[arelyvn]

A REAL MAN - SJY ༄.°

Jake Sim, son of one of the most wealthiest CEOs in Australia. Who also happens to be the man your parents set you to marry at 20 years old, and now—five years later, the father of your child. You and Jake have a..rocky relationship to say the least. The real question is, who’s going to be the first to break?

sim jaeyun x fem! reader

content warnings: smut, fluff, slight angst if you squint, arranged marriage, reader and jake have a kid, forced proximity, unprotected sex, pussy eating, breeding, fingering, masturbation (m & f), nipple stimulation, tit obsessed jake (he’s also pussy drunk asf), wet dreams, squirting, teasing, stubborn/avoidant reader, suggestive jokes, jake calls reader “mama”, mentions of alcohol and controlling parents, featuring Sunghoon and Jay. Just know Jake wants it real bad and he’s kind of pathetic.

word count: 21k (I got carried away)

this builds off of my jay fic here: Sweet Desire, but it can be read alone

The day you were informed of the arrangement, your whole world crashed on you. To be fair, you knew it was coming, your parents made sure of it. The constant reminders to not waste time on the boys around you because you were bound to marry one of their choice.

Jake Sim, Son of one of the most wealthiest CEO’s in Australia. Before you married him, you met him briefly when your parents dragged you to Australia to confirm everything. You had no choice of course.

One thing you didn’t miss was how handsome he was. Not to mention that ridiculous accent, if it hadn't been an arrangement you would have definitely gone after him.

He didn’t love you though. Not in the way husbands love their wives. Because this was all for one thing, to join your families. And that's all he saw it as, just another task his parents assigned for him.

After you got married, he didn’t touch you for almost eight months. The only reason he did was because both of your parents, demanding, constantly asking why you haven’t announced your pregnancy to them. 

The night he did touch you that way, he could barely even look at you. If he was being honest, he enjoyed it but he wouldn’t dare to admit that out loud.

It felt good. You remember the feeling of him, the sounds, the words he let slip out in the moment, but after that it was meaningless. 

You lived together during the pregnancy, he helped you, he was caring. Caring in a way he hadn’t been before you had his child in you. Over the course of those nine months you grew a special connection together.

Becoming a mother was something you expected, but you had always thought of it to be different, not something arranged, a duty needing to be fulfilled.

Like the movies you would watch, the books you secretly read, maybe even the dreams you had, but then again—do they really always come true?

Then the arguments started, the fighting. He never laid a hand on you, never hurt you, but most of all he never touched you sexually again. Was it because he thought it wouldn't be good? Because you were no longer ‘fit’?

Which was many people's explanation why their husbands wouldn't touch them. But you constantly reminded yourself, he’s hardly your husband, this is simply an arrangement.

Which is exactly why you’re in your car now, with your four year old daughter, driving to Jake Sim’s house to drop her off for the week. 

On paper you two are married, but in reality you moved out when your daughter turned one. You couldn’t handle it anymore, and you figured it would be best if she didn’t grow up in a house full of arguments from the people who were supposed to be her role models.

Jake didn’t seem to mind, his time mostly consisted of working, trying to expand his knowledge on his father’s company which he was going to inherit. 

One thing you did agree on, was that you were able to see other people, date whoever, fuck whoever. Obviously you both had needs, needs that you weren’t willing to fulfill with each other. The only thing was you couldn’t introduce said person to Layla.

“Daddy said he’d buy me the whole barbie section from the store!” Your daughter says, playing with the dolls he apparently just bought her a few weeks ago.

“You already have all of them right sweetheart?” You ask, turning into the gated neighborhood, the houses are pretty spaced apart since they're huge. You don’t understand why he didn’t just move to a smaller place afterwards,  6 bedrooms is extremely unnecessary for one man.

“Not the camping ones” she looks out the window as you pull into his driveway with a smile on her face. You glance down at your outfit, So what if you are wearing something nice, and a little more makeup then normal..nothing wrong with dressing up a little. 

You move to the trunk to get the backpack with everything she needs from your place before getting her from the backseat “You ready Lay?” You ask helping her out, and holding her hand as you walk to his front door, before you're even on the front porch the door opens, you pause, she lets go of your hand to run to him, jumping in his arms. 

He’s wearing some jeans with a casual sweater, his hair styled, but messy at the same time. “Aw, sweet girl, you missed me?” He says hugging her back, holding her in his arms.

He offers a tight lipped smile to you before inviting you in, “I wanna play with the barbie house!” She says, squirming to get out of his arms, he puts her down, watching as she runs off to the living room to play.

You set the backpack down on the kitchen island before looking around, nothing seems different from the last time you were here.

“The drive was okay?” He asks, walking past you into the kitchen, hips brushing yours. You don’t know if it was intentionally, but you do know every nerve in your body felt it. “Yeah, traffic wasn't terrible.” You nod, slightly cringing at the attempt in small talk. 

“Im going to use the bathroom” You say abruptly, “Second door on the right.” He offers, “I know.” He lets his eyes drop to your outfit for a split second before you disappear down the hall.

You walk to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you before bracing your hands on the counter, looking up at your reflection. 

God, you're actually pathetic.

You wait a few minutes before you flush the toilet, you didn't even have to use the bathroom.

Jake moved to the living room, sitting on the couch watching Layla play with her toys with a smile on his face. You don't look at him before crouching down beside her 

“Mommy’s going to leave now okay?” You smile softly, “But I want you and Daddy to both play!” she frowns, looking at Jake than at you, you can't help but share the same frown before leaning in to give her a hug, she wraps her arms around your neck.

Jake watches the interaction, he cant help the slight ting of guilt that hits his chest, he watches you pull back to kiss her forehead before standing up. 

“I'll walk you out” he stands with you, following you to the door, you step out before turning to face him “I won't be able to call her goodnight tomorrow.” You say, watching him lean against the door frame, eye brow raised.

“Why?” he asks the question like it’s his business to know. “I'm just- I’ll be busy.”

“Ah, a date?”

“What- Thats none of your business” You say defensively 

“So a date then.” He sighs, watching the way your face morphs to irritation.

You dodge his question “No ice cream for dinner.” You mutter before turning to walk to your car, he closes the door once you drive off, before putting his attention back on his adorable daughter.

-

“She’s dating now? Damn, about time.” Sunghoon mutters, putting down the weights he was just lifting.

“About time? No, fuck no.” Jake replies back, grabbing heavier weights just to feel something. “Why’re you pressed about it? You’ve fucked plenty of girls since.” Sunghoon says casually.

“Well it’s–different..” 

“Nope, not that different.” 

“You’re not helping.”

“Did you guys not agree to do just that? It’s not like she’s getting married to another guy. She probably just needs to get laid.” Sunghoon offers bluntly, earning a glare from Jake.

Yeah, that was the agreement, but it doesn't help the thoughts going through his mind. Sure he’s had plenty of useless fucks, using his hand gets boring. But he hasn't dated officially, so you going on a date, just makes shit worse.

“When was the last time you actually got pussy then?” Sunghoon asks, finishing his set of bicep curls.

“Shit, like a few weeks back–”

“That’s why you’re so fucking frustrated.” He says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

“How’s things going with that Sara girl?” He questions, downing his water

“Who?” Jake asks, genuinely confused

“Sara, the girl you met at the bar?” 

“Oh–I don't know, She’s just kind of..boring.” 

“Wish she was y/n huh?” Sunghoon smirks 

“Bro fuck you, when was the last time you–”

“Last night.” Sunghoon replies immediately, Jake opens his mouth to speak, closes it.

“Okay, what were you saying about the weights?” Jake asks, changing the topic, earning a laugh from Sunghoon.

As soon as Jake gets home, he wakes up Layla, who attempts to sprint down the stairs just to see the guest he brought back.

“Hoon!” Layla practically screams, running up to his best friend to give him a hug, “Hey Lay, Just had to stop by to pick up something” Sunghoon smiles down at her, the cocky bastard exterior gone, making Jake roll his eyes. “The papers are in my study. I'll be right back.” Jake says, walking upstairs.

Sunghoon is his best friend, someone who he can really trust. He’s one of the few people in his life who know about the arrangement between you and him.

He also happens to work at his fathers company, one that Jake will soon inherit. The only steady thing in his life consists of work at this point. 

He can't help the laugh that slips past his lips when he sees Sunghoon sitting on the ground, holding a fairy barbie and talking in a pitch way too high for a 25 year old man.

“No! You were supposed to give up your wings so mermaid Barbie can swim!” Layla says in a sharp tone talking to Sunghoon “Sorry, sorry, take the wings please–” He apologises as if he’s scared of upsetting her-

“Having fun?” Jake smirks walking over to him “So much fun” Sunghoon replies standing up and taking the papers from him.

“Bye Layla, ill see you soon” Sunghoon says, rubbing Layla's head before turning to the door “Gym same time tomorrow?” He adds

Jake nods, walking to the kitchen as the front door shuts.

“Hm I guess ill just eat all this ice cream by myself” Jake says loud enough, less then 10 seconds pass until Layla's running over to the kitchen with a smile on her face.

-

The date was genuinely horrible. Some guy your friend tried setting you up with, all he did was talk about himself the whole time. You slip off your heels before stepping inside your house, who knew listenting to someone brag about themselve could be so fucking exhausting. 

You’re so sexually frustrated it's insane. Since when did finding a quick hookup become so hard? You crawl into your bed not bothering to change out of your dress. 

You lay there for a moment, contemplating, before deciding to reach into your side drawer, pulling out one of the things that has kept you sane this entire time.

You hike up your dress to your hips before brushing your fingers in between your legs, feeling the dampness coat your fingers through the thin fabric of your panties. You push them to the side before clicking the button on your vibrator.

The low buzz filling the silence of the room before you bring it down to your core, your hips instantly jolt at the feeling, you rub small circles on your clit with it, pinching your nipples through your dress before closing your eyes, trying to imagine someone else pleasuring you, bringing you closer instead of yourself..someone like–Jake..

Oh hell no.

You open your eyes, turning off the vibrator before sitting up. “No, no, absolutely not.” Anything but him, anyone but him. It’s like the universe wants you to think about him as his name flashes across your screen.

“Fuck.” You whisper, grabbing the phone, you fix your hair in the reflection looking back at you before clicking accept.

“Hey y/n, Layla wanted me to call you, she said she wouldn't sleep unless you said goodnight–are you good?” He pauses, looking at your flushed face on his phone

“What? Good, yes I'm good- why are you asking that. Just show me Lay.” You feel your heart racing in your chest, why does it feel like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't.

“Okay.” He simply says before giving Layla the phone

“Daddy said you wouldn't be able to call tonight but I still wanted to see you” Layla pouts, you can't help the warm feeling in your chest at how cute she is “I'm here now sweetheart, I hope you sleep well and have good dreams okay?” You say sweetly, blowing her a small kiss before Jake takes the phone back.

“Goodnight Layla” He says, you don't see his face but you watch the lights turn off and listen to the sound of the door shutting. “Alright bye-”

“How was the date?” He asks, walking to what seems to be his room and sitting on his bed, the camera is now on him, you watch him push his black framed glasses up his nose with his finger, fuck, why are his hands so damn hot.

“What–” 

“That bad huh?” He chuckles, the sound low, in amusement. “It's none of your business.” You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“I think it is my business what my wife does.” That has you fucking shook. “Your wife? Are you serious right now?”

“Very. If the date went well, you wouldn't have answered the phone. Yet here you are.” He can't hide the smirk that coats his face. “You have no room to talk–” You snap back, “You just answered my question for me anyway” He dodges your statement, with a proud look on his face, God–he’s such an ass.

“I’m not talking to you unless it's about Layla. Goodnight.” You say, tone stern before hanging up.

What the hell is wrong with him? You knew he was a cocky asshole the second you met him all those years ago.

But you can't deny, he’s a damn good father.

-

You got the call in the middle of the day while making yourself coffee in your offices lounge.

“Is she hurt?” You ask frantically, packing your bag and letting your boss know you have an emergency.

You don't have to work honestly, you're wealthy enough to spend your days slouching around the house, but you like being on your feet, because sitting down for too long is when the overthinking happens.

“No Mrs. Sim, She’s not hurt, but she did lay hands on another student. Which is completely unacceptable here.” The Director of Layla's pre-school says.

“Did you call her father as well?”, “Yes ma’am, Mr. Sim is on his way right now.” She says cliply. You let out a sigh “I’ll be there right away.” You say before hanging up and getting in your car immediately.

Once you get to the school, you see Jake pacing outside of the Director's office, he’s in a suit, he must have just come from work too. You smooth down your blouse and business pants before walking over to him, the sound of your heels being the only thing in the empty hallway, he stops to look at you, not having time to fully take you in

“Where is she?” You ask, hand gripping your phone hard. “They took her to a different classroom, some bullshit about needing to calm herself down.” He says, pushing his hair back.

“Layla would never do something like this, not just because anyway. There has to be a reason.” You bite your lip in frustration before knocking on the door of the office. “Come in.” you hear the stern voice of the Director say, before looking at Jake who nods. 

You both walk in, taking the seats in front of her desk, “Good evening Mr, and Mrs. Sim, I'm sure you know why I've called you here.” She says, eyes darting between the two of you.

You can't help the way your hand grips your phone tighter at the use of the last name, the one that feels like it doesn't even belong to you. “We also do not tolerate any form of violence here. Since this is the first and hopefully only time, we've given her a warning, due to the..circumstances of the action.” You raise a brow at that 

“What ‘circumstances’?” Jake asks, tone serious. “Well, another student had actually taken her..barbie doll, and–” She clears her throat “Ripped the head off..” She finishes, looking at the both of you and the confused looks on your faces

“So she kicked him.” You see Jake slightly relax in his chair, “So she was just defending herself then.” He offers, “Well, in a sense, but it's still not acceptable, like I said we forbid any violence. So there is another reason I called you both here today.” You raise your brow as she continues talking

“Is there something going on at home?” She asks, looking at you then at him. You scoff at that “No, everything's perfectly fine.” You simply say, you watch the way Jake shifts in his chair, earning a glare from you and a curious look from the director

“And you Mr. Sim?” She says, “Right, Yes everything's fine, nothing more than the perfect family.” He smiles, that performative one you always see in the business photos. “Good to hear. Layla should be waiting outside, Thank you for coming all this way.” You nod, before standing up, Jake follows after you. 

As soon as you see her, you crouch down to her level in the chair “Lay, baby–” You look down at the doll in her hand, ruined.

“Layla-” Jake whispers, sitting down next to her, she looks up at you, tears in her eyes, her face slightly red from crying earlier. You swipe them away with your thumb gently “H-he took it from me..a-and he broke it mommy” She says, voice trembling, you look up at Jake, you see that familiar look of anger flash on his features.

“I k-kicked him..I know I shouldn't have Im s-sorry” She says before breaking into a sob, and hugging you.

You hug her back immediately, hand smoothing down the back of her head before looking at Jake, He doesn't say anything before standing up and storming back into the directors office, shutting the door behind him. You don't stop him either, because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

You pull back to look at her, your heart hurts to see her like this. “Listen, I'm not saying violence is okay, but I'm glad you defended yourself okay?”

You tuck her hair behind her ear “I don’t want you to solve problems with violence, do you understand?” you ask gently, she nods looking down at her barbie ashamed, you press a kiss to her forehead before standing up. 

Jake walks out of the office not even 5 minutes later, "I've got the kids parents contact, he wont mess with her again.” Is all he says before picking up Layla in his arms and walking outside to his car, you follow after him, watching as he buckles her up in the car. He swipes a thumb over her cheek gently before shutting the door and turning to face you. 

“Perfect family huh?” You cross your arms over your chest, watching his face “She bought it.” He simply says. “Yeah, you’re pretty good at lying.”

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means what I said.” You reply back snappy 

“Yeah okay y/n, im not doing this shit” He rubs his nose bridge before looking at you again “Typical of you, being an avoidant asshole.” You don't know where this is coming from, but you can't stop the words from coming out, the pent of frustration boiling in you.

He sighs, looking down at his shoes before back at you, something you can't quite pin flashing in his eyes. “I’ll see you on Friday.” His tone is sharp before turning around and getting in his car.

You don't say anything before walking to yours, the sole of your heels digging into your feet irritating you, but nothing can possibly be more irritating than Jake Sim.

-

Friday comes sooner than expected, Jake messaged you a brief “On the way.” 20 minutes ago.

You opted for some lounge pants and a sweater today. “Mommy!” Layla's bright voice says the second you open the door “Hi angel” You smile when she hugs your leg, before looking at Jake.

He’s wearing a navy suit today, glasses. You try not to think about how good he looks in those glasses.

You look down at the pink backpack on his shoulder “Oh- um, you can come in–” You say, walking back.

The place is perfectly curated to how you want. So much more different than his house, You don't see the deep inhale he takes.

It smells so much like you. “You can just put the bag wherever” You say briefly. “Y/n-”

“Mommy guess what!” Layla drags your attention to her, you tilt your head “Daddy said we're going to Italy with grandma and grandpa!” she says, tugging your pant leg, you don't smile. You look up at a very nervous looking Jake,

“Oh really sweetheart?” You ask, still looking at him. “Yup! Grandma called” She giggles, you lower yourself to the ground to talk to her face to face “Can you go to your room angel? Me and daddy need to have an adult conversation okay?” She nods, completely clueless that she just practically dropped a bomb on you.

When you see she’s down the hall you whip your head to Jake “What the fuck?” You look at him eyes wide

“I know, okay I know.” He buries his face in his hands, “When is this happening.”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks Jake, are you serious? When the hell were you planning on telling me?”

“Come on y/n. You know how they get. They want us all to be one big happy family or something–” He sighs “Who else is going "

"I don't know, it was brief.” You look at him like he has two heads “No. No I cannot do this, I absolutely cannot fucking do this.” You walk to the kitchen, pacing around, he follows

“Like what the fuck was going through your head when you said I would go?” You try not to raise your voice so Layla doesn't hear.

“If I had a choice I would have said no. You know how they are, they expect you to be there.” He says, watching you.

“How long is it?” You ask, trying to remain sane.

“A week.”

“No fucking way, no actual fucking way.” You don't even know what to say. “I cannot be stuck in Italy with you for a week, no way in hell.”

“Geez, didn't know I was that bad.” He says, leaning against the counter, like he belongs in your house. 

It’s true, Jake isn't horrible, he picks up, he doesn't snore, too loud anyway. But that's not why you're stressed about this. It’s because you don't know what could happen.

“There's more..” He says, watching your reactions

“No.” because you know exactly what he’s going to say, you can feel it.

“They dont want us to stay at the estate with them in Milan. Something about us needing ‘couple time’.” You're going to throw up. You're actually going to throw up in front of him.

“I don't need them to butt into our–relationship, it's perfectly fine how it is right now.” He doesn't say anything to that.

“I know y/n. I tried to talk them out of it, but they are dead set on it.” You sit down, you can't be on your feet right now, you inhale and exhale, trying to calm the rapid pace of your heartbeat.

“I’ll probably be taking care of shit for the company anyways, it’s this whole thing with our partners from America–” He sighs, hand running through his hair in irritation.

“Okay. One week, seven days. Not bad, I can do that.” You voice your thoughts out loud unknowingly. You see him check his phone, “I have to go. We can talk about this later.” 

“Thats it? You're just leaving again? Dropping this on me?” You stand up, following him to the front door

“In case you weren't aware, I still have a company to run. Trust me I'm not thrilled about this at all, so don't get it twisted.” He says, looking down at you. 

“Fuck you.” 

He scoffs at you, “You’re fucking ridiculous.” he mutters before walking down to his car. You watch him for a moment before slamming the front door behind you. The pain in your chest doesn't go away, even when you tuck Layla in for bed that night. 

-

“Holy shit–Yeah, you might actually be fried,” Sunghoon says, not bothering to ask before sitting down at his desk across from him. “What does that even–” Jake mutters, running his hand through his hair. Attention that was once on the laptop before him gone. 

“All I'm saying is that this is not good, I mean when was the last time you two were actually together for more than one hour?” He doesn't respond

“Exactly.”

“I still haven't told her about the room situation.” Sunghoon laughs at that.

“So what? You’re just going to sleep in the same bed together” Jake nods, rubbing his eyebrows in thought “You gonna be able to resist then?” 

“What do you mean–”

“You know exactly what I mean. Let's not forget the fact that every woman you’ve been mildly interested in represents her in at least one way.” Sunghoon says, bluntly.

Jake looks down at his computer, not even bothering to argue because it's true. He made sure of it.

“I don't know, okay?” he finally says, that makes Sunghoon do a double take

“Shit. I wasn’t expecting you to admit it.” 

“Its not fair. Nothing about this is fair to her, to me. I just wish they would fucking stay out of it.” He mutters, almost to himself. Thinking back to when he first met you, he couldn't deny the immediate attraction he felt, but it all felt like this was just another thing given by his parents, you were just a task, a duty he had to fulfill. 

“It’s going to be torture. Having to put up that front, that everything is okay. Making it believable to all of them. When this whole situations fucked up.” Jake says, standing up, looking down at the city from his office window.

“I can’t say I understand it man, but if I was you, I'd meet up with her. Tell her how it’s going to go, I mean.. maybe she won't make it a big deal, right?” Sunghoon suggests, shrugging.

Sunghoon also doesn't know you as well as he does.

—“No, I dropped her off an hour ago.” You put your phone on speaker before setting it down on the bathroom counter.

“So you’re home right now?” Jake asks, you roll your eyes.

“Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Mhm, I'm working from home.” you say, trying on some designer dress you bought specifically for Italy.

And yes, obviously you would be excited to go, It’s not like you actually have to be with Jake the whole time anyway. You can spend some time by yourself, or with Layla.

You slip off your bra, the braless look is better for this type of dress anyway. “-outside”

“huh?” you ask, completely forgetting you were on the phone. “Im outside” He says like its the most normal thing

“Wait what-” You look at yourself in the mirror and then back at your phone “Im at the door y/n, let me in.”

“Fuck, fuck–shit” you hiss

“What, do you have someone you don't want me seeing?” That pisses you off even more. You storm downstairs, swinging the front door open with an irritated look on your face.

His gaze drops to your feet, the miss matched socks, to the extremely short, almost see through dress, to your face, and then the messy pony tail on your head.

“Playing dress up huh?” He says, walking in. You scoff before shutting the door, watching as he walks into your living room and sits on your couch.

“What are you doing here? I already said Layla was at pre school.” You walk to the living room, standing in front of him “I need to talk to you about Italy.”

“Okay what about it?” you ask, attitude leaking from your tone. “And aren't you supposed to be at work?” You look down at him, his outfit, black dress pants, to the white button up.

“No, meeting got cancelled.” Even if he was the one to cancel it himself. He decided to come straight here after talking to Sunghoon.

“Okay, spit it out then.” You cross your arms over your chest, he lets out a quiet chuckle. God, you need to be put in your place so bad sometimes.

“I tried requesting a separate room, but my parents found out about it.” He says, casually unbuttoning his shirt collar “So what the hell are you trying to say?” 

“You know exactly what I'm saying y/n.” He runs his hand down his face “Look– its one fucking week okay? Just play the part–”

“Of the perfect wife. Right.” You don't even bother sitting next to him. “We don't even have to talk to each other, I mean– when we get there we obviously have to see my mother and father, maybe the partners from America.”

He pulls out his phone “Great.” You watch him scroll through it. “This is a pretty big fucking deal for us y/n. Not everything is about you okay? You knew what you were doing the second you signed that contract five years ago.”

He stands up, gripping his phone tighter than normal in his hand. You open your mouth to speak–close it.

Jake immediately regrets his choice of words, of course you didn't know it would end up like this– separated family, separate houses–

“Y/n–” He drops his head, biting his lip in concentration “Get out Jake.” You watch the way his eyebrows furrow. You two stay there like that for a moment, in a silence, before he turns away from you. You only look at him when he speaks, his voice rough.

“I’ll message you more details later.” He says, shutting the front door behind him. You scoff, sitting down where he just was, trying to keep your cool, even if the very thing you want to do right now is slap his stupidly perfect face. 

-

You refused to take his offer of being driven to the airport, which was probably really stupid considering you were literally going to ride in his private plane, While also staying with him in Italy, while playing the part of his wife.

So obviously you wanted to hang on to your last ounce of dignity, even if paying for parking at the airport was definitely avoidable.

You look for the woman that Jake said to follow once you got to the airport. Spotting her immediately since she stood out, young, pretty.

You recognized her from when you were dragged to past work events, ones that you left 30 minutes into after making your appearance as Jake's “wife”. 

“Mrs. Sim,” She nods at you, offering to take your bags. “Thank you.” You reply shortly, falling into step beside her as she leads you to the plane, the very spacious one to be exact, from the brown leather reclining seats, to the marble accented ceilings.

You spot Layla immediately, she's sitting next to a man you recognize, Park Sunghoon. He's smiling down at something she said, holding one of her barbies in his hand. The woman next to you stares at him for a moment before facing you.

“Mr. Sim is talking to the Pilot, he wanted me to let you know this is your seat as well” She points to the window seat, among the many other ones, ah–so he's assigning shit to you now.

You set your bag down on it before walking over to Layla, “Hi angel” You smile down at her, her eyes lighting up the second she sees you “Mommy!” She yells in a high pitched tone, standing up in the seat and holding her arms out, you take her in your arms, hugging her back. 

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Sim” Sunghoon says with a smirk, the tone he uses for your name hitting a nerve only someone as cocky as him could.

“You as well, Park.” Layla twirls a strand of your hair, before wiggling out of your arms, a sign she wants to be put down.

“Here you go Miss. Layla” Sunghoon hands her the fairy barbie in his hand, eyes looking past you to the woman you were talking to earlier..

You turn around, taking Layla to your seat.

Jake comes through the Pilots cabin shortly after, glancing down at you, his eyes softening when he looks at Layla beside you.

He stops at where Sunghoon and the other woman are sitting across from each other, both with their laptops out.

“You two do realise you don't have to work while we're on the plane. Save it for when we actually get to Milan.” He sighs,

“I just like to stay ahead.” The woman says, “Let's just say I'm feeling motivated.” Sunghoon adds, eyes not living Jake's other employee. “Yeah– okay, just don’t kill eachother.”

He rolls his eyes, walking back over to where you and Layla sit, you give her the tablet you occasionally let her use, along with her pink unicorn headphones, she happily takes it, leaning against your arm.

Your hand mindlessly brushes through her hair as Jake loosens his tie, his blazer discarded already. You look down at your outfit, a pair of nice fitted jeans, silk blouse, before looking back at him.

“Whats up with those two?” You ask, nodding behind you to where Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker sit. “Ever since I hired her, Sunghoon has had this– inferior complex thing going on.” He sighs, leaning against the cushioned plane seat.

“When they work together, they definitely get shit done, but when they argue it's annoying as hell.” Jake says bluntly, glancing down at Layla, whose focus is on her tablet.

“Oh, I see.” You reply quietly, looking out the window as the plane begins rolling for take off. 

-

After an extremely long flight, and parting ways with Jake's coworkers, you finally arrive at his parents' estate in Milan.

“Just play the part” He nods at you, moving to open the car door and get Layla from the backseat. You two don't even have a chance to mentally prepare yourself when you walk in, to see Jake's mother and father both at the door.

Ignoring you and Jake, their focus immediately goes to your daughter “Princess!” His mother says, Layla skips over to her, giving her a hug, “Grandma! Grandpa! I missed you” She says, voice filled with joy, something that both you and Jake can't mirror no matter how hard you try.

His parents finally look at the two of you, “Nice to see you y/n.” His mother says, you smile tightly. “I need to talk to you son, it's about the partners from America.” His father says, giving Jake a pointed look, he fixes his posture, looking at you for a split second before following his father to his study. 

“Mommy, you and Daddy will still come and see me right?” Layla looks up at you, eyes wide and childlike.

“Of course sweetheart, we just have important stuff to take care of” You smile down at her, before looking at Jake's mother for a split second, if you looked a little longer you would see the brief concern across her face.

She has no right to feel concerned for you though, considering she's one of the reasons you're here in the first place. 

Jake shuts the door behind him, following his father to his desk in the center of the room. “My assistant got the dates wrong for when you were supposed to come.” His father says, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“What do you mean she ‘got it wrong’? You couldnt have let me know that before I flew my fucking family out?” Jake says, irritation written all over his face.

“I would have, if I knew. Park Jongseong landed a few hours after you, trust me this isn't ideal for either of us.”

“I need you to go to the Park international office headquarters before you and y/n head where you are staying. He expects you to be there, not for long, just to confirm meetings and etcetera.” His father says, leaning against the desk.

“This is a fucking mess.” Jake groans, running his hand through his hair. “Just get this done, there's going to be issues bigger than this when you actually fully take over the company son, take care of it.”

For some reason, that makes Jake even more upset. Hes fully aware of how this all ends up becoming his responsibility, hell, his whole fucking life has revoled around it, just a bunch of deals, negotiations, arrangements.

“I’ll handle it.” Jake straightens moving to the door, not looking back at his father as he approaches you.

“We need to go.” he looks at you for a brief second before he faces his mother and Layla in her arms. “Bye angel, mommy and daddy will come see you later this week okay?” His voice is gentle when talking to her

“Okay!” She says cheerfully, playing with Jake's mother's expensive diamond necklace, His mother leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Drive safe okay?” His mother says, giving him a look of warning.

“I know.” He sighs, walking towards the door, you give Layla one more kiss on her head before following him. Somehow it feels like all of this is a bad decision. 

“Where are we going.” It's not a question, it's something you're demanding to know as he pulls out of the stone driveway of his parents estate.

You look at him, his tense jaw, to his hands that are gripped on the steering wheel dangerously tight. “The Park International Office.” He replies back, eyes not leaving the road. “Okay, drop me off before then.”

“No.” 

You scoff, looking at him in disbelief “Why the hell not?” you ask, irritation leaking in your tone. The same tone he recognizes so well from when you two actually used to live together, even before you were pregnant with Layla.

“The faster we get this over with, the better.” His voice is stern, unmoving. “Fine. Don't expect me to be all enthusiastic and shit to meet your fancy clients.” You add a mocking flare to the last words, this time he actually looks at you, disbelieving.

“Gosh– I forget how fucking bratty you get.” He says, slight amusement leaking from his voice.

“Can’t forget how much of an asshole you are.” you reply back, rolling your eyes. He pushes his tongue against his cheek, gripping the steering wheel harder. 

As he puts the car into park, taking off his seatbelt, he pulls his black framed glasses from the center console, putting them on. You try not to notice the way they sit perfectly on his nose bridge.

“Just play the part.” He says low, opening the door, walking over to open yours but you already got out the second he did. You smooth down your silk blouse, he reaches to hook his arm around yours but you pull back.

“Y/n.” you let out an annoyed sound before taking his arm, the touch foreign, yet almost comforting in a way you don't want to admit. 

You see Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker once you enter the building, both with irritated looks on their faces as if they were arguing before falling into step beside Jake.

Sunghoon smirks down at you, before looking at Jake with his brow raised in a knowing look. You watch everyone's eyes follow a man, black hair, sharp features, even sharper jawline as he approaches you.

Jakes hand rests low on your waist, you feel the heat radiation off his palm through your shirt.

“Mr, and Mrs. Sim” He nods politely at you, before doing the same to Jake's coworkers out of respect. 

Jake nods back “Mr. Park.” He nods back, you cant help but notice how the man in front of you also looks like he doesn't want to be here.

You stay by Jake's side, even as the man you now recognize as Park Jongseong speaks business, the woman from the plane writing down things on a glass clipboard, while Sunghoon joins the conversation with them.

You sigh, slightly annoyed, your performative exterior crumbling the longer you have to stand by his side. 

What felt like hours, but was most likely only 30 minutes of having to perform as his ‘perfect little wife’ you two finally got to the place you were staying, an extremely nice estate, it was almost like a penthouse, overlooking the water.

You still don't understand why you and Jake couldn't have stayed at his parents estate, but you guess this is what everyone insisted on.

You shove past him to get in the room, ignoring the way he glares daggers at the back of your head, only to pause when you reach the bedroom.

He follows after you, letting one of the room service workers bring in your stuff. You both freeze, staring at the bed.

The rose petals covering the white comforter, you feel your cheeks flush when they land on the condoms, assorted to make some sort of heart on the nightstand, you quickly move, opening the drawer to shove them inside of it only for your whole body to still.

“What the fuck–” Your eyes meet a pair of handcuffs, next to them, a bottle of unopened lube.

You swear your whole body is on fire, “I-Is this some kind of like– sex resort?” You turn to Jake, gaping at him. 

He looks like he's at a loss for words, hand clutched tight around the suitcase handle. You move past him to the room service workers who are bringing in your stuff.

“Hi, sorry, I think we have the wrong room, I'm confused with all the–stuff laying around.” You can't help the slight tremble in your voice, the woman unloads your suitcase off the carrier, before standing straight.

“Ma’am, this was booked specifically with the additions to it.” She says warily.

Jake follows out the bedroom, realisation dawning. Sunghoon.

He should have known better than to have the idiot be the one to book where to stay.

“Shit.” He mutters, before looking at the woman, and the other two who helped bring your stuff up here

“You may leave, Thank you.” He hands her handfull of money, you couldn't see how much, but from the slightly shocked look on her face, you knew it was more than needed. 

The door shutting behind them, leaving you and Jake in a penthouse in Italy, alone.

One that practically screamed sex, you crossed your arms over your chest, giving him that look.

“Sunghoon booked it. I was busy with meetings– Fuck, I knew I shouldnt have let him.” He takes off his glasses rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“God, of course he would do something like this.” You look around, besides the..stuff, it was a really nice place, probably the nicest you could have gotten, but that was expected with how wealthy he was.

You sigh, not looking back before walking towards the bedroom to unpack your things.

His eyes follow you, trailing a path down your body, the way your jeans cling to your hips, swaying in a way that could make any man weak.

Example being the way some of the men in Park Jongseongs office eyed you down. 

You looked around the room- hell, Even the bathroom held the same aura as the bedroom, built for something intimate.

The shower lining the back, completely open, besides the glass in the middle, one shower head on the left, and one on the right, a fair distance away from each other, the dark tile made it feel even more dangerous.

This whole place was just one big temptation, with Jake being the center of it all. 

-

For being in the same penthouse as him, it was surprisingly easy to avoid each other. He mentioned something about Sunghoon, and this and that, in which you were half listening, half trying to ignore the way his short sleeved button up fit him.

There must be something in the air, there's stuff for that right? Perfume that makes you obnoxiously horny. Because that's the only reasonable explanation. 

You finish blow drying your hair, running the detangling oil through it, the one that smells like fruits.

Checking the time, 9:48. Layla is probably already asleep, you open your phone, checking for any notifications, a part of you already knows who you're looking for.

“Im so fucked.” Jake groans, hair messy, glasses forgotten, the first few buttons on his shirt open, his tone chest revealed.

He takes the drink the bartender offered him, her hand grazing his at the exchange, Jake doesn't even notice it. 

Sunghoon raises a brow at his state, looking at the woman behind the counter now serving a group of girls vodka shots.

The music isn't too loud, considering he specifically wanted a bar that wasn't meant for too much partying.

Jake looks around, the couples sitting down, happy, intertwined.

“Like I said, you just need some pussy.” Sunghoon mutters causally, looking as composed as ever.

“Yeah, hers.” Jake mumbles, making Sunghoon laugh, actually fucking laugh in his face. “I take it back, no amount of pussy is gonna save your ass.” 

“Fuck Hoon– they even put flowers on the bed. Don’t even get me started on the handcuffs either.” Jake rubs his temple in irritation.

“Hey, it took some real convincing to get them to go all in with the kinky shit.” Sunghoon raises his hands in defense, like that makes it any better.

“What makes you think I even–”

“Trust me, I know. Real recognizes real.” He says through a smirk. Jake can't help but let out a huffed chuckle, filled with amusement, and also disbelief.

“You know, this is honestly your fault.” Jake levels his gaze, downing the rest of his drink.

“You sure you don’t just need someone to blame for your heart throbbing obsession with your baby mama?” Sunghoon says through that shit eating grin he wears when he knows he's right. I mean hell, he might just be. 

Jake shakes his head, trying to get rid of any irrational thoughts, focusing on the truth, you want nothing to do with him in that way.

You probably hated him, most likely wouldn’t even be talking to him if it werent for Layla.

“Alright prove it then.” Sunghoon says, challenging. Jake raises a brow suspiciously, “That bartender right there in the tiny shorts, she's been eyeing you this whole time. You were too busy sulking about how much you want to fuck y/n to notice.” Sunghoon pauses for a moment, watching as Jake looks at the woman, her eyes locked on his before turning back to him.

“Flirt back, see where that leads you.” Sunghoon finished, downing the rest of his drink.

Jake chuckles, although there's no amusement filled in it, just straight up boredom. “Im not flirting with her, let alone fucking her.” Jake says, voice low.

Sunghoon's eyes light up immediately, victory gleaming in them. “Knew it.” He shakes his head, knowingly.

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it as his screen lights up with a notification. Jake watches as Sunghoon picks up his phone, reading whatever it is, typing, sending, and standing up.

“We’ve been here for less than 24 hours and you already found someone?” Jake asks, a tone of exhaustion.

“You already know it.” Sunghoon offers a playful wink, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Don’t forget about the meeting we have with Park Jongseong either, The Prada ambassadors are also attending.” Jake says sternly, his voice he uses for business coming out.

“Yes, sir.” Sunghoon chuckles, leaning against the stool for a second “You good for tonight though?” he asks, slight concern around the edges.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I'm headed back soon anyway.” Jake says, giving him a tight smile, Sunghoon watches him for a moment, before parting ways.

Jake stays for about five more minutes before standing up and walking back to the penthouse– to you. 

He's always been good about handling his alcohol, plus he didn't have much to drink anyway. So when you hear the sound of the door being unlocked, shut, and footsteps coming to the bedroom, you attempt to put on the facade of being fast asleep.

He walks in, closing the bedroom door shut behind him, eyes immediately on you, curled into the sheets like it was natural.

He doesn't know what comes over him when he walks over to your side of the bed, wanting to get a closer look at you, because it's been so.. so long since hes seen you like this.

He can't help himself when he brushes a finger over your cheek, it takes everything in you to stop your body from reacting.

“What are you doing to me..” He whispers, low, that you almost couldn't hear it. The slight smell of the crisp fresh air, his signature cologne,  and faint alcohol lingering off of him.

He steps back immediately, touch gone from your skin, like you burned him, or like realisation finally dawned.

You don't open your eyes yet, You listen to the sound of his footsteps, descending away from you, moving to the bathroom. 

You let out a breath, the one you've been holding ever since he opened the bedroom door, your heart beating rapidly, in a way it did when the boy you had a crush on in high school glanced your way. Childish, stupid. 

The shower feels big, empty, even more so as the cold water hits his skin repeatedly, hardly helping with the burning of his body, or the way his dick throbs the second you invade his thoughts without permission, again.

He’s fucking pathetic, you have every right to hate him.

In this moment of him being alone, surrounded by the dark, the dimmed lights illuminating the cold bathroom, all he can think about is how he would do anything to go back in time.

Put his fucked up pride to the side, anything to not be in this situation right now, with this need– not just for anyone, not for some random woman, but for you.

Because it's something about you, not just because of Layla, not because you’re ‘forced’ to be in each other's presence, he can't deny it anymore.

He can’t deny that he’s utterly obsessed with you, and absolutely fucked. Just like Sunghoon said. 

-

Falling asleep last night might have been one of the hardest things, considering you could practically feel the heat radiating off his body the second he slipped in the bed with you.

You stayed turned so you were facing the large balcony slide door, watching the moonlight seep in.

You didn't want it to affect you this much, but somehow it still did. So after finally getting the strength to get up, and get ready for the day, because you might as well attempt to enjoy being here in Italy. 

You see Jake, standing up at the edge of the counter, taking a sip of some expensive coffee.

“Took you long enough.” He tries, and fails to hide the way his eyes roam down your body, the way the floral dress clings to you, it could be considered modest, but the way it hugs your curves, makes him think things he probably shouldn't.

You raise your brow in question, closing the distance to make yourself coffee as well. He places a mug in front of you instead, catching you off guard.

You turn to look at him, eyes scanning his face, the glasses sitting on top of his head to the rather simple outfit he's sporting today.

“Whats with you, do you want something?” You ask skeptically.

Fuck yeah he wants something, preferably you though, sitting on his face perchance?

“Am I not allowed to make coffee for the mother of my child?” He turns fully, using the counter as support to lean against. 

You level your eyes even more, “I was going to head to the estate, see Layla, maybe we can take her out for the day.” He takes another sip of his coffee, brushing past you to place the mug in the sink.

“Together?” You ask suspiciously, confusion settling in your tone. “Yes y/n, together.” He says like it's the most obvious thing. Like you two do this all the time, when in reality you don’t even remember the last time he suggested something like this, if he even did.

“I mean we're both here, she's always going on about how she wants us both.” He offers lightly, watching the way your face softens.

“Okay then, for Layla.” You clarify, taking a sip of the coffee he prepared for you, the rich taste settling just right. 

“We also have dinner in 2 days with Park Jongseong and his girlfriend.” He adds in casually. Washing the mug off in the sink.

Your brain pauses for a moment, processing what just came out of his mouth. “Knew you wanted something.” You chuckle, but it's humorless.

“Its one fucking dinner y/n.” he turns, facing you. “Yeah, and a whole week of being here, stuck with you.”

He opens his mouth to speak, closes it. “We can talk about this later. Right now let's focus on Layla.”

He says it like he's being the bigger person here. As if he's not dropping things on you left and right, and that irritates you even more.

But you don’t fight it, because a part of him is right, you two can stop your bickering for a few hours to spend time with your daughter. 

-

“The purple one?” Layla asks, looking up at you, than at Jake, you glance down at the gelato in front of you, “One lavender please” You smile at the man behind the counter as he scoops it into a cone, “One lavender Gelato for you” He hands it to her, her eyes lighting up as she takes it,

“Anything for the happy couple?” He asks, eyes darting between you and Jake, you don't notice the way he stills beside you. “Can I get the Raspberry please?” The kind man nods, handing you the cone, some of it dripping on your hand due to the warm weather.

“Ill take the salted caramel” He pays for it, walking on the other side of Layla, “Should we sit at the table?” You ask Layla, looking down at her as she tries to keep up with the steps you and Jake take, her pigtails swaying with her, you smile at how happy she is.

“Yes!” Jake helps her up, taking the seat next to her, you settle for the one across from them.

Jake smiles at Layla, as she goes on about something related to her toys, and how ‘Hoon’ needs to come back and play as the fairy doll again, his eyes go to you, the light pink gelato dripping down your hand, the way your tongue darts out to lick it off.

It's like his body reacts before his mind does, he reaches over, swiping his thumb across the bottom of your lip, the gelato that dripped being cleaned up.

You freeze, eyes immediately on him. He retracts his hand immediately, “Sorry– you had something-” He stops talking when the sound of his phone cuts through, picking it up and reading whatever is on his screen.

“Are you done, Lay?” Jake looks down at Layla beside him, she nods, “Let me guess, you have somewhere to be?” You ask unsurprising. 

“Its Park Jongseong and the Prada ambassadors— nevermind” He replies blandly, standing up and helping Layla, you chuckle, but not in amusement, or in surprise, because you knew this was going to happen anyway.

“Come on Lay, you know..” You smile down at her, before looking up at him, a certain glint in your eyes. “Daddy apparently has better things to do.”

You can feel his eyes boring into you, you don't look at him when you stand up and hold her hand. Who cares if it's childish, or bratty, you’re right anyway.

“I love you angel, be good okay?” You press a light kiss to Layla's forehead, Jake gives her a hug, before heading to the front door, you offer a tight smile to his mother before following after him. 

You don't bother looking at him, or trying to talk to him once you're both in the car. You watch as Sunghoon’s name flashes across the screen, a call.

Jake looks at you for a second, before hesitantly pressing accept. “Final fuckingly man, had me thinking you actually got some–” “You’re on speaker Sunghoon.” Jake cuts through his words.

“Oh shit.. Uh– hey y/n” you can practically see the fake concern on his face. Jake sighs, urging him to continue

“Right so, Park Jongseong’s assistant said the Prada ambassadors are already at his office, they're just waiting on us.” Jake bites down on his lip, hard. “Fuck– okay, tell them ill be there shortly.” 

“I got you, don’t get too distracted..” Sunghoon says through a chuckle before hanging up. You feel a slight blush coat your cheeks at that, turning your head more towards the window to avoid Jake's gaze.

Every few minutes, he can't help when his eyes shift to you, the faint sunkissed glow coating your skin, the way your dress clings to your body–

You regret the way you acted earlier, it was a little bratty, and petty..but then again you've always been, at least according to him.

He puts the car into park, unlocking the door, you don't say anything but before you step out, you turn your face towards him.

“About earlier.. It was uncalled for, I understand you’re busy, I shouldn't have said that in front of Layla.” You bite on your lip nervously, a habit he's noticed since the day your parents introduced the two of you. 

He raises a brow, a playful smirk on his face “Are you apologizing?” He asks, eyeing you up and down

“What– I mean.. I-” You stumble over your words, making him let out an amused laugh “It’s fine y/n. I know I'm not the best..” He pauses, looking down for a split second to think of the right word “..arrange..ment.” he cringes at the end,

“I try for Layla, even with the shit from the company piling up.” His hand rests steady on the steering wheel, You watch his face, his eyes, taking in the sincerity.

“You’re a good father, Jake.”

You don't try to put on a forced smile, before stepping out of the car fully, shutting the door behind you, the second you're out of sight he buries his face in his hands, letting out a strangled groan. God– you’re killing him, so fucking slowly. 

-

“Fuck– Ive been wanting to do this for so long” Jake says through a groan, pounding ruthlessly into you. You mutter something back, face buried into the soft pillows beneath you, not even caring about the saliva coming out of your mouth from how hard he’s fucking you. 

“Want me to fill this pretty pussy up again?” he leans down, pulling your hair back to expose your neck, hips slamming into you, making your back arch against his chest. You're a moaning mess under him, his teeth nip below your ear, his free hand holding your hip, grounding you as his thrusts grow sharper—

Jake freezes at the door of the bedroom as soon as he opens it, eyes wide looking at you, the sheets tangled around the ends of your feet, almost your whole body exposed, the oversized T-shirt you're wearing ridden up to reveal a glimpse of your underboob, your light pink sleep shorts practically sticking to your core, a faint outline of your pussy visible even through the clothing layers with how wet you seem to be.

Theres no fucking way– 

A whine escapes your lips, or was it a moan? He can't help but step closer, lingering at the edge of the bed, your body squirms, thighs squeezing together in a poor attempt to satisfy the throbbing heat between your legs.

The smell of you so fucking delicious, clouding his senses. He almost feels sorry for you, gosh you must be desperate if you're having a wet dream in the middle of your shared bed with him. You let out another small noise, or was it a word? 

He brings his finger up, gently swiping away a bead of sweat from above your eyebrow, trailing down your arm, lightly over the curve of your exposed hip, leaning closer to hear you better

“J-Jake..” You whisper, barely audible, he stills, stepping back, running a hand through his hair.

Fuck this is wrong.. This is so, so wrong, He looks down at you again, biting his lip in thought. 

He ultimately grabs the sheet, bringing it up from your feet to cover your body, trying to ignore the heat of your skin.

This cannot be real. He glances down at you one more time before going to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft click, leaning against it.

Letting the cool crisp air swallow him, anything to get rid of what he's feeling right now. He looks down, the hard bulge now clearly visible in his pants.

Bringing his hand down to palm himself through them, he hisses at the contact, how sensitive he is right now. 

He wastes no time unbuttoning his shirt, discarding his pants and underwear next, stepping inside of the big shower, cool tile against his feet, he turns on the water, the warmth coating his skin.

The water drips down his body, he lifts a hand to steady himself against the black tile wall, bringing his other down to wrap around his thick cock, practically standing on its own, tip angry and red from how much he's neglected his own pleasure.

Pumping his fist once, a bead of pre cum slips out of the slit, mixing with the warm shower water as it drains beneath his feet.

“Fuck..” He groans, fucking into his fist faster, leaning his head back as the water falls onto his face, his mouth hangs open, he closes his eyes, trying to imagine what you were thinking about, fuck his name sounds so pretty coming from your mouth, especially like that. 

His groans grow more ragged as he strokes himself faster, “y/n..” he bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood as his warm cum spurts out, coating the dark tile wall, dripping down, making a mess on his hand, he looks down, eyebrows furrowed as he attempts to milk every last drop, watching as the water washes it away.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, almost pitying himself and this whole situation. 

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed, the bright sun shining in through the sheer curtains illuminating the bedroom.

Even in the shower as the warm water hits your skin, you couldn't shake the dream you had last night, how real it felt, the way he spoke, the way he touched you– the closeness of it all, so vividly in your reach. 

You decided, well actually you were technically forced to use this day for yourself.

He was working. In all honesty, he didn't have to, but being with you again, alone, was killing him. 

You were enjoying yourself, as one would do in Italy of all places, soaking in the warm sun on the balcony, book in hand when you got the text, the one that made your phone vibrate a little too loudly against the glass side table.

Something about it already told you it wasn't going to be good.

Jake: Client dinner tonight with Park Jongseong and his girlfriend. 7:00. Your dress is being dropped off now. I’ll be there at 6:45 to pick you up. Clean up for me, yeah?

You read the message once, twice, practically hearing the smugness in his voice at the last few words.

You type out a reply, delete it. He smirks down at his phone, seeing that you read it was enough. 

Exactly 30 minutes later, the same woman from the airplane stands at the front door of the penthouse, garment bag in hand.

“Thank you.” You give her a soft smile, one that she attempts to mirror back, handing the dress to you. “Mr. Sim informed me you had the jewelry you needed, but if you need me too I can arrange–” 

“It's fine.” You reply back dryly, she pauses for a moment “God, Sorry I'm just stressed” You fold the dress over your arm.

“Thank you, and yes I have everything I need.” You say, breathing out. She offers a tight lipped smile, giving a polite nod before walking back towards the elevator, you shut the door once she's out of sight.

“Oh my gosh–” you gape at the dress, fully taking it out of the garment bag, laying on the bed before you.

The dark red contrasts with the white sheets, the cut a little too deep for something like this. You glance at the time on your phone, 5:26, if you start getting ready now you should be done before he gets here.. You bite your lip, contemplating. No harm in starting early, you have nothing to do in the meantime anyway. 

“Y/n–” Jake's eyes trail down your body, shamelessly, like he has the right– “You look..”

“Dont.” You hold your hand up giving him an almost strict look, while also suddenly feeling conscious of how low cut the dress is, the silk material soft on your skin.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, eyes staying glued to your chest without you knowing before putting the car into drive. 

Park Jongseong, or Jay, as his girlfriend called him came in shortly after you and Jake sat down, the restaurant had a warm glow to it, truly an elegant place.

His girlfriend had the most genuine smile on her face. The dinner was going smoothly, as anything work related with Jake could be until she asked a question that had both you and Jake tensing beside each other

“So, How long have you two been married?” She asks sweetly, genuine curiosity in her eyes, you look at Jake for a split second, missing the way Jay squeezes her thigh, “Um- well we-” Jake interrupts quickly

“We had Layla four years ago, so around that.. Time.” He says, clearing his throat. The conversation quickly switches thanks to Jay.

The ride back was quiet until Jake decided to open his mouth. “Do you think I was too obvious?” He asks, eyes on the thin road before him, you turn your head from the window, looking at him, analysing the nervous way he brings his lip between his teeth, the slight movement of his jaw.

“What? About how we’re not actually the perfect, happy family you seem to paint us as?” You ask, a surprising calmness in your voice.

He shoots you a look, eyes dropping to your lips for a split second, before looking away just as quickly.

You scoff, “Anyone with half a brain could see.” 

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” He pulls the car into park, looking at you, expecting an answer.

“Im not doing this tonight.” You reach to open the car door but he stops your hand, grip tight, not enough to hurt, but enough to assert something deep. 

“No. Tell me what you mean.” You shake off his hand, the heat of it too much on your skin, praying that he didn't notice the way your pulse spiked the second his skin made contact with yours.

You sigh, facing him fully.

“You don't act like my husband Jake. You never have, anyone could see that. Honestly, we're practically strangers at this point, the only thing keeping us together is Layla.”

You pause, trying to point out whatever emotion is flashing behind his eyes before continuing with a sigh, “Our marriage is a mere title, so dont be fucking shocked when it becomes clear as day to everyone else.”

“Y/n—“ he starts but you’re already leaning away. He doesn't stop you when you open the door, shutting it a little too hard behind you as you make your way into the building, the sole of your heels digging into your feet in a way that makes you want to throw them on the ground.

Jake slams his hand down against the steering wheel, running a hand through his hair, he turns off the car, locking it behind him before following you, because no way in hell is he ending the night like that. 

Your heart is racing when you shut the door behind you, all while resisting the urge to sink to the ground.

You take off your heels by the door, immediately removing the unnecessarily heavy jewelry from your neck and ears.

You hold your hand up to your chest, feeling the consistent beating of your heart. The familiar click of the door lets you know Jake just walked in. 

You stand up quickly, moving to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, acting as if it was another barrier between the two of you.

Without a thought you slip off the red silk from your body, letting it fall to the dark tiled ground. Walking into your side of the shower you turn on the water, letting it warm up enough till the steam is visible, you’re in need of anything to drown out how you're feeling right now, you step under it, letting the water fall into your hair, wetting your body, the steam clouds around you, almost creating a blanket in the open coolness of the bathroom.

You thread your fingers through your hair, letting the water seep into every bit of your scalp. The warm, dimmed light of the bathroom reflecting slightly off of the dark glossy tile wall before you. 

Jake tosses his keys on the marbled counter, swinging open the bedroom door, only to find it empty.

The faint sound of water falling onto tile seeping out from under the bathroom door has his attention immediately.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning against his knees.

God, he's going to regret this.

He stands up, taking off his tie with practiced ease, doing the same with his belt, untucking his white button up, and unbuttoning it halfway before opening the door to the bathroom, the fan does nothing to get rid of the steam filling the open space. The large glass wall is fogged up, he can almost see the outline of your silhouette if he squints. 

You don't see him, or hear him, the only sound filling your ears being the water hitting your skin and the tile beneath your feet.

You turn to the side slightly, eyes closed, he traces the curve of your breast, swallowing before unbuttoning the other half of his shirt and discarding the rest of the clothes on the ground beside your dress.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, looking down at his flushed dick practically standing on its own from how fucking hard he is. 

Jake steps in, turning on the shower head a few feet away from you, the new heat bringing a fresh cloud of steam to cover you.

He doesn't look at you as he steps under the water, letting it wet his hair. You watch him, a slightly stunned expression on your face “Jake–” The word comes out breathless, almost pathetic.

He chuckles low. “Y/n.” He glances in your direction, eyes staying on your face.

The awareness kicks in, that you're in the shower alone, with only a few feet of distance between the two of you. 

You can't help your eyes, you really tried, but they trail down his body, his toned form.

Fuck, hes definitely been working out.

Your eyes ultimately land on his cock, watching the way the water drips down his body. The wetness forming between your legs has nothing to do with the shower water falling on your body, and everything to do with him. 

He notices you looking, even with the barrier of steam between the two of you.

He doesn't bother turning off his shower head, closing the space between the two of you. His hand reaches out, not touching yet. Completely lost in the moment.

You let out a noise, it was supposed to be a word, maybe for him to stop?

No, it was definitely for him to keep going. When he speaks it comes out rough, uncontrolled, so  different from how he speaks to everyone else. “Strangers huh?” You don't meet his gaze. 

He brings his hand to your chin, forcing you to look in his eyes, his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, your mouth opening almost on command.

His cock jumps at the sight. The warm water soaks through your hair, the sensation of it forgotten with this new heat before you.

“Do strangers do this?” He brings his hand down, tracing your collar bone with his finger, you shudder at the touch. 

He smirks at the way you're body reacts to his featherlight touches.

You gasp when his finger circles around your nipple smoothly. “Fuck, these tits are perfect” He brings his other hand up, repeating the motion on the other side.

You shudder, letting out a breathless sound, your nipples hardening from his teasing touch. “You’re sensitive huh?” He chuckles down at you, nudging his cock against your stomach.

“Shut up..” You’re cut off when he gives both of your nipples a firm pinch. “When was the last time someone touched you like this?” He asks, voice low, only for you to hear even though you’re alone.

He brings one of his hands lower, just past your belly button, pausing for an answer. You shake your head, closing your eyes. 

“Come on mama, give me words.” He encourages sweetly even as his cock jumps at the sight of you before him like this.

“Not since you.” You whisper so low the sound of the shower water covers it. He shakes his head, inching down lower, cupping your soaking heat in the palm of his hand, you let out a moan, reaching both hands out, grabbing his veiny forearm to steady yourself.

He slowly rocks his palm against you. “Say that again.” He presses harder, reaching around to tilt your head back so he can really see. 

“I said, not since you.” He lets out a sound that you definitely aren't mistaking as a moan.

“Fuck–” He bites back his words, hand still cupping you, your juices leaking past his fingers, blending with the warm water pooling beneath you both.

“So this whole time..” He pauses, removing his hand from your heat, earning a whimper from you, "..you've had nothing but these.”

He lifts your right hand up, brushing over your middle and ring finger, the touch gentle. 

You nod, a slight blush creeping up your face, a part of you would feel a little embarrassed, maybe ashamed if not for the situation right now.

“Show me.” He urges, bring your hand down, he backs you up a few inches until your back is flushed against the cool tile walls, the warm water contrasting,

“You have to do it too then..” You look down at his cock, veins prominent, tip aching. He follows your gaze, smirking.

You two match each other's pace, you spread your legs ever so slightly, the best you can for standing up, rubbing small circles on your sensitive bud, the feeling even more exhilarating with him watching you so intently.

The little ‘ah’ sounds you’re letting out sending pulses straight to his dick. He brings his own hand down, swiping his thumb over the slit of his cock. Mouth hanging open as he wraps his hand around the base.

You feel yourself get even more wet at the sight, the desperate huffs he's letting out, his eyes don't know what to focus on, ultimately landing on your pussy when you push one of your small fingers in, the squelching noise so clear above everything else, he lets out a groan, a bead of pre cum leaking from his tip.

“Let me taste you” He breathes out, hand stopping your wrist. You freeze, looking up at him “Please..I- fuck, I need to.”

He brings your fingers up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick before sucking them clean, the sight alone draws a wrecked sound from you.

“Jake..” You whisper out, dragging your fingers out of his mouth, smearing them on his chin, he looks so pathetic like this.

He reaches beside you, turning down the pressure of the water before lowering himself to the ground, his eyes never leave yours.

He lifts one of your legs, pressing a light kiss on your inner thigh, trailing smaller kisses closer to where you need him most, he rests your leg on his bare shoulder, completely exposing you to him,

“You dont know how fucking bad ive wanted this y/n..” He whispers breath ghosting over your slick folds. “..how much I've craved this, even all those years ago.”

You bump your pussy against his face and he wastes no time licking a stripe from your hole to your clit, you arch against the cool tile wall, pressing yourself even more on his face, his hands travel up your body, cupping your ass in his hands, palming the soft flesh, bringing you impossibly closer.

He's completely lost in you, not letting a single drop of your arousal leak anywhere except in his mouth.

His nose nudges your clit every time he fucks his tounge into your hole, “Yeah.. fuck, f-feels so good..” You bring your hands up, lacing them in his wet hair.

He mumbles something back, the vibration making your hips jerk, he brings one of his hands down from your ass, sneaking it up to replace his tongue with two of his slender fingers, the new feeling so different from your own fingers.

He looks up at you, the way your head is thrown back against the cool wall, mouth hanging open, fuck you’re beautiful like this. 

He latches his lips onto your aching clit, flicking it with his tongue as his fingers work your tight hole.

You tug his hair harder, encouraging him without words, his fingers inside of you curl just right, hitting a spot that has you seeing stars, he sucks even harder on your clit, feeling your walls flutter around his fingers, greedily sucking them in.

A moan, almost a scream escapes from your lips as a fresh round of juices flood out of you, soaking the lower half of his face, he greedily drinks everything you let out, not letting a drop go to waste. 

He lowers your leg back on the ground, pressing a light kiss to your thigh before leaving wet ones up your body, kissing his way along your jaw, your cheeks, your lip–

He pauses when he feels your body tense against his. His lips less than an inch away from yours.

“Whats wrong–” He leans back slightly, eyes darting across your face “I..I cant” He tilts his head, hands still on your waist but a confused look washes over his face

"I'm not going to force you to do anything mama, but why?” He searches your eyes for an answer “Jake– we haven't even kissed since the wedding” 

“Y/n, you just let me eat you out, which to be fair I would do it a thousand times more, but a kiss is too much for you?”

You bring your hands up, burying your face in them “Fuck, I know okay? We were just caught up in the moment–” You don't see it, but he's looking at you with genuine sadness, not because you won't go any further, but because you’re not even comfortable enough to do so,

“Baby-” he starts, bringing his own hand up to pull yours from your face but you stop him, moving around, too ashamed to even look in his eyes.

“We can just forget this happened okay?” His hands fall to his sides, “But-”

“Please, I–I can't go through it again.” Your voice cracks, a pain sharpening in your chest.

He opens his mouth to speak but you turn before he can, grabbing a towel from the nicely folded pile, the water feels cold now, almost limp as he stares at the spot you were just standing in. 

He licks his lips, the faint taste of you still lingering.

He curses himself for acting on instinct, it was too fast and he knew it. But how couldn't he? You’re irresistible, the only constant desire in his life that never fades. So no, he's not just going to ‘forget this’.

He'd be stupid to.

-

You try to ignore Jake's eyes on you throughout the plane ride, focusing on anything except for him, whether it's Layla showing you something on her I pad, or Sunghoon and Jake's other coworker bickering over something useless.

It's best to just pretend like nothing happened, so treating him the exact same as you did before this trip is the best way to do that. 

You grab your bag from the overhead bin, helping Layla put her dolls in her small backpack, moving to get off his plane without a word, when he grabs your wrist.

“Sunghoon.” He says, eyes not leaving yours for a second. Sunghoon closes the distance, “Take Layla to y/ns car.” he nods before picking her up, Jake's other coworker follows after.

You turn fully to look at him, arms crossed over your chest in annoyance. “What?”

“I’m not forgetting what happened.” His eyes drop to your lips, making it known he's looking.

“Well I am.” you try to reply calmly, composed. But there's a slight tremble in your voice, one that he doesn't miss. Something washes over his face.

He straightens his shoulders “Okay.” Is all he says before brushing past you, leaving you in the middle of the wide aisle.

Him with the last word, one that you're trying to make sense of. Because there was so much more hidden underneath it, a part of you doesn't even want to know. 

You see Sunghoon crouching down to Layla's level, saying something that makes her giggle. He stands when he sees you, a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“See you later Mrs. Sim.” You roll your eyes, opening the car door to help Layla get inside, closing it.

“Park.” You call out, Sunghoon stops, turning slightly with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Make sure he doesn't do anything reckless.” 

He lets out a low chuckle, looking at the ground before his focus is back on you. “I can try, but I can’t promise anything.” Is all he says before offering his infamous wink, hands tucked nonchalantly in his suit pant pockets, walking away.

-

Everyone has different ways of coping, sulking around could be one.

But that was never something Jake found relieving. So here he is, at some club with none other than Park Sunghoon.

“You’ve got this sexy dad look about you..” Some girl, who he doesn't even remember the name of says, fingers brushing over the collar of his shirt along the thin silver chain that clings to his skin. 

Jake's attention is brought back to her, she's a pretty girl, short black hair, but nothing she's saying is interesting to him.

She presses closer to him, purposely positioning her tits on his arm, teasing. She thinks she's being subtle but it's painfully obvious.

He looks over her shoulder, at the dance floor where Sunghoon has his hands on some blonde girl's waist as they practically dry hump each other.

He chuckles, the girl in front of him beaming proudly, thinking she's the one who made him laugh. 

“Do you wanna maybe..” The girl leans in close, standing on her tip toes to reach his ear, lips grazing “..get out of here?”

He looks down at her, boredom plastered on his face. “No.” Is all he says, the girl raises her brow, offended.

Jake takes another sip of his drink, not even sure what one he's on. She scoffs, stepping back from pressing against him

“What do you mean ‘no’?” She asks accusingly. “No, as in I don't want you.” He states in an obvious tone. 

Sunghoon curses under his breath whispering something into the ear of the woman he's dancing with before walking through the crowd effortlessly to get to him.

“Fucking—” She yells, a little too loudly, to the point where Sunghoon can hear it a few feet away, and heads are turning towards the scene.

Jake rolls his eyes, “Im not interested.” He shrugs, downing the rest of his drink, the girl straightens to say something else, but Sunghoon cuts in between the two.

“Alright, I think it's time for us to go!” He says a bit too energetically, hand resting on Jake's shoulder. The girl rolls her eyes “Your friends an asshole.” She mutters before walking away to go flirt with some other guy, Sunghoon turns, facing Jake completely now. 

“What?” Jake asks, like it's completely normal.

“Dude, you were the one who said you ‘needed some pussy to take your mind off things’ and when a chick practically throws herself at you, literally by the way, you reject it?”

Sunghoon looks Jake up and down like a mad man, "She's not her.” Jake mutters, voice low, as if you could hear him talking right now. 

Sunghoon chuckles, actually fucking chuckles at his state. “Oh I see, let me guess, you did some shit, right? Thought with your dick instead of your head?”

When he doesn't respond, Sunghoon laughs in his face. “I should’ve known, man.” 

“I fucked it up.” Jake groans, running his hand through his tousled hair, down his face, the slight stubble that he let grow a few weeks after the Italy trip scratching his hand roughly.

“You didnt fuck her right?” Sunghoon asks, an unfamiliar seriousness in his voice. “What– thats” “Okay thats answer enough.” 

“Maybe try actually sitting down, having a conversation?” Sunghoon suggests, trying his best with advice.

“She won't even look at me, and besides that she acts the same. But it fucking hurts.” Jake sighs, leaning against the bar counter.

Sunghoon watches him for a few seconds, making a ‘yikes’ face “Damn, you really got it bad huh?”

Jake pulls out his phone from his pocket, fingers finding their way to your contact, he clicks on the messages, the last thing in the chat being a photo of Him, Layla, and you eating Gelato in Italy together.

In the photo, someone might actually think he had the perfect family, beautiful wife, and daughter. If only they knew.

Jake types something, fumbling over the keyboard, Sunghoon looks down at the phone, eyes widening

“Absolutely fucking not.” He snatches the phone from Jake's hand earning a glare “I need to talk to her.” Jake says firmly.

“Not when you’re wasted like this” Sunghoon chuckles, tucking the phone in his own pocket. “Give me the fucking phone Hoon.” 

“No, because you’re literally going to kill me tomorrow for letting you text her.” Sunghoon backs up a step, Jake takes a step forward.

“Or I could now for not letting me text her.” Jake levels his gaze on him, “Alright fine” He says finally, pulling out the phone from his pocket

“Let me do something first though” Jake watches as he types something random on his phone, multiple times before realising “You fucking–” Jake snatches his phone back, 

iPhone Unavailable

Try again in 3 hours

“Whoops” Sunghoon shrugs, before his attention is pulled from the same blonde girl from earlier tapping his shoulder, Jake watches as his flirty persona immediately makes a comeback

“Bathrooms empty if you wanna..” Jake blocks out the rest of the words, signaling the bartender to come over “Do you guys have a phone I could borrow?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his tone, the younger man nods, handing him one from the counter.

Sunghoons eyes turn back to Jake for a split second to see him dialing your number “Fuck– fuck, no.” He snatches the phone from him, cursing before turning to the girl he was just talking to,

“Gimme a few minutes okay baby?” Sunghoon says to the girl, she blushes and nods, his attention goes back to Jake and the phone immediately.

“Hello?” You say confused, sitting up in bed, trying to see if you heard the words right.. Maybe someone accidentally called your number?

Sunghoon curses, glaring at Jake who shrugs with a cocky shit eating grin on his face. “Yeah, hey Y/n.” Sunghoon says, defeat evident in his voice. “Park?” You ask, now fully seated up in your bed.

You turn up the volume, the faint sound of music and chatter in the back, but the sound of him bickering with someone covers most of it, you only catch every other word–”Give me–the phone!” You sigh

“Park what's going on?” You hear him groan on the other end, and persumabley Jake say something along the lines of “Fuck you” 

“Sorry! Wrong number” Is all you hear before the line goes blank, you look down at your phone in confusion. 

“Yeah, we're leaving now.” Sunghoon says, turning to the blonde girl who was definitely about to be his fuck for the night.

She looks up at him, hope gleaming in her eyes, but frowns when he says he has to go. 

“You’re so fucking lucky to have me, I actually just saved your ass.” Sunghoon mutters, “Maybe I should just email her..” Jake contemplates, saying his thoughts out loud, tapping his screen to see there's 2 hours and 48 minutes left on his phone.

“Okay noted, take away the computer too.” Sunghoon shakes his head, chuckling.

-

Holy fuck. Is all you could think of when Jake answers his front door, grey sweatpants, and black fucking compression shirt out of all things on. Hair tousled, slick with sweat.

You should have known coming to drop off Layla in the morning wasn't a good move, especially since Sunghoon's car was also in the driveway. 

He chuckles at your reaction, like he knows something you don't. “Daddy!” Layla says, practically jumping into Jake's arms as if she wasn't falling asleep in the car a few minutes ago.

You tighten your grasp on her light pink backpack, Jake moves for you to step in, “You missed me Princess?” He asks in a gentle tone.

You walk to the open kitchen, but pause when you see Sunghoon, dressed in familiar attire to Jake, pouring what is probably a protein shake into two different cups. 

He doesn't look up to know it's you. “Hoon!” Layla wiggles out of Jake's arms, running over to Sunghoon who just laughs at her, “Mommy, can I have the mermaid doll please!” She asks, looking up at you with those adorable brown eyes, the ones that look just like Jakes.

You can't help the smile that lights up your face before getting them from her bag. She giggles before looking up at Sunghoon who sets down his shake.

“Well Miss. Layla, im ready when you are” He says, taking the doll from her and going to the living room where Jake has her toys set up. 

Jake lets a small laugh slip at the interaction. You bring your attention back to him, his eyes take in your clothes, from the business pants, to the blazer that fits you all too well.

“Okay, um– don't forget she has ballet lessons twice a week.” You bite your lip, trying to conceal how fucking nervous hes making you right now.

I mean, who even looks that good after the gym, gosh you shouldn't be thinking like this right now. Especially with everything–

“Y/n.”

“No.” You feel your heart racing as the word comes out, “I haven't even said–” He starts “Jake.”

“mama, please let me talk to you..” He closes the distance between the two of you, you try not to show a reaction at the name, the one he called you that night, the night you can't seem to forget.

You peak over his shoulder to see Sunghoon sitting on the ground with Layla, playing with the dolls. “Not here, not when she can hear.” You say quietly.

He nods, walking upstairs to his office, catching Sunghoon's eye, who just cocks a brow at him. 

“Okay, what's so important.” You shut the door behind you, watching as he leans over his desk, back to you.

He turns to face you, "I'm sorry for the other night, calling you like that was immature of me and as Layla's father I shouldn't have–” 

“Yeah, I know.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I'm trying to apologize here y/n.” He sighs frustratingly, as if this is some chore or task he has to do.

“No, you’re trying to make yourself feel better.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, “You would think someone who was going to inherit a billion dollar company in the next year would know better, but no–” 

“Im fucking trying here okay?!” He lowers his voice, trying to avoid getting into an argument loud enough for Layla to hear, even though the room is already noise cancelling.

“Thats the same shit ive heard since I was 13 years old y/n, its fucking drilled in my mind.” He steps closer to you, towering over your frame.

“Everything, planned, laid out, my whole future already decided the second I came out the womb.—So yes, I'm aware of what I inherit, I'm aware of the responsibilities I have.” You open your mouth to speak, but close it when nothing comes out.

He continues, “I know I fucked up–” He pauses, resisting the urge to pull you in, cling to you, because as of right now, even if you hate him you’re still the only thing he sees as an anchor in his life. 

“—And not just the other night. In Italy, I shouldn't have, it was reckless and-”

“Jake.”

“-and stupid, you just- I couldn't resist you”

“Jake!” You cut through his words like a knife. The only sound in the room being your trembling voice, and his unsteady breath.

“Dont do this to me. Not right now.” You clench your fist to steady the way it shakes. “Y/n, please– you wont let me any other time besides when either one of us drops off Lay.”

“Because you’re her father Jake! That's all you are. It might say you’re my husband on paper, but you’re not. We dont owe eachother anything, and you made that very fucking clear 5 years ago.” You watch his eyebrows furrow in the way a lost puppy would, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

You bite your tongue, regretting the way the words came out. It takes everything in you to not crumble to the floor, right here in front of him. 

Something shifts in his eyes, he takes a step back from you, distancing himself as much as he can in the confined space.

He doesn't look at you as he turns his back to you, leaning against his desk.

“You know the way out.” He says over his shoulder, tone cold. “Jake..” you whisper

“You know the way out.” he repeats more firmly. You watch him for a moment, before turning and walking out. 

It takes everything in him to not take back his words, to beg you to come back for him to say sorry a thousand times if he has to.

-

That night, you still couldn't get the interaction out of your head, you don't know how many times you tossed and turned in your empty bed, the silence of the house unbearable.

Even throughout the week, it replayed. The look in his eyes, the shift in his face when he told you to get out. 

You know he works hard, you know he is a good father. And you definitely know what it's like to have your life laid out for you. 

So walking through the front doors of the company building wasn't exactly a part of the plan, but it's like your feet were carrying themselves.

The bright daylight shining through the completely glass walls, the city streets bustling outside as usual.

As you walked to the front desk, heads turned towards you, some whispering, some silently observing. 

“Mrs. Sim?” You hear a familiar voice say, walking towards you, You don't have to look to know who it is.

“Park.” You say, turning to face him, leaning against the front counter. “What a surprise.” He can't hide the smug grin on his face as he approaches you. “Im here to see Jake.”

“Oh, you mean you’re not actually here just to see the office?” His tone is laced with sarcasm. You roll your eyes.

“I was just heading up there, come on.” He chuckles, “But I need to inform Mr.Sim–” The woman at the front desk starts, “Greta, baby, It's the Bosses wife we're talking about here.” You roll your eyes, “Don’t give us a hard time m’kay?” he says sweetly, winking down at her. You watch as she blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

You follow after him, stepping into the elevator. “You’re actually disgusting." You cross your arms over your chest, glancing sideways at him.

“What? It's not my fault they can't resist my charm.” Sunghoon shrugs, adjusting his tie.

The elevator dings, signaling its reached the top floor, you look at him, but your eyes drop to the hint of color below the collar of his white button up.

Your brow raises, squinting to see the slightly red hue of it. “First door past the window.” He nods down the hallway, stepping out of the elevator. 

You watch him for a split second, but he pauses when you call after him “Park.”

He turns to look at you, humming in response “You got a little something.” You say, pointing to his collar, he looks down, and you notice his frame immediately still.

You offer one of those too sweet smiles before making your way down the hall. 

Your hand hovers over the door, before finally knocking. Jake assumes it's one of his assistants so naturally he says a steady “Come in.”, accent sharp and cutting through your train of thought.

You inhale once before opening the door. He doesn't look up until the door clicks shut behind you, and when he does, his face shifts. 

“Y/n– what are you doing here?” He doesn't know why he stands, but he does anyway, hands braced on his desk, you look around his big office, the dark brown leather couch, to the tall bookshelves, and the window with a perfect view of everything 50 stories below.

You try not to stare too much.

“Um- well I just wanted to make sure you knew about Layla's ballet recital in a few weeks, they just sent the email out so.. Yeah.” You cringe slightly at the words, and with how obvious you are. 

He raises a suspicious brow at you, “So you drove here, to the same building you haven't bothered visiting in 5 years, just to tell me something that was sent in my email.”

It's not a question. “Well- I.. you know,” He can't hide the small smirk that plays on his lips

“I–” You pause, trying to regain your composure. “I wanted to..apologize.” You watch his reaction, the curious tilt of his head.

“Apologize?” he rounds his desk, leaning against the front of it, arms still crossed over his chest, assessing you. 

“For the other day.. In your study.” You try not to cringe at the memory, “And for Italy.” Something flashes over his face

“Y/n–” he starts “No. Let me finish.” He shuts his mouth immediately and you continue.

“I said some hurtful things that night, In the..shower.” You avoid his gaze “It was wrong for me to use you like that.” His tongue runs over his lips, remembering the taste of you that night. 

“And then in your study, when you tried apologizing to me– I didn't mean to go off on you like that, and I know you’re trying, I know the pressure you feel, and with everything you said about your life being planned–”

He's watching you closely as you speak, not interrupting. “But God, Its so fucking hard to forget Jake. I try so hard, for Layla—You look at her with so much love. And then you look at me, like I'm a– task.. A chore?”

You question your choice of words. “And it hurts so fucking much.” You breath out, the words rough and vulnerable.

You blink back the tears threatening to pour out, his hands fall to his sides, and it's like his body moves before his mind can process it. 

He closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you towards him , one hand wrapping around your back, the other cradling your head against his chest, resting on the top of your head.

“Jake..” You say through a trembling breath, hands clawed at his chest. “Shh mama, I got you.” he whispers, his thumb rubbing small circles on your back.

He pulls back, "I'm sorry too, I didn't mean to hurt you–I.. Fuck” He runs his hand through his hair, taking a step back to breath.

“You cloud every thought in my mind y/n. Every single day, every single hour, I can't stay mad at you for the life of me. Im—Im really not good at this..” he looks down at you, biting his lip nervously

“I don't think you understand how bad I regret how I treated you, How I made you feel.” He steps closer again, “I was– no I am an asshole. God, you have every right to hate me.” He chuckles but it's humorless

“Jake.. I don't hate you..” He meets your eyes at that, looking at you, really looking at you, the shared vulnerability between you two right now in this moment. 

Your hand moves from your side, hesitating before cupping his face in your hand, he leans into the touch immediately, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

“I can't get you out of my head y/n.” He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm, a small gasp leaving your lips at the intimacy of it.

“Im sorry, I know we have a lot to work on—but please..” He whispers, holding your hand in his, moving it to press a kiss to your wrist, just above your pulse point, feeling how rapidly your heart beats.

His eyes don't leave yours. “I'm sorry..” He whispers again, lower this time, trailing small kissing along your arm, those same words leaving his lips in between.

His other hand slips to your waist again, pulling you closer, He cups your face in his hand, threading his fingers through the back of your hair, shutting his eyes, leaning against your forehead.

“Im so fucking sorry.” he breathes out, ghosting over your lips, you tilt your head up slightly, letting your lips graze over his. “Baby..” 

You close the distance between your mouths, lips pressed firmly against his, he pulls you closer, running his fingers through your hair more deeply, his other hand gripping your waist as if you were the only thing grounding him, your lips move together in a rhythm, his tongue runs along your bottom lip, begging for more access, you grant it and he groans into your mouth, eyebrows furrowing.

His tongue explores your mouth, tasting you. He pulls back, a string of saliva connecting between the two of you, “Please..” He begs, looking between both of your eyes, an almost pathetic look on his face.

You tilt your head “Please forgive me, y/n” He brings his hand down from out of your hair, gently rubbing small circles on your neck, tracing his thumb over your exposed collar bone, the touch electric. “I–” 

A sharp knock on the door has you two pulling away from each other like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't.

“Mr. Sim, I just wanted to inform you we have an online meeting with Park Jongseong in five minutes” A shy voice says from the other side, he watches you, the way you stare at your feet, he tries not to smile at your clear nervousness.

“Have the notes ready, let them know I'm coming.” He says, voice back to that professional tone. 

He leans down one more time, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before opening the door to his office and walking down the hall to the meeting room.

Once the door shuts behind him, you bring your hand to your heart, the rapid beating of it pounding against your palm.

You trace your lips with your fingers, still trying to process what just happened, and what's going to happen..

Jake turns the corner of the hallway, to see Sunghoon, leaning against the wall, his eyes trace over Jake's form.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sunghoon says through a knowing smirk, “Dont.” Jake replies, straightening his tie and walking into the meeting room. Sunghoon raises his hands innocently, following after. 

-

As soon as Jake got out of that meeting the first thing he did was pull out his phone, shutting his office door behind him, but pausing to inhale the faint smell of you, your sweet, sweet perfume and hair wash lingering in the air.

“Jaeyun?” His mother says into the phone curiously, “An important event came up, do you mind watching over Layla tonight?” He asks, knowing exactly what the answer will be, if anything he's surprised she didn't beg him to let Layla come over. His parents even have a room specifically for her on the rare occasion she go to their manor. “Yes!” she says eagerly, Jake chuckles, “Alright, I'll drop her off in a few.” He says briefly before hanging up. 

The feeling of his lips still lingered on yours even hours later. The memory of them causing a warm feeling to pool in your belly.

You tried to distract yourself, you really did. But not even working could make you focus. Slipping on your soft robe, you shuffle around your house, eager to take a bath, maybe that would help ease the consistent throbbing in between your legs. 

You were just about to untie it when a ring on your doorbell took you by surprise, you checked the time on your phone, 8:23.. 

You make your way downstairs, opening the door, freezing. “What are you..” You swallow, “What are you doing here?” a nervous excitement slipping through your tone.

Jake takes a step forward, eyes not leaving yours as he shuts the door behind him. “Where's Layla?”

“With my parents.” he replies, eyes trailing down your frame shamelessly, taking in the way your thin robe does nothing to conceal whats underneath. His tongue darts out for a split second, wetting his lips. 

Your eyes fall to his attire, wearing the same dress pants he had on earlier, blazer gone, white button up rolled up his forearms. He chuckles at the way your eyes drag along his arms, bringing your attention back to his face.

“You still didn't answer me.” He tilts his head, studying you. “What are you doing here?” He takes another step forward, crowding you in the entrance of your home.

“You think after what happened today, I was going to just leave you alone?” His eyes drop to your lips. 

“Well– I mean.. I didn't know you were going to just show up..” His eyes fall to the way you nervously play with the end of your robe.

“Mama, of course I did.” he brings his hand down over yours, stilling it so you could stop fidgeting.

“I wanted to see you.” He says confidently. He sighs, defeated, even though you haven't even said anything back. “wanted to touch you.”

His hand comes up, brushing his thumb softly along your cheek, you lean into it. “I want you–” He pauses, breathes–“I want you so bad.”

His eyes search yours before continuing “So bad that I can't fucking concentrate anymore, I can't think straight—“

“The idea of you not wanting me back–not loving me back, makes me sick.” You both freeze at the words, he opens his mouth to speak, closes it.

“I- fuck..” He pulls his hand away from your face, you stop it, placing yours above his. “I want you too, Jake.. I– I love you.” The second the words leave your mouth, something shifts in his face.

His other hand comes up to the other side of your face, holding you like you’re something precious.

“You don't know how long I've wanted- No, I've needed to hear that.” He tilts his head down, lips ghosting over yours, your lips part instantly

“I love you baby.” He whispers before pressing his lips to yours. 

You immediately melt into the kiss, giving him access to your mouth, his hand cups the back of your neck, holding you closer.

He kicks off his shoes, lips never leaving yours, you wrap your arms around his neck as he guides you backwards, you stumble back slightly, his hand immediately wrapping around your waist, you giggle against his mouth, earning a laugh from him. 

You gasp as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his hips, his hands splayed on your ass. He makes his way up the stairs with you, carrying you with ease.

His lips crash against yours again, backing you up against the wall, you roll your hips in his hold, grinding against his hardening bulge in his pants.

“Fuck ma—you’re killing me..” He breathes, biting your bottom lip, a whimper escaping your lips at that.

“If I wasnt such a gentlemen, I’d fuck you right here, on your floor.” The dirty words have you grinding harder against him, he chuckles

“You’d like that huh?” You nod, a little bit too frantically, instead he walks further down the hall, in your bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind him, laying you down on the bed.

“No, I wanna take my time with you.” He presses a light kiss to your lips, savoring your taste. “Jake–please..” It comes out breathless. 

“Please what?” he teases, hand coming up to wrap around your throat, not to hurt you, more to claim.

He trails it back down, to the loosely tied knot of your robe. “Want you to fuck me..” You plead, squirming.

He smiles at that, pulling the string of your robe, causing it to fall open limply, he sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of you, laid out for him like this, like his next fucking meal.

He peels it off your body, tossing it to the ground, leaving you bare. “So needy, hm?” He parts your legs, nearly groaning at the sight and smell of your slick pussy.

You whimper at the cold air nipping your skin. He brings his hand down, cupping your breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh

“I love these tits so fucking much” He says almost to himself, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his other hand comes up, repeating the motion on your other, making sure no part of your body feels neglected.

He bites his lip at the delicious sounds leaving your lips, the pathetic light moans. 

You expect him to undress next, but instead he kneels down, hitting the soft carpet, right between your spread legs, you prop yourself on your elbows, not wanting to miss a single moment of seeing him like this.

His eyes close, like he's already gone, licking a sensitive spot on your inner thigh, sucking on it gently, making sure to leave a mark.

Your mouth hangs open, letting soft moans leave your lips, he can't help the smirk that covers his face at how you’re not being shy with him.

He takes his time, leaving marks on your inner thigh, teasing you even more, while also making you even more wet.

His eyes lock on your glistening cunt, “This all for me?” He chuckles, earning a groan from  you, he blows on your puffy clit, enjoying how your hole clenches around nothing, the way you’re already throbbing.

You whine at his teasing, “Shh mama, wanna make you feel good.” He uses his hands, pushing your thighs farther apart, giving him even more access.

Your eyes roll at the first lick, sensual, gathering your juices on his tongue, his eyes flutter shut at the taste of you, how fucking natural it is.

One second its slow licks, the next he's diving in, devouring you. His nose bumping your clit as his tounge works your hole, he looks up at you, your absolutely fucked out face before focusing back on your pussy. Your juices coating the bottom half of his face.

He brings his attention back to your clit, taking the sensitive bud between his lips and sucking with such precision it has your back arching off the bed, hands flying to his hair.

He groans at the feeling of you tugging on the strands, sending a vibration straight to your core. He flicks his tongue on your clit, rolling the sensitive bud with the wet muscle.

bringing one of his hands down from your leg, watching how your pussy reacts as he rubs small circles on your clit.

You watch as he gathers some spit in his mouth, spitting right on your aching clit.

“So pretty,” He says quietly, mixing the spit with your juices leaking out, He pulls you even closer, hands tightening around your thighs, mouth closing around your pussy, making out with it messily.

“Fuck..Jake–” You cry out, gripping the sheets at your sides, He looks up, watching the way your breasts move with each movement, making his cock throb in his pants even more. 

He gives your hole a teasing lick, before plunging his tounge in, greedily fucking it in and out of you, he feels you clench around him. Burying his nose closer against your clit, applying the right pressure that has your hips bucking as you come on his face, you bite down on your lip, trying to conceal the moans leaving your mouth.

He greedily laps up everything you let out, your slick coats his chin, his mouth, the sheets beneath you, but he loves every second of it. 

Your legs fall spread limply, he stands up, unbuttoning his shirt, and his pants, discarding his clothes like they're useless, which in this case–they are.

His eyes are trained on the reddish purple marks coating your inner thighs. “Jake..” You breathe out, watching the thin silver chain glint under the dim light.

He pauses, looking at you curiously, “You still have it?” you point to your neck, and his fingers touch the chain, “I never took it off baby.”

Your mind goes back to when you gave him that necklace, it was when you were pregnant, and you felt like you had to get him something for helping you out so much, even with the arrangement. He had told you he didn't need anything, but you insisted.

He shifts and your attention is immediately back on the present. 

You watch him slide off his boxers, his cock springing out, hanging heavy, thick, veins prominent, similar to the ones coating his hands and forearms.

You let out a sound as your eyes lock on the bead of pre cum leaking out of his flushed pink tip. He leans down, lifting your hips to move you farther up the bed before climbing on top of you.

He strokes his cock, one, twice, the pre cum leaking down his length, Your hips buck up, chasing any form of friction you can.

“Hm, you’re so cute when you’re all needy.” He chuckles, nudging your sensitive clit with his tip, smearing his precum.

“Jake.” You meant for it to come out more firm, but it comes out with a whimper to it. “You want me to stuff you full mama?” He coons, tone playful.

He slaps his dick down once on your puffy folds, before guiding his tip to your entrance. He barely pushes the head of his cock in before letting out a choked groan, “Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts, hands clasping around your hips, anchoring him. 

“Breathe for me yeah?” He looks at your face, eyes leaving the delicious sight of you trying to adjust to his size.

You nod, attempting to ease yourself, he slides in some more, your pussy clamping around him tightly, he hisses at the feeling, so warm and wet.

“Loosen up for me mama..” He breathes out, thumb traveling down to apply pressure to your clit, he pushes in slowly, you moan when he bottoms out, his tip nudging that spongey spot inside you. 

It takes everything in him to not come right now, like some fucking teenager.

“Fuck– you’re squeezing me–” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your jaw, before sliding out halfway, setting a slow pace that has his balls tightening.

His lips hover over yours as you both let out pleasureful sounds, “F-faster jake..” You manage to say,

“Knew you were greedy” He smirks, before you can say anything back he crashes his lips onto yours, rolling his hips, thrusting in and out of you, his balls slapping against you at every thrust, the wet sounds filling the room are filthy. 

Your tounges tangle together as he fucks into you, hitting a spot you could never reach with your own fingers.

His other hand comes up to pinch your nipple, earning a shocked gasp from you, You clench around him, hole fluttering, greedily taking his cock, he presses harder on your clit, pinches your nipple, you thrash against him, moaning into his mouth as you reach your second orgasm of the night.

But he doesn't stop, instead he wraps his hand around you pulling you up so you're sitting on his dick facing him, he cups your ass in his hands, grinding you on him, you're pulsing around him, your nerves on fire with every drag of your clit against him.

You’re both slick with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, he's lost in the feeling of your pussy dragging on him, “You gonna let me fill you up mama?”

He grips your ass harder, delivering a smack, you let out a high pitched sound at that, “God, you would look so pretty–”

He lays you back down on your back, the vision already clear in his mind, you–belly swollen, carrying another one of his children, breasts full, so sensitive– He'd take such good care of you, giving you everything you deserve and more.

“Can I breed this pretty pussy mama? stuff you full?” He fucks into you deeper, your legs lock around him in response, He lets out a sound almost a whimper, arms wrapping around you in a bear hug as his hips move frantically in and out of you, he can feel the pressure building, and by the way you’re fluttering around him again, he knows you’re close too.

“I love you baby– fuck, I love you so much..” He groans into the crook of your neck, your hands claw at his back, grasping on his hair as he buries himself deep inside you, your pussy clamps tight, eyes rolling back as your juices leak out, his cum shoots into you, the warmness pooling in a way that has your legs shaking, He doesn't pull out all the way, but he fucks into you once more, hard, making sure none of his seed leaves your sweet hole. 

You two stay like that, him inside you, hugging you with so much love it makes your heart flutter.

When he pulls out, he falls to your side, pulling you closely to him. You wrap your leg over his hip, and he nuzzles his face in between your breasts, causing a soft laugh to leave your lips.

“I love that sound,” he murmurs, “Hm?” You ask curiously, He lifts his head looking at you with so much adoration “Your laugh.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck before wrapping his hands around your body, embracing you, savoring this moment, because if he could, he'd stay here forever. 

— Bonus —

Jake is half asleep below you, one hand draped on your belly, your 6 month old baby growing healthily inside of you.

You try not to wince at the fabric of your shirt rubbing against your very sore nipples, but you fail miserably.

“Mmm..” He mumbles, feeling your body tense beside him, he opens his eyes slowly, looking up at you.

Worry flashes across his face at your pained state, he sits up immediately, "What's wrong? Are you okay mama?” His hand cups the side of your face, pressing his wrist to your forehead, checking your temperature

“Tell me what you need? Water?” His eyebrows furrow together, he runs a hand through his hair, his body flexing at the movement, you can't help your eyes from dragging down his frame, his bare chest, and his loose hanging sweatpants with no boxers underneath. 

You tug at your shirt, “They hurt Jake–” You breath out, realisation flashes across his face, his eyes falling to your pebbled nipples poking through your shirt.

“Ah..I see,” He swallows, before moving to lift your shirt over your head, the fabric dragging along your breasts making you wince.

He tosses the shirt on the bed, memorized with how full your breasts are, how hard your nipples get, he cant help himself when his hands come up, weighing them.

“Fuck–you’re so beautiful,” His fingers graze over your nipples, making the already damp spot in your panties grow, You whimper at the touch “So sensitive baby..” He dips his head, tongue grazing lightly over the peak.

You let out a sharp moan at the feeling, the pleasure overtaking you. He watches your face, his tongue flicking over the bud before lifting his fingers, he presses them on your lip, your mouth opening on instinct, you wrap your lips around his fingers, wetting them, he pulls them out, circling your other nipple with them, spreading your saliva on it.

“So warm, and soft..” He massages one with his hand, it helps ease the tension, making your body relax more into his touch, he presses his nose against your breast gently, your warm skin making the bulge in his sweatpants strain even more.

His hand inches down, past your belly, dipping between your spread thighs, His mouth freezes over your nipple at the wetness already soaked through your loose shorts.

“Shit, you’re dripping–” He moves the shorts to the side along with your underwear, dragging two fingers through your wetness, making a soft gasp leave your lips

“M’ gonna make you feel good” He whispers, before both of his fingers slip inside of you, curling immediately.

The sounds coming from between your legs are so lewd, wet squelching every time he takes his fingers out, just to shove them back in, his palm grinding against your swollen clit as he hits that spongey spot deep inside you.

“Jake–ah..” You breath out, hands lifting to grasp his veiny arm, it's all so sudden, the way you clamp down on his fingers, the juices that flood out of your pussy soaking the sheets, He drags his fingers out, rubbing your sensitive clit with the two, spreading your slick all over.

“God– you’re pretty when you come on my fingers like that..” He brings the two digits to his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes not leaving yours, your mouth hangs open as he does so.

He glances down at your lips, plump from the biting you’ve been doing, before closing the distance, letting you taste your musky sweetness on his tongue that he loves so much.

You don't register it, but his hand inches back down your body, rubbing your pussy slowly, before he shoves three digits inside of you, your nails dig into his forearm at the stretch, gasping into his mouth

“Oh my gosh–” You moan out, his fingers repeating the curling motion, “Shh.. let me make you feel good.” He whispers, repeatedly hitting that sweet spot inside of you just right, his tongue flicks just under your ear, spiking your sensitivity even more.

A warm gush of liquid coats his hand, your eyes flutter shut as you squirt on his fingers, soaking the sheets beneath you even more.

He curls his fingers deeper, letting as much as he can seep out, the wetness coating your inner thighs gradually. He kisses your lips once more, before pulling his fingers out slowly, admiring the way they shine under the faint morning sunlight. His palm slaps against your sensitive pussy lightly in a teasing manner.

"I'm going to get the bath ready, we still have some time before I take Lay to school.” he kisses your cheek softly, standing up, bulge evidently clear in his sweatpants. “But what about–”

“Mama, I said to let me make you feel good, we can worry about this later, Okay?” He walks around the bed, opening the door to your shared bathroom.

Jake insisted on you relaxing in the bath, while he gently rubbed your skin with your vanilla soap, but you had other plans, sneakily reaching behind you to stroke his aching cock until the only thing he could focus on was how good your hand felt around him while moaning softly into your neck.

After the bath he helped you get dressed, helped you down the stairs, making sure to set up the pillows so you were well supported before waking Layla up.

Once she was all dressed for school, her 2nd week of being a Kindergartner, she came running up to you, careful to not press against your baby bump.

“Mommy!” She smiles, you look at Jake's attempt of pigtails before chuckling, Layla reaches her small hand out, touching your stomach gently, as if she was petting a small puppy.

“You look pretty Lay,” She giggles, Jake walks back over,  bowl of strawberries in hand with nutella drizzled on top, a craving he knows you love.

He presses a light kiss to your forehead before handing Layla her sparkly pink backpack. “Ready princess?” He asks, looking down at Layla, she nods, skipping past him, you and Jake both laugh at her eagerness. 

“Ill be back in a bit” he says, pressing another kiss, this time to your covered baby bump, you can't help the blush that coats your face as he gives you that boyish smile.

Even when they both leave, shutting the door behind him, the warmness stays in your heart, Because this is even better than your dreams. 

-

Yeah so I need Jake asap.

okay hope you guys enjoyed!

peep the Sunghoon plot building.. (hoping to start writing it soon after i finish some of my other wips👀)

taglist: @yufawnz @saeivra @rianzysworld @ilobhee @lessamee @isa942572 @only4mylove @lecfosicentral @vanash @chyssly @luucortis @reneleaily @jazeertt @motherscrustytoenailclippings @easyhyunho @woninlove @starry-eyed-bimbo @kitkat1sstuff @abysofsteel @softblaqn @sweetxpeach1 @enhaholicfan @guliexe @heeheehee-hoe @hearts4julie @tzyusyaoon @dollhoonie @angeliykyk @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @ellieaybby @gownluvr @ellielovesikeu @heeverseblog @3nhyxx @supahintohoon @cloud-lyy @pqrkjyx @v3lv3t-th1rst @fancypeacepersona @ily4hoonity @saamaoaiwyq @angelcakesunoo @hoonki1009 @enhypenglazer1234 @xoxoamadeo @irisvrse @cutehoons02 @maeviees @bbunnii @lawjakesim

[heedimples]

p★rnst@r ! | psh

ʚɞ summary - you’re broke, overworked, and very good at keeping secrets. camming is just a job, your roommate is just your roommate, and park sunghoon definitely does not know what you sound like when you come—until he does. one leaked clip, one locked bathroom, and suddenly “just for the money” doesn’t sound very convincing anymore. ʚɞ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, pwp, camgirl!reader, roommate!sunghoon, voyeurism, live-streaming, exhibitionism, edging, orgasm control, dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex, dirty talk, ʚɞ w.c - 5.1k

Clatter.

Your hairbrush hit the porcelain sink with a sharp, plastic crack. You stared at your own reflection in the mirror, wide-eyed, frozen, the bristles of the brush still vibrating against the white basin. Behind you, leaning against the closed door, Park Sunghoon stood, his face a mask of unnerving calm. His thumb hovered over his phone screen.

The sound that had just torn from the tinny speaker wasn’t just any moan. It was yours. A high, breathy, desperate gasp, followed by a choked, “Ah—fuck, ngh, feels so good—” before he’d paused it.

“Care to explain?” he asked. His voice was low and flat, completely devoid of the teasing lilt or the familiar, exasperated warmth you’d come to know over the last two years.

Your mouth was dry. “What—what is that?”

“You tell me.”

It had started, weirdly enough, with Wonyoung.

Freshman year, you’d won the roommate lottery. Jang Wonyoung was sunshine incarnate: bubbly, kind, and surprisingly tidy. You’d bonded over shared instant noodles and a mutual hatred for your 8 AM biology lecture. Then she’d started dating Park Sunghoon, the quiet, devastatingly handsome guy on the ice hockey team. He’d become a fixture in your tiny dorm, a silent, polite presence who’d nod hello and then spend hours on the floor, his long limbs folded as he helped Wonyoung to study.

When they broke up at the end of that year, the fallout was swift and clean. Wonyoung, tears sparkling but chin held high, packed her things and moved into a single. Sunghoon, seemingly stranded and already having moved into your dorm, had looked at you with an uncharacteristic hint of panic. “I can find somewhere else,” he’d mumbled.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you’d said, surprising yourself. “Nowhere will take you at this time of year.”

So he’d stayed. And slowly, a strange, solid thing had grown between you. It wasn’t the giggling, gossipy friendship you’d had with Wonyoung, but you found yourself enjoying his presence nevertheless. He became the person you went to for no-bullshit advice. “He asked you to split the bill on the first date? He’s cheap and insecure. Block him,” Sunghoon would say over a shared lunch, not looking up from his phone.

You’d laugh. “That’s harsh!”

“It’s true. You can’t settle for someone like that.”

In return, he’d tell you about his dates. They were fewer, but just as disastrous in their own way. You’d sit cross-legged on his bedroom floor as he paced, dissecting their texts with you. “She said ‘k’ after I sent her a paragraph about my day. What does ‘k’ mean in this context? Is it a good ‘k’? A hostile ‘k’?”

“It’s a bored ‘k’,” you’d say. “Abort mission.”

Now, by junior year, you’d become inseparable. You knew his coffee order off by heart (iced mocha with Frappucino chips), he knew your college timetable. You borrowed his hoodies, he ate your leftover kimchi jjigae when you ordered too much (which, to be honest, was every time). You’d curl up on opposite ends of the couch, your feet on his lap, and watch terrible reality TV. It was comfortable. Safe. He was your person.

But there was one thing you were hiding from him.

The camgirl thing hadn’t been some deep-seated fantasy. It was pure, pragmatic economics. Part-time jobs were picky with schedules, and the one you’d landed at a campus cafe paid peanuts. A friend of a friend had mentioned the site—it was discreet, decent payout, and you controlled everything. It started as a hesitant experiment, a way to pay for textbooks. Then it became rent money. You invested in a good webcam, a ring light, a collection of toys that you hid in a locked case under your bed. You crafted a persona: confident, insatiable, a man’s wet dream. It was acting, of course. It had nothing to do with the real you. And, of course, you were meticulous. You only streamed when Sunghoon was definitely gone—at the rink, at the library, at the gym. You used headphones and a VPN. You soundproofed your door with your duvet. It was a separate world, hermetically sealed from your real life.

And now, that world was crystallized in the palm of Park Sunghoon’s hand.

“Explain,” he repeated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space.

“It’s not… it’s just a job, Hoon-ah,” you stammered, finally finding your voice. It sounded pathetic. “It pays the bills. You know how hard it is to afford—”

“I know how hard it is,” he cut you off. He took another step. Now his chest was almost touching your back. You could see the tight line of his jaw in the mirror, the faint pulse in his neck. “I just don’t understand why you never told me. You literally told me about the guy who picked his nose at the movie theater the other day, Y/N,” he frowned. “Why not this?”

“It’s private!”

“Is it?” He lifted the phone again. This time, he didn’t play the video. He just held it up so you could see the thumbnail. It was you, back arched, mouth open in a silent cry, a familiar silicone shape disappearing between your thighs. “Because this looks pretty public to me.”

Shame, hot and acidic, burned through your veins. “Sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You finally turned from the sink to face him directly. The small bathroom felt like a cage. “Where did you even get that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took a step forward. The movement was slow, deliberate. He placed his phone on the edge of the sink, screen-down. The silence was worse than the audio.

“A guy on the team,” he began, his tone conversational yet deadly soft. “He sent it to our group chat last night. ‘Hey, doesn’t this look kind of like your roommate?’ He thought it was a joke.” Sunghoon’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your reaction. “I told him it was a shitty deepfake and to delete it. I threatened to break his nose if he ever shared it again.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. He had defended you.

“But then I watched it,” he continued, taking another step. You were backed against the sink now, the cold porcelain pressing into your lower back. “The whole thing. And then I watched another. And another.” His gaze was intense, burning. “I know the birthmark on your left hip. I know the way you sigh when you’re tired. I know the little sound you make when you’re trying not to laugh.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that caressed your skin. “I know you, Y/N.”

“It’s not…” you started, but the lie died in your throat. There was no point.

“Why?” The single word was loaded.

“The money,” you breathed out, looking down. “It’s just for the money. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” His finger came up, hooking under your chin, forcing your eyes back to his. The contact was electric.

There was no teasing now. No roommate-ish camaraderie. You saw it in the darkening of his eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils. You felt it in the heat radiating from his body, so close to yours.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked, his thumb stroking a slow line along your jaw.

“No,” you admitted, the word a mere breath. “It was my secret.”

“And now it’s mine.” His other hand came up, palm flattening against the cabinet door beside your head, caging you in. “What do we do with our secret now, hm?”

You couldn’t think. You could only feel. The rough pad of his thumb on your skin. The clean, scent of his body wash and cologne. The overwhelming want that suddenly drowned out the shame. You’d fantasized about him—of course you had. He was Park Sunghoon, for fuck’s sake. But those fantasies had been vague, safe daydreams. This was so much more visceral, him knowing your deepest secret, having watched you come multiple times on his phone screen.

Your gaze dropped to his mouth. It was a mistake.

He broke.

He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, his hand dropping from your face as if your skin had burned him. Then he took a full step back, turning away to rub both hands roughly over his face, through his dark hair. The sudden distance was a shock, leaving you cold against the sink.

“Fuck,” he muttered into his palms, the word muffled. He straightened, his back to you for a long moment, shoulders tense. When he finally turned around, some of the predatory intensity had been replaced by a bewildered, almost hurt confusion. “Does it… I mean, does it really pay that well?”

The mundane question, after everything, was so jarring you almost laughed. A hysterical bubble rose in your throat. You swallowed it down, your voice still shaky. “I—yeah. I guess. It’s… good.”

He leaned a hip against the bathroom door, crossing his arms. He looked like he was trying to solve a complex equation. “How good? Like, better than the cafe?”

“Obviously better than the cafe,” you said, a sliver of your normal self seeping back in. “It’s… flexible. And the tips can be… significant.”

“Hm.” He chewed on his lower lip, his eyes drifting to the ceiling, avoiding looking directly at you.

You cleared your throat. “I mean, obviously not as well as the couples on the website, but yeah. It’s pretty good.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Couples?”

“Yeah,” you said, a shaky exhale escaping you. You leaned back against the sink for support properly. “The top earners are almost always couples. People like it more, I guess? You can do a lot more with two people, you know. More… interactive. Rather than just one person, like. Masturbating, or whatever.”

“Interactive,” he echoed, his tone flat. He finally looked at you, and you saw the gears turning behind his dark eyes. There was a flush creeping up his neck, staining the tips of his ears a faint, rosy pink. It was such a stark contrast to the man who had cornered you moments ago. It was almost sweet, kind of endearingly awkward. “So, theoretically, if you had a… partner for a stream. The revenue would, what, double? Triple?”

“Something like that,” you whispered, your heart beginning to pound for a completely new reason. You couldn’t possibly be thinking what you thought he was thinking.

He uncrossed his arms, shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He studied the tile floor as if it held the answers. “And you—you’d be in control? Of everything. What happens.”

“Always. I set the rules. I can end it anytime.”

He nodded, once, sharp. He took a deep breath, his ears now fully aflame. When he lifted his head, his expression was a mixture of fierce determination and profound embarrassment. “Okay.”

“Okay… what?”

“Next time you schedule one.” He cleared his throat, his voice dropping. “I’ll… I’ll be your guest. For the—um. Interactive element.”

The world tilted. “What?”

“You need the money, right?” he said, his words coming faster now, a defensive, logical ramble. “I skip the gym anyway sometimes.” A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips and vanished. “And it sounds like a pretty good workout.”

You were speechless. Park Sunghoon, the guy who got flustered when a date used too many emojis, was volunteering to star in your cam show. To have sex with you. On camera. For money.

“You don’t have to—” you started.

“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted, his gaze finally steady on yours. The shyness was still there, but beneath it was a layer of steel. “But I want to.” The admission hung in the air, raw and undeniable. “So. Let’s do it.”

A slow, treacherous heat was spreading through your core, melting the last of your shame. This was insane. This was the most insane thing that had ever happened. And you wanted it. You wanted it so badly your knees felt weak.

“Tomorrow night,” you heard yourself say, your voice surprisingly steady. “You go to the gym at seven. Skip it.”

He gave a single, tight nod. “I’ll be there.”

The following evening, even the air in the apartment felt charged. The normalcy of the day had been a fragile illusion. You’d shared a quiet breakfast. He’d asked if you wanted coffee. You’d both pretended to study in the living room, and the hours had dragged, each tick of the clock a pounding heartbeat.

At six-thirty, you retreated to your room. Your usual ritual—putting your VPN on, positioning the ring light, logging into the encrypted site—felt surreal now. You’d retrieved the small, discreet remote-controlled vibrator from its case. It was a sleek, egg-shaped thing. You’d never used it with the remote function live before; it had always been a prop, something you’d pretended was controlled by a faceless, tipping ‘dom’.

Tonight, it would be real.

You dressed in the lingerie you’d chosen after an hour of frantic deliberation: a set of black lace, delicate and sheer, more suggestive than revealing. It felt different against your skin. It wasn’t for an anonymous audience anymore. It was for him.

At five minutes to seven, a soft knock came at your door. Your breath hitched. “Come in.”

Sunghoon entered. He’d changed into sweatpants and a plain grey t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders. He looked casual, relaxed, almost, but his eyes were dark pools of focused intensity. He took in the scene, the soft lighting, the camera on its tripod, you perched on the edge of your made bed in your lace—but his expression didn’t flicker. He was in work mode.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady.

You nodded, unable to speak. You handed him the small, black remote. His fingers brushed yours, and a spark jolted up your arm. He examined the remote, thumb testing the dial and the single button.

“How does it work?”

“The dial controls the intensity,” you whispered, your mouth dry. “And the button… pulses.”

He nodded, his face a mask of concentration. “And me?”

“Start over there,” you said, pointing to the corner just out of the camera’s main view. “I’ll introduce you.”

He nodded, fingers curling around the remote. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Whatever you want,” you said, your own boldness surprising you. “Just… um,” you laughed. “Don’t make me scream before I’ve said hello.”

He gave you a slightly nervous smile. “No promises.”

He moved to the shadowed corner of your room, leaning against the wall, a silent, watching statue. The remote was loose in his hand. You took a final, deep breath, clicked the Go Live button, and felt the familiar, terrifying drop in your stomach.

The viewer count began to climb almost immediately. 50, 120, 300. Familiar usernames popped into the chat, along with a flood of new ones.

“Hey everyone,” you purred, slipping into your persona. Your voice was lower, smoother than your normal one as you played with your bra strap. A smirk played on your lips. “Miss me?”

The chat exploded with hearts, fire emojis, and greetings. You bantered for a few minutes, teasing, leaning into the camera to give a glimpse of cleavage, running a hand through your hair. You could feel Sunghoon’s gaze on you from the corner, a physical weight. It should have been unnerving, but it was thrilling.

“So, I actually have something special planned for you guys tonight,” you said, your eyes flicking toward the shadows where he stood. “A little… collaboration, if you will. Say hello to my friend.”

You gestured. Sunghoon stepped forward, moving gracefully, but there was a new stiffness to his shoulders. He stopped just at the edge of the light, his face partially in shadow, his body a tall, taut silhouette. He lifted a hand in a slight, awkward wave. The chat went absolutely feral.

injangsdad: HOLY SHIT????

BbyDvl: WHO IS THAT???!

ilovesalsa02: Bro is BUILT holy shit

heehee: why is he so shy?? u deserve a real man like me

“He’s going to be helping me out tonight,” you explained, lying back against your piled-up pillows, spreading your legs just a little. The black lace rucked up your thighs. “He’s got a little controller for this.”

You opened your legs wider, giving the camera a clear view as you took the egg vibrator and slowly, deliberately, pressed it inside yourself. You were already wet, anticipation and sheer nervousness doing their work. A soft sigh escaped you, genuine this time. You caught Sunghoon’s eye. He was staring, his jaw tight, the remote gripped in his hand tight.

“And he’s in charge of the intensity,” you breathed into the mic. “Shall we see if he’s any good?”

You gave a slight nod.

Sunghoon’s thumb pressed a button.

A low, steady buzz erupted inside you. It was a gentle hum, a pleasant warmth. You let your head fall back, a smile touching your lips. “Mmm, starting off easy on me? That’s sweet.”

The chat scrolled.

stickiriki: TELL HIM TO TURN IT UP

injangsdad: He looks so focused lol

seonwoo333: His hands…

Sunghoon’s eyes were fixed on the screen, watching the live feed, watching you. His expression was unreadable. He pressed another button.

The vibration jumped in intensity. It was no longer a hum now, more a persistent, insistent thrum right against your most sensitive spot. Your breath hitched. Your hips gave an involuntary little jerk. “Oh,” you gasped, the sound soft but picked up crisply by the mic. “Okay. There we go.”

He watched your reaction on the screen, his own breathing deepening. He was a quick learner. He adjusted the setting again, this time cycling through a pattern. It started slow, then escalated to a frantic pulse, then dropped back to nothing, leaving you aching and clenched around the empty buzz.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your persona slipping for a second. You were no longer performing for the faceless crowd, you were performing for him. You were trying to read his face, to see what made his breath catch, what made his knuckles whiten on the remote. God, you were so fucking soaked for him, pussy clenching around nothing but air, desperate for his thick fingers or that fat cock to stretch you wide instead of this teasing toy buried deep in your dripping slit.

He finally settled on a rhythm that had your vision blurring little by little: a frantic, buzzing assault like a swarm of eager tongues lashing your swollen clit and inner walls without mercy. A sharp cry ripped from your throat, back snapping off the pillows as electric jolts shot straight to your core. One hand clawed at your heaving tits, fingers twisting your stiff nipples through the sheer lace until every part of you throbbed like a second heartbeat, the other pressing flat against your quivering belly, as if you could trap the sensation inside your spasming cunt.

“Sungh—,” you almost moaned his name, cutting yourself off with a bitten lip. “More.”

He didn’t increase the power. Instead, he started to play.

He’d let the brutal pattern continue until you were writhing, your thighs trembling, until pleas were tumbling from your lips unbidden—“please, god, right there, don’t stop”—and then he’d cut it off entirely. The sudden absence was a torment worse than the vibration. You’d whimper, your body seeking friction against the sheets. He’d just wait, eyes hooded and ravenous on the feed, devouring every twitch of your sweat-slicked skin, every heave of your lace-clad tits, as you crashed down from the edge only for the hunger to claw back fiercer. Then he'd flick it on again, slamming you right back into that torturous bliss, your juices squirting in messy spurts around the buzzing egg.

It was torture. It was exquisite. You were his marionette, strings yanked by his whims,  and he was discovering the joy of pulling on them. Fuck, it made you wetter than ever. The chat was a blur of encouragement and tipping notifications. The sound of digital coins chiming was a constant backdrop.

userace: Shit lmao look at that slut squirm

BbyDvl: dont let up until shes screaming

Lurkr89: Edge her until she breaks

You were close. So, so close. The coil in your belly was wound tight, a spring about to snap. You were mumbling, a stream of consciousness filled with “yes” and “there” and “just like that.” You looked directly into the camera lens. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come. Please, let me come.”

Sunghoon’s thumb hovered over the button. He looked from the screen to your actual body on the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He gave one sharp, definitive nod.

And turned the vibrator to its maximum setting.

The orgasm ripped through you with no warning, a white-hot detonation that seized every muscle. You moaned, high and loud and continuous as the vibrations continued, milking the shockwaves from you, until you were a shuddering, boneless heap, the babydoll soaked with sweat, your inner muscles fluttering weakly around the still-buzzing egg.

Slowly, he turned the remote off.

Silence, save for your ragged panting and the chime of more tips. The viewer count had skyrocketed.

You lay there, spent, floating. You saw Sunghoon place the remote carefully on your desk. He stepped fully into the ring of light. He came to the edge of the bed. He didn’t look at you. He looked directly into the camera lens.

His first words on stream were not to you.

“Was that good for you?” he asked the audience, his voice a low, smooth baritone that sent a fresh jolt through your spent body. He reached down and hooked his fingers in the waistband of your babydoll. In one fluid motion, he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside. You were completely naked now, exposed under the bright light and the gaze of thousands, your skin gleaming.

You made a small, vulnerable sound, trying to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists in one large hand, pinning them above your head on the pillow. He held them there effortlessly, finally glancing down at you. His eyes were black with lust.

“She comes pretty easily, doesn’t she?” he said, back to the camera. A patronizing, almost clinical tone. As if you were an object. “One little toy and she falls apart.” He used his free hand to trail a finger from your throat, down between your breasts, over your quivering stomach. “But that was just the warm-up, right? You didn’t pay to just see a toy do the work.”

The chat was moving too fast to read, a waterfall of explicit encouragement and demands.

He released your wrists. “Turn over,” he said, the command quiet but absolute. “On your knees. Face the headboard.”

Trembling, every nerve still alight from your orgasm, you obeyed. You got onto your hands and knees, presenting your pussy to the camera behind you. You heard the rustle of his clothes, the snap of elastic. Then, the hot, heavy weight of his erection rested against your inner thigh.

He didn’t enter you immediately. He ran the head of his thick, hard cock through your soaked folds, gathering your wetness, teasing your entrance. You pushed back against him, a needy little grind, but he held your hip firmly, keeping you still.

“Look at her,” he said to the lens, his voice dripping with condescending admiration. “Desperate for it. She’s dripping all over my cock and I haven’t even put it in yet.” He gave a short, dark chuckle. “Should we make her wait? Let her beg a little more? What do you think, guys?”

You heard the ching of a large tip. He hummed. “A hundred dollars says ‘fuck her now.’ Can’t argue with that.”

Without any further preamble, he gripped your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and drove into you in one deep, merciless thrust.

You shrieked, the massive girth stretching your soaked pussy walls to their limit, filling every inch of your greedy hole in a way no toy ever could. He held still for a torturous second, letting you feel his veiny shaft throbbing inside you, letting the audience watch how his fat cockhead kissed your cervix while your puffy lips clung to his base.

Then he started pounding you raw.

He was relentless, his deep, punishing strokes rocking your body forward, heavy balls slapping wetly against your swollen clit with every filthy plunge. The room filled with obscene sounds: the slick squelch of your arousal coating his pistoning cock, your desperate whimpers turning to drawn-out moans, his ragged grunts as he fucked you like an animal. One hand clamped on your hip, yanking you back to meet his thrusts, the other braced on the headboard, his dark eyes glued to your face.

“See how this dirty little slut takes my cock?” he growled for the viewers, voice gravelly and commanding, treating you like his personal fucktoy. “No shame at all,” he scoffed. “She’d beg for this pounding all night if the tips rolled in, wouldn’t you?” He rammed in extra hard on the last word, grinding his thick shaft against your g-spot until you sobbed, your cunt gushing fresh juices of arousal around him.

valsbn: Fuck yeah, wreck that sloppy pussy

heehee: Pound her harder, I wanna see her squirt all over that dick

bnoo: hot as hell ill tip more for creampie close-up

pjjong: $200 to make her say thank you.

He read it. He leaned down, his chest pressing against your sweaty back, his mouth near your ear, but his words were still for the audience. “They want you to say thank you to me for railing your sloppy cunt. Think you can manage that while I’m fucking you like this?”

You were a babbling mess, reduced to pathetic whines and gasps, your brain fried from the relentless stretch. He yanked your hips back viciously, tilting his angle to batter that sweet spot deep inside, making your vision explode with white-hot pleasure. “T-thank—fuck—ngh! Thank you!” you wailed, the words torn from your throat as your pussy clenched hungrily around his invading girth.

“Good,” he purred, straightening up again, resuming his punishing pace. “But I don’t think she’s learned her lesson yet. Hiding this from me. Putting herself on display for everyone but me.” His thrusts turned feral, each one slamming his thick head against your cervix, your arousal squirting out with every withdrawal, soaking his balls and the sheets. You felt another orgasm building, clit throbbing desperately. “Should we let her come again?” he hummed, as if he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. She seems pretty greedy. Maybe she needs to earn it.”

His hand snaked around your waist, rough fingers zeroing in on your engorged clit, rubbing furious, slippery circles in perfect sync with his pounding rhythm. The onslaught shattered you—his massive cock dragging along your slick walls, hitting every sensitive ridge, while his digits ground against your nub, sending electric jolts straight to your spasming core. You babbled incoherently, a filthy stream of pleas spilling from your drool-slick lips.

“Please—hngh—please, I’ll earn it, I’ll be good—be your good girl, just let me, please—”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he said, his tone mockingly gracious, ramping up the pressure on your clit until it pulsated with need. His thrusts went wild, losing all control—frantic, hip-snapping drives that chased his release while demolishing yours, his thick cock swelling even bigger inside your clenching heat.

The second orgasm was different—a deep, rolling quake that started in your core and radiated outwards, making stars burst under the darkness of your eyelids. Your internal muscles clamped down on him in vicious, rhythmic pulses, milking his cock, and you heard his sharp, guttural groan right next to the microphone.

“Fuck—she’s squeezing me so tight—gonna—” His voice cracked, all narration forgotten. He buried himself balls-deep one final time, body jerking violently, hot ropes of thick cum erupting from his pulsing tip to paint your insides white. He pumped you full, overflow spilling out around his still-twitching girth.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and the final, celebratory chimes from the tip jar on screen. The viewer count was holding steady.

Sunghoon stayed buried inside you, his weight partially on your back, both of you slick with sweat. Them, slowly, he pulled out. The loss was acute, and you collapsed onto your stomach, turning your head to look at him.

He didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, his hand came down hard on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap that made you yelp, your spent body jolting. “Turn around,” he ordered, his voice still rough with the aftershocks of his orgasm. “They want to see you.”

You whimpered pathetically, muscles like jelly as you rolled onto your back, legs splitting open, your drenched thighs slick with sweat, arousal, and his leaking cum. Your tits heaved with every ragged breath, nipples hard. Sunghoon’s strong hand seized your jaw, fingers digging into your soft skin as he wrenched your face toward the camera, forcing your swollen lips into a pouty ‘O’ shape. His other hand clamped onto your inner thigh, yanking it high and wide to expose your wrecked cunt to the lens—puffy lips gaping, creamy cum oozing out in thick rivulets, mixing with your gushing juices to form a filthy puddle on the sheets.

Your face was pure pornographic bliss: eyes glazed, lips swollen, hair a tangled mess, and a drowsy, cock-drunk expression that left no doubt about just how thoroughly he’d ruined you. The chat exploded instantly.

userace: bet her pussys still twitching for round two fill her up again

stickiriki: Fuck i need my mouth on those tits

ilovesalsa02: holy shit she looks like a glazed donut lmao

jsxlo: $500 TO KISS HER RN

Sunghoon glanced at the monitor, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned in closer to the camera, his grip tightening on your jaw ever so slightly. “Look at her,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with possessive satisfaction. “So fucking pretty.” More tips chimed like a victory song, and Sunghoon’s smirk deepened as he straightened, still holding you in place for the audience to gawk at. “Well, I hope you enjoyed the show,” he said. “That’s all for today.”

With that, he reached out and ended the stream with a decisive click.

The sudden silence was deafening. The bright ring light felt exposing, harsh. You were both panting.

Sunghoon looked down at you, and in his eyes was something complex that you couldn’t quite decipher in your fucked-out state. He opened his mouth to speak just as your phone, connected to the stream dashboard, buzzed violently on the nightstand. The notification preview glowed:

STREAM SUMMARY:

Peak Viewers: 6.8k

Total Tips: $1,547

New Top Tipper: @/pjjong

© 2026 heedimples. this work belongs to @heedimples. do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize it in any way on any platforms.

[bywons]

ME AND MY HUSBAND | PJS

SYNOPSIS all you want is to be seen and loved by your future husband, two of the very things park jongseong has no idea about. but through unspoken protection and warm tension, jongseong lets himself love again.

OR, jongseong falls for you when a series of events pushes you both closer

GENRE arranged marriage au, angst, fluff, hurt & comfort, ‘she fell first but he fell harder’ vibe (?) slowburn-ish

PAIRING cold fiance! park jongseong x female! reader ( ft. other characters )

WARNINGS mention of bruises and fighting, alcohol, arguments, skinship, kissing, underlying misogyny ( not from jay ), crying, alcohol mention and use

WORDCOUNT 19.5k words / 19,557 words

AUTHORS NOTE hey precious readers! i would like to start this special message by an apology because one i am posting this a month late and two this is my first ever long fic. so you know the drill, i havent quite mastered to flow of long fics, so im sorry in advance if there is any type of mistakes in the story TT that being said, i chose a pretty easy topic to work with this time, so im hoping you guys will like it! arranged marriage aus and jay is definitely one of my fav combos, and i hope it delivered it well >< please enjoy and happy reading :3

FEEDBACKS AND REBLOGS ARE VERY APPRECIATED

PARK JONGSEONG HAS NEVER KISSED YOU. 

Maybe you have never even felt his touch, the mere sensation of fingers brushing innocently against each other was unknown to you. 

And as you realise it, your chest tightens, and you dig your fingernails way too deep into your palms until they form little red crescents which burn. You realise he’d never seen you shed your tears as well, so you keep them at bay, praying that it’ll be enough to hide the storm brewing inside you. 

Park Jongseong is your fiancé, an arranged marriage. Bound to you by the weight of expectation, tradition, and a polished ring that sparkles mockingly on your finger.

To anyone else, you might seem like the perfect couple—well-dressed at formal dinners, walking side by side at events, exchanging polite smiles that barely reach your eyes. But behind closed doors, the gap between you feels insurmountable. 

Sometimes during those boring and forced events, all you want to do is to pull Jongseong closer by his arm. You want him to look at you and smile, to hold you by the waist and kiss you, to at least, acknowledge your presence in a room. 

But Park Jongseong is careful, too careful.

His words are measured, his actions restrained, as though every interaction is scripted. When he walks beside you, there’s always a polite distance, just enough to make it clear he’s near but never close enough to feel his warmth. Even when he hands you something—a pen, a glass of water—his fingers never brush yours.

It’s like he’s built an invisible wall between you, one that neither of you has dared to tear down.

“Ah—!” he winces in pain as you dab the medicated damp cotton a little too hard over his bruise on his cheeks. 

“S-sorry, I had something on my mind,” you stutter, immediately discarding the cotton into a trashcan.

“Its fine,” Jongseong whispers. 

“Wait let me see—” you reach your trembling, careful hand towards Jongseong’s bruise, in high hopes to cure it. 

“Its okay I'm fine,” Jongseong reiterates, slapping your hand away in a hurried motion.

Ouch. Does he not want you touching him? 

You gulp. The previous plaguing thoughts dawning over you once again. Doubt, insecurity and disturbance hurls at you at a threatening velocity once again, and you can feel yourself falling into a black void. 

You gulp again, your throat suddenly dry, your fingers tightening around the edge of the bathroom sink. You wish you had something to hold onto, something solid or real. Because standing here, staring at your fiancé, you felt like you were slipping into something dark and unknown. 

Jongseong sits on the marble countertop, his long legs spread apart, hands resting on either side of him like he was trying to keep himself steady. His crisp white dress shirt rumpled, the top buttons undone, revealing the faintest hint of a bruise blooming against his collarbone. His knuckles are scraped raw, his lip slightly swollen, and yet, god, yet he still looked unfairly handsome. Even now, even like this. 

You wish he would just kiss you. 

Just once. 

Just so you could taste something other than this awful, gnawing suspicion twisting in your gut.  

“How’d you hurt yourself?” you finally ask, your voice quiet but firm, pushing past the lump in your throat. The words feel too small in the vast space between you.  

Jongseong exhales sharply through his nose, shifting where he sat, as if he suddenly found the countertop beneath him unbearably uncomfortable. He lifts a hand, raking it through his raven-black hair, the strands falling messily over his forehead. His dark eyes never met yours.  

“Just fell first on my face,” he mutters, his voice tinged with forced nonchalance. “I was late to the office.”  

The explanation is simple. Too simple. Like a script he had rehearsed and rewritten a thousand times before finally presenting it to you. His words echo in the cold, tiled room, but they lack weight. Lack of honesty. 

Your fingers clench at the fabric of your sleeves as you nod slowly, pretending, for now, that you believed him. But the walls around you felt thinner, and the air between you was suffocating.  

Because deep down, you know.  

Jongseong is lying.

You nod slowly, trying to process his words, but they feel so hollow, so rehearsed. Jongseong doesn't even meet your eyes as he speaks, his gaze fixed on the tiled bathroom wall behind you.

“You should be more careful,” you sigh, ultimately rearranging all the medicines back to the first aid kit, with all your hopes of holding a long conversation with Jongseong slipping away into the trash can, “Its okay if you're late to office one day—” 

“How'd you get this?” Jongseong mumbles, his hand was flying slowly towards you from your peripheral vision. 

In a moment he stands up, easily towering over you. You can't dare to look in his eyes, so you settle yours at the loose buttons of his shirt. Your heart thumps faster as he moves in closer, a concerned yet bored tone in his voice. 

And then it finally happens, the impact takes place. The rough, calloused yet gentle pads of his fingers touch the apple of your cheeks. 

An electric shock runs through your veins— Park Jongseong touches your face. 

“Uhm- I uh I was-” you stutter, unable to form a proper sentence. 

“Weird,” Jongseong scoffs, retracting his hand. You wince at the absence of his touch, wishing it’d lasted longer. Jongseong continues, “we got hurt in the same place.” 

Your breath hitches.  

The warmth of his fingers lingered on your skin, even though the touch had been fleeting. Insignificant, maybe, to him. But to you? It was enough to leave your thoughts spiraling, to send your heart into a frenzied rhythm you couldn’t control.  

Jongseong’s expression doesn’t change. It’s still composed, unreadable, but there was something else in his eyes now. Not warmth, not affection, but something bordering on curiosity. As if he were piecing together a puzzle, one he didn’t quite care enough to solve.  

You force out a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s just a coincidence,” you mutter, lying through your teeth. Because, just like him, you aren’t being honest either.  

Because your bruise wasn’t an accident.  

And neither was his.  

For a second, just a brief second, the two of you stand there in silence. The space between you feels suffocating, but not because of proximity. It was the weight of everything left unsaid. The doubts, the unspoken questions, the invisible wall that had existed from the very start.  

You want to reach for him, to bridge the gap. To ask him what had really happened, to tell him you weren’t as blind as he might think. But the words die in your throat when Jongseong took a step back, like he had just realized he’d gotten too close.  

“I should go,” he says flatly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off some invisible burden. His hand brushes over his lip, pressing lightly against the swelling before he turns toward the door.  

“Jongseong—”  

He pauses. Just barely. Not enough to turn around, not enough to give you hope.  

You clench your fists at your sides. “Be careful next time,” you finish, your voice softer, weaker than you wanted it to be.  

There was a moment where you thought—hoped—he might say something back. But instead, he simply nods once before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving you standing there, alone with your own reflection.  

Your fingers reach up, tracing the ghost of his touch on your cheek.  

Park Jongseong had never kissed you.  

And at this rate, you aren't  sure if he ever will.

THE EVENING AIR BUZZES WITH CONVERSATION AND CLINKING GLASSES.

You sit rigidly at the long aok dining table, forcing a smile.

Jongseong is beside you, distant even in proximity, his fingers lightly tapping against the stem of his wine glass. You steal glances at him when you think he’s not looking, searching for any crack in his polished mask.

Across the table, your cousin Daisy leans forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So…” she begins loudly enough to catch everyone’s attention, “how’s the arranged love story going? Still playing house or have we upgraded to actual feelings yet?”

The table erupts into laughter. You stiffen, your heart dropping into your stomach.

You try to laugh along, but it comes out awkward and brittle.

“You know, busy schedules. Hard to plan our fairy tale ending around board meetings and conference calls.”

The words taste sour in your mouth. 

You glance sideways at Jongseong, silently begging him with your eyes— Say something. Tell them it’s more. Tell them I’m more to you.

He simply chuckles, a soft, detached sound, and lifts his glass. The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Work always comes first,” he says, voice smooth, almost rehearsed.

There’s a pause. A small, hollow space opens inside your chest, which Jongseong manages to disturb.

Daisy snickers. “So romantic. Truly the love story of the century.”

Someone else jokes about putting bets on how long the marriage will last. More laughter, even more jokes. Insensitive and overlooking.

You feel your face heating up, but it's not embarrassment, it’s humiliation. And Jongseong, just sits there. Smiling politely, like he’s miles away.

You press your lips together tightly, stabbing your fork into a piece of roasted vegetable.

The moment passes, conversation flowing into safer topics, but your appetite is gone. All you can taste is the bitter disappointment.

As dessert is served, Jongseong’s phone vibrates on the table. He glances at it quickly, then tucks it away without a word. The tiny movement feels monumental. Another reminder that there's always somewhere else he'd rather be.

Finally, after what feels like hours, people start gathering their things, pulling on coats, exchanging hugs and goodbyes.

You and Jongseong step out into the chilly night. The cold air slaps your cheeks, a stark contrast to the stifling warmth inside.

You walk side by side in silence towards the car.

You can't hold it in any longer.

“Why didn’t you say anything back there?” you blurt, voice trembling despite your best effort to stay calm.

Jongseong stops walking. Turns to you slowly. His face is unreadable under the dim porch lights.

“About what?” he asks, feigning innocence. Oh, how you hate that face.

“About us,” you snap, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “When they joked, when they implied we’re just business partners?”

He shrugs. “It was just a joke. Why give them more to gossip about?”

You stare at him, blinking rapidly to keep the sting of tears at bay. “Because it’s not just a joke to me.”

He exhales, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re overthinking it, Y/n.”

You laugh bitterly. “Am I? Because it feels pretty real when you don’t even try to correct them. When you act like you’re fine with everyone believing this marriage is just some... some arrangement you’re tolerating.”

His jaw tightens. “What would you have wanted me to say? That we’re madly in love? That we’re inseparable? That I can’t breathe without you?” His voice is low, cutting. He snaps, “Would that have made you feel better? Lying to everyone?”

You flinch like he slapped you. The hurt pools behind your eyes.

“I don’t need you to lie,” you whisper. “I just—”

The words hang between you, heavy, fragile.

For a second, just a second, something flickers across his face. Regret? Guilt? You can't tell.

But just as quickly, he turns away, walking briskly to the car. “Let’s not do this here,” he says sharply. “It’s late.”

You stand there for a moment, heart pounding, watching his back retreat from you like a closing door.

When you finally move, your feet feel like lead. You climb into the passenger seat without a word. The ride back home is suffocating. Silent. A chasm grows wider with every passing streetlight.

You want to reach out, to grab his hand, to say something, anything, that will fix whatever's breaking between you.

But you’re too afraid you’re the only one who still wants to fix it.

So you stare out the window, watching your reflection blur against the passing night.

And beside you, Jongseong drives on, his hands tight on the wheel, his face carved in stone.

Park Jongseong is giving up, maybe you should too.

PARK JONGSEONG THOUGHT HIS TO BE WIFE HAD FORGOT HIS BIRTHDAY.

But then he reminds himself, all these months of carrying a diamond ring of mockery on his hand— a symbol of bondage, marriage —he had never felt the fleeting touch of his soon to be wife.

And so he doesn't bother to kiss her goodbye, maybe pull her closer by her waist, whisper something not so innocent in her ears to watch her face flush in enticement, and leave for work with the motivation to come back to his fiancé’s arms.

No. He does nothing.

Park Jongseong doesn't even take the day off and stays at home. He leaves in a hurry, first thing in the morning. He doesn’t like celebrating birthdays anyway, it’s just a year closer to his demise, nothing to like about it.

He packs his briefcase in silence as he steals one last glance of you, groaning lazily as you make your way to the washroom. Of course, you have your job too, and Jongseong expected even less. It’s just a birthday, nothing too much.

9:30 am, he reaches his office building.

The heir to the prestigious, Park Company. The weight of expectation hung in the air like a finely spun chandelier, too delicate to touch, too grand to ignore. After all, he wasn’t just any director. He was Park Jongseong. The upcoming CEO. The heir.

The revolving glass doors of the company building spun to a slow stop behind him. Jongseong adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, eyes half-lidded, movements precise. He could hear the echo of his polished shoes as he walked through the marble tiled lobby, his reflection following him in the towering glass panels.

“Good morning, Vice President,” several voices chorused as he passed, accompanied by clipped bows and tight smiles.

He gave them all the same nod. Unbothered. Distant.

The elevator doors open and steps out alone, the silence laying on him like a second skin. The floor is cool and quiet, save for the typical office noises. He reminds himself that it's just another day, just another date on the calendar which could be overlooked without any problem. His team gathers up to the front door, clapping and smiling at him. Some senior executives push a forced smile in front of their young boss, the juniors more enthusiastic about someone they fear athough Jongseong doesn’t know if theirs are forced or natural.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY JONGSEONG,” they all sing song as confetti pops out in the air and paper freckles of his least favourite colours flutter down on him.

A distant banner said: TO THE FUTURE CEO. He shrugs, a polite smile on his face.

Among the crowd he spots Sunghoon, his first cousin as he steps out with a jovial smile and hands still clapping. He was in line to be the CEO as well, before he put down the offer to be COO instead, saying he's not a natural leader like Jongseong is.

“To the youngest CEO our company has ever seen!” he exclaims to the crowd as he stands beside Jongseong, pulling him to an encouraging hug. “What?” he snickers, “don't like the celebration?”

“No, I love it,” Jongseong hopes his smile is not too fake looking as he faces his team, not all of them are happy to be here, some are bored and waiting for their shift to be over. He sighs, “thank you guys for this, it means a lot to me.”

A celebration follows, and Jongseong does what is needed. A polite tight lipped smile, respectful bows and a small speech. Said the expected words. Cut the cake, nodded through small talk, and endured hugs from coworkers who’d never even dared to speak to him before today.

When noon rolls around, someone chirps, “We ordered lunch in! Come eat with us, Vice President Park!”

But Jongseong shakes his head.

“I’ll stay in,” he says, voice as smooth as glass. “I have calls to take.”

He turns, walks into his office, and shuts the door behind him.

Silence falls like a blanket. The cheers and loud noises quickly fade as the second Jongseong pulls the door close to his office, making slow and steady steps to his chair. He sits down on it, sighing as he lets out a shaky breath.

Birthday.

The word still rolls bitterly in his mind, not festive, not celebratory—just sharp edged and cold. A reminder of time ticking forward, dragging him further into a life that never felt like his own. A year older, a year deeper into expectations that weren’t his to begin with. The title. The company. The marriage.

He remembers the uncomfortable tight-fitting tuxedos, blinding camera flashes, tight lipped smiles of relatives he didn’t know and as usual, a script.

A script he had to learn every year, which is now installed in his brain. Jongseong just has to open his mouth and utter the same, mechanical and monotonous words in front of everyone as his parents would reassure him after, of how well he did, how well he behaved. And before he even knew it, birthdays meant nothing to him.

But then again, it was made cold and unbearable to him by the world. By his parents.

“Whatever,” he sighs and shrugs his blazer off him. And just as he’s about to throw it on his desk, he notices something.

A lunch box, covered neatly in pink satin cloth. A small note on top.

Jongseong doesn’t want to make assumptions, but he does anyway. What if it's from you? What if you really remembered his birthday? With a gulp, he steers his chair closer to his desk and picks up the lunch box, opening his cloth and reading the note in his hands, holding it up close.

Hope you like it. Happy birthday Jongseong, from y/n.

His breath falters, you remember.

His name in your handwriting. A little crooked, like you were in a rush, or were nervous. His throat tightens as he peels the lid off the top container.

And the scent hits him instantly.

Curry.

Rich, warm, and spiced exactly the way he likes it. Not the kind served at expensive restaurants with dainty portions, but the real kind. Homemade. The kind that sticks to your ribs. The kind that reminds him of chilly weekends in Seattle when he was small enough to sit on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs while his grandmother stirred the pot.

Something coils in his chest.

Carefully, he lifts the second container. The rice is shaped into a perfect flat surface. Neatly pressed, fluffy, hot. And across it—seaweed sheet, hand-cut with meticulous patience—spells out three letters.

JAY

Jongseong feels his heartbeat faltering. He winces as his offices’ air conditioning hits the bruise on his cheeks. He carefully sets the curry down on his table, before gaping at the rice again.

It indeed spells, JAY.

He scoffs at this weird feeling. The more he stares at it the more his heart burns and coils.

Only his grandmother had ever called him that. Not his father. Not his mother. No one in the stiff, lacquered halls of his youth had bothered to learn the name that made him feel… human. Small. Loved.

And now here it was. Cut delicately in seaweed. Sitting quietly in a box on his birthday.

By you.

“You’re really not going to join us for lunch?” Sunghoon barges in his office, striding towards Jongseong's desk.

Jongseong hurriedly tries to close the lunchbox, but it’s too late. Sunghoon’s eyes have already zeroed in on it like a hawk spotting prey.

“Is that curry?” Sunghoon gasps, leaning over the desk like an excited child. “Oh my god, it smells amazing. Who got you that? Is it from that expensive place across the street? Is that seaweed spelling your name? That’s so cute—”

“Get your hands away from it,” Jongseong snaps, dragging the lunchbox closer to his chest like it’s a newborn baby he’s sworn to protect with his life.

Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-reach. His eyebrows shoot up.

“Wow. Wow. Possessive much?”

“This is mine,” Jongseong mutters defensively, clutching the lunchbox tighter. “You guys have a whole lunch downstairs. Go eat that.”

“But that’s communal food,” Sunghoon whines, poking the air toward the lunchbox. “This looks special. Homemade. You should share. It’s what Grandma Jay would’ve wanted.”

Jongseong glares at him.

“Grandma Jay would’ve wanted you to mind your own business.”

Sunghoon snickers, undeterred, and tries to lunge for a bite. Jongseong immediately swivels his chair away, putting his entire body between Sunghoon and the precious lunch like a shield.

“Jesus, you’re like a dragon hoarding treasure,” Sunghoon laughs, hands on his hips. “You’re gonna die alone with that lunchbox in your arms.”

“Good,” Jongseong says without missing a beat. “But I'm not going to share.”

Sunghoon makes one last dramatic, fake sob attack at the lunchbox. Jongseong kicks at him under the desk until he stumbles back, defeated.

Grumbling, Sunghoon heads for the door, shooting Jongseong a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“You’ve changed, man,” he says dramatically. “Fame, fortune… personalized seaweed letters. You’re not the same Jongseong I knew.”

Jongseong just smirks to himself as the door swings shut again. 

Finally, blessed peace.

He opens the lunchbox once more, the smell of curry filling the room, and the sight of your careful seaweed letters warming a space inside him he didn’t even know was still hollow.

A dull sting pulses along his cheek as he chews, and his hand drifts to the bruise you both pretended not to see. He clicks his tongue, annoyed. Coincidence, he tells himself. Nothing more. But the throbbing settles under his skin like a reminder—of you, of your quiet lies, of his own.

But this time, when he takes the first bite, he laughs under his breath.

YOU DESERVED A BETTER GRATITUDE THAN A JUST SIMPLE THANK YOU.

Park Jongseong sighs as he stares at the window of his car, watching the raindrops race against each other. His fingers drum restlessly against the steering wheel, the soft patter of rain against metal filling the silence inside the car.

He leans back against the headrest, staring at the road.

“thank you for the lunch, y/n.” he said last night, “it was so delicious.”

He remembers the tension between your brows, how they knotted up gently and relaxed a second after. Disappointment. He was offhand, rushed and sudden with his words, not even looking into your eyes as he said how warm the meal was. So why wouldn’t you be disappointed? Jongseong remembers the way you rolled your shoulders back, a small sigh escaping you as if you had to physically push the disappointment out of your body, tuck it somewhere he wouldn’t notice.

“you’re welcome,” you said simply, unmuting the ignored show playing on the tv with a soft clenched jaw, which Jongseong wished he wouldn’t notice.

He knew that your welcome wasn’t genuine. And maybe he could’ve tried to find the stars in your eyes to make things better, maybe he shouldn’t overthink.

But he also remembers the way you took a second glance of him when he stood there like a robot, holding his almost empty briefcase in his hands, wanting to say something else than just a thank you.

Your eyes were cold then. Faint traces of tears sticking to your lashes, catching the soft glow of the overhead light as you looked at him like you were trying to read him one last time. He thought you would say something, maybe shout or scoff at his posture.

But nothing came out of your mouth except a tired sigh as you abandoned your discomfort and disappointment on the cold couch as you made your way towards the shared bedroom, agonizingly slow.

Maybe you had that pace intentionally, for him to call you back and say something real. Cause fuck, you remember his beloved nickname which was lost, you remember how he liked his curry, you remember him.

Lost in own thoughts, something interesting catches Jongseong’s eyes.

Is that you?

Jongseong gets startled at the sight. You, in this heavy and cold rain, trying to cross the road with your blazer above your head, which does nothing to keep you dry.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, quickly starting his car as he drives across the road, stopping just beside the pavement.

“Y/n!” He shouts your name clear in the heavy rain, loud enough for you to turn around to his voice, “get in, you’re going to get sick!”

You pause mid-step at his voice, blinking through the rain as you turn to face him. The car idles beside the curb, headlights casting a pale glow across the drenched street. His figure leans across the seat, the passenger door wide open like a quiet plea.

But you stay rooted where you are, water soaking through your shoes, the cold seeping deeper beneath your skin. Your hands clench at your sides.

“I’m fine,” you call out, loud enough for him to hear but it’s tough at the edge, shaking, “go home, Jongseong—”

“Y/n please,” he pleads, although it doesn’t sound like one, “you’re soaking wet, just shut up and get in!”

“I’m- I’m fine,” you snap. You don’t want to get in the car just because he happens to see you and is inviting you to stay dry. That’s the only case, isn’t it? Jongseong is here by coincidence, he wouldn’t deliberately check your location to pick you up in this awful weather. Would he?

“I can go by myself, the rain is not too bad.”

You can hear him sigh, as he gets out of his car, slamming the door behind him.

“Get in,” he steps into the rain, the downpour immediately plastering his shirt to his skin, darkening the fabric, “You will fall sick, y/n. Get in the car.”

He steps even closer, his hair now sticking to his forehead by this insufferable rain as he narrows his eyes. “If you want to be sick so bad, do this another day.”

Your throat tightens. You want to scream at him, shake him, ask him why he always waits until things fall apart before showing up. Why he only steps into the rain once you’re already drenched.

But instead you force your chin up, press your lips into a tight smile as you gather your blazer tighter around yourself.

“Don’t act like you care if i’m sick, Jongseong,” you didn't want to say that, but do anyways.

He blinks. For a second, his expression falters. Barely. “Why not?,” he says quietly, almost like he’s confessing something he hadn’t intended to say aloud. But then his gaze hardens again, guarded. “You’re freezing, Y/N. Stop being stubborn.”

The wind blows past you both, cold and biting. You shiver, teeth clattering as you try to recover whatever warmth the soaked blazer has to give.

“I won’t go—”

“As much as I would love to argue with you right now,” Jongseong cuts off, standing so close that your hands could meet, “I can't let you get sick.”

Your lips part, another protest rising, but before you can speak, Jongseong’s fingers curl around your wrist, not harsh, but firm. His brows draw together, rain sliding down his temples, his lips a tight line.

“I said get in the car,” he repeats, lower this time. His voice carries an edge, not pleading, not begging—commanding. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You glare at him, heart wrenching in the cold rain as it seeps into your work clothes.

“You only come when it’s convenient for you,” you try to hold it together.

He steps closer, raindrops sliding down the sharp lines of his face. “You think this is convenient for me?” he says bitterly, tone low, controlled. “You think standing here like an idiot in the rain for you is easy?”

The proximity hits you suddenly. He’s standing close, too close, as the rain damps his shirt next. Jongseong’s grip around your wrist tightens, indicating he’s not going back home without you in his car.

And somehow that warms you a bit in this coldness.

His eyes are direct, confronting as they try to soften into yours. Try, you can see it, how his eyebrows lift and slowly fall, trying to find the ease in the situation to gently pull you into the car with no trouble, with no one getting sick.

“Y/n…” he whispers your name, as if for the last time when he finally eases his brows, “get in the car. Please.”

You gulp at his seriousness, a droplet of rain rolls from his chin to fall on your cheeks. It’s cold, making you flinch.

“And if i don’t go?” you test the waters, voice trembling as you watch him roll back his shoulders.

“Then I’ll carry you,” he says without hesitation, his gaze hardening. “Don’t test me right now.”

Something in his tone makes your breath hitch. He’s not bluffing—you know that.

You swallow, lips pressing into a thin line as you hesitate, your pride warring with the exhaustion creeping into your bones. But just as another gust of wind leaves you shivering, your resolution breaks.

You look away first, “You are a very bad liar—”

Jongseong doesn’t speak, doesn’t smile or smirk or gloat. He just scoops you up before you can finish the sentence.

Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp as Jongseong’s arm slides under your knees and the other wraps firmly around your back, pulling you against him. Your soaked blazer slips uselessly from your shoulders, rain immediately lashing against your skin, but his body blocks most of it. He’s solid, unyielding, warm in a way that makes your chest ache.

“Jongseong—!” you protest, instinctively gripping the front of his damp shirt. His name tears out of you softer than you intended.

“I warned you,” he mutters, jaw clenched as he turns toward the car. His grip tightens reflexively when you shift, as if afraid you’ll fall or run. “Stop fighting me.”

He reaches the car and nudges the passenger door open with his knee, maneuvering you inside with careful precision.

When he slides back into his seat, drenched and stoic, he doesn’t look at you immediately. Just stares ahead as the engine hums softly beneath the rain. And with that, he pulls the car into drive, headlights cutting through the downpour, his hand steady on the wheel even if everything else between you trembles on the edge of falling apart.

“Take this,” he says, reaching towards the backseat and grabbing his dry blazer, “you’ll be cold.”

“T-thanks,” you don’t argue much as your teeth clatter together, quickly draping the blazer over your damp clothes.

“Y-your clothes are soaked too,” you gulp, voice soft and nervous. You glance at Jongseong’s side profile as he drives, “you’ll get sick—”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, his voice low and steady, almost too calm, “I’m not the one shivering. And it’s just a little rain.”

“So much for the guy who didn’t let me walk home in the rain,” you giggle softly, hoping to elevate his mood but his expressions remain stoic, indifferent.

You pull the blazer tighter around yourself. It smells like him. espresso, cologne and ironically, like home.

“Thank you for—” you clear your throat, taking time to rethink your gratitude towards him when he himself barely shows it. He’s always words, one or two, never sentences like you. But at the end of the day, someone has to express something.

“Thank you for the blazer, and for picking me up anyways. I know you didn’t mean to and I’m sorry for being a nuisance—”

“You’re not a nuisance,” he admits, eyes still on the road. Your heart stops. “I’m not that big of a jerk to let my fiance come home with a fever.”

There’s a silence that stretches long and sharp, the rain outside tapping impatient fingers against the windows. You sink deeper into the passenger seat, your hands curling in your lap. His words aren’t romantic. They aren’t sweet. But they tear through something inside you, a part that’s been holding itself together with hope and delusion.

It’s the bare minimum. It’s something, and something is better than nothing. Right?

“Really?” you whisper, unsure if you really heard that right.

He nods slightly, still focused on the road ahead. “What’s there to question? If you don’t want me picking you up next time, just say so.”

Your heart tugs, this is coming from him. You don’t need anything more than this quiet ride, the shared space between you, the knowledge that he’s here. Whether it’s out of obligation or something deeper.

Jongseong reaches forward, turning on the car’s heating system inside.

“You can keep the blazer,” he mumbles.

You leave it here for now, basking into the silence with his cologne around you, questioning whether or not you really have space in his heart.

RAIN ALWAYS MAKES HIM SOFT.

Not in the obvious way. Not the cinematic way where he confesses or reaches for you or lets himself be held. It makes him quiet first—eyes lingering on windows, fingers tapping restlessly, shoulders drawn tight like he’s bracing for something unseen. You notice it the moment you step onto the rooftop, the smell of wet concrete clinging to your coat, droplets sliding down the glass doors behind you.

It’s Sunghoon’s birthday, technically, though no one is really treating it like one. You almost didn’t come. Long days at work, the quiet tension waiting for you at home. But Sunghoon had called, cheerful and insistent, saying it would be “good for everyone,” which usually meant good for Jongseong.

You arrive later than Jongseong and spot him near the bar, surrounded by men in expensive suits. Business partners, maybe friends, you don’t linger long enough to figure it out. After greeting Sunghoon and handing him a gift you picked up last minute, you drift toward the railing instead, letting the city stretch beneath you.

The air is cold. Damp. The kind that creeps under your skin.

He doesn’t see you at first.

Or maybe he does, and pretends he doesn’t. He stands with a glass in his hand, ice melting faster than he drinks it, head tilted just enough to listen without really engaging.

You watch him from the corner of your eyes. Careful, as he would have been. You watch the way his jaw tightens when someone laughs too loudly, his thumb rubs the rim of his glass over and over—a nervous habit he probably doesn’t realize he has. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.

He looks up suddenly, eyes catching you the first thing he looks at besides his drink, as if rehearsed.

You look away quickly. Ever since he rescued you from the rain, he’s gotten quieter. Maybe shy. You notice how quickly he looks away from your eyes, how he hums shakily in response to your soft thank yous, how his cheeks filled with color when you wore his blazer home, rain soaked and cold.

You hope none of that was your imagination.

Sunghoon’s laughter rings behind you, bright and careless, and you force a smile as someone hands you a drink. The rooftop is warm, string lights overhead, music low and conversation easy. You lean against the railing.

That’s when someone steps beside you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” a familiar voice says.

You turn. Sim Jaeyun—coworker, colleague, friend, whatever fits best these days. Casual clothes, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy like he doesn't care. He smiles easily.

“Neither did I,” you admit. “Long week.”

“You look tired.”

“You have no idea.”

He says your name gently. He asks about work, complains about his boss, makes you laugh with a stupid story about getting lost. At some point, without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, fingers grazing your temple.

You don’t pull away.

You don’t notice the shift in the room.

But Jongseong does.

He notices the untouched drink, the way your sleeve keeps slipping, and he sure as hell notices someone else standing in front of you. Touching you. Smiling with you.

The sound around him dulls, like someone turned the volume down. He sees the touch, the way you tilt your head, the smile he doesn’t think he’s ever earned. Something hot and sharp coils in his chest.

He downs his drink.

“Vice President Park, what are your thoughts—”

He doesn’t hear it.

Another glass appears in his hand. He gulps it down. His throat burns.

The weather crawls under his skin. Anger blurs into something uglier, something dangerously close to fear.

Why are you smiling like that?

He tells himself it’s none of his business. He has no claim. You’re his fiancée by contract, not by touch, not by confession.

And yet his feet move before his thoughts catch up.

He doesn’t storm. He detaches himself from the circle, sets his glass down with too much force, and walks. Slow. Measured.

You feel it before you see him.

The air tightens. Jaeyun is mid sentence when your gaze flickers past his shoulder and lands on Jongseong.

He’s coming toward you.

Tie loosened. Hair disheveled. Jaw set hard. Alcohol makes him tipsy, but his intentions are clear.

Your heart stutters.

You straighten, fingers curling around your glass. Jaeyun notices, glances back.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Is that—”

Jongseong stops beside you.

Too close.

Close enough that you smell him—whiskey, rain, something bitter underneath. Close enough that his presence redraws the space.

“Jaeyun,” Jongseong says calmly, nodding once. Polite. Cold.

“Vice President Park,” Jaeyun replies, straightening.

Jongseong’s gaze slides back to you. Lingers on your face, the loose strand by your temple, the slipping sleeve.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he says to you. You swallow. “I told you earlier.”

He blinks, like he’s replaying the memory too late. “You did.” A beat of silence.

Jaeyun shifts, uncomfortable. “I was just keeping her company,” he says lightly, attempting to diffuse. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

Jongseong hums low. His eyes don’t leave you.

“You don’t have to,” he says. Then, softer, but sharper. “I’ve got her. She’s taken.”

Your breath catches.

Jaeyun hesitates, glancing at you. You open your mouth, but Jongseong’s hand lifts first.

Not entirely touching you.

Hovering at the small of your back, close enough that you feel the heat through your dress. A careful, controlled claim.

“I’ll… grab another drink,” Jaeyun says. “Nice seeing you.”

When he leaves, the space collapses.

You’re alone with Jongseong.

Silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid. He looks away first, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers trembling.

“I can— can talk better than him,” he hiccups.

“Seriously, how much did you drink?” he basically reeks of alcohol and slightly sways side to side as you guide him down the stairs to the empty hallway.

“Are you—,” your sentence is left unfinished a Jongseong cages you against the wall, shaking hands on each side of your head.

He’s close, too close. His eyes are red, unfocused, flickering between your eyes and your lips. His breath is warm but reeking of whiskey. His hands stay planted on the wall, shaking, fingers flexing like he’s reminding himself not to touch.

“You shouldn’t let—” he starts, then hiccups softly, the sound almost humiliating in how it breaks his authority. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, reopens them, tries again. “Let someone who is not your h-husband touch you like that.” The words come out crooked, slurred at the edges, but the intent behind them is painfully clear.

You stare at him, stunned, then a breathy laugh slips out despite yourself. “God,” you murmur, “you’re so drunk.” His brows knit together immediately, offended and wounded in the same breath.

“So what I’m— drunk?” he demands, swaying closer before catching himself, forehead knocking lightly against the wall beside your head. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes,” you say, heart thudding. “Jongseong. You did.” You lift your chin, meeting his gaze even as your voice trembles. “You’re not my husband. You’re only my fiancé. And I can have my own friends.”

For a second, something hollow flashes across his face. Then he laughs, short, disbelieving.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head too hard. “No one else w-would check the—” another hiccup, quieter this time, “—weather and deliberately get wet in the rain just to bring you home safe.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, sinking deep and slow, like cold seeping through fabric. For a moment, you can’t breathe properly. You remember the rain too well. The way you’d laughed it off, the way he hadn’t, how he’d checked the rain twice and still stepped outside without an umbrella, coat already darkening at the shoulders because you hated walking alone.

“I would do that,” he continues, voice lower now. “As your— fucking fiancé or husband. Not Jaeyun. Not— not anyone else.”

His hands leave the wall. They hover instead, uncertain, fingers twitching in the space near your waist like he’s begging himself for restraint. He leans in despite it, forehead nearly brushing yours, breath warm and unsteady against your cheek.

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” he whispers.

Your chest tightens, a quiet ache blooming behind your ribs, because no one else has ever noticed the weather for you, has ever overlooked their own comfort for yours, yet some voice in the back of your head insists that he's just drunk.

But the way he says it hurts worse than any confession.

“I didn’t like him,” he admits. “Near you.”

“Why?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand comes up to his chest again, fingers pressing there like he’s trying to steady something beneath his ribs. His breathing is uneven now, shallow.

“Jongseong,” you say, alarm creeping in. “Are you okay?”

He nods too quickly. “I’m fine.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats.

But he isn’t.

You see it when you guide him to the parking lot, cold wind tugging at your hair. He leans too much on you, apologizing under his breath.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m— I’m heavy,” he mumbles, fumbling for the car keys before giving up and letting you take them from his shaking fingers.

“You’re drunk,” you say gently. “Not dying.” He huffs out a weak laugh. “Feels close enough.”

The drive home is quiet, wipers sweeping rhythmically. Jongseong slumps in the passenger seat, eyes fluttering close like he’s afraid of what happens if he lets them stay closed. His breathing evens out only when the car stops at red lights, like only motion keeps him awake.

At one point, he murmurs your name. Just once. Soft. Unconscious.

Your hands tighten on the steering wheel.

Getting him inside is harder than you expect. He insists he can walk, immediately proves he can’t, nearly folding until you hook an arm around his waist.

“Easy,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” he says. “You always— always do.”

You ease him onto the bed. He collapses face first into the pillows. You tug off his shoes, straighten the blanket, careful not to linger.

When you turn away, it feels like stepping back from something fragile. You make it two steps toward the door.

His hand closes around your wrist. Not rough but enough to stop you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, barely awake, eyes still closed. His grip tightens slightly, like his body knows what he wants even if his mind can’t form it. “Cold.”

He tugs again, weak but insistent, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. He shifts, arm draping around your waist, face pressing into your side like he’s searching for warmth.

“Rain,” he mumbles into your dress. “Hate it when you’re out in it.”

You freeze.

His words dissolve into half formed apologies, your name tangled with quiet plead. His breathing slows, forehead resting against your stomach like it’s the safest place he knows.

You don’t move.

Because for the first time, his softness isn’t guarded or conditional. It’s just him, clinging in his sleep like he trusts you not to disappear.

And you realize, with startling clarity, that rain doesn’t make him weak.

It makes him tell the truth.

YOU WONDER IF YOU CARE TOO MUCH SOMETIMES.

Because no matter what you do for Park Jongseong, it never feels like enough to quiet the ache that lives with you. Loving him feels like holding something fragile and priceless in your bare hands, knowing that even your gentlest grip might hurt him, knowing that letting go might destroy you both.

You care in a way that feels reckless. Although you do see the consequence of it, that has now finally for once, in your favour.

Jongseong doesn’t pull away after that night.

If anything, he does the opposite.

He lingers.

