Bro, The Way You Described Their Feelings Made Me Feel Like I Was Actually In The Story! I Don't Know

Bro, the way you described their feelings made me feel like I was actually in the story! I don't know how you managed to do that in such a short text but you left me speechless!

waiting for us

pairing: hyunjin x reader

synopsis: you’re afraid to let hyunjin love you, but he’d wait forever for you

warnings: very brief suggestive content, angsty angsty angsty (but happy ending) reader shuts down hyunjin’s advances, opening up, discussion of feelings, getting together, nothing is perfect, feelings are messy in this, writing is messy (apologies), hyunjin is an angel, they are both hurt souls just wanting to be loved

✿: @hhwangsmoon @straywrds @l3visbby @armysantiny @hwajin @casualtaelyn @staybangchan @hopeladybug @midsoulz @aestheticsluut @venustired @abiaswreck @deathlypink @djeniryuu @rachabreathing @alyszaen @starlostseungmin @bokk-minnie @spicymooseeyes @arlojulien-nightchild-of-hades @downbadreading @moasworld @ren0325 @ketchupaeternum @like-a-diamondinthesky @itsgivingitalian

No reposting or translating of my works. All rights reserved to me, myself and I.

“I hate flowers,” you mumble as you stare at the bouquet Hyunjin had gifted you minutes ago.

“I know. You think they’re cheesy and a cliche gift.”

Your eyes flutter from the arrangement to Hyunjin.

“Then why do you get them for me?”

Hyunjin smiles, looking completely unbothered.

“Because I know you love when I give you flowers. You don’t care that it’s cheesy. Not when they’re from me.”

Your heart flutters and you can feel a smile threatening to tug at your lips but you keep your features neutral.

“Why are you still trying Hyunjin?”

The man shrugs as he leans back against the park bench.

“I love you and I know you love me. But I also know that you’re not ready yet and that’s alright.”

A smile stretches across his lips, “I’ll wait as long as I need to.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell Hyunjin to fuck off but you also wanted to pull him closer and kiss him until your lips became numb and all you knew was the feeling of his body against yours.

You wanted to run away.

But you also wanted to stay.

You didn’t like the way Hyunjin looked at you. You didn’t like the way his eyes lit up when he spotted you or how he fiddled with his rings out of nervousness when he talked to you. You didn’t like when he gave you gifts, you didn’t like when he tried to talk to you.

You didn’t like it because you knew it was fleeting. Hyunjin would grow tired of your shit. He’d eventually stop trying to break down the walls you’d spent years building. One day he’d stop giving you flowers, he’d stop approaching you, he’d stop wanting to be around you.

But you also knew that Hyunjin was aware of your inner turmoil. He saw past the frowns and the stoic expression. He saw bits of your true feelings that seeped through no matter how hard you tried to keep them at bay.

You were tiring but he hadn’t grown tired of you.

Every rejection had only egged him on. It had only made him want to get closer to you.

No one had ever tried as much as Hyunjin had.

But you knew he deserved better.

You loved him, you loved him so much. But he shouldn’t be with someone like you.

A shaky breath left you, a reaction that had startled both you and Hyunjin.

“If I told you to stop, would you?”

Hyunjin is quiet for a moment. You can feel his burning gaze against your skin but you don’t dare to look at him.

Vulnerability is something that you aren’t comfortable with. But something about Hyunjin makes the tears pricking your eyes a little less burdensome. He makes you feel safe.

“I don’t want to. But if that’s what you wanted I would. I would give you space but I wouldn’t give up hope that one day you could let yourself be happy with me.”

Your eyes meet his then. He’s smiling despite the tears gathering in his eyes and it breaks your heart.

“I want to be,” you find yourself confessing, “I want to be but—.”

You don’t finish your sentence but you don’t have to. Hyunjin knows you’re scared. He knows you’ve been hurt. He knows you can’t let yourself trust easily. He knows you’re cold and dismissive because you can’t let yourself be broken again.

But he’s still there. He’s always been there, waiting so patiently for you to let him love you the way he knows and that you know deep down you deserve to be loved.

The paper of the bouquet rustles with the way your hand shakes.

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” he says softly.

He’s hesitant at first when he reaches out, but when you don’t pull away he settles his large warm hands over your own.

“You did good today Y/n,” he whispers, “So good. I’m so proud of you.”

You feel the first tear fall, then another. The first you’ve let fall in front of someone in a long time.

One of Hyunjin’s hands leaves yours to brush the tears away.

Your chest hurts, your entire being hurts.

And you feel so fucking sorry.

“I-I kept them all.”

Hyunjin hums in question as he guides your head to rest against his shoulder, fingers intertwining with your own.

“The flowers, the notes, the poems, the butterfly shaped gummies you bought me bc you said they reminded you of my eyes,” you sniffle.

“I kept them all. I still look at them everyday.”

Hyunjin is quiet, too quiet.

“I never wanted to hurt you, not really I just—. I’m so sorry Hyunjin. God you don’t know how much it ate me up everytime time I turned you down. I couldn’t—.”

“You were afraid to be loved. I know Y/n. I’ve always known,” he whispers as he shifts to look at you as you sit up.

“I’m still here,” he says as his fingers reach to brush a couple of loose strands behind your ears.

“I’m here. I’m yours. And I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes. I’m not leaving. I-I’m not going to disappear.”

Even when he cries, Hyunjin is still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

He’s crying because he’s hurting too. He’s crying because he loves you.

“I want to be happy with you,” you confess as Hyunjin leans his forehead against yours.

His breath in your lips makes you shiver.

“I-I want to be loved by you. I want to love you in turn. I just wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I didn’t hurt so much. I wish I didn’t hurt you. I wish I deserved you.”

“Don’t.”

It’s firm, the way the word leaves his lips.

“Everyone deserves to be loved. And to me, you deserve it the most.”

He’s so close to you, a tilt of your chin and your lips would meet. You think that it would heal you.

Something about Hyunjin has always felt that way to you. Healing.

But you didn’t give in. You had wanted to hurt because you felt like you deserved it.

“Just let me and I’ll show you. I’ll make the hurt go away.”

“I'm too much Hyunjin,” you admit.

“Loving someone isn’t supposed to be easy. People aren’t perfect, relationships aren’t perfect. You and I have our faults, our scars, our fears. But one thing I am certain of is that I feel so deeply for you. I think it’s beyond love at this point but it’s indescribable. You make me feel like I can’t breathe but at the same time by your side is the only place I can. It’s confusing and frustrating but fuck do I love you and I’ll be damned if i ever stop showing you how much I do.”

It’s fucked. Everything is fucked when you tilt your chin up and connect your lips.

It’s fucked when he kisses you back with so much passion that you feel his hurt, his love, his everything as his lips glide against yours.

It’s fucked when you feel your walls crumbling down and more tears escape. Both of you tasting the salty hurt and love that coats your lips.

It’s fucked when you breathe those four words against his lips that you had been trying so hard not to utter.

It’s fucked when Hyunjin takes you in the entryway of your apartment that afternoon—desperate and hungry as he fills you with all the love he has for you.

It’s fucked when you lay naked in your bed that night.

It’s fucked when you feel the anguish and hurt leave you at his touch.

It’s fucked, completely and utterly fucked.

Everything that you had built up, one man tore down in a single evening. He had been chipping away, making cracks in your defenses for months now and you had only stuck bandaids over them—not wanting to reinforce them anymore. You grew tired of the facade—tired of trying to force him away.

Hyunjin didn’t leave like you thought he would. He was right here, in your arms—lips pursed as he slumbered atop your chest.

He had been waiting for you.

And finally, you had stopped running and let your heart beat once more.

↳ If you liked this please consider commenting or reblogging! It would really mean the world to me ♡

why do i always see things so late

ahh, thank you so much, you deserve all the supporttt★★

list your moots as skz songs, go!!

waaait hehe i wanna do this

@planetkiimchi is sooo secret, secret coded! you're so sweet and your blog's aesthetic is so soft ughh this song is so you i feel like

@insertsomethingaboutanimehere for sure airplane. always so kind and supportive of everything I write!

@seo--changbin sage we fr don't talk as much as we should but you're so damn talented and your work is so sexy, definitely taste or red lights

@kyrjnie i'm giving you blueprint because it's such a nice, happy song and you give me like the most positive vibes ever <33

@chillseo and i really wanna get to know you better too ivy 😭😭 but i'm saying you're collision because some of your writing is so so hot lol i look up to you sm

@143hyunes miellee we haven't talked in a while but girlll imy and you are comflex because you're so pretty and im jealous

@itgirlgyu you are 100% hoodie season so groovy, funny, and creative with everything that you post! your txt crack hcs 🔛🔝

@haechanhues i admire you so so much and i think you are so cover me coded because your angst is the BEST and cover me has made me cry so many times

@chansburgah lizz ilysm you were my very first friend on here and i will never forget how much confidence and encouragement you gave me 💗💗 you are definitely astronaut :))

i invite anyone else to join this cute little trend haha 💕

Always leave it to @petrichor-han to write the best angst out there, honestly! Play with your feelings from the right angles!

I loved how it wasn't the happy ending everybody wishes for cuz life doesn't always work out in the end! And that just makes it all the more exciting!

red desert | h.hj

PAIRING | hyunjin x afab!reader

CAST | hwang hyunjin, yoo jimin (karina), kim minjeong (winter), mentions of felix lee, uchinaga aeri (giselle), ning yizhuo (ningning)

WC | 10.2k

GENRE | angst, fwb, college!au

WARNINGS | explicit language, casual marijuana usage, alcohol consumption, sexual references & jokes

SYNOPSIS | inspired by the song “red desert” by 5SOS. // you won't admit that you're in love with hwang hyunjin, and he won't admit that he's in love with you either. instead, he asks you to accompany him on a trip into the desert, where everything comes to the surface in between grains of red sand and fractured sunlight.

A/N | this is aggressively american and also loosely based off of the camping trip that i went on with my fwb last october. let’s just say that a 6 hour car ride and three days in the desert with him solidified some things and we haven’t spoken since. (same note as the teaser)

request to be added to current and future taglists HERE!

MASTERLIST | RAIN’S PLAYLIST

The day that he asked you to go with him, his hair was red. You remember because he’d been blonde for so long that you couldn’t remember how he looked with his natural color. He was the type of person to dye it so often that his roots hardly ever showed any signs of growth, because he claimed that he hated when people let their dyed hair grow out, even though that was normal and quite frankly, what ninety-nine percent of the population with dyed hair tended to do.

You’d run your fingers through his split ends and dry blonde locks, telling him maybe he should give the bleach a rest. But he shook his head, shook off your hold, and firmly said that he liked how he looked blonde. Other people liked how he looked blonde.

You liked how he looked blonde.

And it was true—his hair was the reason he caught your eye when he walked into the room that night. His silvery locks caught the neon lights bouncing off the disco ball drilled into the ceiling and made you turn your attention away from the semi-hot, semi-lame guy you were chatting up, hoping to get laid after a particularly long dry spell. You’d excused yourself, shaking your empty red Solo cup in his face, making his eyes cross slightly as you yelled, “I need another drink!” over the loud music. You didn’t bother to wait around for a response, cutting through the crowd and feeling sticky skin and damp fabric clinging to you as you pushed past people to try and reach the boy with blonde hair.

He’d settled against the wall, right next to the kitchen so that people were constantly pushing past him and putting him in an awkward position. Clearly, this wasn’t really his scene. But as you gasped, nearly toppling over as you escaped the tightly knit crowd into the outskirts, you looked up and saw him passing a loosely wrapped joint to his friend, lithe fingers carefully handling the badly wrapped object, as if it could fall apart at any moment. And honestly, it looked like it could. He turned his attention to you as you straightened up, blowing a cloud of smoke to the side as he looked you up and down, one side of his mouth turning upwards. He seemed to like what he was seeing as you walked over and perched yourself on the wall right next to him. His friend seemed to feel the tension before either of you two did, and edged away, busying himself with another person that had escaped the crowd. 

“Is it always this busy here?” he asked you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his loose jeans. 

His voice. He had the most gorgeous voice you’d ever heard, and you practically melted into a puddle on the sticky, beer-covered floor. 

“I mean, free alcohol and hot guys? Who wouldn’t come here on a Saturday night?” you ask. You realize now that you’ve lost your cup somewhere, probably back in the crowd. Your throat is dry, and you wish you had a sip of something to take away your nervousness—you weren’t quite tipsy yet. 

“The guys at TKE are gross,” the guy said, wrinkling his nose. “Trust me. I used to be friends with some of them.” 

“All guys are gross,” you counter. 

“Fine. But take my word for it—the ones at TKE are especially gross.” 

“And how can I trust what you say?” Your words are accusatory, but your tone is flirty, and the guy picks up on it as you move closer to him, mostly to edge further away from the kitchen entrance as a pair of extremely drunk girls stumble towards the guy passing out drinks. 

“Maybe my name will provide some credibility?” he says, nudging his friend with the badly wrapped joint as he passes by, hand in hand with someone in leather pants. The friend rolls his eyes but hands him a cart, which the guy accepts and hits once before offering it to you. 

You start to decline, but the way he wiggles it enticingly makes you change your mind for some reason, and you mimic him, taking a big hit before handing it back to him, coughing a little as you turn your head and blow the smoke away. “Alright, so what’s your name?” you ask, eyes watering. You can already feel the high settling in as your eyes twitch a little—but it’s a comfortable high. You can tell it’s not too strong. 

“Hwang Hyunjin.” He sticks his hand out to you, and you smirk and shake it. 

“That name means nothing to me,” you admit. 

“Not yet.” 

And that’s how you end up breaking your three month streak of getting zero bitches—having the most mind blowing sex of your life in the back of Hwang Hyunjin’s bright red car in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. 

It’s not the first time, and it’s certainly not the last. You and Hyunjin, though you wouldn’t consider yourself friends—not really—are closer than most people would be comfortable with getting to their disposable orgasm machine. Which is a nice way of saying that you had a hopeless, dopey crush on your friend-with-benefits, and he seemed to be completely oblivious. 

Such obliviousness was worse than flat out rejection, in your mind. At least if he straight up told you to go fuck yourself, you wouldn’t feel bad about stalking his mom’s Facebook posts from 2013 to find pictures of a pimply, flat haired Hyunjin to save to your blackmail folder. Nor would you feel bad about downing endless cartons of ice cream while you put off showering for a week and a half. 

But this—this limbo that you two were seemingly stuck in? It’s agonizing. It’s fucking excruciating. You think you have a chance when he’s fucking you from behind, one hand clasped around your throat as he tells you “how fuckin’ beautiful” you look as you’re getting your cunt destroyed. But then you feel like a dirty whore when he gets up right after he finishes and starts checking his dating apps right in front of you. 

“Have some fucking self respect,” your friend said to you firmly, after you cried in her arms after one of these fuck-and-dumps happened. It was too much seeing him match with this gorgeous girl and slide into her DM’s with a really bad pick up line. If the jealousy because of this random girl’s beauty wasn’t enough, the corny shit he thought would get her in his bed did it for you. 

You throw back the covers, the sticky stale air hitting your naked skin. Hyunjin barely glances at you as you stand up and start pulling your clothes on roughly. He only notices when you’re tying your shoelaces and picking up your tote bag that you’re actually leaving. 

“Where are you going?” he asks lamely, blinking slowly at you. The stupid pothead had taken two long hits from the dirty orange bong sitting on his nightstand right after he came on your tits, and it was clearly getting to him. 

“Home,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. 

“Oh. Okay. See you later.” He turns his attention back to his phone, where you can see that the pretty girl has responded. You feel a tug in your chest as you gnaw on your bottom lip and turn on your heel to stomp out of his room. The aged wooden floors creaked and moaned beneath your harsh steps; you were sure that Felix, whose room was also in the basement, now lived in fear that the ceiling would collapse onto his head. 

“Bye, (Y/N),” one of his friends called as you rushed by. You feel your face warm with embarrassment; when did everyone get back? Hyunjin told you they were all out seeing some classically boring hetero male film in theaters, and would probably go bar hopping afterwards. Nope—all seven of his housemates were crowded into the cramped living room, watching a chick flick from 2004 where the attractive female main characters were at a nudist beach. You tried not to let your eyelid twitch at the incredible amount of male energy in the room. That, and the entire house just reeked of pot, more so than usual. 

You manage to mumble out a goodbye before slamming the front door behind you. You have to take a moment to breathe in the fresh air and recollect yourself, letting the pieces that Hyunjin metaphorically broke off of you find their way back home. You’re a strong person—you know that he can’t really hurt you, not really. Especially not when you agreed to something casual, nothing serious. Not now, not ever. 

It’s autumn, and campus is starting to look like it. You’re lucky enough to study somewhere with the most gorgeous scenery—it’s pretty year round, but when the leaves change colors in the fall, it’s impossible to look away. There’s a slight bite to the breeze that sweeps through you suddenly, blowing the few fallen crispy leaves across the sidewalk. They rasp and crinkle underneath your boots as you walk down the oddly steep stairs that leads to their front door, and you can feel your spirits lifting with each step you take away from his house. You barely even glance at the bright red car sitting in the driveway, amongst at least four others. 

You pull your sweater closer to your body as your teeth chatter. The wind had more of a slight bite now—there’s a full on chill that rattles you down to your bones. 

At least, you think, Jimin’s apartment isn’t too far from here. 

Jimin lives right off campus, a few streets down from Hyunjin and his roommates. Though you enjoy Jimin’s place a lot more, you can’t help but prefer the mornings when you wake up at Hyunjin’s, simply because the walk to class is so quick and easy—you can see the edge of campus from Seungmin’s bedroom window. 

As you walk up to her apartment and pound on the door with a tight fist, you can’t help but crack a smile at the corny wooden sign that’s hanging on it—it’s covered in chunky orange glitter and says “IT’S FALL, Y’ALL” in curly brown letters. You assumed that Aeri, one of Jimin’s roommates, bought it—mostly because you’d seen her post a picture of her autumnal shopping haul on her Instagram story. It was cute, in a specific kind of way. Only someone like Aeri could pull it off. 

Jimin opens the door quickly, and scans your slightly disheveled appearance. “You have to stop this,” she says immediately.

“Please. I could stop whenever I wanted to, but I simply don’t want to.” You nudge her aside and walk in, and she crosses her arms and scowls at you. She’s mad. Not because you waltzed in like you own the place—you were practically their fifth roommate—but because you kept letting yourself get hurt by this douchey guy, and she was left to pick up the pieces. As much as she loved you, your denial was driving her insane. 

“Don’t lie,” she snapped. 

You wince at her tone. “Rina…” you mumble, using a nickname. Her expression softens. She guides you to the couch, where her other roommate Minjeong is asleep on one end, only her feet sticking out from a plush green blanket. You know it’s her because you were there when she painted her toenails dark blue and spilled the rest of the bottle onto the beige carpet in Jimin’s room. It left a massive dark stain, but after shifting Jimin’s dresser a few inches over, you and Minjeong got away with it. Until they moved out at the end of the school year, at least. 

You sit down on the free side of the couch. The slight movement jostles Minjeong ever so slightly, and she snorts a little in her sleep before curling up in a ball underneath the blanket, pulling her feet back underneath. Now, the only sign of life was the gentle, slight rising and falling of her breathing. You couldn’t see her moving at all unless you looked very closely. 

Jimin re-enters the room, holding two steaming mugs in her delicate, pretty hands. She hands you one of the mugs before sitting down on the chair—the one next to the couch, that desperately needs to be thrown out—and sinks into it uncomfortably. Her knees are almost touching her chest because of how far down she slid. She watches you carefully until you take a sip, and you sigh contentedly—it’s mulled wine, with just a splash of cream. 

“What happened this time?” she asked, taking a sip of her own wine. You can hear the disappointment in her voice and it makes your insides squirm with guilt. 

“He was on Tinder again.”

“Oh?”

“Right after he came on my tits.”

“Oh.” 

Jimin sucks in a deep breath through her teeth, and you can tell it’s bad. Her gaze drops to your chest, though it’s covered by your sweater. 

“Stop,” you whine, placing your arms across your chest. Your wine almost sloshes over the ceramic rim of the pale blue mug. 

“I just feel bad,” she groans, putting her mug down on the coffee table and massaging her temples. “There’s nothing I can do, but you just feel like shit all the time.” 

“Not all the time!” you say, feeling defensive. 

Jimin stares you down. “Fine,” she sighs. “Not all the time. But anyways—you can’t keep doing this. I love you, and this is why I have to tell you: it’s getting pathetic.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” you snap. You slam your mug down. Dark red splashes over the edge and onto the slightly dusty surface of the table. Jimin’s gaze snaps to the mess, her eyes flashing. 

