#its an unspoken truth. we never acknowledge it and we never have to acknowledge the rest

[arsenicflame]

sometimes i remember "I have love for you" & "I loved you, best i could" is canon and i have to chew glass about it

[kwilquib]

Pojangmacha

(if your unfamiliar with the word, its the red bar tent you often see on streets of South Korea).

Minnie X Male Reader (Yunjae) ft. Park Jiwon (Fromis_9)

Word Count: 18k+

Notes:

This is my first Fic, any feedback is appreciated :)

If you're expecting Jiwon smut, I'm sorry there's none, I just really need a reason for Minnie's insecurity

just for additional context, the second pojangmacha scene happened around during G-idle's haitus.

I used the name Yunjae because i didn't like the "y/n" format actual name feels more immersive. I picke the name Yunjae randomly though

You swirled your soju glass in silence, staring at the swirling liquid like it held answers to questions you couldn’t ask.

“Yunjae,” Jiwon’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft but pointed. “You’re killing yourself like this.”

You laqughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Am I? Feels more like I’m just surviving.”

“Same thing,” she shot back, leaning closer. “You’re stuck, Yunjae. You’ve been stuck for years. It’s like you’re waiting for something to change when you’re the one who won’t move.”

Her words cut close to the bone. You wanted to argue, to deflect, but what was the point? She was right, and you both knew it.

“It’s not that simple,” you muttered, your eyes dropping to the faint gleam of your wedding ring.

Jiwon’s gaze followed yours, and her lips tightened into a line. She never said it outright, but the ring was always the elephant in the room.

“Why do you stay?” she asked quietly, her tone softer now. “If it’s really this hard—if she doesn’t even care anymore—then why?”

You looked up sharply. “You don’t know that,” you said, more defensively than you intended.

Her brows arched, her disbelief evident. “Oh, really? When was the last time you two actually talked? And I don’t mean the polite, ‘pass the salt’ kind of talk. I mean really talked.”

You didn’t answer, because you couldn’t.

Jiwon leaned back with a sigh, her frustration bleeding through. “Yunjae, you’re wasting your life waiting for something that’s never going to happen. You’re loyal to a fault, I get that, but maybe it’s time to let go.

"Four years," you muttered, swirling the last remnants of soju in your glass. "Four years since we said, 'I do.' And what do I have to show for it?" Your laugh came bitter, tinged with self-loathing. "We don’t even talk anymore."

Jiwon's expression softened. She reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on yours. "You've said that before, Yunjae. Let's call it a night."

"I just don't get it..." you continued, your voice tinged with confusion, ignoring Jiwon's request for now. "We had our reasons, sure—convenience, mutual benefits. But maybe I expected more. At the very least, I thought we could remain friends, not this distant... this nothingness."

You sighed, frustration building inside you like a tidal wave. You grabbed the Soju bottle and poured its contents into your glass, emptying it in one swift motion. The liquid burned as it slid down your throat, the sensation both comforting and familiar.

Jiwon’s eyes flickered with something unspoken, her silence speaking volumes. She hesitated, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed she might voice the truth lingering between you. But instead, she looked away. "I don’t know either," she said softly. "If it were me…" Her voice trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

You furrowed your brow and locked your gaze on hers, the unspoken thoughts echoing in the empty space between you. You already knew what she meant—you were childhood friends who had lost contact but reconnected years later. In the time that had passed, her intentions had changed, and you sensed that she was well aware of your realization. The tension grew palpable as the truth hung there, waiting for a moment of honesty to break the silence.

The heavy silence pressed in on you, demanding acknowledgment. You knew you had to confront the elephant in the room, to end it once and for all, lest it lingered in doubt. "Jiwo-"

But Jiwon interjected before you could finish, her voice steady as she changed the subject, "Anyway, it's pretty late. We've been here since 7 PM, and it's almost midnight now."

You nodded, your heart heavy with the unsaid words between you. You straighten your sitting posture, gather yourself. “Right. You can go first, thank you for being here”

She hesitated, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I can’t leave you alone like this."

“I’ll be fine, I'll just stay here for a couple minutes to sober up, then I'll take the cab,” you explained. “Promise”.

A pang of frustration flickered across Jiwon's face, her sympathetic gaze lingering on your burdened spirit. She fidgeted with the strap of her purse, and you caught sight of a fleeting flush on her cheeks. It seemed as though she might have been embarrassed by whatever thoughts she harbored or the words she almost spoke, using your suggestion as an escape.

"Alright. Promise me you’ll go straight home." she sighed, her feigned surrender tinged with uncertainty as to where the two of you would stand in the aftermath of this night.

“I promise” you answered.

With a final glance, she stood and left, her figure disappearing into the night. Alone once more, you reached for the soju bottle, pouring what remained into your glass. The cold burn slid down your throat, offering little comfort.

Park Jiwon, she is an excellent friend, but her role in your life had remained firmly in the platonic realm. You couldn't see her romantically, and not being platonic with a friend is exactly how you found yourself in this situation in the first place. Plus there's another reason why you couldn't be with anybody else right now.

Your fingers toyed with a ring on your ring finger, the silver two strands intertwining like an infinity sign. A row of tiny diamonds adorned it, capturing light in their faceted depths. You lifted your hand, eyeing the ring as though presented with a cruel joke—how something so beautiful could symbolize the absence of light in your life.

The promise to Jiwon lingered, as did the knowledge that you should head home. Yet, you hesitated, aware that returning to your cold home on this day would only accentuate the issues plaguing you. In the back of your mind, a part of you yearned for a shred of hope, an irrational belief that perhaps something miraculous might transpire here. This bar had become a place of hope, however fleeting or destructive, from the reality awaiting you at home.

Your gaze lingered on the ring as memories began to resurface. Drowsiness crept in, pulling you into the haze of a dream. When you opened your eyes again, the scene hadn’t changed. The same table, the same empty glasses. But the person sitting across from you was no longer Jiwon.

—

 "Ya!! Are you listening? I'm paying for the drinks, and you're ignoring me?" Minnie's voice jolted you. She sat opposite you, her sharp eyes narrowing in frustration. her chopsticks pointed at you like a weapon.

The sight of her stirred something in you—a pang of nostalgia, a mix of joy and regret. "But I’m paying for the meat," you retorted weakly, though she ignored you entirely, continuing her tirade.

She sighed dramatically, slapping the table for emphasis. "Can you believe my parents? My career is on the line, and they want me to just drop everything and go home to Thailand?" She let out an exasperated sigh, her words tumbling over each other.

Deciding to give her your full attention, lest her tirade be endless, you asked, "Can you tell me again why they wanted you back?"

Minnie hesitated, her face contorted with a mixture of confusion and irritation. "They said I've done enough; it's time to think long term, find myself a partner, a husband. That's their reason, at least," she explained.

She then continued murmuring under her breath, "I think they just want me to be married off to a royal bloodline so our family could get even closer to being Thai royalty."

Silence enveloped you both, acknowledging the gravity of her situation and your shared understanding that she desired nothing more than a sympathetic ear.

Minnie's frustration reached a crescendo as she let out a frustrated "Aggghhh!!"

You found yourself staring at her, the sight of her distress oddly endearing. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. you don't know when it started but at some point during your history of friendship, without realizing it, you were falling for your dear friend, Minnie. Afraid to jeopardize the relationship, you concealed these feelings deep within, unable to pinpoint one singular reason for your infatuation. It could have been her alluring smile, captivating personality, soulful gaze, lithe frame, or an intoxicating blend of all these traits.

Minnie's sharp eyes caught you in the act of smiling, "Ya!!" she teased, "Look at you smiling, it must be fun having a grandfather who's the opposite of my parents.".

"He's giving you all of his as an inheritance," Minnie remarked, her tone laced with indignation as she nibbled on the pork you had purchased. "I don't know why I'm paying for you when you're rich."

You corrected her gently, "Well... not yet."

Minnie started to question whether your grandfather was still alive, but you interrupted her. "I didn't mean it like that!" You realized you had raised your voice, yet Minnie appeared unfazed as she continued drinking from her beer mug.

When she signaled for you to continue, you explained, "I can't have the inheritance right now, and if I don't get married before turning 30, I might lose it." You paraphrased your grandfather's words: "I don't want all this wealth given to a house bum; you need to have at least a family.”

Minnie's arm remained in midair, her mouth hovering over the mug as she paused, processing the gravity of your situation. After what felt like an eternity, she gently set it down and fixed her gaze on you. Silence pervaded the table as she mulled over your words.

Finally breaking the silence, she said, "So you need to be married to get your inheritance?" Her eyes held a mix of concern and curiosity. You found yourself furrowing your brow, unsure where this revelation would lead.

"And my parents don't want me to continue with my career because..." She mimicked air quotes, "Think long term, find a good husband."

It was then that you noticed your fingers were entwined with the silver pair of rings hanging around your neck on a chain, their design intricate and familiar. An heirloom from your grandfather, their intricate design held meaning beyond just the gift itself. In this moment of realization, you knew where this conversation would eventually take you—back to a familiar crossroads, one you'd faced before, yet helplessly watched unfold.

"Why don’t we just get married?" Minnie proposed, the words hanging in the air like a question that demanded an answer. 

You blinked, convinced you’d misheard her.

"What?"

"Let’s get married," Minnie said again, her tone firm. "Why not? We’re already close, we get along, It solves your problem, and mine. You can be my excuse for my parents not to worry, and you secure your inheritance like you said."

The scene felt eerily familiar yet disjointed from your reality, causing you to laugh nervously.

"Are you serious?" you asked, while laughing.

Minnie's tone turned sharp when she yelled, "Of course I’m serious." Her voice softened, the faintest hint of vulnerability slipping through her usual bravado. 

"Unless marrying me is that funny to you?" Her distress at your laughter was apparent. 

"No, it’s not that," you said quickly. It hit you then: she wasn't joking, despite the alcohol. Both of you were clear-headed and sober enough to be making this decision. "I just—"

"You’re insane," you said, trying to mask the way your chest tightened.

"Maybe," she admitted, her tone lighter now. She was already reaching for the grill, flipping pieces of meat with practiced ease. "But you can’t deny it makes sense."

Your heart twisted at the suggestion, an unfamiliar blend of hope and dread coursing through you. For years, you’d hidden your feelings for Minnie—feelings that had grown quietly, relentlessly, despite your best efforts to suppress them.

"Okay, If you're serious. You're suggesting a marriage of convenience, right?" You asked, seeking clarification even though the thought of Minnie proposing to you elicited an immediate, overwhelming 'yes.' However, you had to temper your enthusiasm given the pragmatic nature of her proposal. It wasn't love or a confession; it was an offer mutually beneficial for both of you.

Minnie looked surprised by your question, replying, "Yeah... Yeah, of course, marriage of convenience, what else could it be?"

Perfect. You almost laughed agian at the irony. For her, it was a convenient solution to a problem. For you, it was a chance to stay close to her in a way you’d never dared to hope for.

You reached out for her hand, and Minnie complied, placing her hand on the table. You took off the necklace—the pair of silver rings meant for your grandfather's heir. A hazy sense of déjà vu washed over you as you removed the rings from the chain. The air seemed thick with unspoken words, and you felt your chest constrict as if this scene had played out before. This weight pressed against your consciousness, but you couldn't discern why.

"This is an heirloom," you began. "My grandfather’s. If we’re going to do this… it has to be with these rings. We really have to get married, we can’t trick my grandfather" Your heart pounded as you extended the ring.

Minnie’s eyes widened slightly as you placed one of the rings in her hand. The moment felt surreal, yet inevitable, like you were playing out a scene you’d already lived.

For a moment, something flickered across her face—something soft, almost vulnerable. Then she smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re such a sentimental idiot,” she said, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

"Nicha Yontararak," you whispered, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. "Will you marry me?"

Her response came quickly, her lips curving into a small, almost shy smile. "Yes."

The dream fractured then, the edges dissolving as reality crashed back in. You woke up with a start, slumped over the table where the conversation had once unfolded. The bar was empty now, save for one figure standing over you. A cold metal brushed against your cheek—the ring finger of a hand, as if beckoning you.

"Yunjae," the voice said, familiar and unmistakable. You looked up to see Minnie, her face obscured by a cap and mask.

"Why?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question carried the weight of four years of silence. "Why did you say yes?"

Her expression was unreadable as the world around you faded to black.

–

Your eyes flickered open to reveal the interior of a car, the engine's low hum the only soundtrack to this moment. You turned your head toward the driver, the faint glow of city lights illuminating her form in a fleeting manner. As your vision cleared, you recognized Minnie behind the wheel. She was dressed in a sleek pink suit jacket with matching pants, her attire immaculately tailored to fit her figure. Beneath the jacket, a cropped top peeked through, adding a casual edge to her otherwise professional look.

Questions flooded your mind. How did she find you? Did she remember that place? And most importantly, does she know the significance of today's date?

Your gaze lingered on her outfit, and a thought struck you—she must have come straight from work. The slight crease in her sleeves and the faint traces of fatigue around her eyes hinted at a long day, but she carried herself with an air of determination. Whatever had brought her here, it was enough to pull her directly from her world and into yours.

Before you could fully explore these thoughts, Minnie spoke, "Jiwon called me. She told me you refused to go home." The answer felt like a slap, and you couldn't help but laugh at your own naivety. Of course, Jiwon had informed her.

Your gaze fell upon Minnie's hand resting on the steering wheel, the silver ring glinting. A deep sigh escaped your lips as you pondered the question: "Where did it all go wrong?" Your mind whirled with memories and regret, searching for answers to a past you couldn't change.

—

In the aftermath of your impromptu proposal in the pojangmacha, you and Minnie knew you had to convince your grandfather of your relationship's authenticity. To achieve this, you devised a plan that entailed showing affection publicly—holding hands, sharing stolen kisses, and spending time together.

You had fallen for Minnie well before this event, but enacting your love intensified these feelings. The line between your performance and genuine emotions blurred, as your heart yearned to reveal your true sentiments. Your unrequited love swelled with each passing moment that deepened your connection. You could only hope that your efforts would ignite the same burning desire in Minnie's heart.

Similarly, you had to convince Minnie's parents that you were indeed the ideal husband for their daughter. You showcased your commitment, respect, and dedication to making her happy. You took an active role in family gatherings, bonding with Minnie's siblings, and proving your worth as a son-in-law.

Once these obstacles were overcome, everything else seemed to happen at breakneck speed. Wedding plans came together swiftly; invitations were sent, venues booked, and the big day loomed closer. In the blur of excitement, you found yourself standing at the altar, about to exchange vows with Minnie. The transition from pojangmacha proposal to nuptials felt almost dreamlike—too quick to fully process.

The ceremony took place in a remote chapel far from unwanted attention. Pews were populated with guests that were thoroughly selected, aside from close family only few were invited.

As you stood before the altar, the chapel filled with the soft hum of anticipation, you could see her—Minnie—beginning her journey down the aisle. Through the delicate veil that framed her face, a smile bloomed, and even from this distance, it was impossible for you not to be entranced. With each measured step, she approached, each stride bringing you closer together.

Your eyes trailed over her dress, so resplendent and elegant, as she moved with the grace of a dancer. The sunlight filtering through the chapel's stained-glass windows bathed everything in an ethereal glow. Each hue, dancing and twirling across the floor, seemed to celebrate our union.

The air in the small, candle-lit altar was heavy with quiet reverence, the murmurs of a few close witnesses fading as the officiant began to speak. It was an intimate affair—just as they had planned. No grand celebrations, no sea of faces, only the people who mattered most.

You stood across from Minnie, your palms slightly damp as you held the delicate silver ring between your fingers. The ring’s intricate design seemed to weigh heavier in your hand than it should, its symbolism pressing on you more than you cared to admit.

Minnie, radiant in her understated elegance, met your gaze with that familiar mix of mischief and something else you couldn’t quite name. She looked calm, collected—but you knew her well enough to catch the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

“This is it,” the officiant said, his voice steady. “The vows you exchange today will bind your hearts and lives together. Do you wish to proceed?”

You glanced at Minnie, searching her face for any sign of regret. She gave him the faintest of nods, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile.

You cleared your throat, your voice quiet but firm as you began.

“Minnie, I know we’re standing here today not for the reasons most couples do. We’ve always been practical, and this… this is no different. But I want you to know that I’ll honor this vow, not just as your husband, but as your friend.

I promise to be there when you need someone to lean on, to laugh with, and even to argue with when the mood strikes. I promise to keep our trust unbroken and to stand by you, no matter how complicated life gets.

This isn’t just a promise for today, but for every day after. Not out of duty, but because you’re someone I respect, someone I’ve always believed in. And if that’s the foundation of our marriage, then I think we’ll be alright.”

You made a commitment to yourself although some might consider this marriage as a fraud, to you at least you didn’t want your vow to be a lie.

Your voice softened as you slipped the ring onto her finger, your hand lingering a moment longer than necessary. For a second, you thought you saw her eyes glisten, but she blinked it away before it could fall.

Minnie took a small breath before she began, her tone steady but tinged with something deeper.

“Yunjae, you’ve always been the kind of person who sees things through—whether it’s fixing a broken coffee machine or helping me dodge my family’s relentless matchmaking.

Today, I stand here because I trust you. I trust that no matter what, you’ll keep your word.

I can’t promise that I’ll always be the easiest person to deal with, or that life will suddenly make sense because of this decision. But I can promise that I’ll try. I’ll try to be someone who doesn’t let you down, someone who holds up my end of this partnership.

And who knows?”—she allowed herself a small laugh—“Maybe we’ll surprise each other along the way.”

She slid the matching silver band onto his finger, her touch light but deliberate. For a fleeting moment, her fingers brushed against yours, and it felt like more than just an accident.

The officiant’s voice broke the silence that hung between them. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

You hesitated, not out of reluctance, but because the moment felt heavier than you had anticipated. You leaned forward slowly, your lips brushing hers in the lightest, briefest of touches—enough to be proper, yet leaving a quiet ache in its wake.

When the two of you pulled apart, Minnie’s eyes met yours again, and for the first time that day, her smile reached all the way to her eyes.

The witnesses applauded politely, and the ceremony moved on, but You couldn’t shake the lingering warmth of her lips or the quiet weight of her words.

For a marriage born out of convenience, the moment felt startlingly real.

—

The silence of the apartment was heavy, oppressive, and electric all at once. Every tick of the wall clock echoed like a heartbeat, a relentless reminder of the moment you now found yourself in. This wasn’t just any night. It was your wedding night.

Minnie lingered by the doorway, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to break the silence that stretched between you like a live wire, taut and humming with unspoken tension.

You leaned against the counter, your jacket slung over your arm, your tie loosened just enough to breathe. But breathing felt impossible now, every inhale shallow, every exhale trembling.

“It feels strange,” she said suddenly, her voice soft but slicing through the stillness like a blade.

You glanced at her, catching the way her eyes darted nervously around the room, avoiding yours. “What does?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

“This,” she said, gesturing weakly at the space around you. “Us. Here. Like this.”

You let out a dry laugh, more out of habit than amusement. “Yeah. It does.”

She moved further into the room, her steps slow and deliberate, as if she were testing the ground beneath her. Her hand trailed along the edge of the couch, her touch light but deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. “I guess I should change,” she murmured, still not meeting your eyes.

You nodded automatically, your throat tight. “Yeah. Me too.”

You retreated to the guest room, the cool air brushing against your skin as you stripped off your wedding attire and slipped into the silky pajamas. The fabric clung to your body, soft and cool, but it did nothing to quell the heat simmering beneath your skin. When you returned to the living room, you collapsed onto the sofa, your mind racing.

A few moments later, you heard the soft click of a door opening. Your head turned instinctively, and there she was. Minnie. She stepped out from the bedroom, her long, black hair cascading over her shoulders like a midnight waterfall. The sight of her stole the breath from your lungs.

She wore a gown of white lace, the fabric sheer enough to hint at the curves beneath, yet modest enough to leave everything to your imagination. The delicate material clung to her body like a second skin, the neckline dipping just enough to reveal the faintest shadow of cleavage. A slit ran up one side, exposing the smooth expanse of her thigh, and your gaze lingered there, tracing the line of her leg with a hunger you couldn’t suppress.

The air between you grew thick, charged with something primal and undeniable. Your pulse quickened, a throbbing ache building low in your abdomen as your eyes roamed over her. The swell of her hips, the curve of her waist, the way the lace hugged her breasts—every detail was a temptation, a provocation.

She hesitated by the doorway, her hands fidgeting slightly, her lips parting as if she were about to speak but couldn’t find the words. Her eyes met yours, and in that instant, it was as though the world had stopped. The tension between you was palpable, a magnetic pull that neither of you could resist.

“Minnie…” you said, your voice rough, strained with desire.

Her gaze flickered to yours, holding it for a heartbeat before dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You didn’t,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think. “You’re not.”

She took a tentative step closer, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. The scent of her perfume—something floral and intoxicating—wafted toward you, filling your senses. “This is… different, isn’t it?” she said, her voice carrying a vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

You nodded slowly, your throat dry. “Yeah. It is.”

The space between you seemed to shrink with every step she took, the air growing heavier, hotter. Her eyes searched for yours, dark and unreadable, but there was something in them—a flicker of desire, of uncertainty, of need.

“Yunjae,” she began, your name trembling on her lips. “Do you think we should…?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding in your ears. You knew exactly what she was asking, even without the words to complete the thought. You leaned back against the counter, running a hand through your hair to buy yourself time.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice low and rough. “Do you want to?”

Her breath hitched, and you could see her struggling to find the answer. “I don’t know either,” she confessed, her honesty cutting through you like a knife. “This isn’t how I pictured…”

“Me neither,” you said quickly, desperate to ease her discomfort. “But here we are.”

The air between you crackled with something unspoken, something electric and terrifying all at once. You took a hesitant step closer, your pulse hammering in your ears. The heat of her body radiated toward you, and you could almost feel the warmth of her skin against yours.

“We don’t have to do anything we’re not ready for,” you said, your tone firm, though you weren’t sure if you were reassuring her or yourself.

She dropped her gaze, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. “It’s not about being ready,” she said, her voice so soft you almost missed it. “It’s about what it would mean.”

“What do you think it would mean?” you asked, your throat tightening as you waited for her answer.

