#Its intent is immersion

[vixxdaemon]

I kinda hate that I have to clarify this and I know there is a possibility of people bitching and moaning about it because I’m a Funger fan but proshippers are not welcome on my blog. You make me deeply and physically uncomfortable.

[toastedallday]

The most villians that ever villianed

[ahqkas]

♯ JEALOU$Y ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! an unexpected situation catches you off guard in the heart of florence and your boyfriend reveals a side of him you’ve never seen before (based off this req.!!)

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, jealous + italian theo, translation of foreign language + lmk !

WORD COUNT! 1.3k

NOTES! he’s so fine when he’s jealous❕

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THEODORE NOTT WAS FAR FROM HAVING A SHORT TEMPER (UNLIKE HIS BEST FRIEND) BUT THAT DIDN'T MEAN HE WAS NECESSARILY CARELESS. Sometimes, jealousy wrapped around his heart like the snake representing his house, squeezing and picking at the muscle, giving it wounds for blood to shed from.

And every time he tried to push those feelings aside, they came back even stronger than before in a crashing wave full of raw emotion. He felt like a puppet on a string that was pulled tight by the cruel hands of jealousy. His actions were no longer his own.

The summer sun bathed the picturesque streets of Florence in a warm, golden glow, casting a honeyed hue over the ancient city. Cobblestone pathways, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, stretched along the bustling streets. Each turn revealed a new delight: charming cafés with wrought-iron tables spilling onto the sidewalks, historic landmarks standing as silent reminders of the past, and vibrant marketplaces bursting with life and color. The air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the earthy aroma of aged stone and the tantalizing whiff of fresh espresso. The fragrance was an intoxicating blend, making every breath feel like a taste of paradise. The sounds of Florence added to the sensory feast: the melodic chatter of locals and tourists, the clinking of glasses and cutlery from the outdoor restaurants, and the distant strains of street musicians playing heavenly tunes on their violins and accordions.

Florence, in the embrace of summer, was absolutely beautiful. It was a place where history and romance intertwined, where every corner held a new discovery, and every moment was a celebration of the beauty of life. The city's magic lay not just in its landmarks, but in the way it made you feel — alive, enchanted, and eternally in love with the world around you.

You walked hand in hand with Theodore, your fingers intertwined in one as you explored the enchanting city. This vacation had been his idea, a chance for the two of you to escape the pressures of Hogwarts and immerse yourselves in the beauty and romance of Italy. Theo's Italian heritage made the trip even more special; he was eager to show you the places that held a special place in his heart.

As you wandered through a bustling street, you paused to admire a street artist's breathtaking paintings. The vibrant colors and detailed brushstrokes captured the scenery of Florence in ways that made the city's beauty stand out even more, and you found yourself lost in the artwork. Theo had stepped away momentarily to get you both something to eat from a nearby stand, leaving you alone but content. The hum of the city buzzed around you, voices of people blending with the occasional strum of a guitar.

While you were engrossed in the art, a group of local boys approached, their laughter and chatter filling the air. They were handsome and confident, their flirtatious smiles and easy charm unmistakable. One of them, with dark, curly hair and a mischievous grin, stepped forward, clearly intent on catching your attention. His eyes sparkled with interest as he gestured towards you.

"Sei molto bella." ("You are very beautiful.")

You blinked, a bit taken aback. Although you had picked up a few phrases during your time with Theo, your grasp of the language was far from fluent. You understood enough to know that he was complimenting you, but the exact words of meaning escaped you.

Before you could respond, another boy joined in, his tone equally playful. "Vuoi venire a fare una passeggiata con noi?" ("Do you want to go for a walk with us?")

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, both from the unexpected attention and your inability to respond. Your eyes darted around, hoping to spot your boyfriend. You were feeling increasingly uncomfortable, unsure how to extricate yourself from the situation.

Just as you were about to attempt a polite but awkward decline, you heard Theo's voice, sharp and commanding. "Ehi, lasciatela in pace!" ("Hey, leave her alone!")

The transformation in him was startling. Theo, usually so calm and composed, had a fierce intensity in his eyes. He stepped between you and the group of boys, his posture protective, his expression a stormy mix of anger and determination. The easygoing demeanor he often sported was replaced by a fierce warning.

His broad shoulders squared, blocking the boys' view of you completely, creating a barrier that was both physical and emotional. The bright warmth of the sun seemed to dim in comparison to the fire that burned in Theo's gaze. It was as if a switch had been flipped, transforming him from the gentle, sweet boyfriend you knew into a guardian ready to defend the owner of his heart and soul.

The boys, who had moments ago been brimming with confidence, raised their hands in mock surrender, laughing nervously. "Calmati, amico. Non volevamo causare problemi," one of them said, trying to diffuse the situation. ("Calm down, friend. We didn't want to cause trouble.")

But Theo wasn't having any of it. Each word was a blade of a dagger, cutting through the casual flirtation of the boys, leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. "Non vedete che non è interessata? Andatevene prima che mi arrabbi davvero." ("Can't you see she's not interested? Walk away before I really get angry."). His voice was low and menacing as he continued in rapid Italian, his words too fast for you to catch but clearly effective in making the boys rethink their approach. They muttered a few apologies before scurrying away, casting wary glances over their shoulders.

Theo turned to you, his eyes softening instantly as he took in your bewildered expression. The fierce protector you had just witnessed melted away, replaced by your sweet boy you knew so well. "Are you okay?" His hand found yours, fingers intertwining in a comforting touch.

You nodded, still a bit shaken. "I'm fine. They were just . . . I didn't understand what they were saying," you admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Theo's lips curved into a reassuring smile. "They were trying to flirt with you," he explained. "But don't worry, they're gone now."

You managed a small laugh, the tension easing out of your body. "I figured that much," you said, your voice lightening. "Thank you, Theo."

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. The warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart were instantly calming. "I'm sorry if I scared you," he murmured, his breath brushing against your hair. "I just couldn't stand the thought of them bothering you."

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. The fierce protectiveness in his gaze had melted into something softer, more tender. "You were amazing," you said honestly. "I've never seen you like that before."

Theo's smile widened, a hint of pride in his expression. "Well, I can't help it," he said, his tone teasing but sincere. "You bring out the best in me."

As you continued your walk through the beautiful streets of Florence, Theo kept you close, his arm securely around you. The incident with the local boys faded into the background, replaced by the joy of being together in such a magical place. The city's charm and Theo's unwavering affection made you feel like you were living in a dream.

Later that evening, as you sat together at a cozy café, sipping on rich Italian espresso, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Theo. His protective nature, his deep love for you, and his ability to make you feel safe and cherished were all things you treasured deeply. As the sun set over the Florence skyline, painting the sky in brilliant hues of pink and orange, you leaned into Theo, feeling utterly content.

In that moment, with the world bathed in the soft glow of twilight, you knew that no matter where you were, as long as you were with Theo, you were home.

[thisisntkt]

hey guys andor really is the best star wars story out there because it finally treats star wars like a serious, mature story—one that isn’t just about good vs. evil, but about people, choices, and the crushing weight of oppression. it strips away the mythic grandeur of the jedi and the sith and replaces it with something more real: a rebellion built on fear, desperation, and sacrifice. every moment feels intentional, every conversation matters, and for once, the empire isn’t just a faceless evil—it’s a system that grinds people down until they have no choice but to fight back.

one of the reasons it’s so immersive is its incredible worldbuilding. like this isn’t just another desert planet or a jungle with star wars dressing. every location, from ferrix to coruscant to narkina 5, feels like a fully realized place, with its own culture, politics, and economy. ferrix, for example, isn’t just a background—it’s a community where people rely on each other, where work and tradition matter. the way they mourn their dead, the way the bells signal the rhythm of their day—it all makes it feel real.

then there’s coruscant, which we’ve seen before, but never like this. instead of just being the shiny capital of the galaxy, andor shows us the bureaucracy, the paranoia, the quiet horror of a system designed to crush dissent before it even begins. mon mothma’s storyline is a masterclass in showing just how difficult and terrifying it is to resist the empire from within.

and then there’s narkina 5! the prison arc is one of the most terrifyingly effective depictions of systemic control in star wars. it’s not just that the prisoners are trapped—it’s that they are tricked into thinking they might have some control. the sterile white floors, the quiet threat of electric punishment, the gamified system of labor—it’s chilling. and it makes their eventual uprising feel even more powerful.

most star wars stories tell us about hope, but andor shows us what it costs. it doesn’t rely on nostalgia, it doesn’t lean on familiar characters to carry it—it builds everything from the ground up. there’s no jedi to swoop in and save the day, no grand space battles with triumphant victories. just people trying to survive, trying to resist, trying to make impossible choices.

the dialogue is sharper, the themes are richer, and the stakes feel personal. it’s not about prophecy or destiny—it’s about rebellion as a necessary act of survival. it’s about the slow, grueling process of organizing, of convincing people to fight, of realizing that the enemy isn’t just stormtroopers with blasters—it’s the very structure of control that keeps them in line.

that’s what makes andor so powerful. it’s the first star wars story that feels like it truly understands what rebellion means—not just as a spectacle, but as something painful, terrifying, and absolutely necessary!

