stares at you. "Your favorite sins? What the fuck was that about?"

But you merely smile at him. "Congratulations, Mr. Teller. Sons of Anarchy are now under my protection so long as you don't do stupid shit."

"Your protection?"

"You'll see. Now talk. I need to figure out an abbreviated version to tell my sins when they get here."

Jax arches an eyebrow. "Your sins?"

"Yes. Now speak."

Jax huffs but takes a seat on the edge of your couch, spilling everything. You're familiar with turf wars and kidnappings and torture, and the more Jax speaks the more unsettled you are for Opie. The issue, however, is an old grievance another MC has with the Sons. They'd been spotted around town for the past week, keeping the Sons on their toes and making the Sons chase them out of town. But the Sons were split in all sorts of directions and Opie never came back.

Jax is in the middle of telling you possible locations of where Opie might be when the back door to your house opens. He pauses and immediately reaches for his gun, but you put a hand on his wrist and put a finger to your mouth to tell him to be quiet. "Let me do the talking. It'll be fine."

Jax hesitantly relaxes, but then he tenses right back up when man after man files into your living room. Each one is wearing dark jeans and a dark jacket with its hood pulled up, but when the hoods fall, he's treated to every man's face tattooed to look skeletal. "What the…"

Each man takes a stand around the room, only having eyes for you as they completely ignore Jax. "Listen up. Opie Winston is the man that was taken." You pull out your phone, pulling up a picture you snapped of him before holding your phone up- screen out- so your men can see. "He's my neighbor and has been nothing but kind to me. I've grown very fond of him."

One of your men (Pride) quietly huffs but you still hear him as he mutters, "Seems like our queen has found herself a king."

"¡Cállate!" You snap at him. "His club president has kindly offered up who took him and possible locations of where they might be keeping him, but they can't get close. I need you to find Opie and bring him back safely. Anyone involved in his kidnapping is to be brought in as well. I want them to see what happens when you take something or someone I deem important from me." After telling them what they need to know, your men all nod and you smirk before letting them go. "Now that you're caught up, you're dismissed. Happy hunting."

The men take their leave from the same door they walked in through and then you turn to Jax who has an eyebrow arched at you in amusement. "Queen, huh? And let me guess, those were the seven deadly sins?"

"Yes. Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, and Sloth are my best crew. Now call off your boys and have them go back to the club. The last thing we need is them shooting at my sins."

"Fuck. You're right." Jax pulls out his own phone to call his boys off. You watch him as he sends out the text and then he stands as if ready to leave.

"Sorry if I overstepped by calling dibs on the men who took Opie."

"Don't be." He smirks at you now. "I'm kind of curious to see what you're capable of. And I totally called it. You have the hots for Opie. Happy's gonna be so disappointed."

You roll your eyes a little and you hand Jax your phone. "Put your number in. I'll call you when we have your boy back."

"Don't you mean our boy?"

"Shut up." You laugh and then reclaim your phone after he's done what you asked. "And just so you know, if there's more than one man they bring in, only one of them gets to walk so he's able to warn his club that Sons of Anarchy are now under my protection."

"You're that confident, huh?"

"You have no idea. Now get outta here, but don't tell your other boys about me."

"Why not?"

"Because I enjoy making an entrance."

Jax laughs as he walks out of your house. "If you manage to find Ope, you'll be my new favorite person."

"Yeah, yeah."

For the past day and a half, you've reclaimed your throne at the compound and established with your tios that you were coming out of the shadows. They didn't fight you on the decision and, in fact, they might have even encouraged you to see where things went with the missing Son since you needed someone by your side.

You've been in contact with Jax, keeping him updated, but you've yet to update him of the latest development.

Opie was found along with four bikers who'd been guarding him.

You're anxious to tell Jax, but you want to get Opie settled and cleaned up before calling in his brothers. So, to kill time, you go ahead and get dressed.

You strip down to your panties right there in your room, pulling on a blazer and buttoning it closed beneath your bust so your cleavage is on display. You even have to place some double-sided sticky tape so there are no nip slips while you put on a show. Then you find yourself a pair of leather pants that you manage to wiggle into and a pair of stilettos that make you feel powerful as you walk around in a room full of men.

You're adding a couple pieces of jewelry here and there when you get the text that Opie is there. You finish getting ready and then walk out to where you know they're holding him, and grin when you hear him cursing up a storm.

"Who the fuck even are you guys? If you really are my rescuers, why can't I leave?"

"That… would be because of me," you muse as you step into the room.

Opie's head whips in your direction and your smile drops when you see the black eye, the gash above his eyebrow and on the bridge of his nose, and the busted lip. Even his hands look like they have some damage, and his clothes are bloodied.

"YN?"

"In the flesh." You walk closer to him, hesitantly reaching out to him in case he balks from your touch, but he doesn't. You touch his hair, frowning to find crusted blood clumping the strands together. "And to think I thought you stood me up."

"Nope. I was just being held hostage. Still am."

You offer him a grin. "You're not a hostage here, Opie. I swear. Now come on." You offer him a hand. "Come with me so you can get cleaned up and changed. I'll call Jax and the others, and then I'll deal with those assholes who had you."

"You? You're gonna deal with them?"

"Yep. Got Jax's blessing and everything. Now let's go. I had to sneak into your house to grab you some clothes, so you might as well put them to use."

Opie laughs and then groans, clutching at his ribs. You rub his shoulder until the pain passes and when he stands you grab his hand. Mentally cheering when he doesn't pull away, you lead him back to your bedroom so he can use your private shower.

Opie looks around your room while you grab his bag from the closet and then show him to the bathroom. You try not to grin when you see him taking it all in and then leave him be. You pull out your phone to text Jax the directions to the compound and that they'd be let in upon arrival, and then settle in front of your vanity.

Whenever you've done business with those who opposed what you and your family have done or tried to claim your notoriety for themselves, you've always presented yourself a certain way. Your makeup was half and half, half normal and half skeletal, which is why your favorite sins have tattooed themselves that way. So as Opie showers, you get started on wiping off half your makeup before blending white and black face paint along your features.

It surprisingly doesn't take you long to get your makeup done, so you take a seat on the edge of your bed to wait for Opie to be done. A handful of minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Opie steps out. He freezes when he sees you and you smirk at him. "Come take a seat. We need to talk."

Rubbing the towel over his hair one last time, Opie tosses it back into your bathroom before padding barefoot towards you. As he sits, he asks, "Who are you?"

"I'm YN. You know that."

"You're clearly a very important person to have so many men working under you."

Grinning at him, you shrug. "I was my father's only heir. His business became my business."

"You said you worked in private security."

"Yeah. We do that too, but in the underground- in the underworld- we do so much more. They call me La Reina de Inframundo."

"Which means?"

"Queen of the Underworld."

Opie huffs and you hesitantly reach for his hand, clasping it between two of your own. "Why'd you go through so much trouble for me?"

"Because you were kind to me." He scoffs this time, and you angle your body towards him. "I'm serious. You had no idea about my reputation and treated me like any other woman that wasn't actively trying to get into your pants. You were kind and you became my friend, and I- I might have grown overly fond of you."

"Only might?" You roll your eyes with a slight huff and stand, but Opie is quick to catch you by the wrist and pull you in so you're standing between his parted knees. "Oh, I think you're pretty fond of me if you went through all this trouble."

"Fine. I like you, but I'm also aware about how the men of MC's work. And I just want to assure you right now, no matter what happens between you and me, I will have the Sons' back. I've never had a sibling, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want one if they're anything like Jax or Juice."