She lifted her eyes to meet yours, and the vulnerability there made your breath catch. “That this is real,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “That we’re not just pretending anymore.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Of course it was real—how could it not be? But hearing her say it, seeing the fear and hope mingled in her expression, made it feel all the more tangible.

“It is real,” you said, your voice rough. “But that doesn’t mean we have to rush anything.”

She took a step closer then, and you could feel the warmth of her presence, the gravity of her drawing you in. Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“Yunjae,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “what do you want?”

The question struck you like lightning, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you reached out, your hand hovering near her face before you finally let it rest against her cheek.

Her skin was soft, warm, and you could feel the faint tremor in her as she leaned into your touch. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said, your voice raw with emotion.

“You won’t,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving yours.

Her breath was warm against your skin, her closeness intoxicating. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to close the gap, to let go of the restraint that had held you back for so long. Your other hand found her waist, the lace of her gown smooth beneath your fingertips, and you pulled her closer, your bodies almost touching.

Her lips parted, her breath hitching as your foreheads brushed together. The tension between you was unbearable, the air thick with desire and hesitation. You could feel the rapid beat of her heart, the way her body trembled against yours.

But just as you let yourself imagine it—just as you felt the pull to kiss her, to lose yourself in her—the sharp, jarring ring of your phone shattered the moment.

You froze, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. Minnie blinked, her eyes wide with surprise, and you reluctantly pulled away, your hand falling from her waist as you reached for your phone on the counter.

The screen lit up with the name “Grandfather.” You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the answer button, before glancing at Minnie. She took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself as if to shield herself from the sudden intrusion.

“You should get that,” she said softly, her voice tinged with both relief and disappointment.

You nodded, your chest tight as you answered the call. “Grandfather?”

“Yunjae,” his voice boomed through the phone, loud and commanding. “I just wanted to make sure you two made it home safely. How’s married life treating you so far?”

You forced a laugh, your eyes flickering to Minnie, who was now standing by the window, her back to you. “It’s… it’s good, Grandfather. We’re just settling in.”

“Good, good,” he said, his tone softening. “Take care of her, Yunjae. She’s a special one.”

“I will,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. Then, almost as an afterthought, your grandfather added, “Oh, and by the way, Jiwon just returned from overseas. She asked about you.”

The name hit you like a bolt of lightning. “Jiwon?” you repeated, louder than you intended, your voice carrying across the room.

Minnie turned sharply at the sound of the name, her eyes widening slightly. You could see the curiosity flicker across her face, though she quickly masked it, turning back toward the window.

“Yes, Jiwon,” your grandfather continued, oblivious to the tension his words had just created. “She’s back in town. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Right,” you said, your mind racing. “Thanks for letting me know, Grandfather.”

After a few more pleasantries, you ended the call and set the phone down, the silence of the apartment pressing in on you once more. Minnie turned to face you, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp with questions she wasn’t asking.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice quiet but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “Just my grandfather checking in. He, uh… mentioned that an old friend of mine is back in town.”

“Jiwon,” she said, her tone neutral but her gaze piercing. “I heard.”

You nodded, unsure of how much to say. “Yeah. We grew up together. She’s been overseas for a while.”

Minnie nodded slowly, her arms still wrapped around herself. “That’s… nice,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours, before turning toward the bedroom. “I think… I’m going to head to bed. It’s been a long day.”

You nodded, the ache in your chest intensifying. “Yeah. Of course.”

She hesitated at the doorway, her hand resting on the frame as if she wanted to say something more. But instead, she simply said, “Goodnight, Yunjae,” before disappearing into the bedroom.

The soft click of the door closing behind her felt like a finality, a punctuation mark on the night. You sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. The weight of the day—and the night—pressed down on you, suffocating and inescapable. The memory of her body, her warmth, her scent, lingered in your mind, a tantalizing reminder of what could have been.

—

The memory lingered like a phantom, the weight of her warmth and scent still wrapped around you. Yunjae closed his eyes, trying to shake it off, but the pull of what could’ve been was stronger than he liked to admit.

The soft hum of the car engine brought him back, the rhythmic vibration beneath him grounding him in the present. His eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of passing street lights illuminating Minnie’s face, her features etched with a quiet tension.

“Why did you drink that much?” Minnie’s voice broke the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You glanced at her from the passenger seat. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale, but her focus remained on the empty road ahead. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face, accentuating the tension in her jaw.

“And why go all the way to that pojangmacha?” she continued, her voice steady but probing, cutting through the silence.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I could ask you the same thing,” you finally muttered, leaning your head back against the seat.

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s not an answer, Yunjae,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of frustration and concern.

You looked out the window, watching the world blur past in a haze of light and shadow. “I just… needed to clear my head,” you said after a moment, your tone low.

Minnie glanced at you briefly before returning her eyes to the road. “And drinking was the best way to do that?” she asked, her words sharper now.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Maybe,” you admitted. “I didn’t plan to drink that much. It just… happened.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but the silence between you was far from comfortable. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the occasional noise from the tires against the asphalt.

“Why?” she asked again, quieter this time. Her voice had lost its edge, replaced by something softer, something closer to worry. “What were you trying to forget?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. You swallowed hard, your mind flashing back to the memories that had surfaced earlier—the echoes of laughter, the warmth of shared moments, the way everything once felt so easy between you. Your relationship had been so bright back then, a beacon of connection and understanding. But now, the contrast was stark, almost painful, like a photograph faded with time.

“Nothing,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minnie shook her head, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. “You’re terrible at lying,” she said, her tone a mix of exasperation and something else—something closer to sadness.

You didn’t respond, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. Instead, you turned your gaze back to the window, hoping the passing scenery would offer some kind of distraction.

…

The silence stretched, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to her, you blurted out, “Why are we like this, Minnie?”

She froze, her fingers flexing against the wheel, her lips parting slightly as if she didn’t expect the question. Slowly, her voice leaves her mouth, as if she was hesitant. “What… do you mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

“This,” you gestured between the two of you, the frustration clear in your tone. “The silence, the distance. It wasn’t like this before. What happened to us?”

The silence in the car felt suffocating, your words hanging heavy between you both. Minnie’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles turning white. Her lips pressed together into a thin line as her gaze stayed locked on the empty road ahead. For a moment, you thought she wouldn’t respond.

But then her voice cut through the tense air, sharp and brittle. “You think I don’t wonder the same thing?” she shot back, her tone trembling just slightly at the edges.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in frustration. “Then why don’t we talk about it? Why do we keep pretending like this is fine when it’s not?”

She glanced at you briefly, her eyes flashing with something between anger and pain. “What should we talk about, Yunjae? Should we just end this? Is that what you want?” Her words came fast now, a barrage of questions that hit you like punches, each one sharper than the last. “Sure, okay, why not? Let’s get divorced. That’s what you want, don’t you?”

Your chest tightened, the venom in her voice cutting deeper than you thought possible. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. For a moment, you just stared at her, stunned by her sudden outburst. The word “divorce” lingered in the air, harsh and unyielding.

And then it hit you—that question wasn’t entirely meant for you. The way her voice cracked, the way her eyes darted to the side for just a second—it was as though she was asking herself, questioning everything just as much as she was questioning you.

Memories of the past came rushing in, unbidden. Even before your marriage, she would jokingly throw out remarks about divorce whenever you two had playful arguments. Back then, it was just a bad joke, something you brushed off easily. But over time, as the relationship began to sour, the sarcasm faded from her tone, replaced by something heavier. Something real.

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as the realization settled in. It felt like a cruel irony, the weight of her words suffocating you. And yet, something in you snapped.

“Sure,” you said, your voice low but laced with anger. “Yes, let’s get divorced. It sounds like that’s what you’ve wanted all along. At this point, why not? I’d wish for it too.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, each syllable fueled by frustration and hurt.Her foot slammed on the brakes, the car jerking violently to a halt in the middle of the empty road. The force of it threw you forward, the seat belt digging into your chest as you caught yourself against the dashboard. Your head snapped toward her in disbelief, but the fiery glare in her eyes made you freeze.

It was as if your words had ignited something even angrier within her, a flame that she refused to let die down. The weight of the moment pressed down on you, and though the sudden halt had taken your breath away, it wasn’t the car’s jolt that had you reeling—it was her.

You glanced out the window and realized with a start that you were already in front of your apartment building. The neon lights from the convenience store across the street flickered, casting a dull glow on the car's interior. But Minnie didn’t say a word, her expression unreadable now as her hand moved to the gearshift.

The silence returned, thick and oppressive, as she slowly released the brakes and guided the car into the underground garage. Her movements were controlled, deliberate, as though she were holding herself together with the thin thread of composure she had left.

You wanted to say something, anything, to ease the crushing weight of the silence. But the words refused to come. The hum of the engine was all that filled the car, its persistent noise somehow highlighting how alone you felt.

The car jerked to a stop, and without a second thought, Minnie threw the car door open with a slam, the sound sharp and final. The anger in her movements was unmistakable—each action deliberate, each step away from you carrying the weight of something you weren’t ready to face. You could feel the sting of her frustration in the air, and it made your chest tighten.

You sat there in the car for a moment, paralyzed. Everything had happened so quickly, faster than you could process. Her words, the anger, the sudden shift in the air—it felt like the end of something. Your heart beat in your ears as your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Was this really the end of everything? Was this what your relationship had come to?

But no. You couldn’t let it end like this, not without confronting the mess you’d both created. You shook yourself out of the daze, forcing your body to move, to take action. This conversation—no, this argument—wasn’t finished. It needed to end here and now.

You opened the car door, your breath shallow, and rushed after her, ignoring the heavy feeling in your chest. You barely made it to the elevator before the doors closed. You caught a glimpse of her, just a fleeting moment, but it was enough. Her eyes met yours, as her face was slowly covered by the closing metal doors.

Your heart raced as you watched the elevator ascend, and you cursed under your breath. You weren’t going to let it go like this. You couldn’t. Not when everything felt so broken, but so fixable at the same time.

You pressed the button for the elevator, your hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, waiting for it to return. The silence in the garage seemed to stretch on endlessly, and with every passing second, the weight of what was happening only seemed to grow heavier.

You stepped in to the elevator, the slow, rhythmic ping of the floor numbers echoing in your mind. The numbers on the screen flickered, counting up, but in that moment, they felt more like a cruel countdown rather than progress. Each number, each floor felt like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, giving you just enough time to think—too much time to think.

You tried to recall the last moment you saw Minnie, the brief glance exchanged before the elevator doors shut between you. It had been only a second, but in your mind, it felt like a lifetime. Your thoughts were in conflict, each memory fighting for dominance, each one pulling you in a different direction.

The numbers on the elevator’s display shifted slowly, and you watched them one by one.

"One..." You could almost feel the heat from her glare again, that fiery anger that had burned through the car earlier. It was all too real, too raw.

"Two..." But was it really that? You thought back, trying to see beyond the anger. Had her gaze been cold? That piercing coldness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Three..." It wasn’t that simple, was it? Maybe it wasn’t anger at all. Maybe you saw sadness in her eyes—real, raw sadness that had made your chest tighten, your breath catch in your throat.

"Four..." Or maybe it wasn’t any of those things. Maybe you had been too clouded by your own frustration to truly see her. Maybe, just maybe, there had been a tear glinting in her eye, too fast to catch, but real.

"Five..." The numbers came to an end, and the harsh ding of the elevator doors opening brought you back to the present.

You stepped out of the elevator, your mind still swirling with conflicting thoughts, but you knew you had no more time for hesitation. The door to your apartment was right there in front of you, yet it felt miles away. You approached it slowly, every step feeling heavier than the last. Your hand reached out for the door handle, and as you gripped it, you hesitated for a moment. The door felt impossibly heavy, almost as if it were holding you back, forcing you to confront whatever lay on the other side.

You pushed through the weight, twisting the knob and stepping inside. The apartment was eerily quiet, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the walls. It felt so different now, so foreign. The last few years had drained the warmth, the life, from this place. And now, here you were, standing in the same space with Minnie, but it felt like a universe separated the two of you.

You closed the door quietly behind you, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. You didn’t know what to say or do, but you knew that this couldn’t be ignored any longer. This silence, this tension—it was unbearable.

The tension in the room was suffocating. You stood in the middle of the living room, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your breath shallow as you tried to keep your emotions in check. Minnie only a few steps away, hunched over the sofa facing the window, deliberately facing away from you. The dim light from the single lamp cast long shadows across the walls, the space between them feeling like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Minnie,” you said, your voice firm but edged with exhaustion. “We can’t leave this conversation here.”

She finally faced you locking her eyes to yours. You noticed her eyes were swell as if she had just recently cried, yet her face was a mask of indifference. It was the look she always wore, the one that had become her shield. But you weren't about to let her hide behind it tonight.

She let out a sharp laugh, bitter and mocking. “You’re so eager to end this, aren’t you?”

Her words stung, and you clenched your fists at your sides. “Don’t kid yourself, Minnie,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone measured. “You know I’m right.”

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharpening. “Right about what?”

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “You’re more successful in your career now than ever before. Your parents can’t pressure you like they used to.”

She frowned, clearly unimpressed. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

You stepped closer, your voice dropping as you tried to make her see reason. “This agreement—this marriage of convenience—it’s outlived its purpose. We don’t have to do this anymore. We don’t have to be together anymore.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Her lips parted slightly, as if the words had caught her off guard. But then her expression hardened, and she shot back, “What about your inheritance? You still need to be married to get it. You’ve got over a year left before you even qualify.”

Her tone was biting, but there was something else beneath it—something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat.

She seized on your silence, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Is that what this is about? Ending this so you can run off to be with the woman you actually love? Jiwon, wasn’t it?”

The accusation slammed into you, the air in the room growing heavier. It wasn’t the first time she’d brought Jiwon into a fight, and it stung just as much as every time before.

You inhaled sharply, trying to keep your temper in check. “Minnie, how many times do I have to say this?” you said, your voice low but trembling with frustration. “Jiwon is just a friend. She has always been just a friend.”

But she didn’t waver. Her gaze stayed locked on yours, sharp and unrelenting. “Am I wrong? You went out drinking at some far-off pojangmacha with her, of all people, in the middle of the night. Then suddenly, you’re bringing this up now, like this is some big revelation. What else am I supposed to think, Yunjae?”

You stared at her, disbelief and anger surging in equal measure. “Do you even hear yourself, Minnie?” you demanded, your voice rising. “This again? Jiwon again? How many times are we going to do this?”

Her silence spoke volumes, but you didn’t let up. “You keep throwing her name in my face like I haven’t explained myself a thousand times already. You think I enjoy repeating myself? Telling you over and over that there���s nothing there, just to have you ignore me every time?”

Her lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn’t respond.

“Do you even know what day it is today?” you asked, your patience cracking under the weight of it all. “Do you know why I was at that far-off pojangmacha?”

Her shoulders stiffened, but she still didn’t answer.

“Do you really have no idea, Minnie?” you pressed, your voice growing louder, harsher. “Today is our anniversary, for fuck’s sake. Instead of celebrating with you, instead of being with my wife, I was sitting there drinking alone, drowning in my own goddamn misery while you were nowhere to be found.”

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came, and the disbelief in her expression pushed you further.

“And Jiwon?” you continued, your voice sharp now, cutting through the tension. “She was there because you weren’t. She sat with me, talked to me, did the one thing you couldn’t—she showed up. She was a companion. A friend. That’s all she’s ever been, no matter how many times your insecurities tell you otherwise.”

Her breath hitched, her shoulders trembling slightly, but you weren’t done.

“It might’ve started as a marriage of convenience,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm you, “but I’ve never treated it as a joke. Not once. I’ve given it everything—my patience, my effort, my whole goddamn self. I’ve tried to be a good husband, or at the very least, a friend you could count on.”

You took a step closer, forcing her to meet your gaze. “But you, Minnie? You’ve avoided me. Treated me like a stranger. Like I wasn’t even worth the bare minimum effort to make this work. And every time you bring up Jiwon, every time you accuse me of something like this, it’s like you’re trying to justify shutting me out. To make me the villain instead of facing whatever it is that’s really going on.”

Her hands clenched at her sides, her head bowing slightly as if your words had physically struck her.

“The least you could’ve done,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less firm, “was trust me. Trust what I’ve told you, over and over again. And try to preserve what we had—our friendship, at the very least.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

You pressed on, your words gaining momentum. “I tried to be understanding. I told myself it was your job, that it was just too taxing. But there’s only so much I can compromise, Minnie. Do you know how much it hurts every time I think about what we used to be? What we’ve thrown away because of this… this stupid marriage?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For the first time in the entire argument, she looked vulnerable—small.

“Isn’t that why you’ve grown distant?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost pleading. “You regret this, don’t you? That’s why you’re like this. Isn’t it? Tell me, Minnie. Why did you say yes in the first place?”

She stared at you, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow. For a moment, you thought she wouldn’t answer. But then, her voice broke through the silence.

“Because it made sense,” she said, her tone flat, almost mechanical.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Of course. That’s the reason. ‘It made sense.’”

“It’s not just that!” she snapped, her voice breaking, the anger and frustration spilling out all at once. “It’s not only because it made sense.”

“Then tell me!” you shouted, your voice echoing off the walls of the apartment. “Give me another reason why we should continue this, Minnie, because what we have right now—whatever this is—isn’t worth keeping!”

Her hands balled into fists, and for a moment, you thought she’d lash out at you. But instead, she took a shuddering breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Because I was scared!” she yelled, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Because I thought I was going to lose you!”

Her confession hung in the air, raw and heavy, piercing through the anger like a blade.

“What?” you whispered, your voice faltering, confusion overtaking your frustration.

“I acted that way because I was afraid,” she repeated, her voice cracking. “Because this marriage meant we can’t go back. Because I realized too late that if I lose you in this marriage, I’d lose you forever.”

Her words lingered, their meaning teetering on the edge of something deeper, unspoken. She looked away, her arms wrapping around herself as if shielding something she couldn’t bring herself to admit.

You stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in, the truth cutting deeper than you anticipated.

Her voice wavered as she continued, a hint of desperation slipping through. “Being with you, acting like a couple—it made me happy. Too happy. But then it all started feeling too real. It felt like I was enjoying it too much.”

Your breath hitched as her meaning sank in.

“Minnie…” you said, your tone softer, a tremor of realization in your voice.

The silence that followed was deafening, filled with everything she couldn’t say and everything you weren’t sure you wanted to hear.

But she didn’t stop. Her voice trembled as her emotions spilled out, years of fear and pain surfacing all at once. “And then it hit me. This wasn’t real. It was never real. I was so scared of losing you, I regret agreeing to something I didn’t even understand. And every day, I kept thinking, ‘What if he wakes up and realizes he doesn’t need me? What if he decides to leave?’ So I distanced myself. I thought it’d hurt less that way. But it didn’t. It just made it worse.”

She drew in a shuddering breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It felt like I was taking advantage of you. Like I was holding you hostage in something you never wanted. Every time I looked at you, I felt guilty. It felt like I was coveting something I didn’t deserve. And I… I didn’t know what to do with that. I thought if I kept some distance, it’d hurt less when…” Her voice faltered as she swallowed hard. “…when we finally ended this.”

Her voice broke entirely as the tears finally came, streaming down her face in uncontrollable waves. She brought her hands up to cover her face, but her sobs filled the room, raw and unguarded.

You froze, the sight of her unraveling like this rendering you speechless. All the anger, all the frustration that had built up inside you, dissolved into something else—something achingly tender.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. Gently, you reached out, your hands trembling as they brushed against her arms, then her shoulders, before finally pulling her into a hesitant embrace.

She stiffened at first, but then, as if the dam inside her finally broke, she leaned into you, clutching at your shirt as though letting go might shatter her entirely. Her sobs wracked her body, her pain and fear pouring out into the silence between you.

And for the first time, you found yourself holding her not out of obligation, but because you didn’t want to let her go. Slowly, carefully, you reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you brushed the tears from her cheeks.

She flinched at first, but when she felt the gentle press of your fingers, she stilled. Her hands fell to her sides, and she stood there, her sobs quieting as you wiped away her tears in silence.

Your thumb lingered on her cheek for a moment, and then another, your touch soft, unhurried, as if you were trying to erase not just her tears but the pain they carried.

“Minnie,” you finally said, your voice a low murmur. “I had no idea…”. You cupped her face wanting to meet her eyes

Her shoulders shook again, but this time she didn’t pull away. She leaned into your hand, her tears still falling but slower now, her breathing uneven.

“All this time…” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “You’ve been scared. And I—”

You stopped, your throat tightening. The realization struck you hard, the truth you had avoided for so long staring back at you. You had been scared too. Scared of the vulnerability, of admitting how much she meant to you, of risking it all and losing her in the end.

For the moment, your eyes finally met with hers, but neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy but not unbearable, filled with something fragile yet unspoken.

The tension in the room didn’t disappear, but something shifted. For the first time in what felt like forever, the truth was out in the open. And even though it hurt, even though it felt like your chest was being torn open, it was a start.

But words weren’t enough. Not tonight. Not when the air between you was still crackling with something raw and unspoken. Not when she stood there, her long black hair falling over her shoulders, her bangs slightly tousled, her slim frame trembling with the weight of her confession, her vulnerability laid bare.

Before your mind could think, your body moved.

In one impulsive motion, you closed the distance between you, your hands cupping her face as your lips crashed into hers. The kiss was sudden, reckless, and charged with all the emotions you’d been holding back. Her lips were soft, warm, and trembling against yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

But then your brain caught up, and you jolted away, your breath ragged, your heart pounding in your chest. “Minnie… I—” you stammered, trying to explain yourself, to apologize for the impulsiveness of it all.

But before you could finish, her lips found yours again, cutting off your words. This time, it was her who closed the gap, her kiss just as desperate, just as messy, as if she couldn’t bear to let you pull away. Her hands clutched at the front of your shirt, her fingers twisting into the fabric like she was afraid you’d vanish if she let go.

“Yunjae,” she whispered against your lips, her voice breaking. “Don’t leave me.”

The plea was raw, unfiltered, and it shattered whatever restraint you had left. Her lips were soft but insistent, trembling with a vulnerability that mirrored your own. You could feel the dampness of her tears as they spilled over, mingling with the heat of your kiss. She kissed you back with a hunger that matched your own, her fingers tangling in your hair as if she was trying to anchor herself to you.

