#journey necessary to walk through

[balkanlila]

fighting the urge not to make this post. tags it is.

[adhdwannabewriter]

How to use commas?

If you’re like me, you’ve probably wondered whether you’re using them correctly. Here, I’ve gathered some examples:

1. To separate items

She packed a lantern, a sleeping bag, a map, and some snacks.

Separate them with a comma.

In this example, the comma before the ‘and’ is not necessary. You can omit it, but many people don’t. It’s called ‘the Oxford comma,’ and it’s used for clarity.

2. After introductory elements

Yes, I’ll go with you.

After the rain stopped, we continued our journey.

Well, that was unexpected.

Slap that comma after introductory words or phrases.

3. Before conjunctions joining two independent sentences

He wanted to go for a walk, but it was raining.

Use a comma before for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so when they connect two complete sentences ('He wanted to go for a walk.' & 'It was raining'). If the second part is not a full sentence, skip the comma.

4. To insert non-essential information

My brother, who lives in Spain, is visiting next week.

The sword, rusted and forgotten, still gleamed faintly in the light.

Use commas to insert some extra information that isn't essential to the meaning of the sentence. If you could remove the phrase without changing the sentence’s core meaning, it’s non-essential.

5. With adjectives 

It was a long, tiring journey.

Use a comma between adjectives that describe the same noun. If you can put ‘and’ in between them or swap their order without changing the meaning of the sentence, slap a comma between those adjectives' cheeks.

6. To separate dialogue or direct address

"We must leave now," she said.

I don’t know, Marcus, if this is a good idea.

Slip that comma in to separate the dialogue from the speaker’s tag (‘she said’) or before and/or after the name of the person being addressed.

7. With dates, addresses, and titles

He was born on March 2, 1990, in Chicago, Illinois.

Dr. Alina Voss, PhD, will lead the lecture.

8. Between the main action and the simultaneous background action.

She stirred the soup, humming a tune.

He typed quickly, glancing at the clock.

They walked through the park, chatting quietly.

Want more? Here's how to use dashes. Here's how to use semicolons.

[hvseung]

unspoken truths - (p. sh)

pairing: skater!sunghoon x skater!reader (f)

genre: childhood friends who grew apart, ewb??

warnings: explicit smut, angst (just a tad), profanity, oral (m recieving), rough sex, cum eating, minor mouth play, fingering, degrading, unprotected sex🫣, minors DNI !

wc: 10.4k

🎵 now playing: love my harder by ariana grande

.｡.:*:.:**:.☆*.｡.:*:.:*.｡.:*:.:**:.☆*.｡.:*:.:*

The cold air inside the ice rink felt refreshing, a stark contrast to the sticky heat of the summer sun just outside the doors. The crisp clack of metal against ice echoes through the rink, polished blades gleaming with the promise of precision and grace. Today was another day of practice, another opportunity to perfect this routine and another chance to prove yourself. It was early, just after dawn, and the rink was almost empty. Almost.

Gliding effortlessly across the ice, Sunghoon was already practicing. His movements were fluid, each glide and turn a seamless display of expertise. They’re flawless, but there’s a certain detached precision to them. He didn’t seem to notice you at first, too focused on his routine, his breath measured, and his eyes fixed on some invisible point ahead. You tightened your grip on your skates and walked to the benches, trying to ignore the knot of tension that always formed in your stomach when Sunghoon was around. You hated Sunghoon, and Sunghoon hated you.

Sunghoon, with his effortless charm and silver-spoon origins, had always been surrounded by luxury. His path to the top was paved with privilege; he never had to struggle or scrape by, his every need catered to from an early age. He glided onto the ice with an air of nonchalance, his routines executed with the kind of polish that came from years of top-tier coaching and expensive training facilities.

In contrast, your journey to the elite level was marked by grit and determination. Each routine was the result of countless hours of practice on less-than-ideal rinks and under the scrutiny of a modest budget. You had worked tirelessly, often sacrificing personal comfort and financial stability to reach the same heights as Sunghoon. Every jump, every spin, was a testament to your resilience and relentless effort.

Off the ice, tensions were even higher. Sunghoon's casual arrogance clashed with your no-nonsense attitude. While he was used to people bending over backwards to accommodate him, you often felt you had to assert your value and demand respect that should have been freely given. Conversations between the two of you, when they happened, were laced with hostility, each remark carefully measured and barbed.

Things weren’t always like that though, in fact, they were the complete opposite. You and Sunghoon used to be very close, a rock to each other on the rink. He was your partner, after all. But as the years went on and pressure to be perfect rose, you grew apart. The distance between you caused a sour taste in both of your mouths, but you stayed supportive to each other nonetheless. Until Sunghoon decided to do a complete 180 one day. He began throwing petty remarks at you whenever he could about whatever he could, and after a while, the remarks turned into forward insults, which you would then reciprocate. You’re not even sure where things went wrong between the two of you, some stupid rumour apparently. But that obviously wasn’t the case, not that you were going to get the truth out of him now.

"Again," Your coach snapped, his voice carrying an edge that cut through the silence. "You need to nail this lift."

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes as you approached him. "Is this really necessary? I mean, why can’t he just do this routine with someone else?"

Sunghoon shot you a look that was heavy and that carried opposition. "Maybe if you actually listened for once, we wouldn’t be stuck here."

You planted your hands on your hips, trying to ignore his gaze. "Oh, right. Because clearly, it's all my fault that you keep messing up the timing."

The two of you faced each other, locked in a silent battle that spoke volumes. This wasn’t just about figure skating; it was about clashing wills and unspoken grievances. You both knew that you needed each other to succeed, but the ice was a battleground where that truth was often buried beneath layers of resentment.

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed, and he skated back to the starting position. "From the top, then. And try not to mess up this time."

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, focusing on the smooth, fluid movements that you both needed to execute flawlessly. It was a routine you’d practiced countless times, but today, each misstep felt like a personal affront.

As the music began to play, the same haunting melody you had grown to loathe, you couldn't help but wonder if the real performance was not the one on the ice, but the one you two were constantly rehearsing off it: the delicate dance of patience and frustration, the unspoken challenge of learning to work together, despite the discord that seemed to define every practice. But once again, one of us messes up one too many times.

“This is ridiculous!” Coach pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously at widths end. “Can’t you two just get along? For the sake of the routine.”

“That’s like asking for blood from a stone.” Sunghoon scoffs. Coach lets out a defeated sigh, holding his hands in surrender.

“I’ll see you both next week.” He turns on his heel “And those cones need to go away, can you both put them in the locker rooms?”

Sunghoon grumbles under his breath, not liking the idea of having to be in an enclosed space alone with you, even if it only was for a few seconds. But knowing better than to argue with the coach, he picks up the cones and heads towards the lockers. He can feel you trailing closely behind him, your presence making his skin crawl. He quickens his pace, trying to put some distance between the two of you as you approach the desolate space. You push through the double doors, placing the cones down in the far corner before getting changed. It was the closing hour, so Sunghoon was in a particular rush, and knowing he couldn’t lock up without you was pissing him off.

“You can hurry up, you know. I don’t have all night.” He leans against the wall, folding his arms. But his impatience only makes you move slower. He huffs loudly, annoyed at your attempts to spite him. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.”

Sunghoon pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps closer to you. “Why do you have to be so difficult, huh? Can’t you just do what you’re told without being so annoying?”

“Not when you piss me off and rush me. Do you think I’m gonna listen to someone who’s rude to me?” You turn around to face him

He glares at you, his frustration growing by the second. “I’m rude to you because your no better.” he scoffs lowly “You act all sweet and innocent, but I know you, you’re just as stubborn and spiteful as I am.”

“Shut up.” You grit your teeth, turning away from him again to pack your bag.

“No, I won’t shut up, not when you won’t accept the truth.” He tsks, smirking slightly “You’re not the perfect little princess you pretend to be, it’s quite pathetic actually.”

“And your nothing more than a sad loser who thrives off of daddy’s money, isn’t that right?” You coo. This isn’t the first time you’ve brought up Sunghoon’s upbringing to gain the upper hand in an altercation. Sure, it’s a little low, but you deserve to poke at him after everything you’ve done to get here.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken, his jaw clenching. Calling him a loser was one thing, but to bring up his family and his background? “You know I hate it when you bring up money. You think I’m just some spoiled rich kid who had everything handed to him? You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit Sunghoon. You should be grateful, some of us didn’t have money to aid them to where they are now.” You dig.

“You’re just jealous, aren’t you? Jealous that my life was easier than yours and your spiteful because I had money and opportunities you didn’t.” He laughs bitterly, stepping uncomfortably close to you. “You’re jealous that I’m better than you and I’ll always get further in this field than you ever will because I have actual talent. Talent that money didn't buy.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, shoving at his chest to create some more space between your heated bodies.

“Watch your mouth, princess. You don’t get to swear at me because you can’t accept the truth.” He closes that gap between you once again, pressing your back against a wall.

“You’re a lowlife Sunghoon and I fucking hate you.” You spit your venom at him, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you attempt to leave.

“You hate me, yeah? Well, I hate you too! I hate that you think you’re a perfect, good girl when all you do is put others down and tear them apart. You act all nice and innocent, but your just as cruel as I am. You can call me a low life all you want, YN, but at least I’m not a fake, two faced bitch!” He’s visibly angry, his eyebrows furrowed, and his pointed canines show as he retorts back. “don't push me.”

You scoff loudly, trying to cover up the obvious hurt in your voice as his words burn a hole in your chest. Part of you knew he was right, but another part of you knew that you only acted this way towards him because he made you like this. “Or what?”

“Or I might do something we’ll both regret.” Sunghoon’s eyes rake over your features as he pushes you further against the wall, completely closing any gap left between the two of you as his chest presses against yours, gripping your wrists. The tension between you was palpable, the air around you thick with anger and… desire? For a moment, his eyes flicker down to your lips before trailing back up to meet your eyes again, anger still present in both of you.

“Try me.”

That was all it took. All it took for Sunghoon to capture your lips in a rough and forceful kiss, a kiss fuelled by years of anger and pent-up need. His hands release your wrists, moving to grip your hips instead. Once your brain had fully processed the situation, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing him back.

He grips your hips tighter, pulling you closer and swiping his tongue along your lower lip. The simple action elicits a soft moan from you, allowing his tongue to greedily explore your mouth. His fingers begin to trace the outline of your curves and up the length of your arm before settling on your cheek, holding you in place whilst he tilts his head to practically swallow your tongue. The kiss was sloppy and messy, if anyone walked in and witnessed it, they might have internally retched. But it was perfect, every ounce of anger and hatred seemed to dissipate in that one moment, replaced only by the raw and primal need that had been building for years.

“God, I hate you,” He mumbled against your now swollen lips “I hate you so much…”

“I hate you too.” I mumble back, playing with the hair on the back of his nape as he pulls away fully

“Prove it.” Sunghoon can’t help the wicked smirk that forms on his lips, moving his hands back to your hips to allow his thumbs to trace small circles on the skin.

“Prove it?” You push him down onto the bench beneath you, landing with a soft grunt. “You really can’t play nice? can you?”

You hover over him, leaning down to kiss him softly, almost ghosting over his lips. Sunghoons breathe hitches. Despite the tension earlier, even the gentle brush of your lips against his causes his body to react involuntarily, his head tilting back slightly to give you better access. He lets out a soft, almost meek noise at the feeling, his hands brushing against your thighs. But the pleasure is short lasting, as its not long before you’re pushing him away and sinking to your knees. Sunghoon opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his throat as he gazes down at you, your head dangerously close to his growing bulge.

“Want me to show you how much I hate you?” You whisper breathlessly, his eyes darkening at your compromising position.

“Yeah? You gonna show me, princess?” He tries to control his body’s reaction as you reach for the drawstring of his shorts, but its futile. He lifts his hips up, letting you pull them past his thighs and down to his ankles, only the thin cloth of his underwear separating the two of you. The hardness between his legs was visible, and fuck- were you even going to be able to take all of that?

You lean up a little to kiss the outline of his prominent v-line, causing him to shiver a little. Your finger finds its way underneath his waistband, pulling it back before letting it snap against his skin. He whines, leading your hands to push them down. Without the fabric in the way, nothing was left to your imagination. Sunghoon’s breath hitches as his fingers thread through your hair, tugging on it lightly to encourage you. He can’t quite believe that this is actually happening, and that he’s just letting you do it.

You grasp his dick in your hands, the length making them almost look smaller. Pre-cum leaks from his red tip as he hisses, tipping his head back at the contact he has craved since the second he stepped foot in the locker room alone with you. You circle your finger over his tip, smearing the sticky fluid around before flattening your tongue, lapping up the mess you just made and teasing his sensitive slit. You swirl your tongue around his hot head, making him buck his hips up against your tongue.

“Fuck, YN,” he hisses, gripping your hair a little more to push your mouth closer to him. You close your lips around him, sucking and teasing his tip a little more, eliciting soft whines from him. “Take it deeper”

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him to have some patience, but instead he pushes your head down a little, shoving him further into your mouth and taking advantage of your relaxed throat. You gag at the sudden intrusion, your hands lifting to grip against his thighs. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Sunghoons eyes widen as your mouth envelopes him, a strangled gasp escaping his throat at the sudden sensation. His hips involuntarily buck upwards, his head falling back against the bench once more as he lets out an involuntary moan of pleasure.

He groans as you hollow your cheeks, trying your best to fit every inch in your mouth. Every AGONISING inch. You wrap your hands around his base, rubbing your hands up and down whatever you can’t fit in your mouth. “Yeah, that’s right baby.”

You moan as he tugs at your hair, bucking his hips a little faster to gently fuck your throat. His balls slap against the underside of your chin, causing your eyes to flutter closed as you focus on trying to keep his whole length down. He wraps his palm around your hair, creating a makeshift pony to pull you back.

He slaps his dick against your lips, watching as drool spills past and onto your chin. "You're enjoying this aren't you? You say you hate me but you love sucking my dick, isn't that right?" He pulls at your hair again, making you whimper and nod your head. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He pushes you back down again, forcing you take every inch this time. Tears brim at your eyes as you slap his thighs a little. "Take it. You can take it, can’t you?"

You moan, his dominance making your pussy clench around nothing. You relax your throat even more as your nose presses against his lower abdomen. Tears spill past your eyelashes as you gag, bobbing your head up and down even more. You're determined at this point, determined to taste him.

You lift my hands to his balls, massaging them softly. Sunghoons head falls back, his breath escaping him in a sharp exhale. The sensation is overwhelming, his body shuddering at the contact. He lets out a soft, strangled moan, his hands clenching at the bench in a desperate attempt to keep himself anchored. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his body coiled tight with tension. His fingers grip your hair more tightly, his breaths coming in sharp gasps as he struggles to hold on. 

"Dont stop, fuck you're so good-" He pants out, fucking into your mouth relentlessly. At this point, you're completely wrecked, drool spilling down your chin and onto your chest as hot tears sting your cheeks.  

You cry out around his dick, your tongue swiping the underside. You feel his balls tighten in your hands. "Im- fuck im-" he whines a warning (barely), practically ripping your hair out and his head falls back and his back arches. "Fuuuuck! Fuck YN!" he cries out. Who knew Park Sunghoon was so vocal?

You almost double your efforts as his orgasm hits, desperate to milk him for everything he has. His hips jerk forwards as he shoots his load down your throat, the salty liquid overwhelming your tastebuds. He collapses bonelessly against the bench, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His mind is hazy with pleasure, his body thrumming with aftershocks as he tries to regain his composure.

You pull your mouth from him, swallowing his cum with a soft moan. You push yourself up on his thighs, dusting your knees. Sunghoon watches, dazed, his body still sensitive and raw, as he stares up at you from his crumpled position on the bench. "That was- shit YN."

"Yeah, exactly. Fuck you." You snarl, grabbing your bag.

Sunghoon watches, his body still buzzing with the aftermath of their encounter. He manages to sit up, albeit a bit shakily, and looks up at you. His expression is a mixture of anger and confusion, his mind still reeling from the events that had just transpired.

"You... you're just going to leave? After that? You're just gonna walk away like it didn't happen?" He finally manages to find his voice, the anger and confusion evident in his tone.

"What else were we gonna do? Prance around and hold hands?" You scoff, almost laughing bitterly.

Sunghoon's jaw clenches as he considers your words. He knew you were right, that they weren't going to become some sappy couple after one moment of weakness. Still, the thought of you leaving after what just happened was irksome. "No, obviously not. But... we can't just continue acting like we normally do after this."

"Sure, we can. This was a one-time thing to settle some tension. We still hate each other..." You roll your eyes.

His gaze narrows. He's tempted to argue, but he knows deep down that your right. One moment didn't erase years of tension and animosity between the two of you. "Fine. It changes nothing. And I still hate you."

"Good, I still hate you too.”