At first, it’s subtle enough that you convince yourself it’s coincidence. He waits for you in the mornings, jacket already in hand even when the forecast promises clear skies. He sits closer at the dining table, knee brushing yours beneath the polished surface, never once apologizing for the contact. When you move around the apartment, he follows. Not hovering, not watching, just present.

You tell yourself it’s temporary. That he doesn’t remember what he said. That the drunken softness was a one-time fracture.

After all, this whole thing is arranged, and you’ve managed to gaslight yourself into thinking this softness is just obligation wearing a kinder face. That this is him playing his part better now.

You repeat it like a rule. Like something that can keep you at bay.

But rules blur when he learns your steps.

He starts matching his pace to yours without realizing it. Slowing when you slow, pausing when you hesitate, turning back when you forget something even if it makes him late. When you sit on the couch, he chooses the space beside you instead of across the room. When you’re tired, he quietly rearranges his schedule around yours, meetings shifted, calls taken later, priorities subtly rewritten.

It’s never announced. Never even whispered.

It just happens.

And it scares you more than it comforts you. Because this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? For him to care, to notice, to stay. But now that it’s happening, it feels unfamiliar in your hands. It feels like obligation. Plain obligation.

Still, sometimes you catch him looking at you with something like relief. Other times, something closer to fear.

That’s when it starts to bleed through.

In the way his fingers tighten around your sleeve when you mention staying late at work. In the way his jaw sets when your phone lights up with unfamiliar names.

At night, he sleeps closer.

Not always touching, sometimes just angled toward you, arm thrown over the empty space between your bodies like he’s reserving it. Other nights, he curls into you without thinking, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath steadying only once you’re there. When he stirs from whatever restless place his dreams take him, his hand finds you first. Barely there. But always you.

You start waking before him just to watch.

The way his brow smooths in sleep. The way his lips part slightly when he exhales. The faint tension that never fully leaves his body, even at rest. You notice the moments when his breathing stutters, when his hand presses briefly to his chest before settling again. So subtle you wonder if you imagined it.

You don’t ask, even when you know you should.

Instead, you slip out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb the way Jongseong’s arm lies over your hand, loose but deliberate, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You peel his fingers away one by one, apologizing in your head for a crime you haven’t committed yet, and pad toward the kitchen.

The apartment is still. Morning light spills softly through the curtains, pale and forgiving. You make coffee the way he likes it now, without thinking about when you memorized that detail. The realization only hits after the mug is already warming your palms.

You’re setting plates on the counter when the bedroom door opens.

Jongseong stands there, hair mussed, shirt half-buttoned, eyes heavy but searching. He looks relieved when he finds you in the kitchen, like something in his chest loosens at the sight.

“You’re up,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“So are you,” you reply.

He hums and drifts closer, leaning his shoulder against the counter beside you. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you move, each small action tracked like he’s afraid to miss it.

Sunlight catches the faint shadows beneath his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep well,” you say without thinking.

He stiffens for half a second, then shrugs. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

That alone feels like a confession.

The moment lingers too long, fragile, exposed. Jongseong seems to realize it too, because his shoulders tense, his gaze drops, and the softness retracts all at once.

“Schedule’s tight this week,” he says abruptly, voice clipped. “Might come home late.”

You nod, even though you know that’s not the reason the air has cooled.

Breakfast is quiet after that.

He sits across from you instead of beside you, answers short, eyes fixed anywhere but your face. When you pass him the toast, your fingers brush, and he flinches.

It’s barely noticeable.

But you notice.

You lift your mug, letting the warmth settle your nerves. The coffee tastes familiar, comforting in a way that makes your chest ache. You don’t realize he’s staring until he turns back to the counter and starts brewing coffee again.

“You already have one,” you say.

“I know.”

He pours it into a different mug. A plain one. You ask, very confused, “Why are you using a different cup?”

He pauses, then nods toward your hands. “Because you’re holding mine.”

You freeze, eyes dropping to the mug. His mug. Heat rushes to your face.

“I— I’m sorry,” you say quickly, already standing. “I didn’t realize—”

“Hey.” His voice is gentle. He steps closer, stopping you with a light touch to your wrist. “It’s fine.”

You look up at him, still braced.

“It’s just a cup,” he adds, softer.

Something in your chest loosens. “Isn’t it your favorite?” you murmur.

He pours milk into his coffee, hesitates, then adds a little more—your preference, not his. When he notices you watching, he clears his throat.

“I can share,” he says.

You smile, small and careful. This time, he doesn’t look away.

But to your luck, softness doesn’t last.

It creeps into the days quietly, settles into routines, hides in shared cups and matching steps. Until one evening, it snaps under the weight of everything neither of you is saying.

Jongseong comes home late.

You know it the moment the door opens, not because of the time, but because of the way it opens. Sharper. With a thud.

You’re on the couch, half curled into the corner with your laptop abandoned beside you, the apartment lit only by a lamp you forgot to turn off. You look up instinctively.

He doesn’t greet.

His tie is loosened, jacket still on, hair slightly damp like he washed his hands too aggressively and dragged his fingers through it afterward. His expression is shut tight, jaw clenched in a way that makes something in your chest tighten in response.

“You’re late,” you say. Not accusing. Just stating.

“I know,” he replies, cold.

He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t take his jacket off. Just stands there like he hasn’t decided whether to stay or leave.

Something prickles.

“You said you’d text,” you add, softer now.

His eyes flick to yours. There’s irritation there, not fully directed at you, but sharp enough to cut.

“I was busy.”

The way he says it feels deliberate.

You close your laptop slowly. “You’ve been busy every night this week.”

Silence.

You stand as if to confront him. The distance between you shrinks without either of you meaning it to.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, carefully. “But don’t shut me out either.”

His laugh is quiet. Humorless. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“You are,” you say, firmer now. “You come home exhausted, you won’t talk, you won’t let me ask if you’re okay—”

“I am okay,” he snaps.

The sharpness makes you flinch before you can stop yourself.

He sees it.

Something dark flashes across his face—regret, anger, fear, all tangled together.

“I didn’t mean—” He stops. Swallows. “You’re overthinking.”

The words land badly.

“You hate it when I watch you,” you say quietly. “But you hate it more when I stop.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides.

“You don’t get to psychoanalyze me,” he says. “You don’t know what it’s like—”

“Then tell me,” you cut in. Your voice shakes despite your effort. “Stop standing five steps away from me like I’m a stranger in my own house.”

That does it.

He crosses the space between you in three strides.

Too fast. Too close.

You barely have time to inhale before he’s there. Towering, breathing unevenly, the air between you charged and dangerous. His hands come up, bracing against the wall on either side of your head.

The sound it makes is soft.

The effect is not.

Your heart slams against your ribs. You can feel his warmth now, feel the tension vibrating off him, feel how hard he’s fighting himself. His face is inches from yours, so close you can see the faint pulse at his jaw, the way his eyes flicker down to your mouth before snapping back up.

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely. Not a command, but warning to himself.

“Don’t what?” you whisper, breath catching.

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He gulps, as if holding back very specific words. “Like I owe you something I can’t give.”

Your chest aches. “I’m not asking for anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he says, voice low, strained. “You ask just by standing there. By—” His breath stutters. “By caring.”

You don’t move.

You can feel his breath on your cheek. Warm. Unsteady. His lips are dangerously close now, close enough that the slightest tilt would end everything you’ve been holding apart.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to risk.”

“Then why are you here?” you ask, tears threatening. “Why do you come back to me every night if you’re so afraid?”

His eyes darken.

Because he wants to kiss you.

Because you can see it. The way his mouth softens, the way his body leans in despite his mind screaming no. His forehead dips, brushing yours. He gulps again, eyes glued to your lips. For half a second, you think he’s going to give in.

You think this is it.

Then he pulls back.

Abrupt. Violent in its restraint.

He steps away like he’s been burned, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing hard. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks again.

“I need air,” he says, voice rough. “I can’t do this tonight.”

He grabs his jacket off the chair, pauses at the door just long enough for you to think, hope, he might turn back.

He doesn’t.

The door closes behind him, leaving you alone in the charged silence, lips still tingling from a kiss that never happened, heart aching from how close he came.

And how far he ran.

PARK JONGSEONG SMOOTHENS HIS TIE IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR.

He does it twice. Then a third time. Slow, precise movements, like repetition might quiet the unease sitting low in his chest. The mirror reflects a version of him he knows how to wear, pose and pretend. The heir. The fiancé. The man who never falters.

Except his fingers hesitate at his collarbone.

Just for a fraction of a second.

He exhales, steadying himself, and reaches for his cufflinks. The room smells faintly of cologne and starch and something warmer beneath it. Home, he thinks, before he can stop himself.

The bedroom door opens softly behind him.

“Jongseong?”

Your voice.

He straightens instinctively, shoulders squaring before he turns around.

You stand there in the doorway, light spilling in behind you, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.

The dress drapes over you like it was designed with patience, soft fabric, gentle lines, nothing loud. It doesn’t demand attention. It invites it. The kind that lingers. The kind that stays. Your hair falls neatly over your shoulders, collarbones catching the light, skin warm and real in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

You shift your weight, suddenly self conscious beneath his stare.

“So?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “How do I look?”

The question hangs between you.

Jongseong opens his mouth. But then closes it back.

His eyes trace you—too slow to be polite, too careful to be careless. He notices everything: the way the fabric settles at your waist, the slight dip at your collarbone, the way your hands fidget like you’re bracing for something. For him. Because of him.

Because the last thing he remembers clearly is your breath on his lips and the way he walked away like a coward.

“You look—” Jongseong gulps, the words getting stuck between his throat and his heart. His eyes dart away from your eyes and he opens his mouth again.

“You look—”

“Sir,” the driver’s voice cuts in from the hallway. Why, the perfect timing. “The car is ready.”

The moment collapses.

Jongseong nods once, grateful and irritated all at the same time. “We’ll be right there.”

The door closes again, leaving the words unsaid. You smile at him, understanding, and he hates himself for not being fast enough with his words

----

The family house is already alive when you arrive.

Laughter spills from the open doors. The clink of glasses. Familiar voices layered over one another in practiced warmth. Jongseong’s mother greets you first, eyes sharp and appraising, a practised smile.

“You look lovely,” she tells you, hands light on your shoulders. “Perfect.”

Jongseong’s father nods at him from across the room, just acknowledging his presence with his perfect wife. But he doesn’t come up to you both for once.

“Do you want to sit?” he asks quietly, leaning in just enough that no one else hears. His voice is neutral, but his shoulders are tense.

“I’m fine,” you reply. Then, after a beat, softer, “Are you?”

He exhales through his nose. “I will be.”

That’s not an answer.

You drift toward the window under the pretense of admiring the garden lights. Jongseong follows a moment later, stopping beside you.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer to your ears.

You keep your eyes forward. “Which part?”

His jaw ticks. “All of it.”

“That’s convenient,” you say, not unkindly, just bored.

He glances at you then, eyes dark. “This isn’t the place.”

“No,” you agree, nodding. “It never is.”

Dinner starts shortly after. What is meant to be a family gathering feels like business meeting soon.

Everyone takes their seats, chairs pulled back in unison, napkins folded just so. Jongseong sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours beneath the table, a small anchor in a room that already feels too large.

Conversation starts harmless.

Someone comments on the weather. Another praises the dishes. Jongseong’s uncle talks about a recent business acquisition, his voice carrying authority. You nod when appropriate, smile when addressed, keep your posture perfect.

But then the atmosphere shifts.

“So,” one of his aunts says, swirling her wine, eyes flicking to you with something like curiosity, “have you settled into married life yet?”

Not yet married, you want to say, You know that.

Instead, you smile. “We’re adjusting.”

She hums. “That’s good. It’s important to learn flexibility early. Especially for women.”

Another voice joins in, you don’t recognizethe face. “You still plan on working after the wedding, right? Or is this just, a phase?”

You open your mouth, then hesitate. Choose your words carefully. “I enjoy my work.”

“Of course,” someone else laughs lightly. “But family should always come first. Jongseong’s responsibilities are already immense.”

The implication lands quietly. You are not one of them.

You glance down at your plate, appetite gone. Your hands curl slightly in your lap, nails pressing into skin just enough to ground you.

“But it must be nice,” his cousin adds, smiling sweetly, “to have everything taken care of. Some people don’t realize how fortunate they are.”

Fortunate.

The word lands softly, almost politely—and still, it sinks its teeth into you. It curls somewhere behind your ribs, sharp and humiliating, because you know exactly what they mean by it. Not lucky. Not loved. Arranged. Chosen for you. Your hands rest neatly in your lap, fingers folded just right, posture perfect, because this is what fortune looks like from the outside.

You smile because you’re supposed to, because anything else would be impolite. Your chest tightens anyway. They don’t see the waiting, the wanting, the nights spent staring at a ceiling beside a man who won’t touch you. They don’t see how much of yourself you’ve learned to shrink just to fit into this version of “enough.”

You’re just another asset for them. A doll beside Jongseong.

Your eyes burn, vision blurring just slightly, and you lower your gaze before anyone notices. Because crying here would be unforgivable.

Jongseong’s fork stops moving.

It doesn’t clatter. He doesn’t drop it. He simply stills and puts it down.

He looks at you. Really looks this time.

The way your shoulders have gone rigid. The way your smile hasn’t quite reached your eyes. The way your head tips lower, lashes casting shadows over cheeks that are just a little too flushed, eyes shining with something dangerously close to tears.

“That’s enough,” Jongseong says.

The words aren’t loud. They don’t need to be. They cut through the table cleanly, like a blade sliding between ribs.

Conversation falters. Glasses pause halfway to lips.

His aunt blinks. “Jongseong, we were just—”

“You were being disrespectful,” he interrupts, voice steady and controlled. His hand moves under the table, fingers brushing your knee once. “And you’re not going to continue.”

His cousin scoffs softly. “Oh, come on. We didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know exactly what you meant,” he says. His glare flicks across the table, sharp and unyielding. “And you don’t get to talk about her like she’s a convenience. Or something handed to me.”

The silence thickens.

His mother opens her mouth, but hesitates.

His father clears his throat. “Jongseong,” he says carefully, in a warning tone. “That’s enough. This is a family dinner.”

Jongseong turns to him slowly.

For a moment, his expression falters. Not with doubt, but with something older and buried.

“Just because you never said anything to defend Mom,” he says, voice low and shaking, “doesn’t mean I’ll do the same for my—”

He stops. Breathes shakily.

“—my wife.”

The words lands heavy. Your head snaps up to Jongseong, tears almost running down.

“She is not fortunate,” he continues, eyes never leaving his father’s. “She is capable. She is intelligent. And she does not owe anyone gratitude for being here.”

A pause.

“If you can’t respect that,” he finishes, “then this dinner is over.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

You stand before anyone can respond, chair scraping softly against the floor.

“Excuse me,” you say, voice thin but steady. “I need some air.”

You move before anyone can stop you.

The chair scrapes softly against the floor as you stand, the sound far too loud in the thick silence Jongseong has carved open. Your hands tremble, but your spine stays straight.

No one stops you. No one knows how.

You walk out before the tears can fall.

The hallway feels endless. Too bright. Too quiet. Your heels click too fast against the marble as you head toward the garage, breath coming shallow, chest tight like it’s caving in. You tell yourself not to cry. You’ve done this long enough. You can do this too.

You don’t hear him at first.

“Y/n—!”

Jongseong’s voice cuts through the space, urgent in a way you’ve never heard before. You turn just as your foot slips, heel catching awkwardly on the edge of the concrete ramp.

You twist your ankle, pain shooting up.

You gasp, stumbling forward, but arms catch you.

Strong. Jongseong absorbs you without hesitation, one arm braced around your waist, the other gripping your forearm.

“Shit—” he breathes, crouching instantly. “Don’t move.”

Your ankle throbs, hot and pulsing. You bite your lip hard, tears finally spilling over.

“I’m fine,” you whisper.

“No,” he says, “You’re not.”

He doesn’t ask for permission.

Jongseong lifts you into his arms. Your face presses briefly into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne grounding you despite everything.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “I won’t drop you.”

He carries you to the car, sets you down gently, buckles you in himself with shaking hands. When he slides into the driver’s seat, his jaw is tight, eyes dark with something fierce and protective.

Neither of you speak as he pulls out of the driveway.

The house disappears behind you.

THE APARTMENT IS QUIET WHEN YOU GET THERE.

Muted, like it’s holding its breath with you. Jongseong helps you inside without a word, arm firm around your waist, movements careful in a way that feels practiced and panicked all at once. He sits you down on the couch, kneeling immediately in front of you, jacket discarded somewhere behind him.

“Let me see,” he says, voice low.

You hesitate. “It’s probably not that bad—”

“Please,” he cuts in, gentler now. “Just… let me.”

He slips off your heel slowly, like he’s afraid even the air might hurt you. His hands are warm, steady despite the tension still living in his shoulders. When his fingers brush your ankle, you flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs instantly, retreating. “I’ll be careful.”

He fetches the first aid kit, crouches again, and wraps your ankle with slow precision. His brows knit together, jaw tight, focus unwavering.

The silence stretches.

“You didn’t have to say that,” you whisper suddenly. “Back there.”

He doesn’t look up. “I did.”

“I could defend myself—”

“I know.” His hands pause. Then he looks at you. Really looks at you. “But I wanted to.”

Something in his expression fractures then. Eyebrows relaxes, shoulder dropping. His thumb lingers at your ankle a second too long, like he’s forming words.

You swallow. “You didn’t have to,” you say, even though part of you aches because he did. “Not against your family like that—”

“Yes,” he replies immediately. Too quickly. “I did.”

Your gaze drops to his hands, still hovering around your ankle, fingers warm and careful. He exhales through his nose, steadies himself, and resumes wrapping the bandage, slower now, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might make something crack.

“Maybe they were right,” you murmur, fidgeting with your fingers, warm agaisnt your lap. “About me being fortunate.”

His looks up, immediately. “Don’t.”

“It’s fine,” you add quickly, reflexive. “I’m used to it.”

That makes him stop again.

“No,” he says, quieter. “You shouldn’t be. They were wrong about everything.”

You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Jongseong—”

His thumb presses lightly into your ankle, apologetic and voice soft. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“A little.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you can’t tell what he’s apologizing for anymore.

“You didn’t push me,” you try. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“I should’ve been there faster.”

You look at him then. “You caught me.”

“Still,” he insists, a crease forming between his brows. “I should’ve—” He cuts himself off, breath hitching slightly. His hand shifts, pressing briefly to his own chest before he seems to realize you’re watching.

His hand lingers at his chest for half a second longer than necessary.

Then Jongseong straightens.

The shift is subtle but unmistakable. He rises to his full height, standing between your knees, close enough that your breath catches. From where you’re sitting on the counter, he feels impossibly tall, shoulders tense, frame rigid like he’s holding himself together by force alone.

You tilt your head up to look at him.

His expression is unreadable at first. Guarded. Then something in it gives way, like a crack spreading through glass that was never meant to be unbreakable. His jaw clenches. His eyes soften, dark and conflicted, flicking over your face as if he’s memorizing you again.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly.

You don’t answer.

Jongseong finishes securing the bandage. The movement puts him directly in front of you, close enough that his knees brush yours, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

He reaches up hesitantly, knuckles brushing your cheek. His thumb wipes at the corner of your eye before you even realize tears have slipped free.

“You’re crying,” he murmurs, voice rough.

You laugh weakly, giving up. “I think it just… caught up to me.”

His gaze lingers on your face, your red rimmed eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you’re trying so hard to stay composed even now. Something in him gives way.

“I hate that they made you feel small,” he says quietly. “I hate that you let them.”

You swallow, looking down as if it solves something. “I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

“You didn’t,” he says, “They did.”

His hand stays on your cheek, warmer now, more certain. He uses his other thumb to brush under your other eye. Your heart thumps loud, you hate it and yet you crave it.

“You shouldn’t have to be strong all the time,” he adds. “Not here. Not with me.”

Your chest tightens. “Then why do you keep pulling away?”

The question is soft. Careful. It lands anyway.

His jaw flexes. He looks down at you, then away, then back again.

“Because if I don’t,” he says, voice dropping, “I won’t know how to keep this… contained.”

“Contained from what?”

“From wanting more,” he admits,  voice shaking at its edges. “From wanting you.”

“Do you really want me?” you whisper louder than you meant to.

That’s all it takes.

He leans in slowly, as if giving you every chance to change your mind. His forehead brushes yours first, breath warm against your lips. You can feel the trembling tension in him.

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft.

Almost reverent.

The kiss is hesitant at first, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he presses too hard. His lips move against yours slowly, learning, relearning. When you sigh into it, his control fractures.

He kisses you deeper then, still gentle but unmistakably desperate, like he’s been starving quietly for too long. His hand slides up your back, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer until there’s no space left to doubt what this is.

He trails a hot line from your lips down your jaw, then to the hollow under your ear, and you arch without realizing, breath hitching.

“Jongseong—” you whisper, when his mouth finds the tender skin at your neck. The sound breaks somewhere between his teeth and the small gasp that slips out of you trembles against his chest.

“I—” he says, voice swallowed by another kiss. “I’ve wanted—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, pleading, yet a part of you wants him to finish the sentence.

Between his kisses, your thoughts scatter and then narrow to an aching truth—you had wanted this for so long it almost hurts to finally have it.

You don’t know why, because you have always yearned for Jongseong’s warm touch. But right now, you can only hope that you won’t wake up from this.

He pauses, forehead against your temple, eyes dark and vulnerable. “I don’t know if I have the right to want,” he admits, so quiet you almost miss it. Then, louder, “But I do.”

His mouth finds your pulse at the base of your throat and presses, the kiss wet and demanding. Your hands go up, tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his strands as he deepens the kiss.

He lifts you without fussing and carries you towards the bedroom. The movement is fluid, as if he’s imagined this a thousand times and finally stepped into it. You wrap your legs around his hips instinctively.

“Careful,” you murmur, breathless, face burning up with shyness.

“I am,” he answers, voice low. “Always.”

He lays you down gently, not breaking the kiss until his forehead rests against yours and you both are dizzy with it. He leans over you lips roaming—down your throat, to the soft slope between collarbone and shoulder—leaving a trail of heated kisses like a map.

“Say my name,” he murmurs against your skin, “Call me Jay, please.”

“Jay,” you answer.

He lifts his head, mouth quirking into something close to a smile. “Good,” he says, and it’s a laugh with no humor.

Jongseong feels himself fading quietly, the way a man does when he’s held something back for too long. Every brush of your lips against his reminds him how close he is to losing the careful distance he built to survive

He’s terrified by how easy it is to forget everything else when you sigh against him, by how instinctively his body leans closer to you and the guilt eats him alive because he never allowed himself to touch you.

“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?,” you say at one point, trying not to cry, awkward under the weight of his closeness.

“I’m sorry” he simply says, voice hoarse. “I was... scared.”

“Of what?”

He doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he brings his soft, wet lips to yours again, capturing you into another kiss.

MORNING ARRIVES QUIETLY.

The morning light slips in through the opaque curtains and fills the space in the bedroom. The city outside is awake, but your apartment isn’t, not really. It’s suspended in that soft in between where the night hasn’t fully let go yet.

You wake first.

For a few seconds, you don’t move. You just register. The warmth at your back. The steady rise and fall of his chest against you. His arm draped over your waist, heavy and protective, with his face nuzzled deep in your neck.

Last night comes back to you in fragments rather than a rush—his mouth at your neck, the way he carried you like something precious, the way his voice broke when you said his name. The way he held you afterward, forehead pressed to yours, breathing uneven but calm, like he’d finally stopped being cold.

You turn slowly, careful not to wake him.

Jongseong looks different in sleep.

Softer. Younger. His brows aren’t drawn together like they usually are, his mouth slack, lashes resting against his cheeks. There’s no heir, no expectation, no weight in the way he rests right now. Just a man who looks tired in a way that makes your chest ache.

Jongseong stirs when you shift slightly, his arm tightening instinctively around you. He hums, drowsy and half audible, and presses his lips to your hair without opening his eyes.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

You smile before you can stop yourself. “Morning.”

He opens his eyes slowly, dark lashes lifting, and for a split second you see it, his eye are actually soft this time. Then his expression even warms when he focuses on you.

“Did I wake you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you whisper. “I was already up.”

He hums again, eyes drifting shut as he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm, steady. You can feel the way his body relaxes when you don’t pull away, when you fit into him like this is something practiced rather than new.

“Stay,” he murmurs, like it’s a reflex.

You smile, your hands resting against his chest, “I’m not going anywhere.”

That makes his eyes open again.

Something passes over his face. Relief, maybe, or something more fragile. His hand tightens at your waist just a little.

“You’re warm,” he says, almost distracted. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” you admit. “You?”

He exhales softly, a sound that’s almost a laugh. “Better than I usually do.”

There’s a pause. Not an uncomfortable one. Just space.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, unhurried. It feels different in the daylight. His thumb brushes gently under your eye.

“You’re staring,” you tease quietly.

“Let me,” he replies. “I don’t do it enough.”

Its crazy to think how only just a week ago, this softness intimacy with your own fiance was just a dream, something that you could only imagine. Back then, his touch felt like a concept rather than a reality, his warmth something you imagined in quiet moments before sleep, never something you expected to wake up to, wrapped in it.

Now he’s here, breathing against you, holding you as if he always did, as if he was never any cold to you.

Your chest aches with a cautious kind of hope, the kind that blooms slowly, afraid of being noticed, because part of you is still bracing for him to pull away, for the walls to rise again.

He presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“I’ll make coffee,” he says finally. “Don’t move.”

You laugh softly. “I won’t. Promise.”

He disappears into the kitchen, barefoot and rumpled, sleeves pushed up, hair still tousled from sleep. The sight of him like this, unguarded and domestic, fills you with a warmth that almost hurts.

You sit up on the bed, glancing around the bedroom as you wait.

As the duvet cover pools around you, you can’t help but wonder how he must have felt last night, after sleeping with his back turned to you for months, after restricting your touch for months. You remember the way his voice trembled when you said his name, the way his breathing finally evened out only when you were tucked against him, and you realize he must have been carrying something heavy for a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, he was yearning for you the same way you were yearning for him.

And you let yourself believe that. You believe that mornings will be like this from now on. Soft and domestic. Romantic, even.

You glance around the bedroom as you wait, trying to find to pull you out of your thoughts.

That’s when you notice the folder.

Tucked beneath the edge of the coffee table, partially hidden, beige and unassuming. You wouldn’t have paid it any attention if not for the bold hospital logo printed across the corner.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself not to touch it. You really do.

But something twists in your gut, sharp and familiar, the same feeling you had when he pressed his hand to his chest last night. The same unease that’s been following him like a shadow for months.

You stand.

Your bare feet barely make a sound against the floor as you walk over. The folder is thin. You hesitate with your fingers resting against it, heart already racing like it knows what’s coming.

You pull the paper free.

Your eyes skim at first, unfocused.

The papers inside are neatly stacked, clipped together. Medical reports. Test results. Dates. Charts.

You scan the first page. And then the words blur.

Diagnosis: Atherosclerosis.

Your breath leaves you all at once, like someone punched it out of your chest.

Atherosclerosis, a condition in which plaque builds up inside your arteries, which overtime hardens narrows the arteries.

You read the other pages. Slower this time. Clinical language. Risk factors. Progression. Treatment plans that sound too careful, too conditional. Phrases like advanced, monitor closely, high risk.

Your fingers tremble as you keep reading, as if slowing down might somehow soften the meaning.

But it doesn’t.

Is this why he always kept you at an arms' distance? Why he always left you wondering for his love? Never touched you, or held or kissed only until last night? He doesn’t actually have limited time, does he?

A quiet, broken sound leaves your throat before you even realize you’re crying. You clamp a hand over your mouth, but it doesn’t help. Tears spill freely now, dropping onto the papers in dark, blurry spots. Your shoulders shake as you try to breathe through it, try to make sense of the hurricane hurling towards you.

Footsteps sound behind you.

“Coffee will be ready in—”

The sentence dies in his throat.

You hear it. The way his voice stops, the way the air shifts. You don’t look up. You can’t. You’re staring at the paper like it might rearrange itself into something less devastating if you keep looking.

“Y/n…” Jongseong says carefully, slowing down at the threshold of the bedroom.

When you finally lift your eyes, he’s frozen near the doorway, mug in hand, color draining from his face. His gaze drops from your tear streaked cheeks to the papers in your hands.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he says quietly.

The words land softly, but they split something open inside you.

Your fingers tighten around the papers, knuckles white, the thin sheets trembling with you. Your throat burns the moment you try to speak, like your body already knows what your heart is refusing to accept.

“H-how long?” you ask, the question barely holding together. It comes out thin. Fragile. Like if you press any harder, you’ll shatter completely.

He doesn’t answer.

That silence is worse than anything he could have said. It stretches heavy, filling the space between you until your chest feels too tight to breathe.

“How long, Jongseong?” you ask again, louder this time, tears spilling down without restraint. Your voice cracks right down the middle. “How long have you known?”

He sets the mug down slowly on the counter, like even that small sound might break you further. The coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim, unnoticed. His shoulders rise and fall once, a controlled breath that looks rehearsed. Like he’s done this alone, over and over.

“A while,” he admits.

The words feel vague on purpose. Cowardly.

“A while?” you echo, disbelief laced with hurt. Your laugh is short and broken, more like a sob caught in reverse. “What does that even mean, Jongseong? Weeks? Months?”

His jaw tightens. He drags a hand through his hair, fingers shaking just enough that you notice. He looks away from you—toward the window, the wall, anywhere but your face.

“Years.”

The word drops into the room like a blade.

For a moment, everything goes quiet. Not muted, but gone. Like your ears are ringing after an explosion.

“Years?” you whisper, the syllable barely surviving your lips.

Your knees feel weak. Your chest aches so sharply it almost feels physical, like something is crushing your ribs from the inside. You clutch the papers harder, as if they might anchor you to the floor.

“You’ve been—” Your voice gives out. You swallow, forcing the words through tears. “You’ve been sick this whole time?”

“Yes.”

The answer is immediate. Too immediate. Like he’s tired of lying, or maybe tired of carrying it alone.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” The hurt finally spills into anger, your voice rising, shaking, raw. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

He turns back to you instantly, panic flashing across his face, all that carefully built composure cracking at the edges.

“That’s not—” he starts, stepping toward you.

“Then what was it?” you cut in, backing away without realizing it. Your chest heaves, every breath uneven. “What was all that distance? All those nights you wouldn’t touch me, wouldn’t even look at me?”

Your voice breaks again, softer now, more wounded than angry. Memories flood back uninvited, the cold space between you in bed, the way he always kept a careful inch of distance, the way his hands would clench like he wanted to reach for you and stopped himself.

“You made me feel unwanted,” you whisper. “Like I was asking for too much just by loving you.”

His face twists at that, pain cutting through his features so sharply it almost scares you.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, voice strained. “I was trying to protect us.”

“By shutting me out?” you snap, tears blurring your vision. “By letting me think I wasn’t enough?”

“That’s not what it was,” he insists, stepping closer again. “I couldn’t— I didn’t know how to let you get attached when I don’t even know how long I—”

He stops himself.

Your heart stutters. “When you don’t know how long what?” you take a shaky breath in, “Why after all this time—”

“Because Im dying, okay?” Jongseong snaps.

The words don’t land right away.

They snatch the land away from right beneath your feet, and for a second you feel falling down. For a moment, all you can hear is your own heartbeat beating way too loud agaisnt your ribcage.

“What…?” Your lips move, but the sound barely comes out. “What did you say?”

He looks like he regrets it the instant the words leave him. Like they tore out of him without permission. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscle jump beneath his skin. His eyes are glossy. Hes not crying yet.

“I said I’m dying,” he repeats, quieter now. Hoarse, and you know that hurts him. “Eventually. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this year. But it’s there. Hanging over everything.”

You shake your head slowly, as if that might undo it. As if disbelief alone could rewind time to ten minutes ago, when the world still made sense.

“No,” you whisper. “Don’t say that like it’s—like it’s already decided.”

He laughs under his breath, bitter and exhausted. “It kind of is.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “Then why are you standing here?” you demand, tears streaming freely now. “Why are you pretending this is just another argument we can talk through?”

“Because I didn’t want you living your life around a countdown,” he says, voice breaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you wake up one day alone, wondering why you stayed.”

You clutch the papers to your chest like they’re the only thing keeping you upright. “So you thought hurting me would be better?”

“I thought distancing myself would make it easier when I leave,” he says quietly.

“When you—” Your breath stutters. “When you what?”

“When I go away,” he admits. “Anytime, Y/n. My whole life is unsure. I don’t get guarantees. I don’t get to plan ten years ahead like everyone else.”

He drags a hand down his face, the movement slow, weary, like the mask is finally too heavy to hold up.

“I didn’t want this marriage,” he says suddenly, the confession sharp and honest. “I didn’t want a wife whom I can just leave behind.”

The words gut you.

“Then why did you agree?” you ask, voice small despite everything tearing through you. “Why stand there beside me, say vows you didn’t believe in?”

His eyes lift to yours then, and something raw breaks open in them.

“Because I didn’t know how not to,” he says. “Because everyone kept telling me it was the right thing. My family wanted stability. I—”

He stops. Swallows hard.

“Because part of me hoped I was wrong,” he finishes. “That maybe I’d get lucky. That maybe if I kept my distance, I could survive it without hurting you.”

Your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself.

You want to scream at him for keeping something this devastating from you, for deciding on your behalf what you could and couldn’t handle. You want to cry for the months you spent feeling unwanted, for the nights you lay beside him wondering what you’d done wrong, for every time you swallowed your need for affection because you thought you were asking for too much.

And beneath all of that, cutting deeper than the rest, is fear.

Your mind keeps replaying every small moment from the past days. The way he would sometimes pause mid-step, fingers pressing briefly to his chest before he noticed you watching. The exhaustion he tried to hide behind clipped answers and silence. He was living life on borrowed time. And now it all makes a horrifying kind of sense. The distance wasn’t indifference. It was fear. Fear of attachment. Fear of leaving you behind. Fear of loving you too much when he wasn’t sure how long he’d be allowed to.

Your hands shake as you clutch the papers, the thin sheets crumpling slightly under your grip. You don’t even notice. All you can feel is the way your chest feels too small for everything trying to live inside it at once.

Anger. Fear. Grief. Love.

Love, most of all.

You take a step toward him before you realize you’ve moved. Your legs feel unsteady, like they might give out at any second, but you keep going until you’re standing right in front of him. He looks braced, like he’s expecting you to push him away, to scream, to tell him you’re done.

Instead, your voice comes out broken and soft.

“So you decided for me,” you say. Not accusing. Just devastated. “You decided that I couldn’t love you through this. That I couldn’t stay.”

His jaw tightens. “I didn’t want you trapped.”

“I wasn’t trapped,” you whisper. “I was confused. I was lonely. I was wondering every day what I did wrong.”

That hits him harder than shouting ever could.

Jongseong’s shoulders sag, like something finally gives up holding itself together. He closes his eyes briefly, breath shuddering as it leaves him.

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know I hurt you.”

The word hangs in the air between you.

Dying.

It doesn’t sound real. It feels like a foreign language, like something meant for hospital rooms and strangers, not the man standing in front of you with his jaw clenched and his eyes shining like he’s trying not to break apart in front of you.

Your breath stutters. Your fingers loosen around the papers, and they slip from your grasp, fluttering to the floor.

“You—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help. “Don’t say it like that. Don’t say it so casually.”

Jongseong exhales sharply, like the word tore its way out of him. “I’m not being casual. I’m being honest for once.”

The room feels too small. The walls press in. You take a step toward him without even realizing it, your chest aching with something that feels too big to fit inside you.

“You really did decide a huge part of my life without asking me,” you whisper.

His gaze flickers to your lips and then back to your eyes, conflicted, raw. “Because it hurts more than anything to know I might leave you behind.”

The words knock the breath out of you.

“You already did,” you say softly. “Every time you made me doubt your love.”

His shoulders sag, like the fight drains out of him all at once. “I cared too much,” he admits. “That was the problem.”

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of him, the tension vibrating through his body like a live wire. Your hand lifts on instinct, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt at his chest. You feel his heart beneath it, beating hard and fast, like it’s trying to run from the truth too.

“You should’ve told me,” you say, your voice breaking. “I would’ve stayed. I would’ve chosen you anyway.”

His breath shudders. “I didn’t pity.”

“You really think that?” you say, tears blurring your vision. “It would’ve been love.”

That does it.

Something in his expression finally gives. The careful distance he’s kept for months collapses in a single moment. He reaches for you like he’s been holding himself back from doing it for far too long, one hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing under your eye where your tears spill over.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, voice low and unsteady. “If you say that, I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”

“Then don’t pretend,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

For a second, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. Like he’s memorizing every line of your face, every fragile breath you take.

Then he leans in.

The kiss isn’t gentle at first. It’s desperate, like all the words he’s swallowed are finally finding a way out through his mouth instead. His lips press into yours with a quiet, aching intensity, and you gasp against him before melting into it, your hands clutching at his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.

His breath mingles with yours, warm and uneven. The kiss deepens, not rushed but heavy, loaded with everything unsaid—regret, longing, fear, love. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between your bodies.

“God,” he exhales against your lips, the word breaking like a confession. “I shouldn’t—”

You don’t let him finish. You kiss him again, softer this time, slower, like you’re grounding him, reminding him that you’re real, that this moment is real. Your forehead rests against his when you finally pull back, breaths mingling, your noses brushing.

“I don’t care about anything,” you whisper. “I only care about you.”

His eyes search yours, dark and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, lingering, like he’s fighting the urge to kiss you again and losing.

“You make this so hard,” he murmurs.

“Sorry” you reply quietly.

He lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. His forehead drops to yours, his eyes closing briefly as if he’s bracing himself for the weight of what he’s about to say next.

He opens his eyes then, and they’re wet now, shining dangerously. “I didn’t think I’d survive watching you look at me like this every day. Like I was your future.”

Your heart twists painfully.

“You are my future,” you say without thinking.

The words hang in the air, fragile and terrifying.

He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” you demand, voice cracking. “Because it scares you?”

“I can’t promise you anything,” he says sharply, desperation bleeding through his restraint. “I can’t promise you years. I can’t promise you safety. I can’t even promise you tomorrow.”

He gestures vaguely to his chest, frustration and fear tangled together. “My body could fail me at any point. I live knowing that. I didn’t want you living like that too.”

You step closer, until there’s barely any space left between you.

“I would’ve chosen it,” you whisper. “If you’d told me, I would’ve chosen you anyway.”

His breath stutters.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you say fiercely. “Because I already did. Every night you turned away, every morning I woke up hoping you’d look at me differently. I stayed even when I didn’t understand why you were pulling away.”

Your voice softens, trembling. “Do you know how much it hurts to feel unwanted by the person you love?”

He winces like you’ve struck him.

“I never didn’t want you,” he says immediately. “God, Y/n, that was the problem.”

Silence falls again, thick and heavy.

You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, inhaling shakily. “Then say it,” you challenge quietly. “Say what you were so afraid to say.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling unevenly, like he’s standing at the edge of something irreversible.

“I was afraid,” he admits finally. “Afraid that if I let myself love you the way I wanted to, it would destroy me when I leave.”

“When you die?” you whisper, hating the word even as it leaves your mouth.

His face tightens, but he nods once.

Your knees feel weak again. You reach out instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself against him.

“And the wedding?” you ask suddenly, voice trembling with the weight of the question. “Will you— will you not—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“I will marry you, Y/n.”

The certainty in his voice steals your breath.

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks where tears keep falling, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s afraid this might be taken from him too.

“I will marry you,” he repeats, softer now. “Not because I have to. Not because anyone expects me to. But because I want to. Loving you is the one thing in my life that feels real.”

Your lips tremble. “Then why were you pushing me away?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice breaking. “maybe because I have limited time.”

Something inside you shatters completely at that.

You press your forehead to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, strong and terrifying and precious all at once. Your tears soak into his shirt as you sob quietly, fingers gripping him like if you let go, he might disappear.

Jongseong wraps his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm at your waist. He holds you like he’s afraid the world might steal you away too.

“I didn’t want to give you a life full of hospitals and waiting rooms,” he murmurs into your hair, his palms caressing your back slowly. “I didn’t want to be the reason you’re scared all the time.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes red and swollen. And then press your face against him again.

His breath catches.

“If I miss someone the most in this world,” he says suddenly, voice thick with emotion, “then it is my grandma.”

You still, listening.

“She wanted to see me grow up. Be successful. Be happy.” His lips tremble as he speaks. “She wanted to share her blessings with my future wife.”

He swallows hard. “But she couldn’t. She didn’t get to see any of it.”

Your heart aches as he continues, voice barely holding together.

“If she’d be here, you would love you,” Jongseong’s voice cracks, but he lets out a melancholic laugh through it. It cracks, brings water to his eyes.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to look at you.

“I...” His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

“I love you,” he repeats, like he needs to hear himself say it. You bring your head up to see him again. A tear slips past his cheeks, enhancing his now flushed features. Jongseong’s breath hitches, “I’m sorry for being a bad fiancé, I’m sorry I made you doubt. But I love you, god, I do.”

A broken laugh slips out of you through your tears.

“I love you enough that it hurts,” he continues, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I should have said this sooner to you.”

You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears he’s finally letting fall.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smiling through tears, “Just don't love me halfway anymore.”

He nods slowly, eyes closing as he leans into your touch. “Then stay,” he murmurs. “Even if it’s scary.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, echoing your words from this morning, but now they carry weight. Promise. Choice.

He kisses you then. Again. Not desperate like last night. Not restrained like before. But full and trembling and honest, like he’s finally stopped running from the truth.

And when he holds you afterward, arms tight and protective, you don’t care about anything else in this world.

Park Jongseong has finally kissed you, heck, he's even holding you. And even if he can't do that forever, it’s all that you ever wished for.

EPILOGUE

The wedding does not feel like how weddings are described in stories.

There is no loud music spilling into the street, no crowd pressing in on every side, no overwhelming spectacle. It is small, intimate to the point of fragility, held in the quiet hall of an old heritage house on the outskirts of the city, where the windows are tall and the light filters in pale and gentle, as if even the sun is careful not to intrude too loudly on something this delicate.

Both your families wanted a huge crowd, too many heads to feed in the wedding; but much to their bad luck, Jongseong had stood his ground. He’d said it calmly, without raising his voice, without the sharp edge he used when he was tired or in pain. He didn’t want a stage. He didn’t want a day that felt like it belonged to everyone except the two of you. He wanted something small enough to breathe in. Something that wouldn’t exhaust him before the vows were even spoken, that would feel like yours.

So here you are.

The guest list is trimmed down to the people who matter, the people who know—at least partly—what this day costs him and what it means. There are no distant relatives you barely recognize, no business acquaintances pretending this is a celebration more than a formality.

Except Sunghoon brought in his whole friend group back from his college days, to which Jongseong knew he couldn’t say no to.

Your mother had argued, of course. His family had too. There were expectations. But Jongseong had only said, “Y/n doesn’t want crowds, and I want us to live our wedding day and not rehearse it.” And that had been the end of it.

The hall is simple. Old wood floors that creak softly under careful steps. White fabric draped along the walls. A narrow aisle lined with lilies that smell clean and faintly sweet. The kind of place that feels more like a promise.

You stand at the far end of the aisle, hands folded in front of you, trying to steady your breathing.

Your dress is lighter than you expected it to be, the fabric falling in soft lines instead of stiff layers. You wanted something you could move in. Something that wouldn’t weigh you down. Something that felt like you. The veil brushes your shoulders, and for a moment you close your eyes, just to take it in.

This is real.

When you open them, you see him.

Jongseong is already at the front, standing beside the officiant, posture straight but not rigid. He looks.fragile, in a way that makes your chest tighten. The suit fits him perfectly, but you can see the faint signs of fatigue he never quite manages to hide. The slight hollowness beneath his eyes. The careful way he holds himself, like he’s measuring his energy even now.

And still, when he looks at you, everything else falls away.

His expression changes the moment your eyes meet. The tension in his shoulders eases, just a little. His lips part, like he forgot to breathe for a second. There’s something raw there. Something open. Something that makes your throat ache.

You start walking.

Each step feels slow, because your body seems to understand the weight of this moment better than your mind does. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you. You’re vaguely aware of people watching, of soft movements, of the way the light catches in the tall windows, but mostly, there’s just him.

With every step, memories rise up uninvited.

The distance that used to sit between you like a wall. The silence. The nights you lay awake wondering what you had done wrong. The day you found the papers. The way his voice broke when he said he was dying. The way he looked at you like he was both terrified and relieved that you knew.

And then the nights after that. The long talks. The quiet understanding. The way he started reaching for you again, slowly, like he was relearning how to trust himself with your heart.

You stop in front of him.

Up close, you can see the way his hands are clasped together, fingers tight, knuckles pale. You can see the faint tremor in his breath. But you can also see the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like you are the only steady thing in a world that keeps shifting under his feet.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The officiant clears their throat gently and begins, their voice low and respectful, as if they, too, understand that this is not a day for grand speeches. The words drift around you—about love, about commitment, about choosing each other not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.

“In sickness and in health” lands heavier than the rest.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, and Jongseong notices. His gaze flickers to your hands, then back to your face, and he gives you the smallest nod. Like he’s reminding you. Like he’s reminding himself. We’re here. We’re still here.

When it’s your turn to speak, your heart is hammering so hard you’re afraid your voice will shake.

But when you look at him, really look at him, the words come out steadier than you expect.

His eyes shine, but he doesn’t look away.

When it’s his turn, he swallows hard before speaking.

“I spent a long time trying not to want this,” he admits. “I thought distance would protect you. I thought if I didn’t let you get too close, it would hurt less when…” He stops, breath catching, then continues more softly. “When I leave. I was wrong. All I did was waste time I could have spent loving you properly.”

His voice steadies, just a little.

“I can’t promise you forever. I wish I could. But I can promise you honesty. I can promise you every day I’m given. I can promise you that as long as I’m here, you won’t face anything alone.”

Your eyes burn, but you don’t look away.

When the rings are exchanged, his fingers linger around yours, like he’s afraid of letting go even for a second. When he leans in to kiss you, it’s gentle, unhurried. Not a performance. Not for the room. Just for you.

And when the officiant declares you married, there’s no thunderous applause. Just soft clapping. Warm smiles. A quiet, collective exhale.

The room exhales around you, a collective softening now that the vows have been spoken and the weight of them has settled into something real. There’s a quiet shuffle of movement as people begin to rise from their seats, the soft murmur of congratulations beginning to bloom through the hall. The light shifts as a cloud passes outside, turning the windows briefly dimmer, then bright again.

Jongseong’s hand is still wrapped around yours.

His palm is warm, his grip a little too tight, like he’s anchoring himself to the reality of this moment. You squeeze back, a silent reassurance, and he looks down at you with something fragile and bright in his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or disbelief that he’s actually here, standing beside you, that the day did not break apart before it could begin.

“You okay?” you whisper, leaning in so only he can hear.

He nods. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

You recognize the tone. The carefulness. The way he’s learned to pace himself, even in moments meant to be joyful. You don’t press. You just stay close, your shoulder brushing his arm, your presence a quiet support rather than a demand.

The officiant steps aside, offering you both a small, gentle smile. Someone from the back laughs softly—Sunghoon, probably—trying to cut through the heaviness with something familiar. Your mother wipes at her eyes, her expression torn between pride and worry. His family watches him closely, too closely, like they’re counting his breaths without realizing it.

You and Jongseong take a step forward together.

The motion is small, but you feel the shift in his balance immediately. It’s subtle, you feel it in the way his fingers tighten around yours, in the way his shoulder brushes yours a little harder than before.

“Jongseong?” you murmur.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, the words practiced. He gives you a faint smile, the kind he uses when he doesn’t want to worry you. “Just stood up too fast.”

You search his face. The color has drained a little, leaving him paler than before. There’s a sheen of sweat at his temple that wasn’t there moments ago. Your chest tightens with a familiar, creeping fear.

“Do you want to sit for a bit?” you ask quietly. “We can—”

“I don’t want to sit,” he replies, more firmly than you expect, though his voice is still gentle. “I want to walk out with you. Just… slow, okay?”

So you walk slowly.

Each step is measured, careful. The old wood floor creaks beneath your feet, a soft, grounding sound. The lilies lining the aisle blur in your peripheral vision. You keep your attention on him, on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

His inner world feels loud in a way you can almost sense without him saying anything. There’s a stubborn pride in him, a refusal to let this moment be overshadowed by his body’s limits. He has fought for this day. He has insisted on being here, standing, choosing this with you. The thought of needing help, of letting weakness show in front of everyone, presses against something old in him.

And yet, even as he tries to hold himself together, there is a quieter fear threading through him. A whisper that this might be too much. That joy, even when it is gentle, still costs him something.

Your own thoughts are no less tangled.

Part of you is floating, still wrapped in the soft glow of being married, of hearing him say vows that felt like a promise against the dark. Another part of you is coiled tight with worry, hyper-aware of every change in his breathing, every slight falter in his step. Loving him has taught you this strange duality, how joy and fear can exist side by side, neither fully eclipsing the other.

You reach the middle of the aisle.

There’s a soft ripple of applause, gentle and restrained, as people make space for you to pass. Someone murmurs congratulations. Someone else whispers his name, concern threading through the sound. The room feels warmer than before, or maybe that’s just your nerves making everything feel too close.

Jongseong exhales, long and slow.

“I’m glad we did it like this,” he says under his breath. “Small. Quiet.”

You smile up at him, though your heart is beating too fast. “Me too.”

His gaze lingers on you, something tender and aching in it, like he’s trying to hold onto this exact version of you in this exact moment. Married. Here. Alive in front of him.

“You look…” he trails off, then shakes his head slightly, eyes glues on yours. “You look like something I don’t deserve.”

You start to protest, but the words die in your throat when you feel his grip falter.

It’s subtle at first, the tension in his fingers loosening, his hand slipping slightly in yours. His step stutters. His breath catches.

“Jongseong?” you say, louder now.

The room seems to tilt.

For a second, he’s still standing, eyes unfocused, like he didn’t expect this to happen now, of all times. His inner world fractures in that moment.

“I’m okay,” he tries to say, but the words come out wrong, thin and unconvincing.

Then his knees buckle.

The world lurches forward in a rush of motion and sound. You feel his weight shift suddenly, too heavy, too fast. Your grip tightens instinctively as you reach for him, calling his name as the room erupts into startled gasps, chairs scraping back, someone shouting for help.

Your arms wrap around him as he falls, your body bracing against the impact, heart slamming painfully against your ribs.

“Jongseong—!”

The lilies blur into white streaks at the edge of your vision. The quiet hall fractures into chaos, voices overlapping, footsteps rushing closer. You sink to the floor with him, cradling his head against your chest, your hands trembling as you search his face.

His eyes are half-lidded, breath shallow but there, still there. His brow is drawn, like he’s fighting to stay with you.

“Stay with me, please,” you whisper, the words pouring out like a plea. “A-Always” Jongseong breaths out.

Around you, the room is a blur of motion and worry, but your world has narrowed to the feel of his weight in your arms, the fragile warmth of his skin against yours, the uncertain rhythm of his breathing.

AUTHORS NOTE hello hello again! thank you so so much for reading this all the way and making it through here 💗 i decided for the ending to be open because making jay pass away would be too sad and i couldnt think of any other endings 😞 so for my angst ending haters, you can just pretend that the epilogue never happened!!! phew, its finished and i definitely took way more time than i should've, but like i was sooo confused on this one. anyways, please let me know how it was and reblog to support! see you in my next long fic 😛

edit: and now to clear up some doubts about the ending, jay doesn't actually passes away in the ending! its just shown that he collapses to the ground, and whatever happens after that is left to your imagination, making this an open ending! once again, thank you for reading <3

©BYWONS, 2026 DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST

[janiary]

Mr. Good Guy — sunghoon x f!reader

Summary — Unlike his friends, Sunghoon is a good guy. He would never, ever dare to look at another woman... until you came along.

CW & Tags — 18+ MDNI, smut, college au, cheater!Hoon x sidechick!reader, sub!reader, mean dom!Sunghoon, very possessive!Sunghoon, p in v, oral (f and m receiving), face fucking, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, messy sex, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, degradation, praise, mild exhibitionism, bathroom sex, cumshots, using a tie as restraints, partially-clothed sex, alcohol consumption, very brief mentions of puking, infidelity, morally corrupt characters, misogynistic themes & language, pet names: (pretty girl/thing, slut, referring to reader in possessive terms ex; ‘mine’, baby), major pathetic loser behaviour on hoon’s behalf, featuring Hyung line as hoon’s equally pathetic loser roommates, Jay is the only decent one of them tbh, girlfriend is unnamed, use of the word “bitch” only once (not directed at reader), tw league of legends mentioned

Words — 9.4k

A/N — raise your hand if, instead of studying for midterms, you decided to write almost 10k words of pure filth... oh, just me?

From ♡ : have fun tonight.

From ♡ : love you!

Have fun?

Sunghoon sighs at the message notification, looking up from his cellphone to glare around the room. The apartment is nearly packed to the brim with his roommate’s party guests, though that wasn’t saying much, given how small the place was. Jake is hosting and naturally, being the loser he is, all of his other friends are losers too. Which means he has to steep in the stench of this loser-filled apartment all night, counting down the seconds until all of them leave. As if dealing with three loser roommates isn’t annoying enough as is. Needless to say, he would not be having any “fun”.

“God, it stinks,” Sunghoon says under his breath, bringing his shirt to his nose, “do Jake’s friends, like, know what deodorant is?”

“Shouldn’t you be used to it?” Heeseung’s eyes are glued to his phone screen, doomscrolling. And normally, Sunghoon would mock him for acting like a damn iPad kid at a party of all places, but honestly, he’s itching to do the same. “I’m willing to bet your Comp Sci lectures smell a whole lot worse.”

“At least that’s a lecture hall and not my apartment.”

“Our apartment,” Jay corrects, emerging from the crowd to hand them each a can of beer. Sunghoon takes his, and Heeseung doesn’t notice until Jay rests the cold metal atop his head. He takes it without so much as glancing up. “Which always smells anyway, thanks to you.”

“Me?” Heeseung scoffs, opening the can with one hand before taking a loud, careless gulp. Sunghoon watches with disgust as the drink spills down the sides of his mouth, rolling down his chin.

“Your room is a fucking biohazard. The whole place gets stink-bombed every time you open your damn door.”

“Yeah? And what about your shits stink-bombing the bathroom every morning?”

“That’s a normal bodily function!”

“There’s nothing normal about that smell, dude.”

He rolls his eyes, scrolling a little further on his phone until Sunghoon’s most recent post pops up. It’s him and his girlfriend arm in arm, smiling like they’re on the cover of a Hallmark movie.

“Shit, you had your anniversary?” He squints, reading the caption, “How long has it been, anyway?”

“Two years.”

“Two years?” They answer in unison.

“…Yeah?” Sunghoon raises a brow, raising his drink to his lips. He glares from one to the other as the pair exchange side glances.

“Didn’t realize it was that serious.” Jay adds, and before Sunghoon can even open his mouth to ask what that’s supposed to mean, he interjects himself, raising his hands in surrender, “Don’t get me wrong! I’m happy if you’re happy. It’s just, you never bring her around, so…”

Sunghoon brushes a hand through his hair, avoiding Jay’s gaze. It’s not like he doesn’t want to bring his girlfriend around. Rather, she’s the one who doesn’t want to come.

“Don’t you think they’re kind of… immature?” She had asked carefully, the very night after meeting them for the first time. He recalls his heart sinking with disappointment. The relationship had still been fresh, and like anyone else at the beginning of something new, he was eager to please. No one wants to hear that their girlfriend disapproves of their closest friends. Though perhaps the worst part of it was that he couldn’t even blame her for it. Jake and Heeseung had decided to make the world’s most abysmal first impression, after all. He cringes at the memory of them trying to prove who could burp the loudest in the middle of dinner, shamelessly and completely unprovoked. As a result, she chooses to avoid any gatherings that involve his friends entirely, though she’d never admit it upfront.

“She’s busy, that’s all,” Sunghoon brushes it aside, “but I am happy. Things with her are easy.”

“Don’t make me throw up,” Heeseung fake gags, swiping away from the post to some meme below it. “Keep your happy, healthy, long-term relationship to yourself.”

“Maybe you should try it sometime,” Sunghoon deadpans, eyes narrowing at his phone screen when he sees his friend stop at some Instagram model’s post, zooming in on her ass. “You know. Instead of doing whatever this is.”

“Nah,” Heeseung chuckles, still biting his lip as he opens the girl’s DMs, typing out god knows what. “Gotta play the field while I’m young. Make good memories before getting tied down.”

“Good memories? Like that time your ex’s ex-gang-member-ex-boyfriend threatened to beat your ass?” Jay taunts, “No, wait. It must be the time the police showed up to arrest that drug dealer chick you were sleeping with. Then searched our entire fucking apartment.”

“You gotta experience the lows in life to experience the highs. And both were good fucks, so at least I got something out of it.”

“Probably got chlamydia out of it, too,” Jay mutters, prompting Heeseung to finally look up from his device, flashing him a glare.

“Never heard of quality over quantity?” Sunghoon finally says, “Maybe if you didn’t sleep with the first bitch that gave you attention, you’d realize it isn't all that worth it.”

“Quality, huh?” Heeseung purrs, and Sunghoon feels his arm snake its way around his shoulders, leaning in with a low voice, “So she keeps you that satisfied?”

"She does." A light flush rises to Sunghoon’s cheeks. His voice drops to a mumble, “Not that it’s any of your business.”

It’s not entirely a lie. He is satisfied… in the ways that mattered. His girlfriend is stable. Mature. Kind. Responsible. The kind of girl you’d take home to your mother, who sits with her legs crossed, back straight, whose shirts are always ironed, whose hair is always neatly tied back from her face. The kind of girl who always shows up on time— who never says anything wrong. A girl who is friends with the right kind of people, who is respectable. The kind of girl you’d expect to be dating Sunghoon, who is equally as respectable and high-esteemed in his own right. And yet, he couldn’t help the gnawing feeling inside, the one that kept reminding him of how he is so deeply bored. Everything with her is so predictable. Every conversation is like an interview. Every touch, devoid of a spark. Every social media post is an unspoken obligation to keep up appearances. And the sex? It’s just… fine. And while an evening alone with his right-hand and laptop was enough to keep his desires bay, it was never enough to satiate them.

It’s not as if he’s unhappy. But satisfied? Does anyone truly feel satisfied, anyway? His friends certainly aren’t— Jake, who can’t land a girl to save his life. Jay, who can’t keep a girl to save his life. And Heeseung? He shudders at the recollection of Heeseung’s ex-situationship breaking into their place and stealing their PS5, along with the myriad of other shit his long list of past partners have done to wreak havoc on him and his roommates.

He’d take boring over that any day.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous. Everyone wants something real. You’re one of the lucky ones who found it,” Jay’s hand lands on Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“I don’t know about that,” Heeseung’s eyes shift across the room, landing on you, and he nods in your direction, “I’d feel pretty damn unlucky if I were taken, and laid my eyes on her.”

With the slow turn of his head, Sunghoon’s breath catches, eyes travelling the length of your silhouette. You lean against the kitchen counter as Jake hands you a red solo cup, a perfectly manicured fingernail tapping nervously against the plastic. Your other hand tugs at the length of your white-blue floral dress just a bit and shoots up to adjust your white cardigan. He can’t help the way his eyes fixate on your exposed shoulder, where the cardigan seems to keep slipping down. You, doe-eyed and doll-like, stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of male STEM majors that litter the house party. You laugh at something Jake says, noting how he smiles widely. Jake would’ve bragged about someone like you if he could. Which means you’re not his.

“Oh? What’s that, lover boy?” Heeseung teases, “Think you might have a little bit of drool riiight there—”

Sunghoon tears his gaze away from you to shove his roommate’s hand away, ignoring his rather punchable-looking grin.

“Talk to me when your hinge matches stop ghosting you.”

“And his tinder matches. And bumble. And…”

Heeseung and Jay’s bickering falls deaf on Sunghoon’s ears as his eyes drift back in your direction. A pang of guilt hits him when you and Jake turn to look right at him in return. Jake gestures to him, and all too willingly, Sunghoon wades through the party until he’s standing right next to you, taking in the sight of you up close. He tries not to inhale too deeply as your scent, warm and sweet, engulfs him, invading his senses. And rather unfortunately, your voice is even sweeter, his brain short-circuiting as you introduce yourself with an outstretched hand. He stiffens, eyeing your hand with caution before shaking it. He tries not to think too hard about how soft it feels in his own, a flush rushing to his cheeks.

“This is Sunghoon. Also in computer science,” Jake exclaims, throwing an arm around Sunghoon’s shoulder. He’s not drunk yet, but the slight sway in his movements indicates that he’s getting there. “And don’t worry. He’s got a girl, so he won’t try hitting on you or anything.”

Sunghoon carefully chooses not to dwell on why the mention of his girlfriend makes him uneasy.

“You’re in computer science?”

He cringes at the way the words leave his own mouth. He’s only shocked because at least 80% of his lectures are filled with greasy, antisocial guys who moderate Discord servers in their free time. Not girls who look like you.

“Well, I used to be in mechanical engineering. That’s how we met,” you gesture to Jake, “Unfortunately.”

“What the hell?” Jake gapes, “I invite you into my home, and this is how I’m treated?”

“I totally carried you through that group project in our first semester. Remember?” You shook your head, “I did basically all the work. You’re lucky I even wrote your name on the final document.”

“…which I apologized for! Verbally and financially.”

“Wait. First year, first semester?” Sunghoon pauses, “Wasn’t that when you got addicted to ranked league?”

“Dude, I was so close to reaching platinum.”

“Seriously?” You gasp, “Jake, you nearly cost our grade to reach platinum in League of fucking Legends? I should’ve extorted you for way more free Uber Eats orders.”

“What am I, a walking wallet to you?”

“Yeah. Basically.”

“Ouch.”

Against his will, Sunghoon feels himself start to smile, his eyes fixated on the way you laugh, rocking back and forth on your heels ever so slightly. It wasn’t just because of how effortlessly gorgeous you were, either. Whatever energy you had brought in with you that night, it was contagious, a warmth blooming in his chest and spreading through him head to toe like a disease. He hasn’t felt anything like it in a while.

“And here I was, trying to help you find friends in your program who aren’t creeps,” Jake clutches his heart dramatically, “Should’ve just thrown you to the wolves.”

Ah. So that was what it was.

Sunghoon had heard the horror stories from his other female classmates over the years— all the project partners who turned out to be creeps, all the guys who sit just a little bit too close to them in their lectures and shamelessly stare, or the worst of all? The guys who pretend to be their friends just to get in their pants.

For a girl like you, he could see it clearly. It was one thing to be pretty. To be pretty and meek-natured? It’s a socially-awkward, creepy nerd’s wet dream.

“You know, I think I’ve seen you before. Well, the back of your head, at least,” you tilt your head towards Sunghoon, though he notices your eyes struggle to stay on his, always being the first to break eye contact. Your hand toys with the dainty necklace at your collarbone, absentmindedly. “Data Structures and Algorithms. Section C. I sit a few rows behind you.”

“Didn’t know I was being watched.”

“You’re hard to miss,” he raises his brow as you continue, “You come in early, sit right at the front and centre of the class, you open up that giant laptop with the bright RGB lights. Like, literally, I cannot focus on anything else, it’s so distracting.”

“You bring your gaming laptop to your lectures?” Jake deadpans, “and I thought I was the nerdiest one in the friend group.”

“First of all, you are. Second, those are the only kinds of laptops that meet the system requirements for the lab assignments, so—”

“Relax, I have the same one. I just turn off the RGBs,” you smile, your hand brushing his shoulder just a little bit. He flinches instinctively, and you notice, drawing back your hand in embarrassment. Selfishly, he wishes you didn’t, but he shoves that thought deep down, praying it never finds its way back to the surface. You look down at your cup, pitifully, the sight of you evoking an overwhelming ache in his fast-beating heart.

“We should sit together next time,” he clears his throat, offering a tender smile. He readjusts himself as he leans too close. “If you want.”

“For sure!” You beam. “Socials?”

You offer your phone, and he types his username into the Instagram search bar, swallowing dryly at the profile picture of him and his girlfriend. Pushing the ugly feeling to the back of his mind, he hands the phone back to you.

“Aw, two years,” you say, eyes immediately landing on the anniversary post. He shifts his weight where he stands. “Cute.”

Sunghoon scrunches his nose as he pours some awful-looking concoction down the drain, throwing the now-empty cup into the nearest trash bag. Everyone had long since left, and yet here the roommates were, still cleaning up the messes left behind in a tired, empty silence. Well, save for the lovely symphony of Jake’s coughing and hacking as he spills his guts out in the bathroom.

“You good?” Heeseung calls to him through the door, giving it a few knocks, “'cause I kinda need to piss really bad.”

There’s a silent pause and a sniffle before the door swings open, Jake wobbling out. His hair hangs over his eyes.

“Woah, woah, Jakey, take it easy,” he catches his friend, and Jake whines, trying to shove him away.

“I’m okay. Don’t touch.”

“Sure you are.”

Heeseung helps him over to the couch, sinking into the cushions uselessly, staring at the ceiling. Jay stands a few feet away, shaking his head at the sight.

“Such a lightweight, holy shit.”

“Am not…”

Sunghoon sighs, grabbing a glass from the overhead cupboard. And soon, with a full glass of water, he joins the three in the living room, setting it down on the coffee table.

“Drink. Unless you want the worst hangover of your life tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, mom,” he scoffs, picking it up and gulping it down. Sunghoon quickly moves to help him lift the glass to his lips, his friend holding it with the fine-motor skills of an infant.

“Grown man, by the way,” Heeseung mutters, Jay and Sunghoon holding back their snickering. Jake glares at him. “Guess I shouldn’t make fun of you too much, though. Since you did bring that pretty little thing into our apartment.”

When all the water is successfully gulped down, Sunghoon moves to place it back on the nearest surface. Jake takes in a deep breath, then he blinks once. Twice.

“Sorry, what?”

“Uh, earth to Jake?” He waves a hand in front of his face, “I’m asking about her. You know who I mean.”

“Ohhhhh, right,” he draws out his words, a smile creeping up on his face. He bites his lip and nods his head, as if he’s replaying the memory of you in his mind, “Yeah, she’s pretty cool.”

“Cool?” Heeseung’s eyes go wide. In seconds, his hands are at Jake’s shoulders, shaking sense into him, “Jake. My guy. That’s the hottest woman that’s ever willingly spoken to you.”

“Dude, stop, he’s gonna throw up everywhere,” Jay tears Heeseung’s grasp from Jake, whose head slumps back the instant he’s let go. His hand moves to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, yeah, but she clearly has noooo interest in me, so I don’t even bother,” he waves his hand dismissively, “We’re just friends.”

“Just friends,” Jay echoes in air quotes, snorting to himself.

“There’s no such thing as being just friends with a girl who looks like that,” Heeseung adds.

“No, really,” Jake replies, sounding maybe a fraction more conscious, though his words still drag, “Like, yeah, obviously I’d fuck her if she asked. But like, once the butterflies fade and you get used to her hotness, you start to realize she’s just like… normal. You know?”

“So she’s a friend that you would fuck.” He says flatly, “That’s not called being friends. That’s called being friend-zoned.”

“This is Jake we’re talking about. He’ll fuck anything with a pulse if it gave him a chance,” Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “For everyone else, it’s normal to be friends with girls, even if you find them attractive. Your brain’s just rotted from all the porn you jerk off to.”

“You’re such a fake, you know that?” Heeseung retorts, taking a moment to scoff at him, “Acting like you weren’t eye-fucking her all night. Sounds like someone’s coping.”

“Sounds like you only know how to think with your dick,” Sunghoon hisses, his blood pressure rising.

Heeseung pauses, taking him in, and how worked up he is over his off-handed comments. He can practically see the steam coming out of Sunghoon’s ears.

“Alright, Mr. Good guy,” he chuckles, “Whatever makes you feel better about yourself.”

Sunghoon takes a breath before leaving, making his way back to the kitchen.

“Have fun tucking Jake into bed or some shit. I’m not dealing with this.”

“Oh, you know I will.”

“Hey, don’t leave me alone with him!” Jake’s voice cracks watching Sunghoon walk off. He watches in horror as Jay walks away, too, continuing his garbage pickup. Heeseung tries to lift him up, and he yelps, sliding off the couch as he crawls away helplessly, leaving the elder boy to laugh his ass off on the couch, alone.

Three times a week.

Sunghoon sees you three times a week, twice for lectures, once for labs. And in only the first week of sitting next to you, he already has every little habit of yours mentally noted down. He swears he isn’t doing it on purpose— it’s not like he’s trying to keep tabs on you. It’s just that every little thing about you is so hard to miss.

Almost subconsciously, his eyes seem to wander from the board to you, noticing how you rest your chin in your hand, how you get antsy towards the end of class from sitting in one place for too long, how your elbow seems to drift in his direction as you write in your small notebook, occasionally brushing his arm on accident. He notices and appreciates how, in a room of sweatpants and hoodies, you always wore your pretty skirts and soft cardigans, with ribbons in your hair, and dainty necklaces adorning your collarbone. Everything about you is new, uncharted territory, and the desire to learn more is unrelenting, as well as deeply unacceptable according to his own moral code of conduct.

Of course, it doesn’t come without guilt; There’s the guilt for being so curious about a girl who isn’t his own, and then there’s the guilt he feels, given that he’s supposed to be your guy-friend, not another lustful loser trying to bother you. Though his shame, while constant, is nothing more than a low hum, not quite loud enough to call attention to… yet.

It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong, after all. Thoughts and desires aren’t actions. They’re just a normal, human reaction, and you don’t exactly make it easy for him, either. Really, what else is he supposed to do when you’re laughing just a little too hard at his terrible jokes? When he swears, he sees your eyes linger just a little too long on his body as he leans back to stretch, mid-lecture? And how you always seem to lose your train of thought as he leans in just a little closer, stumbling over your words? He could just be imagining it, but it makes him wonder.

So, maybe he starts telling more jokes, just to hear a little more of your laughter. And maybe he starts wearing shirts that are a little bit tighter, just to see if you’d rake your eyes across his body like he suspects you’d do (and as it turns out, you do). And maybe he enjoys invading your personal space just a little bit, if only to feel that certain rush he hasn’t felt in ages. If only to quell his stubborn curiosity, to enjoy the small moments of your attention, and to bask in the wonders it does for his ego.

There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with making these long, tedious lectures just a little more interesting. Anyone would do the same in his shoes. If not, worse. What he’s doing is completely harmless. After all, he knows himself. He knows he would never cross that line.

Yet, when he walks early into class that day, as his gaze shifts to his usual spot, he notices some other guy who had taken his place, who is leaning way too close to you than you appear to be comfortable with. And, from the way his jaw clenches and his fists curl at his sides, Sunghoon feels it is too close for his comfort, as well.

“See, your code is technically correct, but it’s not optimal,” his voice is grating to Sunghoon’s ears, watching him point to your laptop screen, “it’s fine to use multiple recursion for this example, but if your algorithm were to use much higher values, the runtime would skyrocket.”

“Thanks, but—”

“I could tutor you, if you want,” he hasn’t listened to a word you’re trying to say, eyes dragging down the length of you, shamelessly. You scoot further away until you’re practically on the edge of your seat. "You could pay me with cash. But I also accept other kinds of favours—"

“Hey,” Sunghoon’s voice is low, teetering on the edge of his self-control as he slams your laptop shut onto the guy’s hand. He keeps his palm there, applying just enough pressure to make sure the pain lasts. He leans over him, his tall frame casting a dark shadow over the irrelevant, pathetic loser. “Nobody asked.”

As soon as Sunghoon lets go, the guy cusses him out, scrambling from his seat immediately. Then, turning to you, he watches you breathe a sigh of relief. Sinking into the seat next to you, he can’t help but glare at the asshole across the room. Who does he think he is? All your other admirers had been silently resigned to watching you from afar, as they saw how you clung to Sunghoon’s side. Especially the first week you had been sitting together, he’d gotten a good few laughs out of feeling their jealous glares, shooting daggers at the back of his head. But this guy? Is he stupid? Has he failed to notice that you’re always with him?

Suddenly, the thought of all the other men who must be looking at you in your other classes crosses his mind. Do you sit alone in those lectures? Or, do you have other “guy friends” who get to talk to you like this? Sunghoon pauses before he can get ahead of himself, taking several mental steps back, because why the fuck does he feel like crawling out of his own skin? Why is this uneasy feeling so aching, so all-consuming?

“Are you okay?”

“You’re asking me?” He allows his expression to soften, if only for your sake, but his tone does not, venom dripping from every seething word, “Guys like him just piss me off. That’s all.”

The professor starts the class moments soon after, and Sunghoon lets his gaze drift forward, in search of anything to ease the whirlwind of emotions that rumbled beneath the surface of him, barely contained. Distracted, he doesn’t process that you’re leaning towards him, only snapping out of his trance the second he feels the warmth of your breath tickling his ear.

“Then I’m lucky to have a good guy like you around to look out for me.” You whisper, a shiver running up his spine. He swallows, and when he looks at you, taking in your wide-eyed gaze and how you look up at him through your lashes with pure, unfiltered, undeserved gratitude, he knows he's done for. “Thank you, Sunghoon.”

Maybe it’s the way you whispered his name in his ear. Or maybe it’s the way you looked so fucking appreciative when you really didn’t need to be. But whatever had been clouding his mind only seconds ago clears in an instant, replaced with that newly familiar rush that only you seem to awaken in him.

It’s ridiculously unfair how easily you could have him crumbling, falling apart at the seams, only to rebuild him seconds later. It’s ridiculously addictive how good it feels to have your full attention on him, as if he hadn’t been stewing in his own shameful, confusing misery only moments prior. Whatever it is you’re doing to him? It’s exhilarating. It’s dangerous. It’s wrong.

And yet…

He’s hard. Embarrassingly hard, as if he’s a fucking teenager again. He carefully crosses his legs, thanking his past self for choosing to wear jeans instead of sweatpants, and though he’s able to calm himself down in time to leave class undetected, it all comes back to him the moment he’s kicking off his shoes at his front door.

It takes everything in him not to jerk himself to the thought of you. Instead, opting for a cold shower, as if soap could scrub away the absolute filth that is his thoughts. Bracing himself against the tiled walls of the bathroom, under running water, he closes his eyes and thinks of his girlfriend— his kind, unsuspecting girlfriend. He’s supposed to be a good boyfriend. The kind of man a girl can brag about to their friends, who they can take home to their mother without shame. But these days, he feels anything but good.

Though the guilt passes too quickly, morphing into something else entirely when he recalls the events from earlier. You, talking to some other guy. You, whispering in his ear. You, looking so tempting, so forbidden, so infuriating. And just like that, you’re doing it to him again; making him writhe in an agony he didn’t know he could feel, torturing him without even needing to be in the same vicinity. You make him lose his grip. It only makes him want to reach for you even more.

To ♡ : I’m taking you out tomorrow

To ♡ : Wear something nice

Stability. Predictability. Assurance.

That’s what Sunghoon decides he needs. He hasn’t had a restful night in ages, between the stress of keeping up with school and the mind fuckery, that is, you. So he booked the nicest restaurant he could afford on his broke college student budget, brushed off the nice suit that collected dust in Jake’s closet (courtesy of his stupidly rich parents, who would probably collapse if they found out that their son lounges in dirty sweatpants all day), and picks up his girlfriend who greets him with that same old chaste kiss to his cheek.

He does everything right. He holds every door open for her. He asks about her week. He smiles, unwavering, even as she tells the same stories he’s heard over and over again, and he profusely apologizes when his phone starts blowing up with notifications mid-meal, trying not to let his determination shake when he notices your Instagram handle in the notification window. It must be that time of day, he thinks, when the sun goes down, and you curl up for your usual evening scrolling session. He turns it on silent, tucking it away into his pocket.

“Busy these days?” She asks.

“This semester is… frustrating. I’d rather not think about it,” he sighs. Then, he reaches across the table, taking her hands into his, “It doesn’t matter. Keep talking. I want to hear you.”

She giggles, fingers interlocking with his, “What did I do to deserve you?”

He tries. He tries so hard to care about whatever it is she’s talking about, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Because truthfully, he doesn’t feel anything.

He drives her home later, and though she kisses him and drags her hand down his chest with the hint of offering something more, he pulls away. He gives some excuse, talking of an early morning tomorrow, and kisses her one last goodbye with the same politeness and appropriateness she’d greeted him with.

Selfishly, his mind drifts to you as he drives home, wondering how you would’ve acted had he taken you on the same kind of date. You probably would’ve thanked him profusely, eyes shining with delight when he tells you that you can order anything you like— always so easily impressed by any small act of kindness. You’d probably get flustered when he kisses you at the end of the night, but kiss him back with fervour, so eager to show him your appreciation that you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself. You’d probably drop to your knees, wouldn’t you? You seem like the type. He pulls into his parking spot, snapping back to reality.

He groans, a hand moving to his face.

What the fuck.

It’s surprisingly loud when he walks through the front door, his roommates' laughter wafting down the halls. But he’s even more surprised to hear the sound of a certain familiar laugh, one that is unmistakably yours. And for a moment, he thinks he’s hallucinating, taking slow steps down the hall as he loosens the tie at his neck. But when he rounds the corner, he sees you there, sitting on his living room couch with a Nintendo Switch controller in hand.

“Why the fuck do we always pick the map with Rainbow Road?” Heeseung groans, his character falling off the map for what Sunghoon can only assume is the umpteenth time.

“Just get good,” Jake proudly raises his beer to yours, the two of you taking a celebratory sip as you both sit comfortably in first and second place. The creak of the floorboards behind him makes his head turn. “Hey, there he is! Thought you were— what the fuck, is that my suit?”

“Stole it from your closet earlier,” he states plainly, ignoring Jake’s annoyed expression. Sunghoon glances uncomfortably at where you sit, sandwiched between Jake and Heeseung on the couch. “What is this?”

“Mario Kart,” you shrug, “Was kinda bored and Jake said they could use a fourth player since you were out. But hey, now that you’re here, you should join!”

Right. You were Jake’s friend first. He has a habit of forgetting that, given how much time he spends with you alone. He glares down the way Jake’s arm is casually slung over the back of the couch, where you sit, just behind your head. And then there was Heeseung, who manspreads so wide that his entire leg is pressed against yours. He inhales sharply, suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to grab you by the arm and drag you far, far away from his friends.

“Weren’t you on a date?” Jay asks, narrowing his eyes, “thought you’d be out all night.”

“Shit. Did all that just to get blue-balled, huh?” Heeseung snickers, looking him up and down. But his grin grows even wider when he notices the look on his roommate's face, and how his fists clench at his side, gaze unrelenting. And, more interestingly, how Sunghoon can’t tear his eyes from you. “Oh. I get it.”

A silence falls upon them, save for the end-of-match music from the game playing on loop in the background.

“…get what??” You ask so cluelessly, glancing between them. You nudge Jake, and he stammers, clearing his throat.

“Uh. It’s uh…”

“It’s guy stuff, baby, you wouldn’t understand,” Heeseung leans in just a little too close as he says it, looking to Sunghoon to make sure he’s watching. He brings his hand to your chin, raising it slightly with his fingertips. “Wouldn’t wanna worry your pretty little head with any of that, hm?”

Sunghoon goes cold seeing how your breath hitches, nodding your head like an obedient little dog. He hates the way his pulse quickens, heart thumping loudly in his ears. He hates, hates, hates this feeling so fucking much. He hates how it makes him want you more. He moves to the couch, shoving Jake out of the way, so that he can sit next to you instead.

“There’s nothing to get. Don’t listen to him.” He flashes you a smile, but the warmth of your side pressing into him is only a fleeting comfort. He turns to Jake, eyes landing on his remote before snatching it, “Give me this. And go get me a beer.”

“Are you deadass?” Jake blinks at him.

“I’m almost done mine, I could go—” you start.

“I’ll get it for you,” Jake rises to his feet in an instant, flashing you a ‘look how useful and helpful I am’ smile. He side eyes Sunghoon. “And you, I guess.”

He steps away, and the four of you shift in awkward silence as Sunghoon and Heeseung stare each other down.

“So, uh,” Jay clears his throat, turning to you with a gentle smile, tired of watching the unspoken dick comparison contest between his two roommates. “You said you guys take a class together, right?”

“Yeah. And thank god we do, 'cause I would be totally lost if we didn’t,” you laugh nervously, looking to Sunghoon almost adoringly, “he’s a way better student than I am.”

Your hand brushes his shoulder, and he melts.

“She’s just saying that.”

Without a second thought, he nudges you in return, every shy touch he shares with you feeling like the most monumental moment of his life. Like he couldn’t possibly get any higher. He wishes he could bottle the feeling up, keep it in his pocket forever. But like always, it is ripped from him in an instant, as his roommate reopens his loud, obnoxious mouth.

“Nah. You’ve always been a real good student,” Heeseung leans back, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, “Always listening. Always doing your work on time. Always following the rules.”

Sunghoon frowns.

“You must’ve been a real goody two-shoes in high school, huh?” You tease him, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Oh yeah,” Heeseung continues, “I remember, we always had these stupid weekly quizzes in our History class. And even though the teacher would practically be asleep, he would always cover his answers so that I couldn’t cheat off him. I always thought it was cruel, ya know? Considering we were friends and all.”

“I don’t like to share,” Sunghoon snaps, “especially not with someone who didn’t put in the work.”

Heeseung ignores his retort.

“But you know what the funny thing is? You would cheat off of Jake in Physics.” He laughs, dryly, and Sunghoon most certainly does not find anything about his tone humorous as he sits there, biting his tongue. When he’s had his final laugh, he sighs, turning to him in a low voice, “You know what that makes you, right? A hypocrite.”

Neither of them moves. Jay definitely doesn’t dare to move, tired of playing mediator. And you just sit there. Jake’s return cuts through the tension like a knife.

“You guys not gonna play another game?” He asks, throwing a beer can carelessly in Sunghoon’s lap while placing the other gently in front of you on the coffee table.

“We definitely should,” Jay’s shoulders slump with relief.

Time ticks by, and one beer turns into two, three, six… until eventually, Sunghoon is barely able to hold the remote in his hand, and the room is spinning. But no matter how many drinks he took down, that ugly, despicably possessive feeling wouldn’t leave.

You’re not his. You don’t belong to him. But seeing Heeseung nudge your shoulder, touch your arm, look you up and down like you’re his next meal, then look back at him with a wolfish grin made him want to tear him apart limb from limb. He’s the embodiment of everything he despises; a careless, lazy, college dropout and unemployed asshole with zero shame. He’s disgusting, inside and out, and embraces his filthiness instead of hiding it like everyone else does— like everyone else is supposed to do. He doesn’t deserve to be rewarded. He doesn’t deserve a prize like you when he’s done nothing to earn it.

And then there’s you. With each drink you finish, you return Heeseung’s touch, brushing his shoulder when you laugh. Hell, even placing a hand on his knee, making his stupid grin grow even wider. And Sunghoon just has to sit there and take it, pretending like it’s fine. Because it should be fine. It’s not his business, and if your standards are that low, then so be it.

But when you beat Heeseung yet again, and he’s stealing your remote, holding it above his head,Sunghoon watches in horror as you squeal, reaching up for it, and climbing to your knees. You decide to straddle Heeseung in his lap as you reach further, using a hand at his shoulder to steady yourself, and it makes him sick.

Sunghoon’s head is spinning, and his stomach… his stomach aches. He can barely breathe or form any kind of thought that isn’t murderous. He stands up, stumbling only a little bit, because if he watches whatever the hell the two of you are doing for any longer, he’s not sure he can restrain himself from strangling his roommate any longer.

“You good?” Jake asks, watching his remote control fall to the ground. It hits the carpet with a soft thud.

Sunghoon locks eyes with the bathroom and bolts for it.

The world spins around him as he dry-heaves into the toilet, knees on the bathroom floor. He’d spilled his guts already, but is far too exhausted to will himself to stand. He barely even registers that the bathroom door clicks behind him, eyes shifting upward to find you above him. The overhead light frames you in a golden glow, like a halo around your gentle silhouette, and for a second, he wonders if he’s dreaming when your hand reaches to push his hair from his forehead.

“Jeez, Hoon, you’re burning up.” Your words are slightly slurred, eyes a little unfocused, like his own. Everyone has had too much to drink tonight.

Your lips are still moving, but he’s too distracted by them to process what you’re even saying. Then, you’re lifting a glass of water to his mouth, and he drinks it loudly, unceremoniously, your finger tips lifting the tip of his chin. He, rather ungracefully, moans as it washes away the traces of acidic aftertaste in his mouth, soothing the throbbing in his head. Soon enough, the image of you is clearer. He mourns the loss of your touch as you set the cup aside, and he brings his wrist to wipe his chin with his sleeve.

“Don’t fuck Heeseung,” his words slip out in a deeply drunken, deeply desperate voice. He doesn’t care how pathetic he looks, eyes half lidded, face flushed, kneeling before you like you’re the altar he worships. Though he doesn’t pray. He selfishly demands, even if his tone resembles something of a plea. “He’s a fuckin’ asshole. He’ll treat you like shit. I’m telling you he’s…”

A sharp, throbbing pain shoots through his head, and his words trail off. Face falling forward, his forehead lands flat against your thigh, unable to support his own weight. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, panting, and his hands reach to dig into your skirt for support. Though the fog is starting to clear up now that he’s evicted most of the alcohol from his system, he thinks— no, he knows he’s drunk on something else. Your closeness is a drug. Your touch intoxicates him.

He hears you laugh. God, how he loves that laugh.

“You’re telling me what to do?”

“Yeah,” he swallows, “so don’t do it.”

“Why?”

“'Cause I said so.”

“Hm, and why should I listen to you?” Your fingers are threading through his hair, and a careless, guttural groan is escaping him as you tug his head back to meet your gaze.

“'Cause you’re mine.”

Your eyes go wide, conflicted, but you don’t push away. Your hand still runs through his hair in a gentle, soothing manner. You try to laugh it off nervously.

“We’re just friends, Hoon. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Friends,” he scoffs, “How could I ever be friends with you?”

His eyes flicker from yours, then to your bare thighs, just millimetres away from his face. He’s so close, the warmth of his breath is tickling your exposed skin, and whatever remaining shred of morality he thought he could cling to is thrown out the window as he leans forward. He brings his hands to caress the back of them and presses a few kisses into your soft skin, a prideful feeling spreading through him when you let out a breathless whimper. He looks up your skirt and notices the wet patch on your white, lace panties. He smiles at that, adoring how your fingers curl into his hair a little more harshly.

“Don’t fight it. Know you want it too.”

“Sunghoon, this is wrong.”

He ignores you, his tongue darting out to suck at the skin of your inner thighs, fully intending to leave his mark.

“Love the way you say my name, baby,” His breath hovers above your clothed clit, his nose nuzzling just above the waistband of your underwear. “Say it again for me.”

He tastes you through your underwear, hands at your hips, gripping into your skin as you whimper. He can practically feel you twitching on his tongue, though he’s barely started, tasting your arousal, which has long since soaked through your underwear. You taste like heaven, and it’s probably the closest he’ll ever get to it, now that he’s certainly going to hell.

“Hoon…”

“Gonna have to be a little louder than that if you want me to give you what you want, pretty.”

He tugs the useless piece of fabric down enough to allow him to lick a stripe up your clothed cunt and you cry out, already twitching with need.

“Fuck, Sunghoon—!”

“That’s it. Don’t hold back,” he growls, “Let them know how badly you need me.”

He kisses your soaked cunt before sucking hard, grinning at the sound of his name on your lips like a broken record. He fucking hopes Heeseung can hear his name coming out of your breathy, pleading voice— hopes he learns not to play with other people’s toys. He hopes Jake feels pathetic knowing you chose the one guy in the friend group who already has a girl, instead of him, who's been begging for a crumb of pussy from you since your first year. There’s nothing to feel guilty for anymore. Not when your legs are shaking like this for him as he laps you up and sucks on your clit, your essence dripping down his chin.

His dick twitches in his pants when you tug at his hair even harder, your cries sinful as you finish embarrassingly fast on his tongue. He drinks up every drop, even as you try to push his face away, loving how you writhe uselessly in his half-drunken grasp. He finally pulls away, bright-eyed as he watches you catch your breath. He muses at your expression; half ashamed, half lustful.

“Don’t tell me you feel guilty, now,” he rises to his feet, caging you in against the sink. He doesn’t kiss you yet, preferring to drink in the sight of you first, now that he finally has you. “You wanted this. Gave me all this attention all semester. I’m not stupid.”

His knee slips between your legs, and he presses into you until your soaked, throbbing cunt is pressed right against his thigh. You whimper, your hands fiddling with the end of his tie as you rock against him.

“Opening your legs so easily. If you really thought this was wrong, you’d push me away,” he whispers in your ear, before dragging his lips down to your neck, “You’re just an easy little slut.”

“I’m not a—”

“Baby, you’re dripping,” he chuckles, looking down at the wet patch on his pants. He hikes your skirt higher on your hips to get a better view, “Probably dreamed of me fucking you stupid, as my little side piece.”

His eyes move down to your chest, heaving in that tight little tank top you wore. He palms your breast through the fabric, kneading the flesh before slipping under to pinch your hardened nipples. But his gaze darkens when he pushes the fabric down, revealing the white, lacy bra beneath it.

“What’s this?” His hand gropes your chest through your bra, his thumb swiping over your hardened nipples through the material. “Were you planning on getting fucked tonight?”

You don’t get the chance to answer because he’s flipping you around, bent over the sink as he drags your matching panties down, tossing them over his shoulder carelessly. He slides two fingers inside you, holding your wrists down against your back, and you gasp as he fills you deep, pace unforgiving, not bothering to even pretend to be gentle. The way you tense around him, choking on your own gasps in shock, only feeds his depraved desires even more.

“By who? Heeseung?” He seethes, then pauses for a second, laughing, “Or were you gonna let Jake hit it for once? Fucking slut.”

“For you,” you manage to choke out, “Not that I thought we would, but… just…”

The words leave your mouth pathetically, and you can feel your face burn with embarrassment. You had done your best to keep your crush on him at bay. But, there was always a small part of you that couldn’t help but wonder. You rationalized it by saying it was something every girl did— it’s like shaving your whole body before seeing an attractive artist’s concert, imagining what it would be like to get noticed in the crowd. Or wearing your prettiest outfit for that one class with the hot married professor. You didn’t wear a matching set because you thought this would actually happen; you did it to entertain your twisted little fantasy of getting with your off-limits campus crush.

Your confession makes him pause entirely, his fingers leaving you hollow.

“For me?” His voice is slow, smooth, “You wanted to look all pretty for me?”

You nod, timidly.

You wanted to act like you felt bad. Wanted to pretend like it was wrong. And yet, he caught you red-handed. Some part of you, deep down, wanted this to happen. You can’t run from the truth now. And when he turns you to face him, you’re not sure what you expect, but you definitely weren’t expecting to be kissed slowly, tenderly, and yet at the same time, so cruelly.

“You wanna be mine?” He mutters against your lips.

“Please,” you breathe out. He hums approvingly.

His hunger only grows from the taste of you. He slips your breasts from their pretty lace confines and latches his mouth on them, licking and sucking them, using his teeth, and continues upward. He kisses up your collarbone and your neck, mercilessly, until you’re littered with marks. And when he’s satisfied, he pulls back, admiring his work, thumb sliding across your skin in gentle circles.

“If you wanna be my pretty little slut,” you feel his hands snake behind you, and his tie wrap around your wrists, “then you’re gonna have to start acting like one.”

He shoves you to your knees, and you stumble a little, struggling to regain your balance, given your hands were tied. Your knees burn where you’re certain you’ll have nasty bruises tomorrow, and you watch as he lifts your chin, “Well?”

Your eyes land on the bulge in his pants. Obediently, you nuzzle your nose at his clothes crotch, looking up at him in a lustful haze. He’s painfully hard, throbbing with need, and he tries not to show how the sight of you like this is making him crumble.

“Please, Hoon. Wanna taste you.”

He undoes his belt and lets his pants fall to the floor, cooing as you immediately move to mouth him through boxers, desperate to please him like the whore you pretend you aren’t. It’s amusing, really, and while he adores the sight of you drooling on him, soaking the fabric of his underwear, he’d much rather feel your mouth on him without anything in the way.

He pulls them down and laughs, watching it slap your cheek, standing tall, thick, and in desperate need of being touched. Your fascinated expression and the way you lick your lips tells him you’ve never taken someone of his size, and he loves that. He guides the tip to your lips, and your tongue reaches out, tasting his precum on your tongue, spreading it around as you then take the tip of him.

“Shit,” he groans, “You drive me fucking insane. You know that? Haven’t had a moment of peace since I met you.”

But it’s worth it, he thinks, as he slides past your lips, hands in your hair, pushing you down his length. And though he can’t wait to fuck your face, he can’t help but take his time first, sinking into your mouth, admiring just how good you look being fed his cock.

“It’s like you were made for this,” a smile toys at his lips, thinking of all the times he’d woken up with sticky sheets from a dream just like this. “You like being on your knees for me?”

He glances down at how you rub your thighs together, and how your wrists struggle against its restraints with desire to touch yourself. His girl hated doing this for him. But you? You’re moaning as he hits the back of your throat, taking it like a champion. He could cum from the sight alone if he weren’t trying to savour every second of your mouth around him.

He sinks his fingers into your scalp, pulling himself out before fucking right back into your mouth again, your throat constricting around him as you choke on his thick cock. There are tears stinging your eyes, and your mascara and lip gloss are smudged, and yet you’ve never looked more beautiful to him than you do right now.

“Sorry, pretty, but I have to be a little rough on you. Gotta teach you a lesson, you know?” He’s panting now, his groans falling effortlessly from his lips, “That’s what happens when you rile me up. When you flirt with my friends just to get my attention.”

He reaches from your hair to cup your cheeks, a thumb swiping at a single tear that falls and he sighs. And then, he cracks a twisted smile.

“They’ll never get to see you like this. Now that you belong to me.”

He finally slows, sliding from your mouth and coos at your exasperated breaths, eyes locking on your marked chest as it heaves up and down. He presses his tip to your swollen lips again, but this time keeps his cock in his hand, fist sliding up and down to the mere sight of you.

“Gonna cum all over your pretty face.” You hum around him in approval, “You like that? So fucking messy.”

He cusses finally, pulling himself out of your mouth to paint you with his spend, shooting ropes over your face, your chest, watching it stain your little tank top, which still hung onto you uselessly, though your breasts were on full display. You blink a few times, mouth agape, because never in your life had you seen this much cum come out of anyone. He stares at you, a gorgeous, pathetic mess, in complete pride, admiring his work. How beautiful it was to have you on your knees for him, completely ruined and marked up, covered in his cum. He wished he had his phone to capture it.

“All mine now,” he reaches out, spreading the cum at your lips, gathering it on his fingers before slipping them into your mouth. You moan around his fingers.

He hoists you to the sink and throws your panties somewhere across the room, while he pushes up your skirt, revealing your wet, needy pussy. You’re practically weeping when he finally touches you because you’re aching for release. And, to your surprise, he kisses you, open-mouthed, desperately, tasting himself on your lips, not giving a single shit about how it gets on his face or in his hair. You feel his fingers prod you, entering your cunt with little resistance.

“Want you,” you manage to say, despite his unyielding, feverish kisses. “Want more.”

“That’s not how you ask,” he teases, his fingers reaching that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, “try again.”

“Please fuck me.”

All he does is laugh.

“You’re real sweet when you beg, but…” he adds a third finger, and your eyes flutter shut, “You’ll take what I give you.”

His other hand grips your neck as he fucks his fingers into you, relishing every cry that leaves your lips. And he takes his sweet damn time, waiting until you’re at the brink of finishing to pull his fingers out of you. And though you open your mouth to whine, you’re quickly shut up when you feel the head of his cock pressing against you, sliding along your needy cunt. Behind you, you can feel his hands undo the tie at your wrists, freeing them from their confines. And now that you could touch him, your hands move instantly, purring with delight at the feeling of his broad, muscular shoulders beneath them. His tip catches at your entrance.

“Don’t have a condom. You care?” he sputters out, as if he isn’t already sheathing the tip of himself inside you, cursing at the feel of your tight, wet walls.

“Just— don’t cum inside.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he growls. At least not yet. He’d fill you with his cum another day.

He pushes your skirt up further to watch himself enter you, lifting either leg to the side, and your fingernails sink into the white button-up that still hangs from his shoulders. And, at the realization, you decide to start unbuttoning it, practically salivating at the sight of his body.

“Fuck,” he hisses, your pussy wrapped around him so tightly, “Could do this every fucking day.”

He buries to the hilt, leaving you barely a second to adjust before he takes another deep thrust. He’s so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him in your guts, splitting you on his cock. And you love it. You love the way he stretches you, the way he takes and takes from you so unfairly.

“Bet you’d like that. Letting me use you whenever I want. Wouldn’t you?” He picks up the pace, and you can feel every inch of him inside you, every vein and curve making your head spin. He grasps your chin, forcing you to face him. “I asked you a question, pretty girl.”

Dazed, you nod fervently, your teeth sinking into your lower lip.

“Wanna be used by you. Just wanna be fucked like I’m yours.”

“Already said you’re all mine now, remember?” he groans when he feels you clench around him, looking down again just to watch your tight little hole be ruined by him, “My dirty little slut. All mine to ruin. This one time won’t be enough. I need to have you again, and again. Fuck—”

He shakes his head at himself, almost laughing, to think he tried to deny himself of this. Of you, spread open for him, moaning his name loud enough for the whole damn building to hear. He can feel your walls start to tense, your breath catching, and when he feels you fucking claw at his back, shaking around him, he knows you’re about to finish.

“Gonna—”

“That’s it,” he purrs, “Cum on my cock.”

You cry out his name, your pussy gushing around him, squeezing him like a vice. Your vision goes blurry, and your body shakes all over. And soon, his hips are stuttering.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Cursing, he pulls out, jerking the rest of himself until he’s cumming all over you again. He’s everywhere. All over your glistening pussy, your skirt, your thighs, the sink, probably the floor, too. It’s disgusting, and yet, so beautiful.

With a relieved smile, he practically collapses on top of you, his face buried into your chest as his arms wrap around your waist. And for a while, he just breathes, the thought of knowing that he is now covered in his own jizz shoved momentarily to the back of his mind. Because now, as he lies in his own filth with you, he can say with certainty that he finally feels completely satisfied.

So much for being a good guy.

thanks for reading ♡

[0210sjy]

*ೃ༄ sim jaeyun “you’re drunk.” — "i know.”

━━ HOW TO GET YOUR EX BACK 101

⋆。ﾟ ( 💬 ) one accidental reunion turns “no contact” into emotional whiplash and oh my god why is he still hot.

ex! jake x fem! reader ˗ˏˋ fluff, smut, porn with plot, rom-com, crack, smau, college au, little angst, second chance, lots of profanity, unprotected sex, oral sex, MDNI ! wc: 27 929 p: we almost broke up last night - sabrina carpenter ; loose - enhypen ; tears - sabrina carpenter ; sugar talking - sabrina carpenter ; imgonnagetyouback - taylor swift ; toxic - britney spears ; bad decisions - ariana grande ; knew better / forever boy - ariana grande ; we find love - daniel ceasar 📌💌 sequel of HOW TO SURVIVE BOYS 101 ... but can be a standalone!

disclaimer : the "reader" pics in this smau is only a filler image for layout purposes. reader is poc-friendly and not meant to represent a specific race, appearance, or identity 🪽

Tip #1: Remember how you lost him.

Bullshit repeats itself – is that how the saying goes?

Ever since Jake had gone to college, conversations turned into check-ins, goodnights into apologies, and affection into something scheduled between deadlines. Time and distance were the main culprits behind the crime scene.

You tried staying up later, phone warm in your palm, eyes half-lidded while he talked about university life. You tried not to mind the missed calls, the delayed replies, the way silence began to feel less like rest – from college? Or you?

Jake tried too and you know he did. He promised visits that almost happened but something came up, I’m sorry, baby. He tried coming back on some weekends, but the demands of freshman year doubled in no time and you’re left on delivered for double hours.

He says his phone's broken but he just forgot to charge it.

You try to pull the plug, suddenly verbal about how it felt like you were the only one bending your time around him, about how effort shouldn’t feel like something you had to ask for. You told him that love shouldn’t feel like this.

Jake didn’t argue; didn’t even try because the way you sounded was worse than any petty fight. Instead, he starts working it out at twelve in the morning.

His alarm was already set for an 8am lecture, but that night, he got in his car and drove three cities back to hometown to get you. There was no warning – just the familiar headlights of his Bronco outside your house. He looked tired and concerned, and you immediately apologized before he could say anything, told him it was just a lot – senior year, the pressure, the uncertainty. He listened, arms squeezing you closer, just nodding.

He stayed until four (despite your protests that he should leave earlier), long enough to make sure you’re okay. He's sweet, no others boys would compete – your words run on scraps.

"We almost broke up again last night."

You've been there a thousand times and there's clear selective memory here. All the I love you's and I'm sorry's were said, but they feel futile. It's drifting apart, a big deal you've been in before and will be in tomorrow.

So the actual breakup wasn’t loud, loaded with knowing.

You talked on your couch when he came from uni, the tears coming before either of you could fully start. He kept wiping his hands on his jeans, fidgeting because he didn’t know what to do with them. 

“I don’t know how to fix this anymore,” you said, voice breaking on the word fix. Because you’d tried fixing, tried patience, tried understanding, tried being quieter about how much it hurt.

A part of you wished he insists, that he thinks otherwise and this is still fixable. Maybe because a part of you was still willing to fix it even when the odds were out.

But he only nodded slowly. “I think it just got… way too demanding, and I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that.”

That was the worst part.

“I love you,” he said, immediately. “I know,” you replied. “I love you.”

The exhaustion of wanting more and having nothing left to give.

You sat there for a long time after that, shoulders slumped, knees still touching, your hands finding his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in the way it always did, familiar enough to hurt. He left quietly, making no promises, no maybe someday. Just a long, very long hug at the door, his chin resting on the top of your head, breathing you in like this would be the last time.

You watched him walk down the driveway the same way you always did, only this time, he didn’t turn back.

1 year, 2 months, 15 days, folded neatly in a corner of your room, hidden in your ballerina music box.

Tip #2: Do not use Instagram as a test. It’s dumb.

The summer after senior year was something.

College decisions loomed in the background like unfinished business, and it’s sometimes the very thing you dread just remembering. There was one you waited for specifically and God, you were scared shitless because it’s the very thing you’ve always wanted.

The dream university. The one you’d talked about since forever, with passion and persistence of the 13-year-old you. It’s also the school Jake goes to now – of course, with that kind of grit and intelligence? No doubt.

The email came on an ordinary morning, much to your distress because you were just eating cereal when –

The confetti registered first before Congratulations! itself because the decision portal specifically throws confetti across the screen when you’ve been accepted. That’s what makes you scream and cry and hug your mom and dad buys cake with custom icing and Evan calls you a crybaby, but he’s got a wide smile on his face for you. 

Then like muscle memory because your body tends to forget – it comes like instinct when you know it shouldn’t have.

You thought of Jake; your former number one supporter. The first person who’d told you you could do it, who’d sent you links to campus resources, who’d promised about showing you all the best spots when you get in. Back when when still existed.

You hadn’t talked ever since the break-up, as things should be between people with history (11-year-long history, to be precise). Although you still followed each other in social media, only at a distance so deliberate and established even without negotiation. No liking posts, no watching stories, just a quiet agreement to let each other live separately while still being one call away.

Definitely unhealthy – it’s really not good and it speaks a lot about your attachment.

You added the screenshot to your close friends with a caption of “see you”, balancing both the meaning of academic and, maybe, him, which is pathetic but who can blame a yearning (and desperate, clearly) heart. You included him after overthinking it for 35 more minutes which you reason out as “to see what would happen”.

Until a whole day passed and you received nothing.

Fucking hell, you are pathetic.

Of course he wouldn’t check, of course it was a dumb idea. You settled with screaming into your pillow, then you picked yourself back up with the notion that it doesn’t matter because this moment was yours and it didn’t need an audience – much less one from an ex.

The first week of college was easy. 

The campus was bigger than you ever thought it was – so you did indeed get lost multiple times and walked in lecture halls late with shame chiming around you. By the end of the week, you learned the schedule, learned shortcuts across campus (for when body and alarm clock betrays you), and discovered a coffee shop that made the best tactic to stay awake for your 8am.

For the next month, weeks blurred, lectures became routine, notes just got less pretentious, assignments demanded attention.

The crazy part — aside from your mind — was that you haven’t seen him yet, let it be in the library after staying there for hours, or in the hallways when you’re trying to get to your next class.

Not that you were hoping but – okay, you were and that’s not a crime, just very self-inflecting and sad. But you go on anyway.

Tip #3: All this tension, baby, let your body loose.

“You have to come!” Mia said, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she had stakes in your social life. “It’s the first real party of the semester. Everyone’s going.”

“Yeah,” Lila chimed in, voice dragging your name out like a cautionary tale. “We deserve a night off.”

You cross your arms, melting back against your friends cushions like ice cream. “I have dues tomorrow,” you muttered, though the thought of seeing new faces – and maybe forgetting about deadlines for a few hours – was tempting. However, saving yourself the hangover for a promised productivity tomorrow seems even more enticing.

“You are so –” Mia basically pounces you and starts tickling your sides, as you shriek and swat your arms in defense, “ – boring!”

Once you finally get her off you, both of you breathless, you glare at her with mock offense.

You truly do think about it, staring at their posters that stuck loosely against the wall while you do. A month in, and everything already felt like a balancing act in the circus – classes, expectations, this new version of yourself you were still figuring out. Maybe a few hours off wouldn’t ruin anything.

Lila nudged you. “Stop overthinking. Just come. It’s a cool, chill night. We’ll keep you safe. We’ll make you dance. We’ll –”

“Fine, fine,” you cut her off, laughing despite yourself. “I’ll go. But I’m not getting drunk.”

It’s still early when you arrive (12am), early enough that the place hasn’t fully filled in yet. There’s space to breathe and move without squeezing past bodies, but the music is already loud and colored lights sweep lazily across the room. Mia spots someone the moment you three managed to move through the crowd. “Oh my god – hey!” she calls out, already waving, and before you can process it, you’re being pulled along. Quick introductions are exchanged over the music – name you only half-catch, smiles that come easy.

He leads your group through the room to an open table near the back, just far enough from the speakers that you don’t have to shout. You slide into one of the couches, the leather smooth against your legs and Lila leans close to say something you barely catch over the music. At some point, you realize Mia isn’t beside you anymore, but before you can even text her, she’s back – grinning, triumphant, weaving through people with three plastic cups in her hands.

“Miss me?” she asks, setting one in front of you.

You blink, surprised. “When did you –”

“Don’t ask,” she cuts in, sliding another drink toward Lila. “Just drink.”

You lift the cup and take a cautious sip because you don’t trust the palate of a drunkard. It’s sweet before the bitter taste of alcohol comes, making you cringe back from the unexpectedness. It’s honestly exciting.

Mia clinks her cup against yours. “To surviving the first month!”

You have no idea yet that this is where things start to shift.

The friend Mia greeted earlier comes back, smiling at all of you. “Uh, would it be okay with you guys if our groups kind of merge? My friends just came.” his hands do gestures and immediately, you all agree before he even finishes the sentence. Lila’s already scooting over to make space, Mia’s cheering over the music.

He looks relieved, flashing a quick thank-you smile.

You take slow sips of your drink, letting the liquid cool the small knot of nerves you didn’t realize had formed in your stomach. You don’t get to be all jumpy and edgy in the function that demanded someone buoyant and convivial.

Though, you definitely should have expected doom – when some already-drunk dude comes and stumbles on your lap that you shriek in pure horror like a lead in Scream. You immediately shove him off and he lands on the floor, wasted and absolutely gone, while his friends apologize with pressed palms. You try to contain the sour expression on your face – but you can’t, because half your drink has spilled on you.

Great. Love that.

Because now you feel sticky and you smell like alcohol before anything real even began, your mood spoiling like you personally invited the bacteria in. Before you could curdle further into deciding to leave and plunge into the comfort and sterility of your bed, Mia’s already pulling you up on your feet to get to the bathroom.

Like some cruel, cinematic twist, the growing crowd press bodies closer and someone knocks into you without meaning to, of course, because you’re God’s number 1 favorite child besides the Redeemer. Either way, you stumble on your heel and you’re pushed into someone else for the nth time tonight, though you don’t really try to bother with a genuine apology. You mutter something half-assed, preparing yourself to squeeze into the crowd until you decide to glance.

Holy. Fuck.

For a split second, your brain stalls. And you’re frozen and you think that this has to be some kind of divine intervention as they like to call it, because this man has to be one of God’s loyal angels with the way the party lights start to uncoil as strobes behind him, and he’s here to announce the birth of some Messiah that will save the world.

Maybe you’re supposed to be expecting soon with the way alcohol isn’t the only thing making you wet now.

Everything rushes in at once – and you’re bombarded with the unfair reality of male supremacy in genetics. He’s taller than you remember, even with your heels on. Broader shoulders, solid in a way that makes it obvious time didn’t just pass him by, it worked on him. He’s filled out, grown into himself that didn’t change him but made him look more mature.

And now, Jaeyun Sim's staring at you like this was exactly what he didn’t expect in some random Friday party, much less in his local university club.

(Backtrack – Jake knows you’re attending the same university after receiving the news from Evan, who, despite the breakup, announces certain things about you as if to keep Jake updated. He never asked and never really stopped him either. So imagine how he feels, when the woman he knew didn’t exactly like parties bumps into him in one after one whole month on campus.)

The guy Mia knows is still talking, introducing his friends, but you can barely process anything past this one in front of you. The music isn’t helping, by the way, because it’s playing ‘Shout Out to My Ex’ by Little Mix.

Then he fucking smiles at you. Casually. Amused.

What the fuck?

“Hi.”

Jake reaches a hand out and you stare at it, well, first at his long fingers, then his wide palm, then the veins that travel all the way through his arms. “Didn’t know you go to parties.” he says and you look up at him through your lashes again, seeing that smile that doesn’t show much, just that he’s seeing you right here in front of him and he doesn’t hate it.

You try smiling too (works out fine; you look hot, he clears his throat), because you can’t be the one flustered while he’s here looking like God’s favorite, and casually reaches out his hand to you like you’re just someone he kind of knew back in high school.

Finally, your hand clasps with his. A dap, a squeeze; he taught you how to do it properly back then when you were together, something you do every after making out.

“I always do,” you reply, clearly pointed. His eyebrows knit for a few seconds, before he realizes what you mean, then he breaks out to a wider smile.

Before anything else can happen, Mia grabs your arm like a lifeline and yanks you through the crowd until you’re finally pressed up against the bathroom wall, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. “How do you know that guy?!”

You basically scream into your hands once you get inside, while Mia yanks you beneath the hand dryer, pulling specifically the wet patch underneath to let it dry. 

Right. You got alcohol on you. You practically forgot how wet you are.

“That was my fucking ex, Mia!” you shriek.

She freezes immediately, eyes going wide when she realizes who you’re talking about.

“Wait. Wait. Wait. That’s… no. That’s the guy? Wait, first or second?”

“Second,” you groan again, slumping against the wall. “The same one. Holy shit, Mia. The same one.”

She grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. “And he’s here. At this party. And he’s… what. Hotter? Better?”

You groan again, throwing your hands in the air. “Mia, I can’t. I wanna go home.”

She rolls your eyes and shakes you by the shoulders again to get yourself together because you’re too hot and gorgeous to malfunction like this. After much encouragement from her (it didn’t work, you still feel like a slug against the wall), you two finally get out of the bathroom. She promises a drink just to get you your guts back, and of course, she delivers. She orders you two shots to salt the slug out of you, demanding you drink them now like the alcoholic-maniac she is. And like the disaster you are, you chug the burn down your throat.

The last thing you need right now is to care about your ex.

And to think about how hot he’s gotten after a few months. Like he needed to glow up, like how he looked wasn’t enough.

You know how to handle your drink well, but chugging down two straight shots must’ve fucked you up good because your knees feel weaker and your vision welcomes the lights as streaks that do wonders with feeling afloat.

You steady yourself by the table once you two get back. Your head feels light, but not in a bad way – only like the world softened around the edges and you remember that this isn’t high school; this is something you have to explore and enjoy.

So you do that. You don’t mind the reminder of high school at the corner of your peripheral, sitting on the couch so easily. 

You shake hands. You do the half-hug introductions like you’ve been friends for years. You repeat your name more times than you can count, watch it get lost immediately in the music.

Every now and then, you glance.

It follows him; the noise, the lights, the looks, because it’s him. Jake. The handsome guy in the group, the hot one in the team, the golden one even when he’s just smiling. No matter where, even in the corner of the room when he’s not doing anything – not even drowning himself in intoxication like you are. 

You know that much – the girl beside you has been eyeing the ‘guy in a leather jacket and eyeglasses at the side’. Jake, of course, who's got his sleeves rolled up like he doesn’t know just what kind of effect his veiny arms have. You admit, your heel might have jabbed her foot a few times, accidentally or not.

Jake’s a few feet away in the other table, leaning back with the natural ease of directing himself through social gatherings without trying hard. He’s talking to someone, head tipped slightly as he listens, smiling at something you can’t hear.

He’s not looking at you

A twinge blooms in the middle of your chest, just between the bones that cage your lungs. But before it worsens, you’re already bottoming out a drink Lila offered to you because you’re not about to orbit someone who somehow had the time for social stuff but never enough time for you. 

You wonder about the nights you waited for Jake’s reply while he was out partying. The thought steadies you more than the alcohol does.

You straighten a little, roll your shoulders back, remind yourself that this isn’t a competition, and you look too hot to treat the night like a loss

You don’t realize it at first. That some guy’s flirting with you.

You recognize him though, he’s part of the group that came in with who-shall-not-be-named.

He’s tall, and sometimes he leans down to hear you. His smile’s great and you remember him talking something about engineering. You don’t care, you don’t even try to care. But your own body betrays you because your heels have been slowly killing you, and your legs don’t function the way they do when you’re sober. So when someone accidentally bumps into you again, you stumble back and lean against him. He laughs low, ducks down to whisper how clumsy you are while his hand settles on the small of your back to steady you.

This is stupid. You feel stupid. Not ecstatic in any way at all.

The guy beside you says something again – teasing, light, trying – much of your disinterest. He takes a step closer and says your name like it’s something he wants to remember. 

You look around when the guy beside you takes a sip of his drink, letting this moment catch. 

But Jake’s eyes are already on you. He’s not laughing nor talking anymore, just watching you.

His expression is unreadable, jaw set tightly, the muscle jumps once and his hand curls around his cup like he’s finally clocking the distance between you and the guy, like he’s noticed the hand at your back.

The guy beside you leans in again. “So,” he says, voice easy, confident. “You're single, right?”

You don’t answer – you don’t even look at him. Your eyes stay on Jake and he doesn’t look away either. He’s looking at you like he’s sick of pretending he does not see you. Like he’s wondering if he’s been too patient waiting for a sign.

He turns away, taking a sip of his drink like he meant for you to catch him too, and now he’s frustrated that he's caught something else he didn't want. His jaw is still clenched, tight enough that the line of it looks sharper under the dim lights when he tilts his head slightly to the side, licking the inside of his cheek in the way he does when he’s mad.

You see that goddamn nose, tall and pointed. And you want nothing but to sit on it in front of this guy.

VIRGINs™.

You close your eyes and pull away like you’re burnt, not even managing a simple polite excuse before you practically shove him away from you and find your way to your friends.

Mia’s there immediately, she grabs your wrist and yanks you back into the safety of your circle. “Come on, babe. Drink up.”

Lila’s already pressing a cup into your hand, eyes sharp, knowing, and they’re assholes for this. Still, it’s comforting, the way they’re holding you now. “Bottoms up!”

You drink it immediately, barely registering the taste before you feel the rush, the way it hits your bloodstream and scrambles everything before they could form something coherent such as Jake’s face and how mad he looked when someone else had you.

“Dance?” Mia asks with an encouraging yell, but she’s already pulling the three of you together into the dance floor. 

The music crashes over you again, bass rolling through your chest and loosening something in your knees. The alcohol smooths everything out until moving feels easy and impulsive. You follow Mia and Lila without thinking, letting the rhythm carry you forward like a tide. Bodies blur together around you – all grinding, swaying, hands reaching up toward the lights as they flash and stutter. You drift closer to them, arms brushing, steps syncing, three girls caught in the same pulse, heat and laughter and movement packed into a space too tight and too loud. 

You close your eyes. You let the music hold you. And even when you try not to, you feel it; Jake’s gaze lingering on you like a ghost of warmth, woven into the rhythm, impossible to shake.

Tip #4: Think imgonnagetyouback mindset.

It’s 4am.

The music has started to die down. The chaos of the party is reduced to less and scattered laughter, half-empty cups, and people basically fumbling for their coats with wobbly feet and fucked vision. You swear you can smell vomit somewhere near, you’re just not sure if it’s on you and dangerously close by. 

You’re halfway gone on the couch, leaning against Mia’s shoulder because it’s the only thing keeping you upright right now. Deadweight, basically. Lila is fussing over you, holding a bottle of water up your lips like it’s a lifesaver. “C’mon, just one sip. You’ll thank me.”

“‘m fine,” you mutter in that slurred way, eyes half-closed, and completely stubborn while you swat her away like a useless baby. “You’re not fine. Look at you, Ms. I’m-not-getting-drunk.”

“‘m fiiiine,” you repeat, muffled against Mia’s shoulder, mostly because speaking more feels exhausting.

You don’t see it, but Jake’s with his friends. He’s laughing quietly, ready to disappear into the cold late hour, early morning. He’s completely normal and okay, sober compared to the disastrous sight of you. Which should be very embarrassing, but you’re way too blacked out to even know what’s happening.

He stops. His gaze flicks toward you. “Hey,” he calls softly.

Mia and Lila immediately exchange a look  – half amusement, half mischief – because of course, of course this is happening. And your ass is too drunk to handle your own plotline, so what would these simple women do if not steer it for you?

“Uh… he’s asking about you,” Mia says slowly, patting your leg. You groan softly. “Tell h’m ’m fine,” you mumble, voice battered with alcohol, low and coarse from fatigue.

“Tell him yourself,” Lila says, and you groan again.

Jake’s friends start moving toward the door, laughing under their breath and nudging him along. But Jake stays where he is across from you, doing something he knows he shouldn’t be doing (has been doing for the past few hours anyway), which is staring. Because whatever he’s feeling right now has him frozen in place, ethics slipping through his fingers, all because of you.

And in that second, when he looks at you better and sees just how disheveled you look, the tiniest smirk tugs at his lips, not even attempting to restrain himself. He looks like he’s holding back a joke, like he knows exactly what your stubborn little face is doing, leaning there, stubborn and tipsy and entirely (not) his.

“Is she okay?” he asks, not teasing, just him.

Mia snorts, Lila laughs quietly. Then, you lift your head to shoo away this man, until you see him and freeze, dignity crumbling little by little the more time you spend in this godforsaken club.

Jake. Standing there, relaxed, very much sober, and looking at you. Just you.

“You okay?” he asks again, softer than before.

And you can’t help it. A tiny, annoyed frown slips onto your face, one you didn’t mean to make, because of all the alcohol and the chaos and the mess of people bothering you, you see him and you remember you’re not exactly goody-goody with him, but he’s here asking if you’re okay anyway, acting so concerned about you.

Last time you remember, he can’t make time for you!

“’m fine,” you blurt, slurred, stubborn, mad, and a little breathless.

Then you fall back on Mia’s shoulder, deciding upon yourself that this is just a dream and he will disappear and you can go back to the life he wasn’t a part of.

Of course, he’s not convinced. 

Jake’s gaze flicks to Mia and Lila. He knows that you’re stubborn enough to try to walk home on your own if left unchecked.

“How are you getting her home?” he asks them this time, voice calm but with that subtle edge of concern.

Mia straightens a little, gauging just how to strategically use this wild card given to her by the guardian angels themselves like it’s fucking Uno. “Honestly? I don’t fucking know.”

Jake looks at both of them – at you – much in disbelief. Mia firmly believes she made the best choice.

Jake’s gaze shifts back to Mia and Lila, serious now, like now he’s assessing the logistics of this situation. “Where’s… uh, her dorm?” he asks, calm but firm.

Mia smiles and has the nerve to relax against the couch. “Oh… uh, it’s actually a bit farther away,” she says quickly, waving her hands vaguely. “But…it’s 4 am, there’s creeps out, and, you know…we’re all girls.” She lets the last part hang, her eyes flicking to you and Lila for piteous effect, acting the part of damsels in distress.

Jake raises an eyebrow. Before he can even open his mouth, Mia’s already talking again. “So… do you think you can take her? Please? We are soooo tired, it’s sooo late, and she’s basically useless right now.” She glances down at you slumped against her shoulder, half-asleep, barely clinging to consciousness.

Lila’s already nodding emphatically after understanding this turn of events, giving you a little squeeze for emphasis. “Yeah. You’d be, like… her hero or something,” she says, grinning.

Jake lets out a quiet, almost exasperated laugh.

“Guess that’s my job, then,” he says, voice low and soft, almost like he’s talking just to you about something only you’d understand. 

Always to the rescue, apparently.

One second you’re warm and hazy against Mia’s shoulder, the next you’re being shifted, hands lifting you under your arms, voices overlapping in a blur of wait – careful – okay, got her – 

And then, Oh. This is familiar.

You press into his chest without thinking, forehead tipping forward until it rests just beneath his collarbone. His sweater is warm and smells faintly like detergent and something unmistakably like his perfume – you know because you bought it for him last Valentines.

Jake stiffens for half a second.

Then he exhales, adjusts his grip, one arm sliding more securely around your back, the other settling under your knees. He struggles a little, just a little, shifting his footing, maybe because he’s still registering the reality of you in his arms.

You make a tiny sound in protest, brows knitting faintly in your sleep, and he smiles wider.

Mia points a finger at him immediately, all serious now. “You take care of her. I will hunt you down.”

Lila crosses her arms. “I know where you live.” (she doesn’t)

Jake snorts quietly. “Duly noted.”

He looks down at you again, expression softening, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side like muscle memory never left him. You shift closer, nose brushing his sweater. “I’ve got her,” he says, steady now.

Mia and Lila exchange a look, satisfied with their contribution to this plot twist and turning the course of events in your life effectively, then step back, already halfway to freedom. The script’s flipped and you’re leaving a dumb party with him, no handcuffs needed.

“Text us when she’s in bed,” Mia adds. “And water. Make her drink water.”

Jake nods. “Yeah. I know.”

With you tucked against him, asleep and unaware, Jake Sim turns toward the door and carries you out into the quiet, early-morning air. He slips you into the passenger seat of his Bronco, which smells like faint cologne and pristine, organized and fixed while – you are basically deadweight, heavy, and uncooperative, completely misplaced in his world. So when you shift in the passenger seat to get more comfortable after he slides you in, your elbow swings out without warning, smacking him lightly in the face while he’s trying to buckle you in.

“Whoa – hey,” Jake mutters, voice low but amused. You groan softly, like you’re the one who deserves to get mad, eyes still half-shut. 

You slump further, letting yourself sink into the seat, muttering something that barely comes out as a coherent “sorry” that obviously isn’t meant. He doesn’t say much, just shifts the car into gear, and starts driving.

The next memory hits and you’re in the dorm lobby, blinking at the familiar walls while Jake has you wrapped up in his arms. Suddenly, you notice your own weight again and decide, maybe you can walk on your own.

“Okay, I’m good,” you mutter, pushing lightly at him.

“No, you’re not,” Jake protests, tightening his hold.

“I can walk, thank you very much.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you pry yourself from his clutch and take a shaky step forward, bare feet on the cold marble, instantly a washing regret because it’s freezing. Only then do you realize – you’re not wearing heels, you’re not even holding your bag, and Jake is standing there with basically everything you own, dangling in his hands like some overzealous luggage attendant.

“Really, you’re just showing off now, aren’t you?” you huff.

He gives you an “are you serious?” guise, and he looks fed up if it weren’t for the small smile that says otherwise. Like he’s entertained and he likes this, watching you with the kind of gaze too thrilled for someone who’s supposedly your ex. 

Maybe around five steps later, your foot catches and you stumble, losing balance instantly. Before you even fall, his arms are around you again, steadying you — and once again you’re pressed against him. He lets out a soft scoff of amusement, finding you both irritating and adorable simultaneously.

“We should stick to plan A,” he murmurs, the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re too drunk to pretend you’re not.”

You groan into his chest, limbs still heavy. But you don’t protest anymore, letting him guide you to the elevator. He gets you to your room with minimal fighting this time.

The door clicks shut behind you, the familiar quiet and comfortability settling in way too fast because now you just want to sleep pronto. Jake guides you over gently, hands warm and steady at your waist until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sit down obediently, blinking up at him like you’re trying very hard to stay awake and failing anyway.

“Okay,” he murmurs, already turning. “Stay.”

You do. Shockingly.

By the time he comes back with a cold bottle of water, you’re slouched slightly, hands folded in your lap, hair falling over your face. He presses the bottle into your hands and nudges it toward your mouth.

“Drink,” he says softly, the way he used to – like he knows you’ll listen if he keeps his voice gentle.

You do. You take small sips, nose scrunching at the cold, eyes half-lidded as he watches to make sure you actually swallow. He waits until you’ve had enough, then takes the bottle back and sets it on your desk within reach.

“There you go,” he says, quiet praise tucked into the words.

He thinks he should go now, now that you’re safely in your room and in your bed. Though he hesitates, eyes flicking to your face – your lashes clumped with false lashes and mascara, faint shimmer still clinging to your lids, concealer intact, lipstick smudged. A smile tugs at his mouth, fond, and a little resigned.

“You’re gonna hate it if you sleep like that,” he says lightly, gently poking your cheek. “D’you want to take your makeup off?”

You nod immediately, just small and sleepy, still fighting your way to stay awake.

“Mm,” you hum.

He exhales a soft laugh and heads to your bathroom, carefully of course, cautiously going through your room and locating familiar products on your counter. He comes back with your remover, cotton pads, even your headband.

He places everything carefully into your hands. “Here.”

You stare down at it – long, blank, confused – like you’re waiting for them to work themselves out onto your face. Then you look up at him, brows pinched slightly, lips pouting in concentration like you’re trying to remember a thought you just had.

“‘M just… gonna sleep,” you decide, voice small and stubborn, followed by a yawn.

Jake closes his eyes for a second, pinching his nose bridge before his hands fall on his hips. “Yeah,” he sighs, smiling despite himself. “I figured.”

He gently takes the things from you before you can drop them, then crouches properly in front of you. He tilts your chin up with two fingers, touch feather-light. 

“Don’t move,” he murmurs.

He gently and carefully removes your false lashes first. Then he soaks a pad and starts slow, careful, wiping beneath one eye first, one side at a time. His touch is patient like he’s handling something fragile.

“That okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod again, leaning into his hand without thinking. He smiles at that, just gently holds your jaw.

He works in silence, almost reverent in the way he handles you so gently. He’s switching pads, murmuring the occasional “there we go” or “almost done,” wiping makeup away until your face is bare and clean again. His thumb lingers for half a second at your cheek, warm, familiar.

You sway slightly, fighting sleep, eyes drooping.

“Hey,” he says gently, tapping your knee, tipping your chin back with his two fingers. “Stay with me, yeah?”

You hum in response, something content and sleepy, and his chest tightens.

He stands when he’s done, then he sets everything aside and looks at you for a long moment – sitting on your bed, hair messy, makeup gone, eyes heavy but trusting. You’re looking up at him through your lashes, and he really likes you that way. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs before he can stop himself.

Your brows knit together, lips pushing into a soft, unhappy pout, like something about this doesn’t sit right with you – because with all honesty, this feels like something you’d look back with regret and hate.

Jake notices immediately. He straightens a little, eyes searching your face. “What is it?”

You blink at him, slow and glassy, like you’re trying to line your thoughts up and they keep slipping away. “…why’re you here?” you ask, voice slurred, small, and drunk.

He shouldn’t engage with you when you’re like this.

Still. He can’t not.

“What?”

You frown deeper, shaking your head slightly, hair falling into your eyes again. “You’re… you’re acting like you care,” you mumble. “Why are you pretending?”

His brows furrow this time. “I’m not pretending,” he says quietly.

You scoff, weak and breathy, clearly unconvinced, clearly drunk. “It’s not fair.”

Jake swallows. “You’re drunk,” he says gently. “You’re tired.”

You nod once, sharply. “Yeah. And you’re here. And you’re… being like this.” Your voice wobbles despite your effort to sound annoyed, you point a finger at him. He glances at it then back to you, not being able to keep himself from smiling. “So which one is it, Jaeyun?”

The way you say his name undoes him. Completely.

When he doesn’t answer you, you frown, trying to focus through the fog in your brain. “Probably like this with all the girls you meet, then?” 

He blinks once before he chuckles quietly, very amused with your insobriety. Then, slowly and deliberately, he leans over just enough to tap your forehead with a finger, teasing but gentle. “Aren’t you the one who was flirting with some guy tonight?” he asks, half-smile tugging at his lips. His eyes shine with something you can’t quite name – soft amusement, pride, maybe even jealousy in the right angle.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t like him.” you mumble, head leaning back, eyes half-lidded when you look up at him through your lashes.

Jake’s smile softens, grows warmer, almost proud. “I know,” he says simply.

Your chest hammers, and it’s not just the alcohol anymore – hasn't been, really – it’s him. He watches you like he’s memorizing every detail – the messy hair, the curve of your hips, the way your eyes drift between amused and annoyed – and you feel seen. Now, you know, you’re hopelessly, irreversibly caught; drunk or not.

You murmur something then, so soft it barely makes it past your lips.

Jake blinks. “What?”

You don’t repeat it. You just stare at him, eyes unfocused, lashes heavy, mouth tight because the words slipped out before you could decide if you meant them.

He leans in a little. “Hey,” he says quietly. “What’d you say?” As he moves closer, his hand lifts on its own. He gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear like he’s afraid of startling you.

You both know this shouldn’t happen, that this is beyond the rules of exes and the quiet decency you’re supposed to keep between people who already broke each other once. This look, this closeness, the way his attention lingers like he’s forgotten how to pull it back – it’s all wrong. And yet he’s looking at you like he’s still falling, slow and helpless, like nothing ever ended, and in the quiet of it you realize the worst part isn’t that it’s happening. It’s that you want it to. Drunk or sober.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you look up at him from under your lashes.

“I miss you,"

Jake's heart? It does a sharp, traitorous jump, like it’s trying to climb into his throat, and for a split second he forgets how to speak. The golden star he is, known for being well-spoken and articulate with his sentences now rot speechless in the presence of the only girl he’s ever loved.

“Oh,” he says, because it’s the only sound he can manage.

His hand drops slowly back to his side, turning into a fist, like he needs the grounding of knowing better than let this thrive.

“Hey,” he murmurs, quieter now, steadier than he really feels. “You’re drunk.”

You nod, breaking away the eye contact. “I know.”

Jake swallows, jaw tightening as he looks down at you. He looks… a bit wrecked, like he’s trying to decide whether this is real or just the cruelty of 4 am and too much alcohol. His hand slides to your jaw again, thumb warm against your cheek, grounding himself just as much as it does you.

Then he leans in.

He dips his head just enough that his lips brush on your forehead. And with hesitance, he presses another kiss at the bridge of your nose.

You let out a small, breathy laugh. It slips out of you, soft, a little incredulous, and you lift your hand to weakly shove at his chest. “What the fuck are you doing.” you say through a breathy laugh, half-protest, half-something else entirely but feels close to intimate.

Jake smiles. The tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction. “Relax,” he murmurs, fond – always fond. “You’re gonna knock me out like that.” His sarcasm makes your blood and chest curl with heat. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but your hand lingers at his chest instead of pulling away. He glances down at it, then back at you, smile deepening just a little. You try to shove him again, this time with even less force, because you’re everything messy but he likes that anyway. “You’re weird.”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, eyes warm. “You’ve told me that before.

Bygone will be the bygone’s era, yet they fade into gray, blurry, and uncertain. Because he who should remain obsolete looks the most vibrant in the dull vision of intoxication. You can’t decide whether you’re gonna curse him out or pull him into bed with you – but now, you hate him all the same. Because you can hear the whispers in his eyes – and they sound a lot like late night apologies for not finding time for you.

Jake straightens at last, hands lifting in surrender. “Okay,” he says gently. “That’s my cue.”

You start to fall back on your mattress, head back against your soft pillow from incredulity at what the fuck life has brought you to.

You’re just drunk, you think, for the way indignation (from remembering) and nerves blend into a tarty smoothie in the pit of your stomach. Jake carefully helps you tuck in and pulls the blanket higher around you.

“Sleep,” he whispers. “We’ll talk when you’re not like this.”

He waits until your breathing evens out, which doesn’t take long. Once the tension leaves your shoulders, your lashes finally rest against your cheeks, and your fingers loosen their grip on the blanket. Only then does he move again. Jake slips into the bathroom, opening the cabinet above the sink, and finds what he’s looking for almost immediately. He takes a couple of painkillers then places them beside your water bottle, lined up like a reminder for the morning.

You’re curled slightly on your side now, blanket pulled up to your chin, hair fanned like feathers across the pillow. He dims the light instead of off, and steals one final glance over his shoulder – like he’s imprinting the sight of you into memory.

Then he leaves. That familiar smile lingers on his face – the kind that’s always been yours.

He finds it that he was never not yours.

Tip #5: He’s responsible, proceed with caution.

You wake up with a really shitty hungover. Your head hurts, your mouth tastes like regret, and your brain keeps replaying things it shouldn’t be replaying. Then there’s knocking at 10:17 am, according to your phone, which feels too early for anything.

You consider pretending you’re dead, but Mia has never respected boundaries, not even in theory.

They settle in like this was always the plan, like your room is a recovery ward for debriefs and recollection and greasy sandwich breakfast. 

Then they say his name casually like it doesn’t still do things to you. 

Jake pretended he didn’t care.  Jake was normal.  Jake was looking at you every time you moved.  Jake was looking when you weren’t. 

You don’t know which part makes your stomach twist harder, the fact that you weren’t imagining it or the fact that it changes nothing, because knowing he still looks doesn’t mean he’s allowed to.

You’re feeling everything all at once, which you shouldn’t, by the way, because he’s your fucking ex.

And then the water bottle and the pain killers on your nightstand – a reminder from him and the physical evidence of his tracks that he was here.

You go on to fill their hearts content with what happened last night, about how Jake was so responsibly firm and gentle with you and treated it as if it wasn’t an inconvenience. As if he had the time to do all of it; slowly, carefully, steadily, not in a rush for a deadline he’ll say sorry for later – not anymore. Last night, in your own room while you were drunk and gone, Jake Sim played daddy.

Mia peeks through her fingers. “You’re saying this very emotionally.”

“I’m saying this very hormonally,” you snap. 

Right now, you remember the wet patch of alcohol from last night. As well as the tears you’ve shed from high school because he wasn’t able to manage his routine in a way that he can balance his school life and your relationship. 

Right now, Jake isn’t that. He can hold you without it feeling like he’s losing time. Right now, you get fucking wet from the thought of him being a responsible guy, treating you like he was supposed to do – and yeah, you remember the tears, except they’re running down your thighs now.

A little “There you go,”, “Drink.”“Don’t move,”, “That okay?”“Stay with me, yeah?”, and of course, “Good girl,”, which is plainly ideal foreplay.

You’re mid-chew when your phone buzzes on the mattress behind you.

Mia manages to snatch it before you can, and you basically start whining for her to give it back. Too late, she’s read the preview and says it out loud, 

jake: you alive?

You groan, dropping back on your bed because you’re absolutely emotional and embarrassed and hungover and turned on by your ex. 

You can’t believe it. After months of no contact ever since the breakup, specifically 7 months and 2 days ago, he breaks it to ask if you’re alive like he didn't just kill you.

“I hate him,” you mumble.

“You absolutely do not,” Mia says, shoving your phone back to you immediately. “Text him back.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Mia says, already sitting on your legs to pester you.

You stare at the screen. This totally isn’t fair and you know that he knows this is wrong – exes don’t talk to each other and check up on one another and tuck each other in and kiss each other’s foreheads. 

Before the girls protest which reponse sounds natural, your phone buzzes again.

jake: drink water btw

You shut your eyes and try to calm down your heart while he tries murdering it with Instagram texts. What is he doing? Why’s he doing it? Does he know he’s actively committing felony?

“Oh my God,” Lila whispers. “He’s still taking care of you."

Mia flops beside you. “Okay. We’re doing this strategically.”

“No strategy,” you say quickly. “I am not opening a door.”

“Too late,” Mia says. “The door is already cracked. He carried you through it.”

Fuck, she has a point. 

Your head still aches, but it’s not just the hangover anymore. It’s the memory of his hands steady on your waist while he talks you through it, his voice low and patient. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t take. Didn’t demand anything. Just stayed. Willingly. And smiled charmingly while he did – with extremely good teeth too.

You exhale slowly, then finally type: alive. sorry if i was a lot.

You hit send before you can chicken out, and the three of you stare at the screen like it’s a bomb.

The reply comes almost instantly. Oh wow, now he remembers how to use a phone – how to charge it too.

jake: you werent

That’s it. No flirting, no emotional ambush, no anything else, just a message that makes you think if he’s letting you open a conversation or if he’s closing it himself. He really is messing with your brain, and it’s not good for you – nothing about Jake Sim was ever good for you.

Tip #6: Prepare for the Instagram story.

Your phone stays quiet from his messages for the rest of the following weeks. At first you tell yourself that it’s good. It’s proof that you’re both mature and healthy, because you acknowledged that the night happened, but didn’t see it as an opening for anything else. 

Except you, maybe. You’re back to wondering where he is on campus. It’s life playing tricks on you; letting your heart go on a rollercoaster of events only to snatch it and buckle you back in your routine that didn’t include him.

Jake wasn’t an online kind of person ever since college started, only really posted stories when someone else mentions him on theirs. Stalking him through social media is futile, but you always go back to his posts, anyway – like a temporary remedy.

There used to be four posts, three highlights. But for very obvious reasons, your proof of occupation was removed.

It feels like highschool, when you danced this humiliation pirouette around something you wanted but had to pretend you didn’t. To act like you’re not itching even though your concentration has been compromised, which is obviously piteous for someone as bright as you. 

So you don’t do anything, more than willing to participate in this game of composure to see who’d break first. You keep your decorum. You keep your dignity folded neatly in your back pocket.

Nothing happens.

‘Til it’s late out and you’ve just finished studying 2 lessons – which obviously immediately means you’re more emotionally unstable and desolate tonight. And you’re not exactly expecting a tragic ambush for the cherry on top, because you're not thinking right now, not when your mind’s running on about limits in Calculus 1 – which is ironic because you're clearly on one.

It’s muscle memory, really – open app, tap, tap, oh. You don’t even register it until the screen loads and the familiar username appears on the top of your screen.

You’ve viewed it 52 seconds after he uploaded the story. Like you were waiting on his proof of life and decided to pounce him, straddling and all, the moment it shows.

And then when you process just what the story is, that’s where your stomach drops. It’s a repost from a girl’s story, who took a picture of Jaeyun leaning against the table, using his phone while she’s holding coffee and sitting really close – as in, legs brushing, overly intimate, something old you would post when he was your boyfriend – that you scoff so loudly and practically fling yourself back against your chair.

So that’s why. That’s why he didn’t text even though he said you’ll talk when you’re sober. He has a girlfriend and obviously, you’re the last thing he’d ever have in mind. And you? You remain lonely and single and pathetic and pining for another man in other girls stories and leg-brushing-tionship.

That’s also when you notice the little caption tucked in the corner. thanks for the coffee ig

Right, and she’s flirting plainly and publicly and clearly claiming territory. You don’t even see her face but you could tell immediately how perfect she probably is, as far as your insecurities are concerned: she’s the same year, probably shares ⅔ of his classes, sees him all the time, and gets free coffee from him.

And your phone’s been suffering lately, attempting to function on 1gb left on your storage. It’s laggy, that’s when it downright betrays you after 2 years together. It lags and your hand probably slips or something, because you like the story.

Shit.

You blink. Then you scream. You unlike it then you throw your phone away after, shrieking against your pillow while you decide whether it’s time to delete your Instagram account for good. You decide on multiple options here actually, but all of it comes to a choice when your phone buzzes.

jake: ?

God you wish you could sleep. But there are monsters in your head called impulse and pride, and they’re tag-teaming you while your phone lights up like it knows exactly how weak you are. You stare at the screen. The single question mark feels louder than any paragraph he could’ve sent and it’s annoying and he feels like the asshole he never was.

you: phone lagged mb

You hit send before you can overthink it into something kinder. In your best efforts to be civil, there’s still a faint aftertaste of not my fault, it’s yours. 

Three dots appear almost immediately. Disappear. Reappear. Like it was meant to piss you off. You roll onto your back, arm flung dramatically over your eyes like you’re auditioning for a film about female suffering directed by Greta Gerwig.

When you said ok, you thought he meant on a customary, normal-person time and date. And you should think like what a regular citizen act on this eccentric occasion – such as declining his absurdity and sleeping because you have lecture tomorrow. You ask yourself what you’re doing in this cafe now, in a tee and sleep shorts, arms crossed while you wait for the man who somehow still knows how to summon you with two texts and zero explanation.

You look around like you might recognize another idiot who showed up for emotional closure in pajamas, but there’s no one. Just you, your crossed arms, and the creeping realization that you look like a girl waiting to be let down. You’re not the girlfriend, not even the ex that gets proper boundaries, but the one he can call at 1 am – the punchline practically knows your name.

The bell over the door rings and there he is, exactly as expected, annoyingly composed in a hoodie with sleeves rolled to his elbows – and this time, you’re both sober. You look at each other a second too long, like you’re both checking for signs of intoxication that might excuse whatever happens next. When you find none, you decide that it’s the worse version of the night – clear-headed and intentional: there’s no buffer tonight with excuses to lean on. 

Jaeyun gestures toward the counter. “You want coffee?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine,” you say with a sigh. “I have lecture in the morning.”

And then he just nods, tongue poking the inside of his cheek while he decides what to do now. You both sit in a table for two, across from each other – which isn’t anywhere in the safebook because it’s close enough to feel familiar, but far enough to be safe.

“You said things the other night,” he starts carefully. Of course, because he treated your fleeing like a lesson, and he now talks like a man (doesn't make him one, though). “When I helped you home.”

Your stomach tightens and you chew on the inside of your cheek to try for casual. “I was drunk.”

“That all?” His brow cocks up, like he obviously doesn’t believe that’s all. “You didn’t mean it?”

Honesty has always been your downfall with him, even after spending half your life pretending and lying about what you feel for him. “I said I missed you,” you say flatly, owning it before he can dress it up. You laugh under your breath in disbelief of your position now. “There. Are you happy?”

He looks at you then and whatever he sees makes his shoulders drop a little. Jake sighs, fingers fidgeting underneath the table while he thinks of what to say now, just before he swallows and looks back into your eyes. “I didn’t text because I didn’t know if you wanted to talk to me sober.”

“So you waited,” you say. “Until I embarrassed myself.”

Honestly, the phone does work two ways. Maybe he was also pensively standing by for a sign that you’re still willing to let him in solemnly – but for fuck’s safe, was he meant to play hard-to-get while you chase?

Now he smiles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek because clearly you’re being petty and he’s measuring just how much patience he has tonight. Jake says your name quietly, low and firm, which does 7 natural wonders in your abdomen.

“Honestly? I was wondering if you remembered, or if it was just something you said because you were drunk.”

He delayed, he avoided, he compartmentalized, and he resurfaced at this ungodly hour. So yes, you get to be petty in thin sleep shorts because he fucking messaged you at 1am after posting another girl in his story. 

Indifference isn't respect, avoiding isn't civility.

When he looks back at you, his expression is composed, which is unusual for someone as emotional as him. “I didn’t say anything back that night,” he says, meeting your eyes.

You nod. “I noticed.”

“Yeah.” He practically huffs out a laughter. “I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

You watch him, unimpressed despite the heartaches that say otherwise; loud and thrumming through your body in the form of your foot tapping. 

“I figured if I answered at that moment, it would either sound like I was some guy who’s going to take advantage of a moment just because it’s convenient.” Then he straightens, like now he’s talking out of judicious judgment and not out of the heavy first-love impulses to work it out with you. “I chose time,” his voice steady. “For both of us.”

A minute of silence passes but you don’t try to break it, not that you had the proper words to do it anyway. He sees you though, even when he can’t see your eyes.

When it’s clear that you won’t say anything anymore, Jake swallows, then leans his elbows against his knees to at least try to find your gaze.

“I missed you,” 

You look up at him before you can stop yourself, like your body reacts faster than your pride ever could. His eyes are on you already, open and honest and a little scared, despite the composure he holds tight.

“But missing someone,” he continues, “doesn’t automatically mean going back is the right move. And I don’t want to pretend it is.”

The cafe noise swells for a second, people talking about their much jovial nights, but the only words ringing in your head are Jake's.

Dumb and easy, that’s what you are, what always will be. Because you should be mad at him right now, right? You're supposed to curse him out, block him in social media, and never reminisce the past like an aspiring historian.

He leans back in his chair, measuring exactly how much gravity to put on the moment. “I know I messed up,” he admits softly. “Not texting. All of it. I’m sorry.”

You huff a laugh that’s equal parts bitter and incredulous. “That’s just your character, isn’t it?”

He smirks faintly like it’s an inside joke he fully understands, that half-smile that used to make your chest do dumb things when you were 18 and convinced he was untouchable. “Maybe it’s strategic inconvenience?”

You roll your eyes. “Strategic inconvenience,” you repeat, flatly, like it’s a brand. “You mean… you’re an asshole.”

“Point taken,” he says, hands up like he surrenders but he doesn’t flinch when you call him that, doesn’t ask for sugarcoating, doesn’t even try to defend. He just accepts.

“You know, you can't decide I’m already guilty before I finish talking.”

You tilt your head, crossing your arms. “You are guilty.”

A corner of his mouth twitches. “Exhibit A.”

“Don’t make jokes,” you say firmly. “That’s how you get out of things.”

“I’m not getting out of anything,” he replies with a smile that almost mocks. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Bare minimum,” you mutter.

He leans forward this time, elbows on the table, eyes on you. “What do you want me to say?”

Now you feel the aftertaste of bad decisions and ideas, when he’s looking at you that despite how gone pride is in this moment – now just running on want and unhealthy self-management – he looks like he won. ‘Cause sure, he fucked the circadian rhythm and pulled you out in pajamas like hauling a rabbit out a magician's ass and pissed you off again, but he thinks it’s worth it. Because he got to see you.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, "I thought you know the right shit to say now, Jaeyun."

The way you say his name again undoes him. He grins, shaking his head like he can't believe himself for that reaction.

“I’m not here to charm my way back in. I know that doesn’t work on you anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow and he shrugs, long fingers tracing the edge of the table.

“I came because I missed you,” he continues, eyes following the lines of your features. "And because I figured if you were going to be mad, I’d rather you be mad to my face.”

You cross your arms tighter. “That’s not an apology.”

He tilts his head, eyes flicking over you – your crossed arms, your shorts, the way you’re still here despite yourself. "You're sick of apologies. I'd rather show."

You swallow. Annoyed at him, at yourself. “You look way too pleased for someone who’s supposedly guilty.”

He chuckles. “I am guilty.”

Your jaw tightens. “Don’t get comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” his smile turns stupidly fond. “You’re terrifying when you’re mad.”

This is idiotic and you do feel like one. But that has always been the deal with Jaeyun; always complicated even before you got together. And now you’re in the after being together department, you’re not sure you find yourselves to be… ex-materials. 

This is really unhealthy, but he doesn’t see you trying to leave your seat.

Jake smiles, no teeth, just smug, and pulls out his wallet from his pocket like he’s getting comfortable. “So,” he says. “Do you want me to buy you coffee now?”

He's the bad decision – the one you already made.

Oh, this is fucked.

Tip #7: Use your mouth. He likes it.

You know better than to stay up late for a guy – you swore you learned your lesson. But… the conversations were easy and traitorously familiar, exchanging stories and laughter with the natural cadence of people who knew how to do it. And to add to the betrayal, it’s… not awkward. Which is bad, like really really bad, because that means you both still have chemistry.

Jake drives you back to your dorm at 4am again like it’s your personal devil’s hour. You thank him and get down the Bronco, but he gets off too, and meets you on the other side after he rounds from the hood.

You try passing by him but he grabs your wrist and tugs you back. He gives you a once-over, smirking a little at the sight of your bare legs in this cold. 

“I’m sorry for not catching up sooner." he suddenly says. You blink, just once, like you’re trying to understand. "and for posting that girl." he adds.

“That’s not my busin –”

“It is.” he cuts you off, thumb now running over your wrist. “You get to be annoyed.”

You force the smile off from your mouth, settling to bite the inside of your cheek instead. “I know better than to pine for someone’s boyfriend.”

Now, Jake smiles like you dropped a good pun. He shakes his head, and pulls you a little closer which you could easily mistake as being clingy if you’re careless with your thoughts. “I haven’t dated or even talked to anyone after you.”

Your heart jumps and your stomach lurches. “That’s sad.” you say, light and dismissive.

He huffs a laugh through his nose. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess I’m a little pathetic.”

He pulls you just a little closer. Then he leans in, just a little. “So am I forgiven?” he says softly.

You scoff, turning your face just enough to avoid how close he is. You're not in the mood to confront just how he's looking at you. “You’re asking like you didn’t keep me up at four in the morning.”

“Strategic timing,” Jake says easily. “You're nice when you're sleepy."

"I am not."

He hums, amused, eyes dipping to your mouth like he’s thinking something he has the decency not to say. “You didn’t say no.”

You tug your hand slightly, testing him. He lets you go immediately but the warmth of where he was lingers, traitorous.

“Have a nice night, asshole.” 

Jaeyun looks at you like you’re still his favorite smart mouth. “You too, princess.”

Back in your room, you check your Instagram. Jake removed the story.

Tip #8: He's your ex, there's no slowburn.

Days pass and there’s buildup faster than what you’re used to.

After that day, the campus feels smaller. Now that you know where Jake Sim exists inside it (he shared with you his classes and where they were, just a small thing he mentioned when you guys talked). You’re not tracking it – obviously, come on. At least not consciously. It’s only inevitable, you tell yourself, knowing a place holds meaning.

You start seeing Jake Sim more, also inevitable.

At first it’s coincidence; a glimpse across the quad, a passing figure near the library steps. It’s a quick ‘hi’ and wave. Then it becomes routine – eye contact that happens faster, his hellos that always suggest more conversation. He intends them to be quick but they always takes up more time than necessary, only to end up with him running to get to his next class, you trying not to smile on the way back to your dorm. 

Then comes the heart.

You, Mia, and Lila go out for dinner – nothing fancy, just food and girls night. You take a picture, you post it to your Instagram story without thinking. Your phone buzzes less than a minute later.

A very specific like. From him, of course, his username and his profile picture. You stare at the screen for half a second before Mia notices, then Lila notices, then all three of you are shrieking because slowburn doesn’t seem to exist here at all.

Okay. Whatever. It’s fine. It’s nothing. That’s the theme with Jaeyun Sim, and you’re more than adamant to keep it rolling. You don’t think about it – well, you do but you try not to, it’s just that you pause to breathe while brushing your teeth. So yeah, you do think about it way too much for your own good. 

Enough that later, you post with more purpose and intention, though you try not to be obvious. It’s just to see.

Sometimes he likes them. Sometimes he doesn’t.

Even when it’s a really cute selfie of you – of course he doesn’t like it. But if it's a random picture of food, he likes it. 

Whatever! It probably just means that he’s totally not into you and you should actually start to realize how pathetic it is to post a story for a guy. You have to accept that he’s a player, a real NBA baller with how he manages to flirt with you and turn you over for food. 

One night, you’re out again – this time it’s loud and late and sticky with sweat and bass-heavy music. You’re back to a party after a week long of demands, dragged back to blinding strobes and catching names you’ll forget later. You slip into a bathroom stall, mirror fogged, lighting criminal but flattering enough. Mia takes a selfie, and you pose in between them while Lila stands behind you, not really overthinking it. Your outfit shows more skin than usual – not obscene to the point of out-of-character unordinary, but something’s undeniably different this time. 

You post it because it’s a good picture. You drink, you exchange names, you drink more – more importantly, you have fun and let loose. You check your phone and other than the usual flood in your inbox, you see a specific username that manages to hitch your breath every time.

A like. And a reply.

jake: i thought u had to be dragged into parties? 😂

Your breath catches so sharply you almost choke on it.

You stare at the message, grin spreading before you can stop it, warmth curling low in your chest – something light and stupid and undeniable. Because yeah, this is happening, he really is starting to be part of your life again, in these dumb ways that mean more to you. You don’t even reply right away, you just sit there for a second, phone in your hands, heart traitorously satisfied.

You don’t go home drunk that night. But you go home with an epiphany that gets you smiling into your skincare like a dumbass, replaying the message in the dark like you find something you’ve once lost.

You physically press the phone to your chest, eyes squeezed shut, a sound leaving your mouth that you will never admit happened. You stare at your screen for a long time, smiling into the quiet of your room, the night suddenly too soft, too full.

This isn’t nothing anymore.

It’s the beginning of something you’ve swam in before.

Tip #9: Post the selfie.

The next few days shift in a way that’s subtle enough to deny, and you still say it’s nothing even when you start to think otherwise. Jake’s messages start coming more. Not in a good morning beautiful way that takes things too fast and icky. You don’t talk all the time, but once a week turns into once every two days, then replies that used to lag start coming quicker.

It starts small.

A reply to something you were meant to send to Mia that accidentally ends up in his DMs instead because you’re stupid and half-asleep and maybe you’ve been backreading that’s why you were in his chat log.

You: omg im sososo sorryyyyy

jake: its aight 😭

jake: seems like my business now tho

jake: tell me 😂😂

Then there’s him reacting to things he never reacted to before – your complaints about deadlines, a blurry picture of your coffee, a story of your notes spread across the table with a self-deprecating caption.

02simjake: liked your story.

02simjake: replied to your story: real

Then one afternoon, when you’re sitting on the steps outside your building finishing up some work, your phone buzzes again.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath, heat crawling up your neck. This easy back-and-forth, this familiarity slipping back into place like it knows where home is – like you know where home is.

Back to the boy who never failed to make your heart thump like a drum.

And on some random night when you finally breathe from the uni demands, you post a simple selfie. It’s nothing. But he messages, and it’s enough to get you back on adrenaline.

simjakee_ replied to your story: go to sleep

You stare at it and type anyway.

You stare at the ceiling, a grin slowly spreading across your face, chest warm and buzzing in that unmistakable way. This is real, your ex is flirting with you on Instagram and you feel as giddy as you did at 13-years-old; back when it was you and him learning how to tie ribbons and landing on skateboards. It’s intention, soft and careful and unmistakably him, with the wisdom that came from learning the past and letting you see just how far it has improved. 

The boy who couldn’t balance you and his studies is now a responsible guy with fixed time management, on the way to your apartment – because he wants to see you. With no excuse that he doesn’t have time, or that he can’t because he’s really busy. Now, he’s asking if you have time, and he follows your schedule.

5 minutes after your dumb hoax impatience, he texts again.

jake: im here

If you had good instincts, which you doubt you do, you’d turn away with the defense mechanism of someone with avoidant attachment issues just to protect your heart – but you can’t, not when it feels this… thrilling.

You open the door and there’s your ex; tall, hoodie pulled over his cap, hands shoved into his pant pockets like he’s pretending this is casual, like he didn’t just show up at your door on impulse. You look up at him through your lashes before you can stop yourself and – God. Yeah. This looks exactly like toxic, bad decisions.

“So,” he says quietly, eyes dropping to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you answer. “Why, were you hoping?”

Jake huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “Just checking.”

Then you let him in before you could decide to shut the door in his face and regret whatever this is. His gaze drifts, just taking in the room like he hasn’t seen it before. When his eyes come back to you, you see them check you out while you try to process that he’s standing in your room at an hour where intentions blur and honesty slips out too easily.

You cross your arms, suddenly hyper-aware of how you’re dressed. “So what do you want to do?” 

He shrugs, eyes on yours. “You really wanna ask me?”

And when you blink multiple times, the heat crawling up your neck, he smiles playfully like he didn’t realize how that sounded. He shakes his head before settling on your bed, spreading his legs while he sits on the edge, putting his cap down. “Relax. I’m not gonna do anything.”

You raise a brow. “Bold of you to assume I was worried.”

That earns another smile, warm and dangerous.

“Okay,” he says, amused. “Then what are you thinking?”

You hesitate, shifting your weight, pretending you need to fix something that isn’t actually wrong. You lean against the desk instead of sitting, arms still crossed like they might save you from yourself and your thoughts and the dooming questions. “Why did you come over?” you ask finally, voice lighter than you feel. 

Jake looks up, brows knitting together just a little, elbows resting on his thighs. “You invited me.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes like you didn’t fucking know that. “Yeah, but I didn’t force you. It’s not like I dragged you here. What made you come?”

For a second, you think he’s going to deflect, make a joke, or shrug it off the way he used to – but he doesn’t. Right now, he licks the inside of his cheek, before saying, “I wanted to see you.” No overthinking, no qualifiers, just the truth, laid down with pure honesty.

Your mouth curves before you can stop it. You immediately try to swallow the smile, turn your face away like you’re suddenly very interested in the floor.

“Oh,” you mutter. “That’s… dumb.”

“Is it?” he asks, amused.

You glance back at him. “A little.”

He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “You invited me this late and I’m the dumb one?”

“Touché,” you concede, shrugging.

Another pause settles in, thick but not uncomfortable. The kind that only exists when it’s loaded and even though it feels good, it doesn’t make it any less right. Now, again, you’re never the arbiter on what’s correct and not – yet you look at him like you’re battling with your moral compass because wrong looks so fucking hot if it’s Jake Sim.

Jake exhales through his nose, then slowly reaches out – open palm, unhurried. “Come here,” he says quietly, a balance of order and ask. 

Your heart stutters, and you hesitate just a second too long only to slip your hand into his anyway. His fingers close around yours gently, and he pulls you toward him with care. You end up standing between his knees. His thumb moves without thinking, brushing slowly over your knuckles, grounding and absent-minded all at once. 

"Thought you weren't going to do anything." you whisper. He ignores.

He leans forward, stopping just short of touching you – then tilts his head and rests his forehead against your stomach. He stays there for a moment, eyes closed, like he’s anchoring himself and is starting to realize he needs this more than he’s willing to admit.

"Is this okay?" he asks quietly.

Your stomach drops. "Yes," you answer.

He exhales, relieved, shoulders relaxing as he settles there properly. One hand still holding yours. The other resting loosely at your hip, and it’s a lot like threading dangerously down a line he isn’t sure he should cross.

Your free hand lifts before your brain can stop it. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, which is devastating to Jake, who lets out the smallest sound but it tells you everything.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You know it. And yet, your thumb strokes slowly, guiltily, like muscle memory never really left. Jake doesn’t move, just stays there, forehead pressed to you, breathing you in like this is the quiet he’s been missing.

“God,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I missed this.”

This. Not you.

“Jaeyun,” you call. He only hums, thumb rubbing against your hip and you feel the warmth of his touch through your shorts. Your fingers curl slightly in his hair, grounding yourself as much as he is with your hips.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” you say quietly, half a joke, half a warning. “Doing this.”

His lips twitch, but you don’t see. “I know.”

“The –"

“I missed you,” he repeats, this time not to himself but to you for sure this time. “I really don’t want to fucking pretend I don’t.”

You exhale shakily, shaking your head but you’re smiling. “You’re so annoying.” You huff out a laugh, breathless.

He looks up at you, eyes practically doe before he breaks away and shakes his head. Then he stands, hands fully to himself which fidget at the side of his jeans. At first you're confused, then scared, because you don't want him to leave.

“We can just chill.” he tells you, obviously holding his composure tight while he avoids your eyes.

You cross your arms and stare at his chest, shaking your head because you don't know what you're doing. Clearly, so does he, because when he looks at you, he's trying to read you.

