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genshinluvr · 8 months

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To be Reborn

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Vidyadhara!Isekai'd!Reader (Reincarnation AU)

Summary: Waking up in Scalegorge Waterscape, you have no recollection of your past life. You are reborn— you are a Vidyadhara— hatched from an egg. A young blond boy awaits your rebirth, the same boy who volunteers to be your protector. Your past life remains a mystery. Your relationship with three particular men remains a mystery as they gaze at you longingly from a distance. Sometimes, it's a curse to be reborn.

Note: Before any of y'all come at me, the relationship between Yanqing and the reader is strictly platonic. Imagine a protective little brother. I'm glad I was able to type this out and get it posted because this idea has been on my mind for a little bit. So, did anyone get Dan Heng IL? :3 I got him with one pull, and that makes me happy and relieved. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mentions of blood, Nanook doesn't make an appearance in this fic :<

Word Count: 4.3k

You’re floating in the sea of darkness, floating around aimlessly. You can’t tell if your eyes are open or if they’re closed. You can’t move your arms or legs, and you feel like you’re underwater. The sounds around you are muffled, making it seem like you’re underwater. You have no recollection of how you ended up in this situation. Your mind is blank; no memories are rushing back to you. Your brain is a blank slate— the only thing you can recall is your name, and that’s it. Everything else? You have no memories of it.

Your ears twitch at the sound of faint cracking around you. Light gradually breaks through the endless darkness. The cracking gets louder and louder, and before you know it, the world around you is flooded with brightness, and you fall to the ground. Well, you land on top of someone. You open your eyes to see bright gold eyes staring at you with awe and worry.

“Are you okay?” The young blond boy asks, helping you up from the ground.

You rub your head and look around, dazed and confused. “Yes. I’m fine, thank you,” you reply hesitantly.

You notice a giant egg resting beside you, cracked eggshells on the ground and on your clothes. Did you come from that egg? You look at the young boy, who notices your confusion almost immediately. The blond boy smiles and rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks turning bright pink.

“I hope you don’t mind me waiting here for you to hatch. General Jing Yuan has spoken about you many times, and I wanted to meet you myself,” says the young boy.

General Jing Yuan? The young boy continues to ramble while you stare at him cluelessly, scanning your surroundings. This place… it feels familiar, but you don’t remember anything. You shake your head and rub your throbbing temples, sighing.

“Oh, I almost forgot to introduce myself! My name is Yanqing! I am General Jing Yuan’s retainer! I hope you don’t mind me being the first person you meet after being rebirthed,” says Yanqing, smiling at you sweetly.

You have many questions to ask, but it seems like your questions will be unanswered for the time being. Which you don’t mind. However, what bothers you is your lack of memory. Yanqing tilts his head to the side, gazing at you worriedly.

You snap out of your stupor and smile at Yanqing. “It’s nice to meet you, Yanqing. My name’s—”

“[Y/N], I know your name already because General Jing Yuan would go on and on about you,” Yanqing nods, smiling at you boyishly.

Cute. You want to pinch Yanqing’s cheeks until he smacks your hand away from his face. You smile at Yanqing, still confused about how he knows your name. Yanqing’s smile slips off his face when the realization hits him.

You brush off the look he’s giving you and point at the egg. “How long were you waiting for me to be reincarnated?”

Yanqing looks away, rubbing the back of his neck while giggling awkwardly. You cross your arms over your chest, gazing at Yanqing with amusement. Yanqing is like an adorable little brother who’s attached to his older siblings and is protective of them, but he doesn’t want to show it because he doesn’t want to be teased for it.

“Not long, but I would come here every day to check up on you,” Yanqing mutters, kicking a pebble close by and watching it clatter on the ground.

You press your lips into a thin line and pat Yanqing’s head. Yanqing silently fumes and turns away with a small huff, crossing his arms over his chest while puffing his cheeks out. You snicker and pull your hand back, sitting on the ground beside the egg you emerged from.

Yanqing sits beside you, looking at you curiously. “Do you really not have any recollection of your past memories?” Yanqing asks.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t have any of my past memories, Yanqing. Am I supposed to?”

Yanqing exhales slowly and leans back on his arms, kicking his feet back and forth as he debates on what to say. You’re a long-life species with draconic features— a Vidyadhara. Your hair cascades down your back as your tail sways behind you. Your tail and horns are a light pink, almost pastel pink. You look breathtaking, even more breathtaking compared to how General Jing Yuan described you.

You turn to look at the young boy beside you, who blinks at you before turning away. Yanqing hums and nods.

“Yes, you’re supposed to remember your past lives when you reincarnate. Many long-life species remember their past lives and their past lovers,” Yangqing says nonchalantly.

It must be nice to be able to remember your past lives and people in your past. Why is it different for you? How come you’re the only person (well, you’re assuming you’re the only person) who doesn’t remember their past life despite being reincarnated? Maybe you’re the odd one out.

“That’s unfortunate for me. I don’t remember my past life. I only know my name,” you sigh, leaning against the hollow egg you emerged from.

Yanqing hums, tapping on his chin. “Maybe General Jing Yuan can help you recover your memories!” Yanqing says.

You pucker your lips and hug your legs. It’d be nice to have someone help you “regain” your memories, but their memories will be different from your past memories. Then again, what do you know? You only remember your name, and from what Yanqing has told you, it sounds like you and this General Jing Yuan person have some kind of history with each other.

Your conversation with Yanqing was cut short when both of you heard footsteps approaching your direction. You and Yanqing get off the ground and turn to see a large group of people standing before you two. The four men look at you with wide eyes. You couldn’t help but notice they all have long hair, aside from the others in the group accompanying the four men.

“[Y/N]...” The man with long black hair whispers.

He, too, has horns sprouting from the top of his head. You look at Yanqing, who glares at the four men before standing in front of you as if he’s protecting you from the four newcomers and their guests. The man with white hair smiles at you and Yanqing ruefully. You place your hand on Yanqing’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile when he turns to look at you.

Despite giving Yanqing a reassuring smile, Yanqing continues to keep his guard up, glaring at the four men before him. You sigh and cross your arms over your chest, looking away from the four men. Everything to you is a mystery. Your past, the four men standing before you and Yanqing, your history with this General Jing Yuan person.

The white-haired man narrows his eyes at Yanqing. “Am I missing something, Yanqing?” the white-haired man asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man with long, dark hair chuckles bitterly. “It seems like your lapdog is protective of [Y/N],” he says, his red eyes landing on you.

Yanqing growls and holds his sword in front of him. You can’t help but stare at the ground, drowning out the sounds and voices around you. There are whispers in your head, whispers that are loud enough for you to assume it’s all around you. You bite the inside of your cheek, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to listen closely. The whispers are not only loud, but they’re incoherent. You can’t understand what the voices are saying, and it bothers you. Why are the voices loud yet quiet at the same time? You subconsciously reach your temples, rubbing them as a headache forms.

“[Y/N]?”

You snap out of your stupor and look up to see the four mysterious men (and Yanqing and the other guests) gazing at you worriedly. You blink and sigh, shoulders slumping. Could the voices be from your past life? Whatever the voices are, it’s causing you nothing but confusion and frustration. How long have you been spacing out?

The blond man looks at you worriedly. “What’s the matter? You look frustrated,” says the blond man.

You give him a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m fine,” you reply hesitantly.

The man with horns raises his eyebrows at you, looking at you worriedly. You’re not entirely comfortable with telling these men your situation. While they know your name, you don’t know theirs. Yanqing moves closer to you, whispering into your ears and telling you each of the men’s names.

“I don’t have much recollection of my past life, but I heard you all know me. Or I knew all of you,” you say nervously while playing with the billowing sleeves of your hanfu.

The white-haired man— also known as General Jing Yuan— nods and gestures for you and Yanqing to follow him and the other three men beside him. The pink-haired girl steps forward, smiling at you while shaking her legs nervously.

The pink-haired girl clears her throat nervously. “You may not know me, but my name is March 7th! But you can call me March! These two are Caelus and Welt Yang,” says March, gesturing to the older man with brown hair and glasses and the silver-haired man standing beside him.

You smile at the trio before walking ahead with Yanqing sticking by your side. You look around in awe. The more you walk further out of this place, the more you see things you have never seen before. Well, you probably did in the past, but everything is new to you.

Yanqing gently nudges you, glancing over at you. “What’s on your mind?”

“This place is hauntingly beautiful. Where are we, Yanqing?” You ask, passively looking at the other Vidyadhara eggs as you and Yanqing walk by.

How long have you been in the egg you have hatched from? The young boy beside you smiles at you and crosses his arms over his chest. You may have known Yanqing for less than an hour, but Yanqing can’t help but pride himself in being the first person you trust. Unlike the four particular men— well, three men, but he digresss— who have been anticipating your reincarnation.

“We are currently leaving the Scalegorge Waterscape! If you have any questions, I will be happy to answer them!” Yanqing announces proudly, propping his hands on his hips.

You smile and pat Yanqing’s head as he leads you out of Scalegorge Waterscape with the others following behind. Scalegorge Waterscape is like another world to you— a secret world only certain people are allowed to know of its existence.

You hum softly. “How much do you know about my past life, Yanqing? You mentioned how General Jing Yuan would go on and on about me. What has he told you about me?” You ask, crossing your arms over his chest.

That piqued the three Xianzhou men’s interest and curiosity while General Jing Yuan’s smile slipped off his face. General Jing Yuan clears his throat as he slowly picks up his pace to catch up to you and Yanqing. Mostly Yanqing. Yanqing taps on his chin as he racks his brain, trying to recall what the white-haired General said about you.

Yanqing’s eyes light up. “Ah! I remember! There’s this drink on the Xianzhou Luofu, and it’s incredibly sweet. Whenever General Jing Yuan sees someone drinking it at the Seat of Divine Foresight, the General would be like, ‘I remember the time when [Y/N] would sneak out at night and buy Immortals Delight with Dan Feng. They were caught in the act by not only myself but by Yingxing as well,’” Yanqing says, mocking the white-haired General’s voice.

‘Immortals Delight?’ you mouthed to yourself, trying to remember what the drink looked like and what it tasted like for your past self to be obsessed with the drink to the point where you and this Dan Feng person had to sneak out and buy it. Yanqing continues to rack through his memories before smiling widely.

“The General would also talk about how the blooming flowers remind him of—” A hand quickly covers Yanqing’s mouth, shutting the young boy up before he can continue.

You stop in your tracks and look to see General Jing Yuan covering the blond boy’s mouth with his hand. You and General Jing Yuan lock eyes for a moment while Yanqing thrashes around in General Jing Yuan’s grasp, trying to remove the General’s hands from his face. You press your lips into a thin line and cover your mouth with your hands to muffle your laugh.

Mr. Yang smiles and looks at Caelus and March, chuckling. “It looks like the General has fond memories of [Y/N],” says the brown-haired man.

Caelus snorts. “Yeah, very fond memories of [Y/N],” Caelus chuckles.

After some time, General Jing Yuan releases Yanqing. Yanqing huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at the white-haired General before scrambling over to you. Yanqing throws your arm around his shoulders, catching the others by surprise. You chuckle, and pat Yanqing’s head before the two of you continue your way toward the main entrance of Scalegorge Waterscape. While walking up the steps, Yanqing turns to look at the other four men— specifically Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae, General Jing Yuan, and Blade— before sticking his tongue out at them and turning back around to start a conversation with you.

“I think it’s weird how, allegedly, long-life species remember their past lives, but [Y/N] doesn’t remember theirs,” the indigo-haired man says, propping his hands on his hips.

The blond man in armor rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not ‘allegedly’ when there’s plenty of evidence about it, Sampo,” the blond man says.

Once you all arrive at the entrance of Scalegorge Waterscape, you turn to the others before scanning the surroundings once more. You don’t think you will be returning to Scalegorge Waterscape, or at least not in the near future.

A man with his hair in a half-ponytail speaks up, “Why do you look glum?”

You blink at him and the other unfamiliar faces. Caelus slaps his forehead before introducing you to the three extra people you weren’t introduced to— Sampo, Gepard, and Luka. The two men, Gepard and Luka, smile at you politely. At the same time, Sampo magically pulls a comb out of thin air, combing his hair before strutting toward you. However, before Sampo can reach you, Yanqing stands in front of you, pointing the tip of his sword in Sampo’s direction with a murderous glare.

“I wouldn’t get any closer if I were you,” Yanqing hisses.

Sampo holds his hands up. “Whoa there, little guy! I mean no harm!” Sampo says, smiling at Yanqing nervously.

Yanqing glowers at the nickname Sampo gave him before looking at the white-haired General. General Jing Yuan chuckles, walking toward you, Yanqing, and Sampo. General Jing Yuan stands behind you and Yanqing, placing both hands on your and Yanqing’s shoulders while smiling politely at Sampo. On the surface, General Jing Yuan is calm. Still, on a deeper level, the white-haired General is mildly annoyed with the indigo-haired merchant.

General Jing Yuan clears his throat. “Yanqing, stand down. There’s no need for hostility. We’re all friends here, are we not?” asks the General.

Yanqing makes a dissatisfied noise before putting his sword away. Yanqing continues to glare at Sampo, propping his hands on his hips before pointing his index finger at the man.

Yanqing demands, “What were your intentions with [Y/N] when you approached them?”

You look at Yanqing, surprised. You look at Sampo and smile at him before patting Yanqing’s shoulders. Yanqing doesn’t budge and continues to glare at Sampo. You sigh in defeat and look at General Jing Yuan, who’s already staring at you. You visibly wince with surprise before quickly looking away from him, your cheeks getting hot while the General chuckles.

“I see the General’s feelings for [Y/N] have yet disappeared,” Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae murmurs beside Blade, crossing his arms over his chest while watching the scene unfold.

Blade huffs beside Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing at the horned man beside him. “I could say the same thing for you,” Blade says nonchalantly.

Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae ignores the look Blade is giving him, acting like he doesn’t feel or notice an obvious stare from the dark-haired man. Yanqing grumbles to himself before tugging on your arm and pulling you away from the group. You find yourself standing at the docks, doing what you have been doing since you hatched from your egg— look at your surroundings. It bothers you how familiar this place feels, but you can’t remember why.

“Ahem. Care to tell what’s been bothering you?” Luocha asks, now standing beside you as he gazes at the horizon.

Your gaze falls to the ground, feeling the sand beneath your shoes. You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue and tap your fingers on your biceps, debating whether you should tell them what’s on your mind. As much as you wanted to say to them what was wrong, you’re sure the others already knew the issue.

You look up at Luocha, who stares at you intently with his sparkling green eyes. You look at the sun setting on the horizon, shoulders slumping as you cross your arms over your chest. It almost feels inappropriate to tell someone your problems, especially when you met them not long ago after being reborn.

“Is there a reason why I’m unable to remember my past life? I find it strange that I’m the only one who can’t remember their past life after being reborn,” you sigh, rubbing your temples.

Everyone looks at Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae, General Jing Yuan, and Blade. The three men look just as clueless as the rest. You sigh and smile at them ruefully, waving your hand in front of you while shaking your head.

You sigh, “You know what? Forget I asked that question. Maybe there’s a reason why I don’t remember my past life, and perhaps it’s for the best.” Realization soon kicks in. You turn to the audience behind you and Luocha (and Yanqing), eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “Now that I am reborn, where do I go from here?”

Caelus looks at you questionably. “Care to elaborate on that for the rest of us?” Caelus asks, propping his hands on his hips.

“Do I return to the Xianzhou Luofu, or do I go elsewhere? I don’t have a home per se,” you reply, playing with the billowing sleeves of your hanfu. “This is a new and strange concept for me— not remembering my past life and questioning if I belong on the Xianzhou Luofu.”

The rebirth cycle of a Vidyadhara is something you have never experienced. At least, that’s what you assume. The waves crashing on shore are almost deafening, loud enough to keep you semi-occupied from your thoughts. What did you do to deserve to be put in this situation?

Mr. Yang hums, stroking his chin. “Well, you are always welcome to the Astral Express,” says Mr. Yang.

You look at the brown-haired man curiously. The Astral Express, huh? Sounds like you will be going on lots of adventures if you board the Express. It does sound better than doing nothing on the Xianzhou Luofu, especially when you don’t have a place called home. March’s eyes light up, and she runs toward you, linking her arms around yours. For a brief moment, a flash of panic can be seen in Yanqing’s eyes as he reaches forward, ready to pull March away from you.

What stopped Yanqing from doing so was General Jing Yuan grabbing the young boy by the shoulders and shaking his head. Yanqing huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, grumbling while kicking a pebble close to his feet. March caught you off guard when she linked her arms around yours. You didn’t expect her to be bold enough to touch you (mainly because Yanqing would cut anyone who tried to touch you).

You hum, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “I might consider it, but I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb,” you murmur, pointing to the horns on your head.

You know Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae has horns as well, but he can at least hide his appearance and present himself as a human like the others. You, on the other hand, don’t know if you can do the same. However, having horns and draconic features shouldn’t be a big deal other than dealing with the looks of curiosity from strangers and awkward stares when you make eye contact with the person.

Luka raises his hand to grab your attention. “I have a question. Since Dan Heng can change his appearance, can you change yours as well?” Luka asks, gesturing to the horns on your head.

You subconsciously touch your horns and chew the inside of your cheek. “I’m not sure, Luka. Even if I can’t hide my horns and draconic features, it’s no big deal,” you reply, smiling at the now-blushing man.

You and the others got on the boat to return to the Alchemy Commission. Despite reincarnating and not remembering your past life before being reborn, the Alchemy Commission feels almost as familiar as Scalegorge Waterscape. Although, you can’t help but feel grim when arriving at the Alchemy Commission.

“Does anything feel familiar by any chance?” Gepard asks, walking beside you.

You nod hesitantly. “The Alchemy Commission feels familiar, but I don’t think it’s a good thing. I can’t help but feel uncomfortable,” you reply, subconsciously rubbing your chest while looking around.

Aside from the Mara-struck roaming around the area, the Alchemy Commission looks eerie and empty. Unbeknownst to you and the others not of the Xianzhou faction, something tragic happened to you before your rebirth. Everyone is standing on the ground where you were ambushed and brutally murdered by someone you once trusted. You were lured to the farthest part of the Alchemy Commission, ambushed, and killed by someone you used to consider a friend. By the time Dan Feng (now Dan Heng), General Jing Yuan, and Yingxing arrived at the scene, they were too late. Stricken with anguish, Yingxing, General Jing Yuan, and Dan Feng tracked down your attackers and killed them all.