Opie grins at your joke. "Been keeping in contact with them?"

"Jax, yes. Juice just thought I needed to be checked up on for some reason. I guess he assumed I'd be a sobbing mess without you around or something."

"...thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Ope." You reach for his face, gently cradling it in the palms of your hands before smoothing his hair back as his arms wrap around the small of your back. "You'd have done the same for me if I'd gone missing."

His smile immediately vanishes as his gaze darkens and his arms squeeze you tighter which brings you closer to him. And honestly, you quite like the feeling of being in his arms. "They'd be dead if they'd taken you."

"Likewise." His brow furrows and you wrinkle your nose at him. "Look at you all adorable and clueless," you coo. You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. "Those men outside signed their own death certificates the moment they kidnapped you. They just don't know it yet."

"You're gonna kill them?"

"You'll see. Now put your shoes on. Your boys should be here by now and they're probably itching to pull a gun. Go keep them calm."

As Opie looks for socks and shoes, you walk over to your bedside table and pull open the drawer. Pulling out your gun, you make sure it's loaded before sliding into your waistband at the small of your back and then situating the back of your blazer over it. When you turn back around, Opie's staring at you with an arched eyebrow. You merely grin and shoo him out the door, telling him you'd be out there soon.

You give him a minute to find his way and then head out yourself, keeping to the shadows. Then when you get to the main room, you move to the darkest corner and watch everyone. The Sons of Anarchy stand off to one side as they look over Opie with your sins and tios on the other, and in the middle are the four bikers the sins had taken and bound to chairs.

"What the fuck is this?" One of the bound bikers scoffs. "Have the Sons turned into pussies that let a new crew handle their business?"

All the Sons, with the exception of Jax and Opie, bristle at the insult. Happy and Tig look like they're on a very short leash and would like nothing more than to tear apart the men limb by limb, but Jax keeps them in line.

"That's what I thought. Pussies."

Happy and Tig lunge, but Jax and Juice keep their brothers back. Opie mutters about it not being worth it and once it quiet, you take that as your cue.

Walking forward, you keep your head held high and let the click!, click!, click!, of your heels put the room on edge. The men part and it takes a moment for a majority of the Sons to recognize you. Jax gapes and then smirks, nudging Opie who shakes his head at his brother.

"What the fuck is this?" Tig asks.

"Our new ally," Jax muses.

Walking up to the bound four men, you arch an eyebrow at them. The mouthy one scoffs yet again as he takes you in. "You idiots made a mistake," you say. "You took someone I care about and I don't take that lightly." Reaching for the small of your back, you pull free your gun and grip it tight.

"Ha. I'm sure under that stupid makeup you're nothing but a pretty face, so why don't you strut that perky ass of yours back out of the room and let the grown men talk."

His companions all chuckle and you allow yourself to sarcastically laugh with them before aiming your gun and pulling the trigger. The laughing immediately ceases, and their expressions all morph into shock as their mouthy companion's head slumps backwards. You smirk. "Only one of you will walk out of here, so the more you mouth off the faster you will die."

The remaining three men struggle against their binds, and you giggle at their fear.

"Holy shit," Happy utters. Your gaze darts to him and you smirk as you watch him take in your tios and your sins. When his gaze darts back to you, he says, "La Reina del Inframundo."

You bend at the waist, arms sweeping out to the side as you mockingly bow. "At your service."

"What the fuck is that?" Tig asks, glancing between his brother and you. "Not all of us speak spanish, Hap."

"Queen of the Underworld," Jax answers. He saunters up to your side, nudging your elbow with his own. "Isn't that right?"

"Sí." Then losing your smile, you walk closer to the bound men, pacing back and forth in front of them. "So, this is what's going to happen. One of you is going back to your president and letting him know that the Sons are under La Reina's protection."

"Who is going back?" Another bound individual asks. He looks between his other bound brothers, throwing them under the bus. "I'll tell you whatever it is you want to know."

You slowly grin at him and then raise your gun, putting a bullet between his eyes. "No me gustan las ratas (I don't like rats)." One of the remaining two flinches and whimpers, and you put a bullet in his head too. The last remaining individual keeps his gaze straight ahead and though you see his bottom lip tremble, you let him live. "And it looks like we have a winner."

Your men and the Sons all chuckle.

"Untie him, Envy. Greed and Wrath, I need you two to drive him out to the middle of nowhere. Let him find his own way back home."

As the man is untied, he hesitantly stands while rubbing his wrist. "So, I'm free to go? Just like that?"

"Just a little like that." Before he can question you, you put a bullet in his right knee. He shouts in both pain and surprise, and you grin. "Now you're free to go."

Greed and Wrath stalk forward, grabbing the guy's arms and dragging him out of the room. You don't need to utter a word as other men under your rule step forward, untying the dead bodies and getting them out of there as well.

Looking towards the Sons, you gesture for them to follow. "I have a bar upstairs. It's about to smell like bleach down here, so unless you're into that…"

As you start walking, you grab Opie's hand and tug him after you. You hear Jax chuckle, but soon enough they all start to follow.

Upstairs sits one of your favorite rooms. A sleek mahogany bar runs the length of the side wall, the wall behind it lit up and showcasing every bottle of liquor in stock. There's a clear refrigerator that's stocked with several brands of beer and you even have a few on tap. There are a cluster of couches for those decompressing talks, as well as round tables and chairs for the rowdier gatherings. And for entertainment, there are two dart boards and a pool table.

"Pick your poison, boys. Pride will get you whatever you want so long as we have it."

As the Sons gladly make their way to the bar, Opie stays by your side. He tugs you closer, tucking you into his side and he presses his lips to your temple as your arm wraps around the small of his back. "What is it with naming your men after the seven deadly sins?"

"When I took over, I needed a crew of my very own who would be loyal to me and me only. All my men are obviously loyal, but some have a family of their own who will always be number one to them," you say as you glance up at him. "I get it, I do, but I wanted those who would put me first. My seven deadly sins do that."

As Opie stares down at you, you feel the tension between the two of you amping up. It's always been there, ever since the two of you started hanging out, but neither of you ever acted on it. But as his eyes dart to your lips and your hand finds its way under his shirt so you can stroke the skin of his hip, you know it's inevitable that this friendship is destined to be something more.

"I hate to be a cockblock," you hear Jax muse, "but how exactly is all this going to work out?" You and Opie both exhale in annoyance, glancing at his club president who's smirking between the two of you. "Not that I'm not grateful for the Queen's protection, but we can't be seen as pussies."

"And you won't be," you say. "The Sons of Anarchy will still operate as you have been. I don't care about your club business. But seeing as I've unfortunately grown fond of a few members, I will be on the sidelines waiting to put a bitch in a ditch should they cross a line."

"And what do you consider crossing a line?" Jax asks.

"Any unprovoked kidnappings and/or torture. If you're doing business and you piss someone off, that's on you. But if anyone comes around sniffing around Charming, pushing buttons to see what the response will be, I will set my sins loose."

Jax looks around at his men, gauging their reactions. No one seems to have a word to argue against you and he comes to a conclusion pretty fast. "I can work with that."

"That's what I like to hear." You slowly smile and then smother a laugh when Juice raises a hand. "Yes?"

"What exactly does the queen of the underworld do?"

"Now that's a secret, Mr. Ortiz." You wink at him. "All the prominent families of the underworld are interconnected in a way that I can't explain to you. As of right now, I keep the peace. Or force it if need be." As you smirk, you see Juice shrink down onto a bar stool. "I also make sure the most prominent families aren't murdering anyone without cause."