──────────────────────

It had been almost a week since... whatever the fuck happened in that locker room, and Sunghoon couldn't stop thinking about you. He found himself unable to focus on virtually anything; training, schoolwork, his friends - nothing was able to keep his mind of those 15 minutes you had shared in the locker room. He couldn't understand why it was affecting him so much, why he couldn't shake the memories of your touch? He hated it. He hated that you were able to get under his skin like this. He was a rational person (mostly) who didn't let emotions get in the way of anything, yet here he was, his mind consumed by thoughts of you. It was so frustrating, so infuriating that he couldn't seem to push you away, no matter how hard he tried, especially after everything that had happened in the past. 

He tried throwing himself into training even more than usual, hoping the sheer exhaustion would drive you from his mind. But no matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how much his muscles burned and ached, he couldn't find the peace he was looking for. You were like a ghost, haunting him at every turn. 

"Again!" The rink echoed for the tenth time today. "This is ridiculous."

Sunghoon watches with a critical eye as you attempt the jump again, his arms crossed over his chest. He can see your balance is off, your form flawed, and he feels the familiar irritation bubbling up in his chest. How can’t you get that right? He doesn't know why he's even irritated, your form on your jumps doesn't affect him whatsoever. But it's as if he can’t help it. Everything you do just stirs some sort of negative emotion within him.

"Im trying!" You snap back at coach, running your hand through your hair. Your facial features are etched with exhaustion and frustration. This jump was getting to you, and you didn't know why.

Coach's expression turns stern at your snappy reply at him. "Trying isn't good enough, YN. You cannot be skating with that kind of mistake. Focus."

Sunghoon's eyes flicker between you and coach, remaining quiet for the time being. He's not surprised you're exhausted already; your form has been off all day, and it's beginning to wear down on your stamina. He can’t help the shit-eating smirk that plasters his face as he watches you try and fail.... again.

"I think that's enough for today." Coach huffs. "Somethings obviously throwing you off. This needs fixed before regionals, got it?"

Sunghoons arms are still crossed as coach calls it a day. He can see the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin, and a small twinge of sympathy pulls at his heart. He quickly snuffs the feeling, replacing it with his usual stoic, unreadable expression. But as you make your way the locker rooms, he can’t help but glance in your direction, that sympathy rearing its head again.

He trails idly behind you, his eyes watching the slump in your shoulders. Despite his best efforts, he can't seem to shake the feeling of sympathy gnawing at him. His usual irritation that he feels whenever he's around you are strangely toned down, replaced with the unsettling feeling of concern. He silently follows you as you push the double doors, watching as you start pulling your gear off in silence.

He stands by, watching as you start stripping off your gear. His eyes linger on your sweat-soaked figure, taking in the way the droplets cling to your skin, gleaming under the artificial light of the locker room. You're hyperaware of Sunghoons presence behind you as you strip yourself of your gear, but instead of the usual feeling of discomfort and irritation, knowing you weren't alone in the room was comforting? Especially after today's events.

Until he opened his mouth.

"You were a bit sloppy out there." The smirk evident in his tone. "Your form was horrendous."

You sighed loudly, almost groaning at the sound of his voice cutting through the comforting silence just to spit venom at you. "Not today Sunghoon."

"What? It's the truth. It's pitiful, really. Your jumps were pathetic. You're really going to compete in that state?" He chuckles bitterly

"I said not today." You snap, finally turning to face him. "Can’t you just shut the fuck up, for once?"

He leans against a locker, a smug smile plastered on his face. Your irritation only serves to fuel his amusement. "Why are you being so sensitive today?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just pointing out the obvious. You're tired, you're distracted and your form is shot to hell. You're going to embarrass yourself if you don't figure it out before the competition."

You don’t answer and turn away from him, the slump in your shoulders becoming more prominent. You pick your bag up, slinging it over your shoulder before walking to the doors silently. You don't have the patience, nor time for his bullshit today.

"And now you're running away." Sunghoon mutters, unable to stop himself from speaking. "You always do that. I point out an obvious flaw, and you run like a coward." He can't help the hint of irritation in his voice. Despite the sympathy thats clawing at his chest, he can't let himself show weakness. It's just who he is. 

He steps in front of the door, blocking your way out. He's unsure why he's even stopping you in the first place. Maybe it's the concern he feels deep inside, maybe it's his own stubborn pride. Whatever it is, he can't seem to stop himself. "Where are you going?" He asks, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at you. "Just ignoring me? Not even going to defend yourself?"

"Please Sunghoon." You avoid his gaze, not wanting to betray the obvious troubled look that’s etched into every line on your face. "Just let me go home."

Sunghoon's irritation falters for a moment as you speak. There's something in your voice - a mix of exhaustion and pleading. It tugs at that sympathy inside him like a fishing rod

"But..." He starts, his voice gruff, his eyes glued to you. "You can't just-" He cuts himself off, not fully understanding his own motivations, not wanting to admit the truth to himself. He lets out a frustrated, resigned sigh, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Can you at least tell me what's been going on with you, lately? Why you're so... off your game." It's an olive branch, more sincere than anything else he's said to you.

"And why would I do that?" You scoff "So you can make fun of my personal life too?"

Sunghoons irritation flares back up at your snippy response, but then he looks at you, really looks at you. He sees your pained expression and the defeated look in your eyes. For once, he can't find it in himself to match your snark with more snark, can't find it in him to kick you while you're down like he usually does. 

"Look, I promise... I won't make fun of you. I just..." He takes a deep breath, his expression unusually vulnerable. Is he really going to say this? "I just... I don't like this.” He motions vaguely to you, trying to find the right words “I don't like seeing you like this. It's..." He hesitates, as if he's admitting something he'd rather keep to himself. "It's pissing me off."

"Pissing you off?" You finally look up from the ground. He holds your gaze, his eyes uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. He's not used to being this open with you - hell, he's not used to being this open with anyone. It's new and unfamiliar, but for some reason... it feels right.

"Yeah, it's pissing me off." He repeats. "I don't like seeing you like this. Exhausted, frustrated, down on yourself. You're... you're supposed to be putting your all into the competition... into being better than me." He adds the last part quietly, almost as an afterthought.

"My parents are divorcing." You sigh, admitting quietly.

"Ah." Is all he can manage to say at first, unsure of how to respond. He's not a naturally comforting person, but his irritation at the situation shifts. He feels... sorry for you?

"There. Happy now?" You roll your eyes, waiting for the snarky comment or dig about your situation, like he always does.

"No," He says bluntly, not even trying to hide the compassion in his voice. He knows, instinctively, that you're trying to push him away, that you're waiting for him to throw some smartass remark or mean response. But he can’t bring himself to do it, to want to. He steps forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you. He lifts a hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it gently on your shoulder. "I'm sorry." 

You tense at his touch. You weren’t expecting any sort of compassion from him, never mind physical comfort. But the comfort makes it real. You look away again as tears sting in your eyes, batting your eyelashes to push them back. He moves his hand from your shoulder to your chin, tilting your face back up. 

"Hey, don't look away from me." There's a hint of a command in his voice, but he keeps his tone soft, uncharacteristically comforting. He gently angles your face back up to him, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to act so tough, you know. Not with me."

"You're the only person I have to be tough with." Your voice cracks, betraying your lack of control when it comes to your emotions. You were about to break.

The sound of your cracking voice has a strange effect on Sunghoon. Instead of the usual smug satisfaction that would accompany your emotional turmoil, he just feels... an aching in his chest. Seeing you so vulnerable, so open and bare, and knowing that you're only like this with him does something to him, and he's not sure how to handle it. He lifts his hand to your cheek, cradling it gently. "You can let go. I won't think any less of you."

As soon as the words of permission fall past his lips, a soft sob escape yours. It's as if your heart tore in half to allow all the emotions, all the frustration and anger that had been building up, flow out freely. You lift your hands to your face, almost shielding yourself from him, hiding from him.

The sight of you crying, the sound of your sobs echoing through the empty locker room- it goes against everything he knows about you. You're supposed to be strong and fierce, always giving as good as you get. He's never seen you like this before, completely shattered. But he's also the one you've decided to show this side to. Despite everything, you trust him enough to bear it all without judgement.

He steps even closer to you, gently pulling your hands away from your face and taking them in his own, his thumbs brushing against your knuckles in a soothing gesture. A strange, almost protective feeling washes over him, urging him to comfort you further. So, it's as if his arms move on their own when he reaches out to pull you into his chest, gently rubbing your back with one hand and threading his fingers through your hair with the other.

You don't know what even possessed you to allow yourself to be this vulnerable in front of him, and after a while, you calm down. You attempt to pull back, but it's as if he can’t bring himself to let you go. He's not sure if it's the vulnerability that you've just shown, or that damned aching in his chest, but he just needs to hold you for a little longer. 

And you don't resist. You relax against him completely, nuzzling into his chest almost. You needed this. You needed this comfort, and if Sunghoon was the only person willing to give it then so be it.

He feels you nuzzle against his chest, and his grip on you tightens slightly in response. He can almost feel the tension leaving your body, the way you're completely relaxed against him. And it feels good. It feels right. He's never felt this protective, this intimate, with anyone before. But with you... it feels natural. Almost easy.

"I'm sorry." You speak softly, lifting your head to meet his gaze. He's pitiful, and it's genuine. The sorrow on your face sparks a pang of guilt deep inside him. He's never really seen you look this this broken.

"Don't apologise." He says, his voice gruff but gentle. He lifts his hand from your back to brush away some of the tear stains on your cheeks. "You have nothing to apologise for."

He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours, taking in every detail. The way your lashes are still wet with tears, the way your hair falls over your eyes, the way your bottom lip trembles slightly. He's not quite sure why he's still holding onto you so tightly, why he's still caressing you so gently. It's like his body is moving on its own, responding to all his confusing, new feelings.

Your arms practically move on their own, lifting to cup his cheeks, the intimacy of the situation stirring an in-ignorable need to touch him, to feel him. "Sunghoon..."  

The sound of his name falling from your lips, whispered so softly, sends a shiver down his spine. The new, almost unfamiliar vulnerability in your eyes, the way you're suddenly touching him so gently... it ignites something within him, that same protective, almost possessive feeling that's been stirring in his chest for the past 20 minutes. And as your hand presses against his cheek, he finds himself leaning into it, seeking your touch. His eyelids flutter shut as he savours the feeling of your fingers against his skin.

Your body fights with itself. It fights the urge to push him away and never show your face to the world again, and the opposing urge to lean in and do something you will probably- no, most definitely regret. But Sunghoon can practically feel the turmoil warring inside you, the conflicting needs playing out on your features. 

He knows he shouldn't act on these unfamiliar feelings, shouldn't give in to the need that's threatening to overcome him. But the way you're looking at him, the way you're holding onto him so mildly, it's as if he loses all control over himself. And then he's moving forward, closing the already diminished distance between them. 

He mirrors your touch, cupping your cheeks to smoothly guide you closer. He pauses for a moment, giving you a chance to pull away if you want to… but you don't. You stay exactly where you are, looking up at him with an expression he's never seen on your face before. And then he leans in, closing the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

This kiss was different to the one you shared in this exact same spot just last week. That kiss was filled with anger and sexual frustration, but this kiss was meaningful. It was romantic, an intimate connection between the two of you that went beyond physical at this point. Sunghoon doesn't care about the context in which you've kissed before. He doesn't care about the hatred and hostility that usually exists between the two of you. In this moment, all he cares about is the feel of your lips against his. Nothing else matters.

He pulls away after a while, his lips parting from yours with a soft, wet sound. He keeps his face close to yours, his breath warm against your cheek. He gently runs a thumb over your bottom lip, the pad of the digit tracing the soft, plump flesh.

"YN..." He whispers, his voice hoarse, his breathing ragged. It almost sounds as if he's in pain, as if he's struggling to control his own emotions. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. He's not sure what he's looking for, but right now, with you so close to him, he feels... desperate. Desperate for something he can't even name. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"

"I could ask you the same question." You mutter, before pulling his lips to yours once again.

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Sunghoon's mind wouldn't shut off. Every time he closed his eyes, images of you flooded his mind. He relived their moment over and over, the memories replaying like a broken record in his head. He tried counting sheep, meditating, even reading a book - nothing worked. He was exhausted and losing his fucking mind.

He couldn't believe he was doing this; can't believe he was so desperate that he's resorted to texting you. He knows it's a bad idea, knows that it's bound to lead to more hassle than it's worth, but he can't seem to stop himself. He types out a quick message, his thumb hovering over the send button for a few moments before he finally presses it.

Part of him is hoping, no- praying that you're asleep and won't respond. But another part, a small, traitorous part, is hoping you are awake and might answer him. He doesn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he craves your attention. It doesn't matter what kind of attention he's getting; he just needed it. 

The notification jolts you a little as you just settle into sleep. You groan, reaching for your phone to turn the ringer off, but the contact on the notification momentarily stops me. You stare at your phone screen, eyes zeroing in. You hadn’t expected him to text you. You never texted each other, unless it was for information about training. Seeing his name causes something in you to stir, a mix of confusion, and as much as it pain you to admit it, hope.

SH: Hey, you awake? (12:18am)

You bite your lip, opening the message. You debated answering, weighing out the pros and cons. Which was ridiculous. It's just Sunghoon, what’s the big deal? But you had opened the message now, and you weren't heartless enough to ignore him, even if you wanted to.

YN: Unfortunately, what do you want? (12:20am)

Sunghoon lets out a sigh when he sees that you're awake, typing out a quick reply.

SH: Don't sound so enthusiastic, I could almost mistake it for kindness. (12:21am)

He leans back on his pillows, waiting for her response. He can't believe he's actually doing this, actually talking to you like your friends or something. But now he's stumped, he hadn't expected the conversation to get this far. 

Should he just be direct and ask you to come over? Should he come up with some stupid excuse to lure you to his apartment? He hesitates for a few more moments before sending another message.

SH: Come over. (12:25am)

You mentally curse yourself as the back of your knees press against the cold metal of the bed frame as your feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Why did you even get up for this? "Are we just gonna sit here?"

Sunghoon eyes you silently from the other side of the bed, his expression giving away nothing. He's not sure what possessed him to text you, let alone ask you to come over. But now that you're here, he can't deny the thrill that's coursing through him. "Do you have anything better to be doing?"

"Yeah, actually, sleeping?"

He rolls his eyes at your response. Even now, you still irritate him. But then he notices the way you dangle your legs over the edge of the bed, looking small and almost vulnerable. His eyes rake over your form, taking in the way your oversized sweater swallows your slender frame. You look softer like this, less like the stubborn girl he's used to seeing every week. 

"You could've slept. No one forced you to come over." He pats the space next to him on the bed. "But now that you're here, you might as well make yourself comfortable."

"What do you think this is?" You scoff a little.

His eyes flash with a mixture of annoyance and amusement at your response. "You always have to argue, don't you? I'm just offering you a comfortable place to sit. Nothing more." He pats the bed again, gesturing for you to come closer.

You scan his face for something... anything? A smirk, a falter in his gaze, but his face remains stoic. OH, SO HES SERIOUS. "Im fine over here."

Sunghoon lets out a huff of frustration at your stubbornness. Why couldn't you just do as your told for once? "Come. here." He pats the bed a second time, his voice taking on a commanding tone. He doesn't understand why but right now, he wants you closer. Closer than the width of his king size bed would allow.

You roll your eyes, crawling over to sit next to him cross your legs and letting your knees brush against his thighs briefly. You and Sunghoon had known each other for years, even if most of those years weren't pleasant, but you had never been in such an intimate space like his bedroom before, and it nerved you. "Happy?"

He tries to ignore the way his chest clenches as your knees brush against his thighs. He tries to tell himself it's just a physical reaction, an involuntary response to the feeling of your body against his, but he knows deep down that there's something more to it. 

When you finally settle next to him on the bed, he leans back against the headboard, eyes studying your face, noticing things he's never noticed before. Your eyelashes, the way they fan out against your skin. The delicate curve of your nose, the rosy hue of your lips. "Yeah, I am."

"Well, I’m glad you're enjoying yourself." Your voice shakes a little at the proximity. This is normal, right? Giving your sworn rival a blowjob in the locker rooms, breaking down in front of him in the same said locker room, then coming to his house 5 days later? You try to convince yourself, but your attempts are futile. 

He reaches out, his fingers grazing your arm, feeling the softness of your skin. He's acutely aware of the fact that you're in his bed, that he has you this close, this vulnerable, and for once, he doesn't feel the need to provoke you. Instead, he's content just sitting in silence with you, his fingers continuing to trace your skin, feather-light.

He lets his fingers trail up your arm and across your collarbone, tracing the line of where your sweater meets your skin. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the faint scent of your shampoo filling his nose. He wants to lean closer, to bury his face in your neck and just stay like that indefinitely, but he reigns in the impulse.