In one swift motion, you scooped her up into your arms, her body light and trembling against yours. Her arms instinctively wrapped around your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as she clung to you, her breath hot against your skin. She felt fragile in your arms, her slim frame fitting perfectly against you, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart as you carried her toward the bedroom.

Her pink jacket and pants were still partially on, the fabric soft against your skin, but the black sleeveless crop top she wore underneath clung to her body, revealing the delicate curve of her waist and the faint outline of her ribcage. Her long black hair spilled over your arm, her bangs slightly messy from the intensity of the moment, and she looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

You kissed her again as you walked, your lips brushing against hers in a slow, heated kiss that made her gasp. Her hands tightened around your neck, her nails digging into your skin as if she was afraid you’d let her go. But you didn’t. You held her closer, your arms tightening around her as you carried her into the bedroom.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the walls. You laid her down gently on the bed, her dark hair fanning out around her like a halo. She looked up at you, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes wide and vulnerable as she reached for you, her hands trembling as they traced the lines of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

“Minnie if you want me to stop…” you asked for confirmation.

“Yunjae,” she whispered again, her voice breaking as she pulled you closer. “Please.”

You kissed her again while taking off her jacket, your lips trailing down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. She gasped, her hands clutching at your shoulders as you moved lower, your lips brushing against the edge of her crop top. Her breath hitched as you pulled her crop-top over her head, putting into full view her whole upper body, the well defined lines of her stomach, the delicate curve of her waist. Her ribcage was faintly visible as she arched into your touch.

You kissed her stomach, your lips brushed against her skin as your hands slid down to the waistband of her pants. She let out a soft moan, her hips lifting slightly as you undid the button and zipper, sliding the fabric down her legs. She kicked them off, leaving her in nothing but her black lace underwear, her body trembling under your gaze.

She was beautiful. Her long black hair fanned out around her like a halo, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes. Her ribcage was faintly visible as she took a shallow breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. You could see the faint outline of her collarbone, the delicate curve of her waist, the way her body seemed to tremble with every touch.

Her hands slid down to your chest, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt as if she couldn’t get close enough to you. You helped her, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor, your skin prickling under her touch. Her breath hitched as her palms flattened against your chest, her fingertips tracing the lines of your collarbone, your shoulders, your arms. Her touch was hesitant at first, almost shy, but there was a hunger in her eyes that made your breath catch.

But then her hands moved lower, her fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants. She hesitated for a moment, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of nervousness and desire. “Can I…?” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she looked into your eyes, her dark gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire.

You nodded, your breath catching as you reached for her hands, intertwining your fingers with hers as you guided her to the button of your pants. “Go ahead,” you murmured, your voice low and rough as you pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she undid the button and zipper of your pants, her fingers brushing against your skin as she pushed them down your legs. You kicked them off, leaving you with only your boxer. Her breath hitched as she took in the sight of you, her dark eyes wide with a mix of awe and desire.

Your lips met again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was deep, desperate, and full of all the things you couldn’t say. Her tongue clashed with yours, the heat between you building as she kissed you with a ferocity that left you breathless. You could feel her trembling against you, her hands clutching at your shoulders as if she was afraid you’d pull away.

But you didn’t. You kissed her back just as fiercely, your hands sliding down to her waist as you pulled her closer. Her body pressed against yours, her slim frame fitting perfectly against you, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart as she moved against you.

Her aggressive kissing pushed you back, and before you knew it, your back was against the headrest, her body on top of you as she straddled your lap. Her hands roamed over your chest, her touch frantic and desperate as if she was trying to anchor herself to you. Her breath hitched as your lips trailed down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, and she let out a soft moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hands slipped underneath her bra, your fingers brushing against the soft, warm skin of her chest. She gasped, her body arching into your touch as your palms cupped her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her nipples. They were already hard, sensitive to your touch, and she let out a soft whimper as you teased them, your fingers rolling and pinching gently.

But as your hands moved to the clasp of her bra, fumbling clumsily in your haste. Her hands reached behind her back, and with a practiced ease, she unhooked the bra herself, letting it fall away. Her breasts were now bare, her nipples hard and sensitive in the cool air of the room.

“Yunjae,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she clung to you. “Please.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your lips trailed down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, and you took one of her nipples into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. She gasped, her hands clutching at your hair as she arched into you, her body trembling with every touch.

Your lips returned to her neck, your hands tracing the curves of her hips, leading to her midriff. Your touch was deliberate, exploring every inch of her as if committing her to memory. Your hand moved downward, sliding over the smooth skin of her stomach until your fingers brushed against the fabric of her panties. She was already drenched, the wetness seeping through the thin material, and her entire body jolted as your finger made contact.

You rubbed her gently, the wet sounds filling the room as her hips instinctively rocked against your hand. Her crotch throbbed with every movement, her breath hitching as your fingers slid against the fabric, teasing her through the damp material.

“You’re so wet…” you murmured, your voice low and rough with desire.

Her eyes trembled, her lips parting as if she wanted to explain, to justify the way her body reacted to you. “Yunjae… I—” she began, her voice shaky and breathless.

But before she could finish, you slipped a finger inside her, and her words dissolved into a sharp, breathy moan. Her body tensed, her back arching as she instinctively pressed herself closer to you, her hands gripping your shoulders for support. She was warm and tight, her walls clenching around your finger as you moved slowly, giving her time to adjust.

“Yunjae…” she gasped again, her voice breaking as her hips rocked against your hand, seeking more of your touch. Her nails dug into your skin, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you added a second finger, stretching her gently.

Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her body trembling as you curled your fingers inside her, hitting a spot that made her cry out. Her thighs clenched around your hand, her hips moving in rhythm with your fingers as she chased the pleasure building inside her. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her nails digging into your shoulders as she clung to you, her body taut with tension.

“Yunjae… I’m—” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body began to shake. Her walls clenched around your fingers, her hips stuttering as the pleasure overwhelmed her. Her back arched, her head tilting back as a sharp, breathy cry escaped her lips. Her entire body tensed, then shuddered as she came, her release washing over her in waves.

Her strength gave out almost immediately, her body slumping against yours as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. Her breath was hot and ragged against your skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. Her hands, which had been gripping your shoulders so tightly, now rested limply against your back, her fingers trembling as she clung to you.

“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice soft and hoarse, her lips brushing against your skin. Her body was still trembling, her legs shaky as she tried to steady herself. She felt small and fragile in your arms, her vulnerability laid bare in the aftermath of her release.

But as she shifted slightly, trying to catch her breath, she became acutely aware of the hardness pressing against her through the thin fabric of your boxers. Her crotch, still clad in her damp panties, was now positioned directly over your cock, the tip of it protruding past the garter of your boxers. The sensation made her gasp softly, her eyes widening as she realized just how much you wanted her.

She looked up at you, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she bit her lower lip, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the waistband of your boxers. Her movements were hesitant, her fingers fumbling as she tried to pull them down, her inexperience evident in the way she hesitated.

“Minnie…” you murmured, your voice gentle as you reached for her hands, stopping her. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. Her eyes met yours, and there was a determination in them that surprised you. “It’s my turn now. Let me… let me make you feel good, Yunjae.”

You nodded, letting go of her hands and giving her the space to continue. She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she finally managed to pull your boxers down, freeing your hardened length. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of you, her breath hitching as she reached out, her touch tentative as her fingers brushed against you.

“Is… is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with uncertainty.

“More than okay,” you assured her, your voice rough with desire but gentle, encouraging her.

She nodded, her fingers wrapping around you hesitantly, her grip loose at first as she began to stroke you. Her movements were clumsy, her touch unsure, but the sensation of her hand on you was enough to make your breath hitch. She watched your face carefully, her eyes searching for any sign of discomfort or pleasure, her cheeks flushing as she realized just how much her touch was affecting you.

“Like this?” she asked, her voice trembling as she tightened her grip slightly, her hand moving a little faster.

“Yeah,” you groaned, your hips bucking instinctively as her fingers brushed over the sensitive tip. “Just like that, Minnie.”

Encouraged by your response, she continued, her movements growing more confident as she found a rhythm that made you groan. But then she hesitated again, her eyes flickering down to your cock before she looked up at you, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Can I…?” she began, her voice trailing off as she gestured toward her mouth.

You nodded, your breath catching as she leaned down, her lips brushing against the tip of your cock before she took you into her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, her warm, wet tongue swirling around you as she began to move her head. Her movements were slow and tentative, her inexperience evident in the way she hesitated, but the sheer fact that she was trying, that she wanted to please you, made it all the more intense.

“Minnie…” you gasped, your hands tangling in her hair as she took you deeper, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock as she sucked. The wet sounds of her mouth on you filled the room, her moans vibrating against your skin as she worked to bring you pleasure.

But she wasn’t done. She pulled back slightly, her lips still wrapped around you as she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and determination. She took a deep breath, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked you deeper, her tongue swirling around you as she moved her head. The sensation was overwhelming, her warm, wet mouth enveloping you as she worked to bring you pleasure.

“Minnie…” you groaned, your hands tightening in her hair as she took you deeper, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock as she sucked. The wet sounds of her mouth on you filled the room, her moans vibrating against your skin as she worked to bring you pleasure.

Her free hand reached up, her fingers intertwining with yours as she looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire. She didn’t need to say anything—her actions spoke volumes, her determination to make you feel good evident in every movement. Her lips tightened around you, her tongue flicking against the sensitive spot just below the tip, and you felt yourself nearing the edge.

“Minnie… I’m close,” you warned, your voice strained as your hands tightened in her hair. “You should… stop…”

But she didn’t. Instead, she looked up at you, her dark eyes glinting with determination as she took you deeper, her lips tightening around you as she sucked harder. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive tip, her movements growing more confident as she focused on bringing you over the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, her warm, wet mouth enveloping you as she worked to bring you pleasure.

“Minnie, I—” you tried again, your voice breaking as your hips bucked instinctively, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands gripped your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as she held you in place, her mouth working tirelessly to push you closer to the edge.

And then it happened. With a low groan, you came, your release spilling into her mouth as she continued to suck, her movements slowing but not stopping. Her eyes fluttered shut, her cheeks hollowing as she swallowed, her throat working to take everything you gave her. The sight of her like this—her lips wrapped around you, her face flushed, her mouth full of you—was almost too much to bear.

When she finally pulled away, her lips were glistening, a faint trace of cum lingering at the corner of her mouth. She looked up at you, her dark eyes wide and dazed, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she tried to catch her breath. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips clean before she swallowed again, her cheeks flushing as she realized what she’d just done.

“Minnie…” you murmured, your voice rough with emotion as you reached for her, pulling her into your arms. She came willingly, her body collapsing against yours as you laid back against the pillows, her head resting on your chest. Her long black hair fanned out around her, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and vulnerability.

“Did I… do okay?” she asked, her voice soft and hesitant as she traced circles on your chest with her fingertips.

“More than okay,” you assured her, your voice gentle as you pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You were amazing, Minnie.”

She let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing against yours as she nestled closer, her head resting in the crook of your neck. Her breath was warm against your skin, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. You held her close, your hands stroking her back as you tried to steady your own breathing.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room was quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of the sheets as you shifted slightly, pulling the blanket over the two of you. Minnie’s body was warm against yours, her slim frame fitting perfectly against you as she lay on top of you, her legs tangled with yours. Her hair, messy and slightly damp, brushed against your neck, and you could feel her steady breath on your skin.

“Minnie…” you whispered, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

She hummed in response, her head resting against your chest, fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm.

“When did it start?” you asked, your words hanging in the quiet air between you.

She tilted her head, looking up at you with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean?”

“When did it start?” you repeated, your voice a little firmer now. “Was it after the marriage?”

Her brows furrowed briefly before the realization dawned on her. Understanding your question, she shook her head.

“No?” you asked, a hint of surprise in your tone. “Then… was it during our wedding day? During our first night?”

Minnie hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a moment.

“Or when we exchanged vows?” you pressed, your curiosity tinged with something deeper, almost like hope.

Her lips parted as if to respond, but instead, she shook her head again. “Earlier,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Earlier?” you echoed, confusion lacing your tone. “When were we convincing our parents?”

This time, she didn’t answer right away. Instead, a faint smile appeared on her lips, the kind of smile you hadn’t seen from her in a long time—soft, genuine, and tinged with something unspoken.

That smile was enough.

Your heart clenched, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. “Minnie…” you said, your voice cracking slightly.

She didn’t say anything else, just nestled closer against you, her fingers still idly tracing shapes on your arm. Her smile lingered, and though the silence between you stretched, it was no longer heavy with doubt or regret.

But then, something shifted. The air between you grew warmer, heavier, as if her smile had unlocked something deep inside you. You couldn’t help it—you leaned in, your lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. She froze for a moment, her breath hitching, but then she kissed you back, her lips trembling against yours.

The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant, but it didn’t take long for the tension to build again. Her hands slid up to your chest. Your hands found her waist, your fingers digging into her skin as you deepened the kiss, your tongues clashing in a heated dance.

“Yunjae…” she gasped, her voice breaking as she pulled away slightly, her breath hot against your lips. Her eyes were dark with desire, her cheeks flushed as she looked up at you, her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

You didn’t respond with words. Instead, you kissed her again, your hands sliding down to her hips as you pulled her closer. Her body pressed against yours, her slim frame fitting perfectly against you, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart as she moved against you.

But then she surprised you. With a sudden shift of her weight, she pushed you back against the pillows, her hands pressing against your chest as she straddled your lap. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked down at you, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of determination and desire.

Then she shifted, her hips rolling against yours in a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath catch. The damp fabric of her panties rubbed against your hardened length, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. Her movements were slow at first, almost teasing, but it didn’t take long for her to find a rhythm that made your hips buck instinctively.

“Yunjae…” she gasped, her voice breaking as she rocked against you, her body trembling with every movement. Her breath was hot against your skin, her moans soft and desperate as she moved with you, her body trembling with every thrust.

You couldn’t take your eyes off her. The way her body moved, the way her hips rolled against yours, the way her breath hitched with every movement—it was mesmerizing. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked down at you, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of determination and desire.

“Minnie…” you groaned, your hands tightening on her hips as you guided her movements, your fingers digging into her skin as she rocked against you. The damp fabric of her panties rubbed against your hardened length, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

Her moans grew louder, more unrestrained, as she moved against you, her body trembling with every thrust. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she chased the pleasure building inside her.

“Ah!” Minnie suddenly moaned, her body tensing as her climax neared. With her release just within reach, you pushed her hips down and thrust your hips up, the sudden additional stimulation catching her off guard. Her body, unprepared for the intensity, collapsed, her arms barely catching herself just before her face met yours. Now, you were close enough to exchange breaths, your lips inches apart as you both gasped for air.

“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she looked into your eyes, her dark gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire.

“You’re so wet…” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as your fingers toyed with her pussy, the damp fabric of her panties pushed to the side. Her breath hitched as your fingers brushed against her sensitive folds, her body trembling with every touch.

“Do you want it?” you asked, your tone playful but laced with desire as you looked up at her, your fingers still teasing her.

She didn’t respond with words, just nodded, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“But if I don’t loosen you up beforehand…” you began, your words trailing off as you shifted your position, with her still kneeling with you underneath, you positioning your face between her open legs. Her breath hitched as you leaned in, your tongue brushing against her sensitive folds, the taste of her overwhelming as you began to lick her.

“Yunjae…” she gasped, her hands tangling in your hair as she arched into your touch, her body trembling with every movement. Her moans grew louder, more unrestrained, as you continued to pleasure her, your tongue swirling around her sensitive bud as you worked to bring her to the edge.

You started slow, your tongue tracing delicate patterns over her folds, savoring the taste of her as she writhed above you. Her thighs clenched around your head, her hips rocking instinctively against your mouth as you teased her, your tongue flicking against her clit in slow, deliberate strokes. Her breath hitched, her moans growing louder as you increased the pressure, your tongue pressing harder against her sensitive bud.

“Ah… Yunjae…” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she clutched at your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she tried to steady herself. Her body was trembling, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you continued to pleasure her, your tongue working tirelessly to bring her closer to the edge.

But then you decided to take it further. Your tongue dipped lower, tracing the entrance of her pussy before pressing inside. She gasped, her body jerking slightly as your tongue entered her, the sensation new and overwhelming. Her hands tightened in your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she tried to steady herself.

“Yunjae…” she moaned, her voice trembling with need as she rocked against your mouth, her hips moving in rhythm with your tongue. Her breath hitched as you continued to explore her, your tongue moving in and out of her in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was overwhelming, her body trembling with every movement as you worked to bring her closer to the edge.

You could feel her thighs shaking, her body tensing as she neared her climax. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as you focused on her clit, your tongue swirling around it in tight, rapid circles while still pressing inside her. Her hands tightened in your hair, her hips bucking against your mouth as she tried to chase the pleasure building inside her.

“Yunjae… I’m… I’m going to…” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body tensed, her thighs clamping around your head as she reached her peak. Her back arched, her head tilting back as a sharp, breathy cry escaped her lips. Her entire body shuddered as she came, her release washing over her in waves.

You didn’t stop, your tongue continuing to lap at her as she trembled above you, her body still twitching with the aftershocks of her climax. Her hands, which had been gripping your hair so tightly, now rested limply against your head, her fingers trembling as she tried to catch her breath.

“Yunjae… I can’t…” she whispered, her voice soft and hoarse as she slumped against you, her body collapsing onto the bed beside you. Her breath was hot and ragged against your skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady herself. Her long black hair was damp with sweat, her bangs sticking to her forehead as she looked up at you with wide, dazed eyes.

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm as you pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I can’t wait anymore either.”

You shifted slightly, your hands moving to her hips as you gently rolled her onto her back. She looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, her breath hitching as you leaned down to kiss her again. Her lips were soft and warm against yours, her hands tangling in your hair as she kissed you back with a hunger that matched your own.

But then you pulled away, your hands moving to the waistband of her panties. She froze for a moment, her breath catching as she realized what you were about to do. Her cheeks flushed, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for yours, her fingers intertwining with yours as she looked up at you.

“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she looked into your eyes, her dark gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, your voice gentle as you pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve got you.”

She nodded, her hands falling away as you gently slid her panties down her legs, the damp fabric clinging to her skin as you pulled them off. She was completely bare now, her body trembling with anticipation as you settled between her legs, your hands resting on her hips as you looked down at her.

“Minnie…” you murmured, your voice rough with desire as you leaned down to kiss her again, your lips brushing against hers in a slow, heated kiss that made her gasp. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you positioned yourself at her entrance.

“Are you ready?” you asked, your voice soft but firm as you looked down at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.

She nodded, her hands tightening on your shoulders as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and desire. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she arched into you, her body trembling with every movement.

All you needed was her confirmation. With a slow, deliberate motion, you pushed inside her, her body tensing slightly as she adjusted to the sensation. For you, the feeling was indescribable. The warmth and tightness of her around you was overwhelming, a sensation that sent a shiver down your spine. Her body was soft and yielding, yet so incredibly tight, as if she was made to fit you perfectly. The way her walls clenched around you, hot and wet, made your breath hitch, your hips instinctively rocking against hers.

“Yunjae…” she gasped, her voice breaking as she arched into you, her body trembling with every thrust. Her breath was hot against your skin, her moans soft and desperate as she moved with you, her body trembling with every movement.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, your voice low and concerned as you stilled inside her, giving her a moment to adjust. Your hands moved to her hips, your thumbs brushing against her skin in a soothing motion.

She shook her head, her hands clutching at your shoulders as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire. “No… it’s just… a lot,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she arched into you, her body trembling with every movement.

You nodded, your hands moving to her hips as you gently guided her movements, your fingers digging into her skin as she rocked against you. “Tell me if it’s too much,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm as you looked down at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of discomfort.

She nodded, her hands tightening on your shoulders as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and desire. “I will,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she arched into you, her body trembling with every movement.

As you continued to move, the initial tension in her body began to ease. The pressure gave way to a deeper, more pleasurable sensation, a warmth that spread through your lower abdomen and made your toes curl. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she chased the pleasure building inside her.

You couldn’t take your eyes off her. The way her body moved, the way her hips rocked against yours, the way her breath hitched with every movement—it was mesmerizing. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked up at you, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of determination and desire.

But then you noticed something—a few strands of her hair had fallen onto her face, sticking to her damp skin. Without thinking, you reached up, your fingers gently brushing the hair away from her face. She looked up at you, her dark eyes wide and vulnerable as you caressed her cheek, your thumb brushing against her lips.

“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she looked into your eyes, her dark gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire.

You didn’t respond with words. Instead, you leaned down to kiss her again, your lips brushing against hers in a slow, heated kiss that made her gasp. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you continued to move, your hips rocking against hers in a slow, steady rhythm.

But then you pulled away, your fingers brushing against her lips again. This time, you pressed them gently against her mouth, her breath hitching as she realized what you were about to do. Her lips parted slightly, her tongue darting out to lick your fingers as you pushed them into her mouth, her warm, wet tongue swirling around them as she sucked.

“Yunjae…” she moaned, her voice trembling with need as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you continued to move, your hips rocking against hers in a slow, steady rhythm.

As you thrust deeper, the outline of your length became faintly visible against her lower abdomen, the subtle bulge a testament to how deeply you were inside her. Her slim frame made it impossible to ignore—every movement, every push and pull, was mirrored in the way her stomach tensed and relaxed. It was a sight that made your breath catch, a visual reminder of how intimately connected you were.

“Do you feel that?” you murmured, your voice low and rough as you pressed a kiss to her neck, your hands gripping her hips to guide her movements. “How deep I am?”

She nodded, her breath hitching as she arched into you, her body trembling with every thrust. “I… I can feel all of you,” she gasped, her voice breaking as she clung to you, her nails digging into your skin. “It’s… so much…”

“You’re taking me so well,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe as you watched her body respond to yours. Her hips rocked against you, her legs hugging your hips locking you in, her movements growing more desperate as she chased the pleasure building inside her.

“Yunjae… I’m… I’m going to…” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body tensed, her thighs clamping around your hips as she reached her peak. Her back arched, her head tilting back as a sharp, breathy cry escaped her lips. Her entire body shuddered as she came, her release washing over her in waves.