They remember clutching your lifeless body in their arms, trying to stop the bleeding despite you being dead at the scene. Your clothes are torn and bloodied, your hair matted with blood, and your skin stained with your own blood. The three men remember the giant gaping hole where your heart was supposed to be— crimson blood pooling around you on the concrete as you stare up at the three grief-stricken men with lifeless eyes. Perhaps it’s best for you to remain oblivious of your past. It’s better that way, no matter how much it hurts the three men who hold you close and dear to their hearts.

General Jing Yuan places his hand on your shoulder. “Wherever you choose to stay— be it the Xianzhou Luofu or the Astral Express, you are always welcome to the Xianzhou Luofu,” says General Jing Yuan.

You smile at the white-haired General. “Thank you, General Jing Yuan,” you whisper.

You stop in front of the Aureate Elixir Furnace, staring at the large crucible with curiosity. You hear whispers around you. You look at the people standing around you, wondering if any of them said anything. But none of them were speaking. They’re surveying the area, not saying a word.

“How strange,” you rub the back of your neck before crossing your arms over your chest.

You close your eyes and focus on the voice in the back of your head. The voices don’t belong to you, but the voices sound very angry and sad. The voices are gradually getting louder and louder. You squeeze your eyes shut and duck your head low, your hair falling over your face.

The voice whispers, “We shall reunite one day, [Y/N]. You cannot escape your fate.”

Fate? What’s your fate? Are you in danger by any chance? Could the voices be connected to your past, or does the voice belong to something or someone seeking possible revenge on you?

“Are you alright, [Y/N]?” Blade puts his hands on your shoulders, startling you.

You look up at Blade like a deer caught in headlights. You gulp and smile at him nervously, trying to act normal.

“Yeah! I’m alright! I’m trying to recall my past life, that’s all,” you lie.

Blade and Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae look at you worriedly as you turn to Yanqing, who approaches you with a worried look. Great, more people to worry about you. Yanqing stands beside you and stares at Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae and Blade cautiously before turning to you.

Yanqing holds his arm out for you to take. “Are you hungry? If so, I know a few places on the Xianzhou Luofu that have amazing food,” Yanqing says, giving you a closed-eyed smile.

You smile at Yanqing and loop your arms around his arm. “I am feeling a bit famished,” you murmur.

Yanqing hums thoughtfully, tapping on his chin as he pulls you away from Blade and Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae. While Yanqing is listing out the food on the menu of the restaurant he passively mentioned, the group behind you follows closely.

Luocha looks at General Jing Yuan from the corner of his eyes. “You saw that, right?” Luocha mutters.

General Jing Yuan hums, nodding. “Indeed, I did.”

While your past life will be a mystery to you, the voices in your head seem to not want you to live your new life in peace. Whether the voices in your head are from the voices of those in your past life or are trying to warn you, there’s a strange feeling deep down in your gut, and you can’t put your fingers on it. Whatever it is, it will have to wait.

Note: I know a Vidyadhara has many features, but I like the draconic features. Therefore the reader has draconic features. Oh, and the color of the reader's horns... I couldn't come up with a color, so I chose a random color. If you're not a huge fan of the color I chose, change it to whatever color you desire. It's 5 AM, and I need to sleep, so I hope you guys like this story-ish. I won't be posting any fics for this upcoming week, so keep that in mind. Anyway, to my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

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jisungsdaydreamer · 10 months

Text

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER ONE | 18+

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

THE LOVE FRUIT

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

«SERIES MASTERLIST»

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

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

“What is love?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heartbreak.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, well, well.

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

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

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

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

“I still don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is love?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is everyone who works here just ridiculously attractive?

“Dr. Hwang is all ready for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, call me Hyunjin.”

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

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

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

Darling?! Ohmyfuckinggod.

You cough. “Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you aren’t.

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

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

“I’m just so tired of my damn life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?!

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he’s sexy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just like that, darling.”

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

“So good for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess.”

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

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

“Are you happy with yourself?”

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

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

“Can you tell me why?”

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

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

Damn. The solar system?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you recommend we do, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N! Get your ass over here!”

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart drops. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously? Here? Now?”

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

“Suuure.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s, um, kind of bad, though.”

“I’m listening.”

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are so fucked.

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

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

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

That was all before you, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me so bad, don’t you?”

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

“Hyunjin…”

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

“I need you to come for me, Hyunjin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is so fucked.

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

AUTHOR'S NOTE

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

TAGLIST

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

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

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

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effortandmore · 11 months

Text

tuesday moon | knj (18+)

summary: being “just friends” with kim namjoon sucks

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut

au: university, co-workers to lovers to friends to lovers again (they're oblivious)

warnings: it's mostly fluff i think. they're oblivious. smut: minors should not be interacting/reading, namjoon has a big dick, a lil praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, the usual suspects i think. drinking (but not before they sleep together), tae is into new age jazz... and they were roommates!

word count: 7.7k

a/n: so... i had this dream a couple months ago and couldn't get it out of my head, so here you go. thanks, sleep brain. the title is from a neutral milk hotel song (but tbh the '23 album isn't great). thank you to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over. and then for doing it again when i couldn't even find the mistake you told me was there 🙃

read on ao3

You’ve learned a lot in university—which given how much money you’ve spent to be there is a relief. But amongst business classes and writing workshops and statistics, the most important knowledge you’ve gained is that of small things.

Of small things and how they can change your life in unbelievably big ways.

Kim Namjoon isn’t exactly small. But the events that put him right in the middle of your life are. The first day you meet him is a Tuesday. Tuesdays have always been for non-events: for meetings and your least favorite classes… For snagging a coveted dryer on the third floor of the dorm building because Jeongguk saves it for you when he’s finished with his seemingly endless laundry. Tuesdays are for your first real uni friend, Taehyung, to show up to the laundry room unannounced and make you listen to weird new-age jazz on his phone that you hate, but love how much he loves it.

And then your work-study starts. A job in the library is supposed to be easy, has better hours than a lot of the jobs that are available, and pretty much only requires you to understand the Dewey decimal system so you can reshelve things quickly. You can count and read, and those seem to be the only things the head librarian cares about. Cake.

Your first training day is a Tuesday. It’s a rainy afternoon, and in one of the conference rooms in the back of the law floor are you and three other new employees. Right away, it seems like Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon are already friends. They joke and whisper throughout the orientation videos and absolutely make you feel like a fourth wheel. At your first break, Hoseok extends the invitation for you to sit with them when he notices you still sitting by yourself in the back of the room, and it's then that you learn they for sure already knew each other—music majors and all in the same class even though Yoongi is a little older than the other two. They signed up for all the same work-study assignments hoping they’d be placed together, hoping they could have a chance to work on music during slow times at the slowest work-study assignments. Namjoon, though, who has been quiet the whole time, finally speaks up at this.

“Well, I also like books,” he says softly, one side of his mouth turned up in a grin. “So, I guess I had an ulterior motive.”

“Of course you did, Namjoonie,” Hoseok replies.

Yoongi turns to you, explaining, “Namjoon’s a double major. Smartest guy we know. Literature and music.”

You talk more with them after the ice is broken—Yoongi’s a double major, too, math and music. Hoseok raps and does street dancing in his free time, and around the three of them, you feel like you’re woefully underachieving just at life in general.

“What about you?” Namjoon prompts after you get some background on all of them.

“Ah… nothing impressive. Economics major. Just what my parents wanted, you know. But I like books, too. I volunteer at the public library already, but it doesn’t exactly help with tuition.”

“You volunteer?” Namjoon repeats, looking surprised.

“Oh, yeah… It’s no big deal. I just read books to kids sometimes.”

“That’s awesome,” he says, and the look on his face tells you he might actually mean it. Next to him, Yoongi snickers and Hoseok smiles brightly at you.

“Namjoonie here has wanted to volunteer doing park clean up for a while, but Yoongi and I are always dragging him to the studio on the weekends, so he doesn’t have time.”

Namjoon shrugs. “It would be nice to feel like I’m helping, I think.”

“It is,” you agree, sharing a look with him across the table. “The purpose of life is to be useful…” You mumble the quote under your breath, assuming they wouldn’t know what you meant anyway.

“Emerson?” Namjoon asks.

“Oh! Uh… yeah, I mean… That’s what people think, but probably not. It’s most likely from a speech someone else gave when they gave Emerson an award, but most people think it’s him—” you cut yourself off when you notice Namjoon’s eyes gone wide.

“Self Reliance is one of my favorites,” he says, leaning forward, excitement playing in his voice.

“Same! No one ever knows what I’m talking about, but ‘Nothing at last is sacred but the integrity of one’s own mind’ is maybe my whole life philosophy,” you ramble, just happy that someone might finally know what you’re talking about. No one in your economics classes ever shows any interest in philosophy, anyway. Your roommate calls you a nerd every time you bring stuff like this up, and Jeongguk just stares at you with big eyes like he wants to drink every word you're saying but doesn’t understand a drop of it. But Namjoon actually looks… interested in what you’re saying. More than interested, even.

Yoongi elbows Hoseok and smirks. “Namjoon’s in trouble,” he says.

But before you can ask what that means, the head librarian interrupts to tell you it’s time to get back to training. You have to partner up for training to use the library’s reservation and shelving programs, and Namjoon comes right up to you, grinning shyly, and asks if you want to be his partner while his friends whisper on the other side of the room. You know immediately how this is going to go. Or you think you do, anyway.

And you’re right. By the end of the first week of your work study, you’re in Kim Namjoon’s bed.

It’s just like it sounds.

You’re naked, legs bent at the knees and open with his head between them. You noticed his brain first, but it only took that first afternoon to realize that not only was he smart, but stupid hot and kind and sort of funny in the sarcastic way you like, and he seemed to like something about you, too.

On Saturday, you work a slow shift together, both of you using most of the time to catch up on homework, and when it’s over, he asks if you want to come back to his place and keep studying. You agree quickly, but as soon as you get there, you realize you’re both on the same page about being more interested in studying each other than your class work. One thing leads to another, and here you are, moaning into your own palm as he flicks his tongue over your clit in a steady rhythm.

“Namjoon, I–” You’re pathetic, you think, gasping and barely able to make words come out of your mouth, but fuck if he’s not good at this. Better than you’d thought he would be, actually. He came across as a little on the shy side during work, like he might be one of those guys who needs you to tell him where the clit is. Eager to please, but not quite sure how to go about it. Willing to take direction.

He is not that.

“Gonna come, baby? You like my tongue that much?” Namjoon lifts his head to ask, and his lips are slick with you and his voice is deep and his fingers just don’t stop moving… It's so much.

“Yeah, so close…”

At that, Namjoon smirks and ducks his head back down to finish the job. He makes quick work of you, sucking on your clit and twisting one of your nipples with his free hand. The other has two fingers fucking into you in just the right way, just shallow enough to hit your g-spot each time he pushes in.

The orgasm builds fast, pressure from the inside, pressure from the outside… Everything feels so, so good, and you try to tell him so, but all you can do is whimper through it, clenching your thighs around his ears when you come on his tongue and he tries (bless him) to keep licking your core as your knees shake.

“Fuck,” you say on an exhale, arm tossed over your own forehead.

“I’m down,” he teases.

You’re about to say something sarcastic back, but when you lift your arm and look down at him, you lose that train of thought. He looks fucking incredible: flushed, a little sweaty, chin shiny with your orgasm and he’s grinning with those stupid dimples out… How could you not give him everything he wants? Maybe it’s the orgasm talking, the sweet rush of dopamine affecting you when you say, “I want that. Fuck me…” And for emphasis, when he stares at you a little stunned, you add, “Please, Namjoon?”

He only nods, enthusiastically and a little dopey with it, a little like the boy you saw in the library. But when his cock is out—big… like, really big. Why even have a cock that large, really? What’s even the point of that?—he’s smirking and appropriately (you hope) confident again.

“That is…” you look down and make a vague gesture in the direction of his dick, which makes him look down, too.

He shies almost instantly. “Yeah, it’s okay if it’s too much or whatever…”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I just… You look good.” You scoot up so you can have level eye contact. “Want you to fuck me. I can handle it, promise. I want to.”

Namjoon swallows, visibly nervous, but agrees anyway.

You knew it would be fine. Any partner who makes sure to tell you you’re beautiful, who makes sure you come first, who pays attention to your body the way he has for the last couple hours is probably going to keep doing that, you decide. And he does. He’s careful, even though you think it might actually be killing him a little to not move once he’s over halfway inside you. He checks in with you, makes sure the consent is still there, and then when you ask him to “actually fuck me, Namjoon… want your cock… all of you,” he does. And he delivers.

You’re essentially sitting in his lap, his palms spread on your hips as he moves you on his cock and it is… Well, it’s unequivocally the best anyone’s ever fucked you. His lips are on your neck, your breasts, the swell underneath them where they meet your ribcage… He keeps talking to you in his raspy whisper, making sure you feel okay, telling you how good you feel to him. There are times when he gets a little porny, telling you how tight you are (you’re sure a cock that big hasn’t seen anything not tight), and then he says, half out of breath, “Knew you would be a good girl. Knew it from the first time I saw you.” And you didn’t even know you wanted to be a ‘good girl,’ but suddenly you very much do.

Before he comes, he makes sure you do again, too. His thumb finds your clit and his lips are hot against your ear, whispering filth when you tighten around his cock and shudder in his lap. He’s not far behind you, pulling your hips down when he thrusts into you a little harder, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort. He’s quiet when he comes, just a low moan of your name as he stills under you.

After, it’s the small things he does that you like. It’s nice that he doesn’t try and move right away, just runs his hands up and down your back—soothing, almost. The closeness is nice, his head resting against your collarbone while you stroke your fingers through his hair. It feels intimate, more than a first time or a one night stand with your coworker should. But neither of you make a move to change that, so maybe it’s alright.

For now.

You haven’t exactly been the most social university student, but you know how these things are supposed to go. You clean up, you get dressed, you make awkward small talk about your classes or your work study and then you go your separate ways. You go back to your apartment and you don’t talk about what happened. He might look at you like he knows what’s underneath your hoodie next time you see him, but you know it won’t happen again. That’s not how it works. Not for you, anyway.

Kim Namjoon is a good guy, that you’re sure of. He’s a hard worker, he’s smart, he has lots of friends and hobbies and between that and school and work, you know there’s no way he’s looking for a relationship, and you also know he’s going to do his best to let you down easy if he thinks that’s what you’re after.

But, he’s your friend. And your co-worker, and the sex was great, so you want to at least spare him the effort of all that. So, when he gets up to dispose of the condom and find a washcloth, you get dressed quietly, pack your textbooks, and do your best to look mostly put together by the time he comes back.

“So,” you start as he returns to his room, “that was great… Really great, Namjoonie. Thank you.”

He looks… confused. “You’re thanking me for sex?”

“I uh… yes?”

Namjoon gives you a dimpled smile with an eyebrow raised, clearly amused. “Okay… Well, you’re welcome, then. And thank you.” He gives you a teasing bow, and with it, you feel a little relief. Because he’s obviously ready to move forward and this can just be a fun thing that happened and you don’t have to make him worry about letting you down, and you don’t have to worry about how much you fucking like him already. You can just be friends.

The problem, you realize quickly, is that being “just friends” with Kim Namjoon sucks.

It’s like sending your poor, delusional heart through a cheese grater with each of your work-study shifts. It’s swallowing down every dream of happiness when you have to sit next to him at a party and watch him nod along in agreement as Hoseok tells him how hot the new guy in his dance class is. (The guy is hot, with at least a 6-pack, big, pouty lips, and biceps like cannons. So, even you have to agree they have a point.)

Okay, that’s probably dramatic. Incredibly dramatic according to Taehyung and Jeongguk. Which, honestly, says a lot coming from them.

So, you do your best to forget your crush and just be cool about everything. You both make a frankly commendable effort to never talk about what happened between you, and after a few weeks, things don’t feel quite so weird. Namjoon’s probably relieved you never mentioned it again, didn’t expect him to be your boyfriend or anything.

You think you’ve done well.

At one party, halfway through the semester, you meet Namjoon’s friend, Seokjin. He’s quiet at first, polite with a big smile and a nervous laugh. He sticks close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and it doesn’t take long before he’s being shuttled across the large backyard in your direction.

“Hi,” he says simply. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh! That’s good… I think?”

“Yah, Namjoonie here—”

“Well, that was great!” Namjoon interjects. “Glad you two finally met. We’re late for something, though. So, bye!” And then he’s pulling Seokjin behind him through the yard in the opposite direction. It’s so weird.

In his protests, you’re pretty sure you hear him say, “You’re ridiculous,” to Namjoon. If you were more sober, you would have recognized it as the first small thing that should have tipped you off.

The second thing happens right before summer break. Your whole group, consisting of your and Namjoon’s friends, are sitting around at lunch discussing everyone’s plans for the summer. Hoseok and Jimin (the hot dancer he wouldn’t shut up about who is now his new boyfriend) are going to a dance clinic on the other side of the country. Jeongguk is going home, promising you he’ll leave you a list of acceptable laundromats in his absence. Seokjin and Taehyung are working—teaching acting classes to teenagers at summer camp.

Yoongi’s got an internship, so he’ll be around, but barely since it’s in the city and your university is a little outside of town. It’s a long subway trip, so he’s got a sublet up there he’s moving into for the summer months.

And then it’s Namjoon’s turn.

“I’m staying. Not on campus, obviously. But I found an apartment and I’m looking for a roommate.” Everyone nods along except Jeongguk, whose eyes dart from Namjoon to you and back several times.

“What about noona?” he finally says, hooking a thumb in your direction. “She’s staying, too.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“That’s not a bad idea…”

Namjoon and you look at one another. He’s flushed, and he’s doing that thing he does when he’s nervous where he rubs his throat.

“I’m sure Namjoon has plenty of people in mind already,” you say, trying to give him the out he clearly wants.

“Not exactly,” he mumbles.

“This is perfect!” Seokjin exclaims. “Don’t you think this is perfect, Namjoon?”

You lean over to whisper to Namjoon, “You don’t have to, it’s really alright.” It feels like you’re making him nervous, you can feel his muscles stiffen where you’re touching his arm, and the flush he was sporting is spreading to his neck now.