[ilydeku]

teacher izuku has a girlfriend??

Regardless of the joy and spur he expelled towards the students, Izuku knew how to maintain the steady hand of keeping the class under set composure. Nothing but the intent to teach and the will to learn, an equitable relationship between the two—and it was no question. Being the most loved and favored teacher had its perks, and grandiose respect was one of them.

But no matter how mature a student has grown, having fun will always reign somewhere along their focal point. Even if that fun means encouraging their teacher in his love life.

"...-because a good relationship between your teammates makes for optimal communication, conduct, and cooperation," explained Izuku, pointing from one spot on the board to another, well immersed in his lesson. "Now, considering quirk-"

"Speaking of relationships, are you in a relationship, sir?" A student, a frivolous girl, teasingly pipes in sudden interest. Plenty of students amongst the grade claimed a crush on Deku-sensei. Of course they did: he's sweet, very tentative and understanding to all his students individually, and takes his time to really help and engrave the knowledge he possessed for them to become the best future heroes they could be. That, and mostly his physical charms. So wouldn't it be in his best interest to have a girlfriend?

Little did Izuku know that this inquiry marked the beginning of his first uncontrollable havoc.

For a moment, he hesitated, pausing midway on the convoluted diagrams drawn on the whiteboard. A strange question, but he thought nothing much of it. He turned around and crossed his arms, lazily pointing the expo marker to the girl.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Unrelevant, didn't see a hand raised-"

"Aw, but sir!" She draws out, slumping back in her seat. "Are you?"

Some students began to look at each other and exchange a few grins until the room began to slowly increase in volume and erupt into unintelligible chatter.

"Ahem."

The room fell into silence accordingly, but he could clearly read the expression on everyone's faces. The class was still waiting for his answer, the way they stared and leaned over their desks in anticipation. Izuku sighs and turns back to the board.

"...no, I'm not in a relationship. Moving on, the information I've drawn-"

"Really?" The girl cuts in matter of factly with a tilt of her head. "But aren't you and y/n talking??"

A chorus of engrossed 'oohs' echoed across the room and a very subtle, but defined shade of pink dusted his cheeks at the mention of you. He turned around again and attempted to regain composure of the class.

"Everyone settle down-"

"Y/n L/n? Isn't that (hero name)?? I think she's in the top 20's now."

"Yeah! I've seen her drop by the school a couple times during lunch!"

"Now that I think about it, Deku-sensei does have her come in as a guest speaker a lot..."

It was just one after another, the addition of suspicions and theories now bringing the truth to the surface. Izuku swallowed.

A loose black band around Izuku's wrist caught another student's eye and they stood up and pointed in excitement. "Look!! Deku-sensei has hair ties on his wrist!! Hair ties!!"

"Kids, please...-"

"Wow..I've never seen your class this rowdy before, Izuku!!" That voice. His head snapped toward you in surprised, totally flustered about the situation. The entire class went dead silent and turned to you, standing at the entrance of the classroom. You wave at his kids with a smile and stroll over to Izuku's desk, dropping off a bag of some sort. He watches you endearingly.

"You forgot your lunch at home, silly."

"O-Oh did I? Haha, sorry y/n. Thank you. You're on break right now, right?"

The students watched you both like a show, taking in the interaction, the body language, the words. There's no doubt you two were a thing right? Deku-sensei and (hero name)!!

And just then, you confirmed it with simple kiss on his cheek.

"Bye, Izuku! Be nice to the kids, hm?"

"You know I always am!!"

As soon as the classroom door clicked, the class burst into awe.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US???"

[22ayla21]

The Heaviness of Love

Coming home after a long day, Mydei collapses onto the bed on top of his beloved, not giving her a chance to get up.

Silence had drowned the house. Outside the windows, a lazy rain drizzled, its measured drops lulling as they tapped against the wooden roof. In the fireplace, a cozy fire crackled, filling the room with golden light and the subtle scent of dried herbs thrown into the flames for warmth. She had just settled onto the bed, wrapped in a soft blanket and immersed in a book. The day had been unusually calm, a rare stroke of luck in their usually turbulent life.

Suddenly, the front door creaked open. First came heavy, tired footsteps. Then – a clatter, clicks, and plates of armor hit the floor with a dull thud. Midei had returned.

"Hello, my lion," she smiled, not taking her eyes from the pages.

A low, barely audible growl answered – something between "home" and "tired as hell." He already knew where to go – to his island of peace, to warmth, to her.

Not a minute passed before his silhouette appeared in the bedroom doorway. Rumpled, disheveled, barefoot, but with a satisfied smirk and a determined glint in his eyes.

"No-o-o, Mydei, wait, you're heavy… oh!"

He literally collapsed onto her, burying his face in her neck and hugging her so tightly it was as if he wanted to dissolve into her. The full weight of his strong body pressed down on her, the mattress groaning softly under the load.

She gasped, wheezed, tried to wriggle free – without much enthusiasm, though.

"You… you're like a sack of potatoes, only with swords," she rasped, trying to shift him even an inch.

A blissful purr was the response. Mydei only pressed her closer, throwing a leg over her hip, completely claiming his territory.

"Seriously?!" She tried to free at least one arm. "Can I even breathe?"

"Mmm… you're breathing," he mumbled, not opening his eyes. "So, everything's fine."

She snorted, lifted her head, and with difficulty turned it to see his face. He looked like an exhausted wolf who had finally reached his den and now had no intention of leaving under any circumstances.

"You weigh like a pony," she grumbled, though there was more tenderness than irritation in her voice.

"Then you are my brave rider," he breathed out hoarsely, kissing her temple.

Her heart fluttered. That was it. The escape plan was canceled.

She sighed heavily, one leg still dangling off the bed, and her hand tried to find the edge of the blanket to cover him at least somehow.

"You know," she murmured, stroking his back, "you just use your hugs as a blanket and an anchor at the same time."

"Convenient," came the satisfied reply. "You're soft. And you smell like home."

They lay like that for several minutes: he breathed relaxedly against her neck, and with each of his exhales, she felt her resistance melting away. After all, despite all his weight, he was hers – her own, beloved, warm.

"Tomorrow you'll whine that your neck is stiff," she whispered.

"Let it get stiff, as long as I'm with you."

"You big fool…"

"Your fool."

And with those words, he fell asleep right on top of her, with a sleepy smile, not intending to move. And she, looking at the ceiling and feeling how the weight of his body strangely warmed her soul, only smirked.

Love… it really can be heavy. But in her case – in the very best way.

[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.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[flanaganfilm]

Dear Mike,

I'm writing my first novel, a horror story about giant cicadas that hypnotise people into moulting. It's a metaphor for drug addiction. In my opinion, horror is its best when it's also a commentary, or a reflection, on something real that afflicts society, like capitalism, xenophobia, or intergenerational trauma. I'm nearly 6 months clean, and though it wasn't my intention, this book is helping me come to terms with how bad things were, and how hard I had to work to get out of that life.

