#F*** COLLEGE AND GRAPHIC DESIGN

[tapakah0]

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SHOW AND TO DO

[lem-argentum]

hes like a bug to me

[hellbornsworld]

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATION (10) ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

💚 Banter | Superhero!Jungkook X Supervillain!Reader | OneShot | @littlemisskookie

💚 Send Me a Pic | Jungkook x female reader | OneShot | @74jeon

💚 new beginnings | Ceo!jungkook x figureskater!oc | OneShot | @nochukoo97

💚 LOVE ON ICE | Jungkook × reader | OneShot | @btsbrat

💚 heajix | jungkook/reader | alien!au | OneShot | @httpjeon

💚 Our Time | Detective!Jk x Graphic Designer!OC | OneShot | @taestefully-in-luv

💚 please please PLEASE! | JK X Reader | Drabble | @aajjks

💚 domestic daydreams | influencer jungkook x f. reader | OneShot | @euphoricfilter

💚 the right choice | college student! jk x college student! oc | OneShot | @honeytae

💚 Eye-Opener | Jungkook x Reader | Series | @taeshobipop

💚 paid in full | StepBrother!JK X Reader | Series | @trivia-yandere

💚 white lies | athlete!jungkook x reader | OneShot | @noteguk

💚 Secret Slut | Personal Assistant!Jungkook x CEO!Reader | TwoShot | @jeonsweetpea

💚 Marked Kisses | Yandere!JK X Reader | Series | @74jeon

💚 tis the damn season’ | jungkook x reader | @jqngkooz

💚 WELCOME TO THE HEARTBREAK SHOW | kind-of-tsundere!jungkook x female!reader | OneShot | @numinousher 

💚 Home for the Holidays | idol!Jungkook x female reader | OneShot | @writemywaytoyourheart

💚 closer | dongsaeng jungkook × noona reader | OneShot | @blublublujk

💚 Everything In You | Jungkook x f. Reader  | OneShot | @jjungkookislife

💚 pent up stress | husband!jungkook x wife!reader | OneShot | @rrjkive

💚 How to Get a Guy. | Jungkook x Reader | TwoShot | @taeshobipop

💚 Chasing Shadows | Jungkook x f.Reader | OneShot | @colormepurplex2

💚 PROPOSALS | Jeongguk x reader | OneShot | @pjxmin

💚 Something Wicked This Way Comes | Jungkook X Reader | OneShot | @softyoongiionly

💚 La Belle et la Bête | Jungkook X Reader | OneShot | @chaoticpuff17

💚 I Don't Share | Idol!Jeon Jungkook x Back up Dancer!fem reader | OneShot | @atinystraynstay

💚 holi-blaze | dealer!jeon jungkook x (f)reader | Series | @darklingjeon

💚 desperation | jungkook x reader | OneShot | @jungkwok

💚 Workaholic | ceo!jungkook x wife!reader | TwoShot | @kookxmira

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (05)

chapter five: say what you mean

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; mentions of sex, kissing, we’re starting to dip our toes into angsty territory !!, less edited than i’d like but what’s new lol word count: 2.8k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip, just so I can adore you I want the entire street out of town just so I can be alone with you Now go when you’re ready My head’s getting heavy, pressed against your arm Just to adore you, I adore you

Adore - Dean Lewis

Whenever Minho asks if you two could hang out together at your place, it usually means that you will end up in your bed.

Tonight you suppose is no different.

Even though you often cap off the night having engaged in activities that could make the Victorian lady in Hyunjin faint, it’s not all that you do. Both you and Minho never let yourselves forget that you’re friends first and foremost. Sex is the added benefit that should never take anything away from your friendship. He is still one of the people you’re most comfortable with, one of the few people whose company you enjoy.

You’re sprawled out on the couch in your small living room when Minho returns from the kitchen with a plate of freshly peeled tangerines, the same ones that he brought over earlier. You push yourself to half-sit up so he could squeeze himself between you and the armrest, before you go back to laying your head on his lap as you two resume watching a bad movie that you put on.

“I hate this so much,” you comment, your eyes glued to the TV screen.

“You picked the movie,” Minho says. “It’s not that bad. The plot is kind of decent.”

“I’m not talking about that. Jeez, if they wanted to make a movie where the main character is a graphic designer, you’d think that they would at least consult someone who knows literally anything about visual art. Look at that horrendous typography job, the text isn’t even aligned with the edges and corners. This is hurting my soul.”

Your cushions (Minho’s thighs) shake lightly as he laughs at your dramatic outburst over something as trivial as a fictional character’s poor standards of digital art. But you really aren’t kidding; the way the woman on screen is butchering the text alignment is quite literally making that very particular part of your brain want to shut down for the next five to seven business days.

“They should’ve consulted you first, is that right?” Minho asks.

“They really should have. I could’ve done wonders for them,” you say matter-of-factly. “I almost majored in graphic design, y’know.”

You have a habit of biting your tongue around others because you know that people don’t really care about the same things you do. Whenever the opportunity arises for you to share tidbits about your interests, excitement would tumble out of you only to be quashed soon after when no one wants to listen to your silly little rambles. It’s disheartening, you’re used to it.

But you never feel that way around Minho. He always lets you babble on about anything and everything, even if he might not know what the hell you’re talking about. He indulges you. He never makes you feel neglected or ignored.

“Hmm, my little genius artist.” He taps your cheek once, and when you turn your head to glance at him, he tells you to open up before he slips a slice of tangerine past your lips. “You’re right. Even I can tell that it’s horrendous.”

You hum appreciatively when the sweetness of the juicy fruit floods your tastebuds. Minho’s hand trails down your arm to rest on your stomach, just below your ribs where he fiddles with the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. If he moves his hand up, he would be grazing your bare chest underneath your shirt. You didn’t bother with a bra because, well, comfort above all else, especially within the four walls of your own home. Besides, it’s nothing that Minho hasn’t seen anyway.

He keeps on feeding you tangerines in between your complaints about bad design standards until the movie ends and the plate is cleared. The only sound in the room is the soft music on the TV as the credits start to roll.

You turn to lie on your back, staring up at Minho. “That was deeply disturbing.”

“You chose it,” he reminds you. “You went in knowing what the premise was.”

“Yeah, I have no one to blame but me. I had too much faith in humanity.”

“And you call me weird.”

“You are weird,” you say. “But I like weird.”

Minho looks down at you and for a moment, he says nothing. His fingers trace something on your stomach. A heart or an odd circle, you don’t know; you’re always bad at deciphering those. His eyelids fall a bit, softening the usual sharpness of his gaze.

Then he’s pulling you by your shoulders, guiding you to sit up and before you know it, you’re situated on his lap with one of his hands on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. Minho tugs you closer, meeting your lips in a kiss in which you waste no time returning.

He’s sweet, like the tangerines that you were sharing all evening. It tends to start like this - sort of randomly, whenever it feels right. He squeezes your side in a comforting gesture as his tongue slips into your mouth. There are times where it’s more urgent, where one of you is needy and desperately seeks the escape and release that can only be found in the other’s embrace. Other times, it’s slower, more gentle, where you can really focus on making each other feel fully satiated.

This, right now - you would pinpoint somewhere in the middle. There’s no fiery clothes-ripping urge, nor a need to lay the other person bare and knead every single knot of stress from their system. Today, there’s just languid wanting; an unhurried inclination to be close.

Him and his tangerine flavored kiss, you and your resolve built on shaky foundation.

You start rolling your hips over his, tugging on his shirt because you want to feel his skin against yours. Minho stops you though; he puts both hands on your hips and pulls his lips away from yours. You blink, dazed, confused.

“I...” he starts, trying to even out his breathing as he finds the words. “I don’t want to have sex tonight.”

Embarrassment instantly washes over you. The rejection is a little humiliating; it’s the first time you’ve ever felt like this around him. Your cheeks catch fire from the mortification, and you’re very aware that you’re still sitting in his lap, right over his crotch.

Wanting to climb off of him and just fucking bury yourself in a ditch, you start stuttering like an absolute fool, “Oh... Y-yeah, no, of course! Shit, shit, I’m sorry. Of course we don’t have t-”

Minho holds you in place, one of the hands on your hips goes to cup your cheek to make you look at him. It effectively shuts you right up.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” he says, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in an earnest apology. “I just want to keep kissing you. Is that okay?”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s holding your face, your waist, so delicately. He looks drunk on your presence alone even though neither of you have had a single drop of alcohol tonight, so sincere in his simple request that you feel your heart swell tenfold.

You want it too. You’re more than okay with just kissing him.

You don’t answer him verbally. Instead, you just nod and move to kiss him again, your hands tangled in his soft hair. The sweetness of the tangerines grows more and more distant as you chase his lips, but you can taste his smile. It’s infinitely more saccharine, and it only grows sweeter when he holds you close and knocks the breath out of you.

When you pull away for air, you slump against him, hiding your face in the crook of his face, shy all of a sudden. He keeps you there but continues with his onslaught of kisses - on your hair, your cheek, your neck, anywhere his lips can reach. Like he simply can’t get enough of you.

“You really like kissing,” you comment, giggling quietly as you do. “Even when we… y’know, bone.”

“Bone? You’re so romantic, babe.” You feel the rumbles of Minho’s chest as he lets out a hearty laugh, the sound of which fills the space of your modest home, embeds itself in every nook and crevice, in between every minuscule crack in your walls until the whole place feels warmer, brighter somehow. “Are you complaining?”

“No... just pointing it out.”

“Well, I like kissing you,” he says. “You’re not a terrible kisser, I guess.”

You sit up straighter and catch the teasing grin on his face before you roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks. You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“Says the girl who uses ‘bone’ to describe sex.”

“It’s a perfectly good euphemism for ‘sex’.”

“You might as well just say ‘boink’.”

“Literally shut up.”

“Sure.”

Then he’s pressing his mischievous smile against your mouth once more, and you can’t really wrap your mind around how it’s even possible that he keeps getting sweeter and sweeter. His sugary kisses send warmth tingling up your spine, make a fluttery sensation erupt in your stomach. You’re lightheaded, and not the kind that can be remedied by a sufficient fix of blood oxygen.

Even though you’re perfectly content with kissing, there’s a certain implication that comes with only kissing that you’re not sure what to do with. He’s literally inside of you on a weekly basis and yet, this feels much more intimate than anything you two have ever done.

Because friends don’t kiss each other the way he’s kissing you right now. Friends don’t kiss each other the way you’re kissing him back.

A chime from your phone breaks you two apart, the intrusion forcing a mildly frustrated grunt from Minho. You find the mobile device hidden between the cushions of your couch, and after you quickly scan the notification on the screen, you tell him, “It’s Hyunjin.”

“What did I say? It’s always him at the scene of the crime,” Minho mutters, speaking in the same tone that one would when their sibling interrupts a round of their favorite video game. “What does he want?”

“Just wants me to send him a photo of the sample portfolio from our class.”

“Ignore him. He can wait.”

“He’ll call me if I don’t reply.”

“He’s so annoying,” Minho grumbles but loosens his hold on you nonetheless. “Hurry back.”

“It’ll only take a minute, you big baby,” you chuckle, pressing a swift peck to his lips before you get up from the couch and head toward your bedroom with your phone in hand, searching for the binder that Hyunjin is asking about.

Once you’ve snapped the picture and sent it to your friend, you return to the living room. When Minho hears your footsteps, he holds out an arm, silently beckoning you into his embrace again. And you do. You slide into the space next to him, slotting perfectly against his side.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace along his forearm until they reach his wrist. “This is pretty,” you say, touching the thin link bracelet that he always wears, the one with a small charm hanging off the center in the simple outline of a dove.

“You like it? I’ve had it for ages.”

“Mhmm, it suits you.”

A moment passes where you both sit in silence as you fiddle with the gold jewelry, and you can feel Minho’s eyes on your face the entire time. After a while, he pries your fingers off his skin, only to swiftly take off the trinket.

“No, Min. What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer you. You attempt (in vain) to pull your wrist back but Minho is stronger. He holds it in place as he clasps the chain around your wrist.

“Minho, you are not giving me your bracelet.”

“Relax. It’s not like it was passed down from my great-great-grandfather. It’s just a random bracelet I bought when I was 18.”

“Why would you even give me your bracelet?”

He shrugs, as though he’s merely doing something as simple as letting you borrow you a pen. “It looks good on you.”

You look down to where his hand is still on your skin, his thumb gently sliding over your pulse point as he admires how the dainty gold reflects the dim lighting in your home.

And he’s right. It does look good, but he probably doesn’t mean it in the same way that you’re thinking of right now. You think it looks good because it’s something that belongs to him that’s now wrapped snugly around your wrist, like some sort of affirmation spoken in a language that only the two of you can understand.

Minho leans over and presses his warm lips to your forehead. It takes you by surprise, the way he does it as if it’s second nature to be this affectionate with you. It’s a tipping point, then suddenly your thoughts are running rampant.

The instruction has always been plain and simple: No strings attached.

But...

The chaste kisses with no expectation of sex, being protective when you’re in the presence of other guys, even giving you his bracelet to wear just because you said it was pretty.

Why do all of these sound an awful lot like strings?

You hesitate, then you ask, “What are we doing?”

“Hmm? You wanna watch another movie?”

“No, that’s not... What are we doing?” You don’t even know what word to put more emphasis on.

Minho looks at you and loosens his fingers. What he can’t understand through your words, you think he sees it in your eyes. “Say what you mean.”

“Are we friends?”

“Of course we are.”

“Are we still friends?”

“Do you not want to be friends anymore?” He cracks a smile, but you can tell that he’s just doing it to lighten you up. “You have terrible timing. I literally just gave you a bracelet.”

“Friends don’t do that.”

“Friends don’t give each other bracelets?”

“Friends don’t kiss like that.”

Minho seems a bit taken aback, though he regains his composure in mere seconds, his voice calm as he tells you, “Friends don’t have sex either.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. What are you saying? You brought it up.”

You open your mouth, only to subsequently close it because your thoughts were never really that coherent in the first place. You look away from him to glance down at your wrist.

“You’re being confusing,” Minho says quietly, honestly.

“I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

“Did anything change for you?” he asks.

“No,” is what you tell him after a long minute, when what you really mean to say is I don’t know. You can see it as it happens, some stars fading from his eyes, some light growing more faint in his irises. Though the despondence on his face disappears so fast that you’re not sure if it was even there at all, or if it was only a figment of your imagination.

Then you throw the question back at him. “Did anything change? For you?”

Minho’s answer is the same as yours - a clear No - and yet, it makes you feel like you’ve been punctured by something sharp. You don’t know why your heart drops upon hearing him say the exact same thing that you did, but you try not to let it show on your face. Your poker face isn’t anywhere as good as his, but you hope that it’s enough.

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod a little.

“Then nothing’s changed.” He strokes your hair, emphasizing his point with a soft smile as he reassures you, “And nothing has to change. It’s a bracelet, don’t overthink it. We’re good.”

Sometimes, the decisions you make are bad because you can foresee the outcomes, or at least, you have an idea of the consequences will be later on and yet, you still choose to go through with it anyway.

Just like how you chose to watch a movie you knew would drive you crazy with its trivial details, you choose to accept the feeling of Minho’s bracelet around your wrist. You choose to believe him when he said nothing has changed, and that nothing has to change. You choose to sweep under the rug the thoughts that you’ve been having about him lately. You choose to overlook the reason why you’ve been having those thoughts instead of facing it head-on because you’re terrified of what you’d find if you dig deeper.

You choose to let the conversation end here though it still lingers in your mind, and you choose to let him kiss you goodnight when he leaves because tonight has already been a series of bad decision after bad decision anyway.

And when you fall asleep, it’s the soothing coolness of the golden dove against your skin that lulls you to slumber, like he’s here right beside you to hold you through the night.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom (italicized = can’t tag)

series taglist: @eyesforlino @armystay89 @nuronhe @becomingmina @astro-doll-the-star @hyuneyeon @jisunglyricist @yoontaethings @thisisnotjacinta @cupidcure @wyzminho

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 18.02.2024]

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER ONE | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

THE LOVE FRUIT

“Mangoes. A criminally overlooked aphrodisiac. People call it the love fruit, you know.”

«SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Genre: Non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of emotionally abusive ex, controlling friendships, heavy fantasizing, masturbation (m and f) graphic sex fantasy sequence (includes descriptions of intercourse), sitophilia (food play) Word Count: 16.3k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

“What is love?”

Hyunjin looks out at the expanse of eager minds in front of him, everyone blurring together in the darkened auditorium. He can’t see any of their faces, but it doesn’t matter. He’s only been on the stage for approximately thirteen seconds, but he already knows that they’re watching him in that familiar, delicious awe, quietly clawing at the sides of their seats in unbridled enthusiasm and desperation. And he can never blame them— Hyunjin’s kind of a catch. 

He tucks his hands into his navy bespoke Armani trousers, appreciating the feeling of the silky inner lining against his fingertips. Even with such a casual gesture, he’s the picture of elegance; tall, devastatingly handsome, and movements fluid yet calculated, like a prima ballerina. Hyunjin is the kind of beauty that poets waste their lives over, pining over the perfect arch of his cupid’s bow to the aristocratic slope of his nose. As classic as an Italian prince, as unique as the moon herself.

“No, but seriously. What is love?” Hyunjin repeats his question into the mic, once more gracing his enthralled viewers with the rich, seductive notes of his voice. “Is it an emotion, that signal in your brain? A cliche? A cult?”

The audience ponders his words with bated breath, and Hyunjin takes the opportunity to continue.

“Or maybe it’s all just… lust.” Hyunjin whispers the last word while holding eye contact with an unsuspecting victim in the front row. The girl trembles and blushes under his heated gaze, looking down at her shoes in an attempt to hide her frazzled smile. 

With a deliberate smirk, Hyunjin moves on to his next target in the audience. It can be anyone, yet another to fall for his endless charms. No one is immune. The cute reporter in the second row who will interview Hyunjin after he finishes his long awaited TED Talk. A wink. A lady in a big fur coat, old enough to be his grandmother. A beguiling smile. And even the stern looking security guard standing in the back. A brief, but loaded glance. Yep, Hyunjin doesn’t miss Guillermo’s cheeks turning red, even in this atrocious lighting.

A hesitant hand amongst the crowd slowly creeps upwards, bursting Hyunjin out of his momentary flirt bubble. “I think that love isn’t real.”

A smaller spotlight is immediately shined onto the timid speaker. It’s a boy in his early twenties, probably a junior in college, judging by his trendy sweatshirt and the freshness in his features. But that typical hopefulness is absent in his eyes, replaced with despair. 

Heartbreak. 

Hyunjin shoots the student a knowing smile. Because of his passion for the human mind, he had studied psychology in his own university days, before obtaining a doctorate and specializing in counseling— specifically, relationship counseling. He wears many different— and designer— hats: certified dating coach, therapist, and even researcher, when love needs to be approached as a neurological phenomenon in a laboratory setting. But his personal favorite role is being an expert on broken hearts. Something about being able to fix people satisfies the urge in Hyunjin to be the best, to be the brightest. What’s better than giving some of his light to someone who needs it?

“What’s your name?” Hyunjin steps closer to the edge of the stage, now fully focused on this poor fellow. Everyone else in the audience follows Hyunjin’s actions, curiously turning to get a better look of which lucky individual has been able to score a coveted interaction with Hyunjin. 

The boy clears his throat nervously. “It’s Jeongin.”

“Jeongin,” Hyunjin tests, liking the playful feeling of the syllables on his tongue. He decides that the name fits the young man perfectly. “Why do you think that love isn’t real?”

“Because if it can come and go so quickly, it can’t be real.” Jeongin squares his shoulders before sitting up, a new fire in his voice. “If love dies before it’s even born, it must be a joke.”

Well, well, well. 