“Would you even want to?” He asks softly.

You’re not sure, actually. It’s already hard work trying to put your stupid crush out of your mind most days. And now, you only see him a few days a week. Your brain (a logical friend) is telling you that living with him will be terrible for your heart. Your heart isn’t as smart and is pounding faster just thinking about spending more time around your crush. Friend, you correct yourself.

The problem is that only Tae and Jeongguk know about your feelings, and none of them know you and Namjoon have already slept together. So, if you say no, it might be weird. As far as they know, you’re just friends, good friends. Why wouldn’t you want to live with him?

“Yeah,” you reply brightly, swallowing down your nerves, “it’ll be great, Joonie. I can cook and you can help me study for my summer classes.” You’re nodding along as you speak, trying to convince yourself that what you’re saying is true.

“Okay… sure. Roommates,” he says, looking a little stunned.

“Roommates!”

You stick your hand out to shake his. You’re the least sexy person to have ever existed, you decide, as he laughs and shakes your hand.

“It was a terrible idea,” you whine into Taehyung’s lap. “He’s just here… all the time. And sometimes…”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes he doesn’t wear a shirt!” You slump further into your friend, making what you know are pitiful whining noises into his thighs.

It’s not like you’d go as far as saying moving in with Namjoon for the summer was a mistake. But it wasn’t great. Actually, it was really fucking great, and that was the problem. Or part of the problem anyway.

The apartment is nice—nicer than you’d envisioned when he told you about it. Not too big, but on the corner of the building so you got nice light throughout the day. You each have your own bedroom (thank god) and they aren’t large, but Namjoon gave you the one with the room for a chair by the window, even though you knew he’d been planning to write lyrics there. As promised, you cook for both of you in your small kitchen and Namjoon helps you with your summer classes.

With all of your friends gone or busy, you two don’t see much of them, and it feels like you build your own little world: late nights listening to the records he brings home, eating simple meals by the window and complaining that you don’t have a balcony, getting dragged out on bike rides when the sun falls and it’s cool enough outside, hunched together on the floor of the living room scrolling webtoons and drinking one too many cheap beers, and the worst (best) of all—falling asleep on the couch together before you wake up with a jolt realizing your head is on him and it’s far, far too much to realize his chest is in your face… so you scramble to your room like a coward and don’t fall back asleep, too keyed up.

Seokjin, when you do see him, adds in more and more “old married couple” jokes as the summer goes on. He makes fun of your chore lists on the fridge, cutely decorated with whatever doodle has been occupying Namjoon’s mind that week.

(Jin doesn’t even know that when all the chores are done, you save the little post-it notes, snatching them off the fridge when Namjoon’s not around or not paying attention, and putting them carefully into a little box in your desk drawer with all the other scraps and mementos of your friendship you’ve kept over the almost-year you’ve known him.)

Jin teases you when he lets himself in, late in the mornings, and finds the two of you still asleep, tumbled atop each other on the floor, record-listening session gone too late, the needle still digging into invisible grooves at the center.

It’s not his fault it doesn’t feel like a joke to you, he doesn’t know that you feel like the 45 and all of the jokes and all of Namjoon’s smiles and all of the little notes he leaves and the way he blushes when you come out of the bathroom in your robe like maybe maybe there’s just a chance you’re not the only one still thinking about that one time… that those are the needles, and you’re here, spinning in place while they poke and prod and dig for a melody that just isn’t there.

Namjoon, to his credit, is the very definition of a good friend and roommate. He does all the little things. He brings you breakfast sometimes when he’s been out all night and knows you’ll be waking up shortly after he comes home. He cleans, so that even though he’s got so much stuff (endless records and books and figurines and things he just thought were cute), your apartment never feels dirty, just lived-in and homey and a little cluttered. Buys toothpaste when you forget—before you forget, even. Puts your favorite flavor of soju in the fridge every week even though he hates it.

And it’s not just what he does at home (your home. with him. which you try not to think about because the way the thought makes your heart swell and almost burst is dangerous and confusing, and you hate that you can’t stop thinking about it entirely.) he takes you out, too. It helps that he’s more social than you: gets you outside in the real world between classes and studying. Makes sure you touch grass. Does stupid dances with you to bad music at worse clubs. Buys you hotteok at 2am because he knows you want it even though you won’t admit it so he says both pieces are for him and lets you argue that it’s bad for his heart and you’re willing to take one off his hands just for the sake of his health… because you care for him.

You don’t let yourself think about the way it seems like he flushes and his eyes twinkle a little when you say that. It’s got to be in your imagination.

He doesn’t know that each time he goes out of his way to do something nice for you hurts a little. Doesn’t know that each time he’s a touch too sweet, you wish you’d stayed that one time. Can’t possibly relate to the way you wish that one night turned into a date turned into something more, maybe.

And you know he can’t relate, because he’s started doing this thing while you’ve been living together: talking about someone. Someone that he likes.

It’s devastating and you try so hard not to cry on the nights when it comes up. You succeed in never crying in front of him, but if you drip snot onto your pillow trying to hold back your sobs once you’re alone in your room, he doesn’t have to know.

You don’t know who she is, but you’ve overheard Namjoon on the phone with Yoongi talking about her. She sounds great, if Namjoon’s probably clouded judgment is any indication. He thinks she’s smart and talented, says she sells herself short and he thinks she’s as close to perfect as anyone on the planet. He doesn’t go out without you too often, and you don’t ask where he’s been if he doesn’t offer, but he must be spending time with her because you catch him on a video call with Hoseok saying she can cook and she’s brilliant and she’s everything he’s ever wanted.

She also sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s got, because Namjoon’s convinced she doesn’t like him back and that she’s out of his league—you finally ascertain that the reason he’s been going to the gym more was because one time she said she thought another guy had nice biceps and he knows they were bigger than his.

One time, you come home late, catching Tae at a bar near campus after he’s done with classes and drinking a little too much. You’re not drunk, but you’re in that warm space past sober where everything is a little softer and funnier and Namjoon looks dangerously pretty sitting at his desk with headphones on working on a song.

You plop on his bed, as you do now, and wait for him to notice you’re there. It doesn’t take long.

“Hey,” he says as he pulls off the headphones. He’s giving you the double-dimple smile, which is especially effective when you’re tipsy like this. Throws you more off-kilter than another cocktail would have. “Have fun with Tae?”

“Hmm… yeah.” You lay back on his bed and don’t let yourself worry about your shirt riding up or your hair spilling around you in a haystack. It’s just Namjoon, and you know he doesn’t think about you like that, know he’s already seen you with more skin showing, hair messier.

“Need me to get you some water?”

“No,” you sit up on your elbows, “s’okay. Didn’t drink too much. What’re you working on?”

Namjoon is staring right at you, something indiscernible on his face. He looks almost like he’s in pain or something. “You alright?”

He shakes his head and looks embarrassed. You have no idea why. “Yeah, fine… I’m fine. Just a song, nothing too special.”

“Can I hear it?”

“It’s personal… Kind of silly. It’s not done yet… I’m not sure you’d like it,” he says.

“I like everything you make.” It comes out too honest, you’re not sober enough to hide the tenderness in your voice, to wrap it in something less vulnerable.

There’s no response to that, and you worry you’ve given too much away for a split second before he unplugs his headphones and hits play on the song. And if you thought the sight of him working, bathed in moonlight and neon, was beautiful, this song is truly something else.

It’s lovely—sweeping melody and building building with layers until it crashes all around you, his voice low and quick, persistent with words of love. It’s a love song disguised as wordplay, or maybe the other way around. It’s him in music: smart and beautiful and selfless and breathtaking… You want to keep it, you want it to be yours, you want the words to be about you or for you or just written with you in the back of his mind. It’s too much, it’s so so beautiful, and you know it’s about her. It’s for her. She’s the one who has his attention and who gets his words and it makes you want to crawl under your blankets and never come out like a petulant child.

You’re laying down again, so you don’t know what he’s looking at as you listen. When it ends, you’re asking the question even though you don’t want the answer, even though him saying it will make it too real. “Is it about her?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he answers, just as quietly. “It’s about her.”

You sit up quick, make sure you’re turned away from him so he can’t see the tears that are beginning to drip down your cheeks.

“It’s pretty,” you say as you head toward the door, hopefully not giving yourself away, not looking back in his direction. “Really pretty. She’s lucky, Namjoonie.”

You don’t see the confusion on his face as your bedroom door closes behind you. You don’t hear him tell you goodnight in a small, concerned voice.

After song-gate, you do your best to put a brave face on and move forward. It’s more for him than you, you have to tell yourself. Because you, your heart, you don’t want to let him go, can’t stand the idea of watching him be happy with someone else. But you, Kim Namjoon’s best friend, you want nothing more than for him to be happy, even if it’s not with you. And it’s hard, but for the most part, you let that version of you win.

You give him broad smiles and you keep not asking where he’s going when he leaves without you. You try really hard not to overhear his calls with Hoseok and Yoongi and when you do, you give him a ridiculous double-thumbs up and tell him to go for it, that she’d be a fool to turn him down. You’re pretty sure you’re the only one who ends up looking foolish in that moment though, even if you really, truly mean it.

One day (of course it’s a Tuesday), you come home from class, and you’re sorting through the mail when you spot a card on the counter that wasn’t there in the morning. Namjoon must’ve left it when he came home, you can hear the shower running from down the hall. It’s rare he beats you home on Tuesdays, always saying he’s got “something” to do “across town” and you just assume it’s with her, so you don’t ask.

But what’s more interesting than him being home early is what the card is: a temporary driver license issued to one Kim Namjoon. It’s got a picture of him, dimples out and glasses on, dated that day. You hadn’t even known he’d taken the class or the tests. You wonder why he wouldn’t tell you… It’s a big deal to him—he’d always said he didn’t need it, liked taking the bus and the metro. Thought cars were bad for the planet and that there were too many of them in the city anyway. But here’s the card, proof that for some reason he thought it was time for a change.

“Oh! You… I didn’t mean for you to find that…”

You look up. Namjoon’s standing by the couch, watching you examine his license, wrapped in a towel because if there’s a god, he only wants you to suffer.

“You got your license?”

“Ah… the temporary one, yeah. Still need to take the road test.”

He seems nervous, fidgeting with the blanket on the back of the sofa. You don’t know why he’d be nervous, it’s cool, you think. One more thing to add to the seemingly endless list of things Namjoon can do.

“Proud of you, Namjoonie. But… why? I thought you didn’t want to drive.”

He shrugs. “Don’t really, but… I just thought… Well, I thought if I got up the nerve to ask someone on a date, it would be nice to drive her. Just once or twice. Make it special, I guess. It’s probably stupid, but I thought y—” He cuts himself off and pauses. Looks out the window and scrunches his forehead up like he’s scolding himself. “I thought she might like that,” he says, finally.

“Did she tell you to get a license?” You’re sure you sound as outraged as you feel when you ask.

“No! She wouldn’t… No. I just wanted to try.”

“Okay. Okay, good. You shouldn’t change yourself for anyone, Joonie.” And then you do that thing again, where you say too much, where it comes out too fond. “You’re more than enough just the way you are. If she doesn’t know that, she’s not good enough for you.”

Namjoon smiles softly. “I’m starting to think she does,” he says.

And the look on his face… It’s happiness and warmth and fuck you wish it was for you. Those nagging feelings of wanting more more more from him are welling up in your chest. “Good,” you say, still too tender as you set the card in his palm and scoot past him to your room, mail forgotten. “That’s the very least of what you deserve.”

Later that night, you’ve tucked the soft and vulnerable parts of you back inside, showered, ordered food, and sent Namjoon down to pick it up with a stop at the convenience store for soju and beer. You can do this, you tell yourself in the mirror, psyching yourself up for the first time you both will hang out with all your friends in months.

The summer is drawing to an end. Seokjin and Taehyung are done teaching, Jimin and Hoseok got back over the weekend, Yoongi’s internship ended the week prior, and Jeongguk is back from his visit home, everyone returning in time to buy books and settle in for the new semester.

You and Namjoon have decided to keep the apartment: close enough to campus, affordable enough, and you both bashfully agreed you liked living together, an arrangement sealed with the secret handshake greeting from a drama you’d watched together over the summer. So, you have the biggest apartment out of all your friends (which doesn’t say much), and they’ve all decided in your group chat that the group “welcome home” party would take place in your living room.

Seokjin and Taehyung arrive first, Jeongguk in tow. They’re pouring through your door play-fighting and laughing and for a minute, you forget your crush on your roommate, you forget he’s pining after someone else, and you just feel so much joy that your friends are back as they pull you into a crushing group hug.

“We brought wine,” Seokjin says.

“Ew!” (A twin chorus from you and Jeongguk).

“Fine, you two have your cheap soju and leave the good stuff for the rest of us.”

“Hyung, that bottle was only six—”

“Shh! Have some respect!” Seokjin says, slapping in the air in Tae’s general direction.

They file into the kitchen to drop off snacks and cheap wine while you leave to dig around in Namjoon’s room for some records to play. It’s a hassle, finding enough that you like and then having to flip them every fifteen minutes, so you finally give up and resign yourself to just playing a playlist off your phone. Or anyone’s phone except Taehyung’s anyway, because “experimental jazz night” was not a hit last time he suckered you all into it.

When you come back down the hall, your kitchen is suspiciously quiet. There is whispering and you can’t hear what they’re saying but you know anytime Jeongguk and Seokjin are colluding that it means trouble.

“What’s going on in here?” You ask as you make it back to the kitchen.

The three of them are reading the notes on your fridge and they all hop around immediately. Jeongguk and Taehyung have the decency to look guilty, but Seokjin just looks like he’s unearthed the lost city or something.

“What are these?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Our shopping list? Chore list?”

Seokjin grins. “No, not those… These.” He plucks a sticky off the fridge and starts reading it aloud.

“...And greet the all auspicious day,

Whose privilege permits my song—”

You can feel your face like a wildfire, hot and persistent, as you snatch the piece of paper out of his hand and tuck it in your pocket.

“That’s nothing. Just a poem”

“That’s not nothing, that’s a love poem.”

“We just leave each other quotes sometimes,” you mutter, fussing around the kitchen, opening the bags of snacks and setting them on the counter. “It’s no big deal. Just a small thing.”

Jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes. “And you sometimes leave each other love poems?” he asks cautiously.

“I guess… It’s whatever,” you say.

“What’s whatever?” Hoseok’s bright voice drifts into the room. You snap your head up to see that he’s with Jimin, and they’re followed in by Yoongi and Namjoon, carrying all the food and drinks.

“Namjoon hyung and Noona leave each other love notes on the fridge!” Jeongguk says brightly. “It’s so cute.”

Your jaw actually drops, and you see in your periphery, Namjoon’s is doing the same.

“They’re not love notes!” You protest.

“They’re poems,” Namjoon adds with indignance.

“Besides,” you add, “he’s got a girlfriend or whatever.” You know you sound a little annoyed, and you don’t want to, but it’s worth it if it gets them off your backs.

“Wait, what?” Yoongi finally joins the conversation, peeking his head around the corner into the kitchen.

Six pairs of eyes are on you, and one (Namjoon’s) is anywhere but. You get the offputting feeling that something is happening, but you don’t know what. That the boys staring at you know something you don’t.

“Namjoonie… He’s got a girl he likes. So, they’re not love notes. They’re just quotes we like.”

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, and then Hoseok says, “Oh my god, they are that bad.”

Seokjin nods. “The worst, actually.”

“What? What is going on?” You ask. The question is directed at anyone, but you’re looking straight at Namjoon, who still won’t look at you.

“I’m just gonna open some soju,” Jimin says. “Come on, guys.”

The statement is clearly directed at Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk, who are all still huddled by the fridge, clearly amused at whatever is unfolding in your kitchen. One by one, they file out. Namjoon tries to follow them, but Yoongi unceremoniously shoves him back into the kitchen with a hissed, “I don’t think so, Namjoon.”

“I’m so confused,” you say quietly. Namjoon finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and he looks so so nervous. Just like the day you’d agreed to be roommates. You have no idea why, because you’d never do anything to make him feel that way, not on purpose. “Is this about her? I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have—”

“No! I mean… yeah, it’s about her. Or you, I guess?”

“Me?”

Namjoon nods. He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You. You and her.”

“I don’t even know her, Namjoonie.”

He sighs. “You are her.”

You’re every meme of confused people trying to do math. You think you probably have a literal question mark above your head. You think you heard him right but… but there’s no way that it’s what he meant.

“What?”

Namjoon looks like it’s almost painful to keep speaking, also a little apologetic. “I like you,” he says, shrugging. “I like you so much, and I’m a dick for agreeing to be your roommate when I felt that way, and I thought after that one time… Well, I thought maybe you needed more and that’s why it never happened again, so I started going to the gym more and trying to… I don’t know. Be more?” He runs a hand through his hair and slumps against the counter. “I just like you so much and I wanted you to like me, too. But I—”

“You like me?”

“Oh, fuck, so much.” It’s almost out like a breath, floats through the space between the two of you, waves itself in front of your face.

“That’s why you thought it would be weird to be roommates…” you say, pieces clicking together.

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “And why I tried to get biceps like Jimin and why I leave you love notes on the fridge, and why I wrote you a whole song about how incredible you are, how you make me feel, and how much I want you even though you don’t want me back…”

“Biceps like Jimin?”

“You said they were nice…”

“Oh my god.” Little details of the past few months since you slept together all start floating around in your head and you see it so clearly now, it all starts to make sense, all the silly little things Namjoon does for you because it’s you, because he likes you… and oh no…

“Namjoon.”

“Yeah?” He’s painfully cute like this—nervous and a little shy, hair falling into his eyes like it can protect him from looking right at you.

You take a couple of steps closer to him. “I like you, too.”

“You what?”

“I like you, too. Just the way you are. I like all the nice small things you do for me, I like how you think, I like how you smell like soap all the time ‘cause you take a million showers… I like living with you… I like your records and your books and… And it’s stupid probably, but I save all your doodles like a teenager would ‘cause I just like you so fucking much… And I’m the bad friend, the one who moved in with you even though I liked you like this. I thought I would get over it. I thought… I don’t know. I thought after we slept together you just wanted to be friends, so I’ve been trying so hard, but…”

“It’s awful,” he says, a giant grin on his face as he watches you stumble through your confession. “I thought you just wanted to be friends, too. You left before I could ask you to stay.”