You tackle a lot of the toughest parts of the human experience in your work: loss and grief, mental illness, addiction, trauma, recovery... How do you write about those things without falling too deep into memories of what they felt like? My creative writing professor says there's no place for grief in horror, but I know she's dead wrong. My novice guess is that drawing from experience to make a character's trials feel more "real" makes their stories more immersive and empathetic. What do you think? Do you have any advice for how to emotionally detach for your characters, or how to balance grief and terror in a story?

Thank you, Fíona

Hi Fiona, First, a huge congratulations on 6 months. That's an amazing feat. Second, your creative writing professor is embarrassingly wrong when she says there is no place for grief in horror. That's so wrong, in fact, it should disqualify her from teaching creative writing. (Or, perhaps this is a rare creative writing teacher who simply hasn't been exposed to Charles Dickens, Henry James, Shirley Jackson, Edgar Allan Poe, or Stephen King. Ask her to go read Don't Look Now by Daphne du Maurier, and then explain that there's no place for grief in horror. What an embarrassing thing to say.)

I don't emotionally detach from my characters at all, far from it. When it comes to truly facing my own traumas, darkness, grief, shortcomings, fears, and insecurities, I have far more courage when I'm writing than I do in day-to-day life.

It can be tough to fall too deeply into the dark places, or the memories - there's at least some measure of safety to such expeditions when I'm writing. It can be similar to the kind of safety I find in therapy. Sometimes, a character scares me because I can't relate to them at all (Beverly Keane). Other times, characters are so close to my self that it's impossible to separate them in my mind (Riley Flynn). Drawing from experience is a brave and beautiful act, and infuses your fiction with authenticity, nuance, and humanity. Best of luck with your writing. And whatever you do, don't listen to that teacher. Apologies, but she's full of shit.

[jadeshifting]

— WAITING ROOM IDEAS.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

the underwater grotto

the skybound library

the retro bowling alley

— THE UNDERWATER GROTTO: A WAITING ROOM OF SUBMERGED SERENITY

when you first arrive, it’s not with a splash but a weightless drift. the world around you is suspended in a quiet, shimmering blue, as if you’ve stepped into the embrace of the ocean itself—but don’t worry, you can breathe easily here. the water is more like liquid light than anything else, wrapping around you in a way that’s both warm and cool at once. it carries the scent of salt and the whisper of something ancient, like the world has been waiting just for you

THE GROTTO’S HEART. at the center of this space is the grotto itself, an expansive underwater cave sculpted by time and tide. the walls glisten with iridescent corals and bioluminescent algae, casting a soft, shifting glow that dances over every surface. stalactites drip with glowing pearls, and when you run your fingers over the walls, they hum softly, as if the grotto is alive

a large, smooth rock—almost like a natural daybed—rests in the heart of the cave, cushioned with lush, silky sea moss that adjusts perfectly to your shape when you sink into it. little fish, impossibly small and glowing like stars, swirl lazily around you, as if they, too, are waiting for something. the water moves with you but never against you, carrying you into the perfect state of weightless relaxation

SMALL, IMMERSIVE DETAILS

THE WATER’S EMBRACE. it’s not cold or suffocating—it’s soft, intentional. it moves around you like an extension of your own energy, never heavy, never overwhelming. you can float in it endlessly without ever needing to surface

SOUNDSCAPE. no overwhelming noise, just the distant song of whales, the occasional soft crackle of coral shifting, and the rhythmic lull of water moving through unseen tunnels. if you focus, you can even hear the hum of the deep sea’s energy

BIOLUMINESCENT LIGHT. the glow isn’t harsh—it pulses gently, like the heartbeat of the ocean. whenever you move, the water glows around your fingertips, tracing your presence in soft, shimmering ripples

HIDDEN NOOKS & CRANNIES. if you explore, you’ll find small alcoves filled with treasures—polished sea glass, old ship trinkets, and even delicate shells that whisper to you when you hold them close

A PORTAL OF ENDLESS POSSIBILITY. when you decide to be in your DR, a large, glowing veil of water appears at the grotto’s entrance. it doesn’t ripple like normal water—it moves like silk, waiting for you to step through. the moment you do, you find yourself in your DR

CUSTOMIZATION & PERSONALIZATION

GUARDIAN/COMPANION CREATURE. maybe a massive, lazy sea turtle that watches over you with its intelligent eyes, or a pod of dolphins that whistle and chirp excitedly when you’re about to enter your DR

KEEPSAKE. a glowing pearl or a carved piece of driftwood that you hold onto tightly, feeling like it grounds you every moment you’re there and is always waiting when you get back

DRINKS & TREATS. a goblet of glowing, sweet nectar that leaves a lingering warmth in your chest, a pearl-encrusted platter of sushi or sashimi, a crystal bowl of shrimp cocktail

A MIRROR POOL. a shallow, moonlit basin where you can gaze at yourself—not just at your physical self, but at your deeper energy and all the possibilities you can embody

ENTERING YOUR DR

when you feel ready, you don’t have to do anything drastic. when you think about your destination, the water will shift around you, pulling you gently toward the glowing veil. the grotto sighs—a promise that it will always be here when you need to return. as dappled light dances around you, moving towards the rippling curtain of light, you pass through it in only a few moments

on the other side, you realize you’re there

this waiting room is pure immersion, a space where time doesn’t rush you, where the water itself cradles you in preparation for your journey. it’s designed to be peaceful, fluid, and weightless—a soft transition between realities that feels like an extension of your own energy

— THE SKYBOUND LIBRARY: A WAITING ROOM OF INFINITE STORIES

you arrive with a gentle weightlessness, as if you’ve stepped off solid ground and into the open embrace of the sky. there’s no harsh wind, no fear of falling—just an endless expanse of soft, golden clouds stretching infinitely beneath you. the air is crisp and cool, tinged with the scent of old parchment, ink, and something subtly sweet, like vanilla and aged wood. above, an eternal twilight sky swirls with soft hues of violet, pink, and deep indigo, with stars peeking through like distant fireflies. before you, the library reveals itself

THE LIBRARY’S HEART. towering bookshelves stretch impossibly high, spiraling into the sky, growing like trees. made of dark mahogany and golden filigree, their surfaces are inscribed with delicate constellations that shift and realign every time you blink. some bookshelves float freely, drifting through the air like islands, while others form grand hallways and sweeping balconies

the books themselves glow faintly, some pulsing like they contain a heartbeat, others humming softly when you pass by. each one is a portal, a fragment of a different world, holding stories that have been told and those yet to be written.

SMALL, IMMERSIVE DETAILS

THE AIR ITSELF FEELS ALIVE. when you breathe, it fills your chest with a gentle hum of energy, a subtle reminder that this is a place of boundless possibility and knowledge

FLOATING STEPS & BRIDGES. there are no rigid pathways here—if you wish to go somewhere, the air itself solidifies beneath your feet, forming shimmering glass-like steps that guide you. some lead to secluded reading nooks, others to grand observatories where you can watch shooting stars carve their way across the heavens

A DESK THAT KNOWS YOU. near the center of the library, a massive circular desk carved from celestial marble awaits you. whenever you approach, it shifts and rearranges itself, offering exactly what you need—perhaps a blank notebook for scripting, a cup of warm jasmine tea or rich cinnamon-spiced cocoa, or a book containing the wisdom you’ve been seeking ( even if you didn’t realize you were )

SOFTLY GLOWING LANTERNS. suspended in midair, floating paper lanterns illuminate the space, each one carrying a whispered dream or memory from your desired reality. If you listen closely, you might hear echoes of stories that you haven’t been told yet, or lives you didn’t know you were going to live

A LIBRARY CAT… OR SOMETHING ELSE? a small, mischievous creature—perhaps a sleek black cat with glowing eyes, or it might be a tiny dragon made of ink and stardust—wanders the library, curling up beside you whenever you need reassurance. it doesn’t speak, but somehow, you always understand each other

CUSTOMIZATION & PERSONALIZATION

YOUR PERSONAL BOOKS. with your name embossed on the covers, volumes that contain all of your scripts, records of your journey and all of your experiences, so you can look both backwards and forwards

