#probably a certified therapist

[ssaalexblake]

tfw somebody who insults you and then calls you a liar (erroneously. Have not lied. But since I haven’t Somebody would have to admit they were wrong about something and i think they have a fatal allergy to that???) and tells you not to talk to them texts u 6 hours later asking where you bought something. 

[salsflore]

i think i should kill all my f/os with my own two hands btw

[avalovesindie]

listen I know the autism threshold on that one test (raads-r) is like 65 but I don’t believe it okay I’ve decided the threshold is 95 because how could a person get that low. I know better than all the researchers. Anyway my recent score was 119

[forgotten-daydreamer]

okay either there's a spy in the house or, like, they wired my phone camera, because how is it that any time i'm too tired/in pain/not feeling up for food, my parents ask "how are you? have you been eating?" moments after i make the decision?

Iike. i don't post pics on my normal insta acc. i don't post them anywhere. i barely take pics at all. and i don't do videocalls. how the fuck? seriously.

[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

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📢 ©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.

[oldqueergrandma]

If you are a parent, parent-figure, or grandparent, this is for you.

If your kid falls down on the playground and sprains a wrist, it isn't your fault. It's just a thing that happens. Your job, as a caregiver to that kid, is to get them to a doctor (hospital, urgent care, etc.) Your job is to find them the appropriate care, and support their emotional needs, too. Your kid is scared, hurt, embarrassed, and worried.

And any good parent is going to set aside their own feelings to be there for their kid.

With me so far? Good.

As a child myself, I was Having Problems In School. This was the end of the 70s/beginning of the 80s. Neurodivergence was mostly perceived as either "Rainman" or "Little Boy Can't Sit Still Syndrome." I have ADHD and was a weird little kid.

I had to get to 2nd grade before a teacher helped my parents figure out what to do. That teacher explained my issues to my mom. (My mom, the lifetime certified k-12 English teacher with a minor in psychology.)

My mom had an extremely common response to this: she panicked. She took it personally. She acted like this teacher was calling her out as a Terrible Parent.

My teacher held her hand, and very gently but firmly told her, "This isn't your fault. There's no one at fault. But your kid needs help, needs therapy, needs an evaluation, so that we can give that kid what they need to succeed in school." She then used the example I described above. "If your kid fell down and broke an arm, are you going to stand around beating your breast and wailing about being a bad parent while your kid suffers? Or are you going to get your kid to the hospital, and be brave while you do it?"

Now. This is good advice for many crisis situations. The responsible, adult thing to do is to not take it personally, model good crisis behaviour, and get your kid the care they need.

But this message is for all the caregivers of kids who announce that they want to transition.

Your kid is trying to be happy, to be the person they were meant to be. That they are not happy now, and the fact that they feel like they're being shoved into the wrong life is upsetting to them. They're trusting you to help them. They're asking to be given what they need to be happy and healthy. They're asking for you to trust their judgement.

What they are NOT doing is attacking you. They're not telling you that you screwed up as a parent. They're not rejecting the precious gift of a name you gave them, even though *you* have specific emotional ties to that name. That kid is trying to figure out who they are, which is all any human being does with their life. But it might feel like that's what they're doing.

I know that it hurts, feels like rejection, and it's scary. It's probably not the first time you've had to deal with those feelings, either. Adolescents and teens often say things that hurt their parents; there's a ton of books and videos and therapists out there to help you with this extremely common situation.

From your kid's perspective, they've shared a revelation with you. They trust you to give them what they need, and to accept them for who they truly are. They're terrified of rejection or being dismissed. They're anxious that you will try to shove them back into a shape that hurts and caused them grief.

So your kid does not need for you to dump your problems on them.

Do not make this about you.

See to your kid's needs.

And find a therapist to help you deal with your own reactions.

You may be feeling grief, rejection, and fear (fear for your kid, fear about what people will think, fear you can't articulate.)

You may be angry as a result of that fear. You may want to just check out because of the grief.

But any time you feel yourself emotionally reacting, ask yourself, "Would this be the right way to react to a medical crisis?"

My 2nd grade teacher saved my life. Really. She got my mom's head screwed on straight, and my mother shared this wisdom with many parents through the years as a teacher herself.

So take some profound wisdom from the woman who saved me. Process your own baggage without spilling it all over your kid. Be what your kid needs. And if this is a struggle, get yourself what you need, too. Talk to a counselor.

But above all else: this is not about you.

[cheesencrackersinprison]

Platonic Kakyoin headcanons because noone makes them and that makes me suffer

• Certified yapper about weird lore, videogames n wikipedia-level shit about frogs

• Vanilla icecream flavour defender

• Typa guy to like watching shitty movies just to pinpoint every single plothole and laugh at how bad it is

• Very sassy. Sassy man.

• Would go from extremely polite man to a sarcasting sassy asshole (in a loving bro way)

• Would be your therapist and listen to your rants

• Probably would be the type to not give a fuck about letting you paint his nails, he'd be v chill about it

• Gives amazing hair advice I mean HAVE YOU SEEN HIS HAIR??? 👺👺👺👺

• Probably rather clingy. In a bro way

• Shows you videogame tricks but very few so he still wins (bitch)

• Ginger

[kfedup]

Regretsy no more

Hey, y'all. It's the lurker here.

I've been in the funkiest of funkless funks for the past few months and over the past few weeks, I've been unpacking why. Seeing how much I'm isolating because of a constellation of health-related issues and generalized depression. Have been considering trying meds. But one thing keeps coming to the surface and I finally decided it's time to deal with it.

The one thing is the only thing in my life that I regret. That thing is never having finished my bachelor's degree.

I'm twice divorced, have lost several important friendships, and moved more times than I can count to places I didn't really want to live to maintain relationships I should have never entered in the first place, but I wouldn't trade any of those things. I don't feel regret about them. Why would I? I discovered who I am and who I am not because I experienced those things. Each of them allowed me to learn how to repair what's possible and how to let go of that which is complete.

I'm very good at this marketing copywriting work but I'm bored senseless. I want to challenge myself and taking online workshops is fine but it's just more interacting through a screen and lord love a duck, my spirit needs more. Plus, I am not using my gifts of communication, empathy, mirroring, and holding space for others in the way I know I am meant to use them. For two years I've felt like I'm wasting what's left of my life.

I am so afraid I will die full of this regret.

The cost has kept me from pulling the trigger on this dream for several years. I wish I started sooner, but clearly, I wasn't miserable enough yet. I'm well and truly stuck in the muck at the bottom of the lake about it now. There's nothing left to do but swim to the surface, so here I go.

Today I applied as a transfer student to the Psychology program at Kent State University to start classes this summer. It will probably take me 3 years to finish the 2 years I have left because I'm a single-income household and will have to work. I'm terrified I won't be able to manage both, but I hope I can rally.