“Yeah, it is awful. Liked you since that first day in the library.”

“Fuck, me too. We’re so ridiculous.”

“Jin was right, we’re the worst,” you whisper.

“You are!” You hear Jin call from the living room.

You let your head fall forward and bury it in Namjoon’s chest as he wraps an arm (with a perfectly sized bicep, you note, reminding yourself to tell him later) around you and laughs into your hair.

“You’re listening to us?” you protest.

“Hard not to,” Yoongi answers, “small apartment.”

“You fucked?!” Hoseok yells.

“Oh my god,” you moan into Namjoon’s shirt.

“I bet they made love,” you hear a dreamy-voiced Jimin chime in.

You can feel Namjoon’s laugh rumble through his chest against your ear. It’s the best feeling you’ve felt in months.

“So,” you start, pulling your head off his chest, but letting him slide his arm down yours until you’re loosely holding hands. “What now?”

“Well, we should probably talk.”

You peek around him to see your friends all staring at you. “Maybe later?” you ask.

“Later is good.” Namjoon smiles so so big. You love knowing that you’re the one making him feel happy, you think you’re a little ridiculous for being jealous of some other non-existent girl this whole time.

“We like each other,” you say, still a little in shock.

“We do.”

Then, because you’re you, and you have not ever once been cool in front of Kim Namjoon, you lift your palm up. And because he’s him, and now you know he probably thinks he has never once been cool around you, he gives you a high five, his palm connecting with yours and then lingering there while you look at each other and you try not to lift up on your toes and kiss the shit out of him.

“Did they just high five?” Hoseok asks, incredulous.

“They’re so weird. Do you remember when they shook hands on being roommates when it was so obvious they wanted to jump each other on the couch? They probably kissed no tongue and called it sex,” Seokjin says, unhelpfully.

“Hey!” you shout. “We can hear you!”

“The sex was really great, for your information,” Namjoon says, and your face heats immediately.

“It was,” you agree, if for no other reason than it really really was. And you want to make Seokjin as uncomfortable as possible. “Namjoon really knows wh—”

“This is going to be even worse than them being oblivious, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks no one in particular, cutting you off.

But that night after your friends leave, and you do get the chance to kiss Namjoon again, who is now not only your roommate, but your boyfriend, you know Yoongi couldn’t have been more wrong. This is infinitely better than being oblivious to Namjoon's feelings.

“What do you see in me?” he says into the ceiling, sweaty and a little hazy post-orgasm, after you’d made sure to seal your new arrangement properly. No high fives, no handshakes, just long kisses and nervous touches turning more sure, Namjoon making sure to whisper into your skin how much he cares for you, how sexy he thinks you are, how long he’s waited to have you again like this…

(And you returning those words, moving your hips in slow circles in his lap, fingernails trailing across his shoulders as you tell him how good he is, how gorgeous he looks, how his biceps are the exact right size for you to squeeze—which makes him laugh while he fucks you, and if that’s not the best thing you’ll ever see in your life, you’re not sure what is...)

You lace your fingers with his and turn to him, thinking about all the things you love about him, how all those pieces layer together to make something so big that it seems to take up your whole heart. “I like all the small things that make you, you.”

And he kisses you as a reply, lips soft and sweet on yours, and you decide that from now on, Tuesdays are for kissing your boyfriend in the moonlight and making sure he knows exactly how much you like him so that neither of you are ever unsure again.

#namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfiction #knj x reader #kvanity #btshoneyhive #bts smut #bts fluff #bts writing #bts fanfic #bts imagines

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peachdues · 6 months

Text

BETWEEN MAN & STAR — REUNION TEASER

Giyuu x Reader • Modern Reincarnation AU • NSFW

Ngl, after Netherwood, this fic has been rotting my brain the most.

Synopsis: almost one thousand years ago, when the Demon Slayers had been on the brink of extinction, Giyuu Tomioka made a desperate plea to save the woman he loved — the woman who’d held the knowledge of how to defeat demons before Muzan Kibutsuji tore her apart. The stars granted Giyuu’s wish, giving them ten chances — ten lives — to defeat Muzan once and for all. But that wish came at a cost: for Giyuu, and the other Hashira have been doomed to endless life, wandering the ages and waiting for Y/N to be reborn so that they might try again.

Nine hundred years later, nine lives have been wasted, and the Demon Slayer Corp is on its last chance. As demon activity begins to explode across Tokyo and Muzan Kibutsuji gets wind that Y/N is alive once more, Giyuu and the other Hashira must do everything in their power to help Y/N regain her memories — and unlock the key to defeating the demons once and for all.

READ THE PROLOGUE HERE.

tagging @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 and @ghost-1-y because I’ve been in their DMs constantly over this fic and annoying tf out of them lol

CHRISTMAS EVE, 2018

The snow drifted down over the streets of Tokyo like filler in a snow globe.

Giyuu had always liked the snow — he liked the quiet it brought, the way it seemed to illuminate even the darkest corners with its soft glow.

Christmas Eve had come fast that year, though he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. With the uptick in demon activity, and the knowledge that the time drew nearer to bring her back into the equation, to begin training her, had made the days slide together and trickle by rather quickly.

The last time he’d laid eyes on her, she’d barely been a year old. It wasn’t that Giyuu didn’t want to see her — he did. But time and time again, his arrival in her life had spelled out her doom, and he’d been desperate to postpone her suffering for as long as they could afford it. But he knew, deep in his heart, that the time to let her live and exist peacefully was quickly coming to an end, and that he would have to become a stain on her life once more.

A mixture of anxious excitement tugged at his gut. What did she look like, in this final life? She’d always been beautiful — no matter how she looked in any of her past lives, Giyuu always thought she was the greatest beauty ever to Grace the era. He was sure this time would be no different.

More importantly, what would she think of him? She hadn’t been particularly fond of him in her last life — she’d had the same general attitude towards him as Muichiro: utter indifference.

Sanemi and Obanai had picked at him ruthlessly over it.

Giyuu frowned as he strolled along the crowded sidewalks of downtown Tokyo, hands jammed in his pockets as he stepped around pedestrians with arms full of shopping bags, hurrying home to be with loved ones.

He came upon the street just before his apartment building, ready to hunker down in his bed and spend the holiday alone, again, when he glanced up, and could not look away.

Across the street, a door to a small restaurant dinged open, and a group of friends spilled out onto the sidewalk, cheeks flushed and smiles warm from laughing as they talked animatedly with one another. The girl up front turned her head around to face the street, her eyes sweeping the pavement to ensure the group wasn’t about to barrel into any unsuspecting pedestrians, when she landed on him.

Giyuu’s breath lodged in his throat as his eyes blew wide.

Somehow, in a city with millions of people, she’d managed to find him, even if she did not know there was anyone to find.

And Giyuu, despite having not seen her face once in the twenty three years she’d spent in this era, he knew it was her the moment his eyes snagged upon her face.

Because one look at her, and suddenly it was 1121 and not 2018.

Nine life times had seen nine different faces of Y/N. She’d been different races, different body types, different everything, no two variations the same.

Except for this one. For Y/N looked exactly the same as she had, all those centuries ago.

She was training next to him, wielding that sharp pole sword of hers with precision and grace, an ancient warrior goddess given human form. Her eyes were bright; determined as she rotated through battle forms. She turned and smiled at him and it made him feel like he’d found a home.

Memories that had not plagued his psyche in centuries exploded across his conscience, playing like an old vignette.

She was in his arms, the night after they’d professed their love for one another and promised to marry, the flames of candlelight making her skin glow as she writhed under him, his name the only thing on her lips as they moved as one.

That face — so devastatingly beautiful, made Giyuu’s long-beating heart skip violently in his chest. He remained there on the sidewalk, frozen, unable to move or do anything more than stare at the visage of his one true love, as it looked briefly to him and smiled as strangers do, before looking away again.

There she was, under the sakura tree by the river where they’d lived, smiling and laughing as pink petals drifted down from above like flowered snow, sticking in her hair and tickling her face.

He hadn’t noticed the tear that slipped down his cheek until the bitter winter air iced it over, making the skin beneath it sting.

#demon slayer #giyuu tomioka #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader #kny #kny fanfic #kny giyuu #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #giyuu x y/n #kny smut #demon slayer smut #kny fic #demon slayer fanfic

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ughgoaway · 18 days

Text

you're just a stranger I know everything about.

Content warnings; sadness lol, confrontation, crying, a few Taylor references because I am unbearable, swearing, shouting, and just general angst. (no happy ending either oops)

a/n; day 1 of the matty 35 celebration! and what better way to start it than with some teacher au angst?? I know my birthdays always have an air of melancholy, so I feel like this is appropriate. I fear this is rushed and SO bad, but eh, too late now!! anyway, enjoy! maybe? if you can?

word count; 3.5k ish

(this fic is an extension from the "don't you think of me?" universe, which you can read here.)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The text sits on your phone. Every time the screen starts to dim, you tap it to keep it illuminated, yet you don't reply. You can't. Every muscle in your body feels frozen except that one finger.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You watched the phone dim, but the name of the contact seemed to stay just as bright, even when the light is as low as it can be, “Matty. DO NOT TEXT.” glows on your screen. The warning was added against your will after a few too many drunk almost-phone calls.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It’s an hour later when the phone dies. You knew it was coming, watching the percentage of charge drop slowly. You got the 15% warning. Then the 5%. But still, you did the same thing until the screen finally went black.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You don't need the phone to be lit up to remember what the message said anyway. You’d read it a thousand times over already. You’d analysed it, broken it down, performed autopsies on every single word, each letter was scorched into your brain.

“Hey y/n, long time no talk.

I hope you got my letter, if you didn't read it, that's okay. You already know everything I said. You always knew me better than I did.

Anyway, I know this is a long shot, but it's my birthday party next week, and I just can't imagine celebrating without you there. All I can think about is my last birthday, me and you in Hawaii. I don't expect it to be like that, but I would love it if you came. Even if you just had one drink, we don't have to talk. You can wave at me across the room and stay far, far away. Treat me like I've got the plague for all I care, but just come, please.

Give an old man his birthday wish?

See you there, maybe. I hope so, anyway.

Matty x”

You want to do the same to the text that you did to his letter, burn it to a crisp. But that doesn't exactly seem feasible, considering your phone was £500, and probably not flammable. plus, you had blisters on your fingers for weeks after the letter, and you dont know if it's worth it again.

But you can't deny that the blisters were oddly comforting. Reminding you what you did every time something brushed your digits, that he was gone, and you had the power. The ball was in your court, and you intended it to stay there.

And it was there for months. But Matty ruined that by sending that message, he got the power back whether he intended to or not. And it was made even worse by him telling Charli, and her endless phone calls begging you to come.

You’re so good at telling her its not going to happpen, and every message that comes in gets a firm “no.” or just gets point-blank ignored. She begs, saying that she needs a friend there and that she'll even let you choose a few songs for George’s DJ playlist. But you stay strong, shaking your head and sighing, insisting you've moved on, that chapter of your life is closed, and you'd like to keep it that way.

So you can't help but wonder how you ended up dressed up on a Saturday night standing outside of Matty’s house, bottle of wine gripped in your shaking hands and the distinct noise of your heels clicking against the pavement as you walk towards the house you've done everything you can to forget.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

As soon as you walk in, you can tell the house is different from how you left it. Obviously, the strobe lights and birthday balloons were new, but even ignoring those, the whole space felt wrong. Even more unforgiving and cold, which was impressive considering every inch was covered with people, dancing and chatting. Still, a lifeless air hung around.

Your eyes darted around, finding the places that you used to occupy. The painting you bought Matty no longer hangs on the wall, replaced by yet another award. You can't help but feel bitter when you see the poster celebrating the album full of songs about you. The spot where your mug used to sit on the counter was empty, but the dark stained ring of coffee remained, forcing you to fight a small smile. maybe he hadn't completely erased you, even if he tried.

People recognise you immediately, and they don't hide their shock well. They might think that they do, smoothly recovering from their initial surprise, but they don't. You see their wide eyes and disbelieving glances, each person acting like you're a ghost haunting the house you once lived in.

You play pretend along with them, smiling as best you can and answering all their questions.

"How's work?"

"How have you been?"

"you seen any good films lately?"

but, you both know you're dancing around the one question they really want to be answered.

why the fuck were you here?

Eventually, the people stop coming, and Charli finds you, plying you with drinks and half-slurred thanks as she begs you to stay for just 5 more minutes. You agree, only because you have yet to catch a glimpse of the birthday boy, and that made everything just bearable.

You quickly regret that decision when you see him not even a minute later, standing by George in the DJ booth smoking a cigarette and laughing in that contagious way he always did. High pitched giggles and his head thrown back.

But he doesn't see you, so it's still okay. You can hang on a few seconds more. Your chest might be tightening with every moment, but you're not suffocating yet.

However, when a tall blonde girl walks over and starts making out with him, it suddenly starts to feel like the room is on fire, and you’re choking on the invisible smoke. The burn of the flames starts to feel all too real when he pulls away from her, though, and his eyes find yours as if they're magnetised together.

The realisation falls over his face immediately, dropping his hand from around her waist and trying desperately to weave through the crowd surrounding him. You don't stay to see if he breaks through the sea of people, already rushing out as fast as you can, forcing your cup into a stranger's hand and moving as fast as your legs can take you.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

“y/n, stop.” You hear Matty’s voice behind you as you storm out his front door, but you don't turn. It sounds muffled, like you're being pulled underwater, and someone is screaming at you to get up. But the waves keep on pulling you deeper, and his voice becomes more faint with every step you take.

Yet, as soon as the cold air fills your lungs and his skin finally touches yours, you're pulled out. You spin around as soon as his fingers graze your shoulder, acting like even his touch is painful as you wrench away.

It was finally here, the time you were dreading. The time when it was just you, him, and everything that remained unsaid.

His eyes held yours as the silence of the night surrounded you, and you couldn't help but study him like you always did. He looked different. Not better or worse, just different. The colourful lights in the house had been hiding his features.

He had more lines on his face, deeper ones on his forehead, but the ones around his mouth had lightened, his smile lines fading. You could still tell even when it was slicked back with heavy gel that more grey streaks danced through his curls.

His eyes were the same, though. Always so telling, so revealing. If you wanted to know exactly what Matty Healy was thinking, look in his eyes. They spoke more than he did. Which sounds absurd if you’d ever had a conversation with him, but you'd bet your life on it.

You almost start to soften at the sight of him, old memories flooding back. Flashes of warm sun and hot kisses, filthy sex followed by soft breakfasts in bed. But then he speaks. Why do men always do that? Just as you're thinking about saying something and trying defusing the situation, they open their stupid mouth.

“Where are you going?” he asks softly, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in oxygen, his lungs fighting to catch up.

“Home, Matty. I shouldn't have come. I don't even know why you invited me.” You try to spin and walk away, to finally move on. But of course, Matty’s voice drags you back under once again, and the same water fills your lungs.

“stay, please. i dont know why i invited you either, but I did. I didn't expect you to come. I just-” Matty stutters as he speaks as if his brain can't catch up with his mouth, things pour out that he doesn't mean. And he knows it. It's crystal clear as soon as his wide eyes shoot open, processing what he had really just said.

He didn't expect you to come? He put you through all this and didn't think you'd show up? What was the point then? Was it just to hurt you? Did he just want to see if he could? to see if his name popping up would have the same effect it always did, make you come running to him?

Your body moves without thinking, turning to face Matty with fires burning in your eyes, "You didn't think I would come? Then why the fuck did you even invite me, Matty?! to flaunt your new girlfriend? to try and "win" the breakup? Well congratulations, you've fucking won. I'm sure that model hanging off your arm is just perfect for you.” sarcasm drips from your every word, burning Matty like acid rain.

“No! It's not like that. I don't know. I think- I think I was just scared we’d never be in the same place again. That I would love you for the rest of my life, but I’d never see you again.” his voice softens as he speaks, and you almost want to give in, to crumble at his gentle tone and warm eyes. But he can't still love you, it seems impossible when you go back and see the destruction he left behind.

“That's what a breakup is, Matty. And did you ever think about me? About what I want? I can't help but think that maybe that would've been better. If being in the same room as you means feeling like this, I don't ever want to see you again.” You spit back angrily.

Matty's nostrils flare before he speaks, and you can see the anger building inside him. It takes a lot to get Matty to shout, but you can tell with every second you're making him inch closer. And you don't know why that makes you feel so good, but if you're honest, you don't want to know.

You want to keep going, keep pushing. You want him to act like he did that night. You needed to see it again. You needed to know he couldn't ever forget the night you're forced to remember.

“y/n, I don't- I just don't know what to say to you. What do you want from me? Do you want me to say that saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do? That it ripped my heart out of my chest? That it fucking destroyed me? It did. Of course it did, you always made me feel everything. Losing you was no different.” You heard the way Matty’s voice cracked the more he spoke, but you ignored it. If he wanted to pull the dagger out of your heart, it was his job to deal with the bleeding.

“It didn't feel that hard when you stopped coming home at night. Or when you were fucking screaming at me. Or even that night when you walked out the door, you made it look pretty fucking easy that night. Because that's how it was Matty, you left. So don't come to me bitching and whining that it destroyed you. It's your fault. All of this is your fault.” you feel your voice wavering, but you suck in another breath, refusing to let him see you weaken, to see that wall you built start to break down.

“I deserved a better goodbye, Matty. If the goodbye you gave me hurt, the one I deserved would have fucking killed you.” You poke Matty in the chest harshly, pushing him back on his unsteady feet.

Streetlights flicker above you, the severe light dancing across Matty’s features. As long as you can remember, this light was busted, flicking on and off at will. It used to annoy you, distract you at night when the light poured through the curtains of Matty's bedroom.

Tonight, however, you loved it. No one could hide what they were really feeling under the harsh yellow glow. It seemed to pull every emotion to the surface of your face, illuminating even the darkest parts you wanted to hide.

So it was easy to spot when anger reared its ugly head in Matty. This time, he doesn't push it back. He physically can't.

He needs you to know that it did kill him to say goodbye, and that you can see that. he needs to understand how you can’t you see that he's the shell of the man he once was as he stands here?

“I apologised to you. I know you got my letter. Thanks for the response, by the way, a great way for us to get closure for whatever the fuck this was.” venom drips from every word that falls from his lips, and you have to fight to hide the smirk brewing on your face.