"When you first came into power, you were the most feared," Happy says. "Why?"

As you look at the man, your smirk slowly vanishes. "Some of the low-class families were looking to make a name for themselves. They waited until my father was at his most vulnerable and killed him in cold blood. They ripped my heart out that day. So, when I took my father's place, I hunted each and every one of them down, and did to them what they did to me."

"Which was?" Juice asks, hanging off your every word.

"I carved their hearts and delivered them to their head of house."

"Holy shit."

No one knows what to say to that, so Jax makes use of the pool table. They crowd around the pool table and dart boards, laughing and enjoying the beer you've offered them. Some of your men even come on up, grabbing themselves a beer and mingling with the Sons.

You feel yourself being led to one of the couches by Opie and then tugged down on his lap. Sitting sideways, you cross one knee over the other and wrap your arms loosely around his neck. "Well, aren't you being a little bold tonight."

Arms around your waist, Opie tugs you closer and lightly drags his nose along your jawline to your ear. "I just watched a beautiful woman avenge my kidnapping and beating." As he moves lower, you tilt your head to give him more access to your neck, shivering when his beard tickles the area. "I think it's time we stop tiptoeing around each other and just take what we want."

"Hmm. And what do you want, Ope?"

"You."

His teeth nip at your neck, and you quietly groan, moving to capture his lips with your own. Opie gives you a moment- a moment!- to control the kiss and then he's manhandling you on his lap so you're straddling him. As your hands delve into his hair to get a good grip on, his hands slide down your ass until he grasps the back of your thighs to hitch you right where he wants you.

The wolf whistles hardly faze you and you take your time enjoying what Opie's offering you.

It isn't until you hear the chanting of, "El rey, el rey, el rey (king, king, king)," that you pull yourself back from Opie's mouth and glance at your men who stop chanting and immediately explode into cheers and whistles.

"Uhh.. what's going on?"

You glance back at Opie, taking a moment to laugh at your skeleton makeup that's smeared onto half his face, before wiping it off and explaining, "They've been patiently waiting for their reina to find her rey. Outside this compound you might be a Son, but within this compound you're about to become King." Opie slightly gapes and you wiggle your eyebrows at him. "Congratulations, Mr. Winston. Life is about to become a lot more interesting."

#opie winston x reader #opie x reader #opie winston imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy fanfiction #opie winston fanfiction #sons of anarchy #opie winston #jax teller #happy lowman #juice ortiz

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minniepetals · 2 years ago

Text

cry me a river | the frightened ones

— summary: drowning in the middle of the sea means being blind and not knowing who is on your side and who wishes to pull you in deeper

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 7.7k

— warnings: nightmares, mentions of hallucinating, aggressive acts, kidnapping

— PART 18 / previous post / masterpost

“Are you scared?”

You look up in the complete void of the room, darkness shadowing all that you are as you sit in that lone void, knees held up to your chest, arms wrapped around them with your head lowered until you hear the voice.

A familiar, gentle voice.

“....Mister Butler?” You call hesitantly, confused and almost frightened at how young he looks, as if he had never aged. He was only seventeen when he met you after all, twenty-two when he died.

Those widened pupils which have been engraved in your memories will be something you will never forget for the rest of your life. The day he died, the day your whole world fell apart, when everything went wrong from that point on.

Father blamed you for the longest time for his death, Mister Butler himself visiting you in dreams after dreams, for a moment relieving you only for him to shame you and blame you for killing him.

You remember those dreams in faint glimpses, fragments, shattered glass. And whenever Mister Butler would appear before you, the whole room would remain just as cold as your life turned when he died and your world turned upside down.

Yet today it feels a little warmer.

Why does it feel warm?

And why is he here? He hasn’t visited your dreams in ages. You thought he’d abandoned you.

“Hello there, little miss.” He smiles sweetly in the way your memories keep on him, the real him, not your make-believe nightmares. That boyish, kind smile always makes your insides warm in the way only he’s able to do in the darkness of your life. He takes a seat before you, glowing brightly in the darkness of the abyss that keeps your heart cold and hard.

You feel his warmth the way you recall your forgotten memories and your heart aches at the sight of him, remembering, remembering.

You hate remembering. Hate being reminded of what happened that night.

Car crash, tires screeching loudly against the pavement, an explosion, a gunshot, a scream, a cry.

Mister Butler. Dead.

“I…” You stutter, the sound in your throat trying to give away, a lump restricting it from within, and you feel like you want to throw up. You want to sit up, to reach out to him, touch him, feel him, but your body won’t move.

It only lurches forward as you hold a hand over your mouth, the sickness in the pits of your stomach wishing to relieve the empty contents in there.

You want to speak but no word would come on, no sound, so you’re left with only trembling in plain sight, unable to ask for help, to ask him why he’s here, if he wants to scorn you again, if this time, he’s going to yell at you for hurting his little brother, for lying to his little brother.

You’re afraid.

Afraid.

“Little miss.” But his voice remains gentle when he calls for you and you almost cry at how soft he sounds. But even then, even with Mister Butler right here before you, nothing can help you shed tears anymore. They’ve all gone, wasted on a pitiful father who didn’t deserve any of it.

You feel a hand on your back, his warmth surging forth into your body as if he was a human furnace himself and you look up, slowly, frightened that what you’re seeing is only a figment of your imagination.

“I….I’m scared,” you finally manage to admit to his initial question, wanting to avoid his eyes but knowing because he only lives on in your memories and dreams, this is the only way you can ever see him so you keep your eyes on him, wanting to recall every detail, every little thing you can remember. You lean back into a seated position with some struggle, trying to focus.

“I know you are,” Mister Butler nods with a troubled smile. “You’ve blocked your heart from the world, haven’t you, little one?” He asks, taking a look at the darkness of this space.

“You told me not everyone deserves the heart that I’ve been given. You told me to stop letting them all stomp on me.”

“Not everyone,” he emphasizes, an eyebrow arched your way with a pointed stare. “That doesn’t mean shut yourself away from everyone.”

You bite your lower lip. “Same difference.”

“It isn’t and you know that,” he chides and you shrink into your seat, feeling a bit ashamed because he always sees through you no matter how hard you try. Will he scold you again? Speak the words he knows will hurt you the most? “But you’re scared.” Yet he doesn’t this time. This time Mister Butler is real.

Real.

Not those fake nightmares your mind decided to make up because you were made to believe his death was your fault.

This time Mister Butler is real and he understands. He always does. “And the people that you’ve trusted have all abandoned you. Your own father has made you into the killer that you are today.”

“Do you see me as a monster?” You look at him with a bit of desperation, frightened for his answer.

Mister Butler takes a moment to simply watch you, falling silent, as if letting you take this time to reflect back on what you had just said, and when you keep your resolution, he speaks again. “To me, you are nothing else but my young little miss,” he says. “Why would I ever see you as anything else?”

“Because I can’t control it,” you tell him, a bit frustrated, a bit desperate. You show him your hands. They tremble uncontrollably when you lay your palms to face you from your lap. “I want to hurt everyone that has hurt me and…and what if one day I come to hurt myself?”

“You can control it.”

“I can’t.”

“I know you can. And you will.”

“You don’t understand.”

“My young, little miss.” His voice remains calm, steady, and light, unlike you who seems to only fall out of control, desperate and in a panic, scared and frightened and mad, looking up at him and pleading at him to save you. To ground you. To control you. “How much longer will you keep hurting yourself? How much longer will you refuse to trust the people around you?”