"Sunghoon what are you-"

He doesn't answer, his fingers continuing their path up your body. His hand moves up to your neck, gently wrapping around your throat. He applies just the slightest pressure, his thumb grazing against your pulse point. He can feel your heart beating faster under his fingers, and he loves it. Loves knowing that even with your tough exterior, you're just as affected by him as he is by you. So affected that it pisses him off. He wants more. He wants everything. "You're so confusing, you know that?"

"I-I'm confusing?" You can’t help but trip on your own words, the feeling of his fingers wrapped so delicately around your throat making your palms sweat. "You're the one touching me like this..."

His fingers tighten slightly around your throat, his hand now fully encircling the length of it. He can feel your breath hitch and sees the flutter of your eyelashes, the only indication of your discomfort. His eyes lock onto yours. He's always loved how expressive your eyes are, how they seem to mirror your every thought. They're filled with a mixture of confusion and desire, a combination that makes something in him stir. "And you're enjoying it, aren't you?"

You open your mouth to speak, but it's as if the words die on their way out, a meek "No" being the only thing that falls from your lips. 

"No?" He repeats, the word practically dripping with mockery. He tightens his hold on your throat, using his grip to tilt your head up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes roam over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and widened eyes. He sees the mixture of defiance and vulnerability in your gaze, the way your lip trembles slightly under his grip. His own body responds to your helplessness, a heat pooling in his gut as he imagines all the things he could do to you in this state.

"Hoon..." You whine softly, the heat between your thighs too much to ignore now. Your panties were practically soaked through at this point, and as much as it killed you to admit it, this was affecting you.

He's unable to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine when you whine his name. Hearing his nickname in your voice, so soft and needy, practically drives him crazy. He tightens his grip on your throat again, relishing in the way the pressure makes your body squirm. "Yes, baby-girl?"

He lifts his thumb, ghosting it across your bottom lip again. He can't help but notice the way your lip trembles and parts slightly at his touch and he can't resist the urge to press his thumb deeper into your mouth. He wants to hear more of those little whimpers, wants to see you completely undone. He runs his thumb across your tongue, feeling it swirl around the digit. He can't believe you're letting him do this to you, that you're submitting instead of your usual resistance. It emboldens him, makes him want to push you further, to see how far you'll let him go.

"You have no idea how pretty you look like this." He murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. He releases your throat, bringing his other hand up to cup your chin instead as his other thumb still rests against your tongue. He forces your head back, angling it so that your neck is fully exposed to him. You whimper softly, your lip quivering underneath his finger as he pushes it a little further into your mouth, your tongue flicking up to meet the salty digit. 

Sunghoon can't believe the sight before him, can't believe that he's seeing you like this, the tough girl that reciprocates his hatred, reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess from just a finger in her mouth. He can see the conflicting emotions warring on your face, the part of you that wants to fight back, to resist the desire that's coursing through you. But he also sees the way your legs shift restlessly on the covers, and he knows you're only holding back because you're stubborn and prideful. He pushes his finger deeper into your mouth, forcing you to take more as he leans in, his lips hovering just above your ear. "That's it, give in," 

You curse at the way your legs involuntarily and almost instantly spread the second his fingers meet the plump flesh of your inner thigh, the fabric of your pants riding up to reveal the expanse of smooth skin that's usually hidden underneath layers of clothing. You can’t help but let out the shaky breath that you didn't even realise you were holding as he traces small, delicate patterns, dangerously close to your pussy that was practically leaking through onto his bedsheets. 

Sunghoon can't help but relish in the fact that he's the one who's making you react like this, that no matter how much you push him away, you still subconsciously crave his touch. His fingers continue to trail up your inner thighs, his touch deliberately light, drawing soft noises from your throat. He loves the way your body betrays your attempts to keep some semblance of control, no matter how hard you try.

"Sunghoon, please-" You whine as he retracts his finger from your mouth.

"Please what?" He teases, his fingers still tracing patterns around your sensitive inner thighs, always stopping short of where you needed him the most. He knows exactly what you want, he can hear it in the way you whine, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants to hear you beg him; he wants you to give up your pride for him.

He gives your inner thigh a quick smack, his hand coming down harshly on the sensitive flesh there. You jolt forwards at the sudden contact, moaning softly. "Touch you where?"

"Touch my pussy Hoon, please." You whimper.

He pushes you down onto the mattress, manoeuvring to hover about you. He reaches one hand down to spread your sticky thighs, pressing his other palm beside your head. "That was easy, wasn't it?"

His hand finally connects with your aching core, teasing you through the thin material. "Fuck, baby. You're so wet, you're practically drenched through"

He pushes the material to the side, instantly slipping a singular digit into to your pulsing hole without giving you a second to register his actions, ca8using your head to spin. But he doesn't move the digit. "Beg for it."

"What? No-" 

He gives your thigh another harsh smack, making you slam your legs closed around his palm, whining. "I said beg for it. Beg for me to touch your pussy."

"Please don’t make me-"

He gives you another smack, harder this time, and relishes the way your legs clamp down around his hand, trying to get some friction, any friction "Do you really think you're in a position to make demands?" He scoffs. "Beg."

"Please Hoon... please touch my pussy." You whine meekly. As soon as the words leave your lips, he moves the finger thats buried deep inside you, plunging it in and out.

"Thats a good girl." He smirks, his bottom lip tucked snuggly between his pointed canines. You can’t even reply, your mind too clouded with pleasure to come up with a response to his praise.

Sunghoon lets out a huff, taking in the look on your face, the way your eyes are squeezed shut in pleasure, your mouth open and panting. It's a satisfying sight, and one that he wants to take advantage of. He continues moving his fingers inside you, adding another thick digit and applying a little more pressure to your clit, enjoying the soft gasps and moans that escape you.

He can tell by the way your body trembles and the whiny, breathless noises falling from your lips, that you're close. He can feel it in the way your thighs squeeze around his hand, the way your walls clamp down on his fingers. "Thats it," He increases the pace of his fingers "are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?"

"Mhm- wanna be a good girl." You whine, arching your back.

He lets out a moan, his fingers starting to work a little faster. He can feel the way your body starts to tense up, preparing for it. He wants to see you fall apart completely, wants to feel you come unraveled under his touch. "Then cum"

Your orgasm hits you like a ten-ton truck. Your hips stutter forwards and a guttural moan rips from your chest. "Fuuuck!"

Sunghoon watches the way your face twists in ecstasy, the way your eyes roll back, and your hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. He guides you through it, his fingers slowing until you come down from the high. He reluctantly pulls his fingers from you, bringing the glistening digits to his plump lips and sucking them clean with a chesty moan.

But he isn't done, not even close. 

He brings his hands to the bottom of your top, his fingers slowly tracing the hem, teasing the exposed skin of your stomach. 

"This needs to come off." He mutters, his hands pulling at the material, trying to lift it over your head. He's impatient, his desire overriding any attempts at gentleness. He wants to see all of you, wants to feel your bare skin against his hands and lips. 

As he finally gets the top off, he lets his eyes rake over your exposed body. He can't help but let out an appreciative moan, his hands coming up to grip at your waist, his fingers almost indenting into the soft flesh. He looks at you, the way your chest is heaving with each breath, he looks at the way your cheeks are still flushed from your previous release, and he knows he needs more.

You can’t help but shift uncomfortably under his heavy gaze, practically feeling the holes being burnt into your skin. And Sunghoon notices the way you shift, how your body tenses under his scrutiny. He's not trying to make you uncomfortable, he's just trying to take in every bit of you, to memorise every inch of your skin, to commit it all to memory.

"You're so beautiful" He whispers, his voice full of reverence, his fingers tracing the curve of your bra. He leans down, attaching his lips to your collarbone, his mouth trailing a path down your chest. He can hear your breathing pick up again, can feel your heart hammering in your chest. He's gentle, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of your skin, and his hands following suit.

He pulls himself further on top of you so that he's almost completely covering you, his weight pressing you down into the bed. He continues his path down your body, his mouth and hands working in tandem, every touch and caress designed to heighten your pleasure. He can't help the possessive desire that rises within him. He wants to leave his mark on you, wants to claim you in a way that no one else ever will. He bites down on the skin above your breast, enough to leave a small bruise, causing you to arch from the bed with a soft whine.

He can't get enough of the way you respond to his touch, the little gasps and whimpers that escape your lips fuelling his desire. He moves lower, his mouth now on your stomach, his tongue tracing the dip of your belly button, his teeth scraping across the sensitive skin. He wants to take his time, to savour every moment, but the need in his body, the need to claim you completely, is growing harder to ignore with each passing second. 

"Sunghoon," you whisper with soft moan, grabbing his attention "I can’t wait any longer."

"Neither can I." He mutters, his voice low and rough. His lips find yours, his tongue delving into your mouth as he kisses you hungrily, his hands roaming your body, everywhere he can reach. His hands slide down to your hips, hoisting them up so that you're pressed even closer to him, his bulge poking against your throbbing pussy as he kisses you feverishly. You tangle your hand in his soft lock, tugging at the roots.

"That's it," He moans lowly, mumbling against your lips. "Pull harder." He grinds his clothed dick against your clit, making you hiss and tug at his hair again, harder this time. 

He lets out another low moan, the feeling of your hands in his hair and your body against his almost too much to handle. "Keep pulling." He instructs you, his voice low and rough. He ruts against you harder, watching as your juices stain a wet patch on his sweats. It's so dirty, filthy even, but he fucking loves it.

You continue to tug on his hair, arching into his touch, the combination making his head spin. He lets out a strangled noise, his hands gripping at your hips as he starts to grind against you harder, faster. 

"Fuck me Sunghoon, need to feel you deep inside me" You pant, rolling your hips gently against his as you grow more impatient by the second.

Sunghoons breathe hitches at your words, the raw desire behind them almost too much to handle. He lets out a low, guttural groan, his eyes trailing over the curves of your body once more, his hands leaving bruises on your hips.

"Are you sure?" He asks, even though his body is already screaming to take you, to claim you completely. 

"Please." You meet his gaze, biting your lips as you continue to gently roll your hips against his. He doesn't waste another second before pushing his sweats down, his hard cock springing up. 

His tip was angry and leaking pre-cum. You whine at the sight, swiping the beads the continued to pour out before bringing it to your lips. But before you can do anything more, he rolls over so that you're on top of him, your body straddling his. His hands move to your waist, holding you in place as he bucks his hips up, running the veiny underside of his dick between your folds.

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, rutting against you like this a few more times before positioning his tip at your soaking hole. He slowly guides you down onto him, his eyes locked with yours. Sunghoon felt big when he was down your throat, but fuck, he was practically splitting you in half right now. He groaned as you sucked him in, watching as you tip your head back with a loud whine.

"Are you okay?" He mumbles, trying his best not to moan and ruin his moment of concern. 

You nod, manoeuvring yourself to your knees to sink down on him more, taking him deeper. Sunghoon, bucks his hips up involuntarily, causing you to jolt forward with a loud moan. 

"Fuck, you're so tight," he hisses, parting your legs to watch his dick disappear inside of you. "You feel so good."

You moan loudly, biting your lip to suppress any whines or whimpers that might give away your slight discomfort. He felt good, really good. But he was so big, big enough that it was a little painful. 

Despite your best efforts, he can tell that you're having a hard time taking him, that he's bigger than you're used to. He lets out a low moan, his hands moving to gently soothe your hips, trying to help you ease onto him carefully. His eyes are locked onto yours, taking in the way your face twists with the mix of pleasure and pain. He tries to go slow, to be gentle with you, not wanting to cause you any unnecessary pain. But he can only hold back so much, his body begging him to just lose control and take you as hard and fast as he can.

You gasp once you're fully seated on him, deliciously stretched and full to the brim with dick. You circle your hips, trying to adjust to him before lifting up a little and bouncing on him. You were slow at first, almost painfully slow, but once you had become accustomed to his size, nothing was stopping you.

“Oh fuck,” Sunghoon groans, tilting his head back as you slam down against his thighs, the wet squelching noise that emits from you almost making him dizzy. His back arches against the mattress, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your hot walls wrapped so snuggly around his dick. “Ah, that’s- yeah just like that.”

You moan loudly, muttering soft curses under your breath as you continue your vigorous movements. Sunghoon lifts his hips, thrusting them up to meet yours, causing your body to jolt as he reaches that one pressure point deep inside you that sends you reeling. “Right there!”

“Yeah? Right there? Is that the spot baby?” He groans, gripping your hips to keep them still as he thrusts up into you relentlessly. You practically fall limp, your chest crashing against his as his tip kisses your cervix over and over again. “Fuck you feel so good, so fucking good princess.”

“D-don’t stop- gonna cum!” You cry out, reaching up to claw your nails at his bare chest, leaving red and angry bumps in their wake. But Sunghoon doesn’t have the time, nor the ability to care about the pain.

“I'm not gonna stop, not gonna stop.” He groans, before flipping you both over. He positions you on your hands and knees before pushing your chest against the mattress and slamming back into you, knocking the breath straight out of your lungs.

He continues his onslaught and you can feel the tightening in your stomach become almost unbearable. “Fuck I’m cumming!”

“No, your not.” He slams his palm down on the soft, plush skin of your ass as it jiggles against his lower abdomen before stopping his movements. You whine as you feel your release slipping from you.

“No!” You cry out, almost choking out a sob.

“Beg.”

“What?”

“Beg me to let you cum.” The shit-eating grin plastered on his face is prominent. Even if you can’t see it, you can hear it in his voice. He was loving this. Loving the power that he had over you and loving the fact that as much as you don’t to, you will follow his commands.

“Please let me cum.” You whine

“Oh come on. That was pathetic. Beg like you mean it.” He slaps your ass again, making you cry out.

“Please! Please let me cum! Please Sunghoon!” You circle your hips against his abdomen, causing him to hiss.

“Good fucking girl.” He slaps your ass again, harder this time, before moving his hips again. He pounds into you, his balls slapping against your clit. You’re teetering on the edge of release, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold back.

“Can I cum? Fuck, please! Can I cum?” You plead, gripping onto the headboard in front of you.

At this point, Sunghoon can’t even deny his own release, never mind yours. “Cum baby. Cum for me like a good girl.”

At that was it. You shriek as he slams into you one last time, hitting your g-soot deliciously and sending you completely over the edge. Your pussy clamps down on him before fluttering as you cum, your juices spilling down your thighs.

“Fuuuuck!” Sunghoon cries, shooting his warm load into you. Into you. He stays nestled in the warmth of your velvety walls before reluctantly pulling out with a filthy squelch. He watches as his cum almost instantly pools out of you, also running down your thigh. He smirks, using two fingers to scoop up the liquid before leaning over and shoving the fingers into your mouth.

You gag at the unexpected intrusion, but once you realise what he’s doing, you clamp your lips down, sucking and swirling your tongue around the digits, letting the salty liquid flood over your tastebuds. You moan at the taste, almost craving more. He slips his fingers out and swipes the saliva down your cheek.

“Now this. This is not a one-time thing to settle tension.” He says, flopping down onto the mattress beside you, running his fingers through his sweaty hair that’s clinging desperately to his forehead.

“No way.”

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@ hvseung, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway. thankyou :)

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[fairytaleendingss]

Room For One More?

Chapter 3

Summary: You have an unsuspected guest join you on your walk home from work.

CW: None.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

__

“So Remus hates me.”

You were leaning against the water cooler in your office, chatting with Mary as she took a longer than necessary break from her desk.

Her head shot upwards.

“What?”

You sighed. “Remus. He doesn’t like me. I don’t know what I did to him but ever since I’ve moved in he’s been super standoffish.”

“I’m sure that’s not true!” The girl attempted to sooth. “Remus doesn’t hate anyone. Sure he can be grumpy and a bit off-putting at times. But deep down he’s a sweetheart.”

You scoffed. “Yeah well I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You looked out the window at the snow-covered trees that surrounded your office building. It had begun to snow for the first time this year over-night, something you’d been very excited to discover this morning when you’d woken up.

You loved winter. The snow covered buildings, Christmas decorations, carols playing in the living room as you drank eggnog by the fire. It was your absolute favourite time of year.

“Oh look at the time! I’d better head off soon,” Mary exclaimed. “I have that date to get ready for!”

You smirked and nudged her shoulder gently. “I still can’t believe you won’t tell me who you’re going out with!”

She shrugged playfully. “It’s early days yet. I don’t want to jinx things.”

“Well, let me know how it goes, anyway.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! I’ve got to run but see you tomorrow.”

You bid her goodbye before making your way back to your desk to grab your coat. You weren’t looking forward to the walk home today. Despite your apartment being only a few blocks away from where you worked, the temperature had dropped drastically over the last few days and a 20 minute walk home in the winter air was bound to be unpleasant.

You loved winter time, but only when you didn’t have to be outside, in the heart of it.

You made sure you were huddled up in your coat as you exited the building, however, you still weren’t prepared for the blast of cold air that hit you as you stepped outside onto the street. You shivered, wishing you’d brought a thicker jacket for the journey.

You glanced around the frost bitten streets and an icy gust of wind rustled through you. Then you stopped, eyes narrowing as you observed a figure leaning against the side of the building.