Finally. Finally, he was angry. He was pissed off. This is what you needed. You need the big fight, the final breakdown. Just one more time, you tell yourself, just one more screaming match, and you can move on.

A scoff involuntarily is ripped from your chest, as if you can't believe the utter bullshit coming from the man across from you. “I'm sorry, you think you deserve a response? What would I say in it, “Oh Matty, I'm so sorry! You're so right. Please let me come over so we can fuck all night!!” I know I'm not your usual airhead type, but you have to think more of me than that”

Your voice is high and piercing as you speak, and you know it. It always was when you started to get riled up. However, in this moment, you didn't care. You just needed something to happen, for him to get just as annoyed as you've been for fucking months.

“You don't think I deserved anything, though? Not even an acknowledgement?” his incredulous eyes met yours, begging you to take everything back and say you're sorry too, that it wasn't just his fault, even if he knew that wasn't true.

“Why should I? You never acknowledged my feelings. I don't think you asked me how I felt in the last month of our relationship.” Wet tears start brewing at your lashline. You want to fight them falling. But you can't, your resolve weakening with every second he stands in front of you.

“you know, that night we broke up, I realised something. you hadn't said you loved me in weeks. I said it every morning. But you'd hum back, or nod, or hug me. But you never actually said it.” Matty tries to cut in, and you already know what he wants to say. But you don't let him, powering through his half started words and desperate eyes.

After a few shaky breaths, your words start pouring again, “You treated saying “I love you” just like how you treated saying sorry. Like it would kill you to even think it. You've still never properly apologised for how you treated me, never said it to my face. But when we were together, I found myself saying sorry thousands of times over for feeling anything. I felt guilty for being pissed off at you, like I was doing something wrong. But I had every right to be! You had become a man I didn't even recognise, and for some reason, I still loved you, even when I shouldn't have. But at the time, I didn't see that. All I saw was you hurting. And because all I do is care, I wanted to stay. To stay for you, for us. Our family.”

Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes. The harsh wind blowing between you whistling through the street. Your eyes can't be dragged away from Matty’s, tears falling freely between the two of you.

And suddenly, you don't want him to be angry any more, you don't want this all to happen. You wish you could go back, never come here. But time doesn't work like that, so you’re stuck with tears pouring down your face as you stare at the man you once thought was the love of your life.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” Matty whispers, and you could see the desperation on his face, wet eyes tracing your every feature.

In that moment, he didn't know what he wanted your answer to be.

If you said no, it would kill him. Every ember of hope smouldering inside him would be burnt out, never to be relit.

But if you said yes, he doesn't know if he can let go. If you say you still feel anything for him, he knows he’ll be looking for you in every universe until he finds the one where you stay.

“I won't ever not love you, Matty. No matter how many times I tell myself I've moved on or that my life is better without you in it. I will always love you, and that's fucking agonising.” you sniffle as you speak, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How did you go from screaming at each other to professing your everlasting love?

Matty wants nothing more in that moment than to start begging you to come back, telling you how you can make it work, to talk about what he would do to get you back. But he knows he shouldn't, so he doesn't.

“Annie still thinks about you all the time you know,” Matty says, and your chest hurts from the whiplash of this conversation, jumping between memories of your old life so fast its almost unbearable. But you knew Matty. He needed to jump around to stay sane, so you jumped with him.

“I know, I remember you saying in the letter that she stopped asking when I was coming back. Is that true?” your voice drops again, as if you were sharing secrets at a sleepover.

“I thought it would be easier when she stopped asking, maybe then I'd not spend every waking hour thinking of you. But when the day came, it wasn't easier. It was like watching you leave right in front of me all over again. It brought me back to walking into the house for the first time after you left, looking at the empty space and trying to figure out how to fill it. Annie was filling it by asking about you, but suddenly she wasn't, and that glaring hole in my life was back." Matty's voice breaks as he speaks, but he clears his throat and tries to ignore it.

"I realised then that I'll never not think about you. Even if no one talks about you. Even if I never see you again, I'll still think of you.” Matty sucks in a shaky breath as soon as the words stop pouring out of him. His lungs seemed like they were sticking together with every word he said, and it felt like death. But he couldn't stop the rush of words, so he let the death surround him.

“Tell her I said hi” you reply meekly, not sure what to say in response to Matty’s outpour.

“I won't” matty says, forcing a half smile and chuckle that you half-heartedly return.

Once again, the blanket of silence surrounds the two of you, enveloping you in a way that feels all too familiar. So you break it, not letting yourself fall back into old patterns.

"i just dont understand how it all happened so quickly. how did you go from a stranger to the love of my life, only then to become someone I wish was a stranger all over again?" You whisper, your shaking hands coming to cup Matty's wet cheeks as you step closer. His hands wrap around your waist instantly, pulling you in and holding you so tight it almost hurts.

Silence hangs between the two of you. But its no longer painful or awkward, stilted or angry. It was a silence of acceptance, an acknowledgement that this had to be the final goodbye. There was no erasing the past, the demons that followed the two of you couldn't be ignored. So you were done, this was it.

Eventually, you pull away, and your face hovers in front of Matty’s for a few beats too long. You want to give him a final kiss, a proper goodbye. and you swear you can almost feel his lips against yours, taste the salty tears that would fall from your eyes. You don't, though. Your hands drop from his wet cheeks, and you walk away.

Every fibre inside you wants to turn around and go back to him. It feels impossible to face the future with the person you planned to spend it with standing 10 steps behind. But you do, moving forward and trying not to mourn the life you know you can never get back.

#starting off the celebration strong #by bringing the mood down #my fav activity #sorry if this is bad! angst is fun but HARD #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x reader #matty healy fic #matty healy angst #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 angst #teacher au!#Matty35

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lakesparkles · 10 days

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hii!!! would you be willing to do a little doodle of your nega ramona and gideon interacting? understandable if you don't take requests I'm just in LOVE with your design of her and your au in general!!! feel free to also use this ask to elaborate about the au more instead because id love to hear that too :D

Hi!! :D

Honestly, I wasn't going to draw this request today (I'm afraid I'm drawing Gideon too much lately lmao sorry, he just can't leave my mind). But I got some pretty weird comments on this AU of mine that made me kinda sad... so I kept rereading this ask to cheer me up and I'm very thankful you like her and this AU!! It really means a lot in this moment!

Now, the important part, yes, I take requests and I love this one:

Just a few things make Gideon feel uneasy. She's one of them. Not because he thinks she might be a ghost, but because she looks too similar to Ramona.

And more about the AU:

I would like to say I finally started writing a fanfiction about it and I'm close to finish the first chapter ^^

It'll be seven chapters long and it'll be hard to write ngl, I never wrote something like this before, usually my fics are cute ship things.

I can share the first scene:

Ramona and Gideon - I . . . She decides to leave one last time Or

Ramona remembers the seven reasons that made her fall in love with Gideon

She had that same fantasy every day. As she walked down the halls, running her fingers along the wall, she imagined herself entering her own room. It was satisfying, somehow. She could perfectly see herself opening her wardrobe, taking out the few things that really interested her, putting everything in her bag and simply walking away. In that fantasy, of course, she always smiled. She even laughed. That kind of hysterical and cathartic laughter only present in films. She wanted to imagine how Gideon would react: how long would it be before he realized she wasn't there anymore? Two weeks? And when would he realize that this wasn't just another one of her "famous tantrums"? Two months? Two years? Part of her was almost excited at the prospect of making him furious with such an accomplishment. It would be his turn to take endless turns through the halls, finally using his brain to try to understand what had gone so wrong between them. Maybe he would find out years later. Or perhaps that doubt would eat away at him for decades to come, the bitterness of her image never leaving his mind. And part of her… thought that wasn't realistic. She knew Gideon well enough to know that he would never even consider any mistake on his part, with a mixture of confusion that never ended well when it came to him. Or worst. He wouldn't even care about her lack of presence in that house. Therefore, Ramona released her fingers from the wall, slowly slowing down her steps until she stopped altogether. Then the fantasy ended. Every single time.

#ask tag #// suggestive #gideon graves #ramona flowers #nega ramona #scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim vs the world #this answer is looong #my writing #ramona and gideon AU #<- temporary name

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adelheidvonschicksal · 4 months

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I don't even like thinking about toji taking megumis girl. Like, in my mind he's trying to atone 😪

Yes!!! Let’s talk about it!

He loves ‘Gumi so much. He was just having a bit of a ✨ emotional breakdown ✨ during that whole selling him off deal. And personally I was coming off the Shouto train so it hits twice as hard cause he always gets his GF taken by Endeavor or Dabi (sometimes Bakugo), which Dabi makes sense since he HATES Shouto. But post-atonement Enji 😭I totally get the kink though (tbh I kinda like it in reverse 🤭). There’s actually a really GOOD fic I like called U&I with Bully!Megumi and you sleep with Toji to kinda get back at him after finding out he’s been using you. I like the revengeful ones or when it’s a 2-parter and they find out what you did.

BUT I DIGRESS, okay so I got some big brainrot and I was half asleep and started thinking about it and ahh! Plus I didn't post for his birthday so this is like the most slap together, grammarless of my brain rotting (and you brought it about Nonnie, so you gotta take responsibility lol) but:

»»———-　　———-««

(SFW) Imagine okay, like a modern AU: Toji is trying to be a better dad after the endless benders after losing his wife. He went from floating from random woman to woman, trying to catch that feeling again like when he was with his first wife. It always devolves into the same thing with him squeezing them dry for every penny he can get before moving on to the next with Megumi in tow. Sometimes it didn’t include Megumi, Toji would leave him alone for weeks to months at a time as he got older, occasionally bringing home some new mom that he’ll eventually abandon at the end of the day or that eventually gets tired of him; tired of both of them because Megumi refused to be nice to anyone Toji brought home.

But it finally hits him to be better, to try to be a good parent. Sadly, it’s too late. Megumi is a teenager now, one year from graduating high school and going to college, where Toji will definitely not have any chance to atone. He doesn’t blame the kid, it’s his own fault.

However, he sees a lot of himself in his son. The apathy that borders depression, the lone wolf attitude, the quietness and independent streak, the very small number of friends (if any, because Megumi NEVER brings anyone over or talks about school at all, usually avoids talking to him in general). He isn’t really sure what to say to the kid, not that he’s figured it all out himself or that Megumi would even listen to him. Indifference was the best he could hope for most of the time.

Then one day, he shows up at home with someone. A girl, even. And you’re cute, way too chipper to be following around his wallflower of a kid. Always entering and leaving with a “Hi, Mr. Fushiguro. Bye, Mr. Fushiguro. Looking good today, Mr. Fushiguro. Love the haircut, Mr. Fushiguro. Rocking that sweater, Mr. Fushiguro. Have a good day, Mr. Fushiguro.”

You seem too good for nobodies like them; and when he teases Megumi with the notion, his son claims you’re just his class partner for this semester, nothing else. But Toji sees how soft he gets around you, the little bit of extra effort he puts in trying to make conversation when you’re over, the blush and grouchy embarrassed complaints he makes whenever Toji tells him to leave his room door open when you guys work on projects in there. The complaints usually get a little quieter given the right laugh from you.

You have a good effect. Megumi seems a little less tense, walking the world with a little less cynicism even though it’s still clearly there. He starts hanging out with two other kids from his school, Megumi claims they’re your friends, not his, but Toji has seen the pink haired boy over twice without you. Overall, you all seem like a really good kids.

One weekend you pop because you and your friends were in the neighborhood and wanted to see if Megumi wanted to join in on whatever you’re doing. Unfortunately, Megumi’s not home, but it gives Toji a small window to prod you a little about your relationship with Megumi. He’s observant enough to notice by now that the two of you like each other but he just wanted to hear it from you, and you make the most darling lovesick face when he asks. As far as he can piece together, you’re not dating officially but the entire world treats you as you are.

When Megumi finds out what happened though. He doesn’t like it, and he makes it clear that the interference was highly unappreciated it. Toji is simply sitting in the kitchen and trying to enjoy his apple, and he’s getting the interrogation treatment by this little gremlin (affectionately) half his size.

“What were the two of you talking about?” “Nothing in particular.” “If you don’t need anything then don’t bother her.” “Why? You don’t want me speaking to her?” “No. She isn’t your type anyway.”

Then, Megumi starts going off on a tangent of why Toji shouldn’t be interested. You’re too young, you're still months off from 18, you don’t have any money for him to leech, and there’s no way you can decide on a movie together with that age gap; 'You’ll kick the bucket 30 years before her' is the meanest one though.

Based on the disrespect, it still looks like Toji has a lot of work to put in but it’s almost cute, in an grouchy, bratty (also affectionately) sea urchin type way that he’s getting so worked up over you. He thinks the kid will combust if he mentions that he does think you’re cute (in an overly energetic bubbly kind of way), and it makes him release a short chuckle as he resists the intrusive thought, which only serves to make Megumi’s frustration even worse.

Normally, he'd get tired at this point and ask if Megumi was done mouthing off yet, but this time it makes him glad to see Megumi getting so worked up over something. It’s a good feeling to know his actions didn’t completely ruin his son, that he didn't completely destroy Megumi's ability to care about life like his former family and the world had once done to him. It makes smile the tiniest bit even as Megumi seems to try to trudge away after making his point. Whatever point there was to be had. The boy is such a chronic overthinking about everything and everyone, including if you’re one of those girls at the school that squeal when they see him pick him up at school on the rare occasion.

“Hey,” Toji calls out to get his attention. “Do you know what you’re doing?” It’s not the best words but it’s the only way to sum up the familiar feelings he gets of his past, right after he left his family, right before he met Megumi’s mom. And after losing her without ever really making the most of everything back then and treasuring the moments together. “It’s hard to find something like that. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

He can sense the tension draining from Megumi, the panic and shaky nervousness from seconds ago leaving in the form of drooped shoulders and a soften, mildly confused expression as he looks back at him. Something seems to finally click in that overly worked brain of the younger Fushiguro and he mumbles, “I know.”

And Megumi gets that look again, that quiet one, too caught up in his own head.

"Do I need to make room for a daughter-in-law in that case?" he asks lazily before taking another bite of his apple, the chewing echoing. It's enough to earn some grumbles and a red face. He smirks when the boy quickly decides to hobble back to his room and hide away in embarassment. Like a normal kid.

And Toji thinks that maybe…a small maybe… that maybe they’ve gotten a little closer. If only in that moment. Regardless, he really hopes that the talk is one of those things the school already covered because he really doesn’t want to be responsible for that.

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fluff #female reader

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the-tyler-as-in-skyler · 5 days

Text

posting more svsss fanart this time half finished doodles of a lil au that’s been cooking in my brain for a few weeks

fox shen yuan aus have my heart and soul anyways he gains more tails the higher his cultivation is :33

plot points for this below the cut (also apologies for the terrible image quality she’s been through a lot (my google drive))

- shen yuan is a fox demon, he gets popped into a very young fox demon similar to how airplane gets dropped into baby shang qinghua (airplane is sqh in this au but that’s not plot relevant yet)

- little fox shen yuan, still getting the hang of his powers and creating a human form, runs into shen jiu in the woods, realizes this “random” teenager looks a lot like he did in real life, and unconsciously shifts to look like him

- shen yuan and shen jiu become kind of friends (in that shen jiu feels like he needs to protect shen yuan because he thinks he’s naive and also thinks it’s funny when he’s a bitch and shen yuan also thinks that shen jiu is funny when he’s a bitch and that he should probably keep this kid from dying or screwing himself up with his clearly demonic cultivation too bad)

- shen yuan eventually figures out how to look fully human (prior to him and sj going to cang qiong mountain)

- sy and sj become disciples on qing jing together! how does shen yuan cultivate? well sj is the only one who knows he’s a demon but they manage to swipe a fox demon cultivation manual from qing jing peak’s library for him

- when the qing generation ascends shen yuan leaves cang qiong to go be a wandering cultivator and write a bestiary

(at this point you may be asking, where is zhuzhi-lang? he’s in the doodles, why hasn’t he shown up yet? fear not, he is coming)

- while traveling shen yuan decide that the mortal realm is too boring and there are far too many papapa plants there so he travels to the demon realm to record more beasts

- at this point tianlang-jun is still the emperor of the demon realm, and, through shenanigans probably, shen yuan manages to save zhuhai-lang from a rather dangerous plant that mimics normal demonic plants and gets introduced to the emperor

- it does not take long for shen yuan to realize that this is luo binghe’s father and decide, hey, maybe he can help this guy and hopefully get both of luo binghe’s parents to survive so he can have a kind of normal life without the trauma (he is still masquerading as a human at this point and there’s quite a bit of controversy about the demonic emperor taking advice from a human cultivator, linguang-jun later mocks mobei-jun for ‘following in the late emperor’s footsteps’ when he takes shang qinghua as his primary advisor)

- this plan does not work, shen yuan is exposed to the cultivation world as a demon and a traitor and gets his ass tossed into the endless abyss so he can’t warn zzl and tlj about the plot against them

- (shen jiu goes to see him before he gets sent in: “why’d you do it?” “i… i wanted to try and let them (su xiyan and tianlang-jun) be happy together…”)

- sy is stuck in the abyss making himself a little house and strong arming the various horrors down there into liking him

- cut to shen jiu, now shen qingqiu, extremely bitter about the fact that the only person he considered a friend betraying him the cultivation world, and seeing baby binghe who looks just like the guy his friend got tossed into the the abyss for and figures out that this must have been what shen yuan was trying to protect

- shen qingqiu is livid and takes it out on binghe

- yet another cut, we know what bingge’s childhood was like, and binghe’s gets dropped into the abyss (sqq thinks that it’s fitting he sends the beast to the same fate that trying to protect him doomed shen yuan to)

- binghe wanders the abyss, being miserable, for several years before he comes across… a house? the bamboo house from qing jing peak? is he hallucinating? but no, it’s not quite the same, it’s made with whatever freaky bamboo equivalent grows in the abyss and there’s a pen with a six-legged carnivorous horse around the side of it

- shen yuan built himself a version of the bamboo house because he really liked it and he helped build shen qingqiu’s bamboo house as a sort of present/congratulations for ascending to peak lord status and he wanted a comfortable place to relax where he’s less likely to be attacked by a beast

- binghe is very confused when he is enthusiastically greeted by a fox demon who looks like his scummy teacher but is rather quickly endeared and intrigued

- they bond, shen yuan helps binghe find xin mo and they get out of the abyss and into the demon realm together with shen yuan acting as an advisor for binghe similarly to how he did with tlj, with the condition that binghe helps him release tlj and zzl from their prison

- this is the main catalyst for them going to huan hua in this au (most people have forgotten what sy looks like or they were too young to remember his trial even happening, it wasn’t anything super public because publicity for the great sects is very important so they kept things very hush hush)

- shen yuan reunites with zhuzhi-lang and tianlang-jun! it takes them a while to figure out how to properly break them out but they do manage it!