Not only is this a broken heart, but this is a bitter broken heart— Hyunjin’s kryptonite, in the best possible way. Jeongin’s heart was soaring and then subsequently shattered, becoming one that Hyunjin is now dying to piece together, because there’s nothing he savors more than a challenge. 

“I’ll ask you this.” Hyunjin slips his right hand out of his pocket, running his fingers through his hair. In one smooth motion, the dark, tousled locks fall back into an alluring set of eyes. “Do you want to be happy?”

Jeongin shakes his head, visibly frustrated. “What?”

Hyunjin isn’t deterred. “Love isn’t limited to just one person, Jeongin. Not even people in general.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Love is simply what makes us happy. It’s our unscratchable itch. Our insatiable need. Our comfort in crisis.” Hyunjin takes out the tiny metal laser pointer in his pocket and directs everyone to gaze at the massive screen looming behind him, flipping through the presentation that he prepared himself. Most of the high profile speakers at TED throw that task over to their personal secretaries, but then again, Hyunjin isn’t most people. 

A bowl of soup. A plate of pasta. A dish of chocolate cake. A stacked tower of choux pastry puffs. His audience, as Hyunjin calculated, is bemused with his choice of slideshow content, although Hyunjin is infamous as a loveable eccentric. These are all pictures and no words at all. 

“Is your passion cooking? Could you do it for the rest of your life? Will you just combust if you can’t whip up this croquembouche right this moment? That’s love.” Hyunjin lingers on the image of the French confection. “Love is what makes our cold nights warm again, the very driving force that pushes us to be the greatest possible versions of ourselves.”

If Hyunjin was any other speaker, the same onlookers would burst into laughter and walk away, muttering that he had lost his marbles. Who would try to make a point about the most confounding concept in all creation— the very entity that even the Stanford Encyclopedia of Psychology hesitantly attempted to define— with a series of pictures that belong in an episode of Chopped, not freaking TED? No one except Hyunjin, and rightfully so. It’s the reason why they all keep their backsides glued to the velvet upholstery, respectfully silent and anticipating being enlightened. 

“Love can be platonic, love can be romantic, love can be anything in this whole universe. Love is what makes us human. It reminds us that life is worth it, that after all, maybe there’s something left to fight for.” Hyunjin gives Jeongin a small, but sincere smile. “It’s why I’ve committed myself to helping people find it, to protect it.”

Jeongin sits back in his seat in acceptance, and Hyunjin knows that even though the inferno has just subsided, not been completely put out, the flames probably aren’t so scorching anymore. Maybe he’s scored himself a new client. 

Satisfied, Hyunjin turns back to the rest of his audience hungrily waiting for his eloquent scraps. “I’m Hwang Hyunjin. But you might know me as the Love Doctor.”

There are only so many episodes of Celebrity Wedding Disasters you can binge on Youtube before you begin to feel sick of yourself. Yes, watching freaking Brad Pitt get dumped at the altar makes you feel better about your own hopeless situation. But does it actually help your hopeless situation? No, it does not. Because watching other people suffer the same life as you does not solve your own problems. They’re all still there, at the end of the day, when you come home to an eerily quiet apartment, or in the morning, when you stretch out on your bed just to feel like you’re being swallowed up by the empty space next to you. 

And now? The sound playing from your computer speakers starts to melt into a drone, and the artificial lighting of the videos on the screen blurs your vision, augmenting the sagging under your eyes. You haven’t gotten up from your little space in the corner of your living room in eight hours, resorting to hunching over your computer and surrounding yourself with snacks in case you got hungry. You’re clad in an old pajama set that’s too small for you and wrapped in a blanket that should have been put into the washing machine weeks ago. For the time since you gave up trying to work, you’ve been huddled in a fetal position on your couch, staring at your computer screen with no aim, no purpose.

Bashful rays of light peak through the gaps in the curtains drawn closed over the windows, and the air conditioner sputtered and shut down hours ago, after months of you putting repairs off. And your computer has died, but you’re too lazy to reach over to the outlet and plug your charger back in. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning, and every other healthy young person is probably out doing something productive or fun, definitely not being cooped up in their apartments after a myriad of trashy videos. But you count your blessings that you aren’t in the worst circumstance, because anything is better than dealing with—

The telltale trill of your cellphone knocks you out of thanking your stars, a cruel coincidence to the appreciation you harbored just moments earlier for the divinities above. The only people who would call you at a time like this— your time— would be the only people who you really, really didn’t want to see right now. You don’t even have to check the caller ID before you’re answering the phone, your signature snark prepared to lash out at any unwelcome dialogue. 

“What?”

“Good morning to you too, Y/N,” Irene chirps, irritating you even further. “Lovely weather today. I’m with Sana and Mina.”

First, she interrupts your quality time brooding on your own, and second, she has the nerve to be cheerful about it. You try not to lose it and just scream at her to fuck off. 

“Let’s skip the small talk, Irene. Can I help you?”

You don’t hate Irene, nor Sana and Mina, for the matter. You’re just tired of their presence in your life. Once upon a time, you were enthralled by these three pretty, wealthy, and perfect girls, letting them take you in and guide you through your youth. A tight-knit group since they were in diapers, the girls wouldn’t let just anyone into their circle, so the fact that they chose you to join them made you feel special. Being a part of them felt like being welcomed into a genuine friendship, a sisterhood. There were horror movie marathons snuggled together in your dorm rooms, gossip and advice sessions on the phone, late night drives with the music blasting on the stereo. 

But that admiration and belonging turned into exhaustion, over time, and they became no better than a stereotypical high school clique. They were suffocating you, filling you with regret of ever meeting them at all. They couldn’t respect that you were your own person, with your own emotions, and that you solely were entitled to governing your actions. Little things built upon each other, and you slowly began to detest them. You truly found out how eroded your relationship with Irene, Sana, and Mina was almost two years ago. You were heartbroken, but all they had told you was to patch up and move on. Showing feeling and falling apart was unacceptable to the “Golden Trio,” as you came to call them, because it was “unhealthy” to them. Complete and utter happiness was always the goal, and you couldn’t bog yourself or the others down. Rest, rinse, and repeat. You came to realize that you would rather reject the good parts of the relationship rather than have your imperfections be dismissed and your life be controlled.

Before replying to you, Irene is quiet for a moment, and you swear you can hear her whispering to the other girls. “Are you still in bed?”

“No.” Technically, you aren’t lying— you’re on the sofa. 

She sighs, seeing straight through your bullshit like she always did, the unspoken ringleader of the whole entourage. “It’s nearly ten in the morning, honey. Why don’t you come out to brunch with us in an hour or so?”

You roll your eyes. You hate when Irene calls you “honey”— it sounds sweet but has the most condescending undertone. “I’m busy.”

“Busy doing nothing. We need to talk to you. Please, Y/N. It’s important.”

Although having yet another fussy and feathery brunch with the Golden Trio is the absolute last thing you believe to be important, you know you have no other option. Irene will keep pestering you until you relent, so it’s better to save yourself the time and just get it over with. Balling up your fist, you reluctantly respond. “Fine.”

“Great! See you soon!” Irene trills, ending the call before you can even say goodbye. Not that you even wanted to, anyway.

With an enraged groan, you flop off of your stomach and open the windows, letting in some fresh air and sunlight. As you gaze outside of your window, observing the city slowly wake up, all you want to do is wallow in your self pity and frustration. For the longest time, you’ve told yourself that you’re fine with being alone; love just isn’t in the cards for someone like you. So you threw yourself into your job, struggling towards achieving your dreams, but as of late, the path to your passion has become another burden in your life. 

Sighing, you shake away your thoughts and tidy up the living room, already put off by the microscopic chip crumbs on the coffee table and the way the throw pillows are strewn about on the rug. After everything is back in place, you make your way over to your room, silently noting that your sofa stay at least meant that you didn’t have to make your bed today. You take a shower and don yourself in your typical uniform of straight jeans, sneakers, and a boxy blazer. Cute, practical, and unassuming. 

Quickly, you scarf down some toast and orange juice, because you definitely will not be able to afford even half of the menu items at the usual restaurant that the Golden Trio dines at for brunch. Before you lock your apartment and leave, you check yourself out in the mirror in the small corridor that houses the entrance.

“Just in and out,” you say to your reflection. “Breathe.”

The drive to brunch is less than fifteen minutes. However, you make a few unnecessary turns around the block in your second-hand Subaru, not ready to face the Golden Trio just yet. 

At exactly eleven, Irene’s profile picture— a headshot taken by a professional photographer— pops up on your phone screen. You ignore it and swiftly find a parking spot among all of the luxury cars, muttering to yourself. The Terrace is an upscale eatery that the Golden Trio frequents for weekend brunches, and you’re unfortunately roped into their plans more often than not. You walk into the restaurant, dodging a businessman in a costly-looking suit and a group of renegading TikTok influencers trying to take pictures. You take your time greeting Keeho, the hilarious UCLA student who hosts at The Terrace during the weekends. And then you scan the outdoor dining patio, as if you don’t already know the location of the Golden Trio’s preferred table by the edge of the patio, the one with the perfect view of the Hollywood sign in the distance.

“Y/N!” Sana gasps in faux surprise as you take your seat next to her. “So nice of you to join us… thirteen minutes late.”

You clench your jaw and force a smile. “Oh, well, you did just call me an hour ago, so.”

Sana returns your sarcasm with an aggressive beam, showing off all of her perfectly aligned, blindingly white teeth. Mina watches the venomous exchange in amusement, while Irene just rolls her eyes.

“Let’s get to the point, ladies.” Irene leans forward, and the other two follow suit, like they always do. 

You stay put in your chair, comfortably leaning back, like you always do. “I’d love to know why you called me to brunch, Irene. You know this isn’t my scene.”

“Nothing besides your damn computer is your scene,” Mina retorts, sipping on her mimosa. Irene purses her lips to hide her grin, while Sana openly cackles.

You glower at them, saying nothing. The Golden Trio sat around the array of gourmet dishes like hens around a feeding hopper, craning for the best cuts and chances of picking on you, as usual. 

“Can you just stop wasting my time and tell me why I’m here?” You take a swig of water, already counting down the minutes until you can make up an excuse and leave early.

The girls exchange knowing glances before Irene zeroes in on you. Even though she’s the oldest out of all four of you, she still looks the most stunning, with her cherry lips and elegant features.

“Y/N, we’ve been thinking that it’s time for you to find someone.” Irene reaches across the table and grasps your hands, making you cringe in surprise. 

You raise an eyebrow at Irene, already dreading what path this conversation is taking. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Irene delicately cuts into her vegetable omelet, taking a small bite. “We just want you to be happy. And we know that it’s been hard, ever since Jisung.”

At the mention of your ex-boyfriend, you wrench your hands out of Irene’s grip. “Don’t you dare bring him up.”

Mina smacks her lips, nonchalantly reapplying her magenta lipstick. “I told you that she’d be angry.”

Irene sighs, massaging her temples. “Be reasonable, Y/N. This is for your own good. You’ve been alone for too long.”

“That is not for you to decide.” You nearly want to laugh out loud at this point. “This is my business. Not yours.”

But then again, the girls have never been able to respect your own feelings. You are their puppet to string along and their doll to dress up. To them, you’re not a real human being, capable of making your own decisions— both good and bad.

Two years ago, you were dumped by your first and last boyfriend, Park Jisung. It was a traumatizing relationship, to say the least. For all your life, you’ve struggled with romance and just the whole idea of intimacy, of getting close to someone and truly letting them see you. Jisung had taken your fragile heart, the one you had so cautiously extended to him, and shattered it on the ground. 

The months you were with him were so full of emotional abuse on his part, that by the time you caught him cheating on you, you weren’t even surprised. You’d pathetically begged him to stay, crying that you’d forgiven him, but after his initial apologies, he’d left you. What made you the angriest wasn’t the anguish he had caused you. It was how he’d gotten the last word, breaking up with you and leaving you behind to rot. You swore that you would never let someone do that to you again. Everyday, you go to bed alone and wake up alone. Every single day, and you don’t have any intention of changing that.

“Of course not,” Sana says, stabbing viciously at her eggs and making you wince. “But you know, appearances matter.”

Irene shakes her head. “Honey, this lonely, mopey look doesn’t suit you. Johnny says that people are talking, saying that you’re some sort of recluse.”

You scoff, blood boiling at the thought of Irene’s fiancé. He grew up on his father’s bottomless wallet and was no better than any stereotypical rich playboy. All he did was run his mouth and on occasion, his damn country club that you couldn’t even afford to step inside.

“She kind of is a recluse,” Mina interrupts. “Like, just get a life, maybe?”

Mina’s words sting, like they always do. But you refuse to give her the satisfaction, instead answering Irene. “I couldn’t care less about Johnny Suh and what his useless friends at the club are saying. I’m fine how I am.”

Sana dabs at her mouth with her napkin, careful not to smudge her makeup. “You’re not, though.”

Irene glares at Sana, shutting her up, before turning back to you. You recognize the look in her eyes; that soft, cajoling pull that makes anyone do her bidding. That look is why you had not left this toxic company yet, but you’re starting to feel the effect of it slowly wear off.

“Y/N. Just hear me out.” Irene sorts through her violet Kate Spade tote bag, before pulling out a business card and handing it to you.

In spite of yourself, you take the card, feeling the thick, rich quality of the paper, and the gold lettering.

“Dr. Hwang…” You read out loud. “‘The Love Doctor?’ What the hell?”

“He’s a relationship therapist and dating expert. He also runs a matchmaking service and coaches his clients.” Irene explains.

“I have eyes. I can read the card, Irene,” you spit out, turning the paper around in your fingers. “And I definitely don’t trust anyone recommended by you. Especially not some corny weirdo called the ‘Love Doctor.’”

“Oh, get over yourself, Y/N. I know a billion trainwrecks that Dr. Hwang has fixed.” Mina shudders in thought. “He’s pretty good, you know?”

“No, actually. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this stupid Love Doctor.” You grind your teeth, desperately trying not to slap some sense into Mina. “I’m not going to trust a stranger with all of my thoughts… my fears, my hopes.” 

“This is such a waste of time,” Sana whines, getting up from her seat and smoothing out her dress. “I’m going to go talk to Chris. BRB, girls.”

Sana flounces away in the direction of the hot bartender mixing and pouring drinks for patrons. Mina rolls her eyes, picking at her acrylic nails.

“She literally has a boyfriend,” Mina huffs, before getting up and following after her. 

You turn back to Irene. “Is that how you want me to be? Both Sana and Mina are in relationships, except one pretends to not have a boyfriend, and the other is too bitchy to care about hers.”

“You’re not wrong.” Irene lets out a hearty chuckle, tracing the rim of her champagne flute. “But no one outside of our circle really knows about what’s going on with them, behind the scenes. They’re still perfect.”

“Why does it matter so much? Being perfect? Why does it matter so much to you if I am?” You question her, at a loss.

“I care about you.” Irene folds her hands in front of her plate. “You’re my friend.”

Friend.

That word takes you back to a few years ago, when you weren’t able to find a date to the frat party Johnny threw when you were all in college. You failed to follow Irene’s instructions, and as the expected result, Irene didn’t bother saying anything to you. You felt her anger through her silent treatment, as you stood by the door, feeling like a loser. You watched the rest of the Golden Trio giggle with their own dates, and Irene— no matter how big of a crush she used to have on Johnny before they became an item— was staring at you all night, soaking in your shame and unhappiness. You should have realized back then that the Golden Trio was just gilt. At least, you have now.

You snort in wry amusement, grabbing your keys and slapping down a fifty on the table, your general portion of the meal you didn’t even partake in. “I don’t know what I am to you, but I’m definitely not your fucking friend.”

Ignoring Irene’s pleas hitting your retreating back, you leave The Terrace, vowing never to go back.

On the weekends, you usually either work from home or aimlessly surf the internet. Either way, you’ll be staring at your computer until your eyes hurt. Today, however, you’re determined to prove that you can take a day off and enjoy it. It’s why you walk out of the luxury salon after being scrubbed, steamed, waxed, plucked, and primped all over your body. You don’t even want to think of how expensive it all was, completely disregarding the shiny $200 acrylics adorning your nails. 

You spend the rest of the day browsing a vintage bookstore on the Los Angeles marina, devoutly avoiding the romance section like you always did. After splurging on a set of horror novels by the latest trending author, you decide to go home and relax— just because you aren’t outside doesn’t mean you’re moping around, unlike what the Golden Trio believes. 

Who needs some hotshot Love Doctor when you’ve got Stephen King?

Sitting back on your couch with your book, you kick out your legs in front of you and attempt to unwind. But of course, you’re one line into the first page when your thoughts get the better of you. You glance across the open-concept layout of your apartment and over at your handbag, which is haphazardly strewn onto your bed; the business card that Irene gave you seems to be an incessant force in your mind. After a few seconds of trying to fight the urge to not let your curiosity best you, you give up, rolling off the sofa and rummaging through the bag to find the card.

Palming the small piece of paper, you settle onto your bed on your stomach, dimming the lights and logging into your computer. You type in the website address listed on the card into Google, impatiently tapping on the mouse. Finally, the page loads.

Your vision is blessed by a soft palette of pinks and beiges, a sparkling layout, flashy buttons and graphics, all designed to reel in even the most technologically inept grandparents. But that’s not what you’re enticed by: a giant picture of the most beautiful man that you have ever laid eyes on is pasted onto the main cover of the website. Immediately, you read further only to find out that this total babe is the Love Doctor that Irene couldn’t shut the fuck up about.

You zoom in on the bio printed below the image, devouring it like the King novel you should be reading instead right now. “What the…?” 

Dr. Hwang Hyunjin is a lot of things: a relationship therapist, intimacy expert, dating coach, psychology researcher, and etc. But the title that truly encapsulates his essence is: the Love Doctor, the savant who leads his clients through the pains and triumphs of life, loss, and of course, love. 

After graduating from Columbia University summa cum laude and obtaining his doctorate in psychology at Stanford, Dr. Hwang founded SeoulSpark, a practice dedicated to providing guidance and opportunities for any with those special ailments of the heart. The rest of Dr. Hwang’s credentials and outstanding achievements are listed below. In his freetime, Dr. Hwang loves to write poetry, go horseback riding, and take long walks on the beach. 

Appointments must be reserved through the ‘Bookings’ page. Dr. Hwang and his associates may be requested on the basis of availability. 

A few minutes of getting sidetracked in an internet stalking session alerted you to how in addition to overseeing his own private practice and working there as a therapist and coach, Dr. Hwang also operates a clinical trial on the neuropsychological approach of studying the nature of love at the National Institutes of Health. And to top it all off, he comes highly recommended by Selena Gomez in her latest Vogue interview— turns out, he’s the one who helped her move on from Justin Beiber and find a more gratifying partner— and has even met with Michelle Obama over tea on NPR’s Life Kit podcast to discuss the psychology of relationships. He’s a public figure, a celebrity of sorts himself, but has graciously rejected the title in favor of a more private life.

“Wow,” you murmur. “So he’s hot and smart.”

Irene and her sidekicks are wrong about a lot, but one thing they are right about is that you’re just absolutely lonely. Growing up, you were a hopeless romantic who constantly dreamed of a fairytale romance, romanticizing every aspect of your interactions with others. But a lifetime of being unlucky in love taught you that there is no such thing as true love. 

First, there was a series of unfortunately unrequited crushes in high school, all ending in you watching the boy you liked ride off into the sunset with someone else— usually a popular, pretty girl. Then came Holland, the cute boy in your calculus class who seemed like he actually returned your feelings. You both flirted for a while, before Holland ended up secretly coming out to you as gay. And of course, there was Jisung, the dirtbag who told you he loved you and then proceeded to break your heart. Love obviously isn’t on the cards for you.

Therefore, you’re now an insufferable pessimist when it comes to romance. You make fun of every couple you see in public, religiously watch wedding fails on Youtube, and absolutely hate romantic comedies. You stonily ignore the Tinder app that Mina once pressured you into downloading, even though it’s burning a hole into your phone.