It's silent, save from the sound of your appliances and the casual drive of cars outside. He's looking into you while you pick at your elbow, studying just what you want from him.

You take a step back without realizing it and Jake notices instantly, his body tensing just slightly. “You want me to go?” he asks, careful.

The thought makes your stomach drop.

“No,” you say too fast, shaking your head.

You look at each other like that – like you’re standing at the edge of something familiar and dangerous, both knowing exactly where it leads.

He swallows, throat bobbing, and your gaze follows it before you can stop yourself.

You step forward, still enclosed in your own embrace, and he watches you tensely because you've got the reins and he's just letting you steer. Your fingers curl on his hoodie, eyes refusing to meet his for now as when you tug the fabric, he willingly follows.

You look up, finally, and he's looking into you like he's reading the directions off your gaze.

He knows now, of course, plain in sight, what you need him to do.

Jake leans down slowly and carefully, enough that you feel his breath, warm against your cheek, your nose. He stops there, giving you time. “Tell me to stop,” he says.

Your noses brush and the world narrows down to breath and heat and the memory of how this used to feel.

Jake exhales, slow and shaky. “Fuck.”

Your lips brush his first – just a graze, like you’re both checking if the other will pull away because you know better than to indulge. When neither of you do, he exhales into you, a soft sound of relief, and then ducks down to your height to press his mouth on you. You flinch when his hand finds your hips. Your lips move together like you’re relearning something you never really forgot.

Jake pulls back like he got burnt. “Fuck,” he whispers, breath warm against your mouth. Then, quieter: “I really –”

His hands caress the soft curve of your waist and hips, firm but careful when he pushes you back against the counter of your kitchen – decisive in a way he’s made up his mind and isn’t going to pretend otherwise. You let out a soft breath as you stumble back, the back of your legs bumping the wood. He kisses you again, hungrier this time, hands steady on you while your tongues meet in your mouth.

Your hands find his hair again instantly, fingers threading through it like they always naturally do. Jake groans quietly this time and his hands flatten against your back, warm and grounding, holding you like he can’t handle space.

You can’t help the little sound that leaves you, and he tenses, just a little, catching your bottom lip between his teeth like restraint’s something he’s never known. You tug him down and he follows, ducking down his height just to chase your mouth. His large hands slide underneath your shirt and touches your skin there, fingertips slightly grazing the hooks of your bra.

When you pull back just enough to breathe, your noses brush. Jake rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavy but controlled.

“Shit,” he whispers again, softer this time. “This feels unfair.”

You smile despite yourself. “Do you hate it?”

He laughs under his breath, arms still wrapped around you. “Hell no,” he admits. “I’d do it again.”

You lean in for another kiss, worse than last time because his tongue presses fast into your mouth, and his warm fingers caress the skin underneath your bra hooks. You tear away for a startled laugh, smacking his arm and he smiles, before pulling you back in for another kiss.

It’s almost 3 am when you finally tell him he should go.

Jake doesn’t argue. You walk him down the building, hoodie sleeves brushing your wrist in the elevator, the air between you calmer but heavier obviously.

Outside your building, the street is empty and quiet, in a way that shows the impropriety of this rendezvous.

"Well," he says, rocking back on his heels. "Text me when you’re inside."

You scoff. "You don’t get boyfriend privileges."

He grins. "Worth a try."

You dap him out (because he always he insists you should after making out, just for tradition) and you’re already pulling your hand back when he tugs you forward just enough to press a soft kiss to the bridge of your nose.

"Goodnight," he murmurs.

Back in your room, the silence hits different.

You sit on your bed, staring across you with the post-experience clarity of what you have just done. You laugh under your breath, sharp and humorless because of course he’d do that, of course you’d let him.

This is how it starts. This is how you forget why it ended. This is how you convince yourself this time will be different.

So stupid, you think. So predictable.

So, very, toxic.

Tip #10: Let it become a habit.

For the first day, you two kinda tried pretending nothing happened. 

Jake answered texts the way he always had – flirty but polite and measured. He showed up to class, ate, slept – all in time. He even convinced himself that the warmth lingering in his palms was psychosomatic, some delayed response to nostalgia rather than the very real memory of pushing you against the counter he pretended not to remember. You were equally complicit. You waved at him across campus like nothing had shifted tectonically between your bodies. You spoke in full sentences and didn’t stammer once, so it was going pretty great.

This mutual delusion lasted exactly thirty-five hours. Because at precisely 11:07 pm, Jake Sim’s on your door unannounced, looking faintly apologetic and was simply bracing for consequences. “I was nearby,” he said, which was a lie. “I figured,” you replied, which was an acceptance. 

He stayed until 1 am. You worked on an assignment but was cut for intervals because he’d pull you in his lap and kiss you. 

Jake had always been a creature of habit, as once something entered his routine, it stayed. You slipped back in as if you’d never left. He started showing up with intent disguised as coincidence, your study sessions lasted longer than needed. There’s also late-night drives where the music stayed low and you laugh about stupid things together while munching down on McDonald’s fries.

Weeks passed and there also came the moments when the day’s busy for anything particular, that even hanging out in the same room was a little close to impractical. However, Jaeyun finds the time he couldn’t give before. He makes sure to call when you don’t meet, or a quick snack to hand over between in-between class schedules. Your favorite is when he promises just five minutes to see you after a lecture.

"Five minutes," you say. "You promised."

"I stand by that."

Then he hugs you, chin-hooked-over-your-head hug that immediately eats up about forty-five seconds. After 5 minutes;

“Time’s up.”

He doesn’t move.

“…Jaeyun.”

“Just one more,” he says quietly, arms still locked around you.

In the hallway, you’re walking with your Foreign Language partner, running lines for a presentation due the next day. He laughs at something you mispronounce, leans in to correct you, points at your notes. You don’t even think twice about it until later, until Jake decides it is a big deal.

He’s on your couch now, sprawled while you tell him it was just your partner, he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. Nothing,” he mutters.

“Literally, leave it, Jaeyun,” you say, arms crossed, irritation buzzing under your skin.

He glances at you. “Didn’t look like nothing,” he says, quieter now, sulking like he hates that he noticed at all.

You bite back you don’t get to be mad or anything at all that would turn this to a fight. Instead, you turn to your laptop, pretending to care more about another language than the way his presence tilts your focus off-center.

From the couch, his foot nudges yours absentmindedly, like muscle memory.

“You still need help with that presentation?” he asks eventually, casual, almost bored.

On some random week, Jake has had too much to drink. Now, he loves a good beer and can endure it more than the average man, but clearly, everything's been building up – you, to a great degree actually – that he comes up your building and knocks at 2am and clearly, at the very least, is tipsy.

When you open the door, all he had to do is follow the silhouette of your body underneath your thin sleepwear and listen to your very angry remarks about respect and time or whatever, before he's already letting himself in and kissing you against your bed.

He's respectful, always is, but you feel how tight he holds your hips like he's trying not to touch the skin of your thighs grazing his fingertips.

The morning comes around and you wake up with his chest pressed against your back and his arms around your waist in your bed – no hookup, clothes still on, just messy makeouts – but it's enough for you to groan in disappointment anyway.

"We need to set boundaries." you state while you make your waffles.

Jake hums, trying not to get distracted by the curve of your ass when your back's turned to him.

You look at him, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. "You're always like that. Always so pushy and breaking boundaries and breaking the rules – "

He manages to chuckle. "That was two years ago."

"And last night! And the nights before!" you scoff, shaking your head while you massage your temple.

It's bad. This is bad.

When you turn to look at him again, he's already in front of you, pressing close while his hand finds the side of your neck. You tilt your head up towards him, meeting his eyes which seem to study your face so closely.

You can't really think properly when he's this near, when he's touching you.

Jake’s thumb pauses at your neck. His voice is softer now, clearer than last night but still low. “I know,” he says. “Tell me to stop.”

You open your mouth, nothing comes out.

He exhales a laugh under his breath, fond and frustrated all at once, then leans his forehead against yours instead.

That's so unfair.

You swallow, and push lightly at his chest. "Stop showing up at 2am, Jaeyun."

“I know.” He nods immediately. “That’s on me. I'm sorry."

When push comes to shove, between self-respect or Jaeyun, you run on drunk impulse on a sober gut.

Your studies? A bit compromised. You still show up and pass and look functional on paper, but there’s a fog where focus should be, thoughts drifting where they shouldn't.

And the thing was – Jake Sim was still exceptional and brilliant. Still building a future with the same relentless precision that once earned him accolades and recognition, but now there was something else threaded into his life, something not quantifiable with the integers he mastered in so well.

You. A variable he no longer tried to control and pretend wasn’t doing mass decimation to his sane meter.

“…Are you serious?” Mia turns to you after what she’s dubbed an essential debriefing, legs tucked beneath her as she stares like you’ve just confessed to crime. Your life odyssey – past tense colliding violently with future tense – has been laid bare between sips of iced coffee. You sink further into her couch, picking at your nails. “I mean. I think so?”

Lila blinks. “You’ve been meeting your ex, who’s been acting like your boyfriend minus the title?”

You think about Jake – about the way he waits for you outside lecture halls, pretending to scroll through his phone like he hasn’t been tracking the time down to the minute. About the way he listens now, really listens, like he’s afraid to miss something important and is completely terrified that you’d have to repeat yourself. 

You tell yourself – just this once – that it’s fine not to define it yet. After all, habits take time to name, even the really bad ones called making out with your ex in his Bronco and going on a dinner date in a real lavish restaurant billed in his card after.

Later that night, when you’re back in your room, phone face-down beside you, you wonder when exactly it happened. You wonder if he’s thinking about you too and your phone buzzes like it heard you.

Oh, this is sick. You've become a dog.

Then once upon a time, you were only supposed to be passing through to find Jake and return the borrowed charger, then leave.

He's near the steps of the humanities hall when you spot him, surrounded by friends. He’s leaning back against the railing and there’s a girl beside him whose shoulder brushes his arm when she says something. He laughs at what she says, doesn't really flinch when she touches his arm.

His eyes lift and immediately he's already jogging over. Once he's right there, you reach the charger out but he grabs your elbow instead, then pulls you closer to him.

Jake's eyes search search your face like it's checking damage.

“What,” you ask flatly.

A slow, crooked, and infuriating smile tugs at his lips. “You look like you’re about to murder me,” he says quietly.

“Stop,” you say, low and clipped, even as you tug at your arm. He doesn’t let go, thumb warm against your sleeve to keep you there.

“Relax,” he murmurs, tone easy, almost lazy. Like you’re not two bad decisions away from ending what shouldn't have started. “I’m not doing anything.”

You glare at him. He just watches you, gaze steady in that way that’s always made you feel seen without being put on the spot.

He finally lets your elbow go, hands dropping into his pockets. “Didn’t mean anything,” he adds, glancing briefly back toward where he was standing earlier, then back to you.

Back to you.

"You look so fucking annoyed." Jake laughs, hand reaching up to ruffle your hair.

You shove lightly at his chest, more reflex than force. “Don’t.”

He stumbles back a step anyway, like you’ve wounded him, hand flying to his chest. “Wow,” he says, dragging the word out, eyebrows lifting. “Violence on campus.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips betray you – curling slightly despite yourself.

He catches it instantly even though it's barely anything. His grin widens, smug and triumphant. “There it is,” he says, pointing at you like he’s won something. “I knew you still liked me.”

Then he positions his arm over your shoulders, dragging you to lunch off-campus just to hook you back again.

Fuck. It's fucked.

Tip #11: Give him something to remember.

November is fucking hell. It was the month professors collectively decided that sleep was a suggestion and deadlines were a personality test. They expect submissions on top of other “minor” requirements that demand just as much work anyway, just to reason it out as a growth strategy for the harsh, professional world of jobs. As if the real world operated on 72-hour days and the sustained abuse of caffeine. 

You do try to see the good at the end of the tunnel from all the sadism, because in the middle of your aggressively color-coded annotated calendar sat one date circled in ink: Jaeyun’s 21st birthday. 

It wasn’t going to be another birthday to pass with simple dinner, much less under the vituperative ultimatum of the endless projects and studies.

You insisted he celebrated it with everyone.

Not just a rushed meal squeezed between deadlines or a quiet “we’ll do something later” promise that later never really comes.

So you booked the fancy restaurant, you sent the texts, and herded his friends like you're the Shepherd Himself. You told them to dress nice, and prayed no one would accidentally ruin the surprise with a dumb slip.

Jaeyun was wearing a simple crisp white button-up with trousers.

The night of, he showed up thinking it was just the two of you, until he walked in.

The table was already full with familiar faces and grins, singing happy birthday the moment Jaeyun's at the entrance like a humiliation ritual. For half a second, he just stood there, blinking, processing – then he laughed, stunned, hand dragging through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with himself and the moment of everyone he loved in one huge ass table.

“What the hell?” he said, turning to you.

You shrugged, way too casual for the amount of effort this took. “Happy birthday?”

The dinner itself was loud and warm and unpretentious despite the restaurant itself being conspicuous of poise. His friends made the space theirs anyway – chairs pulled closer, voices overlapping, utensils clinking. They toasted him for things both sincere and stupid, and his ears end up turning to a color red.

Sunghoon starts first, hand in his pocket and red wine raised high. Riki follows, then Jungwon, then Sunoo who smiles a little bashfully.

His friends told stories you hadn’t heard yet and ones you’d heard too many times, and Jaeyun took it all with that soft, crooked smile like he couldn’t believe he was being celebrated this openly.

Cake came with a candle and off-key singing he definitely didn’t ask for. Jaeyun made his wishes, cheeks warm, eyes bright.

At some point in the night, draped in Jaeyun's coat, you stand near the edge of the balcony overlooking the city below. When he slips behind you, his hands automatically settle on your waist. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, smile lazy and unguarded.

“Hi,” he says, like he hasn’t seen you all night.

You laugh, one hand on top of his, and the other hand threading up to the hair on his nape. “Hi, birthday boy.”

He rocks you side to side, barely moving, chin resting against your hair. “You know,” he murmurs, voice low so only you can hear, “I was genuinely okay with just us two. I meant that.”

“I know,” you say.

“But this?” He glances around at the inside, his friends, the calmed chaos. Then his gaze drops back to you. “This is… insane. In the best way.”

You tilt your head up. “You like it?”

He laughs, soft and breathless. “I’m obsessed with it. With you.”

He presses a kiss to your temple first, slow and lingering. Then another to your cheek. He pauses there, lips hovering, like he’s savoring the moment.

“Can I?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking to your lips.

You don’t answer with words. You just turn around, hands settling on his nape.

The kiss is warm and unhurried, his hand sliding up your back, thumb brushing over your spine. It’s full, sweet, and certain. Like this is exactly where he wants to stay.

Jake pulls back just enough to grin. “I love this.”

“Your party?” you ask.

“You.” he corrects easily, like the word belongs there now. Like it always has.

Later, he drags you back onto the dance floor in front of the live musicians. 

He dances badly on purpose – spinning you too fast, dipping you slightly too low your back is lowkey bad now, laughing when you squeal and clutch onto him. At one point, he lifts you off the ground just because he can, grinning like he’s won something.

“You’re showing off,” you accuse.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s my birthday.”

Eventually, when your feet ache and your voice is hoarse from laughing, when the night’s adrenaline has settled on your bodies, the crowd starts to thin and some people head out. You thank them for coming, waving as they disappear into the elevator with tired smiles and leftover cake in hand.

As you make your rounds, thanking people for coming, accepting hugs, the night starts folding in on itself.

That’s when you hear it. Something that wasn't meant for you – low, lazy voices carried over by the balcony doors still cracked open.

Jake and Sunghoon are leaning against the edge, sharing what’s left of the wine. Jake’s sleeves are rolled up, posture loose in a way that only happens when he’s had a good night.

Sunghoon tilts his glass, watching the last drops swirl. “So,” he says casually, too casually. “You and her.”

Jake huffs out a breath, not defensive just honest. “No.”

Oh.

Sunghoon looks at him and waits.

“We’re not together,” Jake adds, after a beat. It's not denial, just a fact that still makes your chest curl.

Sunghoon hums. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jake’s mouth quirks, something complicated flickering across his face. He takes a sip, eyes drifting somewhere distant like he’s replaying moments instead of looking at the present.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Like last time.”

There’s no bitterness in it, not something like regret either. Just that strange, suspended place between was and isn’t clouding over like a storm coming.

Sunghoon clinks his glass lightly against Jake’s. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “you look happy.”

Jake smiles then. “I am.”

You hide behind the wall before either of them notices you lingering, heart doing something uncomfortable in your chest.

When you reappear a minute later, Jake looks up instantly – like he felt the shift in the room.

“Hey,” he says, easy smile snapping back into place.

“Hey,” you reply, mirroring it.

But this time, when he reaches for your hand, his grip is a little tighter.

"Wanna go?" he asks, hand soothing the small of your back.

You nod, giving Sunghoon a hug before you slip behind the doors before Jake. They make their goodbyes and you wait outside, Jake's coat protecting you from the cold.

It rings, that one single word that makes the night cooler than it really is.

No, you're not dating. And he's vocal about it too, probably with all his friends who also asked. You start to realize how stupid you must've looked, sending the invites, kissing his cheek throughout the night while everyone knows that – there's nothing between you two.

Your heel taps against the concrete, lips quivering, getting into your thoughts before his palm finds your lower back and his lips press on your temple.

"I love you." he whispers while he pulls you into him.

No. We're not together. Could've fooled me. Yeah. Like last time.

The drive is quiet, the city blurs past, lights streaking softly through the windows. His hand finds your thigh at red lights, thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles. You try not to think, because it's his day and you'd hate to ruin something this good.

So you swallow and turn to him.

“I don’t really wanna go home yet,” you admit quietly.

He glances at you, surprised for half a second, then smiles. “You can stay with me for a bit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “We’ll keep it chill. I’ll get you home before two.”

It’s only 11. 

At his place, everything is hushed. The shoes are off by the door, lights kept low. His apartment is very much him – some legos half-built on a shelf, posters slightly crooked, figurines taking up their space, a hoodie draped over his chair – and you’ve been over a couple of times but it’s only now you really look over his orderly clutter. 

You smile. “You never finished that one.”

He groans. “Don’t expose me.”

There’s a pause, comfortable, charged, settling in while you throw your heels somewhere across his floor. You look over the lego cars and books aligned in his book shelf, giving them a better look, until he slips his hand in yours and pulls you towards him. Jake rests his chin on the crown of your head, humming in contentment at your warmth underneath him.

“Thank you for tonight.” he says quietly. You tip your chin up to look at him and simply smile as a silent you’re welcome.

He leans in first, kissing you softly, like he’s testing the water. It’s slow, his hands on your waist with your fingers on the back of his neck.

Then another kiss, lasting longer this time. You shift closer without thinking, pressing, pulling him down to you as he melts in. His hand slides to your hips while your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just slightly.

When you pull away, you press one last kiss on the tip of his nose before telling him you'll just change out of your clothes. He nods and lets you go to his bathroom to slip into the comfort of sleepwear.

You rethink, even though you're trying not to. Let it be not another bad decision you make yet everything about him is – though you can't resist. The reminders echo but the image-driven mind can't lose the way he kisses you so good, and holds you the way you need to be held.

So when you get out, his shirt's still on but more crumpled and loosened. He's talking about something that happened in dinner, rambling the way he always does. Except when he turns to you to tell you what Riki did with the cake, Jake freezes. You look shy but still, you meet his eyes, the same ones that can't even pretend to be respectful as he stares at the imprint of your nipples through your tulle and lace nightdress.

Jake's silent and frozen, eyes wide and jaw slack. You manage a smile, softly padding your way to him. Once in front of him, you stand on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you despite how stiff he is, how careful he is not to touch you.

Still, when you kiss him, he kisses you back.

The kisses deepen naturally, like neither of you really wants to stop. But he feels your rush, when you pull closer like you’re looking for something, how you kiss harder and lick into his mouth. He pulls back suddenly – not far, just enough to look at you. He looks ragged and trying to collect his thinning composure, blinking like it will save him.

You meet his eyes, breath a little uneven, heart loud in your ears. You don’t say anything – don’t really feel like you have to. Whatever he sees in your expression makes his face change, something startled and tensed passing through it like an epiphany for something like he didn’t expect. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, slow and careful. “You’re okay?”

You nod, eyes flicking back to his mouth. “Yeah.”

He exhales, leaning his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a second like he’s steadying himself because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose the thin veil that’s keeping him restrained. When he kisses you again, it’s still slow but more breaths – like he’s losing a part of himself when he’s giving this much to you. He keeps his hands on your waist, pulling you closer without really meaning to but because his body needs it.

And when he finally rests his forehead against yours again, smiling weakly and knowing and wanting but respecting –

“We can just stay like this,” he says, swallowing. “I don’t need anything else.” he reassures because he’s terrified that you think you need to do this for him.

You look up at him through your lashes, nodding. “I know.” you add, “I want this.”

You kiss him again before he can process it – harder and faster this time, with a weight behind it that makes his breath hitch immediately. Your hand slides into his hair, fingers threading through it as if you need something solid to hold onto.

He makes a sound he doesn’t mean to.

It’s quiet, caught in his throat, but you feel the way his hands tighten at your waist, the way his shoulders tense before he gives in. He shivers, just a little, like the kiss reached somewhere deeper than he expected and pulls out a moan from his chest. You pull away, your hands lingering. Jake has to bite his lip, feeling your warm and soft palm move from his hair, down to his shoulders, across his chest, until they finally rest flat against his abs. You feel it, the way his muscles contract from your touch, the way his breath catches shakily against your mouth.

You look up again, your eyes undeniably dark, and you see his restraint breaking as his Adam's apple bob, sweat glistening down his skin. You nudge him back, guiding him with your palms until he sits on the edge of the bed. He lets you. He doesn’t resist at all. His legs hit the edge of the bed and he sits down almost automatically.

He looks up at you then.

His hair is messy, lips pink and swollen, eyes dark and searching – like he’s trying to read you without pushing, without asking for more than you’re giving. His hands slide from your waist to rest at your hips, grounding, reverent. You stand between his knees, letting your fingers comb through his hair. 

“Baby,” he says quietly, voice rough, like he’s trying to stay in control.

Your nails graze his scalp just enough to make him inhale sharply. His eyes flutter shut for a second, forehead dropping forward until it presses lightly against your stomach.

He exhales there, like he’s holding himself together one breath at a time – but you know he’s failing. You slide one knee on one side of his hip, followed by the other, your thighs framing him as you settle in place. You straddle him perfectly and fully, hands braced on his chest as his breath stutters beneath you. 

He thinks this is fine. Straddling isn’t new. Making out isn’t new. You’ve done this a dozen times.

Until you smile, letting your nose bump against his, and lips brush together. “Hi,”

He clears his throat. “Hi.”

It's just another dress. It's new with intent and purpose, but it was alike to the others – just that you're not exactly wearing a bra underneath. He tries being rational but he can't, not when he can feel just how soft your breasts are against his chest.

You tilt your head, letting your lips glide against his, teasing the birthday boy as he tries catching your mouth with his. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, and he responds with a low groan that vibrates straight through you. Then you kiss him, harder, claiming, his large hands pulling you closer. You shift slightly, letting the heat of your bodies sink together – until your hips press against his so suddenly that he has to stop you and pull away. 

“B-baby,” he gasps, looking up at you, eyes wide and confused and needy. “What are we doing?”

You look at him beneath you, breathless and kiss-drunk, already fucked out before anything has even happened. 

“Do you not want it?” you whisper.

He practically chokes on the air. His hands tighten instinctively at your hips.

“I –” He swallows hard, throat bobbing, eyes blinking. A little flustered, very Jaeyun. “I thought we’d wait. Like –” He exhales, embarrassed. “Until marriage.”

That’s true, he thought this is something you’d like to do after passing the eye of God or something like that. Yet you only hou hum softly, sounding dangerously close to something else, his shoulders tensing immensely. Your hands slide up, thumbs brushing his jaw as you lean in, pressing a slow kiss there – right beneath his ear. Again, you’ve never really been for righteousness.

“Do you not want it?” you ask again, slower, deliberate.

He swallows again, and you can feel him think and break, especially when you feel this soft and good in his hands. Because honestly, committing sacrilege feels sweet when it tastes like you.

You don’t wait for an answer anymore, letting your hips rock against his pants that he lets out a soft, strangled whimper. His fingers tighten against your hips, unsure whether to keep you still or press you closer.

“Jaeyun,” you whisper, tugging his hair back gently but enough for him to open his eyes to you again. He looks at you with reverence, like you’re God herself pressing your clothed pussy against his growing erection. “Do you not want it?” you ask again, needing an answer.

He blanks, zeroes, knows enough that this is all he needs to cum.

He thinks about the time he didn’t want it – which goes down to the answer: never. Not ever since he tasted you for the first time almost 2 years ago, his tongue in your mouth, your soft chest pressed against his, your thighs enclosed around him. He always felt guilty, while he fisted his cock after a hangout with you, but couldn’t really help it when he gets horny even just from kissing you. 

Things never escalated between the two of you, never anything more than breathless makeouts that always had been respectful and not overly touchy. He thought you’d like it that way, and he liked it too. He knows now, as he finds desire in your eyes, how months of missing and wanting has finally come down to this. As exes that doesn’t know how to be exes, or a situationship that’s more romantic than any other crude paperback.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, husky and suede. You smile from how meek and small he sounds – it makes you clench around nothing. 

“Am I sure if I want your dick in me?”

He fucking chokes at how vulgar you are. Gone is the woman who pretended to be annoyed with him, gone is the girl he used to bribe popsicles with.

It’s his 21st birthday, and you want nothing but to make it his most special day ever – you made sure to include this in the itinerary.

You run your hands from his hands on your hips to the length of his veiny arms, until the collar of his top. You slowly start unbuttoning his shirt, and he makes no protests, keeping his eyes on you while he lets you do the work. Once it’s off, the firm muscles of his arms flexes underneath your touch when you let your fingers graze. When you glance up, you see him clearly struggling to breathe.

You’re not rushing this – even when you think you should, just as you think how you have every right to be angry at how respectful Jaeyun Sim is.

You feel like a sex demon because of how much you think about fucking him. Yes, you’ve been masterbating even back when you were together because how could you not. You’ve been drinking pineapple juice these past few weeks. You’ve been stretching out your hole through your own fingers for this moment. You feel crazy and that’s very much an underreaction, considering how hot Jake is.

“Do you not want me?” you ask, voice small, trying to sound pitiful, while you kiss his jaw.

Want you? He’s been having wet dreams of you. When he was fucking you balls deep, or when he had you bent over your vanity, or when you were riding him in his Bronco –

He doesn’t understand why he can’t move now, when you’re still grinding your pussy against his hard cock. He curses himself for not doing anything more than hold your hips against him. So, like the sensible guy he is, his hand trails up your skin. Your breath finally catches when his large hands caress the softness of your side, just when his thumbs innocently graze the underside of your boobs.

He breaks into a grin and before he could say more, you lean in again, kissing his mouth with the intensity of a starving woman. It’s messy fast, his tongue slipping into your mouth, intertwining as he finally finishes unzipping your dress. Your own palm press against the hard lines of his abs, making him gasp and breath shake against your mouth. He makes a sound at the back of his throat – urging you to press harder, feeling the hard bulge against his jeans.

He pulls back, letting out an amused huff of a laugh. “Fuck, baby,” his eyes are completely half-lidded.

You giggle, and you feel like an animal as you lick his bottom lip, plump and swollen. 

You push his shirt off him. Once it’s off, you gape at the hard muscles of his torso, broad, and all very yours. He’s lean without being too big, lines of strength visible beneath smooth skin, shoulders wide, waist narrowing just slightly. You let your fingers trace the solid lines, liking the way he reacts at your touch.

You gasp when he suddenly shifts you in his lap, letting you grind against his boner. He reacts too, like he didn’t mean that, but rocks underneath you anyway. His hands – large, veiny hands, rub at the sides of your dress, and you could feel his desperation starting.

“Take this off,” he says, already pulling your dress. “please, baby. Let me see how pretty you are.”

You shift a little on his lap again, just to let the hem of your dress pool around your waist.

“Arms up,” he states, soft but firm.

You follow, putting your arms up as he pulls it off, and just in one go, your breasts spill out in front of him. He smiles and exhales, “There you go,”

His teeth bite down his bottom lip as your nipples stare at him, all hard and practically begging to be put in his mouth. His cock twitches in his tight pants at the sight, pupils dilating visibly.

His hands meet your sides, softly brushing your supple skin, causing shivers to run down your spine. “Damn…” 

Then finally, he ducks his head down, pressing his face at the valley between your breasts. He finds the swell through feverish bites and licks, taking his time with his tongue. After, he finally latches his mouth around one nipple after, teeth gently biting down, earning a gasp from you at how good it fucking feels. Then he sucks, tugging even, letting his tongue twirl the bud.

The sight of it should be a sin, at how he seems so content with sucking your breast. At fondling with them like he’s having the time of his life. 

It’s his birthday. So you pull away, his mouth detaching with a pop. His eyebrows knit with confusion, large hands tightening instinctively around your hips when you try moving away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You soothe his hands, prying his fingers off you. “Trust me, birthday boy,” 

You press a kiss on his nose, making a mental note to sit on it later – finally.

When he lets loose, you slowly get off his lap. Still on the edge of the bed, he watches you with wide eyes when you sink down on your knees in front of him. Jake breath catches like he hadn’t been ready to see you below him like that – on the fucking floor of his room. You smile at him, eyelashes fluttering as your palm glides over his clothed thigh. He flexes at the contact, blinking like he’s in the midst of trying to survive this, at the way you look on your knees for him. He’s never been this hard in his life, he thinks. 

“Baby?” his voice is unbelievably soft and whiny, sitting up to look at you while you keep his knees spreading. Your hand slides over the muscle of his thigh, watching the way he slightly twitches beneath your manicured fingers. You trail further up, and just when he realizes, he takes your wrist.

You know he doesn’t mean it, but his grip’s tight. He clears his throat, and he’s genuinely kind of scared of you. His cheeks and ears are flushed pink. “Y-you don’t have to, do this. For me.”

You’re not sure if this is his way of telling you to stop, or if he’s so overly sweet and cares so much. Well, you care quite little, only really needing that cock in your mouth right now.

“Well,” you pull your hand away, shifting further on your knees as you reach for his zipper. He stares, intently watching how close you are to touching him. “I think…” 

You start pulling it down, keeping an eye on the light twitches on his face; biting down his lip, eyebrows knitting closer, breathing uneven. “I think I also deserve to blow… a candle.”

You smile at him, finally pulling the zipper down, and cupping the huge bulge against his boxers. He chokes on his breath, head tipping back at the relief of your hand despite the cloth between. You stop wasting time, tugging the hem down to reveal just how hard he really is.

Jake’s big. And long. And veiny. And pretty.

You eye the way his sharp v-line leads to his cock, all hard and pretty, tip so pink and flushed – you can’t help but lick at your lips, imagining the way it would cry and twitch in your mouth. You pray thanks because pink really is a lovely color.

Jake’s looking down at you like he’s with fever, all flustered and intoxicated, and you could see how scared he is of how excited you look, your eyes are practically sparkling at the sight of his cock. 

You wonder if it will fit.

You hold it against your warm palm and he groans, voice rough when it hums against his throat. His hips buck, wanting more of you already – needing more of you because it’s impossible not to. Your thumb meets with the head, toying with the slit that’s already wet with pre-cum while your hand starts a slow stroke. 

“Ahh–” Jake whines, and when you look up to see, his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he tries rocking into your hand, hips lifting off his bed just a little.

“C-can you…” he tries talking but you squeeze him, biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head slightly to the side to tease him. The sight makes him hum out another whine. “...go faster? J-just a bit, baby, please.” the way he begs makes you wet your panties a little.

He’s fucking sublime and you think you could go on with teasing him, not really giving him what we wants until he’s puddled with tears, begging that you finally put him in your mouth. But, it’s his day, you can’t be mean.

You hum, like you’re thinking about it. You pull his pants and boxers down further, before rubbing his dick just to spread his pre-cum all over. Then, without warning, you lean in to lick his head, your tongue teasing the slit.

He whimpers and his head falls back completely, lips parting and neck glistening with his sweat. He’s flushed and heavy against your hand, finding yourself playing with it with a few kitten licks and rubs at the base. Then you drag your tongue from his base back to the tip with a long lick, earning a moan that sounds close to drowning.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he whines, biting his bottom lip as his large hand shoots into your hair. He grabs a handful from your scalp, although you can tell just how gentle he’s trying to be even when he’s losing all control. 

You open your mouth and enclose it around his head first, tongue twirling around it. Then slowly, you take him in, letting him slide further into your lips. “Fuck,” he groans, his hips jerking forward immediately. The head touches the start of your throat and you can’t help but choke at the sudden intrusion, sending vibrations around him. You watch through your lashes, how his bicep flexes while he guides your head down his dick, abs contracting when your nose almost touches v-line, eyes narrowed at how his length disappears into your lips.

“O-oh, fuck, that’s s-so dirty…” he groans, seeing drool spilling from your chin as you cheeks hollow around him. Your hand tightens around the parts you can’t reach, squeezing and rubbing fast. You pull back up, leaving only the head in your mouth before sliding it all back down your throat. 

You set a pace, not so fast, but it’s still too much for Jake whose chest is heaving while he forces his gaze on you, burning and dark. “Mmmm,” he moans, trying to keep his mouth shut from all the pathetic noises he’s making. He looks like he’s in heaven, watching you suck his cock on the floor of his bedroom – you can tell that he’s practically finishing already. “Ahh… y-yeah, I like th-tha – ahh–”

He groans, shaking his head at how good and dirty he feels. “Just a-a bit more, mhmm, yeah,” he exhales deep, shaky breaths, using your hair as anchor while he guides your mouth down his cock. “Just like that– ah, o-oh, g-god…”

You see how his eyes are rolling back, teeth biting down his plump bottom lip. That’s when you tug back, pulling off with a wet pop from the tip. You give him a few more kitten licks, rubbing slower until he feels the loss and snaps his eyes back down to you.

“Uh, I was just,” he sits up properly, looking at you confused when you pull away fully. He’s eyeing you with desperation – brows pressed together, lips tight in a line, hair messy and reaching his eyes. Then he shakes his head, blinking while he tries rebuilding his control.

“Are we done, baby?” He forces his eyes away like he’s convincing himself he’s okay with what you’re giving, even if it leaves him with blue balls. He’s still so gentle with you, tone soft and whispered while he watches your face, checking if you’re still okay.

You smile so wide and bright, not needing any convincing to know how much you love this boy.

Then you stand back up, body still bare as the soft lace of your panties is the only thing keeping you, well, completely exposed. He stares at your soft breasts again, swallowing at the way they bounce slightly when you help him out of his pants and boxers. He smiles just watching them, his hand reaching out to fondle with one. His thumb glides over one nipple, playing with the hard bud.

You laugh, taking his wrist when he starts fondling with the swell of your breast, like he’s memorizing how its weight looks on his hand. “Staring is rude.” you say, kicking his pants and boxers away once they’re off. His pretty cock’s still hard against his pelvis, lubricated with your saliva and his own pre-cum.

“They stared first.” he says, keeping his eyes on your nipples, pinching one with his fingers.

You smack his bicep, prying his hand off you with a playful shove. He looks up at you, a small frown on his mouth like you did something mean. “You’re taking away my fun.” he pouts dramatically.

Then, you hook your fingers on your lace panties and start sliding them off you, the fabric gliding over your smooth thighs before pooling around your feet.

Oh shit.

His eyes are glued to the way your pussy glistens for him, slightly amused with just how wet you are too, without being touched. He gently reaches out for you, deciding how far you really are. His palms slide at the back of your thighs, guiding you closer to him as your hands settle at the back of his head, gently caressing through his black silky locks. You’re now standing in between his knees.

“My pretty girl,” he whispers, ducking his head slightly to get a closer look. Although you don’t feel super embarrassed, you can’t help but shift inevitably, closing your thighs when you feel his breath fan in between your legs. 

Jake looks up at you, eyes twinkling and an amused smile on his lips. “Don’t do that, baby,”

He spreads your thighs, hands firm against the plush, supple flesh. He gets closer, addicted to the way it smells so sweet and enticing. His nose basically subtly nudges your clit, earning a cracked gasp from you, your fingers tightening against his hair.

“Can I?” his eyes briefly glances up at you before looking back down. When you hum an approval, he leans in further, licking your folds.

“Ah, Jaeyun, wait –” he grabs your thigh and props it over his shoulder suddenly, helping you find your balance before plunging his tongue through the folds, finding your clit almost immediately.

Wow? To think this is both your first time?

“F-fuck–” you caress the back of his head, his tongue lapping up at the hole while his nose pokes against your clit. Cunt-hungry man, he thinks he can do this forever, just latching his lips around your clit and holding your shivering thighs around his head.

“I n-need your,” you tip your head back, words lost in your throat. 

“My what, pretty?” he moans against your pussy, his cheeks now messy with your juices and his saliva combined. “God, she’s fucking talking to me. Look at that,” he uses his thumb to spread out your fold, watching the way it shines before using his tongue to tease the hole.

Your things are quivering in strain and pleasure, too much, that you feel your knees buck. He groans when he realizes you’re pulling away, propping your thigh back and forcing your legs up with his hands. “Stay still.”

“Y-your fingers, baby, please.” you whimper, and he likes that sound. He nods, following you obediently, letting the tips of his fingers graze your entrance before suddenly plunging one inside.

Oh God.

His fingers are thicker and longer than yours, so even one feels too much. Your knees are wobbling but he helps you still. Jake keeps it slow, feeling just how your walls squeeze around him, the sweet smell wafting through the tension. Jake can’t help it, wanting that back in his mouth, so he teases your clit with his tongue in tandem with the thrust of his finger. He sneaks in another thick finger inside, thrusting two at the same time, stretching you out definitely. You let out whines, holding tightly on his hair while he fucks you with just his hand and mouth.

“Jaeyun, wait –” you tap his shoulders, just as he speeds up the pace, addicted to the way your cunt squelches around his fingers. “Jaeyun – ah – w-wait, please,” you tap insistently and when he realizes, he stops at once, a bit irritated. Jake pulls away with a bitter exhale, but softly and slowly strokes your thighs, letting you stand on both your feet now. He looks up at you, eyes finding yours, still soothing your thighs with his warm hands. “Why do you keep stopping, love?” He laughs, amused and humorous, but there’s a tone of annoyance tucked in.

Your eyes flick down to his dick, and his gaze follows, looking back at how hard and angry it looks against his abdomen like that. Long and begging to be touched. He huffs, grin widening back up at you with disbelief and lack of control. 

He swallows, shaking his head. “I don’t have a condom, baby,” his voice is rough, hands soothing your thighs still.

You scoff, using your palm to push him further into the bed. When he’s moved, you slide your knees on either side of his hips and he has to physically hold himself back from the sight of how close your cunt is to his dick. It makes him twitch against his stomach, bite his lip from making a pitiful sound.

“I want you raw.” you say, leaving a mark on his skin.

“And I want you safe.” he says, softer this time, gently caressing your hips.

You laugh, getting back to his face as you nudge his nose with yours. “Just fuck me, Jaeyun.”

He exhales, both from exasperation and how turned on he is from your straightforwardness. He likes it, he likes you, and clearly he’s torn between fucking you until you’re full of his cum, or being responsible with sex and –

Fuck that.

You stroke his cock underneath you, giving it slow rubs just to lubricate it. He sighs, watching you work on his length like that. Even with just you on top of him like this, bare and looking at him and only him, he’s happy. The wishes that blew his candles do not compare to this; a prayer in flesh and soft breasts and plush thighs and a pretty face – what else could he need if this is not enough salvation. Then you shift closer, aligning his angry tip with your entrance. He watches it all happen, hands still on your hips, half-lidded eyes completely dazed with desire and anticipation of when your cunt meets his cock. His lips are parted, taking heavy shaky breaths.

“Will it fit?” he swallows, looking back up at you with wide eyes. 

Just then, his sensitive tip grazes your hole, and he lets out a quiet whimper. You drag the head into your wet folds, pushing the thick tip with a wet pop, and Jake practically jolts up at the feeling – fingers so tight against your hips you know it will bruise. “W-w-wait, baby, y-you’re too – ah–”

It stings so you pause, adjusting to the size first. You rest your forehead against his, catching your breath as he catches his – and something about it is so intimate, at the way he holds you close, hand soothing your back to ground you and himself.

“Y-you okay?” he asks, rubbing your back, pupils blown wide you could practically see hearts form in them.

You smile, weak and soft, pressing a kiss on his mouth. He tilts his head for you, your tongues meeting in his mouth before you pull away. “Perfect.”

Then slowly, you start to sink down his cock, earning grunts while he holds you close. “Sh-shit– tight– fuck–”

He guides you down his shaft, and he really does fight the urge to shove himself inside you in one go. “S-slow down for me, yeah?” Jake holds you, thumb rubbing against your skin. “There, mhm, I-I know you can do it.” 

You cry out his name when you bottom down, his leaking tip touches your cervix deliciously and your walls tighten around him so right he’s convinced he’ll finish right here. It’s warm inside you and you’re tense, arms wrapped around his neck, chests pressed together, gummy walls choking his cock. You wrap your legs around his hips closer, squirming slightly while he’s still inside you that he moans loud, feeling just how you vacuum him in and grind against him – he’s done.

Jake’s mind is blank, nothing except the way you look like Sunday worship with how you kneel above him. He knows now, that this is heaven, and that being good does not mean anything to him when you feel like every sin eaten in Eden. He doesn’t mind dying lying this, he thinks, in between your thighs while you introduce what greed truly means, and as you show him just what the fuck Adam betrayed God for underneath that tree.

He’s in so deep and tight that you could feel every vein that throbs inside you. Like he was meant to fill in that space, with how perfect it fits, you can’t help but roll your hips against him a little. Because it’s too good not to, too fucking slow to wait. 

Jake though, very much cannot let you move because you look so incredibly hot riding him and taking him in so good that he will come from cockwarming. He grabs you before you can even try again, his hands a paradox of gentle and strong, keeping you still from any ideas. His long fingers run down your spine, shivers trail your skin, inevitably making you clench from the sensation. He exhales, struggling and trembling, huffing out a sick laugh as he licks his bottom lip. “I’ll cum if you move.” he says, rough and no more breaths to give when you’ve taken everything.

Even though his hold is firm, it’s not bruising, so you decide to tease, just a little, by rolling your hips subtly and when he realizes what you’re doing, he grabs your hips quick – tight and strong, his biceps flexing. “D-don’t move, baby, c’mon,” his hoarse voice is soft in contrast to how hard he’s holding and staring at you now. You giggle, leaning in instead to kiss him. It’s slow, the smell of sex so heavy in their air and in between you two. 

With an exhale from coming down the high, he finally nods, falling on his back. “Ride it, love.” Then you lift yourself, slowly, showing a white ring at the base of his cock. It’s lewd and better than any pornographic he’s seen.

Leaving just the head inside, you slam yourself back down, a strain moan spilling his lips like confession. “F-fuck– o-oh– so g-goddamn tight…” you do it again, loving the way his eyebrows push together, his lips parting as he moans your name. He whimpers when you squeeze your cunt around him. “H-holy s-s-shit.” he holds your hips as you find the pace, speeding up as you practically bounce on his dick like a mad woman. Every thrust spills a whimper or your name in the form of a gasp. He helps you slam right back down on his cock, touching just the right spot inside you with precision.

“T-that’s it – just like that, baby, f-fuck yeah,” he huffs, abs tightening. Your palms are flat against his chest, admiring just how his hair is now slick with sweat, sticking to his forehead. He runs a hand through it, pushing it back. You go faster, riding him to the point he can’t even talk right. “W-w-wait, s – holy s-shit, please, s-s-slow down,” his words turn into broken moans, hoarse and cracked as you pound yourself down his dick. Skin slapping echoes throughout his room, your breaths merging in this hot air.

Jake can feel it too fast, the way his abdomen and balls tighten because he’s about to cum already. It’s warm and so good. But he sits up and stops you, his strong arms quickly pulling you off him while you grow stunned. “Wha–” 

He huffs an incredulous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief of the situation. He was seconds away from cumming, way too fast for how long he wants to spend this moment with you. His grip’s strong, tight compared to how gentle he places you down his bed. You lie chest-first on the mattress, your abdomen tightening with a slight heaviness from not releasing tension. You try asking him again but cuts you off, “Wait for me, yeah?”

He looks over you with hunger in his eyes; from the gentle curve of your shoulders, to the arch of your back, down to the plumpness of your ass. Jake smooths over it, admiring it as his fingers squeeze the fat, just before giving it a smack, earning a gasp from you. “Jaeyun –”

Jake lifts your hips to put you on your knees, chest against the sheets for him, and leans down to press a kiss on your folds. “Need that ass,” he smacks one cheek again, then uses one thumb to spread out your labia and lick one stripe.

And he’d love to keep this going, munching down until your knees would give out and he’ll have to hold you up to continue devouring what your pussy could give him, but the tension in his dick begs otherwise, especially after knowing how it feels to be choked inside. So he flips you, taking your arm and getting you on your back.

Jake spreads your thighs, pressing your knees down against the bed so you’d allow him in between your legs. He props himself there, hovering over you when he puts his hands beside your head. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, sliding his own knees underneath your legs, shifting you against him. He soothes your inner thighs, making sure you feel comfortable.

The coil in your core is too hot for you to talk, mind blank except for the way Jake’s body glistens with his sweat and how he feels on top of you, his presence a clash of need and relief. You just nod, reaching your hands flat against his chest, trailing down towards his abs which tighten from your touch. He chuckles, raspy and rough, leaning down just slightly that you could feel his breath fan your face. “I need words, love,” he smooths over your thighs again, though this time closer to where you need him most. “Can you do that for me, hm?” he purrs.

You whine, biting your bottom lip at the sight of his cock so hard and straight, faintly brushing your entrance. “Jaeyun, stop teasing.” you mewl, reaching down further to let your fingertips graze the slit on his head. He lets you stroke him, smiling down at you as you do.

“Words, come on. I need to know you’re still okay.” he asserts, voice patient but firm.

You sigh. “Put your cock inside me, Jaeyun, please.” 

Then he smiles, pressing a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “Good girl.” he coos.

Jake pulls you closer by your thighs, squeezing the fat before he gives himself a few strokes. You watch him eagerly, hips unintentionally squirming at the sight of him touching himself, his own juices spilling just a little to give it slick. Then he shifts, nudges your legs up with his knees before propping himself in between you. You keep your legs up as he aligns his cock with your throbbing clit, giving it a few rubs. Moans fall from your pretty lips. He gets closer, uses his thumb to push back your folds and find your entrance, before finally positioning himself against you. He presses a kiss on your mouth just to distract you a bit, then pushes himself inside, the slick sounds obscene.

You pull away from the kiss because of the stretch, Jake’s big cock squelching inside your pussy. “S-so fucking tight, s-shit…” he groans.

Your hands find purchase on his traps, nails digging down the skin there when he squeezes himself inside you, veins throbbing against your walls. Thick and long, touching your cervix as it did earlier, and you’re addicted to the feeling of him filling you up, kissing every crevice like he’s made for you. You clench, thighs pressing against his hips – he lets a low growl when you tighten.  He finds your gaze and for some unknown reason, you get flustered, and he smiles. Jake kisses your warm cheek. “That feel good?” he whispers, waiting for your nod of approval before he starts moving. 

Teeth sink into his bottom lip as his hips rocks into yours. It’s slow at first, letting you feel every little detail of his dick inside you. Until he speeds up, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the corners of his bedroom. Low whimpers slip from Jake’s throat, breathing your name against your mouth. It’s vulgar, the smell and sound of cum when he pulls out and slams right back in, at a pace like he can’t handle being apart from you for long.

He loves the way you shove against the bed when he pushes in, loves the way your tits bounce every time, the way your swollen and bruised lips part and moan his name like you’re his. Your moans, sweet and thick like honey, your nails when they dig into his muscles like you’re claiming him.

“C-can you clench, baby? Just – t-there– fuck, baby – f-fuck yeah, just like t-that, ah–” he whines, veins running along his arms beside your head as he grinds into you, head stroking your fucking womb.

His cock drives into you with perfect precision, somehow hitting the right spots, rubbing against your walls so good. His abs taut, muscles flexing above you. “Y-you feel so good, baby, ah– so fucking good,” he coos, stealing your mouth for a kiss.

He speeds up, rutting into you like he can’t handle any more time not cumming in you. And it feels good, for sure, but something about the fact he’s enjoying himself in you, his thick brows knitting together, teeth into his lip, makes it better. Jake looks at you then, and when he finds your wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him like that, his hips suddenly stutter to a slow and his arms falter. His chest tightens, caught off guard from how pretty you are.

You laugh, smacking his arm in amusement. He huffs an embarrassed chuckle, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Shit,” he murmurs against your skin, while your hands run through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. You hum, pressing a kiss on his hair while he holds you closer, sneaking an arm underneath you.

“That’s not fair,” he murmurs against you and you laugh again, softer and quieter. “You’re so perfect.” he whispers, peppering kisses all over your neck. Before you can respond, he pushes into you roughly again, a cracked moan slipping from your lips. You hit his arm for doing that, before squeezing it when pleasure comes back.

He straightens, finding his pace again as you breathe heavy, fisting the sheets behind you. Jake’s hands find your thighs again, pushing your legs back against the bed, stretching you out further. “Fuck, Jake–” you sob, and the name makes him pound into undeniably faster and rougher.

“Again, baby,” he sneaks a thumb against your clit, rubbing it to add into your pleasure, “Say it again, come on,”

You stretch out your arm, your palm pressing against his taut abs. He doesn’t stop, if not his movements become faster, fucking your pussy so aggressively you practically recoil back on his bed every thrust. He hisses at your warm touch, baring his teeth a wolfish grin. “J-Jake, fuck,” yeah fuck him, ‘cause how could someone be so sweaty and still look hot.

Jake adds more pressure, stroking circles on your clit. You practically wail, that knot starting to form and tighten in your core. His other hand presses on your lower abdomen and you feel it – a stimulation in your wall and obviously, his fucking cock bruising your cervix. He leans down, hovering over you closer. “You feel me, baby?” he whispers, pressing harder that you choke on your own moans.

You arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair, his thumb stimulating your pussy continuously. Each push of his hips starts bringing you closer to the edge, that knot tightening harder and hotter – the image itself is pornographic, with how powerful his pelvis wrecks into you.

“Jaeyun, I-I’m gonna –”

“Gonna b-breed this fucking pussy,” he murmurs, rutting harder, his thrusts getting sloppier and losing measure. He flashes you a grin again. “Will you let me, love? Let me cum i-inside – f-fuck –” 

You nod, eager and urgent, letting your nails scratch down his back, making him wince in pain and pleasure. He pushes your hips before pulling it back, his own orgasm arriving. 

“F-f-f-fuck, I’m cumming – I’m g-gonna, w-wait baby –” he moans.

“Jaeyun, p-please– ah–”, one final thrust has you milking him before he does, pussy clenching so tight as you grab his hair to ground yourself when your orgasm washes your vision white. He continues, pounding into you so deep, before Jake whimpers low and loud. You feel the thick white ropes spill into you, hot and full and sticky, hips stuttering. “Shit, b-baby, god– that’s so hot– baby, you’re so hot–”

He rides out the last of your pleasure before you pat his biceps to stop him from overstimulating your sensitive walls. Jake falls on top of you, weight pressing down on you before he could even stop it, muscles tensing before they relax.

You’re both breathless, mixed cum warm inside you and slowly oozing out. Neither of you move just yet, he’s holding you close, resting his forehead against your collarbone. You soothe his back, tracing the outlines of his muscles while you hum, helping each other out to come down from your high. 

A few beats stretch out before you tap him, a tired smile on your lips as he musters back his own strength and straightens, his darkened gaze meeting yours when he gets on his hands again. His pupils are in the shapes of hearts, mouth pulled to a sheepish grin, face still flushed with heat and sweat.

Jake practically inhales you like it’s what will bring him back to reality. When he pulls back, he swallows, resting his forehead against yours. “J-just, let me catch my breath,” he huffs out a laugh then lies his head back down your chest.

He listens to the rhythm of your heartbeat, closing his eyes at the calming sounds of it. His cock still is very much inside you, softer than it used to be, twitching and you feel it.

After a few minutes or so, Jake starts shifting and you let him get up, releasing him from your embrace. He then slides out of you, hissing at the feeling, slick oozes out of your hole, but you don’t pay any mind anymore.

For a moment you're frightened, because he just lies there beside you, not touching you. You rethink again, once the high's gone and he's got his fill, whether this is just another bad decision you'll regret –

Until Jaeyun places his blanket around the both of you, arms wrapping around you underneath the weight of it. With your back pressed against his chest, he peppers soft and light kisses on your head, holding you tight. He's muttering sweet nothings that make up of praise and affections, although your mind is too hazy to comprehend any syllable.

His breathing finally steadies, finding himself comforted and grounded with you against him like this.

After 5 minutes, hand rubbing your belly, he calls your name. When you hum and turn to him, he studies your face for a second, eyes warm and attentive.

“Water?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You hum against his chest, voice small. “And chocolate.”

He nods. “Okay,” he says softly, like it’s the easiest decision in the world.

Jake rubs your back, soothing and gentle, pressing light kisses to your temple because he can't really afford to let you go yet. Pressing one long kiss on your forehead, he finally sighs and loosens. “Okay, I’ll go,” he whispers before slipping away, murmuring reassurance that he’ll come back immediately. He stumbles when he attempts to put his sweatpants on fast, making you giggle watching him.

He returns quickly with water and snacks. He settles back beside you, guiding the glass into your hands, watching as you drink like you're deserted dry. “Slow, baby,” 

When you’re done, you both curl back into bed and he hands you a piece of chocolate to munch down on. Neither of you speaks for a while, the room quiet except for rustling of sheets, and your chewing.

Jake’s thumb traces lazy, soothing circles against your arm. You rest there together, warm and close, his cheek resting against the top of your head. “Okay,” he murmurs. Then, almost shyly, “Uh… in a bit, you’re gonna have to pee, yeah?”

You let out a small, tired sound, half a laugh. “Okay,” you whisper.

His hand keeps moving along your back, lazy, repetitive, like he might fall asleep doing it. There’s a beat of silence, then he speaks again, words blurring together in that half-awake honesty.

“Hey,” Jake murmurs again, thumb slowing where it traces your arm. His voice is quieter now, careful, shy again. “Was that… okay?”

You tilt your head slightly, enough to look up at him. His brows are knit just a little, not anxious, just attentive like he’s waiting for your answer to matter.

“Yeah,” you say with a smile, honest and warm. “It was amazing.”

He exhales, shoulders easing like he’d been holding that breath on purpose. “Okay,” he says, nodding once. Then, softer, “I just wanted to make sure.”

You shift closer, tucking yourself into him more fully. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

He lets out a small laugh, embarrassed but pleased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Only with you.”

His arms tighten around you – not confining, just secure in that way he's grounding himself against you too. He stays like that, no hurry to move, no agenda beyond keeping you comfortable, no plan other than staying right here with you.

You hum, already drifting while his hand still moves in those slow, steady circles. After a beat, he sighs softly and nuzzles your hair, tapping your forearm while sitting up. “Okay… bathroom time.”

He helps you shift gently, sliding an arm under your back while you get on your feet. “Easy,” he murmurs, careful.

Once you’re upright, he walks just behind you, steadying you with a hand lightly on your lower back. “Like a professional escort,” he jokes softly, voice low.

He takes you to his ensuite and you have to smack him again because he’s babying you, acting like you need this much help when in reality, he just wants to stay close. “I can sit on the fucking toilet on my own, Jaeyun.” you laugh in disbelief and amusement.

He frowns but follows through, leaning against the doorframe while you pee. Once you’re done, you two head back, one hand still on the small of your back. He takes his shirt, one too big for your frame, and slides it on you. He also helps you into your panties because your legs are still worn.

"I love you." he whispers, not from post-sex haze, but because it's you. You smile and say it back.

Back in his bed and in his shirt and in his arms – everything that makes this entirely his, you melt into it remembering,

You're not his.

And to Jake, the 4 seconds of silence before you said it back hurts like fucking hell.

Tip #11: Refuse to be simplified.

Nothing about Jake is suddenly different.

He’s always been around – always walking you to class, always waiting. He’s somehow at every corner, leaning against the doorway of your lecture hall when you exit, waiting outside the library when you need to grab a book, showing up at the cafeteria exactly when you do. But now, there’s touches intertwined with them. Fingers immediately finding yours in the hallway, shoulder nudges to tease, quick kisses pressed to your temple or hair.

In your dorm, it’s worse than it is outside. Not all moments or hang-outs transition to heat, sometimes he crashes over just to lie on your lap and sleep there, or he helps you out with laundry and folds your clothes with you. But of course, there are moments when a kiss brushes your lips before you’re even fully aware. Your fingers trace his jawline, catch his shirt, pull him closer, and suddenly he’s already in between your legs, pounding into you recklessly. After your first time, he insisted he’ll use condoms instead, you respond with a pout.

At the last stretch of the first semester’s finals, it’s hectic. Every single day is packed with tests, essays, group reports – sometimes they share the same due date and you try not to collapse under it all. It’s not easy, but you feel that you have some kind of cheat code to steer away from chaos.

Jake finds a way to meet up when the schedule’s too tight for anything else. A text ping between classes: coffee. 5 minutes. i’ll be outside. He shows up just when you need a break, just when the stress is too much to carry alone, he makes sure you know he’s there.

Even if it’s just ten minutes, even if it’s a rushed chocolate handoff, even if it’s just to hold you for 5 minutes – they’re all enough. Enough to feel like he’s keeping the storm at bay, like you’re not drowning in deadlines because he’s always there, tethering you to sanity with soft touches, stolen kisses, and the reassurance that no matter how chaotic, he’ll always find you.

No more begging for time and counting minutes. Now, time finds you both without asking, offered freely and instinctively because he tries.

He plans around you without making it feel like effort, he adjusts his pace to match yours.

There was one week specifically that was busier than any other, all subjects demanded something for their final submissions and the over-achiever in you always had to give everything. Jake says you’re over-stressing and overworking, that you’re going way too hard on yourself even when you didn’t have to. You also did try brushing him off, that this was okay. He brushed you off by unexpectedly coming over and relieving you off your tasks, and you unexpectedly broke down into tears in his arms. After that, once you’re refreshed, he helps with productivity which he doesn’t rush, just eases you into slowly.

You find your rhythm again and lo and behold, your hardwork and efforts have been greatly rewarded with an A that you practically smell the 3.8 gpa coming your way.

And to graciously show your appreciation to his thoughtfulness towards you, you ride him. Jake’s a gentleman as he is kind, but he’s also just some guy. Simple, knows-what-he-wants guy. So sometimes, it’s a gentle switch from kissing to sex on the bed with a pillow under your hips. There are times where he doesn’t even take off your shirt and slip off your underwear and he fucks you from the back while you’re brushing your teeth. Or cooking. He seems to find you in a domestic state completely fuckable and hot. Sometimes it’s in the shower and he spends half the time kissing you and eating you out under the running water than actually cleaning up.

Very, very clingy. Kisses your forehead suddenly, presses some on your knuckles, hands on your breasts and nipples when you’re spooning in your sleep, then later when he’s really stressed with engineering he practically urges you on your knees and slips his cock down your throat.

It’s a duality you don’t mind, obviously. But sometimes you’re caught in surprise just how strong this man’s sex drive is. 

He keeps a stack of your clothes in his closet, though he insisted you grab a pile from your dorm. He quite literally bought you clothes specifically for his own place so you don’t keep going back. And in no time, your belongings have infiltrated his entire place; half his closet was yours, the sink’s cluttered with your cosmetics and skincare products with his one single cleanser and toothbrush in a quiet corner. And the bed, of course, where he fights for space because your plushies also had their own. He doesn’t mind it – he loves it actually, the constant epiphany when you walk around his place in nothing but his shirt that yeah, this is his life now, being colonized by your over-the-top possessions. 

One night, he comes home kinda late and finds you curled up in his bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, his shirt slipping off one shoulder. For a moment, he just watches. You call him a creep and you throw a pillow at him, but he sneaks in between your legs and takes your clothes off and fucks you in the same minute.

There’s no conversation about moving in. He just presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs, half-amused, half-awed, “You know you basically live here, right?”

Normally, ambiguity didn’t bother him. Jake was built for uncertainty in the academic sense – he lived in probabilities and margins of error. He trusted that if you applied enough rigor, enough time, the answer would eventually reveal itself. Variables could be isolated and noise could be filtered out. Systems, no matter how complex, always collapsed into something legible if you were patient enough.

People, however, were not systems.

You were not something he could model without interference or reduce into inputs and outputs without losing the essence of you. And yet, that was exactly what he did – slotting you into his life with the same quiet efficiency he applied to everything else. You were there when he woke up, there when he came home, there when his brain finally shut down. 

And he had also followed through, coming over to your own place and integrating his dominion over your space – his deodorant, some hot wheels he forgot to take home, clothes you both can wear, and sweatpants when you accidentally cum on his pants. Yeah, the setup was nice, but even if ambiguity was something he thoroughly enjoyed exploring in the world of science; you’re not science.

He can’t treat your relationship like a margin of error he can back up from and retry again when shit’s messy – that’s never his intention with you, and he does regret that faulty. 

You’re not his girlfriend. You’re not not his girlfriend.

When the grocery cashier comments how much of a lovely couple you two are, you laugh that sweet laugh he loves, until you say, "he's not my boyfriend" and he tries not to die from a heart attack.

Jake feels sick.

Tip #12: Remember how you got him.

Jake hates it. Didn't realize how bad it actually fucking sounded when it comes from you saying that no, you're not dating, he's not your boyfriend, that you might as well cut his dick and shove it between his lungs.

He spends the weekend in your apartment as some unnamed lover. You both settle with ordering takeout for dinner after much negotiating where to order.

The movie keeps playing, something you just randomly chose to pass time. Snow taps faintly against the window, Jake’s fingers tracing absent-mindedly on your thigh. You’re also in the middle of your face mask when his phone dings, then he says he’ll get the food.

He takes a while. You hear the door first – the soft click of the lock, the familiar drag of his shoes against the floor – and you’re halfway through complaining about how long it took when he appears in the doorway.

With a bouquet of your favorite flowers. And a big, obscenely plush bunny tucked under his arm. And an envelope pinched between his fingers like it’s nothing.

You blink, lips part, jaw slack, completely frozen with a dumb hydrating mask on your face.

“Uh,” Jake says, shifting the bunny like it’s inconveniently large and like he doesn’t understand what this means. “So.” He frowns slightly, then jerks his thumb back toward the hall. “I think the delivery guy is flirting with you.”

You stare at him, still in the middle of processing the sight and reeling back in from the shock of everything. You're in the middle of trying to understand what the fuck this is. “Jaeyun.”

“What?” he says, defensive. “I’m just saying.”

You’re still trying to understand the fact that there is a bouquet and a giant bunny and an envelope in your bedroom when he walks closer and hands you the letter like it’s a receipt he forgot to give you earlier. Like a delivery guy, that’s what he is. 

“Anyway,” he adds, too casual. “This is yours.”

You look from the letter to him, still completely confused and startled, handing you the bouquet and bunny next like it’s just something he found in the mailbox. “You’re not even going to explain?”

He shrugs, lips twitching. “Explain what?”

“The –” You gesture vaguely at everything. “All of this.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Delivery guy must’ve felt bad.”

You kick his knee and he laughs. “You’re such a liar!”

You stare at him for a couple of more seconds, biting down your bottom lip from a wide smile. You feel giddy and excited and astonished and hydrated.

Is this it.

Is this the moment you're finally going to rid the expired not-dating label.

"Tell me what this is, dork!" you're being mean because you're skittish, but he loves it, loves how you're mean sometimes.

"I don't fucking know, baby!" he laughs, still pretending before he leans in and presses kisses on your thighs. "Fuck I know why the delivery guy is flirting with you."

You open the envelope immediately and Jake suddenly finds the floor very interesting. He watches you from the corner of his eye, pretending not to, pretending this isn’t a big deal, pretending his heart isn’t doing something stupid and loud. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

dec 1

You and I have never been simple. We never moved in straight lines or clean timelines, and there were breaks and overlaps and wrong timing and a lot of moments where we probably should’ve stopped and didn’t.

You were never simple. You were a really really complicated interpretation.

We’ve tried being nothing. We’ve tried pretending. We’ve tried acting like what we do doesn’t mean what it obviously does. And every time, we end up right back here. I always find myself coming back to you.

I also really hate getting denied at the grocery cashier.

So… can I be this complicated girl’s boyfriend again?

– Jaeyun

━━━━━

When you finish, you don’t say anything right away. You look at him then, at the way he’s trying so hard not to make this a thing while making it very much a thing. At how he stands there like he’s bracing for rejection even though he already knows you’re not going anywhere, not with that face mask you’re not.

Jake shifts. “So… food’s getting cold.”

You throw the face mask away, a wide smile on your face as you tug the end of his shirt. “Come here,” you say.

He doesn’t hesitate. He’s already leaning over you in between your legs, and then he kisses you slowly. It’s warm and nice and romantic and when he pulls away, he’s smiling like he’s in heaven on earth. It just so happens to be right here, right next to you.

You knew it’d come around, this thing called love that comes crashing down. 

“So,” he murmurs. “Still think the delivery guy was flirting?”

You smile, playing with his hair. “Yeah.”

Jake sighs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” 

Then he leans in again but before you can kiss him, he stops.

"So is that a yes?" he knits his brows.

You laugh, smacking his arm with no real effort before you smooth over the muscle there, then sensually down to the veins leading down his wrist. He clears his throat and presses closer, pelvis against your ass.

"I don't know," you drag the last syllable to tease him and he groans.

He ducks down, nose brushing yours. "Fuck, baby," he whines. When he kisses you again he totally forgets the food waiting outside.

Guess getting your ex back 101 did work, then? Real genius.

[yjnwonstars]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ— wolf in sheep's clothing (y.jw)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄， to your entire family, jungwon is the perfect son-in-law. they have no clue what’s actually going on when they aren’t looking.

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: 18+ only MDNI — stabilized relationship, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it upp), piv, creampie, praise/degradation, petnames, panty sniffing, slightly spanking, overstimulation (like usual). lemme know if I forgot something.

wc: 3.5k

author's notes: english is not my first language — based on this request! thank you so much for the idea, laura! I loved it so much keep it cominggggg

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤtaglist and requests are open!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ masterlist

jungwon is every parent’s dream. polite, hardworking, respectful, fun, and annoyingly handsome—so you already knew that the second he met your parents, they’d be absolutely head over heels for him.

it was a wrap from day one. after only two months of dating, you were already introducing him to your family. you didn't have any second thoughts about moving that fast because you just knew jungwon was the one—the guy you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. and just like you predicted, your parents were hooked the moment they laid eyes on him. it got to the point where they were bragging to every single relative about their "incredible son-in-law" and how you’d basically hit the jackpot with him. (never mind the fact that you were their actual daughter, but whatever).

after that first meeting, your parents were practically begging you to bring him over every time you visited. the gossip about him spread through the family like wildfire. soon enough, all your aunts and cousins—even the ones you couldn't stand—were dying to meet the man. that's how you ended up getting roped into the annual family retreat, where everyone packs up and rents a massive vacation house for the weekend.

when your mom called you monday morning to extend the invitation (which, let’s be real, was more for jungwon than it was for you), your gut instinct was to shut it down. none of those people actually gave a damn about you; your aunts were professional shit-talkers who, before jungwon, loved to whisper about how you’d end up a lonely cat lady. but jungwon, being the "perfect" boyfriend he is, jumped on the phone and promised your mom that you guys wouldn't miss it for the world.

and that’s exactly how you ended up stuck at a country estate with at least twenty people, half of whom were practically tripping over themselves to get a second of jungwon’s attention. at least your male cousins and the little kids weren't phased, but the rest of them? it was embarrassing.

you were left fighting for crumbs of your own boyfriend's time while dealing with backhanded comments about how you better "keep it tight" or you’d end up losing a guy like him. and don't even get started on your fifteen-year-old cousins—they looked like they went into heat every time he walked into the room.

by the time friday night rolled around, the crowd had drained you both so much that you just crashed into bed, barely having a second to breathe, let alone touch each other. saturday morning gave you a tiny window—a five-minute getaway behind one of the guest houses that turned into a frantic make-out session—but it was cut short when your dad started shouting for jungwon to go fishing. that little taste of him didn't help; it just poured gasoline on the fire.

the rest of the day was straight-up torture. see, despite the "golden boy" act, you knew the real jungwon. he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he got off on pushing your buttons.

he spent the family lunch with his hand hidden beneath the heavy tablecloth, his fingers dangerously close to the hem of your panties. he’d squeeze your inner thigh, his thumb grazing your pussy every time he laughed at one of your uncle’s jokes, leaving you breathless and clinging to your fork just to stay upright. later, when you leaned over to pull a cake out of the oven and your grandma stepped out for five seconds, he didn't just smack your ass; he kneaded the flesh firmly, his rings cold against your skin, before whispering a filthy promise about what he’d do to you later.

even in the pool, with your little cousins splashing around just a few feet away, he was relentless. his hands were steady underwater, tracing slow, agonizing lines over your ribs and down to your hips, his fingers hooking into the side of your bikini bottom just enough to let the cold water rush in against your heated skin. he was playing you like an instrument, making sure you were well-aware of exactly how much he wanted you, all while flashing that innocent, dimpled smile at your mom.

by sunset, you were flushed—partly from the sun, partly from being annoyed by your cousins, but mostly from the sheer desperation jungwon had been building up in you all day. he’d spent hours keeping you dripping wet, making sure your lace was soaked and your head was spinning, with no sign of when he was actually going to finish what he started.

you were counting down the minutes until you could finally get him alone. but then, the universe decided to fuck with you. your uncle showed up, rallying all the men for an overnight hunting trip. jungwon gave you this fake-ass "guilty" smile as he said goodbye, his eyes dark with a secret amusement as he watched you struggle to keep your composure. you had to head to bed alone to take care of your own problem, frustrated and aching, while they spent the whole night out in the woods.

when you woke up sunday morning, the sun was already blazing through the windows of the vacation house. your dad, your uncles, and jungwon had just gotten back from the hunt, and all you got was a quick, sleepy "goodnight" kiss before jungwon crashed into bed, completely dead to the world. you knew right then that, once again, you weren't getting a single second of alone time with your boyfriend.

frustrated and still feeling the tension from saturday, you threw on your bikini and a pair of denim shorts—the only thing that made sense in this heat—and tried to get through the morning. you spent the next few hours in the kitchen with your mom and aunts, helping prep lunch while the sounds of the kids splashing in the pool echoed from outside.

"the roast is almost done," your mom noted, pulling off her apron and wiping some sweat from her forehead. "another thirty minutes and we can call everyone for lunch." you nodded, letting out a tired yawn as you leaned against the marble counter, scrolling through your phone.

"can you keep an eye on it for me? i want to go get some sun and gossip with your aunts before your father wakes up and ruins the vibe," she said with a little smirk. you just shrugged.

"sure, mom. no problem," you replied, just wanting some peace and quiet.

"perfect! just yell if you need anything, we’ll all be out by the pool," she smiled, planting a quick kiss on your cheek before heading toward the glass door that led to the patio.

you caught yourself yawning again, your mouth feeling dry from the heat. you reached into the fridge to grab a soda, but the second the cold air hit your face, you felt firm hands grip your hips. something warm and hard pressed right into your ass, and before you could even let out a gasp of surprise, a large, warm hand clamped over your mouth.

"it's just me, baby," you heard him whisper. the vibration of his voice—that low, smug rasp that only jungwon had—made the tension drain out of your body instantly, replaced by a massive jolt of adrenaline.

"jungwon, you scared the shit out of me!" you hissed against his palm as he let go. you turned around in his arms, hooking your hands behind his neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin.

his hands didn't stay still, though; they slid down to possessively cup your ass, his thumbs tracing the thin line of your bikini bottoms peeking out from the waistband of your shorts. he bit his bottom lip, pulling back just an inch to look at you, his eyes dark and hungry—the look of a man who was done playing the polite guest.

"it wasn't my intention," he says, though the smugness in his voice implies the exact opposite. his hands giving the soft flesh of your ass a firm, full-handed squeeze that makes you jump. you can feel the heat of his erection pressing hard against your stomach, and you instinctively swat at his chest in a weak attempt to keep him at bay.

"jungwon, not here! anyone could walk in at any second," you protest, your voice barely a whisper. he lets out a mock sigh, pouting like a disappointed kid who didn't get his way.

"too bad. i really thought you missed me as much as i missed you," he murmurs, leaning in until his lips are brushing against the shell of your ear. the heat of his breath sends a violent shiver down your spine, leaving you weak in his arms.

"i did," you say, your voice failing you. "you know perfectly well i did." the words come out as more of a whimper when he slides one hand back to your waist while the other slips underneath the loose fabric of your denim shorts. his bare palm meets your skin, kneading your ass without the barrier of your clothes, and you lose your train of thought completely.

"but we’re in the kitchen... anyone could come in," you try to argue again, but your body is betraying every word. you tilt your head to the side, exposing the sensitive line of your throat and giving him all the room he needs to leave a trail of wet, bruising kisses against your skin. he bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing you just hard enough to leave a mark.

"then just don't make any noise, baby," he smirks against your skin, licking his lips as he pulls back to look at you. before you can even think of a comeback, he crashes his lips onto yours, taking you in a kiss that's hot, desperate, and heavy with everything he’s been holding back all weekend.

your tongues battle for dominance, the kiss turning filthy and hungry—the kind of kiss that absolutely does not belong in a family kitchen with a roast in the oven. you lose yourself in him, one of your hands tangling into his hair, messing up those perfect strands, while the other grips the back of his neck, your nails scratching lightly against his skin. the small growl that escapes the back of his throat only makes your heart race faster.

jungwon doesn't hold back either. his hands are everywhere, roaming possessively over your sides, his touch so hot it feels like he’s branding you through your skin. he pulls you even closer, hitching your leg up over his hip to pull your center flush against his hardness, making sure you feel exactly what you’ve been doing to him. his fingers hook into the edge of your bikini, tugging it just enough to make you gasp into his mouth, his tongue swirling against yours to catch every sound.

the kiss deepens, turning into something carnal and frantic. his tongue sweeps against yours with a desperate rhythm, tasting like he wants to swallow you whole. your fingers dig into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until there’s no air left between you. just as you're starting to feel lightheaded from the sheer intensity of it, jungwon suddenly grips your waist and spins you around, pinning your front against the cold marble counter.

the sudden change in position makes your head spin. you try to find your voice, try to be firm and tell him this is too risky, but he’s already burying his face in the crook of your neck. his kisses are messy and hot, trailing down your spine and making your skin crawl with a desperate kind of electricity. you can feel his rock-hard erection pressing ruthlessly against your backside, and he doesn't stop there—he starts simulating slow, agonizing thrusts against you, the friction of his own shorts against your skin making you see stars.

"jungwon, seriously," you whisper, your hands clutching the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turn white. "someone... someone is gonna walk in."

he doesn't even pause. his hands move to the button of your denim shorts, undoing it with practiced ease before sliding the fabric down your thighs. "then don't make a sound, baby," he murmurs against your shoulder, his voice dropping into that dark, gravelly tone that always undoes you.

as soon as your shorts hit the floor, he delivers a sharp, stinging smack to one of your bare cheeks. the sound echoes in the quiet kitchen, followed immediately by a muffled moan that you can't quite catch in time.

"god, you're so perfect," he growls, his fingers digging into the soft flesh he just marked. he doesn't waste another second, his nimble fingers finding the thin strings of your bikini bottoms. with a sharp tug, the bows unravel, and the silk fabric falls away, leaving you completely exposed to him in the middle of your parents' kitchen.

jungwon picks the small piece of fabric up, bringing it to his nose and taking a slow, deep inhale. his eyes never leave yours, dark and clouded with a hunger that makes your blood run hot.

"you're such a pervert," you hiss, your face flushing a deep shade of crimson as you try to cover yourself.

he just lets out a low, dark chuckle, stuffing the bikini into the pocket of his shorts for later before stepping back into your space. he wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling your naked heat flush against his body. he starts to grind his covered cock against your bare skin, the thin fabric of his shorts barely providing any barrier as he grazes your sensitive pussy in a way that makes your knees buckle.

"maybe," he whispers, his lips ghosting over your earlobe. "but no one out there would ever suspect a thing, would they?"

you open your mouth to complain, but the words die in your throat the second you feel him shove his own shorts down just far enough to free his pulsing length. you bite your lip, glancing over your shoulder to see your boyfriend giving himself a few quick, firm strokes. his eyes are dark, clouded with nothing but raw lust as they roam over your body, curved helplessly over the counter. it’s like he’s trying to burn the image of you into his brain forever.

a shaky sigh escapes your lips as he uses the head of his cock to spread your own slickness along the length of his member. by now, you’re so incredibly wet that you can feel it starting to drip down your inner thighs. you rub your legs together, the friction making your core pulse with an ache that’s becoming unbearable.

"look at you," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "you're already a mess for me, aren't you? been thinking about this all night while i was gone?"

with one hand, he gathers your hair and pulls it over your shoulder, exposing the sensitive skin of your back and neck. his other hand clamps down on your hip, his fingers digging in deep to anchor you. he lines himself up, the broad head of his cock stretching you open as he begins to push inside your cunt, agonizingly slow.

you immediately shove your own hand into your mouth, biting down on your knuckles to stifle the cry that wants to rip out of you. jungwon lets out a low, guttural grunt into your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

"fuck, y/n... you're so warm. it feels like you're trying to swallow me whole," he whispers, his pace picking up as he finds his rhythm. "i've been waiting for this, you know? all day yesterday, every time i touched you under that table... this is what i wanted"

he starts to fuck you with a steady, punishing rhythm, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing through the kitchen, muffled only by the hum of the oven. just as you're starting to lose your grip on reality, he drives in with a particularly deep, heavy thrust that hits your sweet spot perfectly. a loud, sharp moan escapes you before you can stop it.

"y/n? honey, is everything okay in there?" your mom’s voice rings out from the pool area, sounding way too close for comfort.

your entire body freezes in an instant, your muscles clenching around him in a tight, panicked grip. jungwon lets out a choked, pained grunt at the sudden sensation, his eyes rolling back for a second.

"fuck," he hisses against your neck, his voice trembling. "you just got so much tighter... you're trying to kill me."

you look back at him, your eyes wide and filled with pure panic, but jungwon just flashes you that same devilish, dimpled smile that everyone else thinks is so innocent. he gives you a playful, demanding little nudge with his hips, urging you to keep it together.

"answer her, baby," he whispers, his eyes dancing with mischief as he waits for you to lie to your mother while he’s still buried deep inside your dripping cunt.

you’re shaking so hard you can barely breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. the irony isn't lost on you—your mother is just outside, thinking you’re being the helpful, responsible daughter, while the perfect boyfriend she adores is currently buried deep inside you on the kitchen counter.

"y/n? did you hear me?" your mom calls out again, and this time you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the sliding glass door.

jungwon’s eyes flash with a predatory glint. instead of stopping, he grips your hips and forces you to lean even further over the counter, stretching you out until you can barely see the digital timer on the oven. the movement forces his cock even deeper into you, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from screaming.

"y-yeah, mom! stay out there, don't worry," you manage to choke out, eyes blurry as you stare at the glowing numbers. "i'm keeping a close eye on it... it’s got about five minutes left. just... just stay with the others!"

"alright, if you say so!" she calls back, her voice finally fading as she heads back toward the pool.

the second she’s gone, jungwon loses all restraint. he slams back into you with a ferocity that makes your knees shake, his hand flying up to cover your mouth to muffle the desperate, high-pitched moans breaking from your throat.

"good girl," he growls against the back of your neck, his breath coming in ragged hitches. "watch your voice, baby. we wouldn't want anyone coming in to check on you now, would we?"

he pulls back just an inch before driving home again, harder this time. "look at you," he whispers, his voice dripping with a dark, degrading edge. "my little slut, getting so worked up because your mom is right there. you loved that, didn't you? getting filled up while she’s asking about lunch. you’re so much wetter now just because we almost got caught."

the sensation is overwhelming—the heat of the kitchen, the scent of the roast, and the raw, heavy thud of his dick hitting your sweet spot over and over. as he continues to fuck you senseless, one of his hands slides down from your waist, reaching under your body to find your clit. he starts to rub you with a frantic, expert rhythm, his thumb circling the sensitive peak while his other hand remains clamped over your mouth.

the double stimulation is too much. your vision swims, and your internal walls start to seize around him in violent waves. you come hard, your body bucking against the counter as a muffled, broken cry is lost against his palm. jungwon grunts, his own body tensing as he follows you over the edge, a low, guttural growl vibrating through his chest as he cums inside you.

he doesn't pull out immediately. he stays there, breathing heavily against your shoulder, giving you a few more slow, possessive thrusts to milk every last drop. he watches with a dark sense of pride as a white ring starts to form around the head of his cock, your combined fluids slicking the skin. you let out a weak, overstimulated whine, your body far too sensitive.

finally, he slides out of you with a wet, heavy sound. he reaches down, pulling your shorts back up over your shaking legs and adjusting his own clothes with a terrifying level of composure. he leans in one last time, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to your flushed cheek from behind.

"be a good girl and keep all of that inside you for the rest of the day, okay?" he whispers, his voice returning to that innocent, "perfect boyfriend" tone. "i’m gonna head back to the room and wait for the food. see you at lunch, baby."

he gives your hip a final squeeze and slips out of the kitchen as quietly as he entered. you’re left leaning against the marble, legs trembling and head spinning, staring blankly at the glass door.

a second later, the sharp, piercing beep of the oven timer fills the quiet kitchen.

the roast is done. and so are you.

taglist: @geniousbh, @mailovesreading, @onlyywwon

[swiftjay23]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐀 𝐆𝐔𝐘 𝐈𝐍 10 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒

Say you’re writing an article about how to drive a man away. Say he reads it, and decides to turn you into a bet. Sunghoon isn’t supposed to fall. You’re not supposed to care. But somewhere between stolen looks, sharp words, and lines crossed on purpose, the rules blur. You stop pretending first. He confesses last. Everything explodes. And when the truth comes out, when the article goes live and hearts hit the floor, you’re left with one final choice: publish the ending… or burn it all down for him. A game of control. A collision of pride. And one very bad idea that turns into something dangerously real.

genre: Enemies-to-lovers • Fake Dating • Romcom with Teeth • College AU • Emotional Slowburn • Messy Feelings • Slightly Unhinged Romance • Smut • Angst

pairing: football captain!Sunghoon x school editor!reader

warnings: Cocky reader and cocky Sunghoon playing mind games. Manipulation, gaslighting, toxic flirting, fake dating, hurt feelings. Crack energy, angst, lots of yearning, and an asshole in love (he just doesn’t know it yet), family PTSD, drinking, bets, parties, hurt/no comfort, language, rough kissing

warnings (smut): Explicit sexual content • multiple sex scenes • make up sex • consensual intercourse • oral sex (f receiving) • fingering • nipple play • missionary • belly bulge • creampie • praise kink • dirty talk • multiple orgasms • aftercare • emotional vulnerability during sex • unprotected sex (they're fictional you're not) • breeding kink undertones • love confessions mid-sex • sex when drunk (consensual)

cameos: Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Riki (from Enhypen) as Sunghoon's friends/teammates. Manon (from Katseye) as Reader's bestfriend. Keeho (from P1Harmony) as Reader's bestfriend. Sunoo (from Enhypen) as Reader's bestfriend. Sophia (from Katseye) as a supporting character.

inspired by: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days

word count: 40.9k

Sam: a big thank you to the loml @si3rren (for helping me with motivation and deciding between Hoon's personality) and my other loml @siyalogue for reading it, i love you so! chat… K… if you ever read this, no you didn’t. This is definitely not inspired by you and your aggressively affectionate relationship, which I secretly think is hella cute but will deny under oath.

[Better Than The Movies] [Masterlist]

PING!

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS!

An Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

Spoiler: it’s easier than you thought.

If you’re reading this, congratulations. You are either:

A woman who has just realized that modern dating is a psychological endurance sport,

A man who clicked this link out of spite, curiosity, or misplaced confidence, or

Someone’s roommate, best friend, or lab partner who was forcibly sent this article with the caption “THIS IS YOU.”

Welcome. 

Let’s establish something immediately: this is not a how-to guide for the weak-hearted, the romantically hopeful, or anyone who still believes that “communication” fixes things. This is a social experiment, a field study, and, if we’re being honest, a public service announcement.

For years, we’ve been fed the same recycled advice: Be chill. Don’t text first. Play hard to get. Don’t scare him away.

But what if… hear me out… What if we did the opposite?

What if instead of shrinking ourselves into palatable, low-maintenance versions of human beings, we leaned all the way in? What if we became everything men claim they want, just… all at once?

This article exists for one reason and one reason only: To answer the age-old question: How hard is it, really, to make a man leave?

(Spoiler: not very.)

Consider this your cheat sheet. Your cautionary tale. Your "do not try this at home... unless you're me, and you're petty, and you have a Substack deadline."

THE HYPOTHESIS

Men love the idea of romance.They fear the practice of it.

They adore:

mystery,

independence,

“cool girls who don’t ask for much.”

They panic at:

emotional availability,

expectations,

a woman who remembers what they said last Tuesday and asks follow-up questions.

Thus, the experiment. Over the next ten days, I will attempt to drive one (1) willing male participant away using nothing but socially accepted behaviors that women are constantly told to suppress. No manipulation. No cheating. No cruelty. Just… too much honesty, too much affection, and too much presence.

I'm calling it: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

DISCLAIMERS (PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU GET MAD)

This is satire. If you feel personally attacked, that’s between you and your conscience.

Names will not be used (unless you deserve it).

If this article ends your relationship, that relationship was on life support already.

If you’re a man reading this and thinking “That wouldn’t work on me”— thank you for volunteering as our control group.

WHY THIS MATTERS (UNFORTUNATELY)

Dating culture is obsessed with control. Who cares less. Who texts slower. Who “wins.”

But women are still penalized for wanting:

clarity,

effort,

reassurance.

We’re told to relax, be patient, stop overthinking, while men are praised for doing the bare minimum with a straight face and a podcast microphone.

So instead of asking, “How do I make him stay?”I asked a better question: How fast will he run if I stop pretending I don’t care?

THE STRUCTURE

This is not a step-by-step manual. This is an incomplete guide, updated in real time, because frankly, watching this unfold is more fun than finishing it.

Each day introduces one strategic behavior designed to test a man’s emotional endurance.

Think of it as exposure therapy. For him.

DAY 1: OVERSHARE IMMEDIATELY

Men say they want “emotional depth.” What they mean is: selective vulnerability, delivered slowly, with breaks for football.

On Day 1, we ignore that. Meet cute at a bar/coffee shop/dog park (pro tip: always pick a venue where escape routes are visible). 

Objective: Establish emotional intimacy before he’s decided whether you’re “serious” or “casual.”

Methods may include:

Mentioning childhood trauma on the second date. Not "my parents divorced," but "my dad left when I was seven because he said my mom's emotional unavailability was contagious, and honestly, I've been chasing unavailable men ever since, hey, therapy is expensive, but patterns are free!"

Casually referencing your abandonment issues before the appetizer arrives.

Using the phrase “I’ve never told anyone this before” while maintaining unbroken eye contact.

Expected reaction:

Initial concern.

Followed by quiet panic.

Followed by a sudden, very urgent need to wake up early tomorrow.

Notes from the field:Men claim they want honesty. They just don’t want it unscheduled.

Bonus points: Cry prettily while stirring your iced latte. Mention how you've already named your future cats after your exes (for closure). Watch his eyes glaze over like he's calculating the nearest exit.

DAY 2: BE TOO INVESTED

This is where we separate the boys from the men, and then watch both groups back away slowly.

Objective: Remove the illusion of low stakes.

Recommended tactics:

Ask about long-term goals unironically. Text him good morning at 6:47 a.m. Follow up at 6:52 with "miss u already 🥺." 

Mention baby names “as a joke.” By noon, casually mention you've been thinking about baby names. "If we have a girl, I'm leaning toward Seraphina Moonbeam, it's celestial but grounded, you know?"

Say “when” instead of “if.”

Examples:

“When you meet my parents—”

“When we live together—”

“When this becomes something real—”

Important: Do not laugh after saying these things. Confidence is key.

Expected reaction:

Nervous laughter.

Statements like “Let’s not rush things.”

A sudden interest in “seeing where things go.”

Translator’s note:“Seeing where things go” means hoping you forget you said that.

Pro move: Call him "babe" in front of his friends. Refer to yourself as "your girl" in the third person. "Your girl was thinking we should do couples' yoga this weekend. Namaste, right?"

DAY 3: VIOLATE PERSONAL SPACE (CONSTANTLY)

Men love physical affection. They just want to schedule it.

Show up unannounced at his gym/work/happy hour with "surprise!" energy. Bring homemade cookies shaped like hearts (bonus if they're slightly burnt, shows effort). Hug him from behind while he's mid-conversation with colleagues. Whisper, "I just couldn't wait to see you."

Objective: Remove his sense of autonomy without technically doing anything wrong.

Suggested behaviors:

Sitting too close.

Touching his arm while he’s mid-sentence.

Leaning your head on his shoulder unprompted.

Holding his hand in public for longer than socially necessary.

If questioned, smile and say:

“What? I just like you.”

This phrase is lethal.

Expected reaction:

He will say it’s “cute.”

He will not mean it.

Invade every boundary like it's your birthright. Sit in his lap at a bar stool built for one. Steal his phone to take selfies together ("for the 'gram!"). Text his mom from his phone: "Hey Mrs. [Last Name], [His Name] talks about you all the time. Can't wait to meet the woman who raised such a catch! ❤️"

If he pulls away, pout and say, "I thought we were moving fast. You said you liked spontaneous!"

(He never said that. But gaslighting is just foreplay for the emotionally unavailable.) And that's just the warm-up.

PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS

After only three days, patterns begin to emerge.

Men are remarkably consistent in their responses:

They retreat when confronted with certainty.

They resist when desired openly.

They crumble when expectations are voiced out loud.

And yet, they insist women are “complicated.”

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

Q: Isn’t this manipulative?A: No more than pretending not to care about someone you do.

Q: What if he likes it?A: Then congratulations. You’ve found a statistical anomaly.

Q: What if I accidentally fall for him?A: That is not covered under this study. Seek help.

WHAT COMES NEXT

Days 4 through 10 will explore:

Public embarrassment,

Strategic clinginess,

Jealousy induction,

Emotional availability at inconvenient times,

And the psychological impact of being loved on purpose.

Updates will be posted as the experiment progresses.

Until then, remember:

If a man leaves because you asked for too much,he was never planning to give you anything.

—

Yours truly,Xoxo

The first sign that something has gone terribly, beautifully wrong is the sound.

Not screaming. Not alarms. Not even the frantic slap of shoes against dorm hallways.

It’s the ping. One phone vibrates. Then another. Then a dozen. Then the entire Decelis University network lights up like someone dropped a match into gasoline and stood back to admire the flames.

Screenshots travel faster than facts ever could.

By 9:07 a.m., the Decelis Uni Gossip Site crashes, not once, but twice. Someone screenshots the headline before the servers go down. Someone else screenshots the screenshots. By the time the site limps back online, the comment section has already evolved into a living organism with opinions, grudges, and a frightening amount of self-recognition. ‘IS THIS ABOUT JAKE???’ ‘nah bc why does this feel personal’ ‘men are already crying in the replies’ ‘WHO LET HER COOK’

Someone posts the headline, just the headline, on the Decelis Uni Gossip Site at 12:03 a.m., and by 12:05, it’s everywhere. Group chats with names like ECON101 SURVIVORS, DECELIS WAG CIRCLE, FOOTBALL FAM, DO NOT OPEN AT 3AM, all erupt at once. The article link is shared so aggressively it almost feels personal, like an accusation.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. People don’t even need to open it yet. The title alone does the damage.

By 12:10, screenshots of the opening paragraphs are circulating, highlighted, underlined, annotated with “NAHHHH 💀” and “THIS IS FOUL” and “WHO WROTE THIS???” in increasingly unhinged fonts. Someone zooms in on Spoiler: it’s easier than you thought like it’s a crime scene clue.

By 12:17, the comment section is unusable. Men are arguing with men who are arguing with women who are arguing with men who claim they “don’t even care” but somehow typed six paragraphs anyway. Someone drops a Thinkpiece Thread explaining why the article is “harmful to modern dating,” complete with bullet points and a misuse of the word gaslighting. Someone else responds with a screenshot of Day 1 and the caption: if this applies to you, seek therapy.

It is chaos. Academic, romantic, existential chaos. By morning, it’s no longer contained.

Girls read it out loud in the dining hall, choking on their iced lattes between laughs. A table near the windows reenacts Day 2 verbatim, complete with fake baby name suggestions and dramatic hand gestures. Someone prints it out, actually prints it out, and pins it to a dorm bulletin board like a manifesto.

Guys pretend not to read it. They fail. They scroll in class, phones angled carefully behind laptops. They read it on the treadmill. In bathroom stalls. One of them snorts so loudly during a lecture that the professor stops mid-sentence and asks if everything is alright. He nods too fast, face red, phone face-down like it might bite him.

They react in three predictable stages:

Denial

Rage

“This is satire but also she’s evil actually”

No one can agree on whether it’s funny or dangerous. Which, historically, is how you know you’ve done something right. Professors are worse.

They don’t acknowledge it, officially. They maintain the thin, polite illusion that nothing scandalous has happened on campus, that academia exists in a vacuum untouched by gossip and satire and emotional warfare. But you see it anyway.

A literature professor clears her throat before class and says, “Some of you seem… distracted today,” and then pauses just long enough for the room to vibrate with unspoken understanding. A sociology TA assigns a reading on modern dating dynamics that absolutely was not on the syllabus yesterday. A communications professor changes an entire lecture slide to include the phrase “viral rhetoric” and definitely doesn’t look at the back row when she says it.

The article becomes unavoidable. A shared language. A weapon. A joke. A mirror. The gossip site slaps a red banner on top of the article:

EDITOR’S PICK — TRENDING

And somewhere between outrage and fascination, people start asking the real question: Who wrote this? Not in the curious way. In the reverent way.

The answer spreads slower, but when it hits, it hits clean. The school editor. You.

The same name that’s been quietly sitting at the bottom of editorials, event recaps, exposés, and opinion columns for the past two years suddenly becomes radioactive. People connect the dots backwards, every sharp line, every carefully worded takedown, every reputation that mysteriously didn’t recover after a single article went live.

Oh. Of course it’s you. The realization settles like a chill.

You aren’t just funny. You aren’t just bold. You’re precise. You’re the kind of person who knows exactly how much damage a sentence can do, and writes it anyway. By noon, your name is being said with a mix of admiration and fear. By evening, it’s legend. And the thing is, you have no idea any of this is happening. You’re in the shower.

Steam fogs up the small bathroom mirror, blurring the world down to soft shapes and muted sound. Your phone is abandoned on your bed, vibrating itself into exhaustion, screen lighting up over and over with notifications you can’t hear over the rush of water.

You hum absently, some stupid catchy tune stuck in your head, shampoo dripping down your spine as you tilt your head back. There’s no drama in the moment. No grand awareness. Just warm water, clean skin, and the satisfaction of having finally hit publish on something you’ve been sitting on for weeks.

When you step out, towel wrapped loosely around you, the world is still quiet.

Then you pick up your phone. It’s hot to the touch. You blink at the lock screen, missed calls stacked like a to-do list, messages previewing in fragments.

DECELIS GOSSIP SITE: 99+ mentionsMom: ARE YOU INSANESophia: THIS IS EVERYWHEREVice-editor (DNI!!): PLEASE TELL ME THIS IS A JOKE

fentanyl eyelash extensions (groupchat):MMWICKEDWITCH: I’M SCARED OF YOU (AFFECTIONATE) Sunoobiteme: THE FOOTBALL TEAM IS LOSING IT Keehovirus: THE COMMENTS?????

You scroll. And scroll. And scroll. Your reflection stares back at you from the darkened screen, hair damp, expression unreadable, mouth quirking just slightly at the corners as the reality settles in.

Oh. So it landed. You dry off slowly, deliberately, like you’re not standing in the epicenter of a social earthquake. You pull on clothes with the same unhurried precision you use when editing a sentence for maximum impact. By the time you sit at your desk, towel draped over the chair, laptop opening with a soft click, you look exactly like what everyone has decided you are.

The school editor. Not the title they hand out. The one you earn. You open the gossip site and watch the numbers climb in real time, views ticking up, comments refreshing faster than you can read them. You don’t respond. You never do. Your silence has always been part of the brand, whether you intended it or not.

People think that makes you untouchable. They’re right. You lean back in your chair, scrolling through the chaos you set loose with a calm that borders on dangerous. Somewhere on campus, friendships are being tested, egos bruised, arguments ignited. Somewhere else, men are reading your words and seeing themselves in ways they deeply resent.

And you? You just hum again, softer this time, already thinking about the next update. You have ten days to finish the experiment. And apparently, the entire university has decided to watch.

The hallway is alive in that specific way it only ever is when something has happened.

Not the usual class-change chaos, bodies slamming into each other like pinballs, backpacks swinging wildly, voices overlapping in a desperate bid to be heard before the next bell. Not the end-of-day relief either, when exhaustion settles over everyone like fog and people shuffle toward exits with the slow relief of prisoners released for the afternoon. This is different. This is buzzing, electric, threaded with whispers that slice off the second you pass by. The air feels thinner, pressurized, like everyone is holding their breath and pretending they’re not staring.

You don’t notice at first. You’re laughing, actually laughing, the real kind that starts in your stomach and bubbles up without permission. Head tipped back slightly, strands of hair sticking to your lip gloss from the humidity that always clings to these old university corridors no matter how many windows they crack open. Earbuds in, music loud enough to drown out the world. Something upbeat and stupid and perfect is playing, maybe that one indie track everyone pretends they discovered first, the one with handclaps and a chorus that begs to be screamed in a car at 2 a.m. It makes your steps lighter, shoulders loose, hips swaying just enough that you feel invincible.

Your phone is in your hand, screen lit up with notifications you’re very deliberately not opening. The little red badges stack like accusations: 47, 82, 119 and climbing. You already know what’s in them. You published. It detonated. That part’s done. Right now, you’re just walking. Carefree. Untouchable. Exactly the way people imagine you are when they scroll through your byline and picture someone who never second-guesses, never flinches, never cares.

You turn the corner without looking, why would you? The hallway is muscle memory at this point. Four years of the same route between the media building and the east quad, same chipped paint on the lockers, same faint smell of burnt coffee drifting from the student lounge.

And collide, hard, with something solid. No. Someone. The impact knocks the breath from your chest in a sharp, involuntary thud that echoes louder than it should. Your earbuds slip loose, one dangling against your collarbone like a broken promise, the music cutting out mid-chorus so abruptly the silence feels violent. Your phone nearly flies out of your hand, your heart lurches with it, but a reflexive grip saves it at the last second, knuckles whitening.

“Sh—” you start, already ready to snap, heat rising fast behind your ribs like a match struck, then you look up. And up. And, oh. Park Sunghoon stands in front of you like a brick wall someone sculpted shoulders onto and then forgot to add mercy.

He’s fresh from football practice, and it shows in every infuriating detail. Black hair damp with sweat, pushed back messily with careless fingers like he didn’t bother finding a mirror, or didn’t care to. Strands stick to his forehead in dark, rebellious pieces. A gray duffel bag hangs from one shoulder, heavy enough to pull the fabric of his white practice shirt taut across his chest, outlining muscle that shifts subtly when he breathes. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, forearms corded and glistening faintly. His jaw is set, lips pressed into a thin line that suggests he was already in a bad mood long before you existed in his path.

He smells like effort. Like heat radiating off skin, clean cotton soaked through, the sharp bite of cedarwood body wash undercut by something rawer, adrenaline, maybe, or just the particular scent of someone who’s spent two hours running drills until their lungs burned. You’ve seen him before, obviously. Everyone has. Football captain since sophomore year. Campus golden boy who somehow manages to look bored even when he’s breaking records. Untouchable in the way men who’ve never been told no often are, girls stare, guys want to be him or hate him, professors give him extensions without asking. But seeing him this close is different.

Too close. His gaze flicks down to you, cool and assessing, dark eyes scanning your face like he’s already decided something and is just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. There’s a flicker of irritation there, brief, tightly controlled, before it smooths out into something unreadable. Almost bored. Almost. Silence stretches, thick and deliberate.

You straighten immediately, spine snapping into place, chin lifting on instinct. If he thinks for even a second that you’re going to apologize like you ran into him, “Watch it,” he says flatly, voice low, edged with the kind of exhaustion that comes from pushing your body past its limits and still having to deal with people afterward.

You blink once. Then smile. Not sweet. Not apologetic. Sharp. Polished. The kind of smile you use right before you dismantle someone with words so clean they don’t even bleed until later. “Maybe don’t walk like the hallway owes you space,” you shoot back, slipping your remaining earbud the rest of the way out and letting it dangle from the cord. “It’s a public university, not a runway.”

A couple of people nearby very obviously slow down, phones half-raised like they’re waiting for the next viral moment. Someone whispers your name, your byline, really, like it’s a spell.

Sunghoon’s eyebrow twitches. Just once. The smallest crack in the armor. Like he didn’t expect that. Like he expected contrition, or at least a stammer. His eyes drop briefly, to the phone still clutched in your hand, screen still glowing with unread notifications, to the way you’re standing your ground without even realizing how deliberate it looks, before returning to your face. Something shifts. Not softer. Sharper. Interested, maybe. Curious in the way predators sometimes are when prey doesn’t run.

“Didn’t realize bumping into people was part of your editorial process,” he says coolly, voice carrying just enough to make sure the eavesdroppers catch every syllable. Ah. So he knows. Of course he does. You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because the timing is impeccable, almost cinematic. You glance around exaggeratedly, like you’re searching for hidden cameras, then look back up at him with mock innocence. “Wow,” you say, drawing the word out. “You read it. I’m flattered. Truly.”

“I didn’t say I read it.”

“You didn’t have to.” Your eyes flick to his face pointedly, lingering on the tight set of his mouth, the faint flush high on his cheekbones that could be leftover from practice or something else entirely. “Men who haven’t read it don’t look this personally offended.” That earns you a reaction. Not a smile. God, no. But the corner of his mouth tugs upward, barely there, like a secret he hasn’t decided to share yet. His grip tightens on the strap of the duffel bag; the muscles in his forearm flex under tan skin.

You hate that you notice. Hate that your pulse skips once, traitorously. “Careful,” he says then, voice dipping just enough to make it feel private despite the growing semicircle of onlookers pretending to tie shoelaces or check nonexistent texts. “You’ve got a reputation now.”

“Oh, I had one before,” you reply easily, tilting your head so your hair falls over one shoulder. “People are just paying attention this time.” His gaze holds yours for a long second. Too long. There’s a strange weight to it, like he’s measuring something, testing balance, pressure, the exact distance between insult and invitation.

You feel it then. That tiny, traitorous flutter low in your stomach. Annoying. Inconvenient. Completely unacceptable. He tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’re a puzzle he didn’t expect to enjoy solving. When he speaks again, his tone has changed. Lighter. Almost amused, though the amusement feels edged with something darker.

“Still might want to be careful,” he says.

You arch a brow, slow and deliberate. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” he says, and then, there it is. That shift. That unmistakable change in energy, like someone flipped a switch behind his eyes. His voice drops, smooth as sin, quiet enough that only you can hear the next part. “Advice.” He steps closer. Just one step. Barely anything. But the hallway suddenly feels smaller, like the walls have leaned in to listen, like gravity has tilted toward him. You’re acutely aware of the height difference now, how you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, how his presence eclipses the fluorescent light overhead, casting you in soft shadow. You refuse to move. Refuse to give him even that small victory. He leans down just enough that his breath brushes your temple, warm and faintly mint-scented from whatever gum he chews during cooldowns.

“Who knows,” he murmurs, lips curving into something dangerous, private, devastating. “Maybe yours truly will write another article about me.” He winks. Actually winks, one slow, deliberate drop of those stupidly long lashes. Then he straightens, already moving past you like this interaction was nothing more than a footnote in his day. The duffel bag shifts against his shoulder with the motion. His steps are unhurried. Confident. Untouched. He doesn’t look back.

You stand there, frozen for half a heartbeat longer than you’d ever admit, heart doing something stupid and arrhythmic in your chest. Irritation and adrenaline tangle into something hotter, something that feels suspiciously like excitement. You hate that it worked. Hate that your fingers tighten around your phone until the case creaks.

Hate that your mind is already racing, not with insults or comebacks or the perfect tweet to clap back later, but with possibilities. With the way his voice dropped when he said advice. With the way his eyes lingered on your mouth for one second too many before he walked away. The whispers start up again behind you, louder now, phones clicking as people capture the aftermath like it’s evidence.

You exhale slowly through your nose, force your shoulders down, force your expression back into cool indifference. But your pulse won’t settle. Down the hall, around the next corner where no one can see, Park Sunghoon lets the smallest, most private smile curve his lips. He adjusts the strap of his bag, feels the ache in his quads from sprints, feels something else entirely, a spark, a challenge, a game he didn’t know he wanted to play until right now.

He already knows your next article won’t be the last. And he’s already certain this was never going to be just an article. Sunghoon doesn’t look back when he leaves you in the hallway. He keeps walking like nothing happened, like his pulse didn’t spike the second your shoulder hit his chest, like your voice isn’t still lodged somewhere under his skin, sharp and bright and irritating in a way he can’t quite shake. Like the way you lifted your chin and smiled that razor-edged smile didn’t just rewrite the rest of his afternoon.

The double doors to the athletic complex swing shut behind him with a heavy pneumatic sigh. The corridor noise fades, whispers, footsteps, the faint echo of your laugh still ringing in his ears, replaced by the familiar roar of the locker room. It hits him like a wall of sound and smell the moment he pushes through.

Metal lockers slamming in rapid-fire succession. Laughter ricocheting off the white-tiled walls like loose change. Someone’s blasting a drill playlist from a cracked iPhone propped on a bench, probably Heeseung’s, because only he still thinks 2010s trap is motivational, bass rattling through the benches, vibrating up through Sunghoon’s cleats. The air is thick, humid, heavy with the unmistakable cocktail of fresh sweat, old sweat, Axe body spray someone over-applied, and the sharp chemical bite of disinfectant that never quite wins against the funk.

It’s chaos. Controlled chaos. His territory. He drops his duffel bag onto the floor with a dull, satisfying thud that cuts through the noise for half a second. Rolls his shoulders once, twice, loosening the knots still pulled tight from two hours of sprints, suicides, and Coach screaming about footwork like they’re prepping for the goddamn Super Bowl instead of a mid-season conference game against a team.

Normally, this is where his mind settles. Replays the film in his head: that missed block on third-and-long, the way Ni-ki over-pursued on the edge, how Jay’s route-running looked lazy in the red zone. He catalogs mistakes, files them away, moves on. Captain shit.

Today, it doesn’t settle. His brain keeps rewinding to the hallway. To you. To the way your earbud cord dangled like you couldn’t be bothered to fix it while you dismantled him with six words. To the way your eyes didn’t flicker when he stepped closer. To the way your perfume, something clean and citrusy and annoyingly memorable, cut through the post-practice haze like a blade.

“Yo, Captain’s late,” Jake calls from across the room, grin splitting his face so wide it looks painful. He’s already half-dressed, towel slung low around his hips, hair dripping onto the bench. “Thought you got lost in the media building or some shit.”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer. He reaches for his locker, number 17, bottom row because he’s never been one for theatrics, spins the dial with the same precise flick he’s used since freshman year. 14-32-7. Click. Another voice pipes up. Louder. Way too amused. “More like Captain got distracted.” That gets his attention. He glances over his shoulder slowly, expression flat, eyes narrowed just enough to make the room feel ten degrees colder. “Say it,” he says, voice low and even. “Whatever it is you think you’re being subtle about.”

The room erupts. Whistles. Hoots. Someone, probably Jungwon, does an exaggerated wink so dramatic he nearly falls off the bench. Phones are already out, group chat notifications pinging like popcorn. “Hallway,” Jake says, not even trying to hide the shit-eating grin. He leans forward, elbows on knees. “You and the school editor. Full rom-com collision. We all saw the stories.”

Sunghoon freezes for half a second. Not outwardly. Not enough for anyone to screenshot and meme later. But inside, something sharp twists, annoyance, mostly. The fact that they noticed. The fact that the entire east wing probably has shaky vertical videos of the moment by now. The fact that he noticed how your lips curved when you fired back. “I didn’t know you were into journalism now,” Jay adds from his locker two down, pulling on a hoodie. His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp, watching. “Thought your type was… quieter. Less likely to write think pieces about your entire personality.”

Sunghoon shuts his locker a little harder than necessary. The metallic bang echoes. “She ran into me,” he says coolly, like that closes the subject. “Sure,” Ni-ki snorts, lobbing a balled-up sock in Sunghoon’s direction. It bounces off his shoulder. “Looked more like you ran into *trouble*. She didn’t even flinch, bro. Just smiled like she was about to drop another article titled ‘Why Football Captains Should Stay in Their Lane.’”

Laughter explodes again, louder, rowdier. Someone mimics your tone perfectly, throwing out a fake sarcastic line that’s uncomfortably close to what you actually said: “Maybe don’t walk like the hallway owes you space.” The room loses it. Sunghoon exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. He shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t. He hates gossip. Hates how fast it spreads on this campus, like wildfire through dry grass. Hates how people take one thirty-second interaction and turn it into campus lore by dinner. He’s spent four years keeping his name clean, his image disciplined. Captain. Leader. Untouchable. The guy who shows up early, leaves late, wins games, and doesn’t give anyone ammunition. And yet.

The article flashes in his mind uninvited. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days: A Campus Guide to Dodging the Golden Boy Trap. He hadn’t planned on reading it. Hadn’t wanted to. But the link was everywhere, pushed into the team group chat at 11:52 a.m., screenshotted in the defensive line’s Snapchat, joked about between sets on the squat rack like it was harmless banter.

He read it anyway. Not all of it. Skimmed. Enough. Enough to recognize the voice behind the words. Sharp. Calculated. Funny in a way that cut without drawing blood right away. The kind of writing that didn’t beg to be liked, it dared you to keep up, and then laughed when you couldn’t. It dissected the archetype, the charming, talented, slightly arrogant athlete who gets everything handed to him, and pinned it to the board like a butterfly.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. But it did. Because it wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t sloppy. It was intentional. Confident. And worse, it assumed something about men like him that hit a little too close to home. That they expect adoration. That they crumble when challenged. That they never see the trap coming.

“You should’ve seen his face when she clapped back,” Heeseung says now, snapping him back to the present. He’s leaning against a locker, arms crossed, smirking. “She didn’t even blink. Just hit him with that editor stare, like she’s already drafting the follow-up in her head.” “That girl’s got teeth,” Jake adds, shaking his head in mock awe. “Campus is eating it up. Twitter’s on fire. Someone already made a thread called ‘Sunghoon vs. The Pen: Round 1.’”

Sunghoon finally turns fully, eyes sweeping the room in one slow arc. The laughter falters, not because he looks angry, exactly, but because he looks… thoughtful. Dangerous. “Everyone’s eating it up,” Jay says carefully, quieter now. He zips his bag. “You good, man?” Sunghoon considers the question. He thinks of the way you didn’t back down an inch. The way your smile was a weapon, not a shield. The way that last exchange felt less like banter and more like the opening move in something bigger. The way your eyes held his for that extra second, like you were daring him to make the next play.

He huffs a quiet laugh before he can stop himself. It’s low, almost private, but the room hears it anyway. Everything goes silent. “That bad?” Ni-ki asks, eyebrows raised. Sunghoon reaches for his water bottle, black Hydro Flask with the team logo scratched off from too many drops—takes a slow drink, eyes fixed somewhere past the wall like he’s seeing something no one else can. When he lowers it, his voice is calm. Steady. Almost conversational. “She thinks she’s in control,” he says. A beat. The room leans in. 

“And?” Jake presses, grin widening like he already knows what’s coming. Sunghoon sets the bottle down with deliberate care. “If she’s trying to lose a guy in ten days,” he says, evenly, like he’s stating tomorrow’s practice schedule instead of lighting a match in a room full of gasoline, “I’ll make her fall for me in five.” Silence crashes into the locker room like someone cut the music. Then, explosion.

 “What?!”

“No fucking way.”

“Captain, you’re insane.”

“That’s the school editor. The one who writes the tea. She’ll bury you.”

“That’s straight-up suicide, bro.”

“Bro said five days like it’s a warm-up drill.”

Sunghoon just shrugs, unbothered, already turning back to his locker. He pulls out a clean black hoodie, movements smooth, unhurried. Like this decision doesn’t feel seismic. Like it isn’t already rearranging something inside his chest, pride, curiosity, a flicker of something hotter he refuses to name yet. “Bet?” Riki asks, half-laughing, half-serious, eyes gleaming with chaos.

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. “Bet.” The word lands heavy. Not about money. Not about bragging rights. Not even about proving his teammates wrong, though they’ll never let him live it down if he fails. It’s about pride. About someone daring to write a narrative that doesn’t include him as the hero, or even the villain, really. Just a trope to be dissected and discarded. About assuming he’d react the way everyone else does: defensive, loud, predictable.

He won’t. He pulls the hoodie over his head, fabric catching briefly on damp hair. The laughter resumes behind him, louder now, charged with anticipation. Plans are already being made. Timelines guessed. Odds debated in the group that’s blowing up faster than post-game memes. “Day one: eye contact in the quad,” Jake announces like he’s commentating a fight.

“Day two: ‘accidental’ coffee run,” Ni-ki adds.

“Day three: she blocks him on everything,” Jay predicts, laughing. Sunghoon tunes it out. He zips his bag, slings it over one shoulder. All he can see is you in that hallway, chin lifted, eyes sharp, completely unaware that you just painted a target on your own back. Five days. He smiles to himself, just barely, small, private, dangerous.

This is going to be interesting. He pushes out of the locker room, the door swinging shut on the chaos behind him. The hallway is quieter now. Empty. But he can still feel the echo of your voice. Game on. The library is supposed to be quiet. That’s the lie everyone agrees to uphold, the one printed in pastel posters above the turnstiles and whispered by every RA during orientation like gospel. In reality, it’s just a different kind of loud, pages snapping shut like gunshots, chairs scraping tile with the violence of someone who’s failed three midterms, the soft but aggressive machine-gun tapping of keyboards as students pretend they’re annotating Foucault instead of doomscrolling the fallout of your article in real time. 

You sit at one of the long oak tables near the back stacks, the ones nobody claims because the overhead lights flicker like they’re possessed. Posture perfect. Legs crossed beneath the chair like you’re posing for a Vogue spread. Reading glasses perched on your nose, clear frames, slightly oversized, the kind that scream “I could destroy your GPA and your ego in the same breath.” Highlighter uncapped. Notes aligned with military precision. Pen poised like a scalpel.

The picture of composure. If anyone were watching closely,and they are, they might notice the way your jaw tightens every time a group two tables over whispers your name too loudly. Or the way your phone stays face-down on the wood, vibrating intermittently like a trapped hornet begging to be crushed. You ignore all of it. You’re mid-sentence in something dense and academic and blissfully unrelated to modern dating warfare, some Foucault-adjacent drivel about power structures in institutional discourse, when the air changes.

You don’t hear him approach. You feel him. A shadow falls across your open book. Large. Intentional. Blocking the sickly fluorescent light just enough to make the words blur. The scent follows, clean sweat, cedarwood cologne, the faint metallic bite of adrenaline that clings to athletes like second skin. Completely out of place among old paper and recycled HVAC air.

You sigh without looking up, turning a page with exaggerated slowness. “If you’re here to ask me to take it down,” you say calmly, eyes still scanning the text, “the answer is no. Save your breath. And your ego.” Silence. Heavy. Pressed close. The kind that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. Then,“Bold of you to assume I’d ask for anything.” You freeze. You’d recognize that voice in a blackout now. Low. Controlled. Annoyingly steady, like he’s narrating his own highlight reel.

Slowly, deliberately, you lift your gaze. Park Sunghoon stands there like he personally requisitioned the entire fifth floor. Backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. Sleeves of his black compression shirt rolled up just enough to show forearms still corded and veined from whatever sadistic circuit Coach ran today. Expression unreadable, but his eyes, dark, focused, locked on you like you’re the only thing in the building worth seeing.

The football captain in a library feels like a felony. You tilt your head, letting your lips curve just enough to be dangerous. “Ah,” you drawl. “If it isn’t my favorite demographic. Come to mansplain why men aren’t the problem?” A muscle in his jaw ticks, once, sharp.

“You turned dating into a game,” he says flatly. No preamble. No polite buffer. You blink at him through your glasses. Once. Twice. Slow. “And men turned relationships into a joke long before I put pen to paper,” you reply, voice velvet over steel. “Guess we’re even. Or are we keeping score already?” A couple of students at the next table glance over, phones half-raised like they’re waiting for the live-tweet moment. You don’t care. Let them watch.

Sunghoon steps closer. One step. Then another. He stops directly in front of your chair, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. He braces one hand on the table beside your notes. The wood creaks under the pressure of his palm. You can see everything now, every ridge of muscle shifting under his shirt, the way his abs tense when he leans in, controlled and deliberate and infuriatingly calculated.

“People are laughing at me,” he says. Quiet. Dangerous. “You like that?” You lean forward just enough to close another inch of space. “I like accuracy,” you shoot back. “If they see themselves in it, if you see yourself in it, that’s not my fault. That’s physics. Cause. Effect. Mirror.” His eyes flick to your mouth. Back to your eyes. Quick. Intentional.

“Men aren’t lab rats,” he says. Your smile widens. Sharper. Brighter. “Men deserve to be studied,” you counter. “Extensively. With citations.” That does it. Something in his expression finally cracks, not anger, exactly. Not amusement. Something vicious and glittering in between. A smirk ghosts across his lips, slow and knowing, like he’s already three moves ahead.

“Then study me.” Your breath catches, just for a second. You hate that he notices. Before you can fire back, he reaches out. Two fingers. Light. Precise. He hooks them under the bridge of your reading glasses and lifts them off your face like he’s removing a crown he never asked permission to touch. Like this isn’t wildly inappropriate in the middle of a public library. Like you won’t drive your highlighter through his hand for it.

Your breath stutters. Audibly. You hate that even more. The world sharpens without the lenses, his face suddenly closer, too close. You can count every individual eyelash now. See the faint white scar slicing through the tail of his left brow. The steady, infuriating calm in eyes that should be furious but look… hungry. He sets the glasses down on the table beside your notes with deliberate care. Almost gentle. Mocking.

“You don’t get to hide behind words,” he murmurs, voice so low it vibrates against your skin, “when you start a fire like that. Not with me.” You stand abruptly. Chair scraping loud enough to earn three shushes from nearby tables. Now you’re face to face. Chest to chest. Height difference glaring, you have to look up, but you make it look like you’re doing him a favor. You refuse to step back. “Careful,” you say quietly, sweetly. “Libraries are full of witnesses. And I have a very good memory.”

“I’m counting on it,” he replies. No hesitation. His hand moves, fast, gripping the edge of the table beside your hip, caging you in without touching you. The proximity is suffocating. Intimate. You can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, smell the faint mint on his breath. “This whole thing,” he continues, voice dropping to a near-whisper, “you think you’re in control.” You scoff, soft, dangerous. “I am in control.”

“Then prove it.” The challenge hangs between you like a live wire, humming. “What do you want, Sunghoon?” you ask, using his name like a blade for the first time. It feels good. Sharp. His gaze doesn’t waver. Doesn’t blink. “A deal.” Your laugh is breathless, incredulous. “I don’t make deals with men who think intimidation passes for personality.”He leans in, slow, deliberate, until his lips are near your ear, breath warm against the shell. “Good,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you comfortable.”

You swallow. Against every screaming instinct, you say, “Talk.” He straightens just enough to meet your eyes again. “You need a subject for your next piece,” he says. “Someone willing. Someone visible. Someone who won’t fold after day three like the rest of them.” Your pulse kicks hard against your ribs. “And you need?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“To prove you wrong.” He pauses. Lets it sink in. “Completely.” The silence stretches. The library seems to hold its breath with you. You consider him. The discipline in every line of his body. The arrogance that’s earned, not assumed. The undeniable, maddening appeal of turning the campus golden boy into your personal experiment, the one variable that thinks he can rewrite the hypothesis.

“Publicly,” you say slowly, testing the words, “we’re dating.” He nods once. Sharp. “Privately,” you continue, leaning in until your lips are a breath from his jaw, “this is a war.” A real smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, small, vicious, thrilled. “Deal.” You extend your hand between you. He takes it. The handshake is brutal. Fingers locking. Grip crushing. Both of you refusing to yield even a millimeter. Your knuckles ache white-hot. His doesn’t show it, but his eyes flicker, dark and impressed and something dangerously close to respect.

You lean in closer, close enough that only he can hear the poison wrapped in silk. “I will ruin you,” you whisper sweetly. “I will take you apart piece by piece and publish every shard. And you’ll thank me for it.” He squeezes harder, enough that you feel it in your bones. “I’m counting on it,” he murmurs back. “And when I win, when you’re the one begging, I’ll make sure the whole campus knows exactly how loud you scream my name.”

You release each other at the same time. Palms stinging. Hearts hammering. The overhead lights flicker once, like the building itself just felt the shift. Somewhere in the distance, the end-of-hour bell rings. Students exhale. Books snap shut. The world resumes its pretending. And just like that, the experiment begins. You sit back down. Pick up your glasses. Slide them on slowly, like armor re-donned. Sunghoon doesn’t move. Just watches you with that same unreadable intensity.

“Day one starts now,” he says quietly. You meet his eyes over the rim of your frames. “Try not to cry too early.” He smirks, full, devastating. “Try not to fall too fast.” Then he turns. Walks away. Doesn’t look back. You watch him go. Your pen is still in your hand. But for the first time in weeks, you don’t write anything down. Because some things are better left unwritten. Until they’re screaming.

Ten days. That’s what you agree on. Not because ten is symbolic, or neat, or poetic in some rom-com way that would make you gag. Not because it matches the title of the piece you’re already mentally drafting. But because Sunghoon says it like it’s already written in stone, like anything longer would be indulgent, like anything shorter wouldn’t give him enough time to watch you unravel thread by thread.

You’re standing just outside the lecture hall in the narrow corridor that always smells faintly of stale coffee and desperation, backpacks brushing, bodies angled too close for people who supposedly can’t stand the sight of each other. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz like they’re judging you both. A group of freshmen scurries past, eyes wide, already pulling out phones like this is live content.

Sunghoon’s voice drops so low it feels like a private secret being pressed directly into your ear, warm breath ghosting the shell. “Ten days,” he says. “You get your article. I get the truth.” You scoff, sharp, immediate, chin tilting up so you’re looking down your nose at him even though you have to crane your neck. “The truth about what, exactly?” His eyes flick down, deliberately, slowly, tracing the line of your throat, the dip of your collarbone where your shirt gapes just enough, then dragging back up to lock on your face like he’s cataloging every micro-expression. 

“About how much of this—” he gestures between you with a lazy flick of his wrist, “—is an act. And how long it takes before you crack first.” You don’t hesitate. You never do. “Please,” you drawl, letting the word drip with mockery. “Men crack first. Always. It’s practically biological. Testosterone makes you impulsive. You’ll fold by day four, tops. I’ll have receipts.” That’s when he smiles.

Not wide. Not warm. Just sharp enough to be dangerous, the kind of smile that belongs in crime documentaries right before the twist. The handshake that seals it is violent. Not playful. Not teasing. It’s fingers lacing tight, palms grinding together like you’re both trying to assert dominance through bone and pressure alone. You swear he squeezes harder when he feels your grip doesn’t falter, when your nails dig half-moon crescents into the back of his hand and you don’t blink. Your knuckles ache white-hot. Your pulse jumps traitorously against his thumb where it presses over your wrist.

For a split second, neither of you lets go. You’re both breathing a little harder than the moment warrants. Then he releases you first. You make a mental note of it, file it under advantage: you. The rules are simple, laid out like landmines between you while the hallway slowly empties around the two of you. You write the article in real time. Each day, a new “strategy” from the original playbook, updated, weaponized, personalized. Each day, he participates. Fully. No half-assing. Publicly, you’re dating, affectionate in public, disgustingly couple-coded, the kind of PDA that makes people screenshot and send to group chats.  

Privately, nothing is off-limits except actual confession. No “I love you.” No “this feels real.” No drunk 3 a.m. texts that cross the line. No backing out, no matter how vicious it gets. And most importantly, your non-negotiable condition, he doesn’t read the updates until they go live. Sunghoon agrees anyway. Shrugs like it’s nothing. Like he’s not handing you the detonator to his own ego. “Fine,” he says. “I like surprises.”

You hate how much that pisses you off. The day he cornered you in the library, the day you “date,” the campus notices immediately. Because Park Sunghoon does nothing quietly. He shows up after your last class, Media Ethics, third floor, the one that always runs ten minutes over because the professor loves hearing himself talk, like he owns the building. Football jacket slung over one shoulder, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from the locker room shower, dark strands sticking to his forehead in that effortlessly devastating way. Jaw set in that infuriating line that makes people straighten their posture without realizing why.

Your friends, clustered near the stairwell like they’re waiting for the after-lecture debrief, go dead silent the second they clock him. Sunoo’s eyes go comically wide. “Is that—” Keeho gasps, actually gasps, like this is a soap opera reveal. Someone else whispers your name like a warning shot. Sunghoon doesn’t break stride. He walks straight through the scattering crowd like they’re background extras and stops directly in front of you.

“Ready?” he asks, voice casual, like this is something you’ve done a hundred times before. You raise an eyebrow, slow and deliberate. “For?” He doesn’t answer with words. He just steps in, close, too close, hands sliding to your waist with the kind of firm, practiced confidence that screams I’ve done this before and I know exactly how it lands. Then he lifts you.

Not bridal. Not gentle. Not cute. He hoists you up just enough that your feet leave the floor in a clean, controlled motion, your breath stutters out of you in a shocked little sound you immediately hate yourself for making, and suddenly you’re eye-level with him, nose to nose, mouth to mouth if either of you moved a fraction of an inch. The hallway erupts. Wolf whistles slice through the air. Shouts. Laughter. Someone, probably a frat guy two doors down, yells something absolutely obscene about the football captain finally getting ruined by the school editor. Phones are out everywhere, vertical videos already rolling, flash on, no shame.

You feel it all like heat pressing against your skin, but Sunghoon blocks it out effortlessly. His focus never leaves your face. Not once. His mouth doesn’t go for your cheek. Doesn’t go for your lips. He presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the sharp line of your jaw instead. It lingers. Just long enough to feel obscene. Just close enough to the corner of your mouth that it feels like a threat wrapped in velvet. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket before you can stop them, gripping hard, knuckles brushing the warm skin of his collarbone through the open zipper. Your nails dig in just enough to leave crescent marks he’ll see later in the mirror.

His lips brush skin like a promise he has no intention of keeping, slow drag, faint exhale, the barest graze of teeth. When he finally sets you down, his mouth is right by your ear, voice so low only you can hear it over the chaos. “Smile,” he murmurs. “They’re watching.” You do. God help you, you do. It’s sharp. Polished. The same smile you use when you know you’ve already won the room. But underneath it, your pulse is hammering so hard you’re sure he can feel it where his thumb still rests against your waist.

He steps back, slow, deliberate, gives the crowd a lazy once-over like he’s daring anyone to say something. No one does. Then he walks you out. Hand low on your back. Possessive. Public. Perfect. That night, the article updates. It goes live at 11:47 p.m., the exact time stamp of your original piece, because you’re nothing if not theatrical. People refresh like it’s oxygen.

PING!

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days 

An Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

Spoiler: sometimes, the guy volunteers.

Today’s update is simple. Brutal. Delicious.

Yours truly has found herself a boyfriend!

No details. No names. Just one carefully cropped photo, taken from behind by a very cooperative friend (thank you Manon) who was hiding behind a pillar, showing the unmistakable navy sleeve of a football jacket, broad shoulders filling the frame, and your hand fisted in the fabric like you’re holding on for dear life.

The caption beneath it reads:

Day 0: Acquisition phase complete. Let the games begin.

The comments explode within minutes.

“WAIT IS THIS ABOUT SUNGHOON???”  

“no way she actually bagged him”  

“this is either the best revenge arc or the messiest situationship of the semester”  

“he’s cooked bro”  

“she’s gonna eat him alive and we’re all invited”

Sunghoon doesn’t read it yet. He’s probably in the athletic center weight room or sprawled on his bed scrolling through play breakdowns, completely oblivious to the digital fire you just lit under his name. But you know. You know he’ll see it tomorrow morning, probably over black coffee and pre-practice film, right before the group chat starts blowing up with screenshots and laughing emojis. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Day One.

And neither of you is planning to lose. You close your laptop. Smile at the dark screen. And whisper to the empty room, “Game on, golden boy.”

Sunghoon doesn’t look back. That’s the first rule. You don’t look back after a move like that. Not when the entire point is dominance, optics, control, narrative. Still, the feeling follows him. It starts at the base of his spine, a heat that doesn’t belong to post-practice adrenaline. It crawls upward, slow and invasive, like something claiming territory. The hallway behind him is chaos, voices overlapping, laughter ricocheting off concrete walls, someone shouting his name like it’s a punchline.

His. Yours. Paired together. He keeps walking. He shouldn’t feel anything. That was the point. A calculated move. Controlled. Clean. He lifted you because he knew the cameras would eat it alive. Kissed your jaw because it was intimate enough to sell the lie, distant enough to keep the upper hand. Not your lips. Never your lips.

Except, you grabbed his jacket. Not reflexively. Not shy. Not surprised. You grabbed it like you expected him to stay. Like the story wasn’t over yet. That’s the part that won’t let go. By the time he reaches the locker room, the rush is gone, burned off too fast, leaving something sharper behind. The door slams shut with a metallic echo, lockers rattling like they felt it too. The noise follows him in, teammates talking over each other, grinning, already spinning it into legend.

“Captain’s got game now?” “School editor? Bro, you’re finished.” “Did you see her face—”

He drops his duffel onto the bench harder than necessary. The sound cuts through them, but only for half a second. “Shut up.” They don’t. Someone makes an exaggerated kissing noise. Someone else laughs too loud, trying to provoke him. Jay leans against the lockers, arms crossed, eyes sharp in a way that says I saw something.

“So,” Jay says casually, too casually. “Is she as scary up close as everyone says?” Sunghoon reaches for his water bottle. His hands are steady, annoyingly so. He twists the cap like this is just another night, another practice, another rumor he’ll outlast. “She’s not scary.” The room quiets just a fraction. He takes a long drink before finishing the thought. “She’s calculated.”

That lands. Because Sunghoon doesn’t talk about people like that unless they matter. Unless they’re a threat. Or an equal. Someone whistles low. Another mutters, “Damn.” His mind betrays him then, replaying the moment with cruel precision. Your chin tilted just enough, not submissive, not defiant. The way your smile didn’t flicker even with a hundred eyes burning into you. The way you didn’t blush or pull away or try to soften it with a laugh. You met him. Worse, you enjoyed it. Sunghoon exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tightening. That’s when the realization hits, sharp and unwelcome. You didn’t lose control. You let him think he had it.

The kiss wasn’t the problem. The lift wasn’t the problem. The whispers, the rumors, the inevitable fallout, that was all manageable. The problem was the moment after. When he pulled away.  When he set you down. When he expected relief, distance, detachment, the clean satisfaction of a move well-played, and felt none of it. Instead, there was the urge. Sudden. Reckless. To do it again. Jake whistles. “Yo, Sunghoon, don’t tell me you’re already whipped.”

The word irritates him more than it should. He bends forward, unlacing his cleats with slow precision, giving himself a second to clamp down on the impulse crawling up his throat. The line leaves him anyway. Not planned. Not rehearsed. Pure instinct, pride snapping into place like armor. “If she’s trying to lose me,” he says calmly, not looking up, “I’ll lose her first.”

Silence. Then absolute chaos. “You’re insane.” “Put money on it, right now—”

Sunghoon finally straightens, tossing one cleat aside. His expression is unreadable, carved into that familiar, untouchable calm that made him captain in the first place. But inside? Something is already shifting. Because somewhere between the hallway and this bench, he’s realized something else too. This isn’t just a bet. This isn’t just reputation management. This isn’t about winning. It’s a challenge. And the way your fingers curled into his jacket, tight, intentional, like you were anchoring him there for half a second longer than necessary? That wasn’t fear. That was interest.

His phone buzzes in his locker. Once. Then again. He doesn’t check it. He already knows. Sunghoon smiles to himself, small, controlled, dangerous. Yeah. He underestimated you. And for the first time in a long time, he’s not just prepared to lose control. He wants to see what happens when he does.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Decelis University.The field is the campus. The crowd is feral. And tonight’s matchup? Park Sunghoon vs. Yours Truly.Ten days on the clock. Egos on the line. Loser falls first. Whistle blown. Live from Decelis University, folks, strap in.

The campus wakes up to a notification like it’s kickoff night. Not a gentle buzz. Not a casual ping. A collective one.

PING!

How to Lose a Guy in 10 DaysAn Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

The group chats explode first. Dorm halls echo with laughter. Someone reads the title out loud in the cafeteria and nearly drops their tray. And then:

DAY 1: CLINGY OVERLOAD

Men love independence. So naturally, today we do the opposite. Text constantly. Appear unannounced. Make his personal space a shared resource. If he survives Day One, congratulations, you’ve found a keeper. Or a fool.

— Yours truly, xoxo

If this were a match, the crowd would already be roaring. You read it once. Twice. Then you lock your phone and grin, slow and satisfied, stretching your arms over your head like you’re warming up before the real work begins. Because this isn’t theory anymore. This is application. Sunghoon said study me. You intend to annotate.

8:03 a.m.

You text him.

You: Good morning :) Did you sleep well?

You don’t wait. Waiting implies doubt.

8:05 a.m.

Sunghoon: Did you dream about me or is that too much for Day One? lol

You picture him reading it, jaw tight, shoulders already braced like he’s about to take a hit. The thought makes you bite back a laugh in the middle of your lecture.

8:07 a.m.

You: I had a dream about you. You were less grumpy.

You stop there. Not because you’re out of ideas, but because restraint is part of the game. You want him checking his phone, wondering when the next one’s coming. Five minutes later, it buzzes.

Sunghoon: Don’t you have class?

You hum quietly to yourself. Deflection. Control attempt. A man pretending this isn’t getting under his skin. You reply instantly.

You: I do. But multitasking is hot.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear. Oh, that’s good.

Sunghoon: You’re doing this on purpose.

You don’t even hesitate.

You: Always.

You put your phone away like you haven’t already won the exchange, like your pulse hasn’t picked up just a fraction. Scoreboard in your head updates.

You: 1Sunghoon: 0

By noon, half the campus knows you’re “dating.” By one, people are whispering your name like it’s part of a headline. By three, you’re standing at the edge of the football field with an iced coffee in one hand and your bag slung over your shoulder, casual, comfortable, unmistakably present. Practice is chaos. Whistles slicing through the air. Shouts. Pads colliding. The sharp rhythm of discipline and aggression. You spot him instantly. Park Sunghoon, center of gravity, movements precise, expression locked down like a fortress. He looks untouchable out there. He notices you when he turns to grab his helmet. He freezes.

Not enough for anyone else to see. Just a fraction of a second, shoulders tightening, focus flickering like a bad signal. You lift your hand and wave. Bright. Cheerful. Almost domestic. He groans. You hear it from here. You walk closer, every step deliberate, ignoring the stares, the murmurs, the is she serious? energy crackling around you. His teammates are already clocking it, nudging each other, grinning like they’ve just been handed front-row seats.

You stop at the barrier. “Hi,” you say warmly. “I brought you coffee.”

“I didn’t ask for—”

“You didn’t say no either,” you cut in sweetly, holding it out. “Oat milk. No sugar. You look like you’d judge me if I got it wrong.”

Someone laughs outright. Sunghoon takes the cup. Your fingers brush. It shouldn’t matter. It does. For half a breath, his guard slips. His eyes drop to your hand like he’s registering the contact too late. “Why are you here?” he asks, voice low, careful.

You tilt your head, innocent. “Supporting my boyfriend?” The word lands heavy. Boyfriend. You watch it hit, how something dark flickers behind his eyes, how his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile he absolutely refuses to give you. “You’re enjoying this,” he says.

You lean in just enough for him to catch your perfume, just enough to make it personal. “Oh,” you murmur, “this is just the warm-up.” Coach shouts his name. Sunghoon steps back, reluctant despite himself, eyes lingering on you like he’s trying to decide whether you’re a distraction…

…or a challenge he’s already losing. You sit on the bleachers anyway. You cheer when he scores. Loud. Unapologetic. You call his name like it belongs to you. His teammates lose their minds, wolf whistles, hoots, someone yelling something about rings and registries. Sunghoon pretends not to hear. He does not pretend not to look. Every time his gaze finds you, you smile, calm, certain, like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

That night, you text him again.

You: You played really well today.

A pause. Then:

Sunghoon: You don’t have to come to every practice.

You reply instantly.

You: Of course I do. That’s what girlfriends do.

Three dots. Gone. Reappear.

Sunghoon: You’re impossible.

You grin, lethal, thumbs flying.

You: And yet, you haven’t told me to stop.

You set your phone down before he can respond, heart thudding a little louder than you’d like to admit. Across campus, Sunghoon stares at his screen longer than necessary. He tells himself it’s irritation. Disruption. Strategy fatigue. He tells himself you’re exactly as advertised, clingy, calculated, relentless.

So why does the locker room feel quieter without your voice? Why does he replay the way you said boyfriend like it wasn’t a joke at all? He locks his phone, exhales, presses his palms briefly to his face. Day One isn’t supposed to matter. Still, somewhere between the coffee, the cheering, and the texts that didn’t stop, the match clock starts ticking. And for the first time…Sunghoon isn’t entirely sure who’s leading.

END OF DAY ONEScorecard:You: 1Sunghoon: 1(He won’t admit it.)

That night, as you’re tossing and turning,plotting your next move, your phone lights up in the dark.

Sunghoon: Are you alive or plotting?

You smile into your pillow despite yourself.

You: Both. Multitasking, remember?

Three dots appear almost instantly.

Sunghoon: You didn’t write what tomorrow’s strategy is.

You roll onto your side, staring up at the ceiling like you’re considering mercy.

You: Where’s the fun in spoilers?

The pause stretches. Longer than last night. Long enough that you imagine him lying there, phone heavy in his hand, jaw clenched. Preferably shirtless.

Sunghoon: I don’t like surprises.

You type carefully. Slowly. Like each word is placed with intent.

You: That’s funny. You looked like you enjoyed yesterday’s.

Silence. Then, another notification. 

Sunghoon: Get some sleep.

It shouldn’t sound gentle. It does.

You: Goodnight, captain.

You wait. He never corrects the pet name.

Sunghoon: Gnight ;) 

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Decelis University, where pride meets pressure, reputations crack under fluorescent lights, and the audience is merciless.

The notification hits at breakfast. Not quietly. Not privately. Phones light up across tables. Someone gasps. Someone laughs too hard. Someone reads it aloud like a prophecy. PING!

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days An Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

DAY 2: PUBLIC EMBARRASSMENT

Privacy is a man’s comfort blanket. So today, we rip it away. Excessive affection. Infantilizing pet names. PDA so loud it echoes. If he blushes, you’re winning. If he smiles through it? Run.

— Yours truly, xoxo

You sip your coffee slowly, watching the campus react in real time. The whispers start immediately. Heads turn. Someone across the hall mouths that’s her like they’ve spotted a celebrity. You don’t correct them. Sunghoon comes prepared. That’s the first thing you clock. He’s crossing the main quad like it’s hostile territory, jacket immaculate, expression cool, posture sharp enough to cut. Jay and Jake flank him, Riki trailing with that dangerous grin like he knows something is about to go wrong. Sunghoon looks… braced. Ready. That should worry you. You tighten your grip on the coffee tray. Three tablespoons of sugar. Measured. Intentional. You step directly into his path.“Sunghoonie!” The name detonates. Jay coughs like he’s choking. Jake straight-up freezes. Riki makes a sound halfway between laughter and disbelief.

You smile sweetly, lashes lowered, eyes razor-sharp beneath it. You hand Sunghoon the cup with both hands like it’s ceremonial. “I got you coffee, baby,” you say brightly. “I know how much you love sweet things.” There’s a ripple through the crowd. Phones come up. Someone gasps like this is reality TV. Sunghoon looks down at the cup. Looks back at you. Then, he drinks. Winces. There it is. You log it instantly.

You: +1

But then, he smiles. Not tight. Not polite. Real. And before you can recalibrate, he bends down and presses a kiss to your cheek. Slow. Intentional. Warm enough that your brain blanks. “Thank you, baby,” he says easily, turning that smile on his friends. “You’re the best.” Your stomach drops. Your cheeks burn. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Jay stares like he’s witnessing betrayal. Jake lets out a low whistle. Riki actually laughs, delighted.

Sunghoon’s arm slides around your shoulders like it belongs there. Like it’s muscle memory. “Walk me to class?” he asks. You nod because speech has temporarily abandoned you. He doesn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulls you closer. Your shoulder fits too well against his side. His thumb traces absentminded circles against your arm, small, unconscious, devastating. The quad is silent in that way crowds get when something important is happening.

You retaliate. “That’s my good boy,” you coo softly, patting his chest. “Being so patient with me.”

Jay chokes on air. Sunghoon doesn’t even blink. “Anything for you,” he replies smoothly. “You know I’m sensitive.” Sensitive. Your lungs forget how to work. He glances down, voice dropping just for you. “You okay?” There it is. Not performative. Not loud. Concern.

You glare up at him, pulse tripping. He smiles back, smug, infuriating, entirely too aware. You lean into him anyway. “Of course I am,” you say sweetly. “I just love how affectionate you are. It’s very… reassuring.” His hand tightens briefly on your shoulder. “You bring it out in me.” That one lands sideways. Too honest. Too close to the bone.

By the time he drops you off outside your building, your head is spinning. He presses a kiss to your temple, soft, almost reverent, and murmurs, “See you later, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. He walks away without looking back. You stand there, stunned, heart thundering like you lost track of the rules mid-play. You open your notes app immediately.

Scorecard — Day 2: Public embarrassment: initiated. Subject adaptation speed: alarming. Counteroffensive via authentic affection.

You hesitate. Then add:

Possible vulnerability detected.Response appeared… unguarded.Further testing required.

Across campus, Sunghoon exhales, fingers brushing his lips like he’s grounding himself. He knew exactly what you were trying to do. And the worst part? He didn’t fake it. Did he?

END OF DAY TWOScorecard:You: 2Sunghoon: 2(The crowd can’t tell who’s bluffing anymore.)

Sunghoon reads the update with a towel draped around his neck, hair still damp, water tracing slow lines down his collarbone before disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He shouldn’t be reading it like this. He tells himself that as he scrolls. Tells himself it’s reconnaissance. Film review. Pattern recognition. Knowing the enemy has always been his strength, anticipating moves before they happen, identifying pressure points, exploiting hesitation. This is no different.

Except it is. His thumb stills when he reaches the line about unexpected counteroffensive via affection. He exhales through his nose and looks up at his reflection in the locker room mirror like it personally betrayed him. “You’re an idiot,” he mutters. The mirror offers no defense. He looks the same. Calm. Composed. Captain carved out of discipline and routine. Same sharp eyes. Same posture that never slouches, even alone. But his jaw tightens anyway.

Because his body remembers before his pride does. The way you said Sunghoonie like you wanted him to hear it echo. The deliberate sweetness in your voice. The coffee, too sweet on purpose. The way you watched him drink it, already tallying the outcome like a win. And the worst part? He let you. No, worse than that. He enjoyed it.

Sunghoon drags the towel through his hair harder than necessary, the friction grounding and irritating all at once. He tosses it onto the bench and leans forward, bracing his hands on the sink, shoulders tense as he studies his own face like he’s searching for a fault line. This was supposed to be simple. A bet. A challenge. A controlled descent into your own trap. He was supposed to dismantle you slowly, with restraint, with patience. Let you exhaust your own rules. Let you blur the line between performance and reality until you forgot which side you were playing for.

Instead, he’s here. Heart beating faster than it should. Pulse loud in his ears. Actively replaying the way your breath hitched when he kissed your cheek. That part wasn’t strategy. That part was instinct. And that’s new. He straightens abruptly, irritation flaring hot and sharp. “Get it together,” he says aloud. The words echo off tile and metal, too loud in the empty room. And then, because today apparently exists solely to test him, his brain starts planning. Not reflexively. Not defensively. Intentionally. What if he shows up first tomorrow? What if he escalates before you can? What if he stops reacting and starts dictating? The idea settles in his chest with dangerous ease.

He imagines leaning into the clinginess, not mocking it, not resisting it, but weaponizing it. Turning it inside out. Being too attentive. Too present. The kind of affection that stops being funny and starts being… unsettling. Texting first. Waiting outside buildings. Remembering things he shouldn’t care enough to remember. The kind of behavior that makes people whisper he’s down bad instead of she’s doing too much.

His lips press together. Since when the fuck does he think like this? Sunghoon has never been the guy who rearranges his routine for someone else. Football first. Discipline above everything. Emotions filed neatly away where they can’t interfere. And yet, here he is. Standing in front of a mirror with half-dry hair and a restless pulse, wondering what you’ll try next like it’s Christmas Eve.

That realization unsettles him more than anything you’ve done so far. He reaches for his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. Stops. Control. Always control. The phone buzzes anyway. Not you. Jay. 

Jongseong (DNI if you cherish your braincells): didn’t know you’d call a girl sweetheart in front of the entire quad, but okay

Sunghoon scoffs softly, the sound sharp and humorless. His reply is immediate.

Sunghoon: Shush. You literally cried for your girlfriend when she broke up with you over a meme.

Three seconds pass.

Jongseong (DNI if you cherish your braincells): that was a deeply emotional meme

He almost smiles. Almost. Then his phone buzzes again. This time, it’s you. Your name lights up his screen like a provocation.

You: be prepared tomorrow :D

Just that. No context. No strategy reveal. Just a smiley face that feels like a threat wrapped in sugar. Sunghoon stares at it longer than he should. Then he laughs. Quiet. Disbelieving. A single breath of sound that escapes before he can stop it, surprised not by you, but by himself. 

“Oh, I fucking am,” he murmurs. He doesn’t reply. He locks the phone, slips it into his pocket, and lifts his gaze back to the mirror. There’s something different there now. Not panic. Not doubt. Interest. Something sharp. Awake. Almost eager. He tilts his head slightly, studying it, this version of himself that looks like he’s already stepped onto the field. He shakes his head once, slow and resigned. He knows exactly what he’s gotten himself into. And God help him, he’s already anticipating the opening move. Day Three isn’t just another round. It’s escalation. And for the first time since this started… Sunghoon isn’t playing defense. 

You don’t sleep. Not really. You drift in and out of something shallow and restless, sheets twisted around your legs, ceiling fan ticking like a countdown you can’t shut off. Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you. Sunghoon’s smile, too easy, too real, pressed warm into your cheek. The casual thank you, baby like it wasn’t supposed to land that hard. The way his arm felt around your shoulders, solid and infuriatingly comfortable. And the text.

be prepared 

It loops until it stops feeling smug and starts feeling personal. So you do what you’ve always done when something threatens to slip past your defenses. You plan. You lie there until the sky lightens, until your pulse slows back into something manageable. By the time morning arrives, your eyes are sharp, your thoughts aligned, your heart tucked neatly back where it belongs, behind your ribs, locked down, under control. Sunghoon Park is not a problem. He’s a variable. And variables can be managed.

Manon clocks it immediately. She doesn’t even look up from her coffee. “You’re awake-scheming,” she says flatly. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” you reply, too fast. Sunoo snorts from across the table. “That’s never a good sign.”

Keeho leans back in his chair, arms crossing, already suspicious. “Okay. Context. Why do I feel like I’m about to be weaponized?” You smile. Slow. Sweet. Dangerous.

“So,” you begin, folding your hands neatly on the table like a general addressing her officers, “hypothetically, if one were to induce mild psychological distress via jealousy—” Sunoo lights up instantly. “Oh my God. Oh my God. I love where this is going.”

Manon groans, rubbing her temples. “I already don’t.” Keeho blinks. “Why am I in this sentence?” “Because,” you say calmly, “you’re charming, non-threatening, and tragically underutilized.” Keeho stares. “…that’s the nicest insult I’ve ever received.”

You lean in, voice dropping. “The plan is simple.” You lay it out with surgical precision. Laugh a little too loud.  Touch his arm, casual, friendly, linger half a second too long. Stand too close. Tilt your head. Smile like you’re enjoying yourself. “Have I ever flirted like this before?” you ask rhetorically. Sunoo slaps the table. “No.”

“Should I?”

“OH FUCK YEAH!”

Manon levels you with a look. “You realize this is going to provoke him.” “That’s the point.”

Keeho exhales slowly. “I just want it on record that if the football captain murders me with his bare hands—”

“I’ll write a beautiful article about your sacrifice.”

Sunoo grins. “Worth it.” You pinky swear. Dramatic oaths. Over-the-top seriousness like you’re planning a heist instead of social sabotage. Then, just like that, you scatter. Different buildings. Different schedules. Normal expressions. Normal lives. Like nothing happened.

You spot Sunghoon ten minutes later. Of course you do. He’s crossing the quad like he’s entering hostile territory, jacket zipped, posture locked, gaze sharp and scanning. Jay is talking animatedly beside him. Riki laughs too loud. Jake keeps glancing around like he knows something’s coming. You don’t look at Sunghoon. That’s the key. You laugh instead. Too loud. Too bright. Keeho says something stupid, on purpose, bless him, and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. Your hand lands on his arm, fingers curling briefly, familiarly.

Sunghoon’s head turns. You feel it before you see it, the shift in gravity, the air tightening like it’s been pulled taut. You lean closer to Keeho, murmuring something conspiratorial. Your smile softens. Interested. The kind of smile that suggests history, or at least possibility. You’ve never done this before. You’re excellent at it. Keeho plays his part flawlessly. His hand brushes your back. His posture is relaxed, confident. He looks comfortable. Like he belongs there.

That’s what makes it lethal. When you finally glance up, Sunghoon has stopped walking. He’s not smiling. His jaw is tight, eyes dark, unreadable. Jay is mid-sentence, frozen. Jake’s eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline. Riki looks between you and Sunghoon like he’s watching a live match. You hold Sunghoon’s gaze for exactly one second. Then you look away. Checkmate.

Your phone buzzes five minutes later. You don’t open it. Not yet. You finish the conversation. Laugh again, quieter this time. Keeho leans in, whispering, “He looks like he’s deciding whether to murder me and how exactly to do it.”

“Good,” you murmur. “You’re doing amazing.” When you finally check your phone, the message is waiting.

Sunghoon: Who’s your friend?

No emoji. No softness. Just plain directness and blatantness. You smile. Oh. He noticed. You reply slowly, deliberately.

You: Oh, Keeho? He’s just someone I enjoy spending time with.You: Why?

A beat. The response comes immediately. Too immediately.

Sunghoon: Just curious.

You scoff softly. Liar. Across campus, Sunghoon exhales through his nose, hands flexing at his sides. He tells himself it’s nothing. Tells himself this is part of the game. Tells himself he doesn’t care who you laugh with. And yet, that image won’t leave him alone. Your smile, real, unguarded. The one that was not directed at him, one that’ll never be directed at him. Your hand on someone else’s arm. The way you didn’t even look at him. Something ugly coils in his chest.

He hates it. He also recognizes it. Jealousy. The realization hits harder than he expects. He hasn’t felt this in years. You walk into class steady, composed, heart thrumming but controlled. You take notes. You participate. You act like your entire morning wasn’t a carefully staged provocation. Your phone buzzes again. This time, you don’t smile.

Sunghoon: Don’t play dumb.

Oh. You glance around the lecture hall, imagining him somewhere nearby, jaw tight, shoulders tense, control and patience fraying like a thin, overused, old rope. You type back.

You: I’m not playing anything, baby :)

Three dots. Gone. Reappear. His brain probably short circuited.

Sunghoon: You didn’t look at me.

That stops you. You stare at the screen longer than you should. Then:

You: Was I supposed to?

Silence. Long. Heavy. Charged. When his reply finally comes, it’s clipped. He could probably imagine the innocent look on your face, lips curling upwards as you bat your lashes across your face.

Sunghoon: We need to talk.

Your pulse spikes. You refuse to show it.

You: About what?

Another pause.

Sunghoon: Later.

You lock your phone. Exhale. Your fingers tremble just a little. Wondering what it was that he wanted to say. 

That night, you sit at your desk, laptop open, fingers hovering over the keys. You type. Delete. Type again. The article drafts itself like muscle memory.

DAY 3: JEALOUSY PROTOCOL (UNOFFICIAL)Sometimes, the fastest way to lose a guy… is to make him realize he already thinks he owns you.

You stop. Your heart stutters. That wasn’t part of the plan. You stare at the words, then close the laptop without publishing. Not yet. Somewhere two blocks down, Sunghoon lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He tells himself he’s irritated. Disrupted. Strategizing. But his mind keeps drifting back to you, laughing with someone else, deliberately out of his reach. His phone buzzes. Jake.

Jakey: so are we not gonna talk about how feral you looked today

Sunghoon doesn’t reply. Another buzz. Was it really that obvious? God. The last thing he needed was the whole campus thinking he was whipped for the school editor. Which… might not be half a lie.

Jakey: bc you almost dropped a man with your eyes

He exhales, rolls onto his side, stares at his screen. Pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighs and finally types:

Sunghoon: Stay out of it.

Jake responds instantly.

Jakey: too late chat. you’re cooked.

Sunghoon shuts his phone off. He closes his eyes. Fails to sleep.

By the time Day Three officially drops, both of you are already in too deep. And the scariest part? Neither of you wants to stop.

The campus is louder today. Not in sound, in attention. Whispers skim across the quad like static. Phones are out. Eyes linger a beat too long. Ever since Day One, the article’s been circulating faster than class notes, and people have started treating you like a live experiment. Or a ticking bomb. One wrong move and someone’s getting carded.

PING!

Your phone vibrates in your palm.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 DaysAn Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

DAY 3: JEALOUSY TEST

Men claim they don’t get jealous. They lie. Jealousy doesn’t announce itself. It leaks. Flirt, casually. Laugh, softly. Touch like it’s accidental. Make it look unintentional. Make it look harmless. If he doesn’t react, he doesn’t care. If he does? You’ve hit something tender.

— Yours truly, xoxo

You read it once. Then again. Not because you need to, but because you like the way your pulse stays even. You lock your phone. Your hands are steady. That’s how you know you’re ready. You don’t go looking for Sunghoon. That would be obvious. Instead, you move where he’ll have to see you. The arts building sits at the intersection of three major paths, between dorms, lecture halls, and the café. If someone wants to cross campus, they pass through here. Which makes it perfect.

Sunoo’s already there, leaning against a pillar, thumbs flying over his phone like he’s deep in a text war. Manon pretends to retie her shoe for the third time, eyes flicking up every few seconds. Crowd control. You spot Keeho near the steps, laughing with someone before they peel away. He looks relaxed. Approachable. Safe. You slide in beside him like it’s coincidence.

“Keeho,” you say warmly. “Wow. You look… painfully charming today.” He startles, then laughs. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

“Relax,” you murmur, tilting your head. “Just be yourself.” You don’t overdo it. That’s the key. You laugh, not loud, not showy. Just close. Intimate. You lean in when he speaks, brows furrowing like you care about every word. When you gesture, your fingers brush his wrist and linger, just long enough to feel his pulse jump under your thumb.

Like it doesn’t mean anything. Because the trick is, it always looks like it doesn’t mean anything. Around you, the quad keeps moving. Students slow. Some stop outright. A couple of girls whisper behind their hands. Sunoo glances up from his phone. Then stills. Manon straightens. You feel it before you see it. The air tightens. Like pressure dropping before a storm. You look up. Sunghoon stands across the quad with Jay and Jake, frozen mid-step. Jay’s mouth is halfway open like he was in the middle of a joke. Jake’s brows knit together slowly, eyes tracking the scene like he’s watching something unravel.

Sunghoon doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His face is calm, too calm, but his eyes are locked on you. Not Keeho. You. You meet his gaze. Hold it. Then you turn back to Keeho and smile. Sunghoon moves. He doesn’t storm over. That would draw attention. Instead, he walks, measured, deliberate. Each step controlled like he’s counting them. Shoulders squared, posture perfect, like he’s heading into a match he refuses to lose. Jay mutters, “Hoon—”

Sunghoon doesn’t slow. Jake stops walking entirely, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon like he’s already calculating damage control. Sunghoon stops in front of you. Keeho straightens instinctively, sensing the shift. “Hey,” Sunghoon says, to you, voice smooth enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know him. You tilt your head, all sweetness. “Hey, baby.” The word lands like a dropped glass.

Keeho goes rigid. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens, just a fraction. “Didn’t know you were busy,” Sunghoon says, gaze flicking to Keeho for half a second before snapping back to you.

“Oh,” you reply lightly, “we just ran into each other.” You slide your hand into Sunghoon’s jacket pocket. Like it belongs there. Like you belong there. The fabric is warm. “So,” you add, looking up at him, lashes batting. “That okay?” Sunghoon covers your hand with his. His grip is firm. Too firm.

“That’s fine,” he says evenly. Then, quieter, so quiet only you hear, “But we need to talk.”

Your smile widens. Hook. Line. Sink. “You said that yesterday too, didn’t you baby?” He doesn’t ask. Sunghoon guides you away with a hand at your lower back, polite enough to pass as affectionate, possessive enough that Keeho lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Behind you, Sunoo exhales softly. Manon mouths holy shit.

The moment you’re out of sight, Sunghoon stops. His hand drops like it burns. “That wasn’t accidental,” he says flatly. You cross your arms. “What wasn’t?” “You flirting with him.” You tilt your head, innocence perfected. “I flirt with everyone.” “No,” he snaps, and there it is. Sharp. Immediate. Unfiltered.

“You don’t.” The silence that follows crackles. Sunghoon drags a hand through his hair once, like he’s trying to reset something that’s already gone wrong. His breathing is heavier than it should be. His eyes don’t leave your face. “Is this part of the article?” he asks.

You meet his gaze, unblinking. “Does it bother you?” A laugh escapes him, short, disbelieving. “You think I care who you talk to?” You step closer. Slow. Deliberate. “Then why are you clenching your jaw like that?” That’s when he steps into your space. Not aggressive. Not loud. Dangerously quiet. “Don’t do that again,” he says. Your heart stutters. “Do what?”

“Pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.” The air between you is too tight. Too charged. Like one wrong breath would set something off. You swallow. “You’re breaking character.” His jaw flexes. “So are you.” For a second, just one,you think he might say more. Instead, he exhales, steps back, and the composure slides back into place like armor snapping shut. “Next time,” he says evenly, “warn me.”

You blink. “About what?” He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. “About when you’re trying to make me jealous.” Then he turns and walks away. Doesn’t look back. You stand there longer than you mean to. Your chest feels tight. Your phone buzzes. You open your notes app instead.

Scorecard — Day 3:Jealousy confirmed. Subject reacted emotionally. Loss of composure observed in controlled environment. Reaction stronger than predicted.

Sunghoon finally exhales. His hands are shaking. He hates it. Hates that he cared. Hates that he noticed. Hates that the image of you smiling at someone else twisted something hot and ugly in his chest. Hates that he wants to pull you in and kiss you stupid. This was supposed to be a bet. But bets don’t usually feel like this.

END OF DAY THREE

Scorecard:You: 3 Sunghoon: 2 (And now everyone knows who flinched first.)

Oh. This is where the game breaks. The message comes when you least expect it. The son’s bright, you can hear the familiar chitter of people walking and chatting, shoes scuffing the pavement as sunlight streams through your window unfiltered. Today is supposed to be Day 4, and you're halfway through rereading Day Three’s draft, trying to decide if reaction stronger than predicted sounds too clinical, when your phone vibrates.

Mom.