- at some point in the demon realm shen yuan and shang qinghua run into each other and clock that the other person is a transmigrator pretty quickly (they both have a habit of muttering in chinglish during court and they hear each other and do the spider-man point meme)

- sqh and sy bond and binghe and mbj don’t exactly know if they should be jealous about it, they’re very close and seem to share some sort of strange dialect that only the two of them speak and spend a lot of time together?? (they’re arguing and maybe kissing a little bc… cumplane my loves)

- shen yuan eventually has the misfortune of running into liu qingge (who survives here because i love him and i think that sy would at least try to prevent his death because he found him endearing when they were disciples), while sy is delighted that his shidi is alive he’s less happy about having cheng luan pointed directly at his throat in a secluded alleyway when he was just trying to browse the market of a town he remembered being pleasant

- reuniting with lqg leads to reuniting with the rest of cang qiong (and getting yelled at for his incompetence by shen qingqiu before they make up)

- shen yuan has (just barely) convinced binghe that torture is not the answer to solving his trauma so shen qingqiu does not get water prisoned but they aren’t trusted alone in a room together for a good long time

- eventually this probably ends in shen yuan collecting a harem on accident (not that he’s very upset about it but still, he’s confused how he managed this)

- neither binghe nor shen qingqiu are particularly pleased about the harem thing but like… they love shen yuan and if it makes him happy they’ll put up with these other idiots (they totally don’t like some of the other harem members what are you talking about? there’s nothing going on there stop asking them about it)

#tyler does art #svsss fanart #svsss au #svsss #mxtx svsss #svsss fanfiction #kinda i got too into it lol #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #zhuzhi lang #zhushen #(they’re cute and they hold hands and sy convinces zzl that he’s pretty)#shen yuan’s harem #fox shen yuan

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mayflowers515 · 1 month

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(Wholesome Cartoon AU) Smiling Critters' Families

Wanted to make this to go more into depth with the Critters' families and their thoughts on them. I mentioned some aspects about some families already in my lore headcanons, but here the information relating to them will be more organized and may have some extra details not brought up before.

Note: For the purposes of cartoon logic, real-life lifespans of animals won't apply here when it comes to the parents (since their ages are definitely beyond what ages they typically live by-)

I also have headcanons for all the families, and I will update this if I think up more for them :)

🧡☀️DogDay☀️🧡

Members:

NoonHound - father; 32 years old

Bio: Works as a cartoonist and is very passionate and easygoing.

DandieDawn - mother; 31 years old

Bio: Works as a daycare teacher; she is very caring but a bit of a worrywart.

DogDay - older brother; 11 years old

SunnySpot - younger sister; 6 years old

Bio: Filled with endless curiosity and bubbly charm, but can be a smart allec sometimes.

DogDay loves his parents a lot and respects all of what they do for him and his sister. He only wishes they could all spend more time all together. That doesn't happen too often due to his mother and father working busy jobs. As for DogDay's relationship with Sunny, he cares a lot about her, too. Sometimes, he can get a bit too overprotective of her in cases where it may not be needed. Even then, he likes to play games with her whenever she asks about it. She's very playful after all.

DogDay's parents, Noon and Dawn, work a lot to care for him and Sunny. They used to all live in a more drab town where the job quality wasn't the best. They stayed there to improve their financial situation until finally they could move to a better town to work better jobs. Though they can still be busy at times, the parents now have much more initiative to take a break compared to before. As for Sunny, she really looks up to and admires her brother. Though she gets annoyed whenever he overly coddles her, and she occasionally plays smart with him.

Headcanons:

Sunny has learned how to solve a Rubik's cube at a young age. In general she is good with completing brain puzzles, but solving a Rubik's cube is her favorite one.

Dawn's experiences as a teacher is part of the reason for being a worrywart. Due to the way the kids at daycare act, she tends to have this persona of her slip whenever she tends to DogDay and Sunny. She is often out of work very exhausted and tense, but she still loves her job.

As a kid, Noon drew cartoons as he has always wanted to be a cartoonist. However, he doesn't really like looking back at them since he views them as "cringy". If his kids were to see the comics he created, he would laugh at them as a way of acknowledging how "cringy" his previous work was, even if this may not have been the case.

Dawn and Noon have known each other for a long time, as they were next-door neighbors in their childhood town (not the same as the drab town I described, though). They were childhood friends for a long time, but Noon had harbored feelings for Dawn for a long time even before they got together. By the time their high school's prom came around, he confessed his feelings for her, which she reciprocated (turns out she felt the same way Noon did, but he was oblivious to this thinking she was just being shy originally).

Dawn's hobby whenever she isn't working is landscape work. This ranges from gardening to decorating. She gets really into it, too, often taking a long time to finish her landscaping work to fit a certain occasion (especially the case when holidays roll around). Noon likes to help with decorations sometimes because of his own passions relating to drawing.

DogDay's appreciation of his father's drawings is also what makes him so interested of other people's art, even though he himself isn't as artistic of a person.

🩷🍎PickyPiggy🍎🩷

(I'm changing my mind about the status of Picky's parents. They never disappeared now- I didn't like the original idea I had for them looking back at it; may put what I planned for them previously in another timeline though, but I'm not sure atm)

Members:

PerfectPiggy - father; 36 years old

Bio: The main cook of the family's kitchen; has good leadership skills and charisma.

PetitePiggy - mother; 34 years old

Bio: The co-cook and gardener of the family's kitchen; not afraid to get messy and is hard-working.

PickyPiggy - older sister; 10 years old

PerkyPiggy - younger twin sister; middle; 7 years old

Bio: Takes a lot after her mother and loves outdoor activity. She and her twin brother commonly bicker.

PowerPiggy - younger twin brother; middle; 7 years old

Bio: Though very reserved, he is stubborn and goal-oriented. He and his twin sister commonly bicker.

PlayPiggy - baby brother; youngest; 6 months old

Bio: A very happy infant who loves to play games.

Picky has a lot of respect for her parents. They were the reason she has such a passion in gardening and especially cooking. As a result, Picky is a bit closer with Perfect than Petite, but she is always enthusiastic at both learning new recipes and growing new crops. She has learned a lot about responsibility and discipline from them that reflects in the piggy she is. Picky has a motherly attitude towards her siblings. Whenever her parents can't take care of them due to being busy, Picky usually volunteers to help. She is a peacemaker to her siblings if Perky and Power get into fights or whenever Play starts to get upset. She also caters a lot to their basic needs. She doesn't deny any of them for any reason, though she can sometimes act slightly mean and sarcastic towards them depending on her mood. She usually apologizes when she goes too far with this attitude, however.

Picky's parents love all of their children equally. In the case of Picky, they are especially happy that she takes interest in their work. They secretly want Picky to help run the business with them when she's older, and potentially even inherit it if and when they retire. As for Picky's siblings, they have a lot of respect for their older sister. Especially because of what she does to make sure they get taken care of whenever their parents can't help for whatever reason. Perky and Power usually have Picky play with them when she can because she can also let loose and play with them just like any sister can. Though not much is known with how Play feels about Picky due to being so young, he appreciates her company just as much as everyone else's. He especially loves the games she plays with him.

Headcanons:

Before their start as a local restaurant business, the Piggies took their food service slow. They helped out in any food drives and potlucks they came across. Their favorite place to help out is in homeless shelters and orphanages. Picky especially likes to help out in the orphanage (I imagine this is how she and Bobby met all that time ago).

Both Perfect and Petite were into cooking, and they naturally took interest in each other when realizing during high school that they both planned to go to culinary school. During their time in culinary school, they fell in love and eventually became a couple.

Perky and Power aren't into cooking as much as their older sister or their parents, but they still occasionally help out in the kitchen, especially if it involves their favorite food. They can't help out in the same room, however, since they bicker even in the kitchen.

Perky is VERY messy whenever she helps out in the kitchen. She often has flour and ingredients all over her clothes after helping out. This would annoy Power, who is much less messy in the kitchen.

Whenever Power is in the kitchen, he is very by the book. He does a good job keeping track with the details explained in the cookbooks, but he will question whenever something goes against what he expects would happen.

Perfect sometimes cooks the food he makes for the restaurant business as a surprise for the family. To save money, they usually eat store bought food whenever those surprise days don't happen.

Petite probably has a lot of injuries due to what she has to work with in her garden. She especially hates wasps since they sting her a lot whenever she tends to the garden.

🩵🌈CraftyCorn🌈🩵

Members:

King SpeQuine - father; 41 years old

Bio: A very demanding presence in the kingdom and always strives to receive the best in everything.

Queen PrisMare - mother; 38 years old

Bio: Known to be emotionally distant and no-nonsense. She cares a lot about keeping the kingdom afloat.

(Princess) CraftyCorn - daughter; 11 years old

Crafty's relationship with her parents is... complicated to say the least. While she doesn't hate either of them, she doesn't exactly respect them either. They always talked down to her for interests that didn't relate to royalty and they also talked badly about anybody that didn't share their status, and Crafty disliked that. Despite this, Crafty always tried to please her parents so she could feel accepted by them. She was often talked down to for not fulfilling their expectations. Eventually, Crafty had enough of this and ran away in the middle of the night. She was accompanied by a knight who took pity in her situation. She doesn't like talking about her parents ever since she ran away from them. This is also the reason why she's so sensitive on the topic of her upbringing.

Crafty's parents didn't really love their daughter as a daughter. Rather as someone that could help them with the kingdom's reputation. They always nitpicked her for not fulfilling the visions they wanted for her to be. SpeQuine would especially be more nitpicky with his daughter. PrisMare is the same, but she has a sense of coldness whenever she does the same thing. Mainly because she doesn't know how to show love in the traditional sense, since she was always so focused on her kingdom and her kingdom only. These attitudes caused Crafty to run away. Not much is known about the parents' reaction to Crafty besides the fact they are desperately trying to search for her, unaware of her current location.

Headcanons:

Queen PrisMare actually used to be a big artist as a young girl, but she was bashed for these interests in a similar manner that Crafty was. PrisMare herself doesn't realize her own hypocrisy because there was a point in her life where her family would convince her that art was nothing but a waste of time. She commonly uses those experiences to convince Crafty to do what she and SpeQuine want her to do. Even so, I feel deep down, she would've secretly been proud of Crafty and her artwork, but doesn't show it so she can be a "good example" of "proper royalty".

King SpeQuine grew up in a rich family that spoiled him rotten before getting married to PrisMare. He was always taught that he always deserved the best of the best at all times, even if that realistically couldn't always happen. Due to the way he was raised, if he wasn't getting into a relationship with PrisMare, he would've stayed with his parents and never got a chance to work. His parents didn't care about the severity of running a kingdom at the time. They only cared that their son got with a royal because of the reputation it gives them.

Though they aren't seen or heard of much in the events of the cartoon, there are implications that the finding of their daughter is getting more widespread. These implications would grow more and more as the cartoon goes on (probably during a point where Crafty is going through an arc).

The natures of both PrisMare and SpeQuine also caused them to clash and not have as healthy of a relationship with each other either. They hid this from Crafty as much as they could to set a good example for her.

The only reason the parents got together at all is because PrisMare was pressured by her family to find someone to marry for their kingdom and SpeQuine's parents wanted him to marry a rich lady to upgrade their own status. Both PrisMare and SpeQuine seldom treat each other like married couples typically do. They may have a slight hint of care for each other, but this never extends to true love.

💛⭐KickinChicken⭐💛

Members:

CooperRooster - father; 40 years old

Bio: A social butterfly who likes to live in the moment. Can get too over his head at times, though.

WendyHen - mother; 39 years old

Bio: A sweet but self-conscious hen who wants the best for her family.

StrikinChicken - older brother; 17 years old

Bio: He is generally chill and agreeable. He likes to tease Kickin a lot, but he also likes helping him.

KickinChicken - younger brother; 10 years old

Kickin doesn't show it around others, but he is very clingy to his parents. He is especially clingy towards Cooper since he often spoiled him and his brother ever since they were young. Despite not being as close with Wendy, he still appreciates her a lot and usually tries to help her when she has her episodes of self-doubt. As much as Kickin looks up to both of his parents, however, it doesn't compare to the amount of admiration he has for his brother, Strikin. They have always been really close, and Kickin wants to be as cool as his brother. He worries whenever he feels he can't reach Strikin's level of cool, but Strikin usually reassures him whenever he feels this way.

Kickin's parents care a lot about their son, but they deep down worry a lot about him. He was picked on a lot at a previous school he was at, and they feel Kickin gets a lot of his own hidden self-consciousness from those experiences. As a result, they reassure Kickin that he will always be a star to them. Strikin also feels this way, but he is very close to Kickin. He checks up on him a lot, and he feels bad whenever he feels he couldn't do much to help him with his doubts, even when Kickin is just happy Strikin was there for him at all. Deep down, Strikin worries about how Kickin will feel once he leaves for college...

Headcanons:

Strikin plans to major in engineering once he graduates high school and goes to college.

Cooper used to be in a garage band when he was younger. He still has a rock guitar reminding him of those times. He hopes one of his sons pick up on his skills sometime.

Wendy likes to scrapbook in her free time. She may also have some embarrassing photos of her sons when they were really young. Strikin doesn't really mind, but Kickin would absolutely get embarrassed if his mom ever showed anyone those photos-

Wendy and Cooper had BIG crushes on each other during high school, but neither one of them knew about it.

When they did get together, I imagine it happened in a really funny, coincidental fashion. Like, when they were teens, they took part in a spin-the-bottle game, and Cooper just so happened to land on Wendy, which she was TERRIFIED about at first because she thought she would be way out of Cooper's league yet he still pursued her. They hit it off ever since that night-

Though I wouldn't be able to straight out say it in the AU (since I hc the cartoon was created in the early 90s where rep wasn't exactly normalized yet), it is very much implied that Strikin is gay. Probably what made Kickin himself feel more comfortable about realizing he was bisexual (this would also be implied).

Strikin has a BIG comic book collection with comics he doesn't even read anymore. He plans to give those comics to Kickin once he moves out to college (he doesn't give it to him sooner because he wants to surprise him).

💙💡Bubba Bubbaphant💡💙

Members:

(Ben) Benvolio Bubbaphant - father; 42 years old

Bio: An outgoing, fun-loving elephant who likes seeing the bright side of things.

Bridget Bubbaphant - mother; 43 years old

Bio: A kind, calm elephant who usually likes to reminisce on the past.

Bubba Bubbaphant - son; 11 years old

Bubba cares deeply about his parents, but he hasn't always been so trusting of them. For some time (prior to the series), he thought the relationship he had with his parents was "off", as if they couldn't be his real parents due to how different they are from him (size, color, etc). Eventually he realized the reason why, and he has become much closer to them ever since. He always appreciates how much they support his academic interests, and they always strive for him to achieve the best he can. Bubba likes Benvolio's energy, but he sometimes gets annoyed when he doesn't take certain things seriously. As for Bridget, Bubba admires how calm and wise she is. They also like to reminisce on old memories together.

Bubba's parents care a lot about their son. They originally were concerned for him because he would barely open up to them at a certain point in time. Once they realized why, they took extra time in making sure they valued their son for being himself and that they would always care for him. Benvolio has always made sure to do what he could to cheer up his son whenever he felt hard on himself. Meanwhile, Bridget usually helps Bubba whenever he wants insight on certain decisions he's about to make (he wants to make sure he's doing the right thing).

Headcanons:

The reason Bubba distrusted his parents so much in the past was because of how different their genetics seemed to be. He accidentally slips up on this distrust one time when he had an argument with them. Benvolio and Bridget open up about why this is the case. It turns out they are still his real parents despite how different they seemed. Just their genetics made him turn out to not be as similar to them. This discovery was part of the reason as to why Bubba has become much more inclined to learning new things nowadays. Afterwards, he starts to trust his parents more.

This misunderstanding led to Bubba's own fear of his lack of knowledge on certain things. Benvolio and Bridget are aware of this, and always let him know that there's still a lot for him to learn and that it's normal to not know EVERYTHING. Though this doesn't personally help Bubba very much, he would appreciate the support anyway.

Benvolio was NOT good at school back in the day. However, he would barely ever get any help due to the discrimination on him being so small for an elephant. This is eventually how he met Bridget, who was the only one who would help tutor him (she also had similar problems being rejected for her differences). Though they did clash sometimes, they eventually became high school sweethearts.

Bridget had a lot of achievements for her work in school back in the day, but this wasn't capitalized on as much during the time due to the discrimination following her. They have been given much more recognition as she grew older whenever anyone found out due to their world becoming more accepting of these differences.

The Bubbaphants loved to play board games together. They don't get TOO chaotic, as to them it's all just harmless fun to them. Sometimes, Benvolio likes to be silly about the way he plays and is usually the most dramatic whenever they play.

❤️❤️Bobby BearHug❤️❤️

Members:

Beckett BearHug - adoptive father; 34 years old

Bio: A tough-looking bear who has a bleeding heart on the inside. He has fighting experience.

Barbara BearHug - adoptive mother; 33 years old

Bio: Looks snobby, but she is actually very empathetic and gentle. She is known to have a rbf.

Bobby BearHug - daughter/adopted daughter; 9 years old

Bobby loves her parents a lot. She doesn't see them for their outward flaws, but rather as the parents she wished she was born with a long time ago. The truth is, these aren't her real parents. They adopted her after she was dropped by her real parents who neglected her. Due to her previous experience with those parents, Bobby gets really scared and apologetic if she feels she is being too much with Barbara and Beckett or if she isn't good enough for them. They always give her reassurance that they love her no matter what. Bobby sees them as her real parents because of the love they've given her that she needed all along.

Barbara and Beckett care a lot about their daughter. They always wanted to have a child of their own, but they were unable to for some time. They were glad to have the opportunity to raise Bobby after realizing her situation. As a result of realizing what she went through previously, they take extra care in being as kind and reassuring to her as possible. This is so she can know that they won't leave her or neglect her like her previous parents did. They love Bobby unconditionally as if she was their biological daughter.

