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bayjaruchel · 10 months

Text

Strawberry Blond

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Pairing: Peeta Mellark/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Late one night, you get a call. (4.7k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

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You know that your relationship can never be normal.

Even now, when you technically should have peace of mind— and you're out of the arena, out of the Games— there's still the ugly truth that lies beneath it all. The Victor's Village is beautiful in comparison to the rest of District Twelve, but because of the reason why you earned a residence here, you're not sure if you'll ever truly enjoy it. Brick houses with plenty of room, and yet yours is still far too empty, even if you have your family to keep you company.

Peeta lives alone in his.

There's always smoke coming from the chimney, and he keeps most, if not all of the lights on. The only room that occasionally has its lights off is his, which is on the second floor. You've woken up in the middle of the night many times and glimpsed the shining evidence that he's still awake. It's not like you get perfect sleep yourself— but you worry, sometimes.

You do visit him, sometimes. But you've never knocked on his door when it's nighttime. You're not entirely sure why that is; maybe it's because you're afraid of what the cool silence will bring. Maybe it's too intimate. Neither of you are strangers to intimacy, and you've definitely maintained a little of that, but … There's still a certain distance. Away from the cameras, you still struggle to discern what's real and what's not.

The way he looks at you is certainly real.

You don't know if you'll ever feel exactly the same way towards him.

Sure, you do like him. A lot. He makes it easy. He's the type of guy that you could bring home to your parents. He's the type of guy that one would want to come home to every day. Of course, he's a little more reserved, and his eyes are duller, but— he's still Peeta. He's still the baker's boy. Deep down, he'll never lose what made you— and all of the Capitol— fall in love with him.

Is it really love, though? Or is it just admiration?

It's something that you think about a lot. You've never said those three words to him when not in front of an audience. And he knows that on those specific occasions, it wasn't real. It was just an act. Maybe when he kissed you, he wasn't acting. Maybe when he looked at you and said those lovely things to you, he wasn't acting.

You can dream. You can hope.

However, most of your actual dreams nowadays are just nightmares.

No golden boy is holding you, shielding you from the awful weather. There's no bright, happy future in which everything turned out right. And there's none of those strange, albeit interesting dreams where your house is upside down and your teacher at school is telling you that somehow, you've suddenly graduated and you're being sent off to the Capitol to become one of them.

Instead, there's just fire.

Tonight, you dream of fire.

Burning bodies that fall from the highest trees. You can vaguely make out who they are— there's a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, a primal guilt. Everything around you is blazing, and you know you should try and get out, but your feet are frozen, rooted to the spot. You can't move, even as the flames begin to lick around your ankles. Even if you did run, you wouldn't be able to escape. This has been a long time coming, hasn't it?

Despite the almost blinding brightness emanating from the fire, everything else is foggy and dark. The only thing you can focus on is the corpses, the trees, and everything coming down around you. Someone shouts your name, but it's muffled like you're underwater. You fail to register it fast enough.

A scream, crystal-clear.

You whip around, and there it is. The evidence of your failure. You're helpless to do anything— you can only watch— more screaming, more yelling, more pleads for help—

There is so, so much blood—

You're awake, and the blistering heat is gone.

Gasping, you sit up, struggling for breath. It keeps catching in your throat. Your heart's pounding at a pace that makes your head spin. Dizzy, disorienting. But it used to be worse than this.

At least you don't wake up sobbing anymore.

This is still awful, though. Trembling, you wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to regain control. In, out. In, out. Your lungs shudder with the effort, but you keep going. Despite the comfortable warmth of the house, there's still goosebumps prickling up and down your bare skin. Your arms. Your neck. The sheets are tangled around your waist and legs; you almost feel trapped.

There's no point in closing the curtains, since virtually nobody is in the streets, and the other inhabitants of the Village couldn't possibly look through your windows. When you glance out of the one nearest to your bed, it's almost pitch-black outside. There are no street lamps, after all. You try to focus on the cold, empty houses to distract yourself.

Finally, your breath slows. Your pulse calms.

You're still shaking, faintly, but your knees don't give out when you detangle yourself from your blankets and slip out of bed. You consider that a minor victory.

Taking care not to make too much noise, you head downstairs. The polished stone is cold underneath your feet, but it's grounding, in a way. It settles you back down to earth. For a short while, you frequently lost your way due to the sheer size of the house, but now you know the quickest route to the kitchen by heart. Even when half-asleep, you know exactly where to go.

The light flicks on with a quiet buzz when you gently press the switch.

Quietly, you wonder if the ultimate prize for winning the Games was running water. It's cold, as it splashes over your fingers and into the basin. There are plenty of pristine, artisan glasses and whatnot in the overhead cabinets— probably made in District One— but you always reach for the mugs you had before. The ones with a couple of cracks and dents littering their bodies— evidence of their long lifespans.

You lean against the counter as you take a long gulp of water. It's pleasant, the feeling pooling low in your chest.

The silence used to be unnerving, but now, you welcome it with open arms.

You take another, smaller sip from your mug. Maybe you'll be able to sleep for another few hours. Until the sun rises, at least. Then, you can take a walk. You can wander around all you like here, provided that you don't stray too far. Regardless, you're sure nobody will be too concerned about that. Haymitch is the sole man responsible for the lax rules concerning the victors.

You're still not sure if you like him or not.

Slowly, you finish your drink. But, just as you're ready to set it into the sink and head back upstairs—

—the phone's ringing.

You can hear it pretty clearly, even if it's muffled.

Who could be calling at this hour? Furrowing your brow, you put down the mug and start heading down the hallway, towards the study. You're well aware that Haymitch tore his phone out of the wall ages ago, so it couldn't be him. Nobody from your District calls you, either. And if you get any calls from outside the District, they're usually during the daytime. Not at two-ish in the morning. The Capitol may be invasive, but they're not that invasive. They need their beauty rest, you figure.

So, taking all of that into consideration, that only leaves—

"Peeta?" You mutter, upon picking up the phone.

There's a beat of silence.

"Hello," he replies.

It's a bit hard to tell over the line, but he sounds nearly as groggy as you. Delicately, you shut the door of the study behind you with a quiet click. Just in case.

"Is something wrong?" You allow yourself to be a little louder, now that there's a barrier between you and the rest of the house. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Something like that." There's a slight rustling. "I mean— nothing new, right?" Even though you know he meant it as a joke, the grim truth makes it fall flat.

Still, you breathe out a quiet laugh. "Nothing's changed." Affixing your gaze on one of the chairs sitting around the mahogany table, you fiddle with the telephone cord. "Did you, uh— did you need something, though?"

Peeta hesitates again.

"I just—" He cuts himself off. "I'm sorry for calling you so late." He's entirely earnest in a way that makes you ache. "Did I wake you up?"

He's also dodging the question, even if he is genuinely worried about your sleep schedule.

"No, you didn't," you assert, "don't worry about that. It's fine."

"Okay," he responds, relief palpable despite the crackly quality.

The telephone cord is somewhat cold where it rests on your knuckles. You continue to twist it around your idle hand.

"You still haven't answered my question, by the way."

Peeta audibly exhales.

"Oh." More rustling. "Yeah. I, um—" he clears his throat, "—yeah, I do need something, actually."

That could mean a lot of things. Does he just need to talk? You know he does, sometimes. Or maybe he just needs some more flour, and is too embarrassed to admit it. He does seem like the type of guy to stress-bake in the wee hours of the morning. However, you seriously doubt that he wants anything related to that.

"What is it?" You ask, finally.

His next words are rushed, as if he's afraid that if he says them slowly, he'll never get them out.

"Could you come over? I just—" it's only a momentary gap, "—don't wanna be alone right now."

Ah.

The thing is, you understand. You know what it's like. And there's only one possible response that you can give right now. Vividly, you can see him— the cave— his face, shining with a cold sweat, his eyes scrunched tightly in pain—

"Okay." You're already mentally mapping out where to go. "I'll be there in a few."

When he opens the door, Peeta looks exhausted.

But when he smiles at you, there's still that light in his eyes. That look he gets whenever you're around. It used to make you feel sick to your stomach, but now— now, you're not quite sure how to feel. You've been told that in comparison to him, you're rather good at keeping your feelings hidden underneath the surface. It's been necessary, after all.

"You're here," he says after a beat, as if he expected anything else.

"I'm here," you echo.

Wordlessly, he steps aside to let you pass by. Somehow, although the layout of his house is exactly the same as yours, his still feels different. Warmer. A little cozier. The remnants of something sweet are still floating through the air, and you glance back at him. Maybe you were right about the possibility of him making cookies— or apple turnovers. Or those little cakes.

"Been baking?" You ask.

"Earlier," he clarifies, shutting the door behind you.

"Smells nice."

Peeta lingers by your side. "Want some?"

"If that's okay."

"It's always been okay." He raises his eyebrows. "How many times have I told you that you don't even need to ask?"

You shoot him a look. "Doesn't hurt to ask."

Flawlessly, he copies your expression. "How do you know that?"

"It's called being polite, Peeta."

"Polite," he repeats. "Polite…"

You let out a short sigh.

"Just show me where they are."

He gives you a shit-eating grin. "And there it is."

You don't even bother trying to respond; he's already padding past you, anyway. It's a short trip to the kitchen. His is more cluttered than yours— recently-used, more lived-in. There are more dishes in the sink, more stuff on the counter. But your eyes are drawn to the two wire baking racks on the stovetop. On top of them sit around two dozen pastries. They're prettily decorated with pink, blue, and white icing, and you take some time to admire them as you join him in front of the stove.

"You've outdone yourself," you can't help but murmur. "Wow."

At your compliment, Peeta instantly turns bashful.

"Oh, thanks." Of course, he can't let those words sit. "It's— it's not my best work, but I—"

His volume drops, and he pauses.

"Well— my hands were shaking, so…"

Abruptly, you turn your attention away from the pastries.

He notices, interrupting you before you can even open your mouth to speak.

"I know what you're gonna ask," he says, softly. "And, yeah, I do want to talk about it. Just—" Peeta sucks in a breath. "Just not now, okay? Give it a little while." The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he gestures towards the racks.

"Eat."

You consider pressing the question. You consider urging him— did it happen again? Was it worse this time? It had to have been worse, considering that he wanted you over in the first place. Just thinking about it makes your stomach perform an uneasy flip. You can read Peeta. And right now, you can read the bags under his eyes. The tiredness he's trying to fight away.

However, you don't want to push him. You don't want to break him down. Not again.

So, you take a pastry.

It's really, very good.

Peeta takes one for himself, too, and you eat in silence. You know that despite your frequent approval of his various baked goods, he's still carefully watching your reaction; you make sure to look pleased, and it isn't hard at all. He seems satisfied. You're also satisfied. Once you've finished your pastry, you lick the remnants of the icing off your fingers.

You pretend not to notice the way he stares— briefly, before forcing his gaze away.

You pretend to ignore the way your heart skips.

Mercifully, he breaks the awkward tension.

"Do you— would you want to take some home?" He asks, after swallowing. "We both know that I'm not gonna eat 'em all."

"Oh, yeah, I'll take some," you answer. Thinking for a second, you add, "Were you going to risk bringing some to Haymitch, or—"

He snorts. "Not this time."

"More for me, then."

"And your family, you mean?"

You smile. There's no way that you're going to give up those pastries without a fight.

"Sure. And my family."

Peeta doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he returns your smile all the same.

He always keeps his bedroom windows open at night.

You're not exactly sure why, but you suppose it's because he runs warm. Always.

The duvet's soft on your bare skin, and his hands are gentle. With the way your head is positioned, if you move your ear just so, you can hear his heartbeat thumping through his chest. A steady rhythm. He's calm, and so are you. You're certain that you could fall asleep like this— if it weren't for the fact that you have other, more important priorities right now.

When you look up at him, shifting an increment closer, he talks.

"I thought things were getting better." His Adam's apple bobs as you watch. "I thought that— that things were gonna start improving. That I'd— " He trails off, for a second.

"That I'd start going back to normal, I guess. But I should've known that it's… It's impossible." His gaze is focused on the ceiling. "It was hopeless to try and believe that I could just keep on going like nothing happened at all."