You didn’t stop, your hips continuing to move against hers as she trembled beneath you, her body still twitching with the aftershocks of her climax. Her hands, which had been gripping your shoulders so tightly, now rested limply against your back, her fingers trembling as she tried to catch her breath. Her legs, which had locked around you moments ago, now lay idle on the bed, completely spent and devoid of strength.

Feeling her body go slack beneath you, you slowed your movements, your own breath ragged as you leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “You did so well, Minnie,” you murmured, your voice rough but tender. As you pulled back, your cock slipped out of her, the sensation making her gasp softly, her body twitching in response.

You took a moment to admire her—Minnie, laid bare and utterly spent on the bed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her long black hair fanned out around her like a dark halo, damp with sweat and clinging to her skin. Her bangs stuck to her forehead, and her lips were slightly parted as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze unfocused as she looked up at you, her expression a mix of exhaustion and contentment.

She was beautiful, completely undone by the intensity of what had just happened. But even as she lay there, utterly spent, the fire inside you still burned. The sight of her like this—her body trembling, her skin glistening with sweat, her lips swollen from your kisses—only stoked the flames further.

“Minnie…” you groaned, your voice rough with need as you looked down at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. You knew she was exhausted, but the primal part of you couldn’t let go just yet.

She nodded, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of anticipation and desire, even through her exhaustion. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. Then, softer, almost shyly, she added, “I want you to… inside me.”

Her words snapped something primal within you, a deep, instinctive need to claim her, to make her yours in every way possible. You gave her only a second to rest before you lifted her legs, draping them over your shoulders. Before she could react, you were already pushing inside her again, your length sliding deep into her warmth.

“Hmmphh…” she gasped, her exhausted body arching slightly as she let out a muffled sound of pleasure. Her eyes fluttered open, wide with surprise at the new depth she hadn’t experienced before.

“Yunjae!!” she cried out, though her voice was weaker now, softened by exhaustion. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her body trembling as she tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation.

You started slow, each thrust deliberate and deep, the weight of your body pressing her into the mattress. With every movement, you could feel her walls clenching around you, her body responding even as she lay there, spent and overstimulated. Her moans grew louder, more unrestrained, as you gradually increased your pace.

“Yunjae–... you’re… so deep…” she managed to gasp between breaths, her voice breaking as her body writhed beneath you. Her hands moved frantically, unsure of where to grip—one moment clutching your arm, the next clawing at the sheets, then flying up to cover her mouth as her cries grew louder, more desperate.

You caught both her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand, while the other moved to her mouth, your fingers slipping past her lips to muffle her screams. She sucked on them instinctively, her tongue swirling around your digits as her muffled moans vibrated against your skin.

The sight of her like this—completely at your mercy, her body trembling with overstimulation, her eyes glazed with pleasure—was almost too much to bear. You could feel your release building, the pressure in your lower abdomen growing with every thrust.

“Minnie… I’m… I’m close…” you groaned, your voice strained as you fought to hold on just a little longer.

“Yunjae… I’m… also… Inside me… please…” she screamed, her voice unhinged by pleasure, her body arching into yours as she begged for your release.

You couldn’t hold back any longer. With a few more deep, punishing thrusts, you felt yourself reaching the edge. Your body tensed, and with a low, guttural groan, you came, your release spilling inside her in hot, unending waves. The sensation was overwhelming, a warmth that spread through your lower abdomen and made your toes curl. Her body tightened around you, her walls clenching as if trying to draw every last drop from you.

Your release was so intense that it pushed your cock out slightly, the excess spilling out of her and pooling on her stomach. Her pussy dripped with your cum, her body spasming uncontrollably as she rode out the waves of her own climax. Her cries were unrestrained now, her voice breaking as she clung to you, her nails digging into your skin.

When it was finally over, the room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths. Minnie lay beneath you, her body still trembling, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady herself. Her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze unfocused as she looked up at you, her lips parted as she gasped for air.

“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, soft and hoarse. “You… came inside…” Her tone was a stark contrast to the unrestrained screams from moments ago, now filled with a quiet awe, as if she was asking for confirmation that it had really happened.

You nodded, your own breath still uneven as you leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I did,” you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. “I couldn’t hold back… not with you.”

She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against the pool of cum on her stomach, her touch almost reverent. “It’s… warm,” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her smile widened slightly, a soft, contented expression that made your chest ache with something deeper than desire.

You leaned down to kiss her again, this time on the lips. It was slow and tender, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of what had just happened. Her hands moved to your face, her fingers trembling as they traced the lines of your jaw, your cheeks, as if she was memorizing every detail.

“Yunjae…” she whispered against your lips, her voice trembling with emotion. “I… I love you. I’ve loved you for so long… I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Her confession hit you like a punch to the chest, your breath catching in your throat. You pulled back slightly, your eyes searching hers, looking for any hint of doubt. But all you saw was sincerity, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Minnie…” you murmured, your voice rough with emotion. “I love you too. I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t know how to say it… even when I thought I couldn’t have you. You’ve always been it for me.”

Her lips trembled as she smiled, a single tear slipping down her cheek. You wiped it away with your thumb, your touch gentle as you leaned down to kiss her again. This time, it was slow and sweet, a kiss that spoke of all the things you hadn’t been able to say before.

When you finally pulled away, she nestled into your chest, her body still trembling slightly as she tried to catch her breath. You reached for the tissues on the nightstand, cleaning yourself off before gently wiping her stomach and the mess between her legs. She watched you quietly, her eyes soft and filled with affection as you took care of her.

When you were done, you collapsed beside her, pulling her into your arms. She fit perfectly against you, her head resting on your chest as her fingers traced idle patterns on your skin. Her breathing slowly evened out, her body relaxing as exhaustion finally claimed her.

“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she drifted off to sleep. “Don’t let go…”

“I won’t,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m here, Minnie. I’m not going anywhere.”

As her breathing steadied and she fell into a deep sleep, you held her close, your own exhaustion finally catching up to you. But before you let yourself drift off, you whispered one last thing, knowing she couldn’t hear it but needing to say it anyway.

“I love you, Minnie. Always.”

—

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, its golden rays falling across your face. You stirred, your body slowly waking. As you opened your eyes, the events of the night before rushed back to you in vivid detail. Minnie’s words, her touch, her warmth—it all felt so real, so vivid.

But the bed was cold beside you.

Frowning, you turned to the empty space where she had been. The sheets were smooth, the faintest hint of her scent lingering on the pillow. You sat up, running a hand through your messy hair, your heart sinking slightly.

“Minnie?” you called out, your voice hoarse.

There was no response.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, wincing slightly as you stretched. For a moment, you expected a hangover to hit you, but you felt fine—physically, at least. Emotionally, though, a heaviness settled over you as you searched the room for any sign of her.

She wasn’t in the bathroom.

She wasn’t in the living room, either.

Disappointment crept in as you moved through the apartment, checking every corner, every room. By the time you circled back to the kitchen, your chest felt hollow. After everything that had happened last night—her confession, her vulnerability, her promise—she was gone.

And then you saw it.

On the table was a neatly prepared breakfast. A plate of rice, eggs, and a bowl of soup sat perfectly arranged, steam still rising faintly as if she’d just finished making it. Beside the plate was a small folded note with your name scrawled in her neat handwriting.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up, unfolding the paper.

—

Yunjae,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up. I really didn’t want to leave, especially after last night, but I had to. All I could do was make you breakfast before I left. Please eat it while it’s still warm.

And one more thing—don’t eat dinner alone. Promise me, okay? I’ll be back, but it’ll be late. Wait for me.

-Minnie

—

After reading the letter, you sat back in your chair, the note still clutched in your hand. For a moment, you simply stared at it, rereading her words over and over again. The tone of her writing—it struck you. It wasn’t just thoughtful; it was so unmistakably her.

It reminded you of how she used to be, back when things between the two of you were simpler. Back before the distance, the hesitations, the quiet battles you both fought without words.

You could almost hear her voice, playful and teasing yet tinged with warmth, as she used to remind you to take care of yourself. Back then, her care wasn’t forced or overshadowed by guilt—it was natural, effortless. And this note, with its soft insistence that you not eat dinner alone, was a glimpse of that.

Your chest tightened with a mixture of longing and hope.

Is this what healing feels like? you wondered.

You thought back to the way she’d smiled last night—the first real smile you’d seen from her in what felt like ages. The kind of smile that made your chest ache with memories of days when her laughter filled the air around you, unguarded and free.

Back then, there were no walls between you, no shadows of doubt hanging over every exchange. And now… now, for the first time in years, it felt like you were finding your way back to that place. To her. To what you had been before.

As you set the note down and picked up the chopsticks, a small smile tugged at your lips. She was right here with you, even when she wasn’t physically present. And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to believe in this again—in you, in both of you.

The breakfast she’d made tasted like home, each bite carrying with it a sense of care you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed.

As you finished your meal, you glanced at the note again, her words echoing in your mind.

“Don’t eat dinner alone. Wait for me.”

You leaned back in your chair, exhaling deeply. The apartment felt a little less empty now, the hope lingering in the air making everything seem lighter.

For the first time in a long while, it felt like the cracks in your relationship were starting to mend. Like you were no longer walking on separate paths but finding your way back to one another.

And for the first time, you felt certain that when she came home tonight, you’d be ready to meet her with the same hope and love she was slowly, carefully showing you again.

[paragonrobits]

i was just thinking about how in later Discworld books, even as its an unspoken understanding among everyone in Ankh-Morpork that Carrot is the King of the city and he's probably the last descendant of the original ruling line, not only does Carrot avoid pushing the narrative to exploit it unless absolutely necessary, but it never de-emphasizes the fact that he's a dwarf by adoption

Even in later books Carrot is still regularly writing letters to his family in their mine; he thinks of himself as a dwarf, he is CONSIDERED to be a dwarf by all except the most hardliners of dwarf society (and even they can't outright deny him dwarf status, the best they can do is say he is an anomaly); he might USE his narrative status as the One True King, but in his heart, to himself, he is still the child of the Ironfounderssons.

His human heritage is functionally irrelevant to him unless he needs to make use of it, much like his ancestral sword. And it occured to me, what if he actively chose to distance himself from his human heritage because he learned about them in later books and found nothing worth acknowledging?

Carrot is in a weird place because he is the One True King, a narrative status that makes him the good and wise king who knows only truth and justice and comes bringing goodness to all, and this is quite a contrast to the ACTUAL kings of Ankh-Morpork, who were universally at BEST a bunch of horribly useless and inept absolute rulers that are living embodiments of 'the aristocracy are dumber than a sack of doorknobs' the series leans into, and at worst are implcitly some of the most horribly sadistic and cruel people in the setting.

One particular example is Lorenzo the Kind, the last king of Ankh-Morpork, whose name was deliberately ironic; he was so horrifically sadistic that he spelled the end of the kingship because he's the one who was killed by Suffer-Not-Injustice Vimes, who because no one was willing to judge him because kings were considered Special, just dragged him off his throne, cut off his head, and the surviving family members were exiled from the city.

Lorenzo is the last member of Carrot's biological ancestry we have definitive information on, off the top of my head, and he paints a dark, horrific image. He's painted as the absolute nadir of horror from the ruling classes, and is heavily implied to have been a sadistic pedophile with a penchant for torture (at the very least Carrot and Vimes both note that he was apparently fond of children and was painted with a lot of them nearby at all times, discussing it in a way that suggests a DEEPLY uncomfortable topic neither of them wants them to address, and later in Feet Of Clay Vimes points out that Lorenzo had unspecified but horrific machines in the basement).

Carrot is very strongly implied to, at least starting from Men At Arms (in which he discovers he is the king), have investigated his ancestry, and he's able to elaborate on their actions and history, and this also marks the point where he carefully but firmly emphasizes his dwarf heritage for the rest of the series.

He found out who his ancestors were, and discovered they were horrifically evil people, and that Mister Vimes was fully justified in being proud of his ancestor putting them down like rabid beasts, and it leads to him firmly emphasizing that his family are the Ironfoundersson dwarfs.

[s-lverwing]

LIVE ENTOMBMENT

pairing. emperor caracalla x priestess!reader.

summary. Not even the holiest temple of the empire, nor its towering walls, nor the sanctity of Roman faith could shield your sacred oath from the reach of Emperor Caracalla.

word count. 5.6k

warnings. dark themes. religious themes/guilt. dub-con. fingering (f). vaginal intercourse. unprotected sex (please use protection if u don’t want a baby or an sti). creampie. talks about first times. blink and you’ll miss the sti mention. death through live entombment. historically inaccurate (dont look at me) deprecating language towards concubines i’m sorry. fem!reader. i didn’t provide much physical description just small breast. this may touch topics bigger than this fic and the whole movie, please don’t take anything seriously. shame, shame and shame because you can’t take the catholic school out of the girl — so in roman faith it maybe not shame oops. english isn’t my first language.

a/n. please if you enjoyed this leave a comment, reblog, whatever u want 🐛. this is my first time writing smut and i have NO experience at all so expect whatever. caracalla gives small dick energy but it’s fine. please babes read the warnings i don’t want to trigger anyone, stay safe 🫶🏼 ily all.

tags: @miragens-para-uma-vitoria @spookysquids @ghosstbb @snazzynacho @hazelwebsterboo2 @krissy1736 @janis01127 @dollyonm0lly

THE FIRE ALMOST LICKED YOUR FACE AS YOU LEANED IN, STRETCHING TO RELIGHT ONE OF THE CANDLES THAT HAD GONE OUT.

The heat pressed against your skin, and for a fleeting moment, you reached up to touch the veil covering your face, half-expecting to find it scorched, melted away like wax. Should it be taken as a sign? The goddess often spoke in symbols, in whispers of smoke and flickering flames, guiding the six Vestals entrusted with keeping the sacred fire alive.

But you had never felt the goddess close.

Not once.

The thought sat heavy in the back of your mind, an ache you rarely allowed yourself to acknowledge. If the gods had abandoned you, if they had never truly called you to this fate, what did that mean? The stories suggested that those forsaken by their divinities had only one path left— painful death. You don’t fear death, but if you were left by your own devices, there’s only a few punishments you would go through if the slightest sight of what’s inside shows.

A rustling of fabric broke your thoughts.

“We should take turns,” said Aurelia, her voice soft, hesitant.

You turned to her, watching as she fidgeted with the delicate folds of her veil. Aurelia was the embodiment of faith, the very vision of purity and devotion—never nervous, never uncertain. And yet, here she stood before you, hands trembling slightly, her eyes darting away as if afraid to meet yours.

You studied her for a long moment, searching for answers in the quiet between you.

“Is something wrong?” you finally asked.

She hesitated. Just for a breath. Just long enough for the flickering firelight to cast shadows across her face.

“I—I’m tired,” she murmured.

It was a lie. You could hear it in the slight hitch of her breath, see it in the way her fingers twisted around the fabric of her robes.

Your own eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the weight of unspoken truths settling over you.

Something was wrong.

But you let it pass, unfortunately.

YOUR FOOTSTEPS WERE DELICATE, SOFTENED BY THE CRACKLING HUM OF THE FIRE.

Thoughts swirled in your mind, feelings of uneasiness crawling through your spine as you pondered why Aurelia had seemed so desperate to escape. There was a strange weight in your stomach, an unsettling sense that perhaps you were being excluded, left alone in this sacred space. The temple had always been a place of solace, yet tonight it felt foreign, far and almost suffocating. You had never been alone here before—nor had you ever felt quite so distant from the others.

It wasn’t that you lacked a belief in the gods, nor were you entirely devoid of grace, but somehow your spirit always felt like it existed on the outskirts of devotion. The other girls were steadfast, their faith blooming like a garden of unyielding confidence. And you, in comparison, were a flicker—a flame too fragile and small to catch the attention of the divine. People might have called you fortunate, chosen to safeguard the sacred fire, but months of solitude had quietly eroded any certainty you had about your own place within the temple walls. Your heart grew heavy with doubt in your sanctity and in your purpose.

The day the twin Emperors visited, it all seemed to shift. Geta, calm and composed, held himself with some dignity, though there was a certain sharpness in his gaze, a warning to those who dared fall short. His presence, though commanding, was distant. But Caracalla… Caracalla was something else entirely. His recklessness set the air on fire, he had a wild energy. He wore a mischievous smile that stirred something primal in your chest, making your pulse quicken, your breath falter.

He approached you, too close, too boldly. His ring-clad fingers danced with ease along the hem of your veil, grazing the curve of your shoulder. It was the smallest of touches, but it burned—seared its way into your skin. And when your eyes met his, when you stupidly allowed your gaze to linger, something in his expression shifted. It was no longer a smile, but something darker, something dangerous. You couldn’t name it then, but it made a fire bloom deep in your core, a warmth that spread in waves through your veins. The flame expanded when his knuckles brushed your cheekbone. His smile deepened, his eyes turning as dark as the night sky. And in the naïveté of your mind, you dared to think it was the gods themselves drawing near. You foolishly believed they had come to speak to you.

But then, with a slap of his hand, Geta’s voice cut through the haze in your mind, and everything turned to fog. After that, you remembered nothing.

Now, as your name echoed softly through the blurred silence, you turned, your breath catching in your throat. The world around you felt uncertain, hazy, as though you had crossed into a realm where nothing was meant to happen, and yet everything was. Confusion poured down your face, but still, you recognized him—Caracalla.

His energy, raw and untamed, circled you, wrapping around your mind and heart in a dizzying blur. There was a part of you that wanted to pull away, to retreat into the quiet sanctity of the temple, to places only you knew, to remind yourself of the sacredness you were meant to uphold. But that part of you was drowned out by an unspoken call that urged you forward, into the chaos he brought.

And then, with a suddenness that took your breath away, he was there. His hand on your waist, pressing you against the cold stone, and all your thoughts scattered. Despite his smaller stature, Caracalla’s force was overwhelming, driven by a newfound force. His presence swallowed you whole, leaving no room for thought, no space to resist.

“Aren’t you a little Godsend?” His voice was low, mocking. “Rome’s favorite Vestal… so pure, so untouchable.” His smile widened, darkening his features.

Caracalla’s laughter, dark and sardonic, hummed against your ear. His voice was a ripple in the air, the sound of something so dangerous yet tantalizing. Your body froze, whether it was fear or desire you couldn’t know. The line between the two blurred as the pleasures of the flesh—foreign, forbidden—saturated your senses. His touch was invasive. You had never wanted to be touched like this, you didn’t know you could. Your heart hammered, and in the dimness of your mind, you begged the Gods to turn their eyes away, to you, to let the sacred fire burn out in atonement for your sins, for the betrayal of your vow. The Gods could blind themselves to your transgression, your weakness, your broken oath. Perhaps this was your punishment.

His fingers, driven by a reckless hunger, sought your center—awkward, eager, and almost feral in their pursuit. You fought the urge to speak—to ask him, with a trembling voice, if he knew what he was doing. But that would be dangerous. Too dangerous. His state only weighed your unholiness further. Buried beneath 6-feet of dirt. It made your breath heavy, it made your mind turn into a downward spiral.

Your breath quickened, a strange weight pressing on your chest. And then, when his fingers finally found their target, you jolted against him involuntarily, as if the air itself had shifted in your lungs. He kissed your neck, a soft graze of lips against your skin, and you had no choice but to melt into him, as though your body had betrayed you too. His rings scraped your sensitive flesh, an almost mocking reminder of the weight of his power over you.

The delicate, sacred space you had once held in reverence was slipping away, slipping into his hands. The center that had been yours alone, the place where no man had ever tread, was now violated—corrupted by him. And everything else, your dignity, your faith, your sanctity, would follow. It would all be his.

Caracalla was finding momentary sanity in the action.

“You’re a gift sent from the Gods,” he whispered against your ear, his words dripping with a twisted promise, like a threat beneath honeyed temptation. The sound of your breath—choked, gasped—was foreign to you, a new thing emerging from your throat. It was a moan, or something close to it, unrecognizable and raw.

His movements were unrefined, a desperate rhythm against your clit, slick with the evidence of his intrusion. The sensation sent waves of confusion and discomfort through you. You arched your back, instinctively attempting to distance yourself from the foreign touch. But it was a new sensation, one that both terrified and confused you. It was unlike anything you had ever felt—the same unnamable feeling you had experienced the first time he dared touch your face, but brutal and more suffocating. Words and knowledge were smaller than that.

When his fingers trailed along your slit, his cold rings grazing your clit, your body reacted violently—your knees buckled beneath you. You leaned forward, struggling to keep your balance, only for your elbows to crash against the unforgiving cold marble. Caracalla was quick, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you upright, guiding your trembling body back in position. His wet hand slid to the side of your face, squeezing it roughly against the marble.

“Stand still. Don’t be stupid,” he growled, frustration creeping into his voice. His short fuse was infamous amongst the Vestals. You could feel it in the harshness of his grip, the sharp edge of his command.

His hand returned to the warmth between your thighs, this time tracing soft, deliberate circles around your entrance, playing, teasing. The cool bite of his rings brushed against your clit, drawing another moan from your lips—this one unrestrained, wanton. Caracalla pressed closer, his body molding against yours, his hardness unmistakable against the curve of your ass. Yet thought itself felt impossible, dissolving into the heat pooling in your core as his finger finally entered you, finding the place that was once sacred.

For a fleeting moment, the sensation was so wholly consuming, so unlike anything you had ever known, that you almost believed the Gods were speaking through him. But then a broken sob escaped your throat, and as your gaze flickered downward, reality sharpened. His fingers lay claim to your most untainted place, and you knew—this was no divine intervention.

It was close to a secure and painful death, buried alive. But you couldn’t be selfless enough to try and make him stop.

A whimper escaped as he pushed another finger inside, stretching you open, slow and unyielding. The sensation was a paradox—pain and pleasure entwined, like pressing against the sting of a wound, knowing it would hurt and yet seeking it still. Your walls fluttered around him, instinctively resisting, and he exhaled a quiet, satisfied hum.

“Would you like a taste?” he whispered, his lips grazing your cheek.

Before you could comprehend what he meant, he pressed his slick fingers against your mouth, parting your lips with ease. The taste was unfamiliar, strange, yet not unpleasant. “Suck them,” he commanded, and you obeyed—what else could you have done?