Headcanons:

Bobby's biological parents are Homer HoneyComb and Cara HoneyComb. They had Bobby at a young age and at the time, they weren't at all ready to have a child. They kept her anyway due to pressure from both sides of the family, but they seldom gave her any attention outside of the bare minimum. This left Bobby starved for love at a young age, and as a result, she was more clingy to them. Homer and Cara took this clinginess as an opportunity to make her a scapegoat whenever they fought and brush her off as a "nuisance". They also used it as a reason to eventually abandon her. This all happened when Bobby was at the age of 5, and she was placed in an orphanage for some time after this. When she was 7-8 years old, she finally found loving parents in Beckett and Barbara.

Beckett is heavily trained in martial arts. He someday wants to teach this skill to his daughter, but he knows she may not want to do that at this point (she doesn't like to get her hands dirty). Beckett is patient about this aspect of Bobby.

Beckett's side of the family runs a honey farm that is far from the Smiling Critters' hometown. Whenever Beckett visits his parents, he makes sure to bring back honey to share among him, Barbara, and Bobby.

Barbara and Beckett met sometime when Barbara visited Beckett's family's honey farm. They related to each other a lot due to being misunderstood by others, and they eventually fell in love as a result.

Barbara actually works as a teacher at the school the Smiling Critters go to. To avoid bias, however, she agreed to not have Bobby in the same classroom as her. She occasionally checks in on her daughter whenever she is on break to make sure she's okay during the day.

Barbara and Beckett allows Bobby to visit the orphanage sometimes due to her positive experience with the fellow orphans there before getting adopted.

💚⚡Hoppy Hopscotch⚡💚

Members:

Scott Hopscotch - father; 36 years old

Bio: Passionate and a little aggressive. He can have a bad temper at times.

Rebecca Hopscotch - mother; 36 years old

Bio: Excitable and optimistic. She can be pretty reckless outside of parenting decisions.

Harley Hopscotch - older sister; 16 years old

Bio: Reserved and a bit shy, but very protective when it comes to her family's safety.

Hoppy Hopscotch - younger sister; middle; 10 years old

Holly Hopscotch - younger sister; youngest; 4 years old

Bio: She is carefree and imaginative, and her innocence is still very present.

Hoppy respects her parents a lot. They usually encourage her to follow her dreams of being a sports star. In fact, she was inspired to do it because of her mom's role in sports during high school and winning many medals. Hoppy also cares a lot about her sisters, though she wishes they would be more willing to play the kind of games she wants to play. That doesn't happen often since their interests are inclined in different directions. Hoppy would get protective of them if something happened to them.

Hoppy's parents are very happy with their daughters. Specifically for Hoppy, they appreciate the amount of energy she brings to the dynamic. Also happened because of their influence and their own energy. Hoppy's sisters also look up to her in their own right. Though Harley can act very cautious with Hoppy due to how reckless she can be, she appreciates what she does whenever she doesn't feel up to doing things. Holly really looks up to Hoppy despite not being into sports like she is. Holly usually likes piggy backs from her or Harley.

Headcanons:

This family seems to have a habit of cursing. Scott and Rebecca curse often whenever they're mad (mostly for Scott) or feeling intense about something (mostly for Rebecca). Holly and Hoppy usually have to be taken out of the room so they don't pick up on their cursing habits (Harley is the only one allowed to listen). Hoppy listens in anyway, so now she has a habit of occasionally cursing just like her parents. Obviously since the Smiling Critters is intended to be a kids cartoon, the swear words aren't actually heard by the viewers. They're coincidentally and comedically blocked out by something or someone every time. Ironically, Hoppy's parents would get mad if they heard their daughter cursing (secretly a bit proud at the same time, though). She usually tries not to curse in front of them anyway, but she occasionally slips up.

Family game nights are likely very, VERY chaotic with this family... Think like that Odd1sOut Monopoly scene-

Speaking of game nights, imagining this is how Scott and Rebecca met. One time they just had a game night with their high school friends. They basically had a game respects game attitude towards each other and grew very close ever since.

Harley wants to major in English once she makes it to college.

The sweater Hoppy has wrapped around her waist was given to her by Harley as a hand-me-down. Hoppy loved it so much that she has worn it ever since it was given to her. If she were to wear it, it would likely look a bit oversized on her-

Despite Hoppy getting in on the chaos of her parents, she will usually partake in making sure Holly keeps her innocence since she's so young. Basically like a "No! Not the baby!" situation like in Amphibia whenever something that would ruin Holly's innocence is about to happen.

💜🌙CatNap🌙💜

Members:

MewZizz - father; 34 years old

Bio: A calm, quiet guy who likes to play music for anyone willing to listen.

FeLune - mother; 33 years old

Bio: The resident "crazy lady"; She has a mysterious aura, but is she really what she seems?

CatNap - son; 11 years old

CatNap isn't by his parents often, but he still shows appreciation for what they do. Sometimes he can be a little embarrassed by the antics of his mom, but he will help her with any errands she needs done. As for his dad, CatNap appreciates the music he comes up with. He occasionally stops by to see his dad perform whenever he's awake.

CatNap's parents care deeply about their son. MewZizz is worried about his son's mental state sometimes, suspicious of the fact that he sleeps so often throughout the day. Though he knows why, he sometimes tries to convince him of better ways to go about the stress. This doesn't usually work since CatNap is so convinced that he just has to stay as calm as possible through proper sleep. Meanwhile, FeLune nags CatNap out of her own worry. Also because of a lot of the many traits they share with each other... She worries about CatNap going through the same judgement she went through, but she attempts to help him whenever he feels stressed about this.

Headcanons:

FeLune had a love-at-first-sight experience with MewZizz. She was always a part of the audience watching his performances. Eventually, she mustered the courage to talk to him, and they shortly got into a relationship afterward. For MewZizz, he loved FeLune's support and the quirks she had, so he quickly fell in love with her in a similar way.

The poppy gas CatNap has as his second scent came from FeLune's side of the family. FeLune herself had to deal with poppy gas, but she managed to control it to a healthy level. However, before she did, she would often get flak for having this ability, being deemed a monster by many for having it. As a result, this affects the way she feels about her son's poppy gas. She worries a lot about if people found out about this. Little did she know, her excessive worry about it is also what drove CatNap's own fear of the others finding out about his ability.

MewZizz often played lullabies for CatNap when he was younger. CatNap has fond memories of these lullabies, and he even hums them himself whenever he helps put others to sleep.

MewZizz and FeLune are very openly romantic in public. They do a lot of PDA, and sometimes this gets on CatNap's nerves because of how openly they do it.

FeLune was able to have their home installed with their own observatory. Besides his own bedroom, CatNap finds the observatory to be his favorite place to unwind.

(Phew... This took so long to make with the designs and descriptions =v=' I'm sorry for not posting about the AU in a while. I hope this makes up for it- Also tried to not be exactly the same as the existing family dynamics other people came up with for their own interpretations of the Smiling Critters- It's their original OCs after all- I did still get inspired by some things. If anyone has an issue with this, let me know and I'll work something out with my own characters since I don't want to copy off of anyone T^T)

Hope you guys enjoyed this (long) post!

🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

#smiling critters au #smiling critters #justsomepersonalhcs #dogday #pickypiggy #craftycorn #kickinchicken #bubba bubbaphant #bobby bearhug #hoppy hopscotch #catnap

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scary-lasagna · 5 months

Note

HEYY! Wondering if you do everymanhybrid and if so could you write a HABIT x reader headcannons? Relationship in general I don’t have specifics in mind

I might have mentioned him in passing before, but I'll definitely write something about him for his place in my AU, it's a bit ooc from EMH but it's very interesting.

HABIT

Habit is...not mentally stable in the slightest.

The only time he would fall in love is if it either a.) benefited him or b.) you were smokin' hot and he obsesses over you

And be prepared to hear him mull and complain over both Slender and Zalgo, both who equally piss him off but he's forced to be nice to one of the two.

But when Habit falls, he will fall hard. You will sit on a royal pedestal, and HABIT your knight in shining armor. There would be nothing he is against doing for you.

He grovels at your feet, swearing to always protect you, to keep you fed, to keep you safe and warm, to-

“I KNOW you only asked for Kirspy Kreme, but darling my point still stands.” And he pulls his unsettling, ear-to-ear grin out of his back pocket to plaster on his face.

But all-in-all he’s your little guard dog.

Most of his working hours are spent obsessing over Slender’s history and origins, striving to find any bit of information that will lead to his downfall.

The rest of his work day is spent over tea with Zalgo, not that he ever drinks any, he’s really just there for the lemon squares and latest celebrity news that haven’t hit the 6 o clock channels yet.

After all, Zalgo has close ties to all of the higher ups. He always has the best gossip.

He might shove some pastries in his pockets for you if anything looks of your taste, but they’re usually melted or crumbled by the time he gets home. Usually he licks the remains out of his pocket (gross).

There’s also a room in your shared space that you are never allowed to go in, two if you’re counting the closet.

A room filled to the brim with ancient texts, books, artifacts, and knives hold a red herring for a closet in that same room filled with many different types of guns, weapons, cursed artifacts, and a haunted McDonalds coupon from 2008.

HABIT and Evan function similarly to Liu and Sully, however HABIT has the upper hand in the body. It’s a once in a blue moon occurrence that Evan will peek through and attempt to escape the house and/or try to kill you, thinking you kidnapped him.

Freaked the hell out of you the first time it happened before HABIT managed to grab hold of the reigns.

Safe to say, Evan was properly dealt with that night in the dimension of HABITs brain, being held in a void of endless whispering and torment while you sat with HABIT, watching Twilight just to make fun of it.

He’s also kind of…not the brightest. He always has the right idea, but never quite sure how to execute it properly. This is the explanation of the many failed assassination attempts toward Slender and his brothers.

He has been sucker punched more times than he can count by 3/4 of them. Splendor just talks him down with a therapy session and it works in more ways than one.

But this also applies to relationships. You want roses? He gets you daisies because they look better, even though you specified roses.

A fancy restaurant date? Takes you on a cruise. You didn’t want or pack for a cruise. Neither did he. Don’t ask where he got the money.

Right idea, wrong execution.

He’s also extremely clingy, even though it’s been implied, but he will quite literally hover around you, waiting to be acknowledged or asked to do something for you, because if he’s not working, he doesn’t have anything else worth tending to except for you.

You’ve once asked for alone time and he quite literally sat in the floor of the kitchen and twiddled his toes until you got peckish for a snack and stumbled on him.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I was waiting for you to ask me to get you a cookie.”

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog #habit x reader #didn’t get into the unhingeness of HABIT but you got a lil peek

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sassydefendorflower · 10 months

Text

For some time now I've harbored the suspicion that Ao3 and fandom in general is pretty anti-abortion. Not in a conscious, malicious way - hell no. I think it is an unconscious thing, something that sneaks into a lot of fiction in a way that isn't actively harmful, but has an accumulative effect.

And i get it.

Fanfic and fandom are escapism. They are there to present happy stories and happy endings, big What-ifs and endless coffee-shop AUs. It is easy to imagine these worlds as perfect enough that no one needs to have an abortion because only people who want children only ever get pregnant.

And on an individual level that is absolutely fine. Nobody has to deal with topics that make them personally uncomfortable, or deal with delicate discussions such as this in their free time entertainment. It's just...

A world without abortion isn't a happy one for everyone. Partially because it is a human right that is being threatened all over the world by conservative governments who want to take away the bodily autonomy to have one. And since such is the state of the world, there should be a room in fiction to explore the implications of this. The horror of some government having this kind of control over your body, but also the fantasy of a support system that is there for you should the need for an abortion arise.

Why am I typing all this? Because I just got a lot of hate on one of my fics dealing with abortion. And I think it is a symptom of a larger problem.

[ID: screenshot of an anon Ao3 comment saying: "Why do you worthless,brainless feminists try to tarnish this perfect stor y with your feminist baby murder propoganda? Why do you try to project your brainwashed,indoctrinated whore behaviour on characters as great as Edward and Winry? An abortion is NOT your decision. It is NOT your body and no amount of feminist screaming will change that. It is the fathers child too and your opinion is irrelevant. Abortion is murder, that's a fact. And no, I'm not religious. This entire story and your propoganda is utter TRASH. Rejected."]

[ID: another screenshot, also from anon: "NOT her body,NOT her choice. Different human being altogether. Keep wishing. Men will fully stop this practice of infanticide." Posted: 2023-06-18 05:09:47 UTC]

[ID: a third anon message that reads: Anonymous responded: "NOT her body,NOT her choice. That's a different, innocent human being altogether. And Ed is a strong,free man with a working brain. He's not your idea of "supportive husband" (aka spineless beta) who will support infanticide. This is not Edward and mlst definitely not Winry. She knows the value of life and exactly how hollow abortion arguments are. It is NOT a womans choice ever. NOBODY gets to decide to murder an innocent baby." Posted: 2023-06-18 05:08:24 UTC]

The fact that you should never send someone these kind of messages non-withstanding, this showcases a lack of respect and understanding that is simply baffling. There is so much hate in these comments. So much ire at women and people capable of having children in these words... it's frightening.

And I don't want to lock these stories behind moderated comments and limited access, because let me tell you something... these stories are for the people who need them most, the people who need positive and loving stories about making a hard choice and sticking with it. And often these people will only tell me about their own journey, their own struggle while on Anon themselves. And looking at the kind of response I've garnered... for a good reason.

Because it still isn't safe to openly talk about abortion.

Apparently not even on a website like ao3, which is generally assumed to be pretty liberal considering the general nature of online fandom.

Abortion is still seen as a taboo topic - in fiction and in real life. And this fear of openly discussing abortion makes people who visibly do vulnerable for attack. Be it authors like me who want to explore the bodily autonomy inherit in a fight for abortion, or the women and people who've had an abortion and are still frightened to talk about it.

If writing fiction dealing with abortion has taught me anything--- it's that people need and WANT these stories. Because no one else is writing them, but I really think some of us should.

The perfect world in which no one needs an abortion is useless, if people in the real world get hate mail for contemplating having one.

The next time your character has an unwanted pregnancy or is already surrounded by six kids or is very focused on wanting success and a career... think about why abortion isn't an option in your story.

Is it because it wouldn't make sense in your perfect fantasy? Is it because actually wanting kids is very inherent to this character? Or is it because deep down some part of you still thinks that having an abortion is some sort of sin?

It's no moral judgement I am making here - but you can only deal with an unconscious bias by examining it.

#fanfic #writing #abortion #ao3 #anon hate #discourse #fma #pro-choice #TERFs Fuck Off #fiction vs reality

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madfantasy · 2 months

Text

Dear blogging

Wish you peace, always. Considering all, it been extra rough. My guardians were sick, and my fragile of a stability was about to break— but it okay now, and the pendulum of consciousness returned swaying in my head.

Somehow in the middle of everything, I was starting to feel okay and accept that this is the best it can get for this non verbal Mani. I honestly I stopped living as if there was tomorrow maybe the majority of 2023, zero drive or hopefulness, and lately started to accept that there's no denying that I'm not made to survive this life, and dropped all pretence that I'm able, set a 5 years counter. Because if mere looking at people's faces distress me so much that I blank out &/or go mute, since childhood, no amount of me forcing myself to watch videos/ pictures over and over can fix that. That's simply how I'm made and I know that now, and in a way it's bringing me peace.

Because I thought I'm bratting when I wore my headphones to cancel out noise that were literally going to drive me insane, or when I couldn't respond to messages knowing that I can articulate deeply in writing but ignoring all the endless times when I simply couldn't, and have forced myself to eat many things that set me days in nausea and abdominal pain while I only enjoy liquids more and get high off of fruits, I love them so much half my OCs are named after some.. and drew.. drew even before I spoke because it was my only outlit to express because how much I'm told I'm like a robot, I'm so expressionless and non reactive and disgustingly literal, even when they actively beat me black Nd blue to stop drawing, I couldn't.. where do you free those emotions when U can, i needed emotion displays and heartfelt trimmers, thrilling or killing, I needed to do them as if my life depended on it, and I haven't realised it back then, but my life was dependent on them, even when I had 'no talent ' , as I have always been told.

(commissioned by precious Julia ♥️🖤)

And besides drawing my needs, I actually, physically, started to feel better when I didn't do what my body said it literally can't do, all my life:

-Walked away from my guardians arguments, my chest stabbing pains became less frequent.

Stopped "practicing" my voice &/or facial expressions, I talk for 2 minutes, immediately my whole face muscles hurt, voice is cracking and gone, I don't feel like my eyebrows hurt as much. I'm okay being the monotone no expresso train c:

-stopped eating what I "don't like" (I mean it's not like I have much choice, but stopped feeling guilty over refusing it cuz food be tight) Nd now I can actually drink more water, and my tummy aches are on lower levels now

-i stopped dealing with Discord, or group chats in general cuz I don't expect accommodation over things I can't deal with. Stopped stressing over doing engaging material that no body seems to care about, cuz I'm not a good judge of demand, or stressing over either I should be thanking everyone who spams me with likes or not, (while I appreciate it to the moon) 90% of the time they don't respond Nd Im forced to think like I've done something wrong. I'm now at more ease with posting — (literally I have to fight the urges to delete my socials daily) just with interacting with who addresses me (I lov U guys sm) and I've been more relaxed from it.

I returned to "speaking in riddles" cuz if I don't use the words my brain spews no matter how weird they R, a tire will pop somewhere on the other side of an AU- idk lo'

-i rock, hum and laugh OUT my maniacal laugh, hard and strong, continued loving and talking to my plushies as I used to do, the easiest thing I could do to feel calmer again. As everyone should do

.. I stopped saying the word sorry. It's a naughty Mani era.

Accepting these facts and many, even with having no will to live had me saner than I ever been, at least I hope so.

I just know that I have a few to be grateful of: that I'm still here somehow, even with my dwindling income, Nd my internet not worth costing 120$± I'm always grateful for the sudden one or two commissions that keeps me here and buys me coffee and pumpkins seeds..

I still struggle horrindously with sleep. But I'm grateful at least I'm at pure ease playing games. Games been my go to media for knowing basically all based on books they were made about, like Severus and Tintin, I still play their ps1 games! Tho I got stuck on this game & their sleep has given me so much ease lo

I'm at my happy place rn, heh.