You find your voice.

"But you still tried?"

The chuckle he lets out is completely humorless.

"Yeah, I tried."

He's always been optimistic— he's always trying to see the best in people. And seeing him like this makes you feel hopeless. You know what he's going through. It's essentially the same thing that you're going through. However, it's not like you can read minds. He knows the right words to say, but you don't. Even though you wish you could. Words— even though actions can speak louder than them— still mean a lot. You turn that word over in your head a couple of times. Actions.

"What happened?" You ask, quietly.

A beat.

"I let down my guard," he starts, volume barely a whisper. "I was confident in my stability. I thought that I wouldn't— break down, or anything. Because it had been a few weeks, and—"

His eyes shut. Tightly. "God, I'm stupid."

"You're not," you rush to interject, "don't say that."

Peeta lets out another huff. "But it was stupid. To assume that I'd be okay, I mean. I should've— I should've expected it, at least." He quickly carries on. "Even after everything, I still let myself fall into a routine."

I still let myself fall back into a routine, you know what he means. The bad dreams pale in comparison to the real monsters that loom over the both of you. Haymitch is a living example of what can happen; what will happen, if you don't hold on to tight control of the hypothetical reins. You ache.

"Don't blame yourself for any of this," you murmur, "please. It's not your fault. Not in the slightest." You have to speak slowly, pace yourself. Keep yourself from everything you want to say. "Even if you tried to— I don't know, stay hyper-aware of everything— it would still come crashing down eventually." A breath. "It's inevitable, Peeta. It's always going to be here."

"But I don't want it to be here," he chokes out, "I really, really don't!"

You push yourself up from your previous position. His eyes are open now, wide and looking up at you.

When you move backward and open your arms, he's on you in an instant.

You rock back and forth, gently. You're not sure which one of you is holding onto the other tighter. Clinging would be a better word. His face is pressed firmly into your shoulder. You can feel him shaking.

Despite everything, he won't let himself make any noise when he cries.

You don't know how long you stay like this. It could be minutes. Hours, even. All you can feel and register is him. Peeta. He's trembling. The barely-there sensation, combined with the undeniable tightness of his arms. His hands. It's almost like he thinks that if he loosens his hold, even by just the slightest fraction, you'll suddenly disappear.

That you'll cease to exist.

That you'll become not real.

When you finally draw back— slowly, tentatively, and only because he does it first—

He sniffs, eyes red. They're not brimming with unshed tears, but they're still wet. You can't help but thumb away what little remains on his lower lids, even though you know that you probably look about the same.

Peeta returns the gesture.

Unlike you, though, he lingers, hand dropping to cup your cheek.

There's a moment.

You've done this before, of course. You've held each other. Comforted each other, brought each other back down. But since the end of the Games— since you've gotten away from the clamoring audiences desperate for a romance despite the sick circumstances— you haven't done anything more than that.

You haven't kissed him since the end of the Games.

But right now, you realize that you want to. More than anything. Anyone could see that Peeta wants it, too. Maybe even more than you do.

So, when he leans in— just barely— closing the distance—

It's practiced, at first. Familiar. Almost nostalgic.

But then he melts, and it's suddenly something completely different.

Peeta lets you softly maneuver him down onto the mattress, up against the pillows that are still too soft for your liking. He kisses you in the way those terrible poets describe— it's all excessively large bouquets, a clear starry night, longing looks across a crowded room, and—

It's real.

He gives. You take, and exchange it for everything you have in return. His hand stays on your cheek, the other behind your head, pulling you down. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. You lose yourself in the feeling. Whenever you part, it's only out of necessity, and you're soon leaning back in. You're making up for lost time— you're making up for every action you didn't mean, every word that was too sugary-sweet.

Soon, your kisses grow deeper. And neither of you wants to stop.

It's only when his hands are trailing down your body, down to the hem of your shirt, that you bother addressing it. Even if you want this— so, so desperately— you don't want to force anything in a situation that doesn't require it. Just kissing is nice. It's very nice. Nice enough that it takes a little while for you to regain control of your mouth.

"Is this—"

—and he's already speaking. Hushed, like you.

"Please."

It's almost embarrassing, what that single word does to you. But you barrel on.

"It's okay?" You ask, "Just say if it's not, and I'll stop—"

"—I just," Peeta visibly struggles with what to say for a moment, before settling on:

"Need you," he says. "Please."

It's more than enough, and you're in no place to deny him for much longer. You recapture his lips, welcoming his touch. His hands on your back, then your waist, then your hips again. His grip is firm, but not overly so. He would never hurt you, after all. Especially not here. Especially after what he's witnessed.

His hands are warm and calloused on your bare skin. Strong, with all the work he's done since he was old enough to knead dough. You have to sit up in order to take off your nightshirt, and he takes the opportunity to do the same with his. You've already seen him shirtless, and at close proximity, too— but it wasn't like this. You couldn't trail over every little detail with your lips, back then.

Peeta shivers, letting out a short giggle when you press a kiss to his stomach. He's sturdy, that's for sure. Impressive biceps, a toned chest. He's beautiful, and you tell him so. You think he blushes, but it's difficult to say for certain from your position. You're too focused on finding all the little freckles you can.

He likes it when you kiss his neck, breath audibly hitching when you do so.

But even though he lets you entertain yourself for a decent while, he makes sure to return the favor. He's never liked being in the spotlight for long, after all. And he wants.

He finds all of your scars, from the arena. From before the arena, too. He maps them out, painstakingly, mimicking the way you'd kissed him all over earlier. Sensitive, he notes, when you make a small noise when his thumbs find your nipples. Soft, he observes, as his fingers slip underneath your waistband, moving lower.

Soon, you're completely exposed, and he is too.

Peeta pays more attention to certain parts of you— your thighs, your chest— but he doesn't skip over anything in particular. He wants to know everything; he wants to learn everything. And he's eager to learn. By the time he reaches the spot between your legs, you're already wanting for him. You've grown needy from his kisses, his caresses. You can feel him against your thigh— he's just as needy as you.

His fingers are clumsy, at first. But they're strong, and you guide him. One, then two. Then another. His breath is loud, and he hums, biting his lower lip at your quiet moan after you tell him how to crook his fingers. You jolt when he finds your clit, paying careful attention to it while he works you open.

At your whispered insistence, he grips himself by the base— already having put on protection— you don't care enough to ask exactly how he obtained it— and he pushes in. The groan he lets out sounds like it's been punched from his gut.

He sets a slow, measured pace. Almost awkward at first, but he's a fast learner. He learns what angle makes you spread your legs wider for him. You wouldn't even use fucking to describe what you're doing— somehow, that word's too rough. He kisses you, nose bumping against yours. Most of your noises are muffled against his lips, but he takes them all the same. He absorbs them, and drinks them in. Drinks you in.

"Peeta," you sigh, and he breathes your name in return, before ducking to kiss your shoulder. Your collarbone. Your neck.

He comes first, twitching, pulsing deep within you. He stifles his whimper by tucking his face into the divot between your shoulder and your neck— but you can still feel it. You help him ride it out, until his thrusts falter, and his hips still.

It's a few moments of limbo, in which he catches his breath. He meets your eyes. His are hazy, half-lidded. He kisses you.

Then, he pulls out— disposes of the garbage, of course— and wastes no time in making his way down your body, to where you need him most.

You're certain that he's never eaten anybody out before, but he's a natural. He's enthusiastic— much more so than when he was inside you. This is just for your pleasure, now. When you thread a hand through his tousled hair, he moans into you, increasing his efforts tenfold. He doesn't care for the mess— or the noise, as he laps at you. He doesn't even care for his own need to breathe. Peeta just wants to give.

His brow is furrowed in concentration as he rapidly pulls you closer to orgasm. You can do little but take. And when you finally topple over your peak—

"—that's so good, ah— Peeta, I'm gonna— ohh—"

You cry out, heat rolling low in your abdomen— gathering, passing through your entire body.

You float on blissful waves, and he licks at you through it all. For a single, brief moment, your mind is perfectly calm.

When you relax, the warmth steadying to a hum, he notices and stops working at you. He wriggles a little, and leans forward to rest his chin on your stomach while you catch your breath. You can feel his, too, and it's hot on your skin. Peeta seems reluctant to take his eyes off you just yet.

It's quiet, you register. You're reluctant to ruin it, but he looks pretty messy.

"I should get you a towel or something," you say.

He cracks a smile, his eyes softening. "Should you?"

"Yeah." You're powerless not to return it. "But, you know, for me to get the towel, you have to get off me."

"So demanding."

You let out a short, offended sound. "Hey, that's just—"

"I'm getting up." And he does.

It doesn't take long to clean up, and the obnoxious white fluorescent lights of the bathroom don't blind you for long. Again, Peeta looks on while you wipe off his face— this close, you notice how brilliantly blue his eyes are. You notice the precise angles of his jaw. His cheek. He's probably doing the same to you— tracing the contours of your face.

To your relief, you're back in his bed a few minutes later. He completely shuts off the lights, flicking off his bedside lamp, and then crawls under the duvet with you. You're not sure if it's creepy or weird to enjoy it, but everything here smells like him. A sort of earthy, warm scent. Even though you're both well aware of the multiple floral shampoos that the Capitol has to offer— he still retains that one thing.

You're comfortable. You're safe.

Peeta wraps his arms around you from behind.

You're not sure if you should say something or not, but he does it first.

"You'll stay?" Whispered, into the stillness.

"Of course." Without hesitation.

His grip tightens, almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you," he breathes.

The words are stuck in your throat.

You can't bring yourself to say them, even though you know you'd mean them. Every single syllable.

But you have time. You can tell him tomorrow, even. Or the day after that. Tonight, you didn't say it aloud, but you still told him all the same.

You understand exactly how you feel, just before you drift off.

You love him.

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark imagine #josh hutcherson x reader

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milliesfishes · 20 days

Note

Alright listen hear me out…reader gets hurt in the arena bombing instead of Coriolanus. And like reader and Coryo have been best friends since like their early school years so Coryo cares so deeply about reader and is so so worried. He like stays by their bedside in the hospital and everything.

⋆౨ৎ𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓱𝓾𝓻𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓪 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓾𝓼⋆౨ৎ 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓷𝓸𝔀

Silence, the rush of dust exploding.

The air was on fire. You were grasping for something, anything to hold onto, an anchor in the storm brewing within the walls of the arena. There were muffled screams puncturing the space around you, but all you could think to do was run.

Finally, something fell into your hand, something firm that was holding you back. Turning almost in slow motion, you saw Coriolanus beside you, curls already a mess across his forehead from running to you. "Hurry! Everything's falling!"

You gripped his palm, breaths heaving as you tried to squint into the distance. Every inhale sent the tiny particles in the atmosphere swirling into your lungs, and you choked on them, throwing your elbow to your mouth. Coriolanus pulled on your hand. "Come on!"

In front of you like this, he was practically your hero. Trying to get you out, seeing your weakness and encouraging you to claw your way out.

Your feet kicked into action as he started to run, dragging you behind him. There was a ring in your ears, and rubble was crumbling all around. A bombing...how could there have been a bombing...?

Feet clumsy, you nearly tripped over them several times, dodging the rubble raining down. Coriolanus kept a firm grasp on your hand, moving in a more agile way. His adrenaline would help him make it out, yours was slowing you down.

There was a creak behind you, nearly deafening. Whipping around, you watched in horror as the side of a middling structure snapped, falling and getting closer…closer… all you could do was watch, frozen in shock as Coriolanus tried to tug you away.

Black.

Pain.

Dark shadows taunted you behind your eyes, waving things and making gestures that you hardly understood. They were you and yet they were foreign. A shout echoed in your head over and over, a man’s shout. It sounded so familiar, and yet you couldn’t put your finger on it.

There were voices. Faint, hushed whispers rushing back and forth as you faded between worlds of consciousness. All that was real was just out of reach, and yet you made no hurry to lean in. It was cozy here, in the bounds of your mind. There were hardly any problems, and your thoughts kept you company.

A hand on yours drew you to the surface, making you realize you’d practically been underwater. You opened your eyes groggily, aware of a soft surface beneath you, of bare legs against crisp sheets. The lights were dim, and you appreciated that. Any brighter and you would have wanted to tear your eyes out.