“James?” You managed to call over the noise of the traffic.

He looked up from where he’d been scrolling on his phone, smiling widely as he met your eyes.

“Hey!”

“What are you doing here?” You questioned, making your way over to him.

“I finished early with my trainer,” he explained. “And your building is on my way, so I figured I’d walk you home.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as you imagined him getting off the tube a stop early just to walk you home in the cold.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you sighed.

He shook his head, a few stray curls falling in front of his eyes. “I wanted to.”

He held out an arm and you linked your own through his as the two of you began to make your way down the bustling London streets.

“So how was your session today?” You asked, subconsciously pressing yourself closer to him. The man was like a walking radiator.

“It was great!” He exclaimed. “How was work?”

You shrugged. “Same old, same old I guess. Mary has another mystery date tonight though.”

James’ brows raised. “I can’t believe she still hasn’t told anyone who she’s seeing. I wonder if there’s something off with this mysterious suitor or hers. Maybe she’s embarrassed by them.”

You chuckled lightly. “Maybe. That’s definitely one explanation.”

You walked along in silence for a while, taking in the scenery around you. London was beautiful in the winter time. All festive, snow layered streets and colourful wreaths hanging on front doors. It looked like something out a Christmas movie.

Then, after a moment, James stopped suddenly, dragging you to a halt alongside him.

“I just remembered,” he exclaimed. “There’s this amazing little cafe around the corner. It does the world’s best hot chocolate! You have to try it. Fancy stopping in?”

You looked up at him for a moment and couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes lit up when he was excited. He had a particularly boyish charm about him, one you found awfully hard to say no to.

“Sure, that sounds lovely.”

“Great,” he said enthusiastically. “Let’s go.”

When you stepped into the cafe, you were hit with a burst of warmth, stark in contrast to the biting chill outside. The cafe was a small hole in the wall but immensely cosy. It was decorated in festive Christmas decorations and a deliciously chocolatey aroma hung in the air.

“James! So good to see you darling!” There was an older woman standing behind the counter, dressed in a red dress with a green apron tied around her waist. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a low bun and she had motherly energy about her as she rounded the counter to pull James into a warm hug.

“Hey Margo,” he responded fondly. “It’s good to see you.”

“And who’s this lovely thing?” She directed a warm smile at you as she pulled away.

“This here is y/n. My new roommate and friend.” You smiled at the introduction. “We were walking home and I told her that we couldn’t carry on until we stopped for a famous hot chocolate here.”

“Well it’s wonderful to meet you, dear,” she pulled you into a hug as well. “Any friend of James, is a friend of mine. Now, go and take the table by the window. I’ll bring you over the usual in just a moment.”

She hurried back into the kitchens and James gestured for you to follow him. You sat down in a cozy little booth in a bay window, that looked out over the crowded streets.

“This is beautiful,” you exclaimed, watching people passing by, going on with their day to day amidst the snowy London winter.

“It’s good isn’t it.”

“How did you find out about this place?” You pried. It wasn’t really a Main Street attraction.

“Peter actually introduced us to it,” James explained, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Back in school. His Mum is friends with Margo. The four of us used to come here all the time after class in winter.”

You nodded gently. “That’s really nice.”

James chuckled. “Yeah, Sirius claims this place is why our friendship has lasted so long. A lot of arguments were settled over this table.”

You bit your lip thoughtfully. There was a question playing on your mind. It had been sitting there for a while but you never quite knew how to ask it.

You took a deep breath, eyes settling on the sweet boy across the table. He gave you a lopsided grin and you figured now was as good a time as any.

“James, I was just wondering. Is there something… going on between Remus and Sirius?”

You thought back to the way they looked at each other that night at the bar a few weeks back. Like there was some unspoken language between them that you couldn’t quite understand.

James huffed good-naturedly. “You picked up on that, did you?”

You nodded in return.

“Yeah, they went out for a while in high school but it didn’t really last very long. To be honest I’m not 100% sure why they ended things. I they were good together, truth be told.”

“That’s good to know,” you muttered, smiling softly. But there was a twinge of something else burying itself within your gut at the thought and you didn’t fully understand why.

At that moment, Margo returned, two steaming hot chocolates in hand.

“Here you go, loves. Enjoy.”

She placed the cups on the table, sending you a wink before heading off to deal with some other customers.

“Cheers,” James jested, raising his mug to clink against yours.

You took a sip and your eyes widened.

“James, you were so right. This is incredible!”

—

With bellies full of warm chocolatey goodness, you ventured back out onto the cold streets.

You’d been so comfortable inside Margo’s cafe that you almost forgot how freezing the temperature was. It jumped out and bit you like a venomous snake as you exited the threshold.

A harsh shiver ran down your spine and you wrapped your arms around yourself in hopes to fend off the cold wind. It was then that you realised it had started snowing.

“You look freezing!” James stated as you began the rest of your walk home. “Here take this.”

In a swift movement, the man had shedded his winter coat and wrapped it around you, leaving only his hoodie to stand between him and the brisk air.

“James, no! You’ll freeze,” you protested, attempting to rid yourself of the garment with frozen fingers.

“I’ll be fine,” he responded earnestly, that warm, charming smile of his overtaking him as he rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“We’re only a few minutes away from home. Besides I run hot anyway. You need it more than I do.”

You felt something flutter inside of you at his sincerity. He looked down at you, a twinkle in his hazel eyes as his hands still sat on your forearms, holding you as if you were made of glass.

There were snowflakes settling in his dark curls, his nose and cheeks slightly flushed from the bitter chill.

“Thank you, really. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You can make it up to me by getting out of this cold wind before you get sick. Come on.”

Mindlessly, he clasped your hand in his and began to guide you down the street towards your home. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips and for the first time that afternoon, a warmth began to fill you. Only this time, you knew that it had more to do with the boy beside you than anything else.

—

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy

@navs-bhat

@shushbruv

@magicwithaknife

@eeviee4

[honeygraves]

Shadow Walking 🐈‍⬛

It is dangerous to go alone. Choose a friend to help guide you through the dark:

The devil is in the details...so...what are you missing? What do you really need to hear right now?

╰┈➺ • ♡ ⊱◞ Ⅰ. Apologies are not a requirement to be reborn. You can heal from what happened to you, whether those who inflicted harm on you ever acknowledge it or not. Words are empty, actions are everything. There is a level of strength in being able to rise from the ashes without "I'm sorry" being the incantation that sets it into motion. Reclaim the parts of yourself you believed you lost. Be unafraid to face your pain. Something tells me you will heal through creation. Whether that be through painting, music, poetry, or even gardening. You are meant to give life, to bring new forms of art into existence. But to give life, you must embrace death. The death of who you were before harm was inflicted on you. The death of what you thought the future would be. Whatever dreams you had, whatever you wanted your life to become before - it did not actually serve your highest good. You will look back and be grateful for the scars. Living well is the best revenge.

╰┈➺ • ♡ ⊱◞ Ⅱ. Sometimes, to find yourself, you need solitude. The world is full of noise and expectations...but do they reflect who you are? Someone or something once inspired you, yet I get the sense that whoever or whatever this was became tainted. Either because your own expectations were not met, or someone else cast doubt. You are not meant to follow; you are meant to lead, but to lead, you must walk through the dark first. Know the path, study it, become so familiar with the dark that you know it like the back of your hand. Many people claim to know their demons...but very few actually do. Whoever or whatever inspired you in the past was a stepping stone to help you understand the deeper parts of yourself. Although things did not work out, that does not mean the journey is over. Again, this is a path you must walk alone. But remember, it is always the path we walk alone that lead to the greatest fulfillment.

╰┈➺ • ♡ ⊱◞ Ⅲ. Are you in a friendship that is no longer serving you? I get the sense that someone has been making you feel small lately. Are you taking care of yourself? Or are you mistaking the validation and attention from a toxic dyanamic as medicine when it is really poison? Toxic friendships can bind us in ways we are not always immediately aware of. They can stifle our creative fire, make us doubt ourselves, and even bend our beliefs "for the greater good". Are the people you are surrounded by encouraging your growth? Or are they pulling you down into an endless loop of negativity, hatred, anger, and pettiness? Do your friends encourage your dreams, or do they mock you? When you are vulnerable, do they sit with you or do they dismiss you? I am sorry if you have felt alone or abandoned lately. You deserve better, but you also have to acknowledge that you do in order for things to change.

╰┈➺ • ♡ ⊱◞ Ⅳ. You need to forgive yourself. This pile is heavy. Did you do someone wrong or engage in behavior you thought was ethical at the time, only to realize you hurt others? There is deep regret here, sleepless nights, this situation playing over and over in your mind. "Why does my gut, my heart, tell me this is wrong?" You need time to process this on your own. We all make mistakes. It is only when we fail to hold ourselves accountable and do not take the necessary steps to grow that our mistakes become what defines us. Whatever happened in the past, whatever you have done, it is time to let go of the self-loathing you feel. You can not make things right if you are on the edge of breakdown. You need to find peace first. At the time you thought you were in the right, you have grown since then. The fact that you feel guilt and regret are signs of that growth. Do not let the past continue haunting you, you will only keep tainting the future by doing that.

[loufr6]

Pick A Card - life mission ✩‧₊˚ what path are you meant to walk?

take a deep breath, clear your mind, and let yourself be drawn to one of the flowers. don’t overthink it—just trust where your energy flows. once you’ve chosen, scroll down to find your message.

flower one your path is one of wisdom and introspection. you are here to seek truth, to learn, and to share your knowledge with the world. solitude will be a necessary part of your journey, but through it, you will discover clarity and purpose. trust your intuition, follow your inner guidance, and know that your wisdom will light the way for others.

flower two you are meant to cultivate deep and meaningful connections. relationships, whether romantic, platonic, or spiritual, play a major role in your journey. your mission is to bring balance, harmony, and understanding to those around you. embrace love, open your heart, and trust that the right people will find their way to you when you align with your true self.

flower three your life mission is one of transformation. you are here to embrace change, to let go of what no longer serves you, and to step into new versions of yourself. growth may feel uncertain at times, but trust that every ending brings a new beginning. your soul is shedding the old to make space for something more aligned. be patient, surrender, and allow yourself to evolve.

flower four abundance, creation, and stability are at the core of your life mission. you are meant to build something lasting—whether it’s a career, a passion project, or a foundation of security for yourself and others. your energy is magnetic, and what you nurture will flourish. stay focused, believe in your abilities, and don’t be afraid to take up space in the world.

which flower did you pick? let me know in the comments ⋆ ˚｡⋆❀

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow

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

TW: cussing, angry early seasons Daryl, angst, explosions, mass extinction, nationwide destruction, descriptions of walkers (Zombies)

Part 3

Dead Weight - Part 4

The sun hangs low and angry, beating down on the cracked Georgia highway like it has a grudge.

The vehicles crawled along the highway, a sad procession of vehicles weaving through the graveyard of abandoned cars.

Dale's RV led the way, followed by Carol's Cherokee, with Shane, Andrea and yourself bringing up the rear in the Hyundai.

You'd switched and been riding with Shane for most of the journey, enjoying his stories about his days as a deputy, but when the Hyundai started making strange noises, he'd suggested you switch back to Daryl's blue pickup.

"Don't let that redneck give you any trouble," Shane had said loudly as he transferred your pack to Daryl's truck, deliberately making eye contact with the hunter.

"His bark's worse than his bite. Ain't that right, Dixon?"

Daryl had just spat on the ground. "Better than ridin' with a cop with a God complex."

You were riding shotgun in Daryl's blue pickup truck, the crossbow resting between you on the bench seat.

Neither of you mentioned your breakdown, nor the way his body had shielded you during the explosion that had rocked and then destroyed the CDC.

But something had shifted—the hostility replaced by a threadbare understanding.

"Ain't never seen a traffic jam this bad, even 'fore the world went to shit," Daryl muttered, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

You gazed out at the eerie tableau—cars with doors flung open, personal belongings scattered across the asphalt like confetti after a parade no one survived.

There was no home for you to return to. The thought still hit you in waves.

Daryl pulled up behind Dale's RV, which had come to a halt, steam hissing from under its hood.

"Damn," Daryl growled. "Looks like we ain't goin' nowhere for a bit."

You pull your arms in close as you step out of the vehicle, the asphalt shimmering like liquid beneath your boots. Your clothes still carry the faint, fading comfort of CDC soap and hot water, now clinging with sweat.

Rick was already organizing a scavenger party. "We need to gather what we can find," he announced. "Food, medicine, fuel. Anything useful."

The group dispersed among the cars.

Shane wrenches the hood of the RV open with far more force than necessary. “Goddamn piece of junk,” he mutters. “This whole convoy’s a joke.”

He and Dale worked on the RV's radiator hose while T-Dog began siphoning fuel.

Lori, Carol, and the children searched nearby vehicles for food and clothing.

Glen kept watch from atop the RV, rifle in hand.

You methodically worked your way through several cars with the others, collecting a surprising bounty of supplies—half a dozen bottles of water, some antibiotics, a first aid kit, and a box of protein bars that made Daryl grunt in what you assumed meant approval.

You turn slightly as Daryl walked by—silent, eyes narrowed, crossbow slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t even look at you, but his presence pulls the air tight.

He moves like a man who doesn’t trust stillness.

You watch him quietly, not sure if you should speak—but before you can, Shane’s voice cuts through the heat like a blade.

“Hey, Redneck! Maybe you can come poke this overheated piece of shit with a stick or some backwoods bullshit, huh?”

Daryl halts mid-stride.

Slowly—dangerously—he turns back toward Shane, his mouth curling up just enough to show his teeth.

"Say that again.”

There’s venom in his voice, but not loud. Just enough to make the silence heavier.

Shane shrugs, defensive. “You heard me. Thought this was your kinda thing—hunting, tracking, making shit outta pine cones. Don’t get all twitchy, man.”

Daryl doesn’t speak—but you see his nostrils flare. His jaw ticks. And his eyes—ice blue and burning—sweep over Shane from head to toe, before he turns and continues through the cars.

You’re hunched beside an old Chrysler, digging through the backseat with your upper body half inside. The sun glares off twisted metal, and the heat radiates off the asphalt in dizzy waves.

Your fingers close around a can of peaches. It’s warm, probably foul, but food is food.

Then—a sharp sound behind you. A boot scraping gravel. You whirl, heart leaping into your throat.

A figure barrels around the edge of the car.

You let out a yelp, stumbling back hard enough to knock into the open door.

But it’s not a walker.

It’s Daryl.

He storms into your space without a word, grabbing your arm hard enough to make you flinch.

"What the—!?” you start, panicked.

He doesn’t stop moving.

His voice is low, furious.

“Keep your damn voice down, woman. We gotta move.”

You try to plant your feet. “What is it—? Where are the others ? Where’s Shane?”

That question stops him.

His grip loosens just a bit—but his face darkens. His jaw tightens, lips pulling back in a sneer.

“Figures,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “S’a damn herd comin’ straight for us and you’re askin’ for the cop.”

He practically growls the last word.

You blink, confused by the tone. “I just—I thought you where—”

“Don’t matter what you thought.”

He jerks his head toward the vehicles.

“Under the damn car. Now.”

You hesitate. His fingers flex around your arm—then he sees it.

The rising panic behind your eyes, the hesitation, the way your breath starts to hitch in your throat. And even though his face stays hard, something flickers behind his eyes.

He looks past you.

Across the shattered highway, the group has vanished—at first it seems like they’re just gone.

But then you see them—Rick and Glen and Lori—all underneath cars, faces strained and pale as they press themselves against greasy underbellies and blistering metal.

Then you hear them.

The moans swell like a storm surge, accompanied by the thud of dragging feet and the wet smacks of ruined flesh slapping against asphalt.

They’re coming fast—closer than you thought, already too close.

You freeze.

Daryl’s expression changes—not to panic, not to sympathy, but something colder.

Frustration.

He doesn’t have time for this.

"Move, dumbass city girl” he snaps—as he grabs you by the waist.

He hauls you bodily under the car, your shoulder scraping the chassis, the gravel biting into you. The heat is suffocating, the shadows suddenly thick and cloying.

He follows in a practiced motion, his crossbow scraping slightly as he slides in beside you.

"You wanna get chomped, keep makin’ noise,” he hisses, face inches from yours. “Otherwise shut the hell up.”

You nod, wide-eyed, breath ragged.

Outside, a walker stumbles between cars—just feet from yours. The rasp of its breath is audible now, the sound of decay and hunger and endless groaning need.

Under the car, the world is reduced to shadow and sound.

The smell of rust, old oil, and dirt fills your nostrils. Gravel digs into your back. Your breathing is too fast, too loud—you know it is, but you can’t stop.

The dead are everywhere.

From your place beneath the car, you can barely breathe. You lie flat on your back, dirt clinging to your skin, but none of it registers.

All you can see—just inches beyond the bumper—are legs.

Rotting, dragging, stuttering legs.