I'm not sure if I'll continue on to get the Psych MA at KSU or go elsewhere to get an MA in Art Therapy after I finish the BA. I also want to get certified in Internal Family Systems therapy, so I'll be 63ish or older starting a new career as a therapist and I feel excited about my future for the first time in... well... I don't even know. A very long time.

I want a career that feels meaningful to me, helps people instead of businesses, and lets me use my gifts. One I can do until I'm dead because I'mma need to work until they're spreading my ashes.

I plan to take a class this summer to dip my toes in.

Holy shit, y'all. Lila will be a senior and I will be a junior on the same campus. She's so supportive and I've been crying happy-scared-overwhelmed-curious-excited tears all day.

Kelly's going back to college. Holy shit.

[actuallysolace]

RANDOM WILL SOLACE HCS / TIDBITS:

• he / they . transgender male :-)

• AuDHD, This is a hill I am willing to die on

• Considered Extroverted, in the way he likes talking to people (certified yapper) but doesn’t actually have many close friends.

shout out to lou ellen & cecil

also Clarisse & Annabeth they’re his cooler older friends who he has on speed dial “just in case”

in case of what? “back-up”

also no friends outside of camp

• But he does know everyone at camp. Been there a solid 5 (?) years, year round. Working at the infirmary leads to you meeting everyone eventually.

• Super close with his mom but doesn’t know his family on her side. They cut contact with Naomi after she got pregnant.

“My mom is basically like my best friend, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.” -TSATS

• Fidgets a lot Whether they’re nervous or bored or not feeling any particular emotion or hyper or worried or focusing

Leg bouncing, Adjusting position constantly, Crossing & Uncrossing legs, Drumming fingers, Rocking, etc

“He bounced his right leg up and down as he glanced around the train carriage. Nico reached over and placed his hand on the bobbing thigh” -TSATS

• MOTION SICKNESS.

AIRSICK, SEASICK, CARSICK, GENERAL MOVING VEHICLE SICKNESS.

“As for Will, he was not doing as well. He had a white-knuckle grip on the door, his eyes were wide with terror, and he was obviously trying to get a handle on his breathing.” -TSATS

• See, they like travel but he just…loathes….the…travel…part…

• On the contrary Nico is entirely immune to the horrors of travel related sickness.

He's used to feeling worst effects that Shadow Travel can do so everything else sorta pales in comparison.

Nico di Angelo is the kinda guy to be sent to burn at the stake and go “I’ve been through worse, probably.”

• Speaking of Shadow Travel, Will doesn’t do well with it the 1st or 2nd or 3rd or 4th or 5th time. He doesn’t do well the 6th and onward either but eventually he gets the hang of surviving it. Eventually. At shorter distances. They’re making progress. Slowly.

Nico has spun this into a multifaceted exercise.

He must practice shadow travel safely

He doesn’t need supervision for it but will allow some for the sake of Will’s peace of mind.

Speaking of Will, the supervision is Will.

Also he must test out the limits of his powers which includes traveling to other cities / states / countries.

But….He needs proper rest and recovery…..

The fact they landed in Paris for a whole week once was certainly not a planned vacation What are you talking about.

Completely Random Totally Unplanned Date Trips are actually proven to be quite beneficial to one’s mental and physical health actually. - Dionysus (Who Doubles as Nico’s Therapist and Lawyer) talking to Chiron, probably.

He’s rooting for his nepo babies, who are not babies and also not his.

Also with those 2 gone the chances of the camp descending into chaos rises at least 23%.

Mr. D’s got a bet going on with Mr. A.

“How long until they try to overthrow Chiron”

[support-ponies]

MOD PAGE (mobile friendly)

🐶🐕MOD KIBA!!! ☕🍩

Heyo!!! I am KIBA! You might know me more as Typhwosion! I am she/her but I don’t really care what pronouns ppl use for me. I made this blog to try and make peoples days a bit easier with cute and happy ponies~ I love doggies and coffee and plushies! My favorite ponies are Applejack and Maud and Trixie and I love RariJack💖 I hope I can make your life a bit brighter with my silly drawings~ My husband is Mod Dynamo! Here’s my carrd to all my other socials and here’s all the art i’ve made on this blog. ૮⍝• ᴥ •⍝ა 💖💛💙

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🐱🐈MOD DYNAMO!!!🧡🍊

I’m Dynamo and I’m here to support the sweetest girl in the world with some Arty McArt™ and stuff. I like cats, video games, and cheese (not necessarily in that order.) My favorite pony is also Maud. If you like my art, get ready to not see much of it here if ya dare. (And here is all the art he’s made on this blog) ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

And here are all the collab art we’ve done together, Dynamo usually does the sketches for these and I ink and color them.

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MOD MORI

Howdy everypony! I’m one of the new mods, you can call me Mori!

I use He/Him and I’m transmasc + bisexual andddd my favorite ponies of the mane 6 are Fluttershy and Pinkie, though my heart truly lies with Luna. You know how it goes. My sona is named Astral Beryl and I’m hoping to become a geologist and/or voice actor, but for now I draw ponies because… Well I really love to! I hope they can help brighten your day!

Also as a note my art style is going to be… Wildly inconsistent and I apologize beforehand if certain pieces aren’t as nice as others. Such is the way of art and wanting to try new things like drawing more consistently.

o/ Stay hydrated party ponies! Hope to see you around!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD PIXEL

Hello everypony! I’m Pixel, also known as @fruitypieq :3

I use he/they/lun/luna and my ponysona, Night Peak, uses she/he/they. My favorite ponies are Princess Celestia and Princess Cadance, and of course Sunset Shimmer too!

I am not sure what else to put here but I’m very excited to be here, its nice to meet all of you! I’m excited to start drawing your requests and I hope I can help make your day even a little better!

If you enjoy my art you can find more of it on my main blog, or on my art blog, @fruitypieq-art! Have a wonderful day everypony!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD WILLOW

Hiya! I’m Mod Willow! I use any pronouns and so does my ponysona, Cece! I’m intersex, intergender, transmascfem and lesbian. I am currently trying to get into school to become a therapist but art is one of my biggest passions! I love helping and inspiring people so I hope my art can do that for you all <3

I love all the ponies but my very favorite is Princess Luna, and my favorite out of the Mane Six is probably Fluttershy. I’ve been in the fandom for about 12 years and I’m very happy to be contributing to it in any way I can!

Have a lovely day and stay mindful!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD APPLEJACK

Hi everypony, I’m mod applejack! I’m a 22 year old mlp superfan who has a special passion for G1 although all gens have a place in my heart. I love to cook, read, and draw for others. My other special interest besides mlp is beekeeping; I’m actually a certified beekeeper myself! I’m so happy to become a part of this amazing blog and support those who need it<3

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD FAELING

Hi all! I’m Mod Faeling! I go by Fae or Faeling, and my pronouns are she/her. I’m a 30 years young autistic artist who has a love for helping bring positivity to others! ✨

My ponysona is goes by Star Blossom with she/her pronouns!