Bonus panel: ye they R hungry for that SHI- lo 🙈

And an honorary appearance of my OC with Tintin hehe

Stay safe, don't feed the overconsumption machine, don't give up on your heartstrings's stringers, don't worry— there are people who think and feel like you always between the crowds, and I'm thankful that I share the same timeline with you♥️🖤

Sweet dreams 🌃 19.2.2024

#text #drawing journey #non binary artist #on the spectrum #personal

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chierafied · 9 months

Text

Crossroads

Written for @jilychallenge August 2022. | Partner @wearingaberetinparis

Prompt: “One of the things your parents warned you about: Never pick up a hitchhiker. But she/he looked so lost and also a bit familiar so I did it anyway.”

Also for @gobletofweasleys' Jily week 2023 Meet Cute AU.

Thanks to @siriuslychessi for helping me out with this. 💖

Also on AO3

Tears burned in Lily’s eyes and choked sobs rattled in her throat. She paced the narrow shoulder of the four-lane motorway and kicked at the innocent grass. Her mind was whirling with stinging swearwords while in her heart the gut-twisting anger warred with the stranglehold of loss and grief. Her suitcase sat neatly near her feet while Lily walked a tight circle, stuck in the torrent of emotion.

Stuck here, on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, with nothing in sight but trees, grass, and the cars and lorries hurrying past. With nothing but her dark thoughts and hurt feelings to keep her company.

Lily’s breath stuttered in her throat as the enormity of her predicament crashed down on her and the tears finally tore free, rolling down her cheeks.

It hadn’t even been two hours and James was already bored. Even the guitar riffs of the classic rock playlist blasting in his car didn’t quite pump him up anymore. His restless fingers drummed at the steering wheel and he shifted in his seat. Maybe he should have stopped in Glasgow, after all. Taken a break. Stretched his legs. Got himself a big cup of coffee.

There was nothing in front of him now but hours and hours of driving south along the motorway stretching before him. There wouldn’t even be any big cities on the way for the next hundred miles or two. The mere thought of all the miles still ahead of him was enough to make him lose his bloody mind. How was he going to be able to keep himself occupied for so many hours on end?

He’d ring Sirius but that blighter was probably already on his way to Greece right now. Off to his stupid romantic holiday with his stupid boyfriend. Blowing off a road trip with his best mate like the right sod he was.

The long trip back home from uni was a complete snooze fest now that he was forced to drive through the day alone.

Although it took the whole day to drive to James’ parents’ place, back in June when they had gone back for the summer holidays the miles had flown by. They’d taken turns driving. Taken breaks in some of the towns and rest stops along the way. And all the while, the car had been filled with talk and laughter. Not James’ lonely playlist and frustrated sighs.

Maybe it was time to play a game. It wouldn’t be much fun by himself, but if it was a choice between a boring road trip game and the general boring everything, he’d rather pick the option that wouldn’t slowly turn his brain into mush.

“I spy with my little eye…” James muttered under his breath.

His gaze swept the scenery before him. There was the grey, endless road. Grass. The railing between the lanes. Trees lining the road. Cars of all makes, models and colours, interspersed with lorries.

Ah! Now there was something to break the monotony. An overhead bridge. That perked James up briefly, but as soon as he drove under it, the boredom started to creep back in.

More of the stretching road, more cars, more trees, and more inertia eating his brain until all that would remain was mush.

Hold on, what was that?

James switched lanes.

A person standing by the side of the road? In the middle of nowhere?

That was unboring. James started to slow down.

Their arm was outstretched. His parents had always warned him against hitchhikers — though James wasn’t sure why since he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen one — but any company would do right now.

Slowly, James pulled to a stop by the side of the road.

As he turned to look at the red-haired woman through the passenger-side window, a jolt of recognition jittered down his spine.

He knew that face. It was red and splotchy right now, but he knew he’d seen it, more than once. He just couldn’t place it, didn’t know who she was.

The woman hesitated for a moment longer. Then, she reached out and opened the door.

"Hi," she said and sniffed.

"Hi," James replied, offering her a smile he hoped was reassuring. "Need a lift?"

"Yes, please."

"Hop on in."

The woman picked up her suitcase and hoisted it into the backseat before climbing into the passenger seat next to James.

"Where are you headed?" James asked as he steered back into the traffic.

"Just drop me off at the nearest town with a train station."

James slanted her a quick glance. She was looking out of the window, turned away from him. Disappointment pressed tight around his throat.

"Ok, just tell me where. Don't have the railway map in my head."

"I'll have to look that up, too," she admitted. "Give me a moment."

While she fumbled with her phone, James turned down his music. Drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Second-guessed himself at least four times.

Then, finally, he couldn't hold back the words anymore.

"It's too bad, though. I really could have used the company."

She looked up from her phone and frowned at him.

Great, now he'd probably come across as some kind of a creep.

"Just, it's a long drive home for me and in the previous years we've made a whole road trip out of it with my friend but this time it's just me and at this rate, I'm pretty sure the boredom will rot my brain before I reach Manchester."

"You're driving all the way to Manchester?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"No, I'm driving all the way to Devon."

She blinked. Stared at him. Slowly tilted her head.

"Are you crazy?"

"Yes," James readily replied. "But not the homicidal kind. I promise."

That startled a laugh out of her.

And that piece that had been puzzling and nagging at him at the back of his mind clicked into place. The red hair. The bright eyes. That easily recognisable voice. The laugh.

“You’re Lily, right? Remus Lupin’s friend?”

Her eyebrows rose sharply in surprise.

"Yeah. We have a lot of classes together. Are you a friend of Remus, too?"

"Yeah. I'm best mates with Remus' boyfriend. He also happens to be my flatmate so I see Remus around. A lot."

A smile tugged at Lily’s lips. "I can only imagine."

"I'm James, by the way. James Potter. I don’t think we've ever officially met though I've seen you around the campus."

"Nice to meet you, James. Officially." Her voice was warm and light with her smile.

Hearing it lifted his heart and made him smile at the road in front of them.

"Likewise. And it's nice to have someone to talk with. The time's already flying by," James told her.

"Well, I guess keeping your brain rot away is the least I can do," Lily quipped.

"That would be much appreciated," he said. "I also really appreciate this opportunity of playing a knight in shining armour. It’s doing good things for my ego."

"Nurturing male egos is the primary focus of any woman’s life," Lily spoke in a wry tone.

James burst into laughter.

"I can see why you're friends with Remus," he said

"Yeah, we have a similar sense of humour." Lily shrugged.

"You have a brilliant sense of humour," James replied.

"Thanks."

For a moment, a silence settled over them. Then, Lily asked: "So what's in Devon?"

And so the conversation took root again. They talked about their plans for the autumn break, about their studies, about university life. They complained about their assignments and exams. They shared anecdotes of their professors and classes and the antics of their friends. They confessed where all their favourite spots on the campus were.

They chatted so easily with one another that before either of them realised it, more than an hour had passed.

It wasn’t until James saw the signpost of Gretna Green that he jolted back to reality.

“Should we stop at Gretna Green?” he asked Lily, his genial mood starting to deflate.

He could feel the weight of Lily’s long stare.

“What for, an obliging blacksmith? You seem like a nice enough guy, James, but I’d like to get to know you a bit better before we put marriage on the table.”

James’ surprise burst out in a wild guffaw.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Lily,” he told her, trying to match her joking tone. “I’m the grand gestures type. When the marriage is on the table, you’ll know.”

He shot her a glance and winked, before turning his attention back to the road. “What I was actually after was, I’m pretty sure Gretna fits your definition of the nearest town with a train station. If I drop you off there, I’m sure you can get a train or a coach to take you home.”

While Lily stayed silent, James held his breath.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said slowly, after a long moment, “but if you’re really driving all the way to Devon, it wouldn’t be a huge detour to swing by Derby, would it?”

“Not at all, it’s practically on the way,” James said, perking up and breathing easy once again.

“I’m just concerned about the state of your brain,” she continued, deadpan. “We should keep it as rot-free as possible.”

“Definitely.” James nodded. “And seriously, I would appreciate the company.”

“Well then, looks like you’re stuck with me for a while longer.”

James grinned. And though he’d only just met her, he was starting to think that he wouldn’t mind being stuck with her for the rest of his life.

Lily was laughing so hard her cheeks were hurting. She wasn’t sure she’d stopped laughing since they’d crossed over to Lancashire. How strange it was that in the span of only two odd hours, her mood had taken such a complete and abrupt turn, from the bleakest, darkest pit into bright, boundless joy.

Really, it was all thanks to James. James, who was funny and nice and sweet and friendly and more than easy on the eyes.

And maybe a little crazy, yes, but definitely in a good way.

It was weird that their paths hadn’t crossed much on campus before. Sure, the campus was big and they studied in different faculties and had no classes in common. But Lily didn’t shy away from parties or pub quizzes or any of the varied events peppering the social calendar of student life. So they well could have—should have—met before today. Especially given the Remus-Sirius connection. James probably spent more time in the social scene of the campus than in class, too, Lily mused. Judging by their short acquaintance, James seemed even more outgoing than she was. After all, he’d been starved enough for company to pick up a stranger from the side of the road.

Which had been fortunate for her and very decent of him. A smile playing on her lips, Lily slanted a glance at James, wondering. Really, he was a decent bloke.

That thought combined with her returned good humour and the congenial mood in the car—as well as all the many miles still ahead of them—spurred her to speak before her brain had fully caught up with her tongue.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Ask what?”

“How I ended up hitchhiking by the side of the road.”

James kept his eyes on the road and his voice even. “I figured you’d have a good reason for that and I didn’t want to pry. Felt like there was a story there and you seemed upset enough so I decided you needed space, not questions.”

Warmth bloomed in Lily’s chest even as a mirthless chuckle left her lips. “Oh, there’s a story all right. A long one.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know. But I think I want to.”

He gave her a slow nod, still looking at the road ahead, and muted the rock music that had been faintly playing in the background.

Lily glanced out of the window and took a deep, fortifying breath. “I was heading back home with a friend. He’s from my hometown; we’ve actually been friends since primary school.”

“Wow, that’s a long time,” James said.

“Yeah, it is. Which makes it all the more wretched.” She sighed. “We wanted to go to the same uni, though we have different majors. We haven’t actually seen each other much in the past year or two, which is why I hadn’t realised how much he’s changed.”

“People grow apart,” James murmured.

“We did. Since I started uni, I’ve been so busy trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be.”

“I know what you mean. It’s been the same for me. Living across the entire country from my parents has made me glad to at least have Sirius. I like my major and I feel like I’m on the right path but it definitely has me thinking about myself as a person in a way I haven’t needed to before.”

Lily nodded. His words resonated a lot with her, reassuring her once again that James, unlike Severus, understood. “I feel so, too. Except that for me, I’ve been exploring this side of myself more that I haven’t fully even realised was there before.” Lily had to pause then because her breath painfully caught in her throat. “I suppose I’m the one who’s changed. Or maybe just becoming more of myself, if that makes sense?”

“Makes perfect sense to me,” James replied.

“So maybe that’s true for him, too,” Lily mused, more to herself than to James. Her stomach churned as she finally fully faced the possibility she’d been shying away from since this morning. “Maybe he hasn’t actually changed for the worse. Maybe I just haven’t been paying attention and this is who he’s always been.”

As the awful certainty pummeled her heart, James’ fingers tapped against the steering wheel in a lulling pattern as he waited, silent and patient, for Lily to continue. She took a deep breath and steeled her mind. She’d be going over her and Severus’ fight several times in the near future, but right now she didn’t want to dwell on it. He’d ruined enough of her day and she wasn’t going to let him get the best of her. So she took back control of the narrative. Literally.

“Last November,” Lily said, her heartbeat kicking up as her nerves made their appearance, “I was at this party. Dancing with this girl. A few drinks in. She kissed me.”

Lily paused, but James’ fingers still kept tapping. His face showed nothing but curiosity.

“Did you kiss her back?” he asked.

That was it. A simple question, lacking any kind of judgement. Lily felt like crying and beaming at the same time but chose to go on with her story instead.

“I did,” she replied. “And it was like I was seeing in colour for the first time in my life.”

“I felt that way, too, when I had my first kiss,” James said. “Though I haven’t tried kissing blokes. I’ll leave them to Sirius.”

Lily laughed. “Well, long story short, I’ve been pretty openly bisexual since then. To the point that I forgot I hadn’t actually told my childhood friend about it. And today, we were driving back home together, as we’ve done a few times before. I don’t even remember what we were initially talking about but he made a really homophobic comment which I of course immediately called him out on but the whole thing escalated and I couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t deal with him anymore. So I had him drop me off by the side of the road.”

Lily had to swallow against the knot of bitter fury in her throat. It was too soon for recollections. She needed distance right now, both from Severus and her own emotions. With a grimace, she shoved Severus into a box and slammed the lid shut. It was time to wrap this story up and move on.

“I was pretty much a mess at that point,” Lily said, her voice neutral now. “His comments and beliefs hurt, the argument had been super draining. I was riding on the anger. It was easier being angry than admitting that I’d just lost a friend.”

“I’m sorry,” James murmured in a soft voice. “Sounds like you’ve had a really shitty day.”

“I have,” she answered, “but thankfully it’s looking up now. At this rate, I might be able to end this day on a good note.”

“I hope you will.” James spared her a quick glance. “And if I can help with that, let me know.”

She managed a small smile. “Oh, you already have. You picked me up from the side of the road. Offered to drive me all the way home. You made me laugh when I wasn’t sure I had any laughter left in me. And now you’re just sitting there, listening and letting me dump this whole sordid story of my life on you like some absolute madwoman.”

“Well, we’ve already established that I’m crazy, so you’re in good company,” James joked.

“I really am,” Lily agreed wholeheartedly. “Thank you, James. For everything.”

“You’re welcome. And honestly, I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to confide in me. I mean,” James fumbled. “I, at least, think better out loud. Helps me process. And when you keep something like this in for too long, it starts to fester. So I think it’s better for you to let it out.”

“You’re right.” Lily wasn’t all right yet. She probably wouldn’t be all right for a while yet. But she was in a much better place than she had been just a few short hours ago, and she couldn’t have got here without James.

“Also, the way I see it…” James paused, his ears growing a little pink. “You’ve also gained a new friend today. If you want one.”

“The way I see it,” Lily said, “I could really use a friend like you right now. Thanks, James.”

He grinned.

She smiled back and let her head fall to rest against the window. For the next mile or two, they sat in companionable silence.

The clock was slowly nearing six in the evening and they were getting closer to Derby. They’d taken a few breaks on the way, for food and coffee as well as rest. And while James was getting tired, it hadn’t really felt like a 350-mile drive. All thanks to Lily, who’d turned out to be the best company. She’d really saved the whole trip and he was already growing a bit gloomy and fidgety at the prospect of parting ways.

For more reasons than one, if he was honest with himself. But no matter how he felt about her, he was not gonna make it weird and be the creep making moves on a woman while he had her entrapped in a vehicle with him and while she was probably still in a vulnerable place emotionally speaking.

“Oh, I love this song,” Lily breathed out suddenly. “Turn it up.”

James did, and to his delight, Lily started singing along. He grinned at the road ahead, absolutely delighted with her and hoping he could imprint this moment on himself so he could always return to it. Speeding down the motorway, her presence beside him warm and bright like the sun, the song intertwining with her lovely voice swelling in the car and filling his heart.

“You sing really well,” he told her as the song came to an end.

“Thanks.”

A while later, they turned off the motorway. Lily started to give James instructions and to point out familiar places and while it was fascinating to get these additional glimpses into her life, the bottom of James’ stomach was sinking.

The end was getting near.

And then they were driving along a quiet residential street and Lily spoke up, her voice subdued, “It’s the third house on the right.”

A minute later, James pulled the car to a stop. They both stared at the ordinary-looking house in silence.

Lily turned to him. “Well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” James echoed.

“Thank you again for everything, James. You’ve been great.”

“So have you. My brain has remained fully rot-free thanks to you.”

Lily smiled. “I’m glad. Are you gonna be fine for the rest of the trip?”

James shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll manage, it’s only a couple more hours.”

Lily glanced back at the house. “Yeah… I’d invite you in, for tea or coffee or a bathroom break or whatever but it’s my parents’ house and I just don’t want to deal with all the questions they’d have.”

“I get it. It’s fine. I should get going anyway so it won’t be too late when I get home.”

“Right. This is a goodbye then.” Lily’s lips twitched into a small smile.

“For now.” James winked. “You agreed to be my friend so you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Lily laughed. If James could bottle the sound he’d always carry it around in his pocket.

“Fine with me.”

She opened the car door and James got out to help her with her luggage.

They stood by the side of the street, staring at one another, each of them seemingly unwilling to move. Finally, James held out his hand.

“Can I get your phone?”

Lily raised her eyebrow. “Why?”

He opted for humour. It was always so easy to hide behind. “If you get too concerned about the status of my poor brain which will surely start to rot in your absence, you could ring me. Or text me. If you had my number.”

Lily’s green eyes sparked. She unlocked her phone and handed it over to James. “I guess it would be good to have your number. I might stay up all night worrying about your rotting brain otherwise.”

James beamed like an idiot as he put in his number, then handed Lily’s phone back.

“There you go.”

“Thanks.” Lily tapped at the number and after a brief moment, James’ phone started to ring in the car. “Just checking that it works.”

“Never hurts to check,” James said, both comforted and giddy about the fact that he now had Lily’s number, too.

“Goodbye, James. For now. Drive safe.”

“Thanks. Take care, Lily.”

She nodded, smiled, and turned to leave. But after just a few steps, she was back, abruptly pulling James into a hug.

He held her close, barely having time to register the warm weight of her body against his and the softness of her hair under his hand and just the utter perfection of her before she had backed away again.

“Sorry. I guess I needed to get that out of my system.”

“No need to apologise. For the record, I love hugs.”

“Good to know. Ok. Bye. For real now.”

“Bye.”

He stood by the car, hands stuffed in his pockets. When Lily reached the door, she turned back to wave. And before James could help himself, he called out to her: “You know, after the break, I’m gonna drive back to Scotland to uni. If you need a ride, I could use the company.”

Lily’s smile was so wide it lit up her face. She tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear.

“Sure,” she replied. “It’s a date.”

#jily #jily fanfiction #meet cute #jily week 2023 #jilychallenge #chie writes #fic: jl

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