You burst into tears. 

“I know, I know it’s stupid. I know he’s stupid. I know I shouldn’t be crying about him, and I know that it’s getting on your nerves.” You sniffle loudly. “I think it’s time. I can’t keep doing this.” 

You feel a small but comforting hand on your shoulder. You look over, and find that Minjeong has awoken. Her eyes are slightly puffy, and her short black hair is mussed. But she retains her beauty, her cute features blurred only slightly by grogginess. “Good for you,” she says before yawning widely, “he’s an asshole.”

“He is an asshole,” Jimin says sorely. But she nudges you a little so she can sit on your other side. She puts a comforting arm around you. “We’re here for you.” 

You start to cry again. 

---

Your phone is ringing. 

Bright blue light fills the small dark room, and your eyes snap open immediately. You cover the screen with your hands, looking around wildly to make sure it didn’t wake up anyone else. It’s to no avail; the room is pitch black and you can’t see shit. But you can hear Minjeong’s little snuffly snores, Jimin shifting around in her silk pajamas, Aeri letting out a little groan, and Yizhou smacking her lips all in different corners of the room.

You yawn silently, stretching your arms above your head and picking up your phone in one hand, walking over and opening the door with the other. The short hallway is dark and the floors are creaky and cold on your bare feet. When you reach the main room, you finally lift up your phone, which hasn’t stopped vibrating this entire time. Your heart stops for a moment when you realize who’s calling you. 

Hwang Hyunjin. 

The name glows in bright white letters on your phone screen. His generic, blank contact photo—you refused to put a real picture of him there—glares at you. You gnaw on your thumb nail nervously but ultimately decide to pick up. 

“Hello?” Your voice is cold and thin in the thick black darkness of night. You walk over to the window, and push aside the curtain. The silky material washes over your fingers, cooling their clammy surface. 

“Hey. I’m outside.” Hyunjin’s voice is rich and thick in contrast. It’s sort of raspy, like he just woke up. Then it registers—he’s outside? 

“What do you mean?” Your mouth is dry.

“I’m outside your apartment. Can you come out?” 

“I’m not there right now.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You can only imagine what your roommates would think of some guy waiting outside for you. Luckily, they were both out of town at the moment. You hoped no one else saw or recognized him, but who were you kidding—he wasn’t fooling anyone with that damn bright red car. 

“Oh.” There’s a brief silence. “Where are you, then?” 

“Um, I'm over at a friend’s place. Jimin’s. Yoo Jimin.” 

Why did you give him her full name? You didn’t know. 

“Oh, yeah. I think I know her. What’s the address? I can be there soon.” 

You bite down too hard on your nail and taste blood, from where you ripped it from the skin. “What? Why? Why are you—why are you looking for me right now?” 

Again, there’s a brief silence before he replies. “I’m… leaving for a little bit. I’m going camping, and I was wondering if you would come with me.” 

You stare blankly out at the clear night sky. “Are you serious right now?” you ask, chuckling in disbelief. 

“Yeah, of course I’m serious.” 

“You realize how sketchy this sounds, right?” 

“Don’t you trust me?” he drawls, sounding defensive. “If you don’t tell me where you are, I can’t come pick you up. And I will be forced to knock on every door in your building until someone can tell me this Jimin’s address.” 

“Do not do that,” you hiss, “I’ll give it to you, just… give me a second. I’ll text it to you.” 

“See you soon,” he managed to get in before you pressed the red END CALL button roughly. You quickly type in Jimin’s address, your clammy fingers sliding all over your slippery phone screen. You then sneak back into Jimin’s room, where you keep at least half of your wardrobe and a few spare self care items. For the amount of time you spent there, it would be weird if you didn’t keep some of your personal items there. Using your phone to light up the room, you stuff a few clothing items into a spare backpack and toss in a few other miscellaneous items. Camping, he’d said? He better have extra gear for you, or else he can count on dropping you off at your place. 

Your phone lights up again just as you close the door to Jimin’s bedroom. It’s just one word: Here. 

You quickly type out a text to Jimin, telling her the truth even though you knew you’d get your ass beat when you got back. It ends with you promising that this is the last time, that this is the closure you need. It’s half bullshit, half what you truly believe, and you just hope that she doesn’t see through it completely. You sigh, and exit the apartment. 

You’re still dressed in your pajamas, an old t-shirt and sweats. Your previous outfit from the day is somewhere at the bottom of your bag. The night air is crisp and cold, and you can see your breath in the air when you exhale. Your fingers are starting to slow due to the cold as they grip the handles of your backpack. 

As soon as you round the corner, you can see Hyunjin’s car. The engine is roaring, loud. Exhaust clouds around the car, pale white in the cold. He sees you as soon as you see him and rolls down his window, a wide grin on his stupidly handsome face. And his hair is red. Bright crimson, the color of something sweet and artificial. 

You can’t hide the shock on your face as you walk over, cupping a hand over your mouth. “Your hair!” you exclaim softly. You reach his window, and he lets you touch his silky scarlet locks. 

“What do you think?” he asks smugly. 

“It’s different. Looks nice,” you say honestly. You walk over to the other side of the car and toss your backpack in the back before settling into the passenger seat. The heated seats are nice on your chilled skin, and you hold your numb hands up to the warm heat that’s blowing from the vents. Hyunjin reaches over, his big hand gripping your cold thigh through your thick sweats. He squeezes the flesh there. 

“Missed you,” he admitted. He keeps his eyes on the road. 

“Did you now?” you ask, staring at the neon green number on the dashboard. It reads 4:47 AM, blinking in the darkness. 

“I did!” he insists, “that’s why I’m here now.” 

“What is this?” you blurt out. 

You watch the muscles in his jaw tense as he clenches. His skin looks green from the light of the glowing numbers. “It’s a camping trip,” he says thickly, nodding to the equipment stuffed in the backseat. At least that answers your question of whether or not he brought stuff for you. 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” You sound firm, sure of yourself. A lot surer than you actually are.

Hyunjin has stopped smiling completely. “Can we not talk about this now?” 

“Then when? I’ve waited months. I’ve tried to bring it up. And all you do is dodge it and change the subject. If you don’t answer me right now, I’m jumping out of this car.” You’re yelling, your voice filling the expanse of the vehicle. 

He slams on the brakes, then takes a deep breath and properly pulls over. He turns off the car, and the two of you are left in darkness. The only thing you can hear is your own blood pumping through your ears; the sharp nervousness and reality of what you just said sinking in. Finally, he lets out a short breath, an attempt at a laugh. “I don’t know. It’s what we said it was when we met. Isn’t it?” His voice is low, and you’re unable to decipher any feeling in it. 

“Well, yeah…” you trail off. Your voice sounds small and pathetic. Your request only sounds more pathetic. 

“Then that’s what it still is,” he says carefully, “nothing serious.” 

“Of course,” you say quickly. There’s so much more you wanted to say—you wanted to slap him in the face for even daring to say that, for shutting you down and playing stupid. Is it a little over dramatic? Maybe, but you can feel your anger bubbling in your stomach, salty tears burning the rims of your eyes. For once, you’re thankful for the cover of night. 

That’s when the sun starts to rise. When Hyunjin starts the car again after you both refuse to break the silence, the sound of the engine starting up does the job for you. It roars to life, tiny neon lights flashing in your face as he pulls back onto the road and continues the drive. You know he knows—he isn’t an idiot. If he didn’t know before, he knows now that you’re hoping for something more from him. He knows that you want him in a different way now, that obviously other things in your relationship have changed which led to your feelings changing. 

Warmth finally breaches the seemingly eternal darkness of night. Black turns to dark blue, which turns greenish at the horizon with the arrival of the sun, which exudes warm rays of orange and yellow and pink, expanding as the sun reclaims its spot in the sky. You watch silently as your surroundings start to appear before your eyes; other cars on the road in all different muted colors, a stark contrast to the colorful wildflowers that are growing by the side of the road. uncontained and free. Fluorescent signs are staked into the ground every so often, telling you that there’s construction ahead or that you need to slow down. You peer out the window at the car next to you; a couple sits in the front, laughing together at some presumed inside joke. You’re jealous, watching their mouths move in unison. Are they singing the same song? Their song? 

At the next stoplight, Hyunjin quickly picks up his phone, scrolling through it while trying to keep an eye on the lights. 

“I’ll tell you when it changes, just hurry up,” you say, nervous as you watch him do exactly what you shouldn’t do when you’re behind the wheel. 

He shoots you a withering look but finds what he’s looking for. The catchy constant of his playlist cuts suddenly, and you hear a song you love playing over the speakers. He turns it up just a little so that the lyrics are clearer, and he tries to watch your reaction—subtly, or so he thinks. You can’t help the warmth that blooms across your face, the surprise at his tenderness. He remembers, you think, that I showed him this song all those months ago. 

The gentle voice of the singer warbles in your ears as you sigh happily, leaning back into your seat and drifting off into a calm sleep, visions of plentiful wildflowers and red haired princes filling your dreams. 

---

It’s not like you’re asleep the whole time—you wake up when he stops at a gas station, about halfway there. You come to when the car slows to a stop; you open your eyes to see Hyunjin getting out of the car and squinting at the gas prices in disbelief. He had noticed you stirring and grins at you, somewhat sheepishly. 

“If you need to use the bathroom or something, now’s the time.” He pulls out his phone, looking at a colorful map, and points out the long, winding road ahead. “We won’t hit another stop until we get there.” 

You stifle a yawn and rub your eyes, nodding. It’s warmer here—you’re further south, and the sun is high in the sky. You guess that it’s a bit after noon, and when you check your phone that only confirms it. 

The lights inside the gas station are just as harsh and white as they are at midnight. One of the long, exposed bulbs flickers at the far end, near the ice cream that’s probably expired. You’ve never really disliked gas stations—really, you just never thought about it—but now, as you stare at the hostile face of the cashier, their beady eyes watching your every move, as if they suspected you already, you want to get out of there as soon as possible. 

The bathroom is somehow worse. There’s a singular shred of toilet paper left on the barren brown roll, and there’s no replacement in sight. There’s stains everywhere, both fresh and old, which makes you wonder about the last time it was properly cleaned. You leave as quickly as possible, scrubbing your hands roughly with the nameless neon pink hand soap and trying to kick the door open with your foot—the handle is crusty, and you don’t want to touch it. 

The cashier is still watching you when you walk out, and they continue to eye you as you try to ignore the stare and pick up a bag of pretzels. You pay, avoiding eye contact, and speed walk out of the doors. 

It’s actually hot outside now, even though it’s well into autumn. You’re grateful that you kept your t-shirt on and denied when Hyunjin offered you one of his hoodies. Your forehead already feels damp, and you dab at it with a hand as you walk back towards the red car. 

Hyunjin stands beside it, watching his tank fill up and bopping his head to music. He’s put his own playlist back on now, much to your disappointment, but you weren’t about to let him know that. He notices you as soon as you walk up beside the car and get back into the passenger seat, leaning back and opening your bag of pretzels. 

“You really trust any of the food from that gas station?” he asks. His voice is muffled, so you roll down the window and shrug in response. He leans over, and opens his mouth, wordlessly asking for one. 

“Hypocrite,” you mumble, but you shove one in his mouth anyways. He catches it with his perfect pearly teeth, and gives you a toothy smile, showing it off. 

“Thanks,” he says around the dry mouthful. The crumbs that sprayed from his mouth as he spoke probably should have turned you off, but you only found it endearing—another piece of evidence that suggested you were hopelessly pining for this man. 

Finally, he himself gets back in the car and you’re back on the road. Some might call you cynical, but you think you can only appreciate the scenery for so long, and it doesn't take you long to fall asleep again. The constant movement of the vehicle puts you to sleep easily, and the several late nights you’d been pulling because of looming midterms only added to it. It’s only when you feel yourself lurch to the side heavily that your eyes snap open, but you feel safe and secure. A strong arm pins you to your seat, and when you look down at it you realize that you’ve also been covered with a hoodie, draped over your front like a blanket. It’s dark green, and it smells strongly of Hyunjin’s cologne. “Sorry,” he says, and you turn to look at him, confused, as he takes his arm off of you. “Some idiot cut in front of me and I swerved a little. We’re almost there though, so it’s good that you’re awake now.” 

“Thanks,” you say shortly, your mind still fuzzy from sleep and the two kind gestures. 

You watch as the winding road ahead slowly turns to a dirt path, pebbles getting caught in the tires as Hyunjin grimaces and tries to steady his precious car. He pulls off of the path when you reach a small clearing, only a few trees and dry bushes to cover you. You stiffen, looking around for some sort of bathroom—really, any building—but to no avail. “Where are we?” you ask nervously, “this feels like the plot of a horror movie.” 

“I come here a lot with my friends, it’s a really nice campsite,” he says, almost defensively. “And I wouldn’t murder you. If I wanted to, I would have a long time ago.” 

“Yeah, because that’s reassuring,” you mutter, to which he casts a withering look at you in response. “Just saying…” you say under your breath, though you’re fairly sure he hears you regardless. 

He parks the car, but not before giving you another sour look as he gets out and starts unloading the camping supplies from the back of his car. You help, but soon wander off in search of something more interesting. You leave him to struggle alone with the new tent he’d bought—apparently, it didn’t come with directions, and he didn’t take it nicely when you suggested that he’d probably just misplaced them. You can still hear him cursing as he struggles with the poles as you walk over a small hill and peer at all of the desert flora and fauna. Upon first glance, the landscape is literally a barren desert—there’s nothing but sand and a few scrappy plants amongst the rocky, pebbly terrain. But as you crouch down to stare at a singular crispy looking bush, you see some light green buds on the branches, and the beginnings of perhaps some blossoms. Small insects crawl over the new life, seemingly anticipating its arrival. Momentarily, you think of the possibility of larger, more dangerous wildlife, but you brush that thought away as you admire a massive brown cricket leap out of your way. 

“Thanks for all the help,” a sarcastic voice calls from behind you. You stand up, emerging from the squatting position you’d been in, and chuckle at Hyunjin as he approaches you, bare feet sinking into the warm sand. 

“It seemed like you had it under control,” is your cool reply while you shift around awkwardly, trying to ignore the heaps of sand pouring into your sneakers. His gaze drops to your covered feet, and now it’s his turn to chuckle. 

“It’s a lot easier if you just take off your shoes,” he says matter-of-factly, and you bite your tongue to avoid mocking his tone, trying to bend down to reach your shoelaces without falling onto your face. 

Wordlessly, he walks over and kneels in the sand to do it for you, making you feel guilty for being bitchy again. He slips them off your feet, and you peel off your socks as well, feeling immediate relief as your skin touches the sand. Hyunjin dumps out your shoes, the sheer amount of sand in them making you both giggle. “Isn’t that better?” he asks triumphantly, waiting for praise, and you shrug, trying to hide your smile from him. He notices this and walks over, grabbing your waist and kissing you until you break into a grin and you’re laughing aloud, pulling away so you don’t literally laugh into his mouth. “You’re so cute,” he sighs, pulling you into his side and ruffling your hair. You appreciate this much less—it makes you feel like a child. So you squirm out of his grasp and take a few steps away, in the direction of his car. 

“Did you finish setting everything up?” you ask, clearing your throat before to at least attempt to provide a conversational transition between his compliments and your question. 

He seems a little offended that you pulled away so fast, but his facial expression remains unchanged; he isn’t going to let you know that it bothered him. Is it even within his rights to get annoyed at that? That’s more boyfriend status, he thinks, and then he opens his mouth to reply. “Only the tent, everything else is still just in a pile right next to it.” 

“I’ll help now,” you say with false brightness, speeding off in that direction. You clutch your shoes and socks in one hand, the other clenched into a fist. You can hear his footsteps a short distance behind you, but you don’t stop to wait for him. You don’t stop until you’ve reached the campsite again and you see exactly what he was talking about, with all of the bags haphazardly piled right beside it. “You didn’t lie,” you say, scanning the equipment. 

“Why would I?” he counters, but playfully. 

Slowly, the two of you unpack the necessary things, rolling out your sleeping bags, organizing toiletries and taking out hiking equipment—to which you firmly denied going on a hike in the damn desert. Hyunjin pouted, but brushed it off by saying that he liked hiking alone best anyways, and that you could have fun at the boiling hot campsite by yourself while he explored trails deeper into the site. Keeping up your act, you tell him to have fun, and leave it at that. Surprisingly, you don’t notice the way his face falls slightly as he realizes that you really don’t mind not spending time with him. 

The late afternoon sun is blazing, unbearably hot. You retreat to the tent, which provides little to no comfort—there were no trees around to set it up in the shade, and Hyunjin insisted that you weren’t supposed to pitch a tent underneath trees anyways. Especially here, he said seriously as he smoothed out his sleeping bag, the branches are all so dry that they could fall on our heads any time. You fought the urge to say that you’d prefer a crispy branch falling on the tent over sweating your skin off in the direct sunlight. 

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck. You can feel the hairs that gather at the nape of your neck and how they’re plastered to your skin from the damp heat. You pat the area gingerly with your hand, feeling it come away wet. Your phone is charging, but you’re trying to stay off it to preserve the battery life on your portable charger. Instead of scrolling endlessly through random apps and social media, you’re grumpily sitting on top of your sleeping bag with your legs criss-crossed, slowly chewing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Luckily, Hyunjin had brought a lot of food—more than enough to sustain you for the duration of the trip. It shouldn’t be that long anyways; you both have to be back on campus by the time the weekend is over. 

“The sun’s setting now, so it should be cooling down soon. Might want to get that hoodie back out,” Hyunjin says, entering the tent. He nods towards the hoodie that he’d draped over you in the car earlier, and you chuckle. 

“I’ll put it on if I need it. It’s way too hot to be wearing pretty much anything right now,” you say, trying to fan your moist face with your hand, both of which are sticky with jelly. 

Hyunjin touches the back of his neck too, pushing up the small low ponytail that he’d gathered his bright red hair into. You can see that the dye is so fresh that it’s bleeding into his sweat, leaving scarlet rivulets across his skin that look like scars. “Sorry I didn’t warn you about the temperatures out here. It’s kind of crazy sometimes,” he says softly. 

You shrug, finishing your sandwich and flopping onto your back, which you regret a little; the slick thermal cover of the sleeping bag sticks to your skin immediately upon contact, and the entire surface is warm. Hyunjin mirrors your actions, falling back on his own matching sleeping bag. “That was some hard work we did,” he says, with an approving tone. “For someone who’s never gone camping before, you didn’t do too bad with the tent and everything.”

“Thanks,” you say, somewhat dryly, but only because you don’t know what else to say. A slightly uncomfortable silence ensues, before Hyunjin clears his throat again to speak again. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You turn your head to look at him, the movement creating a swishing noise against the sleeping bag. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just been acting kind of weird recently. Especially today,” he admits, doing the same and turning to face you. He props his head up with his hand, his elbow sinking deep into the plush sleeping bag from the weight. 

It’s hard to swallow the last bite of your sandwich, because of both the thick peanut butter and your suddenly dry throat. “Well…” you trail off. For a moment you think you want to be honest with him, because truthfully, he’s a good guy—sure, he has his moments, but he never really intends to hurt you with his actions. He isn’t obligated to coddle you. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that… right?” he asks. “Like—I’m here for you, even if we’re not…” 

This time, he’s the one to trail off, but he doesn’t avert his gaze. You feel it on you as you stare down at your hands, fiddling with your fingers nervously. “That’s the issue,” you blurt out, “we’re… not.” 

“Not?”

“You know what I mean.” You’re embarrassed, so you turn away from Hyunjin so you don’t have to look at him or cringe at the shocked expression spread across his handsome features. 

“You—you want to be…” 

“I mean… yeah. Not at first, but now… I guess I feel differently.” Your voice grows softer. 

“Since when?” 

“Sort of recently. Maybe a month ago.” 

He says your name with such gentleness, such care, that you feel your eyes starting to water. “If I knew… I wouldn’t have been so…” 

“Such an asshole?” you ask scornfully. You can’t help it. This was why you didn’t want to ever have this conversation with him. You knew that there was resentment, even though he didn’t really do anything wrong. You knew that by bringing this up, you’d be breaking down your own walls that you put around the feelings you had for him, locked away deep deep down. 

He exhales loudly, clearly not pleased. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say that.” 

You don’t reply, because you know that if you do your voice will break, and then he’d say something about you crying. Something nice, probably—he’d want to comfort you, which makes everything worse. You wished that instead, he’d laugh in your face or say something douchey, just to give you a reason to hate him and get over it already. Quickly, you wipe away a tear that’s threatening to spill from your eye, and you get up and leave the tent. 