Then there was that hand clasping your fingers again. It was…nice. Familiar. Comforting. You turned your head to the side, blinking once when you saw Coriolanus at the chair by your bed, searching your face like he was reading a map.

His voice was quiet. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm,” you mumbled, shifting where you laid. “I’m tired.”

“You can go back to sleep,” he murmured, squeezing your fingers.

“The arena…how long have I been asleep?” You tried to sit up, but he shook his head, other hand going to your shoulder.

“Two days,” Coriolanus answered, eyes soft. “Your tribute didn’t make it.”

A dull thud of grief punctured your heart, and you looked away for a minute. It wasn’t just that you’d wanted to win- you’d actually liked Ginnee. She was plucky for coming from such a rough background, with a spirit you’d been perhaps overly fond of. You hoped morbidly that her death had been quick.

Coriolanus noticed your despair, and he half-smiled. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.” Your shoulders slumped. He’d been able to pick out your feelings too well, a gift he’d developed when you were still children.

You turned on your side, facing him fully. “Have you been here the whole time?”

He was quiet for a minute, almost like he was ashamed. “Yes.”

Your heart melted, butterflies springing from their dormant cocoons and fluttering in your stomach. He’d been your best friend since forever. But now something felt different.

Staring up at him, you saw care in his eyes that warmed you from the inside out like a candle lit in the dark. You were tethered to him, and you didn’t want your ropes to fray or unknot ever.

Coriolanus looked exhausted. He sat stiffly in the chair, and you knew he’d been sleeping in it from the way he was hunched over. His hair was a mess of blonde curls, and his azure eyes were tinged with a little red. He’d worn himself to the bone here, losing time with his beloved tribute to stay at your side. He must trust her. Or he cared more about you than you’d thought. Or both.

You moved over, making space in the bed and squeezing his hand. “Come here.”

“I shouldn’t,” he tried, but you shook your head, patting the space beside you.

“Please?”

There was a pause, but then he nodded, standing and stretching briefly, a few of his bones crackling. Coriolanus climbed into bed with you, settling at your side. It wasn’t the most comfortable fit, but you didn’t care, just wanting him close.

Huddling against his chest, you rested your hand there, quietly leaning against him. His other arm was wrapped around your torso, just holding you close. It was a moment of peace, the first one you’d had in months.

“Your mother’s downstairs,” he said quietly, fingers running up and down your arm.

“I’m glad,” you whispered, shifting comfortably against him. “I’m glad she’s here. And I’m glad you’re here.”

You could almost hear him smile, something he rarely did these days. “Yeah?”

“I love you, Coryo,” you murmured. His heart under your ear stuttered, you swore you could hear it. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” He said it softly, but you heard it. The hospital was like a graveyard; silent and melancholy. But right now it was quiet in the way a chapel was quiet- there were patches of quiet good in each person present.

Coriolanus leaned his cheek against your head, pressing his lips there for a moment. “I love you too.”

The way he was saying it felt different than the way he had before. But it wasn’t in a bad way at all. You felt his implication bloom in your chest like a flower, a garden come to life that you hadn’t known existed. But now it was thriving under his touch, delighting in his voice, his care. He loved you.

For now you didn’t stop to wonder how. You didn’t question how long. He knew how you felt, you could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he held you.

You would save worded confessions for another day. For now you were content in his arms, slipping into a tranquil sleep in a moment stolen in time.

197 notes · View notes

13uswntimagines · 9 months

Text

I'll Take Care of You (Alessia Russo x MMA!fighter R)

Request: Could we maybe see some slightly more stern dom alessia dealing with r (doesn’t have to be smut) in front of the team because reader starts acting bratty with them?

Part of the same universe as the come down.

Warning: Slight touching but not actual smut. Also D/S fic

Author's note: Hey Y'all, i really hope you enjoy this. I want to point out that D/S dynamics are based on trust and communication, so that's what I chose to focus on. Alessia is a soft dom, and chooses a punishment that she knows will be effective. If you want to chat or have any ideas or comments, feel free to hit me up.

Gearing up for a fight was the equivalent of stretching out a rubber band to its limit. It was 8 weeks of nonstop training, 4 weeks of conditioning your body to shed water so you could make weight, 2 weeks of cameras following you around for UFC embedded, and 1 week of media bombardment where you had to listen to grown men act like 5-year-olds talking about who was going to beat who.

It was utterly exhausting.

The only upside was that at the end of it, you got to step into the octagon and do what you did best.

You got to put the plan your coaches drilled over and over into your brain into place. You got to release all of the built-up anxiety and frustration from camp.

You got to fight.

It was like coming up for oxygen after being trapped underwater. Sometimes the cage felt like the only place you could really breathe on your own.

It had been your safe haven for almost as long as you could remember, which was kinda strange considering your health was put at immediate risk every time you stepped inside. It had been your escape from your family, and your only coping mechanism for as long as you could remember.

To go through training camp, and fight week and the weight cut, only to have your fight pulled at the last minute was fucking devastating.

It was like when Alessia brought you all the way to the precipice of an orgasm and then pulled away just before you could tumble over it, except far far far worse.

It made your blood boil. It made the monster in your chest roar that your opponent couldn’t do his end of the job to make the fight go on after all of the shit he was talking. And there was nothing anyone could say or do to make it better.

Dana promised that the fight would be rescheduled. He even threw in that if you won, you would be next in line for a title shot.

But it didn’t help.

The fight was set to be at the O2 arena, meaning your girlfriend and all of her teammates had been set to see you, and now they couldn’t. You couldn’t get your 10 training weeks back and you would have to do the weight cut all over again.

It was a shit sandwich, and it made you feel completely out of control. It made you crave for someone else to put you right again. For Alessia to remind you that she had control always.

Maybe that’s why you chose your satin button-down shirt to go to dinner with your girlfriend and her teammates and paired it with tight black skinny jeans.

It wasn’t often that you liked to push Alessia’s control. That you toed the boundaries that she set, but tonight it felt like the prize comparable to stepping into the cage.

With the little black dress she had worn, you really couldn’t blame yourself either. You could never resist when she showed off her legs. You were obsessed and she knew it. It was probably why she had chosen the outfit, to begin with.

It was probably designed as a reward of sorts for after your fight, except you weren’t having a fight. So you supposed it was kind of like a consolation prize.

Except you felt wound too tightly to really enjoy it.

“So that’s it, they just call the whole thing off?” Ella asked leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand.

“Yep,” You popped the p, your finger running a gentle circle on Alessia’s exposed knee. “I can’t even sign a paper that says I’m fine fighting him despite the failed drug test, and it’s too late to find a replacement even if we allow a catchweight,”

She let the movement continue, the hand wrapped around your shoulder gently squeezing the arm furthest away from her.

While she was relieved that the rules prevented you from fighting a man on steroids, she knew how gutted you were about the cancellation.

“Probably for the best mate,” Leah said, sipping her wine.

You shrugged, letting your finger trail a little higher on Alessia’s leg.

It was slightly too… forward for the steakhouse her teammates had chosen, but with the dimmed lights you figured no one could see your hand under the white tablecloth anyway. Not with how close you were sitting to your girlfriend.

“I already made weight, so it’s kind of a waste,” You muttered, dragging your nails up the inside of her thigh to just below the hem of her dress. “I’ll have to start camp all over again unless I take something short notice,”

“Can you do that?” Mary asked, from your other side.

You shrugged again. “I told Dana I was game if he needed someone to fill in, so we’ll have to see,”

Alessia’s eyebrows pulled tighter together “You didn’t tell me that, love,”

“Didn’t I?” You asked, feigning dumb, as your fingers finally made it past the hem of her dress. “Must have forgotten. I’m excited to see you all play on Tuesday though,”

You ran your nail across the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to her center. But before you could make it any further, her free hand caught your wrist, and repositioned you so your hand was resting very innocently near her knee again.

“Ireland is always fun to face,” Ella smiled at you. “Should be a bit chippy,”

“I’ll definitely be rocking my MacCabe jersey,” You matched her expression, your thumb again beginning to rub circles into Alessia’s skin.

Leah frowned, dropping her menu. “You will?”

“Absolutely,” You smirked, wiggling your eyebrows and slyly trailing your thumb back up Alessia’s thigh. “Gotta support my favorite foul-mouthed Gooner,”

Leah’s eyes went wide, and Alessia squeezed your shoulder.

“And what about me?” Your girlfriend asked, a pout pulling at her lips.

You wiggled your eyebrows, a witty remark at the tip of your tongue, knowing it would piss her off, but the tension in your chest made you unable to stop yourself.

You wanted to push her. To force a reaction, even when you knew all you had to do was ask for what you wanted.

“Are you ladies ready to order?” A waiter asked, appearing behind Leah before you could let it fly.

You let your smirk widen, closing your menu with a thud and making eye contact with the waiter.

“Since she’s not on the menu,” You started, leaning closer to your girlfriend for just a second, edging your hand even further up her thigh until it was again past the hem of her dress. “I think I’ll have the tomahawk, medium rare with a Yorkie and the roasted carrots please,”

You winked at the waiter for good measure as the table giggled and Alessia’s cheeks turned bright red.

The waiter cleared his throat, turning his attention to your girlfriend. “And for you ma’am?”

Alessia opened her mouth, probably to order, but you cut her off instead.

“She’ll take the sirloin, medium with the Orzo and kale salad,” You said, reciting her normal order with perfect precision. “And she’ll be having me for dessert later,”

More giggles erupted from your friends, and you dragged your hand impossibly higher, extending your pinky so it brushed against her underwear.

She inhaled sharply next to you, sending you a warning side eye as the rest of the table continued to order, but she didn’t immediately remove your hand.

You ignored her warning, letting your pinky slide over the satiny fabric of her underwear.

It wasn’t what she normally wore, and you couldn’t help the wolfish grin that took over your features.

She had worn lingerie for you.

Maybe that should have stopped you. Made you consider that you wouldn’t get anything if you kept pushing, but again you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

“Will you be in the Ireland friends and family section then?” Leah asked, wiggling her eyebrows at your girlfriend. “Cause I don’t think my family or Less’ will enjoy you wearing the opposing team’s jersey,”

You made a noise like you were considering it as you finally slid your hand up and cupped your girlfriend’s heat. “I don’t think I’d feel at home though. Surely your family can deal with it right Less?”

Alessia nodded once, very stiffly. “My family loves you no matter what you’re wearing,”

You smiled impishly at her, adding just a little more pressure to her core.

She shifted in her seat, leaning very close to your ear, as Ella started talking about some movie she and Joe had watched, taking the attention of the rest of Alessia’s teammates.

“They’d even love you if you had to wear your collar at the game,” She chuckled darkly in your ear, her voice soft enough to get lost in the noise of the restaurant as her free hand yet again caught your wrist and pulled your hand back to a much more innocent position. “Now behave, or I promise you’ll regret it,”

You pulled away, your devilish smirk only getting broader. “No,”

Her eyebrows furrowed her expression something between anger and concern and warning, like she was trying to figure out why you were pushing the boundaries when you never did before.

You wiggled yours in return, offering her nothing else before joining the conversation of her teammates.

You weren’t ready to talk yet.

You were too content digging yourself deeper and deeper.

*****

You continue to push Alessia all throughout dinner, taking every opportunity to make her blush or to creep your hand further up her thigh. At one point you had even wiggled a finger beneath her underwear before she could stop you.

And your behavior hadn’t stopped once you left the restaurant.

You definitely placed your hand far too low on her waist as you and your friends walked back to the hotel the UFC had rented for you, and winked cheekily at the fans as you entered the building, spending far too long signing things and flirting just to annoy your girlfriend.

You knew from the “come on darling,” and the way she wrapped her arm around you, her fingers closing gently around the back of your neck that you were in serious trouble as she led you into the hotel and to the elevator.

“Good luck mate,” Leah nodded towards you as she stepped into her hotel room after Mary and Ella. “Think you’re gonna need it after that show,”

She tilted her head toward your girlfriend glaring a hole in Leah’s doorframe.