You don’t open it right away. Your stomach sinks before your brain catches up, like it already knows. Like it remembers every other time. You read it once. Then again. Then a third time, slower, as if maybe the words will rearrange themselves into something kinder if you stare hard enough. They don’t. It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. It’s worse. Disappointed. Cutting. Familiar. The kind of hurt that doesn’t yell, it erases.

Your smile fades mid-breath. Something hollow opens up in your chest, sudden and deep, like the floor dropped out from under you and forgot to warn the rest of your body. You set your phone down carefully, because your hands are shaking too much to trust them.

Manon’s gone, shopping trip, three unread messages about shoes you never replied to. Keeho’s with her. Sunoo’s out, location shared hours ago with a heart emoji and a miss u you didn’t answer. You’re alone. You sit there for a full minute, staring at the wall, trying to logic your way out of the ache. It doesn’t work. Your throat tightens. Your eyes burn. You swipe angrily at the first tear like it personally offended you, but that just makes it worse.

You stand up. Grab your jacket. And before you can overthink it, before you can remind yourself this is a bad idea, a rule violation, a catastrophic mixing of variables, you’re already on your way. Because there is exactly one person who knows you exist right now. Sunghoon is in the middle of setting his keys down when the knock comes. He frowns, confused, he isn’t expecting anyone. Practice ended early, teammates scattered, apartment quiet in that rare, precious way he usually appreciates. He opens the door. And freezes.

You’re standing there like you ran straight out of a storm, hair slightly tangled, jacket half-zipped, eyes red and glassy like you’re holding yourself together by muscle memory alone.

You don’t even get a word out. Sunghoon drops everything. Keys clatter to the floor. His bag slips from his shoulder. He’s already reaching for you before his brain finishes processing why you’re here. “What happened?” he asks softly. Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. That’s all it takes. His expression changes instantly, guard down, edges gone, that cold composure evaporating like it never existed. He steps forward and pulls you into him without hesitation, one arm wrapping around your shoulders, the other pressing your head gently against his chest.

You break. The sob rips out of you, ugly and raw and completely unedited. Your hands fist into his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you don’t anchor yourself. Sunghoon holds you tighter. It’s instinctive. Protective. Solid. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, like he’s grounding both of you. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” You shake your head against him. “I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

“That’s fine,” he says immediately. “You came here.” Like that answers everything. He presses his chin lightly against the top of your head, hand smoothing down your back in slow, reassuring strokes. No teasing. No smugness. No games. Just presence. You breathe him in, clean laundry, faint cologne, something warm and familiar, and the ache in your chest eases just enough to keep you standing. Minutes pass like that. Neither of you moves. Sunghoon doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t push. He just lets you exist there, folded into him, until your breathing evens out and the tears slow to quiet hiccups.

When you finally pull back, embarrassed and exhausted, he cups your face gently, thumbs brushing under your eyes without comment. “You don’t have to explain,” he says. “But you can. Whenever you want.” Your throat tightens again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t part of the article. Or the bet. Or the rules. But standing there, wrapped in his arms, you realize something terrifying and undeniable.

This isn’t a strategy. This is real. And Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon, football captain, emotionally unavailable nightmare, is looking at you like you matter more than the game ever did. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the scorecard flickers. Then it disappears entirely. Because for the first time since Day One, no one is winning. And neither of you wants to be the first to let go.

Ladies and gentlemen… the playbook is on fire.

The article goes live at 12:04 a.m. By morning, it’s everywhere. Screenshots in group chats. Whispers in lecture halls. A few people laugh when they see you pass, like they’re in on something you’re pretending not to notice. Day Four. You don’t reread the rules this time. You already know them by heart.

PING!

How to Lose a Guy in 10 DaysAn Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

DAY 4: EMOTIONAL OVERSHARING

Men fear emotions they can’t fix. So give them everything. Overshare. Unpack trauma like it’s casual conversation. Cry if necessary. Make it messy. Make it real. Make it inconvenient. If he pulls away, success. If he stays? Abort mission.

— Yours truly, xoxo

You stare at the screen longer than usual. Not because you’re nervous. Because something in your chest feels… tender. Exposed. Like the armor you’ve been wearing all week finally has a crack in it. This isn’t flirting. This isn’t strategy. This is you. And that makes it the most dangerous test yet.

You don’t remember how you end up outside Sunghoon’s place. Only that at some point your legs start shaking, and the night air feels too sharp against your skin, and suddenly he’s there, closer than you expected, concern already written across his face. “You don’t look okay,” he says. And for once, you don’t pretend. Sunghoon doesn’t ask before he lifts you.

One second you’re standing there, hollowed out and swaying, and the next his hands are under your thighs, steady and sure, like this decision has already been made somewhere deep inside him. You gasp softly as he hoists you up, instinct taking over, your leg wraps around his waist, fingers clutching at his shoulder for balance. He adjusts immediately. Like he’s done this before. Like he knows exactly how to hold you.

He carries you inside without a word. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing off the hallway, the noise, the eyes, the game. His apartment greets you with quiet, clean lines, neutral colors, the faint scent of laundry detergent and something unmistakably him. Order. Control. Restraint. He sets you down on the couch gently, like you’re something fragile, something he’s afraid might splinter if he moves too fast. “You okay?” he asks, voice low. You nod. It’s automatic. It’s a lie. Sunghoon sees right through it. He kneels in front of you anyway. Not towering. Not imposing. Just there. And that, more than anything, undoes you. The words don’t come all at once.

They trip over each other. Stumble out half-formed. You start small. Safe. A weak laugh. “My mom used to say I was too sensitive.” You shrug like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s a punchline. “She’d say it like it was a joke,” you add, glancing away. “But it never felt like one.” Sunghoon doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t rush you. So you keep going. You talk about growing up feeling like affection had fine print. About learning early how to read moods, how to adjust yourself to keep the peace. About the way praise always came with expectations, and how silence, long, heavy silence, felt worse than being yelled at.

Your voice shakes. You laugh at the wrong moments. You hear yourself and think: this is too much. This is exactly how people decide you’re exhausting. This is how you lose them. That’s the tactic. That’s the point. You sneak a glance at Sunghoon, bracing for the moment his expression tightens. For the polite withdrawal. The subtle step back. It never comes. He watches you like he’s listening to something important. Like he’s memorizing it. His jaw is tight, not annoyed, but controlled, like he’s holding something back. His eyes soften every time your voice wavers, and when your hands twist together in your lap, he reaches out without thinking, thumb brushing over your knuckles. Warm. Solid.

Grounding. When your voice finally breaks, it surprises you. You press your lips together, breathing uneven, staring at the floor like it might save you. Sunghoon shifts closer. Doesn’t touch you more than that, just enough to let you know he’s there. When the silence stretches, he doesn’t fill it. He waits. Finally, you let out a weak, breathy laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.” “Don’t,” he says immediately. Not sharp. Not commanding. Gentle.

“You don’t have to apologize for being honest.” Something twists in your chest. You swallow. “Most people get uncomfortable.” He shrugs slightly, eyes never leaving your face. “Most people aren’t worth your time.” The words hit harder than anything you’ve said tonight. You look at him, really look, and for the first time, you see it. The restraint isn’t arrogance. It’s practice. The control isn’t coldness. It’s survival. Someone who learned early how to hold things in until they hardened. Someone who knows exactly how heavy unspoken feelings can get. Sunghoon leans back against the couch, careful, giving you space, but his arm settles around your shoulders anyway. Not possessive. Just… there.

You hesitate. Then you let yourself rest against him. Just this once. No article voice. No scorecard. No audience. Your breathing slowly evens out. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. Outside, the world keeps moving, bets, whispers, rules, expectations. Inside, something fragile and unplanned settles into place. Later, much later, you’ll realize this was the moment the game stopped being theoretical. Because Day Four wasn’t about oversharing. It was about staying. And neither of you walked away.

END OF DAY FOUR

Scorecard:You: — Sunghoon: —

(Game suspended due to unforeseen emotional impact.)

It’s too late for the building to still feel alive. The overhead lights are dimmed to that after-hours glow that makes everything look softer, less real, like you’re trespassing in a version of the day that doesn’t belong to you. The kind of lighting that turns study rooms into confessionals. You’re supposed to be reading. Your laptop sits open between you, a paragraph half-highlighted, notes scattered in the disorganized way that pretends to be productivity. You haven’t scrolled in ten minutes. He hasn’t blinked at the screen in longer.

You sit too close. Not intentionally. Not at first. But close enough that when you shift in your chair, your knee brushes his. It’s nothing. It’s everything. “Oh, sorry,” you say too fast, already pulling back like you’ve been burned. “It’s fine,” he replies too quietly, like the words weren’t meant to travel. The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s heavy. Pressurized. You fill it because you always do. You start talking again, too much, too quickly, about something adjacent to the point you were trying to make. You gesture with your hands like you can carve the feeling out of your chest if you explain it well enough. You laugh in the wrong places. Your voice wobbles and you barrel right through it.

Sunghoon watches you unravel with an expression you can’t read. Not pity. Not discomfort. Focus. When your words start looping, when you hear yourself circling the same fear with different phrasing, his hand moves. Not fast. Not dramatic. His fingers close gently around your wrist mid-gesture, stopping you like a soft wall. “Hey,” he murmurs. The room stills. It’s subtle, but you feel it, the way the air seems to settle, like everything just leaned in to listen. Your breath catches, uneven now that you’re aware of it. His thumb presses once against your pulse, grounding, steady. Are you okay? I’m here. Slow down.

All without words. You nod because it’s easier than speaking. But your eyes give you away. They’re shiny. Too full. You look down before you can stop yourself, throat tight, embarrassment blooming hot and unwelcome. Sunghoon doesn’t let go. Instead, he shifts closer, barely an inch, but it’s enough that you feel the warmth of him at your side. He looks at you for a long moment. Really looks. Like he’s committing something to memory. The tension in your jaw. The way your shoulders are drawn in. The practiced calm cracking at the edges.

When he leans in, it’s slow. Careful. The kiss happens like an accident. Barely there at first, his lips brushing yours as if testing the reality of it, as if he’s giving you time to pull away, to laugh it off, to say this is a bad idea. You don’t. Your lips part on a quiet inhale, and something inside him shifts. The world narrows. No lights. No notes. No rules. Just warmth and quiet and the faint hitch in his breath when your mouth moves against his. His hand tightens around your wrist just a fraction, like he’s losing a battle he didn’t plan to fight.

It’s not rushed. It’s not hungry. It’s reverent. Like he’s afraid to take too much. You pull back first. It costs you more than you expect. “This doesn’t count,” you whisper, forcing a smile that feels brittle the moment it leaves your mouth. “It’s… for the experiment.” The words hang there, thin and unconvincing. Sunghoon doesn’t smile. He studies you, jaw tight, eyes dark with something unsettled, something that looks suspiciously like restraint stretched too far. Like he’s deciding whether to let you have the lie.

You turn to leave before he can answer. Before he can say something that makes it real. Your fingers barely make it an inch away from his hand before he catches you. Not rough. Not desperate. Certain. The second kiss is different. Slower. Deeper. Intentional. There’s no hesitation this time. He pulls you back like he’s done pretending this is incidental, like he’s accepted whatever line this crosses. Your breath stutters when he shifts, lifting you onto his lap with an ease that steals the air from your lungs.

You fit there too easily. Like this has always been where you were meant to land. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, unhurried, almost reverent. Not marking. Not claiming. Just there, like he’s grounding himself through you now. Your hands curl into his sweatshirt, knuckles pressing into solid warmth. His hands slide along your sides, steady and warm, thumbs tracing small arcs that feel like questions. His fingertips brush skin as they slip beneath the hem of your shirt, and you shiver, not from the touch itself, but from the care in it. Like he’s checking in with every inch.

Like he’s waiting for you to say stop. You don’t. You breathe his name instead, barely audible, like a secret you’re not supposed to keep. He stills. Just for a second. His forehead rests against your shoulder, breath uneven now, like he’s anchoring himself before this tips into something neither of you can undo. His hands stay where they are, present, warm, restrained. This isn’t losing control.

This is choosing not to run. The room feels impossibly quiet around you, like it’s holding its breath. And somewhere in the back of your mind, the game flickers, rules, scorecards, outcomes, but it’s distant now. Muffled. Less important than the way he’s holding you like something fragile and worth protecting. You know this is the moment everything changes. You also know you’re not ready to name it yet.

So you stay. Just like this. For one more heartbeat. Before anything else begins. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, unhurried, almost reverent. Not marking. Not claiming. Just there, like he’s grounding himself through you now. Your hands curl into his sweatshirt, knuckles pressing into solid warmth. The fabric is soft from too many washes, still carrying the faint cedar-and-fabric-softener scent that’s become stupidly comforting over the last few days. You tug once, small, needy, and he makes a low sound in his throat, not quite a groan, more like permission granted.

His hands slide along your sides, steady and warm, thumbs tracing small arcs that feel like questions. His fingertips brush bare skin as they slip beneath the hem of your shirt, and you shiver, not from the touch itself, but from the care in it. Like he’s checking in with every inch. Like he’s waiting for you to say stop. You don’t. You breathe his name instead, barely audible, like a secret you’re not supposed to keep. He stills. Just for a second.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs against your collarbone. Voice rough. Honest. “Any second. I stop.” You nod once, throat tight. Then you tilt your head back just enough to catch his eyes. “I know,” you whisper. “I trust you.” The words land heavier than you expect. His gaze flickers, something raw flashing through the dark before he swallows it down.

He exhales slowly through his nose. Then his hands move again. Slow. Deliberate. Palms flat against your ribs now, sliding upward under the cotton of your shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grope. Just maps you like he’s memorizing every dip and curve for later. You lift your arms without being asked. He pauses, gives you one last searching look, then peels the shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion. Cool air hits your skin. You feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with being half-naked and everything to do with the way he’s looking at you. Not hungry. Not triumphant. Awed.

Like you’re the first real thing he’s seen in years. He drops the shirt somewhere behind him without looking. Doesn’t care where it lands. His hands return immediately, cupping your waist again, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your jeans. Then higher. Tracing the line of your bra straps. The dip of your sternum. The soft swell above the lace. Every touch is followed by a kiss. Soft. Open-mouthed. Lingering. First the hollow of your throat. Then the slope of your shoulder. Then the top of one breast, right above the cup, where skin meets fabric. You gasp, quiet, involuntary, and his mouth curves against you in the smallest smile.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice wrecked. You thread your fingers into his hair, damp at the ends from earlier practice, and tug just enough to make him look up. “Keep going,” you say. No sarcasm. No game. Just truth. He does. He kisses lower, slow drag of lips across the swell of your breast, then the other, until he reaches the edge of the lace. His tongue flicks out, just once, teasing the boundary, and your back arches on instinct, pressing yourself closer. A low, appreciative sound rumbles in his chest.

He hooks one finger under the strap of your bra. Pauses. “May I?” You nod, fast, desperate now. He slides the strap down your shoulder. Then the other. Reaches behind you with practiced ease, fingers finding the clasp, and unhooks it in one smooth flick. The bra falls away. He doesn’t stare. Doesn’t leer. He just looks, like he’s seeing something sacred. Then he leans in and kisses the center of your chest, soft, reverent, right over your heart. You feel the beat of it against his lips.

His hands come up to cup you, gentle at first, thumbs brushing over already-hard peaks, and you whimper. The sound surprises you both. He groans against your skin. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead he takes one nipple into his mouth, slow, warm, tongue circling, and your head falls back against the wall with a soft thud. Pleasure spikes sharp and bright down your spine. He switches sides, same careful attention, while his hand kneads the other, rolling the peak between thumb and forefinger just hard enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You’re suddenly aware of how wet you are. How empty. How badly you want him inside you. “Sunghoon,” you gasp, half plea, half demand. He releases you with a soft pop. Looks up, eyes blown dark, lips shiny. “Tell me what you want,” he says. Voice gravel. “Anything.” You swallow. Drag your nails lightly down his neck, feeling him shiver. “Everything,” you say. “I want everything.” He exhales a shaky laugh against your skin. Then he’s moving.

Hands sliding to your hips, lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. He carries you the few steps to his bed like you weigh nothing, lays you down like you’re made of glass. He doesn’t climb over you immediately. He stands at the edge of the mattress for a second, just looking. You feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. Then he reaches behind his neck, yanks his sweatshirt off in one fluid motion, tosses it aside.

The sight of him, broad shoulders, carved chest, the faint red lines your nails left earlier on his collarbone, makes your mouth go dry. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats. Pauses. “You sure?” he asks one more time. You sit up, reach for him, fingers curling into the elastic. “Very,” you say.

You tug. He lets you. The sweats slide down. Boxers follow. He’s hard, painfully so, and the sight of him makes heat flood your core. He kneels on the mattress. Crawls over you slow, caging you without trapping. Forearms braced on either side of your head. His mouth finds yours again, deeper this time. Hungrier. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, both of you breathing hard through your noses. One of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your jeans, then your underwear, finding you soaked.

He groans into your mouth when he feels how ready you are. “Jesus,” he mutters against your lips. “All this for me?” You bite his bottom lip, sharp enough to sting. “For you,” you confirm. He circles your clit once, slow, testing, then again. And again. Until your hips are rolling up into his hand, chasing the pressure. “Need you,” you gasp. “Inside. Now.”

He doesn’t tease. He pulls your jeans and underwear down in one go, tossing them off the bed, then settles between your thighs. He notches himself at your entrance, slow, gives you time to adjust to the stretch. You both exhale at the same time when he pushes in, inch by careful inch, until he’s buried to the hilt. The fullness is overwhelming.

Perfect. He stills, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. “You okay?” he whispers. You nod, clenching around him on purpose just to hear the choked sound he makes. “Move,” you breathe. He does. Slow at first, long, measured strokes that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. Then faster. Deeper. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight, and he pins it beside your head. The other slides between you, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles that match the rhythm of his hips.

You’re climbing fast, too fast, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your belly. “Sunghoon—” Your voice cracks on his name. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Let go. I’ve got you.” You do. The orgasm hits like a wave, sharp, blinding, your back arching, thighs clamping around his hips, his name spilling from your lips in broken gasps. He fucks you through it, slowing only when your tremors start to ease, then picks up again. Chasing his own.

You feel him thicken inside you, feel the stutter in his rhythm. “Where?” he grits out. “Inside,” you say without hesitation. “Please.” That undoes him. He buries himself deep, one last hard thrust, and comes with a low, guttural groan, pulsing inside you, face pressed to the side of your neck. You hold him there, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs still locked around his waist, while his breathing slowly evens out. He doesn’t pull out right away.

Just stays, softening inside you, kissing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Soft. Lazy. Like he has nowhere else to be. After a long minute, he lifts his head. Looks at you, really looks. And whatever he sees makes his expression soften in a way you’ve never seen before. “No rules tonight,” he says quietly. You swallow. Nod. “No rules,” you echo.

He kisses you again, slow, sweet, lingering. And for the first time in days, neither of you is keeping score. The quiet afterward settles over you like a shared secret. Not the awkward kind. Not the kind that begs to be filled with noise. The kind that wraps around both of you and stays.

Sunghoon’s thumb traces slow, absentminded patterns along your waist, the motion unthinking, muscle memory more than intention, like his body hasn’t realized yet that the world still exists beyond the room. Each pass of his thumb is lazy, grounding, a silent check-in he doesn’t even know he’s making. Your fingers drift through his hair in return, nails grazing his scalp in slow arcs until his breath stutters, a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, chin tipping back against the pillow.

You smile to yourself, all lazy satisfaction, and press your cheek deeper into the hollow of his collarbone. His skin is warm there. Solid. Real. “Wow,” you murmur, voice soft but smug in that way you know gets under his skin. “So this was part of the experiment?” He huffs, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath your ear. “Absolutely not.”

You tilt your head just enough for him to feel your grin against his skin. “Liar.” His head angles down, eyes half-lidded and sleep-heavy when they meet yours, that familiar glint of cocky amusement slowly creeping back in like he’s easing into an old role. “You’re the one who came up with emotional oversharing as a tactic,” he says. “I just… adapted.”

“Oh, you adapted,” you echo, dragging your fingers through his hair again, slower this time, deliberate. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” His hand tightens at your waist for half a second, possessive, reflexive, like his body reacts before his brain can stop it, then relaxes again, thumb resuming its lazy path. “Careful,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna start acting like you ruined me.” You hum, pleased, smug curling warm in your chest. “I did ruin you.” A low laugh escapes him, fond and helpless, like he’s already lost the argument and doesn’t mind. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” you say lightly, words already blurring at the edges as exhaustion creeps in, “you screamed my name like it was a lifeline.” He groans, tipping his head back against the cushion, eyes squeezing shut. “I hate you.” “Mm,” you reply, already drifting, “you love me.” 

Silence stretches again, longer this time. Comfortable. Earned. The kind that doesn’t demand clever comebacks or defenses. His fingers slow, drifting from your waist to your back, tracing the curve of your spine before sliding up to your hair. He strokes gently now, reverently, like he’s handling something fragile. The bravado drains out of him with every second, confidence ebbing away until what’s left is just… him. After a moment, quieter, careful, he asks, “Hey. You okay?”

You nod against him, eyes closed, voice soft with sleep. “Yeah. I’m good.” Something in his chest loosens at that. He smiles to himself, small and private, like he doesn’t want you to see it. “Who knew,” you mumble drowsily, words slurring just slightly, “the guy who hates gossip would end up dealing with the gossip queen.” He chuckles, low and warm, pressing a kiss to the top of your head without thinking about it. “Occupational hazard.” Your breathing evens out, deep and slow, your weight melting fully into him like that’s exactly where you’re meant to be. Like you’ve done this a hundred times before. And that’s when it hits him, the ache, sharp and unwelcome, blooming in his chest without warning.

Because this isn’t just flirting. It isn’t just chemistry. And it definitely isn’t just a stupid bet he can laugh off later. He stares at the far wall, jaw tightening as he watches you sleep against him, trusting, unguarded, completely unaware of the storm in his head. He knows, knows, how this ends. Knows he’s going to hurt you. Knows he’s already halfway to hurting himself.

This is the part he was supposed to avoid. This is the line he swore he wouldn’t cross. And still, when you shift in your sleep, brow furrowing for just a second, he tightens his hold on you instead of pulling away. His arm curls more securely around your back. His chin dips, resting against your hair. No rules tonight, he’d said.And for the first time in days, neither of you is following them.

You go home alone. Not because he asks you to leave, he doesn’t, but because if you stay one more minute, you might forget why this started in the first place. You slip out while he’s half-asleep, fingers still loosely hooked into your sleeve like he expects you to come back, and that alone nearly ruins you. The walk back is quiet. Too quiet. Your phone feels heavier in your hand, like it knows what you’re about to do.

Day 4 waits for you like a confession you weren’t supposed to publish. You shower. You change. You sit at your desk with damp hair and a racing pulse, staring at a blinking cursor that feels accusatory in its patience. For a long moment, you don’t type. You replay instead, his voice, the way he didn’t interrupt, the way his arms had closed around you like it was instinct instead of strategy. Trauma dump as a tactic, you remind yourself, like it’s a spell that might undo the weight in your chest.

Your fingers finally move. You write about showing up unannounced. About expecting resistance and finding quiet instead. About how some men don’t flee when things get heavy, some just sit with you in it. You don’t name him. You don’t have to. Anyone who knows you knows. The words come smoother than you expect. Honest in a way that makes your throat tighten. You frame it like a win, like progress, like a clever maneuver in a game you’re still pretending you control. And then, because this whole thing has rules, you scroll to the bottom.

SCORECARD

You hover for a second longer than necessary. Day 4: Emotional Oversharing Result: Unexpected Loss of Composure

You sigh, sharp and resigned, and type it anyway.

You: 3Sunghoon: 3

Balanced. Tie game. Your finger hesitates over publish. Then you press it. The article goes live with a soft click that feels louder than it should. The screen refreshes. The world doesn’t end. Your heart still thuds like it’s waiting for consequences. You drop your phone onto the bed and stare at the ceiling, one arm thrown over your eyes. Three to three. A dead heat. Except it doesn’t feel like a game anymore. It feels like standing in the middle of a frozen lake, hearing it creak beneath your feet, realizing a little too late that you’re not sure which direction is safe.

Your phone buzzes. Once. Then again. You don’t check it right away. You already know who it is. You know the tone before you read it, because you know him now in ways you weren’t supposed to. Finally, you look.

Sunghoon: You gave me a point.

You smile despite yourself.

You: Don’t get used to it.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Sunghoon: Too late.

Then, a pause. Another message.

Sunghoon: Sleep. We’re tied. Means tomorrow matters.

You swallow, chest warm and aching all at once. Tomorrow matters. You set your phone down again, this time face down, and let the ceiling blur as your eyes close. Three to three. And somehow, for the first time since this all started, you’re not sure who you want to win.

Because nothing destabilizes a man faster than pretending you already belong in his life.

Ladies and gentlemen, history has been made. For the first time since this experiment began, you don’t knock first. Instead, you wake up to it. Three sharp raps against your door cut through your sleep like a referee’s whistle. The sound slices clean through whatever dream you were half-clinging to, jolting you upright with a groan. You roll over, face buried in your pillow, eyes still closed, fully prepared to ignore it on principle, until the knocking comes again.

Slower this time. Measured. Intentional. Familiar. Your stomach drops before your brain catches up. You drag yourself out of bed, limbs heavy, hair an absolute disaster, mind foggy in that disoriented way that makes everything feel a half-second behind reality. The hallway outside your room is quiet. Too quiet. When you pull the door open, Sunghoon stands there like he owns the hallway. Hands tucked casually into his pockets. Hoodie slung low on his hips like he threw it on without thinking. His hair is still slightly damp, darker at the ends, curling just enough to suggest he showered recently, and not in a rushed way. With intent. With time.

His expression is calm. That’s what sets off every internal alarm you have. Not smug. Not irritated. Not flustered. Just… steady. Eyes sharp, unreadable, mouth set in a line that feels more deliberate than relaxed. “Enough of your surprises,” he says, voice even. Controlled. A pause. Long enough to make your pulse stutter. “Now it’s my turn.”

You blink. Once. Twice. For four days, you’ve been the instigator. The architect of chaos. The one showing up unannounced, rewriting his routines, poking at his composure just to see what gives. This, him here, in your space, uninvited, short-circuits your internal playbook entirely. “Did you just—” you start, then stop, brain catching up too late. “Are you… kidnapping me?” His mouth quirks, barely. “Put on shoes.” And then he turns around and starts walking down the hall like there was never a question you wouldn’t follow. You don’t know why you do. Actually, you do.

And that’s the problem. You grab your shoes, tugging them on without socks, door clicking shut behind you as you trail after him. He doesn’t look back to check if you’re there. He doesn’t need to. That confidence, quiet, assumed, settles under your skin in a way that feels dangerous. The walk is silent. Not awkward. Just… loaded. You keep stealing glances at him, trying to read his posture, his pace, anything that might give away what he’s planning. He keeps his gaze forward, shoulders relaxed, steps unhurried. Whatever this is, he’s already decided how it goes.

The destination reveals itself slowly. Too slowly. You pass the café. The quad. The corner where couples always sit too close on the benches. You expect something calculated. Public. Flashy. A counterattack designed to rattle you the way you’ve rattled him all week. Instead, he pushes open the sliding doors of a grocery store. A regular one. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Soft pop music hums through tinny speakers. Somewhere near produce, someone is arguing quietly over avocados. You stop so abruptly he has to glance back.

“…This is your big move?” you ask, incredulous. Sunghoon reaches for a cart without looking at you. “Relax. It’s research.” You snort. It slips out before you can stop it, real laughter, unguarded, bubbling up from your chest instead of your throat. You don’t remember the last time something caught you this off-balance. Domestic simulation. You hate how fast it works. He walks beside you down the aisles like it’s second nature. Like this is something you’ve done together before. The cart rolls between you, metal clinking softly as he steers it with one hand.

You reach for a familiar cereal at the same time he does. “Absolutely not,” he says immediately. “You don’t even know which one I picked,” you argue. He glances at the box in your hand. “That’s exactly why.” You roll your eyes and toss it into the cart anyway, just to be annoying. He doesn’t take it out. That feels… significant. You wander produce. He inspects fruit like it personally offended him. You steal grapes when he’s not looking. He notices anyway. “You’re supposed to wash those,” he says. “You’re supposed to mind your business.” He hums, clearly unconvinced, and drops a bag of apples into the cart like this argument has happened before. Like it will happen again.

At some point, you stop performing. You forget to angle your body just right. Forget to keep track of how close you’re standing, whose arm brushes whose, who’s watching. You’re laughing too easily now, leaning into him when he mutters something dry under his breath, fingers brushing when you pass items back and forth. He reads labels. You mock him for it. “I don’t trust anything with more than five ingredients,” he says mildly. “That explains so much about your personality,” you shoot back. “You’re insufferable,” he says, fondly. And then freezes. It’s subtle. Just a hitch. A half-second too long of silence after the word leaves his mouth. Like he didn’t mean to say it that way. You pretend not to notice.

That’s the most dangerous part. You check out with shared bags, receipt crumpled and stuffed into his pocket without discussion. Outside, the air feels different. Quieter. Like the world narrowed itself while you weren’t paying attention. Instead of parting ways, he leads you to a small café tucked into the corner of the store. You sit across from each other at a too-small table, notes spread between half-drunk coffee cups. Your knees knock under the table. Neither of you moves them away. You study. Sort of.

He explains something patiently. You interrupt him. He corrects you without condescension. You realize, too late, that you’re not doing this for the article anymore. This isn’t loud. This isn’t messy. This doesn’t feel like a tactic. And that terrifies you more than any of the other days combined. That night, the article updates quietly. No fireworks. No scandal. Just truth wrapped in observation.

PING!How to Lose a Guy in 10 DaysAn Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

DAY 5: DOMESTIC SIMULATION

There is a very specific kind of intimacy in shared mundanity. Grocery lists. Inside jokes. Knowing how someone takes their coffee without asking. Simulate a future. Not the dramatic kind, the boring one. If he runs? You’ve won. If he stays, and laughs like he belongs there? You’re in trouble.

— Yours truly, xoxo

At the bottom, the scorecard stares back at you.

You consider it for a long moment. Then you type:

Result: Mutual Compromise Point: None Score: 3–3

A draw. No winner. Yet again, so who really wins this stupid game? 5 days in. You close your laptop with a quiet click and lean back against your bed, heart thudding for reasons that have nothing to do with strategy. Lying on his bed, Sunghoon is probably doing the same thing, replaying moments that weren’t supposed to matter. The cereal box. The apples. The way you didn’t pull your knees away. And for the first time since this began, neither of you knows exactly how to break the other tomorrow. Which makes Day 6 dangerous. Sunghoon does not journal. He has never needed to. Thoughts are meant to be handled internally, sorted, categorized, dismissed. Writing things down feels like an admission that something can’t be controlled otherwise.

So the fact that he’s staring at a blank document at 1:47 a.m. feels like a personal failure. The cursor blinks at him. Once. Twice. Again. He exhales through his nose and leans back in his chair, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. His room is quiet except for the hum of his laptop fan and the distant sounds of someone laughing outside, too carefree for the hour. His hoodie, the hoodie, is draped over the back of the chair, still faintly smelling like grocery store detergent, cheap coffee, and your pretty scent.

He should wash it. He doesn’t. Instead, his brain does the thing it’s been doing all evening: rewinds. The time he knocked. He hadn’t planned to knock like that. Too sharp. Too deliberate. He’d stood outside your door for a full thirty seconds beforehand, debating whether this was crossing a line or finally drawing one. He’d almost walked away. Almost. The look on your face when you opened the door flashes through him again, sleep-soft, disoriented, hair a mess. No guard up yet. No strategy active. Just you. That had nearly ruined him right there.

He closes his eyes briefly and exhales. Focus. This was supposed to be a countermeasure. A recalibration. You destabilize someone by rewriting their expectations, he knows that. You’d been doing it to him all week. Showing up where you shouldn’t be. Acting like space and boundaries were optional. Dragging him into emotional territory he’d spent years neatly fencing off. So he adapted.

Domesticity is a known psychological trigger. False familiarity. Routine simulation. People get uncomfortable when you skip ahead too fast. When you act like a future already exists. The grocery store had made sense. What hadn’t made sense was how easy it felt. How his hand had reached for the cart automatically. How he’d fallen into step beside you without thinking. How he’d noticed, immediately, when you reached for cereal you always buy, like he’d been mentally cataloging your habits without permission. That’s the part that bothers him.

Not the flirting. Not the banter. Not even the way your laughter had startled something loose in his chest. It’s the noticing. He scrolls back up to the top of the blank page, jaw tight. You didn’t panic, he reminds himself. That’s good. But panic isn’t the only metric. You didn’t pull away when your fingers brushed. You didn’t step back when your knees touched under the café table. You didn’t perform. Neither did he. That’s the mistake. Sunghoon opens his eyes and stares at the far wall of his room, replaying the moment you tossed the cereal into the cart just to irritate him. He remembers thinking, absurdly, that you’d probably do that every time. That you’d always pick the worst option just to see if he’d object.

And worse, he remembers not taking it out. He types a single line before he can stop himself. Day 5 was not a win. He stares at the sentence like it might argue back. By all measurable standards, it should have been. You didn’t score a point. Neither did he. A draw keeps the experiment stable. Predictable.

But his chest had felt too full walking back across campus. Heavy in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with attachment formation. That’s dangerous. He scrolls down and types again. Domestic environments accelerate emotional bonding through repetition and shared low-stakes tasks. Clinical. Detached. Better. But even that feels insufficient.

Because this wasn’t repetition. This was implication. You hadn’t asked if he wanted apples. You’d just assumed. You hadn’t hesitated to sit down with him after. You’d leaned into the quiet like it was yours to claim. Like he was. Sunghoon rubs at his face, frustration creeping in. This was supposed to make you uncomfortable. Instead, it had made him… careful.

He remembers the moment he called you insufferable. The exact second the word slipped out, softened by affection before he could stop it. He remembers freezing, not because you noticed, but because he did. Affection is a tell. He doesn’t do that. He scrolls again, fingers hovering. Observation: Subject responds positively to shared routine. Risk: High.

He snorts quietly despite himself. Subject. Right. You are not a subject. You’re the girl who stole grapes when you thought he wasn’t looking. The girl who mocked his ingredient paranoia and then leaned closer anyway. The girl who didn’t pull her knees away, even when the table was small enough that it would’ve been easy. You’re his girl. His girl that he fell in love with. That’s the part that keeps replaying.

Not the flirting. The comfort. Sunghoon closes the laptop halfway, then opens it again with a frustrated sigh. He knows avoidance when he sees it. He’s lived on it for years. Across campus, your article exists. Public. Polished. Controlled chaos masquerading as insight. His isn’t. His is this, private spirals and late-night realizations and the uncomfortable awareness that he is no longer reacting to you. He’s anticipating you. That’s worse. He types again. There was no exit strategy today.

He hadn’t planned one. That realization hits harder than he expects. Every other day, he’d known how it would end. A goodbye. A retreat. A reset. Today had just… drifted. From aisle to aisle. From coffee to studying. From pretending to something dangerously close to real. He presses his lips together. This is how people get hurt. He knows that. Knows how quickly lines blur when you let yourself believe in mundane futures. Grocery lists turn into shared apartments. Study dates turn into expectations.

And expectations turn into disappointment. Sunghoon leans back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. You don’t know the ending. That’s the worst part. You’re playing to win. To prove a point. To finish the article with clean hands and clever conclusions. He’s playing defense against something he wasn’t supposed to want. He scrolls to the bottom of the page and hesitates.

Then, against his better judgment, he types one last line. If Day 6 escalates, I will need to draw a boundary. The cursor blinks beneath it. He doesn’t believe himself. Sunghoon closes the laptop without saving, the quiet click too loud in the stillness of his room. He stands, crosses to the window, and stares out at the dark campus below. Somewhere out there, your lights are probably still on. Or maybe you’re asleep, blissfully unaware of the damage done by apples and cereal and shared silence. He exhales slowly.

No rules tonight, you’d said yesterday. He hadn’t argued. Tomorrow, he’ll have to be smarter. Sharper. Less… human about it. Because if Day 5 taught him anything, it’s this: He’s not afraid of losing the experiment. He’s afraid of winning, and realizing too late what it cost. You wake up like you’ve been shoved out of a dream. A sharp inhale. Sheets twisted around your legs. Your heart stuttering so hard it almost hurts. For a second, you don’t know where you are, just that your skin feels too warm and the room feels too empty.

Then it hits you. Not all at once. In fragments. Sensations before images. The memory of his hands, steady, impossibly warm, anchoring you when everything inside you had been unraveling. The way his thumbs had moved without thinking, slow and grounding, like he was reminding your body where it existed. The weight of his presence behind you, solid and sure, not crowding, not overwhelming. Just there.

You squeeze your eyes shut. It’s not even the kiss that gets you this time. It’s everything around it. How careful he’d been. How he’d paused like he was giving you space to change your mind, and how you hadn’t. How afterward, when the moment softened instead of exploding, he hadn’t pulled away. He’d stayed. That’s the part that makes your chest ache now. You turn onto your side, staring at the faint glow of your phone screen on the nightstand. 2:31 a.m. The world quiet in that fragile way it only gets when everyone else is asleep and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

You remember his voice, lower than usual, close enough that you’d felt it more than heard it. The way he’d surprised you, showed up first, planned something gentle instead of strategic. The way that alone had knocked you off balance. You’re used to being the one in control. The instigator. The girl with the plan and the punchline and the exit already mapped out. You weren’t supposed to like being caught off guard.

Your fingers curl into the sheets as another memory surfaces, him asking, quietly, if you were okay. Not as part of the experiment. Not as a move. Just… asking. You swallow, throat tight. This is bad. Worse than bad. Because attraction is manageable. Tension can be played with. Even longing can be weaponized if you’re clever enough. But safety? Being seen without having to perform? That’s not something you know how to fake. You sit up, dragging a hand down your face, breath shaky now. Somewhere between Day 1 and Day 5, the rules blurred. Somewhere between teasing and touching and shared silence in a grocery store aisle, something shifted off its axis.

You weren’t counting points tonight. Neither was he. And that realization lands heavy. He’s afraid of winning, and realizing too late what it cost. The thought settles in your chest like it belongs there. Like it’s been waiting. Because if he wins, he loses the distance he’s been hiding behind. And if you win, you lose the version of yourself who could walk away clean.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stare into the dark, pulse finally slowing, but your mind still racing. Tomorrow is Day 6. There will be plans. Counters. Smiles sharpened into strategies. But lying here, alone in the quiet, one truth curls uncomfortably close to your heart: You don’t know how to make this hurt less. And for the first time since the experiment began, you’re not sure you want to. You tell yourself it was a one-time thing. You have to. You cling to the sentence like it’s a life raft, repeating it until it starts to sound less like a lie and more like a hypothesis you could defend if asked. One time. An accident. Contextual.

You swing your legs back onto the bed and sit there, spine curved, elbows on your knees, hands hanging uselessly between them. The room smells faintly like laundry detergent and the vanilla candle you forgot to blow out earlier. Normal things. Safe things. Things that have nothing to do with the way his hands felt, felt, past tense, done, finished, when you were unraveling and didn’t know where to put yourself.

It was pity, you decide. That’s the cleanest explanation. The least dangerous one. He saw you raw and shaking and half-broken by a message you hadn’t meant to show anyone. He’s disciplined. He’s decent. Of course he stayed. Of course he touched you gently. Of course he kissed you like that, slow, careful, like he was trying not to spook something wounded. Pity makes sense. You nod to yourself, like you’ve cracked a code. You’re the gossip queen, after all. The experimenter. The one who studies men like specimens under glass. If anyone could misread compassion as chemistry, it would be you. You were emotional. Vulnerable. Of course you projected.

Of course you did. The thought should settle you. Instead, something tightens under your ribs. Because pity doesn’t explain the way his breath changed when you shifted closer. It doesn’t explain the pause, that infinitesimal second where he could’ve pulled away and didn’t. It doesn’t explain how his hand didn’t hover, uncertain, but stayed, sure and grounding, like he knew exactly where it belonged. You press your lips together.

No. Stop. You’re rewriting the memory. Romanticizing it. That’s what you do. You spin narratives until they sparkle and cut at the same time. He felt sorry for you. That’s all. But even as you think it, there’s a dull, unexpected ache in your chest, sharp enough to make you inhale a little too fast. Because pity means obligation. It means he didn’t want you, he endured you.

The idea shouldn’t matter. You’ve built an entire reputation on not caring what men want. On being untouchable, clever, above it all. So why does the word sit so badly in your mouth? You lie back down, staring at the ceiling, tracing cracks in the paint like constellations. You tell yourself that tomorrow you’ll wake up and this will feel smaller. Manageable. A footnote in the article. A scandalous aside you can laugh about later.

You’ll frame it right. You always do. But your mind betrays you, drifting back, not to the kiss, not to the heat of it, but to what came after. The way he didn’t rush you. The way his thumb traced slow, absent-minded patterns like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The way his voice softened when he asked if you were okay, like the answer actually mattered.

Pity doesn’t sound like that. You roll onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest, annoyed at yourself for the small, traitorous sting behind your eyes. Get a grip. This is a bet. A game. A ten-day experiment designed to prove a point about men and control and emotional incompetence. You’re not supposed to feel things. You’re supposed to observe them. And yet. The thought of him touching you out of obligation makes your chest ache in a way that feels suspiciously like disappointment. Which is ridiculous. You don’t want his desire. That would complicate everything. So you cling harder to the lie. It was pity. It was situational. It meant nothing.

You repeat it until your breathing evens out, until the night quiets around you again. But somewhere, beneath the practiced logic and carefully stacked excuses, a softer truth presses back, unwelcome and stubborn and terrifying in its simplicity: If it really had been pity…it wouldn’t hurt like this.

When the audience enters the arena, the game stops belonging to the players.

Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. The article goes live at 7:02 a.m., sharp enough to feel intentional. You don’t even reread it this time. You already know exactly how it sounds.

PING!How to Lose a Guy in 10 DaysAn Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

DAY 6: MEDIA PRESSURE

If one man won’t break, let everyone else do the work. Introduce an audience. Encourage opinions. Frame the narrative so loudly that silence feels like failure. Men don’t fear commitment, they fear humiliation. Let’s test that.

— Yours truly, xoxo

You hit publish and sit back, phone warm in your hand, heartbeat steady in that way it only gets when you’re about to detonate something. The first notification lands before you’ve even locked the screen. Then another. Then five more. By the time you’re brushing your teeth, your phone is vibrating like it’s possessed.

DECELIS UNI GOSSIP — POLL POSTED🗳️ Will Park Sunghoon survive Day 6?▢ Absolutely. He’s built different. ▢ He’s already gone. ▢ I give him 48 hours. ▢ Who cares, I’m invested either way.

You choke on toothpaste. Someone’s already screenshotting the poll and dropping it into group chats with crying emojis and football references. Someone else adds a slow zoom edit of Sunghoon from last night’s practice with dramatic music. A professor you definitely have for media ethics likes the post and then, very obviously, unlikes it. The experiment isn’t just yours anymore. It’s entertainment. By the time you leave your dorm, the campus feels different. Charged. Like you’re walking through the aftermath of something loud and public and slightly illegal.

People glance up when you pass. Some grin. Some whisper. One girl actually salutes you like you’re a general going to war. Someone mutters, “She’s insane,” and it sounds like admiration. You should feel powerful. You mostly feel… aware. You scan the quad automatically. Old habit. You don’t see him. Not by the fountain where he usually waits between classes. Not by the steps where his teammates loiter. Not cutting across the grass with that easy, controlled stride like the world never asks him to rush.

Your stomach tightens, just a little. Get it together. You head inside, weaving through the morning rush. Every other conversation sounds like static until your name slices through it.

“—did you see the poll—” “—I swear he looked pissed yesterday—” “—no because if he folds I’ll lose my mind—”

You take the stairs two at a time, jaw set, pulse ticking faster with every landing. Where are you? You find him by accident. Or maybe instinct. He’s standing in the corner of the hallway outside the lecture wing, half-shadowed by the tall windows. Not leaning. Not scrolling. Not talking to anyone. Waiting. His duffel bag hangs loose from one shoulder. His hoodie is zipped all the way up like armor. His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump when someone laughs too loudly nearby. And his eyes, dark. Focused.

Locked straight onto you the second you look up. The air between you goes sharp. Everything else fades: the foot traffic, the murmurs, the stupid buzzing of your phone as another notification rolls in. It’s just the two of you, suspended in a moment that suddenly feels very, very real. You slow without meaning to. He doesn’t move. There’s something different about him today. Not anger, not exactly. It’s restraint. Pressure held too long. Like he’s standing still only because he’s chosen to.

You stop a few feet away. For a second, neither of you speaks. You’re acutely aware of how exposed this is. Of how many eyes could be watching even if none of them seem to be right now. Of the fact that your article is open on half the phones in this building. “You made it public,” he says finally. His voice is low. Even. Dangerous in its calm. You lift your chin. “You knew that was coming.” “I knew you’d write,” he says. “I didn’t know you’d turn it into a spectator sport.”

You bristle. “That’s rich, coming from the campus golden boy.” Something flickers across his face at that. Not offense. Recognition. “You put a poll up,” he continues, stepping closer. Not invading your space, just enough to remind you of the height difference. Of the weight of him. “Do you know what that does?” You do. You just hadn’t wanted to think about it this early. “It pressures the subject,” you say coolly. “That’s the point.” His mouth curves, humorless. “You’re not studying anymore.” “And you are?” you shoot back. “Because last I checked, you agreed.”

“I agreed to an experiment,” he says. “Not a referendum.” The word lands harder than you expect. Around you, someone laughs. A phone camera clicks. The world keeps spinning, blissfully unaware that something fragile is stretching thin. You glance past him, just for a second, see two girls pretending not to stare, see a guy very obviously texting with his phone angled your way.

When you look back at Sunghoon, his expression has tightened further. “You like the attention,” he says, not accusing. Observing. You open your mouth, ready with something sharp and clever and dismissive, and stop. Because you don’t. Not like this. You like control. You like authorship. You like knowing where the line is. This feels like the line is moving without asking you.

“You don’t get to rewrite the rules now,” you say instead, quieter than before. “Not because people are watching.” His gaze drops, just briefly, to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. “That’s the problem,” he says. “They’re not watching you.” Your pulse kicks. “They’re watching me lose.” The words sit between you, heavy and undeniable. For the first time, the scorecard feels irrelevant. For the first time, the experiment feels like it’s outgrown its margins. You straighten. “If you want out—” “I don’t,” he cuts in. Fast. Certain. That should reassure you. It doesn’t. “Then don’t glare at me like that,” you say, forcing lightness back into your tone. “It ruins the brand.”

His lips twitch despite himself. Just barely. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmurs. “And you’re not the only one who gets hurt when it spirals.” You swallow.

“I can handle it.” He studies you for a long second. Really looks. Like he’s trying to decide whether that’s true, or whether he believes you even if it is.

Then he steps back. Just one pace. Enough to reintroduce space. Enough to remind you that this is still pretend. Still public. Still a performance. “Then don’t disappear on me today,” he says. “If we’re doing this, we do it clean.” You nod, sharper than you mean to. “Fine.” He turns to leave, then pauses. Without looking back, he adds, “And stop pretending you don’t feel the weight of it. You’re better than that.” Then he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd, the whispers, the polls and predictions and stupid edits with dramatic music. You stand there longer than necessary, heart thudding, phone buzzing again in your hand.

DECELIS UNI GOSSIP: Poll Update: 62% say Sunghoon’s already emotionally compromised.

You exhale slowly. Day 6 has begun. And for the first time, you’re not sure who the audience is rooting for anymore. He ignores you the entire day. Not dramatically. Not cruelly. Not in a way that invites confrontation. Which is worse. He doesn’t look at you in the hallway. Doesn’t slow when you pass. Doesn’t text. Doesn’t send one of those clipped, annoyingly precise messages that always sound like he’s three steps ahead of you. When you sit two rows behind him in lecture, he doesn’t turn, not once. His posture is perfect. His attention fixed forward. Like you don’t exist. By noon, your confidence has started to fray. You tell yourself it’s strategy. A counter. He warned you he’d draw a boundary, this must be it. A withdrawal maneuver. Starve the experiment of reaction and wait for you to crack.

Fine. You can play that game. You laugh louder than usual with Manon at lunch. You let Keeho steal fries off your plate and don’t scold him like you normally would. You post an innocuous story, just coffee, sunlight, a caption that reads working on something dangerous, and watch the views climb.

Nothing. No reaction. No message. No subtle acknowledgment that he’s even seen it. Your chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with competitiveness and everything to do with dread. By late afternoon, you’re restless enough to go looking. You tell yourself it’s for the article. Continuity. Optics. You can’t write about a subject you haven’t observed all day.

That’s the excuse you use as you walk toward the athletic building, heart ticking too fast, fingers curling and uncurling at your sides. You hear it before you see it. Laughter. Low. Female. You slow, instinct screaming. And then you see him. Sunghoon is backed against the brick wall near the side entrance, the quiet one, the one no one uses unless they’re trying not to be seen. His duffel is on the ground at his feet. His hands are on someone else’s waist. She’s pretty. Of course she is. Soft hair, short skirt, fingers threaded into his hoodie like she belongs there. She’s on her toes, pressed close, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

And he’s kissing her. Not hesitant. Not distant. Mouth moving against hers like it’s muscle memory. Like it’s easy. Like it means nothing. The world tilts. You stop short, breath punching out of you as if someone’s landed a blow you didn’t see coming. There’s a sharp, cracking sensation in your chest, too sudden to be dramatic, too deep to be ignored.

Oh. So that’s what that feels like. Your mind scrambles, grasping for footing. Logic. Narrative control. Anything to explain this away before it finishes breaking something important. It’s strategy, you think wildly. Media pressure. Optics. He’s reminding the audience he’s unattached. Proving the poll wrong. Reasserting dominance. You almost laugh.

Because none of that stops the way your throat tightens when his hand slides up her back. Or the way your stomach drops when she smiles against his mouth, pleased, chosen. He pulls back just enough to murmur something you can’t hear. She laughs. Your vision blurs at the edges. You take a step back before you even realize you’re moving. Then another. Your heel scuffs against the concrete, loud in the sudden silence of your head.

Sunghoon looks up. For half a second, nothing happens. Then his eyes meet yours. Whatever expression he was wearing, easy, casual, detached, vanishes. It’s replaced by something sharp and unreadable. A flicker of… something. Surprise? Guilt? Calculation? You don’t wait to find out. You turn and walk away. Not run. You refuse to give him that. You keep your spine straight, your pace even, like your heart isn’t splintering with every step. Like the sound you just heard wasn’t something inside you cracking open. You don’t check your phone. You don’t look back.

You make it halfway down the block before the first tear slips free, hot and humiliating. You swipe it away angrily, jaw clenched. Stupid. This is stupid. You did this. You invited this. You turned intimacy into an experiment and then forgot that experiments have variables you can’t control. He doesn’t owe you anything. The thought is rational. Clean. Correct.

It also hurts like hell. By the time you get back to your dorm, the campus noise feels distant, muffled, like you’re underwater. You shut the door behind you and slide down it, breath finally breaking as you press your forehead to your knees. Your phone buzzes in your hand. A notification. You don’t have to look to know what it is.

DECELIS UNI GOSSIP: SPOTTED: Sunghoon looking VERY alive on Day 6.

Your chest caves in. So this is how he wins, you think dully. Not by breaking. But by reminding you that he never needed you in the first place. You laugh once, softly, the sound edged with something dangerously close to a sob. Fine. Game on. Even as your heart lies in pieces at your feet, one brutal truth settles in, clear and unavoidable: This wouldn’t hurt this much if you weren’t already losing.

You don’t go to your next class. Or the one after that. Or the one after that. You sit on your bed with your phone face-down like it personally betrayed you, legs pulled up to your chest, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands. The world outside your door keeps going, footsteps, laughter, someone arguing loudly on the phone, but you opt out. For once, you don’t feel like being observed.

Your phone buzzes anyway. Once. Twice. Again. You don’t look. You already know it’s him. You imagine the texts without opening them, measured, probably. Annoyingly calm. Something like We should talk or This isn’t what it looked like or, worse, Are you okay?

That one would ruin you. So you don’t give it the chance. You flip the phone over and slide it under your pillow like that might muffle the existence of Park Sunghoon entirely. It doesn’t. Five minutes later, there’s a knock. Then a familiar voice through the door. “Okay, before you say no, we brought snacks.” Manon.

You sigh, defeated. “Come in.” The door opens like a storm. Manon barrels in first, dramatic as ever, carrying two iced coffees and a paper bag like she’s delivering emergency supplies. Keeho follows, already mid-sentence about how he knew athletes were a disease, and Sunoo trails behind them, shutting the door softly, eyes scanning your face in one quick, devastating sweep.

“Oh,” Sunoo says quietly. “Yeah. That’s bad.” You scoff weakly. “Hello to you too.” Keeho drops onto the floor cross-legged like he’s settling in for a war council. “I just want you to know,” he says seriously, “that if violence were legal, I would already be in jail for you.” Manon shoves a coffee into your hands. “Drink. You look like you’ve been personally victimized by a man with good bone structure.” That does it.

You laugh. It comes out broken and surprised, but it’s a laugh, and suddenly your chest loosens just enough to breathe again. Sunoo sits beside you on the bed, close but not crowding, knees tucked up neatly. “Okay,” he says gently. “Start talking. Before Keeho starts hexing people.” Too late. Keeho is already pacing. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if all his teeth fell out tomorrow—” “—hypothetically,” Manon cuts in, deadpan, “I would thank the universe.” “—and then he tripped,” Keeho continues, warming up, “and fell into, say, a pool of battery acid—” You snort. “Keeho.” “I’m not saying I’d push him,” he says quickly. “I’m just saying I’d hold the ladder.”

Sunoo pats your arm. “We’re workshopping curses. It’s therapeutic.” You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, and finally, finally, your eyes sting. “I saw him,” you admit. “With someone else.” The room stills. Manon’s expression sharpens instantly. “Where.” “Kissing,” you add, before anyone can ask. “Like it was nothing.” Keeho’s jaw drops. “Oh, absolutely not.” Sunoo frowns. “That’s… wow.” You stare at your coffee. “I know he doesn’t owe me anything. I know this is technically part of the game. But it still—” You gesture vaguely at your chest. “It still sucked.”

“That’s because,” Manon says, sitting on the arm of the chair like a queen about to pass judgment, “you’re a human being with feelings. Tragic flaw, I know.” Keeho points at you. “You are allowed to be upset. You are encouraged to be upset. I, personally, am upset on your behalf.” Sunoo nudges your shoulder lightly. “You didn’t imagine it. It mattered.” That’s the one that lands.

You swallow hard. “I feel stupid,” you confess. “I built this whole thing. I made it public. I turned it into content. And now I’m acting like I didn’t know this could happen.” “That doesn’t make you stupid,” Sunoo says softly. “It makes you honest.” Manon nods. “And brave, honestly. Messy, sure. But brave.” Keeho flops back dramatically onto the floor. “Also, for the record, he’s an idiot.”

You huff. “You were literally praising his jawline last week.” “That was before he emotionally compromised you,” Keeho replies. “Now he’s dead to me.” You sit there with them, coffee cooling in your hands, snacks forgotten on the desk, wrapped in the strange comfort of chaos and loyalty and people who don’t need you to be sharp right now. Your phone buzzes again under the pillow. You ignore it.

Manon notices anyway and grins. “Good. Let him sweat.” Sunoo leans his head against your shoulder. “You don’t have to decide anything today.” Keeho lifts his head from the floor. “But if you do decide to ruin him, I have ideas.” You laugh again, this time steadier, even as the ache lingers beneath it. Heavy and light at the same time. For now, you let yourself be held up by caffeine, bad jokes, and the knowledge that even if the experiment is spiraling, you’re not alone in the fallout.

Sunghoon realizes he fucked up about three seconds after it happens. Not when her mouth is on his. Not when her hands slide up his chest like they’ve done it before. Not even when he kisses her back. It’s when his brain supplies the wrong face. Yours. The kiss is warm, familiar in the way all meaningless things are. Easy. Automatic. He knows exactly what he’s supposed to do, where to put his hands, how long to linger, when to pull back just enough to make it look real.

That’s the problem. It looks real. But the only thing he can think about is the way you look when you’re trying not to cry. The way your mouth quirks when you’re pretending you’re not affected. The way you’d gone still when he touched you, not startled, not unsure, just present.

He breaks the kiss first. Too fast. The girl blinks up at him, confused, lips parted like she’s waiting for a line he doesn’t have. He gives her something polite. Vague. Safe. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. She says something, he doesn’t catch it. He nods anyway. She leaves.

And the silence that follows is brutal. Sunghoon drags a hand down his face and stares at the brick wall like it personally betrayed him. His heart is beating too fast for something that was supposed to be nothing. His chest feels tight in a way that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with panic. He doesn’t know her name.

That realization hits harder than it should. He replays the last ten minutes in his head, searching for it, something, anything, but comes up blank. No name. No detail. No imprint. Just a placeholder where a person should be. That’s when it clicks. He didn’t kiss her because he wanted to. He kissed her because he wanted you, and thought denying that would make it go away.

It doesn’t. It makes it worse. He thinks of your face when you saw him. The way you stopped like you’d hit a wall. The way your eyes went distant before you turned away, pride intact even as something fragile shattered behind it. His stomach drops. Fuck. This wasn’t strategy. This wasn’t optics. This wasn’t media pressure management or some calculated move to reassert control. This was cowardice.

He’d told himself you were a bet. Clean. Contained. Ten days, a winner, an ending he could live with. He’d framed you as a variable he could manipulate because that was safer than admitting you were a person who got under his skin in ways he didn’t have language for. And he knows, knows, that to you, he’s a game too. A challenge. A headline. Something to win and walk away from with a clever conclusion and clean hands.

You’re both pretending. The difference is, he’s losing control of the pretense. He leans his forehead against the wall and exhales slowly, trying to steady the chaos in his chest. He thinks about the way you’d laughed in the grocery store. About how easy it felt to stand beside you. About how unnatural it now seems to imagine not doing that again. He thinks about your silence today. The way you didn’t answer. Didn’t show. Didn’t perform.

That scares him more than the poll ever did. Because silence means you’re hurt. And hurt means this isn’t just an experiment anymore. Sunghoon straightens, jaw tight, heart heavy with a truth he didn’t plan for and doesn’t know how to undo. You are a bet to him. He is a game to you. And somehow, against his better judgment, against every rule he’s ever lived by, he’s falling for you anyway.

The article goes live late. Not because you hesitate. But because cleverness feels dangerous right now, and you don’t trust yourself not to bleed through the margins.

You reread it three times before posting. Not to polish. To make sure it still sounds like you. Detached. Observant. Sharp enough to cut without revealing where the blade came from. It does. That’s the problem.

PING!How to Lose a Guy in 10 DaysAn Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

DAY 7: THE WITHDRAWAL

When a man no longer responds to provocation, remove yourself entirely. No confrontation. No explanation. No spectacle. Nothing destabilizes control like the absence of reaction. If he notices, you mattered. If he doesn’t, you already have your answer.

— Yours truly, xoxo

You stare at the screen for a long moment after it posts. The scorecard sits below it, blank and waiting. You don’t look. You close your laptop instead, the quiet click sounding louder than it should, and lie back on your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. Your chest feels tight. Not panicked. Just… bruised. Like something’s been pressed on for too long and hasn’t been released yet.

Withdrawal is strategy, you tell yourself. Distance is control. Silence is power. You sleep badly anyway. The next morning, campus feels… watchful. Not loud like yesterday. There are no polls shoved in your face, no notifications popping up every five seconds, no one loudly reading excerpts out of context. It’s quieter than that. Thinner. Taut. Like the air itself is waiting for something to snap.

People look at you longer than usual. People look past you, too, toward wherever Sunghoon might be. Manon links her arm through yours the second you step outside, like she’s anchoring you to something solid. “I swear to God,” she’s already saying, voice sharp with righteous fury, “if one more man tells me he’s ‘emotionally unavailable’ like that’s a personality trait and not a warning label—” You hum noncommittally, eyes scanning the quad without meaning to. “You’re dating men who think liking one sad playlist counts as depth.”

“EXACTLY,” she snaps, vindicated. “They’re just… not enough. None of them are. I’m bored. I’m spiritually underwhelmed. I want someone who ruins my life a little.” You snort despite yourself. “That’s a dangerous desire.” “Worth it,” she says immediately. “Men are either too much or not enough. There’s no in-between.” You’re smiling when you see him. Not because you’re happy. Because your body recognizes him before your mind catches up.

He’s across the quad, duffel slung over his shoulder, walking with his head slightly bowed like he’s arguing with himself. He looks tired. Not rumpled, Sunghoon is never that, but worn around the edges. Like sleep didn’t stick. Like something’s been gnawing at him since yesterday. Your chest tightens. Instinct screams at you to slow down. To look again. To confirm he’s really there. You don’t. You keep walking. Keep talking. Keep nodding at Manon’s story about a disastrous date involving a man who thought negging was a personality.

“And then he said, get this,‘You’re intimidating, but in a hot way,’” she scoffs. “Immediate ick.” “Immediate,” you agree, voice steady enough to fool even yourself. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sunghoon stop. Not hesitate. Stop. His gaze snaps up, sharp and searching, finding you too late. You’re already passing him. Already mid-laugh. Already moving on like he’s not the gravitational center of your week.

You don’t turn. You don’t acknowledge the shift in the atmosphere. And everyone clocks it. Whispers ripple like a wave. Phones tilt subtly. Someone actually gasps, hand flying to their mouth like they’re watching live television. “Wait,” Manon mutters under her breath, finally clocking it. “Are we… are we ignoring him?” “Yes,” you say lightly. “We’re discussing your love life.” “Oh,” she says, delighted. Then, louder, “ANYWAY, I just think men need to try harder. Like, if you can’t emotionally devastate me a little, what’s the point?”

You hear it then, the soft scuff of footsteps behind you. Sunghoon catches up easily. Too easily. “Hey,” he says. Your name follows, quieter. Careful. Like he’s afraid it might break if he says it too loudly. You don’t respond. Manon does, though. She beams like she’s just been handed front-row seats. “Hi! Oh my God, you’re the football guy.” Sunghoon doesn’t look at her.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks. You keep walking. “About what?” you ask, not looking at him. The tone is polite. Distant. Impeccably controlled. He falters. Just for a second. “About yesterday,” he says. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply smoothly, still angled toward Manon. “Did I tell you about the part where he split the bill?” Manon clutches her chest. “Oh, don’t get me started.” Sunghoon reaches out, then stops himself inches from your arm. “I messed up,” he says, low enough that only you can hear.

That’s the first crack. Your steps slow despite yourself. Manon feels it instantly. She squeezes your arm once. “I’ll… go terrorize someone else,” she murmurs, already backing away. The look she gives Sunghoon is lethal. “Try not to traumatize her.” And then you’re alone with him. The quad suddenly feels too open. Too exposed. Like the world has zoomed out just to watch this happen. Sunghoon steps in front of you, not aggressive, not blocking, just enough that you have to stop. Up close, the signs are impossible to miss. The tension in his jaw. The faint shadows under his eyes. The way his hands keep flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” he says. You laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Congratulations.” “I mean it,” he insists. “I wasn’t thinking.” “That much is obvious.” He exhales, frustration bleeding through his control. “You didn’t even let me explain.” “You kissed someone else,” you say, finally looking at him. Your eyes don’t soften. “What explanation could possibly improve that?” His throat bobs. “I thought I was doing what you wanted.”

The words hang there. “What I wanted,” you repeat quietly. “Yes,” he says. “Distance. Detachment. Proof that I’m not—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No,” you agree. “It doesn’t.” Something breaks across his face. “That’s not true,” he says softly. You step closer before you can stop yourself. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough that the noise of campus fades again, like it always does when it’s just the two of you. “For days,” you say, voice low and shaking despite your best efforts, “you let me believe this was… something. And the second it got hard, you proved exactly why I wrote the article in the first place.”

“That’s not fair.” “Neither was watching you kiss someone else.” Silence crashes down between you. His gaze drops to your mouth, just briefly. Instinctive. Uncontrolled. Your heart stutters. For one terrifying second, it feels like he might say it. Like he might close the distance and ruin both of you completely. “I think about you,” he says instead. Quiet. Barely there. “More than I should.”

Your breath catches. This is it. This is the almost. Footsteps cut through the moment, loud, rushed. “HOON! COACH IS LOOKING FOR YOU.”

The spell shatters. Sunghoon blinks like he’s waking from something dangerous. His shoulders square. His mask slams back into place. “I—” He stops. Swallows. “I’ll see you.” You snort once, the sound is bitter and ripples straight from your chest. “Yeah,” you say. “Maybe.”

He hesitates, then turns away, disappearing into the crowd like something monumental didn’t just fail to happen. You stand there long after he’s gone, hands trembling slightly at your sides. Almost confessed. Almost kissed. Almost honest. You pull your phone out, not to text, not to spiral, but to open the article draft. Not to write. Just to remind yourself this is still an experiment. That you’re still in control. But your chest still aches. You’re not sure what you’d do if he actually said the words out loud.

You don’t hear him call your name at first. The hallway outside the gym is chaos, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against tile, someone laughing too loudly like they’re trying to prove they’re not exhausted. The air smells like sweat and cheap deodorant and floor cleaner. It’s all noise, all movement, all distraction. You’re tuned out.

Walking shoulder to shoulder with Manon, your brain is still stuck somewhere between the quad and that moment where Sunghoon’s mouth hovered too close to yours and then didn’t cross the line. Your body feels wrong, too aware, too tight, like it never got the memo that you’re supposed to be detached now.

“I’m serious,” Manon is saying, waving her water bottle like she’s making a point in court. “Men are just… disappointing. Like, why do they all think bare minimum deserves applause?” You hum in agreement, eyes straight ahead. “Manon, baby, you’ve been talking about this since the morning.” She groans and mutters something incomprehensible under her breath. Probably cursing your bloodline for being right. You do not look to the left. But you feel him.

It’s not subtle. It never is with him. There’s a shift, like the air itself tightens, like conversations falter half a beat too late. From the corner of your eye, you catch movement: Sunghoon peeling away from Jay, Jake, and Ni-ki mid-conversation. He doesn’t explain himself. Doesn’t slow. His duffel hangs loose on one shoulder, practice jacket unzipped, hair still damp at the nape of his neck. He’s coming straight for you. Manon clocks it instantly. Her grip tightens just a little around your arm. She keeps talking, louder now, deliberate. “I mean, if I wanted emotional whiplash, I’d go to an amusement park—” “Hey,” Sunghoon says. He sounds breathless. Not like he just finished practice, like he’s been holding something in for too long. “Can we talk? We didn’t finish earlier.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even turn your head. You keep walking. The hallway notices. There’s a very specific kind of silence that follows, not total, not dramatic, just… attentive. Curious. Hungry. Like a dozen people have decided, collectively, to pretend they’re not watching.

Manon glances at you, eyebrows lifting in a silent oh. But she keeps pace, loyal to the bit. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens. You can see it without looking at him. “I just need a minute.” Nothing. You pass the science wing. The vending machines hum. You’re almost at the stairs when suddenly, your wrist is warm. He grabs you. Not hard. Never hard. Just enough to stop you. Enough to say please without using the word. “Sunghoon—” Manon starts.

“I’ll bring her back,” he says quickly, already steering you sideways, his hand still firm around your wrist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. Manon doesn’t fight it. She just tilts her head and calls after you, sweet and venomous, “Don’t commit crimes!” The janitor’s closet door opens and closes in one sharp motion.

Click. The sound echoes. The space is small. Too small for two people who are already wound this tight. Cleaning supplies line the walls, mops, buckets, bottles with half-peeled labels. The air smells faintly like soap and dust and something industrial. The light hums overhead. Sunghoon is right there. Too close. Breathing hard. Chest rising and falling like he ran here instead of walking. His eyes are dark, not angry, not gentle, just overwhelmed, like he’s been holding himself together with sheer force of will.

“What is your problem?” he snaps. The words are sharp, but his hands are shaking. You laugh, short and breathless. “Wow. Straight to that?” “You won’t answer me,” he says, frustration bleeding through now. “You won’t even look at me.” “Good observation,” you reply lightly. “You’re learning.” He swears under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “You can’t just ignore me like this.”

“Watch me.” That’s when something in him breaks. He steps forward, crowding you back against the shelves. The bottles rattle softly behind you. His hands come up automatically, bracketing your waist, not rough, not gentle, just desperate, like he needs to anchor himself to something solid. And then he kisses you. It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s frustration and longing and restraint snapping under pressure. His mouth is warm and insistent, like he’s trying to say everything he never did without using words. Like he’s been waiting for permission he finally decided to take.

You gasp against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his practice jacket. “Sunghoon—” He kisses you again. Shorter. Slower. Like he realizes what he’s doing even as he does it. “You don’t get to do that,” you whisper, voice unsteady. Another kiss, lighter now. Almost reverent. “You don’t get to act like nothing happened.”

A kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your jaw. Everywhere except where you’re trying to speak, like he’s avoiding the argument and the truth all at once. “I hate you,” you breathe. He stills. Forehead resting against yours, eyes closed, his hands remain at your waist, thumbs moving without thinking. When he speaks, his voice is wrecked.

“No,” he says quietly. “You don’t.” Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it. You’re sure he feels it. “This is a game,” you say, forcing the words out. “For both of us.” His breath stutters. “I know,” he admits. “And I’m losing.” The door rattles suddenly, someone passing by too close, and reality slams back into place like cold water. Sunghoon pulls away just enough to really look at you. To take you in like this, flushed, breathing hard, eyes bright with something neither of you wants to name. His expression is wrecked. Guilty. Wanting. Terrified. “I meant what I almost said earlier,” he murmurs. “I—”

Footsteps stop outside. Someone clears their throat. Sunghoon lets out a shaky, bitter breath. “Of course.” You don’t let him finish. You slip past him before he can reach for you again, fingers brushing the door handle. Before you leave, you glance back, just once. He’s standing there, surrounded by mops and cleaning supplies and the consequences of his own hesitation. “Figure out what you want,” you say softly. “Then come find me.” And then you’re gone. The door clicks shut.

Sunghoon stays there long after the hallway noise fades back in, staring at the spot where you stood, chest aching with the realization settling deep and unwelcome in his bones, this was never just a point on a scoreboard. The door clicks shut behind you. That’s all it takes. Sunghoon exhales a laugh that sounds wrong even to his own ears, too sharp, too breathless and then he’s sliding down the wood like his bones forgot how to hold him upright. His shoulder hits first. Then his spine. Then he’s sitting on the floor with his knees pulled in, fist buried in his hair like if he grips hard enough he can rip the thought of you out by the root.

He laughs again. Bitter. Broken. Almost hysterical. “Unbelievable,” he mutters to no one, staring at the opposite wall like it personally betrayed him. He told you. He actually told you.

Seven days, a week, of pretending this was a game. Four days of rules and schedules and sarcasm and controlled distance, and then tonight, one stupid crack in his armor, one look at you standing there too close, and suddenly his mouth was spilling confessions like they’d been waiting for permission. The way he watches you when you’re not looking. The way your laugh sticks to him hours after it fades. The way this fake thing stopped feeling fake sometime around Day Two. You hadn’t said anything. That’s the part that hurts most.

He presses the heel of his palm into his eye, breathing through it, jaw clenched so tight it aches. Somewhere down the hall, he hears voices, yours, shaky and distant, and Manon’s sharp disbelief. “What the fuck was that?” she asks. Sunghoon doesn’t hear your answer.

He doesn’t need to. Because he knows the sound of you when you’re unraveling. He’s memorized it without meaning to. The way your steps drag. The way your voice goes thin, like you’re holding something fragile together with bare hands.

His head tips back against the door. “Idiot,” he whispers. To himself. Always to himself.

You don’t remember getting to your room. You remember your hand on the wall, steadying yourself.  You remember Manon saying your name twice before giving up. You remember the click of your door, softer than it should’ve been. Now you’re on your bed. Still in your clothes. Still breathing like you ran a mile. The bottle on your nightstand is tipped just slightly on its side, amber catching the light, half-drunk and forgotten until now. You don’t remember opening it, but the burn in your throat says you did. Your eyes sting. Not crying. Not yet. Just… glassy. Red-rimmed. Empty in that too-full way.

You stare at the ceiling, replaying his voice over and over like your brain doesn’t know how to stop. I don’t know when it stopped being a joke. I don’t know why it’s you. I tried not to feel this. Your fingers curl into the sheets. You hadn’t been ready for honesty. Not his. Not like that. Outside your door, the hallway is quiet again. Somewhere else in the apartment, Sunghoon is probably still sitting on the floor, head in his hands, laughing at himself for breaking the rules first. And here you are, wide awake, half-drunk, heart pounding too loud for a fake relationship,  thinking about the way his voice shook when he said your name.

Thinking about how real it sounded. Thinking about how neither of you knows how to undo it now. You don’t let yourself think. If you do, you’ll talk yourself out of it, convince yourself it’s the alcohol, the exhaustion, the humiliation of being seen too clearly. So you don’t think. You move.

Coat over pajama shorts. No bra. Flipflops slapped on with shaking hands. Phone left behind. Dignity already gone, so why bother packing it. The hallway is too bright. The elevator takes too long. Every step toward Sunghoon’s dorm feels like treason against the version of you who promised to keep this fake. By the time you get there, your heart is trying to claw its way out of your throat. You knock.

Sharp. Loud. Once. Inside, Sunghoon is standing in the middle of his room with a half-folded hoodie in his hands. The bed is a mess of clean laundry. His eyes burn. He swiped at them not even a second ago, annoyed at himself for being like this, for letting it get to him. The knock makes him flinch.

“Jake,” he calls, voice hoarse, not even bothering to hide the irritation, “please fuck off, I already told you—” He opens the door. And freezes. You’re standing there in pajama shorts and flipflops like you forgot how to be a sensible human being. Hair messy. Coat too big. Eyes still red, still glossy, still ruined in a way that makes something inside his chest snap.

“…oh,” he breathes. That’s all he gets out. Because you grab him by the collar of his t-shirt and yank him forward, hard, like you’re afraid if you hesitate for even half a second you’ll lose your nerve. Your mouth crashes into his. It’s not gentle. It’s not clean. It’s heat and frustration and four days of restraint going up in flames. Your lips are chapped, tasting faintly of alcohol, and Sunghoon makes a sound low in his throat that surprises both of you. For a split second, his hands hover uselessly at his sides. Shock. Disbelief. Fear.

Then instinct takes over. He grabs you back, one hand fisting in your coat, the other cradling your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t anchor you. He kisses you like he’s been starving, like this is something he’s rehearsed in his head and never thought he’d get. You gasp against his mouth, breath hitching, forehead knocking against his as you pull back just enough to breathe. “I couldn’t—” you start, then stop, shaking. “I couldn’t sit there anymore.”

Sunghoon’s forehead drops to yours. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly, like a confession. Like a plea. “I know.” Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into fabric, grounding yourself in the solid proof of him. You look wrecked. He knows it. He looks wrecked too, eyes red, lashes wet, lips swollen already from kissing you like that. “Say it again,” you whisper. “What you said earlier.”

His jaw tightens. “This isn’t fair,” he says. “I don’t care.” Silence stretches between you, heavy and trembling. Sunghoon exhales, shaky, defeated. “I meant it,” he says finally. “All of it. And if you walk out after this, I don’t know if I can pretend again.” You swallow. “Then don’t.” That’s all it takes. He kisses you again, but this time it’s slower, desperate in a different way, like he’s trying to memorize you. Like this is no longer about impulse, but choice.

Outside, the hallway stays quiet. Inside, the rules are officially dead. He doesn’t break the kiss when he moves. The door gets kicked shut behind you with his heel, hard enough to rattle the frame, and that sound is what finally makes this real. Not a mistake. Not a drunk spiral. A decision with weight.

Sunghoon’s hand stays firm at your jaw as he backs you up, guiding without asking, like he already knows where this is going. You stumble once, breath hitching, fingers clutching at his shirt, and he steadies you instantly. “Careful,” he murmurs, voice low, wrecked. The room blurs past you. Desk. Chair. The stupid folded laundry on the bed he never finished because he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then, the bed. The same one. The realization hits you both at the same time. You feel it in the way he stills, the way his grip tightens just slightly, like he’s bracing for something heavier than desire. “This is—” you start.

“I know,” he cuts in, quietly. He doesn’t let you finish because if you do, you might both stop. He turns you, guiding you down, following you without hesitation, like muscle memory pulls him forward. The mattress dips beneath your weight, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. This bed has already seen you stripped bare once, seen the lie of just for the bet, just for the experiment. Sunghoon hovers over you, hands planted on either side of your head, breathing hard.

“This is where it happened,” you whisper, not accusing. Just stating the truth. His eyes search your face like he’s looking for permission, absolution, damnation, anything. “Yeah,” he says. “And that’s why you should tell me to stop.” You don’t.

Instead, you reach up, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth where your kiss left him swollen and red. “I came here,” you say softly, voice shaking but sure, “because I don’t want to pretend this didn’t matter.” Something breaks in his expression. He closes his eyes for half a second, forehead dropping to yours, breath shuddering out of him. “Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re going to ruin me.”

You smile sadly. “Too late.” He kisses you again, slower than before, deeper, like he’s sealing something sacred and doomed all at once. His hand slips into yours, fingers lacing tight, grounding, intimate in a way that feels worse than anything reckless. The room goes quiet around you. No audience. No rules. No experiment. Just the two of you, back where it started, this time knowing exactly what you’re risking. And neither of you pulls away. 

He doesn’t rush. He never does when it’s like this, when the pretense has cracked open and there’s nothing left to hide behind. His free hand finds the hem of your shirt again, knuckles brushing your stomach in a slow, deliberate sweep. He pulls back just enough to look at you, really look, eyes dark and searching. “Can I?” he asks, voice low, wrecked.

You nod. Lift your arms. He peels the shirt off you like it’s something fragile, something he’s afraid to tear. Folds it once, habit, stupidly tender, before setting it on the nightstand. Then his hands are back on you, palms sliding up your bare sides, thumbs tracing the underside of your ribs like he’s counting every breath. Your bra follows next. He reaches behind you, fingers deft but careful, unhooks it without looking away from your face. The straps slide down your arms. He catches the lace before it falls, sets it aside with the same quiet reverence.

When you’re bare from the waist up, he exhales like the sight of you hurts him. “God,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Look at you.” He leans in, kisses the center of your chest, soft, open-mouthed, then trails lower. Slow kisses across the swell of one breast, then the other. Tongue flicking once over a nipple, gentle, testing, until it pebbles under his mouth. You arch, small, involuntary, and he groans against your skin. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

He kisses his way back up, jaw, cheek, temple, then finds your mouth again. Deeper this time. Tongues sliding lazy and hot, like he’s trying to taste every corner of you. His hands move to your jeans. Button. Zipper. He hooks his fingers into the waistband, pauses. “Still with me?” he murmurs against your lips. “Always,” you whisper back. He pulls them down, jeans, underwear together, slow enough that you feel every inch of fabric dragging over your thighs, your calves. He kneels to tug them off your ankles, presses a kiss to the inside of one knee, then the other. Worshipful. Unhurried.

When he rises again, he’s still fully dressed, sweatshirt, sweats, everything, but the outline of him is unmistakable. Hard. Straining. You reach for the hem of his sweatshirt. He lets you pull it off. The sight of him shirtless still steals your breath, broad shoulders, carved collarbones, the tight, ridged planes of his abs flexing with every breath. You drag your nails lightly down the center of his stomach, watching the muscles jump under your touch. “Jesus,” you breathe.

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s strained. “Keep looking at me like that and this ends before it starts.” You smile, small, wicked, and pull him down on top of you. He settles between your thighs, weight braced on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you. Kisses you again, slow, filthy, tongues curling, while one hand skates down your body. Over your breast, your waist, the soft curve of your hip. Then lower.

He cups you, palm warm, possessive, then slides two fingers through your folds. Finds you already slick, swollen, aching. “Fuck,” he swears softly. “You’re soaked.” “For you,” you gasp when he circles your clit once, light, teasing. He groans. Kisses you harder. Slips one finger inside, slow, careful, then another. Crooks them just right, pressing against that spot that makes your hips jerk. “Like that?” he murmurs against your mouth.

You nod, frantic, nails digging into his shoulders. He works you open like that, slow, steady pumps, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. Kissing you the whole time, lips, jaw, throat, like he can’t bear to stop tasting you. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “So fucking tight around my fingers. Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.” You whimper, high, desperate. He kisses the sound away.

When your thighs start trembling, when your breath hitches every time he curls his fingers, he pulls them out, slow, brings them to his mouth and licks them clean while holding your gaze. The sight of it, his tongue dragging over his own fingers, tasting you, makes heat flood your core all over again. He reaches between you, shoves his sweats down just enough. His cock springs free, heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip. He notches himself at your entrance. Pauses.

“Look at me,” he says, voice rough, pleading. You do. He pushes in, slow. Inch by torturous inch. You both exhale at the same time when he bottoms out, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling. “Fuck,” he chokes out. “You’re—shit, you’re perfect.”

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel every thick inch of him stretching you open. Then, slowly, he rolls his hips. Long, languid thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper. He swears under his breath, low, broken, every time you clench around him. “God, baby,” he groans. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He kisses you through it, messy, open-mouthed, swallowing every gasp and moan you make. One hand finds yours again, fingers lacing tight, while the other slides up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek. He fucks you like he’s making love. Slow. Deep. Unhurried. Every thrust deliberate, measured, like he’s trying to imprint himself into every part of you. You feel the coil tightening again, hot, bright, overwhelming.

“Sunghoon—” Your voice cracks. “I know,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. Come for me, pretty girl. Let me feel it.” He angles his hips just right, grinding against your clit with every roll, and you shatter.

The orgasm rolls through you slow and shattering, waves of pleasure that make your toes curl, your back arch, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. He fucks you through it, slow, steady, drawing it out until you’re trembling, oversensitive, clinging to him. Only then does he let himself go. A few more deep thrusts, harder now, chasing, until he buries himself to the hilt and comes with a low, guttural groan. Pulsing inside you, hot and endless, face pressed to the side of your neck. He doesn’t pull out.

Just collapses over you, careful not to crush, arms wrapping around your back, holding you close. You stay like that, sweaty, tangled, breathing hard. He presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your throat, the corner of your mouth. “Stay,” he whispers against your skin. “Just… stay.”

You thread your fingers through his damp hair. Nod. “I’m not going anywhere.” He exhales, shaky, relieved. And for the first time since the hallway collision, since the bet he still hasn’t told you about, he lets himself believe, maybe, just maybe, this could be real. Even if the truth is still waiting to burn everything down. The room feels different once it’s over.

Not quiet, just… rearranged. Like the air itself has shifted and hasn’t decided what it wants to be yet. Sunghoon is the first to move. He sits up, dragging a hand down his face, breath evening out, the familiar armor already clicking back into place piece by piece. When he speaks, his voice is lighter. Easier. Almost practiced. “We should probably,” he says, exhaling a short laugh, “get back on track.”

You don’t respond right away. He glances at you, catching the way you’re staring at the ceiling instead of him, lashes clumped, mouth parted like you’re still somewhere else. “I mean,” he adds, softer but still careful, “we agreed. Going soft now won’t exactly help. Someone’s gotta finish the article, right?”

There it is. The word article lands between you like something dropped and sharp. You turn your head slowly to look at him. He’s already halfway back to being Sunghoon. The confident one. The one who knows how to compartmentalize. Who knows how to survive by pretending things don’t touch him as deeply as they do. Your chest tightens. “So,” you say quietly, “that’s what this is now?”

He frowns, just slightly. “That’s not what I—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in, sitting up. The sheet slides down your shoulder, but you don’t bother pulling it back. “No, seriously. You’re right.” That seems to throw him off more than anger would’ve. You swing your legs off the bed and stand, ignoring the way your knees feel weak, the way your body still hums with something unresolved. You cross the room and start gathering your clothes, slowly, deliberately, like each piece is another choice being made.

Sunghoon watches you, confusion creeping in. “Hey. What are you doing?” You don’t look at him as you tug on your shirt. “Going back to normal,” you say. “Isn’t that what you want?” “That’s not—” He stops himself, jaw tightening. “You’re twisting this.”

You finally face him then, fingers curling around your jacket. “Am I?” you ask, not loud, not dramatic. Just honest. “Because five minutes ago you were telling me things you don’t say to anyone. You kissed me like you were scared I’d disappear. And now you’re talking about optics.”

Silence. He opens his mouth. Closes it. You laugh, but it’s brittle. “Wow. That answers it.” You pull on your coat, shove your feet into your shoes without bothering to sit. Your hands shake, and you hate that he can see it. “I came here because I thought—” You stop yourself, swallowing. “Doesn’t matter.” He stands abruptly. “You’re overreacting.”

That’s the wrong thing to say. You straighten, something cold settling into place. Familiar. Protective. “Right,” you nod. “My mistake.” You walk past him toward the door. He reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist. “Don’t do this,” he says quietly.

You pull your hand back. “Fine,” you say, voice flat. “If that’s what you want.” The door opens. Before you leave, you glance over your shoulder one last time. He’s standing in the middle of the room, bare feet on the floor, expression torn between frustration and something dangerously close to panic.

“You don’t get to have it both ways,” you tell him. “Not with me.” Then you’re gone. The door shuts behind you with a soft, final click. And Sunghoon stands there, staring at the empty space you left behind, realizing, too late, that pretending this was just part of the game might be the one move he can’t recover from.

Because emotional whiplash is still a strategy.

You go home. You shower. You don’t cry, that would imply softness. Instead, you change. Something short. Something low-cut. Something that says I’m fine in a way that’s obviously a lie. Lip gloss instead of balm. Jewelry you don’t need. You look at yourself in the mirror and practice the expression until it sticks: bored. Untouchable. Dangerous.

By the time you step onto campus, you’re already back in character. Sunghoon sees you before you see him. You know because his stride falters. Because his eyes drop, then snap back up like he’s been burned. You give him nothing, no pause, no glance, not even the satisfaction of pretending you didn’t notice.

You walk past him like he’s furniture. By mid-morning, you’re unbearable on purpose. You interrupt him in class just to correct something trivial. You lean back in your chair when he talks, arms crossed, mouth tilted like you’re amused by how seriously he takes himself. You laugh a second too late at things Jay says, make eye contact with Jake for half a beat longer than necessary.

Sunoo clocks it immediately. You’re walking to class together when he bumps your shoulder lightly. “Wow,” he says, grinning. “Who hurt you?” You smile sweetly. “No one.” He snorts. “Liar. You’re radioactive.” Good. Lunch rolls around. You sit alone. You don’t invite anyone. You don’t look at Sunghoon even when you feel him hovering three tables away, tense, watching. At exactly 12:43 p.m., you publish. No hesitation. No edits. Just a quiet click and a rush that feels like stepping off a ledge.

PING!How to Lose a Guy in 10 DaysAn Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

DAY 8: MOOD SWINGS

If intimacy makes him comfortable, unpredictability will keep him awake. Today’s lesson is simple: Pull back. Dress sharper. Smile colder. Be everything he can’t categorize. Men love to believe they understand the women they’re involved with. Disrupt that narrative. Remind him that access is temporary, affection is conditional, and attention is a privilege, not a promise. If he asks what changed? Say nothing. If he looks unsettled? Perfect. Distance isn’t disinterest. It’s control.

— Yours truly, xoxo

You don’t add a score. You don’t need to. He already knows who’s winning. Across the cafeteria, Sunghoon reads it on his phone. You see the exact moment his jaw tightens. The way his thumb stills. The way something dark and wounded flickers across his face before he schools it back into indifference. He looks up.

You’re already standing. You grab your bag, toss your hair over your shoulder, and walk out like you don’t feel the way your heart is trying to claw out of your chest. Behind you, the game keeps pretending it’s still a game. And you keep pretending that doesn’t hurt. By afternoon, it’s not subtle anymore. You don’t just ignore him, you provoke. You brush past his shoulder in the hallway like he’s in your way. You answer his questions in class with lazy, amused indifference. When his friends talk, you laugh at the wrong moments. You look incredible doing it.

Jake notices first. “Damn,” he says, not quietly. “She’s on demon time today.” Riki snickers. “Hoon, what did you do?” Sunghoon doesn’t laugh. He hasn’t all day. By the time practice ends, his patience is shredded. His friends are still joking about it, about you, about the article, about how whipped he looks, and something in him finally snaps.

You’re at your locker when a shadow falls over you. “Hey,” he says, low. “Move.” You don’t. You just glance at him lazily. “Didn’t know you were waiting for your turn.” That’s when he does it. He steps in close, too close, one arm braced against the lockers by your head. The metal rattles softly. The hallway noise fades, replaced by the sound of your own breathing.

“You think this is funny,” he murmurs near your ear. His voice is calm. Too calm. “You’ve been poking me all day like you want to see how far I’ll go.” Your smile sharpens. “Am I wrong?” “You think you’re funny,” he murmurs, voice low, rough around the edges. “Parading around like you didn’t leave claw marks on my back last night.”

You arch a brow. “Public image, remember?” His laugh is quiet. Not amused. He leans in further, lips almost brushing your ear now. “You’re gonna make me forget myself,” he says, softer still, threaded with something dangerous. “Keep acting like this and I swear I’ll lose my grip completely.”

There’s an ache, fast, traitorous, pooling heat low in your stomach. You press in anyway, just enough that he feels it. His jaw tightens. He leans in even closer, breath warm, words meant only for you, dark, dangerous, deliberately obscene in implication if not detail. It’s not about what he says as much as how he says it: slow, controlled, like he’s painting the picture just to watch it wreck you.

“You’re gonna make me drag you behind the arts building right now,” he says, quieter still, almost a growl. “Pin you against the wall. Shove that little top up and suck those pretty nipples until you’re begging. Then fuck you stupid against the bricks while everyone walks by.” 

Your pulse betrays you anyway. Heat curls low in your stomach. Your thighs press together under the skirt despite yourself, already feeling the slick forming there. You don’t back down. You step closer.

“So scary,” you whisper, sweet as poison, stepping even closer so your chest almost brushes his. “Because your boys are right there. And you’re too chicken to actually do it in daylight.” For half a second, you think he might grab you. His hand twitches, then curls into a fist. “Keep pushing me,” he says, eyes locked on yours, voice rough now. “See what happens the next time we’re alone.”

You hold his gaze. Smile wider. “Looking forward to it.” You duck out from under his arm and walk away like your knees aren’t shaking. Behind you, his friends are still laughing. And Sunghoon is standing there realizing, you didn’t just get under his skin.

You lit a match. You don’t follow him. That’s the mistake. You turn the corner, heart still buzzing from the lockers, pulse loud in your ears, telling yourself you won that exchange, told yourself you meant every sharp word. You’re almost gone when voices drift down the hall. Familiar ones. Laughter first. Loud. A little too loud. Then Sunghoon. He’s angry. You can hear it immediately, the edge in his voice, the way it’s pitched lower than usual, clipped and reckless.

“God, she’s impossible,” he snaps. You stop. Your body freezes before your brain catches up. “What’d she do now?” someone asks, Jake, maybe. It doesn’t matter. Sunghoon exhales hard. “Plays me in front of everyone. Acts like I’m just some headline she hasn’t finished exploiting yet.”

A pause. Someone whistles. “That bad?” “She knows exactly what she’s doing,” he says. “Every look, every outfit, it’s all calculated. It’s literally a bet to her.” The word hits wrong. Your stomach drops. “A bet?” another voice repeats. “Yeah,” Sunghoon scoffs. “Whole thing started as an experiment. How fast she could get me invested. How much she could mess with my head.”

You feel it then, your shoulders locking, breath stuttering like your lungs forgot the rhythm. “That’s brutal,” someone mutters.

“Don’t act surprised,” Sunghoon says, bitter. “She never cared. I’m just content.” There’s more. You know there’s more. Context. Something you’re missing. But your ears start ringing. “She’s not even subtle about it anymore,” he continues, voice sharp with humiliation. “Wakes up, chooses violence, writes another article about how men are stupid for falling for it. Guess I’m today’s cautionary tale.” A laugh, uneasy. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says quickly. Too quickly. “I’m fine. I knew what this was.” That’s the line that ruins you. Because you know he’s lying. Your vision blurs at the edges. You swallow hard, but it doesn’t help. Your chest tightens like someone cinched a wire around it. You step back before anyone can see you. Before he can turn around. Before your face gives you away. You walk. Not fast. Not slow. Mechanical. Like if you stop moving, you’ll fall apart in the hallway. It’s a bet to her. She never cared. I knew what this was.

Your room feels too quiet when you finally get there. You shut the door. Lock it. Slide down against it until you’re sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, breath uneven and embarrassing. You stare at nothing. Maybe you didn’t hear everything. Maybe you weren’t supposed to. But the damage is done anyway.

You wipe at your eyes angrily, like that’ll erase it. Like you’re not shaking. Fine. If that’s how he wants to frame it, if that’s the story he’s telling now, you wipe your face, stand up, and open your laptop. The cursor blinks in the draft like it’s waiting. You straighten your shoulders. You harden. You double down. If this is just a game to him now, then you’ll make sure you win it.

And this time, you won’t hesitate. The worst tactic yet. You expect him to walk away. That’s the whole point of today, burn it down so thoroughly that there’s nothing left to stand on. No tension. No longing. No almosts. Just scorched earth and an exit wound.

So you make it ugly. You don’t avoid him this time, you perform. You laugh too loud in class. Sit too close to someone else. Let your hand linger on a forearm that isn’t his. You publish the article mid-morning, sharp and venomous and dripping with implication, the kind that turns private moments into public speculation without naming names. You feel it working immediately.

The looks. The whispers. The way people glance between you and him like they’re watching a slow-motion collision. By afternoon, your phone is buzzing nonstop. You ignore all of it. You don’t ignore him. Because he doesn’t leave. He finds you outside the library just before sunset, when the sky is bruised purple and gold and everything feels like it’s holding its breath.

“Are you done yet?” he asks. No greeting. No restraint. You turn slowly. Smile like a blade. “With what?” “This,” he says, gesturing between you and the world. “Whatever the hell this is.” “Oh,” you say lightly. “You mean the experiment?” His jaw tightens. “Don’t.” “You hate when I call it that in public, right?” you press. “Ruins the illusion?”

“That’s not what this is,” he snaps. You laugh, short, sharp. “Funny. Because it’s exactly what you called it.” Silence. It stretches. Tightens. “What are you talking about?” he asks, but there’s something wrong in his voice already. Something wary. You step closer. Close enough that the air between you hums.

“I heard you,” you say quietly. “The other day. With your friends.” His face drains of color. “You were talking,” you continue, calm and deadly. “About how this was a bet. A game. Content. How I never cared. How you ‘knew what this was.’”

“That’s not—” He stops himself, drags a hand through his hair. “You don’t know the full—” “I don’t need the full truth,” you cut in. “I heard enough.” He exhales, sharp and frustrated. “I was angry.” “So was I,” you fire back. “Funny how only one of us gets forgiven for that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” “But you said it like that,” you say. “And that’s what matters.” People are staring now. You don’t care. “You think I didn’t know?” you go on, voice shaking despite yourself. “You think I didn’t clock what this was from the start?”

His brow furrows. “Then why—” “Because I thought,” you interrupt, heat flooding your chest, “that maybe if I played along long enough, you’d stop treating me like a fucking case study.” That lands. Hard. “You don’t get to act betrayed,” he says, voice rising now. “You started this. You wrote the rules.”

“And you volunteered,” you shoot back. “You leaned in. You let me believe—” “What?” he snaps. “That I was falling for you?” “Yes,” you shout, finally breaking. “That you were choosing me anyway.” The word choosing hangs there, raw and dangerous. For a second, he looks stunned. Then angry.

“You think this hasn’t been destroying me?” he demands. “You think I don’t wake up every day wondering which version of you I’m getting, the girl who laughs with me in a grocery store or the one who turns my life into a headline?”

“Then why didn’t you walk away?” you cry. “Why are you still here?” Because that’s the question, isn’t it? That’s the one neither of you can outrun. “I don’t know,” he admits, voice rough. “But I tried.” “You kissed someone else,” you say bitterly. “You called me a bet.”

“I fucked up,” he says. “I know that.” “You don’t get to ‘fuck up’ when you’re playing with someone’s heart,” you spit. “Neither do you,” he throws back. “You’re not innocent here.” “I never said I was,” you whisper.

Your chest hurts now. Your throat burns. You’re shaking, hands clenched at your sides like if you let go you’ll collapse. “I knew,” you say suddenly. The words rip out of you before you can stop them. “I knew the whole time.” He freezes. “I knew I was a game to you,” you continue, voice breaking despite your efforts. “I just thought,  if I won, maybe it would stop being one.”

The silence after that is deafening. His anger falters. Cracks. “You… thought I was playing you?” he asks slowly. “You said it yourself,” you snap. “To your friends.”

He stares at you like the ground just shifted. “That wasn’t the truth,” he says hoarsely. “Then what was it?” you challenge. “Because from where I’m standing, you only ever defended yourself. Never me.” He opens his mouth. Closes it. You laugh, hollow. “There it is.” You turn to leave. He grabs your wrist. Not hard. Desperate. “Don’t,” he says. “You don’t get to end this like that.”

“Oh, but I do,” you reply, yanking free. “That’s the only control I have left.” “You’re wrong,” he says, voice breaking now too. “I didn’t stay because it was a bet.” “Then why?” you demand, tears finally spilling. “Why are you still here?” He steps closer, voice shaking. “Because I couldn’t stop wanting you.”

The confession hits like a punch. Your breath stutters. “That doesn’t erase what you said,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “But walking away won’t either.” You stare at each other, wrecked, exposed, furious, aching. This is the moment everything could end. Or explode. And for the first time since Day One, neither of you knows which outcome would hurt less. Truth, vulnerability, choice. You don’t sleep. Not really. You lie on your bed staring at the ceiling, the dark slowly paling at the edges, your thoughts looping back to the same moments like bruises you keep pressing to see if they still hurt. The grocery store aisle. The lockers. His voice, angry, breaking, honest in all the wrong moments. The way he didn’t walk away when you gave him every reason to.

Your laptop sits closed on the desk. It’s been closed for hours. The draft is already written. It’s been written for days, actually, hovering, unfinished, changing every time you reread it. Every time you remember something that doesn’t fit the narrative you built so carefully at the beginning. At 7:42 a.m., you sit up.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your feet hit the floor. Cold. Grounding. This is it. You open the laptop. The title blinks at you, familiar and foreign all at once.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days: Final Results!

Your fingers hover over the keys. You don’t rewrite the whole thing. You just… stop lying.

PING!How to Lose a Guy in 10 DaysAn Incomplete Guide to Emotional Repellence, Strategic Chaos, and Why Men Fear Commitment

DAY 10: FINAL RESULTS

This experiment was supposed to be simple. Create emotional instability. Trigger attachment. Force retreat. The hypothesis was that men fear commitment when confronted with intensity, that given enough vulnerability, they will choose distance over discomfort. I believed that. I built a framework around it. Rules. Days. Tactics. A scoreboard. I told myself control was the same thing as clarity.

It isn’t. Somewhere between provocation and pretending, something went wrong. Or maybe something went right.

Because instead of leaving when it got complicated, he stayed. He argued. He got angry. He made mistakes. So did I. And somewhere along the way, the experiment stopped being an experiment and started being… real. I can’t tell you when exactly that happened. Only that by the time I noticed, it was already too late to undo. So here are the results, honestly reported: The experiment failed. Or maybe I did.

Because it turns out you can’t quantify chemistry. You can’t score genuine care. And you definitely can’t “win” when feelings get involved, only decide whether you’re brave enough to keep choosing the same person after the rules fall apart.

This was never about losing a guy. It was about discovering what happens when you stop protecting yourself with irony and start telling the truth.

And the truth is, I don’t know how this ends. But for the first time in ten days, I’m not trying to control it.

— Yours truly, xoxo

You stare at the screen after you post it. No edits. No qualifiers. No scorecard. Your chest feels raw. Exposed. Lighter in a way that scares you. Your phone buzzes immediately. Notifications stacking. Messages you don’t open. Opinions you don’t read.

You close the laptop. Outside, the campus is waking up. Somewhere out there, he’s going to see it. Read it. Realize there’s no punchline waiting at the end. This time, there’s no tactic left. Only choice. And for once, you’re willing to let him make his. It happens at night. Of course it does.

He texts you once, Can we talk? and for the first time in ten days, there’s no edge to it. No anger. No bait. Just exhaustion. You meet him outside his dorm. No crowd. No witnesses. The air is cool, sharp enough to keep you awake. He doesn’t waste time. “There was a bet,” Sunghoon says. Just like that. No easing into it. No defense mechanism. His voice is flat, stripped bare. Your stomach still drops anyway. 

“How much?” you ask quietly. He swallows. “That I wouldn’t last the ten days without falling for you. That I’d either walk away, or ruin myself trying not to.” You laugh once, hollow. “And?” “And I lost,” he says. “Almost immediately.” Silence stretches between you, heavy and aching.

“So you admit it,” you say. “It started as a game.” “Yes.” That word lands harder than any insult he ever threw. You nod slowly. Your hands are steady now. That scares you more than shaking would. “I figured,” you say. “I just didn’t know when you’d be brave enough to say it out loud.” His head snaps up. “You knew?” “I suspected,” you reply. “Then I overheard enough to stop giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

He winces. “I said things I didn’t mean.” “I know,” you say. And that’s the worst part, you do know. “But I also know when I stopped pretending.” His breath catches. “When?” “Days ago,” you admit. “Before the grocery store. Before the almost-confession. Before the night I couldn’t write without thinking about you.” He looks at you like that confession hurts worse than his own.

“You should’ve walked away,” he whispers. “So should you.” Neither of you did. The fight doesn’t explode this time. It collapses. You argue anyway, quietly, viciously, with truths instead of accusations. You talk about control. About fear. About how you both hid behind games because honesty felt like free-falling. At some point, you both go silent. There’s nothing left to say that wouldn’t break something. He doesn’t reach for you. You don’t ask him to stay. Eventually, you turn and walk away. And this time, he lets you.

You don’t cry when you get home. You don’t drink. You open your laptop. The article is still live. The comments are still coming. People still think this was entertainment. You stare at the title for a long time. Then you do the thing no one expects. You open a new draft. And you tell the truth again, louder this time.

PING!How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

FINAL ADDENDUM

How I Lost the Bet, and Fell Anyway

I said the experiment failed. That wasn’t the full truth. The truth is, there was more than one bet being placed. One of them wasn’t mine. Yes, this started as an experiment. Yes, there were rules. Yes, someone underestimated what would happen when feelings got involved.

But somewhere along the way, the score stopped mattering. I stopped pretending first. I stopped writing for shock value. Stopped provoking for reaction. Stopped wanting to “win.” I stayed because I wanted him. He stayed because he couldn’t leave.

That doesn’t excuse the hurt. It doesn’t erase the mistakes. It doesn’t magically turn this into a fairytale. But it does mean this wasn’t fake. So here’s the final result, no irony, no performance:

I lost the bet. And I fell anyway. Whether that makes me foolish or brave… I’ll let you decide.

— xoxo

You publish it. Then, because this part is just for you, you delete the entire series. Every tactic. Every scorecard. Every headline that tried to make love into something measurable. The site goes quiet. Your phone buzzes once. Not notifications, none that matter anyway. Just him.

Sunghoon: I read it.

You don’t reply right away. You close the laptop. You breathe. For the first time, there is no experiment left to hide behind. Only two people. Two choices. And whatever comes next, honestly. He doesn’t even knock.

Your phone buzzes once, Where are you, and then there’s pounding on your door so frantic it rattles the frame. You barely have time to stand before it swings open. Sunghoon looks wrecked. Hair a mess. Eyes red. Breathing hard like he ran the whole way. He takes one look at you and whatever he was holding together completely gives out. He drops. Actually drops, knees hitting the floor with a dull thud, hands bracing on your carpet like he can’t stay upright anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, voice breaking on the first word. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Your chest tightens painfully.

“Sunghoon—”

“No,” he cuts in, shaking his head hard. “Let me say it. Please.” He looks up at you, eyes glassy, jaw trembling in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I turned you into something small when you were never that,” he says. “I talked about you like you were disposable because I was embarrassed that I wasn’t.”

You don’t move. You can’t.

“I started it as a bet,” he continues. “I did. I won’t lie about that ever again. But I swear to you, by the time I realized I was losing, I was already in too deep to know how to stop without getting hurt.”

Tears spill over now, uncontained. “And instead of choosing you out loud, I hid behind my pride. I let you think you were just… entertainment.” Your throat burns. “I hated myself for it,” he whispers. “Every day.” Silence fills the room, thick and shaking. Finally, you sink down in front of him too. Not above him. With him.

“I’m sorry too,” you say quietly. His head snaps up.

“I was so obsessed with control,” you admit, voice trembling. “With winning. With proving I could walk away first. I didn’t realize how cruel that made me.”

You swallow hard. “I used irony like armor. I kept hurting you just to feel like I still had the upper hand.” His face crumples. “I stopped pretending days ago,” you confess. “But I didn’t know how to stop performing. I didn’t know how to just… be honest without feeling like I was losing myself.”

You both sit there, two people kneeling on the floor, stripped of every strategy you ever used to survive. “I don’t want to win anymore,” you whisper. “I don’t either,” he says instantly. “I just want… a chance to do this without games. Without bets. Without spectators.”

You exhale shakily. “I don’t know how this ends.”

He nods. “Me neither.” A beat. “But I know I don’t want to walk away,” he says. “Not now. Not like this.” You reach out then, slow, careful, and cup his face. He leans into your touch like it’s instinct, like he’s been waiting for permission. “Then we choose,” you say softly. “Not because it’s safe. Not because it’s clean.”

“Because it’s real,” he finishes. You rest your forehead against his. No headlines. No scoreboards. No experiments left to hide behind. Just two people, finally, terrifyingly honest, deciding to stay. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like losing at all.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s you leaning in. Maybe it’s him rising from his knees just enough that your breaths collide. It’s clumsy at first, foreheads knocking, noses brushing, like neither of you remembers how to do this without defenses in the way. Then his hands find your waist. Not gripping. Not claiming. Just there, thumbs warm through the fabric, like he needs the contact to stay upright.

“Can I—” he starts. You don’t let him finish. You kiss him. It’s not sharp or demanding. It’s slow, almost reverent, like you’re relearning his mouth now that there’s no audience, no script. His breath stutters against your lips, a sound halfway between relief and disbelief. He kisses back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t.

One hand slides up your back, hesitant at first, then more certain when you melt into him. He sighs into your mouth, a broken sound, like weeks of tension finally giving way. “I’m here,” you murmur against his lips. That’s all it takes. His composure fractures. The kiss deepens, not frantic, not rough, but heavy with everything unsaid. His thumb brushes your jaw, your cheek, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s afraid this is the last time he’s allowed to touch you.

You pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, both of you shaking a little. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers. You don’t. You kiss him again, longer this time, pouring every apology, every confession, every stay into the way your mouth moves against his. This isn’t about winning. It’s about choosing. And when his arms finally wrap fully around you, pulling you close like he’s done running, you let yourself believe him. He doesn’t speak for a long minute.

Just holds you, face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like you’re oxygen after drowning. Then he pulls back, only far enough to look at you. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says again, quieter this time. Raw. “I never should’ve, God, the bet was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t think it would… become this. Become you.” You cup his face, thumbs stroking the sharp line of his cheekbones.

“I know,” you whisper. “I read between the lines a long time ago. But I stayed anyway.” His eyes flutter shut like the words physically hurt. Then he kisses you again, soft, grateful, and starts walking you backward toward the bed. Clothes come off slowly. No rush. Your shirt first—lifted over your head, his lips following the path of exposed skin. Your bra, unhooked with trembling fingers, set aside like something precious. Jeans next, yours, then his, until you’re both bare, skin to skin, heat bleeding between you.

He lays you down gently. Covers you with his body like a shield. Kisses trail from your mouth to your throat, down the center of your chest. He pauses at your breasts, takes one nipple into his mouth, slow swirl of tongue, gentle suction, while his hand cups the other, thumb rolling the peak until you arch beneath him.

“Sunghoon,” you breathe. He hums against your skin, vibration straight to your core. Then he moves lower. Kisses your stomach, soft, open-mouthed, tracing the faint line where your abs tense. Lower still. He settles between your thighs, shoulders spreading you open. Looks up at you, eyes dark, reverent. “Gonna take my time with you,” he murmurs. “Wanna taste every second of this.”

He doesn’t dive in. He starts slow, long, flat licks up your slit, savoring. Tongue circling your clit without direct pressure, teasing until your hips lift, seeking more. When you whimper, he finally gives it, lips closing around the swollen bud, sucking gently while two fingers slide inside you, curling just right. You moan, loud, broken, hands fisting the sheets.

He groans against you when you clench. “Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he mutters between licks. “Could do this forever.” He eats you out like he’s worshipping, slow, thorough, unrelenting. Fingers pumping steady while his tongue works lazy circles, then flicks, then sucks again. Building you higher without ever rushing. When your thighs start trembling, when your breath turns ragged, he doesn’t let up.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers against your clit. “Let me feel it.” You do, hard, shuddering, back arching off the mattress, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. He works you through it, soft licks, gentle fingers, until you’re boneless, panting. Only then does he crawl back up. Kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You reach between you, wrap your hand around him. He’s thick, hot, leaking against your palm. He hisses, hips jerking forward. “Need you,” he breathes. “Please.” You guide him to your entrance. He pushes in, slow. You both moan when he bottoms out, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling. He stills for a second, just feeling you around him, warm and tight and perfect.

Then he starts moving. Slow rolls of his hips, deep, measured thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him closer. He groans, low, wrecked, every time you clench. “Fuck, baby,” he pants against your mouth. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

His abs flex with every thrust, hard ridges pressing against your stomach, creating that delicious pressure, that faint bulge you can feel every time he bottoms out. You drag your nails down his back, light enough to leave faint red lines. He shudders. “You see that?” he murmurs, voice rough. “See how deep I am? How perfectly you take me?”

You look down, see the outline of him moving inside you, and whimper. He kisses you again, messy, desperate, while one hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit. He rubs slow circles, matching the rhythm of his hips. You’re climbing again, fast.

“Sunghoon—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’ve got you. Always got you.”

He kisses your neck, your jaw, your mouth, soft, endless. “You’re the best thing in my life,” he whispers against your skin. “The absolute best. Nothing comes close.” You smile through the haze, breath hitching.

“Better than football?” you tease, voice shaky. He groans, deep, guttural, thrusts slowing to a torturous grind. “Ten folds,” he says without hesitation. “Better than football. Better than my friends. Better than anything I’ve ever had.”

Another deep thrust. “Better than winning,” he continues, voice cracking. “Better than every trophy, every cheer, every fucking thing.” You clench around him, hard, at the words. He swears, low, broken.

“Fuck! Gonna come,” he warns. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna—” You nod, frantic, nails digging into his shoulders. “Inside,” you gasp. “Please.”

That undoes him. A few more deep, stuttering thrusts, then he buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he spills inside you, hot, endless pulses that make you feel claimed in the best way. The sensation tips you over. You throw your head back, moaning loud and shameless, as you cream around his cock, walls fluttering, milking him through every aftershock. He collapses over you, careful not to crush, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breathing ragged. You hold him there, arms wrapped tight, legs still locked around him, while the world slowly rights itself.

He presses soft kisses to your collarbone, your throat, the corner of your mouth. “I love you,” he whispers, quiet, like a confession he’s been holding too long. You thread your fingers through his hair. Smile against his temple. “I know,” you murmur. “I love you too.”

He exhales, shaky, relieved, like he’s finally home. And this time, when he kisses you again, it’s not goodbye. It’s beginning. He doesn’t pull out right away. He never does when it’s this raw, this real. Instead he stays buried deep, softening inside you, hips still pressed flush to yours like he’s afraid the space between you will swallow everything you just rebuilt. His chest rises and falls against yours, slow, heavy breaths that match the lazy thrum of your pulse where your bodies connect.

One arm snakes under your back, cradling you closer; the other hand comes up to cup the side of your face, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek in slow, absent circles. He presses his lips to your temple, soft, lingering, then your forehead, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your eye where a stray tear escaped earlier without you noticing.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice gravelly and wrecked in the best way. You hum, too blissed-out to form full sentences yet, and nod against his shoulder. He exhales a shaky laugh, the sound vibrating through both of you. “Good,” he whispers. “Because I’m not letting you go for at least the next hour.”

You smile into his neck. “Promise?”

“Swear on every championship ring I don’t even wear.”

He finally eases out,slow, careful, so you don’t feel empty all at once. You both hiss softly at the loss. He presses one last kiss to your mouth, gentle, apologetic, before rolling to the side and pulling you with him so you’re tucked against his chest, legs tangled, his heartbeat steady under your ear. For a minute it’s just quiet breathing and the faint hum of the city outside his dorm window. His fingers trace idle patterns on your bare back, lazy figure-eights, then little hearts he probably doesn’t even realize he’s drawing.

“Stay right here,” he says quietly. “Don’t move.”

You feel him shift, careful not to jostle you too much, then the mattress dips as he reaches for the nightstand. A moment later he’s back, warm washcloth in hand. He sits up just enough to kneel between your thighs again. His touch is impossibly tender as he cleans you, slow swipes, gentle pressure, checking your expression every few seconds like he’s terrified of hurting you even a little.

“Too much?” he asks when you flinch slightly at a sensitive spot. You shake your head. “Feels nice.” He smiles, small, relieved, and keeps going until you’re both clean. When he’s done he tosses the cloth toward the hamper (misses, doesn’t care), then grabs the soft throw blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it over you both. He lies back down, pulls you half on top of him so your cheek rests over his heart. One hand cards through your hair, fingers gentle at your scalp, while the other settles low on your back, palm flat and warm, grounding you.

“You’re shaking a little,” he notices after a while. “Aftershocks,” you mumble. “And maybe… everything else.” He tightens his hold. Kisses the top of your head. “I’ve got you,” he says again, like it’s the only promise he’s ever sure he can keep. “All night. All tomorrow. However long you need.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. His eyes are soft in the low light, none of the sharp edges he used to wear like armor. Just him. Open. Yours. “Water?” he asks. You nod. He reaches again, this time for the half-full bottle on his desk. Unscrews the cap one-handed, brings it to your lips. You drink slowly; he watches like it’s the most important thing in the world. When you’re done he takes a sip too, then sets it aside.

“Better?”

“Mm-hmm.” He pulls you back down, tucking your head under his chin. His fingers resume their slow path through your hair.

“Tell me if you get cold,” he murmurs. “Or if you want food. Or if you just want me to shut up and hold you.” You laugh softly, muffled against his skin. “I want all of it,” you say. “But mostly this.” He exhales, long, contented. “Then you’ve got it.” Minutes stretch into comfortable silence. His heartbeat slows under your cheek. His breathing evens out, but his arms never loosen.

Eventually you feel him press another kiss to your hair. “I love you,” he whispers, like he’s still getting used to saying it out loud. “So fucking much.” You turn your face up, brush your lips against the underside of his jaw. “Love you more,” you reply. He huffs a quiet laugh. “Not possible.” You settle back against him, limbs heavy, heart full.

He keeps stroking your hair. Keeps you close. Keeps whispering little things against your temple when he thinks you’re drifting off, how beautiful you are, how sorry he still is, how he’s never letting go again. And when sleep finally pulls at you, it’s with his heartbeat in your ear, his arms around you like home, and the certain knowledge that this time, neither of you is running.

Time doesn’t erase the mess. It teaches you how to live with it, how to step around the sharp parts without flinching. The newsroom still smells like burnt coffee and ambition, like toner and old arguments that never quite leave the walls. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, constant, familiar. There’s a comfort in it now. Once, it used to feel like a battlefield.

Some things never change. You have. You’re perched on the edge of your desk, one heel hooked lazily around the chair leg, scrolling through a shared folder of freshman submissions. The cursor blinks at the top of a document titled, of course:

Situationships Are Modern Tragedies (And I Am Hamlet).

You close it without opening. Across from you, Keeho lets out a long, theatrical sigh, slumping dramatically against the filing cabinet like he’s about to pass away from emotional exhaustion. “I’m just saying,” he announces, waving his pen like a conductor’s baton, “if one more freshman submits a thinkpiece about how eye contact is a binding contract, I’m filing a formal complaint. With God.”

“You say that every semester,” you reply, not bothering to look up. “And yet, here you are. Still alive.”

“Barely,” he mutters. “I blame you.”

You hum noncommittally. Manon is sprawled across the couch, boots kicked up on the armrest, legs draped unapologetically over Sunoo’s lap as she flips through the latest issue. She pauses, squints, then clicks her tongue. “This one’s good,” she says, clearly annoyed by it. “Annoyingly good.”

You finally glance up, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “I’ll take that as praise.”

“It is,” she sighs. Then, sharply, “But I hate that you’re good at this and happy now. Pick a struggle.”

Keeho snaps his fingers. “Yes! Exactly! Where’s the suffering? Where’s the chaos?”

You lean back against the desk, folding your arms. “Oh, I have struggles,” you say lightly. “I just don’t publish them anymore.” There’s a beat. Sunoo looks at you, head tilted, expression thoughtful instead of teasing. “That’s… actually huge.”

That’s the difference. The office still buzzes. Deadlines still loom. Headlines still matter. But the desperation, the need to perform pain, to provoke reaction, to win at all costs, has eased into something steadier. Quieter. Something that doesn’t demand blood for proof. You’re still editor-in-chief. And your subordinate still hates you. Definitely, thinks you’re the worst thing that’s happened since the office coffee machine broke and no one took responsibility. You’re just not bleeding onto the page anymore. Your phone lights up on the desk. You don’t have to look to know.

Sunghoon: Practice just started. You coming or what? 

Your thumb hovers for half a second, out of habit, not hesitation, before you type back one-handed. 

You: Only if you don’t pretend you’re cool about it. 

Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.

Sunghoon: No promises.

Keeho watches your face soften and makes a loud, offended gagging noise. “I hate this era for us.” Sunoo grins. “I love it. Character development.” Manon finally looks up from the magazine, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Hold on.” She points at you accusingly. “This is also your fault.”

You blink. “What is?” She gestures vaguely at the pile of submissions, the inbox notifications, the collective emotional oversharing of an entire incoming class. “All of this.” Keeho gasps. “She’s right.” Sunoo nods solemnly. “It’s the butterfly effect.”

You frown. “Explain.” Manon smirks. “Your stupidly famous ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’ article?” Keeho groans. “The manifesto.” “The emotional terrorism,” Manon continues, delighted, “you unleashed on campus? You made freshmen think self-sabotage was a personality trait.” You open your mouth. Close it. “…Okay,” you admit. “Maybe I influenced the discourse.”

“Influenced?” Keeho laughs. “You ruined it. People cite you like scripture.” Sunoo pats your knee. “Legacy is complicated.” You groan, grabbing your bag. “I’m leaving before you revoke my tenure.”

The field is loud when you arrive. Whistles cut through the air. Shouts echo from one end to the other. Cleats hit turf in dull, rhythmic thuds. The late afternoon sun hangs low, washing everything in gold like it’s trying very hard to romanticize football practice.

Manon immediately kicks your foot. “There,” she mutters. “Your menace.” You look up, eyes sparkling, ignoring the three ambiguous groans beside you. Sunghoon is mid-drill, barking instructions, posture, all command and confidence. Captain through and through. The same presence that once made your chest tight with frustration, longing, and everything you refused to name back then.

He spots you instantly. Of course he does. His face lights up, grin wide and unguarded, and he blows you an exaggerated kiss across the field like he’s thirteen and trying to embarrass you on purpose. You groan, rolling your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out.

Your heart does backflips anyway. From the sidelines, Jay sighs like a man who has seen too much. Jake shakes his head. Riki squints, then mutters, “I’ve seen this movie. It’s sickening.”

Manon groans dramatically. “UGH. GODDAMN COUPLES, MAN.” Keeho smirks. “You’re just jealous, darling.” Sunoo’s eyes sparkle. “I mean, Keeho is offering, Manon. If I were you, I’d take it.”

“I will end you,” Manon says flatly, glaring daggers at the back of Sunoo’s head. The four of you dissolve into laughter. Sunghoon watches from the field, smile softening as he takes it all in. The chaos. The comfort. The fact that this, you, exists in his life without conditions now. It still amazes him. When practice finally wraps up and the sun dips low enough to stain the sky pink, he jogs over, towel slung around his neck, hair damp and pushed back. He looks tired. Grounded. Real.

“You came,” he says unnecessarily. “You summoned me,” you reply. “Very imperiously.” He grins. “Occupational hazard.” You tilt your head. “Captain complex?” “Editor attitude.”

You bump his shoulder as he walks you toward the bleachers. It’s easy now. Casual. Still charged, but no longer sharp enough to cut. “How was the meeting?” he asks. “Productive,” you say. “No emotional devastation. A personal best.” He laughs, warm and unforced. “Proud of you.” You glance at him. He means it. That still gets you.

The article pings later that night. You’re curled up on his bed, laptop balanced on your knees, the room dim and quiet. Sunghoon is half-dozing beside you, one arm slung lazily around your waist, thumb tracing absent-minded circles like it’s muscle memory. “You posting something?” he mumbles.

“Mm. Just a brief.” Your finger hovers over publish. Old habits whisper. Old versions of you wait, curious. Then you do it anyway.

PING!Breaking News

Park Sunghoon Survived.

There were many predictions made this year. Some were statistical. Some were emotional. Some were very loudly wrong.

Despite early speculation, public scrutiny, and one ill-advised experiment that spiraled wildly out of control, Park Sunghoon remains:

– Captain of the team – Annoyingly resilient – Still here

No bets were won. No scorecards kept. Just two people who learned, loudly, that pretending not to care is much harder than telling the truth.

More updates soon. (Probably.)

— Editor’s Note

You close the laptop. Sunghoon squints at you. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. He reaches for your phone. You yank it away, laughing. “Absolutely not.”

“Editor privilege?” he asks.

“Exactly.” He studies you for a moment, then presses a kiss to your temple. Soft. Unshowy. Just for you. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not turning me into a cautionary tale.”

You smile. “You survived. That’s headline enough.” He exhales, content. Outside, the campus hums on. Inside, everything is still. No experiments. No bets. No pretending. Just choice, made daily, imperfectly, honestly, somehow, that’s enough. And as you finally stretch out beside him, letting the quiet sink in, letting the mess exist without needing a punchline… you think, not for the first time, that maybe surviving is its own art form.

Against all logic, you still remember exactly how to do it. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

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[somuchdard]

REBLOG of Devil's Knights' Prey by Dollyyun

in honour of spooktober, here's Devil's Knights' Prey! Thank you for Miss Dollyun for writing it. I hope she feel alright now and feels comfortable to come back and continue writing soon <33

please keep in mind that this is a dark fic and make sure to read the trigger warnings before proceeding with the story, babygirls 🫂

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 6.3 Part 7.1 Part 7.2 Part 7.3

have fun, folks <33

[arelyvn]

THE BET - SJY ── .✦

Jake sim, one of the most popular boys in school makes it his goal to have you fall for him, a simple bet with his friends. Little does he know, he’ll be the one falling to his knees for you

sim jaeyun x fem!reader

content warnings: smut, angst, inexperienced reader x experienced jake, pussy drunk jake, pussy eating, fingering, dry humping, multiple makeout scenes, mutual masterbation, unprotected sex, cream pie, mentions of bullying & alcohol, jake is a massive giver, and a simp (begging), hyung line mentioned, porn with a plot..let me know if I missed anything!

word count: 16.8k

bonus scene here!

Going to a school where everyone around you got what they wanted was torture. Especially for someone like you. You don't come from a wealthy family like the other students do. Some people would call your home life unfortunate if they knew. Which is exactly why almost no one knows. 

You only got accepted into this school because of a scholarship program, after endless studying, and trying to stay focused at your old school, that was your out.

It was hard though, with the bullying, the mean comments, trying to remain sane while everyone in your life pushed and pointed like you were some object for observation and critiquing. 

But at your new school, people actually leave you alone. You've been attending here for a few months now. As a natural observer it only took 1 to understand the dynamic of the people here.

From the designer hand bags, to the freshly blown out hair, the girls here were not only gorgeous but also had the money to maintain things like that, it was obvious why they didn't bother you. Because you weren't a threat. 

Just like any other school there's always those cliques, the groups of people who hang around the same circle. Yours happens to be you and two other girls, your first friends you made here, Lyla and Gigi.

You have a hard time telling if they pity you, they know your situation. How your mother constantly tries to live off the wealth of other men, they know you don’t live in a good area—

“Oh my gosh he totally looked at me, didn't he look at me?” Lyla says, eyes darting between you and Gigi.

“He quite literally looks at anything with boobs Ly..” Gigi says, taking a bite of the school cafeterias fries.

“Come on, at least feed into my delusions a little bit” She says, stealing one of your fries.

You turn your head slightly, three tables back sits the most known group of boys in the whole school. Football players. Typical.

“You’re talking about Heeseung right?” you say turning back to your friends. “Obviously! I mean with Gigi being Jay’s sister obviously he knows who I am right?” She says, eyes wide

“Yeah- im sure he does, don't they hang out a ton after school and stuff too?” You ask, playing with the salad on your plate with a fork.

“Yup! At Gigi’s too, most of the time, and especially after practice, when they're hot and sweaty-”

“Okay gross. my brother is on that team” Gigi says, gagging

You've been to her house a few times, whether it was for one of your group projects, or to help her out with some school work, Slept over often too, I mean her house was huge.

Her parents even offered to have you sleep in one of the 6 guest bedrooms. But Lyla said it doesn't count as a sleepover if we’re not all together.

“Incoming, 12 o’clock.” Lyla says looking past your shoulder at the group of boys.

“How much you wanna bet she’s gonna yell at him” Gigi says, making you turn around, you watch as a familiar blonde haired girl you've seen around campus storms into the cafeteria, heels clicking on the ground as she approaches them.

“Jake where the fuck were you!” She yells, glaring at the dark haired boy, number 15 on the football team. You only know that because Lyla made you go through the list of them to figure out which one Heeseung was. 

You watch him, the way his eyes never leave his phone when he speaks. “God- What do you not fucking understand about where done?” He says finally looking up at her, the other guys around him look like they're watching a movie while they observe the interaction.

“But you didn't even-” she starts “Clara I don't want to hear your bullshit okay? Just leave me alone.” He says, tone irritated.

“Fine- you know you're just like all the other guys. Only talking to girls just to get your dick wet.”You watch the way her grip tightens on her designer bag.

“You didn't seem to mind.” He says, making the guys around him let out the laughs they've been holding.

“Fuck you- you’re so going to regret this!” She says, and you watch as he rolls his eyes and focuses back on his phone

“She looks like she's about to throw a tantrum” Gigi says, making your attention go back to your friends

“I mean Jake knew what he was getting into when they started..messing around" Lyla says. 

You just nod, half listening before turning your head again to look at the group, they’re back to laughing, probably at the interaction that just happened.

“-and then we can order pizza or something, it’s the perfect night for it too! You in y/n?” Lyla says, and you look at them confused “Huh?”

“Girl, The Victoria's Secret fashion show duh, it's live tonight.” She says "Gigi's house obviously since you know, movie theater room” 

“I love the way you volunteered my own place, But yeah, my house tonight” She says shrugging 

“Um- I dont know guys..I kind of have to study-”

“Y/n it's friday night. Come on, you have all weekend to study, please!” She says looking at you with those infamous puppy dog eyes

“Fine, fine ill be there, what time?” You ask, picking up your phone. 

“Like 7 ish?” Lyla says, looking at Gigi who just nods, “Yeah, Jay won't be home either, pretty sure him and his friends are going to some party.”

“Your parents are letting him?” Lyla asks, brow raising.

 “They're not even home, they literally left for their anniversary trip not even 3 hours ago.” Gigi says checking her phone. “So it will just be us then? she nods.

The rest of the day is a blur, between trying to set up tutoring appointments with your counselor, because apparently it looks good to help other students, and trying to finish your own work so you can actually go to Gigi’s.

You mentally prepare yourself to ask your mom if you can go tonight, hoping she's in a good mood. Knocking lightly on her bedroom door “Mom?” you ask quietly and the door swings open, you take in her attire, the club dress, the really tall heels, her hair and make up done. 

“You’re going on another date?” You ask brow raising 

“Yeah, remember that guy from the bar I told you about, Chris?" She says smiling, you nod even though you don't remember her saying a thing about him. 

“Right- um well I was just wondering if I can go to Gigi’s tonight? I finished my homework and stuff and its also friday so-” 

“Sure” She says, and you pause. It must be because she's going on a date, because you would have gotten a whole lot more shit. 

“Can you sleep over too.” It's not a question. 

“Uh- I can ask” You say shrugging

“Well just try too okay? Im about to leave” She says, putting in her earrings and giving you a very rare kiss on your forehead before walking out the door, leaving you confused as ever.

Its like the universe was on your side when you opened your phone to see the group chat messages 

Lyla: Gigi we should just have a sleepover

Lyla: It's already gonna be late when the live is done too

Lyla: Plus we haven't had one in so long

Gigi: yeah I was literally going to ask if you guys wanted to stay the night anyway lol

Lyla: YAY! Good because my bags already packed

Gigi: Y/n can u come too?

You: Yup! I'll be there

You set your phone down so you can focus on packing an overnight bag, you don't need to overdress either, so you settle on wearing some shorts, a hoodie, and fluffy socks with slippers, this is a sleepover after all

When you get to Gigi's house- no, mansion, because this can't even compare to your house. Lyla comes running out

"You're late!” She says, grabbing your bags from you “It's like 10 minutes-” 

“And the show starts in 20!” she says frantically, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the house

You dont think you’ll ever get over how nice it is, from the high ceilings to the expensive paintings on the wall, and the pool in the backyard, probably way too big for a family of four.

You catch the faint smell of popcorn from the kitchen, as Lyla places your bags by the stairs, “Where's Gigi?” you ask 

“Shes setting up in the movie room, im trying to finish the popcorn” Lyla says going to the kitchen

You walk down the hall you've grown familiar with, observing the pictures on the wall of Gigi's family 

“Y/n- how do you disconnect a Playstation from the TV? Jay didn't even bother to.” She says, clicking random buttons on the remote. You laugh walking over to help her

୨♡୧

“Okay all I have to say is when I get married and stuff, im making my husband buy me that specific set.” Lyla says over the runway music, making you and Gigi laugh because she practically yells over how loud it is. 

You open your mouth to speak but stop when all three of your eyes go to the door as it opens, Heeseung walks in pausing as his eyes go to the large TV screen “Holy shit- are you guys watching porn?” He says, looking at the model on the stage, the space instantly feels smaller as Sunghoon pushes  past him to get in the room “We’re not watching porn!” Gigi says, pausing the TV

Lyla is just staring at Heeseung, Jay walks in next “Gigi what the hell are you watching-”

“Did we interrupt your group gooning session?” Heeseung says. You watch Gigi's face flush red, now clearly visible since Jay turned on the lights. 

“Jay- You said you were going to that stupid ass party tonight!” She says walking over to him “Yeah well it got cancelled.” He says, rolling his eyes. “Bruh I've been wanting to play the ps5 all day” Sunghoon says before looking at the TV again 

“Do we not literally have a room for you to do just that?” Gigi says, eyeing down Sunghoon, before looking back at her brother.

“Dude someone left a whole bag of popcorn in the microwave-” Jake walks in pausing when he sees everyone in here, his eyes land on you for a split second before looking at the TV “What are they watch-” 

“Its not fucking porn! You all are so stupid!” Gigi says before her eyes snap back to Jay “I literally said I was having Y/n and Lyla over in our messages!”  

“Yeah well I forgot” He rolls his eyes again, you cant help but observe the other four boys, you watch Heeseungs eyes, following them to Lyla.. that has to be considered eye fucking. 

You can't help but look at Jake though, he's wearing glasses. Are they prescription? He’s looking at something on his phone. He just showed Sunghoon something on his phone that made him smile. Sunghoon looks at you for a second before nudging Jake's shoulder, Jake is looking at you- is he looking behind you? You turn your head slightly, before looking back at him, why is he smirking- 

“Fine! You keep the movie room well just go in the living room. Just don't snitch” Jay pleads, not even embarrassed that he's begging in front of his friends, Gigi just beams proudly, knowing she's won when they walk out.

୨♡୧

“She’s a virgin?!” Jake practically yells, making Heeseung, and Sunghoon's eyes snap to him. 

“You’re so fucking lucky the movie room is noise cancellation.” Jay says pinching his eyebrows 

“And- I don't even know if it's true, I just over heard Gi talking on the phone with her and Lyla a few weeks back” Heeseung and Sunghoons attention on the movie long forgotten 

“Are you talking about y/n?” Heeseung asks curiously 

“There's no way, I mean yeah she's like quiet and shit but she has some experience right?” Sunghoon adds

“I don't know man, but her and Gi became friends at the beginning of the school year, she's been over a few times. She's pretty chill.” Jay says 

“So she doesn't have a boyfriend?” Jake asks, brow raising 

“I thought you liked them experienced Jake? You fuck with little virgins now or what?” Heeseung says smirking 

“I mean she’s cute, nothing wrong with teaching her a thing or two” Jake says with a knowing look on his face

“She doesn't really talk to guys though–like at all. Gi always complains that she’s too busy studying. But she's hella smart, tutoring and shit-”

“Wait, she tutors?” Jake's ears perk up at that

“Yeah she came over to help Gigi with chem the other day.” Jay says casually, like he didn't just give him the golden ticket to your personal space

“Are you serious?” Sunghoon says looking at him

Heeseung glances between the two, picking up what they're hinting at. “It's kinda risky, I mean girls like that- they aren't like, easy you know? Plus you're literally one of the smartest on the team.” 

“You think she's actually gonna be interested though?” Jay asks

“I bet she'll see through that shit the first tutoring lesson honestly” Sunghoon says, making Heeseung laugh

“You think I only pull the easy ones?” Jake watching the both of them

“Thats all you’ve done this whole time-” Heeseung starts

“Alright bet.” Jake says, making the three of them pause

“Bet?” 

“Yeah, I'll get her to fall for me.” Jake says confidently 

“Yeah right” Heeseung adds

“Shit- I mean what about Clara though?” Sunghoon asks

“What about her? Im not fucking her anymore”

“You realise the shit she's gonna give y/n if you actually go through with that?” Jay says

“You’re basically setting her up for failure, Claras fucking crazy.” Heeseung says

“I still dont know why you decided to fuck her in the first place” he adds

“Probably because of her personality.” Jay says through a laugh

“Nah fuck her, she wont mess with y/n like that, shes not that desperate.” Jake says, but deep down he doesn't know if it's 100% true. Is he really setting you up for failure with this?

He's pulled from his thoughts when you come walking out of the movie room, coincidentally.

He only saw you sitting down, but now he's taking you in fully. Hoodie, shorts, fluffy…cat socks.

You pause when you see them all staring at you before awkwardly smiling and going to the kitchen to grab more popcorn.

Lyla and Gigi sent you out because they got it last time, but that's when there wasn't a group of guys you hardly knew in the living room. 

Jay nudges Jake's shoulder before glancing to the kitchen, hesitating a beat before standing up and walking over. 

You're looking through the five different popcorn options, who even needs that much popcorn anyway.

He watches as you choose the ‘extra butter’ one before speaking “Good choice” He says, walking further into the kitchen

“Oh- um thanks, it's the best one” You say, opening the microwave to put the popcorn in, he looks down at your legs, then back at your face when you turn around

“Y/n right?” He says, watching your face

“Yeah, I know who you are already though.” fingers toying with the end of your hoodie

“Oh? You've been to a game?” He says, taking a step closer 

“No- I mean, I don't really watch football like that or anything- or sports” You say, looking back at how much time is on the popcorn, 50 seconds. 

50 more seconds of this extremely weird interaction between you and one of the most popular guys in school. 

He notices, he doesn't like that. “Y’know we have the same 3rd block.”

“Oh- AP Anatomy & Physiology?" You ask, but you know exactly what he's talking about, how could you not. He’s the 9th one to arrive in class everyday, everyone swarms his desk like a bunch of baby ducks just to talk to him. 

“Yeah, I sit in the third row-” He's pauses when the beep of the microwave interrupts him, you silently thank the universe before pulling the popcorn out and mumbling something like “enjoy your movie” before practically running back to the movie room, leaving Jake confused, but also intrigued, most girls fall to their knees the second he gets within a 5 feet radius, so why did you just run away..

He walks back to the living room, sitting down, “Told you, easy ones only” Heeseung says through a laugh

୨♡୧

You're the first person to walk into AP Anatomy & Physiolgy on Monday, as always. You take your usual assigned, unassigned seat in the back row by the window, unpacking your bag, getting settled.

Your teacher walks in shortly after, she’s gotten used to you being here first. “Y/n” she says over the silence “Yes?”

“Are you okay with talking about how you're offering tutoring?” setting her own stuff down

"I'll have you do it at the end of class.” she adds. “Oh- yeah, I printed flyers for it too.” You say, and she smiles.

The students slowly file in, your eyes flick up to the door when the 9th person comes in. Jake.

The second he walks in his eyes are on you, you don't know why you feel hot all the sudden, like someone turned up the heater when he looks at you

Barely having any time to take in his outfit, you tap your pen on your paper, hoodie and jeans maybe?

You stop when you see the familiar frame take a seat next to you- Why is Jake sitting next to you, does he not always sit in the third row- You don't look at him, instead looking down at his shoe in your peripheral vision, because it would be weird to look at him. Even if you do feel his eyes on you. 

The class flies by, you write down whatever your teacher puts on the board, trying not to be distracted by the noticeable presence beside you, if he had an aura around him, it would be clashing into yours because this whole time you've been weirdly affected by his close proximity. 

“..And y/n has something to say as well.” Your teacher says, pulling you from your thoughts,you watch as everyone's heads turns to you before you stand up and walk to the front, clearing your throat

“Hi- im offering tutoring for anyone who needs extra help, any subject, um- here are the flyers if you're interested.” you say quickly before placing them on the teachers desk and walking back to your seat.

There's nothing you hate more than public speaking like that, you try to subtly calm your breathing. Jakes eyes are focused on you the whole time.

As soon as the bell rings you’re practically already out the door, Jake watches you stand up abruptly and rush out before he goes to the teachers desk to grab one of the flyers.

୨♡୧

“I don't know- she didn't even spare me a glance, like at all.” Jake says, setting his bag down on the bench in the locker room

“I told you, she doesn't talk to guys like that” Jay mutters, tying his shoe

“Pretty boy lost his charm huh?” Heeseung chuckles, shutting the door behind him

“Not completely” Jake says, pulling out your tutoring flyer from his bag

“You sneaky motherfucker-” Sunghoon eyes him, grabbing the paper from his hands

“Holy shit- you're actually going through with that?” Heeseung looks over Sunghoon's shoulder

“Just to prove a point?” Sunghoon asks

Jake doesn’t have time to reply before the Coach comes in, yelling at them to ‘get the fuck out the locker room’

୨♡୧

As soon as you get home, you pause when you see a suitcase by the door. “Oh y/n- took you long enough, you remember Chris right?” She say’s coming out of her room with a duffel bag

“The guy you went on a date with?” You ask, seting your backpack down

“Yeah, the rich one” She says with a smirk

“Anyways, he’s taking me to Boston for a trip!” She says excitingly

“Boston- what? Didnt you just meet him though?” You ask, brow raising in confusion 

“I think he might be the one” She says smiling, the same smile she’s put on every time she says that.

“Um- well how long?” you ask, trying to register this whole thing

“Hmm- like 2 and half weeks-”

“2 and a half?! Mom- what the hell?”

“Calm down, I hate when you get like this y/n.” She says, putting her duffel bag on her shoulder

“Theres money for food, and whatever you need on the counter. It's not like I'm leaving you here to starve.” 

“But-”

“Shit- I gotta go, ill call you when we land okay?” She says, giving you an awkward side hug before rushing out, leaving you confused as ever. This is what always happens though so you don't know why you're confused. She’s probably just doing it for the money anyway. Marry a rich man, use him to provide for us. It's pathetic.

The time was 9:46 when you receive the message. A number you don't know, you click on it

Unknown: Hey, Is this y/n?

You: Who is this?

Unknown: I got this number from your tutoring flyers

sitting up, this is the first person to actually text you about that

You: Oh yeah, what subject do you need help with?

Unknown: AP Anatomy & Physiology

You: Okay perfect, I have an A in that class so I can definitely help

You get your notebook out and a pencil

You: How soon do you want to start? And what's your first and last name

Unknown: Can we start tomorrow? I have practice everyday except Tuesdays

Practice? No way. You feel your heart beat pick up, This cant be–

Unknown: First names Jake, last names Sim.

The Jake Sim is texting you, about.. Tutoring. Is he not one of the top students though? You take a deep breath before typing back a reply

You: Okay, Tomorrow works. Does after school in the library work for you?

Jake Sim: Yeah im good with that

Jake Sim: I’ll see you tomorrow y/n

You shut your phone off, trying to ignore the way your palms are sweating a little too much right now, who even uses peoples names like that in messages?

Jake smiles down at his phone before swiping out of the chat.

୨♡୧

You're early. You're also early everywhere you go. You already set up your computer, and notebook with his name at the top, even after you erased it 3 times.

He walks in, you notice immediately, looking up from your paper, his hair is framing his face, no glasses today. White shirt with jeans. He smiles before sitting down across from you, you smile back, trying to seem less awkward.

You try to remind yourself, this is a mere tutoring lesson, so you'll act like it.

“So I just need to know what you're struggling on before we actually get into the teaching stuff.” you say looking at him, his eye contact is intense, it's hard to hold it.

He pulls out his own notebook

“Mainly muscle contractions,heart anatomy, and” He pauses before looking up at you “-Hormones.” You hesitate a beat before writing that down under his name. He notices.

“Okay, I can work with this- is there anything specific you don't understand? Is it a focusing thing?” You ask, genuinely concerned “I actually pulled up your average and you seem to be doing fine-”

“It's my memory” He says quickly “I have a hard time understanding, when the teacher talks it doesn't really comprehend well.” 

“Oh- that's completely normal, are you more hands on?” You ask

He smirks “And visual.”

You look like you're actually deep in thought “Okay so, we would need to do more interactive studying, makes sense.” You say writing more stuff down

He watches you, the way your brows furrow in thought.

“Are you going to the game next Friday?” He says, your eyes flick up to him, confused at the sudden question

“I don't really go to football games or anything- Thats more Lyla and Gigi” You say, eyes traveling down for a split second when his tongue wets his bottom lip

“You should come” He says casually, like time has no affect on him

“We really should stay on task“

“If I pass the test next week will you come?”

Your caught off guard by the question, his heavy gaze on you making it worse

“Um- I’ll think about it” You say before writing more stuff down, he smiles slightly

୨♡୧

The next week goes by quickly, thankfully. Your mom has only called once, claiming she forgot to say she landed, even if it was a day later.

Home is lonely, its quiet but its good for studying. Your thoughts drift to Gigis family sometimes, even though her and her brother argue half the time, at least she has someone.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear your name being called, not by the familiar voice of your friends but by..Jake?

Lyla and Gigi both look behind you, eye brows raised as he comes closer, standing infront of your table in the cafeteria

You watch the way people look at him, the heads turning to you, the attention—it’s too much

“Y/n” He says looking down at you

“I might be a little late for tutoring today, coach wants to talk to us about the game.” He says, making Lyla and Gigi’s eyes flick between you two

“Um- Okay, But you couldn’t have messaged me that?” you say, trying to ignore the gazes on you from people you’ve never spoken to in your life.

“I mean you were already here so-“

“Yeah just text me next time okay?” You say, avoiding eye contact

He looks over at his friends, watching their snickers. Oh hell no.

You think he’s going to walk away by now but he sits down, right next to you. That makes Lyla's jaw practically drop

“Why? You don’t like talking to me?” He says, watching you intently

“I never said that- you just cause a lot of..attention.” You say, looking around before looking at him

“You don’t like attention?”

“Not from this many people.” You say standing up, grabbing your bag

“Where are you going-“

“I have to go.” You mumble before putting your bag over your shoulder and walking out the cafeteria, not looking back because you know if you do, everyones eyes will be on you.

As soon as the doors shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Really?” Gigi asks, watching Jakes confused face

“You realize you’re like a magnet for attention right?” Lyla says

“And there’s nothing she hates more then that.”

“I was just asking her about tutoring.” Jake says, standing up to walk back to his friends

“Nice job man, you really do still got it huh?” Heeseung says through a smirk, making the others stifle their laughs

“Should’ve put money on it” Sunghoon adds, earning a glare from Jake

୨♡୧

Jake came in late like he said, 15 minutes to be exact. He looked out of breath, like he ran here.

The tutoring session was fine, you kept that professional exterior even if you were trying not to feel embarrassed about earlier, thankfully he didn't bring it up.

“Aren't hormones just when you're horny?” He asks, pencil raised above his paper, looking at you

You pause “Did you really just ask me that-” You didn't mean to say it out loud but you did, it makes him let out a chuckle, he bites his lip, something he does often, a little too often. To the point where you can't help your eyes follow when he does it.

“Okay um, let me think of how to word this” you say, looking down at your paper before back up at him “It’s not just what makes you- ‘horny’ but I guess that could be a way to describe it, a more..scientifical word is Steroid Hormones..”

He watches you talk, even if what your saying is hardly registering to him, because not only are you talking to him about sex hormones or whatever it is, but you're not wearing the same knit sweater you had on earlier, you must have taken it off, because he cant pull his eyes away from the way your tits look in that tank top-

“Jake?” Your voice cuts through his thoughts, his eyes find yours again.

“How are you supposed to pass this test when you can’t even focus?” You ask, completely unaware of how he was just looking at you

“Shit- sorry, what were you saying” He says a little bit more nervously than he intended, why is he so damn nervous, why do you even make him nervous? 

“Hm, you need something to do with your hands.” You say casually, taking him by surprise

His mind races with what you mean, please, please ask him to finger you.

He pauses when you pull out a rubix cube, a fucking rubix cube and hand it to him- what the fuck is he supposed to do with this shit?

“You said you were more hands on, one of the other students I tutor is also like that. Whenever she uses that, it's like she’s more focused, you should try it.” You say smiling, encouraging.

He doesn't know why he feels relieved when he hears the word ‘she’, but he does.

He takes the object from your hand, fidgeting with it for a few seconds before you continue

The rest of the lesson is smooth, who knew a rubix cube would actually work. You try to stay focused yourself though.

The constant bounce of your leg to settle whatever your feeling when you watch the way his fingers work the object in his hand, it should be illegal to have that many veins in the first place.

Later that night, in one of your moments where you give yourself a break from studying.

Heating up the leftover pasta you made the other night, you get a text. Your body reacts before your mind does, heartbeat picking up

Jake Sim: I tried the practice test thing you showed me earlier

Jake Sim: Got a 100% 

You smile, when he sends a picture of his laptop, the score on it saying just that

You: Good job

He frowns at his phone, that's all? No titty pic as a reward?

Jake Sim: Guess I'll be seeing you at Friday's game then :)

You: Well see if your studying shows then

Jake Sim: I'll make sure it does

୨♡୧

“Y/N!” you hear Jake yell after you, you stop to turn around, seeing him walking up to you, leaving Heeseung and Jay’s side as he comes into step beside you.

You’re still not used to the pointed looks you get from the people around you, but you're training yourself to pretend they aren't there.

Heeseung and Jay watch as Jake rushes to you like a damn puppy, looking at each other.

He hands you a paper, you take it looking down at the big 100% on the top “You actually did it!” You say smiling, before looking up at him beside you

He puts a hand on his chest, with a fake gasp “And to think you doubted me” He stops at the cafeteria door, pulling you aside before you walk in, facing you away from the people who keep looking at you. The nosy motherfuckers who can’t help but take attention to you ever since he’s became—friends? With you.

“So you'll come to the game then right?” He asks, doing that thing where he bites his lip

“Thats what we agreed on, plus Lyla and Gigi are going too” You say, watching the way his eyes light up

The last few people file in the cafeteria, leaving you and him alone. 

“Y’know what the theme is right?” He asks, and this time you're genuinely caught off guard- theme? He notices your confusion right away 

“Every game has a theme, pretty sure this one’s western, like cowboys and shit” He says watching your face, the way your eyebrows knit in uncertainty

“Lyla and Gigi didn't tell you?”, you shake your head softly

“Im surprised- they always go like all out for the themes” He says through a quiet laugh

Great. That only means they are going to make you go all out too.

You both pause when the final bell rings, walking in to the cafeteria like its the most normal thing, your steps falter when you feel the eyes on you, you look at your friends before glancing at Jakes group- why are they all staring at you-

“I’ll see you later y/n” He smiles before walking to his table, you sit down in front of Lyla and Gigi who are both looking at you knowingly

“What?” you say through an awkward laugh

“You know damn well what” Lyla says through a smirk

“Tutoring my ass” Gigi adds back

“Girl I do not look at my tutor like that” Lyla says, holding back a laugh

“Like what-?”

“Like I want to eat him the fuck up- because thats how The Jake sim was just looking at your ass-” You almost choke on your water, making her and Gigi laugh

You look down at the table to hide your blush “Well, you guys also didnt tell me there was a theme at the game.” You say, crossing your arms

“Okay when was the last time you checked the group chat y/n” Gigi asks, you pull out your phone

“This morning..” You say scrolling through the message thread

Lyla: Okay so what are we wearing tn

Gigi: Themes cowboy right?

Gigi: You know how much my mom and dad LOVE that costume shit

Gigi: I have so much stuff for it at my house

Lyla: Wow gigi inviting us over

Gigi: I can take u guys home after school

Lyla: YES

Lyla: We have to look GOOD, especially you y/n

Lyla: For you know

Gigi: Jake

Lyla: Okay shes probs not even on her phone

You swipe out, just to see if your mom said anything, you click on the messages to see a sunset picture and city buildings, typical.

“So, can you come?” Lyla asks

“Yeah sure- but we don’t have to go all out right?”

They look at each other before looking at you, the smile on their faces tells you everything you need to know

୨♡୧

“This feels like a lot..” You say looking at your outfit in her bedroom mirror

“No y/n- you look like, hot.” Lyla says, choosing one of the 7 cowboy hats Gigi brought out

“This is the final touch” She says before putting it on your head

This is quite literally the opposite of you, completely. It’s something you would never wear if it weren't for them, you wonder what your old self before you transferred schools would think. From the white fitted shirt, to the jean skirt, down to the—cowboy boots..

You adjust the red bandana on your neck so its not choking you uncomfortably

Gigi watches your worried face “I promise the others will be doing 10x more than us.” She reassures you, you look at them in the mirror, Lyla's shorts that hug her curves, Gigi’s shirt that compliments her body perfectly.

This feels very..them. You can't help but feel like an outsider trying to fit in.

“Jake will love it” Lyla says, hiding her smirk

“What- Jake?” The thought of Jake seeing you in this makes you nervous..but also exited? What would he think, would he expect you to wear this?

You're pulled from your thoughts when the man himself sends you a message

Jake Sim: Hey y/n were gonna grab food after the game

Jake Sim: Wanna come?

Jake Sim: Lyla and Gigi can come to

Jake Sim: I already told Jay not to bitch abt it lol

Your fingers hover over the screen

"Quadruple text is crazy” Lyla says through a smile

Gigi peaks over your shoulder “I do not want to hang out with my brother for fun.” She says, rolling her eyes

“Come on Gi! The others will be there too and! Heeseung’s fine ass” Lyla says, looking in the mirror to adjust her push up bra

Gigi just puts on her boots with a shrug

“Y/n say yes please!” Lyla says, practically jumping up and down

“Fine- fine” 

You: Yeah sure.

“Um- Thats all?” Lyla asks 

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know, maybe say something like ‘I'm so excited!’ or ‘good luck!- you know what just give me the phone.” Lyla says snatching it from your hand and sending a message

You: Good luck Jakey! I'll be cheering you on! ;)

“What the hell- is there a way to delete this, how do I-” 

“Really Ly? He’s gonna know thats not y/n, she like never uses emojis” Gigi says cringing 

“Maybe if he wins he'll give you good dick?” Lyla says shrugging 

Your face goes red, this topic, talking about him-

Jake Sim: Haha thanks y/n :) 

“See, completely normal!” Lylas practically beaming

“Yeah so that definitely wasn't her” Jake says putting on his cleats

“Jakey? Really?” Sunghoon mimicks 

“I wouldn’t doubt if Lyla took her phone honestly.” Jay mutters

“Lyla's coming right?” Heeseung asks, putting on his jersey

His friends look at him “Why?”

“I mean shes hot as fuck dude, plus she totally looks at me all the time” He adds, fixing his hair in the locker mirror

“Yeah she's coming” Jake says, looking back down at the messages

୨♡୧

When you, Gigi, and Lyla get to the game a little earlier, they were not joking about people going all out. Compared to everyone else, your outfit was tame to say the least.

You three find a spot in the bleachers, your eyes scanning the field for one specific person.

You watch him, he’s drinking water on the side right now- his helmet is in his other hand, how can someone look so good drinking water.

You watch as Heeseung nudges Jake's shoulder beside him, and then Jake's eyes are on you

“Holy fuck” He says to Heeseung

You cant see what they’re saying 

“I mean she looks like a cowboys wet dream” Heeseung says, smirking

Jake gives him a pointed look, before turning back to you, the distance is good enough for him to see the way your skirt clings to your legs, and how good that shirt looks on you, Fuck. 

He waves at you, you look behind to see if it was someone else but there's no one behind you yet, you turn back to see him smiling at you before offering a small wave back

Lyla and Gigi are both watching from beside you, eyes flicking between you and Jake

You watch as Heeseung yells at him, and as he puts his helmet on before running over to him, a smile that wont go away ever since he saw you plastered on his face

“You sure you're not just doing this for the love of the game” Heeseung says, putting in his mouth guard 

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A statement that might be right. Because this doesn't feel like some childish bet anymore.

The first half of them game goes well, you dont really understand much. But from the way Lyla, Gigi, and the rest of the students are cheering, thats definitely a good sign. “Im going to get water, do you guys want any?” you say, stepping off the bleachers 

“Yeah- soda?” Lyla says, before looking back at the field where a very sweaty heeseung is spraying water in his mouth

You nod before walking to the concessions, the line isn't too bad, so you just pull out your phone to scroll, when two girls come behind you, you wouldn't care normally but its what they're talking about that makes your hand pause over your screen

“I mean he hasn't even looked at me this whole time, which is crazy because not even a month ago he had me sucking his dick!” One of the girls says, you look down to see pink cowboy boots

“His very big dick” Her friend says

“Ridiculously big. Fuck I miss it im not gonna lie.” 

“Isn’t he fucking with a new girl now though?” You hear her friend say, you watch as the person in front of you takes way too long to order

“Yeah some nerd ass bitch, teachers pet apparently” 

“I don't know Clara, she's like hella smart” 

You shut your eyes for a second, Clara, you recognize that name. That's the same girl who yelled at Jake in the cafeteria that one time

“I don't care how smart she is, that's literally my man” 

“Girl- he literally dropped your ass in front of the whole cafeteria..”

Your attention is brought back when it's your turn to order, you pay for the drinks before going back, doing your best to avoid turning around.

“Y/n?” Lyla says, when you hand her the sprite

“You look like you've seen a ghost, are you good?” Gigi asks, concern laced in her tone

“Yeah im good” You say offering a tight smile, the bandana on your neck suddenly feeling too tight.

It feels like someone has their hand around your heart, squeezing it, because why did hearing those things make you feel this way– Why is Jake even talking to you? Why did he even invite you in the first place?

You watch as the starting players go back on the field, but your mind can't focus when all these questions are flooding in. What does someone like him even want with you.

୨♡୧

You look down at your phone 

Jake Sim: Hey me and the guys will be out in 5 mins

You read the message, before putting your phone in the pocket of your skirt, people are still hanging around, the players usually shower after a game apparently.

Exactly 5 minutes later Jake comes out, jeans, and a black zip up hoodie with a white shirt underneath, his bag is on his shoulder, his hair is still wet from the shower, and you cant help the heat that goes to your face when he waves to you.

You look past him to see the rest of his friends coming out behind him, you see Heeseung whisper something in Jake's ear that makes him roll his eyes.

“Good job- you were great out there” You say, fixing the cowboy hat on your head

“I had good motivation” He says, eyes on your face before they drift to your clothes, finally seeing you up close like this.

“Alright can we go now? Im hungry as fuck.” Jay says, interrupting the moment

You turn to Lyla, who's talking to Heeseung, then to Gigi who shrugs

“Y/n, I can drive us” Jake says, bringing your attention back to him

“Oh its fine I dont-”

“That's a great Idea!” Lyla says a little too loud, making everyone's eyes go to her 

“Theres not enough room in Gigi's car for all of us anyway, so it works out” She adds, calculating smile plastered on her face, she ignores the pointed look you give her

“Alright yeah whatever can we just go now before I die of starvation” Jay says, making Gigi roll her eyes “fat ass.” She mutters before walking to her car

“You did not just call me a fat ass Gi- Weren’t you the one who ate all the fucking leftovers-” You and Jake watch them walk to the car, before you and him walk to his.

You curse Lyla for leaving you with him like this- when he smells so good and his hair is wet, and his hands-

“You look really pretty,” He says, putting his bag in the trunk before opening the passenger door for you. “Thank you-” You reply back quietly, trying to ignore the way your heart hammers in your chest.

But how many other girls has he said that too- that girl Clara? 

He gets in the Drivers seat, and starts the car, watching the way you look out the window. Immediately noticing the way you shift

“So, for the first football game you went to, how was it?” he says pulling out of the parking lot

You turn slightly to look at him, the way his face concentrates on the rode, but also managing to talk to you “It was fun” You smile before looking back out the window

“Did you get anything from the concessions? I heard they added slushies and stuff.” He says, tapping his finger on the steering wheel, trying to seem unbothered by the way your energy shifted the second you stepped foot in his car

The mention of drinks has your mind going back to the conversation you heard earlier, what if those girls had knew you where the one they were talking about–

“Yeah just some, um..water and stuff” You say, trying to avoid the way his eyes are pinned on your head

4 minutes of silence pass, except for the low music playing from the speakers, and the car's engine.

“Is everything good?” He asks, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead

“What– yeah of course, why wouldn't it be.” You say quickly, fingers toying with the hem of your jean skirt.

He doesn't buy it.

Your brows furrow in confusion when he pulls over, looking at him as he puts the car and park “What are you doing-”

“Tell me what's wrong” he says, hand still on the steering wheel, but eyes on you

“Nothing's wrong?” You feel that familiar heaviness on your chest

“Y/n. you can't even look at me, did I do something?” He asks, knuckles white from how hard he's gripping the steering wheel

“You can tell me whatever it is-”

“Why do you talk to me?” You ask, finally looking at him

“I..I just don't understand– all the sudden it goes from you not even looking at me, and then you're asking to be tutored by me, and then you invite me to your game, and then im in your car-” you continue, your heart beat rising with how much words you're saying in one breath. He doesn't interrupt you.

“And I really didn't think you needed to be tutored, honestly, you're one of the top students in our class- no, in our grade. But I did anyway, it honestly just feels like you pity me. Because why would someone like you want to be friends with someone like me– It just doesn't make any sense.” You stop, breathing in heavy breathes, too aware of how close he is right now, how he's looking at you.

“I don't pity you y/n. I like spending time with you.” He says, watching your face

“Fuck- I mean, I took the flyer and the tutoring because I wanted to spend that time with you- whenever I tried to talk to you any other way you just– blew me off?” He says, contemplating his words

He looks down at his hands before back up at you, noticing the way your features slightly soften

He lifts his hand to take the hat off your head, so he can fully see your face

“Why would someone like me want to be friends with you?” He repeats your question, you didn't realise how close you two got, faces nearly an inch away from each other

“I don't want to be friends y/n. I want more than that–I fucking crave more than that” His gaze drops to your lips, a silent question

“Jake-” You whisper out before he presses his lips to yours,you instantly melt at the contact, your hand finds the collar of his shirt, attempting to tug him closer over the center console, his hand holds the back of your head, threading his finger in your hair, he moves his lips against yours, slowly, testing, you follow his lead, letting go instead of taking control. He feels the way you let him, unable to hold the small groan that travels its way to your mouth through the kiss.

You pull back, breathing hard, opening your eyes to look at him, his lips have a slight shine from your saliva, he licks them before looking into your eyes.