You have nothing with you: no shoes, no hoodie, no water or food. The remnants of the peanut butter taste in your mouth turns sour and dry as you take deep gulps of air, sprinting away from the tent. You run further than you did when you were exploring, faster than you’ve moved in years. You stumble a few times, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment every time the sand trips you up, but eventually you think you get far enough away from Hyunjin that he can’t see you any more. You come to a stop when you reach the only somewhat memorable landmark you’ve passed on your run—a medium sized rock that has been flattened at the top to create a seat out of the natural material. Panting, you sit down on it, the hot surface crackling across your skin. It’s not hot enough to burn you, but it’s hot enough to be slightly uncomfortable. Yet, you stay there, hands gripping your itchy thighs, which burn from the rock and from the exercise, as you try not to choke on your own breathing. 

Wiping the sweat from your eyes, you feel a sudden chill in the air that makes goosebumps rise on your arms. You look around to see the sun starting to sink below the horizon; you have the perfect view across the long, flat landscape. The campsite seemed to be in a sort of valley; a lower part of the ground that did not allow you to see across the land. 

It would be dark soon, and you were in the middle of nowhere with nothing. 

“Why couldn’t we have had this talk when it was still warm out?” you muttered aloud, angrily. You wrap your arms around yourself, starting to shiver as the warmth disappears along with the sun. There’s a cool bluish cast on everything now; the sand looks gray and the rock looks black, in contrast to the constant reddish warmth that the desert had embraced during the day. You again wonder if there’s any dangerous wildlife here, and curse yourself for pulling such a stupid move. You curse at yourself for a lot of things—the main one being that you actually came here with him and expected everything to be fine. 

Perhaps that isn’t true though: but isn’t that worse? 

Deep down, even though you’d never admit it, you came on this trip because a small part of you still yearns for his love. You don’t like to change the way you act for a guy; that’s lame and pathetic. But that small part that disagrees seems to have more power over you than you previously thought. You came here because you thought that there was a chance, no matter how small, to get him to love you. Maybe, he would realize just how beautiful you were in the orange light of a sunset. Maybe, doing things that he enjoyed would make him relate to you. Maybe, you would be able to impress him with some secret hidden skill that even you didn’t know about until you showed it off for him. 

You have no tears left, only anger at yourself for being such an idiot, as you pull your legs closer to your body and stare into the darkness of the night. 

You couldn’t have been there long, but you can’t be sure when Hyunjin finds you. By that time, you’d run through a million possible things to say to him when you saw him again, but you end up saying none of them. He too is silent, and the only thing he does when he sees you is hand you the same green hoodie, which you take without hesitation. You’re too cold to give a damn about your dignity any more. 

The walk back is silent. Your toes are freezing, because the sand is completely cold now that the sun isn’t there to warm it. You shuffle behind Hyunjin, who takes wide, reaching strides with his long legs that easily eat up the desert terrain beneath him. He looks beautiful in the moonlight, as he always did, and you think of the first night you met him at that party, when the very same thing captivated your attention and refused to let go. The only difference now is the red—his hair, still burning and bright in the darkness, rather than the silvery blonde that made you do a double take. It’s no less mesmerizing though, to see it bob and sway as he walks, leading you silently back to safety. 

“This is why,” he says, his voice shaking. The raspiness breaks the quiet, disrupts the still air.

“Why…?” 

He stops suddenly, and you almost crash into his back. He turns to face you, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight, small line. He says your name again, tenderly as always. “This is why we’re stuck like this.” 

The campsite is in view, and your gaze drifts from his pained face to the lonely, singular tent that’s sitting in the sand. “Because I’m a fucked up person?” you ask bitterly, knowing damn well that isn’t what he meant. 

He just shakes his head. “That’s not what I said.” 

“But it’s what you mean, isn’t it?” 

“(Y/N)...” 

Dawn breaks, warmth spilling back over the hills and valleys, turning the sand a bright orange. You watch as the light washes over Hyunjin’s tall frame, a mile long shadow being cast by his lanky body. Neither of you says another word, and then he just shakes his head again, scoffing so quietly you can barely hear it, and turns to walk back to the tent. He doesn’t look back, and then ducks inside. The rustling sounds stop, and you’re left standing there alone, clad in the dark green hoodie, when your tears finally overflow. 

---

Men. 

You want to blame Hyunjin. You always want to blame him, because honestly, it is partially his fault, just as much as it is yours. Once, Jimin had muttered something about men always being disappointing, especially men around Hyunjin’s age. His personality and looks didn’t help either; he knew that he was attractive and desired, and he took advantage of it. That’s the worst part about pretty men, you thought, their own fucking self-awareness. 

Or maybe that’s not the right term, because there’s a lot of shit about him that he was just blind to. He never understood why you got mad when he said something insensitive, thinking that he was just being honest and communicating. His naturally flirty personality attracted a lot of people, who he messed with for fun instead of taking it seriously. Here, you were torn: you genuinely could not tell if you were just another body to him, or if he actually cared about you and thought you different from all the other losers that he’d mess around with. 

You feel nothing but guilt when Jimin pulls up to the campsite, an unreadable expression on her pretty face. She stares you down as you pick up your bag and trudge over to her car, your furrowed brow and frown a clear indication of your emotions, the complete opposite of her. She doesn’t help you into the car, instead staring straight ahead and gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles are pale and bloodless. 

You’re about to shut the door when Hyunjin peeks out of the tent and notices that you’re leaving. He gnaws on his plush bottom lip for a moment, as if he is pondering whether or not to do what he thinks he should, and then he stumbles out of the unzipped flap and walks over to you. His nose is scrunched up, his eyes narrowed a little from the effort. “Are you leaving right now?” he asks, somewhat stupidly. 

“Obviously,” Jimin spits, venom lacing her words. 

Hyunjin looks surprised at her hostility, and his gaze flickers between you and her for a moment as you avoid eye contact with both of them. 

“Can I say something to you before you go?” he asks. His voice sounds unnaturally rough, like he’s struggling to speak. 

Jimin looks at you, and you realize that she’s letting you decide for yourself. 

You stare up at Hyunjin, at his gorgeous face that looks almost hopeful as you stare into his deep brown eyes. 

“No.”

“N-No?” he repeats, stumbling over the first syllable, pathetically—a first for him, straying from his usual graceful, cool tone. 

“You heard her,” Jimin snaps, and she reaches over you, snatching the door handle and slamming it shut in his face. He looks appalled, shocked, as you drive away. The wheels on her car spin in the dirt before they finally get a grip, and she pulls away from the campsite, away from the lone brightly colored tent in the beige landscape, away from Hyunjin and all of his unspoken emotions. 

“I’m sorry, Rina,” you say immediately, looking down at your hands shamefully. “I should have known better.” 

“What happened?” she asked, “What did he do to you?” 

“He didn’t do anything. Honestly, that’s kind of the problem,” you say, scoffing at the end at your own foolishness. 

Jimin presses her lips together until there’s nothing left but a thin pink line, showing her exasperation with you. “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t ever get to do anything to you,” she says, stepping on the gas as her car finally touches the smooth paved road again, escaping the rugged, bumpy terrain of the dirt pathway you’d been traveling on thus far. 

“One can only hope,” you mumble, just a little sarcastically. 

Jimin cracks a smile, and you feel your guilt melt away as she covers your hand with her own, a small gesture of comfort. You sigh aloud, and wonder why you bothered to get yourself into such an emotional situation in the first place. You were done being a doormat, done being the other woman, and done with Hyunjin. 

---

Fuzzy socks, a mug of rose (chilled, but you felt as if you looked fancier and more seasonally appropriate drinking it out of your cute hand painted mug), and a Halloween movie marathon on your laptop. That was the medication that Dr. Jimin had prescribed when she dropped you back off at your place. She didn’t say anything about the long drive there and back and how you really just wasted away half of her weekend, and she gave your cold hand a last comforting squeeze before she left. You didn’t realize how much you didn’t want to be alone until her car disappeared around the corner, and you realized just how quiet your apartment was. All of your housemates had gone out for the weekend, with one of them away visiting family and the other at their partner’s, and the silence seems to sting your skin as you walk around mindlessly for a few minutes. 

You toss your backpack onto the floor of your bedroom, not even wanting to think about unpacking it even though there’s hardly anything in there. You peel off your clothes, watching stray grains of reddish orange sand spill onto the hardwood below. A trail of clothing items leads from your bedroom and to the bathroom, where you sit down on the floor of your shower and let the hot water run over your skin until steam rises off of it and it’s fevered to the touch. Only then do you bother to wash yourself, scrubbing away the last day with Hyunjin, peeling away his touch little by little. 

You don’t feel raw when you step out of the shower, like you probably should. Your skin is irritated from the temperature and the friction, and you wrap yourself in a clean towel and trudge to your room, ignoring the puddles joining the trail of clothes on the floor. 

You follow Dr. Jimin’s prescription, getting reluctantly dressed in clean and comfortable clothing and turning on a movie marathon. You pour yourself a full mug of wine, the pink alcohol slopping over the rim of the ceramic container. Though you wince at the mistake, you don’t bother to clean it up. You make a mental note to clean before the weekend is over, so that your housemates don’t return to a dumpster fire in the apartment. 

You lay down on the couch, your warm laptop acting as a heat source on your stomach. You’re facing the one big window in the entire apartment, and the curtains are parted, allowing you to see outside. It’s raining heavily, with fat droplets slapping against the glass almost angrily, mirroring the emotions you’d been feeling lately. Everything is gray, the once bright autumnal foliage now dampened and soggy as the season begins to transition into the next. This is the worst part of autumn in your opinion: the decay that comes after the bright happiness. It’s so fleeting, but so beautiful that you can’t help but stick around even though you know nothing but desolation awaits you once the flame dies. You laugh to yourself at your dramatic nature, comparing the changing seasons to your relationship with Hyunjin. It’s almost cathartic to be so wholly passionate and silly about it all, to let yourself feel all of your emotions at once and not worry about what people will think. The movie playing on your laptop drones out the steady pattering of raindrops against the window as you chug your wine, beginning to feel fuzzy as you drink more and more. 

You’re not drunk enough to hallucinate—you know that for damn sure. Does alcohol even do that? You’re not sure but you think you’ve been blackout drunk enough to get there, if it was a real thing. Then you realize that it’s real—he’s real. Through the blurred window, you can see a bright red car parking in front of your building, and an individual with the same lanky frame as Hyunjin stepping out of it. His hood is pulled up over his head to keep out the cold rain, so you can’t be completely sure, but you’re pretty positive that no one else you know drives a car like that. So really, who else could it be?

You have to pretend like you weren’t secretly hoping this would happen as you walk over to the door, expecting him to knock at any moment. Sure enough, a sharp knocking reaches your ears, and you unlock and open the door immediately, staring directly into Hyunjin’s eyes. You glance upwards ever so slightly and see the dark black bangs hanging in his face—his hair has been cut and dyed. 

“What?” you ask dryly, the implications finally getting through your muddled mind. Simultaneously, you try to ignore the new changes to his hair. You wonder what Jimin would do if she knew he came to your door. Probably beat his ass, which at the moment you thought was quite deserved. 

“I do like you,” he says hastily, the statement escaping his lips plosively and suddenly. You watch a raindrop slide down the tall bridge of his nose and fall. His damp, short bangs peek out from beneath the hood of his gray sweatshirt. The entire garment is spotted with rain. 

“Okay…” you say, feeling your heart catch in your throat. You try to sound nonchalant, ignoring the pounding in your chest and the way your head starts spinning. 

He ignores your response, continuing in a desperate voice. “I do like you,” he says hastily, “but I don’t think I can be in a relationship right now.” 

“You came all this way in the rain to tell me that you don’t want to date me?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at him. 

“No!” he protests, and you step aside to gesture to him, letting him inside. He shivers in his damp clothes, and you roll your eyes as you toss him a throw blanket that was laying around. It definitely isn’t yours, and you add “laundry” to your checklist of chores to complete before your housemates come back. He wraps himself up in it, fuzzy pink fluff surrounding his face, which is wetly streaked with raindrops. “That’s not what I was saying.” 

“So you do want to date me?” you ask bluntly, picking up your mug and taking another massive gulp. He eyes the nearly empty bottle of wine sitting on your coffee table. 

“Are you drunk right now?” he asks. “Where did you get this from?” 

You wave him away. “Someone left it here after a house party a little bit ago, we needed to use it up so here I am being resourceful and eco-friendly.”

“That’s not what that means,” he says, cracking a small, crooked smile. 

“Whatever!” you say, rolling your eyes yet again. “What did you have to say to me?” 

“You’re honest when you’re drunk. And sassy,” he comments. 

“That’s what you have to say?” 

“Give me a minute!” He huffs, sitting down uninvited on the edge of the couch. “Listen, I do really like you, but I’m really busy and it wouldn’t be fair to you if we were in a weird half-relationship just because I don’t have time.” 

“And is that all that different from what we do now?” you ask crossly. “Only you have zero commitment right now, and you’d maybe have like… fifty percent commitment if we did that.” 

“You’re drunk,” he states, as if it weren’t obvious as well as previously established, multiple times.  

“And you’re an asshole.” 

He stops, the playfulness completely gone from the banter. 

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it,” you say slowly, “I’m not mad any more, I’m just saying. And what I’m saying is that that’s the exact bullshit guys say to you when they don’t actually want to date you, but want to fuck you.” 

Hyunjin blinks slowly at you, in disbelief. “You really think I’d do that to you?” 

“Why not me? I’ve seen you do it to so many people—even when I’m out with you. You think that messing around with all these people has no effect, that everyone can just brush it off like you do. But not everyone’s an asshole like you are.” 

“Stop calling me that.” His voice sounds small, wounded even. 

“Stop being one, then.” Your voice is cold, but pain creeps through the cracks and shows your true emotions. You’re tipsy and you’re crying in front of him, and you’ve never felt more pathetic. 

“I’m sorry, I really am,” he says softly. “I should have been honest with you from the start.” 

“You had a lot of chances to do that,” you reply. 

“So did you,” he reminds you—not out of malice, but out of honesty. 

“Yeah. I wasn’t perfect either,” you admit, though your ego takes a bruising from that single statement. 

“People aren’t meant to be perfect…” Hyunjin says, trailing off at the end, like there was something else he wanted to say. You wait for it, studying him as he picks at the fuzzy corner of the blanket. “So can’t we forgive each other and try?” 

“Try what?” 

“Try… us. Try being together, even if it doesn’t work out in the end.” 

You know what you want to say as soon as you hear him say that, but you also know the ending already. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you and Hyunjin weren’t exactly compatible. There were so many arguments, even though you were never officially together, and you had little to nothing in common. Though those weren’t dealbreakers on their own, when put together, and along with all the other little things you picked up on as you got to know him, you knew the real answer, the right answer. You reach out to caress his face. His skin is warm now, and his hood slips off of his head to reveal the full haircut. It’s short, as you presumed, only the top layers left somewhat long. His bangs tickle your fingers as your hand drops. 

The rain only pelts against your window harder as you take his cold hand in yours, intertwining your fingers for the last time, and press your lips to his knuckles. Hopefully, he looks at you, awaiting your answer. 

You smile sadly; the moment is bittersweet. Goodbye moonlight, goodbye to our song, goodbye to your stupidly loud car and your soft hair, you think, goodbye.

“No,” you say simply. “We can’t.” 

DIVIDER CREDIT | @cafekitsune

© petrichor-han 2023, all rights reserved. do not translate or repost without my permission.

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If this isn’t one of the best fics out there, then I don’t know what is..

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER TWO | 18+

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

THE MATCHMAKER MEETS HIS MATCH

“Ruin me, please.”

«PREVIOUS CHAPTER» · «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, mutual fantasizing, brief mentions of virginity loss, heavy drinking, Hyunjin is delulu, heavy dom/sub dynamics: dom!reader, sub!Han Jisung (yes, there's Jisung smut in a Hyunjin story SUE ME), degradation, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, drunk sex (both are consenting parties), semi-public sex (?) Word Count: 15.1k

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

“And now, here’s what we really want to ask you, Dr. Hwang: are you single?” 

The interviewer swivels her head to look at Hyunjin, her Botox-enhanced mouth spreading into a wide, magenta-lipsticked smile. Hyunjin barely registers her question, distracted by her disturbing resemblance to a vulture, with her beady eyes, hooked nose, and razor-sharp nails clutching a microphone like talons grasping prey. Her garish pea-green pantsuit and cat-eye glasses, combined with a frizzy blonde perm, remind him of that creepy reporter from Harry Potter, absolutely not helping his currently depleted Zen levels. 

He can already feel a sweat breaking out on his neck, permeating his satin button-down and threatening to ruin the outfit he had chosen this morning. Usually, picking out what to wear is one of Hyunjin’s favorite parts of the entire day; breathing in the Coco Noir scent of his walk-in closet is like Hyunjin’s own expensive version of aromatherapy. Today, however, it felt like a chore; It took him forever to find the perfect accessories to tie everything together, before he finally settled on his new gold Cartier earrings and the matching Juste un Clou bracelet. Hyunjin knows he looks amazing in his tastefully vintage yet sleek ensemble. He looks every bit the title of a sexy savant, one that he so rightfully carries. He looks ready to slay an interview on California’s most popular talk-show, The L.A. View. But for the first time ever, he doesn’t feel it. 

It could have been the coffee that he had hand-pressed for himself this morning, his usual brew of arabica beans imported from the misty slopes of Guatemala. But then again, the coffee brought a much-needed buzz that Hyunjin needed to drag himself out of bed, no matter how temporary. More likely, it was the margarita that he’d downed in the car that was sent to pick him up and bring him to the studio to tape the interview. Tequila always makes Hyunjin’s stomach turn. Or maybe—

“Dr. Hwang?”

Hyunjin snaps out of his reverie, plastering a charmingly mysterious smile onto his face. One, two, three… work that charm. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sharon?”

The audience oohs beneath the dimmed stage lighting, and Sharon turns red, a shade visible even under the lurid bronzer that’s caked onto her face. Hyunjin would really love to book Sharon an appointment at HWASA Skincare and Cosmetics, his go-to beauty consultant whenever he’s visiting Seoul. The founder and CEO, his old friend Hye-Jin, would personally host her just so that Hyunjin could be relieved of the horrible bout of trypophobia he’s getting right now, staring into Sharon’s cavernous pores.

“Oh, stop it!” Sharon giggles, clapping her hands together. “There definitely must be a lucky lady in your life. You’re the Love Doctor. And not to mention, but very handsome.”

Sharon winks over exaggeratedly at the camera, and Hyunjin has to hold himself back from cringing away when she palms his shoulder, eyeing him hungrily. He can’t blame her, of course; the sleeves of his shirt squeeze his arms in such a way that his toned biceps are shown off— thank you very much, Better Body Pilates. But he needs his personal space. Out of everything, he hates when people treat him like some sort of an animal at the zoo, petting and prodding at him. He sees himself as more of the Mona Lisa, a masterpiece to be marveled at, not touched. His Zen is important, after all. 

Still, Hyunjin just shoots her a disarming smirk, crossing one Valentino-clad leg over the other. “The only lady in my life is Princess Diana. But I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

Both Sharon and the audience members aww, utterly captivated by Hyunjin when he pulls out a small Polaroid of his puppy from his breast pocket, holding it out so that the cameras can zoom in on it. As expected, his answer seems to have satisfied Sharon’s invasiveness, but beneath his beaming expression hides the building tension in his chest. 

What Hyunjin said is the partial truth; he may not currently have a significant other, but did he have someone in mind, when romance is in question? Yes. Is said person completely off-limits? Also yes. And would his reputation be completely tarnished if that very classified information got out? Yes, yes, and yes.

“Thank you so much for sitting down with us, Dr. Hwang,” Sharon says, thrusting out her hand for Hyunjin to shake it. Ever the professional, he accepts it like a champ. “And that’s all for now, folks! Stay tuned to watch my little chat with Meghan Markle about her ex-royal lifestyle. The teapot is boiling!”

The cameras cut and Hyunjin quickly excuses himself, waving to all of the people wistfully gazing after him. He enters the little hallway behind the filming room and breaks into a run very unlike himself, practically having to swerve around crew members and stage equipment. As soon as he’s locked away inside his dressing room, Hyunjin slides off his patent leather loafers and falls back onto the couch.

It’s been exactly three months since he first set eyes on you, kickstarting his unsavory fantasies and therein, digging himself into an early grave. And maybe it would have been okay, because as a male, sometimes he’s inclined to think with his dick. It’s a biological reaction that he can’t control. But it’s not, though, because the constant image of you printed like a tattoo on his mind has been interfering with his life and sense of normalcy. It’s a feeling that’s only grown in magnitude, especially now that with your weekly sessions, you’ve rapidly blossomed into the strong, confident woman that he always knew you were. So it’s not the fact that he’s horny— well, not the only fact— it’s that he might have feelings for you. Feelings that could get him into trouble, bigtime.