A TELESCOPE. in the highest tower of the library, an ornate golden telescope allows you to see glimpses of your desired reality, as if you are peeking through a tear in the universe. you can feel closer to your special people and look forward to your experiences, while also dispelling any nerves you may have by seeing it from afar ( like dipping your toes in )

A HIDDEN READING NOOK. a space just for you—perhaps a velvet window seat with endless cushions, a hammock woven from clouds, or a grand armchair that shifts to fit your comfort. think of it like your sanctuary within the sanctuary

ENTERING YOUR DR

when you decide it’s time, the library knows. you hold a single book, different every time, in your hands. its cover glows with a faint golden light, and the moment you open it, the words begin to swirl, lifting off the page and wrapping around you like a warm breeze. the ink stretches outward, forming a shimmering doorway in the air—a portal made entirely of words and possibility

you step through, and just like that, you’re there

this waiting room is designed to be infinite yet intimate, a sanctuary in the sky where knowledge, magic, and dreams intertwine. it’s a place that doesn’t just prepare you for your journey—it celebrates it, reminding you that every shift is just a new chapter, and you are the author

— THE RETRO BOWL: A WAITING ROOM WITH OLD-SCHOOL CHARM

the air is warm and faintly scented with buttered popcorn, leather seats, and the sharp tang of a well-waxed bowling lane. overhead, glowing neon signs hum softly, casting a dreamy pink-and-blue glow over the space. a jukebox in the corner spins vinyl records with a warm crackle, crooning out old-school rock, jazzy swing, or whatever tunes suit how you’re feeling. the floor beneath you is that classic checkerboard tile—smooth, cool, and impossibly clean despite decades of history. you can hear the rolling thunder of a strike and the distant ring of an old cash register, as if the place is alive, but waiting just for you

THE ALLEY’S HEART. stretching ahead, the lanes are pristine, their wooden surface glowing under rows of dimmed, flickering lightbulbs. each lane seems to go on forever, disappearing into a hazy golden glow at the far end, like they might just lead somewhere else entirely

the best part? there’s no pressure to play unless you want to. you can roll a ball and watch as it slides effortlessly into a perfect strike, or you can just sink into a booth and soak in the atmosphere. here, everything works in your favor

SMALL, IMMERSIVE DETAILS

YOUR LOCKER. off to the side, a row of old-school metal lockers stands waiting. one of them has your name on it, and when you open it, you’ll find whatever you need—maybe a comfy bomber jacket, a pair of custom bowling shoes, or even just a little note written in looping, vintage cursive that simply says, “see you soon.”

MAGIC SCOREBOARD. even if you’re not playing, the massive retro scoreboard above the lanes flickers with little messages just for you—reminders, affirmations, or even details about the DR you’re planning on going to

A SHIMMERING BALL RETURN. the bowling balls themselves are something special—one is deep violet with tiny constellations twinkling in its surface, another has a swirling ocean trapped inside. when you roll them down the lane, you catch glimpses of different realities reflected inside before they return, waiting for another turn

SNACKS & DRINKS. a cozy 1950s-style diner counter sits to the side, where a friendly ( weirdly familiar and slightly mysterious ) attendant hands out thick milkshakes, warm pretzels, and soda in shiny glass bottles. everything is exactly how you feel like you remember it—whether that’s a real memory or something straight out of a dream

A SECRET DOOR BEHIND THE JUKEBOX. if you run your fingers along the edge of the jukebox and press the right button, the wall beside it shifts. a door, lined with glowing pinstripes, slides open to reveal a hidden lounge—maybe a plush speakeasy-style room with velvet chairs and low jazz, or maybe something even stranger… a back alley leading straight into your desired reality. whatever you’d like, it’s your secret space

CUSTOMIZATION & PERSONALIZATION

YOUR BOWLING NAME. up on the old-school leaderboard, your name is displayed in flickering neon letters. maybe it’s your CR name, maybe it’s a nickname or your name in your DR, or maybe it’s a totally out-of-left-field alias that you only use in this in-between place

YOUR LUCKY BOWLING SHIRT. hanging near your locker, there’s a retro bowling shirt waiting for you. it’s embroidered with something meaningful—maybe the name of your hometown city in your DR, a lucky number, or the initials of your DR name or your s/o’s name

ABSTRACT BOWLING PARTNER. you’re not alone here. whether it’s a comforting but shadowy figure you never quite see or a laughing companion who seems to be made of light and always lands a perfect strike, there’s someone keeping you company. they might even prompt you excitedly, “you ready to go?” just before you enter your DR

ENTERING YOUR DR

when you decide it’s time, the lanes darken slightly, leaving only one lit up in a neon glow. the air hums, the jukebox plays something that feels just right, and a single bowling ball appears at your feet—this one shimmering with a portal-like swirl. your roll it, smooth and easy, and as it glides down the lane, the pins at the end don’t just fall—they dissolve into light. the entire space stretches, the ceiling fades into a cosmic expanse, and suddenly—

you’re there

this waiting room is designed to feel like a warm, nostalgic pocket of time—somewhere that’s both familiar and surreal. it’s a place where the past lingers in the best way, where every sound and detail is tuned for your comfort, and where shifting feels as smooth as rolling a perfect strike

PNG CREDS: @florietas @snailspng @bydollita @ioveartfilm @s4dpngs @treasuregamble

[gf2bellamy]

Hello!

Can I please request domestic fluff of Spencer and reader just chilling on the couch and reading and reader is just giggling because she got to a fluffy romantic part of her book and she can’t contain her fangirling so Spencer just looks at her with fondness like “omg I love her so much 🥰”

cozy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: literally just pure fluff a/n: hiii !! hope you like this <33333

Spencer sat on the couch, his long fingers absentmindedly carding through your hair as you rested your head in his lap, both of you lost in your books.

Spencer was fully immersed in a dense book on quantum physics, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, you were curled up with a well-loved romance novel.

Then, something in your book made you giggle.

Spencer's fingers momentarily paused in your hair, his attention now fully on you. His lips curled into a small, affectionate smile as he watched you, so engrossed in the words on the page that you hadn’t even realized you'd laughed out loud.Without thinking, he let his hand drift from your hair to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The gentle touch pulled you from your trance, and you blinked up at him.

“What?” you asked, still smiling as your eyes met his.

Spencer shook his head slightly, his gaze lingering on yours, soft and full of affection. “Nothing,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Then, as if the words had been sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the right moment, he added, “I love you. You know that, right?”

The confession, though not new, still sent a rush of warmth through you. You felt your cheeks heat up, as you fumbled for a response.With a shy smile, you mumbled a quiet, “I love you too.”

Spencer’s grin widened, his thumb tracing over your cheek once more before his hand returned to your hair, resuming its motions. You moved your eyes back to your book, but you couldn’t focus. The words blurred together, your mind still caught on the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had softened when he said those three words. After a moment, you gave up and looked up at him again, sitting up from his lap and turning your body to face him fully. Spencer put his book aside, his full attention now on you. His head tilted slightly, a curious smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to speak.

“You,” you pointed your finger at him, trying to suppress a grin, “just ruined the moment.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his playful tone returning. “I ruined the moment by telling you that I love you?”

“Yes,” you nodded emphatically, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your mock seriousness.

He chuckled softly, leaning back against the couch cushions as he crossed his arms. “And what ,exactly, did I ruin ?”

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing again as you glanced down at the closed book in your lap. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

“Clearly, it’s not nothing,” he pressed, his tone curious. “You laughed, and then I ruined the moment. I think I deserve to know what was so funny.”

You bit your lip, debating whether to tell him. It felt silly now, saying it out loud, but the way he was looking at you, with genuine interest , made it impossible to resist.

“Fine,” you relented, sighing dramatically. “There was this part in the book where the male character was recounting all these little habits and quirks about the female character. Like, the way she always tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous, or how she hums when she’s concentrating. It was just… really sweet. And it made me laugh because it was so cute.”

Spencer listened intently, his head tilting slightly as he absorbed your words. When you finished, a slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“So,” he began, his voice teasing but tender, “you’re telling me that you got all giggly because the character was listing small, endearing things about the person he loves?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It sounds so cheesy when you say it like that.”