“I can’t.” You say again, more stressed. “They’ll leave one day, just like everyone else has. They’ll leave.” Your voice shakes.

“Are you so afraid despite how many sacrifices they’ve made for you?”

“It’s because of that,” you say, hands running through your hair in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. You can feel it, you’re becoming unstable once again. Your heart is racing. Racing hard. “Because they’ll make the sacrifices, I can’t…I can’t-”

“Show them your heart?”

“Because they’ll leave.” You nod. “Everyone leaves. And if they leave…who will I have?”

“You’re drowning yourself, young miss.”

“What else can I do?” You want to scream and shout and let everything out but father still sits in the back of your mind, taunting you, threatening you. Shouting will do nothing. No one will come. No one will save you no matter how loud you are. So you have to remain quiet. You have to because shouting will make no difference.

You stand from your seat abruptly, hands running through your hair as you pace the room, unsettled by everything. You’re a mess right now, unable to stay calm, while Mister Butler remains seated from where he is, simply watching everything unfold before his eyes.

“I…” There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. If you run, you’ll only end up right back where you were. Running means nothing in the world of the abyss. You hold your hands together, nails clawing at your skin. “Why won’t you shout at me?” You turn back to your precious butler, frustrated that despite how familiar he feels right now, it isn’t helping you in the slightest. Perhaps the nightmare versions of him was better, perhaps hearing him shout at you and blame you for everything is better. “Why won’t…why won’t you blame me? Why’re you yourself right now?”

“Do you want me to shout at you?” He asks and you fall to your knees before him.

“Please,” you beg, palms pressing against one another but when it feels like that isn’t enough, you let them press against the cold floor, bowing forward, forehead meeting the floor. “Please blame me, please scorn me, please, just give me anything, anything. Just don’t be kind.”

But Mister Butler only watches you in silence, his gaze afflicted with pain as he stares at the little girl whom he was entrusted to ending up the way that she is right now.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. “If it wasn’t for me…you…you could have lived. Why did you stay for someone like me, Mister Butler? Why? You could have gone home, could have returned to the little brother that was awaiting your return and had been waiting for your return for the longest time. But I shattered that hope for him. I broke him, Mister Butler, all because I was selfish and vengeful and only thought about my needs and my wants and didn’t care for anything else.”

“Sit up.”

“No.” You shake your head vehemently. “It was my fault. Everything’s my fault. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing’s your fault.”

“Everything’s my fault.”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for. Young miss look at me.” You look up, just slightly, with creasing brows and quivering lips. “The decisions you make, the life you are living, the path you have chosen, I will never blame you for anything. You think I care whether you remained kind for the rest of your life? You think it matters to me whether you can still give your heart out and smile for people just as you’ve done all those years ago?”

“I’m weak.”

“And I don’t care,” he stresses with a desperate expression trying to make you believe in him. “All those people that say you’re weak because you can’t remain kind after what you’ve gone through, to the ones who tell you to keep your heart warm, that being kind is powerful, that you’re not strong because you want vengeance, well fuck them. No one in this world knows what you’ve gone through and they have no right to tell you what to do with your life. You’re here because you’re here and no matter how weak you may think you are for making the decisions that you’ve made, no matter how weak they may think you are, to me you are the strongest person I have ever seen, young miss. You’re living. And I will never blame you for living.”

“I don’t feel like I’m living.” You sit up, eyes shaking as you can still feel just how surreal everything feels; your trembling body, drying lips, heartbeat drumming hard against your chest, that screech in the back of your ears. “But I…” You look up at him again, as if praying, begging to the Gods from above, “I want to live.”

Mister Butler’s eyes soften upon those words, his shoulders dropping slightly as if a weight has fallen from them and he nods, understanding.

“I know.”

He gets on his knees and leans in, arms wrapping around you and when you expect to be reminded of those arms that held you, comforted you night after night, days after days, you feel nothing.

You don’t feel his embrace, his familiar warmth, his strong, strong arms that always seem to protect you from all harm. You feel none of that and you look up, brows knitted, eyes burning red.

“Why….why can’t I feel you?”

There’s a hand on your shoulder but all you see is the hand, you don’t feel a thing. He takes a small glance its way before sending you a troubled smile, transient and painful. “Because I only live on,” he takes his other hand and presses a finger at your forehead, “in here.”

“You….” Your face crumbles as if the world has just fallen down and the coldness returns like a blizzard in the middle of winter, sudden and harsh. “You’re leaving too…aren’t you?” You sit up from your position, knees meeting the floor as your hands reach out, trying to touch him but only meeting the air in between where his figure should have been.

He’s a ghost.

Just a spirit.

“Please,” you beg. “Please don’t leave me either. Don’t leave me, Mister Butler. If you leave, I….I can’t live on. I can’t do this without you. Please…please don’t leave me.”

Your fist meets the floor, punching and punching out of frustration and desperation, wanting to touch him and hold him and embrace him again. Just like how it was in your memories, just like how he lived on all those years ago.

“Please….”

“You don’t remember, young miss?” He holds a hand out, holding your face and brushing away where invisible tears should have been.

“I’m already gone,” he whispers, and you awake from your dream.

Panting out of breath.

Heartbeat racing.

Aching.

Hands trembling.

You throw the blanket off you, stumble on your weakened legs but force it up and race to throw the doors open, allowing light to shine through in the darkness of your room. And then you run some more, eyes focused on one thing and one thing only.

You look around as if in a trance, in a hurry, vision coming in and out, dimmed, legs failing you ever so often when your knees wish to buckle underneath you, stumbling, having to reach out for the wall, a nearby stand for those fancy vases meant to keep the flowers alive. You accidentally knock one off when your legs try to give up but you don’t care.

There is one man you’re looking for. One lone man.

“Boss-?”

“Give him back to me.” And when you find him, you’re quick to lung at him. The bandages around your right hand wraps all around from the night at Bangtan’s manor but you ignore the pain as you clutch onto Mingyu’s shirt, eyes frantic and heart racing. “Give him back to me. Give him back! Give him back right now! I didn't kill him. It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it. So please, please give him back. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything wrong. I was good, I listened to you and I obeyed your every word but why did you take away the only person that ever loved me? Why, why?! He didn’t do anything wrong.”

The rest of the Reapers that heard your call watch on as you cling onto Mingyu, shouting at him in a crazed manner as if hallucinating and in a dream-like trance.

“Why didn’t you kill me instead? Why did you blame me? Why did you say that I was the one who killed him? I didn’t pull the trigger, I didn’t cause a little boy to lose his precious older brother and I certainly didn’t kill the very person I loved like he was my own brother. Why? Why did you take him away from me? Give him back! Give him back or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!!”

You snatch your hands from his blazer to wrap them around his neck, throwing him down onto the floor with legs on either side of him.

Mingyu simply lays there as your hands tighten, eyes staring down at him with nothing but pure rage and fear combined into one, the kind of sight that’s rarely seen so clearly upon your face because you’re always so good at hiding your emotions from everyone. But in this hallucinating state, in your unconscious awareness, you glare down at him with disdain, with the purest form of hate, hands trembling despite having full control and power over him as you tighten your hands, wanting nothing but his death to arrive.

Mingyu’s sight blurs, his breathing constricting, but he does nothing despite it all and it’s the rest of the Reapers that have to shout at you and rip you off him.

“Boss!”

“Boss, wake up!”