And the list that you wrote for him a while back definitely didn’t help. Hyunjin sits up, reaching for his notepad that he left on the little coffee table in front of the couch. He leafs through the pages, before pulling out the small slip of paper that he saved. Reading over the words for what feels like the umpteenth time, Hyunjin involuntarily smiles to himself. This time, it’s genuine.

The first thing that I don’t absolutely hate about myself is my imagination. I’ve been restricting myself a lot, lately, because I hated the thought of coming up with new ideas just to never bring them to life. It’s probably my post-Jisung and ITEM Tech trauma. But I felt kind of inspired by our first meeting today. I have a lot of great ideas, and I think that one day, I have the potential to beat Jisung’s ass and make a better company than his.

My fucking patience. You know, you might think otherwise, because it may seem like I have the patience of a single mom at a birthday party. But today proved differently. My friend/coworker Minho and his wife invited me over for dinner, which would have been fine, except they’re one of the most disgustingly perfect couples ever. They can’t go two minutes without giving each other a sappy ass look or holding hands or singing a song or something. And then Minho’s wife asked me if I wanted some ice cream, like she and her man weren’t just all over each other a millisecond ago. I just smiled and nodded. You can say I have the patience of the saint, now.

I like how I’m perseverant. For example: this. I could have given up after the first two days and ditched this piece of paper. But I didn’t. I want to be better. I’m very perseverent. Okay, my hand hurts. I’m putting down the pen for today.

My resilience. For the billionth time in my life, my boss made me want to drive out of work and jump into a lake. Long story short, Mark Lee is the worst motherfucker to ever exist (well, after his bestie Park Jisung. My boss and ex-boyfriend are friends. FML). But after one of his daily rants about how I’m not up to mark for some random reason, I walked out of his office and into the office kitchen. I got a Sprite from the fridge, crushed the full can with my bare hands, and then proceeded to calmly clean up the spilled soda before going back to work. I deserve a medal for my healthy anger management technique of smashing things and then bouncing back like a friggin’ spring.

The only home cooked meals I can really stomach are the ones that Minho shares with me at work. You know, he’s really such a menace. When I moved into my current apartment, he got me a cutting board as a gift, knowing damn well I don’t cook. But nowadays, I’ve been slowly getting more comfortable in the kitchen. I still don’t think I trust myself in cooking, but I’m kind of a really good baker, I’m realizing. Today, I made brownies. I’m eating one right now, and I guess I don’t hate that.

I am very patient, Part 2. My dumbass cousin, Yeonjun, called me up to hang out. Knowing him, that means me buying him a crap ton of expensive food. And he’s pretty loaded, too. I think he just loves pissing me off. First, he wanted pizza. That would have been fine, if we hit Domino’s or something, but he made me take him to this ridiculously upscale restaurant downtown. Their damn pizzas had caviar and truffles on them! Like, what the fuck happened to good old pepperoni? And as if that wasn’t enough, he then started complaining that he wanted fucking dessert too. So he ordered this fruit charcuterie board that cost another fortune. On the way home, I had to get him an $8 boba because “the cheese made him thirsty.” His metabolism is amazing. I’m kind of jealous. But anyway, I’m practically Mother Teresa at this point, because dealing with Yeonjun is no easy task. He’s lucky I love him.

Fundamentally, I think I’m a good person. And I think I deserve to be happy. There. Seven things, seven days. I’m done now. See you tomorrow.

Hyunjin sighs, sliding the paper back into his book and setting it inside his little Prada bag. This tiny scrap of paper had him seeing stars, when he first read it in the office, in front of you. There’s just something about you that he couldn’t and still can’t put his finger on. Maybe it’s how delightfully pugnacious you are, or that comically angry tone you approach the world with, no matter what. And he had to bite his tongue too, because there’s no way you came up with just seven things, not when Hyunjin felt like he could give a whole recitation on your very attractive qualities, just after meeting with you once. You’re unintentionally hilarious. Real. Tough. Inquisitive. Also, you’re simply the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

You’re like an impossible puzzle to him; all the pieces are there, and yet, he can’t seem to put you together. Or rather, he can’t seem to figure out how to get his own shit together and finish the damn puzzle. Because he’s oh-so down bad, and he knows it. 

“Dr. Hwang? Are you in there?”

Hyunjin stands up immediately, locking away his daydreams about you and brushing off his trousers. He quickly smooths back his artfully slicked wolf cut and opens the door for Wonyoung to step inside with her trusty tablet. Momentarily, Hyunjin is sidetracked by her outfit, a stylish mini paired with a silky lilac bomber jacket— because where the fuck are those heels from— before he remembers himself.

“What’s up?” Hyunjin nonchalantly flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes, trying not to seem like he wasn’t just having a panic attack on that stupid couch just five seconds ago.

Wonyoung taps on the screen of the tablet for a few seconds, before looking up. “You have an appointment with your personal trainer in twenty minutes. You’re running late. And then at four, you need to get back to SeoulSpark for a meeting with a client. Here’s your change of clothes. I’ve already called a car for you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Hyunjin accepts the gym bag, before jerking back in dreadful realization. “Wait. Which client do I have to meet with today?”

Wonyoung gives him a strange look. “Miss Y/L/N. Hey, are you alright, Dr. Hwang? You always stay on top of all of your engagements, but you haven’t been yourself lately.”

At the mere mention of your name, Hyunjin literally wishes he could melt into a puddle right then and there. Of course he hasn’t been himself, not when you waltzed into the office and wreaked havoc on his very humble life— for example, yesterday, he forgot to wear his Versace pajamas to sleep, and not his Fendi ones. Hyunjin knows that Saturdays are strictly for Versace; he promised Donatella years ago at the Met Gala. This is all your fault— how can it be poor Hyunjin’s, when he’s just a mere mortal cowering in your goddess-like presence? 

“I- I’m okay, Wonyoung. I, uh, just ate some bad sushi.”

“You ate bad sushi every day for the past three months?” Wonyoung suspiciously raises an eyebrow at Hyunjin. She isn’t buying it, unfortunately. 

“Uh-huh. It’s a terrible addiction that I’m trying to break. My raw seafood intake is off the charts. Guess I’m not perfect after all,” Hyunjin babbles, adding onto his already horrendous lie. 

Wonyoung still doesn’t look convinced, but Hyunjin flounces out of the room before she can say anything else and uncover his deep, dark secret: you. Besides, his ride is waiting outside and his quads really need working.

“See you later, Changbin.” Hyunjin waves to his trainer as he grabs his belongings and exits the gym after a grueling workout. Usually, he prefers more low-impact routines, like aerial yoga or cycling around Marina del Rey. But because he’s been skimping out so much these days, Changbin made him do an endless round of jump squats before beating his ass in boxing. 

Hyunjin presses his fingers to his aching back muscles, sore with both exhaustion and worry. The slim hands of his Rolex alert him to the fact that there is only one more hour before he must face you, and he is nowhere near ready. He’ll just have to skip the sauna today. Quickly, he gets into the car standing for him by the curb, slipping on his Gucci shades and sliding down below the window in the backseat, like a celebrity escaping a paparazzi cloud.

As soon as he gets back to Oasis, the opulent complex that houses his beloved penthouse, Hyunjin practically flies into his bathroom and locks the door. Without even bothering to set his eucalyptus shower steamer, Hyunjin cleans himself up as much as he can, scrubbing off the sweat and grit of the gym from his skin. 

Once he’s finished, he gets dressed and sits down in front of his bedroom mirror that’s designed to look like a Hollywood-style vanity. Taking a deep breath, he inspects his face for any signs of something off. Nope. He looks as dewy and fresh as a pink rose petal, minus the slight red rings under his eyes, which are the courtesy of many, many sleepless nights over you.

Hyunjin, however, is incredibly proud of himself for getting to the office with fifteen minutes to spare, therein being able to fit in a little solo pep talk in the car. His third outfit of the day is a show-stopping black Celine suit, practically designed to make heads turn. It definitely isn’t to impress you with his impeccable style— no, he did it for himself, obviously. That’s the only reason. And it’s a little extravagant, even for Hyunjin, but then again, he’s never been known for his subtlety. 

His post-workout clarity gives him hope that everything will go back to normal, before you. All he needs to do is focus on himself. Everything else will pass, eventually. At least, that’s what Hyunjin keeps telling himself to believe, right before he crashes headfirst into you in the hallway outside of his office.

“Hey, Hyunjin!” Grinning, you hold out a small gift box tied with a sunny bow, which is coincidentally the exact same yellow as the dress you wore when Hyunjin first met you. Today, you’re sporting salmon-colored shorts and a cream blouse with an adorable sailor collar, and Hyunjin immediately has to tamp down the urge to whisk you away to go on a private boating vacation on a yacht in St. Barts. God, you really have amazing style.

Hyunjin swallows roughly and takes the box, trying to look more excited about it than how utterly taken with you he is. “Afternoon, darling. What’s this?”

You reach your hand over to where the box rests in Hyunjin’s hands, toying with the bow. Hyunjin automatically feels himself internally hyperventilate at your proximity that’s too close for comfort. 

“Mango cheesecake. I’ve been trying to perfect the recipe for a while now, and I think it finally turned out really well.” You break into a bright smile that makes Hyunjin’s brain short circuit. “I want to thank you for all of your help, besides me being less-than-cooperative sometimes. Coming here has really changed my perspective on things, and for the better.”

Hyunjin clutches the box to his chest. He had always suspected that you are the sweetest, under your stormy exterior, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to get a taste and confirm the truth for himself. Nevertheless, he’s both touched and now even more delusional, because you spent time on him, making something to give him. “Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

You pout in response, and Hyunjin grasps the box even tighter, nearly crushing the contents in an effort to get a grip on himself. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Hyunjin grins, feeling himself relax a little. That’s one more thing about you— you have this contradicting ability to induce both calmness and anxiety into him, another kind of black magic that you definitely harbor in your bewitching eyes. “Well, thank you. I can’t wait to try it.”

You look away shyly and gesture towards Hyunjin’s office. “Should we head in?”

Smiling to himself, Hyunjin steps ahead to open the door for you as you duck your head and scramble in, folding yourself onto the sofa that you both are now well-acquainted enough to often share. After setting his velvet tote bag onto his desk, Hyunjin sits down beside you, holding out a glass of mango juice to you, a drink that you now frequent whenever you meet. Plus the cheesecake? You really must love mangoes.

As you sip on your juice, Hyunjin decides to take the reasonable course of action available: ask you about your day, not if you’re available next Friday night at six. “How have you been? I’m sorry I couldn’t see you last week.”

You shrug, waving off Hyunjin’s apology like it’s nothing. It isn’t, though; he would rather have spent time with you than having to fly to Shanghai for some brand endorsement deal that his agent made him take. “Don’t worry about it. And I’ve been good. Evidently, in a much more agreeable mood these days. It’s certainly a step-up from the grumpier me, isn’t it?”

“I like you however you are,” Hyunjin blurts out without thinking, before freezing in realization. In a better world, he would have had the sense to at least clamp his hand over his mouth before he could say something stupid, but unfortunately, he’s stuck here. He wills the stammering, bumbling idiot that he turns into when you’re around to disappear, to be replaced by his usual, suave self. It doesn’t quite work, because he feels a furious blush building on his neck.

You’ve also turned a light shade of pink, and Hyunjin prays to God that you can’t see through his bullshit. “Because I’m your client. You accept me however I am.”

Hyunjin has to mentally stab himself with a fork as a reminder that he cannot, under any circumstances, disagree, although he really, really wants to. You could never be just a client to him. You’re too precious to him for that title. Yet, he keeps a straight face as he nods, disgusted with what he’s about to say. “Exactly. You’re my client.”

You down the rest of your drink, setting the glass down on the coffee table. “Anyway, you emailed me that you had something special planned for today. What is it?”

“Right.” Hyunjin clears his throat, getting up from the sofa to make his way over to his desk. He opens one of the drawers and pulls out the thick binder he’s been dreading using with you for a while now. It weighs his hands down like an unpleasant secret as he sits back down next to you. 

“What’s this?” You inquire, leaning in closer to Hyunjin. The movement allows the sugary scent of your vanilla perfume become even more prominent to Hyunjin, which is definitely not helpful right now. Hyunjin stares down at the binder, adopting a robotic tone that won’t betray his thoughts.

“We’ve worked on just you for the past few months, and now it’s time. You’re finally ready to explore dating.” Hyunjin opens the binder, trying to ignore the sour taste of the words on his tongue. “And as I’ve told you before, SeoulSpark has an incredible matchmaking service that caters to everything you desire in a potential partner.”

“Cool! How does it work?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices your shorts ride up slightly, further exposing the soft skin of your upper thigh. Think of the fork, Hyunjin. Think of the damn fork.

“Well, I’ve already compiled a number of candidates in our database whose profiles complement yours. We’re going to be setting up a time when you can speed date them.” 

You quirk your eyebrow in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is to Hyunjin. “Speed dating? That’s…”

“I know, I know. It might seem weird at first, but that’s why we’re doing it the SeoulSpark way, to reduce awkwardness and make it really worth your time. We’ll go over the candidates briefly, and weed out the ones you really don’t want to see.” Hyunjin opens the binder, going to the profiles. “But I won’t tell you their names, so we can maintain at least a small element of surprise.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the first candidate’s picture, and Hyunjin has to fight the burning jealousy in his chest. “Wow. He’s handsome.”

“Swipe left or right?”

“Right.”

“Okay.” Hyunjin turns to the next page. “What about him?”

“Uh, left. He reminds me of my uncle. No thank you.”

Hyunjin stifles his smile as he continues flipping through the profiles, noting down your answers. He tries to enjoy your unfiltered reactions and not think about the fact that one of these lucky bastards could be your future husband. Finally, he gets to the last candidate.

You frown. “He looks kind of like a chipmunk. A quokka, maybe.”

“So is that a left?”

“I’ll say right. He seems like he’d be interesting.” You shrug, your eyes glittering with mischief. “Actually, I’m kind of excited now. Some of these guys are lookers.”

Hyunjin laughs in spite of himself, shutting the binder and standing up. “I’ll email you the details of the event by next week, when we’ll be holding it. ”

You nod, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear— oh, how Hyunjin wishes he could just casually do that for you. “Got it. I’ll make sure to look dazzling.”

“Darling, you always look dazzling.” Hyunjin smirks in self-satisfaction when you flush at his quip. It’s not exactly a reaction that’s foreign to him, but seeing you like this, all cute and bashful, is new. And it’s a look that’s very attractive on you. Hopefully, you attribute the flirting to Hyunjin’s naturally charming personality, not the fact that he’s impossibly gone for you. Not that the truth would make a difference, however. You’ll never be his.

“Thanks, Hyunjin.” You get up from your seat, letting Hyunjin walk you out, like he always does. “I feel like you have a vision going on for this matchmaking event.”

“Oh, I always have a vision.” Hyunjin chuckles, opening the door for you. “We’re considering a tropical theme, or a garden party, maybe. Or something glamorous. Kind of like prom, but without the bad music and horny teenagers, you know?”

You shrug. “Actually, I never went to my high school senior prom. But all of these ideas sound incredible.”

He pauses, his eyes widening. “You never went to prom?”

“There was this guy.” You look uncomfortable, but before Hyunjin can assure you that you don’t have to tell him about it, you decide to continue. “I wanted to go with him, but long story short, he rejected me. And I didn’t really have any friends I could go with either. I could have gone on my own, but I wasn’t brave enough. It’s one of the things that I did when I was younger that I regret now. I guess it just speaks volumes about how I hold myself back a lot.”

Hyunjin frowns. “Who in their right mind would reject you?”

“My first love, apparently. And a bunch of others.” You sigh, fiddling with the little bow on your sleeve. “But whatever. I’m going to find a real man.”

“They’re idiots. And prom isn’t even all that.”

You snort. “Says you. I’ll bet you were the kind of guy who got invited by all of the girls to be their date to prom, even if you weren’t even a senior yet.”

“Exactly. I would know precisely that prom is overrated as fuck.” Hyunjin gives you a smile. “Maybe we’ll just go with the garden party.”

You stay quiet for a moment, as if thinking something over, before looking directly into Hyunjin’s eyes. “Shame. I think I would’ve liked to see you in a tux.”

And with that, you turn around and leave, as Hyunjin just stays rooted on the spot, dumbfounded. Because how can you just so easily shoot an arrow straight into his heart and walk away? You’re a threat to society. You’re a wicked enchantress. You’re the bane of Hyunjin’s existence, and yet, he wants you to come back and string him along like a fucking bow. The dilemma is clear: Hyunjin absolutely cannot just move on from you. This is an extremely deafening cry for help.

“Wonyoung?” Hyunjin croaks, as he steps back inside and collapses onto his chair.

Hyunjin’s loyal secretary sticks her head into the room, her glossy locks tumbling over her shoulders like a Pantene commercial. Hyunjin makes a mental note to ask her later about her hair care routine. “Yes, boss?”

“Call Dr. Kim for me, please. I don’t feel so good.”

“Of course. I guess the bad sushi really got you this time.”

“Strep throat? Negative. Flu swab test? Negative. Every single other test you made me administer for you? Ditto.” 

Hyunjin aggressively rubs his palms over his face. “Is there anything else, Seungmin? Are you sure there is absolutely nothing wrong with me? Should we do anything again?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, setting his clipboard down on the bench space next to him. “It’s Dr. Kim. And I did a Barium Swallow test for you, Hyunjin. You don’t just do those for any idiot who walks in begging to be examined for no apparent ailment. Took thirty minutes and nothing at all. Chief resident would be on my ass if she knew.”

“You’d think we haven’t been best friends since our Stanford days,” Hyunjin says. “There is something wrong with me.”

Hyunjin stares down at the upper right leg of his pants, picking at a small loose thread. He’s never seen one appear in his clothing ever since he was eighteen and quiet being so fashionably challenged, but instead of disgust, he feels a strange sense of solidarity. Just like the thread, he feels out of place; confused and lost, even though he’s standing right in the middle of half of the world’s dream. But wanting someone who he can never have isn’t a dream, surely, and neither is the phantom pain in his abdomen, the one that Dr. Kim claims doesn't exist.

“‘Our Stanford days’ were literally only three years ago. And I was in med school while you were getting a PhD in the study of crazies. I knew there were a couple screws loose up there,” Seungmin scoffs, tapping his temple in flourish punctuated with impudence. “I should have known better than to befriend your ass.”

“Seung-min, you’re lying,” Hyunjin retorts, emphasizing the syllables of his friend’s name. “I swear, I’m sick.”

Seungmin groans, fed up with Hyunjin’s stubborn mindset. “You’re twenty-eight years old and have your own booming practice. Hell, you wear head-to-toe designer, even underwear— yes, I saw the Gucci briefs in your bag, that one time you made me go shopping with you. Meanwhile, I’m a stressed, overworked, and underpaid surgery resident who has to listen to his rich and famous best friend complain that he’s not feeling well. Oh, poor baby. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m trying! I’m trying, okay?” Hyunjin finally explodes, throwing his hands up in the air. Usually, he maintains that peaceful temperament that puts up with Seungmin’s attitude. Not today, however. “Honestly, Seungmin, you want to know what’s wrong with me? Her. She’s all over me, inside and out! Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of her. Everywhere I go— her. And you know what? It’s not all in my head. It’s not a fucking crazy case. I physically feel myself wanting to throw up every five fucking minutes. I have a horrible headache that won’t go away, no matter how long I rot in my bed. I’m sore all over and I just want to go home!”

Hyunjin’s best friend just glares at him in shock for a good few seconds, watching as he pants from the ferocity of his words. And then he recovers, smoothing his face over into that signature judgemental expression, because he’s Kim Seungmin. “I should’ve known this was about a girl.”

Hyunjin sighs. Thankfully, no one overheard his rant, because this is Seungmin’s lunch break and whenever Hyunjin insists on an emergency meeting, Seungmin brings him over to this empty corridor tucked behind the equipment storage rooms, where no prying eyes wander. 

“It’s not just any girl, Seungmin. It’s the girl. She’s… all I do know is that she’s my client who walked into my life three months ago and proceeded to destroy it. She came in like a tropical storm and now she smiles at me like the fucking sun. She confuses me and makes me forget random shit and she doesn’t even know about any of it. And all I want to be is hers, even though I can’t be.”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything, before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter, the kind that makes his body shake with impact. “You… are… acting… so stupid.”