You don't know what you're doing, you've never even done anything like this before, but the way he’s looking at you, like you absolutely wrecked him gives you a new found confidence.

You sit up, before moving to get over the center console, he just watches you as you settle on his lap, his hands immediately resting on your waist “y/n-”

“just kiss me” You say, and he doesnt hesitate before pressing his lips against yours, this time its lessed controlled, he doesnt hold himself back.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, his hands are touching everywhere, sliding up and down your back, before cupping your ass in his hands making you gasp into his mouth, he swallows that down, tongue running over your bottom lip.

You feel the heat pooling between your legs, shifting slightly, which makes him let out a broken sound before looking down, the way your skirt is riding up, how you’re sitting right on his hardening cock, he looks back at your face, kissing the corner of your mouth before he pulls you on him more, the friction making you let out a quiet sound– he needs to fucking hear it again, and you need to feel it again. 

It starts off slow, testing, in the way you roll your hips on him, you watch him throw his head back “Fuck, baby-” You grind down a little harder, in response to the name, he rolls his hips with you, the seam of his jeans catching your clit just right through your underwear, enough to make you let out small sounds that has his eyes rolling

He leans in to kiss you again, hands splayed on your ass to pull you impossibly closer, the kiss is desperate, frantic, tongues moving together in a rhythm like you were made for each other, there's no leader, no follower, this is just- the two of you.

“J-jake–” you let out, biting your lip when he grinds up, hitting the perfect spot, hes pulling you against him, controlling the way your hips move, fingers digging into the soft flesh through your skirt, He slides his hand underneath the denim fabric, to really feel you, groaning into your mouth at how warm and soft you are in his hands.

“You’re going to kill me-” You both freeze when a loud ringtone comes from his phone.

“Shit- I forgot about the plans” he says, looking at his phone 

Jay: Dude where the hell are you

Jay: Im srsly abt to order with out you

Sunghoon: we got u and y/n waters

Jay: -Missed call-

“We should probably-”

“Yeah”

The warmth of your body is removed like a flash when you sit back down in the passenger seat, fixing your skirt, he tries to ignore the way his dick is throbbing in his jeans right now. Instead he watches you, the flush on your cheeks, the small smile that's barely noticeable

“What?” You say through a chuckle, noticing his stare

“Im just really lucky” He says, before putting the car into drive and getting back on the road, even when you two get out of the car, walking into the restaurant, you’re still thinking about what he said.

Because no one has ever told you they were lucky to have you.

୨♡୧

The next week of school is fun, and easy. You still decide to tutor Jake, because he said it really helped him.

Even if it did lead to small kisses, you definitely weren't complaining. People still look at you two when you walk together in the hallway, he even invited you to sit with him in the caferitria with his friendgroup, they are actually really nice to you.

The best part is seeing Gigi and Jay argue, it's like having your own show to watch while you eat

You don't miss the way Heeseung and Lyla look at each other, or when coincidentally the both of them are late for lunch.

Under the table, Jake's hand is splayed across your thigh, everytime he laughs he squeezes it slightly, which makes you try and close them, but he notices. He notices everything when it comes to you.

“..And not to mention Gigi’s parents bought the good ice cream” Lyla says, practically about to burst from excitement

“Okay so it's like a pool party then?” Sunghoon says, raising his eyebrow

“Well, just like with us though.” Gigi says

“Im not trying to have half the school trash the house, especially when mom and dad get back tomorrow.” She adds, you watch Jay nod

“Im in” Heeseung says, turning to watch Lyla “Perfect! What about you and Jake?” She says turning to you both

“Yeah im down” he smiles before looking at you

“Um- Ill have to check, but ill text you when I get home” You say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear

“Okay, perfect!” She squeals

“Just come over any time after school then” Jay says

You nod before glancing down at your phone, re reading the message from your mom

Mom: Me and Chris decided to stay a little longer, you have enough money for food still right?

Jake watches you “Are you okay?” he says, quietly so no one else can hear

“Oh yeah- im fine” You say, putting your phone down and smiling

୨♡୧

“I can't do this.” You say as soon as you close Gigi’s bedroom door behind you

They both look at you as you pull out the bathing suit from your tote bag, you watch Gigi cover her mouth to stifle a laugh

“You can’t be serious” Lyla says, standing up to take the middle school one piece swimsuit from your hands

“This thing is hideous” She holds it up in the air

“Im not one to judge but you absolutely cannot wear that y/n” Gigi says, standing up to look at it closer

You bury your face in your hands, sitting down on her bed

“I brought like 5 different bathing suits, plus Gigi has a shit ton, and you are most definitely borrowing one.” Lyla says, emptying her bag on the bed, you glance at the small strings, and shapes before looking up at her 

“What? I wanted to bring my slutty ones, I thought Heeseung would like them” She says smiling proudly

“And im sure jake will” She adds, wiggling her eyebrows

“You’re so ridiculous Ly” Gigi mutters before tying her hair in a bun

You pick up a red triangle bikini top, and Lyla nods

“Good choice, these are the bottoms” She says, holding them up

“These are bottoms? Like swimming bottoms?” you say, taking them from her hand 

“Yup! Just try it on at least” She smiles sweetly, waiting for your approval, you nod

“Come downstairs when you’re done okay?” Gigi says, opening her bedroom door.

You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, The bathing suit fits well, it's just..small. Like if you make one wrong move you'll definitely flash someone. You turn around to see how it looks from the back, not completely terrible- just a bit cheeky?

You think Jake might like it, not to mention the fact that you chose the red one because he mentioned he liked that color.

You pause when you hear the sound of male voices, they must be here. You take one last look at yourself before opening the door and almost getting knocked to your ass when you collide with something hard

“Shit- y/n?” You look up, Jake–Your eyes take in his form, the swim trunks, the white tank top perfectly stretched across his chest. His hair, messy, yet perfectly styled, before looking at his face. He’s smiling down at you

You're suddenly aware that you're practically half naked in front of him, You weren't even planning on going in the water, except for your feet–you need to grab your shorts and put them on “I was just uh, I just need my shorts–” 

His hand trails down your shoulder, grabbing your hand before placing it on his chest, over his heart, you feel the fast beats of it, almost in sync with how quick yours is "You're making me nervous” he whispers, he takes a step forward so he's in the bathroom with you, shutting the door behind him softly

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, testing to see your reaction before he pulls back to look down at you, you put your hands on his shoulders before leaning to kiss him again, he reacts immediately, hands on you the second you touch him, his hand starts at your waist before moving down to cup your ass in his hand, you gasp at the feeling, he kneads the flesh in his hands, squeezing it while kissing you deeper “You look so fucking good baby” He says through heavy breaths, looking at your face

He moves until your pressed against the counter, before lifting you up on it, your legs spread slightly to make room for him, while keeping your lips on his.

The kiss is messy, desperate, his hands are on your hips, and you let out a muffled sound when he presses his hips against you, you feel it, the hardness of him against your thigh, you pull back to see the desperate look on his face, the way his cheeks are slightly red, his lips looking even more plump from your kisses

He takes his right hand from your waist, splaying it on your thigh, before he looks into your eyes, you nod.

You watch his hand inch higher, grazing your inner thigh, his finger tip brushes your core, making you shiver at the contact, he watches you intently before pressing his fingers against you, making you let out a shaken breath

Leaning in to brush his lips across your jaw, before slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of the bathing suit bottoms, finally feeling your warmth “Fuck, you’re so wet–” He says, looking down before kissing your neck, softly, reassuringly 

He starts with small circles around your clit, testing to see what makes you feel good, your legs spread wider when he does small figure eights on your clit, hands braced on his shoulders as he presses open mouthed kisses to your neck, trailing up to your ear

His middle finger brushes your entrance, lightly, while his other hand comes up to move the hair out of your face

“Have you ever been fingered y/n?” He asks, voice low, watching the way your chest falls and rises, you shake your head “Do you want to be?” He says, biting his lip “Y-yes, I want you to, Jake” He presses his hard cock against your thigh, groaning at the permission

He connects his lips to yours, you let him in instantly, tongues dancing together before he slowly guides his finger in your entrance, “breathe baby, you're so tight” he whispers against your lips, you close your eyes when his finger goes deeper, making you let out a quiet moan, his single digit stays there, embraced by your warmth before he curls it slightly making you whimper in his mouth “Jake– “ you let out through a wispy breathe

He moves his thumb to circle around your clit, in lazy motions “can you take another, baby? It’ll feel even better” kissing your cheek softly, you nod and he pulls out his finger, before inserting two digits, making you let out a desperate sound at the stretch.

He kisses you, in attempt to quiet you down, before moving his fingers in and out of you, curling inside, rubbing your clit with practiced ease

Seeing you like this, overhwemled by the pleasure he’s bringing you could make him come right now.

“You’re so perfect baby- this pretty pussy’s taking my fingers so well” He whispers, the filthy things making you clench around his fingers, he adds more pressure to your sensitive bud, “j-jake im gonna-“

“You gonna come for me baby?” slightly picking up the pace his fingers are moving, fucking them in and out of you.

Your moans are only getting louder, he move his other hand to cover your mouth, muffling them so the others don't hear down stairs, he feels your hole fluttering around your fingers, so he moves them even faster, making it his life fucking goal to have you come from this

His eyes dont know what to focus on, switching from the way your tits slightly bounce, to the way his fingers disappear inside you, or to the way you’re looking at him, the dazed half lidded look, he presses against your clit just right, making you clench hard on his fingers as you ride your orgasm out, moaning into his hand, your juices coating his fingers and dripping out, he brings his hand back down from your mouth, watching the way your breathing slows, before pulling out his fingers, the loss of contact making you whimper with how sensitive you are

He brings his fingers up to his lips, locking eyes with you before putting them in his mouth, sucking your arousal off, the sight makes you let out a breathy sound, you can feel your pussy throbbing at the sight from exitement

You’re blushing from the filthy act, he brings his lips to yours capturing you in a kiss, you can slightly taste your arousal on his tounge “You’re so beautiful–” you both freeze when a knock on the bathroom door slices the moment in half

“Jake are you in there man? We’re trying to choose pizza toppings– the girls said they dont care whats on the pizza, they just went outside claming they didnt want to ‘waste tanning time’ I dont know-” jay rambles on

“Yeah im in here, ill be down in a sec” Jake says, forehead resting on yours before he pulls back

“Alright- and if you find y/n tell her to come down too” Jay adds

You and Jake listen to the sound of retreating footsteps

“We should probably go down there” he says, pulling back and helping you get off the counter

“Yeah i just need to get some shorts-” You watch as he pulls your bottoms back up, adjusting them before leaning down to press one more kiss to your lips

“I’ll see you in a few minutes” He says with that familiar smirk on his lips, before walking out and shutting the door behind him, he leans against it for a second, still trying to process what just happened, before adjusting his extremely hard cock in his bottoms, and making his way downstairs.

You look in the mirror, pressing your fingers against your lips, the feeling of him kissing you lingering. Your body is still burning from the aftermath of your orgasm. You fix your hair in the mirror, going back to Gigi’s room to put on your shorts

And finally making your way down the stairs, you pause halfway when you hear Heeseung's voice

“Who y/n?” You hear him say

“Who else dumbass?” Sunghoon replies

They're talking about you. instead of going downstairs you stay there, just to see what they're saying

“Have you told her?” Jay asks

“No–I can’t fucking tell her that”

“Yeah you’re cooked” heeseung says flatly

Cooked?

“I really like her, And not in some casual hook up way okay? I don’t know whats going on, and im confused because ive never felt this way before about someone–” Jake says, breathing hard

“Shit-” You hear his friends say

“I dont give a fuck about some dumb bet, it was stupid of me–”

Your heart drops. Bet? What does he mean by that? 

“God- Why couldn't you just go after her like a normal person” jay says frustratingly

“You realise she’s gonna fucking hate you if you dont tell her” he adds

You walk further down the stairs, watching the way all four of them look at you

“W-what bet” You let out, hating yourself for stuttering

Jake's face drops in realization that you heard that, you don't even look at his friends, the ones who made you think they actually liked you. You just watch him. It was all just some play– 

“What bet Jake?” you say again, trying to calm your heartbeat, as he walks over to you, reaching for your hand

You swat his hand away “dont fucking touch me” and he flinches at that, hardly visibly. But he does. 

“Y/n-” He starts, you watch as the back porch door slides open, Gigi and Lyla walking in, with confused looks at the way everyone’s frozen in place, before their gazes fall on you

“Im going home. I- I can't do this” You say, suddenly too aware of how everyone is looking at you, unable to even look in Jake's eyes, you turn around for the front door, Jake calls your name again but you don't hear it.

Not over the sound of your heart, not over the ringing in your ears.

You can't speak when it feels like someone has a wire around your throat and you can't breathe.

You shut the front door behind you, sitting on the stairs immediately, trying to calm yourself, trying not to cry. You can't cry. Not here.

You don't look behind you when you hear the door open and shut, please don't be Jake.

“Y/n do you want me to drive you home?” you let out a relieved sigh when you hear Gigi’s voice, before standing up and nodding.

Gigi knows you, she knows you don't want to talk right now, so instead of pushing you, she turns up the music, looking at you every now and then as you stare out the window.

“You all can eat shit” Lyla says looking at the four boys in the kitchen 

“Espeicially you Heeseung, for not fucking saying anything.” She says before looking at Jake

“Ly-” Heeseung starts watching Lyla walk over to Jake

“How could you do that to her? You’re fucking terrible.” She says before storming upstairs, leaving the four of them

“I need to do something- I need to call her” Jake says pulling out his phone, Jay stop his hand

“She needs space Jake.” He says, watching him as he lowers his phone

“Fuck.” Is all he says, because Fuck himself for being so stupid, fuck him for hurting you, fuck him for not telling you sooner, if anything he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

But the least he can do is try.

୨♡୧

You cried as soon as you got home. You held it until Gigi drove off, she offered to stay but you never have people actually come inside.

Part of you regretted it, because you wish you had someone to hold you, even as you crumbled to the floor as soon as you shut the front door.

But you have no one. Not even you’re own mother, whose out with her new boyfriend, living her best life and leaving you in the past, like always.

Later that night you try and rememebr anything—how could you not see through it, of course it was some bet. He didnt mean anything he said to you, and you were stupid to think the most popular guy in the school wanted to ‘spend time with you’

Even as you shower, the memory of his hands on you not even 24 hours ago is still jarred in your mind, the reassuring touches, the praise.. But it was all just fake.

You couldnt sleep. For good reason. Every time you tried to close your eyes, your mind kept going back, trying to over analyze the situation, trying to think of an excuse.

It was 12:49 when you got the message

Jake sim: Y/n, im so sorry

Jake sim: Don’t shut me out

Jake sim: Please

Jake sim: Baby

Your press your hand to your chest, like it would stop the painful feeling in your heart.

You never answered him. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, you finally fell asleep, you didn’t bother checking the time you did, because you knew you would just pity yourself.

୨♡୧

On Monday, you’re not the first one in class. Jake was. He sat in his seat next to yours, eyes flicking from your desk to the door, waiting for you to come in.

As soon as you walk in, he sits up straight, watching you walk, not towards the seat next to him but to some random one in the second row, where the guy who never shows up would sit.

He watches you take your stuff out of your bag, he looks down at the way your leg bounces, he hates himself because he knows he’s the reason you’re so fucking anxious right now.

The teacher talks like its any other day. Of course she would, she’s not going to stop the school day because he fucked up. When the bell rings you’re the first one out, he goes to call your name but stops when you rush out of the door.

“I almost beat Jay’s ass, like actually.” Gigi says before taking a bite of the cafeteria sandwhich

“Mom and dad nearly crashed out when they came home and saw I already was pulling his hair” She adds

“Can he stop fucking staring already” Lyla says, looking at you then at the table 3 rows behind where Jake was looking right at you

“Im going over there” Jake says to his friends

“Uh no dude- you’re fucking not” Sunghoon says, tugging him back down by his shoulder

Jake shrugs him off before getting up to walk over to you, ignoring the exaggerated sighs from his table

“Oh shit” Gigi mutters

“He’s like actively walking over here y/n” Lyla adds

You turn your head slightly to see him walking towards you, before standing up

“Im going to the bathroom.” You say, grabbing your bag and moving towards the door

Jakes steps falter when he watches you get up, he wants to yell at you, tell you to stop walking away from him so bad. But he knows that would make it worse. He doesn’t look at Lyla and Gigi before turning around and going back to his table.

His friends are silent when he sits down, the usual snickers, or comments don’t come.

You set your bag down by the sink, bracing your hands on it, looking in the mirror, “don’t cry, don’t cry” you whisper to yourself

“I mean I don’t get whats so fucking special about her, shes just like normal-“ You pause when you see two girls walk in, blonde, Clara.

“Well look who it is” She says walking further in, her friend beside her

“Jakes little slut” She coos, looking you up and down judgementally

“Im not-“ You start but she cuts you off

“I want you to stop talking to him.” she says, crossing her arms over her chest

“Clara-“ her friend starts

“No, this bitch needs to fuck off my man”

“You can have him.” You say, voice low

They look at each other confused

“I said you can have him.” you say, louder

“Just leave me alone.” you mutter, putting your bag over your shoulder

“The fuck-“ she starts when you walk past her before pulling you by your bag strap

She pulls your bag off your shoulder, making it fall to the ground with a thud, you don’t turn around.

You wait for the hit. Because you’re used to this, You close your eyes, tight. Trying to block off everything, when you hear Lyla

“What the fuck are you doing Clara?!” She yells, Gigi following in beside you

“Just teaching this bitch a lesson to not mess with my man-“

“Your man?” Gigi says with a scoff

“You need a fucking reality check because he does not want your ass” She adds, picking your bag up from the floor

Lyla comes infront of you “Y/n are you okay?” you nod, not because you’re okay, but because you have to be.

You block out the sound of them arguing, taking your bag from Gigi before walking out. Of course this would happen to you, and of course you’re running away.

୨♡୧

You dont talk about what happened the next day, they dont bring it up either.

They were laughing at something on Lylas phone when you got a text

Jake Sim: Are we still on for tutoring?

Jake Sim: In the library right?

You look back for a split second, over your shoulder to see him looking at you, his phone in his hand, you turn back around almost immediately, typing out a response, deleting it and typing it again

You: -Sent contact-

You: If you need tutoring so bad, he does Tuesdays too. Stop texting me.

You shut off your phone, putting it in your pocket, he watches.

Its like everything around him is silent. He cant fucking focus, coach even gave him shit for not doing good at practice yesterday. He tries to act normal, but the affect you have on him isn’t something that can go away.

“Earth to Jake” Heeseung snaps in his face to get his attention

“Motherfucker thinks he’s Jeff buckley” Sunghoon says through a snort

“Brought it on himself” Jay shrugs

“I need to get drunk” Jake says, running his hands through his hair, something hes been doing often lately

“And laid” Heeseung adds

“I can’t think about fucking another girl right now” He says, checking his phone again in hopes you sent a message

“I mean I heard Jungwon’s throwing a party after the game on Friday” Jay says, looking at the group

“Who’s going?” Jake asks

“Shit—if its Jungwon then probably half the school” Heeseung says, rubbing his jaw

“You know what, why not. The alcohol better not be shit” Jake says, making them laugh

୨♡୧

“Please y/n! We can come pick you up and everything, I know you’re not going to be doing anything either” Lyla says through the speakers of your phone

“Yeah, Fuck him, you deserve to go out, for once?” Gigi adds

“We know you’re not all that party type but just this once! Plus Jungwons house is nice as hell”

“I don’t know guys—What if he’s there?” you say worried, unlocking the front door to your house and shutting it behind you

“If he was going, Jay would have said something. I know they have a game tonight so I doubt they’re gonna wanna go to a party.” Gigi says, opening a bag of chips

“Okay but what am I supposed to wear?”

“Do you wanna get laid?” Lyla asks

“What—no”

“Im just kidding, wear that one black skirt I let you borrow and those low rise jeans”

“I never even wore it though-“

“Exactly why its perfect! Well come get you at 10, love you bye!” Layla says quickly before hanging up

You listen for Gigi, but all you hear is the faint sound of her arguing, presumably with Jay, before you hang up and set your phone on the counter.

You dont go to parties, ever. But here you are stepping out of your comfort zone, maybe its good that you’re. Maybe you need a change.

୨♡୧

“Oh hell no.” Gigi says once you all walk into the house, it's almost as big as hers, but you're not paying close attention to it because right now. instead you're watching Jake take down a shot in the kitchen. 

It smells like cheap alcohol and sweat. The place is packed, you take your eyes off him and look around, you recognize faces you've seen around campus, and some you haven't

You watch as Gigi storms over to the kitchen to Jay “What the fuck are you doing here?” She asks Jay who looks at her like she has 2 heads “What am I doing here? Jungwon is my friend” He says back, you and Lyla walk over to the kitchen, following her. 

You don't look at him. You can't look at him, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“I’ll tell mom and dad you ass-” Gigi starts

“Oh but that means they'll know you were here too” He says, faking a pout

“Shit” She replies, looking at you and Lyla

“Fine, truce.” She says, grabbing 3 red cups

You watch Jay hold out his hand, but she swats it away rolling her eyes before pouring whatever is in the bottles on the counter into the cups

“Drinks?” She says, handing you and Lyla the cups

“Please and Thank you, I need to find a hot guy to make out with” Lyla says taking the cup

“Im right here babe” Heeseung smirks, stepping closer to her

“Literally anyone but you” She says, walking away from the kitchen, you watch as he follows her

You hesitate a beat before taking the cup from her hand, Jake doesnt miss the way your eyes flick over to him for a split second

“Y/n can we-” He starts before a familiar obnoxious voice flows in the kitchen, Clara.

You watch as she walks in the kitchen, wearing practically nothing before she comes to his side, wrapping her arm around his. 

“I think you have your hands full Jake.” You say before walking over to the living room with Gigi

“Get the fuck off me Clara” He says, moving his arm

Sunghoon and Jay both look at him with annoyed expressions on their faces

“Why Jakey? She said I can have you” Clara says, words slurred from the amount of alcohol she's consumed

“What?” He pushes her back, not to hurt, but enough for her to get off of him

He walks over to Gigi, glancing at Lyla and Heeseung who are practically eating each others faces on the other couch “Wheres y/n” He says, tone serious in a way that has Gigi sitting up

“Why-”

“Tell me where she is Gi, im not fucking around.” he says, watching Gigi point to the back porch

You turn around when you hear the door behind you open, leaning against the railing 

“What are you-”

“Y/n- Fuck, please let me talk okay?” He says closing the door, the music and talking inside becoming a sound in the distance

“Jake, I can't right now” You say, looking down at your shoes as he walks over

“Please” His voice comes out slightly whiner than intended

“Baby, please look at me” He pleads, his composure gone. He’s done acting like he's okay with you avoiding him

You shake your head

He lets out a defeated sigh, you think he's going to walk away, give up.

You watch him lower himself to the ground getting on his knees just so you will look at him instead of the ground

“Y/n please listen to me” He looks up at you, his eyebrows furrowed together, his pupils are blown. He can’t believe hes actually fucking doing this.

When you don't say anything, the words spill out faster than he can catch up

“Im so sorry baby– Im an asshole and I hate myself for what I did, I should have just told you from the beginning about the bet-” he cringes at the word “-It was selfish of me and I understand why you don't even want to look at me, let alone talk to me.-“

“-But I like you, so fucking much, Ive never felt like this before, but you changed that for me. You’re smart, you’re fucking gorgeous, you’re too kind for your own good, and I want you so bad, I want you so fucking bad my chest hurts at the thought of not having you. Everything I said in the car that night was true. I like spending time with you and I don't want to be friends, because what I feel for you isn't friendship–” He stops, trying to catch his breath, looking up at you, searching your face for any reaction, any response

Your hand is shaking when it comes up to his face, slightly brushing his hair out of the way “I..” You close your eyes before opening them again, “I really like you too Jake. But you hurt me, I let you in and it feels like it was all just some trick.” You say, trying to hold the tears threatening to fall from your eyes

“No baby–It wasn't a trick, please, everything I said to you I meant it–” He leans forward resting his head on your stomach before looking back up at you

“Every touch, I meant it.” His hand comes up to hold your waist, before he stands up, looking down at you, placing his finger under your chin, before running his thumb along your bottom lip “Every word” His other hand pulls you closer to him “Every kiss.” He whispers, leaning down, lips grazing over yours “I meant it all.”

You're breathing against his mouth, hearts beating the same rapid pace “And I want it all–so bad, I want all of you y/n, I don't want you to hide from me, I don't want you to run” He says, cupping your face in his hands, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours

“Please-”

“I want it too Jake” You whisper

His eyes fly open, searching yours, before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, taking you slightly by shock with how desperate it is, his left hand slides from your face down to your waist, holding you close, like you would slip away if he let go.

He pulls back, just to see the look on your face, a single string of saliva keeping you two connected before he kisses your neck, whispering small “im sorrys” as he trails his lips along your jaw, making you let out breathy sounds that have him weak.

He captures your lips in a kiss again, tongue exploring your mouth in the way he’s been dreaming about ever since you started avoiding him.

He feels his cock hardening, he remembers the way he fucked his fist at the thought of having you like this again.

“Fuck–” He breathes out, before biting your lip lightly, making you let out a small whimper. “I.. I need you baby, please” He says, bringing his hand down to softly caress your ass in your jeans, you bring your hand up to pull him closer by the collar of his shirt to kiss him again before he pulls back “Not here.” He whispers, voice low, looking into your eyes with such intensity it has your knees weak. 

With the way you're looking at him right now, he wants to do it now.

But he’s not having sex with you at some dumbass house party. He can't help the smirk on his face when you whine as he pulls away, grabbing your hand and leading you back inside, you don't look at anyone except him, as he guides you through the crowd, his hand clasping tight in yours, until you reach his car.

“What street do you live on?” He asks, looking at you, before pulling out onto the road, you hesitate, he notices “Y/n, no hiding” He says, putting his hand on your thigh. “167 EN drive” you reply back quietly, part of you hoping he wouldn't hear. But you remind yourself of the words he said earlier, he wants all of you, he said he craves it. So that’s what he'll get.

You watch his face as he pulls in your drive way, looking at your house. You don't see the look of hesitance, or disappointment you were expecting.

Your anxiety boils down when he steps out of the car, and comes to your side to open your door for you. “You’re not disappointed or anything?” You ask, voice slightly shaky 

“Dissapointed?” He asks, genuinely confused

“I mean, my mom just doesn't make a lot– I know its not a good area to live in either-”

“Y/n, do you think I'd judge you for something as small as where you live?” He asks, shutting the passenger side door

“I just thought-” 

“No. I’d be a fool to think like that. Nothing you do could make me judge you, the idea of doing that in the first place disgusts me.” He says, hand rising to brush his thumb on the side of your face, waiting for you to invite him in. He wants you to, he wants the reassurance that you trust him. 

You walk to the front door, grabbing the key hidden under the mat before unlocking it, and stepping inside. You cringe at the slightly peeled paint on the walls, but also thankful that having the house to yourself means it's actually clean for once. He shuts the door behind him, watching the way you look around, the insecurity showing in your body language. He turns you around to face him, pulling you close before tilting your face up. 

You look between his eyes and his lips before leaning up slightly, your lips grazing over his, before he speaks “tell me how bad you want this, tell me you want it as much as I do” He whispers, even though no one can hear him but you.

“I want it Jake– I want it so bad, I just want you..” you breathe out, and he closes the small space instantly, the feeling of your heart beating, the thrill of his lips on yours will never get old.

He lets you guide him to your room, before shutting the door behind him, he pulls back looking down at you. The needy look on your face as you try to catch your breath.

The room is dimly lit, the moon is bright from the clear sky, illuminating you, allowing him to see every emotion that flashes across your face.

He steps closer to you, hand coming to your waist, his thumb making small circles near the hem. You nod, and he slowly lifts your shirt above your head, eyes dropping to your chest, he can't help himself when his hand comes up to cup your tit in his hand, kneading the soft flesh through your bra. “Youre so beautiful” He says, guiding you until you land on your bed, He follows, on top of you in a second, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, it’s careful, timeless.

You kiss him back, lips desperately grasping onto each other as his hand trails down your stomach to the waistband of your jeans, your breath hitches, he pauses looking down at you “can I take these off?” He asks, “y-yes” you manage to let out, not sure how you can even get out words when he has you like this.

He unbottons your jeans, sitting up to slide them down your legs, throwing them on the floor before looking at you, taking you in, trying to savor this in his memory.

He watches the way your legs close, stopping them with his hand "Don't hide from me.” He says, pushing them open, looking down at the way your underwear sticks to your pussy, biting his lip at the sight, you let out a soft whine at being exposed like this, because no one has ever seen you this way, this vulnerable.

He presses a kiss to your neck, “Have you thought about this before?” He asks, tongue flicking on a new found sensitive spot under your ear, you nod. He lets his hand trail down your body before cupping your clothed cunt in his hand, you let out a quiet moan at the contact.

“Did you touch yourself thinking about it?” He kisses the spot under your ear, pulling the honesty out of you.

Your mind goes back to that night he kissed you in the car, how you made yourself come on your fingers at the memory of his hands on you later that night– “yes.” You say, the honesty makes him smile against your neck

“Can you show me?” He whispers, sitting up again, watching the way you willingly trail your hand down your body, slipping your fingers inside the waistband of your panties to brush your soaking clit, closing your eyes.

You open them again when the bed shifts, watching Jake as he takes off his shirt tossing it on the floor beside your pants, before removing his own, you press harder on your clit when your eyes meet the bulge in his boxers, there's no way that's fitting in you. He watches your reaction, "I'll make sure you're ready for it baby” He says, palming himself. You slide your underwear off your legs, the fabric was making it hard to really touch yourself anyway.

Your hand slides back between your legs, circling your clit, the same way he did that time in the bathroom. “Fuck–” He hisses, squeezing his dick at the way your hand comes up to toy with your nipple through your bra.

You watch as he climbs back in between your legs, leaning down to kiss your lips, trailing down past your neck, leaving a trail of wet marks until his face is hardly an inch away from your pussy.

You move your hand to grip the sheets beneath you “Jake..” You watch as he looks up at you from in between your legs. He blows on your clit, watching the way your pussy clenches around nothing. He presses small kisses to your thigh, grazing over your sensitive bud with his plump lips. “You have no idea how bad I've wanted to do this” He says before pressing an open mouthed kiss to your soaking cunt, you let out a moan at the contact, hands flying up to touch his hair as he repeats the motion.

You didn't even know you could be this vocal, but with him, eating you out like a starved man, how could you not.

He flicks his tongue over your clit, practically drooling onto your pussy, before pressing soft kisses “Tastes so fucking good” He mumbles into you, the vibration making your hips buck, his hand come up to hold your stomach down, so you dont squirm as much.

You watch him, his eyes are closed, face expressing true pleasure, your juices coating the bottom half of his face.

He looks up at you, burying his nose in your pussy, letting the bridge of it pressure your throbbing clit before he sucks on it, mouth clasped around your pussy, flicking his tounge, swirling it, you tug his hair harder, but he doesnt care because this is just too fucking good.

“Oh my gosh-” You let out when his finger comes up to collect your juices seeping from your hole before inserting the single digit inside of you, the sound of your pussy squelching, and him groaning into you has your back arches off the bed when he curls his finger, his tongue flicking over your clit, before he adds another, you've never felt this good in your life, you watch him, the way his brows furrow in concentration as he brings the most pleasurable experience upon you. 

He fucks his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right, while his lips suck on your clit greedily, he looks up for a split second at the way your head is thrown back, before shoving his fingers deep, dick throbbing at the way you clench around them, taking your clit in is mouth, and sucking it, hard. You grip his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as you reach your orgasm, your whole body shaking “Jake!” You scream out through a moan as your juices coat his face, soaking the bed beneath you. He greedily licks, and slurps everything you let out, not letting anything go to waste, before looking up at you. He pulls his fingers out slowly, watching the way your body trembles.

You bite your lip as you watch him sit up again, your arousal coating his lips, he runs his tongue along them, savoring every drop. 

He slides his boxers off, his dick hitting his abdomen, thick, heavy, and a bead of pearly white pre-cum at the tip, you watch as he spreads it on his tip, stroking himself in his hand. “You wanna know something?” He asks, watching the way your eyes flick between his face and his cock.

You nod quickly, making him smirk. “Ive dreamt about this moment almost every night. I remember waking up–” He looks down at your bare cunt, continuing “To see that I fucking came in my sleep.” You can't help the small gasp that leaves your mouth at the confession, "That's not all.” He says, pulling you closer, unclasping your bra and tossing it on the ground.

You bite your lip as the crisp air that hits your nipples, his finger comes up to toy with the sensitive bud, looking at your reaction, the little gasps that leave your lips “I fucked my fist so many times–everytime I imagined it was your pussy” He whispers, leaning down, letting his lips graze over your nipple, making you let out a desperate sound

“I thought about how you’d react when I did this–” He says before sucking on your nipple, his hand toying with the other one between his fingers making you moan, uncontrolled, you feel the way his cock rubs against your inner thigh.

He sits up, guiding his cock to your entrance, coating his tip with your juices from your previous orgasm. He slides the tip in slowly, letting your pussy adjust to the size, groaning, “Baby, I need you to relax okay? Can you do that for me?” He asks, finger rubbing circles on your inner thigh “mhm” you breathe out, before closing your eyes, trying to make yourself less tense as he slides more of his length in you

“Fuck- youre so warm” He says, hand moving to your hips to steady himself before bottoming out, a wrecked sound leaving his lips at the way your pussy clenches around him.

He leans down, head resing beside yours before lifting to look at you “Im going to move now, can you take it?” he asks, voice strained, but gentle “Please–” You let out through a whimper, he brings his lips to yours before pulling out halfway and thrusting back into you, making you moan into his mouth at the stretch. His cock reaching places you couldn't even imagine with your fingers, the feeling of being so full is almost euphoric.

“It's like this pussy was made for me baby–you feel so good” He whispers, sliding out of you again, and then back in, hips moving in an agonizing slow rhythm that has you holding onto his biceps and panting desperately in his mouth.

“F-faster?” you manage to let out, making him chuckle lightly “You sure?” he asks, looking down at you and the way you nod frantically. His lips suck at your neck as he picks up his speed thrusting in and out of you, hips rolling, enjoying every sound you let out.

Your nails dig into his arms, your pussy squeezing around him “You close baby?” he asks, the moan you let out is enough for him to understand, “I wanna come in you while you come on my cock, please?” the begging tone in his voice making you let out desperate pleas, his mouth is back on yours, both of you completely lost in the pleasure of each other, moaning against each other's mouths before he thrusts into you, hard, your pussy clenches around him, grinding up and down as you ride your orgasm out, at the same time milking his cock, making him whimper against you, saying your name though it all.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, before slowly inching his cock out, his cum spilling out of your pussy, you both wince at the sensitiveness, he pulls back looking down at you

“Where's your towels baby?” He asks, voice soft, you point towards the second drawer of your dresser, he grabs one coming back over to you, kneeling down to clean you up, you admire him, the focused look on his face, he looks up at you smiling “What?” He says through a chuckle

“You’re just really cute when you're focused” He climbs up till he's laid next to you, pulling himself closer to your warm embrace, resting his face on your chest, making you let out a giggle before he looks at you

“I want to be your boyfriend y/n” He says, emotion raw in his tone 

“W-what?” You're caught off guard by the question

“Can I be your boyfriend?” He asks, voice low, almost shy

“Please?” he adds

You smile, biting your lip “yes, you can” You whisper, he tilts his head to kiss you again, embracing your warmth, you pull back 

“You’re not going to get me flowers or anything?” You ask brow raising

“Oh, you just wait for tomorrow” He smiles against your lips

୨♡୧

Jake left your house that morning, kissing you goodbye, and saying to be ready by six at the latest, you were already dressed at 5. 

The second you hear a knock at the door you rush to get it, swinging it open, heart beating fast when you see him, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand, with a smile on his face

“Jake–They’re so pretty” You smile, taking them from his hand

“You’re prettier” He says, pressing a kiss to your lips before taking your hand and dragging you to his car.

He covers your eyes with his hands when he makes you get out of the car “Y/n you better not peak” he says, tickling your ear with his mouth, guiding you somewhere

“Shit- dont trip” He says, kicking a rock out of the way

You let out a laugh at how stressed he is right now

“Okay, three, two..” He removes his hand from your eyes, adjusting to the light you look around, at the open field, the sunset turning a pink/ orange hue in the distant, before your eyes fall to the setting before you, you cover your mouth with your hand, smiling against it as you look at the picnic before you

The Jake Sim set up a picnic for you at sunset. you can't help but giggle into your palm, turning to look at him

“Its perfect Jake” You say throwing your arms around his neck, pressing a light kiss to his lips

He smiles proudly, taking pride in the fact that he’s able to please you like this

He helps you sit down, before coming next to you, watching the way you glow from the golden light on you.

“You’re telling me Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon made these?” You say taking a bite of the small strawberry shortcake, the flavors melting in your mouth 

“Yeah, they spent all day trying to figure out how, finding recipes and stuff” He says through a laugh

“Said it was their own way of apologizing” He lifts his finger to wipe frosting from your chin, bringing it up to lick it, smiling at you

“Tell them they're going to have to make me 10 more batches of this, because it might just be the best strawberry shortcake to date.” You say, completely serious 

“They were considering opening a bakery” Jake says through a laugh, that has you join him

As the sun sets, you lean on his shoulder, you’re not thinking about the stressful things in your life like you normally do in quiet moments, right now it's you and him.

And you're at peace with that, because you feel like you've finally found your person.

“Thank you y/n” Jake says, turning his head to look at you

“For what?” you ask, voice barely a whisper

“Forgiving me, letting me in, it means a lot to me. And I'm really glad you did.” He says, moving a strand of hair behind your ear 

“Thank you” You say so quietly, he almost wouldn't be able to hear it, he tilts his head in question

“For being there for me, and accepting me.” You say softly, he smiles before he cups the side of your face in his hand pulling you closer, and kissing you, gently..lovingly.

୨♡୧

And if I wrote reader giving him head for the first time and he actually goes insane

Okay sorry guys i'm just down bad as fuck

Thanks for reading! <3

@heebambilee @apriglw @nikimuraaa @fics-lovebot @hi00000234567 @h7llow @sooberriesx @jvngw0nlvr @middstape @vveebee @si3rren @ilovewomensbasketball @periwinkleandtwilight @rianzysworld @ligmqballs @liaviva @renatojr @ily6968 @jungwon67 @enhypen437 @guliexe @sunnysidesins @xoxoamadeo @p--j--s--j @rki7jaykewife @dulzuraaii @fancypeacepersona @supahintohoon @vmpwon @jimmiwuwaiting @woninlove @poopieboat @woonielvr

[dollyyun-deactivated20250630]

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT ✧ P.JS [ PART 1 ]

PAIRING ✧ sugar daddy!jay x fem reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), adulthood, 12 years age gap (reader is 22, jay is 34), ceo!jay, strangers to lovers, fluffs, soft love kinda, he falls first and falls harder, jay is a huge simp WARNING ✧ slow burn-ish, lengthy fic, some dramas, misunderstanding and miscommunication, angst, jealous-possessive!jay, explicit themes WORDCOUNT ✧ 41.7K

SYNOPSIS ✧ jay park is famously known for excelling in anything he does, except his mundane love life — it's practically nonexistent. maybe it's the pressure that constantly presses down on him due to being surrounded by his peers who are either engaged or married, but he no longer desires to retain his solitude, yearning to find someone with the intention to settle down. that is when he finally meets you — the perfect woman just for him, and perhaps the one that his heart and soul have been searching for in a long time. but the only issue is that you only see him as your sugar daddy, or so he thought.

PART 2

-smut warnings under cut-

smut warnings: lengthy and possibly badly written smut, unprotected sex (no!), soft dom!jay, semi-mean dom!jay, sub!reader, reader whines and whimpers alot, ready is needy, pussy and tit lover!jay, lots of kissing, crying, name calling, daddy kink, making out, degradation, manhandling, dry humping, fingering, clit and nipple play, choking, ass and tits spanking, rough sex, eventual mild vanilla, squirting, creampies, overstimulations, multiple orgasms, aftercare, idk what else..

Love used to be a foreign concept that piqued a minuscule interest within him, as it served him no purpose, a sentiment so inconsequential to a man whose time pirouettes across the monotonous routine of corporate life.

Sure, a part of him revelled in the promiscuous attention from the ladies of all classes that inflated his ego, acutely aware of his sexual appeal that he took advantage of whenever he needed a reprieve from all the stifled emotions that stemmed from the taxing work and weighty obligation as a CEO, eventually leading to a coition with ladies of his pick that happened occasionally, but he felt nothing close to love — only pure lust. By the time the coitus came to an end, the lascivious attraction he once felt towards those same ladies dissipated as quickly as he diminished the hope of those who keenly desired him more than just their one-night stand. 

Perhaps his desireless interest in love and dating stemmed from the fact that his parents rarely ever displayed affection and love towards one another throughout the years he grew up in the dull household that was completely devoid of any warmth or even the parental love he once yearned for. The warmth and affection he only ever received was from his nanny and the friends he made in his adolescent years until he reached the maturity to make a rationalised decision that he didn’t need love, not when all that mattered to him was to prevail against his dictatorial parents.

Hence, after years of different hurdles and industrious dedication to get where he is now, he has become a notable CEO who independently and successfully managed to establish a major corporation that now holds a valuable standing in today’s high society, one of the most powerful conglomerates in the country, and whose reputation surpasses the ones in the same league as him in the business industry. Most importantly, he has successfully freed himself from the clutches of his parents by demonstrating his far greater capabilities than they had often underestimated.

But eventually, years of prioritising his work-life and undervaluing the importance of love come bearing repercussions on his singularity that he once preserved. Despite being a successful business tycoon who wields the power and wealth that intimidates those in the same league, he certainly isn’t feeling successful now in the slightest upon the dejecting epiphany.

Park Jongseong, otherwise known as Jay Park, the preeminent CEO who evokes both admiration and intimidation from the masses of those in the high society of business, whose name is often uttered with quivering lips from those lower in hierarchy, whose confident demeanour seemingly exudes an indestructible security, and a pragmatic businessman who has been known to be apathetic towards marriage, is now ironically facing a predicament that involves his overt desperation in finding a suitable partner for him.

Jay can’t pinpoint the exact moment of this deep yearning for love ingrained within him, but perhaps it has to do with his aristocratic mother, who once reached out to him to inform him that he’s of the age to be wed for the umpteenth time, or it’s the pressure that constantly presses down on him due to being surrounded by his peers who are either engaged or married. Not to forget the repetitive questions that pertain to marriage, which he often receives from his peers whenever he is needed to attend an event.

Initially, Jay decided to dismiss such trivial matters as he was very much content without a significant other, but as time passed, he began to feel a profound loneliness whenever he was in the presence of couples or the passing love stories being exchanged in the others’ conversations. He tried to ward off the longing of a lover, but what was once a morsel of interest in love has entirely consumed him. He couldn’t even bring himself to invite other women to his bed like he used to, and it’s been approximately four years since he ever got laid, promising himself to be devoted to his future lover.

From there on, Jay knew that he no longer desired to retain his solitude, yearning to find someone with the intention to settle down. So he began to try dating with the help of his trustworthy best friend, but none of those women sparked any interest within him, nor did they meet his standards, which was ironic because he genuinely had no idea what he was actually looking for in a partner. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that those women he dated in the past didn’t really understand him, nor did they bother to get to know him other than ogling over his looks and desiring only his status to elevate their standing in high society.

Now, Jay knows what he truly wants, and that is to form a connection with someone who can reciprocate in a way he longs for. As it’s been months since he last went on a date, he decided to reach out to his best friend once more, but he definitely didn’t expect the latter’s new solution to be absurdly unconventional.

Jay assesses the content displayed on his phone screen again, and this time, with clear judgement in his eyes as he glances over at his best friend, who is lounging on the three-seater tuxedo sofa that is situated near the floor-to-ceiling windows of his own office and who is also currently grinning ear to ear. Jake Sim.

“So this was why you needed my phone for fifteen minutes?” Jay asks him slowly, as though he’s having a hard time grasping what he had just read, twice.

“I couldn’t miss out on any of your details or information. Plus, I had to go through your photos and upload some of your pics on your profile.” Jake groans dramatically, as if he had finished doing a task so laborious when all he had been doing was typing away on Jay’s phone with snickers escaping him intermittently. “Gotta say, you have a knack for taking great pics of yourself, for someone who hates getting his pics taken.”

But the compliment has no effect on the disbelieving male. “I’m looking for a potential partner that I can really connect with, not to acquire a damn sugar baby.” Jay grumbles, his eyes briefly glancing at his phone screen before a sigh escapes him as he rubs his faintly throbbing temple. “I might as well go back to one of the dating apps again.”

As it turns out, Jake decided that to extricate Jay from his prolonged predicament, the solution was to register the latter into the system of a rather crude app, which its purpose serves to benefit both parties — by both parties, it refers to sugar daddy and sugar baby, but these labels are only applicable once the transaction between both parties is finalised.

It’s risky on Jay’s end, as this would lead to the potential risk of damaging his reputation as well as the company’s if word got out that he had acquired a sugar baby, which would obviously insinuate that their relationship is purely yet risquély sensual, considering that sugar daddies and sugar babies are generally frowned upon. But in full honesty, Jay knows it himself that he’s untouchable, and nothing could ever mar his high-standing reputation or his company since he had been through worse — this has been proven when some of his nemeses attempted to destroy his empire back in his late 20s.

“I hate to break it to you, but none of the dating apps worked out for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake reminds as he casts Jay a knowing gaze.

Right, how could Jay have forgotten? To be fair, he had been on countless dates that were either set up by Jake or due to the dating apps that he exploited. Most of the women he had met and dated shared one thing in common despite coming from diverse backgrounds — they were all highly sophisticated and educated with impressive careers and undoubtedly materialistic, practically in his league. Still, none managed to captivate Jay’s interest, which Jake found bizarre and even told him that he fumbled big time with those ladies that could’ve been his wife by now. But what Jake didn’t understand is that neither of those — careers and status — mattered to Jay.

Jake notes the incertitude in Jay’s protracted silence before heaving a sigh. “It can’t be that bad, mate. Plus, this app is legit. Look at the reviews!”

“Legit, you say? For all you know, those reviews might turn out to be an artifice in order to attract users.” Jay asserts sternly before narrowing his eyes at Jake with suspicion. “Wait, have you used it before?”

“Nah. One of my employees told me how he met the love of his life through this app. In fact, some of my employees did.” Jake divulges, earning an inquisitive eyebrow raised from Jay. “This app is practically surpassing any dating site when it comes to effectiveness. In a way, it’s similar to a dating app with the addition of sugar babies getting the financial benefits, obviously.”

“That’s the thing, Jake. I’m not looking for a sugar baby.” Jay reiterates exasperatedly, but he can’t deny the growing interest at the prospect of having a sugar baby; well, more like the idea of his sugar baby being affectionate and giving him the attention he desired entices him.

“It won’t hurt for you to try.” Jake reasons with him, all the more to amplify that interest within him. “Besides, it would be a win-win for you, except you’d have to spend your money on your sugar baby— I mean, your future lover.”

Please. Even if Jay had managed to find the right one for him elsewhere, he wouldn’t mind spending his wealth on his lover unconditionally. The idea of his future lover spending his money feels just gratifying to him.

But the dubiety lingers in the recesses of his mind. “I don’t know, Jake.”

“This may or may not be your last resort if you want to find the right one for you, mate.” Jake’s words quickly dispel any worries or hesitation from Jay’s mind as the latter caves into the incessant temptation, now trying to navigate his way and familiarise himself with the app.

After getting the hang of it, Jay begins to check out the profiles of the sugar babies with a swift yet definitive swipe of his thumb. His face eventually twists into a grimace, almost as though he feels repulsed, rendering Jake, who has been observing him, curious.

“They’re all too young for me.” Jay expresses his concern, and he doesn’t bother to look up at his best friend, who ambles over to him before towering over his seated figure from behind.

Jake makes a noise that sounds as though he’s in disbelief. “What are you talking about? These ladies are only in their 20s, some probably still in university, but they’re all of legal age.” Jake counters, his tone bordering on such offence that Jay rolls his eyes at. “And you’re not that old. If you are, then what does that make me?” 

Jay ignores Jake as he continues to swipe on his phone. In all of his dating experiences, most of the women were older than him by a few months or years, and the youngest he’s ever dated was a twenty-four-year-old, but that was when he was twenty-eight. Now, he’s thirty-four, and the idea of dating a woman a decade younger than him just feels strange, even if they are of legal age. 

Just when Jay feels tempted to give up, a sugar baby captivates his interest the instant after he swipes the previous one, almost as if he has been bewitched by one look at your face. The previous sugar babies that he swiped are not exactly unattractive, but something about you seems highly appealing to him.

His heart gradually beats fast, almost erratic, while his eyes remain fixated on your face, feeling as though he has developed a ridiculous yet temporary crush on a passing stranger whom he knows that he would never see again, because damn, you are absolutely gorgeous.

Jay feels a compelling urge to pamper you like you deserve, be it with his money or time, and he couldn’t care less if you’d want more for as long as it’s his wealth that you’re spending or if you’d want to take up all of his time. Just the thought of it has him feeling a strange bubble of giddiness in his chest.

Jake leans forward in a bending position to get a good look at your face while his hand rests on the rear of Jay’s ergonomic leather chair. “Oh? She’s cute. Might want to send her a request.” Jake approves with a Cheshire grin on his face, earning a brief glance from Jay, but the latter’s thumb remains hovering above his phone screen, evidently hesitating to swipe or not. “I’m telling you that she’s the right one for you! I have a good feeling about her.”

Jay doesn’t respond to his best friend, feeling his tongue-tied as he taps on your profile, only to be distracted by other photos of you, albeit none is explicit. His eyes widen just a fraction as they feast greedily upon your hypnotic visual. Some of the photos display your full stature, and his mind resorts to producing such a vision that entails you having to tiptoe for your lips to meet him with your arms around his neck.

He quickly wards off the vision before deciding to read every detail and information about you with keen interest. You’re only twenty-two, the youngest sugar baby he came across after the tedious swiping earlier, and you indicated that you’re fresh out of college. He concludes that you’re a homebody upon reading your interests and hobbies. You’re also a foodie, which is perfect since he loves the idea of feeding his significant other with his impeccable cooking skills. But an info about you captures his attention, his eyes widening just a fraction while his heart pounds harder in his chest.

“Harvard University? She went to the same uni as us!” Jake points out in a gleeful exclamation as he pats Jay’s shoulder approvingly. “This is the exact reason why you should pick her. It’s fate.”

“I don’t know. I mean, she clearly indicated that she’s fresh out of college. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m being predatory.” Jay mutters, feeling disheartened as newfound insecurity rouses within him. He takes another look at your photos longingly. “Plus, I’m probably way out of her league.”

Even the words that leave his lips feel so foreign on his tongue, an unusual insecurity hitting him, but there is no doubt that a gorgeous woman like you has high standards. Plus, even by your photos alone, there is a refined charm exuding from you, a compelling allure that intensifies his newfound attraction towards you, but undoubtedly unparalleled to his own charms. And yet, he still wants you.

Jake eyes Jay in sheer disbelief, looking as if the latter grew another head, because after knowing him for years, no woman has ever made Jay insecure or less confident. Heck, he looks as though he’s just been rejected by you even before he could send you a request to chat.

“Are you really the Jay Park I know right now? You’re the damn CEO with a net worth of, like, what, more than your competitors’ combined? Trust me, she would want you. And you’re not being predatory when she’s already an adult.” Jake tries to uplift his best friend’s spirit, but the latter remains glum, eliciting an annoyed sigh from him. “I can’t believe I still have to do shit for you.”

In a blink of an eye, Jake snatches Jay’s phone away from him, prompting him to snap out of his gloomy rumination. “Hey! Give it back!” Jay barks out, abandoning his seat to retrieve his phone, but Jake is quick enough to put some distance between them and holds his palm out to the agitated male.

“Don’t get your pants twisted now. I’m only helping you to send a request to her since you’re taking an awfully long time. Don't want other sugar daddies to snatch her first.” Jake says with a sly grin before pressing on the request button option in a deliberate motion to piss him off.

“I can do it myself.” Jay grumbles as he manages to retrieve his phone. He looks down at his phone screen with a frown, but panic immediately drains the colour from his face. “Shit.”

The grin on Jake’s lips falls, concerned for his best friend. “What’s wrong?”

“She accepted my request!” Jay tells him in urgency while there is a weird sensation of an adrenaline rush within him. He paces back and forth, his eyes occasionally glancing down at his phone screen. From the way Jay looks incredibly worried, Jake would have mistaken that he’s facing a business bankruptcy. “Fuck, what do I do next?”

“Dude, seriously?” Jake scoffs loudly, feeling both annoyed and amused at how Jay already seems so whipped for you to the point where the sight is almost pathetic. No, really. The guy looks as if he had accidentally sent his love confession to his crush. “You’re fucking ridiculous. I’ve never seen you being so—"

“Are you going to help me out or not?” Jay cuts him off in a snappy tone, casting a glare at Jake, who is beginning to look exasperated by his eccentric behaviour.

“Just send her a damn text!” Jake bursts out in annoyance with hand gestures. His face contorts into a scowl as Jay has yet to make a move. “Don’t tell me you need me to do it for you too?”

Jay releases a shaky breath as he gathers his emotions that have been going haywire from the moment he swiped to your profile. His face hardens with determination. “I got this.” 

Jay sees a tiny green dot just below your miniature profile icon above, indicating that you’re online. He tames the odd yet annoying flutters within him as he proceeds to send you a text, hoping that it won’t come off awkward to you.

JAY: Hey.

You don’t think you could ever repay your best friend the way she truly deserves, not even with money. You could say that she’s your saviour because without her, you would probably have ended up living in the streets years ago the moment both of your parental figures decided to pursue their mutual interest in building their own respective families.

Though Sabrina is your saviour, you can’t exactly describe her as an angel. Sure, she has the face that is worthy to be worshipped, a dazzling beauty with her doll-like features, but she has the mouth of a sailor while her angel-like demeanour is a stark contrast to her vivacious personality. Still, no complaints from you, though, because only you know the pure benevolence of her heart.

Sabrina and you have always been attached at the hips since day one, since the day she fiercely defended you against the mean girls back in high school, since the day she saw the mistreatment you received from the ones who shared the same blood as you, since the moment she regarded you like her family, just as how her family became yours — the only time when you received familial love from the very people who treated you better than your own blood ever did. Heck, her parents practically raised you under their roof and regarded you as their daughter.

You will forever feel indebted to Sabrina and her family despite their sincere insistence on showing such kindness to you and the familial love that you once yearned for from your parents, for helping and supporting you in any way they could despite your adamant protests, and for being the reason why you clung onto the sliver of hope that life was still worth living.

But right now, a part of you feels tempted to eradicate that obligated debt you once held earnestly, your mind slowly spiralling into chaos while your eyes smoulder with unspoken ire as you assess the content on your phone screen before returning your gaze to your best friend.

“What did you do?” You ask her calmly, remaining eerily composed as opposed to the myriad of emotions that are embroiled in the storming chaos within you.

Oh, you know exactly what she did, and you may or may not resort to such undignified violence.

“I’m not quite sure what you meant.” Sabrina feigns innocence as she is comfortably perched on the couch, batting her naturally thick eyelashes at you in deliberation that aggravates your restrained wrath.

You raise your eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because I don’t recall signing myself up to be a damn sugar baby.” 

You were rightfully appalled upon the discovery of an unfamiliar app that’s tailored for those in need of both fast cash and affection from older men after you had just finished showering. You shouldn’t have left your phone alone with your best friend, and you should’ve changed your password sooner.

“Fine. I might or might not have registered you on that app on your behalf.” Sabrina finally concedes, grinning at you cheekily despite the storms she can see above your head, her senses alerting her to be prepared for the imminent wrath. “Plus, I’ve already accepted the right sugar daddy for you! And he’s hot!”

Her words fall deaf to your ears, and the next you know, your restrained wrath goes unbridled that propels you in charging towards your best friend, whose pretence drops.

“I’m going to kill you!” You bellow furiously, eliciting a girly shriek from the blonde as she is swift enough to remove herself from the path of your wrath, leaping over the couch.

“You can’t kill me! I’m your only best friend!” Sabrina cries out defensively, putting more energy in her legs as you continue to chase after her, practically running around in the living room of your shared apartment.

“And you’re about to be a dead one!” You yell out after her, feeling short of breath while the exertion in your body reminds you of your poor stamina, but in a fit of rage, you are relentless, even as she manages to outrun you. “What in the world were you thinking?! A sugar daddy?!”

Now, Sabrina is standing across from where you are with the couch that serves as a barrier between her temporary safe haven and your raging wrath. She pants lightly to catch her breath as you do the same. “I was trying to help you!” She reveals earnestly, her tone laced with desperation and sincerity.

Help. The word itself revolts you, even after receiving help from her and her generous family throughout your teens. It triggers a switch in you that has you retaliating in defence against the familiar thoughts that have been a constant plague in the recesses of your mind, how pitifully impotent you are, especially considering your current situation.

Sabrina means well; she always has, despite her mischief and her wild streaks —  you know that much. But perhaps the repressive denial of your protracted predicament has finally caught up to you, as you now bitterly acknowledge how these past months were a bleak dwelling in the resentment and misery of your own failure despite the facade you put up in front of the others that seemed so impenetrable.

“How is finding a sugar daddy going to be any help to me?” You decide to pour the remnants of your rage by grabbing a pillow on the couch and aiming at the blonde-haired before repeating it again with the leftover pillows. “I’m not about to sell my body in exchange for money!”

“Not all sugar daddies are into it for sex!” Sabrina counters vehemently as she dodges your relentless attacks. “Some are actually decent— stop throwing pillows at me!”

Surprisingly, you come to a stop — more like because there are no pillows left to throw at her. “And how do you even know that?” You struggle to retain any decorum after the torrent of outbursts, your demeanour placid, but at least you don’t feel as murderous as you were earlier.

“Heard from a friend.” Sabrina replies tersely, eyeing you warily as you appear deceptively calm. Upon seeing that there are no traces of murderous intent in your countenance, she heaves a sigh, her blue eyes softening with a familiar sentiment. “Look, I genuinely want to help you because I know how much you’ve been struggling financially after what happened.”

You recognise the sentiment in her eyes — a catalyst that once ruptured the harmony in your dynamic with her, nearly severing your only true friendship — all because you had too much pride to accept her help in alleviating your burden by offering you money to pay off your tuition fees, and since your judgement was clouded by the torrent of emotions, you couldn’t help but feel insulted as she thought that you were completely helpless, especially since she knew that you were working as a part-time librarian at your university while still committing to the obligation as a full-time student.

You briefly look away from her gaze, your jaw locking with tension. Right. Money. In the end, it all comes down to the instability of finance — the primary cause of most problems and, sadly, a common hurdle that affects relationships and mental health, because the harsh reality is that money will always be consequential, especially considering the inflation in today’s capitalism.

Unfortunately for you, your current predicament is considered critical, and whether you like it or not, Sabrina is right. You have been struggling financially ever since you were dismissed from your employment at an illustrious cafe that required you an hour to commute from your place — well, technically, it’s your shared apartment with Sabrina, and it’s signed under her name, but she has been living with her boyfriend since graduation, rarely ever residing here now.

Hence, you decided to take responsibility for all the bills as a form of repayment for all the times she’s helped you throughout high school. Sabrina was sceptical at first as she was worried that you might feel pressured, but of course, you reassured her with confidence that you were more than capable of handling everything. Besides, you had always done everything on your own in those times without Sabrina and her family to witness the true constant battles you had to face. There were some things you needed to keep hidden from them, even if a part of you implored you to seek help from those within your reach.

You return your gaze to her after the prolonged silence and sigh deeply. “So you thought getting me a sugar daddy was the solution?” You ask wryly.

You know damn well what sugar daddies are and the purpose they serve to their clients, or rather, sugar babies. No matter how dire your financial situation is, as it’s been a month and a half since you got sacked by your employer, you could not imagine yourself earning money through an unvirtuous method. Even so, older men are really not your type.

“It’s the easy and fast way to earn money.” Sabrina attempts to entice you, to which you roll your eyes since you know that much. Still, you can’t deny the spark of temptation within you, and you blame your desperate need for money. “Besides, you’re a total hottie. Just one glance at any of your pics is enough to captivate their interest.”

“You flattering me does not excuse you from getting a beating— wait, what? My pics?” You splutter out your words, your eyes widening in disbelief, completely appalled at the idea of strangers, particularly old men, swiping through your pictures.

“Yeah, I uploaded some on your profile.” Sabrina beams with a smile, completely unfazed at your display of horror as you rush for the dining table to retrieve your phone. “It’s a requirement, anyway, for your potential sugar daddy to check you out.” She adds, agitating you further.

Your fingers move in frantic motion as you navigate your way on the damned app before finally finding your profile. Your eyes widen upon seeing the pics she uploaded. “Sab!” You exclaim in a whine.

“I know! I chose your best ones!” Sabrina gushes, looking smugly proud of her picks as though you are not currently shooting daggers at her with your eyes. “Sure, glare at me all you want. I just know you’ll thank me.”

You grumble your annoyance under your breath before begrudgingly diverting your attention to the phone screen. You tap on the notification icon and spot the username that has you scoffing lightly. Jay_Park, a basic username — not that yours is any better, but to be fair, your best friend was the one who created it for you.

You reluctantly proceed to check out the sugar daddy who had interest in you by tapping on his username while deliberately displaying your disinterest in your countenance to your best friend, only to be flabbergasted by the pictures he had uploaded; even his face in the miniature profile icon is striking enough to grab your attention at one glance.

“He’s hot.” You blurt out, your eyes never straying off his pictures. He is undeniably attractive despite most of his pics only displaying part of his face due to the angle he took, but you trust your judgement as you know that his broad body build screams total hotness, particularly his angular jawline that looks like it could cut your finger.

Not only is this user Jay_Park attractive, but every one of his pics gives off high sophistication, and none of his pics are as explicit as you had expected, like a hideous ripe dick pic of an old man or something. You have a strong feeling that he may be different from the sugar daddies you once perceived.

What was once barely a minuscule of interest has evolved into an unfamiliar keenness, and it’s pathetic to you, all because he’s possibly the most attractive man you have ever come across, and there is no way you would want to pass up this opportunity.

Sabrina shoots you an I-told-you-so look after studying the unconcealed fascination on your countenance. “See? I knew you'd be interested in him.”

Your eyes skim across every detail about him, his hobbies, and his interests until a certain piece of information has your lips turning down into a frown, feeling dubious. “But he’s way older than me.” 

In fact, he’s 12 years older than you. Though dating is not exactly your forté, you have never dated or had a fling with men older than you by three years. The last fling you had was with a guy who was two years older than you, an engineering major, who also turned out to be an inconsiderate jerk.

“Babe, he’s only thirty-four. The older he is, the more experienced and better he is in bed. On top of that, he’s a CEO!” Sabrina emphasises in a resolute tone, but you only cast her a numb look, eliciting exasperation from her. “Hello? A literal hot CEO sent you a request, which means he’s interested?”

You already knew that when you were reading up on his profile, which is why you are numb to the conflicting emotions within you. A part of you fears the possibility of being deceived by this man who may be a fraud because it’s too good to be true, but then if he’s indeed legit, then why would a CEO himself be interested in you? You don’t even feel like you could meet his standards.

But before you can speak your mind, your phone vibrates in your hand, drawing your attention, only to feel your heart pounding in your chest upon seeing the pop-up notification on the screen.

[Jay_Park sent you a message!]

“Shit.” You begin to panic, your emotions going haywire while your mind is devoid of any rationality, unable to even think coherently.

Sabrina eyes you weirdly with a confused frown. “What?”

“He sent me a message!” You tell her frantically, pacing back and forth, which has your best friend rolling her eyes at. “What do I do?! I’m not even prepared for this! And it’s all your fault!”

“It’s my fault, we get that! Just reply to him quickly, or he’ll lose interest!” Sabrina exclaims, a blend of excitement and frustration glittering in her blue eyes as she receives no response from you. She takes quick steps forward and places both hands on your shoulders, snapping you out of your mini spiral, her stern eyes drilling into yours. “Girl, calm down. Just text him back as normally as you can. Also, be cool with it and try not to come off as too desperate. Some sugar daddies get turned off by instant desperation. Don’t ask why.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips before you hesitantly nod your head, being coaxed by the confidence and determination in your best friend’s countenance. She takes a step back from you, allowing you to pace yourself as you look at your phone screen again.

Biting down your bottom lip, you nervously proceed to reciprocate his message, your hands trembling slightly as you hold your phone.

YOU: Hi!

You cringe visibly as soon as you hit the send button, uncertain whether or not your greeting came off as too eager, and you rarely ever use exclamation marks whenever you text unless you need to make a point or feel pissed. But you are taken by surprise when he replies to you quicker than your best friend does.

JAY: I have to be honest, doll. I’m not really sure how to go about from here.

“He’s a fast texter.” You tell Sabrina, your tone indicating that you’re impressed by the bare minimum while your heart races at the nickname he called you. No guy has ever called you any nicknames other than babe.

YOU: Is this your first time being on this platform? JAY: Embarrassingly, yes. YOU: It’s okay. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s my first time too, so I have no idea what we’re supposed to do next.

“I knew that I had accepted the right one.” Sabrina remarks with an approving grin as she notices that your attention is fixated on your phone. She grabs her purse from the coffee table before ambling towards the main door. “Well, babe, I’ve done my part, so you’re on your own from here.”

“Huh?” You lift your head up, confusion fogging your vision briefly before you realise that she’s indeed leaving you as she slips on her wedge heels. “Sab! You can’t just leave me—“

“Toodles~ Let me know once you officially become his sugar baby!” Sabrina cuts you off in a ramble, quickly shooting you a pearly smile before she heads out in haste.

You scoff, your eyes still staring at the space that she once stood before, and you reluctantly force yourself to deal with what she started like an adult. You muster the courage to reply to the text that he sent two minutes ago.

JAY: Just for confirmation, does this mean that you’re interested in being my sugar baby?

You feel a bubble of giddiness in your chest just by the word ‘my’ alone. The idea of being his sugar baby wouldn’t be so bad, you think. He’s handsome, evidently wealthy, a fast texter, and the tone of his messages feels amiable.

YOU: I am, unless you have other options in mind to consider? JAY: No other options to consider when you’re the only one who caught my interest. YOU: I find that hard to believe. Surely, other sugar babies must’ve caught your eye before you found me. JAY: None is my type. YOU: Are you also implying that I’m your type? JAY: What do you think? YOU: I’m usually not anyone’s type unless they want me for a quick fuck.

You didn’t mean to be vulgar with your texts, especially when your sugar daddy is a sophisticated man who most likely rarely ever curses, but you wanted to be straightforward.

JAY: Are you also implying that I’m interested in you simply because I want to sleep with you? YOU: Isn’t that what sugar daddies in general are interested in? They pamper their sugar babies with their wealth, and in return, sugar babies please them in bed. JAY: Well, my interest differs from theirs. YOU: I’m sorry if I sound rude, but why are you on this platform in the first place if your interest differs from theirs? JAY: To put it shortly, I was looking for a partner that I could connect well with, romantically. YOU: Shouldn’t you be on a dating site instead? JAY: In fact, I have, multiple times actually. But it didn’t work out for me. YOU: So you’re not actually looking for a sugar baby? JAY: Not really, but after going through your profile, I changed my mind. I’m interested in pampering you with my wealth and attention. You don’t have to offer anything in return. The only thing I want from you is to be able to spend time with you. YOU: Oh. JAY: Did I upset you in any way? Or is there anything you’re not fine with? YOU: No. It’s just that I’m still trying to process this because, honestly, it sounds too good to be true. JAY: It’s fine. Take your time. YOU: But can I completely be honest with you? JAY: You sure can, doll. YOU: I’m really glad that you’re not a creep, as in you didn’t straight up send dick pics or the fact that you’re not being passive-aggressive.

A part of you wouldn't actually mind if he did send a picture of his dick, but you immediately brush off the thought, your cheeks flushing warmly.

JAY: I wouldn’t dare to make a gorgeous doll such as yourself uncomfortable. I also had a feeling that you weren’t into that kind of stuff.

Based on your experience, men usually find you cute or pretty, but to know that a very attractive online stranger, who you will regard as your sugar daddy, finds you gorgeous evokes a strange bubble of giddiness within you. 

YOU: Thank you for your consideration :) So, gorgeous doll? JAY: Are you uncomfortable with the nickname? I’m sorry. I got carried away. YOU: Don’t be! I’m actually fine with it. Just didn’t expect you to find me gorgeous. JAY: Of course, I do. I’m sure you look even more gorgeous in real life. YOU: Such flattering words from a handsome man himself. JAY: Look who is being a flatterer now. YOU: Have you seen yourself?  JAY: Don’t make this about me, doll. YOU: I’m not. I’m just pointing out that you really do look handsome, even if those pics only showed half of your face.  JAY: Nothing is more flattering than a darling doll such as yourself finding me handsome. 

You continue the conversation with him, your lips stretching into a wide smile while your eyes sparkle with an avid interest in your sugar daddy, albeit you exchange such flirtatious words with him that render you in wonderment, because you actually have no idea how to flirt without cringing at yourself, but with Jay, it just feels natural.

JAY: Anyway, I just want to let you know as well that we don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with.  YOU: Are you sure? JAY: Yes. Your comfort matters to me. Besides, I can wait for you for as long as I need to.

Such salacious thoughts begin to fog in your head before you quickly expel those thoughts, inhaling sharply, but you know that you have now developed a desire for this man.

YOU: That’s so sweet of you. Thank you, Jay. JAY: Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t properly spoiled you with anything. Speaking of, are you available tomorrow? YOU: Yes. Why? JAY: To meet you, of course. YOU: Sure, tomorrow it is. JAY: Great. I’ll pick you up at your place.

You continue to chat with him a little longer than you intended, including giving him your address and getting to know a little bit more about him. Eventually, you lose track of time, feeling a little too comfortable chatting with a stranger, as though he’s your long-lost friend instead of your sugar daddy.

JAY: I’m on my way to your place, doll. Can’t wait to see you :)

That was forty minutes ago, but you’ve been anxiously checking his message every so often, your nerves going erratic to the point where your empty stomach churns unpleasantly that you feel the urge to throw up. You have never felt this extremely nervous before, not even for your finals back in college.

You can still feel the weight of exhaustion in your eyelids that threaten to close, but the thought of Jay ringing your doorbell keeps you conscious. You couldn’t sleep well last night, tossing and turning on your bed, and you knew that it was either the excitement or the nervousness of finally meeting your sugar daddy that prevented you from getting a good night's sleep.

Plus, you had to get up four hours early to do some light chores in order to make your apartment look neat and to make yourself look as impeccable as your skin, which is devoid of any unnecessary hair since the dress that you’re currently wearing displays more skin than you intended. You didn’t put in much effort in your makeup, just the perfect volume to enhance your features.

You let out a quiet groan at the realisation of the effort you put in just for a man, an older man at that, which is also utterly ridiculous, because it’s as if you are keen on impressing your sugar daddy, and this is not even a date, or is it?

The doorbell chiming throughout the apartment startles you, prompting you to abandon the couch as you pad across the living room to get to the main door. You don’t bother to check through the peephole, your hand immediately latching on the door handle, albeit your nervousness remains unabating.

Before you can spiral further, your hand has a mind of its own, because the next thing you know, you are greeted by a very handsome man whose stature towers over your figure in an imposing manner, and he’s the very same man who happens to be your sugar daddy.

You can barely check him out when his dark eyes compel yours, your breath hitching in your throat at the sharp intensity in his dark irises that intimidates you, but in a good way that has your heart beating rapidly like you had just made eye contact with your crush. You take the opportunity of the awkward silence to trace every feature of his face with your keen eyes — how remarkably handsome he is with his chiselled forehead and jaw, his flawless nose that evokes envy within you, his dark eyebrows that look naturally refined, and his lips that are naturally pink. His jet-black hair is styled impeccably in a slick back, enhancing his striking face. Oh, he’s absolutely the most gorgeous man ever.

Little do you know that while you are in a state of intimidation due to his potent yet irresistible aura that feels overwhelming, Jay feels just the same, his tongue completely tied the moment you opened the door. It is as though he’s seeing an angel, rendering him starstruck. Those pictures of you that he spent almost the entire night admiring did not do you justice, because you look radiantly beautiful up close that even the constellations in the starry sky pale in comparison.

His eyes roam around you shamelessly, his throat feeling parched while his mind is storming with such dangerous thoughts he has been trying to keep them at bay. You look sweet yet alluring at the same time as you are adorned in a blue floral printed dress that reaches above your knees, revealing the perfect curves of your legs, and the subtle low cut displays your dainty neckline that is bare of any jewellery, to which he makes a mental note to buy you one. He fights off the strong urge to ogle at your defined cleavage and how noticeably succulent the curves of your upper mounds are.

When his eyes return to your face, you are already staring at him with a small smile. Your shyness nearly has his knees buckling underneath him. He simply can’t believe that you’re real. Oh, what a wonderful privilege to be able to see you up close.

“Hi.” Jay greets you breathlessly, but you are more surprised at how soft-spoken he is, such a contrast to his unyielding facade that intimidated you earlier.

“Hi.” You reciprocate softly, and it is enough to shoot a Cupid’s arrow to his beating heart. Your voice sounds velvety, a mellow that soothes him.

Jay takes another look at you, blinking his eyes as though you are unreal. “W-Wow. You look—“ He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows a nervous lump in his throat. He softens with an awkward smile that completely charms you. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You can’t believe how shy you are right now compared to the yapper you were last night when you texted him for nearly two hours. You take another look at him, feeling a strange flutter in your heart as you admire how he looks delectable in a button-down navy-coloured blouse that displays a teasing peek of his toned chest while his gold necklace complements his metal studs on his earlobes. “And you look really handsome.”

Jay is about to combust right here and now at your compliment that he has heard countless times from the ladies that pinned his attention back then, even more so when you beam at him with a slightly wider smile now. The weight in his hand immediately reminds him of what he intended to do after you opened the door before your breathtaking beauty distracted him.

“This is for you.” Jay extends his hand to you, prompting you to look down at a small bouquet of flowers in his grasp, but you can see the hesitation in the way his hand slowly retracts from you. “Unless you have allergies to flowers, which is totally fine. I can keep it—“

“I don’t have any, so don’t worry.” You reassure him, and without thinking twice, your hand quickly reaches out to accept his sweet gesture, only to feel a faint electricity when your fingers brush against his before you finally grab the bouquet from him. Your heart swells with something unfamiliar as you look at the flowers before meeting his kind gaze. “Thank you for these. It’s the first that someone has ever given me flowers on a first meeting.”

You almost wanted to utter the word ‘date’ because this is certainly not a date but more like a formal meeting with your sugar daddy as part of the first transaction. You mentally berate yourself for hoping for something that you were initially against and the fact that you only intend to regard him as your sugar daddy.

Jay’s bashful shell cracks when he adorns a smirk on his handsome face that has you swooning on the inside. “You can call me old-fashioned.”

“I love old-fashioned.” You decide to play along as you notice the spark of mischief in his eyes, but really, you do love yourself some old-fashioned.

“Are you ready to go?” Jay asks coolly, hoping that he doesn’t sound too eager as to how impatiently desperate he really is to spend the day with you.

“Yes. Just give me a sec.” You tell him while making your way to the shoe compartment, where you also place the bouquet on the counter, before grabbing your ankle-strapped heels.

As you return to him, you busily place your feet onto the heels before attempting to secure the strap around your ankles, only to be surprised when Jay gets down on one knee in front of you, rendering you flabbergasted. “Please. Allow me.” He insists without looking up at you, putting his hands into the task.

“It’s okay. I can do it myself—“ But your protest goes unheard as he secures the straps for you with such gentleness that it sends the weird flutter to your heart again, while the way his fingers brush against your skin feels electrifying.

Your eyes never leave him even after he’s done, his figure towering over yours again despite the heels that elevate your height. “Shall we?” Jay asks with a smile, to which you nod your head at before stepping outside of the threshold and locking the door.

The two of you proceed to make your way to the elevator, silence wrapping around you once more, but only less awkwardly. You chew your bottom lip out of habit, wanting to say something to dispel this awkwardness, but the heat of his body close next to you sends your head into a frenzy.

“Do you live alone?” Jay breaks the ice, and you silently thank him because you were slowly going insane. As soon as he presses the button, the elevator chimes open, and he gestures to you to enter first before he follows suit.

“Sort of.” You answer unsurely, earning a look of intrigue from him. You decide to explain shortly. “I live with my best friend, but ever since she got into a relationship, she’s rarely ever at our shared apartment, not that I minded. She can be quite a headache.”

His lips twitch into a smile, almost as if he’s fond of something. “My best friend’s the same too.” He chuckles lightly, but they sound heavenly in your ears. “What about family? Any siblings?”

“And here I thought it was my turn to ask you a question.” You say cheekily, your lips stretching a little wider as you feel inclined to be frivolous towards him after the lingering awkwardness dissipates into thin air.

His eyes narrow at you in a playful suspicion, followed by a broad smirk on his lips. “You’re a cheeky doll, aren’t you?”

“It’s only fair that I ask you a question after you asked me one.” You say in an airily manner, ignoring how his handsome smirk has your mind in a frenzy once more. “But to answer your question, I’m an only child. My parents are divorced, so I’m kinda my own now. Always have.”

Being an inherent observant that comes with an ability to heed the tone of voice, even the subtlest intonation, Jay recognises the underlying resentment in the neutrality of your voice and how he catches a fleeting sentiment he knows all too well in your eye, but the radiant smile on your face immediately overshadows any traces of somberness, albeit he is quick to grasp that family must be a sensitive topic for you.

“It seems that we have a lot more in common than I thought. I’m an only child too.” Jay says lightly in an attempt to dispel any sour feelings within you. He opens his mouth to say something, but the elevator chimes open, revealing the view of the basement parking lot. He allows you to step out first before he follows suit, guiding you to his vehicle. “So what’s the next question you have for me?”

“What made you become interested in me? You could’ve chosen other sugar babies.” You ask with genuine curiosity. The question has been lingering in the back of your mind all night. As he looks at you with an eyebrow raised, you try to search for something in his eyes, any falsehood or that he’s actually a bad guy with ill intentions, but all you see is the pure kindness that reflects the window of his soul.

“I just had a good feeling about you.” He answers with utmost sincerity, his eyes softening before giving you his signature smirk. “Besides, there was no way I would ever pass up a woman as gorgeous as you.”

A part of you feels so tempted to wipe away that handsome smirk off his face with a kiss, but you immediately ward off any inappropriate thought, diverting your attention to the sleek black Mercedes-Benz, his car.

Jay, being the gentleman he is, opens the passenger door for you, to which you shyly thank him before you carefully settle inside. Not too long later, Jay is right next to you, operating the functions of the vehicle that is wheeling towards where the main road is at.

The silence is accompanied by the music emanating from the radio, but it still isn’t enough to allay the newfound tension settling in your bones. You even distract yourself by discreetly examining the impeccable condition of the car that comes with a pleasant lavender smell before you notice the small bottle of fragrance diffuser that hangs in the air from behind the rearview mirror.

Something different flutters within you; how oddly intensifying it is, but one thing is for sure — you find Jay more dangerously attractive than the first time you felt.

You cave into the temptation to take a glance at him, only to nearly gawk at his strong yet flawless side profile, how his angular jawline looks defined up close. His countenance displays such cool impassivity, exuding an air of confidence compared to your meekness. Your eyes fall to his veiny hands before they travel lower; his sleeves had been pulled to his elbows, allowing the sultry veins that protrude in his arms and revealing a golden Rolex that latched around his wrist. You quickly look away, feeling the gradual heat building up in your body.

You swear that older men are not your type, but Jay may be the first to change that.

“Are you okay?” Jay asks, his soft voice startling you. The way he’s hot, a gentleman, a stickler for cleanliness, and soft-spoken? You must have done something incredibly honourable in your past life.

“Nervous, actually.” You tell him honestly, daring yourself to look at him as he briefly takes a glance at you before refocusing on the road. Though you still feel diffident, something about him compels you to confide your worries in him. “I just don’t want to mess things up on our first meeting.”

Jay cracks into a humorous smile. “Funny, because I had the same thought earlier.” Oh, he really did, worrying incessantly all morning that he might fuck things up by coming off too desperate for your attention on the first meet.

“Is this a date?” You accidentally blurt out the question you intended to expel, but a part of you is genuinely keen that this is actually a date and not just a formal transactional meeting between a sugar daddy and his sugar baby.

As the traffic light turns red, the car comes to a stop. Jay directs his full attention to you, a gentle smile touching his lips. “You can call it whatever you want, doll.”

You hold his gaze for a little longer, unable to fathom the inscrutable emotions behind the window of his eyes despite the unwavering kindness. You find yourself lifting a smile that mirrors his. “A date it is.”

Jay decides your first destination to be a fine dining restaurant in which he had booked a reservation in advance. Though your empty stomach rumbles lightly in approval, you can’t deny how out of place you are at an upscale restaurant, most especially to be in the presence of upper-class patrons, albeit Jay personally requested a more secluded booth since he values privacy.

Silence settles on your booth, not that you are bothered by it as you are too occupied in marvelling at the sophisticated decors that emphasise their opulence. The ambience feels exquisitely serene with the undercurrent of varying conversations from the other patrons indistinctly in the background, but they seem to tune out completely when your eyes are drawn back to the man seated across from you.

The pendant lights above your booth cast a gentle glow that creates a beautiful halo around his handsome face that is poised with concentration as he reads through the menu while you feel the familiar flutter in your tummy again. Everything about him is so charming, and you don’t think that you could ever get tired of seeing him every day. 

When his eyes flicker to you, you immediately look down at the menu in front of you on the table, feigning keen interest as you force yourself to read the names and descriptions of their dishes. You hope he didn’t notice that you had been gazing at him, but your ears perk up at the breathy titter that leaves his lips, causing your face to flush warmly in embarrassment.

“Anything on the menu that interests you?” Jay asks, amusement colouring his tone momentarily before it is replaced by the familiar neutrality of tenderness.

“I’m not sure.” You mutter, your attention now being fixated on the list of dishes, particularly the prices that perturb you, because how can a mere salad cost more than your favourite sandwich at your go-to coffee shop?

Though the bill will undoubtedly be handled by your sugar daddy, you feel highly conscious to choose even just a salad because of how pricey everything on the menu is. You flicker your eyes to him, allowing him to grasp your dubiety. “These look exquisite, but the prices—“

“Have you forgotten who you’re with, doll?” Jay intercepts gently, his lips curling into a smirk that borders on smug, but the assurance in his kind eyes dispels any doubts from your mind. “Don’t worry about the prices. Just order anything you want.”

Your eyes run through the menu again, but you can’t decide on which, eliciting a sigh from you before you look at him apologetically. “I don’t really know what to order.”

“That’s alright, doll.” Jay reassures you with a warm smile before he raises his hand slightly to call one of the waiters over. You watch the interaction between Jay and the waiter, displaying practiced professionalism in his manner as though he had done this many times. “We’d like to have the full course meals alongside your finest wine.”

Your eyes widen at his order. You wait until the waiter collects your menus and leaves your booth. “Isn’t that too much?” You ask Jay unsurely, your eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Nothing is ever too much.” Jay insists casually while his eyes greedily drink in your pristine beauty under the soft luminescence before they fall to your lustrous, glossed lips that look kissable. He clears his throat, warding off any sensual thoughts of how your lips would feel on his. “Besides, you did indicate in your profile that you’re a foodie.”

You stifle a groan, mentally cursing your best friend for adding unnecessary information about yourself, but then again, she’s not wrong. You are indeed a foodie, a connoisseur of food, according to Sabrina, but it doesn’t mean that you’re skilled at cooking. She even forbade you from touching any kitchen appliances as she was worried about the possibility of you blowing up the apartment, to which you rolled your eyes at her exaggeration.

“Right, how could I forget?” You cast him a sheepish smile before deciding to focus more on him now, your body slanting forward that displays your interest with your elbows resting on the table. “So, a CEO, huh? Must’ve been tough with all the heavy responsibilities that come with being a CEO.”

Though you lack the knowledge of what a CEO’s responsibilities exactly entail, you know enough that the fate of his company rests on his palm, and since you’re at it, you decide to make a mental note to do thorough research about him and his company during your spare time.

“It isn’t so bad. Guess I got accustomed to the work and its volatility.” Jay says coolly, exuding an air of confidence that awes you as you look at him with a newfound reverence. “But my employees are competent and trustworthy, so the company operates smoothly most of the time.”

Jay proceeds to divulge more about his work life, mostly the lighter stuff that gauges your understanding, and you notice how he talks about his employees with high regard, earning a small smile from you as you conclude that he’s not the stereotypical callous CEO that you used to read about in those fiction books.

During mid-conversation, the first courses of your meals arrive, served by the same waiter. The two of you decide to indulge your neglected hungers with a comfortable silence wrapping around you. The silence stretches on even when the second course of your meal arrives, but Jay intermittently checks on you, asking if the food is to your liking or if you need anything else that has your heart fluttering again at how attentive he is to you.

The prior conversation continues when the desserts are served that eventually appease your sweet cravings as the delightful saccharine touches your tongue. He tells you more about himself, particularly his general background, but you notice how he avoids mentioning his family.

“No way!” You gasp in surprise after what he had just revealed, your eyes sparkling with excitement while you feel an odd sense of adrenaline rush; probably the sugar that now invades your system. “You went to the same university as me?”

“Sure did, doll. I have the degree cert to prove it if you don’t believe me.” Jay grins, displaying his perfect teeth while you are distracted by the dimples in his cheeks, melting you on the inside. “I was a business major.”

“I majored in journalism.” You tell him. You know that the world is small, but you didn’t expect it to be that small. Maybe you are being delusional, but maybe the invisible string theory turns out to be true after all. Oh, how this intensifies the strange feelings that perturb your heart as each flutter brushes against it.

“That’s cool. Way better than business.” Jay says with a genuine smile, his eyes sparkling with interest.

You scoff lightly. “I doubt that. I mean, look at where it got you now.” You point out, ignoring the familiar bitterness of the searing truth, that while the people around you are succeeding in life, you are the only one who is falling significantly behind.

“It certainly wasn’t an easy journey because I started out with nothing, not even the support from my parents.” Jay finds himself unravelling the part that he intended to keep hidden, but seeing how evidently a good listener you are, he feels like he can trust someone else other than his best friend to listen to him in a way he wants. “Thankfully, my best friend was there to give me the support I needed, even if he’s a pain in my ass.”

“You don’t have a good relationship with your parents either?” You ask gently without realising that you have given away a hint that confirms his prior suspicions about the reason why the family topic is sensitive to you, not that he fares well with it either, but the burning resentment he harboured for years has now dulled, probably because he has long since come to an acceptance, thanks to the years of detachment from his parents.

“It’s hard to say. I’m still in contact with them, but only when it’s strictly necessary. Truthfully, they’re not exactly the ideal parents for me.” Jay divulges with a thoughtful hum as the memories slowly resurface in his mind, but the pain and resentment that he expected are absent, only a faint bitterness. “My father wanted me to oversee one of his established companies abroad while my mother wanted to marry me off to her business partner’s daughter when I was still a senior in college. But since I didn't want any of those, they threatened to disown me, so I decided to go about being on my own, even when I had nothing at the beginning.”

You feel a burning resentment within you on behalf of him, your face contorting into a displeased frown. You have no idea what sort of hurdles he had to conquer, but you know for a fact that no one deserves to go through it all alone without the support of family, even if the support is only emotional. Though you know that by his demeanour alone he must have made peace with this, the compassion in you towards his backstory hurts your heart.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You utter softly, your outstretched hand on the table itching to hold his hand to offer him some form of comfort. “You deserve to have parents who fully support you in anything you do.”

“I can say the same to you too, doll.” Jay says with a small yet knowing smile. He slants his body forward. “So, want to tell me more about yourself?”

You don’t really intend to, but you can’t seem to deny him, especially when his kind yet handsome gaze is simply irresistible. You know that he’s genuinely interested, but you fear that his perspective of you might change for the worse, which would lead to him discarding you aside and choosing another sugar baby, albeit you know damn well that most sugar babies had gone through financial tribulations that became the very reason they sought out those dependable older men. Still, you muster the courage, your lips quivering as you begin to speak.

“Nothing much. I’m just a broke alumna who graduated six months ago and who is also unfortunately unable to land a job related to my degree despite graduating with honours and the countless interviews I’ve gone through.” You unravel with practiced casualness, your demeanour betraying none of the turbulence of emotions within you, but then comes the dreadful realisation that rattles your composure as you look away from him. “God, I shouldn’t have said too much.” You mutter under your breath, but he catches onto your words quickly.

“No, honey, don’t be embarrassed with me.” Jay has no idea where the courage comes from, but his hand instinctively reaches out for your outstretched one across the table, holding it tenderly. “I promise you that there’s no judgement when you’re with me. I genuinely want to know more about you, be it your struggles or your hobbies.”

You search for any falsehood in his beautiful eyes, only to find nothing but stark sincerity that forms an emotional lump in your throat, feeling touched that this man, whom you’ve just met hours ago, is willing to genuinely listen to you, and he’s only supposed to be your sugar daddy, not a therapist whom you’re supposed to dump every trauma and problem on, but in this moment, his presence feels comforting in a way that a part of you has deeply yearned for.

“Like I said, there’s nothing interesting about me other than being the unsuccessful independent daughter who got sacked from her barista job.” This time, you don’t bother sugarcoating your words, and you feel less guarded as you continue while he holds your gaze firmly, as though he is silently assuring you that he’s listening with an open mind. “Not to forget that I’m way behind paying my bills. It’s my fault, anyway, since I told Sabrina that she could trust me in paying the utility bills and the rent. How foolish of me.”

Sabrina. That must be your best friend’s name. “Was that why you decided to sign up for this arrangement?” He asks gently, treading with his words carefully while his thumb brushes across your knuckles in delicate strokes, a gesture that sends little flutters to your heart.

“It's pathetic and desperate of me, I know. I should’ve at least tried securing a temporary job first before deciding to pursue this arrangement.” You mutter shamefully, your eyes crestfallen before a huff leaves your lips. “But to be fair, my best friend was the reason why I’m right here with you. She registered me on that app without my consent.”

“It’s not pathetic, honey, and I’m sure you’ve tried enough.” Jay reassures you while he silently thanks your best friend. He stops stroking your knuckles with his thumb and holds your hand firmly instead to draw your attention to his eyes that display emotions you can’t seem to decipher. “But do you regret it? Regret this?”

You haven’t exactly thought of that since most of the time, you were occupied with the annoying flutters in you as well as swooning over him. This time, you hold his hand, a faint smile touching your lips. “You haven’t shown me why I should regret it.” 

“I promise you that you won’t regret this. You won’t regret me.” Jay vows with conviction, his eyes hardening with resoluteness that oddly subdues any lingering doubts in your head. He brings your hand to his lips before kissing your knuckle tenderly, his lips warm and soft. “I’ll take good care of you and treat you as you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve anything.” You manage to utter despite the butterflies in your tummy, but they dwindle as your insecurities resurface, prompting you to avoid his gaze as you continue to unravel without faltering in the way you speak. “It’s obvious that I’m a failure. I used to be an overachiever and excel throughout my academic years, but looking at my situation now, it proves that I’m nothing without academics.”

“That isn’t true, honey.” Jay counters with a frown, hating how you’re disparaging yourself. “It’s normal to feel lost, having no idea what you truly want to do after graduating from university. You’re not alone on this, so don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s only been six months since your graduation, right? Give yourself some time.”

You look at him with a sliver display of exasperation. “For how long should I give myself some time? I just—” You hold your tongue just when you feel the tremor in your throat before forcing your voice to remain steady. “I just don’t want to feel helpless and useless all the time. I’m tired of feeling guilty about being unemployed. It brings me shame, especially when my ex-peers are thriving in their stable careers and their lives.” You say bitterly. “I feel like I’m stuck in this loop where nothing is ever going to work out for me no matter how many times I try.”

“Not everyone’s journey is going to be the same, just like how everyone’s pace in life is different.” Jay feels inclined to give you words of wisdom, needing to uplift your disheartened spirit despite your collected demeanour. “Just because you’re unemployed doesn’t mean that you’re a failure. Life is not all about work, you know?”

You can’t help the scoff escaping your lips, smiling wryly. “Says the guy who has been working hard for years to get to where he is now.” 

Jay chuckles at the irony, the sound rich and pleasant in your ears. “Fair enough, honey. But the point I’m trying to make is that you don’t have to constantly pressure yourself about getting employed. There is more to life than just work, and you’re still young to stress yourself out about this.”

“Well, the bills aren’t about to be paid by themselves and the current inflation in today’s capitalism is definitely wonderful.” You point out the obvious, sarcasm lacing your tone. 

Jay dismisses your remark. “And you mentioned that you were working as a barista, right?” He asks for confirmation, and you nod your head, earning a small smile from him. “That’s an accomplishment too, because you put in efforts to make a living, so you shouldn’t belittle yourself.”

“But I got sacked.” You tell him dejectedly, only to feel his hand squeezing yours comfortingly.

“It’s not your fault that the management was shitty.” Jay says so vehemently. “Besides, it’s their loss for losing a meticulously dedicated employee like you.”

“How would you know that?” You frown, your lips naturally jutting into a pout that captures his attention briefly before his eyes return to yours. “For all you know, I could be the type of employee that often slacks during her shift.”

“I can easily tell just by your personality alone. Plus, my judgement is never wrong.” He smirks, and oddly, you feel assured by him. His eyes roam around your face before they soften. “Don’t be too hard on yourself anymore, honey. You have me to depend on now. Allow me to ease some of your burdens.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not used to depending on anyone.” You find it strange how you easily divulge the hardest yet obstinate part of yourself that you refuse to let anyone know, including your best friend. Heck, even a small part of you is still debating whether or not to cancel this transactional relationship that barely begins.

“Like I said, I’ll take good care of you, so don’t worry too much.” Jay reaffirms, his tone being a constant gentleness yet firm enough for you to note that he genuinely means every word he says. “Just let me spend my money and time on you like you deserve, doll.”

Your breath hitches when he brings your hand to his lips, but this time, kissing your palm tenderly while his kind eyes never leave yours. “I’m sorry for dumping almost everything on you on our first date. I never intended to make things depressing.” You say sorrowfully, your eyes crestfallen.

“Don’t apologise. Something told me that you needed someone to listen to you.” He presses his lips into your palm again, and you can feel his smile. “And I’m glad to be that someone.”

“I did.” You tell him honestly, feeling a weight on your shoulders being lifted while appreciation gleams in your eyes. “Thank you, Jay.”

“Don’t thank me yet, doll. Our date is far from over.”

And Jay proves you right, because after giving the waiter who served you earlier a big tip as well as paying the bill, he drives you to the high-end shopping mall, which is a twenty-minute drive, and where you eventually discover that it has tonnes of flagship stores of luxury brands.

You don’t even have a say when Jay drags you over to a store, to which you are familiar with the brand since you have always wanted to own a Van Cleef & Arpels necklace, but it costs more than your salary as a barista. Of course, you have expected that Jay surely intended to spend his money on you, as any sugar daddy would, but still, you are very much surprised by how he easily whips out his black card to pay for your jewellery that he personally picked for you — a vintage Alhambra pendant necklace and bracelet.

Just when you think Jay is done, he guides you to another designer brand store, his hand clasping yours, bringing warmth to you. You genuinely have no say in anything, as he seems very determined to get you anything, no matter the price. Though you feel incredibly grateful to him, you begin to feel the exhaustion of just trying on and changing to different designer clothes for the past thirty minutes while he often does an examination on you before either approving or disapproving the designers you wear.

You look at your reflection in the mirror as you are adorned in, hopefully, the last dress that he picked for you earlier. You calm your nerves as you step out of the fitting room because you can't actually handle the way his dark eyes roam around your figure with such intensity for much longer.

“Is this okay?” You ask awkwardly, standing in his view while he is quick to put away his phone, only for him to almost choke on his saliva at your stunning visual, how the dress accentuates your contours impeccably. You frown, noticing how flustered he looks compared to how he was earlier. “Jay?”

Instead of responding to you, Jay shifts his eyes to the staff that has been assisting the two of you. “I need another dress that is similar to this one and get it packed along with the other dresses.”

You splutter in disbelief, attempting to protest that there are already more than enough clothes he picked, but Jay intercepts as he insistently guides you back into the fitting room with both hands on your bare shoulders, his warmth triggering the heat that builds up within you.

You have no idea if it is a norm for sugar daddies to pamper their sugar babies with the interests and hobbies that have been indicated on their profiles, but Jay sure is committed to yours, because the next thing you know, he has brought you to the famous book store that is a ten-minute drive from the mall you were previously at, and possibly the biggest one you have ever stepped foot into.

No complaints from you, though, because the moment you are surrounded by towering multi-tiered shelves, the book lover inside of you is elated. You don’t own many books since you already have the Kindle device, as it is convenient for you to browse, purchase, and read the ebooks of your liking. Ebooks are generally cheaper than physical books anyway.

So you take this opportunity to search for the next book that is connected to your favourite series since the author made the announcement on Instagram that book two has been published in printed copies. You hope that this book store has them.

“You really do like reading.” Jay lets out a breathy chuckle, feeling amused by your apparent enthusiasm as your eyes are practically sparkling while you seem to be searching for a particular book across the shelves.

“I love reading, specifically romance novels.” You correct him, your keen eyes never leaving the middle row until you spot the familiar book cover, eliciting an excited gasp from you. “No way! It’s here!”

Jay smirks, finding you adorable because you look like you have just won a lottery, and it deeply pleases him to see the radiance in your countenance, devoid of any worries or doubts. From the corner of his eye, he spots a stack of empty baskets at the side and decides to grab one before giving it to you. “Here.”

You blink your eyes at him, your eyebrows slowly furrowing. “But I only need one book, which is this.” 

But Jay is insistent, a trait that you have yet to get accustomed to. His eyes are firm with resolution, but there is a hint of softness. “Get yourselves some more, doll.” 

Since Jay obviously wouldn’t tolerate your refusal any further, you grab the basket from him before venturing aisle after aisle while he trails behind you silently, not that you mind. You also find yourself babbling to him about the books that capture your interest and the ones that you are familiar with while he listens attentively and gives his input whenever appropriate.

“I kind of had a feeling that you’d be the type to be into romance novels.” Jay points out his observation after taking note of every synopsis of the book that you babbled to him and noticing a specific element that relates to his current predicament.

“It’s probably the reason why I’m a hopeless romantic. Real life romantic love can never be compared to the written love on pages I’ve read.” You shrug your shoulders, missing the way he gazes at you with a peculiar longing as you eye down the books of your choosing in the basket that feels a little weighty in your grasp. “Plus, I love reading about love, even if that kind of love only exists in fiction.”

“I can make the love you want happen.” Jay accidentally blurts out what has been on his mind but realises that it’s a mistake as you tense up before looking at him with wide eyes. Shit, he fucked up.

You blink your eyes at him, feeling taken aback by what you have just heard. “Pardon?” 

“Uh, I mean, we could recreate any romantic scene in one of your favourite books if you want?” His rambles only make things worse for him, and for the first time, he looks completely flustered with his cheeks a faint hue of pink as he avoids your gaze. Before you can say anything, he grabs the basket from you in haste. “Forget anything I said.”

You are rendered speechless as you remain unmoving, your eyes never straying from his handsome figure while he makes his way to the checkout counter. Even from the back view, you can tell that he is still flustered. Your heart flutters again, and you can’t count how many times you have felt this odd sensation. But one thing you are certain of is that Jay being bashful is now your favourite sight to see.

After another round trip of shopping and desserts, Jay decides to send you back to the apartment since the time nearly strikes ten and the way your countenance seems a tad weary. He even insists on helping to carry every shopping bag into your apartment, but you refuse to let him do all the work, and since you are so obstinate, he allows you to carry the lighter bags.

“Your place looks homey, and it’s so you.” Jay remarks as he takes in his surroundings after placing the shopping bags on the coffee table, feeling an odd sense of tranquillity, the overall decor a polar opposite to his minimalist place. He meets your shy gaze and casts you a handsome smile that makes his dimples prominent on his cheeks. “I like it.”

“Since Sab now practically lives at her boyfriend’s, I thought that I should decorate the place to my liking.” You say with a sheepish smile before softening with a gratitude delicacy draping over your demeanour. “Thank you for buying me all of these. You didn’t have to, especially since we only met today.”

“Spoiling you is now part of my job, doll.” Jay drawls playfully, smirking when he sees you reciprocate with a playful eye roll.

“I mean it when I say I really appreciate your kindness and sweet gestures. Thank you, Jay.” You have no idea what overcomes the diffidence, but with one step towards him, you lean forward, tiptoeing just slightly to press your lips into his cheek and giving him a kiss of your gratitude, but your head spins as his strong cologne infiltrates your senses once more. He even smells as good as he looks.

Your lips linger on the soft texture of his skin before you pull away and look at him, only to feel your cheeks burning at the intensity of his gaze, leaving you to wonder if what you did pleased him or not. “So, I guess this is it.” You smile awkwardly.

“Don’t look so disappointed now, doll. You’re stuck with me, so you’ll be seeing my face more often.” Jay says, his tone holding a promise. “I’ll let you know our dates in advance, and I’ll surely fit you into my schedules.”

You give him a smile of assurance. “It’s okay. I know you’re a busy man, so you don’t have to do all that—” Your heartbeat goes erratic when he takes a step forward, closing the distance between your bodies. 

His dark eyes are devoid of the familiar softness, only an unfamiliar intensity that seems to take your breath away. “You can’t stop a man from what he wants, doll.” His voice is low, a palpable husk of something igniting a different type of heat within you.

“And what do you want?” You ask breathlessly, holding his strong gaze that continues to melt you on the inside. Your eyes fall to his lips, and you feel tempted to close the gap just to feel what the texture of his lips feels like. Are they as soft as they look?

The tension is short-lived when Jay leans down and presses his lips into your cheek, but dangerously close to the corner of your lips that intensifies the flutters in your heart, giving you a chaste kiss that now burns in your memory. He slowly pulls away and casts you a small smile. “Have a good night's rest, honey. I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as Jay steps out of your apartment, you finally give in to your buckling knees, holding onto the armrest of the couch for support while you allow your mind to spiral into a different type of chaos. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would have already scream from what just happened.

You’ve been kissed before, particularly on the lips, but no kiss has ever affected you this much, and it’s only a damn kiss on the cheek from your sugar daddy.

Just when you recover from freaking out over the smallest thing, your phone chimes loudly in your purse. You take it out to check, and you nearly experience a heart attack when you read the familiar notification of your digibank and another from Jay. The amount is significantly higher than your previous salary, and no doubt it will sustain you more than enough for a month.

[ A payment of $3000 has been transferred to your account ]

JAY: Hope you received the transfer, doll. You deserve it.

Days eventually blend into weeks ever since the transactional relationship with your sugar daddy has been established, and everything has been going smoothly, including the fact that you managed to pay off your monthly utility bills and the rent that were haunting you.

Initially, you felt conflicted about this arrangement, how the fundamental core of your independence remained obstinate in going against accepting any form of help, but somehow, he easily managed to erode the fire within you with his benevolence and compassion that didn’t feel overbearing.

So in a way, you submitted to him, essentially peeling off a layer of your vulnerability. He also earned your trust that you now seek solace in him despite him being your sugar daddy, but that’s the thing. You know that you only regard him as your sugar daddy, so why do you feel as though the two of you are genuine friends with benefits instead, except that there is no actual explicit exchange?

It is truly confounding to you because the fleeting spark of desire in those lustrous brown eyes of his is not lost on you whenever he gazes at you, particularly the times when the apparel displays your contours or excessive skin, but he remains steadily courteous, which feels peculiar to you since men like him obviously have needs, especially older men, according to your best friend. Honestly, a part of you wouldn’t even mind if he wanted to go beyond this friendliness, considering that it has been so long since you had sex.

Still, you have no complaints about this as you feel content with your current dynamic with him that you often forget that he’s your actual sugar daddy, and for the first time compared to your past experiences with men, everything he does and the words he speaks feel genuine with no perverse intent — how he has never asked for any inappropriate pics from you or told you crude remarks, how he never crosses boundaries except holding hands and sweet cheek kisses, how he validates your feelings, and most especially how he actually pays attention to you and listens to you.

Perhaps it’s the very reason why you instantly thought of Jay when you were being summoned by the inevitable once-in-a-blue dinner with your mother and her family during the phone call, but it felt more like your mother emphatically demanded your attendance since you purposely missed the last dinner.

Hence, Jay is currently driving you to the dreadful destination that has been ruffling your peace of mind while you struggle to maintain your perfect composure, hoping that he wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary about you other than the unusual yet stark silence from you.

But little do you know that Jay has noticed your discomposure in the way he recognises your habits whenever something rattles you — how your twitchy fingers often fiddle together, your eyes refusing to meet his, your bottom lip tucking in between your teeth every so often, and your eyebrows softly knitting together. It upsets him how you are clearly in distress despite your poised demeanour, and he wants nothing more than to relieve you.

“I’m sorry for asking you to come with me. You probably had other matters to attend to.” You break the ice, your delicate yet apologetic tone eliciting a disapproving frown from him. He takes his eyes off the road briefly to look at you, and he nearly feels tempted to change the destination at the look in your pretty yet frail eyes, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t need you and your support, especially since my mom is expecting you.”

Jay would feel honoured that one of your parents wanted to meet him since, according to you, you told your mother that he’s your boyfriend instead of a sugar daddy, which was more than understandable, if it weren’t for the fact that you obviously don’t seem the slightest bit happy to see her. He already develops a distaste for your mother. He has a strong inkling that you often receive mistreatment from her.

“If you apologise another time, I might have to do something to your lips.” He playfully warns, his remark eliciting a familiar flutter within you at the possible implication, but you continue to look at him apologetically. “Please, doll, if anything, I’m more flattered that you need my support and the fact that I’ll be your fake boyfriend.” Though the words ‘fake boyfriend’ leave his lips so easily, they definitely leave a bitter taste on his tongue.

You briefly divert your attention to the road ahead, absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers that tempt him to hold your hand. “My mother, she can be quite overbearing, always nitpicking and criticising everything I do.” You say dryly, deciding to preface a little of what he can most likely expect later. “Plus, it’s been a year since I last saw her, so she definitely has a lot more to say to my face.”

Jay raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “A year?” 

“We don’t really have a good relationship.” You explain shortly, trying your best not to sound so brusque as you speak to him, but just the thought of your mother simply triggers you deeply. “Between my mother and father, I prefer my father’s company than hers even though he’s more absent compared to her. He has never cared much about me. They both don’t.” A dry chuckle leaves your lips. “I’m just the product of their failed marriage. It was doomed since the beginning.”

This time, Jay doesn’t bother holding back as he reaches for your hand while the other remains controlling the steering wheel. “I’m sorry to hear that, doll. You deserved so much better.” He looks at you again, frowning deeply as the worry is still evident in your countenance. “Hey, it’ll be okay because I’ll be right next to you throughout the dinner. Anything your mother may say will do nothing to change my feelings for you.” He reassures you softly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand gently.

You instantly feel at ease just by his familiar touch. You give him your gratitude with a smile as you squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Jay.”

“I’d prefer you to call me honey or baby.” He briefly glances at you with an effortless smirk, sending the flutters to your tummy. “You know, to convince your mother that I’m your actual boyfriend instead of your sugar daddy.”

Your smile falters slightly at the reminder. “Right. She would probably beat my ass if she knew the truth.”

He places a quick kiss on the back of your hand. “I’ll protect your ass, doll. Besides, your pretty ass is mine.” 

Warmth weaves in your every vein while your cheeks go aflame at how casual those words left his lips. “Jay.” You attempt to chide him but fail miserably when he shoots you another smirk before giving a kiss on your palm.

Comfortable silence accompanies you throughout the rest of your ride, and not once did he ever let go of your hand, intermittently stroking the back of your hand with his thumb while you feel the incessant flutters at how he’s holding your hand with such reverence despite the firmness.

When Jay finally pulls up at the familiar driveway, your mood instantly sours, but with him by your side, you feel a little confident, knowing that you can get past this. You just have to endure the impending charade and tolerate whatever bullshit your mother and her family decide to provoke you with, but you definitely did not expect the type of bullshit where your stepsisters are quick to wear familiar masks that display their attraction towards your sugar daddy the moment you walk past the threshold. 

“Y/N.” Your mother comes into view, and for the first time, you feel grateful to her as your stepsisters’ tactics in vying for Jay’s attention have come to a stop.

“Mother.” You greet her in return, albeit tightly, as the familiar tension begins to brew in the air that even Jay can sense.

Jay quickly scans your mother, taking note of the familiarity of her elegance and sophistication in the way she dresses and the ambiance she exudes, reminding him of the elite ladies he had come across throughout his experiences in the business industry. Still, he finds her unimpressive, especially in the way her steely eyes are staring down at you with faint disdain.

Your mother shifts her gaze to him, seeming to be assessing him. “And I presume you are the boyfriend?” Her tone is as sharp as a knife, while the smile gracing her lips looks deceptive.

“Yes, he is.” You step in to speak even before he could introduce himself out of courtesy despite his distaste towards your mother. He notices the undertone of protectiveness in your demeanour, to which he suppresses a smile.

Your mother scans him for another time. “Dinner is not ready yet, but you can make yourself at home.” She says kindly to him while he hides the frown behind his mask at how she seems to be deliberately ignoring you.

Your mother pivots on her heels at the same time you drag him by the hand as you make your way towards the living room, but of course, your stepsisters continue their tactics until you cast them a withering glare, nearly wanting to wrestle each of them for thirsting over your man. Thankfully, they relent after you pull a stunt that indicates no possible way for their flirtatious attempt.

“Let me guess, they’re fakes?” Jay murmurs to you, his low timbre sending an unfamiliar blistering heat to your body, enough to distract you from the fury within you after having to witness your three stepsisters being brazenly flirtatious in front of you earlier, not that Jay reciprocated. In fact, the sight was just as painful as it was laughable despite your annoyance because he clearly wasn’t the slightest bit interested.

“Yeah.” You mutter back, hoping that you don’t sound too breathless, but the nonexistent space between you and him is not helping with how your head is in a frenzy as you are seated on top of his lap sideways to deliberately show your stepsisters that he’s yours.

Your breath nearly hitches in your throat as his hands roam around your waistline, as though he’s trying to memorise your curve while your arms around his neck loosen just slightly. You continue to speak, forcing your voice to come out strong. “They’re insufferable. Don’t be fooled by their acts. They’re probably coming up with another scheme to steal you away from me.”

Jay examines your face, and he recognises a fiery jealousy gleaming in your eye, eliciting an amused smirk from him. “Don’t worry, doll. I have my eyes on you only, and you’re the only woman worthy of my attention.” He hums, leaning forward to press his lips into your temple, an affection that leaves you breathless. “Which is why I chose you in the first place.”

“You know, you don’t have to start acting again.” You whisper softly as you look at him in the eyes daringly despite the warm flush in your cheeks. “My mother’s not even here.”

The familiar softness in his pretty eyes smoulders with an inscrutable emotion while his face is devoid of any mischief. “Who said I was acting?” His voice is a low husk, palpable with desire.

Your eyes accidentally fall to his lips, noticing how close the distance between your lips and his is. Just before you can cave into the familiar spark of temptation, your attention is being pulled away by your oldest stepsister, who is three years older than you, begrudgingly informing you to head over to the dining hall. A triumphant smirk curls on your lips when you recognise the jealousy in her eyes as you remain seated on his lap.

But you certainly don’t feel as triumphant as you were the moment you find yourself seated across from your mother, despite Jay’s presence being a constant support right next to you. You have yet to properly converse with your mother except for the earlier exchange of greetings, not that you intended to, as you can’t wait for this charade to end. You hope that your mother will not pull any usual captious stunt of hers, but knowing her, you can expect the worst.

You take a stealthy glance at your surroundings, hating how you are in the same space as the people you loathe. Though your mother and her family seem refinedly harmonious, you can see past this repulsive charade, knowing that it is only a matter of time before hell breaks loose, just like any other dinner you had with them in the past.

“So, Jay,” Your mother speaks up, causing you to tense up as you stop twirling the spaghetti with your fork rather absentmindedly. “Y/N informed me that you’re a CEO.”

A strategic opening that you recognise all too well, to which you nearly roll your eyes at. Of course, she would bring up careers first since she’s a businesswoman herself. You don’t bother to look up at her, but from the corner of your eyes, Jay seems casual, completely unaffected by this brewing tension only you feel.

“Yes, that’s right.” Jay confirms politely, though he doesn’t sound exactly amiable, but his demeanour is an unwavering neutrality, as if nothing and not even your mother’s possible strike could ever sway him.

“How long have you been dating my daughter?” Your mother asks, to which you begin to feel like she’s interrogating instead, your eye twitching in annoyance.

“For a year now.” Jay answers smoothly while you feel thankful for how he manages to think of an answer instantly, considering that you didn’t exactly discuss with him the thoroughly made-up story of your love lives.

“We met through a mutual friend.” You decide to add a lie, but your mother’s attention is solely fixated on him with a perverse interest that you recognise, causing your fist to clench under the table.

As you observe your mother, you see the way her icy gaze scrutinises him, as though something about him evokes suspicion within her. “And how old are you?”

“Mom.” You warn, not holding back this time, whatever it takes to defend your man against your birth giver. Your mother finally locks eyes with you, how they are devoid of affection or warmth that are only reserved to your stepsisters despite two of them not being your mother’s biological daughters.

“Thirty-four.” Jay barely feels offended about the question as he answers with ease, but he surely is displeased by how unnerved you are because of your mother.

Your mother directs her eyes at Jay, her lips frowning. “Aren’t you a little old for my daughter?” 

You really don’t have the patience for this. You set down your fork on the marbled surface with a sharp clink of finality. “Mother, that’s enough.” Your tone is enough for the rest of her family to resort to silence as they direct their attention to the familiar spectacle of animosity between you and her.

But your mother completely disregards your entire existence as she continues to speak to him with a calculated casualness. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I’m merely concerned about why a man of class such as yourself decided to settle for less than he deserved. Shouldn’t you date women who are more in your league with competent qualities?”

Ah, there it is, the ultimate aim to obliterate your self-esteem by obliquely humiliating you in front of your pretend lover, because your mother clearly despises seeing you happy. The familiarity of it all brings a faintly bitter smile to your lips.

“Agreed.” Your stepsister, who is three years younger than you, Chloe, chimes; her cheery voice repulses you the same when you catch her shooting you a taunting look just briefly. “Quite frankly, you deserve way better than our sister.” You don’t have the opportunity to utter a remark at her when your mother swiftly intervenes.

“Let me introduce you to my second oldest. Mia. She’s the same age as Y/N, but she has achieved many things compared to her peers.” Your mother flagrantly gestures to Mia, who is clearly pleased to have Jay’s attention to her now as she casts him a coquettish smile. “She managed to land employment in a corporation shortly after her graduation, and she’s an accountant, which I’m sure you two would have a lot more in common with.”

You refuse to look away from your vile mother, your eyes smouldering with an intensity that parallels the torrential storms of emotions within you while you struggle to preserve your composure. The weight of your wrath overwhelms the familiar wounds festering in your heart.

“Our oldest daughter, who is twenty-five, is a—”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t pretty much care for all of those.” Jay interrupts sharply, his tone pulling your attention away from your mother. The intensity in your eyes dwindles as you observe his countenance carefully, how he is undeniably frustrated but remains poised.

“I fell in love with your daughter not because of her job title or what she has to offer. I fell in love with her because of how much of an amazing woman she actually is.” He declares firmly with an irrevocable resolution before turning his head to meet your slightly widened eyes while your heart is pounding hard against your ribcage. “She understands me better than anyone else, and we connect well with each other. I don’t think I could ever be in love with anyone else that is not her. Your daughter truly is unforgettable.”

Your eyes never leave his while your surroundings fade into insignificance that not even the sudden pin-drop silence perturbs you. How peculiar, you think. Jay speaks those words with such ease and sincerity that it feels natural, as though he had prepared this in advance in order to deceive your mother and her family with this facade of your relationship, but his beautiful brown eyes speak volumes, and he looks like he’s completely enamoured by you.

Your mother clears her throat sharply, prompting you to break eye contact first. “I admire your devotion and loyalty to my daughter. Such a rare quality in men nowadays.” Her cordial tone is just as artificial as the smile on her red lips. “But to give you a piece of advice based on my experience, love alone is not enough to keep your relationship stable.”

The prior anger returns tenfold as it feels blistering in your veins. Even Jay’s presence next to you no longer feels like a tether to temperate in from acting impulsively on your emotions. “I don’t recall us asking you for relationship advice. An unsolicited one, at that.” You say too calmly, a deadly one that bristles two of your stepsisters.

“As your mother, I ought to give young lovers such as yourselves some advice. I know better than you do.” Your mother snaps, and finally the mask is off, now revealing her ire towards you with glaring eyes that level with yours. “And while we’re at it, you shouldn’t be in a relationship where you have nothing to offer to your significant other. For goodness sake, you’re not financially stable! You’re not even responsible enough to be a proper adult with a stable job!”

Silence settles right after her outburst, but it intensifies the tension in the atmosphere that is palpable to your senses. You look at her with an unwavering resoluteness, refusing to give in to her satisfaction of successfully breaking you once more. A humourless chuckle leaves your lips, shattering the deadly silence. You have no idea where this odd humour came from, but this time, you laugh out as though you find the situation hilarious while your mother eyes you warily as if you’re insane.

“God, I knew you’d reveal your true colours sooner or later.” You snarl coldly after swiftly recovering yourself, taking them by complete surprise. “You did not invite me over just for dinner — you wanted to humiliate and criticise me as if I didn’t have any dignity, like you always do, and deliberately at that once you got to know that I’d be bringing my boyfriend along with me.”

You can feel his eyes on you at the strong emphasis, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him, not when he’s witnessing the raw, ugly truth of your relationship with your mother when he shouldn’t be, bringing you to shame.

Your mother’s glare is as penetrating as her hatred for you. “A sophisticated man like him should be informed what kind of a woman and a daughter you really are.” 

“Definitely not your daughter, not anymore.” You retort, your body trembling with the onslaught of emotions that expel any rationality within you. You can even barely register the familiar warmth of Jay’s hand on yours as you intend to lash out with what you’ve buried for years. “You stopped being my mother the moment you decided to abandon me ten years ago by choosing your new family over me and father, and now you have the audacity to judge and criticise me in front of the love of my life?!”

You nearly scoff at the audacity of hurt in her eyes. “How could you say that to your own mother?!” She shouts angrily, and she harshly brushes off her husband’s attempt to calm her. “You were the one who chose to walk away from me! You rejected my calls and messages, so how dare you—”

The maelstrom of emotions within you propels you to rise abruptly, towering over your mother’s seething figure. “Can you even blame me?! You walked away first! So you don’t have the right to be upset when I was the one who constantly tried reaching out to you first when I needed you!” Amidst the sheer anger in your voice, there is a discernible crack that Jay recognises. The back of your eyes begins to burn familiarly, but your glaring wrath never strays from her. “But you prioritised your new family more than you ever did with me! You were barely a presence in my life even when I was a youngling! You didn’t even attend any of my graduations!"

“I’m glad I didn’t attend your university graduation months ago. It would’ve been a waste of my time because look at how you turned out to be! A useless woman who has no sense of her identity!” Your mother strikes down the part of you that you have always struggled with acceptance, causing you to falter from within.

She continues to lambast you with her familiar cruelty while you can feel the weight of devastation in your chest suffocating you. “You don’t even have a job to sustain yourself. And you have the gall to be in a relationship with a man who deserves more than what he settles for? You bring shame to your father and me! I refuse to be known as someone who shares the same blood as you.”

Still, your demeanour remains unyielding as you clench your jaw. “Then I guess we can come to an agreement that neither of us should continue whatever ties we had, not that it existed in the first place, considering you’ve been an absent mother since day one.” You tell her calmly with an icy finality. “Don’t worry about being embarrassed of me any longer, because I promise you that this is the last time I’ll ever be associated with you and the last time you’ll see my face. I’m better off without you, always have.”

There is a fleeting emotion in her eyes, and you can’t tell whether it’s regret or satisfaction, but you couldn’t care less as you grab your purse on your chair. “Y/N.” She calls for you, her tone indicating that she’s not done with you.

Without looking at her, you grab Jay’s hand while he is quick on his feet. You inhale deeply before forcing yourself to look at your birth giver right in the eyes with burning resentment. “Thanks for the dinner. The food's bland, by the way. Might want to hire a private chef since cooking is obviously not your specialty.”

You immediately depart from the dining hall with your pretend lover, even when she’s yelling furiously at you about your insolence and the strings of words about how you could never survive without her. You continue to walk away, not even realising that you’re gripping his hand so tight, but he doesn’t make any remark, and neither do you.

The silence prevails even after you have settled in the passenger seat, mastering avoidance as you refuse to look at the man next to you, because you know that it takes one look at his face for your resolve to crumble.

Jay feels like there is an intangible wall that prevents him from getting to you despite being in the same vicinity, how utterly helpless he is when you have clearly established your avoidance, but still, he needs to try. His grip on the steering wheel loosens just slightly as he looks at you. “Honey…"

You draw in a sharp inhalation as his mellow tone affects you just as easily. “Just drive, please.” You utter a soft plea while your throat hurts from the emotions that form into a painful lump.

Thankfully, Jay complies as he operates the functions that propel his vehicle to finally depart from the mansion that you won’t ever step foot into again, but your heightened senses detect the tension emanating from him, and even from the corner of your eye, his chiselled jaw looks taut just the same as his flinty countenance.

You shove down the bitterness at the presumption of him being frustrated at you, but it only seems to hurt your already wounded heart. You wonder what he thinks of you now after the relentless humiliation from your birth giver. You wonder if he’s reevaluating his judgement for choosing you.

You don’t even realise that you have been spiralling in the tumult of your emotions until the vehicle abruptly comes to a stop, prompting your focus on the view ahead. “Where have you brought me?” You ask him with a confused frown.

“Central Park. I figured that you needed some air.” Jay says lightly, his face unreadable as he looks at you, but a small smile touches his lips. “Come on.”

The next thing you know, you are walking hand-in-hand with Jay along the pavement at the park in comfortable silence while enjoying the evening breeze. Though the storms in your head remain unabating, you feel an odd sense of peace after the realisation that you managed to bravely sever any ties with your birth giver, which was long overdue.

You take a glance at him, your wounded heart bearing a flutter that soothes the ache faintly. But then comes the immense guilt that aggravates your emotions. “Thank you, Jay.” Your voice sounds fragile, unlike anything he’s ever heard. “And I’m sorry.”

Jay frowns, hating how unapologetically you look as your eyes are filled with immense guilt. “What are you sorry for?” 

“You shouldn’t have witnessed that.” You tell him honestly, halting your steps as you force yourself to let go of his hand, berating yourself for how undeserving you are of his warmth. You don’t look at him even as you continue to deliver your heartfelt apology, but your breathing goes rapidly. “I’m really sorry that you had to deal with my mother, and I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. It was improper of me—”

“Calm down, honey.” He places his hands on your shoulders, his tone being carefully measured but never losing its mellowness. His firm eyes search for yours, noticing how shaky your pupils are. “You have nothing to apologise for. You were upset and angry, rightfully so. Your own mother shouldn’t have humiliated you in the first place, let alone in front of a guest. It was improper of her.”

Jay knows it all too well, as he too had to face such humiliation from his father back when he was a fresh graduate, and if he’s being honest, he felt slightly triggered by the earlier spectacle, as it reminded him of the similar situation he once was in. Personally, you handled it far better than he did, how you never seemed to lose your composure even when he felt your hand trembling earlier, but your demeanour was admirably unyielding.

The stark sincerity emanating from him compels you to divulge more truths that you still resent. “She humiliated me in front of my ex-colleagues too when I was still working as a barista.” You say dejectedly while you struggle to fight against the emotions that threaten to leak in a torrent. “She didn’t approve of it and said that it's a job for uneducated drop-off college students.”

Jay scoffs in disbelief, anger burning in his chest because there is one thing that he absolutely despises, and it is the condescending people when it comes to a person’s occupation that they undervalue its importance simply because it is not up to their standards, such as your mother.

“That’s ridiculous. Being a barista is just like any other job. You were making an honest living.” He says harshly, shocking you at the display of ire that you had never once seen, but you know that it is not directed to you.

You know that you should stop from going further, but for the first time, you feel seen by someone in a way that you have longed for. “I even told her over the last phone call that I went for multiple interviews for jobs that were equivalent to my degree, but she shut me down, berating me for not being good enough, for not being worthy in anyone’s eyes, not even hers.” You release a shaky breath as you look down, blinking away the tears from blurring your vision. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m the problem because I didn’t try hard enough.”

Jay grabs you by the chin firmly before lifting your head up, his eyes hardened with resolve that feels oddly comforting to you. “Don’t let your mother’s words get to you, or even the judgement of others. They have no idea how amazing you truly are and how you are more than what they choose to see.” He speaks with such confidence that he almost fooled you into believing that you are enough, but the soft plea in his tone strikes a chord in you. “So please, don’t ever think or speak lowly of yourself.”

You don’t respond, knowing that you will return to the same cycle, but he is not having any of that as he cups your cheeks, forcing your eyes to maintain eye contact with him. “I need you to promise me, honey.” How peculiar, you think, to see such desperation that lies behind the devastation in his beautiful brown eyes, as though he is beseeching you not to lose yourself in the familiar spiral. “Promise me that you won’t ever discredit and belittle yourself anymore.”

“I promise.” You state emphatically, needing to reassure him as you have come to loathe how he seems to be hurting on your behalf. How peculiar, you think, as you are able to read through him when he’s usually enigmatic despite his gentleness and unexpected mischief.

Jay sighs softly before leaning down to give you a lingering kiss on the forehead. You close your eyes, relishing the warmth of his lips on your skin, but it is odd how it takes just a kiss on the forehead for the dam to break.

“I hate her.” You whisper, your voice fragile as it breaks in between while you struggle to restrain the whirlwind of emotions within you. You latch your fingers around his wrist, needing him to hold you still. “I hate her so much.”

Jay slowly pulls away from your forehead to look at you, his eyes softening as he recognises the emotions that you silently battle behind the windows of your beautiful eyes.

“Your feelings are valid, baby.” Jay says gently, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “You know, you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to depend on someone else for once. It’s okay to cry too.”

Despite the weeks of pampering you with his time and wealth, Jay notices one trait of you that remains unbending, even after his generous assurance, and that is how you often refuse to accept anything from him other than money, since your relationship is still an official transaction, even though it would end up futile for you as he is just as obstinate as you. You remind him of himself back when he had nothing except to involuntarily depend on his best friend. It is truly a bittersweet feeling. Sometimes, he sees himself in you, as though you’re his twin flame despite the differences in your personalities.

A part of you still refuses to showcase your sheer vulnerability, how it remains guarded despite him having already earned your trust, but when you gaze deeply into his warm, kind eyes, the back of your eyes sting unbearably that they begin to accumulate rapidly with the tears you have been fighting off.

“I’m not useless.” You tell him brokenly, a tear rolling down your cheek that he gently wipes away with his thumb. 

Jay adorns a small smile that reflects his warm kindness, which only seems to break you apart from within. “I know you’re not, doll. You never were.” His tone is so gentle and so soothing, but it easily devastates the surge of emotions that have been vying to dominate your teetering composure.

“I tried.” You plead truthfully as the memories of those hardships you have gone through play in your mind, but your voice continuously cracks the same way the last of your resolve crumbles. An accidental sob escapes you. “I tried my best. I really did.”

It hurts his heart to see you being so broken and defeated when you usually look indestructible, as if no one can ever shatter your confidence despite your shyness occurring around him. “Come here, honey.”

As soon as Jay embraces you in his arms, you allow yourself to crumble as rivulets of tears descend on you, your arms latching around his torso as you eventually fall weak against him. You hold onto him like he’s your lifeline, fearing that he too would abandon you like your biological parents did.

Little do you know that his heart only seems to break over and over at the sounds of your heartbreaking cries, as though you had been harbouring this for years, prompting him to tighten his arms around your trembling body in an attempt to ground you to the moment, and that he’s here — he’ll always be here when you’re at your weakest point.

Nothing coherent is on your mind, only a torrential need to let out the tears you have been holding back for so long, your body racking with the onslaught of devastation. You can’t even remember when was the last time you ever cried, as you have only ever depended on the numbness that overwhelmed your senses to get you through the difficult periods in your life, because you knew that crying wouldn’t change a single thing.

“My efforts will never be enough for her! No matter what I do, it will never be enough!” You sob loudly, years of pain and resentment consuming every inch of you with such intensity that you have never felt before while your heart clenches painfully. You feel the dampness in the material of his top due to your tears, but you can’t seem to pull away from him as you desperately seek his warmth, needing to ground yourself. “I will never be enough for anyone.”

Something snaps inside of him that prompts him to pull you away from his chest, now cradling your beautiful tear-stricken face. “I promise you that you are enough. You are more than enough.” He punctuates each word with fierce conviction that imprints on your mind, the same way he looks at you as though you are worthy in his eyes. “Your worth is not determined by your achievements, your employment status, or anything that is measurable. It’s who you really are on the inside that determines your self-worth.”

“Am I really enough?” You ask shakily, your sobs dwindling while your breath stutters from the exertion, your fingers curl into fists as they rest on his solid chest. Your lips quiver as you muster the courage to speak the words that sit heavily on your tongue. “Am I even enough for you?”

Jay doesn’t lift a smile on his lips, but his features soften differently, particularly his warm brown eyes that are staring at you with a familiar longing. The gesture of his thumb on your tear-stained cheek in affectionate strokes sends a flutter to your wounded heart. “You always have been, honey. I wish you could see how I truly see you.” 

With every affectionate stroke on your cheek, it seems to mend on each wound your heart bears for years, albeit you know that it will take an indeterminate period to fully heal your withered soul with fragmented pieces of your morale. Still, you yearn for his touch deeply as you lean your cheek into his palm, feeling a strange sense of security emanating from him and how everything just seems to pale in comparison when you’re with him.

“Tell me that you see me.” and not just as your sugar baby, but the words vehemently refuse to leave your lips.

Jay gazes into your misty eyes deeply before a smile peculiarly knowing graces his lips. “I see you, honey. Always have.” He says sincerely before giving your forehead a kiss. “You are a remarkable woman who I know has ambitions of her own, and I’m a lucky man to have a woman like you in my arms right now.”

Your cheeks flush warmly at how easily he speaks such flattering words so easily that leave a profound impact on you each time. “You know, you can stop acting now.” You mutter, a familiar diffidence cloaking your once-fragile figure. “You don’t have to go so far to—"

Your breath hitches in your throat as he closes the distance between your faces, his eyes darkening with an unveiled want that feels borderline dangerous. “I told you earlier, didn’t I? I was never acting.” His voice drops to an octave that resonates deep in your core, and his eyes flicker down to your slightly parted lips. “And I’m not acting on what I’m about to do next either.”

With that, his lips descend on yours in a delicate kiss that sends sparks through your body, his lips fitting with yours perfectly while his hands that once were cupping your cheeks descend to your waistline, a gentle exploration that flutters your heart. He kisses you like how you imagined your first kiss with him to be — tender with a hint of firm urgency as though he’s been yearning for your lips.

The texture of your lips feels addictingly soft and tastes like cherry, a flavour that has become his favourite. He pours in every emotion he has been harbouring for weeks into the kiss, bordering on such desperation. You drape your arms around his neck as you kiss him back with equal fervour that propels him to deepen the kiss, lips occasionally parted as though you need air, but you need him more than ever; desperation is evident in each caress of your lips on his.

His tongue drags across the seam of your lower lip, compelling you to part your lips open for him to claim every inch of you, but when your tongue tenderly meets his, his head goes into a frenzy at the wet sensation, but he doesn’t want to go far, and so he slowly retracts his tongue before kissing you instead with an intense passion of yearning, hoping that you can feel every ounce of it.

You can feel your lungs burning from the fervent exchange of kisses before forcing yourself to pull away from the passionate lip lock. “Jay.” You utter his name breathlessly as you look at him with hooded eyelids, but the desire in your eyes is a reflection of his, and yet neither of you dares to breach that unspoken boundary.

“I was right.” His husky chuckles send butterflies to your tummy. He leans his forehead against yours, lips widening into a smile that showcases his dimples that you love while his grip on your waist feels like he has no intention to let you go. “Your lips are soft.”

Your fingers absentmindedly stroke his jawline that feels just as strong as he is. “You thought of my lips?” You ask softly, finding yourself lifting a shy smile that he’s head over heels for since day one. 

Jay pulls you closer until your body is pressed into his. “All the damn time, honey, you have no idea.” He whispers before closing the distance between your lips once more, sealing you into a kiss that confirms these complicated emotions swirling within you.

Your lips still tingle from the dreamy sensation of his lips while your mind is often a constant playback of the passionate exchange of kisses that happened last week, but you want more; you need more. You simply can’t get enough of his kisses, of him, and above all, you want him so bad that it hurts.

Even just the thought of him is enough to awaken the butterflies in your tummy, a newfound sensation ever since the clarity dawned on you.

“I think I’ve caught feelings for Jay.” You finally speak up, shattering the rare calming quietude in the living room as you are sprawled across the fluffy rug, staring into the white-painted ceiling.

Sabrina, who has been lounging on the couch right next to you, leans her body forward to peer down at you, her face contorting into a confusion despite her eyes glinting with curiosity. “Who?”

Classic Sabrina. Of course, she had forgotten who Jay was even after she was responsible for accepting his request. “My sugar daddy.” You tell her in an obvious deadpan, and recognition instantly glimmers in her blue eyes.

Sabrina heaves a sigh and places her phone down before adjusting to a more comfortable position to look at you better. “Girl, most sugar babies would usually catch feelings for their sugar daddies after the first few meetings.” She says matter-of-factly. “Some even go straight down to business in the bedroom with their sugar daddies on their first day, so it’s quite surprising that you haven’t pounced on yours yet.”

“Sab! Be serious! This is a very big deal for me!” You exclaim emphatically as you change into a sitting position to face her entirely. “I like him— no wait, I really, really like him.” There is no way that you love him, but you know for sure that your feelings towards him are anything but platonic. 

Sabrina studies you carefully, noticing the way your eyes gleam with an emotion so unfamiliar, especially after knowing you for years. “Can’t blame you. He’s super hot.”

You roll your eyes at her ever-unserious remark before sighing in exasperation. “It’s not just because he’s hot and attractive. He gets me, like really gets me, and I get him too.” As you divulge to your best friend, you find yourself smiling at the memories of him, recalling. “He always seems to know what to say and what I want to hear. He understands me better than anyone else, no offence.”

You worry that you might offend your best friend, but she erupts into chuckles, her face devoid of any unpleasantness. “Girl, please. You know that it would take a lot more than that to hurt my feelings.” She rolls her eyes playfully before looking at you with keen interest. “So tell me more about the man who has finally caught my girl’s heart.”

You beam at her, feeling much appreciation that she is willing to listen to you. “People often mistake him as someone who is arrogant and mean. Probably because they view him as the cold, stereotypical CEO, and his features are sharp and defined enough to intimidate them, but he is not any of those. In fact, he’s soft-spoken and a true gentleman at heart.” You list down the qualities and traits about him that you have grown to love, enthusiastically. “He’s incredibly thoughtful and kind too. I love how he always sees the beauty in everything despite their flaws, how he always seems to know what I want to hear even though I don’t tell him. He just...he just gets me!”

You sigh dreamily with your lips curled upwards. “I’ve never met a man so perfect, so dreamy, like him before.” As soon as you finish, you finally notice how unusually quiet your best friend has gone, prompting you to focus on her, who is staring at you like you’re an alien. A frown touches your lips. “What?”

“Oh, girl…You’re down bad, and I mean like really down bad for him.” She remarks, enunciating each word with strong emphasis while amusement dances in her eye. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard you compliment a guy in detail, because you’d usually say shit about men in general.”

Sabrina has a point, as those experiences you had with men in the past were generally unpleasant. “He’s so different from the men I’ve come across.” You say truthfully, smiling again at the thought of him, but then comes the realisation of your next move. “So what do I do now?”

Sabrina gives you an obvious expectant look. “Just tell him that you like him.” 

You huff lightly. “I know that, but like, I’ve been—” You pause, biting down your lower lip in embarrassment as you look down at your hands. “I’ve been having thoughts about him lately.”

Sabrina narrows her eyes at you in suspicion, and considering she's been your best friend for years, it doesn’t take too long for her to put the pieces together, gasping dramatically. “You nasty slut! Was that why you wanted to borrow my vibrator?!” She exclaims with a gleeful smile. “You’ve been fantasising about the man of your dreams!”

You groan loudly and bury your face in your palms. “Gosh, this is ridiculous.” You mutter dryly, but she isn’t wrong. You have been fantasising about Jay hard, and you don’t think that you have ever fantasised about anyone like that, and that itself terrifies you because of how much of an impact he has made ever since he entered your life.

“So when will you get dicked down by your sugar daddy?” Sabrina asks casually right after she has calmed down from the weird excitement about the embarrassing discovery of you.

The reality hits you, and there go the thoughts that dim the hope in you. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he would want that. What if he doesn’t want me like that?” You ramble dejectedly, your eyebrows knitting together worriedly. “I mean, to be fair, we did kiss—“

“You did?! And I wasn’t informed?!” She interrupts with a disbelieving gasp, and before you can retort, she throws a pillow at you, which you catch swiftly, before she goes moaning, “Bitch, you know I love juicy details!”

“It wasn’t a big deal. It happened in a spur of a moment, I guess.” You state unsurely as the memory plays on your mind. You sigh annoyedly, hating how your emotions are going familiarly haywire again. “The point is, I want him so bad, but I can’t just tell him straight in the face that I want him to fuck me.”

Oh, you really do, particularly his cock that you have been craving for, and you have no doubt that he would stuff you full as you had noticed the size of his bulge that pressed against his pants. It’s not only pure fucking that you crave — his dark eyes penetrating into your teary ones as you moan pleasurably at his sheer girth, his strong, sweaty body pressing into yours as he whispers sweet yet filthy things into your ears, his lips claiming yours, his fingers interlacing with yours while he delivers slow yet shallow thrusts into your needy cunt.

You have a strong inkling that when he fucks, he does not only fuck, but every movement, every thrust, every kiss, and everything he does will be imprinted on your mind. Just the thought of it has your cunt clenching physically and your clit throbbing again.

“I have an idea.” Sabrina thankfully manages to distract you before you can spiral into your salacious fantasies again.

You raise an inquisitive eyebrow at her, feeling intrigued despite the mischief curling on her pink lips. “I’m listening.”

“What if you make him jealous?” She suggests, earning a confused stare from you. She huffs impatiently. “You know, flirting with other guys in his presence or just doing something in front of him that might trigger his jealousy.”

“How does making him jealous have any correlation to him wanting to have sex with me?” You ask her incredulously. “If anything, him seeing me flirt with other guys would definitely turn him off.” The last thing you need is to do something that turns him off.

“Isn’t it obvious? Jealousy always leads to sex; it happens. Well, at least to me.” She shrugs her shoulders, eliciting a sigh from you at her predictable confession. She startles you when she moves off the couch to sit in front of you, grabbing your hands keenly. “Girl, trust me, it’ll work! Especially since yours just so happens to be a sugar daddy, and they tend to be possessive over their sugar babies.”

Okay, that marginally entices you. You look at her in the eyes, the determination in them giving you a sense of confidence. “Fine. Maybe I’ll do it on this business event that Jay invited me to be his plus one.” You concede with a soft sigh.

Apparently, Jay informed you about a gala he was required to attend during last night’s video call — he prefers video calls instead of normal phone calls most of the time since he gets to see your face — and he invited you to go with him since he needed a plus one. Initially, you hesitated since you would be in the presence of highly sophisticated businessmen and businesswomen, people of class, but the look in Jay’s eyes easily won you over.

A frown touches your lips. “But I have no idea how to make him jealous when the gala will be filled with businessmen, and there is no way I could ever dare to go up to one of them and flirt, especially since I’m obviously not in their league.” You point out the realistic part of this ridiculous plan.

Sabrina gives you a deadpan look, as though you had said something that’s offensive. “I don’t know if you realise this yet, but you’re actually a hot babe. With that face and body of yours, you can easily pass off as one of those elite ladies. I’m not even lying!” Her tone is a rare sincerity that you surprisingly believe in, but still, you’d probably be dull compared to the refined ladies of class.

“Well, let’s hope jealousy will work.” You sure hope it does because Jay is a highly secure man, so it would be unlikely to evoke any jealous within him.

When the gala has finally beckoned, you find yourself having qualms about delving into an unacquainted sphere that is laden with pursuits of the high society and definitely not the type of crowd you prefer to be in, as you know that there will be those supercilious individuals similar to your mother. 

Your four-inch stiletto heels make a rhythmic yet expensive click, which echoes through the palatial hallway as you saunter across the marble floor to get to the dreadful destination just ahead of you, where the harmony of soft jazz and cadence of entertainment is a soft resonance that emits from behind the doors of the grand ballroom.

Your arm is looped around his sturdy bicep that feels comfortingly dependable, comparable to a safe haven, and so you surrender to the overwhelming sensation of your erratic nerves, allowing your composure to lose its tenacity and prompting him to ease his pace as he feels every tension emanating from you. 

A frown touches his lips as he observes your faintly distressed countenance, ambivalence swirling in your beautiful irises. “You okay?” He asks softly, drawing your attention to his warm brown eyes that showcase his concern. “I can feel you trembling, honey.”

You didn’t even realise that your arm around him had been trembling until he pointed it out. “Nervous, actually.” You tell him honestly, releasing a shaky breath as your shoulders go limp in dejection. “I just know that I’ll feel so out of place.”

For the first time ever since he met you, Jay feels like an inconsiderate fool for neglecting your comfort, and it is understandable why you feel that way. The thought of finally going to the customary gala with someone whose company he genuinely enjoys, aka you, overlooked the fact that you might feel uncomfortable being in the presence of imposing, pompous elites he knows all too well. 

His eyes roam around your beautiful face a little longer, whereas you avoid meeting his gaze, feeling unsettled as you are evidently brittle by the inevitable. He is tempted to bring you out to an extravagant date that you deserve instead, but he can’t ditch the gala that is hosted by one of his trustworthy allies.

“If anyone comes up to you and asks you who you are, just tell them that you’re my fiancée.” Jay says firmly, his tone marked with a finality that evokes conflicting emotions within you, one of which involves butterflies incessantly fluttering in your already-churning stomach.

Ah, so it’s no wonder why he gave you a gorgeous platinum Tiffany & Co. ring that has been sitting perfectly on your ring finger, matching with his, earlier when he fetched you at the apartment. You were genuinely surprised when he told you that the rings were brand new.

“But isn’t that kind of risky?” You ask with a frown, your words treading on reservation as rationality outweighs the delightful idea of being known as his fiancée. “Based on my research, your popularity in the business industry is equivalent to Beyoncé's. So to know about your sudden engagement would shock people. What if they start to speculate things about us? Your reputation would be tainted as a result.”

Jay knows that he’s supposed to be a little less worried about the possibility of you getting hurt because of his impulsive decision, but he continues to stare at you with a glinting fascination. “You did research about me?” He asks teasingly with an irresistible smirk on his lips.

Truth be told, it was a last-minute homework assignment that you decided to do last night since you couldn’t fall asleep, but it was thorough research that honestly helped you a lot in gaining some knowledge about the businessman whom you’re having strong feelings for, and to say the least, you were both impressed and daunted upon your discovery.

You look at him, feeling a sense of intimidation and a dangerous heat that teasingly unfurls in your core despite the familiar warmth in the depth of his eyes and his softened countenance. It baffles yet awes you that this is the same man who has had a hand in rightfully destroying the empire of his nemeses and at the same time amassing substantial achievements. He’s also renowned to be the most ruthless in the world full of business tycoons. But right now, he looks nowhere near capable of causing harm with how mellowed his features are as he gazes at you.

“Of course, I had to. You’re like a really big deal in the business industry.” You defend yourself, your cheeks flushing warmly at his avid attention as though you are something worthy. “Plus, I didn’t want to embarrass you in any way.”

The familiar shyness in your countenance strongly tempts him to kiss you, his lips tingling at the memory of your lips that happened last week. “Consider me flattered, doll. But you could never embarrass me.” He says sincerely, his once-softened eyes now hardening with resolution. “Don’t worry about any of that. Just stick to being my fiancée.”

“If you say so.” You mumble, and with a few steps forward, the hotel staff greets you before opening the door to smooth your way in. Once you enter, you are greeted by the resplendent lights illuminating the grand ballroom, but there is barely enough time for you to scan your surroundings when eyes are immediately on the two of you the moment you enter.

You lower your gaze. You can already hear the whispers and feel the judgement in their eyes that make your skin crawl with dread. Have they finally found out that you’re not one of their people?

“They’re looking at us.” You mutter to him, your arm tensing around his arm as you move closer to him for security.

“Can’t really blame them. Have you seen yourself?” His voice is low, but enough for you to catch onto every word. When you meet his eyes, they are roaming every inch of you with appreciation, but his low voice has a familiar husk of desire as he speaks, “You look truly exquisite, doll.”

Jay feels a sense of pride as you are adorned in the dress that he bought for you two days ago. The royal blue is a reflection of elegance and complements the satiny material, essentially enhancing your allure that he has always found irresistible. The dress itself hugs your curves perfectly, and the daring slit reveals the right amount of your gorgeous leg. The volume of makeup accentuates your already-beautiful features immaculately. A familiar heat unfurls within him as his eyes linger on the Van Cleef necklace and earrings he bought for you that are displayed proudly on you.

You look absolutely ethereal, straight out of his fantasy, and it doesn’t help that the feelings he harbours for you intensify when you smile shyly at him, a side of you only he can evoke. “Thank you.” You utter softly, forgetting about the background as you scan every inch of his handsomeness. “You look so handsome.”

Oh, he really does, and it takes every strength in you to refrain from pouncing on him in front of these dignified elites. His tailored black suit fits him impeccably, exuding understated luxury and enhancing his strong allure that brings a wave of intimidation to the other elites while his presence alone is capable of dominating this grand ballroom. His jet-black hair has been styled in a way that reveals a segment of his chiselled forehead, framing his features flawlessly without minimising the commanding presence that exudes from his striking face alone, which is the reason why every pair of eyes can’t help but to gravitate to him.

You notice how professionally guarded his dark eyes look, as though the businessman side of him has surfaced, but there is an unmistakable softness that is reserved for you as long as you are in his line of sight. “Oh? Do I now?” He smirks, his tone teasing as he leans closer to you, his Dior Sauvage infiltrating your senses deliciously.

You hum, refusing to back down despite your stomach being a whole damn zoo as he unrelentingly inches his face closer to yours that you don’t even notice him swiftly wrapping his arms around your waist. “You were always handsome.” You say without missing a beat, even when you’re melting into a puddle from within at the intensity of his handsome gaze.

“Tell me more, doll. I love hearing compliments from you.” He murmurs as he bumps his nose playfully yet affectionately into yours, feeling more eyes on them and hearing some faint gasps at the rare display of affection from him that they have never seen throughout the years he’s been attending such events with his previous chosen plus ones.

Your eyes fall to his lips, and you know that it only takes you just one swift movement to connect your lips with his, but a movement of an unfamiliar figure catches your eye that staves off your temptation. “Unfortunately, you’re about to have a taste of your popularity.” You mutter to him before stifling a laugh at the confusion in his face.

Before Jay can open his mouth, a manly voice eagerly calls for him from behind. “Mr. Park!”

“Fuck.” His voice is an attractive low husk as he curses under his breath, and as you listen closely, you can discern a faint growl of dissatisfaction in his throat that unfurls the heat in your core. Ever since meeting him, you realise that he rarely utters such profanities, but when he does, your core throbs with the incessant heat. 

“Don’t curse. It isn’t suitable for a refined man like you.” You admonish him playfully, your lips stretching into a grin as you are very much amused by his reaction.

Jay scoffs lowly, his lips curling into an attractive smirk again while mischief gleams in his eyes. “Cheeky one, aren’t you, doll?” 

Your eyes widen at the sensation of his fingers digging into your flesh, hard and quick but enough for you to grasp what just happened, eliciting a gasp from you. “You did not just squeeze my a—“ Before you can finish your sentence, his warmth leaves you as he proceeds to entertain a businessman.

Your cheeks flare at his unexpected action, and you have no idea whether it’s your face or ass cheeks that are flaring, but you know for a fact that you need a drink soon. The great part about being his plus one to this lavish gala is getting free exquisite drinks and food, but you decide to wait for him since you feel awkward going about on your own.

But soon enough, you realise that nothing feels more awkward than standing aside while watching your pretend fiancé getting pulled by socialite after socialite that feels maddeningly perpetual. You can see the efforts of Jay trying to extricate himself from every engagement wane, leaving you no choice but to attend to your rumbling stomach as you head over to the food section.

You know that you are too exasperated to feel self-conscious of the undesirable attention from those in your vicinity. It seems that you have underestimated Jay’s popularity among these socialites despite his daunting reputation.

You would have felt proud of him for all the deserving compliments you heard from those socialites if it weren’t for the fact that some women have taken advantage of their close proximity with him to blatantly touch or even grip his bicep, even after he politely declined them in the most subtle yet annoying way. Is it bad that you need him to straightforwardly tell them off or even shove one of them away from him?

With your fingers wrapped around the stem, you raise the glass to your lips and take more sips of the exquisite champagne that fails to quell your brewing ire, your sharp eyes narrowing at Jay, who is surrounded by more businesswomen, as it seems, and they look to be around his age, but highly sophisticated, as even you can discern their expensive aura from afar. As much as you hate to admit it, each of those women does look compatible with Jay. Plus, they’re far more successful than you.

Still, your ridiculous jealousy nearly goes rampant, overshadowing the insecurity within you, when you observe one of them gripping his bicep oddly comfortably with familiarity. The worst part is he doesn’t seem to be bothered as he continues to converse with an unfamiliar man in a fine tuxedo.

Too absorbed in the tempest of your emotions, you fail to realise the person next to you, who has been observing you with amusement. “I would hate for you to ruin your gorgeous dress, unless you intend to do so by gripping that delicate glass tightly till it breaks?” 

His thick yet attractive Australian accent captivates your attention so quickly that you momentarily forget why you’re practically seething. Your eyes lock with the unknown man’s that gleam with recognition and delight, and yet you don’t feel uncomfortable by his abrupt presence, just a tad wary. 

“I didn’t realise it.” You utter slowly as you find yourself checking him out without the intention to. You can’t help it, not when his face is an enchantment that evokes both jealousy and admiration within you, because if being both pretty and handsome were a person, it would definitely be him.

His face definitely captivates one’s interest at first glance. His facial features are strongly chiselled, and yet every line and shape is smoothly well-proportioned. He was definitely sculpted by divine hands, because damn, his handsome beauty is something that naturally etches into one’s memory, unforgettable. You also notice how his outfit seems to stand out from the other socialites, a blend of simplicity and subtle elegance.

When your eyes return to his face, he adorns a lopsided grin on his Cupid-bow lips, and it has your head filled with doubts whether or not he is indeed a businessman since he doesn’t seem like one. Honestly, he looks like the type to revel in a lavish lifestyle without worrying about a single thing. “Of course, you didn’t. You were too occupied shooting daggers with your eyes at my best friend.” 

You feel a sense of recognition upon his declaration, as Jay had spoken about his mysterious best friend a few times. “Jay’s your best friend?”

The grin on his lips feels so infectious that you fight off the urge to lift a smile of your own. “The only trustworthy best friend, even if he claims me to be a pain in his ass.” He chuckles breathily before proceeding to introduce himself. “I’m Sim Jaeyun, but you can call me Jake.”

This time, you crack a smile. “Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m—“

“I already know who you are.” His words elicit a genuine look of surprise from you.

“You do?” You ask in disbelief, feeling a little flattered that this fine gentleman recognises you.

Jake nods his head, tucking his hands into the pocket of his Prada jacket. “Sure did. I was the one who convinced him to choose you and that you’re the right one for him.” He divulges so casually, but his tone carries a careful tread as though he doesn’t intend for anyone to catch onto his words. “Not that he needed much convincing because my guy had literal heart eyes when he came across your profile.” 

“Oh.” So he knows that you’re his best friend’s sugar baby and not the fiancée, but you have a gut feeling that Jake poses no threat to you.

Jake observes the way you take another glance at his best friend, smirking as he recognises the jealousy flattening the smile on your lips. “I wouldn’t be too worried if I were you.” He says in a drawl, drawing your attention back to him. “My best friend is practically head over heels for you.”

You scoff lightly as you place your half-empty glass on the standing table next to you. “I’m not worried. We’re only faking this whole fiancée thing since he insisted. Besides, I’m just his sugar baby. Nothing more.” You retort, and yet your voice holds a bitter edge that you can hear.

Jake makes a disapproving tut that has you narrowing your eyes at. “He’d be sad and disappointed to hear that.”

Your eyebrows furrow, unconvinced by his statement because it doesn’t change the fact that you are Jay’s sugar baby. “Why would he be?” Your genuine question earns him an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

“You have no idea, do you?” He asks in a peculiar whisper, his brown eyes examining the genuine confusion in your countenance with scrutiny. His lips curl into an all-knowing smile that intrigues you annoyingly. “Well, let’s just say that you are more than just a sugar baby to him.”

You swear your heart skips a beat, but then again, Jake might be spewing things since you know damn well that Jay only sees you as his sugar baby. All of his affections, etc., are typically how a sugar daddy treats his sugar baby, based on your presumption. You resort to silence as you decide to finish your champagne, slowly growing more comfortable that a fine man is standing next to you.

Jake takes your silence negatively and mentally berates himself for being unconvincing with his choice of words. He clears his throat to grab your attention. “Do you know that I went to Harvard too?” 

Just like that, you and Jake form a friendly connection as you get lost in his storytelling that involves his days with Jay, particularly back in college. You notice the similarity between Jay and Jake, how they seem to talk about each other in playful annoyance, but there is an unmistakable fondness, reminding you of your friendship with Sabrina. You are so immersed in the delightful conversation with Jake that you have totally forgotten about the jealousy that embittered your mood earlier until he decides to bring up a particular memory.

“I mean, really, you should’ve seen how nervous he was! I’ve never seen him being anything like that in all my years knowing him.” Jake chuckles. “He was freaking out on what to do next after you accepted his request. It’s quite pathetic, if you ask me.”

There is no way that you would tell him that you were just the same. “But I don’t get why he was nervous. He’s a CEO, and I’m…me.” You attempt to say it in a light-hearted manner, but the dejection in your strained smile makes his eyes soften.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you — Jay is genuinely head over heels for you, even before your first official meeting. He didn’t even care what status you hold. There was something about you that captivated him.” Jake says with an unwavering resolution, and it rekindles the hope within you. “I can’t really blame him, though. You’re a stunning lady. I wouldn’t want to pass up the opportunity of getting you to be my sugar baby too.”

You decide to ignore his ever-flattering remark. “Earlier, you mentioned something about me being more than just a sugar baby to him.” You tilt your body to an angle to face him better with your arms folded below your chest, curiosity glinting in your eyes. “What did you mean?”

Jake gives you a rare, soft smile. “I think it’s better that you ask him yourself.” 

“Easy for you to say. I can’t do that without shitting in my pants.” You tell him with an eye roll, not fazed by your choice of words to the fine man whom you’ve just met, but he doesn’t particularly seem bothered either.

A sigh leaves his lips. “But then you would never know, and I doubt that he’d tell you first. My guy is ridiculously shy when it comes to you.” He mumbles the last part that you can’t quite catch.

“I’m scared.” You confess truthfully, feeling oddly inclined to confide in Jake, probably because you feel comfortable with him. “I like him, Jake. I really like him, and I see him as more than just someone who provides for me financially. But I’m worried that he might not be into me like that.”

“God, you two are indeed the perfect pair.” Jake mutters under his breath as he rolls his eyes. He looks at you sternly dead in the eyes with no traces of mischief or falsehood in his, but his features soften quickly as he sees the sliver of vulnerability in your countenance. “Sweetheart, he talks about you to me all the time, and when he does, he speaks so highly of you. That shows how smitten he is. He truly adores you, and no woman has ever managed to earn his adoration throughout the years I’ve known him, so trust me when I say that he’s really into you like that.”

You open your mouth to speak, but a high-pitched laughter draws your attention back to the familiar crowd, only for the fire of jealousy to go ablaze tenfold within you when a highly sophisticated long brunette is practically feeling Jay up while hugging his arm like a pillow. 

“That woman always did want to get into Jay’s pants since forever.” Jake scoffs, his tone holding disdain. He takes a glance at you, his eyebrows furrowing in concern at how upset you look. “But he always rejects her, so don’t worry.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s rejecting her now.” You mutter bitterly as you watch him speaking with an older businesswoman while not in the slightest bothered at the woman clinging onto his arm like a desperate lover. You had forgotten that a part of your research involved him being a womaniser back in his late 20s.

“I have to agree with you on that. No idea what he’s thinking right now.” Jake says with a clear disapproval, but the obvious effort of Jay pulling away his arm from her goes unnoticed by the two of you as you look away from them.

Just then, Sabrina’s idea pops into your head. You capture Jake’s attention with an expression that raises his eyebrow. “I want to make him jealous. It’s stupid, I know, but—“

“I think that’s a brilliant idea, gorgeous.” Jake cuts you off gleefully with a grin. 

You look over your shoulder, only for your heart to skip a beat when Jay meets your eyes before diverting your attention to Jake and startling him with a hand on his bicep. “Do you mind?” You ask apologetically. 

“Certainly not.” Jake seems mischievously delighted, swiftly wrapping one arm around your waist before guiding you to sway to the soft jazz. You watch as his eyes flicker to something, or rather someone, behind you. “He’s coming over, and he looks furious. You know what? Maybe it would be wise for me to release you—”

“Just play along. Pretend to keep talking to me.” You whisper to him, feeling a fiery determination in achieving your goal. Jake casts you a charming smile as he speaks about something in an attempt to make it seem like he’s flirting with you from a certain someone’s point of view.

Just as Jake’s remark elicits a genuine chuckle from you, your breath hitches in your throat at the sensation of a strong arm swiftly replacing Jake’s before you find yourself being pulled until your back hits a solid chest. “Here you are, doll. I see you have already met my best friend.” Jay says tightly, his voice carrying a dangerous tread that has you squirming lightly in his possessive grasp. “You two seem to get along pretty well.”

“Words have been circulating about your engagement to this stunning lady.” Jake says coolly, completely unaffected by Jay’s glaring ire. “Considering that you’ve been enthusiastically socialising, was it your doing?”

“Can’t help it. Gotta warn the men here to steer clear of my fiancée.” Jay tightens his grip around your waist, his tone lacking any amiability or warmth despite Jake being his best friend. “And that includes you.”

Jake gives him a sardonic smile. “Kind of ironic how everyone now knows that you’re engaged, and yet those ladies back there didn’t seem to treat you like you’re an engaged man.”

You hold back a smile and maybe a cheer too, feeling touched that Jake is on your side, but it instantly overshadows the way Jay presses you hard into him that has you feeling a distinct shape of something else. “The same way you’ve been flirting and touching my fiancée.” He snarks.

“Stop it, Jay. You’re being ridiculous.” You say annoyedly before forcing yourself to extricate from his strong grip. You look Jay in the eyes, hiding your surprise behind a glare because right now, he looks nothing like the soft-looking man whom you’ve been spending time with for a month. “Jake is a nice guy and a fine gentleman at that.”

“Yeah, Jay. You heard her.” Jake adds fuel to the fire, earning a withering glare from Jay while he remains grinning. “How could I ever ignore your gorgeous fiancée, whom you left alone to entertain the other snobby socialites? Besides, she gets my humour and laughs at my jokes, unlike you.”

“You’re a full package, Mr. Sim. Charming and funny. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Just like Jake, you continue to provoke Jay, oblivious to the danger you had roused as you grin cheekily at the Australian.

Jake shoots you a flirtatious wink. “You’re a flatterer, Ms. L/N.” 