My favourite generation is Gen4 and my favourite MLP is Fluttershy! I love how gentle she is and her love for animals, it matches my personality so well!💕

I am happy to be here, I have a love for drawing positive art, as I do the same on my own social media’s art accounts but not just MLP characters, all sorts of different cartoon and anime characters with positive quotes!

I’ve always wanted to help others in some way and doing things like this has always made my heart feel like I’m doing something good in the world, you all deserve encouraging and positive words to get through your days! 💕

If you end up liking my art, you can always find me at @faelingmagic on tumblr or all my other socials at http://linktr.ee/faelingmagic

I look forward to drawing for you all!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

[tabl3]

ef incorrect quotes 2

skylar: What is everyone for Halloween? oliver: I’m superman. kaz: A clown. skylar: So I’m guessing we don’t need to get you a costume then?

-

kaz: Why are you smiling? bree: What? I can’t just be happy? skylar: chase tripped and fell in the parking lot.

-

kaz: What are you eating? oliver: You wouldn't like it, it's really salty. kaz: I like you, don't I?

-

chase: Don’t weep for the stupid. You’ll be crying all day.

-

chase: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

-

kaz: I’m sorry for being annoying. kaz: It will happen again.

-

bree: kaz… I’m bleeding… kaz: Oh god… what’s your blood type?! bree: B positive… kaz: I’m trying to but you’re bleeding-

-

at 3am oliver: runs into skylar’s room and turns on the light Wake up sleepyhead! skylar: wakes up Dude! oliver: cackles bree: sits up from where she was sleeping behind skylar What the fuck, oliver? oliver: jaw drops Wait WHAT-

-

oliver: You are a solid 11/10. kaz: Aw, thank- oliver: Which is 1.1 because you look like shit.

-

chase: Why do you let me win when we race up the stairs? You’re the faster one. kaz: Erm… it’s nice see your smile when you win! later chase: He's probably just staring at my ass, isn't he. skylar: Yeah, probably.

-

(literally the first two books in the series (he was so unhinged 😭😭))

chase: Why don't I like this person? kaz: I don't know. Maybe it's because she keeps stealing your thunder. chase: Maybe it's because her name is "skylar". Don't you find that utterly ridiculous? kaz: No. chase: That's because your name is "kaz".

-

(The Trio That Always Accidentally Gets Into Shit In The Fillers™)

chase: I have a bad feeling about this, guys. skylar: Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. kaz: Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? chase, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.

-

chase: We'll talk about this later. oliver: Fine, I won’t be listening.

-

chase: Love is weakness and an evolutionary mistake. bree: You are literally making a Valentine’s day card for kaz. chase, pointing his hot glue gun towards bree: You’re on thin fucking ice.

-

chase: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone. kaz: Mine just says "kaz no." chase: I want you to apply it to every possible situation.

-

kaz, hungover: Please tell me I'm imagining that I claimed I was king of the ducks. oliver: I would, but then I would be lying to the King of All Ducks.

-

skylar: Any idiot would know that. kaz: I knew that! skylar: See?

-

skylar: Advice of the day kids, if you ever meet someone who calls Gatorade flavors the actual name of the flavor instead of just the color then they are a certified nerd. oliver: Yeah but you have to specify, frost glacier or cool blue? You can’t just say blue because there’s more than one blue. skylar: Blue and light blue, nice try nerd.

-

skylar: My aesthetic is "would be suspected of witchcraft by small town citizens."

-

bree: Ah shit, I forgot. kaz: Forgot what? bree: How do you expect me to answer that?

-

chase: I feel like doing something stupid. kaz: I’m stupid, do me.

-

oliver, writing in his diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

-

bree: How do you type so fast? oliver: Anxiety.

-

kaz: Why doesn’t chase find me sexy when I bite my lip? bree: What do you look like when you bite your lip? kaz: bites lip bree: …Have you considered biting your bottom lip instead?

-

bree: All in all, a 100% successful trip. oliver: But we lost kaz. bree: All in all, a 100% successful trip!

-

chase: Why are you guys acting like this? kaz: Oh, we're not acting. We really are like this.

-

kaz: One time I went to hand oliver a bowl of soup. I wanted to say “Careful, it’s hot!”, and “Here’s your soup!”, so instead I blurted out “Careful it’s soup.”

-

chase: bree, you’re in charge! kaz: bree, can we start a fire?

-

kaz: holding a salt packet It’s just a little sodium chloride. chase: Actually kaz, it’s salt. kaz: That’s what I said, sodium chloride. chase: Uh kaz, that would be salt. chase: takes salt packer from kaz This is iodized table salt, which in addition to sodium chloride contains anti-caking agents and potassium iodate, which is added to prevent iodine deficiency. So not only are you being overly pretentious by insisting on using scientific terminology for everyday items, you are factually wrong. Your arrogance is your downfall, you annoying little shit.

-

bree, Entering oliver's room: kaz did it again. oliver: Peace disturbance? bree: What no- oliver: Arson..? bree: NO, JESUS CHRIST, HOW MANY- oliver: uh….Attempted murder? bree: NO, HE ATE ALL THE FOOD IN THE FRIDGE, BUT WHAT THE FU-

-

kaz: Good news! I didn’t screw up! chase: … kaz: I screwed up less badly than usual! chase: … kaz: Screwed up with less immediate consequences than usual.

-

oliver: What’s sexting? bree: I'm not having this conversation with you.

-

Everyone is giving advice to oliver chase: It's okay to ask for help. skylar: You're not a burden. bree: Murder is okay. kaz: Your feelings matter.

-

oliver: Alright, what pizza toppings should we order? kaz: Anchovies and pineapple. skylar: I like beets! chase: Have you guys ever had a cheese-less pizza? oliver: I’m disowning all of you.

-

bree: Where’s my chair? skylar: kaz broke it over oliver’s back while they were wrestling. oliver: Correction, kaz was wrestling. I was eating soup.

-

oliver: Sorry it took so long to bail you out of jail. skylar: No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have used my phone call to prank call the police station.

-

chase: We have to plan, we have to figure something out. bree: chase, when have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.

-

chase: Dearly Beloved, we are here today to remember kaz, taken from us in the prime of life; when he was crushed by a runaway semi, driven by the Incredible Hulk. kaz: Aww, you knew my favorite cause of death.

-

bree: wow you and skylar are home early from the movies. What happened? oliver: We got kicked out because skylar wouldn't stop yelling diving scores as people jumped off the titanic. skylar: That last guy had a solid 8, I'm telling you!