“That’s Mingyu you’re hurting!”

“Die! Just die already! Why aren’t you dead? I shot you straight in the head and watched until you no longer breathed so why? Why are you still here?” Yet you’re still trashing about, having to be forcefully removed and dragged onto the floor by three of the Reapers, two grabbing each of your arms, the last behind you and pulling you back by the torso.

Yet despite being a few feet away and the others have turned to Mingyu, helping him back up while he coughs from the chokehold you had him in, you’re still not seeing straight.

“I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him so please…please stop blaming me. It wasn’t me. I promise it wasn’t me.” You look up with desperation this time. More hurt, more pain than anger and rage fueling your thoughts. Your hands come to your head after pushing the Reapers away, tugging at the scalp of your hair, pulling on them like some crazed maniac trying to keep everything in their control and not being able to.

“It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it.” You tremble, knees coming up to your chest, rocking your body back and forth. “It was you, you had the gun, you…..” Your brows knit, trying to think but thinking doesn’t help and you’re only left with more questions. “The gunshot…was you. Mister Butler didn’t….he…”

White eyes, dark pupils, staring straight ahead as if possessed by some sort of spirit.

But he wasn’t possessed. He wasn’t cursed.

He was dead.

Father killed him and father hovered over you, telling you that it was because of you that he killed him. It was because of you. Because Mister Butler was kind to you. Because Mister Butler loved you. He died because he loved you.

You look up again, fearful as you stare up at Mingyu, hair all a mess and there’s something in your eyes that he notices, something different.

You narrow your gaze, slightly, as if thinking, as if lost in thoughts, and when you turn to the other eyes leveled your way, you scurry a few inches back, hands still on your head as if frightened all of a sudden, as if somehow realizing Mingyu isn’t your father and this manor isn’t full of his people.

These are your Reapers. It’s Mingyu.

“......If you love me……you’ll end up just like him. Just like them.”

Bangtan.

Whether those vows of love were true or not, they all left in the end.

“You’ll all leave…in the end. You’ll leave….eventually.” You try to search through your memories for something. Anything. “So don’t make any promises. Don’t….don’t love me. You cannot. If you do…you’ll leave. So don’t do anything of those sorts. Don’t…don’t cling to me. Your vows of loyalty, your promises, they’re nothing but lies…nothing but, illusions. Fantasies. Everything that we’re doing now..this? This is nothing but a shitshow. We’re in a circus. You’re the clowns and I’m the ringmaster and in the end…..in the end……the clowns will find a new circus and the ringmaster will be left all alone. Either that or the ringmaster will be the one to abandon the clowns first. So don’t cling to me. Don’t love me. If you do, I’ll kill you myself.”

You turn from them, eyes falling drowsy, headache pushing you to just simply turn for the floor and lay your head there, not wanting to move another inch.

Yeonjun, who’s the closest to your side, crouches down and lends you his lap, and in your unconscious state, you don’t fight him off and just simply give into falling back asleep once again like a lost little puppy crawling towards the hand that feeds him, while the room remains silent for the longest time, just watching you from where they first stood, not moving an inch.

No one knows what to say or do.

It’s Dasom who makes the first move. She kneels beside the second in command, her hand tracing the red ring that has formed around his neck with knitted brows. “Are you alright?”

He turns to her, sees the way she bites against her lower lip. It quivers, her eyes watery but holding back, and when he looks up at the rest of the Reapers, they look just as concerned, just as hurt, even Yuna who no longer has eyes has her back turned, a sniff leaving her.

“How odd,” Mingyu utters softly under his breath but the Reapers hear it all. He looks your way and they watch his move, the way he reaches out to you who’s held in Yeonjun’s arms, sleeping, and brushes a thumb under your eye. “Even in that state…she doesn’t know how to shed a tear.”

He hates being unable to come in full control, hates it when he can’t be the one you can rely on but today of all the days he’s spent with you, he hates today most of all.

Because today, you saw him as the very man who has hurt you more than anyone has. You saw him as your father.

“Are you afraid?”

Dasom knows it, Mingyu knows it, everyone knows it.

That of course he’s afraid, that what had happened this morning frightened him more than anything because out of all the things you’ve thrown at him, you’ve never looked at him with pure rage and anger and most of all, fear.

But you did.

You saw him as your father, as the very man who had hurt you from the very moment you were born into this world, as your abuser, and despite it being for only a moment, Mingyu cannot forget that look in your eyes watching him with so much disgust he loathes every part of him now.

Dasom wants to tell him that it isn’t his fault, that nothing he did triggered you into seeing him as your father, that it was probably just a nightmare you received because there will be times when you’ll “awaken” and act on those nightmares, frightened and not in the right conscious awareness.

She wants to tell him, but watching him from where he sits, she can do nothing but watch on, waiting for his silence to end, to answer her question, and return to the formidable man that he always was.

But perhaps there are days even Mingyu has when he has to give in to his worries and fears, though he never cares to share them and probably always keeps those things to himself. He’s the foundation after all, not just for you but for the Reapers as well, and Dasom guesses perhaps she’s become much too reliant on him just as everyone here has.

Everyone has their moments, especially you, but what about Mingyu who always seems to be level-headed, cool, and calm about everything? As if he has everything under control and nothing can shake him. What shakes him?

The answer is you.

You shake him.

“What if she swims too far down and loses sight of where the surface is?” He asks quietly with his back still turned to her, eyes blankly staring out the window, lost in thoughts.

He already placed some salve on his neck to soothe the pain and wear down the redness from where you choked him, hiding the white bandage under a turtle neck so that when you do come around once more and is actually consciously aware of your surrounding, you won’t have to question why he had hurt himself.

Dasom knows he’d rather not tell you it was you who had hurt him.

Because despite the fact that their boss tends to feign her arrogance, she cares. She cares in the smallest ways and him telling you that you were the one to have hurt any of your Reapers would mean scarring you.

Hence he ordered them to not utter a word about what happened this morning to you.

They promised to keep their mouths shut because besides you, Mingyu’s words are law.

After all, they’d rather not put more burdens onto your shoulders.

You’ve never hurt any of the Reapers in all the years they came and vowed their loyalties unto you. You’ve never laid a finger on any of them. You aren’t like your father in the slightest. You’re powerful but not abusive, you would never raise a hand at them or tell another soul to do so.

In following your father’s steps, you learned what to do and what not to do, following your own morals while learning to grow strong.

The only person you’ve hurt has been Yuna and Yuna alone.

She mentioned it before, once, and never again perhaps because it’s a memory she’d rather not revisit, but in you taking her eyes away, there were nights when Yuna would pretend she was sleeping and hear your soft little sorrys leaving your lips.

You told her you were sorry for being weak, for having to do such a thing just for your father. You told her you hated your father, that you’d rather he died right then at that moment so that no one else had to suffer for your case.

You told her you’d never allow anyone close to your side, that they had to understand what their positions meant before father could ever fall suspicious ever again. You told her she’d be the first and last one.

Yuna, the very first Reaper, sacrificed everything just to be by your side, proving her loyalty and allowing the rest of the Reapers now to be who they are today; giving their vows unto you and remaining by your side for as long as time can give them.

“If boss loses sight of the surface…won’t you be the one to guide her back?” Dasom asks, her voice gentler than normal, her demeanor calm and steady. “Even in the darkest part of the ocean, you always manage to bring boss back.”

“And if she mistakes me for one of the creatures trying to drag her deeper down?”