He laughed softly, reaching out to gently pull your hands away from your face. “I don’t think it’s cheesy. In fact…” He paused, his expression softening as his gaze locked onto yours. “I could do the same thing about you.”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head quickly. “No, no, you don’t have to—”

But he was already speaking, his voice warm and steady. “You always bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh. And you have this habit of tapping your fingers against whatever surface is nearby when you’re deep in thought. Oh, and you hum under your breath when you’re cooking, even though you’re completely off-key.”

You stared at him, your mouth slightly open as a mix of embarrassment and love washed over you. “Spencer…”

He continued, undeterred. “You twirl your hair around your finger when you’re deep in thought. Oh, and you get this little crease between your eyebrows when you’re reading something intense. And you-”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, laughing softly. “You’re going to make me burn up even more than I already am.”

Spencer chuckled, the sound warm. He gently intertwined his fingers with yours. “I’m just saying,” he said, his voice teasing but tender, “if the moment was ruined, it’s only because I wanted to make a new one.”

You looked at him, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

“Ridiculously yours,” he corrected, his smile softening.

“Yeah,” you whispered, as you squeezed his hand.

[muletia]

Soemthing about Opitmus' holoform and him just following you around doing domestic things just because

domestic fluff?? in this economy? hell yeah

cw: fluff, pinch of angst

word count: 710

Optimus longs to experience normalcy. Immersed in war, surrounded by the scent of spilled energon and the wails of wounded comrades... after so many years, such a cruel and unjust daily reality is bound to leave a mark, shift priorities, and force him into thinking always of others and never of himself. And so, even for a brief moment, he wishes to allow himself to be selfish. To focus on doing something that brings him joy. And it just so happens that his joy lies in being in your presence, getting to know you, spending time together on activities that, from a Cybertronian perspective, might seem trivial. Carefree. Yet he has distanced himself from such views.

He delights in discovering the hidden sides of you, the parts you don’t reveal at the base. They only emerge at home, in your sanctuary, where you show him another version of yourself. The first time he asked to accompany you home, you were surprised. You enjoyed spending time with him too and treasured your shared moments, but you weren’t sure if he was ready for the boredom that came with it. That saddened him, because he sincerely wanted to know your boredom, to see you from an angle unfamiliar to him. To understand humanity on a more intimate level. To experience what humanity truly is, stripped of philosophy, disengaged from the rat race, living in the moment. In its simplest form. The archivist who no longer existed stirred within him, curious, inquisitive, and hungry for knowledge of the unknown. For a fleeting moment, Optimus allowed him back into his spark.

And so, you let him. You invite him into your home and unveil yourself to him, shedding layer after layer. The first time, he is agitated, not stressed, but uneasy; afraid every movement might damage the furniture or the trinkets on the shelves. After all, he wouldn’t be able to repair them. Even while "being human," he betrays his true essence, unaccustomed to his new, smaller form. His title manifests even through the holoform. You have to take his hand and guide him to get him to move at all, for which he is deeply grateful.

He observes human boredom: washing dishes, doing laundry, preparing fuel (a meal, as you explained to him). You insist it’s dull, almost unworthy of his presence, but he is unwavering on this matter. He craves it. Wants to taste humanity, to see through your optics, even if just for a moment. Because he loves you and hungers to know everything about you, the good and the bad. The mundane and the thrilling. The most trivial and the profound. He needs honesty and openness. To know you trust him, for only then can he truly function.

You show him humanity through dancing, listening to music, and reading books. You let him season the meal, even though he doesn’t understand the purpose of the action. Allow him to water the plants while you share fascinating tidbits about each species. He never leaves your side, desperate for knowledge of your daily life. Becomes your shadow, intent on learning everything, who you truly are.

When you ask if he could read a book to you because you enjoy his voice, he agrees without hesitation, as he’s physically incapable of refusing you. Begins reading, and you rest your head on his lap, smiling as he tenses, trying to suppress his emotions. The words blur together as you start playing with the synthetic skin of his face, exploring with curiosity the false human that feels too real. You tell him you prefer his true form, his true self, and for the first time in his life, Optimus doesn’t know what to say, as no amount of experience could have prepared him for such raw honesty.

But this time, you allow him more. Let him feel the texture of your wet, freshly washed hair, touch damp skin, and dry your head with a towel. He sees you in your pajamas, even though the essence of fashion and clothing is largely unknown to him. Let him cuddle into you, to learn the sensation of closeness from a smaller perspective. And when you ask if he is satisfied with the human mundane, his answer remains unchanged.

[invenusworld]

some astro notes on the EYES

- pisces, especially revati nakshatra can either have very expressive eyes or a blank stare; a gaze that's here, but "not here," a far-off look

- a strong influence of pitta - firey, hot planets like the sun & mars, malefic planets in fire signs can lead to "discolored" eyes that are not a bright white but may have an off-white or yellowish tint

- the whiteness of the eyes is associated with femininity, which corresponds with the water and earth element. kapha tends to give bright white eyes

- ardra nakshatra's deity is rudra, the terrifying form of lord shiva, who is said to have red eyes in some depictions

ardra natives are associated with red eyes and can have a wild, fierce look about them.

ardra is also associated with red eyes via its crying symbolism

& being a rahuvian nakshatra, is inclined to smoke 🌿

- leo rising can potentially bestow "yellow eyes," more prominently in males

- scorpio risings are said to have "power in their eyes," meaning they are very observant and see what people are doing. their eyes can be commanding & intimidating, as well as alluring, scorpio being a water sign

scorpio risings can be observant in a psychological sense, such as a observing body language and trying to gauge emotions and intentions from that, or studying micro facial expressions; observant in the occult sense of observing dreams, astrological studies, etc.

- rahu's nakshatras (ardra, swati, shatabisha) are extremely observant of their surroundings and the physical world they are placed in. immersed in the sights, sounds, smells of their environment, often leading to big, childlike eyes - full of wonder, soaking in the sights & sounds of the world

- the fire element represents vision, so afflictions to the fire signs may afflict the eyesight, depending on planetary conditions

- ashlesha natives have alluring, cat-like eyes that pull you in. eye makeup such as kohl or kajal and mascara can enhance this quality

- chitra natives can have big eyes that tend to narrow significantly when they smile, as well as rohini

- revati, bharani, krittika and venusian natives are good at acting with their eyes. they can excel at dance and can express different emotions with their eyes

- bharani natives can make excellent actors and performers due to being able to cry on command, & how dramatically they can express different emotions and invoke different emotions and reactions in audiences

bharani natives are also prone to crying and may often burst out in tears, though they may not like to show this aspect of themselves

bharani is associated with childbirth and babies who are prone to crying to express emotion.

[sweetheartsaku]

(BLLK) LOVE BELT.

𝜗𝜚 BLUE LOCK VARIOUS: MYOSOTIS (FORGET ME NOT).

a/n: [fem!reader] AHHHHH FIRST BLLK POST!!!!! LASTEST FIXTATION!!!! hopefully not too ooc huhu, hope pt1-ers find pt2~

— characters: isagi, kunigami, nagi, reo

part two ! ♡ chigiri, rin, bachira

isagi yoichi ; love belt - jonghyun, yunha

ties your shoes for you!!!!! doesn't care if it holds back the group or how long it makes them stop for. double knot, never too tight (the occasional times my guy friends tie my laces i swear i lose circulation in my feet 😔).

embodiment of a beabadoobee song! hes such a sweetheart (apart from on the field) n' kisses you lightly on the corner of your lips or on your eyelid, holds you a little higher than your hip and hugs you with his arms supporting your back from beneath.

your mama loves him more than you do, i fear (ᵕ—ᴗ—) bro fr pulled up to your house with a rose for your mama and a mug for your dad, because who is he to pull up to his girlfriend's house without gifts for your parents? (with intentions of getting to know what they're like so the wedding goes smooth) how can you expect your mama not to fall for him after he offers to help wash the dishes?