“I hate to cut this short, but it would be generous of you to leave my fiancée now that I’m here to keep her company.” Jay grabs you by the waist and pins you to his side, causing your breath to hitch once more at the bodily contact. “In simple words, fuck off.”

Now you’re starting to get genuinely annoyed at his attitude towards his best friend. You look at him with a glare, ignoring how his sharp eyes actually evoke intimidation within you. “Can you stop being petty and rude? He’s your best friend!”

“Unfortunately, your fiancé’s right, sweetheart. But I did enjoy keeping you company.” Jake draws your attention when he grabs your hand tenderly before giving your knuckle a kiss, a gentlemanly gesture that has Jay fuming, but the Australian provokes him for another time as he casts you a coquettish grin. “You can text me anytime since you have my number now. See you next time, gorgeous.”

With that, Jake walks away leisurely as though he didn’t just aggravate the situation that you brought upon yourself, and it seems like Jay knows about your deliberate plan as his grip on you feels dangerously unyielding while you can feel his eyes penetrate into your side profile. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” Jay whispers in your ear with a sensual note, his lips grazing along the shell of your earlobe. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, doll.”

“What are you trying to insinuate?” You ask brusquely, your prior emotions bubbling to the surface as they influence your every action and word. You attempt to wrest yourself from his ironclad grip, but he effortlessly overpowers your strength. “And let go of me. Go back to your group of socialists. You were obviously enjoying their company more than mine.”

Jay recognises the underlying jealousy in your tone, and the glaring anger in your eyes only seems to spur him further, because damn, you look so fucking hot right now. “You’re pissed.” He points out in a subtle awe, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips, and it seems anything but playful.

“No shit. You let those women touch you and even flirt with you, and you expect me not to lose my cool?” You snap, practically seething, putting more force before finally breaking free from his grip. The glaring anger in your eyes never leaves his dark ones, your lips curling into a sneer. “You’ve messed with the wrong woman, Mr. Park.”

Jay scoffs lowly, his lips curling into a smirk that borders on mean, and shit, you find it so hot. “Oh really? How hypocritical of you to tell me that as if you didn’t flirt with my best friend in front of me.” His voice is rough, ladening with something that unfurls the heat in your core dangerously. “Were you trying to make me jealous, doll?”

His eyes darken at the sensual movement of your lip being tucked between your teeth as you look away from him, and just like that, the last thread of restraint easily snaps within him. A resigned sigh leaves your lips as you intend to surrender. “Jay—”

Your word is barely a whisper when he pulls you by the waist while one hand cradles the back of your head, giving you no chance to utter a word as he kisses you squarely on the lips. “Because damn it, it’s working.” He speaks in between the kisses with vehemence, raw desire dripping from his gravelly deep voice, eliciting an involuntary whimper from you that goes straight to his cock.

You are thankful that you have chosen a secluded corner, or you would have drowned from the embarrassment at your brazen display of neediness in public. Before you can eagerly reciprocate the kiss, Jay detaches his lips from your chasing ones, leaning his forehead against yours, his breath heaving from the excruciating constraint of his own desire. “Fuck, I need to get us out of here.” He whispers harshly.

“B-But the gala isn’t over.” Your heart stutters at the way you speak when he pulls you by the wrist, your eyes staring at his broad back while he guides you to the exit, and he even ignores the other socialites that are vying for his attention along the way, as though he only has one mission that renders you both flabbergasted and aroused.

“I don’t give a damn about this worthless gala. We shouldn’t have come here in the first place.” He finally speaks up after the taut silence that followed you from the ballroom all the way to the lobby, but his tone is unrecognisable, rendering you perturbed for a moment.

Yet, despite getting caught in the whirlwind of his emotions, Jay is ever-so perceptive of your instinctive response to his brusque austerity, how peculiarly attuned he is to your emotions. He clenches his jaw in anger because, for a moment, he hates himself for making you feel daunted by him. Without looking at you, he gently pulls you into the elevator as it opens.

You look at him with uncertainty as he presses the button where the basement parking is at. You bite down your bottom lip hard, getting highly flustered by this silence. “Jay—”

Jay takes you by surprise, swiftly pinning you against the wall, but there is an ambience of tenderness emanating from him that has your heart pounding as he leans his forehead against yours, a rare delicacy gleaming in his eye. 

“I’m so sorry, honey. I know I shouldn’t have left you all alone. I got too caught up in the propositions and strengthening networks with other entrepreneurs.” He explains hoarsely, one hand holding your waist while the other cradles your face tenderly. “I’m sorry I upset you. I should’ve pushed those women away.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.” You say thickly, your tone holding an edge of desire for the man who is gazing into your eyes with such longing, as though you are the only person that mattered. “You were rude to Jake too.”

“He deserves it because he touched and held my fiancée.” His voice is soft but palpable with a husk of desire that ignites the heat in your core. “If he wasn’t someone important in my life, I would’ve done a lot worse.”

“Fake fiancée.” You correct him, feeling breathless with each passing second while a newfound tension mounts in this enclosed space. You tilt your head to an angle where your lips are dangerously close to his. “I’m not your real lover, Jay, so why did it matter that Jake touched me?”

“It matters because you’re mine. My woman.” He speaks harshly, and yet you don’t feel the slightest hurt, only pure lust intensified by his low, guttural voice and the way his grip tightens on your waist. “He knew that, and yet he still went for you.”

“Bold of you to say that when you had women all over you, so consider us even, then.” You counter weakly, lacking resolve as his possessive proclamation intensifies the relentless heat in your core, and all you need is for him to close the damn distance between your lips.

His eyes darken with an inscrutable emotion amidst the palpable hunger. “Did my apology mean nothing to you?”

“Words mean nothing if you don’t prove it with your actions.” A startled gasp leaves your lips when he presses his very distinct bulge into your body. Holy shit. He’s big.

“Does this prove to you how apologetic I am? How this prove that you’re the only woman capable of turning me on?” He says huskily in your ear, teasingly pressing his borderline painful cock into your tummy again, and he swears he can hear you faintly moan under your breath. “Those women could never make me hard the way you always do.”

“Always?” You mutter breathlessly, daring yourself to tilt your head back as you meet his dark eyes.

“Always. You have no idea how much you drive me fucking insane every damn time.” He confesses, confirming your presumption that he was indeed turned on during those times but mastered the art of self-restraint. “I don’t think I can hold myself back any longer, doll.”

“Then don’t hold back anymore.” You whisper in a sensual lull, feeling the mounted tension threatening to come crashing down on you. “Kiss me like I’m your woman, as you claimed so.”

Your lips are already parted open when his lips descend like a molten desire he repressed for so long. His lips seek yours hungrily, overwhelming your every sense as he kisses you senselessly with his hands roaming around the curvature of your back while you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer even when his body is pressed into you.

The air is charged with something dangerously electrifying, affecting the heat in your core that prompts you to grind into his hardened bulge. As the slit of your dress offers easy access for you, you lift your leg and rub it sensually against his side thigh, only for him to seize your thigh to pin your upraised leg to his hip.

“I got you, doll.” Jay groans huskily against your parted lips that are throbbing from the intensity of his dominant kisses while he grinds his bulge into you, feeling the pleasurable friction as you reciprocate, your clothed clit getting sensitive with each assault from his grinding.

“I need more.” You whine needily in between kisses, feeling your underwear dampen with your arousal. He pulls away from you, only to trail wet kisses down your neck while you submissively arch into his touch. Your soft moans fill the enclosed space as he kisses and bites down on your flushed skin, eventually tainting your once-pristine skin with his mark. You clutch on his strong shoulders, lips quivering with an uncontrollable need. “Jay, please—”

Jay swiftly captures your lips with his, kissing you with an insatiable hunger, pulling you into the depths of his desire. “I’ll give you more later.” He grunts against your lips before thrusting his tongue into your hot cavern, licking every inch and meeting your tongue in a sensual dance while moans emerge from the back of your throat every so often. Your breaths mingling with pleasurable sighs escape your lips in between the messy and desperate kisses.

Just as the two of you get lost in this intoxication of your desires melding into one, the elevator chimes open, prompting you to break the heated yet messy lip-lock, the string of saliva that remains connected on the seams of both of your lips a testament to your co-equal hungers. You look at Jay with hooded eyelids while heavy pants leave your swollen lips.

Jay smirks attractively, his eyes darkening as he scans the pure neediness in your gorgeous countenance. He leans in to kiss you wetly on the lips, causing you to squeeze your thighs together at the unbearable arousal that no doubt soaks your undies completely. How embarrassing it is that you get easily wet just by his kisses.

“Where are we going?” You ask as he proceeds to drag you to his car, anticipation brimming in your veins.

“To my place, and…” He pauses as he retrieves a familiar device in his pocket to unlock his vehicle.

“And?” You probe, watching as he opens the passenger door for you like a gentleman, as he always does.

Your heart nearly lurches in your chest when his dark eyes fixate on you before he leans his face closer to yours, an irresistible smirk etching on his handsome face. “You’re about to find out that I’m not always the gentleman you thought I was, doll.”

After the smouldering tension that accompanied the silent car ride to his place — a luxurious mansion that’s highly worth millions due to how lavishly monumental the structure is — you would have thought that things would escalate to an erotic union you had been aching for, especially after the frenzied make-out session that happened again as soon as he dragged you past the threshold of the mansion.

Wrong. The insatiable man who had practically devoured your lips and left a hickey or two on your neck earlier left you high and dry after the relentless interruption of his ringing phone, and it has been five long minutes since he left you dripping wet from the dry humping while being pinned against his bedroom door.

“I recall you were insistent about me getting married for years, so shouldn’t you be glad that I’m now engaged to my future wife?”

His words are punctuated with austere exasperation that distracts you from examining the decor in his bedroom as you now stare at the man in the vanity mirror, whose collected demeanour seems dour with each passing second as he continues to speak with his mother on the phone.

It genuinely unnerves you how the news of Jay Park’s engagement has reached his own mother in a span of a few hours since the two of you left the gala, and considering his predominant reputation in the industry, no doubt it is currently being disseminated to every media outlet. You just hope that this will do nothing to jeopardise what you have with him, or even your life as an ordinary woman.

“Nothing you said could ever induce me to break my engagement with the love of my life.” He speaks with fierce conviction, rendering you more than flattered by his adamant despite this engagement being simply a pretence. “You know, Mother, all of this fussing and reprimanding is ruining the perfect night for my fiancée and me.”

Your cheeks flush warmly when his eyes briefly meet yours in the mirror. You quickly feign being occupied with unclasping your necklace and your earrings before placing them on the vanity table since they were feeling a tad weighty, for some reason. But your eyes betray you when they gravitate to him again, and this time, his dark eyes are fixated on you with a familiar dark intensity.

“It doesn’t matter what her status and background are. The important thing is that she’s my happiness, not that it mattered to you in the first place.” He continues to speak to his phone without breaking eye contact while advancing towards you from behind, like a stealthy predator preying on its food. “You’re wasting my time when I should have been busy with my exquisite fiancée. Oh, truly, she’s impeccable, perfect for my taste buds.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, appalled at his audacious remark to his own mother, and you swear you can hear her chastising on the line, but Jay is unrelenting as he steps closer and closer until he towers over your figure from behind. Your core throbs in response to his hand feeling up the curvature of your waist.

The smirk on his lips never leaves as he holds your gaze with his dark, sultry eyes, even when he leans down to place a sensual kiss on your exposed shoulder. “Speaking of taste buds, I’m feeling quite famished, so you don’t mind if we cut our conversation short, no?”

You find the underlying mockery in his tone incredibly hot for some reason, or maybe it has to do with your neediness that is dripping again from the way you lean into his irresistible touch, suppressing a whine in your throat as his hand goes cupping your throbbing mound.

“I have to attend to my food. Can’t let your only son die from starvation.” Jay smirks, cruel mockery dripping from his tone while he continues to cup and squeeze your mount, rendering you awfully desperate and needy as you grind your ass cheeks against his hardened bulge.

“Jay—” Your word is barely a whisper when an accidental whimper escapes you instead, earning you a piercing stare from him in the mirror while his large hand cups your mound harder, as though he is displeased by you, but his eyes swirl with dark amusement and palpable hunger.

You clamp your quivering lips shut, suppressing every noise in the back of your throat as you use every strength you can muster to endure his relentless seduction, his eyes never leaving your glossy ones and his hand being attached to your aching core while he steadily grinds his bulge into your ass. 

Jay’s a refined menace, you think. It genuinely astounds you how his demeanour remains unyieldingly impassive, betraying none of the tempest within him, but the tone in his voice gets gradually unsparing, which carries an underlying warning, and it does nothing to abate the unbearable heat within you as you find every bit of this hot.

“There will be no further discussion after this call. I’m marrying my fiancée, and that’s final. If you wish to attend our wedding day, it would be wise for you to remain on my good side.” His voice is a low rumble next to your ear, sending you a pleasurable shiver down your spine. “Send my regards to Father.”

As soon as Jay ends the call and places it on the vanity table, a needy whimper leaves your lips, arching into his sinful touch. “M-Marrying your fiancée? What do you mean?” You stutter, your chest heaving up and down with your breathing uneven. “You can’t be serious.”

“What if I say I am?” His voice is a husky whisper, carrying the weight of his hunger. Anticipation thrums in your veins as he proceeds to unzip the back of your dress, his movement deliberate and tantalising. “Will you push me away, doll?”

“But we can’t—” You are rendered speechless when he roughly tugs down your dress as it falls to the floor, exposing half of your nudity in his hungry eyes. You swear you can feel his erection growing when his gaze lingers on your purple lace bra.

“And why can’t we?” The warmth of his palm sends another shiver through your body as he rubs the curvature of your bare ass in a deliberate motion of up-and-down. 

You press your palms down on the solid surface in front of you for support, feeling weakened as the desire burning within you is consuming the edges of your sanity, your back arching at the relentless burn of his touch on your body. “B-Because I’m just your sugar baby.” You manage to utter despite getting breathless.

Something inside of him snaps as soon as those words leave your lips, and before you know it, Jay deftly turns you around and lifts you up by the waist while your head spins at the escalation. Your body instantly shivers at the sensation of a cool surface beneath you before finding yourself seated on his vanity table. 

His figure remains towering over you, imposing and reeking of sensual dominance that has you preening for submission, but your eyes fall to his lips instead. He slots himself in between your legs before you can close them. You feel the weight of his gaze on your face while you remain meekly avoidant.

Jay grabs you by the chin, his grip firmly assertive as he forces you to make eye contact. “Look at me in the eyes and tell me that I’m just your sugar daddy.” His voice is nowhere near harsh or rough, but firm enough to mean business, and yet there is an underlying plea. “Tell me, doll.”

Your heart beats in a familiar rhythm on the day when the profound clarity dawned on you at the realisation of your true feelings for your sugar daddy, and yet your tongue sits heavily in your mouth because you know that you don’t deserve to harbour romantic feelings for someone like him, someone so perfect who doesn’t deserve the broken you who carries a lot of emotional baggage since forever.

Instead of telling him what he wants to hear, you take him by surprise, swiftly pulling him by the nape and slamming your lips into his. You shove down the bitter truth of your feelings and allow the pure lust to reign in dominance in the way you kiss him feverishly.

The irresistible allure of your lips compels him to reciprocate with equal eagerness, shivers rippling through him as you begin to get handsy with unbuttoning his blouse that feels as demanding as your kiss. “Doll.” He murmurs against your lips, his hands latching around your wrists to stop you just after you manage to free the last button of his blouse. 

“I need you so badly.” You protest with a needy whine, knowing that he still wants to hear you say those words, but you are being driven by your pure need for him to touch where you ache terribly the most. 

“But you haven’t told me—“ His words fall short when you grab his hand, making his head spin with dangerous thoughts as he feels the direct warmth of your pussy despite your undies being dampened by your arousal.

“I’m so wet.” You purr, dripping with seduction that is impossible for him to delay his own need in pleasuring you, and it doesn’t help with the way you spread your legs further while guiding his fingers to move in an up-and-down motion on your clothed clit that he can feel distinctly thanks to your wetness. “Need you to touch me here, daddy.”

“Fuck.” He curses harshly under his breath, his cock twitching delightfully at the label that feels illicit, and yet, he keens to hear from your sinful tongue again. “Call me that again.” He demands, allowing you to take control in the way you continue to use his fingers to rub your clothed clit while you rock your hips back and forth.

“Daddy.” You keen in a sensual slur, your sultry gaze never leaving his that seems to darken with something so primal, and yet his fingertips tracing on your skin move with practiced patience before sliding under the material of your undies. You nearly moan out, hips slightly stuttering from the sensitivity when the padding of his fingers makes direct contact with your clit.

Jay stifles a groan, his cock twitching again beneath the slacks at the sensation of your swollen clit, because damn, you’re practically soaked all over. “Even your clit is wet, doll. How needy are you?” Cruel amusement curls on the corner of his lips as he rubs your clit deliberately slow but effective enough to rouse the bundle of aching nerves.

Jay spreads the slick arousal on your clit with his finger, rubbing in a tantalising yet maddening circle, exasperating you. “Don’t tease.” You whine, your pretty eyes gloss with such neediness that send his head into a frenzy.

“I’ll do whatever I want to do to you.” His tone borders on mean, as does his demeanour, with no traces of the usual gentleness, and your eyes prick with tears at the loss of his fingers from your now-throbbing clit.

You open your mouth to speak, but he swiftly captures your lips in a searing kiss, all inhibitions thrown out of the window. Your hands move in urgency as they roam around the plane of his abdominal muscles, sending pleasurable shivers through him. He is completely insatiable, deepening the kiss like he wants to imprint his soul on yours.

Jay pulls you by the hips until your wet core presses into his erection, eliciting a breathy moan from you that he greedily swallows. You obediently part your lips open for his tongue to lick every inch while you slowly gain momentum in grinding your weeping, clothed pussy into his girthy erection; each friction on your clit feels more pleasurable than the previous.

“Jay.” You moan breathily as soon as he pulls away from your lips, only for him to trace an ardent path down to your neck with his lips that amplifies your senses. You arch into his touch that feels possessive; each grip and squeeze on your curves feels like a reminder that you’re his.

“You’re mine, doll.” He rasps against your skin, his low rumble sending vibrations through your neck. He kisses the previous hickey on your neck wetly before hovering his lips over yours and kissing you hard. “Mine to kiss, mine to fuck, and mine to love.” His gravelly timbre shocks you to the core as he growls out in between the kisses.

Without breaking the heated lip-lock, Jay lifts you from the vanity table with ease while your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He carries you over to his king-sized bed, his fingers squeezing your plump ass intermittently. He groans lowly into your mouth at the pleasurable sensation of your fingers tugging his now-dishevelled hair.

“Fuck me.” Your demand sounds like a pathetic plea that brings a smirk to his lips before he bites down on the plush of your lower lip, eliciting a soft whimper from you.

“Where are your manners, doll?” He grunts against your lips, taking you by surprise next with a harsh smack in the ass, causing your body to jolt in his hold.

“Please fuck me, daddy.” You plead softly, feeling both intimidated and highly aroused by the intoxicating dominance he exudes.

In the haze of your lust for him, you can barely register the impact of being thrown on his bed before recovering as you turn around, only for your pussy to throb at the sight of him towering over you by the bed as he lazily peels off his blouse with his dark eyes penetrating into yours before you feel a magnetic sensation pulling your gaze down.

The desire in your eyes is palpable as you feast on his fine glory in keen appreciation. You already know that underneath every one of his luxurious apparel conceals his broad physique, but as he presents half of his nudity to you now, you conclude that he must have hit the gym often in his spare time despite being a busy businessman. His defined muscles are a testament to his diligent work at the gym, and you desire to feel them under your touch again.

“My eyes are up here, doll.” Amusement laces his authoritative tone, and yet he receives no response from you, your hungry eyes roaming on his glory elevates his pride as his hard work at the gym has evidently paid off.

You bite down your lower lip, your eyes lingering on the delicious sight of his V-line dipping behind the slacks. You want, no wait, you need to feel every inch of him. But before you can make a move, Jay pulls you closer to him by the legs as his stature gradually lowers, making your breath hitch in anticipation.

“Jay!” Your shocked exclamation comes immediately as soon as he tears the fabric of your undies roughly, his unrivalled strength rendering it flimsy. “That was my favourite!” You complain as you watch him toss aside torn fabric.

“It was getting in the way.” He grumbles in protest as he positions himself at the same eye level as your pussy. “I’ll buy you a few pairs.” He promises, but you are distracted by the bashful wave hitting you as his eyes are fixated on your perfectly waxed mount.

You attempt to close your legs, but he is swift enough to reign control over your flexibility as he spreads your legs apart with his palms firmly pressing into your inner thighs, presenting your bare pussy lewdly in his ravenous eyes.

“Fuck. Your pretty pussy really is soaking wet, doll.” His husky voice holds a palpable hunger, and his eyes are fixated on your pussy as he uses his fingers to spread the lips for a vivid view of your glistening arousal dripping. 

“Jay.” You gasp softly at the sensation of his warm lips pressing into your wet clit, hips nearly bucking up to gain some form of friction, but he pulls away. His cock feels borderline painful now, but he desires to prioritise your needs, which is pure torture for someone who hasn’t had pussy for four years.

Your leg twitches slightly from the sensitivity when he presses his thumb into your clit before stroking it lazily in mini circles. “I’ve been dying to get a taste of you.” He confesses, his eyes never leaving your preening pussy while he continues to tease your clit, rousing your bundle of nerves.

“You have?” You utter breathlessly, chest heaving up and down as you feel the room temperature rising from the manifestation of your desires. You fist the bedding when he places another kiss on your clit, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Mmhmm.” He hums while the vibrations send pleasurable shockwaves to your bundle of nerves. “Dreamed of tasting your gorgeous pussy every night.” His confession is accompanied by a hard lick on your clit, eliciting a surprised moan from you.

Jay groans huskily at the taste of your arousal on his tongue, and he knows that one taste is never enough. Without wasting a second, his tongue licks a broad stripe along your pussy lips that he journeys upward until your clit and gives it an obnoxious lick before repeating the actions, eventually sending your head in an intoxicating frenzy.

You quiver underneath his relentless tongue as he continues to stimulate your clit and his saliva that lathers your pussy lips while the sound of your pretty moans spurs him further. He sucks your clit with doubling efforts, tearing a moan from your lips before he dives into your cunt, his tongue now exploring your weeping hole. You roll your eyes from the pleasure, feeling his warm tongue so distinctly along the walls that it sends your head delirious.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good. I’m never letting go of you after this.” He growls into your cunt, adding more pleasure to the shockwaves rolling through your body. He rears back, eliciting a needy whimper from you as he leers at your pussy. “Can’t believe how drenched she already is even before cumming. So fucking needy for me.”

Jay delves into your cunt once more, but with stringent purpose while the chiselled bridge of his nose bumps your clit with the way he bops his head. You arch your back as you roll your hips into his skilled tongue, moans spilling from your lips as he continues to devour you with an insatiable hunger. You swear you can hear him moaning amidst the obscene sound of your sopping cunt and your moans filling his spacious bedroom.

Without letting up, Jay rubs your neglected yet swollen clit, amplifying your pleasure at the dual sensation of his tongue and his thumb while your moans pitch higher as you spread your legs even further with your arched back deepening, displaying such wanton neediness that goes straight to his cock. He swears he can come undone just by eating your pussy alone.

“I’m close!” You announce in a high-pitched whine, hips stuttering against his relentless thumb that is rubbing your clit hard with fervour while his tongue continues to fuck your hole. Before you know it, your orgasm comes in uncontrollable waves as you come undone violently on his tongue.

Instead of pulling away, Jay remains attached to your cunt, his tongue lapping up your slick release avidly while you marvel at the sight of your sugar daddy. You have been eaten out before, only because you requested it, but nothing like this, and you didn’t even have to ask him to do so. 

Sensing your gaze on his face, he looks up and meets your eyes as he finally comes to a stop, but not before placing a wet kiss on your clit that throbs faintly in response. “I could eat your pussy for hours, doll.”

“I doubt that.” You mutter, your voice slightly strained as you watch him rise. Your cheeks flush warmly as you notice that his nose, lips, and chin are glistening with your arousal under the dim yet sensual glow across the room.

With the way he runs his fingers through his dishevelled hair and his abdominal muscles present to you, the smirk on his lips and his dark eyes leering down at you, you think you could come undone again by this sight alone, because damn it, your sugar daddy is sinfully attractive. You don’t think you could ever find another man as attractive as him. 

“That was a promise, by the way.” He says, lowering himself again, and this time, he slides two fingers into your wet cunt, your slick arousal serving as a lubricant. You gasp, mouth agape and eyes rolling to the back, but it isn’t the stretch of your walls that brings out another high-pitched whine from you; it’s the way his thumb rubs your sensitive clit at a menacing pace.

“No! I’m still sensitive!” You protest weakly, writing underneath him, but the rolling movement of your hips only seems to amplify your sensitivity, involuntarily pressing your clit into his relentless thumb and allowing his fingers to delve deeper with each roll of your hips.

“No? Then why is she crying for my fingers?” He chuckles darkly, his demeanour absent of the usual gentleness or kindness. Having enough of you trying to escape, he deftly grabs both of your wrists and pins them above your head, his strength unrivalled. “Don’t be ungrateful, doll. Daddy is only giving your needy pussy what she needs. Look. She’s dripping all over my fingers again.”

You had no idea that Jay being condescending and mean could be so fucking hot when all of your wet fantasies consisted of him being a complete vanilla. Maybe he is, if you go further with him, but right now, the way he’s fucking you with his fingers feels just as unforgiving as his dark eyes penetrating into your teary ones.

“I can’t!” You protest again with an unwept sob, attempting to close your legs, but your defiance earns you a stern slap on your pussy that only seems to feel pleasurable while the wet squelch from the impact echoes off the walls. His dark eyes hold a silent command to open your legs, and you do so as you stifle a whimper when he plunges two fingers back into your hole.

“Yeah, you can. How else are you going to take my cock if you’re still so fucking tight?” He hisses under his breath at the resistance in your walls enveloping his fingers, but that doesn’t slow him down from fucking you at a steady pace. “You’ll take what I give you like the good fucking doll you are for daddy.” 

Though you remain obstinately tight, Jay knows that you are not a virgin, and the thought of another man's cock in your sweet pussy fuels his jealousy, impelling him to increase momentum that sends your head delirious once more. “Fuck! Jay!” You cry out, eliciting a smirk from him as he revels in the way you are falling apart only from his fingers alone.

“Come on, doll. Don’t disappoint daddy now.” He admonishes softly, his tone an underlying mockery, but you submit keenly to him. He leans down, bumping his nose affectionately against yours, humming. “Don’t you want to be my good girl?”

“I do.” You whimper, your kissable lips jutting into a small pout while your eyes are glossy with unshed tears. “Always want to be daddy’s good girl.” You keen, your voice breathless as each unyielding thrust from his skilled fingers alone knocks the air from you.

Jay places a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips, displaying a faux tenderness that has your pussy pulsating around him. “Then give me another one. I know you still have it in you.” He commands sternly.

A series of moans and whines emits from you as you accept this agonising pleasure that renders you keening for more. Your hips move in tandem with his ruthless fingers with your curve in a perfect arch that hypnotises him. With his ruthless fingers working on both your hole and your clit, the knot forming in your tummy threatens to snap anytime. His fingers now curl in you, hitting that delicious spot with precision that triggers something powerful this time.

With the last of your moans echoing off the walls, the knot in your tummy imploded, followed by your release gushing out in clear fluids from your battered cunt, wetting the bedding beneath you, while your lips part open with a silent moan and your hips stuttering.

“Atta doll.” Jay grins, his eyes watching your cunt squirting for a little longer while his fingers never relent from pumping, emitting obscene squelches. Seeing as your legs quiver from the aftermath, he withdraws his fingers from you and rubs the outer side of your leg soothingly. “Did so good for me.”

Your heart flutters at his words, but you feel completely breathless, your chest heaving up and down as you slowly recover from the intensity of your orgasm. Holy shit. You have never squirted before throughout your past experiences.

Jay releases your wrists as he leans down to give a kiss below your belly button. You watch him silently as he continues with his kisses along your body, your heart fluttering again at how every kiss feels reverent, until you decide to earn his attention with a tug on the wrist.

“Kiss.” You plead softly as you latch your hands on his neck to pull him to your face. Maybe it’s the way he kisses, or the texture of his lips, but you have grown so addicted to his kisses that you fantasise of kissing him every day.

“So needy for my kisses too.” He chuckles lightly with a reserved adoration for you before he dips his head down and kisses you deeply on the lips. He lets you take control over the kiss, smirking at the obvious hunger with the way your lips move against his and your fingers haphazardly running through his hair.

You break the lip-lock first, intending to return the pleasure as you work on his pants with your hands, but he stops you with a gentle grab on the wrist. “What about you?” You ask with genuine confusion as you sit up because guys would usually want the favour back.

Jay shakes his head. “It’s alright, doll. Some other time instead.” He says softly despite his tone being definitively firm. As much as he would love to feel your mouth taking his cock, he can’t waste any second as he desires to be buried in your cunt.

“But—” You are silenced by his lips as he kisses you hard while his hands work on peeling the last of his garments.

“Shh.” He shushes you when you part open your lips into the kiss. He pulls away, his once-softened eyes now darkening with a familiar hunger that rouses excitement within you. “Get on all fours for me now.”

You obey his command, turning around with your hands and knees pressing into the bedding as you wait for him with nervous anticipation, because from the look of his erection beneath the slacks alone earlier, you are certain that he may be bigger than your last fling.

You feel him tapping your hip, a signal for you to crawl forward as you feel the bedding dip from behind you. You decide to get comfortable as you lower your upper body, which causes your back to arch sensually while you spread your legs a little further until he has the erotic view of your holes, his eyes darkening with appreciation.

Now bare of any garment, Jay grabs the base of his cock and brings it closer to your pussy, but instead of going straight for your hole, he teases you with repeated taps of the bulbous head on the wet folds, eliciting whines from you while sparks of sensitivity shoot through him from the mere contact of his slit with your pussy lips.

“I know, I know. Needy for daddy’s cock, aren’t ya?” He coos, familiar mockery lacing his tone that borders on cruel. He aims the tip at your slightly gaping hole and inserts it agonisingly slowly, but he doesn’t go all the way. Instead, he thrusts only the bulbous head into your stretched hole experimentally. “But are you sure you can handle it?”

Your whines are full of impatience and frustration as he prolongs his teasing. “I can—“ 

The air is knocked out of your lungs with one swift shove of his cock into you without warning, your lips agape while your eyes prick with tears at the painful stretch of your walls trying to accommodate to his sheer girth. You have underestimated his size, because damn, he is massive to the point where you feel instantly full, and raw.

“Damn, baby. You're still so tight. Did I not prep you enough?” He groans huskily, his hand seeking your waist for leverage. He does an experimental thrust before he stills his hips and allows you to adjust. He drags his finger along the perfect arch of your back, sending shivers through your spine. “But my doll can take my cock, yeah?”

A moan leaves your lips as soon as he delivers a single thrust, his movement measured and controlled, as though he is mastering self-restraint for your sake as you still struggle to adjust, but devoid of prior pain, only a tad uncomfortable.

“You’re so big.” You breathe out, moaning softly at the delicious sensation of his girth dragging along your walls slowly as he does a pull-and-push motion repeatedly, allowing you to feel the ridges and veins protruding from his cock.

Jay smirks at your remark, feeling a sense of pride. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll make sure to train your pussy to take my cock with ease, but for now,” He grunts as he delivers hard thrusts that have your body shaking from the impact, his balls hitting your ass in the process. “Let daddy use your pussy however he wants.”

You become pliant immediately, falling dumb the instant he proceeds to fuck you with wild abandon, each thrust unforgiving and each stroke hitting deeper than the previous while more moans spill from your lips. The pain is replaced by pleasure as his cock stretches your walls deliciously, and you swear you can feel your lower abdomen bulging with each thrust.

His hands are attached to your waist in a way that makes you feel like you’re his fleshlight, and that turns you on even more, prompting you to spread your legs, which makes your ass stick out while he can’t resist smacking the supple of your ass. His breath goes ragged with low moans and grunts occasionally escaping him as he relishes the wonderful sensation of your cunt being battered by his cock.

The way Jay is fucking you feels borderline animalistic in such a short span of time, but something tugs within you, as though it is telling you that this is not just your sugar daddy fucking you simply because he desires you — this is a man who has been deprived of satiating his raw, sexual needs for years.

“Harder, daddy.” You manage to utter a moan quickly, eliciting a scoff from him before you find yourself losing strength to hold your upper body at the forceful impact of his thrusts, your face and chest pressing down into the bedding, but your ass remains sticking high.

“You want it harder? Like this?” He growls under his breath, slamming his hips into yours hard while each thrust of his cock reaches your cervix, rendering you nearly cross-eyed from the overwhelming pleasure. His dark eyes feast on your body, being completely pliant under him, before watching the way his cock, now lathered by your slick arousal, disappears and reappears lewdly from your cunt, the sight so hypnotic that it spurs him further.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the persistent fullness of his girth from the way he delivers shallow thrusts while your body shakes and often lurches forward from the hard impact. “S-Slow down—” 

“Take what daddy is giving you like the good slut you are for me.” He cuts you off with another growl, his voice ladening with primal hunger. He groans as soon as your cunt clenches like crazy around him. “Oh? You like being called my slut?” 

Your cunt clenches around his cock again, sending his head into a frenzy. “Your cockslut, daddy.” You moan out keenly, loving the idea of your sugar daddy being derogatory to you.

“My cockslut will do anything just to get daddy to fuck her like this, yeah?” He sneers, his hand landing a harsh smack on your ass while you shriek at the impact. His eyes darken as he recalls the repulsive sight of another man’s hands on your delicate skin earlier, fuelling a thundering emotion that goes beyond jealousy. “That’s why you had to piss me off by flirting with my best friend.”

“Nngh! Daddy!” Your fingers desperately seek purchase in front of you, needing to ground yourself from his relentless thrusts as he fucks you with a brutal intensity, eliciting screams and moans that border on sobs, tears escaping your eyes, and yet you love every second of this.

Without letting up his thrusts, Jay leans forward and braces his arms next to your head into a plank-like position, but he is careful enough not to crush you with his weight. “Got me fucking riled up when he held you like you’re his.” He snarls next to your ear, his gravelly timbre ladening with an unmistakable possessiveness that resonates deeply to your core. “You’re fucking mine, doll.”

You moan out in response, unable to formulate your words as his shallow thrusts only seem to deprive you of coherency while the new position allows you to feel his cock deeper than the previous. You can feel his abdominal muscles subtly flexing against your skin as he presses his body into yours. His warmth and natural scent melding with yours create a new wave of intoxication that you desire to bask in.

But Jay isn’t satisfied with your lack of response. His fingers encircle your throat, applying the perfect pressure to your pulse that emphasises his dominance as he earns your attention. “Say it.” He grunts into your ear, his hot yet ragged breath fanning the shell of your earlobe. “Say that you’re mine.”

“Y-Yours!” You manage to utter in between staggering breaths, your cunt clenching around him when he tightens his fingers around your throat, a silent command that you immediately grasp. “I’m always yours, daddy!”

“That’s fucking right.” He bottoms out hard with his body slamming you down, causing your clit to gain friction as it often makes contact with the bedding. He fucks you like he intends to ruin you. “All mine. Never forget that.”

His fingers now loosen but remain attached around your neck, allowing you to turn sideways to meet his eyes. “Jay.” You moan softly with half-lidded eyes as you look at his parted lips. “Kiss me, please.”

Jay silently complies, angling his head for his lips to meet yours in a perfect fit with his hand cupping your jaw while your hand seeks to grab his dishevelled hair loosely. You moan into the kiss when his tip hits the spot while he forces his tongue into your panting mouth, exchanging lewd yet lazy kisses with tongues dancing in a twisted tango.

Even when your lungs burn, you refuse to detach yourself from his lips, and so you continue to kiss him while he every so often devours every inch of your hot cavern, sucking and biting your plump lips that become swollen. Each time he deepens the kiss, it feels as though the connection you have with him deepens too, the same way his cock lodges deeper into your cunt.

“Can feel you clenching around my cock, doll.” He rasps against your wet, swollen lips before slowly pulling away as he feels your cunt clenching rapidly, a telltale sign of your imminent release. He decides to amplify your pleasure as he sneaks his hand underneath your body to find your clit before rubbing it hard. “You’re close, yeah?”

You are teetering on the precipice, knowing that it is only a matter of time as his cock relentlessly bullies your battered insides while his thumb on your clit ignites an overwhelming sensitivity. “Oh my god!” You sob out, your body writhing and convulsing under him as the band in your tummy threatens to snap.

“Come for me, my slutty doll.” He lets out a guttural growl, and on his command, you tumble over the edge of ecstasy with your eyes rolling to the back while a broken moan leaves you. But he doesn’t stop, even when your essence is bathing his cock.

You hear his breathing frenziedly ragged while his thrusts begin to fall in an inconsistent momentum, alerting you of his incoming arrival. “I-In me—“ You utter weakly, your hand latching on his muscular bicep. “Come in me, please.”

“Are you sure?” He asks in a strained grunt, unable to prolong his orgasm that teeters on the same precipice as yours.

You hum needily. “Want daddy’s cum to fill my pussy so bad.” You whine, receiving a chaste kiss from him on the cheek.

“I’ll give you my cum, alright. Daddy will fill you with his cum all night, till your sweet pussy can’t take it.” His promise has your cunt squeezing him keenly, eliciting another cuss from him before he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. With one last earth-shattering thrust, he matches the crescendo of your release, his hips smacking into you and going completely still as he fills you to the brim.

As the last of ecstasy in the air wanes, Jay releases your shoulder that now bears his teeth mark before giving it a kiss. Though your walls remain clinging around him, he unsheathes his cock from you, drawing whines from you as his girth drags along your battered walls tantalisingly slowly until you feel nothing except the union of your fluids.

Jay stifles a lustful groan, his cock twitching in demand for another round at the hypnotic visual of your hole instinctively pushing out white fluids, but he needs to see your face while he holds you. “Come here, doll.” 

Despite your aching limbs, you force yourself to turn around just in time to see him hovering over you before he seals you in a breathtaking kiss that has you moaning softly into his mouth, his tongue tenderly caressing yours. With your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, he carries you effortlessly and settles himself with you seated on his lap while he leans against the headboard with his legs sprawled out.

Sensing you need air, Jay breaks the lip-lock, his eyes shifting to your gorgeous chest, darkening with appreciation. “I knew this purple lace bra would look gorgeous on you.” He says, leaning down to map his kisses across your chest while you feel his fingers caressing your back. “But your tits look better without them.”

Jay takes you by surprise when he expertly unclips your bra with one hand. “You’re skilled.” You compliment him as you rest your hands on his shoulders, but your tone holds a bitterness of something that has him smirking while he helps you in removing your bra. “Had experiences?” Your question is laced with sarcasm. 

Jay rears his head back to get a better look at your pouty countenance that you try hard to conceal with impassivity, but he can see through you. “Is that jealousy I sense?” His question is absent of genuine curiosity, more of a taunt.

You muster the sweetest smile you can, albeit it feels tight on your face muscles. “Hardly. Besides, I’ve had my fair share of flings.” You confess nonchalantly, smirking lightly as you see his eyes darkening familiarly.

But your confidence falters when he squeezes your ass tight while the other goes cupping your tit. “Your tight pussy could’ve fooled me.” He says calmly, using his thumb to rub your nipple that slowly hardens.

You stifle a moan as you feel sensitivity shooting through your body with each nipple rub. “You’re not jealous?” You ask breathlessly, your back arching into his touch as he cups both tits with his palms. 

A smirk touches his lips, his eyes glinting darkly with confidence. “Hardly. Besides, my cock will be the last ever to be buried in your sweet pussy.” 

You chuckle breathily while you have him briefly mesmerised by the irresistible smile on your lips. “Confident now, are we?” 

“It’s not confident, doll.” He retorts in an attractive drawl, and his smirk widens as he manages to draw out a soft moan from you with the way his fingers manipulate your tits. “Because I know that your pussy will only be satisfied with my cock alone after tonight. You’ll be begging for more.”

“Don’t get too cocky now.” You mutter as you roll your hips into him, his cock gaining its vitality with each contact of your tummy. You can’t resist grabbing the base of his cock, earning a lustful groan from him as he tilts his head back. “Who knows I may change my mind?”

“And yet, you’re desperate for my cock again.” He takes you by surprise when his mouth quickly connects to your nipple, sucking and licking it deliberately slowly despite his hunger roaring at him to devour your tits that had been in his wet dreams.

“S-Shut up.” You stutter just as the way your hips do, your pelvis pressing into his while you silently marvel at how fast his cock has gone rock solid. You take another glance at his cock that has your pussy preening, and he is the biggest you have ever taken. 

Jay releases your nipple with a wet ‘pop’ before making a disapproving tut under his breath. “Where did your manners go?” He says roughly at the same time he slaps your tit, causing you to jolt from the impact.

The flare of defiance in your eye dwindles as he slaps your tits again. “I’m sorry.” You whimper, and yet you push your tits out keenly for him to abuse your tits as they jiggle with each slap, enjoying the pain that comes with pleasure.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. Ride me.” He commands sternly as he gives your ass a hard squeeze. “Show me how desperate you are for my cock.”

You do so without delay, wanting to please your sugar daddy. You lift yourself up, one hand on his shoulder while the other grabs the base of his cock as you attempt to align it to your excited cunt. With a shaky breath, you slowly sink on him but with obvious difficulty as your walls struggle to accommodate his sheer girth.

“Is my cock too big for you? Look how you’re struggling to take me again.” He smiles smugly as he watches you evidently struggling, taking your time while you grit your teeth in annoyance at his mockery. “Need some help, doll?”

“I can do it. I just need—“ Your breath hitches as soon as the entirety of his girth manages to snuggle in your cunt while the intrusion causes the union of your cum with his trickling down profusely, smearing his thighs, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

“Damn. I’m never going to get tired of your sweet pussy.” His husky voice is raw with lust. He squeezes your tits for good measure before leaning against the headboard leisurely. “Now ride me.”

With a whimper, you do as he tells you, rocking your hips back and forth despite your walls stretching painfully from his girth. Your hands seek for purchase on his shoulders, stabilising yourself as your head spins at the sheer fullness that has you clenching around him, and yet he seems composed, watching you intently with dark amusement. 

The pain eventually subsides, leaving only pleasure that slowly builds up within you with the help of your clit grazing against his abs, creating a delicious friction while he occasionally kneads your tits before alternating between sucking and licking your nipples, but it isn’t enough for you to attain the heights of pleasure you desperately seek. You huff and puff, to which he finds quite adorable despite the sensual movement of your irresistible body, as you find yourself riding him harder and faster deliberately, hoping that he would get the damn hint.

But nothing changes except the eventual exertion seeping into your muscles from your relentless effort alone, prompting you to falter in your momentum. Seeing the tears gathering in your lash line, he smirks cruelly, knowing exactly what. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired, and you’re making me do all the work!” You complain, your kissable lips quivering and jutting into a pout that has him caving into your need.

“It’s what you deserved after flirting with my best friend.” He reminds you sternly, his hands finding placement on your waist as he helps you to rock back and forth on his swelling cock, eventually switching to a different rhythm that has you bouncing on his cock instead.

“You’re still mad about it?” You moan out as you begin to feel the tension coiling in your tummy with each thrust of his cock that buries to the hilt each time he pulls you down with a wet splat mingling with your bated breaths. “I-I thought we were past that.”

“Oh, we were never past that, not until you come to understand that you’re mine.” His rough voice holds a familiar possessiveness as he recalls. His fingers dig into your flesh as he bucks his hips up into you stringently, drawing more moans from you. “And I’m a very jealous man, doll.”

With a harsh slap to your ass, Jay proceeds to fuck the remnants of his pent-up emotions into your battered cunt that produces obscene squelches and splats of your skin meeting due to each relentless thrust as he picks up the speed, rendering you in complete shock at his stamina. He is practically jackhammering his cock into you with an impressive consistency. 

His dark eyes never leave your face that contorts beautifully into sheer pleasure with your head tilted back, your mouth agape, your eyes rolling to the back as you lose yourself in the sheer pleasure, sweat trickling down your jaw, your tainted neck with his hickeys a testament to his ownership. He has dreamed of having you like this.

Jay leans forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your every moan and breath, his head going into a frenzy as your cunt pulsating around him is a familiar telltale sign of your imminent release, highly infectious to his cock that teeters on the verge of the same release.

With another fierce thrust, Jay pulls you down by the hips at the same time he bucks his hips up, burying his cock to the hilt that sends an intense shockwave through your body, essentially triggering your teetering climax as you arch your back sharply with a wanton moan leaving you, your climax hitting you in torrential waves.

But Jay continues to thrust his cock into you, even after your release has coated his cock and is leaking messily from the persistent friction. You paw at his muscular pecs for reprieve. “I know, I know. Just a little more.” He grunts against your parted lips as you whine out your sensitivity.

With one last thrust, Jay lodges his cock to the hilt once more, hips going still as he moans deeply into your mouth, lips grazing against each other but not quite kissing, his orgasm washing over him like a torrent of ecstasy and his load filling your womb to the brim. His cock remains nestled in your cunt, feeling it gradually soften.

Wordlessly, Jay presses another kiss to your lips, one that you weakly reciprocate, before leaning his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling. You shudder lightly as he caresses your back in a soothing motion before falling languid against him. Even the sweat glistening on his skin doesn’t deter you from snuggling into him, your cheek pressing into his shoulder, basking in this temporary blissful afterglow.

“So it worked.” You break the serene silence as you utter quietly, and yet he can discern an underlying sense of amused satisfaction in your tone, earning a brow raised from him.

“What do you mean?” He asks in between the kisses he delivers to your crown and forehead while his arms around you feel like an affectionate embrace between lovers.

With your palms on his muscular pecs, you push yourself away from him to meet his confused eyes directly, mischief playing at the curl of your lips. “It was my intention to make you jealous, but I didn’t expect you to be genuinely jealous like that.”

Jay scoffs at your cheeky confession. “Were you trying to get back at me because of those ladies at the gala?” He probes with a playful accusation, but his eyes are steely with fierce conviction. “They don’t matter to me, not in the slightest. Irrelevant.”

“Partly,” You confess again with a simper smile while your heart flutters keenly at his words. Your fingers absentmindedly trace along the ridges of his abdominal muscles, sending perpetual shivers through him. “But the main reason was to get you to fuck me.”

“By making me jealous?” He gives you an incredulous stare despite the amusement in his tone, but something shifts in his demeanour dangerously, causing your senses to be on high alert. “That was a bad strategy, doll. You should’ve told me that you wanted me to fuck you instead.”

You become hyperaware of his predatory gaze penetrating into you, but you play off your nervousness with a chuckle. “Nah. It’s way more fun to make you jealous instead.” You attempt to push yourself off him, but his arms feel like a cage of lust as you feel a palpable tension brewing from the manifestation of his primal hunger for you.

“Trust me, you do not want to make me jealous, doll.” It all happens spontaneously, because you can barely register the escalation that renders your head dizzy from the way he manoeuvres to a position where he hovers over you, his broad frame preventing you from any form of escape.

“Jay—“ Your breath hitches while your pussy flutters around him as he begins to fuck you again with a renewed vigour, each ferocious thrust stealing your breath away. 

“Because this is what happens when you provoke me.” He growls out as he punctuates each word with an unforgiving thrust while his hips snap into yours painfully, and you sure are forming bruises by now, and yet, you desperately meet his every thrust.

His dark eyes glaring into your teary ones, a twisted satisfaction blooming in his chest as he watches you already falling apart from the instant overstimulation. He rears back to grab your leg and places it over his shoulder, hiding his surprise at your flexibility while the new angle allows him to fuck you deeply.

“No more gentleman Jay you thought I always was, doll.” His gravelly timbre is drowned out by your sweet moans and cries. His fingers go circling around your neck firmly, demanding your attention on him as you force your eyes to lock with his. “I’m going to fuck you till you remember who you belong to.”

And he does, pistoning his cock into your battered cunt relentlessly, but with brutal precision that has you seeing stars, borderline animalistic as though his hunger hasn’t been appeased after fucking you twice before this.

“Right there!” You moan out as soon as his tip hits the spongy spot that has your back arching sharply with each relentless thrust. With your arms wrapped around his broad back, your fingernails rake on his skin haphazardly, sending pleasurable sensations through him.

“I’m going to ruin you, doll.” He says darkly as he squeezes your neck, his tone holding a promise that both excites and unnerves you.

“All yours to ruin, daddy.” You sob out keenly, hiccups leaving your lips intermittently while your every sense is consumed by the overwhelming pleasure from his cock alone.

“My good girl loves to please me, yeah?” He rasps, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on your lips, a stark contrast to the way his cock hammers into your sensitive cunt that feels devastating.

“Wanna please daddy all the time.” You utter brokenly, a single tear rolling down your cheek, to which he abandons your neck to wipe your rolling tears away affectionately.

“You always have, babydoll.” He croons, and you nearly physically purr at his adoring admission. He rears back just slightly and places his palm on your bulging lower abdomen. “Feel me here, doll? Looks like daddy’s cock is made perfectly just for you.” You nod your head mindlessly, unable to formulate coherent sentences.

In the intoxicating haze of lust, you grasp the opportunity to admire his very attractive face — his hair completely dishevelled and damp with sweat that also trickles down his sideburns, pure lust swimming in the depths of his eyes, his angular jawline seeming more defined, and his every feature and muscle taut with tension. A smirk touches his lips briefly as he catches you staring at him before increasing the intensity of his ruthless momentum.

“I can’t! It’s too much!” You sob out, your cunt clenching hard around him, and yet he manages to pound his cock into you with ease before driving you to the edge of sanity when his thumb rubs your clit with an unsparing vehemence, intensifying the band of your climax within you.

“Nothing is too much for this slutty pussy.” He growls, never faltering as each thrust is unyielding bringing him to greater heights of ecstasy while relishing the wet warmth of your cunt. “I haven’t even filled you up with my cum yet.” He groans before leaning down and taking your nipple in his mouth.

You are completely at his mercy, every assault of his cock, his mouth, and his fingers on your body alighting your nerves that send you to a state of complete euphoria, the world fading into insignificance. A litany of moans, cries, and screams emits from you, your coherent thoughts now fragmented from his relentless thrusts that have your whole body trembling beneath him.

Your tears are a silent plea for respite, but the pain that comes with pleasure feels beyond addicting, rendering you an insatiable cockslut for him as you roll your hips to meet his overpowering ones. You push your chest outward, enticing him to lick and bite your nipples that amplifies the pleasure coursing through you.

Jay is practically worshipping your tits despite his cock drilling into your battered cunt feeling punishing, enjoying the sensation of your perky nipples on his tongue and the fullness of your tits that prompts him to squeeze one before slapping it again. His back burns from your raking fingernails, but it only intensifies his insatiable hunger to fuck you with reckless abandon.

The band in your tummy becomes unbearable as it threatens to snap, and so with a loud moan, you surrender to the intensity of your orgasmic release while a familiar yet uncontrollable sensation surges through you as your eyes go white.

Jay watches with dark satisfaction as you squirt profusely even when he doesn’t relent from thrusting his cock into your ruined cunt while his thumb never relents from rubbing your clit, your obnoxious release soaking him and the sheets beneath you.

With a deep moan from his chest, he surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure as he delivers one last thrust that hits your battered cervix deliciously before going completely still, pressing his hips into yours. He lowers your sore leg, giving you the impression that it is over as he slowly withdraws his cock from you.

Just as you intend to close your legs, Jay spreads them further apart, exposing your ruined cunt lewdly. A whimper leaves you as he uses the tip of his cock to tap your clit repeatedly. He smirks down at you. “You didn’t think that we were done, did you?”

After that, hours feel like a blissful eternity as the two of you succumb to the abyss of sheer pleasure, losing yourselves in the heady mix of sweat, lust, and the unadulterated smell of sex, staining his once pristine king-sized bed. Your body constantly craves both pain and pleasure, allowing him to fuck you in every position possible where he can see your face, desiring to watch as you fall apart before he puts back the pieces just for him to repeat the intoxicating cycle.

But eventually, the intensity of your sex marathon dwindles, shifting into something unfamiliarly tender that you have never felt throughout your past experiences, because the way he is fucking you now feels as though he is making love.

“Look at you. Weren’t you crying earlier about how it’s too much?” He teases, smirking down at you as you keenly meet his slow yet shallow thrusts.

“Shut up.” You moan out, not bothered by the embarrassing crack in your strained voice. You latch your hand on his bicep, feeling his muscles flexing beneath your touch. “Love your cock in me.”

“I know you do, doll.” He chuckles breathily before kissing you on the lips sweetly without faltering his momentum while you tangle your fingers in his damp strands, pulling him down until his chest presses into your tits as you seek the closeness.

“I’m close.” You whimper into the kiss, your heart fluttering at each tender caress of his lips on yours while the knot in your tummy is prepared to unravel for the last time.

“Me too, baby.” He rasps against your lips before pulling away and burying his head into the nook of your neck. His arm slides underneath your body to encase you, pulling you closer while his thrusts begin to stutter as he is teetering on the precipice. “Let it go for me, love.”

With a hard flick of his thumb on your clit and on his affectionate command, you surrender to the overwhelming release, your back arching off the mattress as you roll your eyes at the same time he tumbles over the edge of ecstasy, his hips going still as they press into yours while he fills you to the brim for the last time, finally attaining the pinnacle of your pleasures.

Your legs around his waist tremble tremendously from the aftermath while you convulse beneath him. You whimper out at the sensation of his cock dragging along your battered walls as he intends to pull out quickly, leaving your cunt empty but smeared from the union of your fluids.

Jay settles next to you, and though the exhaustion is hitting him like a freight train, he seeks to comfort you after doing a number on you, but when he turns to face you, you are already seeking his warmth without his help as you move closer before wrapping your arms around his torso. Your eyes linger on his chest and neck that are decorated with fresh scratch marks and some hickeys; each was your doing.

Feeling satisfied by your artwork on this fine masterpiece, you decide to relax in his warm embrace, his arm cradling your head while the other is around your waistline, his fingers caressing your skin tenderly. You gaze into his dreamy eyes that have been staring at your face. “Hi.” You whisper, gracing a small yet playful smile on your lips.

Jay cracks into a grin, making him look a decade younger. “Hi, honey.” He coos as he cradles your face, his thumb stroking your cheek tenderly.

“That was amazing.” You confess earnestly, because indeed, that was the best sex you ever had, and he even has great stamina compared to the guys your age do. Sabrina was right — the older they are, the more experienced and better they are in bed.

His grin turns smug, to which you playfully narrow your eyes. “Better than your past experiences?” He asks with genuine curiosity, because honestly, he did have some thoughts about whether or not he met your standards despite his outward confidence.

“Way better. But I think you broke me.” You say half-jokingly, but really, he completely wrecked you, rendering every part of your muscle tremendously sore that even lifting a limb feels like a gruelling chore.

For a fleeting moment, concern swirls in his irises as he scans you. “Nonsense. You’re perfect.” He says so sincerely without hesitation.

Something so different yet tangled with familiarity stirs in your heart. “Really?”

He hums, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “You’re always perfect in my eyes, doll.” He murmurs, his eyes gleaming with affection as he gazes at you. His lips curl into a smile as you adorably snuggle into his bare chest. “As much as I would love to cuddle with you, daddy has to take care of you now.”

You tilt your head up, casting him a smirk. “So you have a thing for referring to yourself as ‘daddy’ now, huh?”

He narrows his eyes at you playfully before smacking your ass cheek, eliciting a small yelp from you. “I should be the one asking you that.” 

“Well, it seems fitting since you’re technically my sugar daddy.” You say with a thoughtful hum, oblivious to the bitterness painting his countenance that goes by quickly when you return your gaze to him.

“Right.” He chuckles dryly, hoping that he isn’t obvious enough to give away the bitterness that lingers within him. He raises an inquisitive eyebrow at you. “Was I the first you called ‘daddy’?”

“The first and last.” You affirm with a grin, and he can’t resist kissing your nose; how you can switch between adorable and sensual still amazes him. You exchange kisses with him before he decides to untangle himself from you, being careful enough as your limbs are still entirely sore.

“Wait here. I’ll fill up the bathtub for us.” He informs you before walking away from you. Your eyes fall to his bare back before quickly turning away, your cheeks flushing warmly as the visual of his entire bare back is now committed to your memory.

You let the time pass quickly by taking a momentary rest with your eyes closed until you feel your body being manoeuvred before finding yourself being carried by strong arms, prompting you to snap your eyes open in surprise. Your eyes roam around his perfect side profile, admiring how perfectly sculpted his handsome face is.

“You know, you’re the first to ever show courtesy by providing aftercare.” You speak up as soon as he submerges into the filled bathtub with you, the warm temperature seeping into your sore muscles instantly. You find yourself seated on his lap sideways, allowing you to look directly into his eyes. “Thank you.”

His eyes soften at your earnest gratitude, but it doesn’t allay his dissatisfaction upon hearing your confession. “It seems that you had a pretty shitty taste in men, doll, because providing aftercare is actually a bare minimum.” He remarks, but his tone holds no malice, only an underlying indignation on behalf of you despite you not looking the slightest bit upset about your past experience.

“At least I have finally developed the right taste in men now.” You defend yourself, grinning cheekily at him, which brings out an amused exhalation from him while he reaches out for the shampoo bottle at the side. You watch him open it and squeeze the perfect amount of liquid onto his palm.

“I’m the only and last man you’ll ever be with.” He says, lathering the liquid with his palms before applying it to your hair and massaging your scalp, but he pauses as he looks at you with a serious gaze. “Unless you have any objections?”

“No. I quite like being with you.” You confess, your grin melting to a smile so soft while your eyes sparkle with genuine adoration as you look at him. “And I like you, Jay.”

His lips curl into a smile while his heart faintly throbs. “I know.” Of course, you like him since he’s your sugar daddy.

You take him by surprise as you throw your arms around his neck, the water around you splashing in the process. “I really, really like you.” You confess again with strong emphasis.

“I like you too, doll.” He reciprocates with such sincerity, his hands descending to your waistline before hugging you close to him. “I always have since day one. I like you a little too much.” He doesn’t even care that he might have fucked things up with you by confessing the truth, because really, he liked you at first sight.

Butterflies flutter wildly in your tummy at his confession, and yet, you don’t dare to breach the unspoken boundary that remains, what you truly mean to him. Instead, you lean closer to him, your tits pressing into his chest as you angle your head to an irresistible tilt. “Kiss me?”

Jay smirks briefly before dipping his head down and kissing you sweetly on the lips. He thinks that your lips alone are enough to forget his problems, how he wishes to bask in you forever, his newfound safe haven from the cold world he has been surviving ever since he embarked on a journey where he had only himself to depend on except his best friend.

“Sore.” You sigh against his lips before falling languid as you lean dependently into him. “Too tired to move.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He murmurs, being ever so tender with you, his hand rubbing your back comfortingly. “You can depend on me, honey.” Because he knows more than anyone how easy it is to crumble without dependency on anyone trustworthy.

With each step you take, your sore thighs quiver, prompting you to hold onto the wall for support while every part of your muscles and joints is terrifically tender, but instead of staying in bed a little longer, you need food to recharge your energy after last night’s hours of passion that still feel like a wet dream of yours, but the hickeys decorating your skin and the instability in your tremendously aching limbs are a testament to his promise of reminding you that you’re his, your cheeks flushing warmly at the memory.

Despite your body screaming for respite, you continue your journey to the kitchen, following the delectable smell wafting in the air while also taking in the interior decor of his sumptuous home, the muted colours a stark contrast to your colourful apartment, but charmingly minimalist that reminds you of the owner himself. Your heart instantly flutters at the thought of him, and the flutters intensify as you stop by the kitchen’s entryway.

With a silent wince, you take another step forward before you lean sideways against the wall with arms folded below your chest, watching him in silence as he gets immersed in his element with his broad, handsome back facing you. You find yourself smiling despite the untamed butterflies in your tummy, swooning over the domestic sight of your sugar daddy, who no doubt will be an ideal husband.

The black polo shirt fits his physique perfectly and displays his toned arms for your eyes to feast on, even more so when you catch the mere sight of his golden Rolex on his wrist. He nearly looks unrecognisable with his raven hair unfettered, the volume and some wispy strands hovering over his forehead making it look like he has his hair permed. In fact, he looks a decade younger.

“You might want to take a picture if you intend to stare at me all day. It’ll last longer.” Jay says without taking a glance at you, pulling you out of your reverie.

Your cheeks flare with embarrassment, wondering how he can feel your silent presence when he’s been too immersed in cooking. Nevertheless, when your eyes meet his amused ones, you greet him with a sheepish smile. “Hi.”

Your tone sounds delicate as to the way you look, like a dream he never wants to wake up from. His softened eyes linger on your angelic face, but at the eventual realisation of his white button-down blouse being adorned on your figure, he feels the familiar hunger rousing within him. It intensifies when he notices that you are bare of any leggings since his blouse reaches the midsection of your gorgeous thighs. His gaze lingers on the glaring hickeys and faint bite marks on your once-pristine skin that he can’t seem to count. He really did ruin you.

Jay quickly masters self-restraint as he doesn’t wish to wreck you like he did last night. “Hi, honey.” He reciprocates gently, giving you a smile so soft that it looks radiantly dreamy. He places two ceramic bowls on the marbled island. “I made you breakfast.”

Your stomach rumbles instantly, but instead of heading straight for the steaming bowl, you feel a gravitational pull towards the man of your dreams instead. “I didn’t expect you to know how to cook.”

A smirk touches his lips while his eyes drink you in. “Surprised, doll?”

You hum, going straight for a hug that he wholeheartedly embraces you. “A delightful surprise, at that.” Your voice is muffled in his shoulder as you bask in his warmth and scent. “Any other secret talent about you that I should know?”

Jay chuckles breathily, an attractive tune that intensifies your feelings for him. “Stick around a little longer, and you’ll find out.” He says before planting a kiss on your crown. “Unless you intend on leaving me.”

There is an edge in his light-hearted tone, eliciting a frown from you, but your heartstrings tug painfully at the scenario that evokes a new insecurity within you as you imagine the opposite happening instead. “I don’t plan on leaving you, Jay.” You reassure him as you gently pull away to look at his face, your arms remaining attached around his torso. “Do you intend on leaving me—”

“No. Never.” He cuts you off sternly, his tone and eyes holding an unfathomable volume of promises that both scare and reassure you, because no one has ever looked at you like the way he does right now, as though he will do whatever it takes to keep you by his side. “You’re unforgettable, doll. I don’t think I could ever find someone like you.”

Your eyes trace his every beautiful feature that burns in your memory, how truly unreal that a man like him seems to cherish you more than you will ever realise. “You don’t feel real.” You mutter absentmindedly.

Jay adorns a charming smile, dimples showcasing on his cheeks. He feels a bubble of amusement in his chest as you continue to gaze at him dreamily. He takes you by surprise when he leans down and kisses your lips sweetly. “Do I feel real to you now?” He whispers against your parted lips before pulling away.

“So real.” A giggle leaves you, a contagious sound that widens his smile. You look at him with a woozy grin, your head spinning in a good way that makes you feel as though your dopamine has reached its apex. “Hi.”

“You sound and look drunk, honey.” He comments amusingly as he pinches your cheek, but not enough to hurt you.

“Can’t help it. You’re just so dreamy.” You sigh softly, your eyes falling to his lips before you lean forward with your head tilted to the right angle for your lips to fit with his, kissing him tenderly.

“Say you, beautiful. The woman of my dreams.” He murmurs against your lips, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer than you already were. He breaks the lip lock before he can get too carried away by your irresistible allure, chuckling fondly when you turn pouty. “Come on, honey. You can pout for as long as you want after breakfast.”

Not too long later, you are settled on the stool right next to him, slurping on your beef udon noodle soup that tastes delectably rich. Despite satisfying your hunger, your heart flutters every now and then at his every action—the way he delicately holds your hair and brushes the strands that seem to be getting in the way while you eat, giving you the small side dish of his homemade kimchi that is meant to be his after you finish yours. You simply wish for this moment to last a little longer.

“Just to let you know, I cleared my schedule for this whole week so that we’d be able to spend more time together.” He informs you as soon as the two of you finish the bowls of udon.

You pause from taking sips of your drink before slowly putting down the glass. You furrow your eyebrows in concern. “Is that really okay? I’m sure you’re busy with all the work.”

“It’s fine, honey. My secretary will handle the paperwork.” He smiles, his hand reaching up to caress your cheek affectionately. “I want to focus on you, on us. We haven't really spent that much time together anyway.”

Your heart swells with something so peculiar despite the recognisable affection. Your eyes soften as you place a hand on top of his, leaning into his touch. “Thank you for always making time for me.” 

Jay smiles softly, grabbing your hand before placing a kiss into your palm while you feel a familiar spark. “For you, always.”

Before you can speak, his chiming phone intervenes, prompting him to reach for his phone across the island. You take sips of your drink again, watching him from the corner of your eye and noticing how the radiant contentment on his face dims as he checks his phone.

“Is everything okay?” You ask tentatively as you put down your empty glass, your senses being aware of his dour mood despite the neutrality in his countenance.

Jay places his phone down and shifts his attention to you, his heart clenching as he scans your beautiful facial features. For a moment, he debates silently whether or not to let you know, as he hates for the light in your eyes to dim, but when your hand gently cradles his face, he caves in. “If it means leaving you for a few business trips abroad, then no, everything is not okay.” He confesses sullenly, leaning into your touch.

You try not to let the disappointment affect you deeply at the thought of his possibly long absence, as you have already expected this, since his job does require travelling overseas for business transactions, etc. “When?” You ask, your voice a steady neutrality.

“I should be making the proper arrangements by next week.” He informs, his dark brows furrowing as he seems to be thinking deeply.

You pull him out of his thoughts with a kiss on the cheek. “It’s okay. We still have this week to spend time together.” You say positively, mustering a wide smile that you hope is convincing to mask your disappointment.

“But it isn’t enough.” He counters, his tone lacing with frustration that borders on desperation, but you decide to allay his distressed emotions, giving his palm a tender kiss before positioning his hand to cup your cheek. His heart flutters at the unexpected action from you since he’s usually the one giving hand kisses. Just then, an idea pops in his head. “Honey, what do you think of travelling abroad?”

“I’ve always dreamed of being able to travel often once I gained financial stability.” You sigh softly, leaning into his touch while your beautifully sparkling eyes never stray off his face. “Why do you ask?”

Jay simply smiles, and his dimples are an adorable presence on his cheeks. “Because I’m going to make your dreams come true.”

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[arelyvn]

Always yours ───.｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Your childhood best friend who’s relied on you since forever, decides the summer before college he wants to glow up and grow up. Except it feels like he’s grown out of your friendship instead.. only for it to develop into something more

PAIRING: jungwon x fem!reader (childhood best friends -> lovers)

GENRE: college au, smut, fluff

WORD COUNT: 7130

WARNINGS: Sub Jungwon, pussy eating, handjob, overstimulation, cumming untouched, orgasm denial, riding, unprotected sex, cockwarming, alcohol mentioned, reader gets jealous, porn with a plot basically, lmk if i missed anything!

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

You and Jungwon have been best friends ever since that time in 2nd grade on the playground

Him getting pushed around by a group of kids, just because he called out a guy for cheating during a game.

Yes it was that serious

Jungwon’s always been honest, so he didn't see an issue with it

You came into view, and pushed one of the guys, yelling at him to stop.

“Ill tell Mrs.Wells to move your clip all the way to red!” You threatened them, somehow that got them to back down.

Looking back it makes you and Jungwon laugh at how easy it was back then.

Ever since that time, you grew closer together, he developed a crush on you in 9th grade.

You knew he did, but never said anything, Jungwons never been great with girls though

You just figured he'd grown out of it, probably just teenage hormones anyway

He was always quiet in school, kept to himself, you on the other hand were more of the extrovert, always meeting new people, talking to new guys

You always came to Jungwon about your problems, including the guy ones. Going into more detail than he would've liked..

-

You two already planned to move in together in a 2 bedroom apartment near the university you both applied to, and got accepted into, but that was towards the end of senior year.

Over summer you guys really didn't hang out much, actually you didn’t hang out at all.. an obvious distance growing in your friendship as you busied yourself with a summer internship, and Jungwon was apparently trying to grow up

So now, here you are, standing in the hallway of your shared apartment, looking at Jungwon

There's no way this is the same guy from high school.

This cant be your nerdy best friend who couldn’t even wear jeans without saying they were too “itchy”

His hair is actually styled, and his facial features almost looked more defined, but what really got you was his body.

How did he get taller in the span of 3 months, and where the hell did those huge biceps come from?! 

“Y/N!” He says coming up to you and giving you a hug, you were too shocked to reciprocate

“Jungwon- you're squeezing me” you say, and he really was, when did he get so strong?

“Oh shit- sorry” He says as he picks up your bags and takes them to your room

“I cleaned up a bit, there's food in the fridge too” He says as he puts your bags beside your bed and turns to face you 

“Yeah, I can see that, I mean it looks good” You say as you look around your new room

He lets his eyes trail down your body, taking you in- fuck he doesnt know how he resisted not seeing you all summer

How come you haven't said anything about the way he looks now?.. 

He's a little disappointed, but he quickly adverts his gaze when you look back at him

“Well, I'll leave you to it! I'm about to head out” He says walking past you 

Jungwon? Heading out? Where is he even going- he used to never want to leave his room

It's almost like he heard your thoughts 

“Going to the gym, Jakes waiting for me” He says as he leans against the door frame

Who the hell is Jake?

You had so many questions, like when did he start working out? Does he work out everyday? And is it oil that he's using to make his biceps glisten like that-

“Oh, uh okay, ill be here. Unpacking” You say pulling your eyes away from him, he just stares for a moment before leaving. 

-

“I don't know man, I feel like you're overthinking the whole situation” Jake says putting down his weights

“No- you dont know y/n, I mean yeah she's always been a little..attitudey? But I don't know, this time it was like, weird.”

“Why dont you just, you know, fuck?” Jake says like it's the most normal solution ever, jungwon looks at him like hes crazy

“You cant be serious right now.” He says, and jake just smirks

“I mean you’re clearly attracted to her, plus you guys fucking live together- based off what you said, she was totally checking you out too” Jake pauses

“Is that body oil?” He says squinting as he looks at Jungwon’s arms “shit, you really tried didn’t you?”

“No, it's not like that, were just friends- we've always been friends” He says as he picks up a different weight to do bicep curls.

“I just don't want it to be awkward between us, she just seemed so.. Distant?” Jungwon says, almost talking to himself

“Yeah, right.. but you’re still gonna let me come over? Because no way in hell are you playing the new game without me” Jake says raising his brows

“I don't want to overwhelm y/n though, she just got here and I-” Jungwon starts before jake interrupts him

“Bruh, you know I've been wanting to play that game forever! Come on” Jake looks at him with his infamous puppy eyes he uses to woo all the girls in

“Okay fine! Just stop looking at me” He looks at Jake with a disgusted look

“Yeah, yeah you know you love it” Jake says, Jungwon cant help but laugh in his face

-

You had just finished unpacking, when you get an incoming call

Wonnie😼

You smile at the contact name, he had typed it in the second you got a new phone for christmas a few years ago.

Accepting the call and putting it on speaker before setting your phone down

“Y/N?” Jungwon says, you hear the sound of a car honk, he must be driving 

“Yeah, what's up?” You say back as you shove your bags under your bed

“So, is it okay if Jake comes over for a bit? I just got this game for the ps5 and we really wanted-”

Jungwon pauses looking at Jake whos mouthing “Why the fuck are you asking permission?” 

He ignores him continuing his sentence “yeah, we really wanted to try it out? I just had to make sure it was fine with you-”

“Jungwon, you literally live here, I don't really care who you invite over.” You say back

Jake's eyebrows raise as he looks at Jungwon “She always like this?” he whispers, you hear it

“Am I on speaker?” you say skeptical

“Uh, no- we'll be there in like 5 minutes, see-ya!” he says as he hangs up

“Fucking hell jake- she totally heard that” He says and Jake just laughs

“I mean she sounds kinda hot when she's mad” Jake says and Jungwon almost feels like getting defensive over you, but doesn't because he knows it’ll just result in more teasing.

-

No way he just hung up on you like that.

You make your way to the kitchen to get yourself a snack, opening the fridge

Strawberries?  Did Jungwon get these for you? He knows their your favorite fruit too

You take them out of the fridge rinsing them off before taking a bite of one, your eyes nearly roll at the taste

These are definitely fresh

You're pulled from your thoughts when you hear the front door open, followed by laughing, and then Jungwon comes into view setting his water bottle on the counter, and behind him- 

“Oh, you found the strawberries, I just got them today so there extra fresh” He says walking over to you, taking the strawberry you bit into out of your hand and eating the rest of it

All you can do is stare as he does so, the strawberry juice dripping from his lip as he takes his thumb and cleans it up with a swipe

Jake just watches the scene unfold in front of him, pushing his tongue against his cheek, with a knowing glint in his eye as he tries not to laugh

“Right, uh this is Jake” Jungwon says looking over at his friend, and back at you

“Jake, this is-” He starts before Jake finishes his sentence 

“Y/N” Jake says holding out his hand, you hold out yours, smiling slightly at the formal gesture 

“Pleasure” Jake says smoothly before letting go

“Yeah, nice meeting you too” You say back, Jungwon turns his head to jake squinting his eyes

Jake ignores him "I've heard a lot about you y/n” 

You chuckle nervously hands instinctively playing with the ring on your finger

“I hope it was only good things” You say back 

Jungwon talks about you to him?

“Oh it was definitely-" 

“Alright!” Jungwon interrupts him

“Well y/n, enjoy the strawberries, me and jake are gonna go play the game now”

Jungwon gives Jake that look, and follows him to his room 

“Okay, ill um be here” You say watching them walk away 

That was the weirdest interaction like, ever.

-

“Is his friend totally hot?!” your friend gigi says from your phone

“I mean he's not bad looking-”

“Okay so totally hot” She says giggling

You roll your eyes

“Girl, the things I'd do if I had not one but TWO hot, sweaty, buff guys in my apartment, I mean we'd definitely be having a threes-” 

Jungwon knocks on your door, pulling you from your conversation, gigi goes quiet, 

“Come in!” you say 

Jungwon opens the door slightly, and you sit up on your bed, like a child doing something they shouldn't 

“Hey, we ordered pizza, do you want some?” He says looking at you casually

“Is there pepperoni?” you say raising a brow

He smiles “Obviously”

“Ill text you later gigi-” you say

“Yeah, yeah, don't have too much fun” she says with a wink before hanging up

Jungwon tilts his head at that, too much fun?

You stand up throwing your phone on your bed

“Jake better not have eaten all of it..” You say brushing past him

“You know I can hear you” Jake says, before taking a bite of the pizza

In this moment of you three eating together, the tension between you and Jungwon eases down a bit

Until—

“So, y/n, you know since its the weekend before we start classes, one of our friends is throwing this huge party-”

“She doesn't like big parties like that.” Jungwon cuts him off, voice stern

You look at him eyes squinted “You don't know what I like actually. When is it?”

“Starts at like 10 ish tomorrow night, Jungwons already coming obviously” Jake says continuing

Jungwon kicks jakes foot, not so subtly

“Ow!” he yells, totally over exaggerating 

Obviously? No thats not fucking obvious, Jungwon never goes to parties- I mean not that you know of.. Is that what he was busy doing all summer? Partying? 

“Ill be there” You say, avoiding Jungwon's stare at the side of your head

-

As soon as you entered the party, its like Jungwon and Jake were a fucking magnet for attention, how did half these people even know them? 

You follow them to the kitchen where they both say hi to a few guys, you immediately notice the girls in the group eyeing him like he's a damn super model.

Why are they looking at him like that?

He's your best friend. Not theirs.

Jungwon hesitates before introducing you to the group..the reason he didn't want you coming was because he was scared of how you'd react to his sudden popularity 

He doesn't know how it happened either, since he moved into the apartment in the summer he's been able to make a lot of friends with the people around uni.. He feels like he finally found somewhere he can fit in, not to mention he feels 10 times more confident in himself with the new found attention

“This is y/n” Jungwon says and everyone's eyes drift to you, you don't shy away or anything, instead putting on a more friendly exterior

“Nice to meet you guys” You smile sweetly, feigning innocence

You don't miss the look from one girl in particular, she looks you up and down, you ignore her.

“Jungwon, where were you hiding this gem?” One of the guys says, honey brown hair, brown eyes, is this not bambi reincarnated? 

“Heeseung” He says handing you a drink, you thank him before sipping it

Jungwon watches the interaction, and can't help but feel a hint of jealousy

As the party goes on, more people show up, the smell of alcohol is strong, your group has migrated to the living area now, you're sitting on the edge of the couch pretending to listen to something Jake says while your eyes watch him.

That same girl from earlier is practically glued to his side, her fingers trailing along his arm. 

Why is he just letting her touch him like that? He gets a few muscles and becomes easy as fuck all the sudden?

Jungwon says something and she laughs ridiculously loud, there's no way what he said was that funny.

Jake's voice pulls you from your insecure thoughts

“Jealous?” He says raising his brow as he looks up at you

“Of what? Jungwon?” you say back defensively

“You don't have anything to worry about honestly, he only sees claire as a friend”

Yeah and he only sees you like that too.

“I could care less who he talks to”

Jake just looks at you with that knowing glint in his eyes “Right” 

You watch as Claire leans closer into Jungwon's personal space, whispering something in his ear and you stand up abruptly causing jungwons attention to snap to you

“Uh- Im ready to go” You say awkwardly 

Jungwon looks at jake, drink in hand, Jake wasnt supposed to drink tonight.

“Shit- sorry bro I forgot..” Jake says taking another sip from the red cup

Jungwon stands up too, which makes Claire scoff under her breath as he walks over towards you

“Give me the keys” He says holding his hand out towards Jake, who puts them in his hand

“I'll take y/n home.” He says before turning his head to Heeseung “Make sure he gets home”

Jungwons honestly relieved you wanted to go home, because he wanted to as well, annoyed with how the girl from his friend group had been acting, she’s been doing that shit the second they met earlier this summer, but God, he wishes it was you instead

-

The car ride is silent for 5 minutes until you speak

“Seems like you have an admirer.” You say resting your head against your palm looking out the window

“Who, Claire?” He says, knowing that's exactly who

“No, Heeseung” You roll your eyes, he can't help but crack a smile at your sarcasm

He missed that, your smartass comments

He missed you.

“You haven't changed y/n” He says smiling to himself

“Cant say the same for you.” You say finally, turning to look at him

It must be the alcohol that's making you say these things

“Is that a good thing?” He says glancing at you

“I don't know Jungwon, okay?”

He tries not to flinch at the way your tone becomes irritated

He doesn't push you any more though, instead turning the music up for the rest of the drive home.

-

You shove past him when he opens the door to your shared apartment, closing it behind him as he kicks off his shoes

“Y/n.” he calls out as you walk to the dimly lit kitchen

Ignoring him you grab a glass to fill it with water

“Did I do something wrong?” He says suddenly, and you stop in the middle of the kitchen

“Jungwon Im really not in the mood right now to argue-”

“Im not even trying to argue with you? I'm asking you a question- I mean hell, you've been acting weird ever since you got here”

“Me? Acting weird?” You scoff at that

“No, I think it's you who's acting weird. All these new friends, you wanting to go to a fucking party?” 

You continue and he just looks at you

“So what, you go to the gym for a few months, get some muscles, learn to dress, and all the sudden wanna become the easiest fuck in the room?”

He looks at you like you've genuinely hurt him, you can't help but feel a little bad

“Y/n you know thats not what this is- I can't help that I grew up. I wasn't going to stay that nerdy kid who couldn't even ask the teacher to use the bathroom in class..”

Of course you knew he was going to grow up, expected it actually. 

But why does it just feel like he's grown out of your friendship instead?

“Im going to bed Jungwon.” You say turning to leave, instead of making you stay and talk with him, he just lets you go.

Deep down, he knows he's still that same pushover from high school.

-

The first week of classes passes by quickly, you've memorized where to go, found your favorite coffee spot, you finally feel like you found some comfort here.

You and Jungwon try not to interact with each other, only seeing one another in passing.

He wishes he was like jake, bold enough to actually stop you for once, apologize for god knows what

-

You scroll through your phone, happen to find Claire's instagram, she really is just a attention seeker.

Glancing at the time 

12:46 am

When did you become the loser? Staying in on a friday night while Jungwon’s out at some other party.

To be fair, you did get an invite. Not from Jungwon though. Instead from one of the girls in your class, whose outfit you complimented

He only went because Jake dragged him along though

You wouldn't doubt if he's getting all lovey dovey with Claire right now, him and his stupid grey sweatpants, and stupid black shirt that fit him just right.

Hes so fucking clueless. Does he even know that’s like a magnet for horny college girls?

Including yourself.

You almost scream into your pillow with frustration, but stop when you hear the front door open

“Wheres y/n” You immediately recognize Jungwon's voice, and then jakes right after

“She lives here bro. She's probably asleep anyway” He says helping Jungwon get to his room

Why did he have to drink so fucking much tonight. He can't handle his alcohol for shit

“I wanna see her!” Jungwon almost yells

You quickly throw on a hoodie, paired with your pajama shorts

Opening your door and walking out to see Jake holding Jungwon up as if he couldn't walk himself

“Thank fuck your awake, he got absolutely wasted” Jake says looking at you like you’re an angel who just ascended from the sky

Jungwon's eyes light up “Y/N!” suddenly he's able to walk now as he drags you into his arms before sinking to the floor on his knees, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head against your stomach

You look up at jake, he just shrugs

“He was asking for you all night. wouldn't stop drinking either. Said he'd only stop if I brought him back..” Jake says looking down at Jungwon, Damn, he's got it bad

“Yeah I can see that.. He's absolutely gone” 

“You smell so good y/n” Jungwon says as he pressed his face against your hoodie as if he was going to inhale your whole body

“Okay! Lets get you up bro-” Jake says lifting jungwon up and balancing against his side, Damn hes heavy

“A little help here?” He says, you grab Jungwon's arm, helping him get to his room

You've never seen Jungwon like this, drunk, all though you do enjoy the way his pupils are dilated, and his cheeks are flush, you try not to smile at the way the tips of his ears are almost bright pink

You and Jake work together to get Jungwon on his bed

“You are so gonna regret this tomorrow man.” Jake says before facing you

“Alright, I'm headed out, good luck!.. I'll see you” Jake says quickly

You just nod as you watch the way Jungwon buries his face in his pillow

He walks out of the bedroom but stops before saying “He also likes to sleep half naked!” 

“Wait what?” You don't register it till he's closed your apartment door behind him.

Jungwon reaches for the end of his shirt dragging it over his head, you pause watching him

“Jungwon, what are you doing?”

You say trying not to look at his very toned stomach

“Mmph- its hot” He says in a whiny voice

Why did you kind of like that

He moves for his pants next

“Woah! Uhm do you really need to-”

He ignores you as he slides his sweatpants off and throws them on the ground

All that he has left is some black Calvin Klein boxers.

Damn. He could quit school and genuinely model for them if he wanted to.

Turning his head to look at you “Y/n” he says in an almost pathetic tone

“Yes?” you say holding your breath 

“Im sorry” He says looking at you with his big brown eyes

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Everything..” He says before suddenly pulling you onto the bed with him so you're lying beside him

“What are you doing Won-” 

“Just lay with me? Please? Like we did when we binged the whole marvel series last year”

You cant help but smile at the memory, its like your body remembered it too, scooting closer to him as you tucked into his side

“I'm sorry too, Jungwon.” you say looking up at him

But he's already asleep. You just sigh before closing your eyes, the feeling of his warm chest, and steady breathing making you fall asleep instantly as well.

-

The second he wakes up he feels his headache immeditly “Fuck” he says rubbing the side of his head with two fingers before looking down at you

Your hand was dangerously close to his crotch right now, resting on his lower stomach

He tries to recall back to what happened last night, remembering Jake brought him home and- no way he did that. 

He curses himself for getting carried away with the drinks at the party

You let out a sound as you nuzzle your head into his side more

With his dick already hard as hell in the mornings, he tries to think of anything to calm himself down, practically holding his breath

You dont even know what youre doing to him in this moment, fuck- hes been wanting your hands on him forever

Your thumb is absently rubbing small circles on his stomach, he can't help the tingling feeling he's getting as his dick gets exited from the touch

Jungwon lets out a strangled sound resisting the urge to move your hand just a little lower

That's what wakes you up. You slowly open your eyes blinking up at him, he looks panicked.

His eyes are furrowed together and his lip looks like it's about to bleed from how hard he's biting it.

“Jungwon- are you okay? Does your head hurt? You say in a sleepy tone sitting up and rubbing your eyes

 He could care less about his head hurting when you look that fucking good waking up.

He immediately takes the blanket from his bed and covers his throbbing hard on 

You raise your eyebrow “What are you doing?”

“I- well- I need to like” He can't seem to get a full sentence out

You let your eyes fall to the blanket covering his lower half before getting an idea

Catching him completely off guard you yank the blanket aside to see what he was hiding

Your jaw practically drops open as you look at the tint in his boxers, fuck hes huge.

Jungwon reacts quickly standing up and covering his dick with his hands as he looks at you in shock

You both just stare at eachother

“I'm sorry y/n- I didnt mean to.. It just happens” He says panicked, you can see a bead of sweat roll down his forehead

“Its fine Jungwon, I understand its like a normal body reaction or whatever” You say trying to avoid looking at him

“Im gonna-” 

“Yeah me too” you say before getting out his bed so fast its like you were gone in a blink

You close your own bedroom door leaning against it, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding

Thanking yourself for getting out of there, because if you stayed even a moment longer, you’d definitely get on your knees for him just to help him out

You try not to pay attention to the way you feel yourself get wet at the thought of it

What has gotten into you?

Jungwon steps into the shower, turning it to its coldest setting. Trying to do anything to get rid of the way his dick is practically pulsing.

He looks down at the tip- it almost looks mad at him for not doing anything about it 

He lifts his hand to steady himself against the shower wall before wrapping his hand around his length, groaning at the contact

He begins moving his hand slowly, closing his eyes

“F-fuck-” He cant help but let out pathetic little noises, his mind drifting to you, the things hed do for this to be you stroking his cock instead

Picking up his pace he tries not to let any sounds out, but it only makes him whimper even more as he quickens his speed, he thinks about the way your lips would feel on him, when his mind starts drifting to how your pussy would feel tightening around him- 

“Nghh- y/n” he lets out as he paints the shower wall in his cum, making a mess on his hands, and thighs as well

He leans his head against his hand on the wall cursing himself for thinking about his best friend that way.

-

You and Jungwon have been getting closer as the days go on, he tries to invite you to hangout with his friend group whenever he gets the chance.

You appreciate him trying to include you.

Not missing the way girls constantly look at him, asking for his number in public. Him blushing when they say he's handsome.

He fucking thrives off the attention.

“Sorry y/n, I didn't think we'd be talking for that long..” He says coming back to your shared table at your favorite coffee shop

The barista had asked for his number, and was clearly flirting with him in front of you.

why are you even jealous, he's not even yours.

“It's fine. I don't really care.” you say continuing to type something on your laptop to busy yourself

He notices the way your tone changes

“I didn't give her my number” He says quietly, he doesn't know why, it's not really any of your business, right?

Your look up at him, he's avoiding your gaze

“You don't have to say anything” He takes a sip of his coffee before focusing on his own computer

-

“I was thinking, and remember when we used to have those movie nights?” Jungwon says turning down the music of the car while driving

How can someone driving be so attractive, you watch the way his fingers flex as they curl on the steering wheel

“How could I forget” You smile looking at his face 

“We used to look forward to them all week” He says letting out a laugh

“The arguing over whether to put gummy bears in the popcorn” You say stifling a laugh as you covered your mouth with your hand to hold it in

“They totally melted because you practically burned the popcorn!” Jungwon defends

“Because you didn’t tell me how much time it needed!” You say with a pouty voice

He rolls his eyes smiling, while focusing on the road

“Well I was thinking, why don't we have one tonight?” He says glancing at you

“I mean it doesn't have to be anything extravagant- we could just order something” he offers

“Yeah sure” you say, not hesitating a second

“Okay, um” he chuckles nervously “Ill look for a movie so we don't argue over which one to choose” 

“Because you know I'll win?” you tease

“You never stop until you do” He smiles to himself

-

Jungwon: come on man

Jungwon: can you be serious for like 5 minutes

Jake: i dont watch movies like that tho

Jungwon sighs in frustration, he doesn't know what the hell to put on tonight, which is why he's resorted to asking Jake

Jake: actually i do have something in mind

Jungwon picks up his phone again when he gets the notification

Jungwon: i need an answer like now

Jake: bro chill tf out

Jake: ur overthinking this way too much

Jungwon: just say the movie already im desperate here

3 minutes pass

Jungwon: you’re edging me rn 

Jake: so its only okay when y/n edges you 😒

Jungwon: yes.

Jake: you know damn well she's never done that😂

Jake: 50 shades of grey

Jake: That's the movie

Jungwon: whats it abt?

Jake: It's like a rom com thing, she'll love it. girls usually do

Jungwon: thanks, txt u later

Jake: Have fun 😏

Jungwon puts his phone away before going out to the living room, only to see you there already

“Did you find a movie?” you say looking at him as he walks around till he's in front of you

“Yeah, 50 shades of-” 

You almost choke on air, Jungwon looks at you with a worried face

“50 shades of grey?” you say looking at him like he has two heads

What the hell does he know about that movie?

“Have you seen it?” He tilts his head to the side

“Um- well ive heard of it” You say as he sits next to you on the couch

“Oh, well even better right? we can blind react”

He grabs the remote, going to netflix to look it up

-

What the fuck did Jake reccomend to him.

Jungwon is trying to remain calm with your head on his chest, he can feel his dick straining against his pants

This is pretty much porn. He's pretty much watching porn with you right now.

He managed to put a pillow on his lap so you can't tell how hard he is right now

But you're well aware. With the way his heart is racing under your palm, you're not stupid. 

You know the pillow method guys like to use

Once the sex scene is finished he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding

You grab the remote to pause the movie

“Jungwon, are you good?” You say looking at him 

“Y-yeah im fine”

“Why are you so..fidgety?”

“And what's with the pillow” You raise your eyebrow, knowing exactly what's up with it

You cant help but think how good he looks. Almost pathetic.

You don't give him time to reply before snatching the pillow off his lap, your eyes going wide at the sight in front of you

He's wearing some thin loungepants right now, you can practically make out the shape of it, you can feel yourself already dripping in your underwear at the thought of what it looks like flushed, and leaking

He covers his face in embarrassment, cheeks going pink

“This is so embarrassing y/n-”

He whimpers out the rest of your name when you move your hand along the length of it in his pants

Oh so he's vocal? You smirk at the way he throws his head back

“Did you get turned on by the movie won?” You ask, tone innocent

You feel his dick throb against your hand, you haven't even moved it yet

You move your hand up and down, almost petting it through his pants

“F-fuck” he says looking down at the way you glide your hand over his pants, his mouth hanging open

You don't think twice before smashing your lips against his, he's shocked at first, but melts into it almost immediately

You squeeze him making him moan into your mouth, smiling against his

He lifts his hips desperately moving to get his pants, and underwear off

“Can you take this off too?” you say tugging at his shirt

He immediately complies, leaving him bare

Your eyes go over his biceps, his abs- fuck he looks even better like this

There's just something about the way you’re fully dressed, and he's completely naked beside you, his throbbing dick moving on its own with how hard it is

You press your mouth against his, before moving your hand back to his cock, you don't fully wrap your hand around it, instead deciding to tease him a little..

You put your palm on the tip, rubbing it in slow circles

“Y/n-” he says against your lips, his tongue licking your mouth carelessly, as if he can't go 5 seconds without keeping it in

You wrap your hand around the tip, squeezing it

He lets out a pained moan at that

He's thrusting trying to get you to move your hand

“Desperate now are we?” you say looking down at the way he bucks his hips

“Please” He says through a whimper

“Mm..I think you need to say sorry first..” you say moving your hand to his thigh

He whimpers at the warmness of your hand being taken away

“M’ sorry, im sorry for what I did” He says with a pleading look in his eyes

“For being an attention seeking slut?” You say looking for any sign of lying in his eyes

“Yes! please- im sorry y/n” he looks like he’s about to cry, you almost laugh

You move your hand, working it up and down, fisting his cock

Jungwon is a mumbling mess right now, whispering your name through desperation

“That feels so good-” he says leaning his head back against the couch cushions, exposing his neck

“Does she make you feel this good Jungwon?” you say moving your hand in a slow rhythm

“W-who- no one makes me feel this good”

“So Claire’s never had you like this?” you say, kissing softly near his ear

“A pathetic needy mess beneath her?”

“No! I- I didn’t want her, I wanted it to be you” he says thrusting his cock into the air for any sense of relief

“Yeah?” you say picking up your pace

He nods frantically at that

You move your hand faster as you kiss his neck, gently

You suck on his adams apple picking up your pace

He's thrusting into your hand like a dog in heat

“I'm gonna cum! Please!” he says, lost in the pleasure

You stop moving your hand

He lets out a choked sob

“No- No y/n please, I cant- I need to cum please” He says looking at you with pleading eyes

“I dont think you deserve it though..”

“Ill do anything y/n please, im sorry-”

He watches as you lean against the end of the couch, and take off your shorts, leaving you in your underwear

You spread your legs and his eyes immediately go to your clothed core, your panties are absolutely soaked, he can make out the shape of your pussy with how much they are sticking to your skin right now

Jungwon could care less about his own release when you're sitting here, like his next meal

He gets what your saying right away, moving to position himself between your legs on the couch

He plants small kisses on your inner thigh, making you bite your lip while running your hands through his disheveled hair

“You look so pretty like this” You say and he looks up at you, your pussy clecnches at the sight

He plants a kiss on your clothed clit, gentle, trying to savor this moment

You let out the cutest noise at that, making him smile against you

He buries his nose in between your legs taking a long drag “Fuck you smell so good”

He can feel his dick leaking pre cum at the smell of your natural scent

You can't help but blush

He locks his teeth at the top of your waist band before dragging your underwear down your legs smoothly

His eyes immediately lock with your bare pussy, right before him.

He can't believe what's happening right now.

Your hips buck at the sudden coolness of the air hitting your most sensitive part

He drags his finger along your slit, before bringing it up to his mouth and sucking his finger

“Mmm..tastes even better” He doesnt give you a warning before he's latching his lips onto your clit, sucking it like a lollipop

“F-fuck jungwon!” you say tugging at his hair

He makes out with your pussy in such a sloppy way, it has your juices coating his face right away

You push yourself up against him, grinding upwards on his face

Moaning when he shoves his tongue in your hole, before he's back focusing on your clit, flicking his tongue at such an insane pace your legs start shaking 

He uses his hands to spread your legs further, pushing them up till they're almost touching your chest as he teases you with kitten licks on your sensitive bud

You lift yourself up more to grind on his nose, he takes that as a sign to stretch your hole out with his tongue

“Im gonna cum Jungwon-” 

At that, he grinds on the couch, any sort of friction will do right now- hes fucking desperate 

He moves his tongue faster, at the same way he moves his hips, thrusting into the couch wishing it was you 

You let out the most pornographic moan with his name on your tongue as he slurps anything, and everything your giving him, at the same time he shoots ropes of cum onto the couch beneath him, making a mess, groaning into your pussy

His dick is still throbbing, hard at the thought of what's next

He needs to be inside you. 

You can't even get a word out when he's starts kissing his his way up your body to your mouth

His tongue exploring your mouth further, letting you taste yourself on his tongue 

“W-won” You let out when you feel his fingers slip under your tank top to pull and twist your nipples

“You don't know how long I've been wanting to do that” he says lifting your tank top till its resting above your chest, and instantly grabbing both of your boobs with his hands

You whimper because of how sensitive you are right now

“Next time will you let me fuck your tits?” He asks looking down at you

You nod frantically, the idea of him cumming on your face after that makes your legs tighten around his hips

He sits up slightly guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance, sliding it in slowly

“Shit - you're so fucking tight” he says biting his lip struggling to contain his sounds

He begins moving in and out of you at a slow pace, before picking up his speed fucking in and out of you, you claw at his back leaving marks that will for sure be visible tomorrow

He smiles at the idea of everyone knowing how good he fucks you

You’re moaning in his ear

“You’re taking me so well” He says as he kisses your neck

“W-wait Jungwon” He pauses looking at you

“I wanna ride you-” You say looking up at him with those adorable eyes

He doesn't hesitate, or complain as he moves you both until he sitting down and your on top of him, while still keeping his dick inside you

You hold onto his shoulders before lifting yourself up and back down on him

“Fuck!” He says letting out a choked moan

You repeat that motion over and over again, grinding on his dick, reaching all the right places

He takes your tit in his mouth as his other hand comes to roll your nipple in between his fingers

You hold his head closer to you, grinding down harder as you feel yourself getting closer

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess, his mouth hanging open letting out those pathetic little whimpers you've grown to love

He moves his hand down till he rubs your clit, the same way he was just playing with your nipples, pressing against it with the perfect amount of pressure

“Im close-” you say moving your hips faster

He can feel himself getting close too, his own hips moving so he can thrust into you more, pushing himself deeper 

You feel yourself clenching around his dick as you ride your orgasm out, his cum shooting into you, the warmness of it makes your body twitch around him

“D-dont get up y/n” jungwon says looking up at you again

“I don't want a drop to go to waste” He says looking down at where you two connect

“Then lets stay like this” you say before capturing his lips in a kiss

His body relaxes as you wrap your arms around him

-

Bonus !

“So what im gathering is that you and y/n wouldn’t be dating if it weren't for my expert movie picking skills” Jake says with a proud smirk on his face

“Dude what? IM saying that you set me up for failure with that movie, even if it ended how I wanted-”

“No thank you is crazy..”

“I swear if she stopped being friends with me after that I would have actually killed you”

“Then who would be able to give you such good advice?” Jake says giving jungwon a look of pure pride

“The way you just ignored everything I sa-” He stops when he sees your notification on his phone, swiping up immediately 

You: When will you be home jungwonn 

You: -Image attachment-

He can feel his dick already getting hard 

You: I'm lonely 😕

Jungwon: Dont move, Im on my way right now

You: Okay :)

“Let me guess, y/n” jake says knowingly 

“Sorry man, it's kind of important” Jungwon says shrugging as he gets up

“Yeah you’re easy as fuck” Jake just laughs

“You’ll be just like me when you actually commit to a girl” Jungwon smirks as he grabs his keys from the counter

“You already know im not committing for shit” Jake says proudly

Jungwon just rolls his eyes smiling as he rushes out, making his way to you..

-

We love whimpering pathetic men, especially when its Jungwon

Hope you guys liked, this was sitting in my drafts for a while

Thank you for reading <3

@yenienha

[jaylaxies]

MOVE THROUGH ME

PAIRING: heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, porn with plot, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cunnilingus, heavy makeout sessions, fingering, shower sex, manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mentions of drinking/alcohol, usage of nicknames, mentions of jake, mentions of food, lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 19.7k words.

SYNOPSIS: You weren’t supposed to take this trip alone. However, after freeing yourself from the shackles of a failed relationship, you decided you deserve a break from the real world—never imagining the man you’d run into there would shatter your calm, derail your plans, and walk off with your hotel keycard as if it belonged to him, all while claiming that he hates tourists.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi loves <3 im back with another long fic gawd, it was so fun to write, ily @prkhaven for helping me w spanish and ily @wonmuse for encouraging me to write <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

SCENE ONE. A change of scenery. 

The sun setting into the horizon was all you could observe from your cramped up window seat. 

“Ladies and gentleman, we have begun our descent into Costa Brava. Please be certain your seat back is straight up and your seat belt is fastened. The local time is two p.m.”

You felt a tinge of excitement inside of you as the announcement went on. For the first time in months—years, you felt like you were moving forward, quite literally. Your phone was still on airplane mode, but the last text from your ex still burned in your mind. 

With a long sigh, you pressed your head on the cool surface of the window, watching the blue sea shimmer below, your eyes closing as you recall the events of the past few days. 

A montage, little fleeting moments of your friends warning you, of you trying your best to salvage your relationship, of your now ex boyfriend betraying you, of you running out crying. 

You’d promised yourself this trip would be a reset. No more crying over texts you shouldn’t have read, but you’re glad you did. No more pacing your room, asking what you did wrong with no more tears left to cry. This trip wasn’t meant to heal you—it was meant to remind you that life is much more than a failed relationship. 

Still, as the wheels touched the runway with a jolt, your heart fluttered with anticipation. The weight of what you’d left behind mixed with the faint excitement of what might come next, the thought enough made your lips curl up. 

Needless to say, you were completely distracted from your own thoughts as you somehow managed to clear the customs and acquire your luggage from the baggage area seamlessly, looking around to find a myriad of attractive people swarming the place as it was the vacation time. 

Getting a taxi wasn’t hard either, you had done your fair share of research, seeing how this was meant to be a couples trip, which sadly, or rather, thankfully, wasn’t the case anymore. 

You watched the coastline unfurl outside the taxi window like something pulled out of a daydream. Terracotta rooftops, and the architecture you’d only ever seen on your Pinterest before, and you were here now, in flesh. 

Just—not in the way you had planned.

The taxi curved down a narrow hill, tires crunching over the gravel, and the town came into w, the glittering sea on one side, cafés cluttered with pastel chairs on the other. People laughed freely, missing the exact heaviness you’d been drowning in for months now. You tried to imagine yourself fitting into that sound, you wished you’d be able to do it. 

It wasn’t your fault, that was the only thing that kept you going, your mood uplifting the second you reached your hotel, checking in with the staff being absolute sweethearts towards you. It was a big room, big enough for two. After freshening up, you checked your phone to inform your frantic friends that you were indeed alive. 

Y/N ARE YOU ALIVE?

yunjin 💗: did u land yet??  kazu: answer before we call the embassy ffs  isa: SEND US A SELFIE RN.  you: guys im alive and well thanks 🫡 yunjin: OH FINALLY isa: make sure you hook up w hot men  kazu: ISA?? TOO EARLY  you: nah she’s right you: im here to have fun 😋

You laughed, taking in a deep breath and nodding to yourself. 

You weren’t gonna let yourself crumble and cry in such a beautiful place, not when you were finally free from the shackles of fake love. 

SCENE TWO. It’s just water, you’ll live. 

It felt like a whole different world as you wandered around the streets with no direction in your mind whatsoever, simply breezing through wherever the crowd took you. There was a genuine smile on your face, something you were experiencing after the longest time, breathing in the view, the terracotta walls, and balconies adorned with flowers. 

You stopped to purchase a cold bottle of water from the tiny convenience store nearby with postcards hanging from the strings and a small cat napping on the counter. 

Just as you uncapped the bottle, stepping outside yet again, you collided hard on something, or rather, someone. 

The impact was hard enough for you to lose your balance, which resulted in your bottle falling right on him, soaking the material of his T-shirt, with a few drops landing on your chest as he raised his arm, perhaps on impulse, to grab your waist in a swift move. 

For a second, you were pressed up against this stranger, your eyes moving up to find his warm brown ones staring down at you with shock, jaw clenched as sweat cascaded down his chiseled nose, falling right on your clavicle. 

It was hard not to stare at the man, breathing hard as he had been running, hair wavy and messy in a way that looked straight out of a photoshoot, a light tan gracing his honey like skin. Both of you stayed that way for a moment, as if in a K-drama, before awareness flickered through his expression. 

The very next second, he loosened his grip on you so abruptly, it had you stumbling, and finally, falling down on your ass as he muttered something under his breath, running his slender fingers through his curls, allowing more sweat to fall down on the pavement. 

His white T-shirt now clung to his chest, being fully soaked, revealing everything—from his shoulders to his pecs, yet he was focused on the patch that covered his abdomen, fuming as if he got soaked with paint instead of, well, just water. 

“What the fuck?” You screeched up at him without thinking twice, making his eyebrow shoot up with a look screaming incredulous. 

“Yeah, what the fuck was that?” He asked, voice smoother than you expected, yet laced with every bit of annoyance and anger he could muster. 

“Me? You ran into me!”  You retorted, grabbing your bag and getting up yet again, wincing at how weird the situation was.

“This, you see, is a pedestrian street, not a place to launch yourself out of a shop, mierda (shit),” he scoffed, accent evident in his voice, muttering the last word to himself. 

“Woah, stop right there. I walked out normally—you were running as if a bull was chasing you.”

“Hah,” he said, letting out a humorous laugh, looking at you yet again, “bulls see where they go, they don’t just run into anyone,” he lets out, making his point. 

You joined his humour, “that’s amazing! Maybe learn a thing or two from them then, yeah?” 

He stared at you, eyes narrowing as if he couldn’t believe you were still talking back. He never really liked tourists, but you? You somehow made the whole situation worse just by this one lovely interaction. 

“This is unbelievable,” he muttered, switching back to Spanish to say something like por dios, which you were sure, meant nothing good. 

“Yeah, you are,” you said, stepping up, all your frustration coming out, especially now. 

He scoffed, looking you up and down, as if to judge you, pure annoyance on his face as he couldn’t understand why you weren’t backing down, why you wished to have the final word, it wasn’t something he was used to. 

His eyes flicked to your face, lingering to take in your clenched jaw, glossed—parted lips, water droplets still scattered across your clavicle. He gulped, looking away without meaning to, and you only gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Try not to spill drinks on others, some of us won’t be as nice.”

“Oh—you’re the rudest person I’ve ever met, let’s see who tops that—and that’s just water, you’ll live,” you nodded to mock him, rolling your eyes right after, walking away. 

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek before he laughed, shaking his head to himself, turning around to look at your figure walking away, “tourists,” he muttered under his breath, shaking the water off of his tee before running away. 

While you ran into an alleyway, closing your eyes as your cheeks heated up, with anger or from randomly procuring a hot nemesis on your first day in Costa Brava, “oh god,” you muttered, throwing the now empty bottle into a trash can and walking away. 

Both of you hoping that you don’t run into each other again. 

SCENE THREE. Thrice in a day?

After spending the whole day storming through the coast line of Costa Brava like the main character throwing a dramatic rage fit (which was very apt for you), you finally reach your hotel room again, mind elsewhere, cussing out someone for their audacity. 

Your phone buzzed as you changed, deciding that you needed a drink or two to get through everything that had happened. Your three friends were anxiously waiting for updates, and so with a sigh, you plopped down on the bed, answering your phone. 

“Y/N!” 

“Finally! Oh god, where have you been?”

“Did you find someone hot yet?” 

You chuckled at the last one, “well, yes, a lot of hot people roam around here, shirtless at that.”

Others squealed, Isa only getting more curious, “so, did you talk to anyone?”

Your mind drifted back to the man who bumped into you earlier, “I did, and before you say anything—he wasn’t hot,” you lied smoothly, proceeding to tell them what happened, expecting them to be mad at the dude, but rather, they chose to fangirl over the moment, calling it your enemies to lovers arc. 

“Can we be serious for one second, please?” You sighed, “It’s not like I’m gonna run into him ever again,” you said. 

“You never know,” Kazuha sang out. 

“I don’t wanna know,” you groaned, throwing your arm over your eyes, “I have no idea why this is pissing me off so bad, I want him erased from my memory.”

Yunjin giggled, “girl you remember the way he looks and you’ve been thinking about him non- stop, that’s saying a lot.”

“That’s saying nothing,” you retorted. 

“It says that he was hot,” said Kazhua. 

“Was he? Be for real right now,” askedIsa. 

You opened your mouth, hesitating to speak for a second for absolutely no reason, which was a fatal mistake as they took your silence as a yes for an answer. 

Before they could scream any further, you ended the call, throwing your phone on the side. Shaking your head, you grabbed your phone again, googling some bars around the hotel area, ignoring the spamming texts from your friends—you really needed a drink now. 

Most seemed like tourist spots with neon lights and overpriced drinks, however, one did stand out to you, and it was merely six minutes away from your hotel. You didn’t bother thinking twice about it, soon changing into something that didn’t have specks of dust covering the fabric, your skin still warm from the day, and a faint sheen of gloss on your lips made you look slightly more put-together than you felt.

The moment you stepped outside, the evening air wrapped around you like a warm blanket, the slight breeze felt even better, the sky had deepened into a watercolor gradient of stunning blues, the kind of colour that makes you wanna stop and stare. 

Couples strolled along the sidewalk, hands linked—a sight that made your heart hurt, but you also felt free from the shackles of a relationship that wasn’t working out, maybe you had left him behind long ago, maybe you were hoping things would change, and it did hurt, but you weren’t going to hold on to something that won’t even be in your future. 

You chuckled to yourself as locals laughed outside cafés, swirling wine in half-filled glasses, distracting yourself. Even the stray cats seemed to have somewhere important to be.

Meanwhile, you reached La Mariposa, the bar you were looking for. The name alone felt right, it was beautiful with a wooden sign hung above the entrance, some paintings hung around it. 

It wasn’t too loud as you walked in, warmth engulfing you, along with the essence of citrus and alcohol, as you looked around to find the cozy, dim lit place, which was bigger than most bars you had visited. 

Shelves behind the counter shimmered with jewel-toned bottles, arranged like stained glasses, deep crimson liquors catching the low light, refracting tiny glints across the room. A few locals leaned on the bar, sipping from short glasses, murmuring in Catalan and Spanish, way beyond your understanding of the languages. A couple sat tucked into a booth with their heads bent close, laughing quietly.

You exhaled, shoulders dropping for the first time all day. If cities had hearts, this place felt like Costa Brava’s. You drifted toward the counter, fingertips brushing the smooth wood of a stool before you settled into it. The leather was warm from the last occupant. Your pulse slowed, unwinding from the afternoon’s debacle. You deserved a drink. You deserved ten drinks actually. 

A voice somewhere behind the bar called out to someone, deep and smooth, and somehow, oddly familiar.

You frowned, blinking and shaking your head, because there’s no way the universe would do this to you, not today at least. Not twice in one day.

You leaned forward, peering over the counter as a figure moved in the dim lighting. Broad shoulders came into view first, then a familiar silhouette, which you couldn’t forget despite coming across it only once. He was tall, lean, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, wavy hair messed up, and a thin chain dangling at the base of his throat, which made you stare at his Adam’s apple for a solid second. 

He stepped closer, turning toward you with a towel slung over one shoulder, and you wondered if it was a good time to just leave the place, granted you could go elsewhere for your own sake of sanity. 

Just as you moved a smidge, his warm brown eyes landed on you, the smile on his face vanished right that second, the towel slipping off of his shoulder. The look on his face could be described as one of pure, utter disbelief, a humorous scoff leaving his lips. 

“De ninguna manera (no way),” he muttered, half amused, half angry.

You shook your head, “trust me, I’m equally as horrified.” 

You peeked at the name tag on his button up, Heeseung. 

“Out of every bar in this coastline,” he trailed off.

“It’s not like I planned it! Why are you everywhere, huh?” 

“This is my bar. You walked into my place of work, and now you’re asking me why I’m here?” He replied, spreading his arms, a brow raised. 

“You run this place?” You almost screeched out, eyes widened. 

He smirked, pressing his palms flat on the counter, “I own this place.”

“Oh,” you let out before you could stop yourself.

His smirk deepened just a little, pride flickering across his face like he enjoyed that tiny reaction more than he should’ve.

“Yeah,” he said, tapping the counter lightly with his knuckles, “oh.”

You straightened, narrowing your eyes at him, “well, congratulations, I guess. On owning this.”

“This,” he echoed, glancing around the room with a lazy sweep of his gaze, “was peaceful before you walked in.”

You sighed again, grabbing your handbag as he stared at you with the kind of intensity you could feel on your skin, making your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. 

He straightened right after, grabbing a clean glass, movements sharp and very well practiced. 

“Well, since you’re already here,” he said, pulling bottles off the shelf with confident flicks of his wrist, “what do you want?”

“Yeah, no. I wanna leave,” you said.

He ignored that entirely, which was surprising for him too, “great. I’ll make you something.”

“I didn’t order—”

“You look like you need something strong,” he interrupted, pouring clear alcohol over ice, “and something sweet to keep you from arguing with me all night.”

“I am not arguing—”

He didn’t even look at you, “you are arguing.”

“I’m simply clarifying.”

“That’s tourist lingo for arguing.”

You scoffed, glaring at him, “do you ever stop talking?”

He finally looked up, locking eyes with you across the counter, “I do,” he murmured, “when people stop spilling things on me.”

You sighed, however, not being able to look away, which wasn’t the best as he looked annoyingly good. His chain caught the golden bar light, shining, his rolled sleeves exposed lean arms.

And the faint glisten on his collarbones was definitely from the heat—though it made it very hard to focus on the conversation, which had thankfully stopped now. 

He shook the drink, each motion effortless, too confident for someone so irritating. When he finally poured the drink and slid the glass toward you, his fingers brushed the wood with a precision that nearly felt, well, seductive.

“There,” he said softly, “a Mariposa Garden. Personalized.”

“You personalized a drink for me?” you asked, suspicious.

He tilted his head, eyes dropping to your mouth for a split second, “I’m telling you, I read people.”

You lifted the glass to your lips, glancing his way for a moment. 

He leaned in slightly, “be careful, tourist, try not to spill that, too.”

You rolled your eyes before taking in a sip—the sip that had you regretting your whole life, coughing as your throat burned with the abomination of the drink you just had. 

“W—What the f—fuck is this?” You choked, grabbing the counter as if it was gonna save you.

Heeseung’s expression didn’t change much, but his eyes—oh his eyes were full of delight. 

“Hm, didn’t like it, señorita?” He asked, pretending to be innocent. 

“I swear even bleach would taste better,” you sputtered. 

Heeseung clicked his tongue, “exageración.”

“No,” you croaked, wiping your tongue with a napkin, “you did that on purpose.”

His lips twitched—finally letting the smugness see through, “oh come on, it wasn’t that bad. You needed something strong, I just provided you with that,” he shrugged. 

You shook your head, “you’re insane,” you whispered. 

From the corner of your eye, another voice joined the conversation. 

“Whoa. You always treat customers this sweetly, Hee?” A tall guy with beach tousled hair and a glint in his eye slid into the seat beside you, he looked like a prince—prince Eric to be exact. Like your childhood crush had come alive. His black shirt was open at the collar, gold chain peeking out, and his cologne smelled clean, yet expensive. “Because if so, I need to visit more often.” He continued, flashing you his perfect smile. 

“Oh no,” Heeseung muttered.

“Hola,” the new guy said, turning to you again, “I’m Jake.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to talk to him, granted he was Heeseung’s friend, but he did seem nice, “uh, hi?”

He extended a hand with an exaggerated flair, “enchantadora, and you are?”

“Not in the mood right now actually,” you muttered, not meaning to be rude, but Heeseung had ruined it already.

You took his hand anyway, because you were raised well, at least you thought so.

Jake didn’t seem fazed by any means, “that’s a gorgeous name.”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling now, telling him your name, and he repeated it right after you. He had a slight Australian accent in his tone. 

“Thank you,” you let yourself smile, his own being too contagious. 

Jake leaned in as Heeseung rolled his eyes, “so, how long have you been in the town?”

“Just got here today,” you replied. 

“Perfecto, I’m lucky I caught you here before you found some other tour guide.”

“Damn, Jake, are you offering?” You leaned in further, much to Heeseung’s dismay. 

He pressed a hand to his chest, as if offended, “offering? Mi amor, I’m begging. I’ve lived here for three years. I know every beach worth swimming, every café worth falling in love in—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Heeseung muttered from behind the counter, slamming a shaker down a little too hard.

You and Jake both turned to him with a bored expression. 

“Problem?” Jake asked, voice still light, but his brows raised.

“Estás actuando como un golden retriever en celo (you’re acting like a golden retriever in heat),” Heeseung said under his breath.

Jake only grinned, “Por qué ye preocupas tanto? Creí que no veías turistas románticamente (why are you so bothered? I thought you didn’t see tourists romantically).”

“I’m literally still here,” you interrupted, raising a hand between them.

“I’d rather you be elsewhere.” Heeseung said, harsher than intended and you could see just how irritated he was with this whole situation. 

You let out a condescending laugh, “yeah, I think I’d rather not be around an asshole too.”

You slammed a few bills on the wooden table, not noticing the spare room card getting mixed with the cash as you grabbed your bag and proceeded to leave. 

“Wait!” Jake ran after you, giving you his number as Heeseung tapped the wood, watching you give him yet another smile as you saved his number, “call me whenever you need me, or miss me, mi amor.”

With that, you were gone. 

Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding the second the door shut behind you. Jake strolled back to the bar with a triumphant grin, spinning his phone between his fingers, clicking his tongue.

“She likes me,” he said simply, sliding back onto the stool you’d left warm. “She totally smiled when I gave her my number. You saw that, right? But that was rude, Hee, why’d you say that?”

Heeseung didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up the bills you’d slammed down—his fingers stilling when he noticed the familiar blue edge of a hotel key card nestled among the cash. He knew the place, being a few minutes away from his bar. He pulled it out slowly, shaking his head. 

Jake leaned in, clocking the motion immediately. “Is that her room key?”

Heeseung’s jaw clenched, “looks like it.”

Jake reached for it with a smirk, “I’ll take it back to her. She likes me, remember?”

Heeseung’s grip tightened, “yeah, no.”

Jake stared at him, “what? Come on, she already thinks you’re a dick. Let me be the knight in shining—”

“I said no,” Heeseung muttered, shoving the key card into his back pocket and giving Jake a look that ended the conversation, but not for him.

Jake raised both hands in surrender, eyes narrowing playfully, “you are acting weird, man.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes didn’t bother replying, getting back to his work as the crowd grew bigger. Only after twenty minutes had passed, he finally handed the work to the part timer who came for his night shift and untied his apron, tossing it onto the counter.

“Watch the bar.” He told Jake.

He chuckled, grabbing a glass to polish as he called after him, “Tell her I say hi. And that she looked very cute when she smiled at me.”

Heeseung didn’t answer—just pushed open the door and disappeared into the night, the key card, wondering how he got caught up in this mess. He could have easily let Jake deliver it back to you, but somehow, he didn’t think it was over. 

The way you left his bar, calling him an asshole, the conversation should have been over, he didn’t wish to talk to you anymore, however, deep inside him, he knew it wasn’t over—he wanted to argue more. 

Something about you just ticked him off.

Meanwhile, upstairs in your hotel room, which you’d gotten into using the spare key you had, you were scrolling through Jake’s contact in your phone, lips pursed as you stared at the little heart emoji he’d put beside his name.

Jake 🌊❤️

“Ridiculous, but damn he was cute,” you muttered, tossing your phone on the bed. 

You had washed up, changing into your comfy shorts, all ready to call it a night, especially with the insane day you’ve had. So, when someone knocked on your door, you wondered what even was left. 

Could it be room service? But you hadn’t ordered anything. Cleaning service? They don’t come at such hour. You simply groaned, getting up and walking towards the door to check if someone had accidentally mistaken your room for someone else’s, only to be shocked seeing the man in front of you, yet again. 

“You—” 

There stood Heeseung, leaning against the door frame, holding something between two fingers, something that looked a lot like—your key card? 

“Yeah, no way. Are you stalking me now? How did you even get that?” 

He didn’t even react as if he knew you’d accuse him, “you left this at my bar.”

“And you somehow felt kind enough to bring it back to me all the way to my room?”

He scoffed, raising his brow, “you think I’d waste my night following you around? You of all people?” 

“Exactly, you could have just given it to Jake, who, might I just add—would have been more happy to play my knight in shining armour.”

“I don’t trust him enough to come back, besides I need him to bartend the place right now.”

“What about you then? You’re the owner.” You raised your brow, reaching out to grab the card from him. 

He only moved back, raising his hand so you couldn’t reach the card, then he proceeded to do even worse by putting the card in the back pocket of his pants. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I don’t think you deserve to get it back, señorita,”

You sighed, head hurting now, “you really came here just to argue with me, huh?” 

“Figured you’d be happy, maybe thank me, but I see you’re just a brat.” He looked at your lips, voice deeper. 

Your breath hitched, wondering how you got yourself into this situation, even more so when he stood so close to you despite the fact that he made it clear that he hated you. Maybe he hated you to the point he wished for you to leave the city, but then why was he staring at you like that? Your legs felt weaker, you were tired and so you shook your head.

“You’re not getting anything. Y’know what? Just take the card with you and leave, okay?”

His mouth tipped, not quite a smile, “gladly.”

You reached for his pocket on instinct—which was a bad move. He caught your wrist, palm warm, and the tiny shock of contact stalled you both. For a beat, you just looked at each other. His lashes lowered, he tugged you the smallest bit closer, breath grazing your cheek, making your heart beat out of your chest.

No, there was no way this man was holding you close right now, your life wasn’t supposed to be this dramatic. This trip was supposed to help you relax, not spike your blood pressure. 

“Let go, Heeseung,” you said his name out for the first time.

That somehow made it worse, he gulped mindlessly, as your other palm found his chest to push him back, and you spoke out his name yet again, finally bringing him back to reality, he let go of your wrist, stepping back into the hallway. 

You didn’t question anything, more focused on watching the man messing up his hair and walking away with your spare key. 

“Oh my god,” you muttered to yourself, slamming the door shut hard enough for Heeseung to hear as you proceeded to lock it, rushing back to your bed, grabbing the nearest pillow to scream into it, then you texted your friends. 

Meanwhile, Jake stared at Heeseung with a smirk, who looked dazed while doing his job—how he got the drinks right even while being this distracted was beyond Jake’s understanding. That simply annoyed him more, because Heeseung was never one to be this worked up, especially over someone he met not even a day ago. 

“You’re acting weird, did something happen?” Jake asked, leaning in with interest. 

“Shut up. Nothing happened. What would even happen, huh?” 

“Woah, woah—no need to get all worked up over this,” he replied, “so something did happen. Don’t worry bro, I’ll make it work.”

Heeseung groaned, “there’s nothing to make work here.”

Jake only clicked his tongue, looking at Heeseung yet again.

“Just you wait, it’s bound to happen.”

SCENE FOUR. I’m not that nice, but I’ll play along. 

Jake 🌊❤️: need a tour guide for the day, mi amor? 

The notification flashed just as you were having a full on run down of your day with the girls on facetime, who had an incredulous look on their faces, especially when you mentioned the last bit of your past night as you applied makeup, getting ready for the day. 

“You can’t be serious, he actually took away the card?” 

“After pinning you to the wall?” 

Yunjin smirked, “did he look hot doing it? Did it feel good?”

You scrunched your nose, “of course not, and wait—do you even realize how wrong your question is?”

“You’re just avoiding the answer,” Isa sang. 

“Am not!” 

“You so are,” Kazhua added. 

“This is not a k-drama, guys,” you rolled your eyes, looking at the incoming texts. 

Jake 🌊❤️: be ready in 30, meet me at the lobby, carry spare clothes in case you get wet you: define wet Jake 🌊❤️: use any definition you like baby ;)

“Alright girls, I’m gonna go, I’ll keep you updated.”

You leaned against the wall, sighing before going to the balcony, staring at the pretty beach view, families enjoying their time together, the sky was clear, the very shade of blue you adored, “day two here and I’m already getting involved with his friend,” you laughed in disbelief. 

But then again, you had nothing planned for you, no itinerary by any means as you were going to visit wherever your now ex wanted to. It’s kinda pathetic how you were willing to accommodate every single wish of his while keeping your own interests aside. 

So, you managed to shove your towel and a change of clothes into your linen tote, having worn your swimwear underneath your sundress already, adding sunscreen and your lippies alongside your wallet. 

You were glowing as you looked into the mirror, and you swore that getting ready for yourself gave you the best outcomes. With your bag over your shoulder, you gave yourself one final look before heading down to the lobby. 

Jake was already waiting in the lobby, legs crossed casually on one of the cream-coloured sofas, sunglasses perched on his head and phone in hand, hair messy, and biting his plump bottom lip. He looked up the second you stepped out, the grin forming so easily it made you squint at him.

“You clean up nice, turística.” He stood up with a smooth stretch, giving you a once over that somehow felt more amused than lustful, his shirt rising up as he did so, “you ready for a little fun?”

“Just a little?” You asked, raising your brow. 

“Just enough for you to think about extending your little stay,” he smirked. 

You rolled your eyes, taking his arm that he ever so happily extended, walking out and towards the car. Turning around the corner, you came across a beautiful, sleek dark convertible, definitely expecting it to not have any passengers inside, or any driver. But to your absolute dismay, there was a sun kissed man sitting right on the driver’s seat with sunglasses perched on his head. 

He had his elbow propped up the side of the door, eyes on you—Heeseung. 

You turned to give Jake a look of betrayal, “you didn’t mention that I’d be third wheeling here.”

“Woah,” he raised his hands in surrender, “it’s his car, bebé, had to drag him along.”

You groaned, sighing right after, planning on getting into the backseat, but Jake was quick, opening the passenger door, “after you.”

“Wait—me? There?” You looked at him, incredulous. 

He leaned in, “you’re not scared of him, are you, princesa?” 

You shook your head slowly, annoyed that he knew exactly what to say to get you there, and so you did, without once looking at Heeseung, who stared your way shamelessly, your keycard still with him. Jake got in as well, too excited for anyone’s liking.

“Seatbelt?” Heeseung asked, looking your way.

“You’re not wearing it either,” you retorted, now looking his way, slightly shocked by the level of intensity his stare held. 

“Yeah, but you need it, can’t have you dying,” he replied as you stared at his unbuttoned shirt, his faint abs and v-line was definitely impressive. 

When you didn’t reply for two seconds, he huffed in annoyance, leaning in as you barely even registered his movement until the click of the seatbelt snapped into place. 

The back of his knuckles brushed against the top of your thigh as he adjusted the belt, and his chest hovered close enough to yours that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. Your eyes flicked up instinctively the second his head turned. His pointy nose grazed your cheek, just a hint of his skin on yours yet it was enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

He didn’t mean to do that by any means, you knew it and so even as his breath hitched, his eyes still lingered just beside your temple, close enough that if you turned, your lips might brush his.

He couldn’t smell anything else but your scent, it was so addictive, so clean, it made him suddenly aware of the way his shirt clung slightly to his chest and how warm the car had gotten.

Jake’s voice broke the silence from the backseat, and you both moved to your assigned corners just as he said, “I mean, if you two are done playing a silent telenovela, the beach does close after sundown and we can’t have the lady not enjoying it.”

“Lo siento (sorry),” Heeseung muttered, focusing on the car now. 

You looked out the window, hiding your face now which was clearly heating up, meanwhile Heeseung was right, the road was rocky and you needed the belt to stay in place. How he stayed in place was a mystery to you. It was a silent ride for most part, besides Jake talking to you and Spanish pop music playing on the speakers. Ever so often, you risked a glance to your left, catching the profile of the driver, especially at his one hand resting lazily on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh to the beat, the same hand that held you close last night. 

It was annoying actually, how you were hyper aware of him not knowing that he was the same for you, it was even worse how you both just hated each other and now, you had to spend the day together. 

How convenient. 

You reached the beach in twenty minutes, though it definitely felt longer. It wasn’t crowded, just a quiet inlet, the sand golden and warm under the sun, the sea impossibly blue, running straight into jagged rocks that curved around the shore. A few people were scattered across towels, music playing low from someone’s speaker.

Jake let out a content sigh as he stepped out, stretching his arms to the sky, “my favourite,” he said, proudly, “told you I don’t disappoint, didn’t I?”

You slipped out of the passenger seat silently, holding your tote close and squinting at the water. It really was beautiful, and it had you smiling genuinely, one of your favourite shades of blue, you paused and stared. 

“Be careful,” Heeseung said, walking past you, “the tide is unpredictable here.”

You glanced at him, watching as he headed to the shaded area beneath a cluster of trees, laying down the cooler and towels without waiting for help or response, his muscles flexing as he did so. With a sigh, you closed your eyes. You couldn’t slap yourself right now, granted you were in public, but you wanted to—just so you could tell your mind to shut up and stop looking at him. 

“Is he always like this?” you muttered to Jake as he joined you with a shrug.

“Pretty much, but at least he cares, and I forced him to come so, can’t really say much. Just try smiling at him, he might actually admit he’s in love with you.”

“Excuse me?” You pushed Jake away, laughing at the statement, “you’ve gone mad, señor.” You tried to incorporate the word he taught you. 

Jake laughed along, walking closer to the water, “you’d be surprised,” he said, as if he knew something. 

“What do you mean?” You tilted your head. 

“You’ll see,” he just smiled, biting his bottom lip.

Jake gave you a wink before jogging off into the shallows, the sun catching the wet strands of his hair as he dove into the surf all excited. Heeseung, on the other hand, hadn’t moved from his shaded spot. He sat with one knee bent, arm resting over it, staring at the laptop, seemingly working. It was the first time you’d ever seen someone using a laptop on the beach. 

“Damn,” you muttered, finally working on enjoying your day as you peeled your sundress off in one slow tug, feeling the light breeze over your skin. Heeseung didn’t look, not even for a second, and somehow you were glad that he was distracted.

You made your way into the water, the sand soft beneath your feet, the warmth of the sun melting into your shoulders, relaxing you. Jake splashed you immediately, arms wide as he grinned like a devil. 

“This is the life ¿no?”

“Well, It is the life for you,” you laughed, brushing water from your lashes, “not sure about me yet, but I really love it.” You loved the water, you loved beaches, and this one felt different, so calm, at peace. 

He swam closer, “you’ll warm up to it. Or maybe you are already warm,” he teased, eyes flicking toward the shore.

You followed his glance and found Heeseung still seated, still working, but eyes not at the screen anymore, rather, he was staring at you both, or maybe just you. The second your eyes met, he looked away.

Something curled low in your stomach and you weren’t sure what it was, but it left your mind as you continued swimming around and splashing water with Jake, however, when the next wave came and you stumbled slightly, just enough for your hand to shoot out on instinct.

You almost expected Jake to be the one holding you, him being close by, but it was Heeseung instead, your eyes widened as you breathed hard. When did he even move? His hand was around your wrist again, the same one he’d held the night before. His palm wrapped firm, the water slick between your skin, heat radiating from the short distance between your bodies, him being shirtless now. 

“Told you to be careful,” he said, almost angry, somewhat frustrated. 

You blinked a few times, “I was fine, and I can swim.” You said instead of saying a thank you, only because his tone didn’t sit right with you. 

His eyes lingered for a moment too long before he let go with a sigh, he turned without a word, wading farther into the water as if nothing had happened, 

Jake swam by with a grin, he was having the time of his life, “that man I swear, he moves like a ghost.”

You exhaled, trying to steady your breath, the ocean suddenly colder without him near. Meanwhile, Heeseung was silently cursing under his breath. He shouldn’t have come, he should’ve ignored Jake’s pleas to take you both out, and somehow he did. 

You returned to the shallows, arms crossed loosely over your chest, eyes drawn to him in spite of yourself, you named that feeling annoyance. He was good looking, there was no denying that, the sun catching on his skin, carving the sharp angles of his back in shadow. It was maddening, the kind that had you closing your eyes and feeling the water to stay grounded, and it did help, or so you convinced yourself. 

Jake was quick to splash more water at you, which was great because you got distracted, splashing back at him now as he shook his head, trying to get the water out, but he only looked like a puppy doing so, it hit your shoulder, cold and shocking enough to drag a laugh out of you before you could stop it. You turned on him instantly, scooping water with both hands and throwing it back without thinking much. 

Jake whooped, ducking too late, hair plastered to his forehead as he chuckled. That’s basically prince Eric in flesh, he was a pretty boy, you agreed.

“Traitor,” you accused, already splashing again as he kept on ducking. 

He grinned, eyes bright, splashing back with zero restraint, enjoying himself in the moment. Water slapped against your skin and it felt peaceful as it did so. Your swim suit clung to your body, cooling you even further, and you forgot yourself for a few seconds—forgot the week before. Forgot every little thing that bothered your existence for a while. 

Then you aimed at Jake again, who was simply waiting for you to make a move, almost too calculated as he moved around, letting the water go a little farther than you had intended, and landing square against a solid chest. 

The silence that came after that was fast and awkward, like the sea itself had paused to watch the scene that was about to unfold. 

Heeseung didn’t flinch, simply standing there, water cascading down the lines of his torso, dripping from his jaw, darkening the waistband of his already soaked shorts. He turned slowly, eyes lifting to meet yours, and you looked at Jake, who seemed to be the happiest person alive watching the interaction. 

“Uh—that was—” you started, clearly finding the situation hilarious, not thinking your words through. 

Jake then lifted his hands, “it was her, I didn’t do it—that was entirely her.”

You glared at him, giving him the usual look of betrayal before pointing at Jake, “It was him, I aimed at Jake and he ducked.”

“So I noticed,” muttered Heeseung. 

He wiped water from his face with his hand and looked at you again, actually stared at you as if he was measuring the distance.

You crossed your arms, “okay listen, If you’re going to say something about tourists and personal space again—”

But to your surprise, he didn’t even bother saying anything, simply making his way towards where you were standing. One second he was a few steps away, the next he was close enough that the water between you churned. His hand came out, closing around your wrist before you could as much as react. The contact snapped through you, the cool water juxtaposing the warmth of his skin, his grip firm on you. 

You sucked in a breath, eyes wide as you stared at Jake to get some sort of help, to no avail, “what are you—”

Before the sentence could finish, his other arm slid around your waist and he lifted you clean out of the water with ease, the whole situation dramatic enough for Jake’s eyes to widen as he gasped, smiling while he rested his palm on his lips. 

Your feet left the sand, water streaming down your calves, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders for balance. Warmth flared where your body met his, the sudden absence of water making everything feel even worse, or hot, or something you couldn’t even name.

“Hey,” you protested, half laughing at the ridiculousness of the moment, however also fully shocked, “put me down!”

“No,” he said, already moving toward the shore, acting as if he was unbothered, as if his skin wasn’t burning where your bodies met, as if he hated your existence. 

Jake burst out laughing. “I told you,” he called after you both, “he’s a menace.”

You squirmed, more out of principle than actual resistance, still trying to free yourself, “oh come on—this is unnecessary.”

“So is throwing water at me,” Heeseung replied, his tongue poking his cheek, gaze fixed ahead, but his hands didn’t loosen. If anything, they steadied you, thumbs pressing briefly into your sides, both of you going silent for a second as you felt how your body fit against his. 

All that squirming but you didn’t actually pull away, well, until he let go, throwing you into the water with ease, the waves swallowing your yelp as you kicked your way up again, blinking the sting from your lashes, and gasping when you came up.

He was already a few steps back, the water lapping at his hips, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself for your linking. 

You pushed your hair out of your face, “are you fucking insane?”

Jake cackled like a child, clapping now, “Oh my god,” he shouted, “you actually did it!”

“Glad I could entertain,” Heeseung muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. His mouth twitched, like he was holding back a smirk.

You stood up now, dripping, hair plastered to your neck. Heeseung’s eyes dropped for a second, just a flicker honestly, before lifting again, as nonchalant as ever. But he’d looked, and you were sure of it.

The corner of your lip curled upward, in fake amusement, “that was pathetic,” you said, stepping forward through the water, “seriously, what are you, twelve?”

He just uncrossed his arms, letting them fall to his sides. The muscles in his forearms flexing as he did, veins slightly visible from how tight his skin pulled when wet, “you said you can swim.”

“Oh, I get it,” you went on, toeing the line now, “you’re the type of guy who thinks tossing a girl in the ocean is some kind of—what? Flirting?”

He clicked his tongue, playing along, “well, did it work?”

Your mouth was open in shock now, and yes, you were speechless with the sudden shift in his tone, not expecting that reply by any means. Not being able to answer, you splashed water directly at Heeseung’s face.

His hands flew up too late, and you caught him square on the cheek. His brows shot up, a huff leaving his lips as he wiped his jaw, sending droplets flying. Then—oh god help you—he smiled. An actual fucking smile.

And somehow, it was worse than the glares he threw your way, worse than the arguments because, god, was it beautiful, slightly crooked on one side, faint dimple barely showing, perfect teeth grazing his bottom lip. You stared, way too stunned for half a second, and he made good use of it, surging forward in the water and sending a wave your way with both arms.

You shrieked, turned too late, and the wave hit your back, drenching you all over again. When you turned around, he was already smirking.

“Now that was pathetic, ,” he said, water dripping from his lashes.

“Oh, you’re so dead.”

“Come try, señorita.”

Jake threw his hands up, something he did a lot, “sexual tension is off the charts, I’ll pretend I don’t know you both.”

You charged at Heeseung, but he backed up fast, deeper into the waves where you had to fight the pull. He kept just enough distance to stay out of reach, watching you with that irritatingly calm expression that was annoying you.

“I mean it, you’re so dead.”

“Sure,” he said, voice dry, “waiting for you to kill me.”

“I will.”

“Still waiting.”

He dove under before you could lunge—and you cursed. Water splashed all around, but he disappeared, vanishing under the sunlit surface like a ghost, maybe he was one. 

“Coward!” you yelled.

But then a hand caught your ankle that made you shriek again, you were genuinely startled, stumbling as he popped up right behind you, slick hair and all, grinning now. He grabbed your waist, lifting you again just enough to make you lose balance and fall back against him.

Your back met his chest with a wet slap, the contact so unexpected, it had your heart beating fast, or maybe it was his heart, you couldn’t differentiate anymore.

His arms weren’t tight around you, but they kept you in place without saying anything this time, however, his breath was right by your ear, chest rising against your back, and you closed your eyes, feeling too much in less time. His skin was warm—insanely so, despite the chill of the sea.

“Truce,” he said, letting go of you slowly, fingers caressing your waist as he did so, and by the second you turned around, he was there, already walking toward the shore again. 

Your mouth opened—but no words came out. Jake raised a brow as you joined them, while Heeseung grabbed his shirt off the rocks, not looking at either of you, walking towards his car as you sat down on your towel. Jake plopped beside you, looking highly pleased with himself. “You know what they say about unresolved tension—”

“Shut up, no one says anything,” you cut him off.

“I’m just saying, mi amor,” he grinned, watching Heeseung out of the corner of his eye.

“For people who don’t get along, you sure find new ways to touch each other.”

SCENE FIVE. Dinner or dessert? 

Heeseung was standing by the window, staring out into the morning sky yet not taking the view in, mind drifting back to yesterday, the exact moment he picked you up, how he stared at the water droplets cascading down your face, dripping from your chin right onto his clavicle. 

It was very unlike him to do that, he could feel it too. His life was deprived of adventure, everything was monotonous, a routine he was absolutely content with, and it’s not as if he was frustrated—he was sexually active after all, but none of that gave him the same thrill as simply arguing with you. 

He had his reasons for not liking tourists but he was never rude to them, or snappy. You just started on the wrong foot and it still doesn’t sit right with him, especially with how Jake is hellbent on taking you out yet again. Yesterday ended pretty quickly once you were done at the beach, however you did have dinner together, Heeseung was silent the entire time as you and Jake took up the space, talking about the most random things in the world, enough that he now knows the random things you like in life. 

Jake groaned from the couch, “¿por qué estás despierto (why are you awake)?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied simply. 

Jake only smirked, he didn’t even have to ask for the reason, it was very clear on Heeseung’s face. The morning was peaceful, but Heeseung’s mind? Not so much. He continued to drink his coffee as Jake drifted back to sleep. 

Right as he was passing by to go back to the kitchen, he found Jake’s phone flashing with your name on it, he stopped without meaning to. 

You: sounds good! lmk when you’re on your way, and pleaseee don’t bring him today 

He scoffed, jaw clenching before he picked up the phone, placing the coffee mug on the counter. It was stupid of him, he was well aware of that, maybe it was the lack of sleep that caused him to be more irritated than usual, and with that, he unlocked Jake’s phone, knowing the pin already. 

Instead of clicking on your notifs, he somehow managed to open the photos simply because he was aware Jake captured a few yesterday, pretty shades of blue covering the screen now, and you being in the centre of it all. 

It was the picture where you were sitting, smiling at something Jake had said as he managed to capture the moment, but that genuine emotion in your smile had him staring.

“Dios mío (oh my god).”

Heeseung locked the phone instantly, putting it back in its place, meanwhile Jake sat up a little, elbow propped up on the couch, too interested for someone who was supposed to be asleep not even seconds ago. 

“You really have it bad if you’re sneaking around my phone to see her,” Jake smirked. 

“I wasn’t, your phone was unlocked,” he replied, and lord he was a terrible liar. 

“I see, it was accidental how you opened the photos, and well—” Jake grabbed his phone now, opening it to find a picture of you smiling, “—stared at her for god knows how long.”

Heeseung didn’t reply, rolling his eyes and moving ahead into the kitchen as Jake went on, “you know I’m taking her out today, right? Too bad you’re busy, I’ll keep her company.”

“bien por ti (good for you),” he muttered. 

Jake sighed, “he’s gonna realize it too late, I swear,” before jumping off the couch, walking towards the washroom, leaving Heeseung muttering to himself too. “She’s so annoying.”

“He’s so annoying,” your voice echoed in your room a few hours later.

Sleep didn’t come easy to you either, you were torn somehow, wanting to leave the city as soon as possible, yet not having it in you to disrupt your peace and leave two days early, especially when you did pay for this vacation from your own pocket. 

Your friends were convinced that Heeseung had a thing for you, and that arguing was his way of flirting with you, just as you had mentioned while giving them a run down of the whole day yesterday. You called them delusional, of course you did, there was nothing else to it, just empty words and his hate for you. 

Jake arrived on time just like yesterday, only, Heeseung didn’t accompany him this time, and he did notice you looking around, but he didn’t mention it, simply smiling at you and pulling you into a warm hug, “te ves bonita (you look pretty),” he said, and you smiled, familiar with the words he had said to you almost a hundred times in the past two days. 

“Oh he’s missing out,” he added, and now you gave him a look, to which he shrugged as if he had just spoken a fact, but you soon got into a conversation about the types of fishes as he walked you to the museum nearby. 

And Jake was good company, you admit that—light on his feet, always knowing when to ask something and when not to, yet constantly teasing you. He talked about his childhood in Australia, the jobs he hated, the ones he’d loved, and how he couldn’t stay at a place for long, he moved to Spain three years back. He asked about your city, and you told him the good bits first, the bad bits second, and he listened carefully. 

“How long are you staying?” he asked, offhand, while you paused before a gallery wall of self portraits in much warmer tones.

“Two more days,” you said, quietly, feeling a wave of sadness.

“Wait—that’s it?” he asked, “you should stay longer.”

“I didn’t want to overstay, and I had the tickets booked beforehand.”

He smiled, almost to himself, “you belong here more than you know.”

You turned toward him, “hm? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake shrugged, “I mean, it’s just a feeling.”

He hesitated then, before adding, “Heeseung and I, we’ve applied for something—work basically, we’ve been developing this app. A long term contract, near your city actually, it’ll probably be finalized soon.”

“You have?” You asked, eyes wide at the possibility of them—him being near you even when you go back.

“Yeah. A big company liked the project, and I wasn’t gonna tell anyone before it got sorted” he tilted his head toward you, “but it felt right to mention it, that’s what Hee was working on even at the beach.”

You only smiled, congratulating him, “He doesn’t seem the type to move countries.”

“I’ve been pushing him, he’s too cooped up with his past experiences, I think he needs a new start, and he admits it too.” Jake smiled, not saying too much. 

It was on your mind, why was Heeseung so hostile towards you, but you both went on discussing the portraits as he also told you about his plan to move, looking like an excited puppy yet again, the happiness oozing out of him was contagious, and you were genuinely happy for him—them. 

You paused in front of a sculpture later, observing him as his voice came quieter this time, “come back with me.”

You turned your head slightly, raising your brow.

“For dinner,” he clarified, “I’m cooking. You’re not leaving without trying my Pollo al ajillo.”

“Gonna poison me now?” You teased, “sounds scary.”

“It is,” he said cheerfully, playing along. 

You ended up in his flat now, keenly observing how clean he kept it, simple yet modern with some flashes of colours here and there, which made it seem more lively. You didn’t actually expect Jake to cook, but he did, and the kitchen smelled wonderful, warm and rather refreshing. 

You leaned against the counter, watching him bustle around—wooden spoon in his mouth, half-chopped herbs on his fingers, his shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he looked good like this.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked for you without it being an occasion, “I’m impressed,” you admitted, pushing your hair behind your ear as you glanced at the sizzling pan.

“You should be.” He grinned boyishly, “and for the record, I’m not a one trick pony. This isn’t even my best dish.”

“Oh?” you look at him, “and what is?”

He pointed the wooden spoon at you, “you’ll have to come back to find out, mi amor.”

You snorted, but your smile stayed as he kept on speaking, making you laugh a little more freely than before. He reached for his phone on the side while waiting for the chicken to simmer, thumb swiping absently, and without a word, he lifted the camera, catching you mid laugh across the counter.

“Woah, what are you doing?” You asked, as he bit his lip, proceeding to send the picture to someone, “did you just—”

“C’mon, it’s only Heeseung,” he replied casually. 

Heeseung saw the picture the second it was sent his way. 

The photo came through just as he was stepping out of the shower, hair dripping onto his collarbone, towel wrapped low on his hips. He paused with the phone in his hand, still in the doorway to his room, blinking at the screen like he’d misread it. But no, it was real, you—at Jake’s place, “she really went home with a stranger,” he muttered in disbelief. 

Jake’s message came through again. 

Jake: she’s staying for dinner 🤪

He threw the towel across the chair, it was as if his body wouldn’t listen to his mind anymore, he proceeded, moving to dress in something that didn’t look too messy, as if he wasn’t dressing up to what? Visit Jake’s place. He didn’t even bother to text back.

Back at the flat, the chicken was done. Jake plated it with surprising finesse, wiping the edge of the plate with a clean towel, handing you cutlery like a gentleman and leaning one hip on the counter to watch you take your first bite, his eyes shining with wavy hair covering his forehead. 

Your brows lifted at the scrumptiousness of the meal, “woah—Jake this is actually, really good.”

He gave a dramatic bow, winking right after, feeling giddy deep inside, “I accept tips, mi amor.”

You took another bite, rolling your eyes with pure pleasure, and you both froze when someone knocked on the door. 

“Expecting someone?” You asked, lips still glossy from the sauce. 

Jake shook his head, “no but I do have a hunch,”he said, a smirk on his face as he went over to open the door, “you’re fast,” he whispered as Heeseung came into view, eyes searching his place already. 

“What’s she doing here?” He asked, acting as if he didn’t see the picture at all. 

“Didn’t Jake send you the picture? I’m having dinner here,” you shrugged, looking away because god forbid you stare at his veiny arms, sleeves rolled up, hair still wet and curling around his forehead, and his usual frown plastered onto his face. 

He didn’t bother replying, eyeing the wine glass that was half empty, Jake’s plate right next to yours, and the shine of oil on your lips. 

“You’re lucky we have more food left, or you’d be sulking around, watching us eat,” Jake muttered, grabbing another plate, not bothering to do the fancy plating for Heeseung, who simply sat down. 

“I’m not hungry.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “tienes hambre por la froma en que la miras (you’re hungry the way you’re staring at her).”

“Cállate! (shut up),” he replied.

Jake grinned, putting his plate down as Heeseung sat across from you, while you continued eating, holding Jake’s arm when he said something that made you laugh. 

Heeseung took that as a sign to start another argument with Jake, and you stared at them, they looked so close, but right now, Heeseung looked as if he wanted to punch Jake, so before it could escalate any further, you stood up. 

“Thanks for the dinner, Jake. I think I should go now.”

“No!” 

Your eyes widened as both of them said the same thing at the same time. It was more shocking that Heeseung’s voice boomed louder than Jake. 

“Sorry?” You blinked, incredulous. 

Heeseung cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you, silently cursing himself for acting out, yet again, “It’s late.”

“Which is usually when people leave,” you muttered, “right?”

Jake, still seated, leaned back in his chair and glanced at Heeseung with something between a smirk and disbelief, he had never seen his friend do something like this, “you gonna say it or should I?”

“Say what?” you asked, confused, eyes darting between them, heart hammering in your chest, courtesy of the man who hated you. 

Heeseung exhaled, “It’s just not safe to walk alone this late. That’s all.”

“I’m not walking, Jake said he was going to drop me off earlier.”

“He can’t drink and drive,” Heeseung said, a little too fast.

You sighed, grabbing your phone. “Okay, enough. I’ll call a cab, how about that?”

“No cab,” Heeseung said again, tone low.

Jake laughed under his breath, “this is wild. ¿Por fin te diste cuenta de que te gusta? (did you finally realize that you like her?) ”

You ignored them both and took a step toward the door, but Heeseung moved without thinking, blocking your path before you could reach it, close enough that you stopped, close enough for you to be engulfed in his scent. 

“Stay for dessert,” he said finally, softer this time, “I’ll actually make it.”

You stared at him, startled, “is this a new way of yours to bully me?”

Jake smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it either, “hey! I told you he could be nice.”

“I—” you started to say, looking at Jake, who pleaded with his eyes and hands when Heeseung wasn’t looking, “uhm, okay.”

Jake stood up, ruffling his hair, trying to ease the energy in the air, because lord, it did feel heavy.

“Well, we’ve got chocolate amongst other things,” Jake said, pointing at his body. 

You fought the smile that pulled at your lips, “fine. Just the dessert, then I leave.”

Heeseung stepped aside, letting you pass. Your arm brushed his chest and his eyelids fluttered close, he stayed there for a minute, composing himself because—what was wrong with him? He proceeded to make some good old mug cakes, three of those.

As Jake excused himself to use the bathroom, Heeseung spoke up, “it’s not safe to follow strangers to their home.”

You scoffed, “yeah, so I should leave right now.”

He rolled his eyes, “so your morals work only when I’m involved?” 

“Yeah, since you’re the only one giving me unsolicited moral advice.”

“Okay—why do you hate me?”

“Me—what? You hate me!”

Jake came back right then, watching you two staring at each other with accusatory expressions, “uhm, is everything okay?”

“Cake’s ready,” Heeseung replied, and you sighed, walking towards where Jake was sitting, the corner of his lips twitched. 

You took the mug he slid towards you, face heating up for reasons you didn’t understand. The aroma was perfect, the exact sweetness you didn’t even know you were craving, and so, you took a bite which melted right on your tongue.

Jake leaned in, “moment of truth, mi amor, which one do you prefer? My dinner, or his dessert?” 

You were annoyed, because why would he even ask such a question, right in the presence of the man who was—fuming?

Jake then gave you a slight nudge from under the table, his knee brushing yours, his eyes pointing towards the cake, basically telling you to choose Heeseung’s cake. 

“Fine, the cake,” you admitted, looking elsewhere as you took yet another bite. 

“You—you traitor,” Jake stood up, acting all bothered as you laughed, pulling him back down, making him laugh alongside. 

Completely missing the red on Heeseung’s ear. 

SCENE SIX. Shining in the setting sun. 

“Bitch you better be joking,” Yunjin had almost screamed when you called her, she was the only one free at the moment. 

“I wish, It was odd honestly,” you muttered, drifting back into your thoughts about how Heeseung had the audacity to stop you, to ask why you hate him. 

“He genuinely wants you girl, you have to let it happen.”

“What’s the point? I’ll leave tomorrow evening anyway,” you gulped, feeling the familiar wave of sadness hit. 

Even after the call ended, you laid on your bed staring at the ceiling. Like your friends say, this is exactly the type of man who’ll ruin you. And maybe, just maybe, they’re right. Heeseung had a habit of biting his tongue until it bled, then blaming you for making him taste the same. 

By noon, the plan for the day was set. Jake had offered to take you out to the vineyard—something about him wanting to get drunk on wine, maybe, you needed it too. Time seemed to pass by quickly when you were there, and soon, you were heading down as Jake had offered to drive you to the place. 

You tugged open the passenger door to find Heeseung already sitting there in his white button down, seat reclined as he stared up front with his sunglasses on. It was hard to say if you were excited or annoyed now, granted there won’t be any quiet moments during the whole trip, but also because he got on your nerves.

“Took you long enough,” he spoke, voice deeper than usual which had Jake coughing down a laugh. 

“Didn’t you say it was a date, Jake?” You asked with a fake smile on your face, causing Heeseung to give him a stare, which was somehow visible through his shades. 

“My bad, mi amor, apparently he wanted to third wheel,” he replied, both of you knowing it wasn’t a date, but just something you said to irritate the man. 

“That’s cute, you’re sitting in the back,” Heeseung announced. 

“Fine, enjoy playing the passenger princess,” you said, patting his shoulder, and you could’ve sworn there was some electric charge right there, because both of you flinched at the same time. 

“Ladies, now don’t fight over me,” Jake grinned, pulling out of the driveway the second you got comfortable in your back seat. 

The road curved gently through the countryside, the windows down just enough to let the scent of sun warmed ocean filter in. You loved this place, it was beautiful beyond words, calming you down within seconds. Heeseung reached to change the song, but Jake slapped his hand away.

“My car, my playlist, mate.”

“I’m the passenger princess, remember?” Heeseung said flatly, looking at you through the rear view mirror and you kicked his seat from the back, making him groan with the childishness you held. 

Jake laughed and you leaned back, letting your head rest against the seat, hiding your smile behind your hand. The wind tangled in your hair, and for a fleeting second, you caught Heeseung watching you again, in the side mirror, but he looked away just as fast. You clicked your tongue, looking out again, somehow promising yourself to be a pain in Heeseung’s ass every second you’ll be here, granted you’ll be leaving tomorrow night. 

Once you were there, Jake was quick to open the door for you, bending down to whisper in your ear, “play along with me today, I have a point to prove.”

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do—and no, he does not like me,” you muttered. 

“Just trust me,” he smirked while Heeseung waited, uncomfortably stiff and looking elsewhere, clearly not wanting to witness Jake caging you against his car. 

This was honestly ridiculous, all three of you thought so for different reasons, yet you sighed with a nod, completely unconvinced despite everything, and as others called it—denial. 

You were barely five steps into the vineyard when the midday sun hit, draping the hills in a soft shimmer that looked like it had been painted only for you. Rows upon rows of grapevines stretched into the distance, dipping into low valleys and cresting again in sloping lines. Your eyes squinted under the brightness, the breeze carrying notes of citrus grapes. 

The tour had already begun when the three of you joined the small group. Jake kept close, glancing your way every few seconds, like he was setting the stage for some elaborate plan he had in his mind. Heeseung stayed a little further behind, sunglasses still on, veiny arms folded, and gaze drifting over the vines instead of you. And yet, the moment your laugh slipped out too loud at something Jake whispered—Heeseung’s head turned. 

The guide was explaining some fermentation barrels when you spotted a little girl sitting alone under the shade of an olive tree, lip trembling, dress bunched in her tiny fists. She couldn’t have been older than five and you were worried that she got lost. Without a word, you slipped away from the group and crouched beside her.

“Hola, are you okay?”

She looked up, eyes glossy as she sniffled, “mamá, papá.”

You frowned, “we’ll find them,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, trying to explain in actions because of the language barrier, “but first—wanna see a magic trick?”

You pulled a grape from the vine nearby and balanced it on your finger, then another, pretending to juggle. Her face lit up just a little with curiosity. A second later, a pair of frantic voices broke through the quiet and the little girl stood instantly, screaming for her parents. 

Her parents rushed over, babbling thanks in Spanish, and you shook your head with a smile, waving it off saying goodbye to the girl who was smiling at you now. Jake was watching the entire time, but it was Heeseung’s reaction that made Jake chuckle.

Jake nudged him, whispering, “it’s funny how you can’t stop staring at her,” which earned a grunt in response, “she’s good with kids,” Jake tried again, teasing.

“Yeah,” Heeseung muttered, genuine this time, seeing how gentle you were with someone you couldn’t even communicate with, “I noticed.”

You stood up, brushing hands on your dress before jogging back to where the boys were waiting, “sorry, let’s go now.”

“You’re so cute, mi amor,” Jake whispered, pinching your cheek as he wrapped his arm around you, walking ahead. 

“Don’t wander off again,” Heeseung’s voice boomed from the back and you gave him a look. 

“Do you ever stop complaining?” 

“Go ahead then, we won’t look for you when you get lost.”

“I will,” Jake said and you chuckled, leaning into him further. It was clear how he enjoyed pushing Heeseung’s buttons, and somehow, it was working, as if he was on this mission to prove you wrong about him not liking you. 

This was your first time visiting a vineyard, only having seen it in movies before, and truly it did look breathtaking, even more so when your group sat down, swirling the wine glasses and tasting only the best wines you’ve ever had while staring at the curve of rolling hills, also peeking at Heeseung a few times, not noticing his stare on you, courtesy of his sunglasses. 

“So?” Jake asked, nudging you after a sip of something sweet, “thoughts on this one?”

“I like it,” you said, taking in every essence of the experience, more than delighted that you found friends even in a new place, despite how rude the other guy was, “tastes like the last one, but uh—more expensive.”

Heeseung let out the softest scoff at that, and you turned to him instantly, “what now?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair, “just listening to your expert analysis.”

“Aw! I didn’t see you writing poetry about it either,” you replied and Jake leaned forward with delight.

“I love when you fight,” he grinned, pouring the next tasting sample himself.

By now, the glasses on your table had become harder to keep count of. The pours were small, but they added up, the flavours blending into one another as the afternoon sun dipped lower, turning everything a little amber. Your legs felt lighter when you crossed them, and your elbow leaned against the table just a little longer than usual. Jake’s laugh made you laugh more than you wanted to admit. 

Jake was in the middle of asking the sommelier about oak barrels when you stood up with your glass still in hand, eyes darting to catch the sun dipping down the valley.

“I’ll be right back,” you muttered, more to the wind than to them, turning and walking toward the edge of the vineyard, where the light caught the slope just perfectly.

“Why does this feel like home?” You whispered to yourself, sitting down a bit farther than where everyone was drinking, moving down the trail. Maybe you were tipsy—so full of emotions, you never liked saying goodbye to anyone, or anything for that matter. 

You could care less about the vineyard tour now, not wanting to miss this breathtaking scene in front of you. Just the sky and silence engulfing you in the warmest hug, it felt like meditation—sitting there sipping on your rosé for the next fifteen minutes. 

“Are you trying to get lost again?” Heeseung’s voice came from a short distance back.

You didn’t turn, but a small smile graced your face, which he couldn’t see, “I won’t. I just wanted to see this up close.”

He just stopped behind you, “you’re missing the tour, we have to catch up, señorita.”

“Doesn’t matter, I can’t miss this,” you mumbled.

He sighed, “everyone left, they’re at the next stop already.”

“That’s the thing, Heeseung. You’re bound to miss some things in life. If I leave then who’s gonna watch this pretty sunset? It’s meant to be watched even if it’s for a moment.”

He stood still for a moment, wondering why he got goosebumps when it wasn’t even cold outside. With a sigh, he wordlessly sat down next to you despite the fact that he hated getting his clothes dirty. For the first time, he wondered what your story really was, who hurt you enough that you needed to savour sunsets this quietly. Just what were you running from that made you come here?

“It’s a nice view,” he said after a while, and it wasn’t about the sky really, his freckles more evident in the soft hues of the sky, yet you didn’t look at him for your own sanity, smiling freely and whispering. 

“Told you so.”

SCENE SEVEN. Behind the closed doors. 

The cellar was cooler than the sunlit hills above. You’d rejoined the group reluctantly after the brief pause at sunset, your glass empty and your head still fogged with rosé, you felt giddy. The stone steps led down into the vineyard’s oldest corner with arched ceilings and dusty wine barrels stacked around.

You followed just behind Jake, your shoulder brushing his arm as the guide gestured toward the rows of barrels and began to explain the process of aging wine in Spanish and English both. Jake then excused himself for a moment, walking ahead with the guide, speaking quickly, something about una experiencia divertida (a fun experience) and cinco minutos (five minutes). 

The guide chuckled, agreeing with what Jake said, which made you narrow your eyes at him, “what was that?” 

“Nothing,” he said with his usual smile, “just making the tour more, well, memorable.”

You didn’t get a chance to question it as you stepped into the last chamber of the cellar, the cold creeping at your arms, dim light flickering from a single bulb overhead. The guide nodded politely after explaining and walked off as everyone started to get out, Jake lingered behind, holding the heavy door just as you and Heeseung moved to follow everyone out. 

What you didn’t expect was the loud thud and the sound of the latch—this man had locked you inside with none other than Lee Heeseung.