“Then you continue pulling her up.” She steps in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder in order to make sure he’s looking right at her when she speaks. “Nothing has ever stopped you from protecting boss, you can’t start getting weak now, Mingyu. You know more than anyone showing an ounce of weakness means allowing boss to drown even further. We’re the only beacons in her life, Mingyu, and she relies on us whether she wants to admit it or not. She relies on us and she relies on you. You’re her foundation, her control. When she gets lost in that storm and out in the sea, you’re the only one who can ground her down and keep her steady again. You’re the only one, Mingyu, so don’t lose it now. Don’t lose control.”

Dasom takes a small moment to look down and take his hand. It’s the first time she’s ever seen them look so small, trembling slightly with fear and uncertainty. Mingyu’s always such a bright man who knows just what to do in every situation without hesitating when it comes to the gang and you. He does everything without faltering and now here he is, falling back for a moment, a split moment, and it’s all because of you.

He’s afraid.

Afraid of failing you, of losing you. No one worries about you in the way Mingyu does and because of that, here he is, shoulders weighed by the heavy burden.

“You’re not just her control though,” Dasom speaks again, her voice gentler, quieter, “you’re ours too.” She looks back at him, steady in her gaze. “We cannot afford you losing your cool, not even for a second. But if the time ever passes for you to shake, come to me and rely on me. Let me be your control.” She takes his hand to press against the beat of her heart, causing Mingyu’s brows to furrow slightly with surprise and conflict. Yet Dasom remains resolute.

“Allow me to be your control, Mingyu, so that boss can continue breathing.”

There was a time he once told her in your moment of weakness, when you were passed onto Yeonjun to be taken care of, that as long as he lived, he lived as your foundation. So if there ever comes a moment when he falters and trembles before your eyes, he risks taking your oxygen away and breaking you further.

Mingyu, more than anyone, is afraid of ever showing weakness before you because he’s the only one you can rely on. The presence of him alone, the steady calm air he exceeds all around, can calm you down and allow your heart rate to slow down and breathe again. When the world seems to shake, when it chokes you, constricting you of air, Mingyu’s the only one who can return the oxygen back into your lungs.

“What did you do?” Yuna’s voice echoes in the back of his memories. A younger Yuna, a Yuna he hadn’t known too well yet in that moment. A Yuna who looked up at him with accusation as she stood guarding you against him.

“I…I-I didn’t-” The younger him then was confused, frightened, as the younger girl shouted at him.

“You obviously did something if milady is—” She paused mid-sentence, frozen, sudden, before turning to you who sat on the floor, hands in her hair, trembling like a leaf.

“You cannot, Mingyu, you cannot show her your weakness, no matter what. Otherwise you’ll trigger her and that is the last thing we want.”

There was a mistake he once did, a mistake that had almost cost your stability. He was young and naive then, thought he knew everything, thought that he was good enough to be by your side. It was Yuna who had to teach him everything, who taught him how to handle you, how to behave around you, everything.

Everything until he learned to take it a step further and help you in ways the little Yuna was unable to. Only then, only when he grew stronger and more stable than Yuna could ever be, did you allow him to be your right hand man, the only man allowed to be near you when your world seems to be falling apart.

So trembling in even the slightest amount in front of you is out of the question. Mingyu doesn’t ever want to risk the chances of you thinking there’s no one else you can rely on. He can’t be weak. Not in front of you. Not ever.

And Dasom understands that.

She understands.

So he takes a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath in, feeling the beat of her steady heart calm his nerves to remind him of who he is and what he is capable of.

He is Mingyu, your right hand man, your control, your breath of air, your foundation.

When he opens his eyes again, they no longer falter with hesitation as he gives her a nod, allowing her the task of being his control when he needs it.

Actions can be harder to execute despite the constant reminder.

He told the Reapers to all act normal, that they must never mention what happened the day you woke up more hysterical than any other times you’ve been, but still a part of him fears you still have that part of you still in there somewhere, that somehow, someway, you’ll still mistake him of your father.

In all the years he’s spent secretly loyal only to you, Mingyu has always wanted you to be more expressive and more honest with your feelings. In all the years you’ve lived under your father, you’ve never had the courage to act any other way than living in a void of emotions, unable to feel anything.

Not anger, not sadness, not anything.

Or at least, you were always the best at hiding them and suppressing them.

But ever since his death, it’s almost as if your body and mind know of it and has allowed you to begin acting up, to show your emotions a little more, to be more aggressive, and feel less in control of yourself. You dream more, you wake up more often than usual in the middle of the night in a daze, sleepwalking, sleep talking, and awaken with no memories of what you had done during those moments.

You’ve come to rely on him even more, reaching out for him, getting more anxiety and panic attacks, falling out of control, and having him to reel you back in.

And even though he knows you’re smart enough to understand that he would never do anything to hurt you, that small little moment of you frightful of him will forever be engraved in his mind, whether you know of it or not.

But Mingyu tries his best to remain calm and collected, not wanting to alert you of anything wrong. He doesn’t want your mind drifting off to something else when you’ve already got a handful of problems weighing you down.

Today you sit on a chair that faces sideways from the window, arm resting against the armrest as you look down at your hand, the one wrapped in white bandages from your last visit at the Bangtan manor.

He hopes you don’t notice it got a bit worse after you ignored the healing in order to go after him the day before, but knowing you, you’re smart enough to notice even the slightest of change.

Still, you don’t speak on it.

“Mingyu.” You say and he almost breathes a sigh of relief at the call of his name. “I…” You speak slowly, still in a space where you aren’t fully conscious but you’re getting there, trying to return to reality, trying to reel back in. “I want to visit the kids,” you look up at him, lids heavy but trying, “The Academy.”

He gives you a firm nod, obedient. “I understand.”

And so Mingyu walks off to ready all the things necessary for your departure while you remain in the seat beside the window, staring out with a blank gaze, head lost in the clouds.

You dress warmly in white and a soft style, scarf hiding the bandages around your neck, hands hidden under your long sleeves being as the gloves causes a bit of pain when placed on top of your injured knuckles.

When you step out of the car to find the building you built about two years ago, some bits of memories flash back into your mind.

The children, Ying’s victims, all now reside here after finally having enough power and influence to be able to rescue them. You’re sure all the things they’ve been through probably still cause them nightmares but you hope that in a way, you building them this safe place rather than abandoning them in orphanages has been able to help if even a little.

Your sudden visit, even while Mingyu had called in advance, causes a ruckus.

The kids are all excited from the very moment you step onto The Academy grounds, eyes watching you with awe and fascination from the windows, and when the doors open for you, the headmaster and two other faculty greet you with formal bows leveled respectfully your way.

You shake off the formality and look at Mingyu's way to do the speaking for you.

“Be at ease,” he commands. “Boss is only here to see how things are going. Resume your schedules as they were.”

“We’ll have someone escort you to navigate you through the floors.”

“No need. We’ll just have a look around.”

“Milady!”

“It’s Lady Y/N!

“Children—”

You put a hand up at the headmaster’s scolding and she’s quick to back down. Then with another respectful bow made your way, the three of them walk off to their previous posts, as per Mingyu’s orders, while you turn to the kids who once looked hesitant upon almost getting scolded.

“Look at that,” you stare at the familiar faces, “not so skinny anymore, are you?” Their faces are quick to light up at your familiar approach. “Have you been eating well?”

“Yes, my lady!”

“Look, I’m growing muscles!”

“The adults here are kind, my lady.”

“But don’t worry, we won’t naively trust just anyone here.”

You raise a brow. “Will you?”