-

skylar: People always shoot down my ideas and I’m sick of it. Two sentences in and everyone’s always shouting “what the fuck? that’s illegal!” and “you can’t do that!”. Like, c'mon, let me talk!

-

oliver: Can I get a waffle? bree and kaz: fighting and yelling at each other oliver: Can I p l e a s e get a waffle?

-

chase: What did you two do? kaz: oliver: chase: You’re not in trouble, I just need to know if I have to lie to the police again or not.

-

kaz: Okay. Hypothetically speaking, how mad would you be if I burned a hot pocket so badly it could probably fall off a ten-story building and be completely fine? chase: kaz, what did you do? kaz: Take a guess.

-

skylar, holding out a cookie for bree: Look! This one's a heart, that’s how I feel about you! bree: Ugly crying skylar, holding out another cookie for oliver: This one's like Michigan, that’s how I feel about you! oliver, throwing his hands in the air: What does that mean?!

-

kaz: Hoodie pockets are so great. I can fit like three sandwiches and a grenade in there and my hands are still warm.

-

kaz, texting chase: sends a voice message chase, texting back: I’m a little busy, is it urgent? kaz: No, don’t worry, just listen later. later chase: presses play kaz's voice message: THERE’S A FIRE-

-

bree: “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy” I would. Pussy. bree: “I’m not gonna sink to their level” I will. Coward. bree: “I’m the bigger person” I’m 5'2 tall give me the gun bitch.

-

(more short jokes)

The Squad: walking at the mall chase: Hey, have any of you guys seen bree? She's been gone for a while.. oliver: Eh, nope. skylar: No, I haven’t… kaz: Probably ran off to McDonald’s or something. bree: Hey. chase: Ooh, there you are- oliver: What the fu- kaz: I- where were you?! bree: Walking right behind you guys.

-

Kidnapper: I have your partner. kaz: What? I don't have a partner… Kidnapper: Then who just called me a lowlife bitch and spit in my face? kaz: Oh my god, you have oliver.

-

bree: I’ve come to a point in my life where I need a stronger word than fuck.

-

skylar: What's worse than a heartbreak? kaz: Waking up in the morning and your phone wasn't charging. bree: Waking up in the morning. chase: Waking up.

-

chase: Look, skylar, if you can fit your head down the gun’s barrel, you can assume it doesn’t have a non-lethal setting.

-

chase: You have to apologize to oliver! bree: Fine! bree: Unfuck you, or whatever!

-

kaz: is visibly upset oliver: kaz, what happened? I haven't seen you like this since you found out candyland wasn't an actual country.

-

skylar: I'm not straight, and that's all that matters. Well, maybe that's unfair to the straights. Some of my best friends are straight! Well, one of them. Well, I know him, and oliver is perfectly tolerable person in small doses!

-

chase: I am the left brain, I am the left brain. "I work really hard until my inevitable death" brain. You've got a job to do, you better do it right and the right way is with the left brain's might. skylar: I LIKE OREOS AND PUSSY-

-

kaz: You know, when I first met you I thought you were a real bitch. bree: What changed your mind? kaz: Oh, I still think you're a bitch. I've just grown to like that about you.

-

chase: I am strong! I beat oliver at arm wrestling! kaz: Anyone can beat oliver at arm wrestling! oliver: Hey-

-

chase: oliver, I sense hostility. oliver: Good, because I hate you.

-

oliver: I have a bad feeling about this… kaz: What do you mean? oliver: Don't you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if you're going to get into trouble? kaz: No? skylar: That actually explains so much.

-

kaz: I just wanna be called cute 21/7. chase: Why no 24/7? kaz: Snack breaks.

[tubborucho]

Had to pull up the list but!! Members of soulfire as most helpful love advice to least helpful!

Lenay - actually married, even if her husband is currently MIA, would probably be a bit cryptic but all in all very solid and nice advice (give her some dirt in exchange she likes to lay in it)

Pol - old man, has seen a lot, would probably suggest something very romantic until his vex side comes out and starts suggesting bonded blood packs to make with your lover.

Niki - resident, not certified, therapist. Would probably just be very safe and say communication is key. Might give some weird advice tho if she finds it funnier and like it'll bring you closer to your love

Tubbo - he'd make fun of you but in the end sit ya down and talk about how you gotta be confident and kind. Hold em tight...don't let them go...he'd get a bit quiet but would perk up and suggest a nice dinner as a perfect first date.

Tina - will straight up tell you that your lover is a red flag and to have some RESPECT!!! get to the GRIND!!! (Especially @ missa wanting the gas mask wearing bird)

Aypierre - would have solid advice but then trail off horribly into how he fucked up with maxo and start to go a bit all over the place in anger and sadness. Please let the robot reset before asking more questions <:].

Pac - can't get his own love life for shit but damn he can give some pretty okay nudges in the right direction. Would tease and make fun but not get too involved.

Missa - would be very awkward and ask why you trust him with this??? Would say never to give up...gets really sad if you ask too much.

Rivers - probably just thinks way to hard on it, says to just go for it but overthinks, says you should fight for your love- no wait be soft- shit no buy em stuff!! Ahhh!! Stop asking her she doesn't know!

Luzu - literally 50/50 if you get ignored or told he has no idea.

Mariana - he'd suggest kissing your crush after every argument, love like the world's ending, make sure to be an asshole and they'll love you forever.

Bbh - this man literally thinks that arguing is a love language, suggests stabbing and eating the body as romantic, he's crazy do not trust any advice out of this demons mouth. It's crazy that he's so wanted on the island.

This is so funny and so right, I approve 10/10. I laughed at half of the points, also love how out of the leaders of the group the highest in the list is Tubbo and even he is only 4th🤣 You know you can rely on those 3 for anything yep.

This is awesome. I want to read a crack fic of one of the blues trying to get an adequate love advice from other teammates😭

[thatrandomlemononyourcounter1]

~Welcome to Wally's World~

Nah I'm just playing.