A pleased sound rumbled from his throat as your tongue hesitantly curled around his fingers. The response was immediate. Your body arched, pressing into him, seeking the return of his touch before you could even think to deny yourself.

As if he could read your mind, he obliged. But this time, there was no patience. He thrust his fingers back inside, deeper, rougher, as if he had only been toying with you before. You had no way of knowing. No way of understanding. There was only the rhythm of his fingers, disappearing into your slick heat, withdrawing just enough to tease before plunging back into your warmth.

He barely felt any pleasure from the moans, groans, or breathless cries of his concubines. Their sounds were rehearsed, predictable. It was a performance meant to appease him, to convince him of his own prowess. They existed to stroke the Emperor’s ego, not to satiate his desires. And so, more often than not, he silenced them—pushing their faces into silken pillows, muttering sharp commands that reduced them to nothing but warm, pliant flesh beneath him.

But this was different.

Your sounds were uncertain, trembling on your lips because you understood the weight of this sin. Your moans were small, caught in your throat, untrained. There was no calculation behind them, no attempt to please him, no knowledge of how to. You were real. And that alone was enough to undo him.

“Caracalla,” you breathed, voice breaking as his short but thick fingers curled inside you, coaxing a sharp arch from your spine. Your hands grasping at the cold marble as your knees threatened to buckle once more. The unyielding surface bruised the delicate skin of your arms, but you barely registered it beneath the slow, torturous drag of his fingers within you.

He kept his pace unhurried, savoring each tremor that rippled through you. He was impossibly hard, grinding against you in reckless, languid movements. And then, he laughed—soft, breathless, as if delighting in a private, nasty joke.

He was having the sweetest thing in the empire. Not even his brother could claim such a gift. To take a Vestal, to be chosen by the Gods themselves to desecrate something so holy—there was no greater privilege. No greater proof of his favor.

But you felt only the weight of abandonment.

His hand ghosted over the curve of your waist, sliding upward until his fingers found the swell of your breast, still covered in soft linen. He squeezed, possessive, branding bruises into the tender skin beneath the fabric.

The fire that had settled deep in your core spread, licking at every inch of your skin, turning your clothes damp with sweat. Strands of hair clung to your fevered face, the scent of sweat and something faintly sweet lingering in the air. You swallowed hard, shame clawing its way up your throat as the unbearable sensation built between your thighs.

“I think I need to pee—” you whimpered, mortified by the confession. It was unbearable, a pressure unlike anything you had ever known, twisting deep inside you.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek—brief, careless, lacking tenderness. A hollow gesture of gratitude beneath the watchful eyes of the Gods. He would play his part, and so he continued, his touch growing rougher, more insistent. The hard edges of his rings grazed your clit in passing, a clash of warmth and cold, of flesh and metal, sending a sharp tremor through your body.

You could not name this feeling. It was neither fear nor excitement, yet it curled deep inside you, spreading quickly.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced yourself for the humiliation that was sure to follow—for the shame of breaking in front of the Emperor, the one whom the Gods spoke through. A whisper at the back of your mind wondered if he ignored your trembling because he thought you might run.

If a soul knew of this, it would be the end of you.

And then, in a single breath, your body was separated from your mind. A slow, uncoiling wave surged through you, leaving you trembling, your form convulsing against the cold marble and the solid press of Caracalla’s body. It was an eruption, a collapse—inside the temple, inside yourself. For him, it was all the same.

No sound escaped your lips, only the soft shudder of breath as the moment shattered within you.

He slowed his movements, his grip turning almost indulgent. Soothing his newly claimed treasure, his sacred offering.

One hand lifted, wrapping firm and possessive around your throat, his fingers pressing just enough to make you feel the weight of his claim. Like a hound with its prey.

“You’re truly a godsend,” he murmured, his voice low, reverent in its own way. “I knew it the first time I saw you… My stupid brother was wrong.”

You did not know what he meant, nor did you know what to say. You could only stand there, caught between his grasp and the remnants of something nameless unraveling inside you.

Your body stirred, aching, the dull throb in your neck reminding you of its strain. You shifted, instinctively trying to turn toward him, but he stopped you. Why should he deny himself the sight of you—the flush warming your cheeks, the softness in your features as you unraveled beneath him? One hand still pressed your cheek against the cool marble pillar.

“Stay there. Don’t try anything.”

But why would he think you would? Why assume defiance when you had already surrendered, when you would fall to your knees if it meant this feeling could last forever? Hadn’t you spent your life in prayer, in devotion? Hadn’t it been all you ever knew, all you ever were?

You felt him shift behind you, heard the quiet muttering of a curse as he wrestled with his own garments. Your eyes, following his movements as best they could from your awkward position, caught glimpses of him—his form smaller than his brother’s, his features marked by the cruel affliction whispered about everywhere.

Compassion ghosted through your heart, a fleeting thing. But you did not pity him. Perhaps he was right—perhaps he had been forsaken by the Gods only to be rewarded in the end. Even if you could not understand why you were his gift.

The struggle ended with a quiet exhale, and then he was upon you again. His hands, rough, found the bare skin beneath your garments, pushing the fabric aside with practiced ease. Another breeze slipped through the temple, meeting your newly exposed flesh, making your body arch instinctively—anticipating, aching, silently craving for the fire to consume you once more.

But then—something else. Something different.

A slow, deliberate glide through your folds, featherlight. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, soft sounds escaping his lips, slipping into the sacred hush of the temple.

And all you could do was wait, trembling, caught between the cold marble and his touch. It was foolish to ask. Foolish to do anything but wait, to surrender and expect nothing and everything all at once. The fire inside you rekindled, licking at your skin, unfurling through your limbs. Everything bloomed again, sharper, stronger, until it pushed soft, breathless moans past your lips.

He pressed against you, the hardened length grazing your clit over and over, sending exquisite tremors through your body. Instinctively, you sought more, aching for him to consume you entirely. You wanted to melt against him, for your skin to become his, for this moment to live beyond time—a myth whispered through the ages, even if its end was tragic.

A groan, deep and unrestrained, spilled from his lips as he pressed the tip inside you, his teeth dragging along your cheek in a near-affectionate torment. Your breath hitched. It was no longer his fingers seeking refuge within you—this realization alone sent your mind spiraling, shattering the chains of prejudice and inhibition. Then you understood.

He thought he was about to explode when he pushed the tip inside your welcoming and holy walls. A high pitched groan kissed your ears, as his teeth caressed your cheek. It was no longer his fingers seeking refuge within you—this realization alone sent your mind spiraling, shattering the chains of prejudice and inhibition. Then you understood.

Now, even as pleasure clouded your senses, you grasped why this was forbidden, why it was punished by death. The Gods had to be jealous of earthly delights, of mortal pleasure. Of the way divinity itself could be found in something so profane.

He pushed deeper. He was not large, bit thick, but the sheer intimacy of it made your body tighten around him, made your breath catch as the stretch burned sweet and unbearable. You couldn’t remember how to stop, how to breathe properly.

His breath was hot against your cheek, heavy, his presence overwhelming. With every inch, he stole the air from your lungs, until there was nothing left of you but this.

Caracalla laughed again—a low, humorless sound, thick with madness and possession. It slithered down your spine, coiling itself around your throat. There was no escaping this. No running from the hands that bruised your hips, from the hunger that devoured you whole.

His touch burned, his fingers pressing into your flesh as if to leave his mark beneath the skin. He was savoring you—drinking you in—every tremor, every flutter of your cunt around him, the way you stretched, soft and wet, to fit him. It was a feverish worship.

“Even holier than I thought,” he murmured, almost reverent.

But you weren’t listening. Not to his words, not to reason, not to the lingering taste of sin on your tongue. Your mind floated somewhere between pleasure and death, where all things bled together. You pressed your forehead against the cold marble, your cheek slipping from his, as if to escape the heat of his breath.

But there was no escaping him. The Emperor of Rome had carved himself inside you.

A ragged groan spilled from his lips as he withdrew just enough to make you whimper. He did not leave you, would not leave you—just hovered on the edge, teasing, savoring, as if you were something holy. The last thing he would ever kneel before.

Then, with a slow, deliberate push, he sank deeper.

Your body shuddered violently, pleasure and pain melting together, and when your knees threatened to give, his grip only tightened. He would not let you fall.

And then he did it again. And again. And again.

Each slow thrust burned through you, stretching you open inch by inch, his cock dragging against every trembling part of you. He was deliberate, agonizingly so, grinding deep, only pressing further into your undoing. You felt yourself unraveling. His scent, earthy, musky, heavy with sweat, sank into your skin, drowning your senses.

It was torment for you both, though for different reasons. Caracalla was nearly edging himself, caught in the cruel conflict of restraint and indulgence. He should be taking you as he did all others—without thought, without care, without this unbearable intimacy. He should be brutal, impatient, spent and gone before he even learned the shape of your pleasure.

But you were no common whore. No concubine plucked from the outskirts of the empire. You were a gift from Venus herself.

You should’ve been ashamed, mortified, trashing against him… under every opportunity you had. Yet there was no shame to be found in something that carried you so dangerously close to heaven. No guilt in the way your back arched, the way your body curved into him, silently begging for more. Your skin knew no hesitation, no hesitation at all. Not in this temple. Not in the sacredness of the moment.

He moved inside you like a slow-burning prayer, his thrusts deep and deliberate. Just enough to fill you, just enough to claim you without pain. His breath was ragged, strained, as he fought the instincts that begged him to ruin you. His hands, restless and greedy, traced your body relentlessly.

And when he spoke, his voice was nothing more than a hushed, broken confession. “You feel divine.”

“You’re mine,” he rasped, pathetically.

His hips faltered, momentarily losing control, and in his desperation, he drove himself deeper—sharp, bruising thrusts that tore a strangled cry from your throat. The sound, so raw and unbidden, made his cock twitch inside you, sent a shudder rippling down his spine.

Caracalla felt like he was slipping, spiraling, unraveling into something violent and insatiable. He wanted. And he would take.

The rhythm he set was slow but merciless, each thrust deliberate and punishing. Flesh met flesh in a sinful, wet sound that would haunt you long after your body was spent. His balls slapped against your slick center. He dropped his head near your shoulder, mouth grazing the sweat-damp skin, inhaling you.

“I should’ve taken you sooner,” he admitted, and there was something almost mournful in the way he said it. “I shouldn’t have waited.”

The thought of his brother’s voice, his warnings and his disapproval only fueled him further. The sacred place. The sacred women. And yet here you were, bent and broken against the pillar, moaning for the emperor’s cock. It was a desecration. And the Gods did nothing to stop it.

His fingers found your neck again, grazing at your jaw as he squeezed softly, just to get your attention, just for you to feel the weight of his desire. “You belong to me.”

A brutal thrust, deeper this time, made you gasp, your breath catching in short, ragged moans.

“You were always meant to be mine.”

The words ghosted over your skin, lingering, sinking into your very bones. And all around you, the temple remained still, silent.

The Gods were only witnesses.

His words wove themselves into your skin, into your very marrow, a curse. Each thrust was ruthless, driving you deeper against the pillar, your body trembling, breath spilling from your lips in sharp, uneven gasps. The wet, obscene sound of him inside you filled the temple, mingling with the lingering scent of burning incense, the smell of sweat and sex thick in the air.

In a moment of clearness you wanted to resist. You wanted to push him away, to tell him this was wrong, that the Gods would never forgive this. But you couldn’t. Your body betrayed you—hips rolling back against him, nails scraping against the cold marble as you arched, as you offered yourself to him. And it was long forgotten again.

A low, ragged groan tore from his throat as his fingers raked down your spine, pressing into the small of your back, forcing you to take him deeper, harder.

“My Vestal,” he rasped, his voice like gravel, thick with possession. “My sacred little thing.”

The words sank into your bones like poison. A violent shudder ripped through you, your walls tightening around him in response. Always belonging to something greater—a city, a people, a divine presence. To the Emperor.

Caracalla let out a sharp, guttural sound, his pace losing all restraint, turning erratic, frenzied. He wasn’t simply fucking you. He was branding you, consuming you, as though he could carve his name into your flesh, into your soul, until nothing remained of you but him.

His grip was merciless, bruising fingers dragging you onto him with thoughtless hunger, as if you were not a woman, not flesh and soul, but something crafted for him—his to desecrate, his to break. Everything he touched was bound to be annihilated. And now, so were you.

The pleasure was unbearable, searing through you like molten iron, scalding and consuming, turning you into something raw, something wild. It built deep within, unrelenting, teetering at the edge of violence—so intense it almost hurt.

Then his hand slid between your legs, fingertips brushing over your clit, teasing, pressing.

It was too much. A strangled cry ripped from your throat, your body recoiling, snapping forward as pleasure crashed through you like divine punishment. You clawed at the marble, at anything, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run from the overwhelming force tearing through you.

Your walls clenched around him, spasming in the throes of your release. A strangled moan broke from your lips—raw, wrecked, helpless. Your legs trembled, your body shuddering as ecstasy crashed over you in unrelenting waves, leaving you undone, ruined, and his.

Trapped between the pillar and his tiny body.

Caracalla groaned, his breath hot against your ear, his thrusts turning erratic as he felt you tightening around him, dragging him deeper into his own oblivion. His body seized, pleasure snapping through him like a lightning strike.

But he didn’t stop moving.

His hands crushed your waist, forcing you onto him as he buried himself to the hilt, the last shuddering thrust stealing his breath. His body trembled, taut with pleasure, and a choked, wrecked sound escaped his throat as he spilled inside you—hot, thick, branding you.

For a fleeting moment, there was only the sound of his ragged breaths against your cheek, the weight of his body pressing you into the marble, your own limbs still trembling from the aftershocks of what he had done to you.

His lips brushed your skin—not a kiss, but something reverent, something he believed was devotion.

Then, a sharp gasp shattered the silence.

Three Vestal Virgins, sisters in faith, the girls who had walked beside you through womanhood, through duty, through sanctity, stood close, eyes wide, faces pale, their hands trembling as if they had witnessed the fire of Vesta itself extinguish before their very eyes.

You pushed against Caracalla’s chest, your heart lurching in terror, in shame, in something close to grief. But he did not move. He did not release you.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to look at them—his grip on your waist tightening possessively, his body still pressed flush against yours, the evidence of your ruin still wet between your thighs.

And he smiled. Not a smirk, not a sneer, but something horrible. Something knowing.

Because he knew what he was going to do to them.

They had seen too much.

And worse—they had looked at you as though you were defiled. As though you were disgusting. As though his holy gift had been anything but sacred. They would pay for that. He would make sure of it.

“Emperor—” You choked out, your voice barely more than a strangled breath as you shoved against his chest once more.

This time, he let you go.

The loss of his warmth should have felt like relief, but it was nothing of the sort. Cold horror settled into your bones, spreading through you like ink seeping into water. The weight of fate crashed upon you, cruel and suffocating. There was no undoing this. No running from it. By morning, you would be sentenced. By entombment, your life was already forfeit.

The realization struck like a blow, sending you stumbling toward them, the only ones who might understand, who might save you. But your feet tangled in the heavy folds of your robes, and you collapsed onto the marble with a sickening crack. The impact jarred through your knees, the cold stone biting into your flesh as you scrambled forward on trembling hands, crawling. The adrenaline of the situation soothed any pain you could’ve felt.

“Please,” you whispered, voice raw, desperate. “I didn’t… I could never… I—”

You couldn’t even form the words. You didn’t know what you were pleading for. Mercy? Silence? Forgiveness?

They stood unmoving. Their faces were pale, their expressions stricken, their hands clasped so tightly they trembled. They had always been your sisters, your kin, bound to you by sacred oaths. And yet, in that moment, they looked at you not with recognition, but with dread.

They knew what had happened. They knew what they had walked in on. But acknowledging it—bringing the truth into the open—was something else entirely.

To accuse you would be to condemn you. To accuse him would be to invite his wrath.

No one would believe them. No one would dare.

“Get up.” The words came sharp as a blade, slicing through the silence that had settled like a shroud.

You barely registered the voice at first, still kneeling on the cold marble, your limbs trembling, your mind struggling to stitch reality back together. But then a hand gripped your arm, yanking you upward with startling force.

“Go find some poor drunk man,” she commanded one of the other girls, voice low, desperate.

The weight of her meaning pressed against your ribs. A lie. A scapegoat. A way to twist the truth into something palatable for those who would judge. You opened your mouth to speak, to protest—to beg—but the words never came.

When you turned your head to search for him you found nothing. Caracalla was gone.

He had left as effortlessly as he had come, slipping into the night without a second glance. There was no hesitation in his escape. He had abandoned you in the wreckage of his sins.

Before you could move, the temple doors burst open.

His Imperial guards stormed in, the gleam of their armor flashing under the sacred fire’s glow. There were no accusations, no trial, no time to plead. The three women who had stood beside you for years, who had once sworn the same oaths, were seized with brutal efficiency. Hands wrenched behind their backs, prayers torn from their lips as they were dragged away.

You did nothing.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t fight. You didn’t so much as lift a finger as they were pulled from the temple and cast into the night.

THE NIGHT PASSED IN A BLUR.

You didn’t remember how you got back to your chambers. You didn’t remember if you had washed the sin from your skin, if you had tried to sleep, if you had prayed. Perhaps you had wandered the temple in a daze, or perhaps you had simply stood there, staring at the embers of the fire until the sky cracked open with the first light of dawn.

But morning came. And with it, judgment.

The remaining Vestals stood in silence at the edge of the dirt pit, their white robes ghostlike against the moist earth. Their faces were unreadable, their eyes avoiding yours.

You lifted your gaze.

Emperor Caracalla stood across from you, watching.

His face was unreadable, his sharp features betraying nothing. But it was his eyes that struck you the most—those cold, dull eyes, absent of guilt, absent of remorse.

And it was in that moment that you realized—you felt nothing either.

a/n: i thought about killing the reader but i chickened… thank you for reading and supporting akl my caracalla works 🫶🏼 ily babies.

[stellaspectral]

Can you do a Bayverse Raph x Childhood best friend reader who's kind of a girly girl (loves pink, knows a lot about makeup and fashion, likes dressing up in pretty and cute outfits, and is an absolute sweetheart).

During when the tower is falling (reader isn't here for this) and Raph is cofessing, is where he spills that he's loved the reader for years but never said anything because he felt like he wouldn't be good enough for her and that she deserves better is also around the time they just landed on the ground and his brothers as well as April know the truth about Raph's feelings for her, and reader feels the same but also didn't say anything because she was worried it would affect their friendship in a negative way.

The way they confess to each other could be very similar to Lumity, where his brothers set them up on a 'mission' together. Which is actually a set-up date that Raph destroys out of embarrassment and fear of getting rejected, which makes the reader sad because she thinks he doesn't like her. But after something goes wrong and protects the reader from it is when they finally tell each other

A/N: Hello, anon! I haven’t watched The Owl House in a hot minute, but I tried my best to capture the vibe of *that* episode in a TMNT context. Thank you so much for the request; it was fun to finally write some Bayverse turts!

Rooftop Confession (angst/fluff)

❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Near-death situations (past & present), angst/insecurity, mutual pining, first kiss, happy ending. Takes place between the first movie and Out of the Shadows. All characters are aged-up.

The memory still hits Raph sometimes, sharp and sudden. Hanging onto that crumbling tower, the world tilting beneath him, the certainty of oblivion pressing in. He remembers that moment when, with everything stripped away, the raw truth clawed its way out.

“I … I shoulda told her,” he remembers choking out, the words torn from him by fear and regret, barely audible over the roar of destruction.

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey—they heard it. April, clinging nearby, heard it too.

“I always loved her. Since we were kids. But she deserves better. Someone … normal. Not a freak like me.”

They survived, somehow. Landed hard, bruised and battered, but alive. The confession hangs in the air between him and his brothers, an unspoken acknowledgment. They know. April knows. The only one who doesn’t know the depth of his feelings for you is … you.

❤️ Some Months Later ❤️

You adjust the bow on your pastel pink crossbody bag, humming softly as you follow Leo through the lair’s entrance tunnel.

Tonight’s outfit is one of your favorites: a soft, lavender A-line dress with little white flowers embroidered on the hem, paired with cute white sneakers that have delicate ribbon laces. You’ve also done your makeup—a shimmery pink eyeshadow, a touch of blush, and your signature strawberry-scented lip gloss.

Dressing up always makes you feel happy, even if you’re just hanging out in a sewer lair with your giant turtle friends.

Especially one giant turtle best friend specifically.

Your heart does its usual little flutter-kick when you see Raph leaning against a wall, arms crossed, looking characteristically grumpy. But you know him, know the slight softening around his eyes when he sees you, even if he tries to hide it. You’ve been friends since you were both kids—you, the bright-eyed human girl fascinated by the shadows. And him, the equally fascinated mutant turtle hiding within them.

You share secrets, scraped knees, and watch terrible late-night movies together. And somewhere along the way, your childhood affection has blossomed into something deeper. Something you are terrified to name for fear of shattering the precious bond you already have.

“Alright, team,” Leo says, clapping his hands together. “Quick recon mission tonight. Donnie picked up some unusual activity near the old waterfront warehouse district. Could be the Foot stirring things up, so we need a quiet approach.” He looks pointedly between you and Raph. “Raph, your strength might be needed if things get heavy. And you—your observational skills are top-notch. And frankly, you blend in better than the rest of us. But make sure to keep comms open and report back.”

You try to ignore the way your stomach flips at the idea of working closely with Raph tonight. “Just us? Are you sure, Leo?” you ask, tilting your head.

Mikey practically vibrates with suppressed energy behind Leo, giving you an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up. Donnie adjusts his glasses, looking suspiciously focused on a scanner that isn’t turned on. April, leaning against Donnie’s desk, offers you a small, encouraging smile.

Something feels … orchestrated.

“Positive,” Leo answers firmly. “Now gear up, you two.”

Raph grunts, pushing off the wall. He doesn’t meet your eyes directly, which is odd. Usually, he’d at least give you a nod or a gruff, ‘hey.’

You grab Donnie’s enhanced binoculars and a pair of comms devices from his desk, attaching one to your dress. You hold the other out for Raph, who takes it without a word. His thick fingers brush yours for the briefest second, and a pleasant jolt zings up your arm. He recoils as if burned, shoving the device into a belt pouch before storming towards the exit and muttering under his breath.