Some are missing shoes.

Others are bone from the knee down.

The sound is the worst part—wet groaning, like someone trying to breathe through fluid.

The herd flows past like a slow, choking tide.

You could hear soft whimpers from other hiding spots—Carol or Lori trying to keep the children quiet.

Somewhere to your right, T-Dog must have been hiding too, though you couldn't see him from your position.

You’re frozen, caught between instinct and terror. Each second stretches like a wire, tight and unbearable.

A walker stops. Right outside the car.

It’s close enough now that you can smell it—blood and mildew and rot, a stomach-turning stench that clings to your throat.

A sound escapes. Just a squeak—a breath half-caught in your throat.

Daryl’s hand pins you so fast you don’t even see it coming.

The other clamps over your mouth, fingers rough, palm calloused and hot. His body is nearly flush with yours now—close enough that you can feel the vibration of his low whisper right beside your ear.

"Shhh!”

Your eyes go wide, panic swelling into a silent sob. Your whole body trembles under his grip.

You try to breathe—but his hand is there, your nose pressed into the space between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, your ribs tight with terror.

He doesn’t scold. But you feel it—all that tense, bottled-up survival mode radiating off him like fire. He’s wound tighter than a trap.

His thumb shifts slightly along your cheekbone, not unkind. It's grounding. Like he knows how close you are to falling apart.

"You’re alright,” he murmurs, breath hot against your temple. “Just keep still. Don’t move. I got you.”

His palm is rough, calloused, wide enough to muffle your entire jaw. His fingers press harder against your cheek, holding you firm.

His other arm braces against the underside of the car above, boxing you in.

Your wide, tear-filled eyes stay to his. He’s right there, inches away—face shadowed, blue eyes sharp and wild.

You nod, frantically. But the panic is still there, shaking your chest.

Daryl’s brow furrows.

“Just… keep your eyes on me.” he mutters, voice softer now, though still strained.

He shifts slightly, letting more of his body shield yours. The cramped space forces you close—but you barely notice. You’re looking straight into his eyes like they’re the only thing anchoring you to this moment.

Outside, one of the walkers drops to its knees—sniffing, dragging fingers across the ground right near the bumper.

You go rigid.

Daryl doesn’t look away from you. He nods once, slow, calm—trying to get you to match his breathing. One of his fingers taps a subtle rhythm against your cheek. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

You mimic him, lips trembling beneath his hand.

The walker groans. Shuffles.

Then… moves on.

Several long, breathless minutes pass before the last of the footsteps fade. The horde begins to drift back toward the trees.

Only then does Daryl slowly lift his hand away from your mouth.

You draw in a shaky breath. He watches you closely. Not in pity—but like he’s assessing whether you're gonna bolt or break.

You don’t.

You blink, still rattled, still inches from him. “I thought—I thought I was gonna—”

“Yeah. Thought so too.”

The smallest twitch of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Just a flicker of dry amusement before he shuffles out from under the car, muttering something about "damn tourists."

Before he disappears, you hear it. Barely audible. Tossed over his shoulder like an afterthought.

“Ain’t just the cop who’ll keep ya alive.”

You exhaled slowly, allowing yourself to believe your group might have escaped detection.

The group is reeling.

Bodies are scraped, tempers frayed, and the stink of death still clings to the inside of your nose.

You’re sitting on the ground back agasint the car you where just under, knees drawn tight to your chest, hands still trembling.

Your hair clings to your damp temples.

Shane jogs over, voice sharp but not unkind.

"You alright? Any bites? Cuts?”

You manage a nod, your voice a whisper. “Just… bruises.”

Glenn follows, more concerned. He crouches in front of you, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re shaking. Did one of them grab you?”

You shake your head. “I—I was just scared. Daryl—He pulled me under the car…”

They both glance in the direction Daryl stomped off minutes ago—head low, muttering something to himself about “damn idiots.”

Shane scoffs.

"Yeah, that one’s a real charmer.”

You tilt your head, confused. “He… he saved me.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “He acts like he’s better than the rest of us ‘cause he's some methed out redneck that can track a squirrel from a mile off. He’s just some hick with a temper.”

You blink, a frown forming. “So hunting's bad now?”

Glenn bites back a laugh, and Shane just stares at you like you’ve asked whether the sky is wet. Before either can answer—

“SOPHIA!”

Carol’s scream cleaves through the noise like a blade. Everyone whirls around. In the near-distance, a flash of movement—small, fast, frantic.

You see the little girl crawling out from her hiding place—directly into the path of two stragglers from the herd. The walkers immediately changed course, lurching toward the child.

"Sophia, run!" Rick shouted, already sprinting toward her.

The girl bolted toward the woods, the walkers in pursuit, with Rick close behind them. Carol trying to follow, but Lori held her back.

"He'll get her," Lori insisted, struggling to restrain Carol's thrashing form. "He'll bring her back!"

Carol shrieks again, clawing at the air like she might reach her daughter through sheer desperation.

“No—no, not her—please—SOPHIA!”

For a second, everyone else hesitates. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like betrayal.

Not Daryl.

He's already moving—shoulder-checking past T-Dog, not waiting for orders, bow in hand.

“Got 'er!”

You catch the blur of his body vaulting the guardrail, feet slamming into the dirt. His voice is hoarse, ragged, angry—not just at the walkers, but maybe at all of you for freezing.

“Y’all just stand there? She’s a damn kid!”

He disappears into the treeline.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You barely know the girl—just remember her shy smiles, the way she’d watched you tell stories with quiet awe. You stare at the woods, fists clenched tight.

You whisper, “Please bring her back.”

Glen puts a hand on your shoulder but says nothing. Shane curses under his breath, pacing. Carol drops to her knees, sobbing into her hands. The others gather like broken pieces—useless, waiting.

But you watch the trees.

[gainercontent]

Max's Body Transformation Part 1

Once upon a time, there was a guy named Max. He’d always been the type to go with the flow, never really concerned with how his body looked. But over the years, something shifted. The more he focused on his personal life, the more he found himself exploring the world of gaining—intentionally increasing his body size. It was a journey that started out as a casual fascination, something new to experiment with, but it quickly turned into an obsession.

Max loved the feeling of indulging in all his favorite foods without a second thought. Every burger, every pizza, every extra dessert made him feel both comforted and proud. He wasn’t just growing in size, but in confidence. As his weight crept up from 160 pounds to 220, he began to embrace his body’s new curves, finding a sense of belonging within a community that understood him. He reveled in the admiration of others who appreciated his transformation.

But, deep down, Max began to notice something was changing. His energy levels started to drop. Simple tasks became harder, and he found himself out of breath after even short walks. What had once felt empowering now felt like a weight, literally and figuratively.

One evening, as he sat in his favorite diner, shoveling down another plate of food, Max had a realization. He wasn’t feeling happy anymore. He wasn't feeling his best, and his body, which he had so proudly built up, now felt like a prison. He longed to feel more agile, more active—like he once had when he was lighter.

Max decided it was time to make a change. It wasn’t about fitting into anyone else's standards, but about reclaiming his health and well-being. He began by cutting back on the late-night snacks and focused on healthier choices. He didn’t want to throw away the progress he had made, but he knew it was time to find balance.

Slowly, the weight began to come off. Not in dramatic, punishing ways, but through small, consistent steps. Max started working out, not to drastically shrink himself, but to feel stronger, to rebuild his stamina, to reclaim the energy that had once come so easily. He dropped down to 185 pounds, a healthy place where he felt comfortable in his own skin.

Through this journey, Max discovered that body transformation isn’t just about appearance—it’s about how you feel inside, too. He realized he could be happy at any size, as long as he was looking after himself and living authentically. He still embraced who he was, but he now felt empowered by his new balance, ready to face life with a new perspective.

Max learned that sometimes, change is necessary—not to fit into someone else’s mold, but to create the best version of yourself, no matter what size you are.

*****

As Max settled into his new routine, feeling stronger and healthier than he had in months, he thought he had it all figured out. But one evening, as he relaxed on the couch after a workout, something strange happened. The voice came at first as a whisper, almost like a distant memory—a longing for something familiar.

"One more cheat day won’t hurt," it said softly, as though tempting him with the comfort of old habits.

Max shook his head, trying to ignore it. He had come so far, felt so good. He couldn’t let a fleeting thought pull him back to the place he had worked so hard to escape. But the voice didn’t go away. Instead, it lingered, waiting for the right moment to resurface.

Days passed, and the voice grew more persistent. It wasn’t just a whisper anymore; it was like an echo, looping in his mind during quiet moments. He found himself daydreaming about the meals he used to indulge in—rich burgers, decadent milkshakes, and gooey pizzas. The memory of those comforts pulled him in like a magnetic force.

Max tried to push through, focusing on his progress and the healthy choices he had committed to. But then, one day, as he found himself walking past a fast-food joint, the voice came again, louder now, almost a demand.

"You deserve it," it urged. "You’ve worked hard. Just one meal, one night, one bite."

At first, he resisted. He reminded himself of how much better he felt now—his energy levels, the way his clothes fit, the way he could move with ease. He couldn’t let that slip away for a momentary indulgence.

But then, later that week, when his friends invited him out to dinner, Max found himself sitting at the table, staring at the menu, struggling to fight the cravings. His mind kept drifting back to the voice, almost as if it was an old friend that he was missing. It was like his own desires were betraying him, whispering about the satisfaction he used to feel when he let go, when he didn’t worry about the consequences.

"Just one meal," the voice insisted again. "You know it’ll taste amazing. Just a little freedom."

Max hesitated. His discipline was starting to waver. He had been so strong, but the voice was slowly chipping away at his resolve. He could feel himself weakening, giving in to the tempting thoughts.

He ordered the burger. And then, another. The instant gratification of sinking his teeth into something familiar felt like a comfort he hadn’t realized he craved. It wasn’t just the food—it was the feeling of indulgence, of throwing caution to the wind and embracing the carefree life he used to know.

As he finished his meal, a part of him felt relieved, but another part—deeper down—knew that the voice had won this round. It wasn’t just a single cheat day anymore; it was a shift, a crack in the wall he’d built around himself.

The voice became a constant companion, whispering to him when he was alone, when he was stressed, when he felt vulnerable. "You’re not truly happy without this," it taunted, "You can’t deny yourself forever."

Max felt like he was caught in a tug-of-war between his discipline and the comfort of old habits. Every time he tried to regain control, the voice would lure him back, a tempting siren call that drowned out the sound of reason.

Each day was a battle—a struggle between who he had been and who he was trying to become. And the worst part was that he couldn’t tell if the voice was coming from inside himself or if it was just the whispers of old patterns that had crept back into his life.

Max realized that the hardest part wasn’t the physical transformation—it was the mental game. The voice might have been growing louder, but he wasn’t ready to give up on the progress he had made. Not yet. He couldn’t let the past define him again.

But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t shake the question: How long could he keep fighting this war within himself?

*****

Max lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. The voice was there again, louder than ever before. It wasn’t just a whisper now—it was like a thunderstorm, crashing against his thoughts, every word sharp and insistent.

“You’re fooling yourself, Max,” it said. “You can’t keep denying who you are. You’ll never feel truly satisfied until you’re back to your old ways.”

He turned over, pressing his hands to his ears, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts. I’m stronger than this, he thought. I’ve come so far. I’m healthier. I’m happier. But the voice didn’t care about any of that. It had no interest in facts or reason.

“Look at you,” it mocked. “You’re hungry all the time. The food, the comfort—it’s always going to call to you. You think you can just ignore it? You think you can change who you are, how you feel?”

Max’s heart pounded in his chest. His palms were slick with sweat. The voice was relentless, attacking his mind from all angles. It was like a battle in his head—every time he tried to fight back, it was as if the voice grew stronger, feeding off his doubts.

“You’ll never be able to resist it,” it taunted. “One meal won’t hurt. You’ve earned it. You’ve worked hard for this moment of freedom. Let yourself go. You deserve it.”

Max stood up and walked to the window, gazing out into the night, his mind spinning. I do deserve it, he thought, even though a part of him knew that wasn’t true. The voice was like a siren song, soothing him with its promises of pleasure and satisfaction. Why fight it? Why deny yourself what feels so good?

The internal war raged on.

His stomach growled, and he could feel the pull—an almost magnetic force, tugging him toward the easy comfort of his old habits. The memories of indulgence—the joy of overeating, the satisfaction of feeling full—flooded his mind. He thought of the pizza he used to devour with friends, the sugary treats he used to savor alone at night. The voice painted them in vibrant colors, turning each craving into a vivid picture of bliss.

Max closed his eyes, but the images didn’t go away. They only grew stronger. He saw himself, bigger, stronger, more confident in his own body. He felt the weight of it all, the satisfaction of indulging without guilt, without restriction.

“You’re weak, Max,” the voice whispered. “This isn’t about self-control. It’s about embracing who you really are. You’ll never be happy if you keep pretending to be someone you’re not.”

Max shook his head, gritting his teeth. No, he thought. I’m not weak. I can do this. I’m in control. I’ve made changes because I want to feel better, be better.

But the voice didn’t relent.

“You want to feel better? You want to be better?” it scoffed. “Then why are you still so empty? Why do you still feel unsatisfied? You can keep lying to yourself, but deep down, you know you want to go back. You can’t resist forever.”

Max clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. No, he repeated to himself, but the voice was louder, pushing against the walls of his mind. He felt weak, like he was losing ground, like he was being pulled into a vortex of his own desires.

“Give in,” the voice coaxed. “Just one more time. One more moment of pure pleasure. You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”

The temptation was unbearable now. Max felt like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, the voice the wind pushing him forward. He imagined the taste of the food, the comfort it would bring, how easy it would be to slip back into those old habits. The mental exhaustion was wearing him down, the mental battle sapping him of the strength he’d fought so hard to build.

And just like that, the wall cracked.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out, the voice in his head cheering him on, as if it had won. The streets seemed to stretch before him, beckoning him to places he used to go, familiar and comforting. He made his way to a late-night diner, almost on autopilot.

Inside, the neon lights flickered above him, and the smell of greasy food hit him like a wave. His stomach churned in anticipation. As he slid into the booth, the voice in his mind whispered sweetly, It’s just one meal, Max. One meal won’t change anything.

He looked at the menu, and before he could stop himself, he ordered the biggest burger on the list, along with fries, a milkshake—everything he used to crave. The voice was there, like a shadow, urging him to keep going, to embrace the pleasure of the moment. Max didn’t even feel guilty anymore. The battle was over. He had given in.

The food came, and Max dug in, savoring every bite. It was everything the voice had promised—familiar, satisfying, a moment of pure indulgence. But as he ate, a part of him knew that this wasn’t the victory he had hoped for. He had let the voice win, and now, as the food filled his stomach, a dull ache of emptiness settled in.

The moment of satisfaction was fleeting. As he finished the last of his meal, the voice didn’t fade. It stayed there, louder than ever, whispering words of comfort and victory. You see? That wasn’t so hard. You can have it all—just give in when it feels right.

Max left the diner, feeling heavier, both physically and mentally. The voice had won this round. He knew it, but somehow, it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like defeat.

The battle wasn’t over, though. He wasn’t sure how to fight it anymore, but one thing was clear: the voice was relentless, and so was he.

*****

The next morning, Max stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. He hadn’t weighed himself in weeks, choosing instead to focus on how he felt—how his clothes fit, how he moved. But now, after the slip-up, the urge to know was overwhelming. He stepped onto the scale, holding his breath, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

The numbers flickered for a moment before finally settling.

190.

Max’s heart skipped. A part of him felt a sharp pang of disappointment, his mind instantly spiraling into self-criticism. I’ve undone everything, he thought. I was so close. I was doing so well. I had control.

But then, almost immediately, the voice was there. Soft at first, but insistent. 190 isn’t so bad, it purred. It’s not 220. You’re still lighter. But you know… it’s so close to 200. What’s a few more pounds?

Max felt his stomach twist. His mind was a battlefield, the pull of the old habits stronger than it had been in weeks. 200… he thought, Just five more pounds. It won’t be that much.

The thrill of the idea started to creep in, and before he could stop himself, the rush of excitement flooded his veins. The voice sounded almost joyful now, like an old friend encouraging him to take the next step.

“You’re not going to stop here, are you?” it urged. “You’ve been craving this. One more push. Just go for 200. You’ll feel so much more satisfied. You’ll be proud of what you’ve done.”

Max’s gaze flickered back to the scale. He could almost taste it—the satisfaction, the pleasure of pushing his body further, of embracing his old identity. The voice painted vivid pictures in his mind, of feeling big, of feeling strong. A bigger body is a better body, it said. That’s what you want, right?

He closed his eyes, torn between the voice's sweet promises and the nagging sense of guilt that lingered just beneath the surface. He knew that this wasn’t just about weight—it was about feeling alive, about indulging in the one thing that had always brought him comfort. Food. Pleasure. Power.