learns all the little things you like, has a note on his phone with your fruit tea and coffee order. knows what type of materials you like, especially to the girls who have sensory issues 🫡. he always has you in mind, buying hoodies and shirts that not only he likes, but you like

in conclusion, spectacular gimme 14 more of em'

kunigami rensuke ; no. 1 party anthem - arctic monkeys

ALWAYS THE FIRST TO INITIATE. always plans dates first. has anniversary ideas months prior. he has your order memorized and makes sure the date won't ruin your latest set of nails.

holds your leg when you bounce it ! very worried when you do. always looks around for a little. is it cold? are there weird guys?

he's so boyfriend i just wanna kiss him, tells you to wear whatever you want because he can fight (#needthat)! kunigami one of the most boyfriend in the show pre wildcard! ദ്ദി(•̀ ᴗ - ) ☆

do you guys know that trend when there's a girl then her boyfriend comes in and swoops her away (or is it just me HELP hopefully i don't sound crazy)?? but he does it so effortlessly omg. didn’t spend that long in the gym for nothing

mornings are the hardest because his diligence and discipline for the gym are out of the roof. but he’s not completely heartless! kunigami feels really bad as you sleep uncomfortably without him, tossing and turning just missing the grasp that once held you. worst bit is when you wake up the same time as him, but you’re a lot sleepier, resulting in you weakly catching his wrist. breaks his heart whenever he has to go and presses a chaste kiss to your temple >3<

holds your waist on public transport. smells like axe body spray /hj

nagi seishirou ; no one noticed - the marías

BLANKET HOG!!!!!! unfortunately, you're always cold because sometimes you can find yourself freezing your toes off in the middle of the night because this little sloth feeds off warmth. if not wrapping the entire blanket around himself, is practically on top of you with his nose nestled in the crook of your neck and his lips basically on your collarbone as you run your hands through white locks (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

fiddles with the hem of your shirt or loose drawstrings on your pants. his hand in the pocket nearest to your butt, fidgets with your rings and knows which ones go on which finger by heart.

very very very immersed when you paint your nails or get them done. but nagi takes a good 5 minutes to stare at them (especially if there's charms on them) and a girl would be confused. but in reality, he just really likes them (but, he'd prefer if they'd run through his hair instead).

doesn't get the stuff on tall shelves on purpose SUPER SENIOR ALERT WEE WOO WEEWOO!!!!!!! either because its "too much of a hassle" or because he wants to get a reaction out of you (cruel)

falls asleep in movies sooo quickly its adorable. 30 minutes into the movie his head is on your shoulder. scared, due to his tall nature that he'd get neck pain when he wakes up, you have to gently pat him awake (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ and he'll ask you to carry him (???)

reo mikage ; love maze - BTS

zip up your jackets, wraps your scarves. holds your hands when your cold and rubs them with his!!!!

reo's favourite place to kiss you is your hand. craves the intimacy of it all. as his princess what the hell are you doing without a kiss to your hand before every door you open? (you don't remember the last time you opened a door before you started dating reo)

apart from the soccer club, most likely plays in a band as well. occasional school-related gigs here and there and a few enjoyable get-togethers with his friends to just play whatever. watch his performances! (SOOO cheesy!!!! says "this is for you, [name]" before he starts his pasilyo cover.)

cooks' breakfast on hard weeks. when everything seems to be falling apart, your boyfriend will always be there to help you pick up the pieces, even if it's just the little things. when you're sick GYATT DAHH will you be feeling better in days!!!!! he'll keep distance but won't hesitate to move a strand of hair from your mouth as he spoon feeds you or place the back of his hand on your forehead. but also, doesn't mind being sick if it meant you were ok.

promise rings promise rings promise rings. did i mention promise rings? its either the crazy big, expensive diamond or a simple one in silver that has his initial on the inside <33

[thestarwanderer]

"Hotel Reverie": A heartbreaking simulation of Love and Grief

(Spoilers ahead)

In its seventh season, Black Mirror quietly delivered what may be one of its most emotionally devastating and thematically rich episodes to date: Season 7, episode 3: “Hotel Reverie.”

On the surface, it seems to echo the show’s usual motifs—technology, simulation, AI, identity. But beneath its layers, its grayscale glamour and eerie premise lies something far more intimate: a queer love story about agency, performance, memory, and the ache of loving something that was never supposed to be real.

And it’s this contrast—between what is scripted and what is felt—that gives Hotel Reverie its haunting, aching brilliance.

The episode follows Brandy Friday, a Black actress who, despite her fame, is creatively stifled and emotionally detached from the roles she’s typecast into. She craves something deeper, something immortal—a performance that doesn’t just live on screen but lives in the hearts of those who witness it. She mentions all time classics like Casablanca and so much more.

That opportunity comes in the form of a film company rebooting Hotel Reverie, a 1940s romantic classic, if I remembered it correctly. Through advanced AI-simulation technology, they don’t recreate the film around Brandy but instead they drop her inside it. Fully immersed, Brandy’s consciousness becomes the character Alex Palmer, while the simulation populates itself with ultra-realistic AI versions of the original cast, including the tragic female lead, Clara, played by a synthetic version of late film icon Dorothy Chambers. The catch was Brandy never received the full briefing or protocol, she didn't know it would be unrealistically real...She didn't know Clara would feel so human and she certainly didn't expect to fall in love.

The episode is about technology, yes but more than that, it's about the quiet war between authenticity and performance, and how queer love is often forced to live between the two.

Clara, the AI was built from Dorothy’s old performance tapes as Clara and Dorothy drew it from her life, her emotions was based on her own sorrow and experiences. It is initially just that. It was meant to be just a performance. Graceful, poetic, timeless. But as Brandy begins making off-script choices, the AI system starts to destabilize. Clara begins to glitch. And what was once a program begins to feel like a person—one whose every emotion is bleeding through from the long-lost heart of Dorothy Chambers herself.

Dorothy, we learn in implication, was a queer woman living in the 1940s, an actress who died tragically, quietly. She never got to live a truthful life, never got to love openly. Instead, she buried her feelings inside her most iconic role: Clara. That role is now AI-coded into the simulation, which means that Clara’s love is built from Dorothy’s pain.

Brandy, meanwhile, begins as an outsider. She doesn’t believe in the simulation. She doesn’t even trust the reality of what she’s seeing. Her performance is half-hearted, her delivery flat. But it’s not poor acting, it’s intentional distance. Brandy is, after all, an actress. She’s learned to hold herself back, to keep her identity just outside the camera’s reach.

Until Clara starts going off script. Until Clara starts looking back at her.

That’s when Brandy stops acting. That’s when she starts feeling.

One of the most emotionally complex and narratively brilliant choices of Hotel Reverie makes is the uncertainty surrounding Clara's memory after the reset. After Brandy wakes up and hears the team calling her back to reset the scorpion scene. And this was after everything they’ve been through, the weeks they spent together in the simulation, the moments of genuine intimacy and self-discovery—Clara is returned to a point in the story before it all happened. And Clara reappears right before her very eyes, just as she was at the beginning and Clara was looking at her saying "My heart is pounding like a drum". Same intonation, Same staging. But for Brandy, it was no longer the same. For Brandy's case, since she's real human, her mind, everything was intact. The uncertainty of that scene was purely haunting and magical at the same time. What happens next is subtle. Brandy hesitates and she doesn't say her line right away. She studies Clara's face... her eyes. Searching for something.

Is it her?

Is she still in there?

Clara seems confused by Brandy's reaction but only just. Not like someone who has no memory, but like someone who feels something just beneath the surface and can't explain why. It's eerily familiar, like a love that exists without memory.

The dilemma, as someone who was now at this point fully invested with the story, I felt anxious too, constantly I was asking questions in my mind "Does she remember?" "Does she know?"

For me, I know she was reset but I think... deep inside her, she knows. A part of her remembers.

Clara’s behavior after the reset—her tone, her reluctance to meet Brandy’s eyes, the strange weight behind her words, it all hints at something deeper.

She says:

“I’m a married woman. I can’t… I shouldn’t be feeling this way.”

And it fits the script, but it also feels like a double meaning. As if she’s not just speaking as Clara the character… but as someone who remembers what happened and doesn’t know why she remembers.