I'm CJ :DD (she/her :))

I'm a minor so no being weird in the chat

I'm also a special flavor of aroace, and I have undiagnosed ADHD

I collect fandoms like Infinity Stones, and here's some of my favorites: {COLORED MEANS THAT I POST MORE ABOUT THEM}

My Fandoms:

Keepers of the Lost Cities, TMNT (Mostly ROTTMNT, TMNT2012, Bayverse, and Mutant Mayhem/TOTTMNT but I'm going to start watching 2003), The Marvel Cinematic Universe (One of my slumbering hyperfixations), The Inheritance Games (I have read TGG so :D), Final Fantasy (IX, XII, XIII, VII, WOFF, Tactics WOTL), Legend of Zelda BotW/TotK, HTTYD (All the movies and Race to the Edge), Chronicles of Narnia (The movies/a little of the books), The Hunger Games (Books and movies), Divergent, Pirates of the Caribbean,  Pokemon (both anime and games), AGGGTM, One of Us is Lying series, The Folk of the Air series

I am a self-proclaimed writer :) I love making headcanons for characters, especially my children, which you can find linked here

Come here me yap about my original work, The Collector, on this blog: @the-collector-series

I'm cognates with @nowjumpinthewater so you'll probably see us talking on here a lot (ILY RANIA <33)

I'm a proud beta reader for @justmossyall 's original work (IT'S SO GOOD I'M WAITING FOR THE DAY IT RELEASES)

A few disclaimers:

I am a Christian which means I love Jesus so if you have any questions about that, please direct them to my inbox

I don't tolerate any sort of hate on my blog. Take that stuff somewhere else. (Like a therapist.)

I can't use emojis >.< unless I'm on my phone on the rare occasion

I type in caps when I'm happy/excited so if that bothers you please lmkkkkk

I will probably refer to you as bro and/or dude at least once cause I call everyone that

My DMs and inbox are literally always open like I love talking to new people :)

I'm a certified yapper, but I can be a good listener I swear

Anyway, here's some cute banners I found/made that I feel the explicit need to put.

banners created by the following: @/ginnyw-potter-archive @/mspaint-turtles @/bookwyrminspiration and myself

I'll probably add more to this post as I progress on my tumblr journey ngl

[kayakischaotic]

PJO/HOO/TOA HEADCANONSSSS 🎉🎉🎉

WHOS READY TO RUMBLEE

also I haven’t read the books in awhile + I have terrible memory so o7

clears my throat

PERCY JACKSON:

—>all my faves had a emo phase. including Peter Johnson

—>he owns a BUNCH of different earrings, nothing too big or extravagant, but like a little fish, maybe an arrow, etc

—>dyes part of his hair blue because he’s Percy

—>Sally TOTALLY knew he was bi when he was little

—>has a bi flag necklace (I’m jealous)

—>once dyed his hair blonde while he was at camp and after everyone called him a dumb blonde he decided to never dye it blonde again

—>he totally loves having his hair played with cause Sally used to always play with his hair when he was a kid

—>his eyes change from blue to green depending on the lighting

—>he’s been the little mermaid for Halloween at LEAST once

—>has an extensive collection of Hawaiian shirts

ANNABETH CHASE:

—>she sticks a bunch of little pins on her Yankees hat

—>doesn’t know how to drive (at least not very well)

—>if she could she’d have road rage so much

—>probably owns at least 5 different pairs of earbuds/headphones that she uses on her iPod and/or Daedalus’s laptop

—>building a campus place similar to New Rome at CHB

—>instead of a box of chocolates for Valentines day, she once gave Percy a bag of M&M’s. but only the blue ones

—>drinks at least 3 cups of coffee most days

—>bi-curious/questioning

—>also questioning her gender a bit

—>read Harry Potter and couldn’t tell if she wanted to BE Hermione or be WITH Hermione (still can’t tell)

GROVER UNDERWOOD:

—>pan, ace

—>will eat anything if he’s stressed

—>has little rings he can put around his horns for added style

—>tism

—>he/they KING!!

—>will just snack on a head of lettuce

—>has to wear reading glasses (what a nerd /pos)

—>has an extensive knowledge of which plants around CHB taste good, and which taste bad (has definitely been taken to the medics once or twice for eating poisonous plants)

JASON GRACE:

—>everyone makes fun of him because of The Brick™️.

—>THEATER KID

—>will ramble to you about wolves for as long as you will let him

—>frequently dyes small strips of his hair with hair chalk

—>him and Annabeth are like best friends. please.

—>questioning

PIPER MCLEAN:

—>she ate the rest of the non-blue M&M’s for Annabeth

—>genderfluid she/her lesbian.

—>helps Hazel, Annabeth, and the other girls do their hair (and sometimes Percy)

—>sees Jason and Leo as her brothers

—>wears suits to fancy events

—>usually uses her charmspeak to win at board games

—>girl in red’s biggest fan

—>EVERYONES WINGMAN

LEO VALDEZ:

—>makes everyone friendship bracelets

—>will totally light candles just to watch them burn

—>pretends he’s Festus’s vet whenever he has to fix him

—>calls the Argo II his child

—>doesn’t have a proper sleep schedule in the slightest…

—>gay, demiboy

—>totally introduced everyone else to neo/xeno pronouns

—>he/they/it mainly, but also uses a bunch of neos and xenos

—>has a dragon stuffed animal he calls Festus Jr. that he struggles to sleep without

—>he is the autism creature /j

—>will call anyone in sight bro or dude

—>scared of heights

—>keeps calling himself “the rizzler”

REYNA AVILA RAMIREZ-ARELLANO:

—>therapist friend

—they/she

—demiromantic asexual

—>astrology lover

—>straight A student without trying or studying

HAZEL LEVESQUE:

—>the only person on the Argo II that can keep a plant alive (somehow)

—>unlabeled

—>her and Nico help paint everyone’s nails

—>is always wearing either a skirt or overalls. (better yet: overalls skirt)

—>lactose intolerant

—>totally holds a dance at Camp Jupiter that is similar to a school dance at least once a year

FRANK ZHANG:

—>token straight friend

—>has a fairly large stuffed animal collection (only to be rivaled by Octavian’s)

—>if he ever visits CHB he purposely avoids being near the fire

—>makes the rest of the 7 watch superhero movies with him

—>owns lots of comics

—>him and Percy ramble about superheroes and comics together

NICO DI ANGELO:

—>certified DJ of the 7

—>his favorite restaurant isn’t even McDonald’s.. (it’s Olive Garden /j)

—>if demigods could use technology, he would totally be a tumblr user. (happy (late) Ides of March)

—>THEATER KID

—>he keeps saying “gaslight gatekeep girlboss” and everyone is kinda confused

—>loves listening to 70s/80s/90s rock

—>is (attempting) to learn the drums

—>survives off of energy drinks and coffee

—>has a nightlight in his cabin for when Will visits

—>also listens to Crywank

WILL SOLACE:

—>definitely has dressed up as a lamp for Halloween

—>HE/THEY!!!

—> trying to convince Nico to be in a band with him, playing guitar, Austin, playing sax, and Apollo, playing flute (Nico’s not having it)

—>favorite color is “all of them”

—>attempts to grow plants (fails)

—>he would totally be addicted to Tiktok if he had it

—>if anyone asks what time it is he will respond one of three ways: “it’s time for lunch” “its game time” or “it’s time for you to get a WATCH”

—>he’s really bad at reading clocks

—>totally cried during Frozen

APOLLO/LESTER PAPADOPOULOS:

—>he/they bi icon

—>motto is “fake it til you make it”

—>adhd, probably

—>always looses board games

—>chronically online…

—>will purposely sing the wrong words to popular songs so half of CHB thinks they’ve been singing these songs wrong the entire time

—>him and Nico bond over saying things like “gaslight gatekeep girlboss”

—>scared of the dark

—>quotes Mean Girls at least once a day

—>trying to make a theater class at CHB (Chiron agrees, Dionysus is… not quite there yet)

—>surprisingly good at lying (fake it til you make it!)