You follow him out, casting a quick, slightly bewildered glance back at the others. Mikey is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, Donnie is suddenly very interested in polishing his glasses, Leo gives a sharp nod that feels more like a dismissal, and April just winks.

Okay, definitely orchestrated.

You hurry after Raph, your sneakers quiet on the concrete floor. “Raph? Everything okay?” you ask softly as you catch up in the tunnel leading out.

“Peachy,” he grunts, his voice tight. He won’t look at you.

The silence stretches between you as you walk. Usually, these tunnels echo with your shared laughter or Raph’s rumbling complaints about Mikey’s latest prank. His shoulders are rigid, his sais held tight at his sides, radiating a tension that has nothing to do with the upcoming mission. It prickles against your skin, making your own nerves fray.

You risk a sideways glance at him. His jaw is tight, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. The usual grumpy facade is there, but underneath it simmers something else—something agitated and uncomfortable. It hurts, just a little, this sudden wall between you. He’s never been this closed off before.

“So,” you try again, keeping your voice casual. “Waterfront warehouses. Creepy. Think we’ll see any ghost pirates?” You’re referencing an old inside joke, a ridiculous B-movie you watched together years ago. Normally, it would earn you at least a scoff, maybe even the faintest hint of a smile.

He doesn’t break stride. “Focus,” he grunts, the word clipped.

You bite your lip, feeling a flush creep up your neck. Fine. If he wants to be all business, then so can you. “Right.”

You adjust your bag again, suddenly self-conscious about your dress and sneakers. Maybe dressing up wasn’t the best idea for potential Foot Clan trouble. But Leo knew what you were wearing …

You pull your own focus inward, scanning the tunnel ahead, trying to push down the disappointment churning in your stomach. Why is he acting like this? Did you do something wrong?

You emerge from the sewers near the waterfront. The air here is cool, carrying the distant sounds of the city—a lone siren, the rumble of traffic on a far-off bridge. Ahead, the hulking shapes of the warehouses loom against the night sky, their windows dark.

“Okay, Leo said quiet approach,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Raph, pulling out the binoculars. You scan the nearest rooftop, looking for movement or any sign of Foot activity.

Raph moves ahead, his enormous frame surprisingly silent as he hugs the shadows along the alley wall ahead. He pauses at the corner, peering around it cautiously before gesturing for you to follow. As you move to join him, your sneaker catches on uneven pavement. You stumble, letting out a tiny gasp.

Instantly, a large, three-fingered hand shoots out, steadying your arm. The touch is firm, grounding, and sends another jolt through you. You look up, surprised, straight into Raph’s eyes. And for a fraction of a second, the wall is down.

You see the worry in his gaze, the familiar protective instinct overriding whatever else is bothering him. His grip tightens almost imperceptibly, a reflex honed over years of watching out for you. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

He snatches his hand back, turning away sharply. His shoulders tense up again, maybe even more than before. “Watch your step,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just melts back into the shadows at the corner, resuming his watch.

Your heart skips a beat, though it’s tangled with confusion. That brief moment—that flicker of the Raph you know—only makes his current behavior more baffling. He’s here, right beside you, but he feels miles away. And whatever this mission is, you have a growing suspicion that the real challenge tonight won’t be finding the Foot.

It’ll be navigating the strange, sudden distance between you and your best friend.

You activate your comm. “Okay, Leo, we’re topside at the waterfront. Area looks clear for now. Anything else we should be looking out for?”

There’s a crackle, then comes Leo’s voice. “Negative, just keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. How’s … uh … how’s the teamwork going?”

You glance at Raph’s stiff back. “It’s … quiet,” you say carefully.

“Good! Good! Quiet is good for recon!” Leo replies quickly. Then you hear a muffled shuffling sound and what might be Mikey whispering, “Ask them if they’re holding hands yet!” followed by a sharp “Mikey!” presumably from Leo or Donnie, and then static.

Your cheeks flush. Okay, now you know for sure. This isn’t a mission. This is a set-up. Raph’s brothers—they’ve thrown you two together out here. But why? And why is Raph acting like he’d rather wrestle Shredder blindfolded and unarmed than be alone with you?

“So,” you say, deciding to push forward with the charade, mostly because you don’t know what else to do. “Rooftop access?”

Raph grunts and points at a rusty fire escape ladder on the side of the nearest warehouse. “There,” he says, moving towards it.

He tests the lowest rung, satisfied when it holds his weight, and begins to climb without a word. You follow, hoisting yourself onto the first rung. You focus on the climb, placing your feet carefully, acutely aware of his broad back moving steadily above you.

Normally, Raph would check back, offering a hand even though he knows you’re capable, grumbling about making sure you don’t fall. Tonight, he just climbs, putting distance between you—and the hurt twists a little deeper in your chest.

You reach the flat, gravel-strewn roof, panting slightly. Raph is already crouched near the edge, his silhouette stark against the faint glow of the city lights reflecting off the low clouds as he scans the cluster of warehouses. You join him near the edge, keeping a respectful distance, the silence stretching taut between you.

The rooftop overlooking the warehouse district is surprisingly nice, in a way. The city lights glitter in the distance, reflecting off the dark water. There is even a small, neglected rooftop garden across the street with overgrown planters. It feels almost … romantic.

You take a deep breath of the crisp night air. “It’s actually kind of pretty up here, isn’t it?” you offer, trying to break the tense silence.

Raph swats away a loose piece of gravel. “It’s a rooftop. Concrete and pigeon crap.”

You wince slightly at his tone. “Right. So, uh … any signs of Foot activity?” you finish lamely, pulling the binoculars back up to your eyes, though you’re not really looking at anything.

He shifts beside you, sweeping away another stone, sending it skittering across the rooftop. “Nope,” he grunts. “Place is dead quiet. Just like Leo probably knew it would be.” There’s an edge to his voice, a raw frustration that goes beyond simple grumpiness.

Lowering the binoculars slowly, you turn to face him more directly. You can feel the thump of your own heart against your ribs. “Raphael,” you begin, your voice softer than you intended. He flinches, just slightly, like the sound of his full name startled him. He finally glances towards you, though his gaze lands somewhere near your shoulder, not quite meeting your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He stiffens immediately, crossing his thick arms over his plastron. “Nothin’s wrong. Told ya. Just doin’ the mission.”

“No,” you persist, finding a little more firmness. You know him too well to buy that. “Something is wrong. You’re barely speaking to me. And you’ve been acting weird ever since we left the lair. Did I … do something?” Your voice trembles slightly on the last question.

His head snaps up slightly at the tremor in your voice, a flicker of alarm crossing his features before he clamps down on it. “No!” he says, the word sharp, almost explosive. Then, quieter, more strained, “You didn’t do nothin’. It’s just … this whole thing is stupid.”

“Stupid? The mission?” you ask, latching onto the excuse, even though your gut tells you it’s not the entire story.

“Yeah! The ‘mission’!” He practically spits the word out, gesturing vaguely at the empty warehouses spread out below. “Leo sends us out here for nothin’. Just … gawkin’ at empty buildings in the dark.” His frustration is palpable, rolling off him in waves. He still won’t quite look at you.

“So you’re mad at Leo?” you probe gently, sensing you’re circling the actual issue.

He scrubs a hand over his face, his expression a turbulent mix of anger and something else. Embarrassment? Conflict? “Yeah. Mad at Leo.” He pauses, then mutters under his breath, almost inaudibly, “and Donnie. And Mikey.”

“Why?” The question hangs in the air, though the orchestrated nature of the evening has become blindingly clear. “Because they sent us out alone?”

Raph finally looks at you.

The raw emotion swirling in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s frustration, yes, but tangled with a vulnerability that mirrors the look you saw when he caught you stumbling in the alley. He is watching you, a strange mix of frustration and something softer flickering in his eyes before he quickly looks away, scowling harder.

“This is dumb,” he growls, suddenly rising, pacing back and forth. “Just standin’ around. We should be doing somethin’.”

Your usually bright demeanor dims again, and a knot of disappointment forms in your stomach. Usually, even when Raph is moody, he isn’t this dismissive towards you.

You hug your arms around yourself, the pretty dress suddenly feeling even sillier. “If you don’t want to be here with me, you can just say so. Leo can send Donnie or Mikey.”

Raph stops pacing, looking genuinely taken aback for a second. “What? No, it’s not … It’s not you. It’s this whole … mission.” He gestures vaguely again, looking flustered. “It’s pointless.”

His words, meant perhaps to reassure, land wrong. This—being here with you—feels pointless to him?

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you quickly blink them back, turning away to stare fixedly at the skyline. “Oh. Okay.” Your voice is small.

Raph opens his mouth, then closes it, running a hand over his head in frustration. He looks utterly miserable, caught between his fierce feelings and his equally fierce fear. He hates seeing you sad, especially when he knows he is the cause. But the thought of confessing—of seeing potential pity or rejection in your eyes—it paralyzes him.

This whole set-up by his brothers is backfiring spectacularly.

Suddenly, a low groan echoes from the structure beneath your feet. Not metal stress. But something heavier, older. Concrete shifts.

“What is that?” you ask, glancing down nervously.

Before Raph can answer, a loud CRACK splits the air. The section of rooftop near the edge, right where you are, buckles violently. A chunk of concrete the size of a small car breaks loose, plummeting towards the alley below, and taking the patch of roof you are on with it.

You cry out, stumbling backwards as the ground disappears beneath you while Raph roars your name.

In a fraction of a second, all his awkwardness, fear, and frustration vanish, replaced by instinct. He launches himself forward, his massive green hand clamping around your wrist like a vise just as your feet leave the stable part of the roof. He hauls you back, stumbling himself but managing to pull you against his plastron, shielding your body with his own.

You land hard against his chest, the air knocked out of you, heart pounding against his like a drum. His arms are iron bands around you, holding you so tight you can barely breathe. Dust fills the air. Below, the chunk of concrete smashes into the alley with a deafening crash.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You are trembling, clinging to the rough texture of his skin, the solid reality of him beneath your hands. He is holding you as if his life depends on it, his breathing ragged.

Finally, he loosens his grip slightly, tilting your chin up with one finger, his eyes scanning you frantically. “You okay? You hurt?” His voice is raw, thick with adrenaline and fear.

“I-I’m okay,” you stammer, tears finally spilling over, born of shock and relief. “You … you saved me, Raph.”

Seeing your tears, his expression crumples. “Aw, hell, I …” He trails off, looking down at you cradled in his arms, so small and fragile compared to him. The nearness, the lingering danger, almost losing you—it breaks down the last of his carefully constructed walls. “I’m sorry. For before. For bein’ a jerk.”

You shake your head, still trying to catch your breath. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he insists, his gaze intense, locking with yours. “It’s not okay. I ruined it. This … this whole thing.” He takes a shaky breath. “Leo an’ the guys—they set this up. This wasn’t just recon. It was supposed ta be … somethin’ else.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Like … a date?

“I panicked,” Raph admits, looking deeply ashamed. “Because … look at ya. You’re amazing. Always have been. So bright, and kind, and perfect.” He gestures at himself. “And I’m just … this. And I freak out, thinkin’ there’s no way someone like you can ever”—he pauses, swallowing hard—“feel the same way about someone like me.”

He finally echoes the words he confessed on that falling tower. “I’ve loved you for years. Since we were kids, watchin’ cartoons. But I was scared. Scared I’m not good enough. Scared I’ll ruin everything. I think you deserve … better.”

Waves of emotion wash over you—shock, understanding, overwhelming relief. The tears flow freely now, but they aren’t sad tears.

You reach up, your hand trembling slightly as you cup his cheek. “Oh, Raphie,” you whisper, using his old childhood nickname. “You idiot.” A watery giggle escapes you. “You big, strong, wonderful idiot.”

Now, he’s the one whose eyes widen in surprise.

“You think I didn’t feel the same?” you continue, your voice gaining strength. “You think I didn’t spend years wondering if you saw me as anything more than just your human friend? I was scared too, Raph. Scared of losing you, losing our friendship if I said anything, if I misread everything. Scared I wasn’t tough enough, or cool enough, for you.”

You press your forehead against him. “You’re not ‘just this.’ You’re brave, and loyal, and you protect the people you care about more fiercely than anyone I know. You have the biggest heart, even if you try to hide it under all that grumpiness. How can I not fall for you?”

He stares at you, his usual scowl completely gone, replaced by stunned vulnerability. “You … you mean that?”

“Every word,” you breathe.

Slowly, tentatively, he leans down. You meet him halfway, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that is hesitant at first, then deepens with all the years of unspoken longing. His hands are infinitely careful as one cups the back of your head, the other resting gently on your waist.

And when you finally pull back, breathless, you are both smiling.

“So,” Raph mumbles, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “This, uh, date kinda sucked hard until the end.”

You laugh. “Yeah, well, the ending was pretty spectacular.” You feel safe and warm nestled against him, the earlier hurt completely forgotten. “Maybe we can try again? Somewhere more structurally sound?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, tightening his arm around you protectively.

Your comm crackles to life. “Uh, guys? Everything okay?” Leo’s voice sounds cautious. “Donnie lost your signal for a minute after that tremor.”

Raph glances down at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he switches on his own comm. “Yeah, Leo. Everything’s fine. More than fine.” He pauses, then adds, unable to resist, “Mission accomplished.”

You giggle, burying your face against his plastron as you hear Mikey whooping victoriously over the comms. The set-up might have gone disastrously wrong, but sometimes, it takes a little chaos to finally knock down the walls and let the truth come tumbling out.

And looking up at Raph’s relieved, smiling face, you know one thing for certain …

This ending was worth the wait.

[empyrealoasis]

۶ৎ The Alchemy of Shadow Work, Self-Concept, and Unyielding Confidence 𖹭.ᐟ

The art of breaking free from societies' shackles

We are not born fractured. The world carves into us, shaping our beliefs with every glance, every word unspoken, every wound we were too young to name. From the moment we first looked into a mirror and felt the quiet unease of not belonging, the first seed of doubt was sown. Over time, we became mosaics of what others believed us to be: pieces of judgment, echoes of disappointment, remnants of expectations never our own; or what we assumed to be our own.

And yet, the truth has never changed. Beneath the layers of conditioning, beyond the scars of what was done and what was withheld, there exists something untouched, something whole. The journey back to our purest, happiest and abundant self it is what we call shadow work.

The Art of Confronting the Forgotten Self

To engage in shadow work is not to wage war against yourself, nor is it an exorcism of all that is unwanted. It is an act of reclamation. It is standing in front of the mirror and meeting your own gaze, unflinching, as you ask:

"What do I believe about myself, and who taught me to believe it?"

Shadow work is often mistaken for suffering, a descent into wounds with no promise of return. But it is not suffering that transforms, it is understanding. "The shadows do not exist to torment us, they exist to be acknowledged." To be given form so that they no longer wield control from the depths of the subconscious.

Begin with reflection. Write without censorship. When you hear yourself say, "I am not enough," ask why. When the thought arises, "I will never be loved the way I want," trace it back.

Where did it begin? Who was the first to make you feel unseen? You are not to relive the pain, only to recognize it, to let it be known so that it no longer dictates your story from the silence.

And when you have unearthed these roots, you must ask yourself: Do I still accept this as truth?

If the answer is no, then you have already begun to break the chains that were never yours to carry.

Why the Mind Clings to Limitation

The mind is a creature of repetition. It does not differentiate between what is true and what is false, it only knows what it has been told most often. Limiting beliefs are not facts; they are merely thoughts we have entertained for too long.

And the brain, in its efficiency, builds neural pathways that reinforce these patterns, making them feel inescapable. But here is what most forget: Neural pathways can be rewired. With conscious effort, with new affirmations, with repeated and deliberate thought, the mind reshapes itself.

Studies in neuroplasticity confirm this, thoughts sculpt the brain, the same way rivers carve into stone. And so, when you declare, "I am confident. I am radiant. I am magnetic." Not once, not twice, but over and over, your mind adapts.

The old beliefs weaken, the new ones take root. You are not changing yourself; you are revealing the self that has always been waiting beneath the rubble.

The Shift from Seeking to Knowing

True confidence does not beg to be seen. It does not search for proof, nor does it ask permission to exist. It simply is. To rebuild self-esteem is not to seek validation, but to realize you never needed it to begin with.

It is no longer asking, "Am I enough?" but stating, "I have always been enough." It is the shift from performing worthiness to knowing it. Look at yourself. The world has tried to break you, and yet, you remain. There is strength in that.

There is power in every breath you take despite the past whispering that you should not rise. You have endured. And if you have endured, you can become anything.

The Unwavering Self-Concept

A self-concept is not something you force; it is something you assume. You do not wake up every day questioning the sky's color—you simply accept it as blue.

In the same way, you must accept who you are without hesitation. If you desire to be radiant, assume you already are. If you wish to be captivating, assume it is a truth beyond doubt.

Speak it until your voice no longer wavers, until the world has no choice but to reflect it back to you. This is not arrogance; this is alignment.

This is recognizing that the universe does not resist certainty, it bends to it.

You Were Never Broken

You were never meant to be at war with yourself. The struggle was never between you and your potential, but between you and the illusions you were given. And now, you are free to release them.

Affirm. Persist. Trust. The mind is listening. The universe is listening. And soon, the reflection in the mirror will no longer feel like a stranger, but like the powerful being you were always meant to see.

You are whole. You are limitless. You are already everything.

[soulofapatrick]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Summary: A party held by Boa Hancock makes Zoro admit his feelings for you

Words 2.4k

Warnings: heated make-out session only

Y/N’s POV

As the ornate gates of Boa Hancock’s mansions swung open, a hushed awe falls upon us as we step into the opulent halls. It’s a sight to behold, adorned with intricate designs and lavish decorations that whisper tales of luxury. To my right stands Sanji, a protective presence, a testament to our mutual wariness towards Hancock’s extravagant invitation. 

The air hums with an aura of elegance, the mingling scents of perfumes and exotic flowers infusing the atmosphere. Amidst the revelry, I catch Zoro’s intense gaze, his eyes fixed on me, Robin at his side as Hancock has paired us off. It’s an unspoken acknowledgement, a silent understanding amidst the glittering masks and elaborate attire. 

Boa Hancock, draped in regal elegance, moves through he crowd effortlessly. Her presence demands attention, yet your caution remains. We tried carefully, observing, while the festivities cascade around us. 

Sanji, never one to miss a chance to charm of course, offers compliments and flirtatious banter, yet his gaze shifts to ensure my safety as the ‘baby’ of the group. I appreciate his protective stance, even amidst the allure of this enchanting gathering. 

With Sanji distracted I make a swift move towards the bar, the need for a momentary respite calling me while everyone dances in vibrant colours and are having loud and bubbly conversations and elegant attire. At the bar, the ambiance shifts to a quieter melody. The bartender, a silent witness to many such gatherings, nods with a knowing smile as I order a drink, seeking a temporary sanctuary from the whirlwind of the night. The crystal glass in my hand holds the promise of respite, a momentary escape from the enchanting, yet overwhelming, allure of the mansion.

Nami appears by my side, her presence a familiar comfort in the middle of the grandeur. We exchange a glance laden with unspoken understanding, the shared sentiment of finding solace in each other’s company in these unfamiliar territories. The elegant chime of her laughter adds a touch of familiarity to the sophisticated air of the gathering. I should be appreciating the place with awe and wonder but none of the Straw Hats know that I came from something like this before they found me. 

The drink in my hand carries a subtle complexity—a blend of flavours that dance upon my tongue, a crafted elixir meant to soothe amidst the whirlwind of the evening. Its hue, a deep amber, catches the soft glint of the ambient lights, casting delicate reflections that mirrors the opulence surrounding us. 

As Nami points out how extravagant and probably arrogant all these people are here, I steal a moment to glance around, taking in the splendour of Boa Hancock’s extravagant affair. The grandeur is not lost on me; the mansion, adorned with elegance, holds a familiarity that echoes with distant memories that taste something sour in my throat. 

The soirée, a realm of sophistication and polished façades, is a stark contrast to the life I led before the Straw Hats found me. None of them are aware of my past, of the world I once navigated with practiced grace—a world akin to this one, where elegance with both a shield and a cage. I should be socialising and mingling, finding out what I can from these upper-class, self-entitled people probably being one of the best to do so, other than Sanji. 

Observing the gathering, my eyes catch a sight that speaks volumes—a moment frozen in time between Sanji and Boa Hancock. His trademark charm is in full display, evident in the way he gazes at her, a delicate hand placed strategically on her lower back. Boa's subtle blush betrays a hint of vulnerability beneath her regal composure, an unspoken exchange that resonates with unspoken truths. Their interaction, a dance of subtle gestures and lingering gazes, unravels before me. It’s glimpse into the intricate web of dynamics within this enigmatic world, a world where even the most confident souls reveal vulnerabilities in fleeting moments. 

As my gaze shifts, I find Luffy, his infectious enthusiasm palpable even from a distance. Usopp stands by his side, engaging in animated conversation, their laughter resonating through the room. Their camaraderie, a testament to the unbreakable bond forged though shared adventures, offers a grounding familiarity. 

However, it’s Zoro who captures my attention next—a figure of strengths and stoicism engaged in a conversation with Robin. His usual air of aloofness sees softened in her presence, their discussion veiled in layers of quiet intensity. The subtle gestures, the shared glances—they paint a picture of understanding and mutual respect between two individuals whose depths run deeper than what meets the eye. 

As I watch Zoro and Robin, a pang of unfamiliar jealousy stirs within me—a feeling foreign yet potent. Their connection, veiled in unspoken understanding, tugs at the edges of my composure, awakening a part of me I thought I'd left behind—the echoes of a past self yearning to resurface. 

Excusing myself from Nami’s side with a feigned smile, I set out to mingle, seeking a distraction in the vibrant tapestry of guests. Amidst the opulence and sophistication, I spot a striking figure—a man exuding an air of confidence and allure that beckons with temptation. I slip back into the persona I wore before I joined the Straw Hats—a façade of charm and sophistication, a mask that once defined me in a world I thought I'd left behind. Engaging effortlessly in playful banter and coy smiles, I mirror the flirtatious exchanges that used to be second nature.