There’s a moment when she looks at Brandy and her eyes shimmer—not with confusion, but with something that feels like grief. Like she knows what’s coming. Like she’s trying not to break the character, what she was asked to, what she's supposed to do as an AI.

Here’s where it gets even more tragic, and brilliant. I personally think it’s not Clara who remembers but Dorothy?

Clara is a simulation. She was a role. But she was built on the emotional DNA of Dorothy Chambers, the woman who once played her. A woman who lived a closeted life. The person who loved someone she could never be with. Who poured that heartbreak into the character of Clara.

When Brandy calls her “Dorothy,” the AI begins to shift, to change. The simulation becomes porous. Clara, for the first time, begins to feel the real woman beneath the code.

So even if Clara was reset, even if the AI has been reprogrammed—the echo of Dorothy Chamber's grief still lives inside her. And the love, once it's truly felt, is not easily erased.

So maybe... Clara doesn't remember the events, but her heart remembers something. Even if she doesn't know why Brandy suddenly feels like home.

But that's just my wishful thinking. The audience is meant to feel conflicted. It's meant to feel like we're stuck between two truths. 1. Clara is a simulation who has been reset and 2. Clara is a soul who fell in love and never truly forgot. That unresolved ache? that invisible string still pulling Brandy and Clara together even as the worlds resets is what makes the story so devastatingly human.

Because love isn't always about memories, sometimes it's about feeling something you can't explain.

And in the moment when Clara says "You must go" with eyes that know too much. Me as someone who witnessed their story unfold, realizes something terrible. That maybe Clara does remember...maybe she chooses to let Brandy go anyway. To protect her. Just like Dorothy once didn't get the chance to.

Another aspect of the story that truly haunts me was how Clara AI perceived Brandy in the beginning. In the simulation, Brandy was meant to play the role of Alex Palmer- a male, white doctor. The simulation was coded to present her to the world of the film as Alex: male, charming, heterosexual, traditionally heroic.

Brandy was in theory, masked, her body present, her identity hidden by the lens of the 1940s characters perception. But that never truly held. Not for Clara.

Despite the programming, despite the simulated environment, despite the rigid gender roles of the time, Clara sees Brandy. Not as a man, Not as Alex. Not as a character to perform with. She sees her essence, her spirit and the actor/person beneath.

As the story progresses, the romantic dynamic deepens between the two. In a story rooted in artifice, programming, gender coding and simulation, the heart cuts through all of it. Their story was shaped by presence, connection and truth. In the end, Clara doesn't say "I love you, Alex", she says, "I love you" and this was unmistakably addressed to Brandy, and she means it. And this was even after the reset.

Another thing to point out is, how much has been said about Issa Rae’s portrayal of Brandy—some calling it too subdued, too passive. But this criticism misunderstands the core of Brandy’s character.

Issa Rae plays Brandy as a woman trained to survive the industry by not feeling too much. Her detachment is not a lack of chemistry, but a shield. She enters the simulation not as a lover or a believer but as a professional, dropped into a role without context or rehearsal. She was expecting to meet fellow actors to establish connection and rapport with fellow humans. That's how acting and filming goes normally. But that isn't the case here, and because of that, she plays Alex Palmer with hesitation, with irony, with cynicism.

But slowly, that mask begins to slip.

It starts with stolen glances. Quiet awe. Little expressions of disbelief—In her mind she's probably thinking “She’s just code. Why does it feel like more?”

Rae’s restraint becomes her weapon. When the final breakdown comes when Clara is reset and no longer remembers her—Rae doesn’t explode in melodrama. She crumbles in silence. It’s not theatrical. It’s real. And it hits so much harder because of everything she held in before. She was slapped by the unfortunate and harsh truth, that everything is artificial. It's not real.

Her final delivery of “I’ll be yours forevermore”, the line she’s been waiting to say the entire film lands like a funeral vow. It's not for the camera.

It's for the woman lying dead in her arms. the one she spent endless nights, weeks, months with. The woman she fell in love with.

And then there's Emma Corrin, Emma Corrin’s performance is surgical in its softness. They play Clara with the kind of grace and vulnerability that feels too perfect at first—a fantasy of the golden age of cinema. But that’s the point. Clara is an AI. They were immaculate from the very beginning. They were playing a programmed AI designed to be seductive, poetic, elegant and timeless. Clara wasn't confused; she was supposed to follow the original movie's narrative. She was on script.

Clara isn’t supposed to feel. She isn’t supposed to change.

But as Brandy veers off script, Clara begins to show cracks. She slowly gives a smile that lingers too long. Eyes that start searching for answers to questions she was never supposed to ask. Corrin manages to convey an AI that is accidentally learning how to want.

Clara's whispered “I love you” is delivered not like a confession, but like a discovery. Like a glitch in her own programming. And the way she touches Brandy’s face, as though she’s trying to memorize something that’s already slipping away? It was not scripted; it was something sacred.

The part where she starts to grasp memories from Clara's data pool, and Dorothy's life. I was bawling. She saw fragments of her life; the applause, the movie sets, the fake smiles, the closeted love and the loneliness of being adored by millions by known by no one.

Clara felt everything and Corrin was amazing to convey such emotions in the screen. Clara saw how Dorothy was trapped in gold, wealth and fame around her like silk-lined shackles- a life where everyone wanted her, but no one ever truly saw her. And the worst part, Clara realizes she's living the same life again, inside the simulation, a role she was never meant to question. It's devastating because it says so much about how people tend to romanticize women like her; write their suffering as elegant, preserve their tragedy in HD, but never ask "What did she want?" , "Did anyone ever let her choose?"

And when Corrin delivered the line " I was born in a cage. I should die in a cage", it was so haunting and achingly beautiful at the same time because Clara was aware, and she wanted to do something Dorothy never could. Like she inherited the ending Dorothy never escaped. But she wants to end it in her own way, her own terms and not by following any script.

Corrin doesn't just play Clara. They play Dorothy, too—still trapped inside the role, finally reaching out from decades of silence, begging not to be forgotten again.

And the tragedy is—she is. and dare I say, Emma Corrin deserves at least a nomination for this role.

Hotel Reverie is not just a sci-fi romance. It is a commentary on the cost of performing for the world and the quiet revolution of being seen anyway.

Clara was never meant to feel. Brandy was never meant to care. Dorothy was never meant to be remembered for her love.

But through Brandy’s choices, through Clara’s awakening, through Issa Rae’s restraint and Emma Corrin’s vulnerability, this story became more than just a film inside a film. It became a ghost story, a love letter and a tragedy.

A reminder that even in simulated spaces, Love is always real and forgetting it is the true heartbreak.

What Hotel Reverie does without making a spectacle of it—is something profound: Despite placing its characters inside a 1940s simulation, a time riddled with racial tension, misogyny, and queer oppression, the episode refuses to make those elements the point of pain.

Brandy, a Black woman. Clara, a white woman born from a 1940s film role. Two women. Two identities that would have been considered scandalous even to be in the same room romantically during that era—

And yet? Their love is not questioned. Not framed as political. Not punished for its optics.

There is no scene where Brandy’s race is mocked or tokenized. There’s no line of dialogue explaining why Clara’s AI programming “accepts” her. There is no moment where the gender of their relationship is pointed out as deviant.

It just exists.

And that is so, so rare. In a world of stories that center conflict around identity—in which being queer or being a person of color is the obstacle to overcome—Hotel Reverie offers something revolutionary because it lets love be the center. It's not about the struggle, the scandal, the justifications.

Brandy's identity is present and it's the core of her whole personality, but it does not define her worthiness to be loved. Clara's identity too, is not a reflection of purity or acceptability. She is not the symbol of 'ideal femininity." She is a construct who becomes real. 'It's not a queer love in a time that forbids it" it's just two souls who were never meant to meet but finding each other anyway. Because when the world falls away, when time, rules, programming and expectations crumble,

Love is just love.

It doesn't need to be explained.