Max stepped off the scale, feeling a wave of adrenaline surge through him. His resolve shattered like glass. I’ll just eat a little more, he thought. Just to get to 200. I’ll stop there. Just one more milestone.

The voice celebrated as Max grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. It whispered, You’ve got this. Just let go. You deserve this. 200’s just around the corner.

The feeling of freedom, of control slipping away, was intoxicating. He started seeing the world in a different light, the same way he had when he first started gaining—everything felt like an opportunity for indulgence. It wasn’t just about the weight anymore; it was about the act of letting go, of giving into the pleasures he had so long suppressed.

Max walked into a nearby diner and sat down, his heart pounding in anticipation. The menu seemed to beckon, offering comfort in its list of rich foods. He ordered with ease—burgers, fries, shakes. The voice didn’t stop urging him, pushing him to eat more, enjoy more, until he reached his goal.

He devoured the food with a speed and hunger that surprised him. He was no longer thinking about how much he was eating, just how good it felt, how familiar it was. Every bite was like a small victory. He could already feel the fullness spreading through him, the satisfaction taking root.

After finishing, Max leaned back in the booth, a deep sense of contentment washing over him. His stomach was heavy, but the thrill remained, like a rush of power running through his veins. He had crossed the line. He had given in. And in that moment, it felt like freedom.

As Max walked out of the diner, the voice was there, victorious. You did it. 200 is just a number. You’re back on top. Now you know you can do whatever you want.

Max stood there on the sidewalk, staring at his reflection in the store windows. He felt the weight in his body, the fullness in his stomach, but something else had shifted. The thrill was still there, but it was laced with a feeling he couldn’t quite define. He had listened to the voice—and in doing so, he had lost something more important than just his progress.

He wasn’t sure where this road would lead. All he knew was that the mental battle wasn’t over—it was just beginning.

Part 2 will be posted next Wednesday.

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Interview 📺🎤

Alexia Putellas x reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

(my first language isn't english nor spanish, sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes)

Summary:

Interviewing the famous Alexia Putellas was a dream come true. Being a fan of football since a young age, finally being able to interview one of the best female footballers was truly an extatic. During this interview, Alexia slowly started flirting with you, teasing you slightly, smiling at you. After a few months of texting and going out, you become official. When another interview is organised with the two of you, the dynamic is a lot different than what it was a year ago.

You were living in a dream, growing up as a football fan, you could have never imagine in your life being able to interview the Alexia Putellas. You always admire her dedication, and leadership on the pitch. And imagining that in a few minute you would be sitting across from one of the best female footballers in the world felt surreal.

These past few days were a mix of excitement and nerves, revising till perfection every single word that you would adresse her, imagining every possible of scenario, having several anxiety attacks on what could go wrong.

You took a deep breath as you started hearing her footsteps coming closer and closer to the set.

(A) Hola debes ser la entrevistadora, ¿cómo estás?

hello you must be the interviewer, how are you ?

Estoy muy bien, gracias por preguntar. ¿Cómo estás?

I'm doing great, thank you for asking, how are you ?

Your thick English accent clearly coming through every word. She smiled at you.

English i see, lo estoy haciendo muy bien, gracias hermosa.

English i see, im doing great thank you beautiful.

You felt warm comming up to your cheeks, body frosen in shock, gay panic clearly sprend all over you as you try to make some kind of respond. She chuckled softly at you, eyes locked on yours.

Eres linda, me gustas. ¿Qué tal si comenzamos esta entrevista? Estoy emocionada por saber más sobre ti.

You're cute, i like you. how about we start this interview? im excited to know more about you.

You nobbed in response, not wanting to embarrass yourself more.

As you asked her about her incredible journey, her career highlights, her training, her winning the Ballon d'Or. She answered each question with her characteristic charm, but as the interview went on, something shifted. Her smiles stayed longer than necessary, her eyes sparkled with a teasing light, and there was a playful undertone to her responses. At first, you thought it was just your imagination. Then, she began making subtle comments. You laughed it off, trying to stay focused, but you couldn’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

After the interview, you both lingered a little longer than expected, exchanging stories beyond football, letting the professional wall between you slowly disappear. Over the next few months, what started as an innocent professional connection turned into something deeper. You found yourselves texting frequently, sharing small moments of your day. Each conversation, each meeting, felt electric, filled with a tension that neither of you could ignore. Eventually, the inevitable happened. Alexia asked you out, and from that moment, everything changed.

Months passed, and your relationship blossomed. You had kept it private, aware of the media’s prying eyes. Alexia was extremely private, but with you, she was open, playful, and warm in a way the public rarely saw.

A year after that first interview, another one was scheduled. this time, both of you knew it would be different. As you walked into the studio, memories of your initial interview flooded back. The dynamic between you was entirely different now, the polite, formal exchanges of last year were gone. Now, there was a sense of ease, familiarity, and affection that neither of you could hide.

The interview started, but this time, the teasing wasn’t subtle. Alexia grinned at you before answering each question, occasionally reaching across to touch your hand or throwing in a playful remark about your relationship. The camera crew noticed the chemistry immediately, exchanging knowing looks as you tried to maintain your composure.

Has cambiado un poco desde nuestra última entrevista, no recuerdo que estuvieras tan... distraído.

you've changed a bit since our last interview, I don’t remember you being so...distracted.

She said, smirking. You laughed, trying to keep it professional, but you could feel the blush creeping up your cheeks.

Creo que eres tú la que está distraída, Alexia.

I think it’s you who's distracted, Alexia.

The interview was a mix of serious questions and light-hearted banter. It wasn’t just about football this time; it was about the bond between you two, the connection that had grown from a shared passion for the sport into something far more personal. The audience could see it, and they loved it.

As the interview wrapped up, Alexia leaned in slightly, her voice just low enough for only you to hear.

¿Cena después de esto?

Dinner after this?

You smiled, feeling your heart race just like it did that first day.

Wouldn't miss it for the world.

[voidsentprinces]

Reminder: A Realm Reborn wasn't particularly about us. It was about the Eorzean Factions, it was about the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and their interactions with and thwarting Gaius and the XIVth Legion. We were just a useful champion slowly growing to fame but not truly a Warrior of Light until literally the prelude to the Castrum raiding mission.

The Parting of Glass wasn't about us either. It was, once again, about the world. And how it had begun changing after Gaius's fall and the brief period of peace away from Garlemald's Shadow. About Alphinaud beginning his arc of growth with hubris and the creation the Crystal Braves and what it might of looked like IF the Scion's good nature was lent to anyone and everyone. And thus opening itself up to the very corruption Minfilia feared to move away from the Waking Sands and to the Rising Stones in the first place.

Heavensward isn't about us. It is about Alphinaud's continue growth, learning of Ishgard's past and history. Hubris, arrogance and narrow viewing lead Alphinaud to steps of the Foundation, it has lead Estinien astray and made Ysayle believe she is a messiah incarnate. And through the journey, each of them grow as they learn the terrible truth about the Dragonsong War. Estinien in particular has his eyes opened and no longer simply seeks revenge on Nidhogg but to get to the bottom of it all. So no other shepherd's son has to live as he has. Ysayle learns she is a shade and a faux Shiva not truly Hraesvelgr's beloved or even in the same category as her. She learns swallow such delusions and embrace what Saint Shiva stood for in its entirety. Which means leaning to lay the road for peace between Ishgard and the Dragons and opening a path to this by sacrificing herself for those she loved so dearly. Alphinaud learns from all of this and more and is humbled by the duty of a knight, the fervor of a dragoon, the sacrifice of a saint, and the courage of his companions and of Sharlayan's arrogance from Master Matoya. To put others before himself and allow others to support him when he falls.

The Far Edge of Fate isn't about us. It was about how Ishgard carries on after Thordan and the Heavens Ward are shown to be the monsters they are. How the remnants of the church, the knights of Ishgard, and the civilian population react to the realization with rejection. How facing off against Nidhogg possessing Estinien, the Warriors of Darkness, and the machinations of Ilberd force Eorzea and Ishgard to look inward and know truly where they should go from there. To ignore the easier road and take the higher path no matter the strife and hardship it provides them. Because when they reach the otherside they would be better for it. Finding that courage, after five years of procrastinating and hemming and hawing, the Eorzean Alliance finally begin to mobilize to free Ala Mhigo from Garlemald and perhaps take on the Empire itself.

Stormblood isn't about us. It is about Doma and Ala Mhigo fighting for the survival of their people and cultures. Facing the parts of their society that were spurned and used as tools of hatred against their principles. That provided the necessary cracks required for Garlemald to break them down and oppress them in the first place. And how reforging under those values and those long histories of violence can make a new path and come to terms to over throw the tyrants who fed on their weakened states and make a strong unity still.

A Requiem of Heroes wasn't about us, it was about the world facing down the barrel of war with Garlemald. And uncovering its origins, its founding father was an Ascian. How Varis is forced to face down the lie as Elidibus wears the skin of his son and the great grandfather he and other Garleans were taught was a walking god in all but name was a sham and a daemon bent on causing more pain and suffering than mankind ever deserved. How the effigies of hate and pain choose to use their fervor to help their people instead of turning against them once more. How every person can change and be given a second chance. How that second chance is what that person requires or if they are pushed the wrong direction, can caused tragedy to unfold. And lastly, it is about our companions, slowly. One by one. Being dragged to the unknown. The story slowly taking away the players on the stage until finally...

Shadowbringers was about us. It was about how we were instrumental to the world so much that it lost nearly all hope in another timeline. How a group of your fondest friends began and how your comrade's furthest decendents acting on the hope of your legend and stories. To provide a plan of action and lead to happier world. How even when everything seems lost and gone and your purpose seems to turned everything around you into twisted monstrosities. That you can bring the night and wait in comfort for a dawn to bring better days. And the tenacity of your aid providing a world on the brink, the love, the compassion, the understanding, the strength, and the will to stand up to a flood of destruction and spit fate in the eye. Even it costs them everything, they keep fighting until they can see a brighter tomorrow.

Death unto Dawn was about what the tomorrow brings. How it could be another fight but to find what is WORTH fighting for. The memories of those you fight and lived amongst, old studies and things of the past being made to provide the answer to the future, making right wrongs even against those you had wronged unfairly, and to gather together and keep each other safe. You are not alone out here. There are those who will help you along to a brighter future.

Endwalker was about you and yours. About how everyone reacts to an uncertain future in different manners. How some would make ready to flee at the approaching storm, while others would fight, and others might even push you further to the edge. But even when all is lost, call upon the memory of happier times to light the way with hearts aligned shining brilliantly against despair and finding your place amongst those memories.

Growing Light was about us teaching another to hear, feel, and think and experience the world seemingly gone. That everything needn't be give or take. It can be a charitable, warmer place if we make it. It can be kinder and even in the face of unrelenting and undying destruction. Hope will spit out a tooth and stand up once more.

I say all of this because, I've seen people mad that Dawntrail is leaning hard about being about Wuk Lamat and others. To which I say so what if Dawntrail is about Wuk Lamat and Koana? So what if its not about us? We've had four story lines about us. Now we must impart what we've learned to the future as they face similar and sometimes overwhelming odds. To stand tall against the onslaught and make their own choices, their own way to bring a smile to all they hold dear. How family needn't be blood related, they can just be a group who sit down at the table at the end of the day. And speak, laugh, cry, and love. Unto this trail to dawn we shall light way for the future of our world and everything this new dawn brings is worth it.

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑶𝑹𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑼𝑵ㅤㅤ january free requestsㅤ ㅤ trafalgar law x f! reader

🕊️ request: @leftladyluminary ⋆｡˚ Hello ( ^ω^ ) I was wondering if I could request a Law x fem!reader exploring a temple together that turns out to be a uh “procreation” temple the strongly affects those who enter? Please and thank you~ （╹◡╹）♡ 🕊️ tw: mdni. raw, rough sex. vaginal. nipple play. pregnancy ideas implied. cream pie. wc: 1650 🕊️ masterlist

Zou is a humid place, very muddy as well. Your boots are dirty, and your clothing soaking wet. Those “Eruption Rains” become pretty inconvenient throughout the day, but they are necessary.

“I shouldn’t have worn a white shirt…” you tell Law, crossing your arms over your breasts.

“I would say you shouldn’t have worn it without a bra, (Name)-ya” Law says, squeezing and twisting his hat to drain it from the excess of water.

You sit down on a rock. Was it really necessary to say such thing? At best he should be a little bit happy to see your body through semi see through fabrics. What Law has just said felt painful to you, to say the least.

“You are right, I’m sorry” you mumble, walking away to find a proper place to hide and change your clothes. You are sure the ones in your backpack are as wet as your current ones, but something darker will do to cover up.

When the rivers formed in what are usually trails on top of Zuneesha’s back are finally dried, you find a very interesting construction ahead. Curious, as always, you come closer to discover it is a shrine.

“What a beautiful place” you comment in awe. Law seems to be anywhere else. He is probably near, but not close to you.

Curious, you put a step inside the shrine. It isn’t necessarily different from the rest of the temples you have attended in this long journey of piracy. However, somehow in the aura feels unusual to you.

The scent of incense smells more flowery, sweet, maybe even a little bit spicy. The Vitreaux windows create incredible depictions of Orchids on the ground, as the sun filters its rains through them. And the altar has a very distinctive little statue that calls for your hand to touch.

“I wonder what’s this shrine about? What god is meant to be built for?  In fact, do Minks have gods?” you ask yourself, making mental notes to ask Wanda once you are back from your expedition.

Your eyes scan the golden sculpture, it looks like two creatures tangled into each other. You would lie if you said you didn’t think of them having sex, and in fact you giggle for your “witty” thoughts.

There isn’t much to discover besides what you have just seen, but a little sign engraved in an old piece of wood.

“you shall keep your blood flowing; the warriors of the Sun must never disappear; they will fight for freedom and unity during this dark night”

You smile; and immediately after reading you remember Luffy. Even Law recognizes he is as shiny as the Sun itself. You don’t really think much of the true meaning of the sign, and soon after find Law looking at you from the very entrance.

“I turned around and you were gone, I didn’t know where you were” he asks, still soaking wet like a cat left out in the rain and looking a little bit mad at you for disappearing.

You could have picked a fight; you probably could have just brushed it off. But neither of those were your reaction, and unconsciously you lift your arms to stretch. The white shirt, still soaking wet, kept the transparency and with that the show off of your hard nipples presented to Law in its full beauty.

“I’m sorry, I was looking for a place to change” you tell him, with a rather sexy tone.

Law’s sun burnt cheeks turn red, golden eyes widening, pupils getting bigger. The little hints of black eyeliner smudge on his already dark tinted under eyes, the juicy pale lips of your captain slowly separating.

“You thought of changing on a shrine? Getting naked on a temple, (Name)-ya?” he asks, coming closer to you as he lets his yellow bag fall on the floor. Law walks like a snow leopard, slowly, menacing, sexily…

You swallow. That’s not his usual self, not at least with you. He looks like he is about to fight you, or even hurt you.

“L-Law, I wanted to put on a shirt over this one so that my breasts won-“ you shut up, as he strikes you and pins you against the altar.

You put your arms back to get a grip of something as you lose balance. Your hand reaches something cold and tiny and immediately after, his warm inked hand falls on top of yours.

Both, at the same time, touch the little statue behind and it feels like a new energy begins to run through your veins. It doesn’t take you long to finally succumb into a lustful, inappropriate kiss. His hands, all over your waist, lift the wet shirt that’s begun to get hot and too heavy on your skin.

“I have no idea what force is making me do this, but believe me I am not mad about it, (Name)-ya” Law whispers, in between panting and with his lips grazing yours.

“I have no idea either, but don’t you dare stop…”

The Surgeon of Death attacks your lips once again, this time while freeing you completely from your wet coverings… even if, something else in you was getting wetter by the moment.

Maybe it was the force of doing something so incorrect, so unholy on a sacred place… or maybe it was your love? Or even, both? Who knows, perhaps it was something else but the more you kiss, the more your bodies slide down until your back hits the red carpet covered floor.

Law’s tattooed hands squeeze and play with your breasts, almost like a beast ready to engulf his prey. “You wanted me to do this, don’t you?” he asks, reaching for one of your hard nipples, kissing the erected surface and then trapping it with his lips.

“Honestly, yes. I missed your touch…” you moan, realizing you are finally able to indulge in sex. It’s been long enough since you could touch each other, since you could be this intimate.

“I know, I’m sorry…” he whispers, planting a soft kiss on your chest.

You know there is nothing to forgive, and immediately after you notice his stitched arm holding the weight of his body on top of you.

“Law… can I be on top this time?” you ask, kissing the scar of his biceps.

His golden eyes shine brightly, apparently he loved the question and nods energetically, even if he felt embarrassed seconds after for doing so.

Soon, you take his place, undressing him faster and straddling your hips on his lap. He is hard, and the grey underwear completely soaked let nothing to the imagination. Deliciously tempting, you feel the impulse to your use your mouth before anything else, but the need of having him inside you is stronger… something invisible is making you desire his seed would fill your womb on and on and on.