You try to fill up that void in your heart by throwing yourself into work or participating in those idiotic “girls nights” that Irene throws, which usually just entail grinding up on drunk trust funders on someone’s yacht. 

But on a night like this, you’re bound to confront the truth: you are alone, and deep inside, you know you don’t want to be, no matter how much you pretend you don’t care. Which is why you let the computer cursor hover over the various appointment time slots, considering registration.

Wait, what? You shoot up from your previous position, sitting straight as every ounce of lethargy exits your body. You cannot actually be thinking of this guy’s services, especially when the recommendation came from Irene. But then again, do you really want your decisions to be determined by her? Do you care enough about spiting her that you’ll prevent your own happiness? What if this Love Doctor actually works?

With a groan, you go back to scrolling through Dr. Hwang’s bio once more, weighing your options, when you notice a link at the bottom of the page. You click on it, and it takes you to a video uploaded on Youtube. The bold, glaring red letters and the dark, dramatic backdrop alert you to a TED talk— and a very cherished one, too, with how thunderous the applause is when welcoming the speaker.

Intrigued, you sit forward, promising yourself that your assessment of Dr. Hwang’s TED talk will determine whether or not you’ll see both his physical and evidently intellectual gorgeousness in real life or not. However, from the very first question that he utters, you know your decision.

“What is love?”

You’re sweaty. You’d like to blame it on the unforgiving Los Angeles heat, but you once read that seeing a therapist is like owning your truth. You want to start being honest even before you meet Dr. Hwang, so you accept that the dampness under your arms is due to the fact that you are just really fucking nervous.

After tossing and turning in your bed all night, you tried your best to look presentable. You showered, blow-dried your hair, and put on minimal makeup reserved for special occasions. But the pretty yellow sundress and sandals that you chose— in the spirit of being symbolically optimistic— feel elementary right now, especially now that you’re setting foot inside the most glamorous office you have ever encountered. 

Upon observing the magnificently dripping crystal chandelier adorning the ceiling, marble flooring that you’re afraid of scuffing, and a jazz rendition of “Clair de lune” playing in the background, you’re convinced that this place is much too luxurious to be a shrink’s company space. Hell, it’s on the ninth floor of one of the ritziest buildings downtown. But, then again, you definitely weren’t expecting the person that Irene recommended to be this otherworldly adonis, instead of some kind of Karen ready to lecture you about having a “healthy love life” or “putting out”— yes, you do watch too much TV and have quite the imagination, so you try to keep your judgements and lofty expectations to a minimum. 

After signing-in with the receptionist— this sweet guy with freckles, sunny blond hair, and an even sunnier disposition— you sit down on the white leather sofa in the lobby. According to the brochure you swiped at the front desk, this place is so big that it has separate wings, like the freaking Hogwarts castle: one for therapy and coaching— or “guidance”— one for matchmaking services, and one for “health,” where clients and employees alike can rewind and socialize. Following a few minutes of rapidly swiping through the home screen and apps on your phone, trying to look occupied and definitely not intimidated by everything, the receptionist calls your name and directs you to Dr. Hwang’s office.

You know you’re incredibly lucky to have scored a session with Dr. Hwang, who’s obviously the most sought-after on the full list of all who work at SeoulSpark. Last night, when you were scouring SeoulSpark’s Yelp reviews (all of them were five-stars), people were raving about Dr. Hwang. Yet, as you walk through the luxe little corridor that leads you to the guidance sector, you can’t help but feel the regret that unfurls in your stomach. Perhaps you were subconsciously following Irene’s orders, that natural instinct to follow and not think still manifesting. Perhaps you were just enticed by Dr. Hwang’s visuals and repertoire. Or maybe, you just wanted to do something with your damn time for once, instead of constantly thinking about how sucky your life is. Either way, this all feels like a mistake, but it’s too late to turn back now, especially since the woman that you assume is Dr. Hwang’s assistant has spotted you.

She gets up from her desk. “Hello there! You must be Y/N.”

“That’s me!” You exclaim, in a way that probably seems too enthusiastic to be genuine. Your eyes trail to the name badge pinned to the lapel of her stylish cream-colored pantsuit. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Jang.”

“Likewise,” she says with a friendly smile that just accentuates her flawless features. 

Is everyone who works here just ridiculously attractive?

“Dr. Hwang is all ready for you.”

You quickly thank her, wiping your sweaty palms on your skirt and praying you don’t look scared. The last thing you want to do is freak out your potential therapist with your horrendous love life, even though his literal job is to deal with basket cases of romance. Taking in a deep breath, you warily place your hands on the grand pair of frosted glass doors adjacent to Ms. Jang’s desk and push them open. 

A cool gust of air welcomes you into Dr. Hwang’s office, and the first thing you notice is the blinding natural light flooding from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The one time you ever visited a therapist was immediately after the whole ordeal with Jisung; the cramped little room filled with wilted potted plants and dim light from a depressing yellow lamp had made you want to never see another therapist again. This place, however, looks more like one of those glitzy workspaces straight out of a Manhattan legal drama. You can practically see the dollar signs stamped onto everything here, from the panache but tasteful L-shaped sofa to the sultry modern art adorning the blush-colored walls. But the impeccable interior design is not what has got you temporarily incapacitated—

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

A voice as smooth as his honeyed skin and perpetual charm. A fresh breath of air in the merciless Californian heat that constitutes your entire life. A tidal wave upon the drowsy coastline of your heart. Absolute sin in your undeserving ears. You ponder what language even is, if you’ve never heard anyone articulate their entire aura like this in a mere jumble of words. Dr. Hwang smiles at you warmly— a sight that should remind you of a toasty cup of hot chocolate, but instantly spreads a raging, insatiable wildfire through your nerves. 

You speechlessly stay rooted to the spot like a damn oak tree as Dr. Hwang approaches you, with the controlled movement and dripping allure of a jaguar. As he nears you, you have to blink multiple times to adjust to how truly dazzling he is, and how the pictures of him online cannot even compare to his person. You would not hesitate to believe him if he claimed that he walked here straight off the runway, but his beauty is rapturous, less of an airbrushed model and more reminiscent of a Botticelian masterpiece. 

Maybe Charles Dickens was wrong— you see everything you want in the glittering multitude that makes up Hyunjin’s eyes. Big, soulful, contemplative. A gaze like a midnight reverie. A radiance like black diamonds encased in velvet. They reel you in like you’re silk thread and he’s a needle, like you’re an astronomer and he’s the entire galaxy. You take in the mole under his left eye, and it reminds you of a stray splatter of dark paint on an ivory canvas. It’s enchanting, like a lone star in the night sky.

“You’re good.” You barely manage, now focused on his lips that are just begging to be kissed. A delicate pink, like the lingering stain after eating cherries. Full and inviting, soft with the promises of a good time. On your own lips. On your skin. On your neck. 

Those pretty lips curve into an enigmatic smile, Cheshire-like almost. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

The way he pronounces your name so eloquently sends a spark straight through your body. You never thought much of your name, but with how Hyunjin says it, it might as well be one of those irresistible words that Pinterest logophiles save. It sounds lovely, ethereal, sublime. Just like him.

“And you as well, Dr. Hwang.” You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down, but instead, you get a breath full of his scent; he smells like a rainstorm over a field of jasmine. Tantalizingly petrichor, with a slightly floral and sensual edge. 

“Please, call me Hyunjin.”

“O-okay, Hyunjin.” A bewitching name for an even more bewitching man.

Hyunjin gestures for you to sit down on the sofa and positions himself on the chair behind his desk, a smoke-cracked glass piece arranged in front of a transparent wall that provides breathtaking views of downtown L.A. You can only imagine what the views are like at night— the city lights, of course. Definitely not of Hyunjin pushing you onto his costly desk and doing you in the dark.

“So, Y/N, darling,” Hyunjin begins, spreading his hands out on the desk in front of him. 

Darling?! Ohmyfuckinggod.

You cough. “Sorry?” 

“Tell me anything. Impressions, ruminations. Just be honest.”

That’s new and different. You thought Hyunjin would dole out the usual pleasantries, like “how are you” or “the weather is nice,” not ask you to “be honest.” What kind of person expects blatant candor after knowing them for literal seconds? Well, a therapist, probably. And a very eccentric one, at that. So you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“Everyone here seems so… happy. It’s weird.” The hot receptionist, Hyunjin’s secretary, and even the janitor wiping the floors in the lobby.

Hyunjin lets out a hearty laugh, his eyes squinting into a crescent moon shape that you find very endearing. “Well, they seem happy because they are. Happiness isn’t rare.”

“Feels like it most of the time,” you mutter, your thoughts flashing over to work, Irene, and all of the times that you eat dinner alone. 

“That’s why you’re here, no?” Hyunjin folds his hands. “Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions? And I answer them? Isn’t that what most therapists do?”

“I’m not like most therapists. This is how it begins.”

Of course you aren’t. 

As you hesitate, Hyunjin keeps quiet patiently while letting your thoughts unfurl. Maybe it was Jisung, or maybe it was being constantly let down by the people around you, but somewhere along the way, you lost trust in others— you wouldn’t ever let them see who you really are. Ever since, you’ve put up your guard walls, harboring a testy, stormy attitude that scares anyone away before they can ever leave you behind. You put up with the Golden Trio’s nonsense because although they practically used you for their own enjoyment, at least they had never withdrawn for you. You don’t hate yourself, but you don’t feel content with who you are. You never knew if you really would be. 

And you don’t know Hyunjin. To you, he’s the man whose photos you pored over on Google, the one who you held a sparse conversation for a matter of mere minutes. You shouldn’t want to be exposed in front of him, but you know you already are, with the way his piercing gaze seems to see right through you. For the first time, you don’t hate the feeling of being vulnerable. You don’t know if it’s the kindness in his bedroom eyes that haven’t strayed from you, or if it’s the warmth that even someone as regal as him exudes, but you embrace the feeling of security that his presence wraps you in. Like your inhibitions are drowning in the distant crevices of your mind. You don’t know what it is that compels you to tell this beautiful stranger anything, but for once, you don’t question it.

“I’m just so tired of my damn life.”

The words come out of you in a rush, a sob, almost, because it feels so good to finally say it out loud. You’ve kept your dissatisfaction inside of you for the longest time, just pretending that the grumpiness is part of your personality, not your sadness, because you’ve always been afraid of what people would say. But when you peek up at him, Hyunjin’s expression betrays nothing. Placid, and waiting for you to go on. So you do.

“Nothing seems to be working. I try, try, and try to do better at work, but lately, even my dream job feels like a burden. I don’t really have any friends. I’m single. I act like I’m fine, but I’m really not. I don’t want to feel like this, like I’m trapped. I don’t want to give Jisung that much power over me, but unfortunately, he does have it all.” A huge weight has been lifted off of your drooping shoulders, but the bitterness still remains on your tongue.

Hyunjin takes a moment to finish up whatever notes he’s jotting down in his cream-colored journal, before looking up at you. “And Jisung is your ex?”

You freeze. You didn’t even realize that you brought up Jisung, and even worse, you completely overlooked how he probably knows a lot more about you than you think. After registering for an appointment, you were redirected to fill out this short quiz filled with questions about your romantic history, your job, and basic information. Like a slightly intruding business dinner in the form of a questionnaire. You couldn’t finish the form without getting slightly tipsy on wine, because of how gut-wrenching it was reliving everything. You forgot that your coach would have access to your answers, after brushing it all off as a silly formality. And you really thought this would all be genuine.

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief and skepticism. “You already know, Dr. Hwang. Why bother asking me? You have my questionnaire results. You think I’m hopeless. You’re just being polite.”

“Hyunjin,” he corrects, undeterred by your words. “And I actually don’t. I look at the results after I meet with my clients. I would rather garner my first impression of you on the person you really are, not through an online quiz.”

“Then how did you know that Jisung’s my ex?” 

Hyunjin’s eyes crinkle with tenderness. “It wasn’t very difficult. He hurt you, I can see it.”

You swallow harshly, overwhelmed both by the thought of Jisung and the way Hyunjin’s looking at you right now. Compassion, gentleness, understanding. A complete foil to the constant indifference and borderline aversion Jisung treated you with. Right now, you don’t feel ugly, even with your scars so raw, open. You feel seen. You realize that Hyunjin has a way of getting you to open up by saying very little.

“He was my first boyfriend. First love, first kiss, first… well, you know.” You pause, blushing at the words that have escaped your mouth, but continue in spite of your shame. To hell with it. “He made me feel wanted, for once. I mean, I’ve literally been a fake date for my gay ex-situationship, and the first time I tried to get into a real relationship, which was with my former neighbor, he ghosted me after two dates. And then he moved away. Jisung�� he gave me everything I thought I needed.”

You look up at Hyunjin, unsure. The tears are already shining in your eyes, threatening to spill out. Hyunjin nods encouragingly, pushing you on. 

“We were together for almost a year. And the entire time, he gaslighted me into doubting myself. He always kept cheating on me, I knew that. But I finally caught him screwing his assistant in my bed, right before we broke up.” You close your eyes. “No, before he broke up with me. God, my friends were right. I am so pathetic.”

Hyunjin sets his pen down firmly on the glass table, making you open your eyes. His starry gaze is intense, like that all-too-familiar inferno settled inside of you. “Darling, those are no friends of yours. There’s nothing pathetic about believing in someone, for putting your faith in them. Don’t ever say that again.”

“Right. Because I didn’t tell him over and over again that I forgave him. I didn’t beg him to stay, when he said he was tired of me. When he wanted new things.” You let out a dry laugh. “When it was over, everyone acted like I fumbled. Hell, he works at SM Technologies. Rich, handsome, well-connected.”

“Fuck that hack. That’s not why you loved him, though,” Hyunjin insists, his explicit language surprising you. Even in this way, he seems more poised than you ever could be. “You loved him because he made you feel loved. He accepted you. You lowered your standards for him, and he used you.”

You turn your head away from Hyunjin, not wanting him to watch you cry. But you know he’s already seen the tears streaming freely down your cheeks. “So, are you supposed to help me move on from here? Find someone new? SeoulSpark has matchmaking services, right? I mean, it’s been two years, and I’m still not over it. Sorry I’m a fucking antiromantic.”

It’s Hyunjin’s turn to shake his head. “Darling, you’re misunderstanding me. I don’t help my clients find relationships. I don’t care if you walk out still single or if you’re polyamorous. I care that you’re happy, satisfied with who you are, romantically. I’m here to guide you through that. Let me help you.”

The tears that had dripped so effusively onto your skin dry as Hyunjin holds your gaze, studying your features and saying nothing. And then your stomach chooses that inopportune moment to grumble, and very loudly indeed. In that astoundingly mortifying moment, you swear to never, ever skip breakfast again.

Hyunjin clears his throat, rising from his seat. “Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? Or eat, maybe?”

“Um, a mango?” You don’t know why, or how, but your brain just zeroes in on mangoes. You don’t even like the damn fruit. Who the fuck would specifically ask for mangoes, instead of something reasonable, like coffee, or tea? You glare up at the ceiling, cursing your emotional dry spell for making you act so embarrassingly. 

But Hyunjin just smiles. “Mangoes. A criminally overlooked aphrodisiac. People call it the love fruit, you know.”

You gulp. Now you’re imagining Dr. Hwang— er, Hyunjin— chopping up a bunch of whole mangoes like he’s in Fruit Ninja, before erotically eating each slice, licking at the flesh, juice slowly dripping down that chin sculpted by the gods. Two seconds ago, you were crying about your evil ex and now you’re dreaming about Hyunjin starring as some sort of a seductive sensei.

What the fuck?!

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t know that.”

Hyunjin is unfazed by your awkwardness, simply walking over to the pink-pastel minifridge in the corner of his office and bringing out a paper bowl of unfortunately pre-cut mangoes that you accept gingerly. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” You cautiously place a cube of mango in your mouth.

Your eyes suddenly widen at the sweet yet tangy explosion of flavor on your tongue. Creamy yet juicy, refreshing yet indulging, just succulent on your lips. Hyunjin giggles at your amazed reaction to the fruit. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” You chew on the tart skin of the mango and swallow. “Do you know where your secretary might have bought this?”

“Wonyoung didn’t buy it, I did.” Hyunjin grins, sipping on his own glass of water. “5-Star Grocery. I went just today, actually.”

You finish off the rest of the fruit in no time, swiping the mango residue on your fork clean with your lips. When you’re done, you look up from the bowl to see Hyunjin gazing intently at you. You were probably taking forever to eat, and he was waiting for you. “Oh, sorry about that. This was really good.”

Hyunjin shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, it’s not that.”

You curiously tilt your head at him, wondering what’s got him so worked up. “Did I say something, Dr. Hwa- I mean, Hyunjin?”

“No, you didn’t.” Hyunjin stands up and takes your bowl, throwing it away in the disposal for you. “Let’s get back to our conversation.”

You nod, your thoughts fluttering back to Jisung, the ache replacing the lust that reigned inside of you, moments earlier. “I have tried to see other people, but it’s been hard.”

“How so?” Hyunjin clicks on his pen, putting it in a position ready to write.

You toy with the hem of your dress, your face heating up. “I tried using Tinder. I even matched with this one guy, San. We got dinner. But later that night, when… when we were about to um, have sex, I just couldn’t. San was really nice and understanding about everything, but I felt so bad. I’ve only slept with one person before, Jisung, and I don’t know. It’s so humiliating.”

Hyunjin frowns. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. First, it’s normal to be wary of intimacy after a long-term relationship. And second, we all have varying levels of sexual comfort. You’ll find your own pace. Our sexuality is essential to our health, and there’s nothing humiliating about it.”

“It’s not like I’m not experienced, though,” you say quickly.

Hyunjin looks up from his notepad and raises an eyebrow at you. You sputter over your impulsive words and try to explain. “It’s just that I have trouble being vulnerable with others, both physically and emotionally. There was only Jisung. And he wasn’t that good at it, to be honest. But I thought it shouldn’t stop me from finding out by myself what I like. That’s all.”

For a second, you think Hyunjin will make fun of you, but he just solemnly nods. “Absolutely. I always tell my clients this. There’s nothing wrong with masturbating. It’s incredibly healthy, whether or not you’re in a relationship.”

You exhale shakily, your cheeks aflame. You know it’s his literal job, but you can’t help but feel both admiration and jealousy at how straightforward Hyunjin is while talking about sex. His whole aura seeps with confidence, like it comes easily to him. Your self-consciousness could never. “Right.”

He sighs in thought, scribbling into your notepad as you restlessly wait for him to say something, fidgeting in your seat. Hyunjin then sets his notepad aside, logging into his sleek Apple iMac computer and rapidly typing into it. “I have something for you to do, darling.”

You immediately tense at the thought of more work, especially if Hyunjin is going to be your grader. “Like, homework?”

Hyunjin laughs. “No. Think of it as a fun little task. Remember, nothing I ask you to do is obligatory. You choose to be here.”

“Alright, let’s hear it.” You square your shoulders like a soldier. Whatever your assignment is, you’re going to knock it out of the park and impress Hyunjin. Definitely because you look up to him as a person, not because you want him to rail you into the next century.

Hyunjin leans forward, like he’s about to indulge you with a delicious secret, and you find yourself doing the same. “I want you to write down on paper one thing you love about yourself every day of the week, starting today. Bring the sheet to me when we meet again next week.”

You sit back, your heart sinking while your mind wakes in panic. And of all things, the assignment has to be this. You could fib your way through it, of course, jotting down the stupid, trivial aspects of yourself that aren’t so bad. But considering it all, asking yourself that question would really make you face the ugly truth: do you even love yourself?

“Wait, what do you mean? Like, what does it have to be? Physical? Emotional? Professional? Personal? I don’t think—”

Hyunjin smoothly cuts you off. “Like I said, this is your choice to complete. And it can be anything you cherish about yourself. Anything. This is your opportunity to show-off.”