“Good night Leah,” Your girlfriend bit out, pressing her thumb into the space at the very center of the back of your neck.

Leah rolled her eyes at the movement, well aware of the dynamic between you and your girlfriend. More aware than most of her teammates for both club and country because of how long you had known her. “Right you two, do have too much fun,”

You stared at the door for a long moment after it closed, the tension in your chest bleeding down to your stomach.

You knew your time was up. That you would have to pay the piper so to speak, and it had guilt swirling along with the unpleasantness.

You knew that all you had to do was utter a word and it would all be over.

You knew that Alessia would stick to your limits, no matter how hard you pushed her, but you couldn’t help the… lingering anxiety that came from your past relationships.

The ones that took advantage of your submissiveness, and the unhealthy way you had always chosen to deal with stress. The ones that ignored your pain for their own pleasure.

“Come on then,” Alessia said, very gently running the nail of her thumb down the length of the back of your neck, and squeezing your shoulder.

You hummed, allowing her to lead you down the hallway to your own hotel room door, but she paused before she opened it. You looked up at her, realizing suddenly that you were trapped between her and the door.

She stepped closer so your noses were nearly touching. She dragged her hand from your neck to your chin, using her thumb to tilt your head to where she wanted it.

“I love you,” She said, her voice soft and sincere. “No matter what,”

She leaned in the last centimeter separating you, connecting your lips in a very sweet kiss.

You leaned into it, opening your mouth when her tongue poked out, welcoming it and meeting it with your own so they spun in a slow dance.

It was the reminder that you desperately needed.

The promise that she would take care of you, even when you acted like a brat.

She pulled away just enough to disconnect your lips, and your mouths separated with a low pop.

“Remind me of your colors,” Alessia said, her thumb running across your cheek.

“Green for good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop,” You recited, your voice breathless.

“Good girl,” She hummed. “Open the door, and take off your shirt and pants once we get inside,”

You swallowed hard at the change of tone.

“Yes Miss,” You said, already pulling the key card from the back pocket of your jeans. You didn’t look away from her as you fumbled until you heard the lock on the door beep, and clumsily pushed it open.

You stumbled backward, unwilling to break eye contact with your girlfriend because you knew you would probably get very little of it tonight.

She turned away from you as soon as the door slammed shut, busying herself with something you didn’t know.

“I believe I told you to do something,” She said, not even sparing a look over her shoulder at you, and you realized you had been staring for too long.

You cleared your throat, your fingers trembling as they unbuttoned your straining shirt.

You carefully pulled the satin materials from your shoulders, folding it neatly and laying it on the bed before you started on your pants.

It took you three tries to undo the button, the zipper getting caught in the stretchy material of your boxers. You peeled your tight jeans down your legs, folding them and placing them next to your shirt.

You felt Alessia’s presence behind you as you pulled off your shoes and socks.

As soon as they had been placed in their rightful place, her hand found its way to your bare back.

The touch was soothing and grounding and exactly what you needed to combat the slightly floaty feeling in your brain.

The hand slid up your back, all the way to your neck.

“Kneel,”

The soft squeeze on the back of your neck was like magic, as was the soft, but stern order.

You sank to your knees without question, your butt resting on your heels, your hands facing palm up on your thighs, your back straight and your head bowed, as the tension in your chest slowly ebbed away.

“I think we need to have a chat,” She continued, the hand on your neck sliding up to run through the hair at the base of your skull. Her nails scratched soothingly at your scalp. “Because your behavior in the restaurant is not the behavior of the good girl I trained,”

You grunted, glaring at a spot in the carpet.

You didn’t want to talk.

You already had to talk to Dana, to your coaches, and to the media. You had nothing left to say.

“Do you want to tell me what that was about at dinner?” She asked you, the fingers on your scalp wrapping through your curls. She gave it a sharp tug, forcing you to look up at her. “Because I’d really like to know what the fuck you were playing at,”

Her blue eyes burned into you, concerned and… something else lingering below the surface.

“I wasn’t playing at anything,” You grit out.

She raised a perfect eyebrow at you, as she searched your face.

“Is this because your fight was canceled?”

You didn’t answer her, unwilling to admit how… off balanced it made you feel.

But that was enough of an answer for her.

Her eyes softened minutely. “Baby,”

You shook your head.

You didn’t want her sympathy or her pity.

You wanted her to crush you.

“Alright,” She signed, tilting your head back so far it was painful. “I’m going to give you 2 options. We can call Clarke and Lexa and they can run you through a workout,”

You shivered at the mention of your respective striking and jujitsu coaches, knowing already that whatever the alternative was, you would be choosing it.

“Or you can take a punishment of my choosing,” She finished. “It won’t be an easy one,”

“I’ll take a punishment,” You muttered after a beat.

You didn't need easy right now.

She hummed, holding you close for a long second, and you relished in the attention.

That had been why you acted out at all anyway.

She dropped her hold on your hair suddenly, and you crashed back on your knees.

“On the wall,” She said, completely cutting contact with you, and walking towards the little kitchen area of the suite.

You let out a shaky breath, pushing yourself to your feet, and shuffled over to the wall next to the television across from the couch.

You turned to face the couch, wincing when Alessia pulled a wine glass out of the cabinet and a jug of water from the counter and returned to you.

She carefully filled the glass to the halfway mark, before her attention turned to you.

You knew immediately what punishment she had chosen.

The rules were simple, you would balance the glass in one of the designated calisthenic positions. If the water spilled, or the glass fell then you would move to the next position. The punishment would be over when you made it through all 15 positions to Alessia’s satisfaction, or if you safeworded.

It sounded easy, or like it wouldn’t be effective, but that was entirely wrong. It was the punishment that you hated the most.

Your stomach never failed to drop when Alessia approached you with the wine glass and water. Just the sight of her with it was enough to have your muscles quivering at the impending fatigue.

“Ready darling?”

You made a low sound, leaning back against the wall, bending your knees, and getting into the first position.

A wall sits with your knees pressed together to focus the pressure on your quads.

She used a hand on your shoulder to push you further down the wall until your thighs sat parallel to the floor, and then very carefully balanced the stem of the wine glass between your knees so the base just barely brushed your hamstring.

You frowned. She usually balanced it on top of your legs further up your thighs so all you had to do was stay level. But where it was now meant that you would have to stay level and squeeze with your adductors so it didn’t slip and spill the water.

“Tell me your color,” She said, her thumb sweeping under your chin, drawing your eyes away from the glass to meet her blue.

“Green,” you murmured, leaning into the gentle touch.

“Good,” She hummed, cupping your cheek for another long second before she pulled away. “I’ll be right there, reading my book,”

Your gaze trailed after her as she settled herself on the couch directly across from you, picking up the 7 Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. She easily found her page and began to read.

You glanced back to the balancing glass between your knees. It was already shaking slightly, the liquid vibrating around the bowl of the glass with the effort of your muscles to keep it in place.

It irritated you that you could already feel your quads and adductors quivering. It was pathetic that they were already fatigued after only 30 seconds.

You grit your teeth, letting your hips slip down further so you could squeeze with your glutes to take a little bit of the pressure off of your adductors. The glass shifted minutely, and the water inside sloshed dangerously before it settled.

Your eyes flickered back up to Alessia, wondering if she saw it too, but her eyes stayed planted in her book.

That irritated you too.

The only upside to your fight being canceled was that you got to spend more time with her. You wouldn’t have to split your attention between her and not getting your face caved in.

Now you didn’t even have that.

You thought of safewording and forcing an early end to your punishment. It would be a violation of the rules though.

But when she found out that you broke her trust (the most severe infraction you could ever commit) she might choose a more… harsh punishment. One of the ones that was listed in the soft limits the two of you had agreed upon. One that would separate you from reality, and leave you feeling floaty and thoroughly controlled. Thoroughly owned.

A part of you wanted her to forcibly put you in your place. To disregard how bad it would feel tomorrow and the bad memories it would bring up for you, and just demolish you. To crush your will and grind you into dust. To beat you into oblivion.

It was what your opponent would have done anyway.

You knew Alessia would never agree to it while you were this upset. She didn’t like to give in to your self-destructive tendencies.

The glass between your knees shook again, drawing your attention back to the warm fire setting deeply into your quads. They would ache tomorrow you were sure, but then again wasn’t that part of the point?

It would be a reminder that even when she wasn’t with you, you belonged to Alessia. It was an invisible mark that claimed you. That reminded you she would always take control when you felt dangerously unstable.

And then it clicked.

This punishment was Alessia’s favorite because it was based on your choice to obey her. Your choice to push your body to its limits to please her. Your choice to give her control over you.

She didn’t need to use a belt or a paddle to bend you to her will.

She just had to ask.

You just had to relax and trust that she would take care of you.

You let out a long breath, counting down from 3 in your head. You let it fall back into the wall with a low thump and your shoulders sagged, as the remaining tension in your chest drained out of you.

“Good girl,” Alessia said softly, and the page of her book turned. Your eyes darted back to her, hoping that they would be on you, but they weren’t.

She looked so composed, both legs tucked under her, reading her book. It was diametrically opposed to how you felt, completely out of control. A quivering mess fighting to stay in a simple wall sit.

It further reminded you of your place, and the weight of it was enough to have your eyes sliding closed.

You focused on your breathing, 3 seconds and 3 seconds out. Deep and slow.

You lasted for more breaths before the glass slid from between your legs, landing on the carpeted floor with a light thud.

Your eyes snapped open, and again you expected to meet Alessia’s eyes, but they remained trained on her book.

“Next please,” She said softly, flipping another page in her book.

You slid down the wall to the floor, sucking in another long breath as you nodded, wishing that she would just look at you, but you knew that was part of the punishment too.

You took another breath as you rolled over to your stomach and sat yourself up on your elbows, squeezing your core. It was a slightly modified plank designed to show off the muscles in your back and arms for the benefit of your girlfriend and to give your legs a break for a bit.

She waited until you were in a position to stand, slowly padding over to you and grabbing the wine glass off of the floor.

She paused next to you, and you felt the way her eyes dragged across the muscles on your back.

“Always so pretty for me,” She hummed and you heard the water as she refilled the glass. “Too bad you can’t have the reward I had planned,”

Her touch lingered as she carefully balanced it between your shoulder blades, and stepped away.

“Let’s see if you can beat your best time on this one,” She said, talking more at you than to you. “Your record is 22 minutes, which isn’t quite championship timing. I think you need to make it at least 25,”

You groaned.

Her competitive streak was legendary and often a part of your punishment when you had been particularly ornery. You switched positions at her pleasure, so you knew you would be planking all night if you couldn’t break 25 minutes.

It was like when she decided you needed to break your edging record.

There would be no mercy unless you safeworded.

You focused on your breathing as she sauntered back to the couch, fighting to keep your core and back muscles locked to prevent the glass from tipping.

Your abs clenched, and you so badly wanted to roll your shoulders to relieve the tension building in the space between them. The space holding the glass.

You focused on the sound of Alessia’s breathing. Each rhythmic inhale and exhale like the clicking of a metronome, broken only by the occasional fluttering of a page.

You wished she had put the timer in front of you so you could see how long you had left.

But then again that would probably be worse.

You always found it harder to go the distance in a fight when you could see the clock ticking down. It always made you feel more exhausted at the end of the round, and made standing up off of your stool at the start of the next round that much harder.

You sucked in another breath, refocusing on the sounds of Alessia’s inhales and exhales. You counted each one, letting them wash over you and lul the fog slowly seeping through the crevices in your brain.

It let you forget the trembling in your core muscles and the sting between your shoulders. They didn’t matter. All that mattered was each of Alessia’s breaths, and your ability to please her.

To be honest, you forgot about the water balancing on your back.

You shifted, lifting your head so you could watch Alessia, and that sent the glass tumbling to the floor with a low thud.

She looked up at the noise, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the glass.

“Good job darling. You made time.” She rewarded you by meeting her eyes for a long second and flashing you a winning smile. “Position 3,”

You took another deep breath as she filled the glass.

You pushed yourself up into a pushup position, slowly lifting your right arm and left leg so they extended.