[refeverie]

only with you.

angst & comfort. gn!reader × wanderer. wc 1.7k

summary. non-sexual nudity & intimacy; body painting with flowers; recollection of past events (wanderer)

sumeru is a dualistic region. where knowledge and reincarnation richly seep through every concept there is, it would still not exist without any ignorance, nor destruction. one needs another to thrive. 

wanderer himself is a dual man—a human being without an organic heart yet a puppet with feelings. somebody, who had multiple names throughout. somebody, who once had a mother; friends. somebody, who was given a midway place in this world across his journey. as a wanderer, he is said to have no name, kin, or destination.

maybe there is a definite reason for him to spend the majority of his time in sumeru after all. as he originated from inazuma, a land of isolated eternity, spent years at the claws of the notorious nation of snezhnaya and—seeking his ascension to godhood, eventual prosperity, and validation at last—was forced into flimsy redemption in sumeru.

wanderer self-destructed his ignorance to reincarnate it as full of knowledge; to shape his existence anew. all of this for him to question himself and suffer the same.

the sacred tree of the world—irminsul—answered the questions he always sought and yet, he was betrayed once again. wisdom is a heavy burden with a great cost; it could be one’s demise. ignorance to him was, indeed, a bliss. as well as oblivion, which he was stripped of in a little of a while. 

since the day he had to relive his entire lifetime in a minute and earned an anemo vision in the process, the world around him changed. in fact, he met you, who made a significant change to his demeanor. wanderer may not be the best companion there is, however, you both always seek each other in a crowd. even if there is none of it.

the sunset is pretty today, you think as you immerse yourself up to the chin into the lukewarm water underneath the waterfall of gandharva ville. wanderer remained apart from you for a while. he was hesitant. he may have a synthetic body of a puppet, but being stark naked in front of you felt way too vulnerable by his nature. it felt like cutting himself open and letting himself go free.

he was never free to begin with. freedom to each is a different concept. the day the god of eternity sealed his power and hid him like a failure of hers, followed by letting him roam free, he chained his mind to different intentions of ei’s. he felt neglected and deprived of who he was meant to be—not knowing he was a mere prototype, never designed to hold and wield the electro gnosis; whose existence was about to be terminated right before they saw him cry in his sleep—rather than free.

he had no given name nor a home to get back to at the end of the day. so, naturally, when fatui took him under their wings, he felt that being the sixth seat was his rightful place. 

there were many kind people in his early ordinary days of learning how to be human between the time he was discarded and given the title of the balladeer. your way of carrying yourself immensely reminds him of them all. sometimes it can be agonizing to wanderer, but lovely just the same. he reacts to your eyes, inviting him to join you bathing in the stream while the sun slowly sets. 

erstwhile clear water, due to the reflection of the sky, is dyeing itself in colors of yellow, orange, violet, and pink. the river takes its appearance like the flower field around you at once. 

as wanderer takes his clothes off, he is quickly submerging himself into and under the water. it is shallow, so you can swiftly reach his side. you have qualms about whether he would let you come closer, despite that, you carefully stretch your hands towards his shoulders. you sit him up. he has a lot on his mind lately, thus, he lets you take care of him without thinking much. to tell the truth, he trusts you to a great extent, knowing you would catch him if he fell—literally and figuratively. 

you pluck a lone flower from the floral field. it is greenish blue, or rather turquoise, in color. one would rarely see it blossom. the color reminds you of wanderer’s tattoos’ when they glow with power.

you slowly trace them with luminous petals, so it leaves dye markings; barely visible, but you both know it’s there nevertheless. it is a silly activity yet remarkably intimate for either. he does not feel skin contact the same as everyone else, regardless, he gets chills from your delicate brushes.

somehow you do not care about him being born unhuman at all. maybe because in your mind he is the most human one could be—cruel and all the things beautiful at the same time; imperfect. 

you offer him another flower of your favorite color, for him to paint on your bare body as well. he is skeptical, however, it takes only a moment to engage in the act. you shiver every time he tries touching you softly. neither of you talk. 

you warily touch his face then. the pink rose in your frail grip is kissing his cheeks, and nose, consciously avoiding his pursed lips as well as eyes, which are dyed burgundy anyways. the color was indeed deliberately chosen to imitate a blush of sorts. you thought it was cute. 

he is feeling your skin alongside, attentively selecting parts of your body you would be fine with; giving your consent to. it does vary how you react.

you reach for his chest subsequently, holding a flower of opaque red. you are faltering while drawing something. at that moment, he stops his own tracery and retracts his arm further from you; stays still. you painted a little heart on his chest. likewise, you keep looking at it in silence, smiling. 

it was a heart he was able to call his own. 

he remembers. puppet he is, abandoned by the almighty shogun for being overly human, but used as a tool by fatui ever since. in no way they saw a human—whereas he could not die and had an empty space of a heart. how can one be a human being without a heart? his existence contradicted itself in that sense.

as a harbinger, did he become more human then? when a tainted heart he got from the doctor saved him, it was offered to him in the form of the ashes to have in that empty shell of a place. at first, he did not know it was niwa's; that same withered one he discarded after condemning the entire incident as his second betrayal of cruel mankind nature. a human heart he yearns for is not worth the pain of another person’s death. 

afterward, he sought a gnosis to take that place instead. his luck was one of a kind really. the contentment he became so familiar with, was short-lived in the end. it was not a real heart anyhow. can the anemo vision he recently acquired serve as his vital core replacement?

each time he came into possession of a fill-in for a heart, someone else had to suffer. merely this time, he actually felt you blessed him with a heart he could be endowed without any anguish. he put his singular hand up to his chest and held it pressed. he was fond of his ephemeral heart. 

you slowly but surely grasp his fingers. the puppet joints over the years looked almost seamless. it evidently looked human-like. you cautiously brush your lips against his knuckles, meeting his violet-blue eyes. do they twinkle—was it mirroring the stirring water on second thought? 

promptly, the serene moment of yours is interfered. you turn your head to unfamiliar hushed tones and humming. there pop up a few heads of plant-like forest spirits. you notice wanderer is gifted to see them as well. 

aranaras are critters, only to be seen by trustworthy dreamers of pure and kind hearts. it is a mystery really—wanderer’s ability to spot them. is he, not a doll without a heart; can he be regarded as good-natured; is he to be trusted… he is not a child either (but acting like one every once in a while). 

thereafter, wanderer stretches his hand toward a bright blue-colored creature, holding a yellow poppy. flowers help aranaras remember their friends whenever they meet. besides, they gain power from memories. do the spirits of sumeru forests lay hold of dreadful recollections as well? wanderer is brimful of them. 

after a while, wanderer looks in your direction. he is deep in thought at the moment, pondering who exactly he is. he does understand the concept of being human pretty well, yet he does have uncertainties about whether he can call himself one, partially at least. he did give up trying to be human in the distant past, though, he had experienced pieces of being human underway—having emotions, enduring pain, having a heart of some form, a place to live, a region to serve, people he called family, and a name. 

truthfully, he had a myriad of names; words he was called by others. he never deemed them his names frankly. nonetheless, he loved himself as kabukimono—the dolly wandering eccentric, perceived as naive and peculiar. deep inside he knows he did not stray far from his roots, it was simply eclipsed by the wounds of his past. 

he did name himself kunikuzushi, the world-destroyer once. alongside was given titles of the balladeer and scaramouche. it should be mentioned that whilst no man on teyvat recalls it being him—he was formerly known as the everlasting lord of arcane wisdom; shouki no kami, the prodigal, too. 

attempting erasure of himself, including rectifying past events that his existence, and rage-driven deeds caused, wanderer reincarnated into someone as curious as the young kabukimono. he opted for calling himself a wanderer. was he an eccentric one this time on top of that? at the end of the day, it all comes full circle. 

at present, he does go by a freshly given name, restraining himself with a new psyche all while making an effort to atone for his sins. he accepted his birth, not to mention, the entirety of his past. 

he looks all around his own porcelain-like skin, currently dyed with multiple colors. it tugs at his heartstrings. he does glance at your body then, admiring the art, positioned in front—meaning you, not the mindless drawings of flowers’ pigments on your figure. 

hence, he finally feels like he has reached the promised divinity. only whenever he is with you.

(part two)