And this only makes Hyunjin even more frustrated. “Well, that’s the whole damn point! I’m not stupid, but I’m obviously acting it! I don’t know what to do, Seungmin! Help a brother out!”

After he calms himself down, Seungmin sighs loudly and wipes the traces of any tears caused by amusement of Hyunjin’s plight. “I’m not an expert in this, Hyunjin. But to be honest, it seems to me that you’re falling for her, and you’re just in denial.”

Hyunjin feels nothing short of horrified. “But… I can’t be. Are you sure?”

“Aren’t you the friggin’ Love Doctor or some shit? How the fuck am I supposed to be sure?”

But Hyunjin barely hears Seungmin, getting off the bench to pace back and forth in the little hallway. He can’t be falling for you, because— he just can’t! The plethora of problems that would arise from him falling in love with you are fucking endless, the worst being that you could end up negatively impacted. And all because your stupid, idiotic dating coach couldn’t keep his stupid, idiotic feelings in check. He would rather give up his beloved Versace brand deal than ever see you hurt, and that’s really saying something.

Seungmin tries to get to Hyunjin again. “Or maybe you’re not falling for her. Maybe you’re just horny.”

Hyunjin whirls around, side-eyeing Seungmin with disgust. “The hell you mean?”

“When’s the last time you, you know? Got some?”

“You put it so eloquently.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “And it’s been ten months.”

“See? That’s definitely it. You need to get laid, and you’re taking your sexual frustration out like this. You’re always the one lecturing everyone else on having healthy sex and love lives and shit, but really you’re a hypocrite. Tell me, why are you such a hypocrite, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin crosses his arms, irritated yet able to see Seungmin’s point. He had his share of relationships, enough to augment his experience and research in the whole field. It’s not like they all ended badly, though— quite the opposite, really. The majority of them were amicable splits, or awkward conversations, at the very most. The only notably sour memory is Hyunjin’s ex-girlfriend from ninth grade, the one who broke up with him in a fit of jealousy when another girl confessed her love for Hyunjin. But then again, all high school relationships are basically doomed to crash and burn.

Hyunjin was careful to never get into anything too serious anyway, because his only love would be his job; he broke up with his last girlfriend— which might be a strong word for someone who merely considered him a wine-and-dine booty call— because he just didn’t feel that same spark with her that he felt when running his business. And he didn’t think he had that capacity to feel it anywhere else, but that was all before you.

“I don’t know, Seungmin.” Hyunjin looks down glumly at the concrete flooring, his body completely exhausted of all of the fight in him

The look in Seungmin’s eyes softens as Hyunjin slumps back into his seat. “Don’t you think that you’ve been so busy thinking about helping other people with their loves that you’ve completely neglected yours? When are you going to stop being so goddamn perfect and care for yourself?”

“But I do care for myself! Why else would I have a fourteen-step skincare routine and Gucci boxers?” Hyunjin protests, stalling more than really arguing. He just doesn’t want to admit to what’s really bothering him.

Seungmin rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. He should get back to rounds; lunch will be over soon. “That’s not self-care, that’s called being fucking weird. And I’m talking about your head. You have this illusion up there that in order to help others, you need to be flawless. Get out of it, man. Whether you want someone to have a one-night stand with or have your freaking children, you need to be open and pursue it. Life is messy and unpredictable, even for neurotic perfectionists like you. It’s okay to be horny. It’s okay to be in love. It’s okay to be you.”

Hyunjin ponders over Seungmin’s advice, before looking up. “I hate when you’re right.”

“I know.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t you ‘fine’ me, dumbass. Go put on your Armani shit and get going, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t Mission Impossible. I can’t believe I have to tell you this.” Seungmin shakes his head, dusting off his scrubs. He leans forward to tighten the laces on his special work sneakers; the clock is really ticking down now.

Hyunjin gives Seungmin a withering look. “I wear Versace on my missions.”

“Welcome to SeoulSpark’s third biannual company-wide Matchmaking Event!”

The small crowd of hopeful singles crammed into the gazebo politely claps as the speaker looks down at all of you from his perch on the little elevated platform, like some kind of an all-knowing benefactor. 

“Thank you everyone. You can call me Jin, and I’ll be your emcee and operations director on this fine afternoon.” He beams. “And can I just say, you people look so good today? Obviously not as much as me, but still.’”

A scattered collection of horribly faked laughter ripples throughout the gathering, and you have to resist rolling your eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jin does actually serve as great eye candy, you would’ve already been putting on your sunglasses and trying to fake being awake. 

“Dr. Hwang will be here in a few moments to intro, and then we’ll get on with it!” Jin states, continuing his unnecessary theatrics. “But while we wait, can someone answer this question: what do you call an ice cream that parties too hard?”

Before the inevitable awkward silence can ensue, some bored-looking man who stands a little further away from everyone else pipes up. You recognize him as the very first candidate whose picture Hyunjin had presented to you— the hot one— except now, his short, preppy haircut has grown out into a wavy mullet. “Just say it.”

Jin looks temporarily taken aback by the man’s unfiltered attitude, before correcting his expression back into a winning smile. “It is out of CONE-trol! Get it? Because of the ice cream cone? Isn’t that funny?”

There isn’t a single person in the crowd who looks impressed, least of all mullet-guy. “No. And it still wouldn’t be funny even if I was seven years old and actually liked horrible dad jokes.”

There’s a bite to his tone, and Jin seems to have taken it personally. Jin clears his throat, stuck while clearly trying to think of something to say, when relief comes over his face as he looks directly at you. “There he is! Dr. Hwang: the man of the hour.”

You turn around so fast that you nearly get whiplash, and of course Hyunjin is right there, towering over you like some sort of gorgeous sunflower. Fuck— you knew you smelled that stormy jasmine in the air, but you passed it off as just your imagination. And because there are so many people packed into this tiny pavilion, your bodies are practically pressed together as everyone else cranes their necks to get a load of the Love Doctor. 

“It’s so good to see you, darling. You look stunning,” Hyunjin says to you, in a way that seems so genuine that your baby blue gingham sundress from Target doesn’t feel so childish anymore, like you thought after seeing all of the other ladies’ stylish getups.

“Thanks.” You blush, averting your eyes. The last time you met up with him, your bolder alter-ego possessed you for a second and threw a flirty one-liner at Hyunjin, when you realized yourself and walked the hell away, before you could gauge his reaction. “You look very stunning yourself as well.”

And he truly is, as always, dressed in another quirky yet stylish look: a high-neck jacket and camel cargos, complete with a chain link shoulder leather bag. The thick gold crosses dangling from his ears don’t look gaudy, instead bringing out a youthful glow in Hyunjin’s skin. God, you really love a man who can dress.

“Everything alright, Dr. Hwang?” Jin calls out, breaking you out of your trance.

“Yes, Jin. I’ll be up in a second.” Hyunjin doesn’t take his eyes off of you, just serenely blinking like he has all the time in the world. “I absolutely adored your mango cheesecake, darling. You have to tell me about the recipe later.”

He shoots you one last disarming smile, before heading up to the platform, and you’re left to longingly stare after him like a dessert enthusiast on a sugar-free diet. You watch him take the mic from Jin, who dramatically holds out his hands towards Hyunjin when backing off of the platform. 

“Hello!” Hyunjin chirps, and really, the wind is a paid actor here, breezing in and perfectly tousling his midnight mane. 

This time, the audience’s response is more authentic, everyone responds in their own greetings out loud. You can’t help but feel your heart swell at the sight; your crush really is so charismatic.

“So, we’ve already explained how today’s going to work in the emails that were sent out to all of you a couple days ago. But to debrief: we will be having fifteen six-minute speed dating rounds today, each held at one of the designated tables,” Hyunjin explains, gesturing to the space surrounding the gazebo.

For the matchmaking event, SeoulSpark booked out Cafe Fiorella, a posh little eatery nestled in the heart of Vista Hermosa Natural Park’s dusty garden trails and meadows. Hyunjin and his planners did an outstanding job of organizing everything, and even you can’t help but note how impossibly romantic it is— for a speed-dating gig, at least. There are dainty bistro tables set up in the grassy outdoor dining area and nestled on top of them, multiple tiered platters loaded with hors d'oeuvres and decorative blossoms. You don’t even want to think about how much this would have cost.

“Before each round, you will all get a text providing you with the number of your table, where you will be able to chat with your partner, one of the candidates that corresponded with your profile.” Hyunjin catches your eye, and you feel yourself heat up. Focus. “After every round, take note of who you want to see again, and at the end, we’ll give you a form to fill out and submit. When you have your next appointment with us, we’ll let you know who you’ve matched with. Any questions?”

No one raises any, probably because they’re too self-conscious to ask in front of their potential partners, which leaves Hyunjin to just nod. “My team and I will be present as chaperones, just making sure everything is going smoothly. And I’d also like to thank our Dr. Jeon’s brother, Mr. Kim Seokjin, for volunteering to time and emcee the event!”

“Oh, Hyun. Always so formal. Call me Mr. Worldwide Handsome instead!” Jin calls out from the back. He does an exaggerated little bow and you— along with many other attendees— have to stifle a laugh. What a cheeseball. 

Hyunjin just smiles graciously, eyes crinkling with mischief. “Let’s get the party going!”

The up-tempo, raunchy sound of girl rap blasts out of speakers that you didn’t even know existed, scaring the shit out of you momentarily. You have no doubt at all that the afternoon’s garden party beats were compiled by your eccentric Love Doctor, before you start to subconsciously sway— and mentally twerk— to “Body.”

“Ladies and gents, this is just in with Jin! Make sure to find your seats in the next five minutes, and we’ll start the clock!”

Your phone chimes with your first table assignment of the day, and you make your way over there, dodging the throngs of men and women antsy to discover their matches. You sit down at your table, trying to ignore the nervousness building in your chest. With the presence of Hyunjin, his beautiful self lingering somewhere barely a few feet away from you, you’re not sure you can give today your best. And for the first time— it’s not you. It’s the fact that you have feelings for your unsuspecting charmer, and deep inside, you can’t fight the thought of not being able to get over him. 

But a lively ambiance courtesy of Megan Thee Stallion doesn’t fit the deep, contemplative mood, so you resort to pushing away your qualms and blankly gazing out at the high rise views while waiting for your partner. If this doesn’t work out, at least you can say you had a nice time humming to lovably NSFW music and raiding the appetizers. 

“Beefing with you bitches really getting kinda boring—”

“You know, I kind of vibe with this shit.” Mullet-guy from earlier plops down into the chair across from you. “Don’t tell Mr. Worldwide Handsome that, though. I’ll never give him the satisfaction.”

You giggle at the comically blank expression on mullet-guy’s face. “Don’t worry. I don’t think Jin would’ve added the EDM remix of “Savage” to the playlist.”

Mullet-guy doesn’t smile, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Fair enough. I’m Yoongi.”

“Y/N.” You carefully take a mini slice of flaky herbed pastry off of the stand and place it on the china plate in front of you. Now that everyone has settled down, the music has been turned down to enable better conversation. “Maybe I’m being blunt here, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type of guy to go to a speed-dating event.”

“Well, what kind of guy do I strike you as?” Yoongi asks, settling back comfortably into his chair. If it was anyone else talking, you would have thought they were flirting with you. But not with Yoongi— you can’t quite put your finger on it, but he feels incredibly familiar to you. This could be just another regular talk with a good friend.

You make a show of taking in his beat-up leather jacket and the silver stud in his left ear, all add-ons to his roguishly handsome aesthetic. “Wannabe SoundCloud rapper meets Fuji Kaze, except with an even worse fashion sense.”

Most people would have already shrank away from your sarcastic sense of humor, but Yoongi claps back. “I could say the same for you. Don’t tell me you’re actually going for The Stepford Wives with that dress. You even have the Mary-Jane shoes.”

“These are discounted flats from Old Navy, don’t even. And I’ll bet your emo ass was stuck in Hot Topic since grade school.”

Yoongi bursts out laughing. “Okay, you win. But you’re not wrong though— I am a rapper, of sorts.”

You lean forward. “Really?”

“Of sorts— I haven't had much time to really get into it and improve myself, ever since I started my own record label last year, D-2 Music,” Yoongi says, picking at his peach scone. “Managing other artists is my focus these days. Been writing my whole life, though.”

“What do you like to write about?” You take a bite of your pastry, savoring how it nearly melts in your mouth. Maybe this thing isn’t that bad; good food and good conversation. Besides, this Yoongi is totally intriguing to you.

“Dreams, depression, obsession.” Yoongi steadily holds your gaze, and you don’t look away.

“Refreshing.”

“I get that a lot.” Yoongi takes a sip of his mimosa, before making a face and putting it back down. 

“No, but seriously. I hate pretending, most of all. Perfection doesn’t exist, and a lot of people can’t get a grip on that.” You shrug, wiping your mouth with one of the provided lavender napkins. “It is refreshing that you don’t seem to give a crap about others.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi smiles, and you think it’s a good look on him. It doesn’t fade even after what he says next. “We’re not going to be a match, are we?”

In that moment, you can confidently say that you are both the same exact person, and while it feels so good to finally speak with someone who might remotely understand exactly what you are, you know it can never be a sustainable relationship. The two strong-minded pessimists that you both are would only clash or just further bring each other down, in the end. So you return his smile, not a hint of sorrow in it. 

“Probably not.” Both of you clink your champagne classes together and drink on it, before collectively gagging at the taste.

“Time’s up, people! Please bid your partners adieu and get on to your next table!” Jin’s voice breaks out through his microphone, and immediately, the music resumes as the frenzy starts all over again.

You stand up, smoothing out your skirt and looking over at Yoongi, who stays seated, taking his own time finishing his scone. “Catch you later, Hot Topic.”

“Likewise, Mary-Jane.” Yoongi snickers, tilting his head up in a casual goodbye. 

You make your way to your new assignment, and as you approach, you remember him. The next person sitting there is the final candidate that Hyunjin had shown you, the one with the rather squirrely look to him. You have to admit, however, that he isn’t bad-looking, with wavy brown bangs falling into his eyes and a soft smile painting his features. He looks simple, a pretty boy waiting for a girl. You feel like you’re reading a picture book with a happy ending, because there are no puzzles to stay sleepless over. You see the bistro table becoming a kitchen counter, frequented for coffee talk and family dinners— there is no smoke-cracked glass desk that costs more than your entire salary. And you’re not Pygmalion sculpting Galatea, the gender bended Grecian rendition of the Hyunjin who plagues your thoughts; instead, you can see the elementary construction paper dotted with finger-painted sunny skies.

“Hi,” you greet, dragging out your chair and locking eyes with the stranger. Strangely, you don’t feel that telltale thump of your heartbeat in your panting chest— you sense a steady rhythm, and perhaps you could get used to it. Think: the picture book over the puzzle. You like staying in check and control— Hyunjin doesn’t allow you that power, no matter how unknowingly he keeps it for himself. 

“Hi,” he responds. “I, uh, thought you had a nice smile in your picture. It’s even better in real life.”

You stay unfazed; compliments don’t affect you much— when they come from anyone but Hyunjin. Still, it’s a cute try, and you decide to dig in deeper. To you, directness is key— again, when dealing with anyone but Hyunjin. 

You slide your finger down the damp side of your champagne flute, tracing a haphazard shape in the water drops. The man falls quiet again, and you don’t bother saying anything else, just taking him in. You don’t have much experience with conversation loaded with romantic intent, and this holds true even with your infamous ex-boyfriend.

Park Jisung had spied you at a holiday festival on your college campus, and then proceeded to ask you out. It was pretty unceremonious, to say the least, and thinking in hindsight, you can’t remember a time when he actually tried to get to know you. You were so enamored with him that you didn’t bat an eye, not even when he insisted on having sex with you on your very first date. And it was also your very first time, actually— but you didn’t question it. And the sex? It was over in less than five minutes and he left right after he finished, but it just felt nice to be wanted, for once. 

In the following months, you realized that when he wasn’t sleeping with you, Jisung was in his own world. You barely existed to him, while you memorized his Chipotle order and silently bought new soap for him when it ran out. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he just wanted a warm body in his bed to replace the other ones he’d fucked with all day. 

“You should know that I have asthma, just in case you intend on taking my breath away on a regular basis,” the man blurts out, snapping you out of your depressing Jisung-reverie.

You bite back a snort— looks like Mr. Worldwide Handsome has new competition for the corniest person at this place. “Thank you.” 

He coughs, no doubt embarrassed by his poorly executed pick-up line. “Sorry. I can’t help it. Pretty people make me nervous.”

“You’re pretty too.” You shrug nonchalantly as the man blushes. “What’s your name?”

“Han Jisung.”

You nearly throw the champagne in his face. “Come again?”

“Jisung. My name is Jisung.”

You clench your fists under the table, trying not to break something. Of all the people in this world— of all the fucking names in this world— you just had to get set-up with a guy who shares the same name as a monster who did nothing but hurt you. What the fuck, universe? You glance at your phone screen peeking out of your purse— there are still four minutes left in this stupid round. 

“Hey, is everything good?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You look up, giving him a venomous smile. Screw the picture book. “What do you like to do in your free time, Han Jisung? Don’t tell me you like to day-drink and play beer pong.”

“I’m not really a drinker. And you can just call me Ji-”

“Tell me, Han Jisung, is your zodiac sign Aquarius? And do you work in tech? Do you work for NCT Corp? Do you?” You inquire without a break, gulping down your glass before refilling it with more of that horrendous champagne. The angel on your shoulder implores you not to project your ex-boyfriend’s personality onto the poor sucker sitting in front of you, but the devil whispers a different tune. You decide to follow the latter’s advice; raging hellfire is always more fun.

Han Jisung looks bewildered, but answers your question anyway. “Um, I'm a Virgo. I do work in tech, but with JYP Electronics.”

“Wonderful.” 

“Anyway… I never got your name,” Han Jisung tries, visibly shaken by your suddenly aggressive line of questioning. 

You scowl at him. “That’s because I already made the mistake of trusting someone like you, Han Jisung.”

There’s still a few seconds left in the round timer, but you don’t pay any mind to it. Your social battery has been exhausted, and all of the progress you’ve made in a long time has gone to dust in a mere five-minute parameter. You grab your bag and stalk away from the table, leaving Han Jisung staring after you, openmouthed and utterly perplexed by the unmerited hostility. But screw him— you can’t even live for a day without being reminded by your douchebag ex who traumatized the fuck out of you.

In your fury, you barely notice the rolling cart of lunch items that accidentally rams into your side. Bowls of pesto pasta fly off the cart, the roasted cherry tomatoes arching in the air in perfect semi-circles before splattering onto the pristine grass. The restaurant staff immediately attends to the mess, while the other guests just glance carelessly at the mess before continuing onto the next round. You rub your hip as Hyunjin rushes over to you.

“Darling, are you alright?” Hyunjin drapes his arm around your shoulders, gazing at you with concern. You melt into his touch for a moment, the frustration simmering with the longing inside of you. “Where were you going?”

You back away from him. “This was a bad idea. Maybe I’m not ready for this. I need more time.”

He frowns, stepping closer to you. “But—”

“Han Jisung?” You interrupt, more animosity in your tone than you intend for there to be. “You knew his name when showing me his profile.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen in both remembrance and regret. “Oh my god. I didn’t realize— I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Even taking into account how you feel right now, you don’t want to take it out on Hyunjin. Never. “It’s not your fault. But I’ll be on my way.”

Ducking your head, you turn and walk away, furiously blinking the tears away. A small part of you wishes Hyunjin would call you back, hug you close to him and ask you to stay. But he doesn’t, because he knows his boundaries. It’s you who doesn’t know their place, because regardless of the smarting pain inside of you, you want Hyunjin to bandaid your emotional damage. 

And as you pick up your pace, you realize that maybe you really are doomed to be Pygmalion, yearning for someone who no one else can even compare to, someone who’ll never be yours. No matter what sorts of grotesque demons haunt you, the most sinister of them all is the off-limits adonis who disturbs your heart even when you’re still reeling from the previous break. Han Jisung’s sunny skies woke you up from your dreams— Galatea is a fucking statue, art that will never come alive. 

“Well, that was a colossal disaster.” Hyunjin covers his face with his palms and shrinks into the buttery leather upholstery of his seat. 

Wonyoung glances over at him as the car starts up. “What do you mean? I think it went great. I saw a sickening amount of flirting going on. Pretty soon, you’ll be officiating a bunch of weddings.”

Hyunjin groans, shaking his head. “But did you see the way Y/N left, Wonyoung? The whole Jisung thing? God, I screwed things up colossally.”

“It’s not your job to remember the names of all of your clients’ ex-boyfriends. It was an honest mistake that we both overlooked.”

“Still.”