The handsome stranger, a willing participant in this dance of fleeting connections, becomes my temporary refuge—an embodiment of the person I once was, a remnant of the world I once navigated with practiced ease. In his company I rediscover facets of myself that lay dormant, submerged beneath the adventures and camaraderie that define life aboard the Thousand Sunny. The pulse of the night quickens, the energy of the gathering fuelling the sparks of a persona that feels strangely familiar yet distant.

The charismatic exchange with the stranger is abruptly interrupted by a sudden weight on my waist, a sturdy hand claiming possession. Startled, I turn my head to find Zoro standing besides me, his presence commanding, a stark contrast to the templar refuge I sought in the strangers company. 

“Piss off.” Zoro’s voice is tinged with an edge that brooks no argument, cuts through the chatter of the gathering as he tensely dismisses the man. The interloper retreats with a flustered no, leaving a trial of confusion in his wake. Zoro’s firm grip on my waist remains, a silent assertion of his claim in the midst of the chaotic evening. Without a world, he guides me away from the commotion, leading us towards a secluded hallway—a sanctuary away from prying eyes and murmurs of the party. 

Leaning against the wall, I find myself entranced by Zoro’s commanding presence as he paces with deliberate steps. His usual attire, synonymous wit a rugged warrior’s spirit, is replaced by a tailored black suit that moulds to the contours of his frame. The fabric, sleek and refined, whispers softly as he moves, exuding an aura of understated power. 

Underneath the dark suit jacket, a forest green silk shirt peeks out, a subtle flash of color against the monochrome palette. The fabric, delicately woven and contrasting against the dark backdrop, accentuates the strength in his broad shoulders and the defined lines of his physique. His movements are controlled, each step measured yet purposeful, creating a rhythm that reverberates through the otherwise still corridor. The dim lighting casts a play of shadows and highlights across his features, emphasising the sharpness of his jawline and the intensity in his gaze. 

As I stand there, an array of emotions stir with me. My heartbeat quickens at the sight of him—Zoro, the swordsman whose strength I've always admired, now clad in this unexpected guise of refined elegance. The sight of him in this attire, so far removed from his usual rugged persona, tugs at the strings of my heart, evoking a sense of awe and longing. 

“Are you gonna stop pacing and say something?” The words escape my lips, breaking the charged silence that had enveloped us. Zoro's restless pacing, a testament to the simmering tension between us, continues as he grumbles under his breath, his agitation palpable.

Finally, he does halt, in front of me, his intense gaze locking with mine. His eyes, dark pools of determination and depth, sweep over me, and I feel his scrutiny like a tangible caress. There’s an unspoken question lingering in the air, a tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. The dress I wear, chosen for the occasion, drapes around me in delicate layers of midnight blue. Its fabric, a dance of silk and lace, moulds to my form with a grace that contrasts sharply with the tumultuous emotions swirling within. The dress, simple yet elegant, accentuates curves and hints at vulnerability, a stark contrast against the backdrop of the secluded hallway. 

As Zoro crowds me against the wall, a myriad of emotions surge within me—a mix of apprehension and anticipation. His hands, placed firmly on either side of my head, are a testament to his strength, yet they evoke a sense of protection rather than fear. There's an undeniable intensity to his proximity, a closeness that crackles with unspoken desires and unresolved tension.

As my gaze flickers down to Zoro’s lips, a rush of nerves tingles through me. His growled question pierces the charged silence, the intensity in his voice sending a jolt through the air, “Why were you flirting with that guy?” His worlds, rough and direct, catch me off guard, the weight of his inquiry echoing in the tense space between us. 

Meeting his eyes again, I sense the vulnerability underlying his intensity, “Why were you flirting with Robin?” I shoot back, my voice carrying a mix of defiance and uncertainty. The tension in the air tightens, the unspoken emotions swirling between us like a tempest. 

Zoro’s eyes roll in exasperation, his response sharp and abrupt, “I wasn’t flirting with Robin you dumbass.” His words, laced with frustration, hang int he air, echoing in the hollow silence of the hallway, the muffled chatter and music fading to silence as all I can focus on is Zoro. 

Before I can protest or rationalise further, his proximity intensifies. The world dissolves into a whirlwind of sensations as Zoro’s hand finds the curve of my neck, tilting my head upwards with a gentle yet firm touch. His lips crash against mine in a fervent collision, igniting a fiery storm of pent-up emotions and desire. 

The kiss is everything I expected from Zoro—hot, heavy and charged with an intensity that sends electric pulses coursing through my body. His mouth moves against mine with a raw hunger, a passionate urgency that leaves no room for doubts or hesitation. There’s a fervour in the way he tastes, a heady blend of passion and restraint mingling in the heat of our entwined mouths. His lips move against mine, teasing and exploring, each movement setting my senses ablaze with a fire that refuses to be contained. 

The heat of the moment amplifies the sensations—a mingling of fervent desire and unspoken yearning, an uncharted territory where emotions collide in a tempestuous dance. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, conveying a depth of emotions that words could never capture. 

As the fervour of the kiss begins to ebb, Zoro breaks away, his lips trailing a searing path along the sensitive skin of my neck. The sensation is electric, sending shivers down my spine as he leaves behind a trial of intense marks, sucking gentle hickeys into the soft flesh. His touch, both possessive and tender, electrifies my sense, awakening a torrent of desire that courses through me. The intensity of his actions speaks volumes, conveying a depth of passion that words could never encapsulate. 

Simultaneously, his hand, previously at the curve of my neck, journeys down my side, navigating the bend of my knee, coaxing it upwards. His touch is insistent, yet surprisingly gentle, guiding my leg to bend and part slightly, inviting and intimate. With a deliberate move, his hand slips beneath the silky fabric of the dress the contact sending a jolt of anticipation through me. His touch on my bare skin ignites a whirlwind of sensations—a mix of heat and tenderness, each caress leaving a scorching trail in its wake. 

The silkiness of the dress offers no barriers to the warm h of his touch as his hand trails along the length of my thigh, massaging the skin and setting my nerves ablaze. The sensation is almost overwhelming, a tantalising blend of desire and anticipation, as his touch explores the uncharted territory of my skin. 

Finally, he pulls his lips from my neck, and his eyes roam over my face and chest, capturing the rise and fall of my breath, a testament to the charged atmosphere between us. In that moment of heightened tension, I find myself mumbling almost incoherently, "Don't be in love with someone else.”

A guttural groan escapes Zoro, accompanied by a frustrated facepalm, as if my words cause him a mix of annoyance and exasperation. His demeanour shifts abruptly, and with a firm grip, he grabs my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. With deliberate slowness, he enunciates each word, his voice carrying a weight that leaves no room for doubt. "I am in love with no one else except you." His declaration, spoken with unwavering conviction, hangs in the charged air between us, resonating with a depth of emotion that pierces through the tumultuous emotions and uncertainties.

His eyes, searching mine for any trace of doubt or disbelief, hold an intensity that reflects the sincerity of his words. In that fleeting moment, enveloped by the gravity of his confession, the world around us seems to fade, leaving only the raw honesty and vulnerability in his declaration of love. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” He nods once, “Let’s go back to the party.” 

One Piece Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[nshmuras]

WE CANT BE FRIENDS - rumors

sypnosis: you and riki have been friends for over 10 years. but.. you started to fall for him unexpectedly one day and to your unlucky surprise , the day you were about to talk to him about your feelings he announced he has a girlfriend. weeks later he showed up at your doorstep explaining that his girlfriend wants him to cut you off.

Today was a school day. amidst the chatter and laughter of students, Riki felt a heavy weight on his shoulders as he caught a glimpse of you. Her eyes, once filled with warmth and friendship, now held a glimmer of hurt and longing that pierced through his heart like a dagger.

It had been weeks since Riki mustered the courage to tell you that they couldn't be friends anymore. He knew it was the right thing to do since his girlfriend, jia, said it was. but the pain of seeing her struggle with his decision haunted him every day. As he walked past her, he could feel her gaze on him, a silent plea for acknowledgment that went unanswered.

Each time their eyes met, Riki's heart ached with regrets.

His girlfriend's hand intertwined with his own provided him with a fleeting sense of comfort, but deep down, Riki knew that the void left by your absence could not be filled by anyone else. The echoes of their laughter, the shared secrets, and the unspoken bond they once had lingered in the air, suffocating him with a bittersweet nostalgia.

your silent pleas haunted Riki's dreams, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused. He wanted to reach out, to apologize, to mend the broken pieces of their shattered friendship. But every time he tried, his words faltered, lost in a sea of unresolved emotions and unspoken truths.

As Riki turned the corner, leaving you behind in the crowded hallway, a sigh left his lips, carrying with it the weight of his unspoken regrets. In that moment, he realized that some wounds never truly heal, but it would be fine. he loved jia and he would do anything for her. even if that meant losing a life time friend.

.

.

.

As you navigated the whispers and rumors circulating about her now ex-best friend, Riki, a cloud of confusion lingered over your thoughts like a persistent shadow.

weird.

"Why? What could have happened?" you pondered, your mind grappling with the mystery that seemed to separate you from any solution.

One ordinary day, as you roamed the empty hallways of their school, lost in your thoughts.

you felt a sudden pull that jolted you out of your trance.

you turned to find your face to face with Riki after weeks on end.

his expression was a tumultuous blend of emotions she struggled to decipher.

"Why didn't you tell me?" riki said with a deep voice that sounded very serious, the once cheerful and happy voice you used to hear sounded more so cold than before.

"Tell you wh—" "that you liked me."

You froze.

It was like time stopped when he said those words and even you began to ask yourself..

why is he being clueless?

"Who said that?" you questioned a bit too defensively and hesitantly but still held your ground.

"I heard it yn. i heard it around."

"I know you heard me and jia have been struggling, its because of that." he sighed heavily and turned to face you finally.

"What? because of me?"

he nodded "Yes. thats why i had to drop you ... because she said you liked me and i.. i didn't want to upset her."

Your heart started to hurt.

for some reason, you knew this was coming. jia usually always had a plan to humiliate you.

"But the real question is ..." he trailed off and pinned you to the wall "Is that true? or is it a rumor?"

last /\ next

taglist : @goldenmellow @won4kiss @helenngxz @luv4rikii @qwonyoung23 @lukesbooo @pnghoon @yoichiislovie @dreeki @suneng @en-verse @itwasntmee @en-gelic @yangjungwonnie @mygnolia @kairoot @elysianiki @nat123c @t1iqaa @melianslittlesworld @d-dilemma

[dark-l-angel]

Hii! So like...im not sure how this works, its my first request but i ve been thinking about this ideea about Dick Grayson how has to marry reader (how in my head universe she s lile Tony Stark s daughter) and neither of them likes this so is more like enemies to lovers kinda thing.

So yeah....thats my dumb ideea. Kisses 😘😆

i love this idea actually 🤔..

It was a quiet evening in Gotham, the city's usual hustle and bustle slightly muffled under the weight of an impending storm. Inside Wayne Manor, the lavish home felt even more imposing tonight. A grand, opulent space, filled with family portraits, but there was something else in the air—a tension, thick and palpable.

"Tonight is the night," Bruce had said earlier, his voice stern as always. "It’s non-negotiable."

You didn’t know exactly how you got here. One moment, you were at a charity event for your father’s latest philanthropic venture, and the next, you were in Gotham, standing in front of a man you had never really gotten along with—Dick Grayson.

The man who had been Batman’s sidekick. The one you had always been told was reliable, honorable, and a bit too serious for his own good. And now, you were supposed to marry him.

You weren’t quite sure what had led to this arrangement. Your father and Bruce Wayne had been friends for years, and it seemed this was some sort of business deal that they had cooked up—one that involved you and Dick.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Dick. No, it was more that you didn’t like being told what to do, especially when it came to something as personal as marriage. You were Tony Stark’s daughter, after all. You had never been the type to settle down. But now, you were supposed to marry this man—this guy you didn’t know beyond his public persona.

"You must be kidding me," you muttered, standing in front of the fireplace in the art room, staring at the crackling flames. "I didn’t sign up for this."

Dick Grayson’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Neither did I” he said coolly, his tone dripping with annoyance.

You turned to see him standing by the door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his jaw clenched. His costume—his Nightwing persona—was long gone, replaced by a well-tailored suit, but that only added to the absurdity of it all. The mask was off, but there was still that lingering aura of mystery, the shadow of the vigilante he used to be.

You rolled your eyes. "Great, so we’re in agreement, then? This whole thing is ridiculous."

"You think I want this? This... arranged marriage nonsense?" His words were edged with frustration, but there was something else too—a hint of vulnerability you hadn’t expected. "My entire life has been planned for me. And now this". There was a pause, a heavy silence between you both. He wasn’t wrong. You both were children of legacy—forced into roles you didn’t necessarily want.

"Then why are we doing it?" you asked, your voice quiet now. "What’s the point?"

He stepped closer, the heat of his body just enough to make you shift your gaze to him. "Maybe we don't have a choice" he replied, his voice softer now, a little less hostile.

There was something in his eyes, something that made your breath catch for just a moment. It wasn’t the fire of animosity anymore—it was something deeper, something unspoken. But you weren’t ready to acknowledge it. Not yet. You turned your back, walking toward the window and looking out at the rain as it started to pour.

“You don't even know me," you said, almost to yourself. "How can we do this? How can we pretend?"

His footsteps followed you. "I don't know. But maybe we’ll figure it out, one day at a time".

You didn't have an answer. You weren’t ready to face the truth, the possibility that maybe there was something there—something more than just the contract. But before you could turn away, you felt his presence close behind you.

“Let’s make a deal..” Dick said suddenly, his voice low and firm. “We don’t have to like each other. But we can try to get along for the sake of everyone else in this damn room”.

You raised an eyebrow. "You think we can pull that off?"

Dick smirked "we're both good at pretending.. so why don't you think we can get over this?" He laughed.. you couldn't help the warm feeling in your stomach.

A small laugh escaped your lips, and for a brief moment, it felt like you were back to your old self—the independent woman who didn't need anyone to tell her what to do. But as Dick’s fingers brushed the back of your hand, it startled you.

The touch was electric. Almost too electric. You turned to face him, your heart skipping a beat.

"I don’t want to pretend with you anymore" Dick said quietly, his voice now filled with something you hadn’t expected: sincerity. "Not after tonight."

Your breath caught, but before you could say anything, he was kissing you—tentative at first, as if he wasn’t sure you’d want it. But when you kissed him back, your hands reaching up to his shoulders, the kiss deepened. You could feel the raw chemistry between you, the underlying tension that had been there from the start.

When he pulled away, both of you were breathless. His forehead rested against yours, eyes searching yours as if to make sure this was real.

"I never expected this," you whispered, your hands sliding down to his chest.

Dick smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made your heart flutter in your chest. "Neither did I..".

But somewhere deep inside, you both knew this wasn’t the end. This was just the beginning. Imagine slow dancing after this kiss 🫠💓 as time freeze and u both getting lost in ur own little world ❤️ OMFG 🤧💕.

A Few Months Later

The marriage had happened, as much as neither of you had truly wanted it. But over time, the cold walls between you had started to crack. What had once been an arrangement for political gain slowly transformed into something more complex, more emotional.

One late evening, as you and Dick stood on the balcony of Wayne Manor, overlooking the city, you turned to him, the night sky dotted with stars above you, the moonlight shine on his blue ocean eyes..

“We’ve been at this for a while now,” you said softly. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For being a jerk,” you admitted. “For thinking we could never make this work. I was wrong."

He laughed quietly. “We both were”.

You moved closer to him, the distance between you gone in an instant. The playful banter had turned into something more serious, something you were both learning to navigate. The kisses had turned deeper, the touches more lingering, and the emotions more intense.

"I don’t know what this is, but it’s the best mistake I ever made" Dick said, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs gently brushing over your skin.

And for the first time, you didn't feel trapped. You didn’t feel like this was a contract anymore. It was real, something you could feel in every heartbeat, in every moment that you shared.

"You were never a mistake," you whispered before kissing him again, this time with all the passion you’d both been holding back for so long.

And as Gotham rumbled beneath you, you realized that sometimes, life had a funny way of bringing you exactly where you were supposed to be—even if you didn’t know it at the time.

[belit0]

Hi, how are you? I'm speaking for the first time here and through the translator (so the writing must be strange) But I wanted to ask for a story with Madara where the S/O also loses her beloved brother and the reason for living, and they find support in the midst of grief (and they have a similar temperament)

(Desculpe pela escrita ruim, sou do Brasil mas amo suas histórias)

Your writing is perfect, I understood it without any problems, thanks for taking the time to translate it! Into angsty territories we go...

The air carried the scent of damp earth, the remnants of a storm clinging to the trees in heavy droplets. Night had settled over the world, draping it in a hush that even the wind dared not disturb. Somewhere in the distance, the faint crackle of burning incense wafted from a forgotten shrine, mixing with the cold bite of loss.

he was there because of his own sorrow, but he couldn't help noticing her. Madara stood at the edge of the clearing, silent as the stone beneath his feet. His gaze, sharp and unfaltering, traced the outline of her kneeling form. She was still, staring at the uneven mound of earth before her.

The final resting place of a brother now lost to time.

He knew the weight that crushed her chest, the hollowness that no words could fill. He had lived through it, clawed his way through its suffocating grasp, only to find that grief was not something one survived. It simply became you.

Madara stepped forward, his presence casting a long shadow beside hers. He did not offer meaningless condolences; he despised empty words. Instead, he crouched beside her, elbows resting on his knees, and let the silence stretch between them.

She did not flinch at his presence. Perhaps, like him, she had grown tired of company that didn’t understand.

-You shouldn’t be here alone.

Her fingers tightened over the fabric of her sleeve.

-And yet, you are.

A bitter smile ghosted her lips, a silent acknowledgment that neither of them had the right to offer advice. Madara exhaled sharply, a humorless chuckle escaping before he could stop it.

-Fair enough.

She finally turned to look at him, her gaze glassy yet sharp, heavy with a grief he recognized as his own. There was something in her expression; something familiar. A shattered devotion, a love torn away too soon. He had seen it in the mirror too many times.

His throat tightened. Izuna’s face flickered behind his eyes, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was in the present or the past.

-It never fades.- Her voice was barely above a whisper. -Does it?-

He shook his head.

-No.

The truth sat between them, heavy and unmoving. Loss was not something one outgrew. It lingered, carved its name into bones, made a home in the quiet moments between battles.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief second before looking at him again.

-How do you live with it?

Madara leaned back slightly, the fabric of his cloak shifting over his shoulders. His answer was not kind.

-You don’t.- His gaze met hers, unwavering. -You carry it.-

Her breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing into her ribs. There was no comfort in them, but there was truth. And sometimes, truth was all they had.

Silence stretched between them once more, but this time, it felt different less... isolating.

She looked at the sky, eyes tracing the patterns of stars that would never change, no matter how much their world had shattered.

Madara followed her gaze. He did not believe in omens, in gods, in the idea that fate had some grand design. But as he sat beside her, the grief between them woven into something unspoken yet understood, he felt, if only for a fleeting moment, that perhaps, he was not as alone as he once thought.

[chaos-chloe]

HI so ive never requested a fic before but i love your writing so im taking my chances, could we get a pezzy fic kind of based on dress by taylor swift? maybe like yall and the clooless guys go out to a bar and you wear a new dress to get his attention and it works? thinking smut but im not sure if you write it so it doesn’t have to be. thank you!!

The Dress that Turned Heads

In a bustling city where the lights sparkled like stars, five friends decided to take a break from their everyday adventures. Pezzy, Grizzy, Puffer, ElasticDroid, and you were all excited for a night out at the Lavender Lounge, the trendiest bar in town, known for its whimsical cocktails and enchanting atmosphere. But this wasn’t just any night out—it was a night filled with unspoken feelings and silent glances.

From the moment you slipped into that flirty dress, you felt a rush of confidence. The fabric hugged your curves just right, and the twinkle of fairy lights reflected off your sparkling shoes. You had always hoped to catch Pezzy’s eye, but tonight you wanted to spark a connection that couldn’t be ignored. Little did you know, Pezzy had a reciprocated glimmer of feeling but was skillfully masking it behind a playful smile.

As you entered the Lavender Lounge, the air was thick with laughter and the hum of music. Grizzy and Puffer snatched up a table near the dance floor, while ElasticDroid eagerly grabbed the latest cocktails tossed your way with intricate garnishes. But you had one mission—to catch Pezzy’s attention.

With every sip of your fizzy drink, you subtly threw glances in Pezzy’s direction. You found courage in the rhythm of the music, the way the lyrics seemed like they were written just for you. The night unfolded with jovial discussions, teasing remarks, and dance moves that got everyone on their feet.

As the DJ spun a shuffle of love songs, you could see the flicker of interest in Pezzy’s eyes, but still, Pezzy played it cool, engaging with Grizzy and Puffer as if oblivious to your dazzling efforts. Then, in a moment that felt woven by fate, ElasticDroid suggested a game—a round of truth or dare.

“Pezzy,” you suggested playfully, “truth or dare?” Your heart raced in anticipation.

“Dare,” Pezzy replied with a grin, clearly ready for some fun.

“I dare you to dance with…” you hesitated, letting the air turn thick with tension as you locked eyes with Pezzy. “Me.”

A chorus of cheers erupted, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Pezzy jumped up, took your hand, and led you to the center of the dance floor as if the world around you faded away. The moment you started dancing, everything else became blurry—the lights, the laughter, the music, all fused into a mesmerizing backdrop.

Pezzy swayed gracefully, a smile dancing on his lips. Your heart raced like a rollercoaster, and as you lost yourself in the moment, you felt an unspoken connection blossom between the two of you. You could see that Pezzy’s shy glances were no longer so hidden, and perhaps, just perhaps tonight would end differently.

After a few exhilarating songs, the game resumed and laughter filled the air. However, your heart was still beating for Pezzy alone. In a bold move, you leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I bought this dress just for you, you know,” letting your feelings spill into the melody of the night.

Pezzy raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise mixed with something deeper swirling within those sparkling eyes. “Oh really?” Pezzy teased back, with playful mischief dancing on our smiles. 

You laughed lightly, leaning closer, “Only to take it off later,” you said with a wink, pushing the playful energy to the surface, both of your hearts racing now.