You shake your head, frustrated. “But why, though? I don’t get the point of this.”

“I need to be able to get an idea of what specific path will best fit you, whether it’s solo therapy to help your mindset and esteem, matchmaking to get you connected with individuals who complement you, or coaching to provide you with guidance in potential relationships. So for now, I want to get to know you. ”

“If you wanted to get to know me, you’d ask questions like, ‘what do you do,’ or ‘what’s your favorite color,’ Hyunjin,” you say, irked. “This is just going to be another thing I fail at.”

“Darling,” Hyunjin says, firmly but gently. “Your profession and favorite color, while intriguing, isn’t knowledge I need to work with you. The most important service of all is helping my clients’ self-perception and confidence in romance, and I need to know what level you are on. Take it slow, it’s okay. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

The familiar warmth spreads throughout your body. Compassion, gentleness, understanding. You harbor so much insecurity that it affects so much of your daily life. You don’t go out. You work yourself down and out. You wallow in your misery. You’re a pessimist who doesn’t believe in true love. And you receive endless judgment for it, because really, who wouldn’t be disgusted by someone like you? But being with Hyunjin feels different, because he is accepting you for who you are and promising you the guidance you’ve always needed. 

“We can assess what aforementioned action to take next week, when I’ve had time to assess you,” Hyunjin declares as you agree, ripping out a piece of paper from his notebook and writing down the task on it for you to take home.

And then you’re pulled back into reality. You’re well-educated and smart. You have a good job that pays well. You like to read Scientific American in your freetime, because sometimes, you would rather face the facts than meld into opinions. And you know exactly what’s happening right now. It’s barely been your first session with Hyunjin, and you’re already getting attached to him, because he’s giving you the kind of care and attention that you’ve been craving. It’s a phenomenon called transference, you know that. The butterfly garden flitting in your stomach is a mere sensory illusion, you know that. But you also know that you are feeling something. 

As Hyunjin hands you the slip of paper, his hands brush yours lightly, and you can’t help but exhale sharply at where his skin has made contact with yours. Maybe you’re touch-starved, but you can’t help but feel like a longing character in a Victorian romance novel. You look down at his hands as he retracts them. Large, smooth palms, and long fingers decked in silver rings. 

“But that will be all for now, darling.” 

God, he’s sexy.

“Really? Is that all?” You glance at the rose gold clock hanging on the wall behind you. It’s barely been thirty minutes. “We’re done so soon?”

Hyunjin grins at you, flashing those crescent moons once again. “I didn’t know you were that eager to stay here.”

You clear your throat, furiously blushing. “I mean, I thought the session would last longer. So I’ll come back next week then.”

“This was a diagnostic, darling. And yes, I’ll see you next week. You should make an appointment with Wonyoung before you leave.” 

Hyunjin beams at you pleasantly while you reluctantly grab your purse, and you briefly wonder if he looks just as lovely when his partner pleasures him— if he has a partner. But then again, there is no way someone as good-looking and sweet as him is single. The thought of Hyunjin fucking someone simultaneously sparks envy and turns you on, and you quickly shake it away.

“Thank you so much, Hyunjin. And um, I’m sorry if I came off as kind of coarse, it’s… I’m working on it.” You tilt your head towards him, hoping he gets what you’re trying to convey. You’re not amazing with words, or controlling your emotions very well, and any product of that today was not meant to hurt him.

“You did nothing wrong. I’m glad you decided to come here, Y/N.” Hyunjin walks you across his expansive office.

“And I love your nails, by the way.” Hyunjin states, his gaze pointed down at your hands. “Pink’s my favorite color.”

You flush a pink that’s deeper than the object of his compliments. Pink, huh? You wonder about what other pink things that Hyunjn may like. Pink roses? Raspberries? Flamingoes? You’d bring them all to him if he asked.

Hyunjin graciously opens the door leading to the corridor for you, and you shoot him a small smile, as he returns it. His hand skims the small of your back as he leads you out, and you pray that you don’t look like a lustful maniac. Unaware of your internal frenzy, Hyunjin waves goodbye to you as he lets in his next client waiting outside and shuts the door behind him.

Wonyoung asks you a plethora of questions about your availability next week, your mind stays on Hyunjin while you schedule your next appointment. You don’t waver even when you exit the SeoulSpark and unlock your car in the visitor parking lot, collapsing into the seat in a daze. Even when you find yourself plugging in directions on Google Maps to find the quickest route to 5-Star Grocery, your thoughts don’t stay from Hyunjin. Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin.

You take your time strolling through the multicolored aisles of 5-Star, blankly gazing at all of the overpriced foodstuffs while daydreaming about the way that Hyunjin’s hand had accidentally brushed against you, even if it was inadvertent. You want his fingers on your body. In your body. In your mouth. Anywhere, and everywhere. 

You brighten up as you near the produce section and spy the hefty crate of what you came for: very expensive imported Indian mangoes. But without a second thought, you place a generous pile of the fresh fruit into a plastic cover and put it into your cart. And you swear you can catch the lingering scent of Hyunjin from when he was here earlier today. Rainstorms. Jasmine. Danger. You practically combust at the thought of Hyunjin scouring the baskets of mangoes for the very best picks with those crescent moon eyes, wishing it was you instead that he could have been gazing so purposefully at. On the way out, like some kind of a divine coincidence, you notice that a local florist has set up their stand at the entrance of the grocery. As you approach, the overflowing clay pots of jasmine crowd your sensations.

The drive back home feels like it lasts hours, when in reality, the store is only a few minutes away from your place. As soon as you’re inside your apartment, you throw open all of the window shutters, dismissing the ominous weather forecast on the radio. A much bigger tempest brews somewhere else. The late evening breeze through your windows is like a pirate sailing into your mind, hoarding your sanity and coaxing in all of your disgraceful thoughts. And you welcome the ship like a safe harbor because it’s been far too long since you’ve ever felt this outrageously alive.

The tiny light in your kitchen provides some leeway for you to work, as you stow away your groceries in the fridge and bring out the glass cutting board that your menace of coworker gave you as a gag gift; you would burn the whole house down before cooking anything, and he knows that. Yet, you kind of feel like goddamn Gordon Ramsay as you cut through the mango dexterously to produce those perfect cubes that Hyunjin presented you with.

With a sigh, you collapse into one of the mismatched chairs at your dining table. You once slaved away into late nights at this table, blue light glasses perched on your nose while you were engrossed in lines of code. Nowadays, you sleep late for less productive reasons or just because you are in a destructive mood and planning your future world takeover. But you have a feeling that might change soon.

Slowly, you put a piece of the sweet mango in your mouth, savoring the saccharinity and longing for it to pervade all aspects of your life beyond your palate. You find that it tastes a little less delectable because Hyunjin isn’t here with you, but you finish the entire bowl of fruit nevertheless. Still not satisfied, however, you bring out a second mango, still searching for that spark you had felt earlier.

This time, you don’t even bother cutting the fruit, instead breaking the skin of the mango with your teeth and allowing the juice to leak onto your tongue. A little better, but you wish you were biting down on Hyunjin’s plush lips instead. You feel like you’ve been hexed by the Love Doctor, because there’s no chance that a romantic Scrooge like you is fantasizing about the emotional and physical reincarnation of Aphrodite. 

Yet, he must have shot you with his quiver of arrows, rendering you clinically insane, because as you reach for your third mango, you feel your free hand trailing down to the place between your thighs that’s begging for your touch. You spread your legs so that your knees are facing out on either side of you, and your dress has now ridden up to your hips, exposing your now wet cotton panties for no one to see. 

But you imagine that he’s watching, stroking himself and getting off along with you. Not even bothering to slide them off, you push your panties to the side and finally press your fingers against your aching cunt. Chewing on the delicate skin of mango, you slide your fingers through your drenched folds, thankful to finally get a chance to relieve yourself. As you concentrate on the fruit’s taste, you wonder what Hyunjin would think of your own, sucking on his own fingers after fucking you with his pretty hands. He’d push you down to get a complete taste, attaching his mouth to your pussy to get both an idea and a release.

Moaning out loud, you circle your clit, enjoying the flickers of pleasure coursing through you. Not minding the juice now dripping down your chin and onto your collarbone, you pull down the front of your dress, freeing your breasts. You gently pinch your nipple with your left hand and let out a small gasp, craving for Hyunjin to be the one inducing such sinful pain into you.

“Just like that, darling.”

“Oh God, Hyunjin!” You call out his name and squeeze your breast, now fucking yourself on your fingers while simultaneously grinding the heel of your palm against your clit for that delicious extra friction. 

“So good for me.”

Waves of ecstasy wash over you as you ride out your high, sloppily thrusting and circling your hips on your soaked hand. You come to the final thought of Hyunjin pushing a slice of mango down the valley between your breasts, tracing and cleaning the sticky juice with his tongue. And there’s the spark, igniting a whole flame of fulfillment deep inside of you.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you fix your dress and get up from your chair, taking out a paper towel to wipe the mess of your arousal and fruit juice on the seat. Your cheeks burn with the after effects of your release, and yet, you don’t feel any shame. Instead, there’s a strange sense of liberation that you are starting to come to terms with.

Clipping up your hair, you make your way over to the desk in your bedroom and take out a fresh sheet of paper. Armed with a glass of freshly puréed mango juice and accompanied by the tantalizing scent of your jasmine plant, you pull out a pink gel pen and let the words pour out.

“So, Y/N. Were you able to do what I asked?” Hyunjin cocks his head expectantly.

You reach into your handbag and pull out the paper, passing it to Hyunjin with trembling hands. “I did it.”

You came to SeoulSpark straight from work, deliberately skipping your usual jeans and blazer combination for a skinny pencil skirt paired with a powder-pink button down that matches the walls of Hyunjin’s office. Slightly transparent silk stockings disappear under the skirt, which skims the top of your knees. 

When you were pulling on your barely-worn cream slingback pumps in the morning, you had wondered what this entire outfit was for. You had stood up and gazed critically into the mirror, and all you could feel was empowerment. Because for the first time, it felt like something you were truly doing for yourself. You weren’t proving a point. And you knew you weren’t dressing for Hyunjin either, but rather, because of him. He made you question if you were treating yourself right, and you wanted to answer it well. The pink blouse was a playful touch that you couldn’t help.

Hyunjin takes his time reading through the paper, and this time, you’re the one observing his every reaction, from the quirk of his brow to the way he occasionally licks his lips to wet them. The latter action sparks a memory of one week ago, when you indulged yourself in absurdly fantasizing about those very lips all over you. You press your legs together, ignoring the dull throb in between, and try not to think of it, focusing on the unsexiest things your mind can come up with. Climate change. Warts. Donald Trump.

“This is a good list to start with.” Hyunjin looks up at you, eyes twinkling. “All true, right?”

You nod, feeling a shy smile erupt on your face. “Yeah, I was kind of surprised with how doable-ish it was.”

“May I ask how? If I recall, you were quite opposed to this task last week.” Today, Hyunjin sits on the sofa with you instead of at his desk— too close, yet so far. 

You finger the one of the buttons on your blouse, mind already on the truth. But of course, you would never tell Hyunjin how masturbating to the thought of him made you feel aligned with your own body and sexuality, and maybe a little more willing to dare to think of what you like about yourself. Now that would be inappropriate.

“I just did some thinking,” you finally say after much deliberation. 

Hyunjin crosses one of his long legs over the other. “Interesting.”

“I guess.”

“If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?” Hyunjin lightly taps on his notepad with his pen, waiting for you to speak.

You give him a suspicious look. “Depends on the question.”

“Are you happy with yourself?”

His question confounds you, and yet, in a way, you also know why he asks it. A basic list of things that you like about yourself isn’t enough to turn over that table of insecurity and stagnant mindset that has hurt you for too long. It makes you understand that everything wrong in your life is because of an intrinsic cause, that ugly voice inside of you. Not because of something else… or someone. 

“I don’t think I am.” You bite your lip. “But I want to be.”

“Can you tell me why?”

You groan. “It stems from how I feel so undesirable right now. Like, I don’t want to be lonely, but I am. I mean, I’m kind of a shooting star for everyone. A fleeting moment of love, of comfort. I really wish I could be the fucking sun.”

Hyunjin leans forward swiftly, grasping your hands and startling you with their warmth. “You’re not a shooting star. And you’re not just the sun either. You are the whole solar system, honey. Please don’t ever think otherwise.”

Damn. The solar system? 

You hate when Irene calls you “honey,” but on Hyunjin’s tongue, it sounds loving, sweet, not like a patronizing ridicule. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, trying to ignore the way your heart is hammering in your chest. “But you’ve known me for, like, two seconds.”

If you don’t know any better, you would say that Hyunjin almost looks taken aback. But his features smooth over quickly. “Darling, I’m a professional. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. You have a good heart. There is no reason why you can’t have everything you want.”

You try to focus on his words and take them in, but Hyunjin— simply the sexiest thing you have ever set eyes on— has deemed you beautiful. It’s both flattering and heart-fluttering, to say the very least. “Well, why don’t I? Why don’t I have everything I want, then?”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “You just haven’t met the right person for you.”

You inhale at the husky tone of his voice. “And you’re going to help me with that, Hyunjin?”

“Yes. You don’t need therapy, definitely. The first step I take with my clients is acceptance. That comes with therapy, but you were able to identify the problem and acknowledge it. I say we address it now.”

“What do you recommend we do, then?”

Hyunjin clears his throat and flips to a new page in his notepad. “I’ll be your dating coach.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him. “What does that entail?”

“We need to fortify your self-esteem, first of all. So, confidence coaching. You’ll be getting weekly sessions with me in which I provide you with tips and guidance, almost like interactive lectures. In due time… you can be set up in our matchmaking office, if you’d like.” Hyunjin scribbles into his trusty notepad. “You made a good start with the list. Let’s get better.”

And you do. The next few weeks are like a bandaid on your wounded heart and mentality. Hyunjin helps you through building up your confidence, never once pushing you to run, only walking by your side. You expect him to give you information on pickup lines, how to dress, appropriate forms of touch, the science of love, and anything else that may improve your dating prospects, but much of his coaching is simply focused on you. You get one-on-one seminars from Hyunjin on the art of conversation, in which he guides you through being yourself, instead of being who you think you need to be. Hyunjin structures elaborate role-playing scenarios and critical thinking exercises in which you are coaxed out of your shell. And most significant of all, he teaches you that the most important relationship you can have is the relationship with yourself. 

You have always known that Hyunjin isn’t just any regular relationship therapist— or dating coach, or intimacy expert, or whatever other fancy moniker he adopts— but throughout your meetings, you come to feel like the boundaries have become blurred. Since the first time you saw him, he was able to read you like one of the glossy magazines stocked in the main lobby. But you slowly notice the fine details about him as well, from the neverending stack of classic poetry books on the white oak wall mount to how he bites his nails when he’s deep in thought.

The fascination you harbor morphs into a full-blown schoolgirl infatuation, resulting in you stalking his Instagram page and being totally invested in all of his old interviews, scouring for information on his dating status (no, you couldn’t find out if he is single or not). You’re completely enamored with Hyunjin and how free you feel around him. But one thing that doesn’t change is your burning desire for your unattainable guide, and the way you have to relieve yourself with your vibrator as soon as you rush home after your appointments.

You are sure that every single time you see Hyunjin, you’re being embarrassingly obvious, but he maintains his professionality, betraying nothing about himself except for a disarming smile. So you stay quiet, keeping your Hyunjin-affliction to yourself. But even in the face of your inappropriate struggle, for the first time, happiness doesn’t seem so foreign to you.

In spite of the honeymoon phase of your crush, in which you have blissfully daydreamed about Hyunjin, you still have your job to get to— gone is the racy maroon lingerie set you bought to spice up your solo sessions. However, your boring work suits and blazer-and-jeans combinations have been pushed to the back of your closet, in favor of you walking into the office wearing tight sheath dresses and skirts that show off your curves. You always believed that getting dolled up was strictly for special occasions or your man— when you thought you had one— but lately, you’ve been loving dressing up for yourself and enjoying the feeling of being sexy and liberated.

“Y/N! Get your ass over here!”

Your carefully curated mind bubble is rudely burst open when your boss yells for you from his office, not minding if the peace of the rest of the workers is preserved or not. You tie your hair up and dust off your skirt, making your way over to your boss’s office for what feels like the millionth berating you know you will receive.

“Yes?”

Mark Lee— your boss, who in your opinion, makes Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada look like a saint— turns around in his cushy Arhaus swivel chair, raising his eyebrows at your harried stats. Most people know him as the eccentric but lovable CEO of NCT Corporation, one of the world’s most prolific venture capital firms. However, you know him to be a truly two-faced monster that takes a sadistic pleasure in seeing the people beneath him crushed.

 “Is something wrong? Because there shouldn’t be.”

You force a smile. “You called me here, Mark.”

He lets out a mirthless guffaw, slapping his thigh. “Right.”

You roll your eyes as he shuffles through the papers on his desk and produces a small Manila envelope for you. Mark holds it out to you, and you take the packet.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Curious, you tear open the envelope and pull out a thick piece of stationary paper, an invitation to a networking event for tech entrepreneurs. Your pulse immediately begins to pick up, and you even dare to begin to dream of attending this golden opportunity. “Is this for me?”

“Kind of.” Mark clasps his hands together. “You’re planning this party!”

Your hesitant smile melts away. “What? I’m not your assistant, Mark. You already have one.”

“I know…” Mark trails off, popping a gummy bear into his mouth as he starts to spin around in his chair. “But no one is more passionate than you here, so you should do it.”

“But I’m busy with my actual job. I should be going to this party, not planning it! You know that.” You feel the frustration rise up in your chest like a tsunami, and you struggle to keep it at bay. “Come on, Mark. What the hell?”

Mark narrows his eyes at you, chewing on his fifth gummy. “No profanity, please.”

You nearly ball up the invitation and throw it onto Mark’s face. “You literally just screamed at me to get my ass in here.”

“I know, I’m hilarious.” Mark snickers, crumpling up his gummy bear packet and attempting to shoot it into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. When he misses, his expression sours and he glares at you. “You should really check out the instructions I sent you and get to work. Even some SM Tech officers will be in attendance. For example, the director of the Dream division.”

Your heart drops. “What?”

Mark smirks malevolently, leaning closer towards you. “You know him, right? Jake, was his name? Or was it Jisung?”

You grind down on your teeth, fuming. Mark is just trying to rile you up, and it’s really working. He knows perfectly well that Jisung is your ex-boyfriend, as both Jisung and him are golf buddies at their exclusive course in Pasadena. However, he loves to play dumb to get a reaction out of you, and you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You swallow back all of the disgusting insults you wish you could hurl at him, if you were braver and not hanging on to your job by a thread. “Don’t recall. I’ll take care of the party.”

You turn on your heel and march out of Mark’s office, purposefully slamming the door hard on the way out. You hear Mark’s cackling behind you, but you don’t dare to look back, because you don’t know what you’ll do. You slide into your cubicle once more, and have to resist the urge to turn over your whole desk like Wreck-It Ralph.

Years ago, in your final year of college, you founded ITEM Technologies with one of your classmates for your senior project. You hadn’t expected your professor to be so impressed that she submitted your portfolio to California’s biggest entrepreneurship competition, and you definitely didn’t expect for it to win first place, which meant you got access to a whole network of potential investors for your start-up. You had already accepted a job offer to be a software developer at NCT, but the thought of becoming your own boss through ITEM pulled at you like anything. Securing funding for ITEM through SM Technologies would be the final key in the system of locks keeping you from your dream, and the exclusive invitation to CODA— Silicon Valley’s biggest annual networking lunch for start-ups— was the ticket.