Your arms shook immediately, and it was then that you recognized just how exhausted you were already. Your core ached in a way that was edging on unpleasant, and your back felt like you had run 5 rounds with your jujitsu coach.

It was strange that you felt so drained and you had only made it through 2 positions.

Alessia waited until you were stable before she balanced the glass in the very same area between your shoulder blades.

The spot that felt so tight.

You knew you weren’t going to last long before she even stepped away. But you tried to breathe through it. You tried to ignore the little beads of sweat collecting at the small of your back, and the cramp setting in just below the glass, radiating up to your neck.

You deserved the pain. You had done your damndest to make sure Alessia gave it to you.

“Tell me your color,” Alessia said, her voice dripping dominance, sending a shiver down your spine and causing the glass to tumble off your back.

You collapsed to the floor.

You hadn’t even made it a minute.

“‘M ok,” You murmured into the carpet, each breath rattling as it left your lips.

You hadn’t even lasted long enough for Alessia to make it back to her seat.

It was pathetic.

“That’s not what I asked you,” She said, crouching next to you, her hand resting on the throbbing space between your shoulders. “Tell me what your color is,”

Your brain ran into overdrive, taking stock of the burn in your thighs, and the way the muscles in your back were locked up tight, and before you could even think through all the reasons why you shouldn’t safe word, “red,” was falling from your lips.

You had been red before you even started position 3, you realized.

“Good girl,” She said, settling fully down beside you, her hand running soothingly up and down your sweat-soaked back. “You did so well for me, and I’m so proud of you for knowing your limits,”

You groaned into the carpet as warmth spread through your chest, chasing away the last of the tightness that had been there since Dana caught you after the weigh-ins.

“‘M sorry for pushing you,” You mumbled, your words nearly getting lost in the floor. “Didn’t know how to…”

You trailed off, losing your train of thought. You weren’t even sure what you didn’t know how to do, only that antagonizing your girlfriend. Your miss. Had been the only way that seemed to make sense to achieve it.

“I know darling,” She hummed, gripping under your arms and shifting so your head was resting in her lap and your upper body was between her legs. “Take some deep breaths for me, and then we’ll get you cleaned up and we can cuddle,”

You made a low sound of agreement. You felt content with her completely around you, her scent enveloping you, and her hands running gently through your tangled hair.

She was the stability to your rocky seas, and you trusted that she would take care of you, just like she had already tonight.

A cuddle sounded perfect because it was perfect.

It was everything you needed. She was everything you needed.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #the come down universe

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aenokiawrld · 4 months

Text

𝒵𝑜𝑜 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒! Ft. Monster trio + Law

a/n: i’m new to posting so no judging pwety pwease. also i wrote this super late at night 🙏

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

18+!! MINORS DNI

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

cw: mentions of short reader, all of the guys except law-ish sound like they’re on crack, lots of wrestling, cheesy asf, is this what u do at a zoo?!

tags ✮⋆˙

fluff but mostly humorous, literal chaos, a bit ooc(?), tried to make it gender inclusive, found this prompt through pinterest lol

zoro

when you brought up the idea of going to the zoo, warned him beforehand about the “look but don’t touch” rule

you didn’t want him to see the zoo as a training arena

first suggested that yall go to the beach instead but u declined it saying, “it was too cliche”

he would never admit it but he’s silently insecure whenever he sees you get along well with the animals (whenever he smiles at them, they run away)

a small smile creeps up at the corner of his lips as he watches you gawk at the aquatic animals section

you call the seals, “sea puppies.” he just calls them “water dogs”

purposefully makes eye contact with gorillas to rile them up (he tried to ask the zookeeper to let him inside the enclosure so he can fight them to which you slap him in the back of the head for)

gorillas see eye contact as a challenge to fight

there was an event that happened where the penguins would dive and twirl underwater to impress you

zoro threatened them by claiming that he’ll ask sanji to turn them into “penguin kabobs” if they didn’t stop flirting with his gf (they got scared and ran back to their zookeeper)

attempted to smile at the otters but got scared and swam away

got lost one time and accidentally landed in the chimpanzee enclosure. you couldn’t help but laugh as the keeper got mad at him for beating up the chimpanzees bc they “gave him the stink eye”

the crew made fun of him after coming back from the zoo with a bald patch at the back of his head.

a giraffe thought his hair was grass and you had to pull him away just so he wouldn’t be tempted to use his swords on them

got both of you guys got kicked out after he tried impressing you by using three sword style on a polar bear

luffy

like zoro, u also warned him about the “look don’t touch” rule

like a kid on sugar, luffy got excited as he became enamored with the (in his own words), “big buff animals”

kept asking you which of these animals would make a delicious meal

would point at the monkeys and go, “look, it’s me!”

for the love of god, the rubber boy would not stop cracking up at the baboons and calling them “apple butts”

randomly asked you if you would find him more attractive if he was an actual monkey

he genuinely believed you when you joked about rhinos being “dinosaurs”

“NO WAY!! I THOUGHT THEY WERE EXTINCT!”

“i was jok-“

“WAIT TILL I TELL ROBIN ABOUT THIS! SHE'S GONNA BE SO JEALOUS WHEN SHE FINDS OUT THAT I DISCOVERED DINOSAURS BEFORE HER!”

he kept stretching his face and making monkey noises at the monkeys

(they looked at him with disinterest)

he thought it would be a good idea to wrestle a bear. you got mad at him after he knocked it out with his “gum-gum pistol”

he cried at the sight of the otters because he said that it reminded him of alabasta and that alabasta reminds him of vivi

he asked the giraffes if they were related to kaku and then panicked bc he “thought he was racist” for asking that

“[name], does this mean I'm not woke :(“

you got mad at him after he decided it would be a good idea to put his head inside the mouth of a hippo. the zookeeper almost fainted as the hippo bit down on his head but you assured them that his devil fruit powers would prevent him from dying that easily

you honestly contemplated your relationship with your captain/boyfriend but his stupidity is what makes him charming (to you at least)

he kept asking the zookeepers if he can keep the boa constrictor as a pet

along with wanting a snake as a pet, he kept asking the lions if they could join his crew

got emotional at the sight of leopards bc they reminded him of pedro

like zoro, he got both of yall kicked out after he tried smuggling a lion out of the cage and named it “sun destroyer 4000”

you were more surprised at the fact that you guys didn’t get kicked out earlier

sanji

“[name], my dear, how would you feel if i took you out on a date to a place of your choice?”

“well there is one place i’ve been wanting to go to for awhile.”

maybe going to the zoo with sanji was a mistake, the flirty blonde boy would not stop comparing you to every “cute” animal he saw

for long hair: it didn’t help that he purposefully braided your hair and tied them up to look like bear ears which you look even cuter in his eyes (my headcanon is that sanji knows how to braid hair hehe)

he found it cute that you saw a bunch of reindeers and called them “a family of choppers”

if there was a big crowd of people surrounding an exhibit and you couldn’t see, he would use his height to his advantage by lifting you up to get a good view of the animals

after getting down you were wondering why his nose was bleeding until you realized he had a good view under your skirt

if you’re wearing pants, he just nose bled at the sight of your gyat

you joked with him saying that you would find it hot if he wrestled an ostrich. but sanji being sanji, took it literal and actually did it

the zookeeper yelled at him after the ostrich was left unconscious

flirtatiously asked if you would still find him attractive even if he was an animal

“no, sanji, that would be beastiality.”

felt his whole face heat up after you put on matching ear headbands with him

in response, he tried to buy out the whole gift shop

tried to convince you into buying “i’m his, im hers” shirts but you told him it was cringe which hurt his ego

for gn! readers, bro tried to buy those “im cool, im cooler shirts” cause he a lil cheesy

when you became enamored with the snake exhibit he tried to flex saying, “you wouldn’t have to worry about a snake swallowing you bc i would be there to protect you, my dear”

you compared him to a ram bc you saw him as courageous and determined for his crew

“[NAME] SWANNN, YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT OUT OF THE BLUE!” there goes your man…

almost nose bled AGAIN at the thought of you as a red panda while visiting the exhibit (you thought he was tweakin)

got jealous when you said tigers were just as cool as zoro

he compared zoro to a baboon bc he’s always scratching his ass and sniffing his hand after (wait why is this lowk a good headcanon 😝)

you found it adorable as you watched him feed the animals in the petting zoo as if he were their father

he freaked out as the goat stole the cigarette out of his mouth and ate it in front of him.

one of your fave moments of intimacy with sanji would be sharing cotton candy with him as you watched the penguins do tricks in the water

after getting back on the sunny, you decided to surprise him with a ram plushie you bought behind his back

he thanked you by peppering your face in kisses and showering you in praises

“oh my dear, [name]. you don’t need to spoil me like that! it should be the other way around!”

bonus!! trafalgar law

law asked his crew beforehand on “great date spots” to take you out on; to which penguin suggested yall go to the zoo

he never cared for the zoo but as long as you were happy he didn’t mind

got flustered after you mentioned that snow leopards reminded you of him

he bought you a snow leopard plush and you named it “traffy”

you asked him if you should buy souvenirs for the crew

you asked him if you could adopt a polar bear so that bepo would have a friend. he replied with, “no bc he’s already friends with me”

thought it would be funny to teleport you to the lion enclosure until his powers conveniently started tweaking and he couldn’t teleport you back out

you punched him in the head after you came back with scratches from wrestling them

he felt bad for the joke he did on u, so he teleported you to the capybara enclosure as an apology

compared you to a meerkat bc “you’re short but really fast on those legs.” you responded by threatening to give his sword away to zoro

made fun of you after you got startled by him in the insect section. he laughed as you slapped his hand after he pretended it was a tarantula

he likes to install fear into u by explaining different ways each animal can kill you

he would purposefullykiss you in front of the monkeys after they tried flirting with you

the zookeeper had to tell him to stop bc they were afraid that they would break out their enclosure

what pissed him off even more was the fact it reminded him of the rubber boy

after you guys get back to the submarine, the crew crowded you as you gave them their souvenirs. law couldn’t help but smile at your generosity and friendship with everyone

oh yea….he felt himself fall in-love with you again

#minors dni #one piece #can’t write for shit #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #fanfic #oneshot #straw hat pirates #literally just fucking around

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satureja13 · 5 months

Text

Jack eventually convinced the others to send him back to the Therapy Game. And even though Vlad had a (mostly) positive experience, they are so worried after Jack broke down when he returned from his last session.

Saiwa: "Be careful. Leave whenever you feel uncomfortable." Jack: "I will." Tiny Can beeped exitedly and started the Game.

Jack was still locked up. But he kept himself from screaming 'OUT!' and tried to get himself together. This. Is. Just. A. Game. Breathe in through the nose and out through the muzzle. Just like Saiwa tought him. He managed to calm down a bit and looked around. There was NPC Barfolomew! And NPC Uncle Stefan on the stands! What a strange place. Is this a court hearing? They won't execute him, will they?

NPC Barfolomew stood up: "Are you ready Boys?" A growl and a rattle from the cell next to Jack answered him ö.Ö' There is another wolf captured here. And from the stand Jack heard the crowd chant: "Wolfsbane! Wolfsbane! WOLFSBANE!!!" Just like last time. Barfolomew is obviously the bookmaker here.

He opened their cells (finally!) and they stepped out. Jack looked around. Of course there is also an NPC Greg! He is so going to have a word with Tiny Can when he's back! At least there's no gallow or pyre.

The Queen hissed: "Who is this pooch and why isn't he greeting his Queen?" Barfolomew: "Forgive him, Your Royal Highness! He probably grew up in the woods!"

And to Jack: "Hey, Moonchild! Get yourself together!" And so Wolfsbane and Moonchild greeted the Queen and her entourage.

Which consisted of no lesser than Noxee, Ji Ho and: Caleb! OMG! (The Boys met Caleb Vatore last Winter Solstice ^^') Even though Jack knows that these are only NPCs, he's so excited. Noxee! And Caleb! He already regrets that he left the game early last time. And Ji Ho looks so beautiful!

Barfolomew went back to his table. Jack Moonchild and Wolfsbane stood opposite of each other. So these are wolf fights! Barfolomew shouted: "The bets are placed. Leeet's get ready to rrrumble!" And the crowd cheered and chanted their 'Wolfsbane!' fan chants...

