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๐”ป๐•ฃ. ๐•Š๐•ฅ๐•ฃ๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•˜๐•–๐•๐• ๐•ง๐•– (๐•ƒ๐•ฆ๐•ง & ๐•‚๐• ๐•ฆ๐•ฃ๐•’) [โ„•๐•Š๐”ฝ๐•Ž]

Koura

๐•Š๐•’๐••๐•š๐•ค๐•ฅ
Joined
Mar 26, 2023
   

โ€DR. STRANGELOVE

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ใƒปโ”ˆ ๏น•แด›สœแด‡แดแด‡s ๏น• แด„แดส€ส€แดœแด˜แด›ษชแดษด แด›แด‡แด€sแด‡ & แด…แด‡ษดษชแด€สŸ แด˜แดssแด‡ssษชแด แด‡ แด„สœแด€ส€แด€แด„แด›แด‡ส€s สœแดœแดษชสŸษชแด€แด›ษชแดษด แด…แด‡ษขส€แด€แด…แด€แด›ษชแดษด แด…แดœส™-แด„แดษด

When she walks into the softly lit office, she's expecting a lecture, a pamphlet, maybe an awkward diagram or two. What she's not expecting, is him. Tall, infuriatingly self-assured and absolutely not the cardigan-wearing grandmother her husband assumed would "fix" her. She's here because her marriage is falling flat in the bedroom. Her husband thinks she's the problem. The man across the desk looks like he's about to prove him very, very wrong.

๏น• แด›สœแด‡ แด…แดแด„แด›แดส€: koura
๏น• แด›สœแด‡ แด˜แด€แด›ษชแด‡ษดแด›: luvia

 
 


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โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฎ
ห–เน‹ เฃญ โญ‘ DAVID CHOI ห–เน‹ เฃญ โญ‘
โ•ฐโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฏ
dr. strangelove | therapist
โ ๐’ฐ๐“ƒ๐“‰๐’พ๐“ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“€๐‘’ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐’พ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ˆ ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐’พ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ˆ, ๐’พ๐“‰ ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“๐“ ๐’น๐’พ๐“‡๐‘’๐’ธ๐“‰ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐“๐’พ๐’ป๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“๐“ ๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“๐“ ๐’พ๐“‰ ๐’ป๐’ถ๐“‰๐‘’ โž


Frowning, David clicked open a file, the fan of his small laptop thrumming into life. Lian Wu.
The medical records he accessed painted a picture of a seemingly normal and healthy young woman, referred to the clinic by her family physician at the request of her husband. Taking his time going through the documents, David could find no single reason why Lian would have needed his services. Marital troubles could literally mean anything.

There was also the unexpected mention of 'frigidity', the vagueness of the term frustrating him to no end. Dr. Wang had not been as thorough as he should have, even if David could understand how discussing such things with Lian's husband might have been complicated, to say the least. Few men could talk openly about such issues. Those who could were rarely good men.

He found himself wondering if Lian was too shy to communicate her needs or if her husband couldn't give the young woman what she truly craved. Chances were that Mr. Wu simply couldn't grasp that his wife had needs different from his. Men were often simple creatures.

The Wu family physician, Dr. Wang, had left a note stating that Mr. Wu thought Lian had changedโ€”how she had been such a lovely young woman when they first met, and how she had since grown distant. That particular comment caused David to scratch his chin, wondering if Lian's husband had omitted something or if Lian was cheating on her husband. That would have also explained the 'frigidity'.

He could recall a case where a couple came to therapy, only to discover that they were both cheating on each other. It was no wonder that they hadn't had time for each other. Amusingly enough, the couple had agreed to stay together, though they had changed the rules of their marriage to accommodate shared needs they had discovered.

Murmuring to himself, the young therapist closed the file, glancing upwards, lost in thought. He wondered whether Lian had been honest with her husband or if Mr. Wu simply didn't know how to connect with his wife. Lian's files had not mentioned how she had met her husband, nor the circumstances surrounding their marriage.

While Lian's medical records seemed impeccable, David was left with a nagging feeling that something was wrong with Lian's marriage. He could not imagine why her husband would have insisted she see a therapist if she were simply unwilling to meet his needs. Usually, problems in a marriage rarely stemmed from only one person.

The mind was a complex and intricate thing, intimately connected with the body. He knew he would have to discuss with Lian, hopefully winning her trust, and then delve deeper to figure out what troubled her. He had treated dozens of young women like her. David did not expect to be able to save her marriage. The fact that she was coming alone was telling.

A tepid knock on the door woke David from the reverie, the young doctor leaning his weight against the table as he pushed himself up, brushing off imaginary dust from the gray vest he wore over his white shirt. Fiddling for a moment, the young doctor closed the laptop, tucking it into one of the drawers, out of the way.

"Come on in," he called out, quickly adjusting his tie even as he turned to the door, conjuring a soft smile on his lips to greet his newest patient. "Please come in, Mrs. Wu. I have been waiting for you." As the young woman eventually stepped in, he bobbed a quick bow, offering her a nod, his eyes taking note of her complexion and posture, an old reflex he could not quite shake off. "David Choi. Please take a seat." He nodded at the worn leather divan that lay against the wall, his mahogany desk and large, well-cushioned chair sitting close by.
 