—>some Aphrodite kids told him their skincare secrets while he was mortal and gave them a few products

—>wears eyeliner on a daily basis

—>when he was a mortal the Aphrodite cabin and his cabin played dress-up on him and made him wear a bunch of weird outfits

THATS ALL FOR NOW!!!!!

I bet you totally can’t tell who my favorites are by how much they have put down…. /s

TELL ME SOME OF YOUR HEADCANONS SO I CAN ADD THEM TO MY HOARD

[bleue-flora]

if a therapist came to the dsmp to treat the characthers they would need therapy after doing it probably

[context]

You and @piscespixiewastaken think alike it seems.

Indeed they would. In fact, this point actually pushed me to ask my sister-in-law, who is a therapist/counselor about it just out of curiosity. 

Here’s what I learned:

Despite what my counselor said, not all therapists were required in school to do counseling themselves to get certified. Some counselors have actually never even been to therapy themselves (not sure how I feel about that to be honest… not to deter people from going to therapy - please do if you are able) something my sister-in-law didn’t seem to be a big fan of.

When asked if she felt like she needed counseling after/because of a specific client she said that yes that can definitely be the case. She noted that empathy fatigue is often common after listening to people all day, which makes sense and that would be a common reason for some needed personal counseling. As expected, while she hasn’t had to deal with a lot of it, she did note that dealing with people with antisocial behavior disorders (ie narcissistic, histrionic… think sociopath disorders) can be especially taxing.

Given that the dsmp is a group of povs of the same story and events, I was curious on whether she often found herself taking sides when she does couples counseling. She said that there can be an initial bias at first when the base facts are presented to her, which is something she often has to check herself on, but that actually she finds that usually there is truth and wrongdoing on both sides and there is no true ‘bad guy.’ Though she did add that she has not dealt with any relationships involving more intense abuse especially relating to antisocial behavior disorders. In other words, the couples she sees likely came willingly and are sound enough in mind on both sides to want to fix the problems, if that makes sense.

So in other words, there are, much to my surprise, counselors who do not go (may not have gone) to therapy themselves, but that doesn’t make it healthy and considering the characters in the dsmp it would likely be recommended that this counselor also see someone. I will say though the implication that people in the dsmp are more problematic then real world people are is perhaps an underestimation of irl mental illness. Just because the dsmp members wear armor and carry around weapons doesn't make them more troublesome than people irl, though perhaps that is me viewing it from their world standards which I assume the therapist would be from. In either case, whether the therapist was from the realm of Minecraft world circumstances or more irl, I do imagine they being either inhumanly sane and not need a therapist of their own, or they get together with another therapist and perhaps drink over all the dsmp insanity. And whether they would be inclined to take sides I think is hard to say since there are definitely some characters who need a psych ward. Anyways… hope you enjoyed my info dump. :)

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 15)

previous // next // story index

—————

A lot can change in a week.

Beth-Anne is astounded at how much progress Nikolai has made in just seven days. Considering how goal-driven he is, she probably shouldn't be astonished, but his quick transformation is more than she could've reasonably expected. His physical recovery is on track, he's gotten back his energy and focus, and he seems far less anxious. It’s a relief to her, seeing him returning to his old self.

At his checkup on Wednesday, the doctor and the sports therapist both cleared him to walk without crutches, and the sports therapist fitted him with a compression knee sleeve that he's supposed to wear when he's active. He's allowed to walk on the treadmill for up to thirty minutes a day, broken into ten-minute sessions, and he's supposed to keep up with his physiotherapy exercises. No leg weights and no stationary bicycle, the therapist said, which he frowned at but ultimately agreed to.

The thing Nikolai appeared to be most pleased about was the fact that he no longer requires weekly checkups. The sports therapist said he'd have him come back in two weeks' time to check his progress and possibly increase his exercise level.

"You'll have to come back by yourself," Beth-Anne told him. "Or get your grandfather to bring you if you don't have your car back by then, because I'll be in South Korea with Brett."

"Junior Worlds. Right. I'm sure Grandpa can bring me." He turned his attention back to the therapist. "So, in two weeks I should be able to start running again?"

The therapist bestowed him with an amused smile. "Athletes are all the same. You're all in a rush to be rid of your restrictions. But yes, if you do everything you're supposed to, in two weeks you should be able to do some light running on the treadmill. Perhaps you can do outdoor running and use your leg weights and ride your bike a couple of weeks after that."

Nikolai's next question came as no surprise to Beth-Anne. "When can I skate?"

"Let's give that some time."

"Yes, but how much time?"

"I think he's looking for a realistic timeline," Beth-Anne intervened.

"Another six to eight weeks at the very least before I'd be comfortable clearing you for that," the therapist said. "It may be longer, depending on your progress. Ideally, I'd like to see that knee fully stable and I'd like to see you regain some muscle before you get on the ice again."

Nikolai counted on his fingers. "Eight weeks would be... mid-May?"

"About then, I think," the therapist said.

"Okay. I can live with that. I'll be busy doing my coaching certification course between now and then anyway."

That was another thing. Even before his appointment with the doctor and therapist, he'd gone ahead and signed himself up for both the basic and advanced coach training courses.

He's going to need the basic certification just to be permitted to work with kids without supervision from another professionally certified coach, and the advanced level is necessary for him to work one-on-one with students who are training to compete in officially-recognized national and international events. The basic course is just four days long and the next available one is at the end of March. The next advanced level course is taking place over the last two weeks of April and the first week of May.

The timing couldn't possibly be more fortuitous, Beth-Anne thinks. He should be able to return to the ice around the same time he receives his full certification. Most group skating programs pause for the summer, so that will free up some of her time to work with him, to help him rebuild his confidence on the ice if he needs that, and to teach him everything she knows about teaching others. With any luck, by the time group classes resume at the beginning of September, he'll be ready for a small group of his own.

As soon as they got home from the sports medicine clinic, Nikolai went straight to his room. He came back to the kitchen only a couple minutes later with his skate bag, sat himself down on a kitchen chair and promptly pulled off his socks.

"What are you doing?" Beth-Anne inquired.

He glanced up at her, his expression plainly broadcasting that it should be obvious and she she shouldn't need to ask. Still, he replied, "Putting my skates on."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I miss them," he said.