You lift your ass from his lap, just a little for your hand to pass through your moved to the side panties and his hardness.

Law gasps when he understands you are not there to waist time on any other type of pleasure that his dick deep inside you.

“Now? but I don’t- I don’t have prot-“ he stutters, fighting in between the need of fucking you rough and reproduction health matters.

“You don’t really need it, I want you raw and rough in me…” you purr, guiding his sex towards your dripping entrance.

Your labia devours his tip, engulfing it with a warm slippery sensation. Law’s neck muscles tense, his head gets thrown back, a moan escapes his lips that resonates all over the shrine.

You do the same as you let yourself fall on top of him for his shaft to be finally entirely inside you. A whine so loud that mixes with his, and it becomes never ending as you start to hump on top of him.

Your hips move up and down, back, and forth and also in circles. Law’s fingers carve marks on the side of your hips and sometimes travel to the small of your back to press you against him with divine force. His hips, who up until now where immobile as pleasure struck him harder than he could ever expected, begin to move too.

“Nggh… let me fuck you faster…” he moans, using all of his strength coming from his core to impale you harder and synchronized to the rhythm of your jumps. The sound of wet sweaty skin slapping against the other become a sacred melody all around, while your nails carve marks as you grip from his heart tattooed pecs.

It doesn’t take you longer for your climaxes to arrive, and while your fingers intertwined with Law’s, your spasming walls milk him so violently… so needy, desperate for his release…

His frown intensifies, he even bites his lower lip but his eyes never shut as his pupils only fix into yours. As if his gaze was trying to anticipate something both knew, willingly to do whatever it takes to make his seed plant on you… deep, inside, of you.

“Fill me up…” “Keep it all inside…”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ...

“Wanda, may I ask you something?” you tap on her soft furry shoulder.

“Yes, honey. Tell me, what is it? Are you ok? You look very tired” the mink says, curious and perhaps a little worried about your state… truth Law wasn’t satisfied with just one round.

“So, I found a Shrine on the forest. It had a little statue; I didn’t get exactly what it was representing. But I remember reading a sign that said something about the warriors of the sun should prevail” you explain.

Wanda giggles. “Well, now I know why you are that tired… you went there with Trafalgar, didn’t you? it’s the procreation shrine, ruled by the sun lovers. That’s where we go to pray when we wanna bear children.. it said to be special forces that help us get pregnant”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“Oh…”

[travelingthief]

Persephone Offerings and Devotional Acts

Offerings

As Queen of the Underworld:

Pomegranates/seeds/juice/imagery

Skull imagery

Red wine

Bones

Crystals/Gems

Coins/Money

Dirt/soil

Preserved/taxidermized animals

Grave rubbings

Mementos of deceased loved ones

Urns

As a Nature Goddess:

Seeds

Flowers

Dried/pressed flower petals

Produce

Fallen leaves

Grains/breads

Cool rocks

Butterfly wings/imagery

Herbs

Snake skin

House plants

Myrtle (an offering Dionysus brought for her when he journeyed to the Underworld to retrieve his mother)

Snow from the first snowfall

Spring rain

Pig imagery

Snake imagery

As a Mother/Marriage Goddess:

Some traditions worshipped Persephone as a goddess of marriage and motherhood. Her marriage to Hades represented a young maiden being married off to an older man. The change was scary for both the mother and the maiden, but necessary in their society. Women asked for Persephone to bless their wedding garments and children were dedicated to Persephone. I feel traces of this belief remain in modern worship as many worshippers feel Persephone is a motherly figure alongside Hades as a fatherly figure.

Wedding mementos

Childhood mementos

Marriage garments

Family scrapbooks

Family heirlooms

Wedding rings

Baby shower mementos

Devotional Acts

As Queen of the Underworld

Write your post-death wishes down

Learn about different options for burial/cremation

Clean bones

Walk through cemeteries

Visit graves of loved ones

Clean graves (with permission and appropriate knowledge)

Adorn graves of loved ones

Sit with old gravestones

Bury dead animals you find in the woods

Decorate/paint bones

Track your finances

Save money

Donate to others if you have the means

Shadow work about life and death

As a Nature Goddess:

Join a community garden

Start a garden

Make flower crowns

Keep an outdoor altar

Take a nature walk/hike

Meditate outside

Study herbology/herbalism

Support local farmers/artisans

Go to a farmer's market

Get lost in the woods

Honor the seasons

Walk barefoot outside

As a Mother/Marriage Goddess

Call important women in your life

Cook a homemade meal and share it with others

Care/provide for your family

Be nice and caring toward children

Shadow work about your family, especially your mother

Build community

Support new parents

Check in with your friends when they have big life events, such as moving or a marriage

Make a scrapbook

[loredrinker]

When Solas says “I walk the din’anshiral” in Trespasser, it sounds like a vow. A commitment to a path that promises death, sorrow, and solitude. The language he uses is formal, signaling not just despair, but alignment with something ancient and sacred.

There’s no official codex entry that explains the din’anshiral beyond its literal meaning, but the way Solas invokes it feels ritualistic - like a remnant of a cultural tradition from ancient Elvhenan. It evokes the idea of a ceremonial journey, an exile undertaken by those who once chose destruction or isolation in service of something greater than themselves. I wonder, was this an ancient ceremony chosen by those who walked it or as a forced sentence? Did the kin of those walking the din’anshiral gather to weep for their brethren making this journey or was it truly meant to isolate and separate a being committed to a path of death?

This isn’t a poetic flourish Solas comes up with in the moment. How he says it, when he says it, and what it will cost him, makes it feel like an invocation. The vow binds him emotionally and existentially. It isn’t despair for despair’s sake, it’s his belief that he must walk this path alone, no matter the outcome.

(Veilguard confirms the seriousness of this vow as he remains unmoved in every ending but one: the atonement ending.)

By the time we meet him again in Trespasser, it’s clear Solas has already chosen this path. Dialogue only revealed through the romance path is declaration that marks a total foreclosure of personal desire, connection, or redemption. He has sealed himself away. He will not be swayed. He will use what he must, sacrifice who he must, and walk alone because that is what the path of the din’anshiral demands.

The din’anshiral symbolizes Solas’s surrender to a path he believes is necessary, even if it leads to his death. He does not expect to be saved. He does not expect to survive. And the Solas we see in Veilguard is the man who has walked that path for many years, and probably for much longer.

[openwiindow]

can i request something with kyle alessandro x reader, like her being his friend and always being there for him all the way to eurovision (they both have crush on each other but are too slow to realise it) 👉👈

pairing: Kyle Alessandro x fem!reader

You went with him as his support. Of course you did—you were his best friend after all. You were with him through every Eurovision journey this years. You were there when he was writing song to moment he won and qualified. You were there as best friends, and you knew that and you were so so happy that he brought you with him—but you wish that you were here for other reason, that you were here with him cause you were something more that just friends.

Now they both were in caffe bar—getting ready to go back to hotel. As they leave the caffe, you could feel it was getting a little cold as you walked more and more. Kyle noticed you shivering and went to take off his hoodie:

“You really don’t have to give me that.”you say as you softly and tiredly smile at him.

“Yes i know. But i want to give i to you. I don’t want you to get cold right before my performance. How could i survive out there without my biggest and favourite support?”

You slightly blushed at that but tried to keep your cool.

The walk back to the hotel was wrapped in a comfortable, familiar silence—just the soft sound of your footsteps and the occasional hush of passing cars. His hoodie hung around your shoulders, warm and a little oversized, carrying the scent of his cologne.

You stopped in front of your door.

“Well, this is me,” you say, voice soft as you turn to face him. Your fingers tighten around the sleeves of the hoodie, unsure what you’re hoping for—maybe a longer goodbye, maybe something else entirely.

He steps closer, pulling you into a gentle hug, arms lingering around you just a second longer than necessary.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against your hair.

You want to say it. That you care about him—more than you’re supposed to. That watching him live his dream was the proudest you’ve ever felt. That wearing his hoodie shouldn’t make your heart race, but it does.

But instead, you just whisper back, “Goodnight, Kyle.”

And the door closes too quietly behind you.

Kyle’s POV

I should’ve said more. I wanted to say more. I always do. But every time I see her looking at me with those eyes—the same ones that saw me at my worst and still stayed—I forget how to breathe, let alone confess.

Maybe after the performance. Maybe when I’m brave enough.

But tonight, her in my hoodie and that almost-smile she gave me… it felt like hope.

[sofiatarot]

PAC: A promise of better dayz

In this pick a card, we’ll be diving into one of the best days of your life – the moments you have to look forward to, a glimpse into the situations that will bring you immense joy and fulfillment. We’re looking at a promise of your future, the days that will make everything worth it.

TIP JAR - FREE READINGS - PAID READINGS

1.2

3.4

I was listening to THAT 2Pac song, and I just knew I had to take a peek at that day – that day we should all look forward to. Our everyday inspiration should be the faith in that better day, that better day that’s a promise. I don’t know if it’s just a coincidence or if there’s something in the air, maybe it’s the collective energy, but love definitely seems to be in the air. And honestly, it makes me a little emotional – knowing that we’re not, and never will be, truly alone.

Group 1

Cards: Page of swords (reversed), 8 of cups, queen of swords, death, king of swords, ace of pentacles (reversed), the hierophant, the tower (reversed), The star (reversed), queen of cups. (2 of cups at the bottom of the deck)

Okay, group 1... wow. Immediately, I’m drawn to this mix of the queen and king of swords – a powerful pair, matched in intellect and clarity. This feels like one of your best days is intertwined with a connection, potentially a destined partnership. It’s like you've been waiting for this person, consciously or unconsciously. And with the hierophant showing up, this isn’t just any connection. It feels fated, spiritual, like a union that changes the course of your life.

But let’s back up a bit. We start with the page of swords reversed and the 8 of cups. This is you walking away from something, maybe even feeling a bit lost or disillusioned. It’s like you've outgrown a situation or mindset, and that was necessary for what’s coming. The queen of swords follows, showing that you’ve gained clarity and strength from this journey. You’re decisive, ready to cut through the noise.

And then we have death – transformation, an end making way for a powerful new beginning. It’s like you needed to shed an old identity or belief to step into this new chapter. The king of swords mirrors the queen, showing someone who meets you at your level, intellectually and emotionally. This is where that 2 of cups energy comes in. It feels like a meeting of equals, a partnership that’s balanced, mutual, and deeply fulfilling.

Now, the ace of pentacles reversed is interesting. This might indicate a missed opportunity in the past or a delay in materializing something you’ve wanted. But The hierophant is here, almost reassuring you that the wait was necessary. It’s like the universe was orchestrating everything behind the scenes, aligning the timing perfectly.

The tower reversed tells me you’ve already gone through the hardest part – the breakdown, the chaos. You’ve rebuilt, and now you’re standing stronger than ever. The star reversed suggests that maybe you lost hope along the way, felt uncertain about the future. But the queen of cups closes this out, bringing emotional fulfillment and healing. There’s a softness here, a feeling of finally being understood and cherished.

With that 2 of cups at the bottom... yeah, this better day is undeniably tied to love, a destined partnership that brings everything full circle. It feels like meeting someone who sees you, truly sees you, and loves every part of who you are. This day will be a turning point, one of those moments where you look back and realize it changed everything.

Group 2

Cards: The hierophant, the hanged man, knight of cups (reversed), 2 of swords (reversed), 5 of cups (reversed), 7 of pentacles, the high priestess, 2 of pentacles (reversed), 8 of wands

Alright, group 2... the first thing that jumps out is the hierophant and the high priestess. This is no coincidence. These two together are like the ultimate spiritual pair. We’re talking about a connection that goes beyond the physical, something that feels almost otherworldly. This better day is tied to someone who just gets you on a soul level, someone you don’t need to explain yourself to because they understand you intuitively.

I’m looking at the hierophant and the hanged man together, and I feel like you’ve been waiting for this for a long time. It’s like life put you on pause, almost as if the universe needed you to be still, to reflect, to see things from a new perspective. And I get it – waiting isn’t easy. It can feel like nothing is happening, but this wasn’t time wasted. You were learning, growing, and preparing for this moment.

Then there’s the knight of cups reversed. I won’t sugarcoat it – this tells me there’s been emotional disappointment in your past. Maybe you opened your heart before and it didn’t go the way you hoped. It’s like you gave and gave, but didn’t receive the same in return. And that hurt, it made you question if real love was even out there for you. But then I see the 2 of swords reversed, and it’s like a breath of fresh air. You’re no longer stuck in your head, no longer torn between your heart and your mind. There’s a sense of clarity, a decision made.

Now, the 5 of cups reversed... wow. This is emotional healing, but not just the surface-level kind. This is you finally letting go of the past, releasing the grief and disappointments that weighed heavy on your heart. It’s that moment when you realize that all those tears, all those lonely nights, they were preparing you for something better. And the 7 of pentacles confirms this – you’ve been so patient, nurturing your dreams, healing yourself, doing the inner work. You didn’t give up, even when it felt like nothing was changing.

Then we get to the high priestess, and it all makes sense. You’ve always known, haven’t you? Deep down, you’ve always felt that something bigger was meant for you, even if you couldn’t explain it. This is your intuition guiding you, whispering that your patience is about to be rewarded. And then... the 2 of pentacles reversed. It feels like a release, like you finally drop what no longer serves you. Maybe it’s old fears, maybe it’s doubts, or maybe it’s a life that felt out of balance.

And then – boom – the 8 of wands. Everything starts moving. Fast. It’s like all the delays, all the waiting... it was building up to this. Suddenly, the path clears, and everything starts falling into place. I’m getting chills just writing this because it feels like one of those days where life changes in an instant. One minute, everything is normal, and the next, it’s like the stars align.

I can’t stop thinking about the hierophant and the high priestess. This is a spiritual union, and it’s not just about romance. It’s about meeting someone who speaks the same language as your soul. Someone who understands you without words, who sees the real you, the version of yourself that you sometimes hide from the world. This person... they were meant for you. It’s like you’ve danced around each other in past lives, always finding each other again.

And with the 8 of wands, I have to say it – this is coming sooner than you think. It feels so close, like you could cross paths any day now. And it’s going to be so natural, so effortless. You’ll look back and realize that all the waiting, all the heartbreaks, were leading you right here.

I keep coming back to those reversed twos – 2 of swords and 2 of pentacles. It’s like the end of confusion, the end of indecision. You won’t have to question this, you won’t feel torn. It’s going to be so clear, so obvious that this is meant to be. And that, that’s the beauty of this better day. It’s the day everything clicks.

This isn’t just a good day – this is one of the best days of your life. It’s the day you realize why it never worked out with anyone else, the day you feel everything fall into place. It’s the day your heart finally feels at home.

Group 3

Cards: 6 of wands, knight of cups (reversed), page of wands, king of pentacles, strength, 9 of cups (reversed), justice, the fool (reversed), 6 of cups, 4 of wands (2 of cups at the bottom of the deck, with judgment underneath)

Group 3... right away, I’m drawn to the contrast between the 6 of wands and the knight of cups reversed. It’s almost like you’ve reached a victory, you’ve got eyes on you, people admiring you, maybe even celebrating your achievements. But then, there’s that knight of cups reversed, like an emotional offer that’s delayed or held back. It makes me feel like there’s someone who wants to come forward, who sees you shining and feels all these things... but they’re hesitant. It’s almost as if they think you’re too good for them, like you’re out of their league now.

And then we get to the page of wands and the king of pentacles. I’m feeling two very different energies here. The page of wands is excitement, curiosity, this youthful spark of adventure. It’s like you’re ready to take on the world, eager for new experiences. But then the king of pentacles grounds all that fiery energy. This is stability, success, abundance. I’m getting this powerful image of someone who’s worked hard, who’s built themselves up from the ground, and is now ready to enjoy the fruits of their labor. It’s like you’ve mastered the balance between excitement and responsibility, between dreaming big and making it happen.

And right in the middle, we have strength. This is resilience, inner power, grace under pressure. You’ve been through so much, group 3. You’ve faced challenges that could’ve broken you, but you came out stronger. This better day is one where you look around and realize just how far you’ve come, how much you’ve grown. It’s that deep sense of pride in yourself, knowing that nothing and no one can shake you.

But then... the 9 of cups reversed. Huh. It’s that feeling of almost having it all but still feeling like something’s missing. It’s like you’ve achieved so much on your own, you’ve built this amazing life... but you want someone to share it with. And I’m looking at justice and the fool reversed right after, and it hits me – you’re ready for that new chapter, for that balance and harmony, but you’re cautious. You’re not about to take any reckless leaps. You’ve learned your lessons, and you’re not settling for anything less than what you deserve.

Then we get to the 6 of cups, the 4 of wands... and I can’t help but smile. These are such beautiful cards, so full of warmth and joy. The 6 of cups feels nostalgic, like reconnecting with someone from your past, someone who once made you feel safe and understood. And then the 4 of wands... celebration, union, pure happiness. It feels like coming home. And I can’t ignore the 2 of cups at the bottom of the deck, with judgment underneath. This is reconciliation. This is destiny. This is a soulmate.