However, the day before the event, Jisung had broken up with you, and you had forgotten all about CODA, instead sleeping in after a whole night of crying. Later, after you woke up and realized what you had done, you found out that SM’s latest investment would be in Dream, a growing media company headed by none other than your new ex, Jisung. In twenty-four hours, he had both killed your dreams and your heart. And in due time, without proper funding, ITEM Tech would eventually fail, like many other promising but ill-fated start-ups.

And now? Jisung is living it up in your dream job while you’re groveling in the footsteps of your nightmarish excuse of a boss. Just touching a keyboard once filled you with so much joy, but now, you would rather smash it into bits before pressing a single key. Now you have to map out some stupid party for other start-ups. You’re a developer, not an event planner. You glare up at the ceiling, as if asking a higher power for an explanation for your crappy life. A moment later, your computer pings with a new email.

Like he’s a telepathic deity, Hyunjin has sent you a GIF of a baby llama waddling around a small pen, with text below that reads, “keep calm and llama on.” In spite of yourself, you laugh to yourself, and without thinking, you type in a response thanking him and ending in a winking emoji. Right after you send it, you fill up with regret. Was that inappropriate? The emoji? Too much? With an exasperated sigh, you stand up from your desk, shutting down your computer and heading over to the elevator, punching in buttons for the next floor. However, as soon as you open the door to the office of the one person who could probably talk some sense into you right now, you regret it. Afterall, he’s your part-time friend and full-time menace of a coworker.

“Fuck… don’t tease me like that when I’m not there,” Minho groans, before sighing wistfully into his phone. “I’ll be home soon.”

You silently gag, mentally slapping the shit out of yourself for walking in on a phone sex session, of all things. Minho hadn’t answered when you knocked on his door, so you had just assumed that he needed to be woken up from one of his notorious naps.

“I love you too. I’ll see you in a little bit.” Minho ends the call and turns around in his seat, happily humming to himself with a lovestruck expression on his face. He nearly falls out of his chair when he sees you hovering over him with a smirk on your face. “Jesus!”

“Seriously? Here? Now?”

“Shut the fuck up. I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Suuure.”

Minho rolls his eyes at your silly expression, unamused and crossing his arms. “Can I help you, Y/N?”

You rub one of your nails, thinking of how Hyunjin once complimented them. “You’re like my only friend.”

“I know.” He watches you collapse into one of the chairs in front of him. “But what happened to those Golden Bitches?”

“Golden Trio,” you correct, although Minho doesn’t miss the hint of a grin on your face at his intentional mistake. “And I’m done with them. Finally.”

You put your head down on Minho’s desk as he reaches into one of his desk drawers, pulling out a pack of Twizzlers and tossing them to you. “Talk.”

“It’s, um, kind of bad, though.” 

“I’m listening.”

Everything comes spilling out of your mouth: brunch at The Terrace, your new unpaid party-planning gig, and of course… Hyunjin. Your explanation is much more censored than the real thing, of course, because there’s no way you’re going to talk about your whole mango expedition with a married man. That is a whole new level of breaking boundaries, and you’ve crossed enough to know.

“Well… that’s basically it.” You swallow nervously, and suddenly, your throat feels very dry. “Mark sucks, and I’m thirsting after my therapist slash dating coach.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Minho says gently, a color that you weren’t even sure existed for him in public. His teasing persona always overtakes the tender one exclusively reserved for his other half. “The whole Hyunjin thing is probably just temporary. You’re still adjusting to considering romance as a possibility again.”

“Okay.”

“The right person will come along. It’s long, and it’s hard, but that journey will be worth it.”

“Says you. You and your wife are literally perfect. I mean, college sweethearts? If your life was a music soundtrack, it would be one of those cheesy love playlists that annoying couples make together.”

Minho just chuckles. “We had our ups and downs. But yeah, we kind of are perfect. She is perfect.”

He softly smiles to himself, gazing at the beautiful portrait of his wife that’s framed on his desk. He’s in his own world now, and you pat his shoulder. “Thanks for the help, Minho. You should go home.”

As you exit the NCT headquarters, you can’t help but feel your heart squeeze even tighter in your chest. Witnessing such a wholesome moment should have given you hope, a glimpse of a future you could have. Instead, it reminded you of what you can’t have right now— who you can’t have. 

You appreciate Minho’s efforts to make you feel better, but he just doesn’t know the full truth. Because your chat with him pushed up something very unpleasant that you’ve been avoiding for a while now. Your pink-loving, classic novel-reading, luxury-shopaholic dating coach is more than just the object of your explicit fantasies, all unbeknownst to him. You’ve started to love the person you become when you’re around him. You love how much more confident and happier you’ve become because of him. Hell, you have genuine feelings for him.

You are so fucked.

Spanning his entire career as a relationship therapist (and all of the other job titles; for God’s sake, he’s the Love Doctor), Hyunjin can’t really come up with any thorns in the rosebush. Sure, there have been a few snags, like that time his clients literally brought divorce papers to one of their meetings (he managed to convince them to take a romantic vacation to Bora Bora and bond more as a couple; it worked). Or when another client confessed to committing adultery with the family’s nanny halfway through a session (after persuading the wife not to murder her husband in the middle of his office, Hyunjin set them up with recovery counseling; that also worked). Life was predictable, but enjoyable. Just the way he likes it. 

Every single day used to begin the exact same way. He woke up at exactly five-thirty, before doing his favorite low-impact yoga routine in his home gym. Hyunjin liked being up early enough to watch the sun rise from the balcony of his West Hollywood penthouse, while drinking a cup of loose leaf Darjeeling tea, of course. His post Sun Salutation breakfast consisted of two slices of whole wheat bread topped with two organic scrambled eggs and extra virgin olive oil. He’d shower and spend a while wandering his walk-in closet, deciding what killer outfit to wear for work, his third favorite place after South Korea and the Taj Mahal. And then he drove to SeoulSpark in Cami, his beloved baby pink Cadillac that he splurged on after getting on Forbes 30 Under 30. 

Every single day used to end the exact same way. He’d leave work by six, after finishing up the last of his meetings. He’d browse on his MacBook for a nice recipe before cooking his dinner while jamming to Mariah on his Spotify Premium, and change the station to classical while eating. He took another shower, but taking more time to do his special avocado hair mask and full skin-care routine. Then Hyunjin liked to cozy up in his Versace bathrobe while catching up with the latest episode of Love Island and cuddling with his paw-dorable shih tzu, Princess Diana. Oh, and, he couldn’t unwind without kicking his feet back and downing a glass of pink champagne. And then he went to bed by eleven.

That was all before you, of course.

The day he met you, he was reminded of the sun. Yes, the way you roughly turned your chin to the side or rained down on him with your sharp words was more evocative of a thunderstorm. But then there was that dress, a pale yellow fluttering above your knees, and how your wide eyes had so expressively taken in your surroundings when you stepped into his office. The slightly awkward way you greeted him, when you harshly avoided his gaze when you were embarrassed. And the way you looked at him, your pretty lips pulled into a stubborn pout, but really, he could see the soft curiosity in your gaze. You were so mad at the world around you, all he wanted to do was take you onto his magic carpet and show you a new one.

He also really, really wanted to just rip that dress off your body and fuck you senseless. And when you started to eat that mango? He had to scramble to think of a list of unsexy things to avoid a boner right then and there. Chipped nails. Gonorrhea. Andrew Tate.

The following weeks weren’t any better, either. He felt like an inexperienced, horny teenager once again, lusting after the tiniest flash of skin. In your last meeting, Hyunjin had fixated on the tiny rip on your stocking that barely exposed the soft skin of your thigh. You hadn’t even noticed, but God, he was trying not to go crazy in his seat. 

Usually, other people are the ones who are seduced by Hyunjin’s charming nature, but ever since you, the once calm, elegant, and poised Hyunjin has been prone to being seduced by irrelevant wardrobe malfunctions. And the absolutely inappropriate thoughts of you that have now flooded his brain are constantly floating around, disturbing him. Yesterday, he slept-in, so he had to skip his morning yoga and was nearly late to work. Later, he fell asleep while fisting himself under the covers, forgetting to turn on his mood lighting and 528 Hz nighttime music. And today was an even bigger disaster, because he’d zoned out during his marketing meeting, thinking of bending you over his desk instead of advertising SeoulSpark. Ever since you, none of his days have been the same. Tonight is no exception.

Hyunjin turns the steel knob, cranking up the heat for no reason at all. Maybe he needs to feel the burn of the scalding water on his skin, shocking him back into reality, or perhaps, he needs to hide from his sanity in the steam, too ashamed to look out and into the bathroom mirror. 

The water pours down Hyunjin’s back as he steps under the steady stream, dousing himself and trying to forget about you. But it’s to no avail, because he feels his hand already moving down, roving over his Pilates-strengthened abs and slipping down to the one place that’s pleading for his attention. 

Hyunjin tilts his head back in the bliss of succumbing to temptation, slightly leaning his cheek against his shoulder as he strokes his hardened length slowly. He sucks in a sharp breath as he squeezes himself, deftly curving his wrist for a more impactful angle. Hyunjin is no stranger to a good lover, but right now he’s resorting to touching himself with the familiarity that only he is entitled to. Although, he would love to teach you about more than just confidence, giving you lessons on how to pleasure him, watching you work like the sexy aficionado that he believes you to be.

In his mind, he isn’t in the privacy of his bathroom, jerking himself off. No, he’s in his office, lying down on his luxe handwoven rug with you on top of him. You’re completely exposed except for the place where your yellow frock is scrunched around your waist, because you were so eager to have each other that Hyunjin hadn’t even bothered with completely undressing you. 

Hyunjin tightens his fingers around his cock and speeds up, pumping himself aggressively. He bites down on his lip and screws his eyes shut, as low, breathy moans escape him. He’s leaking already, flushed and throbbing under his palm. Hyunjin pushes a hand against the shower wall for support and whimpers at the thought of you riding him while slurping on that goddamn mango. He’s so delusional for you that you hadn’t even bothered with getting a knife to cut into the mango, instead holding it in your hand and biting into it while bouncing on his cock. 

Hyunjin lets out a groan as he strokes himself even faster, and he feels his orgasm rapidly approaching but refrains from releasing. He doesn’t deserve to come, not yet. He imagines your legs spread and your tight walls around him, instead of his own fist. Your cheeks are a deep red now, as Hyunjin pounds up into you, claiming you and making you his own. The juice from the mango is dripping all over your gorgeous breasts, trailing down even further and mixing with your own arousal. Hyunjin wonders about how you would taste. Were you as sweet as that mango you had eaten so damn seductively in front of him? No. You probably tasted even better. 

His soft moans have turned into harsh pants as Hyunjin’s hands begin to lose rhythm, unsteadily working his length. Hyunjin listens to your pretty sighs as you look down at him, pleasure and amusement contorting your features. 

“You want me so bad, don’t you?” 

“I do!” Hyunjin chokes out as a cry as the pressure rises in his core. He’s so, so close, the pearls of sweat rolling down his neck and becoming one with the water. 

“Hyunjin…”

Hyunjin’s name slips out of your mouth as easily as he flips you over onto your back, fucking harshly into you. He anchors his hand to your waist, gripping tightly, as you gaze up at him through your half-lidded eyes. Your bare chests are pressed together in a sticky haze of both your sweat and the juice of the mango you have now abandoned for something more satiating. Spurred on by the fucked-out smile on your face, he brings his free hand to your lips and you obediently suck on his fingers, wishing it was his cock instead. But you’re still in control, directing him with your eyes and whispering sweet praises to him. And then you’re clenching around him, your body shuddering underneath Hyunjin’s as you reach the peak of your ecstasy. 

“I need you to come for me, Hyunjin.”

Your final command makes Hyunjin convulse and tense, his back arching as he finally chases after his release. Hyunjin thrusts into his hand, overcome by the thought of you judging him while he comes. Hyunjin’s knees go weak as he strokes himself through his orgasm, violently spasming against the Carrara marble walls of his shower. His release shoots out in hot spurts, painting his trembling thighs and the walls a thick white. 

Breathless, Hyunjin opens his eyes and washes off his shame, but there’s only so much that water and coconut body wash can do. The moment he prepares to step out of his steaming shower, Hyunjin feels anything but cleansed— his situation is quite the opposite. The unholy thoughts that he had touched himself to had done anything but subside, struggling behind the dam in his mind that contains his last shreds of dignity. As he opens the door leading to his bedroom, the shock of cold air conditioning against his damp skin is a harsh reminder of reality. 

Hyunjin’s relationship with you is strictly limited to his office, the place where he did not get to fuck you in. Any discourse with sexual content is limited to your personal romantic endeavors that he has no role in whatsoever. You have zero idea about his filthy fantasies involving you, and see him merely as the person who would help you find happiness with someone else. Not him. He’s your therapist, and in clinical terms, you could be his patient.

The mirage of you standing in front of him disagrees, however. 

“You’re technically not my therapist—  more like my counselor.” 

Hyunjin watches with wide eyes as you bound over to him. Smirking, you playfully toy with the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist.

“But I am feeling kind of sick, though, Dr. Hwang. I’m all hot and aching, just for you.”

“Go away! You can’t be here.” Hyunjin shakes his head, quickly walking over to his closet and getting into his silk batik pajamas. “I’m going crazy…”

Princess Diana nips at Hyunjin’s ankles, prodding him to go back to his normal self and snuggle with her while they watch reality TV. 

“I just can’t right now, Diana,” Hyunjin exclaims exasperatedly. She gets the hint and slinks away, leaving Hyunjin alone in his bedroom.

He hadn’t even bothered with turning on the lights, the glimmering Los Angeles skyline past his expansive windows casting a pale glow in his room. If mindreading was a real thing, Hyunjin would be done for, because the thoughts that had transpired today would ruin him, shrivel up his reputation and business. If this went beyond the confines of his home, continuing to force itself into his daily life, he could lose everything. His job, his name, his purpose. Nevertheless, Hyunjin feels his hand sliding down once more, like a sinful memory of the past. It’s going to be another long night, and what happens tomorrow is variable. But Hyunjin knows one thing to be true.

He is so fucked.

«NEXT CHAPTER» · «GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

That was the longest thing I've ever written for one piece. AND IT'S ONLY CHAPTER 1 LMFAO. Anyway, hope you liked it, loves! I'll be hiding under my blankets tonight and screaming about my first published smut scene EVER. Please leave your thoughts, I don’t mind if you leave a whole essay ;) -Dreamy

TAGLIST

@skzfelixlove @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi @hyunjinswifeee @geneziesm @sherryblossom @yeetfellx @bennetbutton @chillseo @hyuneyeon @seosalad @nhyunn @hyunjinnie2000 @ajxreads @n2tl4na @yeahsspider @8makes1scream ***The users that I could not tag are written in pink***

If you'd like to join the taglist, click here!

📢 ©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight - Masterlist

Part 11: When the Storm Sets In - In Progress

📖 Jake Seresin / Hangman

💛Maeve (Midge) Spencer

🏷️ Slow burn, strong language -> this OFC swears like a sailor, Original Female Character, enemies to lovers, Camping/Hiking AU, Getting lost in the woods, Survival in the Woods/in a fire lookout, Mystery, Bullying, Shitty Friends, Flash Backs, Eventual Smut, post-college daggers, alternate Universe Daggers, Short OFC, forced proximity, tension, angst, eventual romance, eventual happy? Ending, stalking, and intense moments.

❗️18+ minors DNI. Ageless and blank blogs are blocked without warning.

❗️Reposting or binding fics, including designs, line breaks, banners or any graphic materials, is strictly forbidden without my written consent. Be a decent human being, and don't steal or copy people's work.

Summary: When you agree, somewhat apprehensively, to a week-long camping trip courtesy of your best friend Nat, you end up irate to discover Jake Seresin is also on the guest list. He's everything you hate, everything you want to believe you hate. Because the day you met him, he said some things he could never take back. Not to mention his nickname for you grates on your every f-ing nerve. But when the two of you get stranded in the Washington wilderness, it's not just the elements or the creepy feeling you're being watched that has you feeling trapped, it's the emotional baggage too. Struggling to survive the wilderness is one thing, but navigating the labyrinth that is "Jake the asshole" is another beast altogether. Somehow, you've got to deal with both if you're gonna make it out of these woods in one piece.

____

Not too sure how many parts this one will be, I'm kind of letting my mind take me where it wants to go!

Part 1 - Seventeen Going Under

Part 2 Abracadabra

Part 3 - You're so Vain

Part 4 - One way or another

Part 5 - I can't go on without you

Part 6 - Running up that hill

Part 7 - Paint It, Black

Part 8 - Salt & The Sea

Part 9 - The Woods

Part 10 - Mount Everest

Part 11 - When the Storm Sets In

More coming soon!

Thank you to @desert-fern (She did the wonderful title), @sarahsmi13s, @startrekfangirl2233, and @teacupsandtopgun for helping me brainstorm with this one!

[lostgirlmuseum]

Masterlist ✨

Angst: 🌑 Fluff/Fun: 🌕 Both: 🌓 1K Notes: ✨

Welcome to my masterlist! I currently only write for Bucky Barnes. I’m also in college, so apologies if I don’t post regularly…because I’m 93.2% likely not to 👌 This is really just a fun lil thing I do. I'm definitely not the best, but I try.

Unless otherwise specified, happy endings only here. Real life is sad enough lmao

(headers by me, dividers by @firefly-graphics)

Make the Wave 🌓 (Complete) ✔️

Pairing: BestFriend!Bucky x f!Reader Summary: You invite both your best friend and your boyfriend to a three-day weekend getaway at a beach resort. This trip was meant to be relaxing, but tensions and jealousies rise as both Miles and Bucky fight for your attention. 

Coming Soon To A Tumblr Near You:

nothing :)

In order of most recent to least:

As You Wish 🌔

Summary: You and Bucky are forced to work on Halloween and even when cosplaying as lovers you only seem to bicker.

Dancing Spies 🌕

Summary: You and Bucky are undercover at a ball and he’s not ready to let go of you.

Honey 🌓

Summary: Bucky notices you've been acting really strange lately... like, really strange. And flirty? What happened to you, and are your eyes... glowing?

Solitary Confinement 🌑

Summary: Bucky finds you locked up. (Febuwhump Prompt Day 2)

The Swan and the Soldier 🌔

Summary: Bucky is signed up to act in the Nutcracker against his will. But it isn’t all bad. At least not after he meets the cute costume designer. 

I Like You (A Lot) 🌔

Summary: You can't help but notice the way Bucky becomes uncomfortable around you, and you help him find peace in your touch.

Who the Hell is Daryl? 🌓✨

Summary: Bucky is in love with you, and finally finds the courage to tell you. But what happens when it sounds like someone else is already in the picture? (Miscommunication!)

Pulse 🌕

Summary: Bucky can hear your heartbeat through the wall, and he can tell everything isn’t alright.

Bucky vs. Book 🌔✨

Summary: Bucky rushes to your aid when he finds out you’re upset. He’s never seen you this distraught before.

Stuck (2)gether 🌕

Summary: A continuation of Stuck Together, Bucky deals with the aftermath of now knowing what it’s like to be so close to you. He misses it. He’s scared of it. He needs it.

Stuck Together 🌕 + Part 2 is above!

Summary: Bug Boy and Big Man get into an argument. Luckily, you’re there to save the day! Until you find yourself in a sticky situation. Things get a little too close for comfort.

Give Me A Sign 🌑

Summary: Bucky asks the universe for a reason to live. The universe delivers you.

The Signal 🌓✨

Summary: You and Bucky get separated from the team after an unfortunate mishap, of which Bucky blames you. Except you’re not at fault! You thought… you aren’t too sure anymore.

Maced 🌕

Summary: You think someone’s following you and you mace them. Turns out it’s just Bucky. 

Thank you for being here, thank you for reading, thank you for responding. All my love, Cadence 💖

[persephoneflouwers]

🌺 my favourite girl direction fics under the cut! 🌺

There is nothing else in this world that I love more than women. I grew up in a family built around the strongest women I’ll ever met in my life. So powerful, so determined, yet so gentle and affectionate. Huge personalities and all.