“Jake?” you called, already walking to the door with wide eyes. 

His voice came muffled from the other side, far too amused, “cinco minutos, por favor (five minutes please).”

“Are you serious?” you groaned, trying the handle—which didn’t really budge.

“¡Bésala, idiota! (kiss her, idiot)” he yelled, full of joy before his footsteps retreated up the stairs, and silence reclaimed the space, your mouth hung open at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

You turned slowly, arms folded across your chest, the cellar dim around you. Heeseung was leaning against one of the barrels again, his jaw tight and his big hand covering his forehead. He looked stressed beyond words, meanwhile you could hear your own heartbeat.

“This can’t be happening,” you muttered, wondering how your gleeful mood from the sunset turned so sour at the situation, or maybe you were just curious about Heeseung and his new gentle behaviour now. 

“Can’t believe we’re locked in a cellar because Jake’s bored.” He ran a hand through his hair. 

You just groaned, leaning against the cold stone wall, wondering how long he’d planned on keeping you locked in here. Yes, you were alone with Heeseung even while watching the sunset, but this? The forced proximity wasn’t doing you any good. Just as you got accustomed to the silence, Heeseung closed his eyes, asking you a question. 

“Do you—actually like him?” 

“What?” 

“Jake, do you like him?”

You wanted to laugh at him, but then you noticed how flushed he looked, serious about this question, which had heat crawling up your neck. 

“Why do you ask?”

He exhaled, “he’s my friend, I’m just curious. You both flirt a lot.”

“Scared I’ll hurt him or something?” You chuckled. 

“Mierda (shit),” he muttered, “you seem to enjoy his flirting.”

“You’re his friend, you should know that it’s his nature,” you shrugged, “I don’t mind it.”

He pushed himself off the barrel, stepping closer now, stopping right in front of you, bending his neck a little to get on your level, your back straightening as you tried to push yourself back on the wall in hopes of creating some space but to no avail, his gaze dipped to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

“You weren’t made for flirting,” he said again, voice an octave deeper and he wanted to stop speaking, but he couldn’t. 

And before you could ask what he meant by that, he spoke up again, “so—do you?”

“Do you want me to say no?” you whispered, and his expression gave it away, as he leaned in exactly when you heard the heavy door creaking open.

You stepped back like you’d been woken up from a dream, your arm brushing against the cold wall for balance before you turned and strode to the door, catching Jake’s surprised expression as he peeked in. You didn’t bother looking back. 

Jake was confused when you grabbed his arm and pulled him along, “I swear I’m gonna kill you,” you muttered once you were far enough. 

“What? Did something happen?” He asked, worried at how breathless you seemed at that moment. 

“Just—don’t do this again, please.” You sighed and he nodded, giving you his jacket as he walked you to the next wine stop, watching behind you to find still in the cellar, the moment left hanging like a breath you hadn’t quite finished taking.

He nodded, hair falling to his forehead, “okay, yeah noted,” he looked at your face, “you okay? Are you running a fever?”

“I’m fine, yeah,” you shrugged off the burn crawling up your neck.

The tour had already moved on, the group now gathered near another tasting setup beneath a vine-wrapped trellis. It all felt blurry as you joined them again, your fingers curling around the stem of a fresh glass, not bothering to sip, only gulping it down. You were on your second glass before you even registered the taste, it felt good regardless, third before you noticed you hadn’t said a word since you rejoined.

Jake handed you another glass with a smile, tilting his head, “take it slow, mi amor.”

You rolled your eyes but took it as you felt the soft breeze of the beautiful night air, and when you turned your head slightly, you caught him staring—Heeseung, leaning back against a wooden post just behind the group, his expression back to being unreadable. He didn’t bother drinking now. You looked away quickly, lifting the glass to your lips again. 

“You know,” Jake said, watching you finish the pour, “if you wanna keep drinking, we can head back to Hee’s bar after this. It’ll be quieter, closer to your place too.”

“I don’t wanna be around him.”

“Did he say something?”

“No,” you trailed off.

He knew something did happen, looking at Heeseung who seemed lost in his thoughts, eyes still on you, and he bit his lip, wondering if he took it too far, or was it something you both needed? 

“I’ll be there, yeah? Don’t worry,” he whispered, you needed to resolve whatever was going on, or else you’d be miserable leaving tomorrow, and Heeseung? He’ll be miserable forever. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. Moonlit confessions 

Heeseung’s bar was lively by the time you reached there. To say the drive was awkward would be an understatement, but you managed somehow. Inside, the bar still held that familiar dim lit glow. Bottles lined the wall behind the counter like a curated painting, and you slid into one of the leather booths while Jake walked ahead to speak to the bartender, bringing in three drinks for each of you. Heeseung lingered behind, then eventually took the seat across from you.

“You guys look good together,” Heeseung spoke up, clearly mocking, “had fun playing girlfriend boyfriend, hm? Back to reality tomorrow.”

Jake gave Heeseung a warning look, which screamed shut up, don’t speak further, while you raised your brow, “what’s wrong with you, huh?”

“Me? I’m just stating facts, you came here for distraction, didn’t you? A vacation. Just gonna leave now?”

“It’s not like we’re not gonna meet again, you’re literally gonna move cities in a few months, and nothing is happening here,” you tried to control your anger as you said so. 

“So you’re playing the long distance game then,” he hummed. 

“Solo cállate, ¿qué estás tratando de hacer? (just shut up, what are you trying to do?)” Jake asked, incredulous now. 

“Game?” You whispered, having had enough of him, letting out a shaky exhale, “honestly, Heeseung—you don’t know shit about me, okay? If you hate me that much then that’s great! Cause you won’t see me around you ever again.”

You stood so fast your chair scraped, your heart beating out of your ribs as you grabbed your bag and walked straight out the back of the bar. Jake called your name—but you didn’t stop. You needed air. The moment the heavy door swung shut behind you, the ocean breeze hit your skin, you took the steps down two at a time, your breath caught in your throat as you crossed the sand, heels in one hand now, bare feet sinking into the chilled grains beneath as you took off your sandals. 

Sitting down far enough for the tide to not reach you, you hugged your knees, letting the wind pull at your hair while the moonlight cut soft lines over the restless sea, everything making you rethink your life. The breakup, the trip, running into Heeseung, befriending Jake—it was supposed to bring you a good time, and it did till some extent, until he ruined it. 

Inside the bar, the door swung shut with a dull thud that echoed loud enough for other customers to notice. Jake just stared at the empty space where you’d been sitting, jaw clenched at the scene which had unfolded in front of him. Heeseung stayed frozen across from him, eyes still on the glass.

“¿Estás satisfecho ahora?” Jake asked quietly. (Are you satisfied now?)

Heeseung appeared to be tired, finally looking up. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain,” Jake snapped, voice rising just enough that the bartender glanced over to where his boss was sitting, wondering what went wrong, “what the hell was that?”

Heeseung leaned back, running a hand through his hair, “hm? I told the truth.”

“No,” Jake said sharply, standing now, “you hurt her cause you were jealous, but you can’t even admit it, you’re too blinded by your what ifs to live in the present.”

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, “you know exactly why I’m like this, Jake.”

“Oh, I do,” Jake retorted, “but does that give you any right to hurt her? Do you even know her?”

Heeseung laughed under his breath, “that’s the thing, I do. She fidgets with her bracelet when she’s nervous, she likes to stare at the sky because her favourite colour is blue, she picks out tomatoes from her dish cause she hates it, she—”

Jake scoffed, “and what? You go ahead and hurt the girl you have undeniably fallen for? Are you hearing yourself, Hee?”

He only sighed, shaking his head, staring at the door for a while as Jake went on trying to knock some sense into him, before Hee stood up, running out without thinking twice.

Meanwhile, you didn’t hear the footsteps in the sand, eyes trained on the moon reflecting on water, but your body tensed the second you felt that familiar scent of Heeseung right behind you. You turned your head, saw him standing there in the moonlight, breathless, hair tousled like he’d run the whole way.

You moved to stand, wiping at your eyes quickly, but he was faster—reaching out and catching your wrist, his fingers warm around your skin despite the breeze.

“Wait,” Heeseung said, almost in a whisper, “I—I’m sorry, don’t go yet.”

You stared at him, unsure what hurt more—the words he’d said inside, or the way his grip on you was gentle now, almost like he was afraid you’d vanish if he actually let go. 

“You’ve said enough, Heeseung, it’s alright honestly, you don’t have to worry about me being there to bother you.”

He shook his head, “I—my mom,” he started to speak, pulling you down to sit beside him, eyes full of hurt, “we were a happy family, but then she left us—for a guy. For a tourist.”

He was opening up, explaining himself as you sat frozen listening to his side of the story for the first time, “I was fourteen, wondering if I was a bad son, if I should have been nicer to her so she wouldn’t have left. Dad was completely broken, spending all his time working, paying bills. I promised myself I would never let anyone get close to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“But that doesn’t excuse what i’ve been doing all along. Y/N, I don’t hate you, I hate that I’ve been thinking about you non stop, fuck I—I hate seeing you with Jake and how easily he makes you smile, hate that he gets to know you upfront and I have to hear it from him.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, nor could you control the warmth spreading through your chest, but you also couldn’t help but feel like it was a little too late for him to say this, after all, it didn’t matter anymore, did it? He was always there, saving you from tripping, but also throwing you in the water; picking fights, but also watching the sunset with you in silence. It was too confusing. 

“I get it,” you said, finally, “I do. But it wasn’t easy being on the other end of that either. You made me feel like I was constantly in the way.”

“I know,” he exhaled, “and I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t come here to find anyone, Heeseung,” you added, voice softer now, “this trip—it was supposed to be with someone else, my ex. I planned it months ago, everything. But he was cheating and I—”

You stopped, the ache crawling up your chest again, “I told myself I’d still come, that I could enjoy this place without him, that maybe, just maybe I’d find peace. I was happy i found friendship here, but also your hatred.”

You stood up slowly, the sand sliding beneath your feet, brushing off your palms against the sides of your dress. Heeseung didn’t say anything—he just sat there, watching you with broken eyes, face shining even in the dim moonlight, hair messier than ever. 

“I didn’t expect much,” you said after a long pause, “but I didn’t think you’d make me feel like I didn’t belong here either.”

He shifted, like he wanted to get up too, but you glanced at him once, and he knew he shouldn’t, that there was no point in pushing this any further. You looked out at the water one last time, then back at him.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, quieter,  “like you said—I leave tomorrow night, but it was nice meeting you, Heeseung.”

You gave him a small nod, more out of habit than anything else before turning and walking up the path toward the street. Your shoes hung loosely from your hand, chest feeling heavier than ever, and you wondered why you even liked him. Some people say that there’s no limit to how quickly you can fall for someone. It wasn’t love, but it was something, and Heeseung felt the same. 

He didn’t call after you, just staring at the place where you’d been sitting seconds ago, frowning, heart pulled in directions he’d been trying to ignore all along.

And now it was too late.

SCENE NINE. It’s never too late. 

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime and you stepped out, barefoot now, your phone in one hand, towel clutched in the other. The silence of the rooftop wrapped around you like a blanket, cooler air brushing against your skin as the overhead lights flickered dimly above the glimmering water. You hadn’t expected the pool to be empty at this hour, not with the heat still rising from the concrete, yet it was.

After dropping your towel near a lounge chair, you stripped down to your bikini, and stepped into the water without much hesitation. The cold creeped at your ankles, then your thighs, and soon you felt weightless. It didn’t take you much time to come back to the hotel, and you decided you needed some time in the water to cool off, so here you were, at the rooftop pool, washing all your worries away. 

You swam without thought, trying to let the ache in your chest dissolve into the salt chlorine mix. You weren’t drunk anymore, it all wore off earlier at the bar. Heeseung had already taken care of that. You floated onto your back, eyes closed, letting the sky swallow you whole, letting your ears dip beneath the surface, hearing only the muted, echoing underwater hush and not the rooftop door opening and closing shut. 

Then you heard his voice calling out your name, which had you flipping upright in the water, looking his way now, hair slicked back and clinging to your neck, and there he was, stepping out of his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt, throwing it all on the floor—Heeseung was here. 

You turned away, gliding a few feet further into the water, arms sweeping slowly under the surface. The moon caught the arc of your shoulders as you turned your head back when he slid in behind you, eyes on your back, gulping, “glad I found you,” his deep voice broke the silence. 

Closing your eyes, you turned around, opening it to stare at the man in front of you now. He looked beautiful, undeniably so, breathing hard as you whispered his name, wondering why he followed you this time, granted the conversation was over already. 

“I couldn’t let the night end like that,” he said, stepping closer. 

“Like what?” You asked, breathless as he looked even more majestic in the dim lights, especially when he didn’t have his guard up—emotions laid bare in front of you. 

“Just us—us not together.”

“Heeseung,” you mumbled, and he swore he loved listening to you call out his name, “you’ll regret this.”

It was clear that he was traumatized, hence why he kept on pushing you away. Honestly, had it been just a one meet-up thing, it wouldn’t have affected him, but you’d been around him a few days now—too early to get attached, but enough time that it would linger in his mind. Yes, he had plans on moving to your city, but it wasn’t confirmed yet. 

He chuckled despite it all, “maybe. But I’ll definitely regret not doing this sooner.” His hand pulled you closer to him by your waist underwater, his touch confident now, just how it’s always been.  The heat between your bodies bloomed instantly, juxtaposing the mildly cool water. Heeseung’s chest brushed against yours now, and his gaze didn’t waver. 

You exhaled shakily, instinctively pressing your palm to his chest. His heart was pounding, you could feel it, just like your own. You could feel every beat of it beneath your touch. His skin was flushed, droplets of water rolling down the curve of his neck as he bent slightly forward—close enough now that you could feel the heat of his breath fanning over your lips.

“Are you sure—” 

His hand came up, sliding along your jaw with his fingers splayed, thumb settling beneath your chin, he tipped your face up as if he’d done it a thousand times in his head already (he did). His eyes flicked to your mouth, darker than before. 

Without thinking much, he pulled you closer, slotting his lips upon yours, heat flooding your senses as your half formed thought disappeared against his lips. The kiss was deep immediately, his grip grounding you as if the water itself couldn’t be trusted to keep you close enough. You felt it everywhere—the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand at your waist flexed, only praying for a second to take deep breaths, panting as he stared into your eyes, trying to hold you impossibly close, feeling weightless in the water. 

“Don’t—” he whispered, nose pressed against yours, losing composure and saying exactly what he wished for, “don’t go back.”

“You know I can’t stay here,” you breathed, and he pressed his lips upon yours again, your fingers tugging on his hair now. 

“This feels too real to lose, señorita,” he caressed the curve of your cheek. 

“Trust me I want this too, but you know I have to go,” you replied, cupping his jaw as he leaned into your touch. 

You expected a reply, maybe a little statement saying it’s alright, but his hold only faltered, not arguing with you anymore, not shutting you up with another kiss, just staying there in your presence, trying to memorize the weight of your essence. And somehow, that was enough of an answer.

With a small smile, you slipped out of his hold, swimming back to the other end of the pool, which had started heating up the water again. You grabbed your towel, wrapped it around your figure with shaky hands, not looking back as you headed towards your room. 

He simply stared at you disappearing behind the door, body screaming to run, to pull you back again, to chase you, but he stayed frozen in his spot, mentally cursing himself for the end of your trip to turn out this way. Was it really the end? He stayed there for a few minutes, the silence being loud, screaming you fucked up, fingers curling into a fist. 

“No,” he whispered, rushing out of the pool, water dripping down his bare chest, pants soaked as he reached for his shirt, not caring about the water anymore, not when he had somewhere to be. He had followed you mindlessly before—at the beach, at the vineyard, at Jake’s place, but now? He was fully conscious about what he wanted, even if it was for a night. 

His breath fogged in the cooler rooftop air as he shoved his hand into the pocket of his discarded shirt on the ground—fingers closing around the keycard—your keycard. The one you’d dropped days ago, and he’d kept. Not to use, he never meant to. But he couldn’t bring himself to hand it back either. He didn’t even know why, not until now.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, already slipping his feet into his shoes, not bothering to dry off. The water sloshed with every step down the hallway as he ran to the elevator, shirt clutched in one hand, keycard clenched in the other. He couldn’t let this end with a goodbye in the pool.

Just as the door opened to your floor, he bolted out, standing outside of your room now, pondering whether to knock or just barge right in. He chose the latter, tapping the keycard as the lock beeped green. You were standing right outside the bathroom, ready to take a shower when you heard it, Heeseung standing by the doorway, entering your room. 

Your breath hitched, “Heeseung?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just held up the keycard between his fingers, the one he had taken away after pinning you to the wall, “I wasn’t gonna use it—I couldn’t help it.” He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

The card slipped from his hold and onto the floor, and with three strides, he was standing right in front of you, fingers curling just beneath your chin, you couldn’t help but stare at his lips again, not having enough strength to push him away anymore, not when you craved him—not when he stared at you with those honey eyes, which appeared more serious now. 

“You know—” 

“I know you’ll leave,” he didn’t let you finish, “and I hesitated back then, but, I’d rather live in the present and not think about it, if you allow me to,” he mumbled, eyes taking you in and he swore—you were the prettiest person he’d ever seen. 

“No regrets?” You asked, staring into his eyes. 

“None. Ask me to leave if you have any,” he said. His forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in, jaw clenched, “say it and I’ll go.”

You took in a deep breath, shaking your head just a little, and that’s all it took for the corner of his lip to curl up, he only grabbed your neck and held you back, his other hand now behind your head so you wouldn’t hurt yourself as he pushed you against the wall. 

It was urgent the way his lips felt plush against yours, as if he was yearning to have you closed, impossibly so. Your towel fell down, as you stood there in your swimwear, moaning into his mouth, which he swallowed greedily. He let you feel every inch of frustration within him—he made you taste it, licking your mouth open, mumbling when you both stopped to catch your breath, “mi cariño (my dear),” he caressed your neck. 

He wanted to taste you again, and again. The tension lingered as he opened the bathroom door in a swift motion, diving into another kiss, moving you inside along with him, touching every inch of you—so fast you couldn’t even register what was happening. One second you were pressed against the wall, the other, you were kissing Heeseung under the warmth of the water droplets falling over you, right under the shower. 

It felt surreal—breathing him in, tracing his torso, holding him tight, all as he tried his best to show you just how bad he’d been craving this, “fuck—Heeseung!” You whined just as he started pressing open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your neck. 

“You have idea—” he groaned, “—how hard I controlled myself seeing you prance around with Jake, fuck, he even took you home,” he said, biting your supple skin, sucking on it hard enough for it to bruise. 

“Ah—you’re so fucking adorable when you’re jealous,” you teased, eyes closing under the warmth of him and the water and he chuckled, pushing your bikini bottom to the side, groping your cunt harshly.

“Hm? Is that so?” He continued tracing you with his slender fingers, enjoying how you were soaked, quite literally. The warmth of the water fogged up the air as you arched your back, body surrendering to his touch, making him smirk, “see? It’s so easy to be a good girl.”

His voice came out low, fingers dragging along your slit, teasing you further as you tried to stand still, clenching around nothing, mind dizzy with excitement and anticipation. You knew it would feel good, but this? It felt beyond heavenly, which was crazy granted he hadn’t even done much yet.

With his chest pressed firmly against yours under the streaming water, his lips brushed against your ear, “he got to see you like that—carefree and happy, all while I was suffering in denial, and you enjoyed it, huh?”

He curled his fingers against you, and your knees nearly gave out. You whimpered, but Heeseung held you steady, his other hand gripping the back of your thigh, hoisting your leg up just enough to slot himself closer. You cried out, pulling him closer—as if that was even possible anymore. 

He lifted your leg, grinding his hips forward just to feel how close he could get, his cock hard between you, trapped against you. “Mírate,” he hissed, sucking on your bottom lip as he fucked his fingers into you rougher now, “tan desordenada,” (look at you, so messy.) 

His fingers plunged into you, just as you blabbed  his name mindlessly, not understanding what he spoke, but you felt it in his actions, actions that involved taking control of all your senses, “eres tan chiquita—tan jodidamente mojada aquí beba,” (you’re so little, so fucking wet here) he looks up at you with a glimmer in his eyes and then he says, “eres mía. Me escuchaste? Ya sabes que eres mía verda?” (you’re mine. You hear me? you already know you’re mine right?)

“¿No me entiendes, baby? (don’t understand me, baby?)” he teased, dragging his lips lower—tongue flicking across the valley between your breasts as he pulled down the straps of your bikini top, exposing your chest to the warm water. 

He kissed over one nipple, sucking slow circles, tongue tracing the bud before sucking it harshly. You gasped, clutching at his soaked hair, grinding against his fingers that were still moving inside you, deeper now. Yes, you didn’t understand, but his voice only made you clench harder. He let go with a loud pop over the noise of water, “you don’t need to understand, your cunt does that very well.”

His kisses trailed lower, open-mouthed, paired with biting at your ribs, the expanse of your belly, before he sank to his knees, dragging your leg over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. He kissed the inside of your thigh, sucking at the tender skin until it throbbed, eyes on your face scrunched with ecstasy, his tongue moving lower with a smirk.

“Tan suave (so soft),” he murmured against your pussy, nose brushing where his fingers still worked you open—pulling them out, only to replace that spot with his mouth. Your head hit the tiled wall behind you with a soft thud as he moaned against your pussy, tongue licking a flat, slow stripe that made your vision blur. His hands gripped your thighs tighter as he sucked on your clit, licking around it right after, teasing.

Your fingers trembled in his hair, “I—I can’t, Hee—”

“Sí puedes,” he groaned, voice vibrating against your cunt, “no me digas que no puedes, (Yes, you can, don’t tell me you can’t.)” 

“Feels so good,” you moaned, fueling the fire even more.

He laughed softly, tongue flicking your clit fast now, sending a shiver up your spine. “You’re gonna come all over my tongue, preciosa,” he mumbled, lapping at you, “quiero ver cómo lloras por mí.” (I want to see how you cry for me.)

And then he sucked on your clit, mouth never leaving, tongue curling with his lips locked around it, till you shattered, knees buckling, and suddenly, the water didn’t feel hot anymore, at least not compared to the feeling of orgasm that ripped through you, messy and loud, just as Heeseung wanted it. 

Your cries filled the bathroom, nails scratching his scalp, and Heeseung moaned as you came, lapping through it like he was the one losing control.

“Eso es—así es como me gusta, (that’s it—that’s how I like it.)” he panted against your twitching cunt, licking up every drop. And then, just when you thought he’d stop—he kissed your clit again, watching your body jolt with a chuckle. 

“Shh,” he murmured, voice still thick as his mouth stayed right there, lips brushing your oversensitive clit again, “no hemos terminado.” (we’re not finished.)

Your legs twitched over his shoulders, the strength gone from them long ago, but Heeseung didn’t move. Instead, he kissed your overstimulated cunt with reverence, dragging another long stripe that made your hips jerk in place. He chuckled, his breath making your whole body clench.

“You’re still shaking,” he whispered, kissing the inside of your thigh this time, letting his teeth graze the skin he’d already bruised, “and i’ve barely started.”

Water rolled down his chest, slicking the muscle and vein running down his neck as he stood up, and when he looked at you—his eyes were hungry, lips pink from kissing you, chin wet from your orgasm, and he looked like—like a sin in the flesh. Your back hit the wall with a light thud, breath catching when his hands came to cup your face.

“You okay?” he asked, but his voice was already thick with want, knowing damn well you were far past any coherent answer. Still, his thumbs traced your cheeks, the touch felt gentle, until he took off his pants and boxers in one go, his length coming into view, now pressed against your belly, twitching there, as if waiting. You nodded before you could stop yourself, too dazed to lie.

His smirk returned, “that’s my girl.”

He kissed you again, this time longer. Lips plush and warm, tongue sliding against yours. His hands held your hips, thumbs digging into the curves as he guided you back, letting you feel him—all of him. His cock rubbed against your folds, not pushing in yet, simply coating himself in everything he’d already taken from you.

“You feel that?” His hips rolled again, letting the tip catch at your entrance, then slip away, “that’s what you do to me. Every fucking time you smile, every time you look at him instead of me.”

You swallowed hard, “he’s a friend,” you tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening.

“Every time you speak to Jake like I’m not watching, as if I wouldn’t fuck you so slow, so deep, you’d forget his name.”

He dipped his head, tongue flicking at the shell of your ear as he dragged the tip of his cock down your slit again.

You whined again, forehead pressing against his, “please, Hee—”

That made him groan, deep from his chest, “Mierda, I’ve waited so long for that sound.”

Then he reached under your thighs, lifting you gently, your back sliding up the wet wall. His cock prodding your entrance, this time not teasing, just holding you there, letting you feel everything, looking into your eyes, not wanting you to leave, still, he wasn’t saying it out loud, not again.

“You’re gonna take it all, princesa,” he whispered, lips brushing yours, “gonna make you mine.”

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he pushed in, the stretch painful yet beyond perfect, he was bigger than any other man you’d been with before. Heeseung groaned against your neck, his hands tightening around your thighs as he eased in inch by inch, dragging it out so you’d feel every part of him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched as your pussy squeezed around him. “You’re so—jodidamente apretada. (so fucking tight.) Like you were made for this.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your head thrown back, the steam swirling around both of you as he filled you entirely. When his hips finally met yours, he stayed there—cock pulsing inside you, bottoming out fully as you clenched around him with need. 

It was effortless how he moved in and out of you so easily despite groaning about how tight your little hole was and you felt dumb, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak. You simply knew and felt one thing and that was Heeseung—the man who ran into you on your first day here. 

And if you weren’t crazy before, now you had reached your limit of madness, even a poke from his side was like a pleasant burning wound to your skin, his actions also made you realize just how hungry Heeseung was for being the one in control, pulling himself out to turn your around, pressing his chest against your back as he plunged into you again. 

“So good,” you let out, the noise of your skin slapping in the water reverberating in the room. 

He had never found anyone like you before, it was as if you were the only one for him, the one who reacts to his touch in such ways, the one who drives him insane to the point he has to rile you up just to get you to talk to him. He only moved harder, thrusts relentless now as he groaned into your ear each time you clenched around him, his own cock twitching with need. 

Choked moans escaped your lips, reaching the point of complete incoherence as you got drunk in the intensity of his presence, your senses overwhelmed as he fucked you without any interruptions, noticing how you were close to yet another orgasm now. 

He groaned, “close now, hm?” 

You nodded as much as you could muster, and he only chuckled, “what if I don’t let you? Don’t you think you deserve a little punishment for making me all jealous, yeah?”

“What—Heeseung, no! I swear—oh fuck—it was all Jake, not me!”

“Uh-huh? So you didn’t enjoy his attention?” He asked, snapping his hips up in yet another powerful thrust. 

If it would have been any other time, you would have laughed in his face, but now? He had you dumb and breathless, mind chanting a mantra of his name, and his name only, no room for anyone else, especially with the pressure building in your lower abdomen yet again. 

When he didn’t hear any replies, he smacked his palm on your ass, groping it harsh, “say it,” he ordered, and you did, mewling out a barely coherent no.

“Good girl,” he chuckled, tongue trailing up from your neck to your ear, hand sliding down your front, pressing over your lower belly, holding you down on his cock like he wanted to feel himself inside from the outside, “you feel that, baby?” he groaned, “that’s me, that’s how deep I am. Nobody’s ever gonna fuck you like this.”You could only gasp, body seizing up from the overwhelming pressure building inside you, the stretch of him—every inch of you stretched taut around his cock. You nodded, breathless as his hips kept rolling into you.

“That’s it,” he rasped, lips brushing your ear, fingers circling your clit again, “let go for me—just for me.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, it was too much, he angled his hips, rutting into you from below, perfectly, and your mouth dropped open in a silent cry.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, panting now as he felt you clamp around him, “let me feel how much you want it.”

That’s all it took for you to finally cry out, your orgasm bursting through you, your legs giving out, it felt insane, the unadulterated pleasure he so effortlessly gave you, tears pricked the corners of your eyes, the release so intense it almost hurt.

Heeseung groaned from behind you, his thrusts stuttering.

“Shit, that’s it—fuck, you’re squeezing me—so fucking good,” he growled, hips still moving, chasing the aftershocks of your high, his cock twitching inside you, and just as your orgasm ebbed, he pressed flush against you, hips slamming in one final time before he stilled—buried deep, and came with a loud moan right by your ear, filling you up with his arms wrapping tight around your stomach. 

The steam swirled around both of you, water running down flushed skin, but neither of you moved.

“Cariño mira me, (honey, look at me,) ” he whispered, pulling out and helping you turn around to face him again, only to find his face flushed, water still running.

“Stay the night,” you say before he could, still breathing hard, eyes focused on his expression. 

It was pure madness how quick he held you in his arms again, leaning to bite your bottom lip. 

“We still have the night, and half a day tomorrow.”

SCENE TEN. The aftermath. 

It had been half a year, or perhaps more than that, but your life did back on track after the whole breakup, and post trip depression. It was a hard goodbye for the latter one. 

Heeseung had promised you he’d keep in touch, but perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to do it again, not when he had given you a big piece of his heart when you left, especially when he had promised it wasn’t the end, but now you could feel that it was. 

Jake on the other hand, had kept in touch with you, informing you about every single detail of what was going on in their lives, stressing on the fact that Heeseung had turned absolutely crazy working on the app to the point he forgot to sleep during certain nights. 

But hey, it worked out in the end, all those sleepless nights paid off, because the boys got that contract, and they were flying in today—the thought itself had your heart racing, or rather, hurting with the fact that Heeseung might not wish to see you again anymore, even though Jake did say he wished to visit today, and you were certainly happy with that too. 

Jake had become a good friend of yours over the time, there was never a dull conversation with him, and he made sure to tell you that he felt the exact same—also, your friend Isa was more than excited to meet the puppy like boy in flesh, having harboured a little crush on him based off of your experience. 

With a sigh, you sipped on your coffee, thinking about the times your ex tried to approach you, and when it got too much, he even had the audacity to crash your dinner with your friends—who simply have had enough of him, resulting in him running away after getting slapped by Yunjin. Safe to say, he never approached you again. 

However, your mind drifted off to Heeseung at all times, even when you were at work, often thinking about how he kissed you goodbye, saying something in Spanish that you didn’t understand, eyes holding the kind of sadness you’d only ever read in books. It was unforgettable how it had to end, but also unfortunate that Heeseung had given up. 

You thought of all the possibilities of meeting him again, or the lack of. It was honestly a given that you were never gonna find anyone like him. Yes, it started off rocky but that was the essence of what you had with Heeseung, and despite it all, you wouldn’t change a thing. 

The doorbell was quick to break your train of thoughts. You set your cup down on the counter, making your way to the door, wondering if it was your delivery man, only to find the man you’d spend hours thinking about. 

Lee Heeseung, breathing hard as if he had run all the way here to your apartment. Your eyes widened, chest heaving as you tried to believe your eyes, wondering if it was playing tricks on you—but the second he breathed out your name, you knew it was real. 

“Heeseung, you—”

He was quick to grab your waist, pulling you into him effortlessly, silencing you with a deep kiss, both of you smiling into it before he rested his forehead on yours, “I’m sorry for being late, I had to be sure—I had to be here, and now I won’t ever let you go, cariño.”

“I—why now?” You asked, not because you doubted him, but because you wished to hear it from him, your heart fluttering when he cupped your jaw. 

“Because I realised I wasn’t building anything if it wasn’t leading back to you,” he murmured, “every fucking pitch, every all-nighter, every time Jake tried to distract me—I was still thinking of you. I had to work hard so I could have the guts to come find you, so I could tell you I’m not afraid anymore.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, “if I have to start from scratch, I’ll do it. If you need time, I’ll wait. But I’m not walking away again.”

Without thinking much, you pulled him into another kiss, his fingers tapping your thigh twice—making you jump a little for him to hold you, your legs wrapping around his waist just as he closed the door shut. 

And for the first time in months, you could feel that something wasn’t ending, rather, something was finally beginning. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[gyuuberryy]

user error

pairing: nerd!jake x reader

genre: college au, eventual simp x simp dynamic, smut, slow burn

synopsis: getting partnered with jake, the tall awkward nerd from on of your computer science classes, should've been simple—work on the project, get your grade, move on. except now you're completely obsessed with him and he's totally clueless about it. between tutoring sessions you definitely don't need and "coincidental" dorm hall run-ins, you're pulling out all the stops. too bad jake's more interested in his textbooks than your very obvious flirting.

you've never been rejected before, so this should be fine. …right?

warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut (oral sex(f. and m. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, big dick!jake, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk!jake, dry humping, heavy makeout, whiny!jake), cursing, mild alcohol use, emotional manipulation, jealousy, themes of insecurity, angst, lots computer science related terms(i kind of geeked out here), reader's kind of delulu and a jerk

note: i'm back to my writing style for lighthearted fics for this one hehe. i lovelovelove nerdy shy men tropes sooo much. i did try to keep it a little realistic though. i hope you like this! enjoyyy

word count: 21.8k

taglist | more works!

you were alone in the computer science lab at nearly midnight, which wasn't unusual. assignments had a way of turning the building into a second home. but tonight felt wrong. everything felt too much. the lights buzzed too loud, drilling into your skull with that persistent electrical hum. your eyes burned from staring at your screen for four hours straight, vision going fuzzy at the edges. somewhere around hour three, you'd stopped actually processing code and started just staring through it.

your cold coffee sat forgotten beside your laptop, abandoned but still somehow necessary because the alternative was admitting defeat and going back to your dorm where your roommate and her boyfriend were probably still taking up the entire common space. you'd rather deal with this. the overstimulation. the way every tiny sound felt amplified in the empty lab. the aggressive brightness of your laptop screen. the uncomfortable pressure building behind your eyes that meant you were about to either cry or throw your laptop across the room. probably both.

your code wasn't working. hadn't been working for two days, and you'd tried everything. every forum suggestion, every stack overflow solution, every pathetic office hours visit where you'd explained your problem three times and still left confused. the cursor blinked at you on line two thousand and forty seven, mocking. the compiler kept throwing errors you didn't understand, and you'd rewritten that function six times already. your hands shook slightly from too much caffeine and not enough food. that tight, hot feeling crept up your throat. the one that signalled imminent breakdown.

you pressed your palms against your eyes until you saw spots, trying to reset something in your overwhelmed nervous system. didn't work. nothing worked tonight.

the silence in the lab was the worst part, it was so quiet that it made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, your heartbeat, the small wet sound your tongue made against the roof of your mouth when you swallowed. you hated it.

then suddenly, the power cut out. total darkness that swallowed everything in an instant, your laptop screen going black, even the emergency exit signs disappearing. your heart kicked into overdrive, adrenaline flooding so fast you felt dizzy. you reached out instinctively for your laptop, fingers scrabbling across the desk, needing to confirm it was still there, that everything you'd been working on wasn't just gone.

suddenly you heard footsteps. someone else was in the lab. you hadn't known anyone else was here. the realisation sent fear spiking through your chest because you'd been so certain you were alone. now there was someone moving closer, footsteps uneven and hurried like they couldn't see any better than you. you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could form words there was sudden pressure against your shoulder, hard and unexpected, and then there was the splash of cold liquid, spreading across your lap and chest.

your coffee. the cup tipped and spilt, liquid soaking through your jeans, spreading sticky and uncomfortable across your thighs. panic hit first, pure and primal, because for a split second all you could think was laptop, everything's gone, hours of work, my entire project. your hands flew out in the darkness, patting frantically at the desk, trying to assess the damage. your chest was so tight you couldn't get a full breath.

then came the anger. fast and hot and overwhelming, rising from somewhere deep in your stomach. you wanted to scream. wanted to grab whoever crashed into you and shake them. wanted to cry from sheer frustration because this was exactly what you didn't need tonight, not when you were already hanging on by a thread.

"oh my god, oh my god, i'm so sorry, i didn't see you, i didn't think anyone else was here, i'm so sorry." the voice came rapid-fire from somewhere to your left. male, young, pitched higher than normal with genuine distress. 

he kept apologising, words tumbling over each other, and there was something in his tone that didn't sound rehearsed. he sounded actually afraid, like he'd just committed some unforgivable sin. 

"i didn't mean to, i couldn't see, the power just went out and i was trying to get to the door and i'm so sorry, did it get on your laptop? please tell me it didn't get on your laptop."

you took a breath, trying to force words past the tightness in your throat, trying to formulate some response that matched the fury still coursing through your veins. your mouth opened, something sharp and cutting right on the edge of your tongue.

the emergency lighting kicked in. not much, just pale green strips along the baseboards casting everything in eerie, insufficient glow. enough to see by. enough to make out shapes, faces.

the guy who'd run into you stood about two feet away, and the first thing you noticed was his hands. hovering in the air between you, trembling visibly even in the dim light, fingers spread like he wanted to help but didn't dare touch anything. he was tall and lean, dark hair stuck up in odd directions like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. glasses had slipped down his nose, and behind them his eyes were wide. genuinely panicked in a way that didn't feel performed at all.

"your laptop," he said, voice still shaking with that same desperate concern. "what model is it? did the coffee get on it? the keyboard is the main concern, if liquid got into the keyboard we need to shut it down immediately and flip it over to drain, we need to know if you had everything backed up." 

he was already moving closer, trembling hands reaching toward your desk, and you realised with a start that he hadn't even looked at you properly yet. his entire focus was on your laptop. on the problem he'd created. on fixing it.

"it's fine," you managed, voice coming out rougher than intended. you looked down at your computer. sitting safely to the right of where your coffee had been, completely dry and unharmed. "it didn't get on it."

the relief that washed over his face was so profound you almost felt embarrassed witnessing it. his shoulders sagged. his hands finally dropped to his sides. he let out a long, shaky breath like he'd been holding it since the collision.

 "okay. okay, that's good, that's really good." then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes finally moved to actually look at you. taking in your coffee-soaked lap, your tense posture, your expression which you were sure wasn't friendly. "are you okay? did you get burned? that coffee looked hot, if it was hot we should get you to a sink, run cold water on it."

"it was cold," you said. true, but didn't make the situation better. your jeans were soaked through, fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin, coffee starting to seep into your chair. you were sticky and irritated and still running on too much adrenaline. but he looked so genuinely distressed that some of your anger started deflating despite yourself.

"cold coffee is still a problem," he said, already pulling his backpack off his shoulder, unzipping it with fumbling fingers. "the sugar content means it'll get sticky when it dries, and it can stain, especially on lighter fabrics. i have napkins, i think, or maybe paper towels, i definitely have something." 

he was rummaging through his bag now, pulling out crumpled papers, a graphing calculator, several pens, tangled earbuds, talking the entire time in that same rapid, anxious way. 

"i'm really sorry, i should have been more careful, i knew the power was out, i should have used my phone flashlight, i just thought i knew the layout well enough to navigate in the dark but obviously i was wrong."

you watched him. something uncomfortable shifted in your chest. you'd been prepared to snap at him, to unleash all your accumulated frustration on whoever had been careless enough to run into you. but he wasn't making excuses. wasn't trying to minimise what he'd done or deflect blame or make some joke to lighten the mood. he was just genuinely, almost painfully concerned about the problem he'd created. the way he kept apologising, kept trying to fix things, made it very hard to stay angry.

"here," he said triumphantly, producing a small pack of tissues from the bottom of his bag. he held them out, then seemed to realise how inadequate they were and let out a frustrated sound. "these aren't going to be enough. we should go to the bathroom, get some actual paper towels. or maybe the kitchen area on the second floor, they have those industrial dispensers that are way more absorbent." 

he paused, finally seeming to register that you hadn't moved, that you were just sitting there watching him. his ears went red, visible even in the dim green emergency lighting. "sorry, i'm sorry, i'm doing it again. my sister always tells me i go into problem-solving mode when i'm anxious and it makes people feel like i'm not actually listening to them. are you okay? like, actually okay, not just physically okay?"

the question caught you off guard. nobody had asked you that in days. maybe weeks. everyone just assumed you were fine because you were handling things, meeting deadlines, showing up to class. but this stranger who'd just spilt coffee all over you was looking at you with genuine concern, waiting for a real answer. something in your chest felt suddenly too tight.

"i'm fine," you said, softer than intended. you took the tissues from him, dabbing uselessly at your jeans. he was right. they weren't nearly enough. but the gesture felt important somehow. "it's been a long night."

"assignments?" he asked. when you nodded he made a sympathetic noise. "yeah, same. i've been here since six. had a project deadline at midnight but then the power went out fifteen minutes before and now i don't know if my submission went through because the wifi died with the electricity." he pushed his glasses up his nose. nervous gesture you got the impression he did frequently. 

"i'm jake, by the way. jake sim. i feel like i should probably introduce myself since i just, like, assaulted you with your own beverage."

despite everything, ruined jeans and exhaustion and broken code, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch. not quite a smile, but close. "assaulted me with my own beverage?"

"well, yeah," he said, looking vaguely embarrassed. "i mean, i weaponised your coffee against you. that's technically assault, right? or maybe battery? i always get those mixed up. my roommate's a poli-sci major, he'd know."

 he was rambling now, words spilling out in that same anxious rush, and there was something almost endearing about how completely lacking in artifice it was. he wasn't trying to be charming. wasn't trying to be funny. just genuinely nervous and dealing with it by talking too much.

you told him your name. he repeated it carefully, like he was committing it to memory. "i really am sorry," he said again, quieter this time. "what were you working on? before i interrupted?"

"data structures project," you said. just thinking about it made your shoulders tense again. "it's due tomorrow and there's a bug i can't figure out and i've been staring at it for hours."

his eyes lit up behind his glasses, spark of interest that transformed his whole face. "what kind of bug? runtime error? logic error? is it a pointer issue? those are always the worst, especially with linked lists."

 he was already moving closer to your laptop, stopping himself at the last second like he'd realised he was being presumptuous. "sorry, i mean, i could take a look if you want? i'm pretty good with data structures. it's kind of my thing. i'm a TA for comp 201 actually, so i see a lot of common bugs. but also totally no pressure, i know i just dumped coffee on you so you probably don't want my help."

you should have said no. didn't know this guy, didn't owe him anything. you'd been managing just fine on your own. except you hadn't been managing fine. you'd been on the verge of a breakdown in an empty lab at midnight. now here was this nervous, rambling stranger offering help without expecting anything in return, looking at you like your problem was genuinely important to him.

it was disorienting. how quickly your anger had evaporated, replaced by something you couldn't quite name. you found yourself noticing details you shouldn't care about. the way he kept pushing his glasses up. the way his hands had finally stopped shaking now that he had something concrete to focus on.

"okay," you heard yourself say. his whole face brightened in a way that made something flutter uncomfortably in your stomach. "yeah, if you don't mind looking at it."

"i don't mind at all," he said quickly, already pulling up a chair. he left careful distance between you though, hyper-aware of not invading your space again. "show me what you've got."

you turned your laptop toward him. he leaned in, eyes scanning the lines with immediate focus. his expression shifted into something concentrated, intense. this was probably what he looked like when he wasn't tripping over people in the dark and panicking about it. he started asking questions about your implementation, your logic, what you'd already tried. his voice had lost that nervous edge. this was clearly where he was comfortable. in the clean logic of code, in problems that had solutions.

you answered his questions. watched as he nodded, occasionally pushing his glasses up, finger tracing lines of code on the screen without quite touching it. the emergency lighting cast strange shadows across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed in concentration.

you were noticing things you shouldn't notice. but you told yourself it wasn't because you found him attractive. you were just paying attention because he was helping. because he'd disrupted your solitary misery and replaced it with something else. something that felt almost like companionship.

"there," he said suddenly, pointing to a line in the middle of your function. "you're incrementing the counter before you check the condition, but you need to check the condition first. it's causing an off-by-one error. see? you're accessing index n when your array only goes up to n minus one."

you stared at the line he was indicating. slowly, horribly, you realised he was right. such a simple mistake, the kind of thing you should have caught hours ago. but you'd been too tired, too frustrated, too deep in your own head to see it. "oh my god," you said quietly. "that's it. that's the whole problem."

"easy fix," jake said, smiling now. a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "just move that line down two spaces and add the conditional check first. you want me to...?" he gestured at your keyboard, asking permission. you nodded, watched as he made the adjustment with quick, confident keystrokes. "there. try running it now."

you hit compile, holding your breath. for the first time in two days the program ran without errors. the output printed exactly the way it was supposed to. clean and correct and perfect. relief flooded through you so intensely you felt dizzy with it, all the tension you'd been carrying suddenly releasing at once. "thank you," you said, voice more emotional than intended. "seriously, thank you, i've been losing my mind over this."

"it happens to everyone," jake said gently. "sometimes you just need fresh eyes. i've definitely been there." he leaned back in his chair, that nervous energy returning now that the immediate problem was solved. "your code is really clean, by the way. like, really well-structured. that bug was literally the only issue, everything else is solid."

the compliment settled warm in your chest. you realised with a start that you felt calm. actually calm, for the first time all night. your heart rate had slowed. your hands were steady. the overwhelming pressure behind your eyes had eased.

the lab was still too quiet, the emergency lighting still eerie and insufficient, your jeans still soaked with cold coffee. but somehow none of it felt as unbearable as it had fifteen minutes ago. and that was because of him. because jake had crashed into you in the dark and apologised too much and fixed your code and made you feel less alone in this empty building at midnight.

jake was gathering his things, shoving papers and pens back into his backpack with the same energy he'd had while searching for tissues. "i should probably try to find someone about the power situation," he said. "and you should probably change before that coffee stains permanently. there's a campus store in the student centre that's open twenty-four hours, they have overpriced sweatpants but at least they're dry."

"yeah," you said, surprised to find you didn't want him to leave yet. "yeah, i probably should."

he stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and hesitated. "hey, um. if you ever need help with code stuff again, or if you just want to work in the lab at the same time, i'm here most nights. usually not spilling beverages on people, but, you know. tonight was special." he smiled awkwardly. you found yourself smiling back, a real smile this time.

"i might take you up on that," you said. meant it.

jake's expression brightened again. that same transformation you'd noticed earlier. he nodded. "cool. yeah, that would be cool. okay. i'm gonna go now before i accidentally break something else." he gave you a small wave, started toward the door, then turned back. "your code really is good, by the way. i wasn't just saying that."

then he was gone, disappearing into the dark hallway beyond the lab. you were alone again. but that realisation, that awareness that a stranger's clumsy kindness had affected you so much, sat uncomfortable and warm in your chest as you saved your work and finally, finally, packed up to leave.

you walked into your lecture the next morning running on four hours of sleep and caffeine-induced alertness that felt vaguely hallucinogenic. your jeans from last night were balled up in your laundry basket, probably stained beyond saving, and you'd thrown on the first clean thing you could find. 

you slid into your usual spot next to yunjin, who was already comparing notes with beomgyu across the aisle. they were your people. your safe zone. the ones you'd suffered through intro courses with, pulled all-nighters with, shared desperate pre-exam breakdowns with.

"you look like death," yunjin said cheerfully, not looking up from her phone.

"thanks. love you too."

"late night?" beomgyu leaned over, stealing one of yunjin's chips. "you missed the group chat meltdown about the algorithms homework."

you hummed noncommittally, pulling out your laptop. your code from last night was still open, that perfect, error-free output staring back at you. you'd submitted it at 12:47 am, seventeen minutes after jake had fixed it. seventeen minutes after he'd disappeared down that dark hallway.

you hadn't told yunjin and beomgyu about any of it. the power outage, the coffee, jake. especially jake. it felt somehow private, like explaining it would cheapen it or make it feel less significant than it had been in the moment.

professor kim walked in, and the room settled into that particular brand of restless attention that morning lectures always had. "alright, alright," she said, pulling up a slide that made half the room groan in unison. "i know you're all thrilled to hear this, but it's time to discuss your semester-long project."

chairs scraped against floors as people twisted around to look at their friends. voices overlapped, people already calling out names, forming pairs out of habit and convenience. you felt yunjin's hand on your arm at the same time beomgyu leaned over.

"partners?" yunjin said.

"obviously we're doing a group," beomgyu added. "the three of us, right?"

you nodded, half-listening, your attention already drifting across the lecture hall. you weren't sure what you were looking for until you found it. him. jake was sitting near the back with a small group of guys you vaguely recognised from other cs classes. he was hunched slightly over his notebook, pen moving across the page, taking notes while everyone else was busy forming alliances. his hair was even messier today, sticking up on one side like he'd rolled out of bed. his glasses kept sliding down his nose and he kept pushing them back up with his index finger, that same nervous gesture from last night.

he looked small somehow, despite being tall. like he was trying to take up less space. one of his friends said something and laughed, nudging jake's shoulder, but jake just smiled politely without really engaging. his attention stayed on his notebook.

you watched him for a moment longer than necessary. watched the way his shoulders curved inward, the way he held his pen, the concentrated furrow of his brow. something in your chest did an uncomfortable little flip.

"so we're agreed then?" yunjin was saying. "i'll handle the frontend, beomgyu can do the database stuff, and you can—"

you stood up. the decision happened before you'd fully processed it, your body moving on instinct or impulse or something you didn't want to examine too closely. your chair scraped loud enough that a few people glanced over.

"actually," you said, already stepping past beomgyu into the aisle. "i'm gonna partner with someone else."

"what?" yunjin's voice pitched up in genuine confusion. "who?"

but you were already walking. moving up the steps toward the back of the lecture hall, weaving between people who were still negotiating partnerships and arguing about skill distributions. you were aware of people watching. of yunjin and beomgyu's matching expressions of confusion. of the way conversations paused as you passed.

jake's friends noticed you first. one of them, a guy with bleached hair, nudged jake's arm and nodded in your direction. another one went quiet mid-sentence, eyes tracking your approach with unconcealed curiosity. jake looked up last, following their gazes, and when his eyes met yours he froze. actually froze, pen suspended over his notebook, lips slightly parted like he'd been about to say something and forgotten how.

you stopped at the edge of their row. suddenly hyperaware of how many people were definitely watching this interaction. "hey," you said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near awkward. "you have a partner yet?"

jake blinked. once, twice. his friends were staring at him now, then at you, then back at him like they were watching a tennis match. "i—what?"

"for the project," you clarified, gesturing vaguely at professor kim who was still explaining requirements at the front of the room. "do you have a partner?"

"i—" jake's hand came up to push his glasses up his nose even though they hadn't moved. his ears were already turning red. "no? i mean, no, i don't, but—" he glanced at his friends, then back at you, looking genuinely lost. "are you—do you mean—"

"i'm asking if you want to partner up," you said, more directly this time. your heart was doing something weird and arrhythmic in your chest. "for the semester project."

the guy with bleached hair made a noise that might have been a strangled laugh. another one of jake's friends just gaped openly. jake himself looked like you'd just spoken to him in a language he only half understood. "you want to—with me?"

"yeah."

"but—" he gestured helplessly toward where yunjin and beomgyu were sitting, both of them now watching with unconcealed shock. "don't you usually work with your friends? i thought—"

"i'm asking you," you said, cutting him off before he could talk himself out of it or before you could overthink what you were doing. "if you already have other plans it's fine, i just thought—" you paused, scrambling for justification that didn't sound insane. "you're good at this stuff. you're a TA. you knew exactly what was wrong with my code last night in like, five seconds. it makes sense. strategically."

strategically. god, you sounded unhinged.

jake stared at you. his friends stared at you. half the lecture hall was probably staring at you at this point. "i—" jake swallowed visibly. "yeah. yes. i mean, if you want to, then—yeah. okay."

"yeah?"

"yeah." he nodded, more firmly this time, though he still looked vaguely shell-shocked. "we can—yeah. that would be—yeah."

his friends exchanged glances that were absolutely loaded with unspoken communication. the bleached hair guy, jungwon you think, was grinning now, looking between you and jake like he'd just witnessed something phenomenal. "well," he said, voice thick with amusement, "this is interesting."

you ignored him. "cool. we should probably meet up sometime this week to go over the requirements?"

"yeah, definitely," jake said quickly, already pulling out his phone with hands that trembled slightly. "i can—do you want my number? or i can get yours, or—we could use email if that's easier—"

"number's fine." you rattled it off, watching him type it into his contacts with endearing focus, tongue poking slightly between his teeth. when he looked up his expression was softer, less panicked. almost shy.

"okay," he said. "i'll text you?"

"sounds good."

you turned to head back down to your seat, acutely aware of the weight of multiple stares following your retreat. yunjin grabbed your arm the second you sat down, eyes wide with questions, but professor kim chose that moment to actually start the lecture and yunjin had to settle for furious whisper-hissing "what the hell was that?" while you studiously ignored her.

you pulled up your laptop, pretending to focus on the slides about project requirements and grading rubrics. but your attention kept drifting. you could feel it, that awareness of jake sitting several rows behind you. you wondered if he was taking notes. if his friends were grilling him. if his ears were still red.

you told yourself this was practical. logical. jake was skilled, focused, clearly knew his stuff. working with him made sense from a grades perspective, from an efficiency perspective. it was a smart choice. strategic, like you'd said.

but the justification felt thin even as you repeated it to yourself. because practical partnerships didn't make your pulse spike like this. strategic choices didn't leave you feeling weirdly breathless, or hyperaware of your phone in your pocket, waiting for a text that might come in an hour or a day. smart decisions didn't come with this flutter of satisfaction sitting warm and dangerous in your chest, the kind that felt unearned and a little reckless.

you'd just chosen jake over your actual friends for a semester-long project. you'd walked across the entire lecture hall in front of everyone to ask him specifically. you'd done it without planning it, without fully understanding why, acting on instinct alone.

your phone buzzed. you grabbed it maybe too quickly, ignoring yunjin's pointed look.

unknown number: hi, it's jake. from the lab? and also from just now. obviously. you know who i am. anyway this is my number. unknown number: we can meet whenever works for you btw. i'm pretty flexible. unknown number: sorry i'm rambling over text now apparently. i'll stop.

despite everything, despite the weirdness of the entire situation, you felt yourself smile. properly smile, which made yunjin lean over and whisper, "oh my god, you're blushing," which you absolutely were not.

you saved his number. typed out a response. deleted it. typed it again.

you: library tomorrow at 6?

his reply came almost instantly.

jake: perfect. i'll see you there.

yeah. perfect. that's exactly what this was.

you'd gotten there ten minutes early, which was ridiculous and you knew it, but you'd told yourself it was just to secure a good table. not because you were nervous. definitely not because you'd changed your shirt three times.

jake showed up at 6:02, slightly out of breath like he'd been rushing, backpack slung over one shoulder and hair even messier than usual. 

"sorry, sorry," he said, sliding into the chair across from you. "my last class ran over and then i couldn't find my charger and—" he stopped himself, ears going pink. "sorry. you don't need the full explanation. i'm here now."

"you're fine," you said, surprised by how much you meant it. "i just got here too."

it was a lie, but whatever.

he pulled out his laptop, a slightly battered thing covered in tech company stickers, and immediately opened what looked like a meticulously organised project folder. 

"so i was thinking we could start by breaking down the requirements," he said, already pulling up the assignment sheet. "if we divide it into modules we can work on different parts simultaneously and then integrate everything at the end. i made a rough outline last night, but obviously we can change whatever you want."

you blinked at him. "you made an outline? already?"

"i—yeah?" he looked uncertain suddenly, like he'd done something wrong. "was that—should i not have? i just thought it would be helpful to have a starting point, but if you wanted to plan it together—"

"no, that's—" you leaned closer to look at his screen, close enough that you could smell whatever soap or shampoo he used. something clean and faintly citrusy. "that's really good actually. you're like, super organised."

"oh." he pushed his glasses up, not quite meeting your eyes. "thanks. i just like having things structured, it makes the actual coding part less chaotic."

you shifted your chair around the table, closing the distance between you under the pretence of seeing his screen better. your knees almost touched under the table. jake didn't seem to notice, already walking you through his outline with the kind of focused enthusiasm that made his whole face more animated. he talked with his hands a little, you realised. small gestures that punctuated his explanations.

it was kind of endearing. he was kind of endearing, in this unpolished, genuine way that made you want to keep watching him talk even though you should probably be paying attention to the actual content of what he was saying.

"—so if we use that framework it'll save us a ton of time on the backend. does that make sense?" he glanced at you, expectant.

"yeah, totally," you said, even though you'd caught maybe half of it. "you're really good at this."

"at what?"

"explaining things. breaking stuff down." you let your voice soften deliberately, the kind of tone you'd use on someone you were interested in. testing. "you must be a really good TA."

jake's expression brightened with genuine pleasure, completely innocent. "oh, thanks! i really like teaching actually. it's really satisfying when something clicks for someone, you know?" he turned back to his laptop. "okay so for the first module, i was thinking we could—"

you felt something deflate slightly in your chest. he'd just. moved on. thanked you politely and redirected straight back to work like you'd commented on the weather.

you tried again twenty minutes later, when he'd finished explaining the database architecture. "seriously, how is your brain even wired like this?" you said, letting your hand rest on the table between you, close enough to his that moving a few inches would mean touching. "like, this would've taken me hours to figure out and you just see it."

"i mean, i've been coding since i was like twelve," jake said, smiling in that self-deprecating way that made your stomach flip. "my dad's a software engineer so i kind of grew up around it. you'd be just as good if you'd had the same exposure." 

he grabbed his water bottle, took a sip, completely oblivious to the way you were looking at him. "anyway, should we start on the initial setup? i can handle the repository if you want to draft the pseudocode for the first function?"

"sure," you said, trying not to sound as frustrated as you felt.

it continued like that. you'd find little ways to compliment him, to touch his arm when he said something funny, to lean into his space. and every single time jake would light up with friendly appreciation and then just. keep going. keep working. keep being nice in this utterly platonic way that was starting to drive you slightly insane.

when you suggested taking a break and offered to buy him coffee, he'd said "oh that's so sweet, but i'm good, i don't want to lose momentum." when you'd asked about his hobbies, trying to find some common ground beyond code, he'd given you a genuine answer about gaming and soccer and then immediately asked about your hobbies with the same earnest interest he gave to literally everything.

he wasn't being cold. wasn't being dismissive. he was just. friendly. sincerely friendly in a way that suggested he thought you were also just being friendly and nothing more. the idea that you might be flirting with him clearly hadn't even crossed his mind.

it shouldn't have bothered you. it was one study session. you barely knew him. but there was something about the way he was so completely unaffected that made you want to push harder, try more obviously, make him see you the way you were apparently seeing him.

which was insane. you were being insane.

"okay i think that's a good stopping point," jake said eventually, glancing at his phone. "we got through way more than i expected, honestly. you're really fast at this."

"we work well together," you said, maybe too much emphasis on the together part.

"yeah," he agreed easily, already packing up his stuff. "this is gonna be way less painful than i thought. usually group projects are a nightmare but i think we're pretty compatible."

compatible. he said it like he was talking about software versions.

you packed up your own stuff, trying to shake off whatever weird frustrated feeling had settled in your chest. this was good. you had a competent partner who was easy to work with. that's what mattered. not whether he noticed when you laughed at his jokes or sat closer than strictly necessary.

the library had gotten dark outside while you'd been working, the early winter darkness that feeking too heavy for eight pm. you pushed through the doors together, the cold air immediately biting at your face.

"which way are you headed?" jake asked, adjusting his backpack.

you pointed toward the east side of campus. "miller hall."

jake stopped walking. just fully stopped and stared at you. "wait, seriously?"

"yeah?"

"i'm in miller," he said, and his face did this thing, this open, delighted thing like you'd just told him something genuinely exciting. "i'm on the fourth floor. what floor are you?"

"third," you said, trying to keep your voice normal even though your brain was already racing ahead. same building. same building. you lived in the same building and you hadn't known. "that's—what are the odds?"

"i know, right?" jake fell into step beside you, and he seemed more relaxed now, less formal than he'd been in the library. "i can't believe we haven't run into each other before. though i guess i'm not around that much, i'm usually either in class or the lab or—" he laughed. "okay i'm making myself sound really boring."

"no you're not," you said, maybe too quickly. "i'm the same way. especially during midterms."

"the worst," he agreed. "hey, at least now if we need to meet up for the project it's super convenient. we can literally just knock on each other's doors."

he said it so casually. so normally, like it was just a nice logistical benefit and nothing more. meanwhile your mind was already cataloguing possibilities. you could time your meals to match his schedule. figure out when he usually left for class. find reasons to be in the common areas when he might pass through. it would look natural, coincidental. just friendly neighbors running into each other.

you were already strategising.

the realisation made something uncomfortable twist in your stomach. this was. this was too much maybe. you were thinking about him too much, cataloguing details about him like you were studying for an exam. getting frustrated when he didn't respond to your flirting even though you had no actual reason to expect him to. you'd had one late-night interaction and now one study session and somehow you were already rearranging your mental map of campus to accommodate his presence in it.

"you good?" jake asked, and you realised you'd gone quiet.

"yeah, just tired."

"same." he smiled at you, easy and warm. "thanks for picking me as your partner, by the way. i know you could've worked with your friends and i'm—i'm really glad you asked me instead. i think this is gonna be fun."

fun. he was looking forward to the project because he thought it would be fun. because he liked coding and teaching and he probably thought you were a cool person to work with. he was just. happy to have company. happy to make a new friend.

meanwhile you were over here planning imaginary coincidental run-ins and getting weirdly possessive over someone who didn't even know you liked him.

god, you were pathetic.

"yeah," you managed. "me too."

you reached miller hall, and jake held the door open for you, still talking about some technique he wanted to try for the project. you half-listened, watching the way his hair flopped over his forehead, the animated way he gestured when he got excited about something.

the elevator ride to your floor felt too short. jake got off with you, said he'd just walk up the extra flight of stairs for the exercise. "text me if you think of anything for the project," he said, already heading toward the stairwell. "or honestly just text me whenever. i'm always on my phone."

then he was gone, and you were standing alone in the hallway outside your door, feeling weirdly deflated and wired at the same time.

your phone buzzed before you'd even gotten your key out.

jake: forgot to say this but your idea for the UI was really smart. i think it's gonna make the whole thing way more intuitive. jake: ok NOW i'm done bothering you. have a good night!

you stared at the messages, that dangerous warm feeling spreading through your chest again. he'd texted you immediately to compliment your idea. with absolutely no prompting.

you were smiling at your phone like an idiot.

yeah. you were definitely pathetic.

"i'm just saying, he's clearly not interested," yunjin said, stabbing her salad with more force than necessary. "like, you've tried everything."

you were sitting in the dining hall, picking at your food while yunjin and beomgyu conducted what was essentially an intervention about your jake situation. an intervention you hadn't asked for and definitely didn't want.

"maybe he's just shy," you said, defensive.

beomgyu snorted. "shy guys still notice when someone's flirting with them. they just get weird about it. this guy sounds like he genuinely has no idea."

"which means he's not into you," yunjin added, gentler now. "and that's fine, you know? you can just be project partners. you don't have to keep torturing yourself."

except the thing was, you weren't entirely convinced jake wasn't interested. or maybe you just didn't want to accept it yet. because he texted you unprompted sometimes, sent you memes he thought you'd find funny, always smiled when he saw you in the hallway. that had to mean something, right?

"i'm not torturing myself," you muttered.

"you've mentioned him like fifteen times in the past hour," beomgyu pointed out.

"have not."

"you literally just told us about how he holds his pen. his pen."

okay. maybe you were torturing yourself a little.

you left the dining hall feeling irritated and restless, your friends' words circling in your head. he's not interested. he has no idea. you're torturing yourself. maybe they were right. probably they were right. you should just focus on the project, get a good grade, and move on like a normal person.

you were cutting through the student centre, not really paying attention to where you were going, when you passed the community bulletin board. the usual chaos of flyers and posters, study abroad programs, club meetings, someone selling a barely-used microwave. your eyes skimmed over it automatically, not really looking.

then you saw his name.

TUTORING AVAILABLE - COMP 101, 201, 301

patient, experienced, flexible schedule

contact: jake sim

there was a row of little tear-off tabs at the bottom with his phone number. several were already missing. the flyer itself was simple, almost plain. you stared at it. people flowed around you, conversations and footsteps and the ambient noise of the student centre, but you just stood there staring at jake's handwritten flyer.

you didn't need tutoring. your grades were fine. good, even. you and jake were in the same advanced class, for god's sake. he'd probably seen your test scores when he was TAing. this would be…obvious. wouldn't it? taking a tab would be transparent and desperate and—

your hand moved before you'd fully decided. the paper tore with a soft sound that felt too loud. you stared at the little strip in your palm, jake's number printed in his neat handwriting even though you already had it saved in your phone.

what were you doing?

you shoved the tab in your pocket and walked away quickly, like someone might have witnessed you doing something incriminating. your heart was beating too fast. this was insane. this was transparent. he was going to see right through it.

but.

but it was also legitimate, wasn't it? people got tutoring all the time, even when their grades were fine. wanting to understand the material better, wanting a different perspective, wanting to be extra prepared. those were all valid reasons. normal reasons. and yeah, maybe you had ulterior motives, but the cover story was solid enough that you could maintain plausible deniability. to him. to yourself.

you made it back to your dorm before you pulled out your phone.

you: hey! i saw your tutoring flyer in the student centre. do you still have availability?

you hit send before you could overthink it. then immediately started overthinking it anyway. he was going to ask why. he was going to point out that you clearly didn't need help. he was going to—

your phone buzzed.

jake<3: oh hey! yeah i have some slots open. but wait, aren't you doing pretty well in class? i've seen your test scores when i'm grading and you're like, consistently in the top range jake<3: not that you CAN'T get tutoring obviously! everyone can benefit from extra help jake<3: i just want to make sure you actually need it and aren't just being nice or something

god, he was even considerate about this. checking in to make sure you weren't wasting your time or money on something you didn't need. being thoughtful and genuine while you were over here manipulating the situation to manufacture more time with him.

you felt a twinge of something uncomfortable. guilt maybe. but you pushed it down.

you: i mean yeah my grades are okay, but i feel like i'm just memorising patterns without really UNDERSTANDING the concepts you know? like i can solve the problems but i couldn't explain WHY you: i just want to make sure i actually get it. especially since the material keeps building on itself

it wasn't entirely a lie. you did sometimes feel like you were pattern-matching your way through assignments. and deeper understanding was always good. these were reasonable concerns. the fact that they weren't your primary motivation didn't make them untrue.

jake<3: oh yeah that makes total sense actually. i see that a lot with students. they can execute but the underlying logic isn't solid jake<3: okay yeah we can definitely work on that! my rate is $20/hour but honestly for you i'd be happy to just do it for free? since we're already working together on the project anyway

you: no way i'm paying you. you're already helping me so much with the project

jake<3: the project is a two person thing, you're helping me just as much jake<3: but okay we can argue about payment later. when works for you?

you felt that warm, dangerous flutter again. he'd offered to tutor you for free. just casually, like it was no big deal. like spending extra time with you was something he actively wanted to do, even without compensation.

you: i'm pretty flexible. whenever you have time

jake<3: thursdays at 7? we could do the library again or somewhere on our floor if you want somewhere quieter jake<3: also i promise i'll actually TEACH and not just fix your code for you like last time lol

you smiled at your phone. somewhere on your floor. which meant his room or yours. which meant private, just the two of you, no other students around.

you: thursdays work for me! 

jake<3: cool! we can switch off. i'll bring snacks jake<3: this'll be fun :)

he'd sent a smiley face. an actual emoticon. it shouldn't have made your heart skip but it did.

you locked your phone and sat on your bed, that satisfaction settling warm in your chest. you'd done it. you'd created a legitimate, recurring excuse to see jake outside of project work. an hour a week, minimum, where you'd have his complete attention. where you could sit close to him in the privacy of a dorm room, help him help you, let those boundaries get just a little bit blurrier.

it was harmless. he was offering tutoring anyway, you were just taking him up on it. and yeah, maybe your motivations weren't entirely pure, but you weren't lying to him. not really. you did want to understand the material better. the fact that you also wanted to be around him more was just. additional context. secondary reasoning.

you were being smart about this, honestly. creating opportunities without being pushy. letting things develop naturally within structures that already existed.

you ignored the small, quiet voice in the back of your mind that whispered this was too much. that you were engineering situations and manufacturing proximity and maybe that wasn't as harmless as you wanted to believe. that jake was offering to help you in good faith while you had an agenda he knew nothing about.

you were good at ignoring that voice.

your phone buzzed again.

jake<3: btw i've been thinking about the database structure and i had an idea

and just like that you were smiling again, typing back, that uncomfortable feeling dissolving into something easier and warmer and more immediately gratifying.

it was fine. everything was fine. this was just tutoring. just spending time with someone you enjoyed being around. there was nothing wrong with that.

nothing wrong with it at all.

you'd been doing the tutoring sessions for three weeks when your roommate officially moved out. well, not officially officially. her stuff was still there, her side of the room still technically occupied. but she'd been spending every night at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment for the past month, and one day she just stopped pretending she was coming back.

"i'm still paying rent," she'd said, shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "so like, it's still my room. i'll probably crash here sometimes. but you basically have the place to yourself."

you'd nodded sympathetically while internally celebrating. your own space. privacy. no need to coordinate schedules or deal with her boyfriend's annoying habits. it was perfect.

it took you less than a day to realise it was perfect for other reasons too.

the next tutoring session was supposed to be in the library. thursday at seven, like always. but you'd been sitting in your empty apartment that afternoon, looking at your space with new eyes, and the idea had planted itself so naturally you'd almost convinced yourself it was practical.

you: hey, would you maybe want to do tutoring at my place tonight instead? my roommate moved in with her boyfriend so it's way quieter than the library you: totally fine if you prefer the library though!

the response took longer than usual. long enough that you started second-guessing yourself. maybe this was too much. too obvious. crossing some line from study partner into something else.

jake<3: oh jake<3: um jake<3: yeah that's fine. if you're sure? jake<3: i don't want to like. intrude or anything jake<3: but yeah quieter is definitely better for focusing

you: you're not intruding i literally invited you haha you: i'm in 3B. just come by at 7

jake<3: okay! see you then

you spent the next two hours in a cleaning frenzy you absolutely did not want to examine too closely. you weren't trying to impress him. you just wanted the place to look nice and presentable. the fact that you changed your clothes twice and lit a candle that made the whole apartment smell like vanilla and sandalwood was just. coincidence.

the knock came at exactly seven. jake was annoyingly punctual.

you opened the door to find him standing in the hallway looking uncertain, backpack slung over one shoulder, holding a bag of chips. "hi," he said. "i brought snacks. i didn't know what you liked so i just got the variety pack."

"you didn't have to do that."

"i know, but—" he shifted his weight. "i don't know, it felt weird showing up empty-handed."

you stepped back to let him in, watching as he moved into your space with obvious hesitation. he didn't walk in so much as carefully entered, like he was worried about disturbing something. his eyes went immediately to your walls, taking in the art prints you'd hung, the string lights, the bookshelf crammed with novels and textbooks. then to your desk setup, the small kitchen area, the couch that your roommate had left behind.

"wow," he said quietly. "this is. really nice."

"it's just a dorm apartment."

"no, i know, but—" he gestured vaguely at everything. "it's decorated. like, actually decorated. my place looks like a prison cell compared to this." he was still standing near the door, like he hadn't fully committed to being here. "is that an original print?"

you glanced at the framed artwork he was pointing at. "yeah. local artist. i got it at a campus market thing."

"it's really cool." he finally took a few more steps inside, setting his backpack down carefully on the floor like he was afraid it might scuff something. his attention caught on your kitchen counter, where you'd left out the fancy coffee you'd bought yesterday. the expensive cheese and crackers. the fruit you'd pre-cut and arranged in a bowl because apparently you were that person now.

jake went quiet for a second. then he laughed, but it sounded a little uncomfortable. "okay i have to ask. are you like, rich?"

you felt your face heat. "what? no."

"because this—" he gestured at your apartment again, at the candle burning on your coffee table, the throw blanket artfully draped over your couch, the general aesthetic coherence of the space. "this seems like. i don't know. very put together for a college student."

"i just like my space to feel nice," you said, defensive. "there's nothing wrong with that."

"no, definitely not! i didn't mean—" he ran a hand through his hair, flustered. "i just meant. my room has like, a bed and a desk and some clothes on the floor. this looks like an apartment from a magazine. in a good way," he added quickly. "it's impressive. i'm just. you know. mildly intimidated."

"don't be intimidated," you said, softer now. trying for casual. "seriously, make yourself comfortable. do you want something to drink? i have coffee, tea, juice, those fancy sparkling waters—"

"you have fancy sparkling water?"

"they were on sale."

they were absolutely not on sale. you'd bought them specifically because you remembered jake mentioning he liked trying different flavours. but he didn't need to know that.

"um, sure. i'll try one." he was still standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room, like he couldn't figure out where he was allowed to exist.

you grabbed two cans from the fridge, handing him one and gesturing toward the couch. "we can work there if you want. or the desk. whatever's comfortable."

"couch is good," he said, finally sitting down and immediately looking slightly less tense. he opened the sparkling water, took a sip, and made a surprised noise. "oh this is actually really good."

"told you." you sat next to him, closer than you would have in the library. not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him next to you. close enough that when he leaned forward to pull his laptop out of his backpack, you caught that familiar scent of soap and citrus.

he pulled up the lesson he'd prepared, something about optimisation algorithms, and fell into his teaching rhythm. you'd noticed this about jake before. when he was explaining code, he became more confident. less apologetic. his hands moved as he talked, tracing invisible diagrams in the air, and his whole face became more animated.

you were trying to focus. really, you were. but you kept getting distracted by the fact that he was here, in your space, sitting on your couch. his knee bumped yours at one point and he apologised even though it was barely contact. you told him it was fine. his handwriting was neat when he sketched out examples in your notebook. he had a small scar on his left hand you'd never noticed before.

"are you following?" he asked, glancing over at you.

"yeah," you said, snapping back to attention. "sorry. just thinking."

"it's kind of a dense topic," he said, apologetic again. "we can take a break if you need."

"no, keep going. you're good at this."

something in his expression softened. "thanks. i—i actually really like doing this. the tutoring, i mean. it's nice having someone to talk through concepts with who actually cares about understanding them properly." he paused, looking around your apartment again like he was seeing it with fresh eyes. "and this is. yeah. this is better than the library for sure."

"yeah?"

"the library's always so loud, even in the quiet sections. and people keep interrupting to ask if they can take chairs from our table." he settled back into your couch slightly, his shoulders loosening. "this is way better. i can actually think here."

you felt that dangerous satisfaction bloom in your chest. this is better. i can actually think here. he was comfortable. in your space. comfortable enough to relax, to take up room, to exist without that careful hesitation he'd had when he first arrived.

"we should do all our sessions here," you said, trying to sound casual. "if you're cool with it."

jake glanced at you, then around the apartment again. for a second you thought he might question it. might recognise this for what it was. but then he just smiled, easy and genuine. "yeah, i'd like that. this is really nice."

"cool," you said. your heart was doing that annoying fluttery thing again.

you went back to the lesson, jake's voice steady and patient as he walked you through increasingly complex problems. his knee stayed pressed against yours. he'd stopped apologising for taking up space. he reached for the fancy crackers you'd set out without asking if it was okay first, just casual and comfortable like he belonged here.

and god help you, you liked seeing him like this. liked having him in your space, surrounded by your things, relaxed and focused and entirely unaware of how much thought you'd put into creating this exact scenario.

he was more comfortable here than he should be. settling into your life with an ease that should have alarmed you but instead just made you want to pull him deeper.

you were playing a game he didn't know existed. creating intimacy in careful increments. manufacturing closeness that felt organic to him but was entirely designed by you.

"okay your turn," jake said, pushing your laptop toward you. "try implementing that function we just talked through."

you pulled the computer into your lap, fingers moving over the keys, hyper-aware of jake watching. of his presence next to you, patient and encouraging. of how easy it would be to let this become routine. thursday nights on your couch, just the two of you, the rest of the world locked outside.

professor kim handed back midterms on a wednesday, and the energy in the lecture hall was exactly what you'd expect. nervous shuffling, people immediately comparing scores, that girl in the front row who always cried regardless of her grade already tearing up.

you flipped your exam over and saw the 100 staring back at you. perfect score. you felt a flush of satisfaction that had nothing to do with the grade itself and everything to do with the fact that jake would see it.

"holy shit," yunjin whispered, leaning over to look. "you got a perfect score?"

"apparently."

"that's insane. i got an 87 and i thought i did well." she shook her head, impressed and maybe slightly annoyed. "what did jake think? he must be so proud, that's basically a direct result of his tutoring."

speaking of jake, he was two rows behind you, and you could hear his friends' voices carrying.

"dude, you got a 98," one of them said. "that's insane."

"i missed this one question," jake said, and he sounded genuinely disappointed. "i can't believe i mixed up the time complexity."

you turned around without really thinking about it, catching his eye. he was already looking at you, and his face did this thing, this hopeful uncertain thing. "how'd you do?"

you held up your exam. his eyes widened.

"you got a hundred?" he said it loud enough that a few people glanced over. then he was standing up, moving past his friends, coming down to your row with his exam still in his hand. "holy shit, that's—that's amazing. you—" he stopped himself, looking almost embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. "sorry, i'm like. weirdly excited about this."

"don't apologise," you said, smiling despite yourself. "you sound more excited than i am."

"because i—" he gestured at your exam, then at you. "you understood it. like really understood it. i could tell during our sessions that things were clicking but seeing it actually translate to a perfect score is just—" he ran his hand through his hair, grinning in a way that made your stomach flip. "i'm really proud of you."

the words hit you weird. i'm proud of you. said with such genuine warmth, such unironic sincerity. like your success was somehow his success too. like he was personally invested in your performance because he'd helped you get there.

except you hadn't really needed the help. you'd manufactured the entire situation. you'd been doing fine before the tutoring started and you'd probably have gotten a perfect score regardless. jake's proud smile was based on a false premise. he thought he'd helped you achieve something when really you'd just. used him. used his time and his patience and his genuine desire to help people, all so you could sit close to him once a week.

something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. you shoved it down.

"i couldn't have done it without you," you said, because that's what you were supposed to say. what he expected to hear. even if it made you feel slightly sick.

"i know, i know. it's a good grade. i just hate making careless mistakes." he smiled at you again, softer this time. "but seriously, i'm really happy for you. you worked really hard for this."

"we should celebrate," you said, before you could second-guess it. "both of us. good scores, successful tutoring, whatever. come over tonight? i'll make dinner, we can watch a movie. my treat, as a thank you."

jake hesitated, just for a second. "you don't have to thank me."

"i want to," you said firmly with a smile. "you've been helping me for weeks and not accepting any payment. the least i can do is feed you."

"when you put it that way." he was smiling again, that easy smile that made your heart do stupid things. "yeah, okay. what time?"

"seven?"

"perfect."

...

you went slightly overboard with dinner. not crazy overboard, just. more effort than was strictly necessary for a casual thank-you meal. homemade pasta, the good parmesan, a salad that actually had more than three ingredients. you'd also bought wine, which felt very adult and sophisticated until you remembered you were literally just having your study partner over.

jake showed up at seven on the dot, holding a bag of cookies from the expensive bakery near campus. "i know you said your treat, but i can't show up empty-handed," he explained, handing them over. "it's like, physically impossible for me."

"you're ridiculous."

"i've been told." he stepped inside, immediately more comfortable than he'd been that first time. he knew where to put his shoes now, where to set his bag. he went straight for the couch like he belonged there.

dinner was easy. conversation flowed naturally, jumping from classes to campus gossip to a debate about whether the dining hall pizza was underrated or genuinely terrible. jake argued passionately for underrated, gesturing with his fork, getting sauce on his chin that he didn't notice until you pointed it out. he laughed, embarrassed, wiping it away.

"wine?" you offered, after you'd cleared the plates.

"oh, um. sure?" he looked uncertain. "i'm not really a big drinker."

"me neither. but we're celebrating, right?"

"right." he accepted the glass you poured, taking a small sip and making a face. "god, why do people like this? it tastes like someone made juice go bad on purpose."

you laughed despite yourself. "it's an acquired taste."

"that's what people say about things that are objectively bad." but he took another sip anyway, settling back into the couch as you pulled up netflix.

you ended up on some action movie neither of you had seen, the kind with improbable stunts and a plot that didn't require much attention. which was good, because you weren't really watching it. you were too aware of jake next to you, closer than he needed to be, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours. he'd finished his wine faster than you expected and seemed looser now, more animated. he kept making commentary on the movie, pointing out plot holes and questionable physics, his hands moving as he talked.

"—and there's no way that building would still be structurally sound after that explosion," he was saying, gesturing at the screen. "like, basic engineering, you know?"

"you're thinking too hard about it."

"i can't help it. my brain won't turn off." he glanced at you, something warm in his expression. "this is nice though. just hanging out. we're always studying or talking about the project, it's cool to just…exist. without an agenda."

without an agenda. the words hit harder than they should have. because you did have an agenda. you'd had one this entire time. this whole evening was carefully constructed, from the homemade dinner to the wine to the deliberately casual intimacy of it all.

"yeah," you managed. "it's nice."

the movie continued. jake shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours. you didn't move away. his arm ended up along the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close enough that you could feel the warmth of it. neither of you acknowledged it, but neither of you adjusted either.

"can i ask you something?" jake said during a particularly slow part of the movie.

"sure."

"why did you pick me? for the project, i mean." he was looking at you now instead of the screen, his expression curious and open. "you could've worked with your friends. people you already knew. but you walked all the way across the lecture hall to ask me."

your heart kicked up. "i told you. you're good at this stuff."

"yeah, but." he paused, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. "it felt like. i don't know. like you went out of your way. and i've been trying to figure out if i'm reading too much into it or if there was something else."

the air felt suddenly thinner. "something else like what?"

"i don't know." he laughed, self-conscious. "i'm probably being weird. forget i said anything."

"jake."

"i just—" he met your eyes, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that made your breath catch. "i really like spending time with you. like, more than i probably should for someone who's just a project partner and tutoring student. and sometimes i think maybe you. i don't know, feel the same? but i'm also really bad at reading these things so i'm probably completely wrong."

oh. oh.

"you're not wrong," you said quietly.

his eyes widened slightly. "i'm not?"

instead of answering, you leaned in. gave him enough time to pull back, to stop this, but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips soft and uncertain against yours. for a second neither of you moved, the kiss chaste and almost careful. then something shifted. his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you pressed closer, your fingers curling into his shirt.

jake made a soft sound against your mouth, surprise or maybe pleasure, and kissed you back with more confidence. his other hand found your waist, tentative at first then firmer, pulling you closer. you ended up in his lap somehow, his hands spanning your back, your fingers threading through his hair. he tasted like wine and something sweet from the cookies he'd brought.

"is this okay?" he whispered against your lips, breathing hard.

"yes," you said, and kissed him again before he could second-guess it.

his hands moved under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you felt him shiver when you rolled your hips experimentally. "god," he breathed, sounding almost pained. "we should—are we really—"

"do you want to stop?"

"no. god, no. i just—" he looked up at you, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen. "i didn't think this would happen. i'm not. i don't usually."

"it's okay," you said softly, meaning it. "we don't have to do anything you don't want."

jake didn’t stop you. instead, he seemed to melt into the contact, his hands trembling as they slid further up your back, skin hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. when you moved to guide him off the couch and onto the rug, he followed with a sort of dazed compliance, his glasses slightly askew on his face.

you knelt between his legs, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. the movie was still playing—some distant sound of tires screeching—but all you could hear was the ragged, uneven hitch of jake’s breath. when you reached for the button of his jeans, his hand flew to your wrist, not to stop you, but just to steady himself. his knuckles were white.

"are you sure?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "i—i'm not... i don't want to mess this up. our project, the tutoring... i don't want to make things weird for you."

"jake," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "shut up and let me."

he let out a shaky, half-strangled laugh, his head hitting the base of the couch as he let go of your wrist. "okay. okay, yeah. shutting up."

as you eased his jeans down, you realised the lanky, awkward way he carried himself in the halls was a massive deception. he was built with a surprising, heavy sturdiness that the oversized hoodies always hid. his legs were long, his thighs thick with the kind of muscle that suggested he actually did play soccer as more than just a hobby. and when you finally freed him, you couldn't help the small, sharp intake of breath that escaped you.

"jake," you breathed, your eyes widening. "holy..."

he groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, and covered his eyes with his forearm. "don't. don't look at me like that. i know. i'm sorry, is it... is it too much? i can—"

"it's perfect," you cut him off, reaching out to touch him. his skin was searing, and the moment your fingers closed around him, his entire body jolted like he’d been hit with a live wire.

when you leaned forward to take him into your mouth, jake’s reaction was explosive. he arched off the floor, his fingers tangling desperately in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. he was so sensitive, so completely overwhelmed by the sensation that it felt like he was losing his grip on reality.

"oh god," he choked out, his voice high and strained. "wait, wait—that's—you’re so... the pressure, i can't—"

you didn't slow down. you liked the way he lost his composure, the way the articulate, logical TA was reduced to incoherent stutters. you used your hands to keep him steady, your tongue swirling around the head of him, and jake’s hips began to move in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm. he was trying to keep some semblance of control, trying to stay "polite," but the sheer intensity of it was breaking him.

"i'm gonna... i'm actually gonna..." he gasped, his hands tightening in your hair, pulling you closer until he was practically burying himself in you. "please, don't stop. don't stop, just like that—right there—"

he hit his limit with a loud, guttural shout that was muffled only by the back of his hand as he bit down on his own knuckles to stay quiet. his body went rigid, muscles in his arms and chest standing out in sharp relief as he came, the force of it leaving him limp and shuddering against the couch.

it took him a long time to come back down. for several minutes, the only sound in the room was his heavy, labouring breath and the flickering light of the tv. you pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling a fierce, glowing sense of triumph. he looked completely wrecked—hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear, chest heaving.

you felt powerful. you’d spent weeks engineering this, calculating every move, and seeing him like this—totally undone by you—was better than any perfect exam score.

"you okay?" you asked, leaning your chin on his knee.

jake let out a long, shaky exhale, finally moving his arm to look at you. his eyes were hazy, his face flushed a deep, beautiful red. "i... think my brain just short-circuited," he whispered, a small, dazed smile tugging at his lips. 

"in a good way?"

"in the best way." he reached out, his fingers trembling as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "thank you. seriously. i don't—i don't even know what to say."

you smiled, leaning into his touch. the apartment was warm, the air still smelling of vanilla. "you don't have to say anything. you should just stay."

the words were soft, natural. it felt like the obvious next step. but the second they left your mouth, you felt the shift.

it was subtle at first—the way jake’s fingers went still against your skin. then his pupils, which had been blown wide with pleasure, suddenly constricted. he blinked, the haziness clearing as his internal "problem-solving mode" kicked back in with a vengeance.

"stay?" he repeated, his voice sounding suddenly small.

"yeah. it's late, and it's cold out. just stay over. we can... i don't know, wake up and have coffee. maybe look at the project again."

jake’s eyes darted toward his hands, then to his backpack, then to the door. the relaxation in his shoulders vanished, replaced by a rigid, frantic tension. he looked like he’d just realised he was standing in the middle of a minefield.

"i—" he started, scrambling to pull his jeans up. he was moving so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. "i can't. i mean, i should... i have that grading to finish. for kim. and i—i didn't bring my toothbrush. or my meds. and my roommate, he—he'll wonder where i am. he gets worried."

"jake, it’s fine, you can borrow—"

"no!" he said, a bit too loudly. he was fumbling with his belt, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely loop it through. he wouldn't look at you. his face wasn't flushed with pleasure anymore; it was pale, his expression twisted into something that looked dangerously like panic. "no, i really should go. i’m sorry. i just... i realised the time. i have to go."

you stood up, feeling a cold, hollow pit open in your stomach. "did i do something wrong? was it... was it too much?"

"no! no, it was... it was amazing," he said, finally getting his shoes on, not even bothering to tie the laces. he grabbed his backpack, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "it was too amazing. that's the... that's the problem. i'm—i'm not good at this. i think i need to... i need to think. logically. about the implications."

"the implications?" you asked, your voice rising with a sharp, hurt edge. "it was just a night, jake. it doesn't have to be a 'logical problem' to solve."

"i know, i know. i'm sorry. i’m just... i'm a mess." he backed toward the door, his hand fumbling for the handle behind his back. "i'll text you? about the project? we still have that deadline on tuesday."

"jake—"

"goodnight! thank you for dinner. the pasta was really... the texture was perfect. okay. bye."

he practically fell out of the door, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway as he sprinted toward the stairs.

the click of the door closing felt final. you stood in the centre of your perfectly decorated, candle-lit apartment, surrounded by the remnants of the dinner you’d spent hours on. the half-empty wine glasses, the bag of expensive cookies, the rumpled rug.

you felt a hot, stinging prickle behind your eyes. you’d done everything right. you’d been strategic, patient, and kind. you’d gotten him to open up, to trust you, to want you. and yet, watching him run away like you were a bug in his code—something to be deleted or fixed—hurt more than any midterm failure ever could.

you sat back down on the couch, the silence of the room suddenly feeling just as oppressive as it had back in the computer lab. you picked up your phone, looking at his last text. this'll be fun :)

you threw the phone onto the cushions and buried your face in your hands, the smell of his citrus shampoo still clinging to your skin, mocking you.

jake didn't text.

you stared at your phone for the entire next day, watching the screen like you could will a message into existence. the "i'll text you" he'd thrown over his shoulder before fleeing felt increasingly like a polite lie. by saturday afternoon you broke first.

you: hey, you okay?

the message sat there. delivered, but no response.

you tried again sunday morning, going for casual.

you: still on for project work this week?

still no response.

by monday you'd moved past confusion into something that felt uncomfortably like panic. this wasn't how things worked. people didn't just. stop responding to you. they didn't ignore you or avoid you or remove you from their orbit like you were some problem to be managed. you were used to being wanted, pursued, the one who had to let people down gently. this reversed dynamic was unfamiliar and honestly humiliating.

you saw him in the dining hall on tuesday. he was with his friends, laughing at something one of them said, looking completely normal. like nothing had happened. like he hadn't been on your couch four days ago falling apart under your touch.

you started walking toward their table before you could think better of it, but jake's eyes flicked up, met yours for a fraction of a second, and then he was standing, gathering his tray, saying something to his friends. they all got up and left. just. left. walked out the side exit while you stood there holding your lunch like an idiot.

yunjin grabbed your arm. "okay, what the hell was that?"

"nothing," you said, but your voice came out wrong. 

"that was not nothing. did something happen with you and jake?"

"no. i don't know. it's complicated."

it wasn't complicated. it was actually pretty simple. you'd pushed too hard and now he wanted nothing to do with you.

wednesday he wasn't in his usual spot in lecture. you spent the entire class scanning the room, finally spotting him in the very back corner, a place he'd never sat before. he kept his eyes on his laptop the entire time, didn't look up once. when class ended he was the first one out the door.

thursday was supposed to be tutoring. seven pm, his room or yours, the standing appointment you'd had for weeks now. you waited in your apartment, laptop open to the half-finished project, telling yourself he'd show up. he was responsible and dedicated. he wouldn't just bail without saying anything.

seven came and went. then seven-thirty. by eight you accepted he wasn't coming.

you: are we still working together on the project? i need to know so i can plan accordingly.

again, no response.

friday morning you were walking to class when you saw him ahead of you on the path. for once he hadn't spotted you first. you sped up, closing the distance, and watched in real time as he seemed to sense your presence. his shoulders tensed. then he took a sharp left turn down a path that definitely wasn't toward any of his classes. he was actively avoiding you. taking different routes. altering his entire routine just to not run into you.

something hot and humiliated burned in your chest.

by next week, you'd had enough. you knew his schedule. knew he had algorithms right before lunch on mondays, in the engineering building, third floor. you positioned yourself outside the classroom before class ended, ignoring the curious looks from other students filing out. you spotted jake immediately when the doors opened. he saw you at the same moment and actually stopped walking, causing someone behind him to bump into his back.

"we need to talk," you said.

"i have—i need to get to—"

"jake." your voice came out sharper than intended. "five minutes. please."

something in his expression shifted. resignation maybe. he nodded once, following you to an empty study room down the hall. you closed the door. the small space suddenly felt suffocating.

"you've been ignoring me," you said.

"i know."

"for a week. you didn't text, you didn't show up to tutoring, you're literally avoiding me on campus."

"i know," he said again, quieter. he wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed somewhere around your shoulder. "i'm sorry. that wasn't— i should have communicated better."

"so communicate now. what's going on?"

jake was quiet for a long moment. when he finally spoke, his voice was careful. measured. "what happened last week. that crossed a line for me."

"we both wanted it."

"did we?" he looked at you now, and there was something in his expression that made your stomach drop. "because i've been thinking about it a lot. about how we got there. and i feel like. i don't know. like maybe i missed something."

"what do you mean?"

"the tutoring," he said. "you didn't actually need it, did you? your grades were already good. and the project. you had friends you could have worked with. people you actually knew. but you picked me." he paused. "why did you pick me?"

the question hung in the air between you. you could lie. deflect. but something about the way he was looking at you, patient and a little sad, made it feel pointless.

"i liked you," you said finally. "i wanted to spend time with you."

"okay." he nodded slowly. "so the tutoring was. what. an excuse? a way to manufacture time together?"

"it wasn't like that."

"wasn't it though?" there was no anger in his voice. just. tiredness. "because from my perspective, i thought i was helping someone who needed help. i thought we were becoming friends. and then suddenly we're… doing that. and i'm trying to figure out when the shift happened and i can't. because maybe there was no shift. maybe that's what you wanted the whole time and i just didn't see it."

"i did want to be your friend," you said, defensive now. "i wasn't. it's not like i was using you."

"weren't you?"

the words hit harder than they should have. because he wasn't wrong. you had used him. used his kindness, his eagerness to help, his complete inability to see through your motivations. you'd engineered situations and manufactured proximity and told yourself it was harmless.

"i like you," jake said, and somehow that made it worse. "i really do. but i feel. god, i don't even know how to explain it. exposed? like you saw something in me that made me an easy target and you just. went for it. and i didn't even realise what was happening until it had already happened."

"that's not—"

"and the thing is," he continued, talking over you gently, "you're so far out of my league. like, objectively. you're smart and pretty and confident and you have your shit together. and i'm just. me. i'm awkward and i ramble and i spend friday nights debugging code for fun. so the fact that you were interested never made sense. i kept waiting for it to click, for me to understand why, and now i think i do. it wasn't about me. it was about. i don't know. the chase? the conquest? i was a project to you."

"no," you said, but your voice came out weak. "jake, that's not true. you weren't a project."

"then what was i?"

you didn't have an answer. or you did, but it was complicated and messy and saying it out loud would mean admitting things you didn't want to admit.

jake sighed. "i'm not trying to be cruel. i'm really not. but being around you right now makes me feel uncomfortable. like i can't trust my own judgement because i didn't see any of this coming. and that's. that's my issue to work through. but i need space to do it."

"what about the class project?"

"we can do it over email. divide up the work, combine it at the end. we don't have to see each other."

"and tutoring?"

"i think we should stop. you don't actually need it anyway."

each sentence felt like a door closing. practical, reasonable, and completely final.

"i'm sorry," you said, and meant it. "i didn't mean to. i wasn't trying to hurt you."

"i know," jake said, and he sounded sincere. "i don't think you set out to do anything malicious. i just think you didn't really consider how it would feel from my side. and now we're here."

"so that's it? we just stop talking?"

"for now, yeah. maybe later we can be normal around each other. but right now i need. distance."

he moved toward the door, his hand on the handle. you wanted to say something, anything that would fix this. some argument that would make him see you differently. but looking at his face, at the quiet certainty there, you knew there was nothing you could say. he'd made up his mind. he'd set a boundary. and you had no choice but to respect it.

"i really am sorry," you said again.

"i know," jake said. "me too."

then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with that same horrible finality. you stood there in the empty study room, staring at the space where he'd been.

you couldn't even argue with his reasoning. everything he'd said was true. you had manufactured situations. you had used his kindness and his obliviousness to get what you wanted. you'd told yourself it was harmless, that your feelings were real even if your methods were questionable.

but intent didn't matter when the impact was someone feeling manipulated and exposed.

you left the study room feeling hollowed out. the campus looked the same. people laughed and talked and went about their days. somewhere out there jake was probably headed to lunch with his friends, relieved to have finally said what he needed to say.

and you were just. alone. with the sharp realisation that you'd ruined something before it even had a chance to be real.

the party was exactly the kind of loud, chaotic mess you needed. bass thrumming through the floors, bodies packed into every available space, the air thick with sweat and cheap alcohol and too many competing perfumes. yunjin had dragged you here, insisting you needed to "get out of your head" after moping around for two weeks straight.

so here you were. red cup in hand, smile fixed in place, laughing at jokes you weren't really hearing. performing normalcy while your brain kept circling the same thoughts on loop. jake's face in that study room. the careful way he'd said i need space. the hollow feeling that had taken up permanent residence in your chest.

"you good?" beomgyu asked, leaning close to be heard over the music.

"yeah, great," you said automatically, taking another drink.

you were on your third. or fourth. you'd stopped counting. the alcohol sat warm in your stomach but hadn't managed to quiet your thoughts yet. maybe if you drank enough you'd stop replaying every conversation with jake, analysing every moment for signs you'd missed, evidence of how thoroughly you'd fucked everything up.

"i'm gonna get another drink," you said to no one in particular, pushing through the crowd toward the kitchen.

that's when you saw him.

jake. standing near the makeshift bar someone had set up on the counter, red cup in hand, talking to a girl you didn't recognise. and he was laughing. actually laughing, head thrown back, completely at ease in a way that made something hot and ugly twist in your chest.

because he never looked like that with you. even before everything went wrong, even during those tutoring sessions in your apartment when you'd thought you were building something real, he'd always been slightly careful and polite, like he was containing himself. but now he was loose and animated, gesturing with his free hand while the girl laughed at whatever he was saying, her hand resting on his arm.

her hand was on his arm.

you watched as she leaned closer, saying something that made jake grin. that specific grin, the one where his eyes crinkled at the corners and you could see his perfect teeth on display. you'd thought that smile was special. something you'd earned. but apparently he was just like this, with everyone who wasn't you.

the jealousy hit so hard it felt physical. burning through your chest, turning your vision sharp and focused. you were moving before you'd decided to, weaving through people, your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

jake saw you coming. his smile faltered, something uncertain crossing his face. "hey—"

"who's this?" you said, gesturing at the girl. your voice came out sharper than you'd intended, heavy with something you couldn't quite name.

the girl looked between you and jake, confused. "i'm mina. jungwon's sister remember? we just met like ten minutes ago."

"oh right." you focused on jake, ignoring her entirely. "you look like you're having fun."

"i—yeah?" jake's eyebrows drew together. "it's a party?"

"funny how you can make time for parties but couldn't respond to any of my texts about the assignment."

"i told you we could do it over email—"

"is that what you're doing right now? project work?" you knew you sounded irrational, accusatory, but you couldn't stop. the words kept spilling out, poisoned by alcohol and jealousy and two weeks of feeling like you'd been the only one affected by any of this. 

"or are you just. moving on? found someone new to—"

"okay, i'm gonna go," mina said, backing away with her hands up. "this seems like. a thing. nice meeting you, jake."

she disappeared into the crowd. jake stared at you, his expression shifting from confused to something harder. "what the hell was that?"

"you tell me. you've been ignoring me for two weeks and now you're here flirting with random girls?"

"flirting?" jake's voice pitched up slightly. "flirting? i was literally just talking to her. she asked where the bathroom was and then we started chatting about the music. that's—that's not flirting, that's called being polite."

"she had her hand on your arm."

"so?" jake looked genuinely baffled now. "people touch arms when they talk. that doesn't mean anything. and even if it did—" he stopped himself, jaw tightening. "i don't owe you an explanation. you don't get to. we're not together. we're not anything."

the words hit exactly where they were meant to. "right. because you decided we're not."

"no, because you decided we weren't, like a month ago when you started playing games instead of just being honest." his voice was rising now, frustration bleeding through. "and now you're mad because i'm talking to someone else? you don't get to do that. you don't get to manipulate me into something and then act possessive when i try to move on."

"i'm not—" you started, but stopped. because he was right. you were being possessive and irrational. reading intent into a harmless conversation because you wanted there to be something there. wanted confirmation that jake was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him.

but he wasn't. he was just living his life. talking to people at parties. laughing easily with strangers. completely unaffected while you spiralled.

"i wasn't flirting with her," jake said, quieter now. tired. "i was just being friendly. that's what normal people do. they don't engineer entire relationships or manufacture situations. they just exist around each other."

"i know," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you wanted. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have. that was out of line."

jake nodded once, already turning away. "yeah. it was."

you watched him disappear back into the crowd, leaving you standing alone by the kitchen counter. your hands were shaking. you downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.

you'd just proven everything he'd said about you. possessive. manipulative. unable to let go. you'd projected your own feelings onto a completely innocent interaction and made a scene because you couldn't handle seeing him okay when you were so thoroughly not okay.

you'd been so certain. so sure he was flirting, that the girl meant something, that you'd caught him in some kind of lie. but you'd been wrong. completely, embarrassingly wrong. because you didn't actually know what jake was thinking. you never had. you'd just assumed, projected, filled in the gaps with your own narrative.

and now he was probably telling his friends what a psycho you were. probably regretting he'd ever let you into his life in the first place.

you grabbed another drink.

…

the party had devolved into that late-night haze where everything blurred together. people you didn't recognise, conversations you weren't part of, music that had gotten somehow both quieter and more invasive. you'd lost track of yunjin and beomgyu somewhere around drink number six. or seven. the room tilted slightly when you moved too fast.

you were trying to find your jacket, ready to call it a night, when you spotted him. jake. sitting alone on a couch in the corner, looking absolutely exhausted. his head kept drooping forward like he was fighting to stay conscious, then jerking back up. his eyes were half-closed, his usual careful posture completely abandoned.

you should walk past him. nothing good could come from another interaction tonight. you'd already embarrassed yourself once. but your feet carried you closer anyway, some magnetic pull you couldn't quite resist even knowing it was a bad idea.

you were almost past him when his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "don't," he said, not looking at you. his voice was rough, slurred slightly. "don't leave."

you stopped. "jake—"

"been trying," he mumbled, his grip loosening but not releasing. "trying so hard. but you make it impossible."

"what are you talking about?"

he finally looked up at you, and his eyes were unfocused, glassy with alcohol. "you. i'm talking about you. can't stop thinking about you. it's driving me insane."

your heart lurched. "you're drunk."

"i know but so are you," he said, like that explained everything. "that's the only reason i'm saying this. because sober me knows better. sober me has self-control and boundaries and all that shit." he pulled gently on your wrist, making you stumble slightly closer. "but drunk me is tired. so tired of pretending i don't want you."

"you said you needed space."

"i do need space. because when i'm around you i can't think straight. i can't trust myself." his words were coming out uneven, tripping over each other. "you think i was avoiding you because i was mad? i was avoiding you because if i saw you i'd—" he made a frustrated noise. "i'd do something stupid. like this. this is stupid."

you sat down next to him, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. "jake—"

"you're so pretty," he said, almost accusatory. "and you smell good. and you're smart, like actually smart, not just good at school. and when you laugh it's. it does things to me. and i hate it. i hate that you have this much power over me when i don't even know if you actually like me or if i'm just… convenient."

"i do like you," you said quietly. "i've liked you the whole time."

"but do you?" he turned to face you more fully, his eyes searching yours even though he seemed to be having trouble focusing. "or do you like the idea of me? the nerdy guy you can manipulate? your little project?"

"that's not—" you stopped. "it wasn't like that. it's not like that."

"then what is it like?" he was still holding your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "because i've been trying to figure it out for weeks and i can't. i can't understand why you'd want me. what you get out of this. and maybe i'm just stupid but i need you to tell me. plainly. what do you want from me?"

"you," you said, the word coming out more honest than you'd intended. "just. you."

jake laughed, bitter and tired. "that doesn't make sense."

"i know."

"i'm not interesting. i'm not cool or funny or—"

"you are though," you interrupted. "you are all of those things. you just don't see it."

he went quiet for a long moment. then, so quietly you almost missed it: "i've been trying so hard not to want you back. because i knew—i know it's not good for me. but i can't stop. and i'm so tired of trying."

his hand slid from your wrist to your hand, fingers threading through yours. the touch was so much gentler than you expected, almost reverent. "i deleted your texts without reading them," he admitted. "because if i read them i'd respond. and if i responded i'd end up right back where i started. wanting you. letting you in. getting hurt."

"i don't want to hurt you."

"i know. that's what makes it worse." he leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closing. "you don't mean to. you just. do."

you didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to fix the damage you'd done or convince him that your feelings were real when your actions had been so calculated. so you just sat there, holding his hand, feeling the warmth of him next to you.

"i missed you," jake said, so quiet you barely heard it over the music. "i fucking missed you and i hated myself for it."

"i missed you too."

"yeah?" he opened his eyes, looking at you with something raw and unguarded. "you missed manipulating me?"

"that's not fair."

"isn't it though?" but there was no heat in his words. just exhaustion. "god, i'm so tired. tired of being angry. tired of trying to stay away from you. tired of pretending i don't want you so badly it hurts."

the confession hung in the air between you. jake was looking at you like he was waiting for something, permission or rejection or maybe just confirmation that you'd heard him.

you leaned in. gave him time to pull away, to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with none of the careful hesitation from before. this was messy and desperate, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. he kissed you like he'd been holding back for too long, like all that careful control had finally snapped.

you shifted closer, practically climbing into his lap, and he made a sound against your mouth that went straight through you. his hands were everywhere, spanning your waist, sliding up your back, gripping like he was afraid you'd disappear if he loosened his hold even slightly.

"been thinking about this," he mumbled against your lips, barely pulling back enough to speak. "every night. hated myself for it but couldn't stop."

"me too," you admitted, kissing along his jaw. "i couldn't sleep. kept replaying everything."

"i lied about the texts i didn't respond to," he said, tilting his head to give you better access. "i read them. all of them before deleting. at like three am. read them over and over."

"why didn't you answer?"

"because i wanted to say things i shouldn't say. like how much i missed you. how i kept going to the lab hoping you'd be there. how seeing you at the party tonight fucking destroyed me even though i pretended i was fine." his hands tightened on your waist. "how i've been so fucking miserable without you."

you kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing his words. he responded immediately, pulling you fully into his lap now, and you could feel how much he wanted this, wanted you. it was overwhelming. intoxicating. the desperation in every touch, every small sound he made.

"we should," he said between kisses, "we should probably stop."

"do you want to stop?"

"no. god no." he pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, lips swollen. "but i'm drunk and you're drunk and tomorrow we're gonna regret—"

"i won't," you said firmly. "i won't regret this."

something shifted in his expression. softened. he touched your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "you're gonna break my heart," he said, not quite a question.

"i'm not."

"you will." but he kissed you anyway, softer this time. slower. like he was memorising the feel of you. "and i'm gonna let you. because i'm weak and pathetic and i want you so much i don't even care anymore."

"you're not weak."

"i am though." he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closing. "i'm so weak for you. it's embarrassing."

you could feel his exhaustion creeping in, the way his body was getting heavier against yours, his movements slowing. "come on," you said softly, standing and pulling him up with you. "let's get you somewhere you can actually sleep."

"don't wanna sleep," he protested, but let you guide him anyway. "wanna stay with you."

"you will. i'm not going anywhere."

you found an empty bedroom on the second floor, the door unlocked and the bed mercifully unoccupied. jake collapsed onto it immediately, pulling you down with him. he was asleep within minutes, his arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck. his breathing evened out, deep and steady.

you should probably feel guilty. taking advantage of his drunken honesty, letting him confess things he'd normally keep locked away. but you were too tired, too overwhelmed by everything he'd said. i want you so badly it hurts. i've been so fucking miserable without you. you're gonna break my heart and i'm gonna let you.

you didn't have answers. didn't have promises you could make. didn't know how to fix the fundamental imbalance between you, the manipulation and hurt that had gotten you here.

but for now, in this quiet room with jake's warmth pressed against you, you could pretend tomorrow didn't exist. could pretend this was simple. just two people who wanted each other, tangled together in the dark, nothing more complicated than that.

you fell asleep still wearing your shoes, jake's arms tight around you, his heartbeat steady against your chest.

you woke to pale morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the warm weight of jake still wrapped around you. for a disorienting moment you couldn't place where you were. then it came back in pieces. the party. the confrontation. jake's drunken confessions. falling asleep tangled together.

jake stirred against you, his breath catching as he woke. you felt the exact moment awareness returned, the way his body went tense. slowly, carefully, he pulled back just enough to look at you. his hair was a disaster, sticking up in every direction. his glasses sat crooked on the nightstand. his eyes were cautious but clear.

"hi," he said quietly.

"hi."

he didn't let go of you. didn't immediately scramble away or apologise or retreat into panic like last time. he just looked at you, searching your face for something.

"i said a lot of things last night," he finally said.

"yeah."

"i meant them." his voice was serious, steady despite the embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "i know i was drunk, and i probably shouldn't have said half of it, but. i meant it. all of it."

your heart kicked up. "jake—"

"i like you," he said, cutting you off gently. "i've liked you since that first night in the lab when you were stressed about your code and i got to actually help you with something. and it's been killing me trying to stay away from you because every time i see you i just. want you. so much that it scares me."

"why does it scare you?"

"because i don't know how to want someone this much and still protect myself." he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see you better. "last time i didn't protect myself at all. i just. gave in. and then i panicked because it felt too big, too fast, and i didn't know how to handle it."

"and now?"

"now i'm still terrified," he admitted. "but i'm more scared of not trying. of walking away and spending the rest of college wondering what could have happened if i'd just. been brave enough to give you a real chance."

you felt something tight in your chest start to loosen. "i want that. a real chance. i want to do this right."

"yeah?"

"yeah." you reached up, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. "i'm sorry. for all of it. the manipulation, the games, not being honest about what i wanted. you deserved better than that."

"i know," jake said simply. then, softer: "but i also know you were scared too. just in a different way."

he leaned down, kissing you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. different from last night's desperate intensity. this was slow, careful, almost questioning. you kissed him back, trying to pour everything you couldn't quite say into it. apology and promise and want all tangled together.

when he pulled back his eyes were dark, pupils blown. "i want to try again," he said. "properly this time. but i need you to be honest with me. about what you want. about what this is."

"i want you," you said. "not as a project or a conquest or whatever i convinced myself it was before. just you jake."

something in his expression softened. "okay," he said. "okay. we can work with that."

he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt his weight settle more fully over you. "i want to make it up to you," he murmured against your lips. "for running away before. for making you feel like you did something wrong when i was just scared."

"you don't have to—"

"i want to." he was already kissing down your neck, hands sliding under your shirt. "let me. please."

there was something in his voice, almost pleading, that made you nod. he smiled against your skin, helping you out of your clothes with more confidence than he'd had before. when you were bare beneath him he just. looked. taking his time, hands mapping your body like he was memorising every detail.

"you're so pretty," he said, almost reverent. "i thought about this. about you. so many times."

then he was moving lower, pressing kisses down your stomach, your hip bones, the inside of your thighs. when his breath ghosted over where you needed him most you couldn't help the small sound that escaped.

"tell me if anything's too much," he said, glancing up at you. then he lowered his mouth to you and your brain short-circuited.

he started slowly, almost tentatively, like he was learning you. his tongue moved in careful strokes, testing what made you gasp, what made your hips shift toward him. when he found the rhythm that had your fingers tightening in his hair, he made a low, satisfied sound against you that you felt everywhere.

"jake," you breathed, and he looked up at you through his lashes, pupils blown wide, lips glistening with your arousal.

"tell me," he said, voice rough. "tell me what feels good."

"that—" your words cut off as he did it again, tongue flicking over your clit with that same perfect pressure. "right there. just like that."

he was a quick learner. always had been. he catalogued every reaction, every sound you made, adjusting and refining. except this wasn't detached or analytical. this was hungry. desperate. he sucked your clit into his mouth and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your thighs trembling on either side of his head.

"fuck, jake—"

"god, you taste so good," he mumbled against your pussy, barely pulling back enough to speak. his chin was wet, his glasses fogged slightly. "been thinking about this. wanted to do this right last time."

he was getting lost in it now, the careful control slipping into something messier, greedier. he alternated between focused attention on your clit and broad, indulgent strokes through your folds, like he couldn't decide between making you fall apart and simply savouring you. his tongue pushed inside you and you keened, your back arching off the bed.

"oh my god," you gasped. "jake, your mouth—"

he moaned against you, the vibration making your thighs clench around his head. he didn't seem to mind, just gripped your hips harder, pulled you closer, like he wanted to suffocate in your pussy. when his fingers joined his mouth, sliding through your wetness before pressing inside, you nearly sobbed.

"so wet," he murmured, almost to himself.

he crooked his fingers, finding that spot inside you that made you cry out, and worked it mercilessly while his tongue circled your clit. the dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building so fast you couldn't catch your breath. your fingers tightened in his hair, probably painful, but he just groaned and doubled his efforts.

"jake, i'm—fuck, i'm gonna—"

"i know," he said against you, his voice wrecked. "i can feel it. let go for me."

his fingers thrust deeper, faster, his mouth sucking hard on your clit, and you shattered. your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your whole body going taut as pleasure whited out your vision. you were dimly aware of the sounds you were making—high, desperate whimpers and moans—but you couldn't stop them.

jake moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he didn't let up. he worked you through it with devastating patience, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him like he was starving for it.

"jake," you gasped, trying to push at his head. "too much—"

but he just whined—actually whined—and gripped your thighs tighter, keeping them spread. "please," he mumbled against your pussy, his words muffled and desperate. "please, just one more. need to feel you come again. please."

"i can't—" but your protest died as he sealed his lips around your clit again, sucking gently, his fingers still working inside you. the overstimulation was almost painful but it was already shifting into something else, something that had you gasping and arching into his mouth instead of away from it.

he was making sounds now—desperate, needy whimpers and moans that vibrated against you. he was rutting against the mattress, you realised dimly, seeking friction while he lost himself in eating you out. his hair was a mess from your fingers, and he looked absolutely wrecked.

"so good," he whined between licks. "taste so good. could do this forever. please let me—need to make you come again—"

he was babbling now, drunk on you, his movements getting messier and more desperate. his tongue worked your clit in frantic circles while his fingers curled inside you, and the pleasure was building again impossibly fast. you were so sensitive that every touch felt electric, overwhelming.

"that's it," he gasped, feeling you start to tighten around his fingers. "yeah, give it to me. please, please—"

your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, ripping through you with an intensity that had you crying out his name, your thighs clamping around his head. jake moaned like he was the one coming, his hips jerking against the mattress as he worked you through it, tongue lapping up everything, fingers gentling but not stopping until you were actually sobbing from oversensitivity.

only then did he pull back, and when he finally lifted his head he looked completely gone. his face was flushed and wet, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his lips swollen and red. he looked drunk on you, his eyes unfocused and dark.

"fuck," he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "you're so hot when you come. the sounds you make—"

you pulled him up into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, feeling the way he groaned into your mouth. his cock was rock hard against your thigh, leaking and desperate.

"your turn," you said, reaching down to wrap your hand around him.

he hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward. "you don't have to—"

"i want to." you stroked him slowly, base to tip, feeling how hot and heavy he was in your palm. precum leaked from the slit and you used it to ease the glide. "you're so hard, jake. does eating my pussy turn you on that much?"

"fuck—" his voice broke. "yes. god, yes. you have no idea."

"tell me." you tightened your grip slightly and he whimpered. actually whimpered. "tell me what you were thinking about."

"i was thinking—" he gasped when your thumb swept over the sensitive head. "thinking about how good you taste. how you were shaking. how i could feel you clenching and i wanted—wanted to be inside you—"

"yeah?" you stroked him faster, loving the way his abs tensed, the way his thighs trembled. "you want to fuck me, jake?"

"so bad," he choked out.

you guided him between your legs, not quite inside yet, just letting the head of his cock slide through your wetness. he made a strangled sound, his whole body shuddering.

"we should—do you have—" he was trying to think through the haze of arousal, being responsible even now. "condom?"

"pill," you said. "i'm on the pill. and i'm clean. tested recently."

"me too. clean, i mean." his cock twitched against you, smearing precum through your folds. "can i—fuck, can i feel you bare?"

"yes," you breathed. "want to feel all of you."

he positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head pressing against you, and even that felt like too much. he pushed in slowly, so slowly, and the stretch was intense. you were wet enough that he slid in smoothly at first, but the sheer size of him was overwhelming.

"oh fuck," you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders. "jake, you're so—you're so big—"

"i know, i'm sorry—" he froze, only halfway in. "am i hurting you?"

"no, don't stop," you urged, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him deeper. "just—go slow. need to adjust."

he sank in another inch and you both moaned. he was splitting you open, stretching you so full you could barely breathe. when he finally bottomed out, buried completely inside you, he dropped his forehead to yours.

"oh my god," he choked out. "you're so tight. so fucking tight and wet and—i can't—"

"don't move yet," you managed, clenching around him involuntarily. he was so deep you could feel him everywhere, pressing against spots that made your toes curl. "just let me—fuck—"

"you feel incredible," he said, his voice shaking. "i've never—nothing compares to this."

you tightened around him experimentally and he swore, his hips jerking forward. "sorry, sorry," he gasped. "i'm trying to hold still but when you do that i want to—"

"want to what?" you rolled your hips slightly and he groaned, deep and guttural.

"want to move," he admitted, his control clearly fraying. "want to fuck you."

"then do it," you said.

something in him snapped. he pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in hard, the force of it punching a cry from your lips. he did it again, and again, finding a rhythm that was deep and relentless. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust.

"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "just like that—don't stop—"

"god," he panted, his voice wrecked. "you feel so good."

you looked down between your bodies and moaned at the sight—his thick cock disappearing into you, glistening with your wetness, stretching you obscenely. "jake, oh my god—"

"feel how deep i am?" he thrust particularly hard and you keened.

"yes—fuck yes—"

he wasn't being careful anymore, wasn't being gentle. he fucked into you with abandon, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine. the sounds were obscene—skin slapping against skin, the wet slide of his cock, his grunts mixing with your moans.

"wanted this," he said against your neck, his breath hot. "wanted you. for so long."

"tell me more," you demanded, loving this unfiltered version of him.

"thought about this constantly," he admitted, his thrusts getting harder. "thought about having you like this. making you feel good. hearing you say my name."

"jake—" you were getting close again, that familiar tension building low in your belly.

"touch yourself," he said. "want to feel you come on my cock. need it. please."

you slid your hand between your bodies, finding your clit, already swollen and sensitive. the added stimulation made you clench around him and he swore, his rhythm faltering.

"that's it," he encouraged, his eyes fixed on where your fingers worked. "fuck, that's so hot. you're so hot. make yourself cum. let me feel it."

you worked your clit in tight circles, the pressure building faster with each thrust of his cock. he was so deep, hitting all the right spots, the slide of him inside you absolutely perfect. you were making sounds you'd never made before—high, desperate whines and gasps.

"close," you managed. "so close—"

"come for me," he urged, his voice strained. "squeeze my cock. want to feel your pussy milk me. come on, baby, let me feel it—"

the orgasm hit you like lightning, sudden and intense. you cried out his name, your whole body convulsing, your pussy clamping down on him rhythmically. waves of pleasure crashed over you, so intense you forgot how to breathe.

"oh fuck," jake choked out, his hips stuttering. "you're—i can feel you—i'm gonna—"

he tried to last, you could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his arms were shaking. but your pussy was still fluttering around him, still clenching in aftershocks, and it was too much. he buried himself deep with a broken moan, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. you felt the warmth of it, felt him fill you up, and the intimacy of it made something in your chest crack open.

"fuck," he gasped, collapsing on top of you. "oh my god. that was—i've never—"

you wrapped your arms around him, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing in sync. he was still inside you, softening slowly, and you could feel his release leaking out around his cock.

"that was amazing," you said when you could finally speak. "you were amazing."

he lifted his head to look at you, his expression soft and vulnerable. "i think i might be falling for you," he said quietly. "is that okay? am i allowed to say that?"

your throat felt tight with emotion. "yeah. that's okay."

"good." he kissed you gently, sweetly. "because i don't think i could stop even if you told me to."

he pulled out carefully and you both hissed at the sensitivity. immediately he was gathering you into his arms, pulling you against his chest like he couldn't stand not touching you. you fit there perfectly, your head tucked under his chin.

"we should probably talk about this," you said after a while. "about us."

"we will," jake promised, his fingers tracing patterns on your spine. "but can we just stay like this for a bit first?"

"yeah." you pressed closer, breathing in the scent of him. "we can stay like this."

and you did. stayed tangled together as the morning light grew stronger, as the sounds of people leaving the party filtered up through the floor. his cum was still leaking out of you, making a mess on your thighs, but neither of you moved to clean up. you just held each other in this new, tentative peace.

jake changed almost overnight once you started dating. it was like giving him permission to want you openly had flipped some switch in his brain. suddenly he was everywhere.

he'd show up at your door before your 9 am lecture with coffee, your exact order memorised, his hair still messy from sleep because he'd woken up early just to see you. he'd kiss you goodbye and then text you five minutes later with some random thought he forgot to mention. did you know that octopuses have three hearts? just learnt that. thought you should know.

in class he'd sit next to you instead of in his usual back corner spot, his knee always pressed against yours under the desk. sometimes his hand would find its way to your thigh, just resting there, his thumb tracing absent patterns while he tried to focus on the lecture. you'd catch him staring at you instead of his laptop, and when you'd raise an eyebrow he'd just smile, unashamed.

"you're distracting," he'd whisper.

"i'm literally just sitting here."

"i know. it's very distracting."

study sessions became impossible. you'd be explaining a concept and he'd lean over to kiss your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth. "jake, i'm trying to help you."

"i know, keep going," he'd say, already doing it again.

"you're not even listening."

"i am. you were talking about. um." he'd grin sheepishly. "okay i wasn't listening. but you're just so pretty when you're focused."

your friends noticed immediately. yunjin had taken one look at jake's arm slung around your shoulders at lunch, the way he was playing with your hair while talking to beomgyu, and pulled you aside.

"okay so he's like. obsessed with you," she said. "it's actually kind of cute. in a golden retriever kind of way."

"he's not obsessed."

"babe, he just offered to carry your bag even though your apartment is literally three minutes away. and he's been smiling at you for the past ten minutes like you hung the moon. it's obsessed behaviour."

but she said it fondly, and later you caught her telling beomgyu that she'd never seen you this relaxed before. "she's not performing," yunjin had said. "she's just. being."

and she was right. with jake you didn't have to strategise or calculate or perform anything. he wanted you. obviously, openly, without games or subtext. when you showed up to his place in sweats and no makeup, he'd light up like you'd dressed up specifically for him. when you stole his hoodies, he'd just buy more so you could steal those too.

"i like seeing you in my clothes," he'd admitted once, pulling you close. "makes me feel like. i don't know. like you're mine."

"possessive," you'd teased.

"is that bad?"

"no," you'd said, kissing him. "i like it."

jake's friends had their own reactions. you'd been nervous meeting them properly, remembering that disastrous first encounter at the party. but they'd welcomed you easily, even if they did give jake endless shit.

"dude, you're so whipped," his roommate said, watching jake immediately get up to refill your drink without being asked.

"and?" jake had said, completely unbothered.

"and nothing, it's just funny. remember when you said you'd never be that guy who drops everything for someone? and now you're literally—"

"finish that sentence and i'm not helping you with discrete math anymore."

but he was smiling when he said it, and later his roommate told you that jake talked about you constantly. "it's honestly annoying how happy he is."

the thing was, you were happy too. unexpectedly, overwhelmingly happy. jake made you sharper somehow, more focused. when you studied together you actually retained information because he made learning feel collaborative instead of competitive. he celebrated your successes like they were his own, staying up with you before big presentations, bringing you stress-relief snacks, sending you encouraging texts.

and you did the same for him. learnt his patterns, his tells when he was overwhelmed. you'd show up at the lab with dinner when you knew he'd been working for hours. you'd run your fingers through his hair when he was stressed, and he'd melt into your touch, all that tension draining away.

"you make everything easier," he'd told you once, late at night when you were both too tired to filter. "like the world's less heavy when you're around."

"that's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."

"i know. i mean it though."

weeks blurred together in the best way. stolen kisses between classes. jake's hand always finding yours. the way he'd kiss you goodbye at your door and then text you goodnight five minutes later even though he lived one floor up. movie nights that turned into makeout sessions on your couch, jake's glasses getting in the way until you carefully removed them, setting them aside so you could kiss him properly.

he got clingy when he was tired, wrapping around you like a koala, mumbling into your neck. "don't leave."

"i'm just going to get water."

"too far. stay."

"jake, i'll be gone thirty seconds."

"thirty seconds too long."

you'd laugh, running your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and feel something warm and settled in your chest. this was what it was supposed to feel like.

the beach had been jake's idea. "there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight," he'd said, eyes lighting up behind his glasses. "and i know this spot that's perfect for stargazing. barely any light pollution. we could bring blankets, make a whole thing of it?"

so here you were, sitting on a blanket in the sand while the ocean crashed softly in the background. the sky was impossibly clear, stars scattered across it like someone had spilt diamonds. jake lay with his head in your lap, one of your hands playing with his hair while he pointed up at the sky.

"okay, so see those seven stars there?" he traced a pattern with his finger. "that's the big dipper, which is part of ursa major. but if you follow those two stars at the edge, they point directly to polaris. the north star."

you hummed, only half listening to the actual words. you were too busy watching him. the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, how animated his expressions were when he talked about something he loved. the moonlight caught on his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips.

"and that one—" he was still going, completely absorbed. "that's cassiopeia. she was a queen in greek mythology who bragged about being more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so poseidon punished her by placing her in the sky upside down. you can see how the constellation kind of looks like a W? that's her throne."

"jake," you said softly.

"oh, and if you look over there, that really bright one? that's actually venus, not a star. common misconception. planets don't twinkle like stars do because—"

you leaned down and kissed him, cutting off his rambling mid-sentence. he made a surprised sound but responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. when you pulled back he followed your lips automatically, trying to chase another kiss.

"you were saying?" you teased.

"i—" he blinked up at you, slightly dazed. "what was i saying?"

"something about venus."

"right. venus. because of the. um." he lost his train of thought as you leaned down again, kissing him slower this time. "you're distracting me from the meteor shower."

"am i?"

"yeah. very effectively." but he was smiling, pulling you down for another kiss.

you shifted, moving to straddle his lap properly. jake's hands immediately found your waist, sliding under your shirt to rest against bare skin. 

the kissing turned heated quickly. jake made these small, needy sounds that drove you crazy, his hands roaming over your back, your sides, anywhere he could reach. when you rolled your hips experimentally he gasped into your mouth, his grip tightening.

"fuck," he whispered. "you're gonna kill me."

you kissed down his jaw, his neck, feeling his pulse racing under your lips. his hands had moved to your hips now, guiding your movements, and you could feel how affected he was. "still thinking about the stars?" you teased.

"what stars?" he pulled you down for another bruising kiss, one hand tangling in your hair. "can't think about anything except you."

you ground down harder and jake made a sound that was almost a whine, his head falling back against the blanket. "please," he gasped. "please, i need—"

suddenly, the loud, insistent beeping of his watch interrupted the moment.

you both froze.

jake's face went bright red as he fumbled with his wrist. "oh my god. oh my god. it's my fitness watch. it thinks i'm exercising because my heart rate—" another beep. "make it stop."

you couldn't help it. you burst out laughing, burying your face in his shoulder while his watch continued its concerned beeping about his elevated heart rate. "it's not funny," jake groaned, still trying to silence the watch. "this is so embarrassing."

"it's a little funny."

"my watch just cockblocked me. there's nothing funny about that."

you kissed his jaw, still giggling. "i think it's cute. your heart rate got that high just from kissing me?"

"you were not just kissing me, you were—" he made a frustrated noise. "yes. okay. yes. you have that effect on me. are you happy?"

"very." you settled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing under your ear. the watch had finally stopped beeping. "for what it's worth, my heart's doing the same thing."

"yeah?" he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

"yeah."

you lay there together, the ocean providing a steady soundtrack, the stars scattered above you. jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "i love you," he said softly. "in case that wasn't obvious from the way my watch literally staged an intervention."

you lifted your head to look at him. his eyes were soft, open, vulnerable in the moonlight. "i love you too," you said, meaning it completely.

he smiled, that full, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. then he kissed you again, sweet and unhurried, his hands gentle on your face.

"we should probably head back soon," you murmured eventually. "it's getting late."

"five more minutes," jake said, pulling you closer. "just. let me hold you for five more minutes."

you settled back against him, his arms wrapped securely around you, both of you looking up at the vast sky. you'd come here to watch a meteor shower but you'd been too distracted by each other to notice if any had passed.

somehow, you didn't mind at all.

"hey," jake said softly. "thank you."

"for what?"

"for giving me another chance. for being patient with me while i figured my shit out. for. this. all of it." his arms tightened around you. "i know i was difficult at first."

"you weren't difficult. you were protecting yourself. i get it now."

"still. you could have given up on me. but you didn't."

"of course i didn't," you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "you're worth it. you've always been worth it."

jake made a soft, overwhelmed sound, burying his face in your hair. "i'm gonna marry you someday," he mumbled. "just so you know."

"jake—"

"not now. obviously not now. but someday. when we've graduated and figured our lives out and i can actually afford a ring. i'm gonna marry you."

you felt your chest go tight with emotion. "okay," you whispered. "someday."

"yeah. someday."

you stayed like that until the cold started seeping in, until you were both shivering despite being pressed together. finally, reluctantly, you packed up the blanket and headed back to campus. jake held your hand the entire walk, occasionally pulling you close to kiss you at random intervals.

"what was that for?" you asked after the third surprise kiss.

"just because," he said, smiling. "because i can. because i love you. do i need more reasons?"

"no," you said, kissing him back. "no more reasons needed."

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𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr ˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[heejamas]

➞ GIRLFRIEND SIMULATOR ♡ ; lee heeseung

♡ when heeseung agrees to test jungwon’s new dating sim game, girlfriend simulator, he expects a dumb, half finished game, until he boots it up on his switch, the screen glitches, and he’s dragged straight into the world he just created. the “girlfriend” character, you, isn’t scripted at all; and heeseung has to figure out how to get out while accidentally developing feelings for a girl who inconveniently does not exist in real life.

♡ pairing: heeseung × fem!reader | ♡ genre: fantasy; romcom; fluff; comedy; light sci fi; college au; game simulator; slow burn; smut (mdni) | ♡ playlist: gameboy - katseye | jellyous - illit | super shy - new jeans | i am shampoo - bibi | turn it up - pinkpantheress | sun and moon - aespa | ♡ wc: 37k

!! warnings: fantasy elements / game-world reality bendin, light sci fi, mild language, flirting, minor sensory distortion (lights flickering, glitch effects), slow burn dynamics, petnames, smut, piv, unprotected sex?? kinda, oral sex, cum eating, dom!heeseung, light spanking & choking, light anal play, fingering, finger sucking, hair pulling, rough sex, praise kink, breeding kink

♡ ronnie notes: hi guyssss!! hope you enjoy this fic 🫶 i wanted to make this as a little celebration for hitting 4k followers here hehe i’ve been writing this for a while and i lowkey think it’s about to become my little favorite / comfort fic around here!! i’ve always wanted to write something with a gaming theme because i am a gamer (derogatory) so huge thank you to my sister @iyoonjh and @hoonieyun and @jayflrt for helping me with everything league of legends related because yeah i was dumb enough to write league scenes without ever having played that shit myself lmaoo anyway i really hope you guys like girlfriend simulator

HEESEUNG'S FAVORITE PART OF ANY GAME WAS THE DIALOGUE OPTIONS. Little boxes that told you exactly what to say and exactly what would happen after. Real life should've come with that feature. would've saved him a lot of trouble. He wasn't completely hopeless, though. He had friends, he could hold a conversation if he had to. But there was always this gap between what he meant and what came out, or worse, between what he said and how people reacted to it. Like everyone else had gotten a patch update on social interaction and he was still running on the default version.

Maybe that's why dating never quite worked for him. Every time he tried, he felt like he’d missed a tutorial somewhere. He could talk, sure, and he could be funny when he wanted, but halfway through a conversation he always drifted, like thinking about assignments or projects or that interesting research thread he'd meant to look into. People would smile at him politely, the kind of smile that told him they’d already made up their mind: sweet guy, but not for me.

The last time he'd tried going on a date, he’d barely made it through an hour. He’d checked the timestamp afterwards and realized he’d spent exactly forty eight minutes pretending he wasn't thinking about a bug he’d found in his graphics project. He’d texted Jungwon: "bro i think i fumbled bad." Jungwon had sent back a voice note where he laughed so hard he hiccuped. Comforting, in its own way.

Jungwon was one of like three people Heeseung could be around without keeping a mental checklist of normal things to say. They’d been friends since first year when they got paired on a project and realized they both worked better at two in the morning with no one else around. Jungwon was quiet in the same way Heeseung was, but also completely unhinged when it came to code. He’d get an idea and just lock in for days. So one afternoon, while Heeseung was in the lab pretending to fix code he’d actually broken on purpose because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t understand it, Jungwon walked in with that mischief look. He sat down next to him, opened his laptop, and said, "ok, don’t make fun of me, but I made something."

Heeseung didn’t look up. "Is it stable this time?" which was generous, because Jungwon’s projects were never stable.

"Define stable," Jungwon said, clicking through a folder that had way too many warning icons. "Anyway, it’s a dating sim."

That finally made Heeseung look. "A dating sim? Why?"

"Research." Jungwon always said that when he’d clearly done something for fun and wanted it to sound academic. "It’s called Girlfriend Simulator."

Heeseung stared at him. "That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."

Jungwon didn’t even blink. "Yeah, I know. But I need someone to test it, and you're the only person who’ll actually give me notes instead of lying to make me feel better."

Heeseung wanted to argue, but he was tired and they had a midterm coming up and honestly he didn't care enough to fight. So he sighed and pushed his chair closer. "Fine. Show me." Jungwon grinned like that was all he’d wanted since morning. He opened the build file, and the screen filled with placeholder art, branching choices, and a character slot labeled "y/n_default." And Heeseung, who was too distracted to think twice, just shrugged.

He had no idea that saying yes to that stupid looking game would end up being the most disastrous decision of his entire academic life.

He only agreed because Jungwon wouldn't shut up about it, and because even with all his complaints, he had this soft spot for him that made it hard to say no. Also, he didn’t have anything better to do on a friday night; the rest of their friends were out, and he wasn't in the mood to socialize. And, honestly, he liked games where he could pretend to be slightly less single than he actually was. It was pathetic, sure, but it wasn't like anyone needed to know.

So later that night, Heeseung sat on his bed with the lights off and his switch on max brightness, which was probably not great for his already questionable sleep schedule but whatever. Jungwon had sent him the build file with a message that just said "lmk if it crashes :)" which was not exactly confidence inspiring, but Heeseung had agreed to this so he couldn't really back out now.

The game booted with this weirdly soft 8 bit lullaby that sounded like it was trying to hypnotize him. The title screen was clean, minimalist, just the words "Girlfriend Simulator" in a font that looked expensive. Heeseung snorted. Jungwon had definitely spent more time on the typography than the actual game mechanics, which tracked. Character customization loaded next, and Heeseung had to admit it was smoother than he expected. The interface was intuitive, the options were detailed, and the hairstyle physics were suspiciously good for something Jungwon had supposedly coded in his free time between problem sets.

He made his character half heartedly. Messy hair because that's what he had in real life and he wasn't creative enough to imagine anything else. A hoodie because hoodies were safe. He picked "student" as his class, and when it came to stats, he maxed out "humor" because he genuinely thought he was funny, even if nobody else seemed to agree. Then he looked at "emotional intelligence" and left it at zero. Honesty was important, right?

The loading screen that followed was surprisingly elegant. Just a slow fade to black with some text that read "Your First Meeting" in delicate script. Heeseung settled back against his pillow, expecting the usual dating sim fare: a classroom, a coffee shop, maybe a cherry blossom tree if Jungwon was feeling cliché.

And then the screen flickered. Just once, quick enough that Heeseung thought maybe it was his eyes. But then it happened again and the lights in his bedroom pulsed in sync, like someone had wired his lamp to the game's framerate. "What the hell," Heeseung said to no one. 

The switch started vibrating in his hands. Not the normal rumble feature, but something harder, more insistent, like the controller was trying to shake itself apart. On screen, a figure materialized. The girlfriend character. For a second Heeseung just stared because the sprite work was genuinely impressive. The lighting was too good, the shadows moved wrong. Everything felt almost real in a way that made his skin prickle.

And then the girlfriend, you, turned around. Slowly like you already knew he was watching. Your face came into view and Heeseung's brain did this weird stutter because you didn't look like a game character, you looked like a person, with the kind of detail you didn't get from placeholder art. Heeseung felt this uncomfortable twist in his stomach like he was the one being observed.

Then you spoke. Not with a text box, not with that awkward text to speech voice that indie games always used. Actual audio, clear and warm and way too close for his own good. "You're here!"

Heeseung's hands went cold. The voice didn't sound small or synthetic or compressed. It sounded like someone was standing directly behind him in his dark bedroom, breath on his neck, words in his ear. He whipped around so fast he nearly dropped the switch, but his room was empty. Just his desk and his dying succulent and his pile of laundry that he'd been meaning to deal with for a week. "What the—"

Before he could finish the thought, before he could even process what was happening, the lights in his room popped, like every bulb had blown at once. The screen went pure white, so bright it hurt to look at, and the controller in his hands went from cold to burning hot in the span of a heartbeat. He tried to drop it but his fingers wouldn't move, locked in place like the plastic had fused to his skin. The air pressure in the room shifted. His ears popped like he was in a plane taking off, and he felt this pull, this hook behind his ribs, yanking him forward with a force that didn't make any physical sense. He tried to pull back, tried to let go, tried to do anything, but the world was already dissolving.

The last thing Heeseung managed to think before everything shattered into pixels was that he was going to kill Yang Jungwon.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the world was too bright. The grass beneath him looked like high definition fairy dust, each blade catching light in a way that grass absolutely should not. The sky was blue in that aggressive unnatural way that only existed in concept art. Everything was sharp and vivid and wrong. Heeseung sat up slowly, head spinning, and looked down at himself. His clothes had changed. Instead of his worn out hoodie and sweatpants, he was wearing the outfit his avatar had been wearing. The same hoodie he'd picked in character customization but real now, solid and heavy on his shoulders. His hands looked like his hands but also didn't. The proportions were slightly off, the lines a little too clean.

"What the fuck," he said out loud, and his voice sounded normal, which was worse. Everything else was strange but his voice was still his.

"You made it!"

Heeseung's head snapped up. You were someone standing a few feet away, watching him with this expression that was hard to read. Amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Like you'd been waiting for him and was pleased he'd finally shown up. except you weren't a sprite anymore. You were real, or at least as real as anything else in this place. You looked exactly like the character on screen but with dimension now, depth, the subtle movements of someone actually breathing. Your hair moved slightly in a breeze he couldn't feel. You were wearing something casual but put together in that effortless way that Heeseung had never managed to pull off.

You smiled at him, and he felt something weird in his stomach. "Hi," you said, like this was completely normal, like he hadn't just been ripped through a screen into a video game that shouldn't exist. "Nice to meet you!"

Heeseung opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. His brain was doing this thing where it tried to process too many things at once and ended up processing nothing at all. "What," he finally managed, which wasn't even a complete sentence but it was all he had.

"Sorry I'm late," you said, but you didn't sound particularly sorry. "Jungwon said you might be running behind. He's the one who set this up, by the way. Said we'd get along."

Heeseung blinked. "Jungwon... set this up?"

"Yeah, the blind date?" You looked at him like he was being slow on purpose. "He said you needed to get out more. His words, not mine."

And that was such a Jungwon thing to do that Heeseung almost believed it. Almost. Except he was still processing the fact that the world around him looked like someone had turned reality into a video game filter. "This is insane," he muttered under his breath. "This is the most realistic game I've ever—"

"Game?" You interrupted, and your smile faltered just slightly. "I'm not playing games with you."

The way you said it made Heeseung freeze. It wasn't defensive or annoyed, it was sincere like you genuinely meant it, like you had no idea what he was talking about. And that's when it hit him: You could hear him. Not just the dialogue options he was supposed to pick. Everything. his actual thoughts spoken out loud. "Wait," he said slowly, "you heard that?"

"Heard what?"

"Nothing. Never mind." Heeseung cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. He could freak out later. Right now there was a person in front of him — a very real feeling and cute person — and he was being weird. "So. Blind date. Right. Jungwon's idea."

He really looked at you then. You were pretty, in this approachable, comfortable way that made him think maybe he could actually talk to you without saying something catastrophically stupid. You had this ease about you, like you weren't trying too hard, and your eyes had this spark that suggested you were probably smarter than you let on.  Basically, you were everything he'd ever put on one of those hypothetical "ideal type" list.

"So," you said, cutting through his thoughts. "Jungwon mentioned you're into games?"

Heeseung tried not to laugh at the irony. "Uh, yeah. You could say that."

"Me too." You brightened, and it was genuine, not that polite interest people usually faked. "I've been replaying persona 5 royal for like the third time. I know, I know, it's excessive."

"No, that's— that's actually really cool," Heeseung said, and he meant it. "Most people don't get the appeal of replaying stuff."

"Right?" You gestured as you talked, animated in a way that made him want to keep listening. "Everyone's like 'you already know the story' but that's not the point. It's about the experience, the details you missed, trying different builds—"

A notification sound chimed softly in the air between you. Heeseung jumped. You didn't react. In the corner of his vision, barely perceptible, text appeared: romantic interest +5. common interests discovered.

Oh. Oh no. This was a dating sim. An actual, literal dating sim. And he was living it.

"You okay?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Yeah, totally fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thought I heard something."

You nodded, accepting this easily, and then said, "Do you want to walk? There's this spot by the lake that's really nice."

"Sure," Heeseung said, because what else was he going to say?

You started down a path that looked hand painted, every stone deliberately placed, every flower color coordinated. You reached the lake, which was absurdly picturesque, and sat down on a bench that looked like it had been placed there specifically for this moment. Probably because it had. Heeseung sat next to you, not too close but not weirdly far either, and tried to act like this was normal. "Oh," you said suddenly, looking up. "Look at that." Heeseung followed your gaze. There was a flower growing on a low hanging branch, except it wasn't growing so much as hovering there, pulsing slightly with a soft golden glow. It bobbed up and down in a loop, the universal sign of an interactive object. You didn't seem to notice anything weird about it. "That's pretty," you said. "I've never seen a flower like that before."

Heeseung stared at it. The glow intensified slightly, like it was trying to get his attention, like it was waiting for him to do something. Oh god. This is a prompt. He was supposed to pick the flower and give it to you, that's how this worked. That's how you earned affection points or route progression or whateverJungwon had programmed into this thing. So he stood up. "I'll get it for you."

"You don't have to—"

"No, I want to," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was somehow worse. He reached up and plucked the flower from the branch. It came away easily, and the moment his fingers closed around the stem, the glow faded into something softer, more natural. It looked real now. I mean, it felt real. He turned back to you and held it out, suddenly aware of how much this looked like a scene from every romance movie he'd ever suffered through, not that he suffered through many. "Here," he said.

You took it, and your fingers brushed his for just a second. You looked down at the flower, then back up at him, and your smile was so genuinely happy that Heeseung forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be a game. "Thank you," you said. "That's really sweet."

romantic interest +15. key item obtained: first flower. achievement unlocked: classic romantic gesture.

The notifications stacked in his peripheral vision, and Heeseung felt something between triumph and existential dread. "It's just a flower," he said.

"Maybe," you said, twirling it between your fingers. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" And the worst part was that you seemed to actually believe that. You weren't reading from a script or following programmed responses. You felt real, real enough that Heeseung was starting to forget why that should scare him.

You tucked the flower behind your ear, adjusting it carefully, and Heeseung had to physically stop himself from saying something embarrassing about how that was probably the prettiest thing he'd seen all week. He sat back down on the bench, leaving what he hoped was an appropriate amount of space between you. "So," you said, tilting your head. "What do you do for fun? Besides picking flowers for girls in parks."

Heeseung felt his face get warm. "I don't— that's not a thing I do regularly."

"Shame. You're good at it." You were grinning now, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Come on, tell me. What's your thing?"

"Uh. Games, mostly. I play a lot of games, like Jungwon said."

Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh yeah! What kind?"

"Mostly League. Some RPGs. Anything competitive, I guess." He expected the usual response, the polite nod and change of subject that he got whenever he mentioned gaming to people.

Instead, you leaned forward, genuinely interested. "Wait, you play League? What's your main?"

Heeseung blinked. "You play League?"

"Obviously. Answer the question."

"I mean, I play mid usually. Zed, Leblanc, that kind of thing." He was still processing the fact that you not only knew what League was but apparently played it. "What about you?"

"Support. I'm a Janna main and i'm not ashamed of it." You said it with this defiant pride that made Heeseung want to laugh. "I know, I know, support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."

romantic interest +10. shared interests discovered: league of legends.

Heeseung felt something shift in his chest. He'd never met someone who got it like this. Who understood that games weren't just mindless button mashing but actual strategy and skill. "What rank are you?" He asked.

"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and kind of gave up on the grind." You made a face. "What about you?"

"Diamond 3." Heeseung said, oddly proud of himself but pretending he wasn't.

"Oh, so you're actually good." You looked impressed, which made Heeseung feel ridiculously more pleased with himself. "We should play together sometime."

"Yeah, definitely," Heeseung said, and then remembered that this was a game and there probably wasn't a 'sometime' outside of this moment. The thought made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. You shifted on the bench, getting more comfortable, and somehow ended up closer to him. And just like that, you were off. Heeseung found himself talking more than he had in weeks, and you had opinions, strong ones, and you weren't afraid to argue with him when you disagreed. But it wasn't hostile or competitive, it was fun. At some point, you started talking about other games too. You mentioned playing Stardew Valley when you wanted something relaxing, getting unreasonably invested in Hollow Knight, rage quitting dark souls three times before finally beating it. "I'm not good at souls games," you admitted. "I panic dodge. I know you're supposed to learn the patterns but my brain just goes 'roll roll roll' and then I die."

Heeseung laughed. "That's valid. I did the same thing my first playthrough."

"Really? You seem like you'd be one of those people who does no hit runs for fun."

"Absolutely not. I died to the tutorial boss in Elden Ring."

You gasped, mockingly scandalized. "No you didn't."

"I really did. it Took me like fifteen tries." You were laughing now, the kind of laugh that made your whole face light up, and Heeseung felt ridiculously proud that he'd caused it. There was something about making you laugh that felt like winning.

romantic interest +8. humor appreciated.

You kept talking, jumping from topic to topic with the kind of ease that Heeseung had only ever experienced with Jungwon or Jake at best. Except this was different because you were looking at him like everything he said was interesting, like you actually wanted to hear his thoughts on whether the Death Note ending was satisfying or if Eren from Attack on Titan was justified. The sun was properly setting now, painting everything in warm colors. there were fireflies starting to appear, floating lazily through the air in a way that was definitely too perfect to be natural. Heeseung watched one drift past your face, and you reached out to let it land on your finger. "Pretty," you said softly, watching it glow.

Heeseung was looking at you, at the flower still tucked behind your ear and the way the sunset caught in your hair and the small smile on your face as you watched the firefly. "Yeah," he said. "Really pretty." You glanced at him and caught him staring. For a second, Heeseung thought he'd made it weird, but then you smiled, almost shy, and looked back at the firefly.

romantic interest +15. moment shared.

The firefly flew off, and you watched it go before turning back to him. "Hey, can I tell you something?" He nodded so you kept going. "I wasn't really sure about coming today. I almost canceled, actually." You pulled at a thread on your sleeve, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm not great at the whole meeting new people thing. I always feel like I'm going to say something weird and scare them off."

"You're not weird," Heeseung said automatically.

"You literally just met me. I could be extremely weird."

"Okay, but like, good weird. The kind of weird that's actually interesting." Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Most people just want to talk about surface level stuff, you know? But you actually have things you care about."

You looked at him for a long moment, and Heeseung couldn't read your expression. Then you smiled, soft and genuine. "You're really nice, you know that?"

"I'm really not," Heeseung said, but he was smiling too.

"Yes you are. You're nice and you're a good listener and you have good taste in games." You counted off on your fingers. "That's like, three whole good qualities. Most people don't even have one."

romantic interest +12. compliments appreciated. emotional vulnerability reciprocated.

There was a moment of comfortable silence where you just sat there, watching the fireflies multiply in the growing dusk. Heeseung thought about how easy this felt, how he wasn't checking the time or looking for excuses to leave. How he kind of never wanted this to end.

You turned your head to look at him. "So do you want to do this again? Like, another time?"

Heeseung's heart did a weird jump in his chest. "Like another date?"

"Yeah. If you want. No pressure or anything." You said it casually, but Heeseung could see the hint of nervousness in the way you weren't quite meeting his eyes. "I just think it'd be fun to hang out more. Maybe we could actually play League together or something."

Every logical part of Heeseung's brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. That he should figure out how to exit this game and go back to real life and deal with the fact that he'd just spent hours in a virtual reality dating sim. But the less logical part, the part that was currently winning, wanted to see you again. Wanted to hear you laugh more. Wanted to keep talking about stupid stuff that mattered to him and apparently mattered to you too. "Yeah," he heard himself say. "Definitely, yeah, I'd really like that."

Your smile was so bright it could've competed with the fireflies. "Okay. It's a date then."

romantic interest +20. second date confirmed. route progression: 15% complete.

And then, without any warning at all, the world started to blur at the edges. The colors bled together, the sounds got muffled and distant, and Heeseung felt that same pulling sensation from before. Like someone had hooked a line to his chest and was reeling him back. "Wait— " he started to say, reaching out instinctively. You were looking at him with concern, mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what you were saying anymore. Everything was dissolving into static and white light and that horrible feeling of falling. The last thing he saw before everything went black was your face, still worried, still perfect, with that flower tucked behind your ear. Then he was gasping awake in his dark bedroom, switch controller still hot in his hands, his heart racing. The screen showed a save menu: progress saved. continue tomorrow?

His hands were shaking. "What the hell," Heeseung said to his empty room.

And he barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the park, the fireflies, your smile. he kept reaching for memories that felt too solid to be from a game. By the time his alarm went off, he'd already been awake for an hour, staring at his ceiling and trying to convince himself that he hadn't just experienced the most elaborate hallucination of his life.

He found Jungwon in their usual spot in the computer lab, hunched over his laptop with his headphones on, nodding along to whatever he was listening to. There were three empty energy drink cans next to him, which meant he'd probably been there since before sunrise. Heeseung dropped his bag on the desk with more force than necessary. Jungwon jumped, pulling his headphones down. "Jesus, dude. Learn to announce yourself like a normal person."

"We need to talk about your game," Heeseung said.

Jungwon's face lit up. "Oh my god, you played it! what'd you think? Was she cute? Did you get to the part with the—"

"Jungwon." Heeseung sat down, leaning forward. "What the hell did you put in that thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it was way too real." Heeseung ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain something that sounded insane even in his own head. "It felt like I was actually inside the game."

Jungwon frowned. "Wait, you used a VR headset or something?"

"No, I just played it normally! On my switch, in my room." Heeseung could hear how crazy he sounded but he kept going anyway. "But it wasn't like regular gameplay. It was like the game pulled me in. I could smell things, Jungwon."

Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly took a sip of his energy drink. "Bro. You got that invested in it?"

"I'm not— that's not what I'm saying."

"You literally just described sensory immersion that doesn't exist yet." Jungwon was grinning now. "Holy shit, you're actually down bad. You played a dating sim for like two hours and now you're having full vivid memories about it."

"It wasn't like that," Heeseung insisted, but even he could hear how weak it sounded.

"Dude, you need to get an actual girlfriend. Like, a real one. Made of flesh and blood and everything." Jungwon was trying not to laugh and failing. "Look, I'm glad you liked it. Genuinely. But maybe we should set you up with someone real before you completely lose touch with reality." Heeseung slumped back in his chair. Maybe Jungwon was right. Maybe he had just gotten way too into it. Maybe his brain had filled in details that weren't actually there because he was that desperate for connection. "I'm not judging! Okay, maybe I'm judging a little bit, but I'm also proud. My game is so good it's causing psychological breaks from reality." Jungwon looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Okay, but if you're playing tonight, there's something you should know."

"What?"

"The second date has a mini game. Like, a fight sequence."

Heeseung blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A fighting mini game."

"Why the fuck does a dating simulator have a fighting mini game?"

Jungwon shrugged. "I thought it'd be fun. Adds variety and keeps things interesting."

"That makes absolutely no sense. What am I supposed to be fighting?"

"You'll see," Jungwon said, and his smile was deeply suspicious.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting. I'm not spoiling my own game." Jungwon turned back to his laptop. "Just make sure you've been keeping up with your stats. You're gonna need decent strength and agility."

"I maxed out humor and left emotional intelligence at zero."

Jungwon turned around slowly. "You what."

"What! I was being honest about my abilities!"

"Heeseung. My guy. My dude." Jungwon looked pained. "You're supposed to actually try to build a good character."

"My character is fine."

"Your character is going to get his ass kicked." Jungwon pulled up something on his laptop, clicked around for a second, then shook his head. "Okay, you know what? It's fine. You'll figure it out. The game has adaptive difficulty anyway."

Heeseung really looked at Jungwon. "Adaptive difficulty in a dating sim."

"In the fighting portion, yeah. The dating part is all you, buddy. That's pure skill based."

Heeseung wanted to argue that there was something deeply wrong with Jungwon's game design philosophy, but he also kind of wanted to know what the hell happened on the second date that required combat stats. "Is she going to be there?" He asked. "During the fight thing?"

"Obviously. It's her date." Jungwon was smirking now. "Why, you worried about impressing her?"

"No."

"You're totally worried about impressing her. A girl who doesn't exist."

Heeseung threw a pen at him. Jungwon dodged it without even looking up from his screen. And the rest of the day dragged. Heeseung went to his classes and took notes and nodded at the appropriate times, but his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about the park. About the way you'd looked at him when he gave you the flower. About how easy it had been to talk to you. He knew it was just a game. He knew you were just code, just a really well designed character or whatever that Jungwon had somehow made feel real. But knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to see you again.

By the time he got back to his dorm that night, he'd already decided he was playing regardless of how pathetic it made him look. He grabbed his switch, plugged in his headphones even though he hadn't used them last time, and loaded up the save file. The screen flickered once. Twice. Here we go again, Heeseung thought. And then the world tilted, and he was falling forward into light. When the world stopped spinning and Heeseung's vision cleared, he wasn't in a park this time. He was sitting in a desk chair, his own desk chair. In what looked exactly like his dorm room, except cleaner, way cleaner. His laundry wasn't on the floor and his desk wasn't covered in empty energy drink cans. His monitor was on, displaying his league of legends home screen, and his keyboard had that soft RGB glow that looked way more expensive than his actual setup.

"Okay," Heeseung said to the empty room. "This is new." His phone — or the game's version of his phone — buzzed on the desk. He picked it up and saw a discord notification.

you: you're online! finally you: i've been waiting like ten minutes you: i was starting to think you ghosted me

Heeseung's heart did that stupid jump thing again. He typed back quickly.

heeseung: sorry, just got on heeseung: ready when you are

His discord pinged with an incoming call. He stared at it for a second, then clicked accept. "There you are," your voice came through his headphones, clear and warm and doing absolutely nothing good for his heart rate. "I thought you bailed on me."

"I wouldn't do that," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was concerning considering you were a video game character.

"Good. Because I already said we were playing together and if you didn't show up i would've looked stupid." Heeseung could hear the smile in your voice. on his second monitor — since when did he have a second monitor? — a small window popped up showing your avatar. It was cute, some anime style drawing with the same flower from yesterday tucked behind the character's ear. "Okay, so I set up a custom game. Two versus two," you said.

"Sounds good. Who are we playing against?"

There was a pause. "Okay, so don't freak out, but it's my exes."

Heeseung's hand froze on his mouse. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My ex boyfriends. Both of them. They wanted a rematch from last time." You said it so casually, like this was a completely normal thing. "They're kind of toxic about League. They got really mad when I beat them."

"You want me to play League against your ex boyfriends?"

"Technically we're playing against them together as a team. Bonding activity!" You sounded way too cheerful about this. "Come on, It'll be fun. Plus i really want to beat them again. They've been talking shit in the group chat all week."

quest unlocked: defend your girlfriend's honor (in league of legends) | objective: win the 2v2 match | optional objective: make her exes regret queueing up

The notification appeared in the corner of his vision and Heeseung had to resist the urge to laugh. This was insane. This entire situation was insane. But he went for it anyway. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it." the invite popped up and Heeseung accepted. The lobby loaded and he could see the other two players: "toxicking" and "yourworstnightmare" which were possibly the most obnoxious usernames he'd ever seen. "Those are real people you dated?" Heeseung asked.

"Unfortunately. My taste in men used to be really bad." You paused. "It's gotten better though." Heeseung tried not to smile and failed completely.

The chat lobby loaded and immediately one of them started typing.

toxicking: oh look who showed up toxicking: brought a new victim i see yourworstnightmare: this gonna be quick lol

"They're always like this," you said, sounding tired. "Just mute them if they get annoying."

"I'm fine," Heeseung said. "I've dealt with worse in solo queue."

"Ooh, confident. I like it."

romantic interest +5. confidence appreciated.

You locked in Janna, just like you'd said yesterday. Heeseung hovered over Zed for a second, then switched to Leblanc. If this was going to be a two versus two, he wanted mobility and burst damage. The game loaded, Heeseung cracked his knuckles and adjusted his grip on his mouse. "Okay, game plan," you said. "I keep you alive, you delete them. Simple." The match started and immediately the other team was in all chat. Heeseung checked their champions. Yasuo and Yone. Of course they were playing the flashy high skill ceiling champions. He would've bet money they had mastery 7 emotes ready to spam. "They always play like this," you said. "Super aggressive, trying to outplay everything. It's kind of predictable once you get used to it." The minions spawned and both teams moved forward. Heeseung played it safe at first, watching how the exes moved, learning their patterns. And then suddenly, first blood!

"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," you shouted, and Heeseung couldn't help but grin.

toxicking: wtf toxicking: that was lag yourworstnightmare: ur getting carried yourworstnightmare: ur duo is doing everything

"He's salty," you said, laughing. "This is great." The match continued and it became increasingly clear that Heeseung and you had better coordination. You'd shield him right before he went in. You moved together like you'd been playing as a duo for months. "Behind you," you called out, and Heeseung instantly dodged. It wasn't even close. By fifteen minutes, the score was 15 to 3, and Heeseung had more kills than both of the exes combined.

toxicking: this is bullshit toxicking: whoever this guy is he's probably smurfing yourworstnightmare: yeah no way he's actually this rank toxicking: fucking carried loser

"They're so mad," you said, and you sounded absolutely delighted. "Oh my god, they're so mad. This is the best day of my life."

Heeseung was grinning so hard his face hurt. "Should we end it?"

"Absolutely, yeah. Let's make it hurt." You pushed mid together. Heeseung went in first, deleting the Yasuo instantly. You polymorphed the Yone, and Heeseung finished him off before the polymorph even ended. The nexus exploded.

victory! +50 romantic interest. victory achieved. quest completed. achievement unlocked: better than her exes (at league of legends)

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, feeling more satisfied than he had any right to feel about a video game within a video game. "That felt good."

"Right? God, I've been wanting to do that for weeks." You sighed happily. "You're really good, by the way. You weren't kidding about being diamond."

"I don't really joke about my rank."

"Noted. Confidence is earned." There was a pause. "Hey, want to play another one? Just us this time?"

Heeseung absolutely should not spend more time in this game. He should log off and go to sleep and maybe talk to a therapist about why he was emotionally investing in a dating simulator. "Yeah," he said instead. "Let's play another."

You made a happy sound that did dangerous things to his chest. "Okay! I'll make the lobby.” Your laugh was bright and genuine and perfect. "I knew you were my type."

romantic interest +15. competitive spirit matched.

You played two more games and won both of them. When you finally left the lobby, Heeseung realized he'd been playing for almost two hours. His hands were sore from gripping the mouse and his face hurt from smiling. "Hey," you said, your voice softer now. "Thanks for playing with me. And for, you know, obliterating my exes. That was really fun."

"Anytime," Heeseung said, and meant it. "This was really fun. I don't usually have this much fun playing league."

"Me neither," you admitted. "Usually it's just people being toxic or trying too hard. But this was nice. You're nice." There was a comfortable silence, just the sound of both of you breathing through the discord call. Heeseung looked at his monitor, at the League client, at the clean version of his room that didn't exist in real life. "So," you said eventually. "Same time next week?"