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โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฎ
ห–เน‹ เฃญ โญ‘--LIAN-WU--ห–เน‹ เฃญ โญ‘
โ•ฐโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฏ
dr. strangelove | patient
โ ๐’Ÿโ„ด๐“ƒ'๐“‰ ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“€โ„ฏ ๐“‰๐’ฝโ„ฏ ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“€โ„ฏ โ„ด๐’ป ๐’ทโ„ฏ๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“ˆโ„ด ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐’นโ„ฏ๐“‡๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘”
๐“Žโ„ด๐“Š โ„ด๐“‹โ„ฏ๐“‡๐“โ„ดโ„ด๐“€ ๐“‰๐’ฝโ„ฏ ๐’ป๐’ถ๐’ธ๐“‰ ๐“Žโ„ด๐“Š'๐“‡โ„ฏ ๐’ทโ„ฏ๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐’น๐’พ๐“ˆ๐“‡โ„ฏ๐“ˆ๐“…โ„ฏ๐’ธ๐“‰โ„ฏ๐’น
โž

Some women got flowers when their husbands were unhappy.

In Lian's case?

She got sent to therapy.

To a stranger with degrees.

The only thing worse than this appointment was the fact that she was actually on time for it.

The elevator hummed upward, each floor number blinking with deliberate slowness. Her fingers tightened on the leather strap of her handbag as she shifted from heel to heel, silently cursing them allโ€”Jin, his manager, the entire Wu conglomerate. The appointment had been dropped into her calendar without discussion, just a text: Dr. Choi. Don't be late. The same tone someone might use to schedule a goddamn teeth cleaning.

Dr. Choi.


She pictured the type immediately: a matronly old woman in orthopedic shoes, cardigan slung over her shoulders, office smelling of mothballs and moral superiority. There'd be diagrams she didn't want to see, pamphlets she'd never read and phrases like 'reignite the flame' delivered without irony. Her husband had framed it as a favor to her, a corrective measure. His exact words had been, You should talk to someone about... this problem.

This problem.


The words still burned.

He hadn't said our problem. Just hers. As though intimacy, in his mind, was a one-way street she had failed to maintain. And now she was here to be "fixed," like an appliance that didn't perform to spec.

Her mind drifted to their wedding, red silk and gold thread, the air heavy with incense and expectation. Their smiles for the cameras had been carefully arranged, like the match itself. Her family's modest manufacturing company had been drowning; his empire in steel, shipping and property, had been the lifeline. The merger of their families was less about love than balance sheets. The ink had barely dried before she was installed in his penthouse, the perfect accessory for dinners and galas.

In private, he treated her like a corporate obligation. Jin was efficient, detached and transactional. In bed, there was no tenderness, no curiosity, only expectation. She was there to meet his needs, and when she couldn't, or wouldn't, he looked at her like a faulty investment.

She wasn't a partner; she was a problem to be outsourced.

The elevator dinged.

Screw this.

She stepped into a hallway scented faintly of bergamot and paper, stopping before a brass plate that read only: Dr. Choi. No first name. No hint. Just another box to tick.

Lian's pulse spiked. Her feet stalled.

I don't want this.

How much more humiliation was she supposed to swallow?

But her father's voice came back, soft yet unyielding: Please, wว’ de nวš'รฉr. Bear with this arrangement for three years. Only three, then you're free to divorce Jin. He'd refused to explain why, only that she must maintain the image of the renowned Jin Wu's perfect wife. No scandals. No trouble. Just smile and wave.

That was one year ago.

With a sigh and a small shake of her head, she knocked once. Her hand found the door handle but refused to turn it, as though crossing that threshold would make this ridiculous charade real. Then, she froze.

"Come on in."​

That... was the voice of a man, not some esoteric ajumma.

Her gaze went to the plate once more, making sure that she'd gotten the right door. And she did. The text never said if Dr. Choi was a man or a woman, but her in-laws were far too obsessed with propriety to risk sending her off to meet a man, let alone a sex therapist, and certainly not alone.

Well.

If anything, this one wasn't on her; she was simply following instructions, as per usual.

The door swung open and she stepped inside, her hat pulled low and a pair of oversized designer sunglasses shielding most of her face. She tugged the glasses off with practiced grace, then stopped. Her breath caught. Fingers stilled mid-motion.

Mercy.

"Please come in, Mrs. Wu. I have been waiting for you."

She swallowed, looking away as she slipped her sunglasses into her bag, but not before her brain had the full ten-tenths of a second to register that this doctor was inconvenientlyโ€”devastatinglyโ€”handsome.

Shit, calm down.

His dark hair fell in just the right degree of disarray, framing sharp cheekbones and a mouth that looked like it could undo you with a single word. A pair of slender-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose, catching the light as he regarded her.

Lian blinked, perhaps a second too late, realizing that he'd told her to sit.

She cleared her throat, offering him a small nod before crossing to the divan and setting down her belongings. With her back to him, she slipped off her felt cloche and scarf, then her trench coat, letting them fall onto the cushion beside her. Her long chestnut hair tumbled free, spilling down her back, and with it came the faint trace of clean, refined florals wrapped in soft musk.

Just get it over with. Let's make this quick.

She turned around, dressed in a fitted cream silk blouse with a subtle sheen, tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt in a deep charcoal.

"I was told you were expecting me. A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Choi."

A lie. The lie rolled off her tongue smoothly. Of course, it wasn't a pleasure. She'd rather be anywhere elseโ€”like, say, trapped in an elevator with a rabid Pomeranian.

She sat down, regarding him with wariness yet curiosity.

"So... how exactly does this work? Do I talk and you nod, or the other way around?"
 
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