It took me awhile to understand who I am and I’m not completely sure I do and this little world where women love women feels so safe for me.

Can I also use this post to open my research for my next wife? No, I can’t? No, I shouldn’t? Whaaaat I just did! Please, babe HMU 🫶

Anywayssss…

🌺 The changer and the changed by homosociallyyours || 60K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians. Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love. When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke who’s moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician who’s been ostracized by a vocal part of women’s community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York City’s bustling lesbian scene. It’s a time of growth for everyone involved.

🌺 It’s all gonna roll your way by 1Diamondinthesun ( @1diamondinthesun ) || 53K

Harry, Liam, Niall, and Zayn are editors at Nova, a historically progressive women’s print magazine with plans to launch digital content at the end of the summer. Louis is a single mom and temporary worker with a knack for graphic design. When investors request sweeping reform in their content, Harry and her team have to decide which principles, if any, they’re willing to compromise in order to survive as an online publication.

🌺 Bluer than velvet were her eyes (softer than satin were her thighs) by thebreadvan ( @thebreadvansstuff ) || 12K

Harry hums a melody absentmindedly as she works, bent over the sewing table, when the bell above the door chimes suddenly, announcing the arrival of a customer. Mid-stitch, Harry glances up.

“Good morning,” comes the woman’s feathery voice. Harry should probably welcome her, say something, anything, but she’s captivated by her slow and powerful walk, the click of her leather knee-high boots. With the needle hovering above the fabric, Harry slides her eyes up thick thighs, the maroon blazer that ends just above them, and the black knit dress that engulfs the woman’s figure, stretching obscenely around her bust. Jesus Christ.

Or, Harry should probably stop obsessing over her customer’s boobs, but fate can’t keep her away from Louis.

🌺 who run the world (girls!) by dolce_piccante || 11K

A femslash take on the beginning of Relief Next To Me, complete with girl!Direction, lots of tongue action, and lots of hints to the original work.

🌺 I feel it when my heart beats by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 10K

Harry offers to be her best friend Liam's fake date to his work Valentine's Day party, and the night takes an unexpected turn.

🌺 Ride the W.A.V.E by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 7K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Petty officer Louis Tomlinson can't resist a good thing when it's right in front of her.

🌺 Under the R.A.D.A.R by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 6K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Petty officer Louis Tomlinson has been assigned to the rear admiral's fiancée for the month the couple is aboard the USS John F. Kennedy. She can only hope that he won't catch on to what they're doing... after hours.

🌺 Gotta get (me) out of my head by parmahamlarrie ( @parmahamlarrie ) || 6K

Sometimes, Harry Styles cannot get out of her head. Her ADHD, coupled with working from home, sometimes makes it impossible for her to ever find peace. Luckily, she has Louis, her loving girlfriend and Daddy, to take care of her.

Or the one where Harry gets her first collar.

🌺 Pacify her by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ) || 5K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Harry's anxiety is acting up. Louis has the only thing that will soothe her.

OR Louis' pussy is the ultimate pacifier.

🌺 To sleep, perchance to ream by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ) || 4K

Louis has never minded that Harry tends to go to sleep earlier than her. But the nights when Harry signals she'd like Louis to...wake her when she comes to bed are Louis' favorite.

🌺 The Christmas (to the one I’ve been missing) by Kikiberoski16 ( @larrysballetslippers ) || 3K

“Thank you, Louis,” Miss cutie said with a light whine. Louis nodded and walked with her to the paper sheets' aisle. To hear the girl's soft footsteps behind her was more than satisfying. So polite and cute, the fact she remembered Louis name said- “Wait, how do you know my name?”

or, Louis almost made it to the end of her shift before someone familiar stepped into the store. A long awaited Christmas tale.

🌺 Tear it off by ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ) || 3K

Harry and Louis are married and have a toddler. Their home life is a cuteness overload, and then grandma Anne comes by to pick up the kid for a day out. Harry and Louis are then alone, perfect timing for a little bedroom adventure. Including, you guessed it, harry's pink cowboy get-up from coachella.

🌺 little pink skirt by ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ) || 3K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Harry, Louis, Zayn and Liam are at a festival. It's the afternoon of the last day, and they're lounging on the grass before the action starts, still recovering from the night before. There's a bunch of sexual tension between H and L from where things left off in their drunken haze. When Louis tries to light a spliff, the wind makes it impossible to do so, for which Harry has an ingenious idea. And then one thing leads to another.

[wannab-urs]

Build Me Up, Buttercup | Professor!Joel Miller x Student!Reader

Summary: Reader confronts Dr. Miller about her grade in his class.

Warnings: Not much yet. Reader is of legal age, no less than 22 but not specified, she's about to graduate college. She’s an English major. This is grumpy x grumpy. Lots of snark, eyerolling, etc. Not-Quite-Enemies to Lovers. And no she doesn’t blow him to get a better grade! (I would, but reader is classy). 

Word Count: 1.1k

Why Do You Build Me Up

(Buttercup)

Dr. Miller’s Foundations of Architecture class was supposed to be a fun elective for you. You could learn a little more about architecture, something that has always been a mild interest for you. You like pretty buildings and you think it’s a cool subject. It’s your last semester of college and you deserve to take something fun to fill in that last elective requirement. 

You certainly were not supposed to fail the fucking class.

“He’s so rude, Cooper,”  you tell your friend. Coop looks up at you over their laptop, red curls springing in every direction and glasses sitting on the tip of their nose. They’re feigning interest while they hammer away at some graphic design assignment.

“One time he made a guy who said he liked 432 Park Ave leave the class. Like just kicked him out for the rest of the day! I mean that building is awful, but still!” Coop heaves a sigh and shuts their laptop. 

“Is this that hot professor you told me about or is it the one who always wears really weird outfits?” 

“No! The weird outfits guy is my Chaucer professor,” you choose to ignore the first half of that question. “I have words for him too, actually. He keeps-”

“Focus! Why are you failing Arc?” 

“His essays are insane! Like, this is not English class, my guy, why are you grading me so hard? I’m literally an English major! You’d think my writing would be more than acceptable for a freshman level class.” 

He had given you a D on your paper about gothic architecture. You’d chosen to write about the Santa Maria del Fiore in Italy and he took off THREE letter grades because they finished the construction in the neo-gothic style… which you had made a whole section of your paper about. It’s perfectly valid. It’s not like he really gave you much to go on. 

“Did you follow the prompt? Sometimes your brain takes you places the question didn’t exactly call for…” they give you a knowing look. 

“This isn’t a fanfic writing challenge, Coop, I can follow a damn prompt. He doesn’t give us anything to go on at all for these essays! Or for anything else, really.” 

He is the least verbose professor you have ever had. It’s honestly kind of refreshing for a man to not love the sound of his own voice, but you’re also paying him to teach you something. 

“The essay prompt was literally ‘Gothic Architecture’ and the guidelines were ‘12 pages, double spaced, due March 19th.’" You drop your voice into its lowest register, mimicking Dr. Miller's deep baritone. "And that’s what I wrote!” Someone shushes you from behind a bookshelf. You’re getting a little over excited, borderline yelling in the library about this infuriating man.

“Have you tried going to his office hours?” God why are they always so reasonable?

“Have you tried going to his office hours… No. I have not. He’s rude, remember?” 

“Just try it! What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“He could drop my paper down to an F.”

“And you could report him for unfair grading practices. Go. Shoo,” Coop starts pushing your books toward your bag. 

“Fiiiiiine,” you relent.

Twenty minutes later you find yourself standing in the doorway of his office. Dr. Miller is sitting behind a large wooden desk. It’s very neat, the only things on it a computer, a picture frame turned away from you, and a stack of books. Dr. Miller has one of the books open and is writing something in a notebook, brow furrowed and tongue poking out between his lips. 

“Dr. Miller?” you ask hesitantly. 

He doesn’t look up from his work, just lifts a hand vaguely in your direction for a second and keeps writing. You roll your eyes and look around the office. There are bookshelves lining the walls with architecture textbooks in neat rows. A few covers of Architectural Digest are framed on the wall. Is he in those?

Your eyes land back on him. He’s wearing a dark grey Fleetwood Mac shirt that looks old as hell. The collar is stretched, revealing a bit of his chest. Your eyes trace a line up the column of this throat… He has a nice neck. 

You had called him your hot professor at the beginning of the semester, regardless of how you felt about him now. There’s just something about that fluffy bed head he always has, like he couldn’t be bothered to run a comb through it. And the scruffy beard laced with grey he doesn’t seem keen on trimming. And the way his mustache frames his pouty lips. And his prominent nose that looks straight out of a painting. And okay that’s enough. 

“Dr. Miller, I need to talk to you.” 

“M’busy,” he mumbles out, still not looking up from the textbook. 

“Okay, well it’s your office hours, so technically you have to talk to me.” 

“Technically, little miss, I don’t have to do anything.”

“Excuse me? Let’s not speak to grown women like they’re children, sir.” Is he fucking for real right now?

He closes his notebook and looks at you for the first time since you walked in. Probably the first time all semester. He kind of pauses when he sees you, hopefully realizing he isn’t talking to a freshman. It wouldn’t make the little nickname okay, but it would make more sense at least. 

He looks you up and down and his jaw ticks, “Sit.” His eyes flick to the chair in front of his desk. You drop your bag on the floor and slide into the seat. “So. What can I help you with?”

You take a deep breath. “You gave me a D on my last paper.” 

He just stares at you. 

“And considering our prompt was all of 8 words, I think- I know I met the requirements and that I did a good job. It was thoroughly researched, structured well, copy and content edited, and turned in 2 days before deadline. I would like an explanation-” 

“Enough,” he cuts you off. “I don’t have to justify my gradin’ decisions to you.” 

You let out a frustrated puff of air. This man drives you insane. “Dr. Miller, I’m a senior. I took this class to fulfill an elective requirement and because I like architecture. I would like to understand what is so egregious about my writing that you would have me fail a class in my last semester of college.” 

He considers you for a moment, meeting your eyes. He lowers his brow, screws up his mouth from side to side, like he’s thinking hard about something. “I’ll reread it.” 

Not I’ll reconsider your grade, but at least it’s something. “Thank you.” You grab your bag, moving to leave, and he stops you. 

“Wait!” You pause, arching an eyebrow. “What was your name again?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Seriously? I’ve been in your class since January. Figure it out.” 

You storm out, slamming the door behind you.  

A/N: This will be my first series! I'm really excited to try some actual characterization and plot, which I've never really played around with before. Constructive criticism in my DMs is always appreciated <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @wednesdayday, @whoiscaroline, @goldenhxurs, @northernwindd, @djarinxore, @worhols, @amanitacowboy, @silkiers, @4ueijos, @livinxdeadxgrl, @serenaxpedro, @huffle-punk, @elvn011, @thepriceofpepper, @lexic-22, @sunshinebtrfly, @strang3lov3, @virgogaia

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group D Round 2: #D1 vs #D2

#D1: Prohibition era Mafia revenge story

#D2: Prophecy girlie, hyper cellphone, and gamer cat get silly

Details and poll under the cut!

#D1: 91 Days

Summary:

As a child living in the town of Lawless, Angelo Lagusa has witnessed a tragedy: his parents and younger brother have been mercilessly slaughtered by the Vanetti mafia family. Losing everything he holds dear, he leaves both his name and hometown behind, adopting the new identity of Avilio Bruno. Seven years later, Avilio finally has his chance for revenge when he receives a mysterious letter prompting him to return to Lawless. Obliging, he soon encounters the Vanetti don’s son, Nero, and seeks to befriend him using the skills he has quietly honed for years. Set during the Prohibition era, this show tells the story of Avilio’s dark, bloodstained path to vengeance, as he slowly ends each of the men involved in the killing of his family.

Propaganda:

This series has character designs by the art director of Baccano. In fact, the setting of it being in the early 1920s in America is sort of reminiscent of Baccano. However, the story is much crueler and more grounded than that other famous series, even if it involves a similar amount of guns and blood.

The anime follows a broken and traumatized young man fueled by revenge. It’s a tragedy and a thriller and a Mafia series. We see the lengths Angelo Lagusa goes to avenge his family, whom he’s the last living survivor of. He changes his name and leads a double life, getting close to the Vanetti family, who killed his birth family. But in the process of trying to do this, he gets adopted into this Mafia family.

He must wrestle with his morality as he keeps on the bloody road of revenge. People that don’t deserve to be hurt get hurt or killed because of his actions—even dying by his hands.

It's an anime that shows just how far someone is willing to go for revenge, willing to break everything in his path for it. And considering the Prohibition era came to an end in history, was all the trickery and killing even worth it?

Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty/Death, Cannibalism, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Suicide, Alcohol and Smoking.

This entire series is a mob story so there's lots of guns, blood, and killing. There is an assisted suicide of an important character. Also the family dog dies when the main character's family is massacred in the first episode.

#D2: God Troubles Me (Hanhua Riji)

[Admin: Still couldn’t find a season 1 trailer, so here, have a PV for S2 instead~]

Summary:

Su Moting, the daughter of a god and a monster, is the supposed Chosen One set to fix the balance of the universe, but unfortunately, she’s just barely living as it is. Only just told of her great fate, Su Moting couldn’t care less as she juggles her social life, work, and her new duties (which she doesn’t take seriously). Alongside Moting are Star Tianji and Star Dikui, a god and a monster out to help our protagonist with her grand mission. They, too, are also struggling to figure out life on Earth, as Tianji is an immortal who doubles as the god of Su Moting’s personal cellphone and Dikui is a cat monster immortal more concerned with lazing about. Somehow, they make things work as the best worst roommates of all time.

Propaganda:

Four-season donghua (Chinese anime) that’s so recent and seeped in American pop-culture that I needed to do a double take when a literal cockroach said “Run, Forrest, run,” in English with a heavy Chinese accent. There’s a cat who plays video games (he’s very good at it), a phone who’s the worst kind of hype man, a sentient air conditioner, a guy who can shapeshift into any vehicle, off-brand Super-Man but jerky, a high-ranking god that collects anime figures, and the mega ultra cool protagonist who is a normal human girl fresh out of college and always low on money. It’s great

Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty or Death, Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Flashing Lights, Racism, Self-Harm, Suicide.

All the TW’s above are done for comedic effect, but they come in fast and hard with the humor. Better safe than sorry! The biggest things I remember are one or two “blink and you’ll miss it” racist jokes, characters joking about killing themselves out of embarrassment (no one goes through with it), and there’s a LOT of self-harm via stupid decisions. Stupid things like tying a loose tooth to the back end of a sports car sort of stupid. The protagonists have 3 brain cells collectively.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how they’re presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

[marblemoonstones]

🩵 catharsis ~ chapter three

main masterlist

series masterlist

pairing: bts ot7 x reader

genre: collegestudentsreader!au 

warnings: f reader, reader with glasses, smirking jungkook and taehyung, major fluff

word count: ~ 5.3k

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“So…what should we do now?” I ask to Taehyung and Jungkook.

“I don’t care! There’s a lot of things to do in Seoul,” Jungkook says, “Tae, do you have any ideas?”

“How about we do something until lunch and then we can go out to eat? Ooh, how about we go out to eat at Jin-hyung’s restaurant? We can surprise him.” Taehyung smiles mischievously at that idea.

“Yes, great idea TaeTae! What should we do until lunch?” Jungkook asks.

“I don’t know, y/n you choose! You’re the guest here after all.” Taehyung decides to put the decision up to me. 

“Do you think we could go shopping? I just need a couple more clothes because I could only bring so many when I left.” I couldn’t bring very many clothes in my rush to pack and leave, so I’m left with some basics. But I want at least one black dress that I know I’ll need for my college music concerts during the school year. 

“I love shopping! Let’s go right now.” Jungkook demands. 

“Hold up Kook,” I try out his nickname, seeing him grin widely in response, “We’re all still in our pjs. We should probably change and freshen up before we leave. Let’s meet back down here in twenty minutes.” 

We all walk upstairs and into our respective rooms. I rummage through my suitcase, trying to find a suitable outfit. I ultimately decide on a graphic tee with black ripped jeans and converse. A basic but still classic outfit. After brushing my hair and teeth, washing my face, and grabbing my black crossbody I’m ready to head downstairs.

As I pass by my open suitcase I see my ring in my pouch. The ring was given to me by my ex. It wasn’t an engagement ring but a ‘promise ring.’ I used to wear it every day.

I walk downstairs and sit to tie my converse. Then I see Jungkook, wearing a monochrome but stylish all black outfit. He’s got a baggy black t-shirt with matching sweats on, but added silver necklaces, chains around his waist, and silver rings. I see his matching mouth ring and small silver hoops and automatically think ‘bad boy’ 

“Wow Kook, I love your outfit. It is definitely streetwear,” I compliment. 

“Thanks y/n, you too! Very casual and cool.” He then grabs his chunky black sneakers from the rack by the front door. 

“I wonder what’s taking Taehyung so long?” I ask after finishing tying my shoes. 

“Oh, this is normal. Since he’s a fashion designer he’s very particular about his outfits. I’m sure he’ll be down in another five minutes or so,” Jungkook explains. 

I guess I forgot about Taehyung being a fashion designer, and am now excited to see his outfit for the day.

Finally he comes down the stairs, wearing a chic but casual outfit. He has a tan short-sleeved linen shirt on with the top button unbuttoned, showing off his collarbones. His white pants are billowy and his gold jewelry ties it all together. He looks so good in the outfit, and my heart does a small leap in my chest. Then I stop myself. No, he’s someone’s boyfriend. Actually, six someone’s boyfriend.

“Wow…Taehyung you look great.” You try to stop your pounding heart as Taehyung gives you a boxy grin.

“Thanks y/n.” 

Jungkook runs over and hugs Taehyung, giving him a sweet peck on his cheek. “Baby, you look like you’re ready to be on the cover of a beach-themed magazine!”

At this comment Taehyung laughs. 

“Thanks Kookie, you look ready to be a part of a gang. Our tough muscle bunny,” Taehyung says with a smirk.

“Stop calling me that!” Jungkook pushes Taehyung to the shoes rack. “Just put your shoes on so we can go!”

Chuckling, Taehyung puts on his beige sneakers. 

“Okay okay I’m ready. You ready, sweetheart?” 

Jungkook blushes at the pet name. 

“Aw, don’t like the nickname? Well, it’s either that or muscle bunny so let’s go muscle bunny!” 

We head to the car, which I see is a black Bugatti Veyron. It’s just now hitting me how rich these people are. Jin must be a very famous actor. 

“How do you like my car, y/n?” Jungkook asks slyly after seeing my expression. 

“It’s so nice…you guys must be loaded,” I say, still in shock at the million dollar car in front of me. Then I realize what I said.

“Oh my gosh did I say that out loud?! I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry I-“

“It’s okay y/n, no need to apologize. Yes, we’re very well off and am very lucky to be able to afford such nice cars,” Taehyung says.

“Ah, well anyways I’m still sorry for being so brash. Are you sure you want me in this car? It’s so nice and…well…” I gesture to myself, not sure how to say that I’m just a generic person who doesn’t need to be riding in such a luxury vehicle. 

“Well what? You’re staying with us now so let’s go before we die of heat out here.” Jungkook sounds a tad irritated, so I quickly nod and open the back door and climb in behind the passenger seat. The cream leather seats are fluffy and I buckle up and internally squeal at being in such a nice car. 

Jungkook gets into the driver’s seat and Taehyung in the passenger and after buckling up we’re off to the mall. 

Jungkook plays some music on the way and I’m happy to hear that they’re Blinks. We jam out and sing to some of their bangers and then we’re pulling into the parking lot. 

I step out of the car and my eyes widen at the mall we’re at. This is a higher end one that’s two stories tall and typically has more expensive stores in it.