With a boldness fueled by the dim lights and the thrill of the night, Pezzy stepped closer. The atmosphere shifted, charged with recognition—finally, both of you were ready to acknowledge what had been lingering in the air.

The music pulsed through the air, each beat matching the rhythm of your racing hearts. Pezzy stepped even closer, the warmth radiating between you creating a bubble that felt like a secret oasis amidst the bustling bar. In that moment, the world around you faded even further, leaving just the two of you surrounded by twinkling lights and the heady scent of anticipation.

“Do you want to take it off now?” Pezzy whispered playfully, a teasing smirk dancing on his lips as they leaned in. The question hung in the air, thick and intoxicating, electrifying every nerve in your body.

You bit your lip, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks. “Maybe just a little bit closer,” you replied coyly, inviting Pezzy into the intimate space between you, your bodies swaying in sync with the rhythm of the music. The beat grew deeper, more intense, each pulse of the song igniting the flame of shared passion burning brightly between you.

As your bodies moved closer on the dance floor, the energy around you felt charged, as if the universe itself was conspiring to bring you together. Pezzy’s hand brushed against your waist, the contact sending shivers down your spine. You leaned against them, feeling the heat of his body in response, urging the tension to escalate.

With every sway and every step, the dance floor transformed into your private stage, and you felt a magnetic pull toward Pezzy that you could no longer ignore. You spun around, facing Pezzy fully, and as you locked eyes, a spark ignited that couldn’t be extinguished. The familiar coolness of the bar air was overwhelmed by the heat radiating between you both.

Pezzy took your hands in his, guiding your movements, his touch igniting a fire within you that ignited with every turn and twirl. You danced as if no one else existed, lost among the beats, enveloped in the music. Your laughter rang out, blended with the melodies of the lounge, every note amplifying the chemistry swirling between you.

Without breaking the rhythm, Pezzy leaned in closer, whispering, “What if we really just took it off?” You felt a rush of bold exhilaration at his words, a daring proposal cloaked in playful spontaneity.

“Let’s take this dance somewhere more private,” you suggested, biting back laughter as the thrill surged within you. You could see that seductive glint in Pezzy's eyes; it was the invitation both of you had long been waiting for.

Hand in hand, you guided Pezzy away from the crowded dance floor, slipping past laughing faces and vibrant lights until you reached a cozy nook in the back of the bar, dimly lit and perfect for a bit of mischief. As the world outside faded, the unmistakable beat of your hearts echoed within the confined space. 

Pezzy turned to you, the intensity of the moment stirring a wild energy. The walls felt alive as you both leaned in closer, breath mingling in a stolen moment that felt painted in slow motion. Just as Pezzy brushed his lips lightly against yours, the universe held its breath.

The kiss sparked a fire, a soft exploration that quickly flared into something passionate, the kind that echoes with the heat of anticipation. Your bodies pressed against each other, the warmth amplifying between you like an unquenchable flame. The dress you wore seemed to shimmer, a shimmering promise as if both it and the night held secrets just waiting to be discovered.

In the alcove, lost to the rhythm of your shared heartbeat, you both managed to escape the world beyond—the laughter, the music, the bright lights, all faded away until there was nothing left but the intoxicating kiss and the electricity that pulsed between you.

Pezzy pulled back momentarily, his breaths mingling with yours in the intimate space as they whispered, “What’s next?” The question hung tantalizingly in the air, a doorway to new adventures waiting to unfold.

With Pezzy's forehead gently resting against yours, the world outside faded into mere whispers, leaving only the soft sounds of your breaths blending together in an intoxicating rhythm. The flickering lights from the bar cast a warm glow around you both, highlighting the tension and heartbeat of the moment.

Pezzy's hands, exploring with delightful curiosity, traced along the curves of your waist, fingers brushing lightly against your hips. Each touch felt electric, igniting waves of warmth that danced through you. You could feel your pulse racing as if synchronized with the music still pulsing through the bar, a distant reminder of the world beyond this intimate sanctuary.

As you leaned in for another kiss, Pezzy pulled you closer, his body a sturdy wall for you to lean against. The solidness of the wall behind you and Pezzy in front created a cocoon that enveloped you, shielding you from prying eyes, almost like a secret shared between only the two of you.

Kissing Pezzy felt like unleashing a spark, each brush of lips igniting deeper cravings as the taste of mint and an intoxicating hint of his favorite cocktail lingered between your mouths. Your hands found their way to Pezzy's hair, fingers tangling in soft strands as you pulled them deeper into the kiss, wanting to savor the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

Pushed against the wall, your silhouette was hidden, shrouded in mystery. You could feel Pezzy’s breath hitch, a delightful sound that sent thrills through your core as they revealed in the moment. The pressure of his body against yours felt intoxicatingly possessive, like a gentle reminder that you were both lost in a whirlwind of passion.

Pezzy’s hands knew just where to explore—tracing along your sides, brushing over the fabric of your dress as if every inch was a territory they were eager to discover. His fingers danced like fire along the supple curves, igniting heat that pooled in the pit of your stomach. It was a rush of thrilling anticipation that made you wish for more, even while the clothes remained a barrier—a thrilling tease rather than a limit.

With every kiss deepening in its fervor, you could hear the distant music reverberating in the background, but in that moment, it felt as if time stood still. Pezzy wrapped you in his warmth, hiding your silhouettes from the world, a secret he cherished. It felt primal, electric—a raw, passionate entangling of two hearts finally acknowledging their undeniable connection.

Your hands captivated Pezzy’s face, pulling them in closer, allowing every sense to be overwhelmed by this extraordinary moment. The warmth of Pezzy's body melded with yours, hearts racing in tandem as you both balanced on the edge of desire. You could feel the energy between you—an invisible thread binding your souls together, a promise of something deeper yet to be explored.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, you trailed soft pecks along Pezzy's jawline, savoring the delicious thrill of secret exploration. You watched his breath quicken, his eyes darkening with desire, and it drew you in even more. “What’s next?” you echoed back, teasing playfully while your heart fluttered with excitement.

Pezzy chuckled softly, a sound that resonates deep within you. “Next?” he whispered, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Next, we embrace tonight for all it is—an escape, a wild adventure, and maybe a taste of what’s to come.”

With that, you pulled them back for another deep kiss, letting the heat of the moment envelop you both once more. The cozy nook within the bar became a world of its own, alive with the promise of discovery, laughter, and the beginnings of a romance that could soar.

[cpvnksabm]

i've barely posted here in like 3 months but i still get activity notifications pretty often and at this point for my sanity i try not to click on them. because more often than not, it's someone reblogging one of my educational posts about ableism and then, before i've scrolled down 10 posts on their blog, doing one of the exact things i've implored this fandom not to do, or being overtly ableist in some other way.

i work hard to make sure my educational posts are kind, approachable, and easy to listen to. i think that's gone too far. my posts are so approachable and inoffensive that they've attracted an audience of people who only reblog my posts because they see me as a Good Nice Disabled Person, and see reblogging my posts as an easy way to get your "I listen to disabled people" card without, without ever having to change your behavior or challenge your ableist views.

but you DO have to change your behavior and challenge your ableist views.

people always respond to my posts like i must be talking about someone else. some unknown ableist that mysteriously never appears on their social media feed, not them and their circle of friends and the things they casually see on their dash & assume must be okay. i say "the RTC fandom needs to stop doing XYZ ableist thing" and all of the allies in my notifications respond "yeah obviously you should only do XYZ under ABC circumstances!"

you don't speak for me! you don't get to decide that what i say has obvious exceptions that i forgot to mention! you don't get to assume that when i talk about something being a problem, i don't mean it in the way that you do it because you could never be part of the problem!

i hate seeing ableists reblog my posts about ableism because it makes me feel like everyone is seeing it and thinking i agree with the words they're putting in my mouth. like i'm endorsing their ableism. i would rather not be listened to at all than have people only "listen" to me so that they can cherry-pick what i say, and interpret it in the most strained way possible, just so that it seems like i'm not saying anything they need to hear.

i don't know how to make myself any clearer; i say what i mean and my posts generally DON'T have a million obvious unspoken exceptions. when i say "if you haphazardly change ricky's disability to 'fix' canon rep without understanding what canon did wrong in the first place, you are likely to cross over into disability erasure" i don't mean "the only changes you should haphazardly make to 'fix' canon's disability rep are these ones that we've all agreed are okay". when i say "don't single out the disabled character to call him a freak" i dont mean "its only okay to call disabled people freaks in these circumstances". when i say "dont try to speak for the disabled community, focus on boosting our voices" i dont mean "you should only try to speak for the disabled community if it's one of these specific issues where you obviously already know what the whole disabled community thinks".

the truth is: this fandom has a HUGE ableism problem. ricky's canonical neuromuscular disorder is almost never acknowledged, the vast majority of depictions water his disability down in some way, his mobility aids are treated like fun cute props instead of something he genuinely needs. at the same time ricky is constantly dehumanized, stereotyped, turned into the butt of ableist jokes. and when disabled fans point this out - or speak about ableism in any other form, or just talk about our lives as disabled people - we get stereotyped as well, and we get belittled, and people who know nothing about the subject step in to correct us or argue with us or decide what we mean. because obviously, everyone knows better than the disabled person about ableism.

if you see me talking about ableism and you assume you surely aren't part of the problem, then nobody will ever improve. the problem is huge. you are almost definitely part of the problem! so many well--intentioned people are! i have been, at points!

just. you don't speak for me, nobody speaks for me except me. stop deciding my posts dont mean anything you might need to hear. do your research. listen to disabled people.

[vinestaffery]

Hi, I don't request much but could you write skateboard reacting to reader coming out as non-binary, I understand if you don't want to its fine. Have a good day ^^

skateboard x non-binary reader

content: coming out; implied homophobia experiences/homophobia; comfort and acceptance; purely fluff with a side of small angst

authors note: last post for tonight!!! so sorry for this being unable to be written in so long. hope this cheers you up!!

[Y/N] paced back and forth in their room, the low hum of the ceiling fan doing little to ease their anxiety. The walls, plastered with posters of their favorite bands and vibrant artwork, seemed to close in on them. Their heart pounded, each beat echoing the countless scenarios their mind conjured. Skateboard had always been a steady presence in their life, a beacon of carefree energy and unwavering friendship. But this was different. This was revealing a part of themselves they had kept hidden for so long, a truth that lay heavy on their chest.

Memories flashed through [Y/N]'s mind like a cruel montage. They remembered the hushed whispers in the school hallways, the way eyes would linger a little too long, and the snickers that followed them whenever they tried to express themselves authentically. The worst were the snide comments, the offhand remarks that cut deeper than any physical wound.

"What even are they?" "Are they confused or just seeking attention?"

The words replayed in their mind, a relentless loop of doubt and fear.

Taking a deep breath, [Y/N] grabbed their phone and texted Skateboard. "Hey, can we talk? It's important." The response was almost immediate, typical of Skateboard's quick, effortless style. "Sure thing! Meet you at the park in 10?"

[Y/N] arrived at the park, the familiar sight of Skateboard waiting by the bench, his skateboard resting against his leg, brought a semblance of calm. His nonchalant grin and easygoing demeanor were a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within [Y/N]. They took a deep breath, steeling themselves for the conversation ahead.

"Hey, [Y/N]!" Skateboard greeted them with his usual enthusiasm. "What's up?" [Y/N] swallowed hard, their mouth suddenly dry. "Hey, Skateboard. There's something I need to tell you. It's...it's really important to me."

Skateboard's expression softened slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features. "Sure thing, dude. You know you can tell me anything."

As they began to speak, [Y/N] felt a surge of emotions. "I've been struggling with something for a long time. I’ve never felt comfortable with the gender I was assigned at birth. I’m non-binary. I use they/them pronouns."

The words hung in the air, heavy and liberating all at once. [Y/N] braced themselves for the response, their mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Would Skateboard laugh it off, dismiss it as a phase, or worse, distance himself from them?

But Skateboard did none of those things. Instead, he looked at [Y/N] with a mix of surprise and understanding. "Wow, [Y/N]. Thanks for telling me. That must have taken a lot of courage."

[Y/N] blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. "You...you’re okay with it?"

Skateboard shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Why wouldn’t I be? You're my friend, and I want you to be happy and comfortable. It doesn't change who you are to me."

A wave of relief washed over [Y/N], the tension that had coiled in their chest unraveling. Skateboard stepped forward, wrapping them in a tight hug. The embrace was warm, grounding, and filled with the unspoken promise of acceptance.

"You know, I used to be somewhat like that, struggling to discover myself. That was until I discovered it was the happiness I was seeking for? It was inside me. In accepting mysef, my true authentic self, I discovered happiness. I finally didn't feel alone, I acknowledged my friends that loved and accepted me for who I was as a person, not who they felt I should be. Even in uncovering my authentic self, I still felt like I was unable to be who I am. But, if you fight beside them, you can live a wonderful life where you don't need to hide. You have always been you, and no one should tell you otherwise."

"...Thanks, Skateboard,"

[Y/N] whispered, their voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Skateboard pulled back, his grin widening. "No problem at all. Now, how about we go skateboarding? I’ve been working on some new tricks I want to show you."

[Y/N] laughed, the sound lighter and freer than it had been in a long time. "I'd love that."

[sha-brytols]

so the issue with wynne's age from what i understand was less a direct falsehood and instead caused by sheryl chee being young herself at the time of writing and thinking 40-50 year old women were basically decrepit. i'm a little confused, do you think the writers are lying about her age, or the reasoning behind why she was written like she was?

the latter LOL i know what cheryl chee said, i'm saying i dont believe her. the problem with this excuse is it implies chee had an exact date of birth for wynne in mind when literally the only reason we have a vague idea of her age is through fan analysis of a timeline which i dont just think was a mistake i KNOW it was. it's a timeline that doesn't make sense for anyone else's ages too. what happened was they gave a birthdate for rhys and then a few vague approximations through dialogue that relate to that birthdate

so the timeline is like 'rhys is born a year after her apprentice "dies"' and in a completely separate place its said that apprentice was given to her a couple years after her harrowing. and then in ANOTHER separate instance its said she took her harrowing when she was 17. does this sound like predetermined information written to establish a coherent timeline. or did cheryl chee just write a bunch of numbers without really giving it much thought which ended up conflicting with an exact date of her son's birth that was written by an entirely different writer . there's also the fact that loghain, a character who by this logic should be OLDER than her, calling her an old woman in banter.

no i dont know why cheryl chee made up such a weird excuse. you can say she was probably embarrassed but then its like ok but the lie is infinitely way more embarrassing than the truth. my real guess is the devs have this unspoken rule to never directly call out the flaws in their own writing. have you noticed none of the writer's have ever actually acknowledged the insane timeline error with anders (awakening and act 1 of da2 take place at the same time .)

also anecdotally. i'm the same age chee was when she wrote wynne. i know the difference between a 40 year old and a 60 year old. that is not the kind of misconception that happens to anyone older than like 20 LOL

[yoonavii]

"You can't deny it, even in the chaos, there's a spark between us. Admit it, you feel it too."

Context: You’re Toji’s long time enemy and next target…yet you both have lingering history and feelings that rest below the surface. Shall it be left alone and be forever known as an Ephemera? or should it make its debut on the high surface?

A/N: this is a pilot one shot. A PART TWO may come depending on the performance of this post. XD Enjoy!

The city slept beneath a blanket of darkness, its heartbeat echoing through the empty streets. Unbeknownst to its slumbering inhabitants, a chilling tension lingered in the air. In the heart of the city, your apartment stood, silent and unsuspecting, as you prepared for the inevitable confrontation that had been a long time coming. The soft glow of the streetlights painted a dim picture inside your apartment. You could sense him before you saw him—Toji Fushiguro, the relentless sorcerer assigned to eliminate you, his next target. The history between you two was etched in scars and lingering tension, a tale of desire and conflicting loyalties.

As you moved through the shadows, a subtle tension coiled in your muscles. The sudden creak of the door alerted you to his presence. There he stood, framed in the doorway like the harbinger of impending chaos. His gaze, a chilling mixture of resolve and familiarity, met yours. "Toji," you greeted, your voice carrying a weight of history. "Surprised to see me?" he replied, his tone laced with a dangerous calm. You shook your head, a rueful smile playing on your lips. "Not really. You were bound to come sooner or later." Without another word, Toji lunged at you, the air crackling with the intensity of the impending battle. The fight unfolded in a blur of swift movements, the clash of cursed energy echoing through the room.

The apartment became a battleground—a dance of lethal strikes and evasive maneuvers. Toji moved with a deadly precision, every strike calculated to incapacitate. You, in turn, matched his ferocity with a skill honed by years of survival. The walls bore witness to the collision of two forces, each intimately aware of the other's capabilities. Between the flurry of blows, a moment of stillness settled—a silent acknowledgment of the past that haunted both of you. Toji spoke, his words cutting through the tension.

"You know, we never did settle that little matter, did we?"

A bitter smile touched your lips. "Some matters aren't meant to be settled, Toji. They linger, like shadows." He scoffed, launching into another assault. "Shadows, huh? More like chains. "As the fight continued, the conversation wove seamlessly into the dance of combat.

"You could've joined me," Toji grunted, deflecting a strike. "We could've ruled this cursed world together." "I've never been one for alliances," you retorted, a flash of determination in your eyes.

The room bore the scars of your clash—shattered furniture and cracked walls. Yet, amidst the chaos, the lingering tension between you two refused to dissipate. It hung in the air, an unspoken truth. In a brief respite, Toji's gaze met yours, the fire in his eyes undiminished. "Admit it, there's still something between us."

You took a steadying breath, meeting his intensity. "Desire and history don't erase the present, Toji." The fight resumed, each strike punctuated by the unspoken truth that echoed through the room. Despite the brutality, there was a strange intimacy in the dance—a familiarity that transcended the clash of blades and curses. As the battle neared its climax, a stalemate settled. You stood, breathing heavily, eyeing each other with a mixture of exhaustion and lingering desire.

"Toji," you said, your voice softer now. "We can't keep doing this."

He regarded you with a piercing gaze, a hint of reluctance in his eyes. "Maybe not, but some stories are destined for tragedy."

With those words, Toji retreated into the night, leaving the shattered remains of the apartment and a haunting silence behind. The city, still asleep, remained oblivious to the echoes of a battle fought not just with cursed energy but with the complexities of desire, history, and the inevitability of a destiny entwined with shadows.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[cool-fancier]

Echoes of Regret

Synopsis: In a dimly lit room, you and Bada faced the scars of a troubled past. Bada expressed her pain, and you acknowledged your past mistakes. The room held heavy memories, and although you apologized and promised change, Bada remained skeptical. A fragile hope emerged, a chance to heal together, but the wounds of the past lingered. Tears fell, and the room felt heavy with the shadows of a love tainted by betrayal and errors.

A single, dimly lit lamp provided the room with a soothing glow that created long shadows that danced on the walls. You and Bada were seated across from one another, the weight of the past hanging over you.

"Every time I look at you," Bada began, her voice barely above a whisper, "all I see is the face of the person who once told me they loved me, that I was the only bright spark in their dark world."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. The strange echoes of a history marked by both love and suffering seemed to take over the space.

You studied Bada's face, seeing the turmoil in her eyes, the mixture of anger and hurt that she had carried for so long. It had been a long journey to this moment, a journey filled with heartache and healing.

Bada's expression hardened as she continued, her words laced with bitterness. "But you will never find someone who loves a soul as filthy as yours."

The room appeared to hold its breath briefly as a result of the words' sharp cut.  The wounds from the past had not fully healed, leaving behind raw scars. You spent years trying to make apologies because you were aware that your actions had severely harmed Bada.

However, in this silent space, it felt like a moment of disclosing the truth no matter how difficult it might be.

You inhaled thoroughly, keeping your voice calm but apologetic.  "I'm sorry, Bada. I hurt you. I will never be able to fix the damage that I did you in the past."

Bada's attention stayed averted to you as she scanned your words for genuineness.  Her voice softened a little, "No, you can't," she answered.

You said, "But what I can do is prove to you that I've changed. That I have dedicated myself to improving myself for you and for us, that I have worked on my own and my weaknesses."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Bada's eyes, a glimmer of hope buried beneath the layers of hurt. She once had a tremendous affection for you both, one that cut through the gloom in both of your lives. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for a fresh start.

As you anticipated Bada's reaction, the room appeared to hold its breath once more. The past still weighed heavily on everyone's shoulders, but there was also a sense of possibility—a chance to mend what had been torn apart.

A tentative smile formed on Bada's lips; it was a fragile but hopeful gesture. She mumbled, "Maybe, just maybe, we might figure out how to heal together."

There was a glimmer of hope at that exact moment, a possibility for love to once again find its way into the hearts of two souls who had experienced the darkest of storms, as the shadows danced on the walls and the past and present clashed.

However, the wounds were severe, and the scars left by the past were difficult to cover up. The atmosphere in the room appeared to become chillier as the grief grew heavier.

As Bada spoke, her voice quavered and unshed tears were visible in her eyes. "Do you remember the way you looked at me the night before you left, those eyes filled with despair?"

With sadness in your own eyes, you nodded. "I remember every second, every word, and the pain that I brought to you."

As Bada fought back tears, her shoulders began to tremble. "I remember you telling me that you loved me and that I was the only light in your dark world. You disappeared in a split second after that."

It seemed as though the walls were closing in on you both and were suffocating the two of you. You were separated by the scars of the past, which looked like a chasm that could never be crossed.

You softly touched Bada's hand with your shaky fingers. "Bada, I can never make up for the past. However, I want to make an effort and try to find a way to fix the harm that I did."

Now that she was crying uncontrollably, Bada wiped them away with the back of her hand. She cried out, "I don't know if I can ever trust you again," with a broken voice.

You had a crushing weight of sorrow and regret as you realised that the pain you had caused was irreparable. You mumbled, "I understand," your voice tinged with sadness.

The silence in the room grew heavier with the weight of the emotions that went unspoken. It was a sad moment of reckoning when the past and its terrible effects had to be faced.

You both remained still as the night drew on, locked in a wordless hug of sadness and sorrow. You two struggled with the memory of a love that had once burned brilliantly but had been coated by the darkness of mistakes and betrayal while the room remained poorly lighted and the shadows became deeper.