“Dr. Hwang, I feel like there’s more to this than you’re letting on.” Wonyoung crosses her arms. “Since when did you get so worked up over a client— over anything?”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes like a petulant child. “I’m not getting worked up.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Sure.” Wonyoung looks back down at her tablet, tapping away at the screen. “I’m already seeing so many matches.”

“Nice.” Hyunjin looks out the window pointedly. “It’s always fucking raining these days.”

“Dr. Hwang.”

Hyunjin ignores Wonyoung, just leaning forward to instruct the cab driver. “Actually, can you drop me off at The North End? Thanks.”

“Seriously. What is going on?” Wonyoung presses once more. “You can’t just go drinking now, not like this.”

“I’ll be fine, Ms. Jang.” Hyunjin doesn’t meet her eyes as he gets out of the car, placing a few bills covering the whole cab fare into her hands. “Get home safe.”

Before she can protest, Hyunjin closes the door and lets the drizzle envelop him, effectively ruining his new logo-motif jacquard set. But he doesn’t give a fuck as he steps into the bar like a shivering stray cat, because the stench of liquor and greasy peanuts is strong enough to incapacitate his inner fashion police. 

“Bourbon, on the rocks,” Hyunjin orders glumly, looking down at his phone screen, a shot of Princess Diana on her birthday last year. She looks absolutely precious in that fluffy pink tutu that he dressed her in, a sight that never fails to make Hyunjin melt. Today, however, not even his adorably stylish puppy can cure him. He downs the whiskey the bartender sets in front of him, wincing at the burn he so rightfully deserved.

When you stormed out of the party just barely two hours ago, it took every fiber of Hyunjin’s being to not run after you. He’d wanted to ditch everyone and just kiss it better for you. He’d take you back to his apartment, run you a bath, cook you a comfort meal, and massage all of your sore spots. And then he’d cuddle with you on the couch, holding you while you fall asleep in his arms. But his stupid common sense held him back, rooting him to the spot like a big, dumb boulder. 

After speaking with Seungmin, he realized how precisely he’s gone for you. And it obviously wouldn’t end well, so he decided that distance— complete professionalism— would be the way to go. Last night, he’d tried a crapload of healthy methods to try and fix himself, from watching porn to reading porn to even listening to porn on some sketchy podcast— anything to distract him from the thought of you. But nothing worked, because he wasn’t horny. No, he had an emotional boner— the worst kind of boners. In the end, he’d realized that the only way to move on from you would be get his ass out there and find someone else,a rebound— which is what he’d been dreading all along.

Therefore, he’d turned around like a fucking moron and went back to the party, listlessly floating around like a trash bag discarded on the highway. And now, he’s at some bar with high end cocktails that are just a pretentious way of saying “fuck me” to strangers.

“Hey there handsome, need company?”

Hyunjin looks to his left, where the sultry voice has originated from: a young woman— a pretty one, too. She’s wearing the kind of tight, black dress and matching coy smile that can only mean she wants one thing. Luckily, Hyunjin’s on the same page as her.

“What’s your name, darling?” Hyunjin asks her, ignoring the guilt inside his chest. That term of endearment was once reserved for you, and only you. He’d have to get over the sting of that too.

She sits down next to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and exposing the smooth skin of her neck. “Lisa.”

“Lisa,” Hyunjin repeats, signaling to the bartender for another round. “Tell me, what do you do?”

“I’m hoping it’ll be you tonight.” Lisa smirks at him, raising an eyebrow seductively.

Well. That was fast.

Hyunjin chuckles, trying not to think of the nausea rising in his stomach. He accepts the drink from the bartender, clinking his glass against Lisa’s, meeting her darkened eyes over the rim.

“I’m Hyunjin. It’s nice to meet you.”

You haven’t watched trashy Youtube videos in months, thinking you’d left that disgusting habit behind, and yet, here you are, watching said trashy Youtube videos. Today, it’s a shotgun wedding getting upstaged by one of the bridesmaids proclaiming her love for the groom. You feel an old chips packet somewhere inside the bedsheet hollow you’ve burrowed yourself into, the crumbs poking into your back like unwanted intruders. However, you just try to ignore the nasty feeling and slump into the mattress, pulling the bedcovers up so they cover your chin. 

It’s been almost a full week since the matchmaking debacle that you absolutely made a spectacle of yourself at. You’ve spent the entire time drifting off to work, getting yelled at by Mark for no reason at all, and then coming home and lazing around. At this point, your gym membership must be a mere accessory, and the nearby 7-Eleven that you frequent for junk food is practically your second home. Fuck— you’re disgusted with yourself.

Resorting to self-destructive yet containable activities has always been your go-to for whenever you’ve been down— you’ll let yourself be fine with the world falling apart as long as it’s inside the confines of your humble abode. For months, however, you’d truly believed that you were past it. Hyunjin’s presence in your life inserted a certain desire inside of you— not to be better for him, but to be better because of him. Hyunjin opened your eyes to the real beauty of living, of having passion for any trade and a lust for happiness. That kind of positive outlook kept you climbing up that hill, no matter how arduous it was to maintain good spirits for the majority of the time. But as soon as a crisis hit, you bailed on your trek and fell back down the cliff.

You feel truly guilty as well, an emotion that usually got lost in the web of pity and hatred that you spun yourself into whenever you know you’ve done something wrong. Han Jisung didn’t deserve to be subjected to your outburst, you know that— that should have been reserved for the person who actually wronged you. You never actually got the chance to confront Park Jisung, not after he walked out like he didn’t just fucking break you. Deep inside, you know that you take out that inky mixture of unresolved frustration and regret on every single person who dares trigger you, even if it’s unintentional. Han Jisung was one such unfortunate target today.

A small chime alerts you to a new message, and you tear your eyes away from your laptop, reaching for your phone on your nightstand. In the notifications on your home screen, you see that it is not an email from Hyunjin like you’d unrealistically hoped for— instead, it’s a text from Yeonjun, your cousin who’s a constant thorn in your fucking side.

Yeonjun: hmm i’m thirsty :P

You: no yeonjun, i will not take you out for drinks.

Yeonjun: pretty pls w a cherry on top

You: fuck off

Yeonjun: u seem upset :(((

You: i’m having adult problems, yeonjun. leave me alone.

Yeonjun: well then i will help you with ur adult problems

Yeonjun: u know, i’m an adult too OMG

Yeonjun: come on, when have i ever not given u great advice?

Yeonjun: i missed my fucking calling in therapy. i woulda been an excellent shrink.

Yeonjun: i’m an amazing cousin who always is there for u. y/n i lysm, u know that?

Yeonjun: u know what else i love? Vodka. 

Yeonjun: but i love u too <3

You: Yeonjun, stop fucking spamming me or I’m not coming.

Yeonjun: YAYY!

With a defeated sigh, you shove the blankets to the side, the cold air conditioning gripping your body like a vice. But begrudgingly, you have to admit that it feels refreshing to get out of your sweaty hideout and step into the shower, cleaning yourself up as much as you can on the outside— the inside issue can be attended to with the drinks.

A half hour later, you find yourself in a skeevy dive bar on the Westside, doing shots with your cousin, because even though he irritates you to the core, he’s all you have. You really could use that drink, anyway. But no amount of alcohol seems to mask the way your heart hangs heavier than the full moon outside. In fact, the liquid courage just manifests your sadness even more, leaving you a sniveling mess on the bar counter.

“And, he was actually really cute, you know? But I could never date him,” you sniffle, after downing your fifth drink. “It’s just, I just can’t deal with any reminders of Jisung.”

Yeonjun knocks back his vodka. “I take it back. If therapy means dealing with saps like you, I’d rather die.”

You frown at him. “It’s better than being a failing TikTok influencer. When’s the last time any of your thirst traps got views?”

Yeonjun shrugs, unbothered by your jab; he’s as used to you as you are to him. “You could’ve at least hooked up with him, if he was that cute.”

You swirl your straw in the melting ice as you get on your phone, pulling up the follow-up email in which Hyunjin had sent you online scans of the candidate profiles. Yeonjun looks over your shoulder and whistles as you zoom-in on Han Jisung’s picture. “But I’ve only ever slept with Jisung before. I may be a scary bitch, but I’m not bold enough for that.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Yeonjun cackles. “Well, it’s only a better reason to have a one-night stand. Do you really want to give your trash ex-boyfriend the power of being the only person to have had sex with you? That’s kind of sad.” 

Yeonjun makes a face, shivering in disgust, and you sock him in the elbow in retaliation. “For someone so bitchless, you really have such strong opinions about me and my love life.”

“Who says I’m bitchless?” Yeonjun grins deviously. “Besides, you’re the one who told me all this crap in the first place.”

You glance up at the ceiling, feeling an indescribable sense of loss. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind a one-night stand, though. I guess getting laid is something I kind of need right now. I need to stop letting Jisung control every aspect of my life.”

“Well, if you’re not averted to the idea, a person of interest just walked in.”

You whip around to look at the door, and of all people, Han Jisung from the matchmaking event walks in. He doesn’t notice you at the counter, just making his way over to one of the booths near the entrance and sitting down in solitude. The waiter takes his order and walks away, leaving him to put on his headphones in wait.

“I think I must be living in a social experiment.” You groan and look over at Yeonjun. “Hell if I’m sleeping with him.”

“Did you or did you not just say that you don’t want to let your ex control your life?”

You stare at Yeonjun. “I can sleep with someone else. He’s probably too scared of me anyway. I kind of verbally-knifed him the other day.”

“Please. Everything about that guy screams ‘degrade me.’ He probably liked that shit. You might as well use him as a punching bag again— this time, more productively.” Yeonjun waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“The fuck do you know about productivity?”

“Nada. But I do know a lot about getting a fix when needed.” Your cousin winks at you, producing a packet of condoms out of nowhere and slapping it into your palm. Before you can react, Yeonjun is already slinking off to go and flirt with a pretty girl sitting by herself on the other end of the counter. And alas, you’re left alone again. With a packet of XL condoms— Yeonjun sure is optimistic.

You glance over at said person of interest, who is currently immersed in whatever song that’s got him bopping his head to the beat, eyes closed as if in a dreamy trance. He’s not your type, for sure. But the thing is, you don’t even know what your damn type is at this point— if it wasn’t for Hyunjin’s ability to make you feel inappropriate things so vividly, you’d have thought you had fucking cobwebs down there. Speaking with Yeonjun really was a reminder that you’re still young, after years of both an emotional and physical dry spell. Emotionally, you might not be ready. Physically, however, there’s an opening, and you know it.

When you were dating Park Jisung, sex was always initiated by him. It was always for himself too, because he never cared about making you feel good. But you didn’t see it as a red flag, since you were so in love with him. You just followed him around like an innocent, lovesick puppy that was eager to please. And in the end, even that wasn’t enough.

Your first orgasm— and first experience with a deeper kind of desire— was alone, some time after your relationship ended. It was a quiet night, and you’d just fallen back onto the couch after another long, uneventful day at work. You flipped through the TV channels before settling on a network that was playing The Notebook, and despite its fame and reach, you’d never watched the movie before. Everything was normal until the main characters started kissing each other in the rain, a scene that would remain something you’d download and revisit many, many times when you were locked away in your room.

You’d never seen that level of lust before. You’d never felt it directed towards you or ever even experienced it when you discovered porn in your teenage years. Yet, these two people seemed to want each other on a whole other level, risking everything— their home, their reputation, their love— for something you’d always thought would be over in two minutes. And as your hand undid the button of your jeans and slipped down even lower, you realized just how wrong you were.

In the years that followed, you learned to become so much more comfortable with your sexuality. Hell, you have a drawer dedicated to storing your sex toys and on nights that you’d had too many glasses of wine, you wind up writing filthy erotica just for fun. However, you’d never actually considered having sex outside of a committed relationship, not until now. And in complete honesty, you really are curious about if Han Jisung is as subby as Yeonjun insinuated— if that proves to be true, you wouldn’t mind taking your pent-up Jisung-frustrations out on him. Productivity, and all. 

You slap your payment down on the wooden counter, shaking it slightly, before marching towards Han Jisung’s table. 

“Hey,” you start, but Han Jisung doesn’t notice you. “HEY!”

Han Jisung’s eyes fly open as he jerks in his seat and pulls off his headphones. At the sight of you approaching him so determinedly, he eyes you with both wariness and renewed interest, and you have to keep yourself from sighing exasperatedly at his hesitant desperation. You’re here for a reason, after all.

“Oh, hello. Y/N, right? I asked Hyunjin for your name after you left.” He gives you a nervous smile, brushing the bangs off of his forehead. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I just wanted to say—”

“I’ll get to the point, Han Jisung.” You cut him off, ignoring the surprised expression on his face. It’s like he’s never in his life encountered a woman who knows what the hell she wants. “I want to have sex with you. What do you say?”

For a good minute, he says nothing, just gaping at you, shocked. And then he does a double-take, looking you up and down as if checking to see if you’re real. 

“Is this a ploy to kidnap me and steal my organs, or something? Because when I last saw you, I got the impression that you severely disliked me.”

“No, I’m not going to steal your organs. The truth is complicated,” you scoff. “But you’re hot, and I’m over everything else, at least for tonight. Are you up for it?” 

You stare Han Jisung down, making him shift in his seat. He scratches his nose and blinks at you like a trembling mouse. “I… wait. You think I’m hot?”

What an idiot. Good thing he’s pretty.

“Is that a yes?”

“Fuck yes.”

With no warning at all, you grasp his hand, pulling him out of the booth while he scrambles to grab his belongings and shove them into his pockets. You feel his gaze on the back of your neck as you drag him through the bar, walking with your chin pointed up with purpose. You wind your way between the tables expertly, but this Jisung stumbles, making you glare at him over your shoulder.

“Watch your step,” you snap.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking down at the floor as you barge into the bathroom in the back of the building, tugging him inside with you. “Wait, are we not going to your place, or—”

“Stop asking so many fucking questions, Han Jisung.” You slam the door behind you both and click the metal latch in place, leaving you both locked in the tiny room. It isn’t so cramped that there isn’t any space for movement, but it’s small enough to force you both into facing each other in a charged silence.

You eye Jisung from head to toe, taking in his baggy t-shirt and ripped jeans. He clears his throat, making you raise an eyebrow at him. “So, um, do you really have to call me by full name? Don’t you think that’s a little formal, considering what’s about to happen?”

You roll your eyes, your mind going back to the other Jisung you know. Never— there must be something to differentiate the two. You take an intimidatingly emphasized step towards him, backing him up against the wall. “No. I don’t think that’s too formal, Han Jisung.”

“But—”

“Shut the fuck up.” You trace your eyes down his body once more, gaze landing on the noticeable bulge in his pants. Bless Yeonjun— how right he was, for once. You look up, giving Jisung a mean smile. “Are you actually getting turned on right now?”

“Uh, wow—” He squeaks, as you reach your hand out and place it on his warm thigh, tracing it up his limb at a painful pace both dedicated to your desire to tease and be cautious.

“I asked you a fucking question.” You retract your hand right before it reaches its destination, glowering at him. “Answer me.”

“Just, um. I…” Jisung stammers, closing his eyes before opening them again, as if preparing himself. The honeyed tone of his skin exposes a light blush and therefore, his answer. “Ruin me, please.”

That’s all the permission you need before you’re placing your hands on Jisung’s surprisingly toned shoulders, roughly turning him around and swapping places with him, so that now you’re the one with their back to the wall. 

“Han Jisung…” You speak slowly, punctuating your words with the kind of loathing that has Jisung panting like a dog waiting for a treat, eyes wide with anticipation tinged with delicious fear. “If you’re a good boy and do as you’re told, I’ll see about giving you a reward.”

“Oh my god.”

“Take off your clothes.” 

Jisung nearly trips over his own two feet trying to wrestle the suddenly irksome swaths of fabric off of his body, tossing the garments onto the gross bathroom floor like he doesn’t give a fuck about getting a staph infection later. When he’s fully stripped, you trace your eyes over him in your own leisure, reveling in the way he shivers when you do. Your gaze washes over his defined abs, dipping even lower until you reach his hardened cock, flushed a pretty pink and glazed with pre-come— the condoms would come in very handy, after all.

Seeing him bared to you and your mercy rouses you up like you never thought it would; you never thought that feeling wanted yet being in control would work you up so much, but it does, and you love it beyond reason. 

“You’re really something else. Getting off on me being so mean to you.” With a sadistic smirk, you cross your arms. “I bet you thought about me even after I ditched your ass at the party, didn’t you?”

“I— I did,” he admits, with a nervous giggle. “You’re so fucking hot, I just couldn’t help it. Seriously. I’m sorry if— mmph.”

You interrupt his rambling by winding your hand into his soft hair and forcing him closer to you, meeting his soft lips in a harsh kiss, one that has him moaning shamelessly into your mouth. You kiss him deeply, like you want to punish him for it, like you want to both hurt him and make him beg for more. Jisung’s lips are small but full, moving against yours in a sloppy yet heated exchange, fighting for more in an unwinnable battle; he tastes like brandy, strawberries, and the promises of a good time, and you’re drunk on it.

“You’re disgusting, Han Jisung,” you spit out, prompting a whimper from Jisung. “Get on your fucking knees.”

He wastes no time dropping to his knees and letting you lead the way, fully submitting to your tantric commands. Quickly, you clutch at his hands and direct them to where they should be, tilting your head back against the wall as Jisung satisfies your wishes. With an eagerness that doesn’t even compare to your own, Jisung loosens the knot on the elastic band of your skirt, not bothering to untie it fully before he’s tugging the skirt up so that it’s bunched around your waist. 

And without you even demanding him to move faster, he’s pushing your panties aside and attaching his greedy mouth to your cunt. You nearly jerk away at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure; your ex-boyfriend never went down on you, and oh, how profoundly you’ve missed out. But you’ve researched enough to know exactly what you want.

Jisung’s eyes flick up to where you’re looking down and showering him with breathy sighs, spurring on his performance. When you shoot him a warning glare, he goes back to completely making-out with your cunt, easily spreading you apart with two of his fingers so he can focus on your throbbing clit. Jisung uses his other hand to squeeze your thigh gently, rubbing circles into the smooth skin as he works.

He delves deeper into your pussy when you run your hands through his silky hair, lapping at your arousal like it’s honey and he’s been starving for days. “You taste so good…”

Immediately, you yank back his hair and hold him in place as you start to grind onto his pretty face. “I don’t remember saying you could fucking talk.”

Jisung groans, taking every insult you hurl at him in such a measured but unbridled way. He makes up for his lack in precision with his enthusiasm, suctioning his mouth around your tender clit and swirling his tongue in patterns that have gotten you seeing the fucking stars. He lets you use him entirely, body going slack as he helps you ride out your high. The obscene sounds of Jisung slurping at your cunt fill the room as you come, gripping his head between your thighs as you feel that beautiful wave of euphoria fall over you. You pat Jisung’s shoulder in silent instruction, and he rises, cupping the sides of your arms and running his hands down them gently, soothing the way you quiver at any touch. 

“Are you okay?” Jisung whispers, making you open your eyes in surprise. Your ex-boyfriend never once checked up on you, not even when you were clearly in discomfort that first time he made you his own. This complete stranger however, one that you have been anything but gracious with, inspects your face with concern. A strange feeling of warmth spreads throughout your body as you nod your head.

“I’m good. You did well.” You grasp the bottom of your top, pulling it over your head so that all you’re standing in now are your skirt and basically ruined panties. You didn’t bother with putting on a bra before you left the house, and now, you’re thankful for the decision that was ultimately a byproduct of your laziness; Jisung gazes at your body with utter reverence, like just the sight of your tits has blessed his entire life.

“Please…”

“Please what, Han Jisung?” You bite your lip, both amused and flattered by how desperate he is for your pussy. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me. Please, fuck me. I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Jisung whines sadly, clearly on the verge of tears. His cock is now rock-hard, flush against his stomach, and it turns you on so much to know that eating you out has reduced him to such a pathetic mess. 

“Yes, you have…” you murmur, before jutting out your hand to hold his chin tightly. “Spit.”

Without a single protest, he obeys, a single string of saliva connecting his lips to your hand, before you’re reaching down and palming his cock. He lets out a gasp as you wrap your fingers around the base, spreading the dampness and pumping a few times for good measure, as if the mixture of his spit and your own arousal coating your pussy isn’t lubrication enough. 

You take the condoms out and help Jisung slide one onto his cock, chuckling when he places his hand over yours to help quicken the process. And then you’re finally guiding him into your entrance, circling one leg around his body and caging him into your fantasies. 