We walk in, Jungkook and Taehyung flanking my sides. I definitely look out of place here. There are so many expensive stores and stylish people milling around.

“Okay y/n, did you have anything specific that you were looking for?” Taehyung asks me. 

“Yes, actually. I need a black dress for my college concerts. My old one is at my ex’s house still,” I explain. 

“Okay, so black dress. Got it. I’m also assuming that you need shoes for the dress?” 

“Actually, I still have my black flats. They should be fine even though they’re a little worn.” I think about my faded black flats in my suitcase. They’re not the nicest but they’ll do. 

“No, that won’t do. You have to wear good shoes for standing at a concert! We’ll also add black shoes to the list.” Taehyung says. 

“It’s okay! I don’t think I can pay for new shoes right now, so I’ll just wait until my old ones are falling apart,” I try to say to Taehyung.

“Then consider it a welcome to the group gift. I’m not letting you go out to a concert in old shoes.” Taehyung says adamantly. 

I try to discourage him again, saying he doesn’t need to do that but then Jungkook also agrees so I give up trying to stop them. 

“Okay okay! Black dress and black shoes. But that’s it. Are you guys here for anything?” I ask, trying to change the subject. 

“Not really. I just like shopping.” Jungkook says, shrugging.

“I could use a red leather jacket,” Taehyung says. 

“Tae, you could just borrow Yoongis,” Jungkook says giving Taehyung a duh look.

“No I can’t because his has flowers on it! It’s cute, but I need a plain one,” Taehyung protests.

Jungkook just shakes his head. 

“See y/n? This is what it’s like to live with a fashion designer. Always needing more clothes and never using the ones he has.” 

“Hey! I do need a wide variety of clothes you know!” Taehyung pushes Jungkook slightly.

“Yeah yeah yeah whatever. So now our list is black dress, black shoes and red leather jacket. Where should we look first?” 

“How about there?” Taehyung points to an expensive looking store that has casual clothes. 

“Okay let’s go!” Jungkook strides in eagerly with Taehyung following. 

I walk a little slower, still unsure about the expensive pricing. Jungkook sees this and turns around to lead me into the store.

“Don’t worry about the pricing y/n. If you see something you like tell us and we’ll buy it for you! A welcome to the group gift if you will.” He winks at me and I roll my eyes at the excuse.

“Whatever Kook. I’ll just look around in the clearance rack.” I start over before Jungkook can protest.

On my way I pass Taehyung, who is already looking at leather jackets.

Once I find the clearance rack I sift through it, looking for cheap options. But most things on the rack are still more than I would ever spend. 

“Finding everything okay?” A store worker asks. 

“Oh, yes thank you.” I say back, not seeing anything great for the price. 

“Okay, well let me know if you need any help!” The store worker leaves and I sigh. Might as well look in the non-clearance section for fun right?

I look at the dresses for fun, seeing some crazy colors (neon orange and purple?). My gaze then lands on a beautiful dress that’s perfect for autumn. It has long gauzy sleeves with a sweetheart neckline and the skirt is flowy and reaches just above the knee. But what makes me love it the most is the beautiful crimson color with a gorgeous gold flower print. I check the price tag and see that it’s a couple million won. Nope. Too expensive.

“That’s a beautiful dress y/n,” says a voice behind me.

I turn around to see Taehyung, a red leather jacket in his arms. 

“Yeah…” I say wistfully, still thinking about the price.

“Do you want it?” Taehyung asks, looking at the price tag, “It’s a good brand, the materials are good quality, and price is not bad.” 

Not bad? I’d consider it highly pricey but I know that must be nothing to them.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want you to pay for anything other than the shoes you insist on buying for me,” I say, trying to get rid of that gleam in Taehyung’s eyes. 

“It’s not a big deal. You need to get used to letting people buy things for you because we love to spoil people,” Taehyung says casually. 

Since all the boys are rich, I’m sure that spoiling each other comes naturally. But I’m not used to this kind of treatment. My ex would splurge on nice things for me occasionally, but we were always careful with money because we wanted to buy our own house together someday. He bought me that ring along with taking me out on expensive dinner dates, and that was all I needed. 

I would bad having the boys spend their money on me. I wasn’t a permanent fixture in their household and it was only the first full day of me being with them.

“We just met yesterday, Taehyung! I don’t need to be spoiled. I’m a simple girl who doesn’t need expensive things to make me happy.”

“But buying things for other people makes me happy,” Taehyung whines.

“Ooh, that’s a really pretty dress. Are you thinking about buying it y/n?” Jungkook reaches us, a few pieces of black clothing in his arms. He must really like the color. 

“She really likes it but she says it’s too expensive,” Taehyung snitches.

“Hey! I never said I liked it!” 

“The look in your eyes said it all.” 

“How about we buy it for you if it’s too expensive?” Jungkook cuts in, interrupting our bickering. 

“Hah! That’s what I said but y/n went into this whole thing about just meeting us yesterday and not needing to be spoiled or have expensive things to make her happy and blah blah blah…” 

“Even though we did just meet yesterday I feel comfortable with you y/n! We just clicked and now we’re besties, right? And I want to spoil you as my bestie and surely a couple expensive things won’t hurt, right?” 

Jungkook’s big doe eyes look at me pleadingly and I can hardly say no to such a look. I sigh.

“Okay, just this once.” 

The duo cheers and then tells me to grab the dress in my size and try it on just to make sure it fits. I do, then head over to the nice dressing room. The boys sit down on the couch outside the dressing room. I slip the dress over my head then realize I need help with the zipper. 

“Um, do you guys think you could get a worker? I need someone to zip me up,” I ask the boys through the curtain.

“Sure! Excuse me, do you think you could help our friend in the dressing room?” I hear Jungkook ask. 

A moment later a worker comes in and zips me up.

“You look great hon. Those boys out there will probably think so too.” She winks and leaves before I can say anything. My cheeks heat slightly, and now I don’t even want to go out there. But I know they’re waiting, so I take a deep breath and step out of the dressing room.

There’s a slight pause while both boys look me over, and I swear I see Jungkook’s eyes widen and Taehyung swallows.

“Wow…y/n you look absolutely gorgeous,” Taehyung compliments.

“It’s perfect on you,” Jungkook says, doe eyes big.

“Thanks guys. I really appreciate it. I also really appreciate you buying this for me!”

“Of course. It’s made for you,” Taehyung says. 

“Aw, well I’m flattered. Thank you again,” I say, stepping back into the fitting room. After successfully unzipping myself (Yes! I mentally say) I change and then come out holding the dress on its hanger. 

“Okay, is everyone ready to check out?” Jungkook asks. 

“Yes, I’m ready,” Taehyung states. 

“Me too,” you say.

We check out, Jungkook buying a pair of black jeans and a sweatshirt, Taehyung with his red leather jacket and my dress.

“Where to next?” Jungkook asks.

“How about we look for your black dress now y/n?” Taehyung asks me.

“Good idea! Are there any dress stores nearby?” I ask them while looking at my surroundings.

“There should be one a couple stores to the right according to this map,” Jungkook says. 

We walk to the right and sure enough there’s a store called ‘Blue and Grey Formal Shop - for all your formal dress needs!’

“Let’s go!” Jungkook steers me in and straight to the black dresses.

“Wow, someone’s excited,” I laugh. 

“There’s so many options! What do you like y/n?” Jungkook asks, expression in awe of the selection. I will admit, there are many beautiful dresses here.

Taehyung browses through them, criticizing some and praising others. 

“Hmm, this price for those materials? Not worth it. This isn’t bad but the sequins are cheap.” 

“Hey Mr. Fashionista, why don’t you calm down a bit and just let me pick?” I ask Taehyung, bemused at his reactions to some of the dresses.

“I can’t just let you pick because as a fashion designer it’s up to me to make sure that you look good! Consider me your personal stylist!” Taehyung declares.

You burst out laughing. 

“Tae, it’s okay I don’t need a personal stylist and I can choose my own clothes fine.” 

“But fashion is literally my job and-wait. Did you just call me Tae?” Taehyung stops himself in the middle of his sentence.

“Yes…? Is that okay? If not I can call you Taehyung it’s just that you told me I could and-“

“We’re besties now!” Taehyung suddenly hugs me and I feel myself tighten at the hug. Nobody ever has just randomly hugged me before like this, but I soon relax a bit in his hold and tentatively hug him back.

“Aww look at you two! So cute together,” Jungkook says from behind us. 

“Thanks Kookie, we do look good together,” Taehyung winks at me after letting me go. 

I flush yet again, confused at his change in character. 

“Okay guys, how about we actually look for dresses for me?” I ask, turning back to the racks. 

They nod, and we go back to searching. We each find a couple options, and I go to try them on, the boys waiting outside again. I try on Jungkook’s options first. The first dress is too big and the second one shows too much skin for a formal concert.

“You sure you don’t want that one just for fun?” Jungkook says.

“I’m sure. I don’t feel comfortable with this much skin showing,” I say, covering myself up and going back into the dressing room. 

Jungkook’s third dress fits great, and it’s simple but elegant enough for a concert. Simple scoop neck and flutter short sleeves with a slight nipped in waist and goes to the middle of my thighs. The material is silky and soft and looks nice but is still comfortable. 

I step outside and feel their gazes on me. 

“This one is great Jungkook! I will definitely keep this as an option while I try on the other dresses,” I say, twirling in the mirror and loving how the fabric flows around me. 

“Yeah…great job Jungkook,” Taehyung says, still looking at me. I nod then go to the changing room to try on Taehyung’s two dresses. Neither of the dresses fit me right, so I move on to my three choices.

The first dress is too itchy and hot (should’ve checked the material-wool?!) but the second one fits like a glove. Off-the-shoulder style, but it doesn’t go too low in the front. There are subtle sparkles on the waist that also shimmers down to the skirt. When I move I can see them flash prettily in the light.

I show the boys again, the change, saying “I don’t know which one to get! Jungkook’s or mine!” 

“They both look so good on you why not get both?” Jungkook asks.

“You know I’m only getting one! We already discussed this,” I scold, then ask Taehyung, “What do you think Mr. Fashionista?”

“What do I think? I think you should get both. Besides, isn’t there more than one concert?” 

“Well, yes, but-“

“Great then it’s settled! You buy both and wear one to each concert.” 

“But-“

“No buts! And if you can’t afford it, then we’ll buy both of them for you. Let’s go!” And before I can protest more Taehyung sweeps up Jungkook’s and my dresses. 

I groan, then turn to Jungkook only to find him up at the cashier with Taehyung. How did the little sneak get up there so fast?

I meekly come up to the register where the cashier is ringing up my total of a couple million won each. Millions of won for two dresses? Oh man. I don’t know how I can ever pay them back for these dresses and the red one I got from the other store.

After paying with a crisp black card (seriously, how much money do they have?!), Taehyung grabs the bags and we leave.

“Last thing before lunch is to find y/n black shoes!” Jungkook cheers.

“Jungkookie is such a baby because he’s always hungry.” 

Taehyung reaches to pinch Jungkook’s cheeks but he swats him away.

“Hey! I’m your baby,” he pouts. 

“Yes, you are! Who’s my baby Kookie? You!” Taehyung says in a baby voice. Jungkook laughs as Taehyung peppers his face with kisses.

Your heart melts at the sight of the teasing and banter but it also aches. How would it be to be in such an open and sweet relationship? Kisses and affection aren’t foreign to me, but seeing them be so caring to each other in public was different than what I was used to. Sure, I got affection but it was never this easy. I think back to how I always had to initiate it with my ex. Since he was my first serious boyfriend, I always wanted to be one of those couples who was cute and affectionate in public. But whenever we went on our dates the most he would do is hold my hand. 

“You okay y/n?” Taehyung asks with a worried look on his face.

I see now that both Taehyung and Jungkook are looking at me.

“Yeah I’m fine! Let’s go look for my black shoes!” I dart into the next shoe store I see, and start looking, ignoring their confused looks.

~

After finding a classy pair of black heels I’m starving and ready to go to Jin’s restaurant. 

“Alright, everyone ready?” Jungkook asks.

We go to the car and load the bags into the trunk and then we’re off, singing to BlackPink yet again.

Finally we reach a cozy looking restaurant. Its white brick with a clean black border and Thomas-Edison lights draped outside. A hand painted sign reads ‘Serendipity.’ 

“Wow, this is such a cute restaurant,” I say while getting out of the car.

“Thanks y/n! Jin-hyung really wanted it to be a cozy and cute cafe,” Jungkook says.

We step inside and it’s decorated with cute hanging and potted plants. As we go wait in the line I look at the menu. I notice that there is a wide variety of desserts.

“Jin-hyung’s restaurant is really famous for its desserts so we should definitely order some of those,” Taehyung says.

“Hello and welcome to Serendipity, may I take your order?” The girl at the cashier asks with a friendly smile.

“Yes, hi, I would like the chicken bulgogi with brown rice and a slice of cheesecake please,” Taehyung orders. (a/n, I’m sorry the food orders aren’t probably accurate, and for desserts I’m sticking with more American ones)

“Okay, and for you sir?” 

“Yes, I’d like the beef teriyaki with the stir-fried vegetables and strawberry ice cream please,” says Jungkook.

“Alright, and finally for you miss?” 

“I’ll have the kimchi soup please with rice and…the triple fudge brownie please.” Those desserts in the display make my mouth water by just looking at them.

Jungkook insists on paying, saying that “TaeTae paid for your dresses so now I have to pay for something!” 

“Here’s your total, and your number is 72. Thanks again for coming to Serendipity!” 

We go get our waters and then find a booth to sit at after waving to Namjoon, who’s sitting at a table with a cup of tea, laptop, and papers everywhere. Jungkook slides in one side with Taehyung and I get in the other side.

“Namjoon looks hard at work,” I say, looking at the man who is concentrating on the papers hard.

“He tries his best to make math fun for the high schoolers, and I think he mostly succeeds,” says Taehyung. 

I bet his students love him, as he cares so much about his boyfriends, so why wouldn’t he care as much for his students?

“I bet so. He looks very hard at work.” 

“Yes, he does work very hard. Sometimes too hard. Our Joon-hyung has so much to do and also care for us. I honestly don’t know how he does it all,” Jungkook says, eyes shining with respect for his boyfriend.

There’s a short pause.

“So does Jin cook today? Or is he just supervising?” I ask, changing the subject a bit.

“Depends, but he usually can’t resist cooking,” Jungkook says.

“Knowing him, the staff probably already told him that we’re here so he’s probably going to cook our food,” says Taehyung with a fond eye roll.

“Wait, the staff recognizes you?” 

“Yes, there’s many pictures of him and us around here.” Taehyung points them out. There are sweet pictures as well as silly pictures of the seven of them

“Aw, that’s so sweet! You guys are so cute,” I say. 

“Thanks y/n,” Jungkook says. He then kisses Taehyung short and sweet. I smile at them, happy that they have each other.

We talk for a while longer before a familiar voice calls out, “Order number 72 for…two brats and a nice kid?” 

“Jin-hyung.” Jungkook and Taehyung say in unison, then grin and get up to get the order. I also get up and walk to the counter. Sure enough, there’s Jin, orders in front of him, and hands on his hips. 

“Why didn’t you brats tell me you were coming in today with y/n? Is it because you’re not behaving? Y/n what did they do?”

“But hyung-“ Jungkook protests.

“I wasn’t asking you.” Jin scolds.

“They really didn’t do anything…they said it would be a surprise for you!” I say, trying to calm Jin down. 

“Well it was a surprise! I’m just glad you didn’t burn another toaster or something worse. Anyways, here’s your food. Enjoy y/n, and if anything does happen to go wrong today just let me know and I will punish these kids,” Jin says, all while ignoring Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s whines.

“Will do Jin. These two have been angels so far though,” I say, patting their heads like a baby.

“Good. Seriously, if anything happens let me know! I’ve got to get back to the kitchen now, but enjoy your meal!” Jin disappears through the swinging kitchen doors. 

We take our food back to our booth. As I eat the best kimchi soup I’ve ever had, us three talk about anything and everything. Then I try the triple fudge brownie. My eyes widen as I eat the richest, smoothest fudge brownie I’ve ever had. Jungkook and Taehyung laugh at my expression. 

“Is it good y/n?” Taehyung asks through his laugh.

“Ot’s o dood,” I say with stuffed cheeks.

“What was that?” Jungkook asks with a smirk.

I swallow then glare at both of them. 

“I said it’s so good,” I sass. 

“Someone’s got an attitude,” says the still smirking Jungkook.

“Whatever,” I cross my arms, “Don’t be rude to me.”

“Ooh, is that how it is?” Taehyung says, now smirking like Jungkook.

I gulp under their gazes, which are now slightly dangerous. 

“Yeah, don’t be rude to me or else I’ll tell Jin.”

This makes them revert back to their usual goofy selves.

“No no please don’t!”

I laugh and then we continue eating.

~

After a long afternoon of shopping (I refuse to let the boys get me more things, so I mostly just watch them try things on. Which, of course, they look good in everything) we come home, throw our shoes off, and collapse on the living room floor with the bags.

“Long afternoon?” Namjoon asks, relaxed and stretched out on the couch. I’m assuming he finished his lesson planning for today.

“So long,” I say to the floor. Who knew carpet could be so soft?

Namjoon chuckles, and then asks “How much did you guys spend today?”

“Not much hyung, don’t worry,” Taehyung says. I know that’s a lie and that they spent at least ten million won each.

“Okay…sure. You guys have such a big appetite for spending I wouldn’t be surprised if you spent millions of won today,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. 

“Hyung! Don’t always assume the worst,” Jungkook scolds. 

“Okay okay, I’m not assuming; I’m asking. Y/n, how much did they spend today?” 

Suddenly all eyes are on me. Dove and siren eyes pleading and dragon eyes questioning.

“Um…I don’t know the exact amount but it was over a couple million won each…?” 

“Y/n!”

“How dare you?” 

The sputtering of protests come flying out of Taehyung and Jungkook’s mouth. 

“Really? Thank you y/n. Boys, what did I tell you about spending so much? Just because we have money doesn’t mean we need to use it all,” Namjoon scolds.

The two don’t give up yet, saying “But hyung I need clothes for my design inspiration!” (Taehyung) and “I just need more black clothes!” (Jungkook)

“Tae, you have tons of clothes already, and Jungkook you don’t need more black clothes as they make up most of your closet!” Namjoon runs his hands through his hair. 

“I’m sorry they dragged you to stores y/n. Did you get something at least?”

“Yes I did! I actually got three dresses and a pair of shoes.”

“See? learn to control yourself like y/n! Only four items.” Namjoon points at me. 

“Dang it y/n you-“ 

“No, no blaming y/n. She didn’t make you spend all this money. Now, go take all the clothes upstairs including y/n’s. Put them on her bed,” orders Namjoon.

They sigh, roll their eyes, and grab the bags and go upstairs, Jungkook winking at me to show that they’re not actually mad at me.

“Ah, those boys will be the death of me,” Namjoon tells me after they disappear upstairs. 

“They do seem to be quite a pair together,” I say, smiling while thinking about their antics.

“Yes, we sometimes call them ‘double trouble’ because you never know what’s going to happen when you’re with them,” says Namjoon, “Anyway, are you hungry? It’s about dinner time.” 

I check the clock and sure enough it’s 5:30pm.

“Is Jin or anyone else going to be here?” I ask.

“Jin-hyung will probably stay at the restaurant late, I’m pretty sure that Yoongi would rather die than come back early, and our dancer boys will probably be late too,” says Namjoon.

“Okay, so just us and double trouble?” 

Namjoon’s dimple smile comes out at their nickname.

“Yep just us and double trouble.”

“Surely you’re talking about yourself and y/n? Because I know we’re definitely not double trouble,” says Taehyung, coming down the stairs with Jungkook in tow.