I’m getting chills because this better day... it’s the day you’re reunited with someone who was meant to be in your life. Maybe you drifted apart, maybe timing was off, but they’re coming back. And it’s so beautiful because it’s not just about love – it’s about deep, soul-level understanding. It’s like meeting a mirror of your own soul. I mean, look at the combination – 6 of cups, 2 of cups, 4 of wands, judgment... this is divine timing. This is fate stepping in.

Oh, and I almost forgot – the judgment card below the 2 of cups. This is a wake-up call, a moment of clarity, of realizing exactly why everything happened the way it did. It’s like looking back and finally understanding the bigger picture. This better day... it’s the day you find closure, healing, and the love you’ve been waiting for. It’s the day everything clicks, and you feel complete.

I have to mention – the knight of cups reversed at the start... this could be them. They’ve been hesitant, holding back, maybe even afraid to reach out. But by the end of this, they can’t resist it anymore. The pull is too strong, the connection too deep. They’re coming forward, and it’s going to change everything.

This is the day your heart finds its home.

Group 4

Cards: King of swords (reversed), knight of swords, 5 of cups (reversed), 6 of swords (reversed), the high priestess, 2 of wands (reversed), the chariot (reversed), 9 of swords (reversed), 2 of swords (reversed), 9 of pentacles (reversed), 7 of wands (reversed) (ace of swords at the bottom of the deck)

Okay, group 4... wow, there’s so much going on here. All these swords... it feels heavy, like your mind has been in overdrive. It’s this overwhelming mental energy – overthinking, replaying situations, analyzing every little detail. I feel like you’ve been stuck in your head, trapped in a loop of “what ifs” and “should haves.”

We start with the king of swords reversed, and this hits me as mental chaos. It’s like you’ve been trying to make sense of everything, trying to find clarity, but the more you think about it, the more confused you get. And then the knight of swords comes charging in... this is impulsive, restless energy. It feels like you’ve been reacting quickly, maybe even saying things in the heat of the moment, or just feeling this urgency to get out of your own head. It’s like you’re trying to outrun your thoughts, but they keep catching up.

Then the 5 of cups reversed shows up, and I feel this release. This is you finally letting go of the past, of regrets and disappointments. It’s realizing that you can’t change what happened, but you can choose to move forward. And yet... the 6 of swords reversed is right there, pulling you back. It’s like something from the past keeps haunting you, something unresolved. It feels like you’ve been trying to heal, trying to move on, but there’s this one thing – or maybe one person – you can’t fully let go of.

But then the high priestess appears, and I get chills. This is your intuition, your inner voice that’s been quietly guiding you all along. It’s like you’ve always known the answer, but you’ve been avoiding it, maybe because facing it is scary, or because it would mean making a difficult choice. But this card... it’s a reminder that deep down, you already know what you need to do.

Then we get the 2 of wands reversed and the chariot reversed. This is feeling stuck, feeling like no matter how hard you try, you’re not moving forward. And it’s so frustrating because you want to move on, you want that freedom... but something keeps holding you back. It’s like being at a crossroads but feeling too confused or too afraid to take the next step.

But here’s where it gets interesting – the 9 of swords reversed. This is you breaking free from that mental prison, from the anxiety and sleepless nights. It’s like you’re finally realizing that these fears, these worries... they’re not as powerful as they seemed. You’re reclaiming your peace of mind.

And then the 2 of swords reversed... clarity. I feel this huge sigh of relief, like the fog is lifting. You’re no longer stuck in indecision, no longer paralyzed by fear. You’re seeing the truth, and it’s setting you free.

And the 9 of pentacles reversed... this is hitting me as a reminder that it’s okay to lean on others. You don’t have to carry this burden alone. It’s okay to ask for help, to admit that you’re not perfect, and that’s perfectly fine. And the 7 of wands reversed – you don’t have to keep fighting, keep defending yourself. It’s safe to let your guard down. It’s safe to be vulnerable.

And then... the ace of swords at the bottom of the deck. This is the breakthrough moment. This is that flash of clarity, that “aha” moment where everything just clicks. It’s the truth cutting through all the confusion, all the noise. It’s like suddenly everything makes sense, and you can breathe again.

This better day... I’m feeling it so clearly. It’s the day you break free from this mental labyrinth. It’s the day you realize that all this overthinking, all this worry... it doesn’t control you. It’s the day you finally listen to that quiet voice inside, the one that’s been guiding you all along. It’s the day you make peace with the past, with yourself.

And looking at all these swords, it’s like you’ve been battling with your own mind for so long... but on this day, you lay down your weapons. You find peace not by fighting your thoughts, but by accepting them, by understanding them. It’s the day you find clarity, the day you find freedom.

It’s the day you choose to let go, to forgive yourself, to stop overthinking and just be. And I can feel how liberating that’s going to be for you. This better day... it’s the day you finally find peace within yourself.

-xoxo🙏🏻✨️

[delirious-donna]

an: this is a commissioned fic, and I'm super excited that it was for Shikamaru! It's been a while since I gave the lazy genius the attention he deserves so thanks to the person who commissioned me! <3

pairing: Shikamaru Nara x gn reader

warnings: SFW, a little angst with a happy ending, use of shadow possession, implied 'friendship' (read as they were fooling around) between reader and Shika

“You could have been killed.” 

Kakashi stated the obvious, and for the first time since your return to Konoha, you gulped, ashamed. Of course, you knew deep down that he was right, but hearing it said out loud, so matter-of-factly, it wedged a tight lump into your throat. 

“I know, Lord Hokage, I apologise. I-I was reckless and take full responsibility, there is no need for anyone on the squad to be punished,” you offered solemnly, hanging your head so you didn’t have to look into his steel grey eyes, or worse, look at the man standing behind him. 

Shikamaru radiated an energy that you were unfamiliar with. He was known for his cool, collected demeanour and his seemingly unflappable nature, even when in a crisis. Today he was practically vibrating with anger. That was much worse to face than anything Kakashi could say or do, and that was saying something in itself. 

“That won't be necessary,” Kakashi said with a sigh. He waved a hand in the air, somewhat dismissive and yet you knew he wasn’t quite through with you. “I think you’ve learned your lesson, and you won’t go running off on your own during an assignment again, right?” 

You nodded emphatically. This wasn’t simply lip service, you really were sorry. It would take a lot of grovelling for forgiveness from your friends, their feelings were hurt, and you understood well how lowly it was of you to have put them in that position.  

“I swear it, never again.” 

“That’s what I thought. However, I also want you to take time off from your squad and work on some aspects of performance that I believe can be sharpened. Shikamaru, can I leave that in your hands? Arrange for them to be tutored by someone you trust.” 

Shikamaru stepped forward, a dark expression masking his features. His eyes bore into you, and your stomach flipped over before plummeting to your toes. This wasn’t helping your long-standing situation with him, and you only prayed that he wouldn’t choose to train you himse— 

“Leave it to me, Kakashi. I’ll see to it personally.” He addressed the Hokage whilst continuing to stare into your soul.  

Why did he have to be so handsome, even when more pissed than you had ever seen? The dark patch of hair beneath his chin was a new addition, and you weren’t certain if you liked it yet, but everything else... the man was a god. A lazy god but a god, nonetheless. 

Your mouth opened as if you would dare to object and Kakashi’s sleek eyebrow rose until your mouth slowly closed once more.  

What were you going to say anyway? “Sorry Lord Hokage but I don’t think I can train with your advisor for fear I might try to jump his bones.” or “Don’t you know he and I have this... thing going on and it’s all complicated because I don’t know what I want, and he isn’t very patient.” No, either were an option. Instead, you stood there and bowed your head in resignation. 

“Tomorrow at noon. Meet me at the training field over in the far north corner. Wear something you can train in, and don’t be late,” Shikamaru ordered before striding for the door. He hadn’t been dismissed, but Kakashi wasn’t one for being overly formal. 

“Good luck, it looks like you’ll need it,” Kakashi added, amused. 

“More than you could know.” 

~ 

The next day you walked the route that would take you to your predetermined destination. It was warm, the sun slid along your back as you wondered what kind of training you would be in store for. Given it was near noon, the village was at full hustle and bustle, and you had to actively avoid faces that would try to hamper your journey. This was not a time to be answering questions or having to admit why you were headed to the training grounds, never mind that you refused to give Shikamaru the satisfaction of arriving late. 

The training ground came into sight—large flat land edged with trees that would stretch into a forest in the north and east borders. It was empty. Not even the sounds from the nearby market stalls could be heard from this part of town.  

A lone crow cawed from the canopy of a tree, taking flight and disappearing into the dense foliage. Your feet scuffed into the dirt, turning on the spot and frowning. He had the audacity to insist you not be late only for him to be late! What a fucker... 

With your arms crossed, you walked the perimeter and scoped out the surrounding area. There was nothing here, no sign that he was lying in wait or had been called away for something more important. 

“Typical Nara.” 

The trees were to your back so you could watch his approach, whenever that would be, and show your smug face to him that you at least could follow instructions. That was your first mistake. 

Your shadow was also behind you, and you should have come prepared for this.  

There was a moment where you felt your entire body jolt to attention, hairs prickling with the alert of imminent danger, but it was too late. You were frozen, unable to move an inch, or whirl in the direction you could feel the hint of presence from. Not even your eyes could swivel enough to bring the man lounging along a branch high up in the tree’s canopy into your line of sight. 

“Sloppy,” he stated, droll and unbothered. 

He released his shadow possession suddenly, your body sagging towards the ground like a bag of rocks. You managed to stop before your knees hit the dirt, but the effort was immense. 

Shikamaru leapt far too gracefully down from his perch. His hands interlaced behind his head as he stalked towards you, smug. He was so self-assured that it forced your molars to grind down. He had been here all along, watching and not saying a word. 

“Tomorrow, same time,” he said. 

You blanched, jaw slack in disbelief as the Nara made to walk back towards the centre of the village. There was no time to admire his form, not when you were dumbfounded by his words. 

“Wait! That’s it? You’re leaving already?” Your voice was higher than you’d like, and you took a couple of steps towards him involuntarily before you could stop. 

He turned; head cocked and hands slowly lowering from behind his head until they could fit snugly into his pockets. “It’s annoying when someone walks away from you when you’re not ready for them to go, isn’t it?” 

Warmth erupted over your skin at the implication.  

You flashed back to that night so many months ago where you had been unsure of what to do, what to think, and had run instead of facing your fears. You knew what the hands in his pockets felt like on your skin, how the rough callouses scratched in that pleasant tingly way when he stroked your arm. The phantom scent of tobacco wafted into your nose, and you inhaled it, or tried to. 

Shikamaru was hurt, that much you knew. That he was this hurt seemed unreasonable. He was a war hero, and you were... not. Didn’t he deserve someone far more worthy than you? That was certainly what you thought when he first showed you interest, even though at the time you played into it, tipsy on liquor and high on the back of a successful mission. 

“I... Shika, I’m—” 

He interjected before you could apologise. 

“Tomorrow, noon. Your training will be complete when you can find me before I find you,” he said without a hint of emotion. 

You watched as he walked away. Excuses and explanations heavy on your tongue, but you believed none of the lies you tried to concoct. At the end of the day, you hurt someone that you admired, cared for, maybe even loved.  

It didn’t seem like a fitting punishment for your crime, but then again... you never could see the wood for the trees. 

~ 

At exactly noon you entered the training grounds for a second time, and this time you were far more wary of your surroundings.  

Every rustle of the wind could have masked movement amongst the lush green leaves of the trees facing you. You scanned each mighty tree with as much scrutiny as you dared to allow, scared that if you spent too long focusing on one, that he might attack from another. 

 That was your second mistake. 

Just like yesterday, your danger sense was a fraction too slow. With one foot raised in the motion of turning to whirl around, your body jerked and froze in place. Looking down, you could see where his shadow connected to yours. Two long lines joined into one and you silently cursed. 

“You’re meant to be better than this. Or at least, shouldn’t that be the case for someone hotheaded enough to go running off on their own during a fight?” Shikamaru’s tone was as cool as the previous day, his body was not. 

You could feel him at your back and how very unprotected you felt right now. Had he truly been the enemy, you’d be dead before you even knew the killing blow had been struck. Instead, you felt the heat of him.  

He was careful not to touch you, careful to maintain the few inches of distance that would keep this looking decent, but there was a low yearning in your belly that wished he would stop toying with you and take what he clearly wanted. In the same breath, you knew he wouldn’t. 

“Is this really the training the Lord Hokage meant? It doesn’t seem to be teaching me much of anything except that you’re a sly bastard when you’re mad,” you hissed, giving in to your wounded pride. 

Shikamaru chuckled and you wished you could shove your palms against his chest until he was forced to back up. As suddenly as your body had frozen, again it was released without warning. The desire to push him thrummed through you and you stumbled into a weird pirouette, carried by the momentum of your desire. 

He caught you before you could fall. His hands beneath your elbows so that when he drew you back up to standing, he was right there, right in front of your face. Sure, you had to tilt your chin up to gaze into those clever, calculating eyes but he was so close now that it made the proximity of moments ago pale into insignificance. 

“You really don’t get it...” he breathed, a crease forming between his brows. “It’s like you believe you’re an extra in your own story. Never the protagonist, always the comic relief.” Shikamaru shook his head as if he might laugh, but there was no humour to his claims. 

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. Heat prickled your eyes and the lump in your throat grew tenfold until you could barely breathe. Weren’t you the side character? That was what you felt like growing up, and even now that you were grown and more mature, the feeling never changed. It was like how on each birthday, you never actually feel any older, not until one day you look in the mirror and realise you are no longer a child. 

“Running from your squad was a reckless action and it only served to show that you have no regard for what you bring to your team. You are not just a cog in a machine, nor are you a side character worthy of only a handful of minutes of screen time,” he said quietly, almost too quiet. “To your friends and to... to me, you are so much more and I’m not sure how to get that through your thick skull.” 

Shikamaru placed a fingertip against the middle of your forehead, letting you absorb the message and remaining silent over the tears that were slowly tracking down your cheeks. So, this was what he was trying to show you, that you were important enough to warrant attention. Maybe he had already reasoned that was why you had run from him when he offered the invitation of something more than friendship. He was a genius after all. 

Tentatively, he stroked a thumb across your cheek to collect your fallen tears and you leant into the affection. He let out a soft whoosh of air, like he was finally satisfied that you weren’t going to take off again, and you smiled, watery but genuine. 

It would take some time for this particular lesson to sink in, but if you were in fact the protagonist of your own story, and he was the love interest, then surely you could embrace him in the way you wanted? 

You tested the theory; arms lifting so they could rest on his shoulders, fingers delving into the silky black ponytail until the tie came loose and he made a small noise in his throat. His forehead lowered to rest against yours, eyes softly shuttered whilst his skin warmed from the touch of your fingers through his hair. 

“This is new,” you mused, touching the patch of coarse hair at his chin. 

Shikamaru nodded. “When you ran from me that night, the night where I thought I had made it clear that I wanted you and no one else,” he looked at your sharply then, “I decided that something had to change and this happened.” 

“What you really mean is that you didn’t shave for a few weeks and then couldn’t be bothered to finish the job when you finally got around to it, right?” 

“I am not that lazy,” he snorted in good humour. 

Your smile slipped when his hands skimmed your sides, stroking up and down until they came to pause at your waist, fingertips dipping into your skin enough to feel it. You chewed your lip, caught in a moment of indecision. 

It didn’t last more than a second or two, not until you finally took the leap of faith and pressed your lips to his. He let you lead, moving in time with you and sighing contentedly when your tongue stroked the plush of his bottom lip, enough to let you delve a little deeper. 

He tasted minty, but there was a familiar smokiness to it that you remembered from those times months ago when kissing like this seemed like nothing more than a game. Now, it was much more, and the weight of your feelings being reciprocated only heightened the experience. 

“I promise not to run anymore, and...” you paused, nudging his nose with yours as he waited for you to continue. “I’ll try to stop thinking of myself as being the side character. I think I have a few more apologies to make, but the one that matters most belongs to you.” 

Shikamaru shook his head. “Don’t. No matter how it made me feel, we wouldn’t be here today, like this, if things hadn’t played out as they did. I’m not sorry you were scared, but I am sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Keep your apologies for your friends, they might not be so easy to win over.” 

“Damn, yeah. I guess this means my training is over?” 

“No chance! Your perception skills are terrible. We’ll be here every day at noon until you improve,” he enthused, turning you both so you could begin the walk back to the village. 

“But...” you made to lace your fingers through his and squeezed when he welcomed it. “Maybe we’ll both set off from the same place tomorrow morning.” 

Shikamaru nearly tripped over his foot, and you grinned, devious and happy. 

“... let’s see what happens.”