"Okay, but don't you dare stand up in them. Just because you're not on the ice, that doesn't mean it doesn't count."

"I won't, I promise. I just want them on. I miss how they feel on my feet."

Fair enough, she thought. She watched him slip his feet into the boots and meticulously lace them up. He sat there with his skates on for the next half-hour, while she made sandwiches and they ate lunch together. After lunch, he took them off again and put them away, and she didn't make any further comment about it. The way she saw it, if it made him happy and it hadn't done him any harm, who was she to question it?

Slightly amused at the memory, she wonders how many more times she'll catch him with his skates on between now and the middle of May. She doubts it was a one-off, and she has no trouble conjuring up a mental image of him contentedly wearing his skates while he reads, or eats, or writes something for the new online blog he's created to chronicle his coaching journey.

She smiles. She's watched him grow from an impulsive and sometimes silly teenager into a mature and responsible adult, but it's gratifying to know that he hasn't completely lost his adolescent whimsy. In some ways, he's still very much a kid, and she thinks those qualities of playfulness, imagination, resilience and courage will serve him well, not just as a coach and teacher but in his personal life too. He may be going through an exceptionally difficult time at the moment, but she can see the light at the end of this dark tunnel and she's sure he can as well.

He's going to be all right, she tells herself. It's still going to take time, but he sees the way forward now, and I don't believe anything's going to stop him.

She doesn't have enough words to describe how much she admires him for that.

This morning, she'd awakened with a sense of lightness she hasn't felt in a while. Her concerns are all still there, of course, but she has the feeling this is going to be a great day despite all the problems and worries crowded at the back of her mind.

That stuff can wait.

Now that Nikolai is off his crutches, she decides today is the perfect day to get him off the bench and let him come down onto the ice with her. She can introduce him to all the kids and let him interact with them. He knows Stan's grandson Marek, and she's certain he's already bonded with little Eden, but he still hasn't met the girls, Everleigh, Madison and Sienna. There's also her Saturday preschool group for him to meet, and her two Novice division students, Katie and Ruby. She hopes all the kids like him as much as Eden seems to, both for his comfort and theirs.

She climbs out of bed and does her best to hurry through her morning routine. Regardless of her efforts, however, when she makes her way downstairs, she discovers that Nikolai has gotten out of bed ahead of her. He's already showered, dressed and in the middle of making breakfast. The scent of coffee wafts across her nostrils.

"Morning, coach," he greets her. "Your makeup looks good."

"Thanks." She gestures toward the stove. "I see my cooking lessons are already paying off."

He grins. "Well, I'm not ready to host my own cooking show or anything yet, but I think I'm doing all right."

She's treated to her favourite ham and cheese omelette, fried potatoes, and cut-up red grapefruit drizzled with honey. It may not be gourmet, but it is delicious and she enjoys every bite. It's especially pleasant to sit down to a meal she didn't have to prepare for herself.

"I could get used to this," she says, as she savours the final bite of grapefruit. "You making us breakfast, I mean."

"We can make it a regular thing," he says. “Turns out I like cooking. It’s not as daunting as I thought, so I’m sure I could be in charge of making breakfast for us.”

"Oh? So I take it you've changed your mind about going home?"

He swallows the last of his coffee and sets the mug down carefully. "I've been thinking about it. I was kind of worried that me being here was too much for you, but if you're okay with me staying, maybe I will stay."

"You're not too much. I like having you here. It's nice to have company, but like I told you before, the choice is entirely up to you."

"I'll stay for a little longer, then," he says. "Anya's staying with her grandparents for some reason. I don't know if she's planning to go home soon, but if she is, I... kinda don't want to be there."

"Understandable, but you know you'll need to deal with that situation at some point."

"I know." He rotates the empty coffee mug between his hands. "I think I'm just scared."

"Of Anya?"

He nods. "Is that stupid?"

"No, I don't think so," Beth-Anne says. "I can see how she'd be scary."

"I want a divorce, but I don't want to fight about it. All I want is the house and my cat. She can have anything else she wants. Money, furniture, the car... whatever. I just want us to live separate lives from now on."

"If you want my opinion, you'd be better off living separate lives."

"It's obvious we can't have a life together any more," he says. "The problem is, I don't want to talk to her about it because I'm scared she'll cause a scene."

"In that case, maybe you shouldn't talk about it with her. Maybe you should hire a lawyer and get them to do the talking for you."

"Maybe." He runs his thumb along the rim of his mug and doesn't meet Beth-Anne's eyes. "I just don't want any drama. You know I hate that. If I got a lawyer, I'm worried the whole thing would drag on for ages, and Anya would tell everybody about everything, every chance she got. I'd rather just agree that it's over, do the court paperwork ourselves and get it out of the way as quickly as we can."

"If that's what you want, then you'll have to swallow your fear and tell her," Beth-Anne says. "I know it's hard, but you have to believe in getting what you want. That's..."

"...that's part of how you succeed," he finishes the sentence with her. All of a sudden, he's smiling again. "You know, I told Eden that."

Perplexed, she says. "About... divorce?"

"No, about winning skating competitions. Remember, you said that to me for the first time way back when I was seventeen? When I was having that big existential crisis because you were my third coach in my first three years at Senior level.”

"You thought the problem was you."

"Well, it sort of was, according to Uncle Stan."

"But it was because you were too good, not because you weren't good enough," she reminds him.

“I know that now, but it was a struggle to get my head around it at the time. The whole thing was pretty stressful.”

"I know, but you handled it like a champion, and it didn’t take you long to settle in with me.”

“Because you promised you’d stick with me no matter what, and I trusted you. I felt safe with you. That gave me a lot of confidence, and it let me relax and enjoy myself a lot more."

“I remember. One of the first things I asked you was what you wanted, and the first thing you told me wasn't that you wanted to win. You said you wanted to be happy and have fun."

"Yeah, but I still wanted to win. I wanted it really bad, and I was frustrated because I wasn't doing as well as I thought I should with Uncle Stan or my other coach before him."

"I could tell you wanted to win," she says. "I can tell you still do."

"I do," he concedes. "Winning might look different now, but I still want to. I think if I can help somebody else the way you helped me, that'll feel like winning to me just as much as it does to them."

"I think it will too," Beth-Anne says. "It did for me when I watched you win, and it's the same with Brett and Mariah and the others."

"And they'll be more likely to win if they're happy and having fun, right?"

"Right."

"But, even if they don't win, the important thing is that they're still doing what they enjoy."

Beth-Anne nods. "You're going to be an excellent coach."

"I hope so," he says. "I want to make you proud."

"I'm already proud of you," she tells him. "You're the best son I never had."

He smiles. "The son you always wanted?"

"Not always, but definitely from the moment I realized my life would be a lot emptier without you in it," she says. "And I'm glad you're staying."