Wolfsbane hugged Jack Moonchild and whispered: "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you!"

Caleb does not seem to like what he sees.

Despite Wolfsbane's promise, it was a rough fight. But Jack Moonchild enjoyed it. He loves a good fight - and he's the Super Soldier after all :3

Neither is giving anything away. Caleb's eyes are locked on the combatants.

'Well, in the Euston Tavern you screamed it was your shout But they wouldn't give you service so you kicked the windows out They took you out into the street, kicked you in the brains So you walked back in through a bolted door and did it all again

At the sick bed of Cúchulainn we'll kneel and say a prayer And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil's in the chair, hey'

The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn - The Pogues I can't keep still when I hear this song! ^^'

It was an equal fight but Jack Moonchild won in the end. And Caleb looks shocked. It seems he placed his bets on Wolfsbane.

The Queen stepped down to congratulate Moonchild and extolled them for the enthralling fight. His beloved, beautiful Noxee. Best therapy ever! In this world he is not the damaged, mangled wolf with a bag full of disorders. Here he can show his talents and gather positive experiences in a safe surrounding. Good job, Tiny Can! And maybe, in this game, Noxee is not together with Greg and Jack can woo her and become her King! If Greg were her King, he would sit next to her, wouldn't he? Poor defeated Wolfsbane can't look pouting Caleb in his sulking eyes.

To be continued...

From the Beginning ~ Underwater Love ~ Latest 🕹️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

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m1d-45 · 1 year

Text

dancing soldiers

summary: meka are infallible. meka do not stray from their path.. except when they do.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: spoilers for fontaine (name and mechanics of open world boss)

-> gn reader (you/yours) and aether as traveller

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd

< masterlist >

fontaine was known for a wide variety of things, from their ornate fountains to the elaborate clothing it seemed nobody was without. any visitors from other nations were greeted by sweeping architecture and the sound of bubbling fonta, and swimming was a must. but even through the shine of the great lake, their fantastical clockwork meka was definitely the star of the show. every traveller was quickly starstruck by the machines roaming the streets, fitted uniforms not masking the clunking of gears within their chests. even underwater, scanning for raiders and filtering the water, keeping the water clear and cool. faceless, cold, employed both privately and for government work, the perfect tool for their job. they had one job, and they did it well.

meka were designed to protect. to guard. to defend their charge, whether that presented as patrolling a barge of merchants or leading the blind through the winding streets of the city. powered by indemnitium and equipped with efficient charging ports, every meka is intended to outlast their creators. few actually do, whether weakened by arkhe or attacked by those opposing their duty, but it remains a fact that they stick to their orders until the last spark fades from their circuits.

they are perfect workers. they do not disobey, they do not stray from their task. their actions are calculated in a split second, every movement taken to further their given goal.

lead.

support.

shield.

“dance!”

maillardet threw aside the screwdriver in his hand in frustration, kicking at the frost gathering in the arena. behind him, unmoving, were his magnum opus… though they refused to move.

“dance, dance. what’s the point of you?”

they did not dance. they did not move. they stood, hand in hand, one beside the other. coppelius and coppelia, the only signs of life being the frosty wind that would occasionally sweep by. they were in standby, with deflated skirts and unmoving hydraulics. normally, them being still would make maintenance easier, but their plates did not move as they should. he couldn’t even remove coppelius’ hat.

it was convenient, just not for him.

“looks to paimon like might just be the fault of poor design.” you watched from between the hairline gap in coppelia’s skirt, seeing paimon cross her arms. your traveller was stumped as well, merely shrugging.

“theyre infused with opposite arkhe,” aether said simply. “maybe they finally reacted with each other?”

“that’s impossible! the arkhe is held within them, far from where the other could react with it, and only one of them are externally charged at any one time.”

“so… why not reset them? paimon remembers one of the melusines saying that most meka around the city just need to be reset from time to time.”

“in those cases, the meka are given conflicting orders, typically by children. all these two need to do is dance, and-“ his voice choked, aether and paimon moving out of your field of vision to presumable comfort him. you try to shift and see, but coppelia’s skirt twitches inward, keeping you where you are.

you’re sheltered between the two meka, coppelius’ cape-thing making up for the gaps in coppelia’s skirt. you were lucky you hadn’t been seen yet, truthfully… but you didn’t want to stress out maillardet.

“what am i supposed to do?” he asked, words shaky. “i promised the chief justice i’d keep them functional for the divine one, and now- you know what they’re like, and they’re both broken-“

“h-hey, it’s okay! paimon’s certain you’ll get them working again! besides, they still seem to be functional, right?” she flies up, and you flinch at the knock of her hand on metal. it echoes around you, much louder than it should be in your hiding space. “oof, still as cold as ever…

“you should just restart it.”

“are you sure? what if something goes wrong? i can’t even perform maintenance, what if i can’t turn them back on after? you know how they acted last time—if lady furina wasn’t there, then..”

“..it’s better than nothing. besides-“ metal skidded over ice, and you see the flicker of aether’s boot as he kicks the discarded screwdriver back near maillardet’s bag of tools. “-you could always just not put them in stand-by. if they’re broken like this, just leave them dancing. i doubt they’ll notice, and it’ll buy you time until they want to visit again.”

”yeah! you only have a handful of hours until they arrive in fontaine, and it’s not like anything worse can happen!”

“i..” he sighed, and a long moment passed. “i guess trying is worse than doing nothing..”

“that’s the spirit!”

your hands twitch into fists, only partly from the cold. the ‘god’ they spoke of so highly, the one that got you into this mess… who were they, anyway? even you didn’t blame maillardet for needing maintenance between fights, but from his fear it sounded like they’d kill him for a malfunction.

you put those thoughts aside, pressing close to coppelia’s core as the meka were powered down. both of them slumped forward, a shift in their plating allowing a cold wind in. you shivered, and briefly considered praying before deciding against it—what god would answer?

gears clicked and switches flipped, both meka making various hisses. the elemental power seeping from both of them slowly ceased, and your heart picked up. how would this end? after a reset, would they remember to hide you? or would you get crushed beneath their skates as they danced?

“…you two should leave the arena.”

“why?”

“is something wrong?”

“no, but if they begin to dance again, i don’t want you to get hurt.”

“what about you? let me do it, i’m more experienced with combat.”

“it’s alright. in the early stages of their development, they didn’t even have a standby mode, so i’m used to repairing them while they’re dancing. don’t worry, i can get the memory you need unharmed.”

memory?

their memory? when aether had first approached, you’d assumed the ‘sabotage’ maillardet was talking about was the fact that neither of the meka would move. it made sense to want the memory to show which direction the saboteur left in, but that memory would show you, the most hated person in all of teyvat, and the melusine that had helped you hide from the gardes. veleda… you couldn’t let her take the fall for whatever crime you’d committed. she didn’t deserve that.

you take a breath, preparing to make a run over it, when you hear a small click. all at once, coppelia’s skirt snaps back to it’s normal formation, and you catch a glimpse of the traveller’s shocked expression before you’re pulled up and away. coppelius pulls you into his arms, coppelia smoothy following, spinning circles around the two of you like a top. when the two you skid to a stop near the edge of the arena, you quickly get your bearings, only mildly motion sick from the ordeal. maillardet is sitting in the middle of the arena, knocked off his feet beside his tools, and aether and paimon stand on the pathway leading back to the fountain. nobody says anything for a good few moments, the silence tense.

“…at least we know where they went?” paimon asks nervously, and aether draws his sword. coppelia sweeps in front of you and coppelius as he begins to walk towards you, and maillardet quickly gets up. he briefly slips on the icy floor, but quickly intercepts him, his words barely audible.

“traveller, the meka-”

“was tampered with.” his voice is cold, and you shiver at the weight of his glare. “don’t worry, i got it.”

“listen to me, please. coppelius and coppelia follow all the standard guidelines for meka-”

“this isn’t about you!” he shouts, “this is about something much more important then your meka!” his sword points at you, a shining blade despite the name. “this is about a crime too large for your opera house to handle.”

coppelius holds you tighter. the sound of his anger- of his hate makes your heart burn as it sinks, leaving an empty pit. you knew fontaine wasn’t the best at justice, but…

“traveller, have you ever read the machining requirements for battle meka?”

“why is this relevant? why am i talking to you?” he pushes off his hand and begins to walk, leaving paimon behind. after a moment, she gasps loudly, rushing forward to pull on his braid.

“wait! freminet lent paimon his copy of those guidelines once! she knows what maillardet means!”

“so what?”

your twin meka begin to slowly skate away from aether as he nears, ignoring paimon. maillardet is looking through his bag, searching for something, but all you can see are the traveller’s eyes. your traveller’s eyes, all your months of gameplay boiling into his rage.

maybe if the circumstances were different you’d forgive him for being so angry, but as it stands you’re barely convinced you’ll live through the hour.

“one of the clauses was about a special line of code that all the battle-capable mekas had to have- stop walking and listen!”

“how does that connect to this? don’t you care for our god? why are you stopping me?”

“because it’s about our god! don’t you remember? navia told you when we stayed with the spina de rosula!”

he does stop, then, staring paimon down instead. “fine. what is it?”

she lets go of his braid, waving a hand between the icewind suite and maillardet as she talks. “mekas have a special override wired into them in the case that the abyss got ahold of them which shuts down their combat functions when faced with the creator! it’s weaker when triggered through their vessels—which is why their attacks are limited instead of stopped—but is mandatory for every meka that’s combat ready, including coppelia and coppelius!”

aether turns to you, conflicted. you still carried in coppelius’ arms, you hidden under the plating of coppelia’s skirt, you who made the meka disobey their creator. you, the creator of those that made them.

“…maillardet?”

“it’s true, cease your fire.” he lifts a plain notebook from his bag, not that aether turns to see it. “i have my maintenance notes here. that override was the first thing i added, even before i gave them their weaponry. let’s bring our findings to the iudex and let our lord relax. please.”

aether’s sword dissolves into dust, a mix of shock and confusion still lingering on his face as he’s pulled away by paimon’s hand on his shoulder. maillardet packs his things and follows, taking some time to pick his way through the frosted floor. once the arena is cleared, coppelius skates to the center, setting you down carefully. then, he takes coppelia’s hand in his, leading her away. they begin their dance around you, gears clicking with elaborate pirouettes, leaving you in the middle of it all to wonder what just happened.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #sagau fontaine #sagau aether #aether #paimon #sagau paimon #icewind suite #genshin self aware au #gender neutral reader #this was meant to be out an hour ago #but i’m on the road and the connection is inconsistent #ACTUALLY it was meant to be out two days ago when it was finished but i procrastinated editing #which is why i normally don’t edit

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lunememes · 2 years

Text

🌙 * ― 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ( a collection of various settings for drabbles or prompts, or both! )

