The neon lights of Sakaar reflected in the dark sky, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the streets as Javier and Mantis walked in silence. Mantis, her antennae twitching with irritation, glanced sideways at him, her jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.
Javier had always been difficult to read, his calm demeanor often masking deeper emotions. But tonight, he seemed different—distant, distracted. He had barely acknowledged her since they had left the Grandmaster's palace. She knew it had something to do with Brunnhilde, the Valkyrie who had been introduced to them earlier.
As the three of them wandered deeper into the streets, Mantis couldn't help but notice how the Valkyrie's eyes often lingered on Javier. And with each glance, the sharp pang of jealousy twisted inside her.
She took a deep breath, pushing it down. It's nothing, she thought. It doesn't matter. But the little voice inside her wouldn't stop.
Finally, unable to contain herself, Mantis spoke, her voice soft yet tense. "You know… she's just trying to get your attention. It's obvious."
Javier didn't seem to react right away. He continued walking, his mind clearly elsewhere. But then he turned to her, his expression unreadable.
"Mantis, I'm not interested in her," he said softly. "I'm here with you. You don't need to be jealous."
But Mantis couldn't shake the feeling. It wasn't just about the Valkyrie's flirtations—it was about something deeper, something she hadn't yet figured out. Why does he keep getting pulled into these situations? Why does everyone want him?
As they continued walking, the tension between them grew thick. Mantis was lost in thought, her jealousy gnawing at her insides. She had always been the gentle, kind one—never one to assert herself or cause trouble. But when it came to Javier, it felt like her whole world was unsteady.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the tension.
"Javier," said the Grandmaster, emerging from the shadows with his usual playful grin. "I need you for something."
Javier blinked, momentarily snapping out of his thoughts. "What now?" he asked, his voice tired.
The Grandmaster didn't miss a beat. "You're going to participate in the Game of Thrones. We need someone with your... special abilities. Think of it as a way to have a little fun, hm?"
Before Javier could respond, Mantis stepped forward, her voice sharp. "You can't be serious! He's not a gladiator for your amusement."
The Grandmaster raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her protective tone. "Oh, my dear, you underestimate the fun we can have here. I'm sure Javier will enjoy himself."
Mantis looked at Javier, her concern clear. But the look in his eyes made her pause.
"I'll do it," Javier said, his voice colder than usual. "But not for you."
The Grandmaster grinned, clapping his hands. "Excellent! Now, let's get ready for the show!"
But as Javier and the Grandmaster walked off, Mantis couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. She stayed behind for a moment, watching as the two disappeared into the crowd.
Why do I feel like this is going to change everything?
—
The night was long, filled with the sounds of the Sakaarian crowds and the distant rumbles of the Game of Thrones arena. Javier found himself standing in a dimly lit corridor beneath the arena, a glass of some exotic drink in his hand. He was drunk—not from any particular desire to be, but from the overwhelming tension of the day, from Mantis's jealousy, from the Grandmaster's manipulations.
In the haze of alcohol, Javier's thoughts blurred. The moment he entered the arena, he was a gladiator—no longer just a man lost in time and space, but a pawn in someone else's game. He had been thrust into this fight, this spectacle, and there was no way out.
Then, without warning, Brunnhilde appeared at his side. Her eyes were intense, and there was something in her gaze that made Javier feel strangely vulnerable.
"You're not going to last long out there," she said, her voice low and almost amused. "You might want to enjoy yourself before you're thrown into the pit."
Javier's laugh was hollow. "I don't care about the game."
Brunnhilde looked at him, her expression unreadable. "You care about something. Everyone does."
Before Javier could respond, she took the glass from his hand, setting it aside. Her fingers brushed against his skin in a way that sent a jolt through him.
He couldn't help it—he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a sudden kiss.
It wasn't planned, nor was it intentional. But in the moment, it was a mix of drunken impulse, frustration, and the need to escape the world that had been closing in on him. For a brief moment, it felt like everything else faded away.
When they pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Brunnhilde's expression softened, and for the first time, Javier saw something like genuine interest in her eyes.
"You're a mess," she murmured, her voice teasing but gentle. "But I can't say I mind."
Javier didn't respond. He was too caught up in the emotions swirling inside him. But the next moment, Brunnhilde's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back against the wall as she kissed him again—this time, more forcefully.
What happened next was a blur. The alcohol, the tension, the need for escape—it all came crashing down. Javier and Brunnhilde shared a night of passionate, reckless release, one that neither of them would forget.
But as morning came, the weight of their actions settled in. Javier lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind a storm of guilt and confusion.
Mantis's face flashed in his mind.
What have I done?
He knew he had crossed a line, but there was no turning back now.