“Fuck—”

Jisung enters you as you both collectively moan out loud, him at how tightly your cunt clenches around him and you at how wonderfully his dick curves into you, hitting your sweet spot inside each time. Jisung cups your face as he kisses you again, but this time, it’s slower and more drawn-out, a vast juxtaposition to how rigorously he thrusts into you. You drag your nails down his back in a way that’s sure to leave marks for days to come, but he just increases his pace on your aching pussy, lost in pleasure. 

You grip Jisung’s ass and squeeze at the flesh, eliciting a throaty groan from him as your sweat combined creates a sticky layer between your bodies. Your breasts are pressed against Jisung’s chest, and he ducks his head to attend to them, licking and sucking at your sensitive nipples. The heightened attention goes straight to your sweet pussy, making you buck your hips as you hold him even tighter. 

“Oh god— I’m fucking— I’m gonna come—” Jisung chokes out, his movements now erratic and even more rushed, if possible.

“Not yet.” You just laugh cruelly, shaking your head. “You’re going to wait. I’m first.”

“I— I don’t think I can—”

“Suck it up like the little bitch you are, and make me come again,” you snarl, digging your nails into the arch of his ass.

He cries out, and for a brief lapse in time, you think he will not be able to outlast you, but then he slides his hand down, rubbing frantic circles onto your clit. The attempt to get you off a second time works, and the orgasm washes over you like a cool breeze in the summertime. You can’t help what escapes you next.

“HYUNJIN!”

“Did you just—”

You clench your jaw and give Jisung a menacing look, warning him of a topic that should not be broached under any circumstances. Luckily, your harsh expression just seems to spur Jisung on even more, and he follows you into ecstasy not long after, squirming in your hold. When he finally finishes, hot spurts of him coat your pussy and trembling thighs.

For a moment, Jisung slumps against you limply, and you let him, enjoying that blanket of heat and protection against your exposed skin, another gift you’ve never been given before. But then you remember that’s all he is to you— a body that has warmed you up for one night. You don’t feel guilty though, because you never did offer more than you could actually give. 

You pat Jisung’s back, prompting him to draw back and give you a fucked-smile. His bangs are plastered against his forehead in a sweaty mess, and his skin is tinged pink from his great efforts to please you. It’s a sight that you’ll be tucking away in your memories for any future lonely nights. 

After putting your blouse back on, you walk over to the sink as Jisung just stays leaning against the wall. Wetting a paper towel with some water, you run it between your thighs and clean up the remnants of Jisung’s come smeared there. And then you pull your skirt down and help Jisung, because no matter how you don’t see him as more than a fling, he is still significant to you. He’s the first person to make you come and show you that physical care that you’ve been craving for so long, and that amounts to something. Besides, you’d never just toss someone aside after using them so intimately, not like your ex did with you.

You get a fresh towel for Jisung, placing it against his forehead to cool his heated skin while assisting him in putting his clothes back on. When you both are completely dressed, you place a chaste kiss on Jisung’s lips and give him a small smile, before turning for the door.

“I’ll be on my way now, Han Jisung.”

Jisung leaps forward quickly, grabbing your head before it can reach the doorknob. “Hey, I know you said this was just a one-night, but can’t we maybe get dinner or something?”

“Jisung.” The plain name is still sour on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “We aren’t going to work. This isn’t going to happen again.”

“Wait. Are you just, like, crazy edging me right now?”

Shaking your head, you let out a tired laugh. “No, I’m not. Look, I think you’re a really nice guy. I’m sorry for how I treated you at the party last week. You definitely didn’t deserve that, and I definitely still need to resolve my own issues. I’m sure there’s some other sexy lady out there just waiting to dom your pretty face off. You deserve better than me.”

You leave Jisung speechless, finally getting out of the bathroom. You have a very important meeting tomorrow, one that you absolutely cannot miss. Besides, he really does deserve better than you, someone who definitely doesn’t make his whole life an enigma. Someone who doesn’t have the same impact on him as Hyunjin does on you. 

And in your post-coital clarity, you also finally accept that there will be no compromising with your feelings for Hyunjin. You’re falling in love with him, so much that even when another man is balls-deep in you, he’s all you can think of. It’s so profound that it hurts, the thought of never being able to fuck him into oblivion like you just did with Han Jisung. You can never have those nights with him in dirty bathrooms, or the ones tangled up in bedsheets for hours at an end. Late night conversations about the banalities of life and playful interviews about where he buys his amazing clothing will never be yours. You’re playing a dangerous game, ignoring your feelings like they’re a hazy insect that will eventually buzz away. Because you know they won’t. They’ll come back to sting you.

As you beeline for the bar exit, you run straight into Yeonjun, who seems to have been waiting for you all along. And by the looks of the Cheshire grin on his face, he knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

“I knew his dick was big.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“So… want to talk about last week?”

“There’s not much to talk about.” You shrug, toying with the hem of your dress. It’s green, a new look from the various shades of pinks that you donned whenever visiting Hyunjin. The change doesn’t feel refreshing— really, it’s restricting and strange, somehow. Like it doesn’t belong on you.

Hyunjin sighs, getting up from his fancy chair to sit down next to you. So understanding, so caring, so gentle. Everything you don’t deserve and that you will never have. “Darling, please. Open up to me.”

You snap, looking at him directly. “I had sex with Han Jisung.”

Closing your eyes, you lift your up palm, effectively silencing whatever you know that Hyunjin was about to say. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself. You have to mend the cracks before you break completely. Again. It’s now or never, no matter how much it will hurt you to do so.

“And I think we should stop seeing each other.”

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

AUTHOR'S NOTE Here she is!! We're 2/5 of the way there 💪 Thank you for all of the love for this series! And again, I apologize for the atrocious wait-time. Please leave your thoughts, I don’t really 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 @yeahhspider @8makes1scream @jetblackbelle @143hyunes @raginghellfire @sinforsuccubus @lixiesw1fe @chartrucewhore @freckleboilix @ultimatestayandminoronce @cheesytangerine @leyknowsbin @stay278 @strawberry-dreamland @lvrgrl-xo @moasworld @hyunnielix @httphans @chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog @imasimplol @1clickawayfrominsane @xsw-void @queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @moasworld @kykeu @sxlxna ***The users that I could not tag are written in pink***

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

NETWORKS @kflixnet @k-films

©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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I am so late, but plot-heavy Fyodor fics 🤩🤩🤩🙏👌❤️💋

♜ ❛ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐘 ❜ — FROM EDEN

content. f!reader. kidnapping, canon compliant, mutual pining, enemies and lovers, explicit language, canon-typical violence, murder, and references to suicide. not proofread. 6.2k+ words.

author's note. i'm super excited for the first entry to this series! i wanted to release this days ago, but i wasn't satisfied with it, so it's gone through a couple drafts, and i stayed up way too late to finish it, so i hope you enjoy!

feel free to fill out the separate taglist if you want to be notified about updates!

“They are the only ones capable of defeating him,” you finally met his hostile stare. “Tell me—in a game of cards, what would be the benefit of showing your deck to someone who isn’t your ally?”

Dust twirled and twisted in the air, sparkling in the shine of a sunset that threatened to bleach essential documents with its powerful rays. People restlessly muttered to themselves, filling in the quiet as they tried to finish their last bits of work so they could retire into their nightly routines. There were the outliers, of course. Dazai hardly ever touched paperwork when asked and leaned back in his chair without a care in the world. Ranpo was always in a similar state, though he took the time to devour a new lollipop every couple of minutes, having been gifted a couple of bagfuls courtesy of Minoura and his subordinates.

"We're back!" you exclaimed, propping the office door open with your hip as you adjusted a flimsy tray of caffeinated drinks in your arms, letting Atsushi in with the rest of them. Everyone perked up as if they were rescued from peril, most wandering over in the hopes of snatching theirs before returning to their excruciating endeavors.

You craned your head back towards your newest recruit. "Could you set those down in there?"

"Sure," Atsushi replied, distracted as he labored to balance his tray onto the table without spilling anything. In the end, he relented and decided to remove each individual drink and set them down. You tried not to make fun of his relieved expression—he was probably traumatized from the time he had spilled them all. Despite reassurances from most people that it was okay, everyone had been in a cranky mood for the rest of that day, so you decided to assist him with the task ever since.

While Atsushi deliberated with his task, you decided to deliver drinks to those who had chosen not to leave their work. "One espresso for Kunikida." The man merely waved in thanks with his non-dominant hand, too engrossed in drafting an incident report. "And one abomination for Dazai." The suicide enthusiast scoffed as he snatched the drink from your hands, cradling it like it was his malformed baby. It was a miracle he didn't burn his hands.

"I'll have you know that this is the secret concoction for my beauty."

"Certain it's not another suicide attempt?" And despite his concentration, Kunikida always had time to comment on his partner's less-than-stellar preferences, especially when they always seemed to find a way to obstruct his work.

"Even if it's not one," you covered your nose as a rancid smell started to waft from the cup, "the smell alone makes me want to jump."

"I'm wounded!"

You left Kunikida to handle Dazai, knowing he was likely seconds away from throttling him, and your hands cramped as you balanced not only a drink but a collection of pastries sent from the café manager's wife herself. The drink wasn't much better than Dazai's, though it luckily didn't have a distinct smell. It was just the massive amounts of sugar that made you nauseous as you tried not to imagine the taste of such a sweet drink.

How the master detective didn't have any cavities was beyond you.

"Only the finest drink for the world's greatest detective," you said, amused as you settled it down in front of him. He remained stretched back, legs propped over the desk as he swung them back and forth.

Without an ability, you were often chained to office work—but it was no secret that you thrived out on the field, regardless of whether you had an ability or not. You became the unspoken assistant to Ranpo whenever he was needed outside of the office, functioning as both an equal and interpreter for his blunt and childlike mannerisms. It had created a kinship between you both as the only two "ability-less" agents allowed to solve cases by themselves.

"It's about time," he groaned.

But that didn't stop him from having an attitude with you or anyone else.

"Glad you didn't forget the creamer—unlike someone here."

Ranpo and the resident weretiger locked eyes, with the latter returning the gaze with an unamused glare. There was another unspoken fact about the staff at the Agency—Ranpo was notorious for taunting new recruits, especially ones as reactive as Atsushi. In fact, Kunikida's first months had to have been your favorite time. Despite his inherent respect for his senior, even he had a difficult time and questioned the methods and attitude of the super-deduction genius, but like everyone else, he learned Ranpo was simply that way.

"(Name)-san!" your train of thought was broken, spinning on your heel to meet the brunette woman calling your name, pausing as she pointed at her computer screen. "Can you take a look at this for me?"

She shrunk back from the stern tilt of your head. "You're not asking me to do it for you again, are you?" Her reaction told you everything you needed to know; scrunching back in her seat as sweat started to drip from her forehead. "I told you I can't do your work for you anymore. It's not my fault you're too busy obsessing over your cat."

She fiddled with her thumbs like a scorned child. You sighed. "Fine, I'll check it, but nothing more! Capeesh?"

Her relief sprung forth like a rushing waterfall, uttering 'thank you's' and 'I owe you one's'—as if she ever returned the favor. You rolled your chair beside her, scanning over the documents on her screen, which consisted primarily of the office's activities and expenditures from the past two weeks. From the ambush by the Black Lizard to the serial disappearances of travelers, both the minds and pockets of the staff had run rampant without constraint.

"These dates need to match with the ones on these papers, not those. You've also swapped two of the addresses," you said, pointing to them on the screen, "here and here."

She groaned, throwing her head back as she massaged the corners of her screen-strained eyes. "Thank you. I'd have my head on backward if you weren't here."

You elbowed her, offering her a comforting but cheeky smile. "That's what I'm here for."

RING! RING!

You picked up the phone as you shooed Haruno back to her work. These phones sucked, the speaker crackling to life with the ambient sounds of static. Most of them had been donated or were bought used, obviously on their last life. It made the constant back-and-forth with clients a guaranteed path to a headache, but there wasn't much else you could do about it. Despite the government's proclamations that the agency was a well-regarded and heroic organization worthy of praise, they rarely invested their resources so that it could flourish to its truest potential—that wasn't a surprise, given how Yokohama's Special Division treated abilities that weren't under its thumb.

"You've reached the Armed Detective Agency—this is Kurihara (Name) speaking. How can I help you?"

The voice on the other end of the line was muffled, but it was difficult to tell if that was a fault of the phone or if it was an intentional endeavor on the speaker's part. "Hallo, Ms. Kurihara. Such a charming voice." You pressed your ear closer to the receiver in spite of the pain. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that the man on the other line had an accent—German, you thought.

That was unusual, to say the least. Most people who knew about the detective agency were domestic, or at the very least from Japan if they weren't from the city itself. Contact from anyone outside of that demographic was abnormal, at least if it was in association with an everyday case.

Your reaction seemed to at least catch the attention of one person. "Is something wrong?" Naomi mouthed from across the desks, but you brushed her off as you tried to refocus.

"Thank you, sir. What can I do for you?"

"Straight to the point, hm?" he clicked his tongue. "I'll be quick. You're the agency's liaison, yes?"

"I am," you replied, fiddling with the coils of the phone cord, knotting it around your index finger before squishing it with your thumb.

"Marvelous! I have a message for you to deliver."

The normal part of you wanted to snap back at the man, stating he could have easily placed this message of his into an email, maybe added a GIF or two if he wanted to be theatrical, but the atypical set-up of the conversation left your normal wit at the front door. This man was odd if you had been asked to describe him, and it wasn't because of his accent—no, you had met plenty of people who spoke the same with an assortment of personalities, both good and bad. It was the lilt of his tone that threw you for a loop, like a snake trying to act as the charmer, luring in a mouse with cheese as it waited at the end of a trap. Perhaps that was the reason you decided to take a pen and some paper from Haruno's stationery, fidgeting with the clicker as he continued to speak, an anxious action that did little to appease your watchful juniors.

"You have two hours to hand over your master detective."

You peered over at the aforementioned sleuth out of the corner of your eye, who sat none-the-wiser to his newfound predicament, downing his candied drink as he grouched to himself about his boredom despite the piles of cases on his desk. He certainly wouldn't be bored after this. It wasn't rare for someone to threaten Ranpo—he was incredibly polarizing—but more often than not, it was a prank. This wasn't the same.

"Failure to do so," the man over the phone stopped himself, attempting to contain his amusement as his laughter almost slipped into cartoonish joy, forcing you to swallow the impulse to insult the unseen bastard from head-to-toe, "will result in the premature slumber of the clerks and clients of Chuoshijo Bank. That will be where the handover will occur."

You almost broke the phone as its thinner bridge started to crush in your hand. "I'm assuming you won't say why you're doing this?"

He left off with a chuckle. "That's all part of the fun, no?"

The line dropped, and you were only left with the same static. You were silent and contemplative as you reconnected the phone and stared at the piece of paper in your hand. The next step would be to check if this threat was as legitimate as the man made it out to be and you had your suspicions. Three of your juniors eyed you as you walked over to the agency's beacon of ideals, which only drew the attention of everyone else.

"Kunikida."

No response.

"I think he's a little preoccupied," Atsushi replied for him, though you didn't need a reply as you watched the blonde's hand move back and forth in a rhythm, his focus honestly admirable.

"He won't be for long."

The slap reverberated throughout the office, and if your co-workers weren't paying attention before, they certainly were now. Kunikida took a moment to pause his work, eyes drifting to look at the paper that had assaulted his face, which innocently floated onto the surface of his desk. He scowled at the message scrawled across the page, though it was only noticeable through the subtle twitch of his eye.

"Is this threat legitimate?" He adjusted his glasses with the edge of his finger as if the words on the paper would morph into something else, but they didn't.

"A threat?" Kenji leaned his body to peer around you, trying to take a curious look at the message.

"Whoever this was claims they'll kill the people at Chuoshijo Bank if we don't hand over Ranpo."

It only took a couple of moments before almost the entire office gathered around, staring at the paper with both intrigue and worry. No one had ever attempted to place an actual threat toward the lead detective, at least not since most of the members had joined. Even senior members were a bit confused by it, and it felt like a bad omen.

"It wasn't from a local," you piped up. "The man had an accent. German, if I'm not mistaken."

Dazai was one of the members who didn't bother to rise from his chair, though he had no issue inserting his two cents into the discussion. "He could be a member of the Kanagawa Insurance Agency. It's a front for the Port Mafia, but some of its associates were hired from a German reconnaissance platoon after the war."

It astounded you that people never realized his previous profession, even with the numerous times he had delved into information only a Port Mafia member would know. Kunikida was still left in the dark, but he went with his words without question, which was both admirable since he trusted his partner so much and worrisome since he never seemed to pick up on that detail. There was a secret bet for how long it would take for him to realize it.

"We probably won't receive answers from them directly," Kunikida grumbled, the weariness in his tone palpable. He reflected the temperament of the entire agency, wanting a break from the chaos. "We'll have to conduct an investigation."

"The important question is—what could they want with Ranpo?" you asked, and everyone turned to the detective for the answer, only to find him asleep in his chair, hat awkwardly covering his face with his emptied cup still in hand.

"Dazai, (Name)," Kunikida's sternness drew your attention away, "head down to the bank to scope out the situation and try to make contact with the enemy. I'll inform the Boss of the situation while Atsushi and Tanizaki investigate their headquarters. Everyone else is to remain here and protect Ranpo."

The look in his eyes was similar to that of a hawk as he stared at Dazai. "We don't know if they've released the threat publicly, so watch what you say."

"Aye, Aye!" Dazai exclaimed with a salute. "You heard him, (Name)."

"I was referring to you, Dazai!"

"Kurihara-san!" a voice called from the midst of reporters. "What's the reason for the Armed Detective Agency's involvement?"

"We are strictly here to advise the police. Please disperse from this area."

You grimaced as you and Dazai tried to maneuver through a throng of news crews swarming around the outer reaches of the bank. On a normal day, the neighborhood was tranquil, a scenic location near the harbor with an occasional cluster of families or tourists, but the frenzy of flashing cameras and insistent voices shattered that panoramic atmosphere. The organization that man belonged to likely tipped them off, since there were rarely reporters so early in the case.

"Is the Port Mafia involved in this incident?" one reporter hollered, driving a microphone alarmingly close to your face.

"Can you confirm if this is connected to the string of robberies in Gumyoji-cho?" another piped in, several cameramen competing with each other for the best view. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as Dazai tried to place himself in every frame.

This was the aspect of your position that irritated you the most, though you were considered the most adept at handling it out of any of your co-workers—but these people so easily ignored the fact that real lives could possibly be on the line, simply because they wanted their next big break. Luckily for you and unluckily for them, this was one of the few occasions when you were permitted to summon a little attitude.

You held up your hand, shoving the microphone back in the opposite direction. "When the police have prepared a statement, they'll let you know." Like Moses with the Red Sea, the news crews parted at the hint of your obvious irritation. Many of them had become familiar with your infamous intolerance for the media's bullshit from several other incidents, and none of them wanted to be the victim of one of your notorious letters to their bosses. The liaison of the Armed Detective Agency was not to be tested.

"Remind me never to cover for you."

You chuckled at the comment from your companion, bumping his shoulder. "You'd have to get out of bed on days you *are* scheduled for that to ever happen.

Dazai gaped at your scathing dissertation of his character, inclined to make chase as he rushed to catch you through the crowd, only to tumble over the police tape, which astonishingly remained secure as he landed on his face. If he hadn't received enough attention before, he certainly was now as cameras turned to him in not-so-subtle attempts to capture the dashing detective, now a pile of bandages on the sidewalk.

Despite your amusement, you had mercy on him, tugging him by the tails of his trench coat as he wept into your arms. "I can't believe this. My reputation—ruined!"

"I'm certain you'll find some girl who doesn't watch the news," you replied, patting his shoulder in a mock attempt to comfort him.

"Detectives!" a voice hollered from further in the taped-off zone. On further inspection, it was Deputy Minoura who waved the both of you over. It allowed for a momentary respite as the crews turned their cameras away from your faces and onto the building itself, but no one seemed to have greater relief than Minoura, though he raised a brow at your unlikely duo. "Where's your master detective? Is he really too busy to get his ass down here? Should've bribed him with more of those damn sweets."

Despite the severity of the situation, you had to try hard not to laugh. "Actually, he's under watch at the office. The same people who've orchestrated this mess are after him, too."

"Shit," he mumbled, and you felt an instant wave of pity for the poor man. He had a lot of shit on his plate already, if you knew anything about his superiors, and was handed a mostly incompetent task force of barely qualified cadets that depended on Ranpo to solve their problems. Minoura gnawed at the inside of his lip, a hand brushing against the small patch of stubble on his chin. "I'll be frank with you: things aren't looking great. The entire place is on lockdown, and no one's be able to make contact with anyone inside."