001. a tattoo parlour, buzzing with machinery and walls lined with artwork . 002. a shopping mall, crowded and loud . 003. a cabin in the mountains, taking shelter from the snow storm. 004. an abandoned tea party, occupied with broken dolls . 005. the shooting range, empty casings clinking on the floor and sulphur in the air . 006. a music room, filled with melodies of an instrument . 007. an empty auto shop, hood of a car left open and quiet music coming through speakers . 008. a bright arcade, coins falling from machines and claws grabbing at soft toys . 009. the kennels, filled with barking dogs and excited companions . 010. a restaurant, where everyone is eerily quiet and staff are overly friendly . 011. a riding arena, with trained riders atop proud horses . 012. a mini golf course, sails of a windmill obscuring the path ahead . 013. a zoo, filled with an array of unique animals . 014. the docks of a bay, boats lining the decks . 015. a pond with ducks, seeking food . 016. a museum, displaying ancient bones and pottery of a history long ago . 017. a closed down prison, ghosts of violent history echoing in empty cells . 018. a quiet train station, lights overhead flickering and announcement board displaying errors . 019. the vast desert, scorching heat baring down at high noon . 020. the dark woods, filled with strange hanging symbols made of sticks . 021. a deep hole in the ground, covered by leaves and sticks . 022. a wishing fountain, base lined with copper coins of past wishes . 023. an abandoned picnic in an empty field, flask still warm with coffee . 024. a barn filled with hay and tools, old wood creaking in the wind . 025. a graveyard in the dead of night, wind howling through the trees . 026. a crumbling bridge above a raging river . 027. the refreshing waters of a lake, away from prying eyes . 028. the crossroads, in the middle of nowhere . 029. a cosy bonfire at summer camp, marshmallows roasting on the fire . 030. the top of a radio tower, with the perfect view of the surrounding area . 031. a lone phone box on a street corner . 032. a large elaborate temple dedicated to a deity, offerings still intact . 033. a drive-in movie theatre, cars empty and projector casting only light onto the screen . 034. a strange trail of breadcrumbs on a woodland path . 035. a haunted mansion, ancient paintings watching every footstep . 036. a decrepit mine located out in the hills, believed by locals to have a powerful curse cast upon it . 037. the edge of a cliff, overlooking the rough waves and distant sounds of approaching danger . 038. a road trip across country, music blaring through speakers . 039. a flower shop, filled with bouquets and a sweet aroma . 040. an airport in the early hours of the morning, deprived of sleep . 041. a train on its way to its destination, a sleeping passenger resting on a shoulder . 042. an abandoned shack filled with strange books of the occult and something mysterious bubbling on the stove . 043. an empty throne room, moonlight glimmering through tall windows . 044. an underwater tunnel in an aquarium, fish swimming overhead and sharks looming in the distance . 045. deep within unmarked cave located in the side of a mountain, lit only by a flare . 046. the dusty streets of a western town, watched by wary residents . 047. the back of a vast library, surrounded by books, when a black book falls from the highest shelf . 048. a room of an asylum, an abandoned camcorder left in the middle of the room . 049. the shores of an unknown beach, washed up from the ocean . 050. the deck of an unsteady ship, waves crashing against the haul and rain lashing down from dark clouds .

#setting prompts #rp meme #drabble prompts #rp memes #rp prompts #setting meme

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d3adlyromb3ar · 4 months

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'. ݁₊ ⊹ cold lips, cold heart — one

— pairing. hockey player!choso x ice skater!fem!reader

— synopsis. you were one of the most graceful skaters to ever skate in your local arena, competing at a young age— racking up trophies and medals as the years passed. after an accident at your last competition, you find yourself afraid to skate again. your coach decides to ask one of your local hockey team players for help, desperate to get you back on the ice. but out of all the players your coach could’ve picked, it had to be him.

— word count. 3.5k

— contents. enemies to friends (eventual), friends to lovers (eventual), angst, trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries, language

— notes. i think hockey players are hot & choso is extremely hot, so put those together and life just feels perfect 🤤 thank you @saradika for the dividers 🤍

main masterlist

How does one find themself in this situation, one so backwards. One so disorienting you wonder if this is merely a dream or the harsh reality. It couldn’t possibly be a moment in your life that needed to happen. You outright refused to believe that this was happening for a reason.

Between the battlegrounds you call your life and the way you were losing your mental strength as every day passed— the ice was the last place you clung to. It was the only place where you could be free. Free of the pain, the agony— of it all.

As you feel the cameras flashing, the blurred outlines of faces and silhouettes crowding you— you realize that you life was about to change. The pit in your stomach only grew in size at the possibility that you may never skate again. What was once a place you could call home, could now just be remembered as a sheet of ice.

Your eyes remained unfocused, staring blankly at your legs covered by a sheet, being wheeled into the back of an ambulance. Voices could be heard from either side of you, although they were unclear. It sounded almost as if they were speaking underwater— you weren’t listening.

It became too much for your eyes to stay open, and you begin to drift off. If only you knew how much your life was about to change.

“Here you go,” You handed the man his extra large coffee with two sugars and two creams. Just like every day. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks darling.” The man sent her a smile, heading outside to his usual spot, in the shade, just a hair out of the sunlight.

You smiled as he walked away. He was such a kind old man, face so gentle— and wrinkly. Still, he was sweet.

“What bullshit!” Your friend Maki hissed, face stuffed in her phone, “They keep making these damn tickets more expensive. Fucking fuckers.”

You slapped a hand to your mouth, trying your hardest not to giggle at her frustrated state.

“C’mon, you don’t really wanna go to a hockey game that bad, do you?”

“Hell no.” She hissed.

“Right, right. You just wanna try and get some big hunky hockey player dick.”

Maki had a proud expression on her face.

“That’s right— and I’m not ashamed.”

You shook your head, letting the giggle escape this time.

“You’re utterly ridiculous.”

“And youuu need to get some hockey dick too. Or just dick period.”

You rolled your eyes, very aware of your dry spell that has been going on for… well. Awhile.

“I am doing just fine actually, thank you very much.”

Maki leaned forward, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She was giving you her best really look.

“Honey, I’m all for this independent female attitude you got going on but, let’s be real. You need to be dicked down.”

You made a disgusted face, embarrassed that she was talking so loudly when there were costumers around.

“You might feel a little less stressed once you do,” She told you, “Find some super good dick and all your issues might just vanish.”

“Yeah, wish that was the case.” You were at a whisper by the end, glancing down to the scars that started below your knee and disappeared underneath your shorts.

Maki noticed your stare, her gaze softening.

“Listen, it might be good for you to at least meet someone, y’know? You need to stop moping around and go do something— live a little!”

You pouted, crossing your arms.

“I’m not moping around.”

Maki gave you another look.

“Babe, you’re the epitome of moping around.”

You acted hurt, holding a hand over your heart.

“Damn Maki.”

“I’m serious (Y/n).”

You waved her off, brushing all your joking to the side. Plus, you were only using humor to hide how you were truly feeling— defeated.

“I know, I know.”

“I just wanna see you happy, that’s all. You deserve that after everything you’ve been through.” She told you sweetly.

“I am happy Maki. Life at the coffee shop couldn’t be better.” You tried to convince her. Hell, you couldn’t even convince yourself.

“You need a life outside of work, and one that makes you happy.” She corrected.

You walked past her, nudging her shoulder playfully as you passed.

“On it boss!” You said lastly as you headed for the back. Your shift was ending soon.

You clocked out of work, setting your apron in your work locker before heading towards the bus stop. You had a plan to go home and binge some cringey tv show while stuffing your face with junk food. Yeah, that sounds wonderfu—

“(Y/n)!”

Scratch that.

You turned to see your old coach walking towards you, huge smile on her mature face.

“Hey there Ms. Utahime. What brings you here?”

She furrowed her brows, stopping when she was in front of you. Her look was one that made you wonder if you should know why she was here.

“One, can’t I just come see my favorite person in the world,” She definitely wanted something, “And two, I’m wondering why you aren’t back on the ice?” Yup, there it is.

“I told you coach, I’m not going to be starting up again. Already returned my skates and all my uniforms.”

“Nope. Just had everything returned to your place.”

You gave her a wild look.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re going to be back on the ice soon.”

You sighed, leaning on your left leg to give your right a break.

“Coach, I’m not skating anymore. I’m sorry, I’m just not.” You started, pleading almost with her, “That chapter of my life is completed.”

She gave you a motherly look. Oh god.

“(Y/n) that chapter of your life was just beginning. You were doing so well and I couldn’t have been prouder of you.” You felt a but coming. “But,” Yup. “You aren’t done with what you’ve started, I’m sorry, I won’t let you waste your talent.”

“Coach—”

“Nope. I’m not giving you a choice. You’re gonna be back on the ice and train, because I know for a fact it’s been awhile since you’ve skated— no thanks to you.”

“I get it.” You rolled your eyes.

“I have big plans for you (Y/n), and they match up with your big plans.”

“Maybe that used to be my plan. Grow up to be the best skater there ever was, but after my…”

She waited patiently, watching your mouth open like a fish before closing. You had to gather your thoughts.

“After what happened,” You worded differently, “Things have changed. That girl, it isn’t who I am anymore.”

Coach Utahime sighed, giving her a moment to gather herself before letting her hand rest on my shoulder— in attempt to bring me some comfort.

“Will you at least think about it?”

You gazed into her eyes, her hope filled eyes that had you feeling weak and guilty— almost forcing the words out of your mouth. God, how you missed skating, and you’d do anything to get back to where you were. But it wasn’t that easy.

With a deep breath, you found yourself nodding.

“I’ll think about it.”

Her eyes were beaming, a smile taking over her face as she almost started jumping up and down from excitement.

“Great. I’ll see you soon.” She turned and waved goodbye, heading back to wherever she had come from.

Now it was just you standing at the bus stop, head full of chaos. What were you thinking? You couldn’t skate again, could you?

Like a robot following its coding, you walked onto the bus, sitting down in your usual spot all the way in the back— a window seat of course. You let your elbow rest on the arm of the seat, your palm cradling your chin. The view was pretty. In the sense that you got to admire people as the bus passed by. People didn’t realize how interesting they became when they were so oblivious to the watchers of the world, quirks and habits poking out as people became lost in their own little world.

It was a weird thing to appreciate I guess, but it calmed you.

You wondered how you looked to others that happen to watch you. You wondered if they felt sad, or if they felt embarrassment— for how someone could live such a dull life. Especially when life started so colorful, so lively.

Will you at least think about it?

You grumbled into your palm, annoyance at yourself for caving so easily to Utahime. It wasn’t easy to say no to her. She was the best coach you’ve ever had— the only coach that is. She was also not only a constant on the ice, but she was consistent in your personal life as well. It was odd but endearing.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a figure moved from your left. Glancing over, you watched the man sit on the furthest seat from you— except he was in the same row. The very back. Your section.

The man was facing the window, the view not helping you confirm who he was. The second he turned his head, and you were able to get a glance at his stupidly perfect side profile— you wanted to gag.

Choso Kamo.

You went with a scoff instead.

Choso turned his head towards the noise, his eyes unchanging as he saw you. Without smiling your way or offering any kind of greeting— he simply turned back to face forward. Not paying you any attention.

You narrowed your eyes at him, soon facing the window again— allowing yourself to once again sink into the abyss you called your mind.

Choso Kamo. Where to even start with Choso. It was pretty simple. He was a moody, angsty man who praised himself too high at being one of the best hockey players there was. Because that definitely wasn’t right… right? He had this mysterious aura about him, always keeping to himself. Never one to strike a conversation. To make things even better, the only confrontations you have with him were sour. He was always short and rude. It wasn’t that you wanted to dislike him— you just couldn’t stand him.

It also didn’t help that you used to have a crush on him, y’know, before you met him and then realized you hated him sorta thing.

I mean, who wouldn’t have a crush on him? Despite his shit personality, he was insanely attractive. Bone structure sculpted by the gods themselves. It was quite unfair really, to be gifted with such lethal looks— only to be a dick. Oh yeah, it didn’t help that he played hockey too. Apparently, it made a man 10x hotter when they played hockey. I don’t make the rules.

You snuck another glance at him, wondering what he was doing now. Or if he had gotten off the bus while you were daydreaming about hi— I mean thinking. Thinking about him.

You couldn’t help the pink dust your cheeks, seeing as he was already looking your way. In fact, he was holding your gaze with something unspoken. You instinctively placed a hand on your belly, wishing to stop the butterflies.

Again, like you were invisible, he looked away. Gazing out his own window, not paying you any mind. Again.

You chewed the inside of your lip, still unsure why it had to be him that had your gears grinding. He was a dick, yeah that’s it.

“Do you need something?”

The deep voice startled you, snapping you back to reality. A pair of dark eyes were staring at you, his brows furrowed at you as he waited for an answer.

You must’ve been looking at him still while you were lost in your thoughts. Great.

“Uh… no?” You didn’t even know why you were making it sound like a question.

“You were staring at me.”

“You were staring at me first.” You shot back.

His eyes narrowed in on you, silent for a moment as it almost seemed like he was trying to get a read on you. It had you squirming in your seat slightly— his gaze intimidating.

“I didn’t recognize you at first, (Y/n).” He admitted, your name falling off his lips so smoothly. “Was just making sure it was actually you.”

You swallowed, unprepared for that kind of response.

“Surprised you even remember my name.”