“Everything Lady Y/N says is law so of course we’ll abide by anything you say.”

“And what did I say about trusting me so easily?”

They quickly frown with protest.

“But you saved us.”

“And built an academy just for us.”

“And we’re fed well and trained well.”

“And get to sleep in a comfy bed when night falls.”

“How can we not trust you?”

You take a glance at Mingyu’s way when they come at you with all the good deeds you’ve given them, sighing when he gives you a simple shrug. Well, at the end of the day, whether you’d like them to listen to you, kids will be kids and look towards the ones who treat them with the most kindness.

Though their loyalty is the most reliable.

“You look a bit tired, my lady.” One of them notes with a more apprehensive approach, her lips pressed into a small pout, brows creased slightly. Lily stares at you with concern. “You look like how we looked when we were still with Ying.”

“Are you eating well?”

“If you’re hungry, I saved a snack from breakfast this morning. It’s really good, my lady.” Sunoo offers you a sweet bread cake wrapped in a clear plastic wrapper and you simply stand there for a moment, staring at it without a word.

Cakes, desserts, snacks. Things you never got the chance of touching ever since the death of Mister Butler. He used to steal these little things for you. You remember whenever night came, when the whole manor fell asleep with only a few left awake, he would sneak into your room or you would sneak into his and he’d allow you to eat then, away from prying eyes, away from everyone else.

You craved sweets after his death, missed those little moments when he used to make you the happiest little girl in the world. You missed it all.

But you remember clearly when food became something you no longer craved, when it became the very thing you grew to fear and you would only eat the food you knew you could trust in tiny portions, just enough to let you get by.

And now you can’t even eat anything that hasn’t been made physically by the hands of your Reapers. Only the Reapers. So whether Sunoo has good intentions or not, you cannot accept his gift.

“I’m not hungry,” so you state looking away coldly from his gift and for a second you think it may have offended him, that it may have hurt him, but he recovers rather quickly as if coming to understand your ways of doing things.

To them, no matter how cold and ruthless you may be, you’re still their savior. Their first kindness.

“Ah then maybe you’re just tired,” he says, putting his snack away into his pocket again.

“If you’re tired, you should rest, my lady.”

“Oh but maybe she doesn’t like sleeping because of the nightmares.”

“Do you get nightmares too, my lady?”

“Or maybe things are just too busy with you.”

“You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

“What happened there?” Junho points and when you look down at your hand, you realize he caught sight of the bandages. They all pause in their questions, blinking curiously when you hold your hand up to your face, the memories of that night wanting to slip in.

“I punched glass,” you say and they all collectively gasp.

“Whoa, you’re so cool!”

“It must’ve hurt though!”

“Did it hurt? Does it hurt now?” Hyerim’s eyes follow your hand when you place it back down beside you, her lips slightly agape as she hesitates in her approach for you, fingers fidgeting just as she looks up for your reaction. When you give her no protest in her cautious approach, she takes your hand in hers, holding it gently in her tiny little ones. “I hope the pain eases soon,” she whispers sincerely as her fingers softly glide against the bandages, soothing over your knuckles.

You stare at her for the longest time, the peace in you rising as your anger and frustrations from the past few days, weeks, and months begin slowly calming from their fire.

“I hope the pain eases soon,” she says, and when the rest of the children look at you with that same hope and light flashing in their eyes, you feel a small little ache in your chest as you realize that perhaps, in some ways, the person you are to them is the same as the person Mister Butler was to you.

It hurts.

Ah, it hurts.

Walking along an empty road just a few blocks away from The Academy in order to clear your head, you hear the sound of a click that can only belong to a gun and stop in your steps, remaining nonchalant as you turn at the gun pointed at your head.

A man.

Two.

One with a child held against the guy behind the first one who has a gun to your head, covering the little one’s mouth so he doesn’t make a sound with a gun also to his head. You see tears streaming down his face, the kind little boy who always led the little ones to remain brave and strong in your absence, who offered you a sweet snack when they thought you were hungry.

Sunoo.

“Do anything and the boy dies,” the man before you warns and you look his way, looking bored with your hands held behind your back, simply staring without falter.

And you guess he must have sensed your lack of fear because his brows crease right before there’s a sense of relief in his eyes when you feel a few more presence just behind you.

“Hello there, buttercup. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

You physically freeze in place.

Buttercup.

There is only one person in this world who has ever constantly called you buttercup and that person is,

“Lady Nari,” the man who holds you at gunpoint greets, and both the two men’s heads fall into a bow, though they don’t forget to keep their eyes on both you and Sunoo.

You hear her heels click when she walks over, feel her close behind you as you take in a deep breath, closing your eyes when you feel her hand on your shoulder.

You’re surrounded and one move will mean Sunoo’s life.

“Now then,” she says, “why don’t you throw away anything that will have your people track you down easily, hm?” She asks, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Unless you want the boy to die?”

Nari knows how much power she holds over you right now and that is an expression you’re far too familiar with. A spoiled little girl who grew up with a loving father who only knew to give his daughter everything she wanted. Just how many years has it been since you’ve last seen her?

None of your Reapers, not even Yuna knows that she’s one of the people who’s done you wrong, and perhaps even Nari understands this situation, which makes her all the more powerful. Who would suspect her when you’re so great at keeping your lips sealed?

You rid of your earrings, tug your necklace off, and throw any weapon on you onto the ground, all the while keeping your eyes on the woman before you, knowing there is nothing that can be done. Not unless you want Sunoo to die.

“What a good girl you are, buttercup,” she grins with brightness, “you’ve always been such a good girl, haven’t you? Though inspection is of course still needed. If anything else is found on you, you’ll receive a nice little punishment, just the way bad girls are supposed to get.”

Nari takes a few steps back, signaling to her men.

“Search her.”

Your back straightens like a tall pole as you hold your breath back while you let your eyes flutter close, trying to manipulate your body into believing the hands that fall onto you aren’t anyone threatening, that you’re okay, that you’ll be okay.

If you give Nari even the slightest bit of weakness to hold against you, you’ll end up worst than what will happen to you now so you keep still, not resisting, not doing anything, as you hear struggles from a few inches away.

“Don’t struggle,” you tell him, meeting the little boy’s eyes straight on as you allow your focus to fall on him and him alone. You try to imagine the peace he gives you, the conversations you had with the little ones just a few minutes ago as your breath threatens to give out but you hold yourself steady, watching him intently because it’s the only thing you can do.

You’ve asked Mingyu to return to the manor, he’s not here right now, and the only person here on your side is a little boy who looks up to you and sees you as his hero, his savior. He’s the only one you can rely on now in order to help you catch your breath, in order to allow you a moment to breathe again.

So you focus on Sunoo and Sunoo alone, and as if he can feel your sense of panic and how he holds some power over being that person to ground you down, Sunoo stops struggling against the man, eyes meeting you straight on.

Don’t be afraid, you wish to say and the message conveys to him when he focuses on his own breathing, trying to look as brave as he possibly can with your eyes solely on him and him alone.

When the search ends, you feel something hit you hard in the head and then the world falls pitch black.

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starogeorgina · 1 year ago

Text

Violent delights

Warnings: Character death

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.11

Jacaerys face falls as he watches his sons play underneath a weirdwood tree within the walls of Winterfell. His lips press into a thin line as a fearful look crosses his features. You could only imagine what upsetting thoughts plagued his mind. Jace only looks away from his elder sons when Daemon starts to fuss in your arms.

“I should take him back inside.”