“Oh hey boys! We were just wondering what we should eat tonight, since it’s just us,” I say, “I’m not a great cook as I prefer baking and judging that you two burned a toaster I don’t think you’re that great either. No offense. Namjoon, can you cook?” 

I don’t know what it is, but the maknaes immediately rush over to Namjoon and grab him, holding him in place.

“No y/n, Namjoon can never, ever be allowed to cook. If you thought us burning the toaster was bad, this man has done much much worse. We can not let him cook.” Jungkook’s serious face cracks me up and I start to giggle.

“Okay then, how about ordering pizza? And can you boys get off of me now? I promise I won’t go in the kitchen,” Namjoon grumbles. 

They climb off of him and agree that pizza is the best option. Namjoon orders and then we sit and play Mario Kart until it arrives. We eat the greasy slices of heaven and then decide to watch a couple movies until the boys (minus Yoongi, as Namjoon told me that he’ll probably be there until early morning) get back. It’s a Disney movie night, we decide, so we start with Aladdin. After popping popcorn and digging through the cabinets to find candy we settle in to watch Zootopia. Halfway through the movie the Jin come back and after showering joins us in the movie marathon. Next we watch Tangled, and Jungkook sings along to the songs. His angelic voice makes me wonder why he isn’t in the music industry. The movie is almost over when the dancers finally sneak back in. They too shower and come join us. I know Yoongi probably won’t come back before I’m asleep, so I just snuggle under the blanket I stole from Jimin. Namjoon and Jungkook are in either of my sides and their handsome features shine bright in the tv screen, making me mesmerized. But, eventually my eyes start to droop as the boys start another movie, and I eventually go to sleep, peaceful and content.

a/n: thanks for reading! i had to do the classic shopping scene, sorry not sorry ;). also major fluff because I’m such a sucker for it. hope you enjoyed! ❤️

[btsgotjams27]

All Grown Up ~ JJK | 13

✨ title: all grown up | series (completed) ✨ pairing: jungkook x f!reader | ✨ rating: R/18+ ~ minors dni ✨ genre/au: romance, fluff, angst, friends-to-lovers, humor, banter, smut, age gap, best friends little brother ✨ warnings: noona kink, older woman, younger man, kissing, oral (m,f), unprotected intercourse, significant age gap (9 years), confident Jungkook, cocky Jungkook, bratty Jungkook, crappy mom, but overall Jungkook is the sweetest, most romantic boy who's fallen in love | warnings for each chapter will vary ✨ author's notes: I won't be updating this series on Tumblr. Please continue this series on AO3 or Wattpad. Links below. This fic is inspired by the k-drama, Something in the Rain. ✨ author's notes 2: okay, so i do plan on editing the rest of this series! i just don't know when it'll be done.

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] prev | next ✨ we can't do this

✨ chapter 13 ~ the day he knew | wc: 2.0k ✨ warnings: mentions of sex

2014.

(18-year-old Jungkook, 28-year-old Y/n)

Jungkook recently graduated from high school and was getting ready to go abroad to college to study game and graphic design. His family was throwing him a going away party; of course, you couldn't miss it.

"I can't believe Jungkookie is going off to college. When did he get so big?" you asked, faintly reminiscing the times when Jungkook was younger. 

"I'm going to miss him, even though he annoys me so much," Yuna smiled.

You laughed. "I'm sure he'll be back to visit and annoy you when he has holidays. And you could always go visit him."

Yuna gasped, "Oh, good idea! We could make a trip out of it."

"I've always wanted to visit California. The beaches look amazing."

The two of you continued to finish the remaining party tasks. Their mom went all out to celebrate her baby boy growing up and moving halfway across the world. Like all mothers, she was against him leaving, but you and Yuna convinced her to let him go. Jungkook deserved to live life and experience new things, and he was fiercely independent, so you didn't have to worry much about him - he'd figure things out on his own.

"So... how's it going with U-jin?" Yuna asked reluctantly, knowing there was some restlessness between you.

You looked at your best friend, biting your bottom lip. "It's," you paused, "good," you mumbled. It was not good. The two of you had been spending a lot of time apart, but you didn't want to alarm Yuna about it.

Yuna gave you a look, halting her task of setting the table. "Why are you saying it like that?"

Shrugging, you asked, "Like what? He's nice, has money, a good job, and comes from a good family, but I feel we don't have that spark, you know? He's reliable, but he doesn't make me–"

"Make you come," Yuna interjected.

Maybe you should have kept some details of your sex life to yourself instead of spilling it to Yuna, but you were frustrated with how things were going with U-jin, and you needed to vent. Sex was fine with U-jin - nothing mind-blowing.

"Who doesn't make you come?" A voice interrupted from behind the pair of you.

You choked on nothing, "Jungkook!" You made a face as you elbowed Yuna. Oh god, Jungkook didn't need to hear about how you weren't satisfied in your relationship. "No one."

"Exactly, no one." Yuna laughed, "It's her boyfriend." She leaned in, whispering to Jungkook, "He doesn't make her come."

Jungkook awkwardly nodded, not wanting to hear about your sex life…but only because, you know..of his little crush on you. "Ah…"

You nudged Yuna harder this time. "Kookie, don't listen to your sister. She's nuts. And don't talk about this stuff around Jungkook," you said, the last part gritting through your teeth. This was embarrassing, and no one needed to know how bad your sex life was.

"Huh? Wha-why not?" He was confused, and he wasn't stupid. He knew what you guys were talking about. "I've touched a boob...or two," Jungkook explained, trying to sound cool but realizing he probably sounded like a tool.

The two of you chuckled at young Jungkook, giving him an okay look. You almost wanted to grill him on what girl allowed him to go to second base.

"Cause you're still a baby. C'mere my widdle baby Jungkook," Yuna said mockingly in a baby voice.

Jungkook rolled his eyes at his sister, "Shut up. I'm not a baby. I'm a grown man, about to head off to college," he refuted, puffing out his chest and straightening his posture.

You stepped closer to Jungkook and squinted, bringing your thumb and index finger to hold his chin, "I don't see any hair." You couldn't help but tease him too.

He smacked your hand away and rubbed his chin. "Noonaaaa, why do you have to rub it in? It'll grow one day, and I haven't peaked yet. Just wait and see. I'll come back as a completely different person."

And you were sure that he would. He'd get some life experience being out there by himself. Of course, a part of you couldn't help but worry since he'd be so far away from family, but he's a big boy, and he'd figure it out.

"I'm swure you will, my widdle Jungkookie. Coochie coochie goo," you taunted him, trying to tickle his chin.

Jungkook waved you off. "Aye--I give up. I can't with you guys." He tried his best to look 'grown up,' but the two of you still saw him as a baby.

Yuna's phone went off in her pocket. She looked at the caller ID. "Oh--mom's calling me. Y/n, can you finish setting up the table?"

She handed you the napkins and utensils, and you continued setting the table as he followed you.

"Noona," you peered up at the young man of the hour, "thanks for coming."

Grinning from ear to ear, you beamed at him. Jungkook always had a soft spot in your heart and was always sweet to you when he wasn't being bratty. "Of course, I can't miss my Jungkookie's going away party. You're going to have so much fun in college. Don't go too crazy, but if you're ever in trouble and can't tell Yuna, you can call me, and I'll bail you out."

You'd rather have him call you than Yuna. She'd probably scold him and drag his ass back home, but you, well, you'd do the same with more love in your tone.

"Promise?"

You beamed at the doe-eyed boy, "I promise."

"Can I call to catch up too?"

Shaking your head at the sweet boy, "I'd love to hear about all the wild adventures you'll have in college. Just don't drunk dial me, okay?"

He laughed. "I can't promise that."

Your phone began buzzing in your back pocket. "Oh--now I'm getting a call," you looked to see it was your boyfriend. "Ah, it's U-jin. Can you finish setting the table? I'm going to take this real quick."

He grabbed what you had left in your hands. When you veered off to take the call, Jungkook couldn't help but pay attention to you rather than his task. You seemed frustrated, pacing back and forth as the call continued. When it ended, you stuffed your phone in your pocket, huffing as you returned to Jungkook.

"Everything okay?" he asked, setting a napkin down and then placing chopsticks and a spoon on top.

You didn't want him to worry. "Mmhm, it's perfect."

It was apparent you were lying. You were an easy read, and Jungkook had been around you for too long not to notice when you were upset.

"Come on.. what's going on?" he asked again.

He wasn't going to let this go, huh? "Just another excuse from U-jin for why he can't go on our weekend anniversary trip. We'd planned it for months, and he didn't even care to ask for it off. God, I feel so stupid sometimes."

You also felt stupid for telling your problems to an 18-year-old, as he'd care about what was going on with you.

"Oh," Jungkook's heart sank when he could hear the disappointment in your voice. "I'm sorry. And Noona, you're not stupid, and he is if he's acting that way."

"It's fine. I'm used to it."

Jungkook was bewildered by how loosely you held the standard of how your boyfriend should treat you. "But you shouldn't be used to it. He's your boyfriend, and aren't you supposed to be a priority in his life?"

You looked at him and smiled. You wished it was that easy. He was young, still full of hope, optimistic about love, and probably a romantic at heart. You couldn't blame him, and you were like that once too.

He knitted his eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

You snickered, thinking he was cute. "Whoever ends up with you will be a lucky one. Here, let me finish this. Go and enjoy your party. We're here to celebrate you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Even though you had brushed it off, Jungkook couldn't help but worry about you. It's not like he could do anything, and he could only hope you realized that you deserved better than your current boyfriend.

(Present Day)

Jungkook went to Yuna's apartment and dropped off some side dishes their mom had made for them. "Here." He pushed the food bag in her hands and immediately turned around to head back out.

"Yah. We need to talk." Yuna grumbled. She didn't want to keep talking about this whole situation, she was hoping it would just dwindle, but she knew it wouldn't.

"About?" Jungkook acted like he didn't already know.

Yuna opened the door wider, inviting him in. "Do I have to tell you?"

"Fine." He sat with arms and legs crossed on her couch, trying to avoid looking in her direction. He already knew that she would scold him and tell him he was too young and not mature enough. "Is Namjoon-hyung here?" He asked, looking around the apartment. He needed a buffer between him and his sister, but it looked like that wasn't happening.

"No… he's at work," Yuna narrowed her eyes at Jungkook. Was he hoping to have Namjoon on his side or something? Because, well, Namjoon was.

"Help me understand why you like her so much?"

He scoffed and leaned forward. "You're her best friend. You should understand why she's a catch."

Yuna licked her lips. It was an unfair question, and she knew it. You were her ride or ride, the one person who's been a constant in her life, her 'person.' "She is an amazing human, but I don't know why you, of all people, would pursue her. Are you doing this for attention or something? Are you jealous that I'm getting married?"

Jungkook sighed and threw his hands up. "Do you hear yourself right now? Why are you making this about you?"

She nervously bit her bottom lip, unsure of how she felt about her brother dating her best friend, let alone doing other things with her and vice versa.

He continued, "Noona…me? Jealous of you and Namjoon-hyung? I couldn't be happier that you've found the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. Why don't you let me and Y/n discover if we have something like you and hyung?"

"Do you remember my going away party? The one before I left to go abroad?"

She nodded yes.

"She took a call from U-jin, and I wish you could have seen the look on her face. I never want to see her look disappointed again. She deserves the world," Jungkook explained his reasoning - a part of it, at least. He could go on and on as to why he loved you so much.

Yuna sighed, "But my best friend?"

There were plenty of women, but none of them were you. "Noona, I'm sorry. I can't help who I like."

"I guess I can't stop you if you like her."

"So, is this an 'okay' from you?" Jungkook was already screeching inside at his sister's approval.

Yuna grumbled, "I guess."

Jungkook grinned. He knew this was only the beginning. "So, that's it? Don't you have something else to say to me?"

"Like what?"

"An apology, for instance."

Yuna scoffed, "Apologies for what?"

"You're kidding me, right? Noona, you said some pretty terrible things to Y/n and me. You're telling me you don't regret any of it?"

Tongue in her cheek, Yuna knew that she needed to put on her big girl pants and apologize. She hated being wrong, but Jungkook was right. In the heat of the moment, she said some things she wished she didn't. “I’m sorry, Jungkook. This whole thing with you and Y/n threw me off, and I wasn't prepared. I wish I had a heads up, that's all."

Jungkook pursed his lips and nodded his head, accepting Yuna's apology. "Noona, this all happened very quickly, and I don't think anyone was prepared for this."

✨ previous chapter ~ oops---

✨ next chapter ~ we can't do this

[masamune7905]

Wonder Girl

I have a degree in graphic design but I didn’t learn how to use markers from college. I have a friend named Travis who helped me. He would stand over my shoulder while I drew and yell “Hit that M****** F**** with some orange!”, “Press that B**** to pull in some black from the ink!”, “Get dirty with it son!”. He is a great artist and I learned a lot from him.

[ao3feed-itafushi]

Say it Silently

by PapperZombie Toge Inumaki had been mute his entire life, a trait that he had come to accept even though it sometimes felt like a burden. He never minded being silent, but he did wish for someone who could understand the unique language designed for people like him—someone who could truly connect with him without words. Then he meets Yuta, a quiet, pale boy who carries his own hidden burdens. Despite their silent struggles, they find a sense of comfort and joy in each other's presence, forming a bond that transcends words and brings a lightness to their otherwise heavy worlds. Words: 24372, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/F, M/M Characters: Inumaki Toge, Zenin Maki, Kugisaki Nobara, Panda (Jujutsu Kaisen), Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Okkotsu Yuuta Relationships: Inumaki Toge/Okkotsu Yuuta, Kugisaki Nobara/Zenin Maki, Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ambiguous Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Depression, Schizophrenia, Muteness, Mute Inumaki Toge, Past Okkotsu Yuuta/Orimoto Rika, Dark, Drama & Romance, Angst and Humor, Slow Burn, One Shot, Bisexaul Okkotsu Yuuta, Gay Inumaki Toge, Bullying, School Shootings, Alternate Universe - College/University, Inumaki Toge Uses Sign Language, Soft Inumaki Toge, Bad Spelling & Grammar, Created Using Generative AI, But only to help with spelling, because i'm bad at it, Mention Of Homophobia from AO3 works tagged 'Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji' https://ift.tt/c2ZtdKH

[abwwia]

Be Still. . . is a tea set—the pear half and quarters are actually elaborate stands for the teapot, creamer, and sugar bowl. Like many of Kathleen Royster Lamb's pieces, leaves and thorns play a prominent role in the interpretation of the design. To Lamb, the leaves signify a protective layer while the thorns symbolize pain. Lamb considers the pear shape to be a feminine form where the leaves protect the fruit's fleshy, delicate core from the thorns of the creamer and sugar bowl. By exposing the core of the fruit, she wants to create a feeling of vulnerability and drama. Lamb intentionally emphasized the length of each pear's stem in an attempt to represent the balance, or lack thereof, that we find within ourselves. (Susan Peterson, Contemporary Ceramics, 2000)

#bornonthisday Kathleen Royster Lamb enrolled in Portland State University in 1978, but withdrew after her third year because she "wanted an adventure." She relocated to Alaska, where she worked as a commercial fisherman during the summer and traveled all over the world in the winter, visiting New Zealand, Australia, India, and Nepal. Around her thirtieth birthday, Lamb decided to return to college, and this time entered the University of Utah, Salt Lake City, where she received a BFA and MFA in ceramics. She initially majored in graphic design, but soon found herself drawn to clay due to its tactile nature and the technical challenges the material presents. She began teaching ceramics at the college level after graduation, which she continues to do to this day. Lamb has exhibited her works internationally, and her pieces are found in several collections, including the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and the Arizona State Art Museum. ("Do you know: Kathleen Royster, assistant professor of art," This Week @Metro (June 15, 2005)

Kathleen Royster Lamb, Be Still. . ., 1998, stoneware, part A (half pear): 4 1⁄4 x 12 1⁄4 x 6 1⁄4 in. (10.7 x 31.1 x 15.8 cm) part B (quarter pear): 4 x 9 3⁄4 x 6 1⁄8 in. (10.1 x 24.8 x 15.5 cm) part C (quarter pear): 3 1⁄4 x 12 x 5 3⁄4 in. (8.3 x 30.5 x 14.5 cm) part D (sugar bowl): 3 3⁄4 x 6 3⁄4 x 4 in. (9.6 x 17.2 x 10.1 cm) part E (creamer): 3 3⁄4 x 6 7⁄8 x 4 5⁄8 in. (9.5 x 17.6 x 11.9 cm) part F (teapot): 7 1⁄2 x 7 3⁄8 x 4 5⁄8 in. (19.2 x 18.8 x 11.8 cm) part G (lid): 2 1⁄8 x 2 1⁄8 x 1 3⁄8 in. (5.3 x 5.3 x 3.5 cm), Smithsonian American Art Museum, Museum purchase through the Howard Kottler Endowment for Ceramic Art, 2000.3A-G

#KathleenRoysterLamb #tea #craft #teaset

[unspokenmusings]

✧ ┆ ( KOFI SIRIBOE, CIS MALE, HOMOSEXUAL, HE/HIM ). Not everyone can say they’ve been to Briar Glen, but KOJO OSEI, a 31-year-old, WEB DESIGNER, has lived in Briar Glen for 10 YEARS. This is the city for development and they know it. Living in this extensive town means you meet all kinds of people, we can’t wait to meet and see how KOJO develops.

B A S I C S 

full name: kojo osei. nicknames: tbd. gender:  cis male. pronouns:  he/him. sexuality:  homosexual. age:  31. date of birth:  june 27, 1993. zodiac sign:  cancer. birthplace: compton, california. current location: briar glen, california. residence:  apartment in briar glen. occupation:  web designer. languages spoken: english, ghanaian pidgin english, akan, conversational spanish.

A P P E A R A N C E

faceclaim:  kofi siriboe. height:  6’2. build:  muscular. eyes:  brown. hair:  dark brown. piercings:  none.  tattoos:  none. style:  street style fashion. 

P E R S O N A L I T Y

traits:  (+) confident, spontaneous, friendly/social, detail-oriented. (-) jealous, sensitive, impulsive, anxious.  mental health:  stable. physical health:  good, average. likes:  sweets, working out, video games, technology, horror movies, amusement parks, smoking marijuana.  dislikes:  arrogance, confrontation, people with no sympathy or empathy for others, cold weather.  fears: the dark.  skills:  roller skating, tech savvy, dancing. quirks:  humming under his breath, bouncing his leg when nervous or anxious.

F A V O R I T E S

ice cream flavour:  chocolate.  time of the day / night:  dusk. weather:  summer weather.  breakfast food:  pancakes, bacon, bagels, danishes.  dinner food:  anything seafood. colours:  black, red, blue.  music: hip-hop/rap, r&b, alternative, indie, neosoul.

M I S C E L A N E O U S

a cherished item:  his parents wedding rings. first love ( celeb crush ):  rider strong (circa boy meets world), the rock. usual mood:  upbeat, happy. 1 thing they want to do / experience before they die:  go on a year long vacation with friends and explore the world. 

B A C K G R O U N D

death tw

he's a first generation ghanaian-american. his parents moved from ghana to the states in the early 90s, and had kojo in 1993. he was their first and only son due to the difficult pregnancy and birth his mother had.

he's always been a social butterfly. there's never been a time in his life where he didn't have a group of friends to lean on or interact with.

when he was fourteen years old, he was orphaned because his parents passed away in a tragic accident. because he didn't have any family in the states, he was placed into foster care until he aged out when he turned eighteen.

losing his parents was a a traumatic experience for him and was the only time in his life where he truly felt alone. he had his friends, but he didn't have his parents. he found himself becoming jealous of his friends that still had their parents in their lives, something that he had to go to therapy in order to get over.

kojo worked hard in school, even more so after his parents passed, and was able to earn a scholarship to college, where he studied graphic design and media studies. he graduated with his degree and immediately landed a job with a start up company that went on to become successful.