He turned his body slightly more facing you.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You narrowed your gaze, starting to pick at the skin around your fingernails. A bad habit.

“You’re making it sound like we used to be close or something.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, just staring at you with confusion— like he didn’t understand you. He didn’t quite understand where your hostility was coming from.

“Were we not?”

You couldn’t possibly think of a way to respond to that, stuck staring at him like he’d just said the most outrageous thing. You felt confusion, shock and most importantly— embarrassment.

Remembering the day all too well, the day of your innocent much younger self building up the courage to express your feelings to a certain person. The same person who was sitting at the back of the bus with you.

You could still remember the utter humiliation of being rooted in your spot as he told you he didn’t feel the same. The sinking feeling in your stomach when he walked away, leaving you all alone to all watching eyes. You could still feel the tightness in your throat at the last glance of his pitied look towards you before he turned away.

Were we not? Choso had asked. The question almost making you laugh maniacally— at how obvious the answer was.

“No.” You told him blankly, “We were never close, I don’t know where you even got the idea that we were.”

He looked at you again for a moment, the only sound of the lulling engine of the bus. He had such a confused expression, and for a second you thought you saw something along the lines of a hurt look. That couldn’t be right.

“Yeah, guess you’re right.”

He turned back to his window, gazing out at the scenery passing by— leaving you to your thoughts again.

You shook your head, noticing that it was your stop coming up. You got up and headed towards the front of the bus, your hand hanging onto the bus railings as you walked along.

“Have a good day ma’am.” The driver had said sweetly.

You gave them a small smile, holding onto the railing tightly as you focused on your steps. Why did the bus stairs have to be to steep? You thought.

Your heel hovered too far ahead of the next step, causing you to slip— your right knee buckling from the previous stair, crumpling under you.

The bus driver gasped, something about asking if you were okay— but all you could focus on was the hot sensation coming from your right leg. You gripped tightly onto the railing, stopping yourself from falling any further. You bit your lip as a weird sensation flourished throughout you, memories of the accident fresh in your mind— the visions almost causing you to physically flinch away.

“Ma’am? Are you okay ma’am?”

You closed your eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath before you stood on shaky legs, your left leg taking most of the weight. You hobbled off the bus, limping pathetically until you reached a bench.

It wasn't completely a reaction from the pain. Yes it hurt, but it were the overwhelming flashbacks that would cripple you momentarily. You just needed to relax on the bench for a couple seconds, you'd be okay after.

"(Y/n)—?" The familiar deep voice startled you, lifting your gaze to see Choso holding out your bag. "You dropped this."

You kept a neutral expression, grabbing your bag back.

"Thanks."

"You okay?" He asks, and you were confused at his genuinely concerned expression.

You tucked your hair behind your ears, taking a deep breath. You felt better now that the uncomfortable feeling passed.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You kept your answers short.

Choso didn't believe you.

"You sure?" He pushed.

You narrowed your eyes, studying him— almost like you were trying to figure him out.

"Do you actually care?"

Choso sighed, crossing his arms, still standing in front of you.

"Why would I ask if I didn't care?" He replied, his expression the same as when he'd started talking to you— concerned.

"Why would you even ask? You've never bothered to talk to me before, so why now?" You wondered, this sudden change confusing. He was usually quiet and keeping to himself— certainly not bothered to strike up conversation with you. So why now, was it rude to ask?

"You looked like you were in pain, so I thought I'd make sure you were okay." He explained, his brows furrowed as he was slightly annoyed, "Maybe I don't talk a lot, but that doesn't mean I'm heartless."

"Could've fooled me." You mumbled.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

You scoffed, wondering if you should tell him how your younger feelings were hurt. Your younger self experiencing her first heartbreak. Definitely not.

"I don't hate you... I just would rather not talk with you." You said instead.

"Alright... because?"

"Because I just don't wanna talk with you."

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair— which looked so soft and just gorgeous. No, don't think about that.

"Seems unfair."

You shrugged, leaning back on the bench as you crossed your legs. Taking your time when you set your right leg overtop your left, as it felt a little sore from your tumble.

"Life's unfair." You muttered, hating that you were repeating what you had been told all your life. To be on the other end of it felt weird.

He chuckled. He actually chuckled, the deep vibrating sound floating through the air. You really couldn't ignore how much you loved hearing that sound. Actually, you hated that you loved it.

"Alright, well take care (Y/n). Give your leg some rest, hope you feel better." He said, turning to walk away.

Your cheeks flushed, hating that he had caught you— but how?

"I told you— I'm fine." You tried to convince him.

"I know. You're a terrible liar." And he was incredibly observant.

You bit your lip in annoyance, uncrossing your legs and holding your hands over your right thigh— like you were trying to hide it. Yeah good luck.

You couldn't find it in yourself to respond, too frustrated that he had called you out. A part of you wanted to appreciate that he at least seemed like he really cared— but you also didn't trust that it was genuine. You wanted it to be— that small part of you always having a spot in your heart for him. For some reason.

His steps were swift and relaxed as he walked further away down the sidewalk— to where exactly? No idea. You were almost positive this wasn't even his stop, and that he only got off for you. To give you your bag back you weirdo— yeah thats it.

With everything, like coach pressuring you into skating, your family drama that you'd rather not talk about, Maki's odd obsession with getting me dicked down— and now Choso? I didn't need this and I didn't want it.

So why was your head filled with thoughts about him, and his stupidly handsome face?

Fuck.

Your phone rang in your bag, and you scrambled to get it out with a huff of annoyance. Can't I just be left alone? You thought.

Pulling it out, the caller ID said Coach. With a sigh, you slid to answer.

"Hey Coach." You greeted.

"(Y/n)! Good news—!" Her voice squealed through the phone, making you flinch back from it, "I got someone to help you get back on the ice!"

You face palmed your face, running a hand down as you held in the urge to whine.

"Oh, really?" You ask in fake interest.

"Yup, they will help you get comfortable skating again. I wouldn't have asked this person if I didn't trust them." She informed you.

"Great." You said sarcastically.

"(Y/n), try to sound a little excited— god." She complained, and you rolled your eyes. "I'm gonna send you this person's profile. Maybe you can meet and talk with him, get to know each other before you start training. Y'know, get comfortable with each other."

"Alright fine, but I'm only doing this because I know you'll just force me anyway."

"Very true." She laughed. "I'm sending over the info now, gotta go— text you later!"

She hung up before you could say bye, and you got the expected ding of the text. You clicked on the link to the profile and immediately noticed the logo on the profile— it was a hockey team.

Your eyes skimmed over the profile and widened in disbelief when you read the name listed. You gotta be fucking kidding me...

Choso Kamo.

Well fuck.

— ending notes. thinking about making this a series, but I have so many projects in the works right now, what am I doing to myself lol

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mcbride · 13 days

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Daryl Dixon Rewatch S1E06 - Coming Home

it's the first ep with an English title and the last of the season. overall, i wanna say i was actually surprised how much i did enjoy watching. the complete focus on Daryl without all the background noise/storylines/characters, the way he still means what he says, but he's actually using his words and lots of sass instead of the typical nodding and grunting. good job!

but i gotta confess that if i hadn't known beforehand that Carol was going to be a part of this show, i probably wouldn't have bothered 🤷‍♀️. the fact Carol's not only back on screen, but she is such a great part of the whole vibe of the show, was actually unexpected. this show is straight up showing us Carol is the driving force in Daryl's relentless journey to get back home.

whoever tries to convince you Daryl is conflicted about where he belongs and where he wants to be is lying to you (pointing at you, Z!!). he literally spends 6 whole episodes reminding everybody he's got a home, people who love him waiting, a promise to keep, and a need to get back asap.

it doesn't mean Daryl does not form connections while on that journey. because he does - the strongest with Laurent, obviously, however, none strong enough to hold him back from his ultimate goal, which is going home to keep his promise to CAROL!

anyways, let's get to the season 1 finale:

the super!walkers fighting scene in the arena is pretty epic: from Daryl's super cool kill with the French flag to that Daryl/Quinn team up! the cherry on top being Daryl throwing that walker head at Genet. Loved IT!

Quinn eventually does help Daryl escape, and later, unfortunately, almost kills Isa, who is once again totally helpless against any kind of threat (killer nun, my ass!). in a scene eerie similar to the one in Daryl's underwater premonition a couple of eps ago, Daryl prompts Laurent to kill walker!Quinn with a "God will forgive you."

Laurent says something that sounds like it will be the whole point of Caryl's French adventure. "Sometimes you have to do horrible things, and no matter how bad you feel, if there is no other choice, God will forgive you." this feels like the key to breaking out of the cycle Carol has been stuck to since she was banished by Rick. (i'll probably post my s2 spec and theories next week!)

next, we see Daryl watching lovebirds Sylvie and Emile saying goodbye, they have to separate (i see what you did there, Z!), and reassures Sylvie that Emile will be alright before she asks him if he's ever been in love. BOY, has he ever!! Daryl's non response is quite telling. he knows what it feels like to say goodbye to the one you love without knowing if you'll ever see them again. and he's not alright, he's all the way in a whole different continent, separated by the Atlantic ffs.

we get some new insight into Daryl's origins when he and Isa share stories about their fathers. Daryl believes that his grandpa never returning home from war ruined their family for future generations and worries the cycle might repeat itself. has Daryl been reading about generational trauma? sharing this with her will bite him in the ass, later!

Isa's confession of her lie about the drawing gets absolutely no reaction from Daryl because it had zero influence on what happened next. Daryl didn't stay cause he believed in a new Messiah, he stayed because the kid was about to get in trouble, when Codron attacked his home; he stayed because it was a way of finding help getting him closer to a radio or boat to actually get him home; he stayed so he could take the kid to a place where he would be safe, and Daryl could finally leave without feeling guilty.

the great Daryl and Isa exchange looks compilation is trying too hard to show us, yes, Daryl has made a connection to these people, and is fairly content at the Nest with Laurent and the most mundane activities like peeling potatoes. they are showing us Daryl could stay here, make this his new home. why not? HE MADE A PROMISE! no matter what he could never be happy here, this is not his HOME.

Losang gives him a way out, but also tries to convince him to stay. "Sometimes, when a person leaves home, he comes to find he belongs someplace else." and it's true, if Daryl didn't know where, with whom he belonged. and it's not with Laurent and Isa.

it's really embarrassing how Isa tries to manipulate and guilt trip Daryl into staying with them using Laurent and Daryl's history. it has been like 2 months tops, and they acting like Daryl himself gave birth to Laurent, and wants to abandon his kid. bitch please, he has kids he actually raised and a wife back home!!

Daryl resents his grandpa for abandoning the family to fight in someone else’s war, and that's exactly what he would be doing if he chose to stay in France. that's what Isa will never understand - he had a whole full life with people who looked up to him, relied on him, loved him, before he even met her and Laurent. he wasn't lost. the connection he found with the people there isn't new to him, he has Judith and RJ, he has Connie and Zeke. but most importantly, he has a HOME (Carol!!!).

there's this beautiful emotional moment of Daryl quietly saying goodbye to a sleeping Laurent, and it's clear this kid means a lot to him. however, not nearly enough to make him stay. he still chooses to LEAVE. so many people trying to convince him he belongs with them, and he is still 10000000% sure he has to go back. there truly is ZERO hesitation.

i lost count how many times Daryl actually tried to leave, but it was always the kid's safety that kept him around again and again. he is so close to getting on that boat, literally fiercely fighting walkers to get to the beach, to get closer to HOME, and the same happens AGAIN. biggest FML moment for Daryl. Laurent, who is surrounded by walkers, is calling his name! FUCK ME!

and finally, we get to the highlight of this finale, Carol's badass entry. the way she's so absolutely calm with a big dude pointing a gun at her, PLEASE. she knows he's fucked around and is about to find out. no one takes Daryl's belongings and gets away with it.

"if you're lying, i won't be back." and she rides off on Daryl's bike. ICONIC. LEGENDARY. EPIC.

21 days left until the premiere of THE BOOK OF CAROL!!!!!

#dd rewatch #the walking dead #daryl dixon #carol peletier #caryl #twd #the book of carol #caryl positivity #hanna.txt

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