You and Dazai eyed each other, not wanting to verbally recognize the unspoken aspect of the situation—the possible chance that everyone inside could already be a bunch of corpses. Neither of you wanted to jump to that conclusion, and while it was within the realm of possibility, it would do more harm than good to assume that was the case right out of the gate. However, the two-hour time constraint remained a further pressure as the clock ticked by.

Dazai hummed. "When's the last time your men swept the perimeter?"

"It's been a bit," Minoura replied. "They've been focused around the main entrance and the roof, so I'll leave the rest to you two for now."

You started your search on the side of the building that faced the harbor, pushing on doors and peeking through windows for the chance there was a crack in their defenses. It took a few minutes of investigating, but it was as Minoura had stated—everything was locked and covered. No loose doors and no cracked windows. Banks were always the worst when it came to any sort of terror situation due to their structure, made like a prison under the perfect circumstances.

"There should be another exit connected to the second floor," you said, pointing back to a staircase you both had yet to look into. "I'll check there while you start on the other side."

His eyes followed you as you ran out of sight, and he hated the abnormal inkling that was itching at the back of his mind, refusing to bubble to the surface. It was aggravating for the genius to be left in the dark by his own thoughts, typically a master of his mind, but the situation itself eluded him. The total lockdown of the bank, the lack of contact from hostages, the tip-off of the media—something wasn't adding up.

It took him another minute before a part of his realization set in.

It shouldn't take you that long to check a fire escape.

Your eyes fluttered open, the thump of your heartbeat deafening your ears like an alarm clock. It took careful deliberations to breathe, the air as thick and warm as molasses on a summer day. The dusky radiance of the moon did little to aid your search as you tried to piece together your location.

It was an abandoned warehouse—a cavernous expanse of shadows and echoed sound. Steel beams crisscrossed above, reinforcing the high-vaulted ceiling that was laden with cobwebs in every corner. Wooden crates scattered about, some sealed with others wide open, stacked haphazardly across slick concrete, shaping into a labyrinth of unknown objects. It would've been the place of nightmares if not for your splintering headache, which placed your fearful reaction on hold as you muttered to yourself, tussling with the restraints that threatened to cut off your blood flow.

"Good morning, Dornröschen."

A man sauntered out from behind a crate, and you shuddered to think he had stood there watching the entire time. He was middle-aged and stoutly built, with tufts of sandy, peppered hair that slicked back to touch his crown, not a strand out of place. In other circumstances, you'd assume he was a foreign dignitary—a walking advertisement for the heights of western-European fashion, dawning a Brioni wool suit and Austrian Oxfords. He repositioned his golden cufflinks, the room thickening with the stench of an oud-scented cologne.

"Nice to finally meet face-to-face, Ms. Kurihara."

The blurred edges of your vision cleared away, and your face shined with clarity. "You're the caller."

He oozed with a cartoonesque delight, clasping his hands. "Correct! And I must admit, you are even lovelier than you sound over the phone, herzchen."

You scowled as he attempted to cup your face with those same grubby hands, leaning away. "Don't touch me."

"A feisty one, hm?"

He jerked a stainless steel flask out of his pocket, monogrammed with initials—E.K. You eyed it before you swallowed a groan, having arrived at a worrisome conclusion. Dazai had been correct. The leader of that aforementioned German reconnaissance platoon, as he had informed you en route to the bank, was a man named Eduard Knopf—and it seemed you had the honor and displeasure of meeting him face-to-face. He had a reputation for being a seedy individual, luring people into deals that always fell through on the other end, leaving the poor soul in debt to both the mafia and their front company.

You hissed when he yanked on your ear, forcing you to meet his gaze. "It's fortunate our efforts didn't go to waste. For all their discernment, your co-workers aren't too vigilant when it comes to guarding their most precious asset, no?" Your nose shriveled in disgust as the smell of whiskey was blown against your face. "Left defenseless without an ability."

You blinked, trying to process everything. "Precious?" you muttered as he released his hold on your ear to take another sip from his flask. "I'm just a liaison. They could easily find a replacement for my position if they needed to. And what about Ranpo?"

Eduard spat out his drink, hacking as he punched his chest to cough it onto the floor. You stared with disbelief and disdain as he went from choking to laughing, almost hysterically.

"What's so funny?"

"This isn't about that infantile detective," he said, wiping a tear—if you knew anything about Ranpo, you knew he had probably detected that insult from miles away. "We have our ways of learning about him and every one of your co-workers. No, that's not why we brought you here."

Your lips pressed together in a tight line. "Then why am I here?"

"Do you not know?" he pressed, tilting his head as if you were supposed to ascertain his thoughts from the sky. "That's possible, certainly, but I'd hate for you to disappoint me. You've been so charming up until now."

"Can I have a hint?" you urged, trying to hold back your obvious irritation as your legs pulled against the restraints.

"Your name was at the top of a list."

Thousands of questions swarmed in your mind, but the one at the forefront was exactly who created this list. It wasn't likely the government—out of all your co-workers, you were the least likely to be put under watch. That honor went to Dazai, with Atsushi barely placing as a runner-up. And it certainly wasn't the Port Mafia; they had no interest in an ability-less woman unless it was for a ransom.

"Who made the—"

"It was found in a database that belongs to the Demon from the North."

Oh. Oh.

"Damn it," you muttered, head leaned back as you resigned to your inevitable fate. "Of course, it's him."

"So you do know! Marvelous, simply marvelous."

But with your newfound clarity, you looked at Eduard with an altered point of view. The revelation shattered your initial assumptions, and your ass kicked back into gear, racking over every detail as you sunk back into an older perspective, careful not to fall too far in. Otherwise, you'd be left to crawl out without a lifeline to hold on to.

"How did you gain access to his servers?"

"We had several spies infiltrate the Rats—some professional hackers that breached into his operating system within a week." His pride was palpable as it spilled over. He adjusted the lapels of his suit with the confidence of a man who had not spattered a concoction of alcohol and saliva across the dirty floor. "So I can assure you that your secrets are in capable hands. We both want the same thing, and my men are prepared to squash these pests once and for all."

"Hm, really?" you hummed noncommittally.

"Of course! All you need to do is tell us what you know. I'm certain the agency will understand the mutual benefit."

He drew his phone out from another pocket, fingers aimlessly mashing at buttons as he tried to search for something. Only a few moments passed before his foot began to tap, the heel of his shoe echoing inside this metal tin of a structure as he became antsier by the second. Fortunately, he found what he wanted and turned the screen in your direction. You squinted, your eyes adjusting to the glaring light of a blurred list. The picture was almost indecipherable, as if a high-schooler had taken it—though even the teens in the agency were likely ten times as capable as Eduard's spies.

"Do you recognize any of these names?"

You deciphered the unintelligible text the best you could manage, but after the first name, it didn't matter. The trend was obvious to anyone featured on it, and a part of you didn't want to say anything, but that would probably cause more problems than necessary.

"I do."

"Perfect!" he exclaimed. "Can you remember any addresses? Cities would work, too."

"It wouldn't matter, even if I did." You eyed him, and the next words you uttered drained the life out of you. "They're all dead."

He paused, stumbling over his gestures. "Are you certain? Everyone on this list—"

"Is dead and buried. Six-feet-under."

He bore into his phone, staring at the list with morbid fascination. "So this is a hit list?" The look he made left little room for comfort. You had to resist the impulse to scooch back in your seat. "You must have some important information, then. Anything you wish to share? I have no doubt we could come up with a little arrangement for your release."

"What do you have to lose?" he chuckled, his phone clicking with each stroke as he preemptively started to draft a message.

"No."

.

.

.

"Excuse me?"

Silence filled the warehouse, the wind of the harbor acting as the only sound. He turned on his heel, his phone limp in a loosened hand. You had no reason or desire to meet his eyes; you were merely looking beyond him.

"He's your enemy," Eduard griped, his brow twitching as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. "Why keep his secrets to yourself? Is it 'cause you're not aligned with our methods? You can't pretend the agency is the epitome of morality."

"It isn't that," you replied, watching the moon as it made its ascent above the window line. "It's just that you're incapable of defeating him."

His voice dwindled to a murmur, dripping with the venom of a snake oil salesman. "My organization has ten times the manpower of that pathetic agency of yours. What could they do, hm?"

"They are the only ones capable of defeating him," you finally met his hostile stare. "Tell me—in a game of cards, what would be the benefit of showing your deck to someone who isn't your ally? And what's the chance that they'd rat you out the moment they were inevitably backed into a corner?"

His mouth outstretched into a vicious snarl, and he toyed with his pocket. "Oh, herzchen. And here I thought you were smart." A flash of metal lustered in the moon's brilliance as Eduard fiddled with the safety of an old Luger pistol—not that you seemed that interested, your eyes distant once more. He smacked the muzzle against your forehead in a vain attempt to allure a reaction but was only met with silence.

"I'll make sure to return you in one piece."

BANG!

The sound deafened the warehouse. Hardened eyes subsided into shock before they glazed over as Eduard sunk to the floor, his head hitting the concrete with a hard smack. Blood trickled into a stream out of the wound in his forehead from the bullet that had pierced straight through his skull.

"You've gotten yourself into quite the predicament."

You acknowledged the speckles of blood on your skin with a wince, a familiar silhouette approaching from the darkness. It had been a minute since you had seen his face, but you knew those intense eyes, only veiled by the thin strands of hair that fell between them. He raised a curious brow as you noted the pistol in his right hand, which he turned to conceal back into his pocket. A hush filled the space once more, the depth of your stare only amusing him.

"You don't look too pleased to see me."

"I can't say I am," you replied. "You're bound to bring destruction wherever you trail."

He smirked, fingers smoothing against the scrape on your forehead. "Is that any way to speak to your savior?"

"You mean my actual kidnapper?" your lip quirked up. "You didn't expect me to believe this was all some sort of coincidence, did you? Don't tell me you think I'm an idiot."

"You, моя милая? Never," he replied, his devilish smile flickering into a softer expression before reverting once more. "It was predictable to partner with the Armed Detective Agency, любимая. It's no surprise they've drawn you in."

"Predictable actions can have unprecedented results. You'll just have to wait for my next move."

He lifted your chin with the edge of his finger, swiping his thumb underneath your jawline. "As anticipated. I'd only expect the best from you."

His fingers danced across the surface of an old switchblade's handle, severing the rotted restraints around your wrists and ankles until you were unbound. He braced your shoulders as you attempted to stand on your own two feet, body unused to your weight from the hours of sitting—it was no surprise that he took the opportunity to snake an arm around your waist, pressing you firmly against his chest.

"It's been too long," he drawled, a satisfied smile pressed against the heated skin of your neck as you tried in vain not to melt at his touch. You found yourself subconsciously returning the gesture, a hand drawing circles up his spine in a manner that always made him fold.

"What're you playing at?"

"It's as you said." He raised the palm of your hand to his lips, kisses intricately placed into every wrinkle before they carefully decorated the marks on your wrists. "It's foolish to show your cards to an enemy. And you, моя милая, are the worst person to show my hand."

You hummed as he left a kiss on your forehead, careful not to disturb the bruise that started to blossom. "So cold you are," he whispered. "To take my heart and wield it against me."

And you allowed yourself to lean into his chest, eased by the subtle beat of his heart. "I could say the same to you, Федя."

The warmth of his hands rendered you motionless, a reminder of balsam smoke in the altars of churches that had been ebbed over the years. For the first time in forever, you indulged in his presence and allowed his soft words to soothe your doubts with every caress. He was temptation itself, and he knew what he was doing. It would be so easy to succumb to his sweet delusions. Your chin was lifted once more, and you knew you wouldn't be able to resist him if he kissed you. But as your lips were about to meet, voices could be heard from further in the warehouse.

"What if she's hurt?"

"I'm sure she's fine, Atsushi," a sardonic voice responded. "(Name)'s a tough woman. She can handle herself."

You looked away from Fyodor, smiling fondly at the racket created by your co-workers. He stared for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh, drawing your attention back in his direction.

"It seems our time has been cut shorter than I anticipated." He left one last kiss against your knuckles. "Until we meet again." He left in the opposite direction, his black coat shielding him from sight as your co-workers round the corner.

"(Name)-san!" Atsushi exclaimed, the stomp of his boots echoing until they came to a halt, split-colored eyes widening at the sight of Eduard's body. "What happened to him?"

Your brow puckered as you racked your mind for an excuse—it was obvious you hadn't done this, but could you possibly tell them the truth? And how would you even start?

Dazai knelt beside the corpse, careful not to displace any vital evidence as he moved disheveled hair away to assess the wound. Clean entrance in the back, messy exit in the front—a shot from behind. His face bowed in contemplation, lines of deep thought etching along his face before he perked back into his normal guise, practically bouncing on one foot in mirth.

"Oh, thank goodness!" he cried, practically bouncing as he took your hands into his in an all-too-familiar manner. "I was so worried something had happened to you. 'Such a waste of beauty,' I said!"

Your response was to flick his forehead, chuckling as he shrank down to the floor with his head in his hands, whining about your 'cruelty' and that he'd 'make you pay for such heartlessness.' Atsushi, on the other hand, was left with more questions than answers.

"Weren't these the same men after Ranpo?" he pressed, scratching his chin. "They never appeared at the agency. What'd they want with you?"

"It seems they believed I had some top-secret information on someone," you replied, messing with the fabric of your sleeves. "They used Ranpo as a decoy to bait me before knocking me out when we were investigating the bank."

"What kind of info did they want?"

You would be foolish not to notice the minute tilt in Dazai's head, an indicator for whenever he was attempting to probe someone. But you weren't a fool, and you stood your ground.

"We didn't have much time to delve into details."

You acknowledged him by returning his gesture, and he stared for a moment before relenting for the time being. It wasn't likely that he'd let the subject go completely, but you needed that precious time in order to think about the endless questions you'd be answering—along with which ones to answer truthfully and which ones to cover up. It was a dangerous game to play with the former mafia executive, but what fun would it be if it wasn't?

The two escorted you outside, and a foul order made you increasingly aware of the reason Atsushi had sounded so worried. Bodies lined the outside of the warehouse; armored men piled in clumps like dead flies as they rotted in the summer heat, their weapons unused as they sat, long dead. Had Eduard sat inside the entire time without realizing his men had all perished?

You looked at them with a solemn expression and tried not to think about it too much. "What happened with the bank? How did you manage to find me?"

"As it turns out, no one was in the bank at all."

You turned back to Atsushi, stupefied. "Huh?"

"Apparently, someone pulled the fire alarm." Dazai stared at the corpses with a similar soberness, eyes distant. "Once everyone was out, they managed to lock down the building. There was no proper way to get a headcount, so it took some time for police to realize that the threat was false."

You sighed, feeling ten times lighter. "At least no one was hurt."

"Ranpo-san was the one who pointed us here," Atsushi interjected, seeming equally as surprised as you were. "He said something about sensing someone underestimating him?"

You laughed. "Yeah, that tracks."

"We'll have to report this back to the Boss." Dazai's face twisted into a malicious expression as he wriggled his fingers. You were very aware of Fukuzawa's responses whenever one of his subordinates was targeted, and Dazai was gleeful in reminding you of that fact. "You'll be in kiddy jail for weeks. Think of how light our paperwork will be—!"

"That man."

You and Atsushi shrieked as Kyouka emerged from the shadows. It seemed that she had followed behind, which hadn't been an uncommon habit in the weeks following her unofficial introduction to the agency, but you and Atsushi seemed to have both forgotten about it. You clutched your heart, taking a deep breath.

"I think I might have an aneurysm."

"That man with the weird hat." You froze. "Who was he?"

"A man with a weird hat?" Atsushi asked, mostly in a rhetorical sense that was a product of his own amused confusion. You wanted to smack yourself—she must've been able to watch from the rafters, a skill the small girl had depended on from her days in the Port Mafia.

You looked back at the warehouse with a wistful expression. "He's...just an old friend."

"Was he the one that saved you?"

The words felt difficult to swallow. "It's usually the opposite."

Before Atsushi could question your weird choice of words, you started to make your way back to the office. He yelled after you for you to slow down, but the sinking feeling in your stomach only forced you to pick up speed. Dazai was abnormally silent throughout the entire exchange, hands dipping into the pockets of his trench coat as he followed where your eyes had been, scanning the exterior of the warehouse. He frowned before deciding to follow the rest.

He'd be sure to interrogate you later.

Fyodor stood on top of the warehouse, obscured from the ground level, as he watched you drift further and further away from him. He took off his hat, letting the winds of the harbor overshadow his rueful expression.

"Let the games begin, моя любовь."

hallo = hello dornröschen = sleeping beauty herzchen = sweetheart любимая = beloved (моя) Милая = (my) dear федя = fedya (моя) любовь = (my) love

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @aureatchi @betweensinners @imhandicapableofmath @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @crayonssz @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira @number1morihater @fyorina @yonseibananamilk @suru1990 @honeymoon38 @saeandscaralover @vnk91t

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

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just saving this for later because gosh your fics and drabbles always slay

note. if you don't see some of my works on here then it's probably because they're really old and I hate them <3 you can search for em tho, they're still on my page but just not on my mlist.

🍰-smut // 🍡- fluff // 🥀 ˚｡ - angst // 🍙 - crack // 🌷- thirsts/brainrots

Multiple character fics . . .

Seething envy [dazai, chuuya, kunikida, ranpo, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍰

Ass tits or thighs? [poe, ango, lovecraft, akutagawa x fem reader] 🍰

What a tease! [dazai, chuuya, fyodor x fem reader] 🍰

Oh, darling! [dazai, chuuya, kunikida, ranpo, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍡

Baby makin' [dazai, chuuya, fyodor, sigma, fukuzawa, oda x fem reader] 🍰

Prettiest when you cry [dazai, chuuya, akutagawa, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍰

Drunk-dazed [dazai, chuuya, atsushi, ranpo, sigma, tetchou x fem reader] 🍰

bsd men with a tall reader [dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍡🍰

bsd men with a short reader [dazai & chuuya x fem reader] 🍡🍰

bsd men x reader with thick thighs [dazai, chuuya, fyodor & nikolai x fem reader] 🍡🍰

bad timing? [dazai, chuuya, fukuzawa & fyodor x fem!reader] 🍰

using the safeword [dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai & jouno x fem!reader] 🍰 🥀 🍡

my pride and joy, my everything [dad!dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai & oda X fem!reader] 🍡

embarrassing moments during sex [dazai, chuuya, atsushi, akutagawa, tetchou x fem!reader] 🍰🍡🍙

fait avec amour [dazai, chuuya & fyodor x gn reader] 🍡

who'd be the best at dirty talking 🍰🌷

eat it like you mean it [dazai, chuuya, jouno & ranpo x fem!reader] 🍰

"what'cha readin'?" [dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai x fem reader] 🍰

Single character fics. . .

dazai ꔛ܀⊹

"wrap your legs around my waist" 🍰

soft sex with dazai 🍰🍡

fyozai 3some 🍰

dazai worshipping your pussy 🍰

skk 3some 🍰

fucking you in a club bathroom 🍰🌷

his hands 🍰🌷

gettin' messy 🍰

dazai with a choking kink 🍰

when the tables are turned 🍰

hair pulling 🍰🌷

balcony 🍰🌷

shibari 🍰🌷

sleepover 🍰🌷

jealousy 🍰🌷

dream 🍰

"too much for ya?" 🍰

chuuya ꔛ܀⊹

"open your legs for me, baby.." 🍰

brat tamer!chuuya 🍰

morning sweetness 🍰🍡

sugar daddy!chuuya 🍰

skk 3some 🍰

fucking the insecurities away 🥀 🍰

calling him bro 🍡 🍙🌷

pussydrunk!chuuya 🍰🌷

soft!chuuya 🍰🌷

goth 🍰🌷

good bitch 🍰🌷

knotting 🍰🌷

19 + 21 🍰🌷

"he's the best big brother ever !"

his first bj 🍰🌷

first time 🍰🌷🍡

'riding' on his bike 🍰🌷

fyodor ꔛ܀⊹

purity 🍡🍰

fyozai 3some 🍰 fyodor x bimbo!reader 🍰🌷

sugar daddy!fyodor 🍰

tying his hair up before going down on you 🍰🌷

taking pics of u 🍰🌷

obsessing over your thighs 🍰🌷

girl dad!fedya 🍡🌷

sub!fedya 🍰🌷

making you read something while fingering you 🍰🌷

brat tamer!fedya 🍰 🌷

fucking his cum back into you 🍰 🌷

fyodor x chubby reader 🍰 🍡

nikolai ꔛ܀⊹

special trick 🍰

biting his thighs 🍰

making you squirt 🍰

sigma ꔛ܀⊹

biting his thighs 🍰

pussydrunk!sigma 🍰🌷

bending you over his desk 🍰🌷

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