Daemon hadn’t been outside for longer than ten minutes, but you still felt it was far too long for a newborn to be in such cold weather. You had decided to take the children on a walk to spend the last few hours before you left for Dragonstone together. Rhaenys was happily petting Lord Stark’s heavily pregnant direwolf, while Aemma clung to your side. Avery and Aethan had adapted to the new climate better than their sisters; both of them were fascinated by the snow.

“I’ll take him,” Jace says quietly. He stretches his arms for you to give him the baby. Jacaerys kisses him on the forehead and says, “I’ve hardly held him since he was born. I fear he’ll think I’m a stranger when I see him again.”

You felt terrible for Jacaerys; he was questioning his ability as a father, and blaming himself for what happened to Luke. He had convinced himself that he should have flown to Storm's End with your brother before heading north. But if that had happened, the most likely outcome would be that Aemond would have killed them both.

“You’re his father, Jace; you’ll never be a stranger to him.”

You remain outside for a little while longer, watching as your child enjoys themselves, but when the winds pick up, you tell them it’s time to go back inside.

Clara had agreed to stay with them in Winterfell, which made you feel slightly more comfortable that they would have a familiar face watching over them. When you enter the bedroom, you notice Jacaerys dozing off in one of the chairs near the fireplace, and Daemon leaning against his bare chest, sleeping peacefully.

You run your fingers through Jace’s hair and say, “My sweet boys.”

Jacaerys leans his head against your hand that’s resting on his shoulder. His eyes look painful with how bloodshot they are. “Leaving them is going to be awful,” he says quietly. “It was hard enough leaving the children with you in Dragonstone, but now it’s different. We will be so far away, and we have no idea how long the war will last. It could be a long time before we see them again.”

“Our mother will have her throne back before long, and then our children will be safe to return to their home.”

He repositions the babe in his arms and says, “We'll need to say goodbye soon.”

It had been decided that you’d leave at night, and with the sun starting to disappear behind the clouds, there wasn’t long left. Leaving your babies behind was going to kill you on the inside; it would be the hardest thing you’d ever need to do.

—

It was apparent from the moment you arrived back in Dragonstone that something had changed. The air has a stillness to it; a horrible sensation of death lingered in the air. The dragonkeepers and servants kept their heads low as you walked by them.

Seeing Jace’s lip start to tremble, you link your fingers with his. “We will get through this; I don’t know how, but we will.”

“I don’t think I can... Luke…Luke… I’m still expecting to walk in and see him.”

Hearing Jacaerys voice break causes tears to well up again. You were fighting so hard to remain strong, but you could feel your walls starting to crumble. You remain hand in hand as you walk in silence to the great hall. Upon entering it, you are greeted by a few lords and knights who lower their heads as they address you and Jacasrys. With your mother being next in line to the throne, you had grown up used to being treated as royalty, but never before had you seen fear in the eyes of those who looked upon you. Your eyes land on Baela and Rhaena, who both look as if they have been crying, with your grandsire by their sides.

Jace speaks up, his voice clear of all emotions. “Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys.”

Your grandsire nods his head and says, “My prince, princess.”

An awkwardness lingers for a moment before you decide to break it. It was obvious your grandsire was holding back on something, so you looked to Princess Rhaenys and said, "Grandmother?”

She lets go of Baela’s hand and approaches you with a serious look on her face. One of the many things you admire about your grandmother was the way she got straight to the point; she never held back from telling you the truth. A sympathetic look crosses her face. “I’m sorry to inform you that Prince Gaemon is dead.”

You take a step back, feeling as if you’d just been hit. “He’s dead?”

“While you were in Winterfell, two men posing as fishermen managed to make their way into the castle during the night and slay him while he slept.”

Jace’s fingers slip from yours as he stumbles slightly, and his face turns paler than you've ever seen before. One of the lords quickly places a chair behind Jacaerys before he falls to the ground.

Your grandmother raises her brows slightly before saying, “There's more. The night Prince Gaemon was killed, he was asleep in the nursery that belonged to your children.”

“They mistook my brother for one of my sons." Tears roll down your cheeks. “Aegon sent them to kill my boys, and now my mother has suffered another loss, another child taken from her.”

“What of those who killed my brother?” Jacaerys asks.

Your grandsire speaks up: “The men who committed such a heinous crime have since been sent to death by dragonfire.”

You feel as if your heart is physically turning into stone inside your chest. Lucery's death broke you; it left you feeling as if there was a hole in your heart that could never be mended, but learning of Gaemon’s death angered you. He was just a boy. “My brothers,” you sob. Sweet as they were and dead as they are, your family couldn’t suffer anymore. You wipe your tears away with the back of your hand and notice the look your grandparents are giving each other: “What else?”

Your grandmother clears her throat. “One of the servants who were taken advantage of by Aegon has come forward and sworn their loyalties to Queen Rhaenyra. A girl named Tiana claimed she overheard a conversation between Aegon and Alicent from the day you returned to the keep.”

“What did they say?”

“My nephew can keep his bitch, but I will keep my daughter, or I will have their heads.”

You gulped down; you felt physically sick hearing what Aegon said. Jace squeezed your hand; it was frightening knowing how Aegon really felt. You had tried to convince yourself that he didn’t really want Aemma and would soon forget about her. You look up and see your stepfather standing in the back of the room. You make eye contact with him and nod.

A silent agreement that the plan you once refused to participate in was going forth. You’d do anything to protect your family, even if it meant deceiving them.

—

You watch as Viserion, Vermax, Syrax, and Caraxes circle the sky above Dragonstone. For a fleeting moment, you thought you saw Arrax emerging from the clouds when the fifth dragon joined, but your mind was playing cruel tricks on you; it was only Seasmoke, the dragon that bonded with your late father.

Another person you’d lost.

“Who do you think was behind it?”

You turn around to see your grandmother approaching you; she has a sad smile on her face. Without explicitly explaining her question, you knew what she was referring to. “Ser Criston or Aemond, I suspect. Aegon will likely be too drunk to even think for himself, and Alicent and Otto wouldn’t approve of killing a child.”

“They wouldn’t?”

“They know the repercussions of their son's actions will be disastrous for House Hightower.”

“Hmm,” she says, standing beside you. “The farmers and fishermen that live in villages below the Dragonmont are being questioned, while Prince Jacaerys leads a discussion in the small council. He has suggested that they recruit dragonseeds to attempt to claim the six riderless dragons that live on the island.”

A proud smile graces your lips. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“And what plan are you and Prince Daemon plotting?”

“No amount of milk from the poppy will blunt the pain of the greens taking Visenya, Lucerys, and Gaemon from my mother. They won’t stop coming for her, my siblings, or my children. This war is no longer just about who sits upon the iron throne; it’s about keeping those we love safe.”

Your grandmother hugs you and says, "Your father would be so proud of you.”

You fall into her embrace easily. Aside from Daemon, you truly believed your grandmother, Rhaenys, was the only one who wouldn’t judge you. “If I tell you, you must promise to never tell another soul.”

“I promise, dear girl, I won’t betray your trust.”

—

It felt weird laying in your shared bed with Jacaerys without your kids for the first time in years. Once your husband had fallen asleep, you’d leave to meet Daemon. Then there was no turning back.

“Lyarra?”

You roll onto your side and say, “I thought you were asleep.”

“I love you desperately.”

You cup his face. “I love you, and there’s nothing I won’t do to protect you or our family.”

He pulls you closer so your head is resting against his chest. “We protect each other, it’s how we’ll get through this.”

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