"Until I finish my coaching courses at least, if that's all right."

"Absolutely. Consider this your home for as long as you like."

"Thanks," he says.

They finish their breakfast and do the washing up as quickly as they can, and manage to get out the door right on schedule. Even with a stop at Tim Horton's for more coffee, they make it to the arena at 7:45 on the dot.

It's still not early enough to get there before her first students arrive, though.

She's torn between laughter and exasperation when she spots Eden Seong and Marek Zelenka peeking around the edge of the propped-open door from the corridor that leads to one of the practice rinks. When Marek sees her, he gives her a brief wave. Then, he leans down to say something quietly to Eden, which Beth-Anne can’t hear. The kids grin at each other.

The next thing Beth-Anne knows, the two little boys charge through the doorway and race across the foyer, straight toward her and Nikolai. They’re both shouting Nikolai's name at the top of their voices.

Nikolai reaches out to catch Marek, but both boys seem to misinterpret the movement as an invitation for a group hug. Somehow, Nikolai ends up sitting on the floor with Marek and Eden half on top of him and looking like they're competing to see who's more capable of squishing him. All three of them are laughing.

"Nikolai, it worked!" Eden practically yells.

"Yeah!" Marek chimes in. "I don't know what you said, but it totally worked!"

Beth-Anne isn't entirely sure what Eden and Marek are talking about, but she doesn't get a chance to ask before someone else appears in the doorway. It's Stan. He has a small skate bag in each hand, and several wisps of silver hair escaping from his stubby ponytail. If she didn't know better, she'd say he slept in the sweatpants and long sleeved t-shirt he's wearing.

Stan jogs over to them. "I see the chaos has manifested," he says, nodding at Nikolai, Marek and Eden. "I believe these are yours now."

"Thanks. I'm so excited," Beth-Anne says, deadpan, but she's fighting like hell to hold her laughter in and keep her face neutral. Stan looks as if he can't wait to make Marek and Eden someone else's responsibility, and she's dying to know the story behind why he has both of them, and why they're here so early.

Stan holds out the skate carriers. "Boys. Your responsibilities..."

Marek and Eden scramble to their feet. Eden takes the purple skate bag from Stan's left hand and Marek claims the blue and white one from his right.

Eden cradles his skates against his chest with both arms as if he's holding something incredibly precious. He beams at Nikolai. "You fixed everything."

"I'm glad it worked out," Nikolai says, as Stan steps forward to give him a hand up. "But I'm sure it wasn't all me. I'd say Beth-Anne had something to do with it, and I think you must've been fairly persuasive on your own."

It clicks for Beth-Anne at that moment. Nikolai must've talked to Eden's parents about his future as a skater. She hadn't realized he'd talked to them, and she guesses he must've done it the previous Saturday when they came to pick Eden up after class. She'd noticed them arriving and she'd been peripherally aware of Eden leading Nikolai out of the rink area to meet them, but she hadn't interacted with them herself as she'd been occupied with setting things up for her preschool group.

It hadn't been until later in the week, after what she thought would be Eden's next-to-last individual lesson, that she'd gotten the opportunity to bring up Eden's athletic career with them again. They seemed to have softened their position, but they still hadn't completely made up their minds at that point. Evidently, they'd given it significant consideration since then.

"No, it was definitely you, Nikolai," Eden insists. "Mommy said she was sorry because she didn't think about it from my point of view. She said she and Dad were too worried about something bad happening to me on the ice to see that something even worse would happen if they made me quit. And I think part of it was 'cause they really listened when you told them how sad and depressed you were when you thought you wouldn't be able to skate any more."

Beth-Anne turns toward Nikolai. "You told Mr. and Mrs. Seong that?"

"Yeah," Nikolai admits. "I don't know if that was overstepping, but I felt like I had to try to convince them. I didn't really know how to approach it, so I just... went with honesty."

"You probably should've mentioned it to me," Beth-Anne says.

"Sorry. It actually didn't occur to me."

"It's okay," she says. "Just let me know next time if you feel the need to speak to one of my students' family members."

"I will," he says. "But, it really didn't cross my mind to say anything about last Saturday. I assumed you would've seen me talking to Eden's parents. We were in the hallway, right outside the windows."

"Never assume anything," she says, and to Eden she asks, "Should I expect to have another chat with your mom and dad today?"

"Yeah!" Eden says enthusiastically. "Mommy told me yesterday after school that I can keep skating, and she said she'd discuss everything with you today."

"Then he called me, 'cause he was so excited," Marek adds. "And I was excited too, so I invited him for a sleepover, so we could celebrate."

"You invited both of you for a sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa's house," Stan interjects. "Don't forget that important detail, Marek."

"I see," Beth-Anne says. "That explains why you look like you can't wait to pass them off to me."

"We had to go to Grandpa's house," Marek explains. "My parents aren't really into skating, but Grandpa gets it."

"The only thing Grandpa wants to get right now is a couple more hours' sleep," Stan says.

"Don't you have a group class this morning, Stan?" Beth-Anne asks.

"Hmm... at nine, but that gives me an hour or so to nap in the car. I might've been able to keep up with these two living hurricanes when I was your age, but us old people need proper rest, you know."

"Old people," Beth-Anne scoffs. "You can still run circles around most of us. But, go on. Nikolai and I can take these two from here."

Each of the boys grabs one of Nikolai's hands, and they start to pull him in the direction of the other practice rink. Marek glances back at his grandfather. "Yeah, don't worry Grandpa. We'll take it from here."

"Hmph. 'Don't worry, Grandpa' is a phrase that should be banned," Stan grumbles.

"Everything'll be fine, Uncle Stan," says Nikolai. "I've got them."

"Another phrase that should be illegal; 'Everything'll be fine, Uncle Stan'."

Marek's only response is a mischievous giggle, and Nikolai makes an inelegant snorting noise in his effort not to laugh.

Beth-Anne stands back and watches for a few seconds as Nikolai and the boys make their way across the foyer. He's definitely won their hearts, and it's already clear that little Eden has won his. She doesn't want to get ahead of herself, but she's thrilled at the news that Eden will be allowed to keep skating, and she envisions an amazing future for him in the sport.

For him and Nikolai. If ever two people were meant to be together as coach and student...

No. Don't let your imagination run away with you. One day at a time, and one step at a time, don't forget.

But, she can't completely suppress her elation. She'd woken up with the feeling that today would be great, and so far it's turning out exactly that way. She's glad of it. After making it through the turmoil of the last several weeks, she and Nikolai deserve to have a good day.

Stan steps up beside her and drapes an arm around her shoulders. "Well, he's a natural, isn't he? Your Nikolai, I mean. He's a hit with the kids."

"It would seem so," she agrees, smiling.

"I told you it'd all work out, didn't I?" He gives her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."