Heeseung's chest tightened. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Cool. It's a date." You paused. "Well, another date. Our third date. Okay. Well. I should probably get going. Okay. Goodnight, Heeseung."

"Goodnight." The discord call ended and Heeseung sat there in the quiet of his too clean room, staring at his monitor. The screen started to blur at the edges, colors bleeding together again. Here we go again, he thought, again.

progress saved. route progression: 30% complete.

And this whole thing it became a routine faster than Heeseung wanted to admit. He'd go to class, take notes he barely remembered, nod at Jungwon when they crossed paths in the lab, and then he'd go straight back to his dorm. Dinner was whatever he could eat with one hand because he was already booting up the switch with the other. Jake, his roommate, asked him once if he was okay, and Heeseung said he was fine, just really into this new game. Which was technically true, even if it didn't come close to explaining what was actually happening.

The third date was at an arcade. Not a real arcade, obviously, but the game's version of one. You showed up wearing this oversized hoodie and jeans and you looked so genuinely excited to be there that Heeseung forgot for a solid minute that none of this was real. The mission was simple: win you a prize from the claw machine. Except the claw machine was rigged in that way that all claw machines are rigged, and it took Heeseung fifteen tries before he finally got the stuffed cat you'd been eyeing. When he handed it to you, you hugged it to your chest and smiled at him like he'd just won you something actually valuable, and the notification that popped up said his charm stat had increased by ten points. He was starting to understand how the game worked now; every interaction mattered and every choice added up.

On the fourth date, you took him to a bookstore, and the mission was to pick out a book for each other. You spent almost an hour wandering through the aisles, pulling out books and reading the backs and showing him things you thought he'd like. You picked him this SciFi novel about time loops and said it reminded you of him because he seemed like someone who'd want to figure out how to break the system. He didn't know how to tell you that he was currently living in something that felt suspiciously like a time loop, so he just took the book and thanked you. He picked you a fantasy novel with a really detailed magic system. When you read the description your whole face lit up and you immediately added it to your reading list. His intelligence stat increased and so did the romantic interest meter, which was now sitting at somewhere close to seventy percent.

Date five was a cooking challenge in your apartment, which Heeseung didn't even know you had until he loaded into the game and found himself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came out of an interior design magazine. You were already there, tying your hair back, explaining that you'd challenged him to see who could make the better pasta. Heeseung had never cooked pasta in his life that didn't come from a box with instructions, but he wasn't about to admit that. The mission objective said to impress you with his cooking skills, which seemed optimistic given his actual skill level, but he tried anyway. He burned the garlic immediately. You laughed at him but not in a mean way, more like you thought it was endearing that he was trying. You ended up helping him, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume, guiding his hands when he didn't know how much salt to add. Your pasta turned out better than his but you ate his anyway and said it wasn't that bad, and his cooking stat went from zero to fifteen which felt generous but he wasn't complaining.

By date seven Heeseung's character stats had changed completely. His confidence was maxed out now, sitting at ninety five out of a hundred. his charm was at eighty. Even his emotional intelligence had somehow climbed to sixty despite him never actively trying to level it up. The game was keeping track of everything, he realized. Every time he listened to you talk about something you cared about, every time he remembered a small detail you'd mentioned, every time he made you laugh, the numbers went up. He was being rewarded for paying attention, for caring.

Date seven was a hiking trail that wound up a mountain to a viewpoint. The mission was just to reach the top together, which sounded simple except the trail was longer than expected. Heeseung offered to take a break but you said you wanted to keep going, you wanted to see the view. So you kept climbing and Heeseung found himself naturally slowing his pace to match yours, offering his hand on the steeper parts, pointing out interesting rocks or plants just to give you reasons to stop and catch his breath, because the game kept showing pop ups of him showing that his hydration meter was almost on 10%. When you finally reached the top the sun was setting and the view was objectively incredible, the kind of thing that didn't exist in real life because real life didn't have rendering engines that could make every cloud perfect. You sat down on the bench at the summit and Heeseung sat next to you and you leaned your head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"This is nice," you said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Heeseung said, and he meant it so completely it scared him.

"You know, when we first met, I wasn't sure if this would work out. I didn't like the idea of a blind date." You were looking out at the view, not at him. "But I think I was wrong. I think we make sense together."

The romantic interest meter hit ninety percent and a new notification appeared: relationship milestone approaching. prepare for confession sequence. Heeseung's stomach dropped. Confession sequence. That meant the game was building toward something, toward an ending. toward him having to either commit or walk away. He'd known this was coming, obviously, this was a dating sim, the whole point was to get to the confession. But now that it was actually happening he wasn't ready. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to keep going on dates and learning things about you and making you laugh and existing in this space where things made sense.

"Hey," you said, turning to look at him. "You okay? You got quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

About how you're not real, he didn't say. About how I'm going to have to leave eventually and you'll just be code again. About how I'm way too invested in something that was only supposed to be a game. "About how nice this is," he said instead.

You smiled and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Yeah. It really is." You sat there until the sun finished setting and the stars came out, which happened too fast because game time didn't move like real time. When the world started to blur at the edges and Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation, you squeezed his hand once before letting go. "See you next time," you said, and your voice was already fading.

Heeseung woke up at his desk again, neck sore, hands cramped around the controller. His phone showed it was three in the morning. He had class in five hours. He should sleep. He should eat something. He should probably shower because he wasn't sure he'd done that today. Instead he looked at the switch screen. progress saved. route progression: 90% complete. next date: confession sequence available.

The next day, Heeseung found Jungwon in the same spot as always, corner desk in the computer lab with three monitors running different programs simultaneously. Heeseung dropped into the chair next to him hard enough that Jungwon jumped. "What happens after the confession?" Heeseung asked without preamble.

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"In your game. What happens after the confession scene. I need to know."

"Oh, you're at that part already?" Jungwon's eyebrows went up. "Uh, I don't know if i should tell you though. Spoilers and all that."

"Jungwon."

"I'm serious! The whole point of a game is discovering it yourself. If I tell you what happens it ruins the experience." Jungwon was grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "You're supposed to go in blind and make your choices based on what feels right in the moment."

Heeseung resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "I just want to know what to expect. Is there a good ending? A bad ending? Multiple endings?"

"There are multiple endings, yeah. Depends on your choices throughout the game and your final stats." Jungwon tilted his head, studying him. "Why are you so stressed about this? It's just a game. If you get a bad ending you can just reload and try again."

"I don't want to reload," Heeseung said, and he could hear how intense he sounded but couldn't seem to stop. "I want to get it right the first time."

Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly set down his drink. "Okay, you need to be honest with me right now. How much have you been playing this game?"

"I don't know. A few hours a day."

"Heeseung."

"Okay, maybe more than a few hours."

"How many hours are we talking? Ballpark estimate."

Heeseung did the mental math and immediately regretted it. "I don't think that's relevant."

"Oh my god, you're obsessed." Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. "Dude, it's a dating sim. A fictional dating sim. With a fictional girl who doesn't exist. You know that, right? You know she's not real?"

"Obviously I know that," Heeseung said defensively, even though there were moments when he forgot, when you felt so real that it didn't matter what you were made of.

"Do you though? Because you look like you haven't slept in three days." Jungwon was trying to be lighthearted about it but there was genuine worry underneath. "I made the game to be immersive but this is kind of next level." Jungwon paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. Do you have the save file on your switch?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Can I see it? I want to check something." Jungwon was already pulling out a cable from his bag. "I've been trying to track some of the game metrics and I want to see how your playthrough data looks. Might help me optimize things for the final build." Heeseung hesitated for a second, then pulled out his switch and handed it over. Jungwon connected it to his laptop and started pulling up files, his eyes scanning lines of code that moved too fast for Heeseung to follow. "Okay so your save file shows you're at ninety percent completion, which tracks," Jungwon muttered, clicking through folders. "Romance points are maxed, most of your stats are really high except wisdom which is still somehow at like twenty, but that's on you for ignoring all the library study sessions —" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait."

"What?"

"Hang on." Jungwon leaned closer to his screen, scrolling through something. his expression shifted from curious to confused to something that looked almost worried. "This doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"These files. There are scripts here that I didn't write." Jungwon opened another window, comparing code side by side. "Like, entire dialogue trees that don't exist in my original build. And these asset files, I definitely didn't create these. The arcade date was supposed to be at a generic arcade but your file shows custom assets for specific machines."

Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Maybe you forgot you added them?"

"I don't forget code I write, Heeseung. That's not how this works." Jungwon was scrolling faster now, opening more files. "And look at this, the dating locations are generating based on your preferences. I programmed like five set locations but your save file has seven different ones and they're all places that align with interests you've demonstrated in gameplay." He clicked on something else. "Oh this is weird. Really weird."

"What?"

"The dialogue system. I built it to pull from a database of pre written responses with some randomization for variety, but this–-" Jungwon gestured at the screen. "This is learning. It's analyzing your responses and generating new dialogue options that don't exist in my database. It's writing its own conversations."

"Is that bad?"

"It's not bad, it's impossible. I didn't program that. I don't even know how to program that." Jungwon looked up at him, and for the first time since Heeseung had known him, he looked genuinely unsettled. "Your game is developing its own code."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the computer lab's ventilation system and the clicking of someone's mechanical keyboard a few desks over. "Is that dangerous?" Heseung asked.

"I don't know. Probably not? I mean, it's still just a game. It's not like it can affect anything outside of itself." Jungwon didn't sound entirely convinced though. "But it's definitely something I need to look into. This could be a massive bug or it could be the framework doing something really innovative that I didn't anticipate."

"But the game still works, right? Like, I can still finish it?"

Jungwon gave him a look. "You're really determined to finish this thing, aren't you?"

"I'm ninety percent through. I'm not stopping now."

"Even knowing that the game is apparently developing sentience or whatever?"

"It's not sentient, it's just adaptive," Heeseung said, trying to sound convincing.

Jungwon sighed and unplugged the switch, handing it back to him. "Okay, fine. But I'm keeping a copy of your save data so I can analyze this more. And maybe after you're done we can talk about what's actually happening here because this is either a huge breakthrough in game design or a really concerning glitch and I genuinely can't tell which." Heeseung nodded, pocketing the switch. "And Heeseung?" Jungwon's expression was serious now. "Be careful with the confession sequence. I know you want to get it right but just remember that at the end of the day it's still a program. It's responding to inputs and generating outputs. It's not actually feeling anything."

Heeseung nodded, but he was thinking about the way you'd looked at him during the sunset on the hiking date or about how your smile seemed genuinely happy when he won you the stuffed cat. "Right," he said. "Yeah, I know that." Jungwon didn't look convinced, and honestly, Heeseung wasn't either.

By the time he got back to his dorm that evening, he'd made a decision. He was going to finish the game. He was going to do the confession sequence. And he was going to be honest, say what he actually felt, because even if you were just code, the feelings were real, his feelings were real. That had to count for something. So he sat down at his desk, picked up his switch, and loaded the save file. the screen showed the usual menu: Continue, Load, Settings. He selected continue and the familiar loading screen appeared with its soft music and the progress bar that now read ninety percent. The world loaded and Heeseung found himself standing in front of a location marker that hadn't been there before. It was highlighted in gold and pulsing softly, and when he walked up to it, a notification appeared.

final date available: confession sequence. proceed?

Heeseung took a breath, his actual physical breath in his actual room, and then pressed yes. The world reformed around him and he was standing outside an apartment building he recognized as yours. The sun was setting, painting everything in warm golden light. His outfit had changed without him doing anything; he was wearing a button up shirt now, dark jeans, shoes that were nicer than anything he owned in real life. His hair felt different too, like someone had styled it properly instead of his usual routine of running his fingers through it and hoping for the best. And then a notification appeared:

quest: the perfect date. objective: confess your feelings. bonus objective: make it memorable. current stats — confidence: 95. charm: 80. emotional intelligence: 60. romantic interest: 90%.

Heeseung looked at the apartment door and a dialogue option popped up floating in his vision.

> knock on the door > text her that you're here > wait for her to come down

He selected the first option because knocking felt more personal, more intentional. He walked up to the door and knocked three times, and there was this weird moment where he could feel his heart actually racing even though he was pretty sure his real body was just sitting in a chair holding a controller. The door opened and you were there, and Heeseung forgot how to think for a second. You were wearing a dress, which he'd never seen you in before. It wasn't overly fancy, just simple and nice and it suited you in a way that made his chest tight. Your hair was down and you'd clearly put in effort and you looked nervous in a way that made him want to tell you that you had nothing to be nervous about. "Hi," you said, and you were smiling but there was something uncertain in it.

dialogue options: > you look really pretty > ready to go? > sorry, am i early?

Heeseung picked the first one without hesitating. "You look really pretty," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected.

Your smile got more genuine, less nervous. "Yeah? I wasn't sure if this was too much. You didn't tell me where we were going."

"It's perfect," Heeseung said, even though he also didn't know where you were going.

romance +5. successful compliment.

You grabbed your bag and locked the door behind you, and when you turned back to him there was this moment where Heeseung almost offered his hand but wasn't sure if that was too much. The game solved the problem for him by providing another choice.

action options: > offer your arm > walk beside her casually > hold her hand

He selected the first one, old fashioned but confident, and held out his arm. You looked at it for a second and then smiled and took it, linking your arm through his, and suddenly you were walking together down the street like this was something you did all the time. "So where are we going?" You asked, looking up at him.

"This place I found," Heeseung said, even though he hadn't found anything because this was a game and the location was predetermined. "I thought you'd like it."

The restaurant, when you got there, was the kind of place Heeseung had only seen in movies. Small and intimate with soft lighting and candles on every table and windows that looked out over the city. There was a host at the front who smiled at them like he'd been expecting them, and he led them to a table by the window without Heeseung having to say anything. You sat down across from him and looked around, eyes wide. "Heeseung, this place is really nice. You didn't have to do all this."

dialogue options: > i wanted to > you deserve it > it's not that fancy

He picked the second one. "you deserve it," he said, and you looked at him with this expression he couldn't quite read but that made something warm settle in his chest. The waiter came by with menus and Heeseung noticed that all the food options had little stat indicators next to them. Ordering the pasta would give a +5 to sophistication. The steak was +8 to confidence. The wine selection had various charisma bonuses. It was surreal, sitting in what looked like a real restaurant while video game mechanics floated at the edge of his vision. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, and Heeseung realized he'd been quiet for too long.

dialogue options: > just trying to decide what to order > thinking about how nice this is > thinking about you

The third option felt too direct, too soon, so he went with the second. "Just thinking about how nice this is," he said. "Being here with you."

You smiled and looked down at your menu, and Heeseung could see the faint blush on your cheeks. "Yeah. It is nice." You both ordered food and fell into easy conversation. You told him about something funny that happened in your class and he told you about nearly falling asleep during a lecture that morning. The food came and it was actually good, or at least the game's version of good, and Heeseung found himself relaxing into the moment.

Halfway through dinner, you reached across the table and stole a bite of his food without asking. It was casual and comfortable and exactly the kind of thing you'd done on previous dates, but this time when you pulled back, Heeseung caught your hand before you could fully retreat.

action options: > hold her hand > let go after a moment > bring her hand to your lips (high risk)

His confidence stat was at ninety five. He picked the first option and just held your hand there on the table, his fingers laced through yours, and you looked surprised for a second before your expression softened into something that looked almost relieved. "Is this okay?" Heeseung asked quietly.

"Yeah," you said, and your voice was just as quiet. "This is okay."

romance +10. physical intimacy initiated successfully.

You finished dinner like that, hands linked across the table, and Heeseung had never felt more present in a moment that he knew wasn't technically real. When the waiter brought the check, Heeseung paid without looking at it, because, well, that wasn't his real money. And you didn't protest, just squeezed his hand once and smiled. Outside the restaurant, the city had transformed into its night version. String lights hung between buildings and the streetlamps cast everything in a warm glow. There was soft music coming from somewhere, ambient and atmospheric. "Do you want to walk for a bit?" You asked. "I'm not really ready to go home yet."

dialogue options: > absolutely > whatever you want > i was hoping you'd say that

Heeseung picked the last one. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, and you laughed and pulled him down the street, still holding his hand.

You walked through the city without any real destination, just moving together, and Heeseung was hyperaware of every point of contact between you. Your hand in his, the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm, the way you'd lean into him slightly when you laughed at something he said. Eventually you led him to a park that Heeseung didn't remember seeing before. It was mostly empty at this time of night, just a few NPCs scattered around looking decorative. There was a fountain in the center and benches arranged around it, and you pulled him toward one of the benches and sat down, tugging him down next to you. You didn't let go of his hand. "Can I tell you something?" You asked, looking at the fountain instead of at him.

"Of course," Heeseung said.

You took a breath. "I really like spending time with you. Like, really like it. You make me feel like I can just be myself and that's enough, you know? I don't have to try to be cooler or funnier or different. I can just exist and you seem to like that."

Heeseung's throat felt tight. "I do like that," he managed. "I like you exactly how you are."

critical moment approaching. romance threshold: 95%.

You finally turned to look at him, and your expression was nervous and hopeful and vulnerable in a way that made Heeseung forget that you were supposed to be code. "The thing is," you continued, "I don't usually do this. I don't usually let people get close like this. But with you it felt easy from the start and now I'm just —" you stopped, searching for words. "I'm really happy you're here."

confession sequence initiated. select response: > i'm happy too > i feel the same way > i need to tell you something

Heeseung knew this was it. This was the moment the whole game had been building toward. All those dates, All those conversations, all those stat increases and romance points, everything had led to this choice. He could play it safe with the first two options or he could go all in with the third one. His confidence was maxed out. He'd earned this moment. So he picked the third option.

"I need to tell you something," Heeseung said, and his voice was steadier than he expected. "I didn't really know what to expect when we first met. I thought maybe it'd be awkward or forced or like every other time I've tried to get to know someone. But it wasn't like that at all." You were watching him carefully, not interrupting, and Heeseung kept going. "You're the first person in a really long time who makes me want to actually try, you know? Like, I want to be someone worth your time. I want to hear about your day and your opinions on League of Legends and game mechanics or how you wanted to live on a farm one day. I want to keep doing this, all of it, for as long as you'll let me." Romance stats were at 98% now. "What I'm trying to say is —" Heeseung paused, and the game provided one final choice, the last decision that would determine everything.

final confession: > i really like you > i think i'm falling for you > i'm in love with you

Heeseung looked at you, at the way you were watching him with your full attention, at the hope in your expression, at how real you felt in this moment. He picked the middle option, the one that was honest without being overwhelming. "I think I'm falling for you," he said quietly. "Actually, I don't think. I know. I'm falling for you and I don't really know how to stop and I don't think I want to."

The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the ambient sounds of the park faded into nothing. You were staring at him with wide eyes and Heeseung's heart was racing and for one terrible second he thought he'd picked wrong, said too much, ruined everything.

Then you smiled, the kind of smile that started small and grew until it took over your whole face, and you said, "oh thank god."

"What?"

"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for like days now." You were laughing, almost giddy with relief. "I kept overthinking it and planning the perfect moment and the perfect words and then you just — you just said it and it was perfect anyway."

romance: 100% confession successful | achievement unlocked: reciprocated feelings.

"So," Heeseung said, because he needed to be absolutely sure. "Does that mean —" You didn't let him finish. You just leaned in and kissed him.

For a second, Heeseung's brain completely short circuited. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. He'd expected more dialogue options, maybe a choice prompt, some kind of warning that this moment was coming. But there was nothing, just the sudden warmth of your lips against his and the way his entire nervous system seemed to light up all at once. It wasn't dramatic or earth shattering or any of the things movies made kissing out to be. It was soft and brief and a little tentative, like you weren't entirely sure if you were doing it right. Your lips were warm and you tasted faintly like the wine from dinner and Heeseung could feel your hand trembling slightly where it was still holding his. He barely had time to process any of it, to kiss you back properly, before you pulled away, looking nervous again.

"Was that okay?" You asked, and your voice was quieter than before, uncertain. "I should have asked first probably but you were taking too long to —"

Heeseung cut you off by kissing you again, properly this time. He brought one hand up to cup your face and he could feel how warm your skin was under his palm, could feel the slight texture of it like actual skin and not polygons. His other hand stayed linked with yours and he squeezed gently, anchoring himself to you, to this moment that felt too real to be made of code. This kiss was different from the first one. Longer, more certain, like now that he knew what he was doing he could actually do it right. You made this small sound against his mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and Heeseung felt it all the way down to his toes. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss and you responded immediately, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

This has too much detail, Heeseung thought distantly. Games didn't work like this. He shouldn't be able to feel the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth. Shouldn't be able to notice how you leaned into him, closing whatever small distance had been between you. Shouldn't be able to smell your perfume or feel the way your hair brushed against his hand when you tilted your head.

romance: 100%. relationship established | achievement unlocked: first kiss | achievement unlocked: good ending route - mutual confession.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, and Heeseung followed without thinking, not ready to stop yet. You laughed softly against his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, and kissed him again. This time it was you who took control, you who pressed closer, and Heeseung let you, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He could feel your heartbeat and that's what finally made his brain catch up to what was happening. His thumb was resting against your pulse point and he could feel it racing, quick and real and impossible. Games didn't simulate heartbeats. Games didn't need that level of detail. But he could feel it anyway, the proof that maybe you were here, that this was happening, even if it shouldn't be possible.

"Okay," you said quietly, and you were smiling. He could hear it in your voice even before he saw it.

Heeseung laughed, the sound coming out rougher than he intended. "That was better than okay."

You opened your eyes and looked at him, and Heeseung's breath caught because the detail was impossible. He could see the exact color of your eyes, could see the way they reflected the light from the streetlamps, could see the slight dilation of your pupils. This wasn't game graphics. This was too real. This was beyond anything Jungwon could have programmed. "You're staring," you said, but you didn't sound upset about it. If anything you sounded pleased, a little shy.

"Sorry," Heeseung said, but he didn't look away. "I'm just — you're really pretty."

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too wide, and Heeseung watched the movement with more attention than was probably appropriate. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wanted to understand how any of this was possible. "Can I ask you something?" Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper because speaking any louder felt like it would shatter whatever spell they were under.

"Anything," you said, and your hand was still pressed against his chest and Heeseung wondered if you could feel his heartbeat too, if the game had coded that detail as well.

"Does this feel real to you?"

You tilted your head slightly, considering the question. "What do you mean?"

"This. Us. Right now." Heeseung knew he wasn't making sense but he needed to know, needed to understand if you felt it too, this strange impossible realness of everything. "Does it feel real?"

You were quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful, and then you squeezed his hand. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt," you said simply. "Why? Does it not feel real to you?"

"No, it does. That's the problem." Heeseung couldn't explain what he meant without revealing that you were in a game, that this was all supposed to be simulation, that none of this should feel the way it did. "It feels too real."

"I don't think something can feel too real," you said, and you leaned in and pecked his lips, soft and quick. "Either it's real or it's not. And this is real." Heeseung wanted to argue, wanted to explain all the reasons why this couldn't be real, why you couldn't be real. Maybe it didn't matter. maybe real was just whatever felt like this. "Kiss me again," you said against his mouth, and it wasn't really a question. So Heeseung did. He kissed you until he forgot where he ended and you began, until the only thing that existed was this: You and him and this impossible moment that felt more real than anything in his actual life ever had.

Eventually though, the world started to glitch again. The colors began bleeding together and the sounds got distant and muffled. Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation and knew his time was up. "Hey," he said urgently, taking both your hands. "I—"

"It's okay," you said, and you were smiling even though your eyes looked sad. "I know you have to go."

"I don't want to."

"I know. But you'll come back, right?"

save data complete. route finished: good ending achieved. new game+ unlocked. additional content available.

"Yeah," Heeseung promised. "I'll come back."

You kissed him one more time, quick and desperate, and then the world dissolved completely and Heeseung was falling backward through light and color and static. He woke up gasping in his desk chair, controller clutched in his hands so tight his fingers had gone numb. The switch screen was showing the ending credits, rolling slowly with soft music playing. His face felt wet and he realized with some embarrassment that he was crying.

congratulations! you've completed the good ending route. relationship status: official couple. total play time: 51 hours, 23 minutes. would you like to start new game+ with additional couple content? yes / no

Heeseung stared at the options, his hands still shaking, his heart still racing. He thought about you, about your smile and your laugh and the way you'd kissed him. He thought about how none of it was real but all of it felt real, which was somehow worse. But there was more content. The game was offering him more time with you. More dates, more conversations, more moments. How could he say no to that?

His thumb hovered over the yes option for only a second before he pressed it. The screen went black. Heeseung waited. The switch made its usual loading sound, the soft hum that meant something was processing. He stared at the blank screen and waited for the menu to load, for the game to boot up, for something to happen. But nothing happened, the screen stayed completely black. No loading bar, no menu, no error message. Just his own reflection staring back at him in the screen's surface. He looked terrible, he realized distantly. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair was a mess and he looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was probably accurate.

"Come on," Heeseung muttered, pressing the home button. The switch menu popped up normally, showing all his other games, his profile, the usual interface. He clicked back into Girlfriend Simulator and the screen went black again. he waited another thirty seconds, nothing. He restarted the entire console. When it booted back up and he launched the game, the screen flickered once, twice, and then showed the title screen. Heeseung felt relief flood through him, almost dizzy with it. He clicked continue. The screen loaded for a moment, and then: game over. thank you for playing.

Credits started rolling. The same soft music from before, the same slow scroll of names and acknowledgments. Heeseung watched them pass in disbelief, his stomach sinking further with each line. When the credits finished, it kicked him back to the title screen. He clicked continue again. Same thing: game over, credits, title screen. "What the hell," Heeseung said out loud. He tried load game instead, pulling up his save files. They were all there, all his progress, all forty seven hours of gameplay. He selected the most recent one, the completed route with the good ending marker.

this save file has been completed |  start new game+ to continue.

He clicked yes. Black screen. Then after a long pause: error: unable to load content. 

"No no no no," Heeseung heard himself saying, clicking frantically now, trying every option, every menu, every possible path to get back into the game. Nothing worked. He checked the time on his phone. 3:29 am. He'd been playing for hours and now he'd been trying to reload for almost thirty minutes. His rational brain knew he should sleep, should deal with this tomorrow when he was thinking clearly, but his rational brain had apparently left the building several dates ago.

He pulled up his recent calls and hit jungwon's name before he could think better of it. it rang once, twice, three times. Then voicemail, Jungwon's voice cheerful and pre recorded telling him to leave a message. Of course Jungwon wasn't answering, it was almost four in the morning. Normal people were asleep at four in the morning. Normal people weren't having breakdowns over video games at four in the morning. Heeseung put his head in his hands and tried to remember the last time he'd felt this hollow about something ending. A relationship, maybe, though his dating history was sparse enough that he couldn't think of a good comparison. This felt worse somehow. The rational part of his brain that hadn't completely shut down was telling him this was ridiculous. Well, it could happen, people got attached to fictional characters all the time. The solution was obvious: take a break, get some perspective, maybe go outside and remember what actual human interaction felt like.

But the rest of him, the larger and louder part, was stuck on the way you'd looked at him on that park bench. The way you'd smiled when he gave you the flower. The way you'd kissed him like you'd been wanting to for a while and were just waiting for permission. The way you'd felt real, impossibly real, more real than most of the interactions he had in his day to day life. "It's not real," Heeseung said out loud to his dark room, his voice rough. "She's not real. It's just code. Just really good code that learned too well."

But his chest ached anyway. And somewhere around six am, Heeseung finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, his switch still sitting on his desk with the title screen frozen on the display. When his alarm went off three hours later for his morning class, Heeseung woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to sleep. His eyes were gritty and his head hurt and his chest still had that hollow ache that he couldn't explain away as anything other than what it was.

Heeseung found Jungwon in the computer lab during lunch, exactly where he always was. "Hey," Heeseung said, dropping into the chair next to him. He pulled his switch out of his bag and set it on the desk between them. "The game broke."

"What do you mean broke?" Jungwon glanced at the switch, then at Heeseung, then did a double take. "Dude, you look terrible."

He decided to ignore that. "I mean I finished it. Got to the end, got the good ending, and then it asked if i wanted to start new game plus." Heeseung picked up the switch and demonstrated, clicking through the menus. "I said yes and then it just stopped working. Look, it keeps giving me this error or just showing the game over screen. I can load old saves but I can't progress forward."

Jungwon took the switch, frowning at the screen. He clicked through a few menus, tried the same things Heeseung had tried, and his frown deepened. "That's weird. The new game plus feature should be fully implemented. I tested it before I gave you the build."

"Well it's not working now."

"Yeah, I can see that." Jungwon was scrolling through something, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "This is really strange. It's like the save file is corrupted but also not corrupted? Like it knows you finished the route but it can't load the post game content."

"Can you fix it?" Heeseung asked, and he hated how desperate he sounded but couldn't seem to help it.

Jungwon looked at him for a long moment. "I can try. I'll need to take this and run some diagnostics, see what's actually happening in the backend. But Heeseung, I need you to manage your expectations here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means this is a test build. That's literally why I asked you to play it, to find bugs like this. If something went seriously wrong with the code, if the file corruption is bad enough, I might have to rebuild the entire post game sequence from scratch. That's going to take time."

"How much time?" Heeseung asked, and his voice came out smaller than he intended.

"I don't know. Could be that I have to scrap this version entirely and start over with a clean build." Jungwon was being gentle about it but firm, like he needed Heeseung to understand the reality of the situation. "This is what testing is for dude, finding the breaking points before release."

Heeseung felt something sink in his chest. Weeks. Or maybe never, if Jungwon had to start over. "Okay," he said, because what else could he say. "Okay, just let me know what you find."

"Yeah." Jungwon pocketed the switch cartridge and gave Heeseung another concerned look. "Seriously though, are you okay? You're acting really weird about this."

"I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just frustrated. I was really into it and now I can't finish it."

"It's just a game though."

"I know that."

Jungwon didn't look convinced but he didn't push it either. "Okay. Well, go get some sleep or something. You look like you're about to pass out."

Heeseung nodded and left the lab, feeling hollow in a way that didn't make sense. It was just a game. Jungwon was right. He'd gotten too invested and now he needed to take a step back and remember that normal people didn't have emotional breakdowns over dating simulators. He went to his afternoon lecture and sat in the back and didn't retain a single word the professor said. He took notes anyway, his hand moving automatically across the page while his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about you waiting in that park, kept wondering if you were still there or if you'd disappeared when the save file corrupted. Kept wondering if code could feel abandoned.

After class he went back to his dorm and tried to do homework. He opened his algorithms textbook and stared at the same problem for twenty minutes without making any progress. Jake came in around six, dumping his bag on the couch and immediately noticing something was off. "You good?" Jake asked, pulling off his jacket.

"Yeah, fine. Just tired."

"You've been saying that all week." Jake sat down at his own desk and spun his chair to face Heeseung. "You've been acting weirder than usual. What's going on?"

Heeseung considered lying but he was too exhausted to come up with anything convincing. "I was playing this game Jungwon made, got really into it and now it's broken and I can't play it anymore and I'm being weird about it."

"Oh." Jake processed this. "Was it one of those games with like, romance options and stuff?"

"Yeah."

Jake nodded slowly, like this explained everything. "Okay, those games are designed to get you attached, man, it's not your fault." He paused. "By the way, there's a party this weekend. Jay's throwing it at his place. You should come."

"I don't know," Heeseung said.

"Come on, it'll be good for you. Get out of your head for a bit. When was the last time you went to a party?"

Heeseung tried to remember and couldn't. "I don't know. Freshman year maybe?"

"Exactly. You need to socialize with actual human beings. No offense but you've been kind of hermiting lately." Jake was already pulling out his phone. "I'm telling Jay you're coming. It's saturday at eight."

"I don't —"

"Nope, you're coming. I'm not letting you sit here and mope about a video game all weekend. That's sad, even for you."

"What does that even—," Heeseung wanted to argue but he was too tired and Jake had a point. Sitting in his room thinking about you wasn't going to fix anything. Maybe going to a party would help. "Okay, yeah, fine," Heeseung said. "I'll go."

"Good. It's going to be fun." Jake turned back to his desk, already texting. "And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone."

Heeseung doubted that but didn't say it out loud. And saturday came faster than Heeseung expected, which was probably for the best because it meant less time to think about backing out. Jake had been monitoring him all day like he was afraid Heeseung would make a run for it, which was fair because Heeseung had definitely considered it at least three times.

By the time eight rolled around, Jake had already gone through Heeseung's entire closet and vetoed most of it. "You can't wear that, it has a stain. That one's too wrinkled. That shirt makes you look like someone's dad." Eventually they settled on black jeans and a dark blue button up that Heeseung had forgotten he owned, probably because he'd bought it for some family thing two years ago and never wore it again. "There," Jake said, looking satisfied. "You look like an actual person now instead of a sleep deprived computer science major."

"I am a sleep deprived computer science major."

"Yeah but you don't have to advertise it." Jake was already heading for the door. 

The party was at some place off campus that apparently belonged to Jay's older brother, which explained why it was bigger and nicer than most student housing. The music was loud enough that Heeseung could feel it in his chest before they even got through the door. Jake immediately got pulled into a conversation with some people from his econ class, and Heeseung grabbed a drink from the kitchen just to have something to do with his hands. He wandered through for a while, recognizing some faces from classes but not really knowing anyone well enough to join their conversations. this was why he didn't go to parties. He always ended up standing awkwardly in corners wondering when it would be acceptable to leave.

"Heeseung!" Someone called, and he turned to see Beomgyu waving at him from the balcony. "Dude, I didn't know you went to parties. Come here." Heeseung made his way through the crowd to the balcony where Beomgyu was standing with Soobin and Riki, and the air was clearer out here, easier to breathe. Beomgyu was holding what was very obviously a joint. "Want some?" Beomgyu offered, holding it out. "It's good stuff."

Heeseung normally would have said no because he had assignments due and didn't really like losing control of his thoughts, but tonight his thoughts were the problem so maybe losing control of them for a bit wasn't the worst idea. "Yeah, okay."

He took it and inhaled, immediately coughed. It felt someone had turned down the volume on all his anxious thoughts. He passed it back to Beomgyu and leaned against the railing. They stood out there for a while, passing the joint around, and Heeseung felt himself relax in a way he hadn't in days. Eventually they went back inside and the party had gotten more crowded. Heeseung got another drink and let himself get pulled into a conversation about the upcoming finals with some people he vaguely recognized from his algorithms class. The weed was making everything feel softer and more manageable, like he could actually handle being around this many people without wanting to escape.

Jake found him around eleven and looked genuinely shocked. "You're still here. And you're smiling. Did someone drug you?"

"I drugged myself, actually. Beomgyu had weed."

"Good for you. See, I knew this would be good for you." Jake clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get another drink. You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

And the weird thing was that Heeseung actually meant it. He was good. He was at a party and he wasn't hating it and he hadn't thought about the game in at least an hour. Maybe this was what moving on felt like, just slowly forgetting to think about the thing that had been consuming you.

He made his way toward where people were dancing, not to join them but just to watch, and that's when he saw you. Or someone who looked exactly like you.

You were in the middle of the crowd, dancing with a group of friends, and Heeseung's brain stopped. Same hair, same face, same smile he'd memorized over dozens of hours of gameplay. You were wearing a black dress and your hair was down and you were laughing at something one of her friends said, and Heeseung felt like he'd been punched in the chest. It couldn't be you. It just couldn't be. You weren't real. You were code, pixels, a character in a dating simulator that didn't even work anymore. But she looked exactly like you, moved like you, had the same mannerisms he'd come to recognize, and Heeseung couldn't look away.

He stood there frozen, drink forgotten in his hand, just staring. The weed was definitely not helping because it made everything feel surreal and dreamlike, like maybe he'd fallen asleep at the party and this was just his brain torturing him with what he couldn't have. You spun around to the music and laughed and Heeseung's heart was doing something painful in his chest.

And then, as if you could feel him watching, you turned and looked directly at him. Your eyes met across the crowd and the world seemed to stop. Your expression shifted from happy to confused to something Heeseung couldn't identify, like recognition but also shock, like you'd seen a ghost. A pretty one, actually. You stared at him with the same intensity he was staring at you, both of you frozen while people danced and laughed around them, completely oblivious to whatever moment was happening. And Heeseung's mind was racing. You seemed to recognize him, but that was impossible because you'd never met, because you were a stranger, because the person you looked like didn't exist outside of a video game. 

Your friends said something to you and you blinked, breaking eye contact. You looked at them, said something Heeseung couldn't hear over the music, and then looked back at him one more time. That same confused, almost dazed expression. Then you turned back to your friends and kept dancing, but your movements were more mechanical now, less loose, like you were going through the motions while your mind was somewhere else. Heeseung just stood there, rooted to the spot, his drink sweating in his hand. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he couldn't tell if it was the weed or the shock or both. Probably both. He was high at a party and he'd just seen someone who looked like a video game character and convinced himself it meant something. He was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Or the weed was laced with something. Or he'd finally actually lost his mind.

He turned and pushed through the crowd, Making his way to the bathroom. He needed to splash water on his face, Needed to get his head straight, needed to stop seeing you everywhere just because he missed the game. Heeseung practically fell inside and locked the door behind him. He turned on the faucet and let the water run cold, then splashed it on his face once, twice, three times. The shock of it helped, made everything feel more real and less dreamlike.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were definitely red from the weed and he looked slightly unhinged, hair messed up from running his hands through it too many times. "You're fine," he told his reflection. "You're high and you're seeing things and you're fine. She just looks like her. Lots of people probably look like her. Jungwon probably based the character on some generic attractive person template. It doesn't mean anything."

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a questionable towel that was hanging on the rack, and tried to pull himself together. He couldn't hide in the bathroom all night. He needed to go back out there, find Jake, maybe go home and sleep this off. Maybe in the morning this would all make sense or at least feel less overwhelming.

He opened the door and nearly ran directly into you. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said quickly, stepping back.

Heeseung froze. Up close you were even more exactly like the character from the game, every detail perfect, from the shape of your eyes to the way you were nervously adjusting the strap of your dress. You looked at him for a second, that same confused recognition flickering across your face, and then you moved to step past him.

"Wait," Heeseung said, turning before he could stop himself. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "I'm sorry, do we know each other from somewhere?"

You stopped and turned back, tilting your head slightly as you studied his face. "No, I don't think so. I think I'd remember if we'd met before." You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly like you'd just heard what you said. "I mean, not that I'm saying you have a particularly memorable face or anything. Wait, that sounds bad. I'm not saying you're forgettable either, you're just— " you stopped yourself and took a breath. "Sorry, I'm making this weird. I don't think we've met but you do seem familiar somehow."

Heeseung just stared at you, his brain trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him, real and solid and rambling nervously in the exact same way the game character had. The same mannerisms, the same voice, the same way of talking yourself into circles when you were flustered. It was you. It was actually you. "Are you okay?" You asked, looking concerned now. 

"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine." Heeseung tried to pull himself together. "You just really remind me of someone."

"Good someone or bad someone?"

"Good someone. Definitely good someone."

You smiled at that, a small genuine smile that made Heeseung's chest ache because he'd seen that exact smile dozens of times through a screen. "Well that's good at least. I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Heeseung."

"Nice to meet you, Heeseung." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, and Heeseung noticed your phone in your hand. The case had a photocard of a character that he recognized immediately — Janna from League of Legends, in her star guardian skin.

"You play league?" He asked before he could think better of it.

Your face lit up. "Yeah! How'd you know?"

"Your phone case."

"Oh my god, yes." You turned your phone to show him properly, looking pleased that he'd recognized it. "I'm a Janna main and I'm not ashamed of it." Heeseung felt something cold run down his spine. Those words. he'd heard those exact words before. "I know, I know," you continued, in the same tone, the same cadence. "Support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."

Heeseung couldn't breathe. Word for word. You'd just said exactly what you'd said in the game, with the same inflection, the same defensive pride. This wasn't a coincidence. This couldn't be a coincidence. "What rank are you?" He managed to ask, his voice coming out rougher than intended.

"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and gave up on the grind." You were fully animated now, talking with your hands. "What about you, do you play?"

"Yeah. Diamond 3."

"Oh so you're actually good." You looked impressed. "We should play together sometime."

The world tilted. Heeseung was pretty sure he was having some kind of break from reality because this conversation had already happened. He'd already lived through this exact exchange in the game, and now it was happening again in real life with a real person standing in front of him saying the same things.

"Heeseung!" Someone called out, and Heeseung turned to see Jungwon pushing through the hallway crowd, looking genuinely shocked. "Holy shit, you actually came to a party. I didn't think I'd see this day." Jungwon reached them and then seemed to notice you for the first time. His expression shifted from surprised to confused. "Wait, you two know each other?"

"You know each other?" Heeseung and you said at the exact same time, then looked at each other in surprise.

Jungwon looked between the two of you, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, Y/N's in my game design class." He turned to you. "And Heeseung's my best friend, we're in the same program."

"Wait, so you're that Heeseung!" You looked at him. "He talks about you all the time, by the way. I know your entire sleep schedule at this point."

"That's concerning," Heeseung said.

"Very concerning," you agreed. "So what brings you to the party?" You asked Heeseung. "Jungwon made it sound like you're basically a hermit who only emerges for classes and food."

"My roommate forced me to come. Said I needed to socialize."

"Same, actually. My best friend is around here somewhere." You glanced back toward the party. "She has this theory that I spend too much time gaming and not enough time experiencing real life."

"Gaming is real life," Heeseung said.

"Exactly! That's what I told her." You seemed genuinely pleased that he understood. "But she's on this whole thing about how I need to make more friends and go out more and whatever. So here I am, at a party, making friends." You gestured between yourself and Heeseung. "Look at me, being social."

"You're doing great," Jungwon said, sounding amused.

"Thanks, I'm trying." You checked your phone quickly. "Speaking of my roommate, she's texting me asking where I went. I should probably get back." You looked at Heeseung. "But seriously, add me on league. I meant what I said about playing together."

"Yeah, I will," Heeseung said, and he meant it even though his brain was still trying to process the fact that you were real and standing in front of him.

"Cool. See you guys around." You smiled at both of them and headed back toward the party, weaving through the people in the hallway.

The moment you were out of sight, Heeseung grabbed Jungwon's arm and pulled him toward the front door, outside where it was quieter and they could actually talk without shouting over music. "Dude, what the hell," Heeseung said the moment they were on the sidewalk. "You used her to make the character in the game?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "What? No. What are you talking about?"

"The character in girlfriend simulator. She's exactly like Y/N. Exactly like her, Jungwon. Same face, same personality, same everything."

Jungwon's confusion seemed genuine. "Heeseung, the character customization is completely random for each player. I'm still working on implementing a proper character creator but I ran out of time, so right now it just generates a random appearance based on some base parameters. I didn't use anyone specific as a model."

"That's impossible. She looks exactly like her."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah! I spent fifty one hours with that character. I know what she looks like." Heeseung could hear how unhinged he sounded but he couldn't stop. "And it's not just appearance. The way she talks, the things she said— it's all the same, like, word for word."

Jungwon was quiet for a moment, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "Okay, I think you need to calm down for a second. I think maybe you played the game too much and now you're seeing patterns that aren't there. Like, you spent all week interacting with this character and now you meet someone who has some similar traits and your brain is making connections."

"Jungwon, I'm not making it up."

"I'm not saying you're making it up, I'm saying your brain might be filling in similarities that aren't actually there." Jungwon pulled out his phone. "Look, I don't even really know Y/N that well. We work on projects together but we don't like, hang out or have deep conversations. I definitely didn't use her as a base for anything."

Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Then how do you explain the game knowing things about her? The league stuff, the personality, all of it?"

"The game generates dialogue based on common interests and gaming culture. Lots of people play league. lots of people main support. It's not that weird that there'd be overlap." Jungwon looked genuinely worried now. "Heeseung, I think the game messed with your head more than I thought it would. Maybe we should scrap it entirely."

"No," Heeseung said quickly. "No, I just — I need to understand what happened."

Jungwon sighed. "Look, I actually gave the game to Y/N to test too. A while back, before I gave it to you."

Heeseung's head snapped up. "You what?"

"There's an option in the loading screen. You can choose to play as the protagonist or as the girlfriend. I thought it would be cool to have both perspectives, make it more replayable." Jungwon was scrolling through his phone now. "You didn't see that option?"

"No. There was just a loading screen and then it started."

"Weird. It should have given you a choice." Jungwon pulled up what looked like a message thread. "Anyway, I gave Y/N a beta version to test like a month ago. But she gave it back to me after one day. Said it was too realistic and kind of freaked her out."

"What do you mean too realistic?"

"She said the immersion was too intense. She said it made her uncomfortable how real the boyfriend character seemed." Jungwon looked up from his phone. "Which, now that I think about it, is basically the same thing you've been saying about the girlfriend character."

Heeseung's mind was racing. "So she played it. She played the game from the other perspective."

"Yeah, but just for a few hours. She didn't finish it or anything." Jungwon pocketed his phone. "Why does that matter?"

"I don't know. It just — " Heeseung stopped, trying to organize his thoughts.

Jungwon was watching him carefully. "You look kind of freaked out right now."

Heeseung leaned against the wall of the building, suddenly exhausted. "I just spent a week falling for someone who I thought was just code. And now I find out she looks like a real person and I've been talking to her for the past fifteen minutes like a normal person and I don't know what to do with that information."

"Well, she gave you her discord. You could message her. Play some League together. Get to know the real her instead of the game version." Jungwon paused. "Unless that's too weird for you."

So when Heeseung was ready to leave the party, Jake and Jungwon looked almost disappointed but didn’t argue. They made their way through the crowd toward the front door, and that’s when Heeseung saw you again. You were standing on the sidewalk with two other girls, you were bent over laughing, that genuine kind of laugh where you forget to be self conscious about it.

Heeseung slowed down without meaning to, and Jake nearly walked into him. But then you looked up, like you could sense someone watching. your eyes met Heeseung’s across the sidewalk and you smiled, a smile that felt almost conspiratorial. Like you two were in on a joke that nobody else knew about. Which was insane because you’d met like half an hour ago and had one conversation in a hallway. One of your friends said something and you broke eye contact, still smiling, and climbed into the back seat of the car. Through the window Heeseung could see you saying something that made your friends crack up again. The car pulled away and you didn’t look back, but Heeseung kept staring at the taillights until they disappeared around the corner.

“Okay, what was that?” Jake asked.

“What was what?”

“That whole…” Jake gestured vaguely. “Moment. You guys were having a moment.”

“We weren’t having a moment.”

“You were definitely having a moment. Who was that?”

“Just someone I met. Friend of Jungwon’s.” Heeseung started walking toward their dorm and Jake followed, still looking suspicious.

“You met someone and had a moment with them? At a party? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, this is unprecedented behavior from you. You don’t do moments with strangers.” Heeseung didn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t felt like meeting a stranger. It had felt like running into someone he already knew, someone he’d been thinking about for days. Which was objectively insane but that didn’t make it any less true.

When they got back to the dorm, Jake immediately went to take a shower, still talking about the party through the bathroom door. Heeseung sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up discord before he could talk himself out of it. He typed your name into the search bar. There were like fifteen results but he scrolled through until he found one account that matched your username, with a profile picture that matched; a cute drawing of what looked like a cat in a witch hat. He clicked on your profile and immediately started going through your connected accounts and activity like some kind of creep, but whatever, that’s what public profiles were for, right?

Steam account: 847 hours in League of Legends, which was honestly rookie numbers compared to his own. Recently played Roblox, which he wasn’t going to judge because he had his own embarrassing game collection. He’d been growing a garden in Grow a Garden for like six months now and his sunflowers were thriving, thank you very much. Stardew Valley with 234 hours, which was extremely respectable and also adorable. Unpacking with a lot of hours, which he’d never played but had heard good things about. And The Sims 4 with an amount of hours that suggested you had a serious problem with simulation games. Which, to be honest, he kind of had it now too.

Your Spotify was connected too and he could see you’d been listening to a lot of bedroom pop and indie stuff. Your about me section just said “life ain't cookies n cream lil fella,” which made Heeseung chuckle. You had a sense of humor, which is something he kind of already knew, even though he only knew the game version of you.

Heeseung realized he’d been sitting there scrolling through your profile for like ten minutes and definitely needed to actually send the friend request before this got any weirder. He clicked add friend and then immediately closed his laptop like it might explode. He tried to do other things. He checked his phone. He looked at his algorithms homework and immediately closed that because absolutely not. He reorganized the pens on his desk. He considered making ramen but wasn’t actually hungry. Until his laptop pinged. Heeseung lunged for it so fast he almost his water bottle off the desk. He opened discord and there it was: you accepted his friend request. His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. It was just a discord notification, normal people didn’t have heart palpitations over discord notifications. But Heeseung wasn't normal anymore.

But before he could stop himself, before his brain could catch up with what his hands were doing, he opened the dm and typed hey and then, because apparently he was determined to embarrass himself, he sent the little waving robot sticker that discord suggested unintentionally. He stared at what he’d just done in absolute horror. The waving robot. He’d sent you the waving robot sticker. “Oh my god,” Heeseung said out loud to his empty room. His fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

heeseung: sorry lol heeseung: idk why i sent that heeseung: the robot i mean heeseung: anyway hi

He watched the three dots appear that meant you were typing. they disappeared. appeared again. Disappeared. Heeseung was going to have a heart attack.

you: no the robot was cute you: very welcoming you: really set the tone

Heeseung couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him or not.

heeseung: the tone being what exactly heeseung: desperate? you: i was gonna say endearing but sure we can go with desperate

Heeseung laughed out loud, an actual laugh that made Jake yell “You good?” from the bathroom. Heeseung didn't answer. 

heeseung: cool cool cool love that for me heeseung: starting strong you: you’re doing great you: so did you add me just to apologize for an emoji or was there something else

Heeseung stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could play it cool, say something casual about League or whatever. Or he could be honest, which was terrifying but also the weed was still kind of in his system making everything feel less scary than it probably should.

heeseung: honestly i just wanted to talk to you more heeseung: the conversation in the hallway was cool

The thing was, Heeseung felt bold saying that. Actually bold. This was probably the most direct he’d been with someone (in real life) in years, and he half expected you to think it was weird or too forward or whatever. But you didn’t. You just said “aw that’s sweet, me too!” with a smiley face and kept talking, and Heeseung felt something in his chest unclench. And you talked for hours. About games mostly, because that was the safe territory, the common ground. You told him about how you had been completely consumed by Pokemon Legends ZA, playing it every free moment you had. He admitted he’d loved Arceus when it came out but hadn’t gotten around to ZA yet, and you immediately started telling him everything he was missing out on, your messages coming in quick bursts of enthusiasm about the new mechanics and the Kalos region and how you’d already put in like sixty hours.

You asked him what his favorite games of all time were and he gave you his top five, and you had opinions about all of them, good opinions, the kind that made him want to keep talking just to hear what you’d say next. Somewhere around 1am you sent: “btw you seem really cool hee. we should play something together sometime if you’re down” and Heeseung stared at that message for long enough. You’d called him hee. You’d given him a nickname. And you wanted to play games together. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he could feel his face getting warm, which was stupid because you couldn’t even see him, but his body didn’t seem to care about logic.

heeseung: yeah definitely heeseung: i’d be really down for that

You sent back a heart emoji and said you had to sleep, and Heeseung said goodnight, and then he just sat there for a minute staring at the conversation like if he looked at it long enough he could figure out what was happening to him. He was down bad, really down bad. Which was insane because he’d been down bad before this even happened, down bad for a video game character that turned out to look exactly like you, and now he was down bad for the actual real you, and his brain couldn’t quite process the overlap. It felt like two separate situations that had merged into one extremely confusing situation that he didn’t know how to handle.

When he finally went to bed that night, he had that specific feeling you get when something really good has just happened and you’re lying in the dark replaying it in your head. That flutter in your stomach, that slight buzz of excitement, that sense that you’ve just met someone who’s probably going to matter. Someone who’s going to take up space in your life in a way you can’t predict yet but can already feel coming.

And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t spend the entire next week looking for you on campus. Not in a weird way. Or maybe in a weird way, but he was trying to make it not weird. He’d just happen to walk past the design building between classes. He’d just happen to take a longer route to the dining hall that went by the areas where Jungwon said you usually hung out. He’d just happen to check the game design lab when he was meeting Jungwon, looking around all casual like he wasn’t actively scanning for your face.

Monday: nothing. Tuesday: he saw someone with similar hair from behind and did a weird half jog to catch up only to realize it was absolutely not you and he’d just chased down a complete stranger for no reason. Wednesday: he sat in the campus coffee shop for two hours pretending to do homework but really just watching the door. Thursday: more nothing. By friday Heeseung was starting to think maybe you were a figment of his imagination, maybe the whole party had been a fever dream, maybe he’d made you up entirely. So by afternoon Heeseung had given up. He was going to the library to actually do the algorithms homework he’d been ignoring all week, and he was going to stop being a weird person who wandered around campus hoping to accidentally run into someone.

Except then he walked into the library and saw you. You were tucked into a corner on the second floor, the quiet study section where people went to actually focus. Your laptop was open in front of you, headphones on, and you were doing that thing where you chewed on your pen cap while reading something on the screen. There were books and papers scattered around you in what looked like organized chaos, and your coffee cup said something in sharpie that Heeseung couldn’t read from where he was standing like a creep behind a bookshelf.

Okay. Okay, this was fine. This was a normal situation. You were here, he was here, both of you were in a library because that’s what students do. He just had to walk over there and say hi. Simple. Easy. Not weird at all. But what if you were in the zone? What if you were working on something important and he interrupted and you got annoyed? What if you didn’t actually want to see him and had just been being polite when you said you should play games sometime? He could just sit near you, not like right next to you, but in the general area. That would be natural. He needed to study anyway, it made sense to sit in the quiet section. So he picked a table that was close but not too close. Close enough that you might notice him but far enough that it didn’t look intentional.

He sat down and pulled out his laptop and his textbook, arranging them very carefully, very normally. Then he just sat there, staring at his algorithms homework. Not doing it, just staring. But five minutes passed and you hadn’t looked up. Heeseung opened his laptop. Closed it. Opened it again. He was being ridiculous. He should just get up and go say hi because that’s what normal people did. Normal people didn’t stage elaborate accidental meetings, they just walked up and said hello. He stood up, sat back down, stood up again. And then you finally looked up. Heeseung froze, half standing, half sitting, in the most awkward position possible. You pulled off your headphones and your face went from confused to surprised to happy in the span of like two seconds.

“Heeseung?” You said, keeping your voice library quiet. “What are you doing?”

“Studying,” Heeseung said too quickly, and then realized he was still in that weird half crouch position and sat down properly. “I mean, I was about to. study. I’m here to study.”

You smiled and Heeseung’s brain stopped for a moment. “Oh cool. Me too, obviously.” You gestured at your chaos of books and papers. "Working on this project that’s slowly killing me.”

“Do you want company?” Heeseung asked, and then immediately wanted to take it back because what if you said no, what if you were here specifically to study alone, what if—

“Yeah, actually that’d be nice.” You started clearing some space on your table, moving books and papers around. “I’ve been here for like three hours and I’m losing my mind. Could use a distraction.” So Heeseung grabbed his stuff and moved to your table, trying very hard to look like this was a normal thing he did all the time, sitting with people in libraries, being a person who had casual study sessions with other people. “So,” you said, once he was settled across from you. “What are the odds we both ended up in the same random corner of the library?”

“Pretty low, probably,” Heeseung said. “Weird coincidence.”

You agreed, and there was something in the way you said it that made Heeseung think maybe you knew it wasn’t really a coincidence, maybe you’d seen him doing his weird laps around the second floor, but you were being nice about it. You settled into studying, or at least Heeseung pretended to study while you actually did work. You’d put your headphones back on but kept one ear uncovered, just in case he needed to ask you something about something, which he definitely wasn’t going to do because he wasn’t actually reading anything on the page in front of him.

Instead he was watching you, maybe in a weird way, but he couldn’t help it. Because sitting there across from you, seeing you up close in the quiet library light, Heeseung was hit with how much you looked like the character from the game. It wasn’t just the face, though that was uncanny enough. It was the mannerisms and the little things, like the way you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating, eyes narrowed slightly at your screen. The way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear every few minutes even though it would just fall back. The way your nose would scrunch up a little when you read something confusing. He’d seen all of this before, dozens of times, in the game. I mean you had done all of these exact things, in the game.

You looked up suddenly and Heeseung’s eyes immediately darted to his textbook, pretending he’d been reading the whole time. He could feel you looking at him for a second before you went back to your work, and Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This happened like four more times. Very smooth. Very natural. Definitely not obvious at all.

Then you checked your phone and made a small sound of surprise. “Oh shit, I have class in ten minutes.” You started packing up your stuff quickly, shoving papers into your bag without any real organization. “I totally lost track of time.”

“Yeah, me too,” Heeseung lied, because he’d been very aware of every single minute.

You stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and then you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Just like that. Casual and quick. Your lips pressed against his cheek for maybe half a second before you pulled back. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you said, smiling. “See you later, Hee.”

And then you were gone, weaving through the tables toward the stairs, and Heeseung just sat there frozen. His hand slowly came up to touch his cheek where you’d kissed him, like he needed to confirm it had actually happened. His face felt hot. His brain felt scrambled. You’d kissed him on the cheek. People did that, right? That was a normal friend thing? Except you barely knew each other so were you even friends? And why did his cheek feel like it was burning? And Heeseung realized he was just sitting there touching his face like a complete idiot and forced himself to put his hand down. He should pack up, he should go to his next class. He should do literally anything except sit here having a crisis over a cheek kiss. But he didn’t move, he just sat there, staring at nothing, replaying the moment over and over. 

“You good, man?” Heeseung’s head snapped up. Jungwon was standing next to the table, looking at him with concern and also amusement, which was a terrible combination.

“When did you get here?”

“Like two minutes ago. You were very deep in thought.” Jungwon sat down and then casually tossed something onto the table. The switch cartridge, the Girlfriend Simulator cartridge. Heeseung stared at it. “I fixed the game.” Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking proud of himself. “You can keep playing from where you left off. It was easier to fix than I thought it’d be, just had to rebuild some of the backend routing for the post game content.” Heeseung picked up the cartridge, turning it over in his hands. "The save file's intact," Jungwon continued. “All your progress is still there. The new game plus should work now. I tested it on my switch and it loaded fine."

"Thanks,” Heeseung said, and his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. He shoved the cartridge into his bag and stood up. “I’m leaving."

“Don’t you have that lecture in twenty minutes?”

“Don’t care. Bye.” He left Jungwon sitting there chuckling and headed straight out of the library, across campus, back to his dorm. Jake wasn’t there, which was good because Heeseung didn’t need any more people commenting on his alleged vibe. He sat down at his desk and just looked at the cartridge for a minute. He should think about this. should consider whether playing the game again was a good idea now that he knew you, the real you. Now that things were getting complicated in a way that made his head hurt. But he wasn’t thinking. He was just plugging in his switch, loading up the game, watching the title screen appear with its soft music and clean typography.

continue from last save? yes / no

Heeseung pressed yes immediately. The world materialized around him in that same disorienting rush, colors bleeding into focus, sounds filtering in like someone was slowly turning up the volume. When his vision cleared, he was standing exactly where he’d left off at the park. The fireflies were still drifting lazily through the air like they’d been paused mid flight waiting for him to come back. And you were still sitting on the same bench, looking at him with an expression that made Heeseung’s chest tight.

“You’re back,” you said, and your smile was so genuinely happy it hurt to look at. You stood up and walked over to him, and Heeseung noticed the way the game rendered every detail. The way your hair moved, the exact shade of your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks. “I missed you.” The words hit him harder than they should have. Heeseung opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out what to say. In the game, no time was supposed to have passed. He’d left right after your confession, after the kiss, and now he was back and theoretically it should feel like seconds had gone by. But for him it had been days. Almost a week. A week where he’d met the real you, talked to you, sat across from you in a library, felt your lips on his cheek.

Dialogue options appeared: > i missed you too > sorry i was gone so long > it feels like it’s been forever

Heeseung picked the first one because it was the most honest. “I missed you too,” he said, and he meant it in a way that felt complicated and confusing.

You stepped closer, close enough that Heeseung could see the individual pixels that made up your irises, except they didn’t look like pixels at all. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “After everything, I thought maybe you’d just… disappear.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Heeseung said automatically, and then felt weird about it because he kind of had done that, he’d been gone for days even if the game didn’t register it that way.

romantic interest: 100% | relationship status: committed | new content unlocked

You reached up and touched his face, your hand warm against his cheek, and Heeseung’s brain short circuited a little because he could feel it. the texture of your palm, the slight pressure of your fingers. This level of detail shouldn’t be possible. “I really like you,” you said, looking directly into his eyes. “Like, a lot. Is that okay?”

Before Heeseung could pick a dialogue option for that, you kissed him. It wasn’t like the first kiss, this was different. Your hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck and you pressed closer, and Heeseung forgot for a second that this was supposed to be a game. His hands found your waist automatically, pulling you against him, and you made this small sound that he felt more than heard. When you pulled back, you were breathing harder and your eyes had this look in them that Heeseung recognized from somewhere, that slightly dazed expression people get when they’re thinking about something they want. “Do you want to come back to my place?” You asked, your voice lower now, and your hand was still on the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair in a way that was extremely distracting.

quest update: relationship progression available | warning: mature content ahead | proceed? yes / no | action options: > yes, i’d like that > maybe we should slow down > are you sure?

Heeseung stared at the options. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This was new, this was definitely new. The game had never had anything like this before. Jungwon had mentioned adding post game content but he definitely hadn’t mentioned adding this kind of content. “Heeseung?” You said, tilting your head slightly. “You okay? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought—”

“No, I want to,” Heeseung said, picking the first option before he could overthink it. “I definitely want to.”

Your smile turned into something that could only be described as pleased, maybe a little mischievous. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and started walking. The park dissolved around you in that smooth transition the game did, colors bleeding together and reforming into a new location, your apartment, and it looked different now, with softer lighting, more intimate somehow. There was music playing quietly from somewhere, something ambient and atmospheric. You let go of his hand and walked further, then turned to look at him. “You can sit down, you know. You don’t have to just stand there.” Heeseung moved to the couch and sat down, hyperaware of every movement, every detail. His hands felt sweaty and his heart was racing. This was insane, this was absolutely insane. He was about to have virtual sex with a video game character that looked exactly like a real person he’d just met and had a weird complicated semi crush on. You sat down next to him, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. “Can I ask you something?” You said.

“Sure.”

“Why did you come back?” Your expression was serious now, searching his face. “I mean, you finished the route. You got the good ending. You didn’t have to come back.”

dialogue options: > i wanted to see you again > i wasn’t ready to say goodbye > because i care about you

Heeseung picked the third option. “Because I care about you,” he said, and it felt true even though it shouldn’t, even though you were code, even though this wasn’t real.

“I care about you too,” you said quietly. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, and this time Heeseung didn’t think about the game mechanics or the dialogue options or any of it. He just kissed you back. Your hands slid under his shirt and Heeseung gasped slightly at the sensation, the feeling of your fingers on his skin. It felt real, too real, like impossibly real. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes dark. “Is this okay?” You asked, your hands still under his shirt, warm against his stomach.

action options: > yes > this is more than okay > [pull her closer]

Heeseung picked the third option and pulled you closer, and you made this satisfied sound and kissed him harder. You shifted in his lap so you were straddling him, and Heeseung’s brain was trying very hard to process the logistics of what was happening. This was a Nintendo Switch game. This was running on a console made for Pokemon and Mario Kart. There was no way this level of content was actually programmed in here. You smiled and kissed his jaw, then his neck, and Heeseung felt his brain dissolve into static. Your teeth grazed his skin lightly and he made a sound that was probably embarrassing but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

intimate scene progression: 45% | continue? yes / no current comfort level: high | romantic tension: maximum |achievement unlocked: relationship deepening

The notifications kept appearing in his peripheral vision and Heeseung tried to ignore them because they were extremely distracting and also kind of killing the mood, if a video game could have a mood, which apparently this one could. “Hey,” you said, pulling back to look at him. Your face was flushed and your lips were slightly swollen and you looked devastating. “You’re thinking too hard. I can tell.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

dialogue options: > nothing’s wrong > this feels really intense > i’m just overwhelmed > i keep forgetting this isn’t real

Heeseung wanted to pick the last option but that felt like it would break something, some unspoken rule about the game. So he picked the third one. “I’m just overwhelmed,” he admitted. “In a good way. You’re just really… a lot. In the best way possible.”

You softened at that, your expression shifting from concerned to affectionate. “You’re sweet, you know that?” You kissed his cheek. “We can slow down if you want. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No, I want this,” Heeseung said, and he did, desperately, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “I’m just trying to figure out how this is even possible.”

“How what’s possible?”

“You. This. All of it.” Heeseung knew he wasn’t making sense but the words kept coming anyway. “You feel so real. More real than anything I’ve experienced before. More real than most things I've experienced in actual life, honestly."

You looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable in your expression. Then you said, very quietly, "Maybe that’s because I am real.”

The world glitched. Just for a second, so quick Heeseung almost missed it. The lighting flickered, the textures of the room seemed to shift and resettle, and there was this sound, like static, like interference. You didn’t seem to notice. You were still looking at him with that same expression, waiting for him to respond. error log: reality sync mismatch detected | warning: boundary deviation exceeding normal parameterssystem status: unknown variable introduced

“What do you mean?” Heeseung asked, his voice coming out strained.

“I said maybe I’m real. Maybe this is real. Does it matter?” You touched his face again, gentle. "Does it change anything if I'm real or not real? You’re here, I’m here, this moment exists. Isn’t that enough?”

dialogue options:> yes, that’s enough > no, i need to understand what’s happening >i think something’s wrong with the game > [kiss her to avoid answering]

Heeseung stared at the options, his heart pounding. Part of him wanted to pick the second or third option, wanted to understand what was happening, wanted to figure out why the game was doing things it shouldn’t be able to do. But another part of him, the larger part, just wanted to stop thinking and exist in this moment with you, real or not real, code or person or whatever you were. So he picked the fourth option. His hands moved before his brain could catch up— one sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your jaw  —  and he pulled you in, kissing you like the question itself might disappear if he just didn't let go. You made a soft, surprised sound against his lips, but it melted into something needier, as you kissed him back just as fiercely.  His hands slid up your thighs, over the soft fabric of your dress, until his fingers found the hem. He tugged lightly, a silent question, and you answered by pressing closer, your body rolling against his in a way that pulled a rough sound from his throat.

action options: > pull her closer > slide hands under her dress > grip her waist and guide her hips > [kiss her neck]

Heeseung didn't even look at the options properly this time. He picked the third one instantly, fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you flush against him, guiding the slow, deliberate grind of your hips. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping lightly down his chest through his shirt, and the sound you made was needy and it went straight through him. "Heeseung," you breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. your cheeks were flushed deep, lips swollen and wet, dress riding up slightly from the way you were moving in his lap. "You feel—"

He didn't let you finish. He kissed you deeper, harder, tongue sliding against yours like he needed to taste every part of you. One hand stayed firm on your waist, keeping the rhythm, while the other slipped higher under the hem of your dress, tracing the bare skin of your thigh. You shivered, thighs tightening around his hips, and he felt you press down harder, chasing the friction. You pulled back suddenly, just far enough to grab the bottom of his shirt. Your eyes locked on his, asking. He nodded once, barely, and you tugged it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, your hands were on him again, palms sliding over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle like you were mapping him out. "Better," you whispered, voice rough now, and then your mouth was on his collarbone, kissing down his chest, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss. Heeseung's head fell back against the couch for a second, eyes squeezing shut, before he surged forward again.

action options: > pull the straps of her dress down > flip her onto the couch > trace her back and pull her even closer > [let her take control]

He picked the third, hands sliding up your back under the thin straps of your dress, fingers splaying wide as he pulled you impossibly closer. Your chest pressed against his, skin on skin now except for the flimsy fabric between you, and he could feel your heart racing just as fast as his. You moaned softly against his neck, hips moving faster, more desperate, and Heeseung matched the rhythm, guiding you with his grip on your waist. Every roll of your body against his made his breath catch, made the heat coil tighter low in his stomach. Your hands were everywhere — his hair, his shoulders, nails dragging down his back— and he was losing it, completely losing it.

action options: > slip the straps down her shoulders > lift the dress over her head > tease the hem higher > [kiss her while undressing her]

He picked the first one, sliding the straps down slowly, watching as the dress loosened and slipped lower, exposing more of your skin. You didn't stop him, instead, you arched your back slightly, helping it along, your eyes locked on his with a look that dared him to keep going. The dress pooled around your waist, and Heeseung's breath caught at the sight of you, bare from the waist up, the soft curve of your breasts rising and falling with each breath. "God," he muttered, voice barely audible, and then he leaned in, mouth finding the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed there first, open mouthed, then grazed his teeth lightly, sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, a low moan escaping your lips that vibrated against his skin. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, and Heeseung felt that coil of tension wind tighter, his hips bucking up instinctively to meet your rhythm. The friction was maddening, too much and not enough, and he could feel himself hardening against you, the thin layers between you doing nothing to dull the sensation.

intimate scene progression: 92% | arousal level: peak | system warning: immersion threshold breached

A faint static hum buzzed in his ears for a split second, the room's edges blurring like a bad render, but it passed as quickly as it came. You didn't notice, or if you did, you didn't care — your focus was on him, on the way his mouth moved down your neck to your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face flushed, eyes glassy with want. "Heeseung," you said, voice husky and breathless, "Do you want to take this to the bedroom? We can… get more comfortable."

The action wheel popped up: action options: > carry her to the bedroom > pull her up and walk together > push her down on the couch instead > [deepen the kiss and decide later]

Heeseung picked the first one without a second thought. In one fluid motion, he stood, arms wrapping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. You yelped in surprise, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. the sudden shift made you cling to him, arms around his neck, and Heeseung kissed you hard as he carried you, tasting the salt on your lips from the heat of the moment. The transition was seamless, the game dissolving the living room around you in that familiar bleed of colors, reforming into your bedroom. Soft lighting from a bedside lamp, sheets rumpled like they'd been waiting, the air thicker somehow. Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, following you down, his body covering yours as he settled between your legs. You looked up at him, hands sliding down his chest to his waistband, fingers teasing the edge. "Now where were we?" You whispered, pulling him closer.

Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, the mattress dipping under your combined weight as he settled between your legs. Your dress was already bunched high on your thighs, and the air between you crackled with anticipation. You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, hands tugging at his waistband, pulling him closer until his hips pressed against yours. The heat of you through the thin fabric was driving him insane — his hands braced on either side of your head, breath ragged as he leaned down to kiss you again, deeper, hungrier.

But just as his fingers brushed the hem of your dress to slide it off completely, everything froze. The world glitched hard; colors inverting for a split second, a low error chime ringing in his ears like a nintendo switch low battery warning. You froze mid motion, lips parted, eyes wide and unblinking, like a paused cutscene. The music cut out. Notifications exploded across his vision in a pop up that took over half the screen:

kink compatibility survey | new content unlock: personalized intimacy  | please select preferences to optimize experience (this will not affect main storyline) > time remaining: 30 seconds

Heeseung blinked, staring in horror as a massive form materialized, checkboxes scrolling down like some deranged tinder profile from hell:

> light bondage (ropes/silk)  > dirty talk  > praise kink  > edging/teasing  > oral focus (giving)  > oral focus (receiving)  > spanking/light impact  > roleplay  > sensory play (blindfold/ice)  > vanilla only  > [custom: type here] slider: intensity (1-10)  | save & continue

His face burning hotter than the tension from seconds ago. "What the fuck is this?" His thumbs mashed the joy cons frantically, heart pounding from equal parts embarrassment and urgency. Thirty seconds? He wasn't even thinking straight — he just spam clicked the safe ones to get it over with. Checkmark on praise kink. Oral focus (both). Dirty talk (why not, he was already losing his mind). Slider cranked to 7 because... yeah. No bondage — keep it simple, game. Vanilla only stayed unchecked because apparently this freakshow had layers.

preferences saved! | compatibility: 92% | resuming scene...

The pop up vanished with a cheerful ding. You unfroze instantly, blinking like nothing happened, your hands resuming their path down his chest. "Hee?" you murmured, voice soft and teasing, thighs parting wider beneath him. "You okay?"

He swallowed hard, brain still reeling. "Yeah, yeah." You smiled, wicked and knowing somehow, and pulled him down into another kiss. His hands finally obeyed, pushing the dress the rest of the way off your hips, sliding it down your legs until you were bare except for your underwear. The sight of you all spread out hit him. He trailed kisses down your chest, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking gently as you arched into him with a gasp. "You feel perfect," he whispered against your skin, the praise slipping out naturally, and you shivered, fingers threading into his hair. His hand slid lower, between your thighs, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your underwear. You moaned his name, hips lifting eagerly, and Heeseung pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had you writhing. "So wet for me already," he murmured, voice rough with want, testing the dirty talk, and god, it worked, because your breath was hitching beautifully.

You tugged at his pants impatiently. "Off. Now." He obliged in a blur, shedding them along with everything else until there was nothing between you. He hooked his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down slowly, eyes locked on yours as he tossed them aside.

action options: > taste her first > enter her slowly > tease with fingers > [let her guide]

He picked the first, Heeseung's mind was a haze of want and disbelief as he settled between your thighs, your legs parting wider for him like an invitation he couldn't refuse. The sight of you — bare, glistening, so ready —made his mouth water. This is a game, he reminded himself, heart pounding. Just a fucking game. I can do whatever I want. Things I'd never have the guts to try in real life. No judgment, no consequences. Just you, writhing under him, and the freedom to indulge every filthy thought he'd ever buried.

He hooked his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer until his face was buried between your legs. His tongue flicked out experimentally at first, tasting you, sweet and tangy, like nothing he'd imagined, but better. You bucked against him with a sharp gasp, and that sound flipped a switch. Heeseung groaned against you, the vibration making you whimper, and he dove in deeper, tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, dirty words spilling out because why the hell not? In real life, he'd be too shy, too careful, but here? He could be filthy. "So wet for me already, dripping down my chin. You like that, huh?"

You moaned louder, hands fisting the sheets, then tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Yes god, Heeseung don't stop." Your voice was wrecked, breathy and desperate, and it fueled him. He sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it in circles, then flicking fast and hard, alternating with long, sloppy licks that had you trembling. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open, spreading you wider so he could bury his face deeper, nose pressing against you as he devoured you like he was starving.

action options: > add fingers > suck harder > tease her entrance > [talk dirtier]

He picked the fourth mentally, because fuck it, this was his chance to let loose. "Tell me how good it feels," he growled, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your slick folds, watching you shiver. "Tell me you want my tongue fucking you deeper."

"Please," you gasped, hips grinding up toward his mouth, chasing the contact. "Heeseung, your tongue— fuck, it's so good. Deeper, I need it deeper."

He plunged his tongue inside you, thrusting it in and out, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock later. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles while he tongue fucked you, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. You were soaking him, face, chin, and he loved it, lapping it up greedily, humming in approval at how messy it was getting. "You're gonna come on my face, aren't you?" He taunted, voice rough and low, pulling back to suck your clit again, harder this time, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. "Do it. Come for me, show me how much you love my mouth on this pretty pussy."

You arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit, waves crashing through you. Heeseung didn't stop, licking you through it, drawing it out until you were oversensitive and twitching, begging him to ease up. only then did he pull away, lips shiny and swollen, grinning up at you with a wicked, satisfied look. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, though he didn't really want to, part of him liked the mess, the evidence. you were panting, eyes hazy as you reached for him. He crawled back up your body, capturing your lips in a kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue, another thing he'd never dare in real life, but here it felt right, hot. "You taste yourself? So fucking dirty," he whispered against your mouth, positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready for more?"

"Yes please," you begged, nails digging into his shoulders, your voice a needy whine that made his cock twitch against you. You were so wet, slick from his mouth and your own release, and Heeseung could feel the heat radiating from you, pulling him in. But before he could thrust forward, the game intervened again again: 

position selection: customize your intimacy  > missionary (classic connection)  > doggy style (deeper access)  > her on top (let her ride)  > against the wall (intense standing)  > [spooning (gentle side entry)]  

Heeseung stared at the options, a mix of arousal and exasperation flooding him. Jungwon, you pervert, he thought, adding a fucking position menu? He timer was ticking— 15 seconds — and you were frozen mid breath, eyes locked on his with that desperate, submissive Gaze that made him want to wreck you. He picked the third option fast, because fuck, the idea of you riding him, taking control but still under his command? Yeah, that was it. The menu vanished with a satisfied beep, and the scene resumed seamlessly. You blinked, as if nothing happened, but your hands were already pushing at his chest gently, urging him to lie back. "Let me... let me ride you," you murmured, voice soft and obedient, like you were reading his mind, or the game's script. "Please? I want to make you feel good."

Heeseung grinned, dark and dominant, shifting onto his back and pulling you with him until you straddled his hips. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in possessively as he looked up at you, flushed, eager, completely at his mercy. "Yeah? You wanna ride my cock like a good girl?" He growled, the words coming easier now, dirtier, because this wasn't real life. No holding back. 

You whimpered, hands bracing on his chest, your hips grinding down instinctively against his length, coating him in your wetness. "Please, Hee... I need you inside me so bad. I'll be good."

Fuck, he thought, she's so subby, so perfect. The game's kink sync must've kicked in, amplifying everything — your voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading, body arching like you were made to submit. Heeseung's hands slid up to your hips, guiding you, lifting you just enough to position himself at your entrance. "That's my girl. Sink down on me slow— let me watch you take every inch." You obeyed instantly, lowering yourself onto him, the head of his cock pushing past your folds, stretching you open. It was agonizingly slow, and Heeseung groaned low in his throat, feeling the tight, wet heat envelop him inch by inch. You were so fucking real, hotter than any game should allow, clenching around him like velvet, your walls fluttering as you took him deeper.

"Oh god you're so big," you gasped, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted, a shiver running through you. It felt too real, the stretch, the fullness, the way he throbbed inside you, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive spots. Heeseung could feel it all, amplified, like the game had cranked the sensitivity to max. Sweat beaded on his skin, your thighs trembling around him, and for a second, he forgot it was code — this was you, real you, riding him.

intimate scene progression: 98% | dominance level: high | submission sync: optimal | warning: haptic feedback overload

A faint glitch rippled through the air — the lamp flickering, your moan echoing with a digital edge for a heartbeat — but it only made him thrust up harder, hands gripping your ass to pull you down rougher. "Ride me, baby. Bounce on my cock," he commanded, voice gravelly and demanding, slapping your ass lightly to spur you on. "Faster, come on."

You moaned louder, hands on his chest for leverage as you started moving up and down, hips rolling in circles that ground your clit against him. "Like this? Fuck, Heeseung it feels so good— you're so deep." Your voice broke on a whimper, body obeying his every cue, riding him harder, faster, tits bouncing with each thrust.

Heeseung bucked up to meet you, thrusting deep enough to make you cry out, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat gently. "That's it, take it all. You're mine in here, aren't you? My perfect little girl, creaming all over my cock." You clenched tighter, nodding frantically.

"Yes—fuck, Heeseung, I love it. You're so deep, so big...." Your voice was breathy, submissive, breaking on moans as you submitted completely, body moving exactly how he wanted, faster when he slapped your ass, slower when he pulled you down hard.

action options: > thrust up harder > put a finger in her mouth > choke lightly > [pull her hair]

Heeseung picked the second without hesitation, his thumb tracing your lower lip before pushing it into your mouth. You sucked on it immediately, tongue swirling around it like it was his cock, eyes half lidded and locked on his, so obedient it made his dick twitch inside you. "That's it, suck it like a good girl," he rasped, your wet lips wrapped around his finger, drool starting to drip. "Imagine it's my cock in your mouth while I fuck this tight pussy. You'd take both, wouldn't you?" You moaned around his thumb, sucking harder, hips stuttering as the added sensation pushed you closer to the edge. Then, in the corner of his screen, a new notification flickered: partner preference update: increase roughness? yes / no | affinity: high for dominant play

She likes it rougher? Heeseung thought, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mentally selected yes. Wow, this is way easier than in real life. The game adjusted instantly, your moans turning needier, body arching more desperately as he ramped up the intensity. "You want it rougher, huh?" He taunted, pulling his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting it to your lips. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise — if this were real— and thrust up sharply, slamming into you with more force. "Beg for it then. Tell me how bad you want me to wreck this pussy."

"Please—fuck me harder, Heeseung," you cried out, leaning forward to brace on his shoulders as you rode him faster, chasing the roughness.

intimate scene progression: 99% | climax indicator: approaching for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position

The bar flashed red in his peripheral, both your arousal meters pulsing near max. He could feel it too, the coil tightening low in his gut, your body starting to tense and shake. But Heeseung wasn't ready to end it. He selected prolong and switch position, flipping the script. He rolled you both over, pulling out just long enough to maneuver you onto your side, spooning behind you. His chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tight, the other lifting your thigh high. "Not yet," he whispered hot against your ear, nipping the lobe. "Gonna fuck you like this now." You nodded weakly, pushing your ass back against him. Heeseung thrust back in from behind, the angle hitting deeper, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every slow, rough pump. His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your clit fast and hard, while his other arm pinned you close. "That's my good girl," he growled, pounding into you now, the spooning position letting him grind deep. "Taking it so well." Your moans turned into desperate sobs, body arching back into him.

Heeseung's thrusts were relentless, his cock dragging deep inside you with every slow, powerful snap of his hips. You were a whimpering mess against him, back arched, ass grinding back to meet him as his fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles. "Fuck you're so tight like this," he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder, leaving a mark that made you shiver.

intimate scene progression: 99.5% | climax indicator: critical for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position

The meters were flashing urgently now, his own arousal bar teetering on the edge, but Heeseung still wasn't done — he wanted more, wanted to push the limits of this insane game until it broke. One more switch, he thought, selecting prolong and switch position again. The game responded instantly, a soft chime echoing as he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach with rough hands. You gasped at the sudden movement, face down on the bed, ass up as he positioned himself behind you, knees spreading your thighs wide. "On your stomach, baby— ass up for me," he commanded. He slapped your ass hard, the crack echoing, your skin blooming red under his palm, and you cried out, pushing back eagerly like the subby little thing the game had turned you into. "That's right, take it. You love being fucked like this, don't you?"

You nodded into the sheets, voice muffled and needy. "Yes—god, yes, Heeseung." The game's encouragement popped up in his vision — dominance boost: activated | roughness level: max | achievement: total submission unlocked — and it spurred him on, like the system was egging him to go further, deeper into the filth.

He thrust back in from behind, burying himself to the hilt in one rough stroke, the angle hitting even deeper, making you scream into the pillow. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, pounding into you with brutal force, skin slapping loud and obscene. "So fucking wet, dripping all over me," he snarled, spanking your ass again, harder this time, alternating cheeks until they were stinging red. You arched higher, offering more, moans turning into sobs of pleasure. He tangled one hand in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck, lips brushing your ear as he growled, "look at you, taking my cock like a good girl. Beg for more — tell me how much you need me to ruin this pussy."

"Please—ruin me, Heeseung," you begged, voice breaking. The game flashed more incentives — rough play affinity: 100% | continue for bonus immersion — and Heeseung lost it, spanking you in rhythm with his thrusts, pulling your hair tighter to arch your back, fucking you rougher, faster, the bed shaking under the force. Glitches were hitting harder now, but it only made him thrust deeper, the hyper real sensations overwhelming: the sting of your skin under his palm, the tight ripple of your walls around him, your sweat slicked back against his chest.

intimate scene progression: 99.99% | climax indicator: imminent | warning: system overload detected

He was right there, teetering on the edge, cock throbbing inside you, but you twisted slightly, looking back at him with glassy, desperate eyes. "Heeseung — cum inside me, please," you implored. "Fill me up, I need it."

For a split second, his brain stopped. Wait, cum inside? What if— but then reality (or unreality) hit him comically hard. It's a game, dumbass. Pixels can't get pregnant. He almost laughed mid thrust, the absurdity breaking through the haze, but he shoved it aside, diving back. "Yeah? You want me to breed this tight pussy?" He growled, slamming into you harder, spanking one last time for good measure. "Beg for it louder—"

"Yes—fuck, Hee!" You cried, clenching around him desperately, body trembling on the brink. "Cum inside me, please— breed me, make me yours!" That did it. The climax hit like a wave, crashing over you both at once. Heeseung thrust deep one final time, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, feeling the hot pulse of his release mix with your own orgasm, walls milking him dry. You screamed his name, body convulsing under him, the shared peak amplified by the game — sensations exploding, vision blurring with pleasure and glitches alike.

As your body shuddered through the aftershocks, Heeseung collapsed beside you, pulling you close against his chest with a gentleness that felt worlds away from the roughness just moments ago. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand stroking your hair softly, fingers threading through the tangled strands like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. The room was still glitching faintly, but he ignored it, focusing on you, on the way your breaths synced with his, slowing down together.

intimate scene complete | aftercare mode: activated | relationship bond: unbreakable | achievement unlocked: emotional intimacy peak

Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, his voice dropping to a whisper, sweet and caring, laced with concern. "Hey... you okay? I got carried away back there. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

You looked up at him, eyes soft and hazy, a small smile tugging at your lips as you snuggled closer, head resting on his chest. "No, Hee... I liked it. A lot. It was perfect." Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin, voice turning playful, like the dynamic lingered just a bit. "You made me feel so good. Don't apologize."

He chuckled quietly, relief washing over him, and he hugged you tighter, hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Good. I just... want to take care of you now." The game prompted options in his vision, soft and glowing: aftercare options: > hold her closer > kiss her gently > whisper sweet nothings > [offer water/snack] -- he picked the third, leaning down to murmur against your ear, "you're amazing, you know that? So beautiful, so perfect for me. I could stay like this forever." You hummed contentedly, body relaxing fully into his, the contrast hitting him. The glitches were fading, but notifications kept pinging: comfort level: maximum | post intimacy glow: active | save progress? yes / no

You shifted slightly, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Affectionate, but something deeper, almost knowing. "Heeseung..." your voice was quiet. "See you out there."

He blinked, confusion creasing his brow. "What do you mean?" He sat up a little, heart picking up again, but before you could answer — or before the dialogue wheel could pop up — the world started dissolving. colors bled out, the room flickering violently, static roaring in his ears like a system crash.

error log: forced logout initiated | reality sync: restored | session terminated

Everything went black. Heeseung jolted upright in his chair, the Switch still clutched in his sweaty hands, the screen dark and powered off. His room came into focus: the dim light from his desk lamp, posters on the wall, the faint hum of his pc in the background. His heart was racing, breaths coming fast, and then he felt a sticky, warm mess in his pants, soaking through his boxers. "What the—" he muttered, voice cracking as the full reality sank in. His face burned hotter than ever, cheeks flaming red as he shifted in the gaming chair. He'd actually cum inside his pants. For real. Not just some weird dream or an asleep fantasy — no, full on, pants ruining orgasm from a Nintendo Switch Girlfriend Simulator game. "Holy shit."

Heeseung stared at the dark screen in his hands, the console now completely powered off, innocent looking with its cute joy cons and pastel buttons. It looked so harmless sitting there on his lap, like it hadn't just mind fucked him for hours and then physically fucked him back. He finally set the switch down on his desk, pushing it as far away as the cords allowed. He groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

After cleaning himself up in the bathroom — which involved avoiding eye contact with his own reflection because he couldn't handle the judgment he knew he'd see there — Heeseung collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. His body felt loose and tired in a way that should have been relaxing but instead just made him feel deeply, profoundly embarrassed.

The worst part was that he wanted to do it again. That was what really got him. Not the fact that it happened, but the fact that his brain was already thinking about when he could play next, or well, when he could fuck you next. He felt like a teenager who'd just discovered something he definitely shouldn't have and was now completely obsessed with it.

He'd spent most of his Sunday in his room alternating between staring at his Switch and telling himself he absolutely was not going to play it again, which had been moderately successful except for the part where he'd picked it up four different times before forcing himself to put it back down. So on that week, he started walking across campus toward the engineering building, head down and hoodie up because he felt like everyone could somehow tell what he'd done just by looking at him, when he saw you. You were sitting on one of the benches outside the library with your laptop open, clearly working on something, your hair pulled back and you were wearing an oversized hoodie that had some game logo on it he couldn't quite make out from this distance. Heeseung immediately changed direction. 

He took the long way around the building, added an extra five minutes to his walk, and showed up to lecture slightly out of breath. He was very deliberately not thinking about the fact that he'd just actively avoided you. Which was ridiculous. You hadn't done anything, you didn't even know what had happened. You probably hadn't thought about him at all since that day at the library, were probably just sitting there doing homework like a normal person while Heeseung was having a complete psychological breakdown over a video game.

The problem was that every time he thought about you now, his brain immediately supplied images from the game. The way you'd looked at him, the way you moaned, the sounds you'd made, the way you came, the way it had felt so impossibly real that his body had reacted like it was actually happening. And now he couldn't separate that from the real you, the person he'd met at the party who'd been nice and funny and way too easy to talk to. The rest of the week continued like this. He saw you everywhere now, which was ironic because before the party he'd never noticed you once and now you were apparently in every building he entered. Tuesday you were in the coffee shop in the student center. Wednesday you walked past him in the hallway between classes. Thursday he saw you in the library again, this time on the second floor, and he'd actually turned around and walked back out.

His switch was on his desk, fully charged, basically taunting him. He'd managed to avoid playing it all week, had told himself he was being responsible and mature about the whole situation. But he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time his mind wandered, it went right back to that night, to the game, to you. And his body was betraying him too, which was mortifying. He'd be sitting in lecture and think about the game for half a second and suddenly he'd have to adjust his laptop to hide the fact that he was getting hard in the middle of algorithms class. It happened during study sessions, during meals, during completely random moments when his brain decided to remind him that the game existed and he could play it whenever he wanted.

He felt disgusting. He was kink shaming himself, which he didn't even know was possible, but here he was, lying in bed at two am feeling like a creep for being attracted to a video game character who happened to look exactly like a real person he'd met. But he also couldn't stop thinking about playing again. About whether it would be like the first time or if there were other features, other scenarios. His brain kept supplying possibilities and his body kept responding and he felt trapped in this cycle of shame and want that he didn't know how to break.

And then on friday afternoon, Heeseung was in his dorm trying to focus on an assignment that was due monday when someone knocked on his door with the kind of aggressive persistence that could only be Jungwon. He considered pretending he wasn't home but Jake had already opened the door before Heeseung could say anything. "Oh hey Jungwon," Jake said. "He's here but he's been weird all week so good luck."

"Thanks for the warning," Jungwon said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He went to Heeseung's room and looked at him, who was very deliberately staring at his laptop screen. "Okay, we're going to Five Guys. Get up."

"I'm busy."

"No you're not." Jungwon grabbed Heeseung's hoodie off his chair and threw it at him. "Come on. We're getting burgers and you're going to tell me why you've been ignoring me all week."

"I haven't been ignoring you."

"You answered my texts with one word responses and you've avoided me on campus. That's ignoring me." Jungwon crossed his arms. "So either you come willingly or I'm going to make a scene. Your choice."

Heeseung knew Jungwon well enough to know he absolutely would make a scene. "Fine. But I'm not hungry."

"You're never not hungry. Let's go." And twenty minutes later they were sitting in Five Guys with their orders, the place mostly empty since it was that weird time between lunch and dinner.

Heeseung had been hoping the walk would give him time to figure out what to say to Jungwon, but instead he'd just spent it thinking about the game and feeling more and more uncomfortable. Because the thing was, if Heeseung had done what he'd done in the game, that meant Jungwon had programmed it. Jungwon had sat at his computer and coded in all those options, all those scenarios, all those very specific and detailed features that Heeseung had discovered. Which meant either Jungwon was way more perverted than Heeseung had ever given him credit for, or something else was going on.

"Okay, you're doing it again," Jungwon said, interrupting Heeseung's spiral. "You're being weird and quiet and you won't look at me. What's going on? Is it about the game? Did something break again?"

Heeseung knew he had to say something because this had gone too far. Because if the mature content was intentional, then they needed to have a very different conversation about boundaries and warnings and maybe Jungwon's concerning lack of shame. And if it wasn't intentional, if this was some kind of glitch or malfunction, then that was somehow even worse because it meant the game was doing things beyond anyone's control. Either way, Heeseung couldn't keep avoiding this. Jungwon was his best friend. If he couldn't talk to Jungwon about this, even if it was mortifying, then what was the point of having a best friend? So Heeseung admitted: "Yeah, it's about the game."

"Okay, so tell me." Jungwon looked at him.

"Look, you could've just... you could have warned me that it had adult content." Heeseung forced himself to look at Jungwon. "Like, explicit that I wasn't expecting in a dating simulator."

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"I'm just saying, a heads up would have been nice. I know you're trying to make it realistic but I wasn't prepared for how detailed it was going to get."

"Bro, what are you talking about?"

And then it all came out like Heeseung couldn't stop himself. "I'm talking about the fact that the game has very explicit scenes with very detailed options and I don't know if you've ever actually looked at what you programmed but it's intense, Jungwon. Like the dialogue options were insane, I could say basically anything and the character would respond and some of those options were really freaky. And the action options were even worse, there were so many of them and they were all very specific and very detailed and I'm not going to list them but oh my god and then there was a whole section where it asked me about preferences and kinks and I thought that was just for character building but no, it actually used that information! And there were position suggestions. Position suggestions, Jungwon! With fucking diagrams, man. Why did you add diagrams?! And the whole thing was just very immersive and very realistic and I had a physical reaction that I'm not going to elaborate on but I think you can figure out what I mean and I've been avoiding you all week because I didn't know how to have this conversation without wanting to die of embarrassment."

Heeseung finally stopped to breathe and realized Jungwon was staring at him with an expression of complete bewilderment. "Heeseung," Jungwon said slowly. "I didn't add any of that content."

"What."

"I didn't program explicit scenes. There's no adult content in the game. It's a dating simulator not a porn game. The most intimate it gets is like, hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end if you get the good ending." Jungwon set down his burger. "What are you talking about dude?"

"Don't fuck with me right now."

"I'm not fucking with you, I'm being completely serious." Jungwon was looking at him, shocked. "I didn't add any of that stuff. I wouldn't even know how to program half of what you just described. Like what the fuck is even a kink questionnaire?!"

Heeseung felt cold. "Then how did I experience it, man?!"

"I don't know!" Jungwon was still shocked. "But this actually makes sense now. Y/N's been avoiding me too this week, even more than you have. She won't answer my texts and she literally ran away from me in the hallway yesterday. I thought maybe she was mad at me about something but what if she experienced the same thing you did?"

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, last Friday, remember when you were studying in the library and Y/N left suddenly? I texted her right after she left asking if she wanted to try the updated version of the game and she texted back immediately saying yes and that she was coming to get it right then." Heeseung remembered that day, your phone had buzzed and you'd looked at it and your whole expression had changed, you'd packed up your stuff so fast, muttering something about being late for class even though Heeseung was pretty sure you didn't have class at that time. "She took the game and left," Jungwon continued. "I didn't hear from her after that until she texted me the next day saying she was returning it and that she didn't want to play anymore. And now she won't talk to me."

"What time did she take the game?" Heeseung asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

"I don't know, maybe around four? Four thirty?" Jungwon paused. "Why?"

Heeseung felt like the world was tilting. "I picked up the game from you around four forty five. Remember?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So we both had the game that night. We both played it that same night." Heeseung's mind was racing, putting pieces together. "And you're saying there's no adult content programmed into the game. But we both experienced something intense enough that we're both avoiding you. And we both played it at the same time."

Jungwon's eyes widened. "Oh my god."

"What if—" Heeseung stopped, because what he was about to say sounded insane. But everything about this situation was insane. "What if the game connected us somehow? What if when we both played it at the same time and it put us in the same… I don't know, session?"

"That's not possible because I didn't program any multiplayer features."

"You also didn't program explicit content but I definitely experienced it, man!" Heeseung put his head in his hands. "Jungwon, the character in my game looked exactly like Y/N, exactly like her. And you said the character customization was random."

"It is random. I didn't—" Jungwon stopped. "Wait. She actually said something similar. When she gave the game back she mentioned that the boyfriend character looked really realistic, like someone she could actually know."

Heeseung felt like throwing up. "Did she say who?"

"No, she just said it freaked her out how real he seemed."

Heeseung was pale now. His brain was doing that thing where it tried to process too much information at once and ended up just kind of spinning in place. You had played the game, you had seen a character that probably looked like him. You had found it so realistic it freaked you out. And then you'd played it again last friday, the same day he did, probably around the same time. And Jungwon was sitting here swearing he hadn't programmed any of the content that Heeseung had definitely experienced. Which meant one of two things: either Jungwon was full of shit, which didn't make sense because why would he lie about this, or the game had somehow done something it wasn't supposed to do. Connected two players who didn't know they were playing together, made them interact without telling them, let them do things with each other while both of them thought they were just playing a single player game with really good immersion.

And if that was true, if you'd actually been playing together, then the character Heeseung had been with wasn't just some algorithm. It was you, making choices and responding to him. Doing all those things that he'd been replaying in his head all week. Which meant you'd been doing those things with him, or with a version of him, and you probably had no idea it was real either. So Heeseung stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. "What's Y/N's dorm?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"Her dorm. Which building is she in?"

"Uh, west campus. Building C, I think? Room 304, why?"

"I gotta go." Heeseung was already grabbing his hoodie.

"Ho where? Heeseung, what—" but Heeseung was already walking, he heard Jungwon call after him something about texting him later but he wasn't really listening. His mind was too busy spiraling through everything he needed to say to you, everything he needed to ask, everything that didn't make sense.

The walk to west campus took fifteen minutes but it felt both longer and shorter than that. Heeseung's hands were shaking and he shoved them in his pockets. He tried to figure out what he was going to say. Hey, so I think we accidentally had virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch last week and neither of us knew it was real. Yeah, that would go over great. Or maybe, hi, remember how we both played that game? Turns out we were playing together. Surprise! Yeah, also worse.

By the time he got to building C, he still hadn't figured it out. Heeseung stood outside the door and realized he couldn't actually get in without a key card or someone letting him in. He was standing there trying to figure out his next move when the door opened and two girls walked out, laughing about something on one of their phones. Heeseung caught the door before it closed and slipped inside. Probably not his finest moment in terms of dorm security, but he was past caring about minor rule violations.

He stood in front of your door for a solid thirty seconds, hand raised to knock, unable to make himself actually do it. This was insane, he was insane. He should turn around and leave and text Jungwon and let Jungwon handle this because Jungwon had made the game and this was technically his responsibility. But he didn't leave, he knocked. And nothing happened for a long moment. Heeseung was starting to think maybe you weren't home, or maybe you were home but ignoring the door, when he heard movement from inside. Footsteps and then a pause. Then your voice, muffled through the door.

"Who is it?"

Heeseung's mouth was dry. "It's Heeseung."

Another pause, longer this time. He could picture you on the other side of the door, probably frozen, probably panicking, probably wondering why the hell he was at your dorm right now. Then the lock turned and you opened the door. You were pale, like actually pale, but you smiled anyway. "Hi Hee. Is… everything alright?"

Heeseung looked at you. You were in pajamas, soft looking sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with some faded band logo on it. Your hair was up in a bun that was more mess than anything else, strands falling out around your face, no makeup. You were standing there at your door at five pm on a friday looking comfortable and real and so pretty it made his chest hurt. He knew he was down bad already. Had been since the game, since the party, since the moment you'd turned around in that park with a flower behind your ear that he'd picked for you except it hadn't actually been you, or maybe it had been, he didn't even know anymore. But looking at you now, in your actual dorm with your actual face and your actual voice saying his name like that, soft and a little worried, he realized the game version hadn't even come close. This was better because this was real.

"Well, yeah, I mean, technically no," he said. Then stopped. "I mean yes. I mean, I need to ask you something and I don't want to sound crazy but I'm probably going to sound crazy anyway so I don't know how to do this without sounding crazy."

Your expression shifted. Something in your eyes changed, like you knew exactly what he was going to say but didn't want to believe it. You stepped back and pulled the door open wider. "Come in."

Heeseung walked into your dorm and tried not to look around but he couldn't help it. The space was small but you'd made it yours, there was a Janna poster on the wall near your desk, the star guardian skin, same one you had on your phone case. Next to it was a persona 5 royal poster that looked like it had been put up carefully. Your Switch was sitting on your desk next to your laptop, the joy cons that soft pink and blue that came with the Animal Crossing edition. Your bed was unmade, blankets pushed to one side like you'd gotten up in a hurry. There were books stacked on your nightstand, a pair of headphones tangled on top of them. A stuffed cat that looked old and well loved sitting on your pillow. It was so much like the apartment in the game that Heeseung felt dizzy. The colors, the vibe, the way things were organized. But also different and better because it was lived in and messy in ways the game couldn't replicate. 

"Do you want water or something?" You were standing by your mini fridge, hand on the door, looking at him with that same careful expression.

And then Heeseung opened his mouth and everything just came out. 

"Jungwon gave me this game to test Called Girlfriend simulator and I thought it was stupid, like, the most desperate thing I could possibly do, like an actual certificate that I'm way too single for a guy my age. But I played it anyway because I can't say no to Jungwon and also because I was curious and I went on this date with this girl and she liked League of Legends and I had to pick this flower that was glowing and she loved it, and this firefly landed on her hand and she smiled at me like and then we played league together and destroyed her ex boyfriends, and we cooked pasta and she helped me because I was burning the garlic and the game kept giving me dialogue options but then I started just talking and it kept responding like it knew what I was going to say. And then things got really intimate, like really intimate, in ways I'm not going to describe because I'll die of embarrassment but you can probably guess what I mean. And the girl, she... she looked exactly like you. Not kind of like you, exactly like you. same face, same voice, same everything. and i talked to jungwon today And he said there's no adult content in the game, that he never programmed any of that, and that you played it too, last friday on the same night I did. And I think we were playing together and I think we were in the same game, in the same session or server or whatever, and I think the characters we were playing with weren't just game characters and I think they were each other. So I need you to tell me right now, does the boyfriend character in your game look like me?"

You were staring at him. Your hand was still on the mini fridge door but you weren't moving. Your face had gone from pale to flushed and your mouth was slightly open like you wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what. Heeseung's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat and his hands were shaking and he'd just word vomited the entire situation at you without taking a single breath but he couldn't take it back now. You closed the mini fridge. Didn't get water, just stood there looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. Your eyes were moving across his face, his hair, his shoulders, like you were checking something or maybe confirming something.

"Yes," you said finally. Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

The word hung in the air between you. Heeseung felt something in his chest crack open, something between relief and panic and a feeling he didn't have a name for.

"Yes he looks like you," you continued, louder now. "Exactly like you and I thought I was going crazy and I thought Jungwon had somehow used photos of you without telling me, or that I was seeing patterns that weren't there, or that I'd just completely lost my mind. But it was you."

Heeseung took a step closer without meaning to. "You played it last friday."

"Yes."

"Around six thirty."

"Yes."

"And things got—" he stopped, couldn't say it.

"Intense." You finished for him. Your face was completely red now. 

"So it was real." Heeseung's voice sounded strange. "We were playing together. We were with each other and we didn't know it."

You were breathing faster now. He could see your chest rising and falling under your hoodie. "So when I— when we—"

"Yeah." The room got quiet after that. You looked at him and he looked back and there it was again, that pull from the game, except now there was no screen between you. Just him standing in your dorm with his messy hair and that hoodie you'd seen in the character creator, and you knowing exactly how his hands felt even though you'd never actually touched him before. Your breath caught. His did it too, you saw his chest hitch. Neither of you said anything, you both just moved, like someone had pressed play at the same time. He leaned in, you tilted up, and your mouths met in the middle.

You kissed at the same time.

His mind was racing: this is real, this is actually happening. No reset button, no save file, and he could not stop it even if he tried. Your lips were soft and moving against his in a way that made his hands come out of his pockets and find your waist, pulling you in a bit. You felt his fingers press into the fabric of your hoodie, and you responded by sliding your hands up to his shoulders, gripping the soft material there.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushed yours lightly, exploratory, and you leaned into it, your back arching off the mini fridge as he stepped closer, bodies pressing together now. A small sound escaped you, not a moan exactly, but something involuntary, and Heeseung reacted by tilting his head more, his hand moving up your back under the hoodie, fingers splaying against your skin, warm and calloused a little. His hands shook a little on your hips, and thank god there were no pop up flashing with options like "kiss deeper" or "pull away," and no dialogue tree to pick from. 

You broke for air just a second, foreheads touching, both of you breathing hard. "this is way better than the game," he muttered, voice low and rough, with a tiny grin pulling at his lips.

You huffed a laugh, your hands still on his shoulders. "Shut up." 

You pulled him back in before he could say anything else. This kiss was different, harder, more sure. Your teeth caught his bottom lip and he made a noise he'd be embarrassed about later. His hand came up to your face, thumb against your cheek. Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged and he pressed you back against the fridge hard enough that the door rattled. He kissed down your jaw, taking his time, and you tilted your head to give him room. Your breathing was coming in short bursts. He got to your neck and stayed there, face buried against your skin, breathing you in. You made a sound that kinda sounded like a purr and that did something in him. In his head, he was scrambling, piecing together bits from the game, like the survey thing, where things got rough, when he knew you liked it rough. But now? No way, he wanted this slow, careful, the way you deserved. He slowed his kisses on your neck, his thumb tracing small circles on your side under the hoodie. Don't rush, idiot, his brain nagged, you're not on a timer here. 

He pulled back just a bit, forehead against yours, and said, "Sorry, this was kinda... out of nowhere."

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "It wasn't."

He looked at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. "If this is weird for you though. With everything. I can stop."

"No." You said it fast, then quieter. "I want this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." you paused, then added quieter, "I haven't stopped thinking about it. Or… you. I can't stop thinking about you."

His brain glitched hard at that. wWait, she what? Holy shit, okay, don't screw this up. And he leaned in again, kissing you deeper now, hands sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. He nipped at your lip, testing, as things heated back up, his pulse loud in his ears. You pushed him back gently, hands on his chest, guiding him across the room step by step until his back hit the wall with a soft thud. The kiss turned messy then, tongues clashing, breaths mixing in quick gasps, neither of you holding back anymore. Your lips moved to his jaw, nipping lightly, then down to his neck, sucking at the skin there.

He let out an uncontrolled whine, his hands tightening on your hips. That sound made you bolder, so you slipped one hand under his hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You pulled back up to kiss him again, fast and urgent, teeth grazing his lip. He bent his knees a bit, hands sliding down to your thighs, and lifted you up in one smooth motion. Your legs wrapped around his torso automatically, and he spun you around, pressing your back against the wall now. No action option popped up in his head, no prompt telling him what to do next — he'd done it all on instinct, and that made a quick flash of pride hit him, like he was finally off script, just going with it.

Between kisses, you murmured against his mouth, "Hee, you feel so good."

"You too, god" he breathed back, voice rough. He pressed in closer, his body flush against yours, the bulge in his pants obvious now between your legs. You let out a quiet moan, your head tipping back against the wall. He kept you pinned there against the wall, his hips rolling slow against yours in a rhythm that matched your breaths, each grind pulling a small gasp from you. His hands slid up under your hoodie, fingers spreading wide over your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping in like he couldn't get enough. You arched into his touch and nipped at his earlobe, then soothed it with your tongue. He shivered, a low groan escaping him, and you felt him harden more against you, the friction sending sparks up your spine.

He lowered you slowly to the floor, knees bending as he guided you toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. You tugged at his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one messy motion, his hair falling wild as it came off. His skin was warm, flushed, and you ran your hands over his chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they peaked under your touch. He laughed softly, a little breathless, as he peeled your hoodie off next, tossing it aside. His fingers traced the strap of your bra, slipping it down your shoulder before leaning in to kiss the exposed skin.

You pushed him back onto the bed, climbing onto his lap, your thighs straddling his as you ground down slowly, feeling his erection press right where you needed it. His hands gripped your hips, guiding the motion. As his fingers worked the clasp of your bra, letting it fall away, Heeseung's mind clicked into place: this was infinitely better than any simulator. In the game it was all presets, like surveys and options that guessed at what you liked, scripted responses that felt good but flat. Here, he could watch your reactions for real, feel the way your body tensed or relaxed under his hands, discover the spots that made you squirm without a pop up telling him what to do. No algorithms dictating the pace; just trial and error, his lips on your skin, learning from every shiver, every moan. Why settle for a program when he could map you out himself, piece by piece?

Things picked up then, his mouth closing over one of your nipples, tongue flicking slow at first, then sucking harder when you arched into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Hee, yes— like that," you breathed, grinding down firmer, the wet heat between your legs soaking through against his sweatpants. He switched sides, hand cupping the other breast, thumb rolling over the peak. He helped you take your sweatpants off, and then his free hand slipped between you, fingers pressing over your clit through your panties, rubbing in tight circles that had you moaning louder, hips bucking. You reached down, palming him through his pants, feeling the outline of his cock twitch under your hand. "You're so hard already," you said, squeezing gently, watching his face contort. He thrust up into your touch, a whine slipping out as he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and deep. 

His fingers dipped under your waistband now, sliding through your slick folds, one dipping inside you slow, curling just right. "So wet, fuck," he whispered, adding another finger, pumping steadily as his thumb found your clit again. You rocked against his hand, breaths coming faster, and tugged at his sweatpants, freeing him enough to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking slow from base to tip, thumb swiping over the precum beading there. He bucked into your grip, groaning into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. "Keep going," he panted, fingers speeding up inside you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.

You sped up your strokes, matching his rhythm, the slick sound of your hand on him mixing with the wet push of his fingers in you. He dropped his head to your shoulder, mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing skin as his free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks. You rolled your palm over the head on every upstroke, spreading the precum down his length, and he thrust into your fist harder, a low whine catching in his throat. His hips stuttered, thrusts into your hand getting erratic, and you felt him swell thicker against your palm. Suddenly he grabbed your wrist, stopping your movement, chest heaving. "I can't— fuck— I'll cum so fast like this."

"Yeah," you breathed, nodding quick, "Fuck, okay." He kissed you hard once more, then pulled his fingers out slow, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean while looking right at you. You bit your lip, heat rushing lower. You shifted back a bit, still catching your breath. "You got a condom?"

"Oh shit," he muttered, eyes widening. He reached down to his sweatpants, still tangled around one thigh from your handjob. And dug into the pocket, fumbling for his wallet. You leaned in, kissing along his neck slow, tongue flicking the spot that made him shiver earlier, just to keep him distracted. He huffed as he finally pulled out the foil packet. He glanced at it, then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. In the game you didn't need this shit — couldn't exactly knock up pixel pussy. 

He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling it on quick but careful, hand stroking himself once to settle it. Then he nudged you back onto the bed, settling between your legs as you lay on your back. He kicked off the sweatpants fully, nearly tripping when they caught on his ankle, and you both grinned at the awkward shuffle. He hovered over you, one hand bracing by your head, the other guiding himself, tip brushing through your folds once, twice, coating in your wetness. "You okay?" he asked, voice low, eyes locked on yours.

"Yeah, fuck, please," you said, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer.

He pushed in slow, the head of his cock breaching you first, that initial stretch making him grit his teeth; tight, wet heat wrapping around him like a vice, slick from all the buildup, but still enough resistance that he had to ease forward inch by inch. His breath caught sharp in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a second as the sensation hit him full force: warm walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper, the condom dulling it just a bit but not enough to hide how perfectly you fit, how your body gave way but clung at the same time. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed there, pulsing inside you, the fullness making his thighs tense.

This was miles better than the game. In the sim, it was all smooth, predictable friction, coded to feel good but always a step removed, like jacking off to a video. Here, though, buried deep in you, he felt every twitch, every squeeze of your cunt around his cock, the real heat radiating through him, the way your wetness coated him completely, Making each tiny shift send sparks up his spine. It was messy and raw, just the obscene reality of how soaked you were, how his balls pressed between your thighs, heavy and tight, begging for more. He started moving then, slow pulls back and thrusts in, the wet slap of skin filling the room as he found a rhythm. You arched up to meet him, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red lines he could feel stinging already. "Fuck, you're taking me so well," he muttered, voice wrecked, as he snapped his hips harder once, watching your tits bounce with the impact. He leaned down, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise while he ground deep, cock dragging along your walls, hitting spots that made you clench tighter around him.

Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him faster, and he obliged, thrusts turning rougher, the bed creaking under you both. He could hear the squelch each time he buried himself balls-deep, your pussy gripping him. "So fucking wet," he groaned against your skin, one hand sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you onto him harder. You moaned louder, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as he pounded in, the angle shifting so his pubic bone ground against your clit with every thrust.

He flipped you over suddenly, hands on your hips yanking you up onto all fours, and slid back in from behind in one smooth push, deeper this way, his cock curving just right to make you gasp. He started railing you, skin slapping loud, his balls smacking against you with each brutal thrust. You pushed back against him, meeting every snap, your walls fluttering around him, milking him tighter. He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy circles while he fucked you harder.

His mind flashed back to the game then, that kink survey popping up, how you'd picked options that leaned heavy into rough. He wondered if it carried over, if real you craved that edge too. Testing it, he drew back a hand and landed a smack on your ass, not too hard, just enough to sting and make the flesh jiggle under his palm. The sound cracked through the room, sharp over the wet slaps of his thrusts. You moaned low, pushing back harder against him, your pussy clenching tight around his cock like a reflex. That reaction lit him up — okay, she likes it — and he felt bolder, the dom side kicking in without overthinking. "Yeah, you take that so good," he groaned, rubbing the spot he smacked, soothing the heat before landing another, a bit firmer this time, watching your skin pink up. 

He kept pounding in, deep and steady, the angle letting him hit that spot inside you that made your knees buckle a little. Reaching forward, he grabbed your wrists, pulling your arms back and pinning them at the small of your back with one hand, your chest dropping lower to the mattress. It arched your ass higher, letting him drive deeper, his free hand gripping your hip hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The restraint made everything tighter, your walls hugging his cock obscenely, slick dripping down his balls with each thrust. "Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he panted, voice breaking as he felt you flutter around him, the build-up coiling tight in his gut.

"Hee—close, I'm so close," you gasped, face pressed into the sheets, hips grinding back desperate now. He picked up the pace, thrusts turning frantic, skin slapping louder, his balls tightening as he railed you harder. "Come on, let go for me, you feel so good clenching like that," he muttered, leaning over you, breath hot on your back. The friction built fast, your moans turning high and broken, and he felt you shatter first, your pussy spasming hard around his cock, milking him in waves, wetness gushing out and coating his thighs. That pushed him over, his hips stuttering as he buried deep one last time, groaning loud as he came, pulsing inside you, the condom catching every thick spurt while your bodies locked together, shaking through it.

You both stayed like that for a minute, chests heaving, sweat cooling on your skin, the room thick with the smell of sex. He was still buried inside you, pulsing faintly with aftershocks, but he didn't want it to end yet. Slowly, he eased out, the condom slick and heavy as he tied it off and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. His hands loosened on your wrists, letting your arms fall forward as you collapsed onto your stomach with a soft groan. He leaned down, lips brushing the small of your back, tasting the salt there, then lower, kissing along the curve where your spine dipped. His teeth grazed the swell of your ass, biting just hard enough to make you twitch, then soothing it with his tongue. You pushed back slightly, thighs parting on instinct, and he took the invitation— hands spreading you open as he dragged his tongue slow from your asshole down to your entrance, lapping up the mess you'd both made. The taste hit him full: tangy, musky, mixed with the latex from the condom and your arousal, thick and real coating his tongue. He groaned into you, diving deeper, tongue pushing inside your pussy, curling to scoop out more, nose buried against you as he ate you out sloppy from behind.

Your hips started rocking back, muffled moans into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. He kept going, alternating broad licks up your slit with flicks over your clit, then back to spearing his tongue inside, feeling your walls flutter again. His face was soaked now, chin dripping, lips swollen, as he sucked your clit into his mouth, humming low. You tensed hard, thighs shaking, and came again with a broken cry, pushing back against his face, wetness flooding his mouth as he licked you through it, not stopping until you sagged limp.

He pulled back finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but mostly just smearing it, face shiny and wrecked. He flipped you over gentle, onto your back, and just looked; your cheeks flushed deep red, hair stuck to your forehead, neck and thighs dotted with fresh bruises from his mouth and grip, chest rising fast. You looked completely fucked out, eyes half lidded, lips bitten raw. His gaze dropped to himself: cock half hard again already, hanging heavy, the used condom on the floor bloated with his load, cum visible through the latex. This was nothing like the game. There, everything reset clean, no mess, no lingering taste on his tongue, no actual bruises blooming on skin. Here, he could smell you on his face, feel the ache in his jaw from eating you out, see the evidence of how hard he'd fucked you. Way better. Infinitely better.

He crawled up beside you, collapsing half on top, one leg tangled with yours, hand resting on your stomach as you both caught your breath again. The air was still thick, sheets twisted around your ankles, and Heeseung shifted a little closer, propping his head on one hand to look at you. He picked up your hand, fingers tracing over your knuckles before bringing them to his lips, kissing each one slow, like he was checking they were real. "Hey," he said soft, "was is... good for you?"

You glanced away for a second, cheeks heating up again, then nodded. "Yeah. Really good." Your voice came out quieter than you meant, thumb brushing his wrist. He smiled small, relieved, and pressed another kiss to your fingertips. You swallowed, still coming down, and mumbled, "want some water?"

"Yeah I'll get it," he said quick, already pushing up. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, then paused mid step, one hand going to his lower back with a quiet "Ow—shit." He stretched a bit, wincing. Last time he'd moved like that was... well, in the game and pixels don't pull muscles. He huffed a laugh at himself and shuffled over to the mini fridge, the floor cool under his feet.

He grabbed two bottles, cracked one open for you first, and came back, sitting on the edge of the bed close enough that his knee bumped yours. You sat up a little, taking the water, and he reached out, fingers threading through your messy hair, smoothing it back gently while you drank. His touch was light, almost absent minded, but steady. You lowered the bottle and just looked at him— hair sticking up, lips swollen, a faint red mark on his neck from earlier. You let out a soft laugh, nose scrunching. he raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Hi."

"Hi," you said back, still smiling.

He tilted his head, thumb brushing your cheek. "You need to pee."

You snorted, covering your face with one hand. "Yes, I know." He didn't even hesitate, just slid his arms under you, one behind your back, the other under your knees, and lifted you up like you weighed nothing. You yelped quietly, arms looping around his neck on reflex. "Hee—"

"I got you," he muttered, carrying you across the room to the bathroom door, stepping carefully around the clothes scattered on the floor. He set you down gentle inside, kissed your forehead quick, and pulled the door almost shut behind you. "Take your time." You heard him flop back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, probably rubbing his back again, and couldn't help smiling to yourself in the mirror.

When you came back, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, boxers pulled on, knees apart, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up as the bathroom door opened and gave you this small, lopsided smile, half awkward, half couldn't-hide-it-if-he-tried glad. His hair was still a mess, sticking up where your fingers had been, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn't know where to put his hands now. You walked over and sat next to him, close enough that your thighs touched, the mattress dipping a little under both of you.

For a second neither of you said anything, just the quiet hum of the mini fridge and the faint rustle of sheets when you shifted. He glanced at you sideways. "So... that happened."

You huffed a small laugh, pulling your knees up. "Yeah. It did."

He was quiet for a moment. "Was it—" he stopped, started again. "I don't want you to think that's why I came here. Or that I expected—"

"I know."

"Because we don't really know each other. Like, actually know each other. And I don't want you to feel like this was too much or—"

"Don't we though?"

He looked at you. "What?"

"Know each other." You tucked your hair behind your ear. "I lived all of it with you. In the game."

"Yeah but that wasn't—"

"The date in the park," you said. "You picked that flower for me. The one that was glowing.” Heeseung was very still now, watching you. "And we played League together," you continued. "Destroyed my exes, even though they don't even exist in real life. Also, you were so smug about it, kept emoting after every kill, I thought you were so cute. And then we cooked pasta at my place and you almost burned the garlic and I had to help you and we ended up just—" you stopped, smiled a little. "It felt easy and natural like I'd known you forever. And the dates after that. Like the arcade, that hiking trail." You were looking at your hands now. "And then the park again at night. You told me you were falling for me. I remember it all too well. It was the most real thing that's ever happened to me." You finally looked at him. "And when I met you at the party and realized you were an actual person, I freaked out. Because how was I supposed to deal with the fact that I'd already fallen for you before we'd even met?"

"You—" his voice cracked slightly. "You fell for me?"

"Yeah." You said it simple, like it was obvious. "In the game. I didn't know it was you, but I felt everything. And then when Jungwon texted me about the update, I couldn't — I had to play it again. I had to see you again, even if it was just in the game. I thought it was just the game being really immersive and really realistic and I didn't think you were actually there."

Heeseung let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I thought the same thing but I couldn't figure out what else it could be."

"And then we both avoided each other for a week." You laughed, dropping your head against his shoulder. "We're idiots."

"Complete idiots." He leaned his head against yours. "But like, in our defense, how were we supposed to know we were accidentally having virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch?"

You snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Please never say that sentence again."

"Which part, the virtual sex or the Nintendo Switch?"

"Both. That whole thing."

He was grinning now. "But it happened."

"Ynfortunately yes."

"And it was—" he stopped.

"Really good," you finished.

He pulled back a little, just enough to look at you, his fingers sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, thumb brushing your cheek. "Yeah. It was. But this way is better." You smiled, he did too. But then he paused, and said quieter, "We don't have to figure it all out right now, you know. The whole... what this means. But," he swallowed, hand dropping to lace with yours on the sheet. "If you want to. If you're down... I'd really like to try this for real. Like, dates that don't require a Switch cartridge. Real hiking and a real arcade. And the boring real stuff too."

You turned your hand over, squeezing his fingers. "Boring real stuff sounds good."

"Yeah?" His smile went soft, relieved, and he shifted closer, knee bumping yours. His free hand came up to your waist, pulling you gently until you were half in his lap, legs tangled again. He kissed you slow then, nothing rushed, just lips moving soft, his hand splaying warm on your back. You kissed back, fingers threading through the hair at his nape, tugging lightly when he deepened it a bit. He pulled away just enough to breathe, lips still grazing yours. "This okay?"

"More than okay," you murmured, chasing his mouth for another quick kiss. He smiled into it, then another, hand sliding up your spine, thumb tracing lazy lines. You broke apart for air, but stayed close, foreheads together. "So," you said, poking his chest. "First real date. You picking or me?"

"I owe you that glowing flower," he said, fingers playing with your hair. "But like, from an actual field this time."

You laughed softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Deal. But you're still helping with the garlic."

He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow and pulling you with him so you landed half on his chest. "Fine. But no emoting when I burn it."

You settled there, ear over his heartbeat, his arms wrapping loose around you. "We'll see."

And you did see, because you saw him burn garlic three more times over the next month, and you emoted every single time, just to watch him get flustered and defensive about it. And the dates weren't like the game. There were no perfectly timed sunsets or fireflies that landed on cue. 

Your first real date was at a diner near campus at two in the afternoon because that's when you both had free time between classes. He ordered pancakes and you stole half of them. The syrup was too sweet and the coffee was burnt and it was perfect anyway. You went to an arcade on a Tuesday night because you both thought it would be funny and all the good machines were broken. Heeseung spent twenty bucks trying to win you a stuffed cat from the claw machine and failed every time, just like the game. You ended up buying one from the prize counter with your own money and he carried it around for the rest of the night looking mildly offended. The hiking trail he took you on wasn't the picturesque mountain path from the game. It was a local trail that was mostly flat and next to a highway. You could hear cars the entire time. He tripped over a root and almost took you down with him. But he held your hand the whole way and pointed out a bird he thought was cool, and when you sat on a bench to rest, he kissed you and it tasted like the granola bars you'd been sharing.

You learned things about him that the game had never shown you. That he was grumpy in the mornings and needed at least ten minutes of silence before he could form coherent sentences. That he had a specific way of organizing his desk and got stressed when things were out of place. That he laughed at his own jokes before he finished telling them and it was the most endearing thing you'd ever seen. Meanwhile, he learned that you talked to yourself when you were concentrating, narrating your own thoughts out loud without realizing it. That you had strong opinions about which anime openings were skippable and which were sacred. That you stress baked at midnight and would show up at his dorm at one am with cookies that were still warm and slightly misshapen.

You played League together and he actually did run it down once and you flamed him for fifteen minutes straight. He took you to his favorite boba place and you hated the drink you ordered but drank it anyway because you didn't want to admit you'd made a mistake. He noticed and switched cups with you without saying anything.

And the domestic stuff was better than any game could've captured: grocery shopping together and arguing about which brand of ramen to buy; him falling asleep on your shoulder during study sessions in the library; you stealing his hoodies and him pretending to be annoyed but leaving them at your place on purpose. The way he'd text you random memes at three am just because he thought you'd find them funny. The way you'd save the last bite of your food for him without thinking about it. It was real and messy and nothing like the perfect dates the game had generated. It was so much better.

Three months in, Jungwon decided he wanted to do a pizza night at his place. Make-your-own-pizza, he'd said. It'll be fun, he'd said. He'd assigned everyone tasks and you and Heeseung got stuck with grocery shopping because apparently you were the only ones who could be trusted not to forget something important. Which is how you ended up in the pasta sauce aisle of the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, having an increasingly heated debate about pizza sauce. "This one has basil already in it," Heeseung said, holding up a jar.

"But that one's too sweet. We need the plain one so we can add our own seasonings." You grabbed a different jar.

"Nobody's going to taste the difference."

"I'm going to taste the difference!"

"Yeah, that's because ou have the most specific opinions about things that don't matter."

"Excuse me, pizza sauce matters. This is important." He looked at you, standing there in your hoodie and jeans with your hair falling out of your bun, holding a jar of pasta sauce like it was a matter of life and death, and he felt something in his chest shift. You'd been arguing about groceries for ten minutes. Before that it had been flour — he'd grabbed all purpose and you'd insisted on bread flour even though Jungwon probably wouldn't care. You had strong opinions about olive oil brands. You'd spent five minutes reading the labels on different types of cheese. It was so mundane and domestic and real and he was so gone for you it was ridiculous.

Heeseung caught your wrist and pulled you back. You turned, surprised, the jar of sauce still in your hand. "What?" He just looked at you for a second. The fluorescent grocery store lighting was terrible and someone's kid was screaming two aisles over and the store radio was playing a compressed version of some pop song from five years ago. Nothing about this moment was romantic or special or anything like the game would've generated.

"You know," he said, "if this was a cooking game, you'd be picking all the wrong action options right now."

You laughed. "What?"

"The wrong sauce. Insisting on fresh garlic when the jarred stuff is right there. Making this way more complicated than it needs to be." He was smiling now, pulling you closer. "You'd be failing the efficiency route."

"Good thing this isn't a game then."

"Yeah." His other hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Good thing." You were looking at him with this soft expression, waiting for whatever he was going to say, and Heeseung realized he'd been waiting for the perfect moment for weeks now. The right time, the right place, the right words. But standing in a grocery store on a random Saturday arguing about pizza sauce felt more right than any perfectly rendered sunset could've been. "I love you," he said.

You went very still. "What?"

"I love you." He said it again, steadier this time. "And I want to finally beat fuck ass Girlfriend Simulator. Make it official."

"Heeseung—"

"I want to complete the Girlfriend Simulator route," he continued, and he was grinning now because he could see you trying not to smile. "Get the good ending. Unlock the girlfriend achievement."

You laughed. "You're such a nerd."

"Yeah, I know. so?" He squeezed your hand. "Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"

You set the jar of sauce down on the nearest shelf, not even checking if it was the right spot, and kissed him. Right there in the middle of the grocery store with terrible lighting and screaming children and elevator music playing overhead. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were both grinning like idiots. "Yes," you said. "Obviously yes.” 

And you kissed him. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. You pulled back just a little, hands sliding up to rest on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. The kiss turned slower then, softer, your lips brushing his again and again like you couldn't quite stop. He made this quiet hum, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking the skin there while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you close. Some lady pushed her cart past you both, wheels squeaking on the linoleum, but neither of you moved.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads still touching, you were both breathing a little harder. "I love you too," you said, voice low but steady. "Obviously. And I'm really glad I beat Boyfriend Simulator."

He laughed soft, nose bumping yours. "Wait." His face went serious all of a sudden, eyes narrowing. "That was the name of your game? Boyfriend Simulator?"

"Yeah." You bit your lip, trying not to grin too big. "Jungwon said it was different from Girlfriend Simulator because this one has a multiplayer option."

He shook his head slow, arms still around you, holding you there in the aisle like he wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. You both just stood there, wrapped up in each other between the shelves of pasta sauce, carts rumbling by, some kid yelling about cereal in the distance. Heeseung stared at you, processing, then let out this quiet groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "I'm going to kill Yang Jungwon."

You laughed into his hair, fingers threading through it at the nape of his neck. "Get in line."

[GAME COMPLETE] GOOD ENDING UNLOCKED: REAL LIFE ROUTE ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: GIRLFRIEND.EXE NEW GAME+ AVAILABLE: THE REST OF YOUR LIVES

taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff  @gh9sty @xoenhalover @bambiens @hoonsocks @jaeyunflix @yvampyr @wonmuse

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[romancentold]

☤ TEETH: Seoul City 박성훈⸝.ᐟ⋆

ᐟ⋆ S you have a strict “never fuck park sunghoon again” policy in motion. but unfortunately, he’s got a big mouth, an even bigger dick, and absolutely zero intentions of letting you keep your promises.

part of the teeth series (events take place between chapter fourteen and chapter fifteen) but can be read as a standalone.

𝓦 。ᐟ smut (p in v) MDNI ⨾ angry rough sex, angst, alcohol consumption, brat tamer/dom sunghoon, reader is horny and rageful, jealousy, sunghoon is an asshole, public sex, unprotected sex (#don’t), there’s just so so much filth, pussy drunk sunghoon, they’re too kinky and freaked out, he ties her up with his tie, ft. drunk babygirl heeseung PAIRING 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 ۶ৎ 𝘧𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 💿 playlist WC 23.8k

𝓢ummer。23k words is diabolical but oh well. i excluded several warnings so… prepare to be surprised (i'm severely unwell.) anyways happy new year my little freaks 🥂 may 2026 bring you everything your heart (and other parts) desire. mwah mwah!!!

You wonder if anyone here in this banquet hall has the slightest clue that you and Park Sunghoon have spent the last four days pretending the other doesn’t exist. 

Well, “pretending” is putting it generously considering you’ve still got faint bruises from where his hands were pressed into your thigh four days ago when he had you bent over a classroom desk with your panties shoved aside and his ringed fingers fucking you open so slowly and so deeply until your brain shorted out completely and all you could see behind your closed eyes was light and stars and his name written everywhere. Then, of course, there was the day after that, where your face was pressed into silk in a vacant room in his father’s hotel as he fucked you so hard your legs shook all the way back home. Oh, and let’s not forget when he—

Okay. Uh. So, obviously, there is something severely wrong with you.

Maybe the better question is whether anyone here can tell that whatever exists between you only really exists in the negative space between arguments and the furious, hungry way you tear into each other like starving animals with no sense of control and even less shame. (Like, genuinely less than zero.)

Probably not. No one ever looks at Seoul’s precious business prodigy and imagines he’s capable of losing control, let alone decorum. Meanwhile, you’re the only one who knows he’s actually the most insufferable asshole to ever exist.

Whatever. No one here even has basic instincts, let alone intuition. From the outside, you look serene and every bit the beloved perfect porcelain doll perched exactly where she belongs on her little shelf beside her ‘fiancé,’ and that’s all anyone notices, which is what matters, right? So really, who cares if from the inside you’re vibrating with this horribly specific urge to either smash Sunghoon’s stupidly pretty face into the nearest marble or drag him by the tie into an empty room and let him fuck you senseless? (Preferably both.) (In that order.)

Time out. 

You care. Obviously, you care. Hello? Pull yourself together and get the hell out of your own head. This freakishly insane sex thing cannot keep happening.

Also, you are literally at a formal event with cameras and vultures in designer circling everywhere, drooling for a singular misstep. For God’s sake, your sweet, sweet parents are here, hovering somewhere near the front, trying (and failing) not to look obvious as they peek over their champagne flutes and watch you with that unmistakable cocktail of pride, hope, and a reasonable dash of parental concern. Every time you catch their eye, they break into these ridiculous, adoring smiles and wave at you like you’re still six years old and twirling onstage in a tutu instead of swanning through a ballroom with the devil himself hanging off your arm. And by an incredible mercy from the universe, they’re also just as completely and spectacularly oblivious to the fact that their darling, beloved daughter is currently one blasphemously filthy Sunghoon-shaped thought away from turning the whole family legacy into a cautionary tale whispered at every future gathering in this vicinity.

Not to fucking mention, the two of you fucking around cannot keep happening, not just because it’s monumentally stupid or a total violation of basic common sense, but because of the kind of consequences you don’t even want to think about. You’d like to say regret is one of those consequences, but that would be a lie so bold that you fear the heavens might actually smite you where you stand. Normal people (sane people) would probably lie awake at night, mortified and consumed by guilt or, at the very least, a sense of shame, but you? Oh, you lie awake restlessly (and terribly, terribly horny) replaying every minute, genuinely wondering whether anyone else in the long and sordid history of the human race has ever been fucked the way Park Sunghoon fucks you. 

So, what damning consequences are there then, if not sorrows and prayers? Well, none other than your best friend finding out. Not Sunoo (God bless his messy little heart). No, the true terror is having to look Jang “I’ll kill us both” Wonyoung in the eye and admit you fucked Sunghoon again after swearing (for the third… maybe fourth? time) that you wouldn’t. Oh, the thought alone makes you grimace. So seriously, get it together and stop thinking about fucking Sunghoon. Literally and figuratively. 

You catch a glimpse of yourself in one of the mirrors as you pass, and it honestly defies belief even to you that beneath all this Prada and these pearls, your brain is hosting the kind of thoughts that would make the devil blush. Your skin is bare from your neck to just below your collarbones, except for a double strand of pearls tight around your throat, which right now feels more like a leash than an accessory (Especially when it’s practically one more deep breath away from strangling you, and not even in the fun, kinky way). You’re still wearing that disgusting diamond ring, too, which is a reminder so gaudy it feels like it hums with radioactive energy every time you move your hand, so you do your best to pretend it’s just another ring. And of course, not a single soul in the room is trying to hide the fact that they’re watching your every move as if you’re just another centerpiece for them to look at. At least the lilies in the flower arrangements have the luxury of being replaced before they wilt.

You smile and keep walking anyway. They want the show? They’re getting the fucking show.

“Stop yanking my arm,” Sunghoon suddenly mutters from the side of his mouth and gets you out of your thoughts. “Can you pay attention for five seconds? You’re practically dragging me across the room. Fucking relax.”

“I’m not yanking your arm,” you hiss back, smiling wider for the cameras that are flashing so aggressively you’re about two seconds away from developing epilepsy. “I’m walking at a normal pace. Like a normal, non-corpse person. And I am completely, one-hundred-percent fucking relaxed—”

“For the love of God, stop talking” he cuts you off under his breath, sounding highly irritated while also keeping that artificial, picture-perfect smile glued to his face. “You’re literally clenching.”

“Oh, am I?” you mock, still keeping your face perfectly poised for the people passing by as the photographers move on to their next target. “Funny, you didn’t seem to complain about that last time. Should I do that thing you liked to make it better? What was it you said? ‘Just like thaaat, just stay right there and let me—’

Sunghoon immediately turns his head and gives you a look that says he’s half a second away from dragging you back to the car. Which, frankly, would solve nothing except maybe you’d finally get the chance to scream at him again. Or Worse. 

“That’s not funny.”

You let a quiet little laugh slip when you see the way he clenches his jaw out of anger. “It’s hilarious, actually.”

No one can tell that the two of you are dysfunctional. Right?

Eventually, after collapsing back into your chair and listening to a very tipsy Heeseung’s soliloquy about god-knows-what (something about how he’d trade this entire table for a bowl of Ramen right now) for about thirty minutes, you make the fatal mistake of tuning into the conversation across from you, and you have to blink three times just to make sure you’re not hallucinating and that it actually is Park Sunghoon who your very own dad is coddling right now. 

Oh. Okay.

This is a fresh new circle of hell you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, which is ironic, considering the enemy in question is Park Sunghoon himself. And he is actually, somehow (terrifyingly), bonding with your sweet, sweet dad. Over what? You’d really rather not know. But it started with your dad making some offhand, dad-tier reference to Fight Club, and that was all it took. Next thing you know, Heeseung gleefully launches Sunghoon into the conversation by saying, “Oh, oh! Hoon here made me watch that movie last week!” and Sunghoon, the absolute bastard, does the unthinkable. Instead of being normal and silent and brooding in his usual haunted-castle-inhabitant way, he slips seamlessly into the conversation like this is his true calling and starts quoting the movie to your dad with a shit-eating grin, dropping lines like—“The things you own end up owning you,”—as if he’s a misunderstood film major on the low and not, in fact, the reason you’re contemplating unspeakable sins in a public venue.

You shoot your dad a look of pure horror as he throws his head back and pats Sunghoon on the shoulder with the kind of giddy, fatherly approval that makes you want to crawl under the table and die. Et tu, Father Dearest?

So, you do the only reasonable thing in this scenario: you drag Sunghoon up by the arm and decide to begin the slow, torturous death march of personally greeting every partner, every board member, and just every single socialite whose name slips through your brain like water the second they’re said. Sunghoon does most of the talking, and of course, he’s charming enough to get away with it, but if you listen closely, you’ll notice that his voice is empty and detached and the literal conversational equivalent of reading off cue cards in his head. Though you could never deny that he knows how to work a room with ease, and it honestly just pisses you off even more. But whatever. You smile and tilt your chin the way you’ve seen in all the glossy press photos and let yourself be admired like a well-funded project that’s shiny enough to distract everyone from the fact that you’d rather be anywhere else… But if you have to spend one more minute watching him shake hands and trade pleasantries with men who would sell their own daughters for a sliver of what he has, you swear you’ll—

“Y/N, darling!” A woman coos, and you recognize her vaguely as the wife of one of those partners but can’t for the life of you be bothered to remember her name (you really need to work on that) as she leans in, lips painted the same shade of insincerity as her smile. “You look absolutely radiant. Your mother must be so proud. I just saw her, actually.” Her eyes flick over you once before she sighs delicately. “But oh—we were all so terribly concerned when you weren’t able to join us for the launch dinner in Tokyo last week. The press simply had a field day with it, didn’t they?”

What a treat. 

You’d almost give her points for how sweet she makes it sound if you weren’t already an expert at translating vultures. And you’ve doomscrolled online speculations enough to know exactly how much everyone here enjoyed your so-called absence that night, so she really didn’t need to spell it out. But again, points for trying. Sunghoon tightens his grip on your arm when you lightly huff a laugh, and you can tell it’s his “please-don’t-start” warning squeeze. 

So naturally, you start. 

“Oh. Thank you for your concern. You know, I figured Tokyo would survive a night without me. Last I heard, the city’s still standing, so it seems I was right. I’m glad it gave everyone something to talk about, though.” You pause just long enough for her to register the dig before you sweetly add with a smile, “But really, thank you for your kindness. It means the world.”

The woman blinks about three times like she’s processing your tone, but she recovers quickly and laughs like you’ve just told the funniest joke in the world. “Oh, bless your heart. What a charming girl.” She turns back to her husband, loops her arm through his with a satisfied smile, and then gestures back in your direction with a manicured hand as she walks away. “Isn’t she just lovely? No wonder they’re a couple, those two.”

(What a charming girl. Vulture translation? What a bitch.)

You sip what’s left of your champagne and nod. “Thank youuuu.”

That earns you a quick side eye and one of those Sunghoon specials: the silent, soul-murdering scoff, and it truly takes everything in you not to grin. Instead, you look up at him with your lashes fluttering, all doe-eyed and sweet like you’ve never said anything wrong in your life. There’s the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it appears with a flicker of something very close to amusement in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. You just keep smiling and let him steer you away as you tuck yourself tighter against his side with your head held high.

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything until you’re a safe distance away and no one’s close enough to pretend they aren’t listening. “That’s the third time you’ve scared someone off tonight,” He mutters, and there’s… a flash of worry hidden under the irritation in his eyes as he jabs his chin towards the champagne glass in your hand. “Slow down with that, will you?”

He looks at you for a second longer, and it’s like a ghost from a past life has wandered into the room. Not the spooky, sheet-over-the-head kind, but the kind that smells faintly of old cologne and broken promises, but the sight is still ghostly enough to make your skin prickle. 

“Why?” you scoff, raising your glass just to spite him. “Worried I’m going to embarrass your precious little image?”

“Because I know you,” he says simply. 

It’s only three stupid words, but your stupid heart still nosedives straight through your chest and drags half of your vital organs down with it. It’s funny how the human heart can memorize the shape of someone and never, ever unlearn it, even if you’ve moved on and tried to erase their ghost. But your brain knows better.

The two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and you see Sunghoon’s jaw tick in the slightest. And, of course, he doesn’t let the faint tenderness in his voice just then linger. “…And don’t think I’ll waste a second of my week listening to you bitching and whining when you inevitably fuck up and end up plastered all over every gossip site in Seoul,” he sneers, voice cold and cruel. “So behave, and put it away.”

The moment immediately snaps, and something inside you does with it, too. So you reach for something petty resting in your gut as you glance up at him through your lashes with your lips pursed in a pout. “What, are you my daddy now?” You step closer and drop your voice into a lustrous purr, and before he can even blink you lean up and drag the flat of your tongue in a slow stripe up the shell of his ear. To anyone passing by, it probably looks like a perfectly innocent moment where a doting fiancée shares a quiet word. Nothing scandalous at all. “Go ahead,” you whisper, and bite down on his earlobe gently just to tease. “Take the glass away, then. Tell me what to do, Sunghoon. I know you want to. I’d even let you, if you asked nicely.” 

Sunghoon stiffens like you’ve short-circuited his entire brain and you can see the war happening behind his eyes as he fights not to react and give you the satisfaction. Which, frankly, is the best part. “Shit,” he mutters, “your fucking attitude’s out of control. We’re in public.”

You pull away snugly and pat him right on the cheek like he’s a sulky kid, trying not to laugh in his face. “I don’t care. If you tell me what to do again, I’ll set your hair on fire.” You arch your brows when you notice, with vicious curiosity, how the tips of his ears have suddenly gone bright red. “Oh my god,” you whisper, pointing at his ears. “Are you blushing? Seriously? All I had to do was call you d—”

He shoots you a death glare. “Shut the fuck up.”

You file that in your brain for a different time and gesture lazily between the two of you. “You shut the fuck up. We’re literally handing your precious father the perfect façade on a silver platter, so what more do you want from me? Should I just stand there, look pretty, and keep my mouth shut like a good little accessory?”

His eyes linger on your face, searching, and you can tell he’s trying not to look too pleased about any of this. “Funny, you almost sound like you’re enjoying yourself as opposed to how you were acting in Japan.”

You scoff, loud enough that a couple of suits glance over. “Don’t bring up Japan,” you hiss, barely moving your lips. “And for the record, you’re welcome.” Your eyes travel over him, lingering just long enough to make your point. You reach out and grab a champagne flute from a passing tray while setting your empty one down, then drain half of it in a single go before flashing your brightest, fakest smile at a group of some middle-aged women looking your way. “You look so much better with me on your arm, Sunghoon. Try to keep up.”

He leans in and whispers in your ear. “Ah. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re irreplaceable. Because you’re not.” He lets his eyes flick down to your lips, then up again. “So, let’s not get cocky, princess. It’s not a good look on you.”

Something stings in your chest, but you ignore it and focus on how absolutely rageful you feel. You glance around once with the sweetest smile across your lips, and when you’re sure no one’s watching, you step closer and lean in, acting like you’re fixing his tie, but as you do, you move your heel sideways until it lands right on top of his polished leather shoe. At first, you press down slowly, and then you lean in and put your whole weight behind it to dig in harder and harder until he grunts a curse right in your ear and his hand shoots up to wrap around your waist to steady himself.

“I don’t know, Sunghoon. I’d say this is a pretty fucking good look on me,” you hum, twisting your heel mercilessly. “Or does it only suit you when you’re the one stepping on everyone else?”

Sunghoon grits his teeth—clearly refusing to give you the satisfaction of a full wince as his hand tightens on your waist. “I think you’re doing all the stepping right now—Fuck—Are you trying to break my foot?”

You only smile wider, straightening up as you let go of his tie, but not before digging in with your heel one last time just to make your point. “If the shoe fits,” you purr, letting him go.

Sunghoon’s brows pinch together, and his eyes are practically shooting daggers through you, but you know better than anyone that he’s all bark and no bite when you’re in public like this. So you shrug and turn away first just as an old man wobbles up to greet him, and all of a sudden, Sunghoon is the poster boy of composure and charm, acting like he owns the goddamn building (Which, by extension, he literally does.) You mirror him in your own way and glue yourself to his side while also nodding along to whatever bullshit they’re talking about. 

But unfortunately, the problem here isn’t the urge to scream at him or throw a champagne flute at his head (tempting as that is.) No, it’s how your self-control seems to shrivel by the second the longer you stand here pretending to be a functioning, sane, and dignified member of high society, when in reality, you believe you’re objectively the horniest person in this entire godforsaken ballroom and maybe even in the greater Seoul area. Quite possibly on earth, even. Is there… like a hotline for this? Ew. Scratch that. Is there a vaccine instead? Because you’re starting to think you might be a medical anomaly at this point, and you’d honestly wire your life savings to whoever can prove that somewhere, someone out there is hornier than you. And if such a person exists, how do they even get anything done, considering every single waking moment that Sunghoon isn’t inside you lately feels like slow-burning agony and bottomless despair? 

Wait a damn minute. 

You know what? This is just the ridiculous amount of champagne you’ve had planting these thoughts in your head. You need to drink a glass of water immediately and maybe even splash it in your own face for good measure. 

Okay. Okay, deep breath. Whatever you do, just don’t look at his hands. Easy. There we go. Hands? What hands? You’ve never even seen a hand in your life. Don’t even think about his hands. (You are absolutely thinking about his hands.) Just think about literally anything else. Think about corporate tax fraud, think about puppies… or your mother’s face if she could hear your internal monologue right now—literally anything but his hand and the fact that every vein on it is standing out like a road map you want to trace with your tongue—oh, perfect. Now he’s moving his hand. Aaaaaaaand now he’s wrapping it right around your arm. Excellent. Fantastic. Has he somehow developed psychic powers specifically to torment you? Hello? Park Sunghoon, if you can hear this, I fucking hate you. Get your evil psychic sex hands out of my personal space and focus on talking to that fossil fuel. I’m done. Fuck you.

As if on cue, he shifts, and his stupidly thick, long fingers tighten around your arm just a little, and you can practically catalogue every single vein that runs up his knuckles. And don’t even get started on those gold Tiffany rings he always wears that are flashing under the chandelier lights every time he idly moves or spins them around like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. Fucking great. Your mind is now running a highlight reel of everywhere they’ve been and every time he’s made you come apart with just two fingers. You can’t even blink without picturing them coated in your wetness with his rings glinting as he circles your clit and works you apart. 

“You can stop looking at me like that now.”

Sunghoon says with his gaze fixated on you, and it breaks you right out of the spell. His hand tightens minutely on your arm, and his fingers make a slow circle around your bare skin, enough to set every nerve on fire. You tense instantly, because that tiny movement is enough to let you know he definitely saw the way you were looking at him. (Allegedly.)

“Unless,” he hums mockingly with one brow arched, “Is there something you want, darling?”

You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip until he looks down at your mouth. Okay… So it’s over. How do you even come back from this? Fuck. You’ve at least got to try. Get out of your head and stop staring at him.

“Don’t start this again. I don’t want anything from you.” You blink the Sunghoon-induced stupidity from your brain, and give him your best impression of someone who hadn't just been mentally deep-throating his fingers with God and all of his angels listening. “And I wasn’t looking at you. I was trying not to kill myself while you were talking to that borderline misogynistic ogre by indulging in the act of dissociation, and you just so happened to be in my line of sight.”

Before Sunghoon can say something cutting back (and you know he’s about to, because lo and behold, Smug Sunghoon™️ has made an appearance), Ningning materializes at your side, and her timing is so perfect you almost want to kiss her on the mouth. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, voice calm and sweet in that way she does when she’s trying to sound professional as she looks at Sunghoon. “You’re needed by the west bar—Chairman Lee says it’s urgent. Something about the press embargo regarding your father, I believe. Also, the Chairman of Mirae Holdings wants to greet the two of you personally. And, um, his wife would like a photo, so… good luck.”

She turns to you, and there’s a brief, panicked flicker in her eyes that only you catch. You widen your own just a fraction to give her the universal—please save me—signal and, God bless her heart, she gets it instantly.

“Oh! Right, and—Y/N, you’re also needed by… Ms. Oh? Yes, Ms. Oh! She’s been looking everywhere for you about—um—the… guest list for the afterparty your parents are hosting? Also very urgent. She says it can’t wait, actually, so… let’s move along, shall we?”

With that, she politely but firmly starts to steer you away with her “I’m-trying-to-be-professional-but-your-dysfunction-is-making-it-impossible” smile on her face.

And of course, Sunghoon immediately narrows his eyes and scoffs like he finds the whole situation absurd. “Really? Table placements? That’s what we’re going with?”

“Yes, really,” you shoot back defensively. “Clearly, I have a very important, very urgent job to do, so you should go handle your… embargo crisis, or whatever.”

He cocks a brow, looking wholly unconvinced, but he watches as Ningning pulls you away anyway. “Right. Try not to miss me too much.”

Oh, shut up.

Thank God for Ningning. 

If only she could also solve the problem of your brain and your legs threatening to betray you before the night is over.

Sunghoon is bored out of his fucking mind.

He’s been smiling for so long his jaw hurts, and if one more middle-aged man with a bad haircut asks him how his father is doing in New York, he might actually snap. Chairman-this, Director-that, and whoever fucking else. All of them are eager to praise Park Group’s “global vision,” as if glazing his father hard enough will magically elevate their stock.

As if Sunghoon gives a shit.

“Yes, he’s well.”

“Yes, he sends his regards.”

What he doesn’t mention is that he wouldn’t actually know if his father sends his regards or not because he hasn’t even spoken to the man himself in weeks. Any “conversation” they’ve had has been filtered through a tired assistant or squeezed into a curt business call that never lasted longer than necessary and never strayed beyond numbers and names. His father doesn’t waste words on pleasantries, let alone sentiments like “regards.” Whatever version of Park Sunghoon these men think they’re flattering right now is just another empty suit fulfilling his role, all while his father is God-knows-where out of the country, spinning deals and shaking hands with men who’d eat their own children if the price was right. But Sunghoon lets them talk and charms them anyway. He’s been trained for this since before he could tie his shoes. It’s easy. It’s always been easy.

All throughout this endless amount of small talk that makes him want to smash his fist through the wall just to feel something again, some stubborn, traitorous part of him is always keeping track of you underneath it all, the same way the tide can’t help but be pulled by the moon. 

Let’s get one thing straight: he’s not looking for you.

He’s being responsible and checking on you to make sure you haven’t disappeared out of a window just to spite him or made a mess he’ll have to clean up later, since you seem to be in a particular mood tonight.

Even as his eyes mindlessly scan the room to get a sense of where you are, your presence still presses in next to him even though you’re nowhere near him. Like a phantom limb, he keeps forgetting he’s lost until it starts aching again. He feels you in the space at his side where you were standing minutes ago. He can feel the ghost of your touch, the shape of your fingernails digging crescents into his arms while everyone else was oblivious, and the sound of your voice when you were half-mad and furious and begging for something you’d never admit out loud. The most infuriating part is that lately, he can’t just turn it off and ignore it anymore, despite how good he’s always been at doing that. (Numbness is practically a family heirloom.)

Whatever.

His gaze drifts over your shared table, and his eyes catch for just a second on Hana doubled over, laughing with Mr. Lee and your parents. There are two empty chairs near them, and they sit there like a gap in the teeth of something living and hungry, and tonight they technically don’t belong to his parents, but the emptiness seems to gape right back at him accusingly, as if it knows it’s the missing piece everyone’s learned to ignore. Sunghoon glances away, annoyed with himself, because he hates the way that after all these years, it still feels like standing outside on a patio somewhere, watching someone else’s family pass plates and laughter around a candlelit table. A father sneaks a slice of cake for his wife while voices call out for the birthday girl, and a boy just hovers at the edge, trying not to want what would never be his.

Where the hell are you, though? Why can’t he— 

There you are.

He spots you by one of the tables, haloed in the warm spill of the chandelier light with your head tilted in concentration and your pearls catching on your collarbones. You look happier than you did next to him just a few moments ago, and that alone is enough to set his teeth on edge. What’s worse is that you actually look… comfortable. Not the kind you pretend to look. The real kind.

And standing next to you is… 

Of course. 

Jeon Jungkook. Park Group’s favorite rival heir and his father’s pet nuisance. Jeon Jungkook, who has a reputation for never once learning how to keep his hands to himself, whose idea of a good time is ruining someone else’s, and who’d probably auction off his own father’s soul (and his own, for that matter) to knock Sunghoon off his pedestal. He can see the way he’s standing just a little too close and grinning that lazy, dangerous grin, with one tattooed hand hovering near your waist as he leans in to say something he most likely has no business saying to you. 

The rest of the ballroom disappears as he watches the way his eyes drag over you without shame. It’s just the sight in front of him and the ugly, primal urge to put his fist through something—preferably Jungkook’s cocky face. He really fucking hates that every part of him wants to storm over and remind him (and himself) that you’re not fucking available for other people to look at, or touch, or even think about with that damned ring on your finger.

Fuck off, he tells his own mind. We’re not doing this. 

So he ignores the two of you. In theory. 

But then he sees Jungkook reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and his fingers brush your cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and something in Sunghoon’s carefully constructed composure fractures so fast he almost feels dizzy. Surely he can’t just get away with that. Surely this asshole knows—everyone in this room knows—that you’re supposed to be his fiancée. Surely you—

Sunghoon doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he’s pulled straight towards you by whatever sick gravitational force that keeps fucking with him. Jungkook grins wider when he sees him approaching, then tilts his head as if he’s surprised to see him. 

“There you are, Sunghoon-ah!” he drawls, “Y/N here was just telling me the most interesting story about your little trip to Tokyo.”

The mention of Tokyo nearly knocks the breath right out of him for the hundredth time tonight, but he keeps his expression ironed flat. He flicks a glance at you, and you’re sparkling in the light and looking so goddamn alive—not the way you did on that first day in Japan with your eyes always somewhere far away in an empty way—and you lean into him when he slides an arm firmly around your waist like it’s his birthright. Your mouth curves up at the corner in a way that tells him you know exactly what you’re doing, then you tip your head back, and your perfume wraps around him so suddenly it nearly makes him falter. 

“What’s wrong?” You purr, and every syllable is dipped in the kind of mockery only he would ever catch. “Miss me too much?”

For a heartbeat, Sunghoon goes completely still, and the noise of the ballroom drops away and is replaced by the wild thrum of his pulse and the scent of you. Then he remembers where he is, and he clears his throat.

Sunghoon greets Jungkook and politely inclines his head—all courteous respect for the older man, but there’s not a single atom of warmth beneath it. “I did not expect to see you here tonight.”

“Hello to you too,” He raises his glass at Sunghoon in a way that only pisses him off more. “I go where the fun is, you know that.” 

Sunghoon returns his smile with one of his own, perfectly polite, perfectly blank, every inch the heir his father raised him to be. “Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself. I’m sure you’ve made the rounds by now. Or have you only just arrived to try your luck?”

Jungkook laughs, and his eyes flicker down to where Sunghoon’s hand is gripping your waist. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Besides, it’s not every day I get to catch up with old friends back home since I’m practically overseas all the time.” 

“Ah, right. I almost forgot how much older you are,” Sunghoon hums, punctuating and slightly raising his tone when he says the word older. “Back in the day, you’d be out on the balcony with her brother, keeping score while she and I turned the whole garden into a racetrack. She had pigtails, I had grass stains, and you… Well, you already had a drink in your hand, didn’t you? Weren’t you in your… mid-twenties?”

You clear your throat and give Sunghoon a look that says you’re about ten seconds away from staging an intervention for this pissing contest, but Sunghoon doesn’t even so much as blink.

“I was nineteen, actually,” Jungkook corrects firmly. “Young and stupid, I know. But still, barely older than you are now. You make it sound like I was supervising you from a rocking chair.”

“Same thing,” Sunghoon says smoothly, and his grip at your waist tightens just a fraction. “You’re practically like family, aren’t you, hyung?”

“I haven’t even seen him since like… 2023?” you cut in, glancing between at Sunghoon like he’s mildly embarrassing you. Then your fingers slip behind him as you pinch his side hard, though he doesn’t react. “We’re just catching up. Try not to scare him off, sweetheart.” 

“Hey, I’m only following orders. Her brother told me to keep an eye on her—make sure she doesn’t get too bored hanging around all these old men.” Jungkook glances at you with a wink that makes Sunghoon want to put his fist through the nearest antique vase. “Someone’s gotta keep her entertained.”

Sunghoon’s smile never falters, though his grip around you tightens. “Oh, you don’t have to worry. She’s in good hands with me. Never a dull moment.”

You snort so loud it actually startles Sunghoon, and he turns his head to look at you, and you just meet his eyes and smack his arm in an almost playful way. “Shut up,” you mouth at him, but your lips are twitching, and he can’t help it—he almost smiles. Almost. 

Then you turn your attention back to Jungkook. “Oh, come on. Hold on. Don’t tell me you’re about to start playing big brother on me now. Weren’t you the one sneaking me soju under the table at my graduation party?”

Jungkook presses his pointer finger up to his lips and laughs. “Allegedly. And only because you begged so sweetly, love.”

Sunghoon tongues his cheek. The fuck?

Then the memory of that exact party flickers across his mind. It was the summer he perfected the art of self-control, and there were fairy lights tangled in the trees, the distant hum of cicadas in the open night air, and you were spinning in your heels with Wonyoung and Sunoo egging you on as you drunkenly stumbled over to him with your cheeks flushed red, even after he’d spent all summer ignoring you. He remembers looking at you and swallowing down everything he didn’t know how to say and turning away coldly. 

Fucking hell. I’m not eighteen anymore. I’ve moved on.

Meanwhile, you—well, you can’t even pinpoint the exact moment the night turned into whatever this is, but honestly, you’re buzzing. You’re pretty sure it’s mostly from the champagne (which you’ve been sipping way too fast), but also maybe from the absolute thrill of watching this unfold in real time. 

“You were always my favorite troublemaker. Sunghoon-ah, tell me, are you keeping her in line, or do I need to step in?” 

“Trust me, she doesn’t need anyone to keep her in line.” His voice goes a touch lower, just for you. “She does whatever the hell she wants, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t having the time of your life right now.

Jungkook, for all his charm, is just being himself—more or less harmless. If anything, he’s always looked at you like you’re the world’s most annoying little sister he loves to tease, and unfortunately, if you really think about it, he only touched your cheek the way someone who’s been around long enough to see you in every awkward preteen phase would (Which is all kinds of mortifying.) The only thing less likely than him actually flirting with you is him surviving your brother’s wrath if he tried. 

But you know exactly how this looks right now.

Two can play this game, Park Sunghoon. Let him stew and simmer and dig his stupid hand into your waist just a little harder, like he’s got something to prove. It’s not that he cares about you—God forbid—but you know when it comes to you, Sunghoon only cares when the narrative slips out of his pretty fingers because he’s a fucking control freak who can’t stand the thought of anyone else having his toys, especially when the world is watching and his precious image is on the line. His ‘fiancée’ shouldn’t be giggling with someone you’ve suspected he’s always low-key, always hated for reasons you can’t name, but maybe it’s because he could maybe, possibly, publicly rival him in name and in attention. 

So that’s exactly why you’re doing it.

You laugh a little louder, toss your hair over your shoulder, and give Jungkook your best, most sparkling eyes. “Maybe I should let you step in, actually. At least you’re fun at parties,” you raise your glass towards Jungkook, “which is more than I can say for some people.”

Jungkook laughs again, and you swear you almost see fumes come out of Sunghoon’s ears. “See? Some things really don’t change. She’s keeping you on your toes, I bet.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon murmurs, letting his gaze linger on you, “She’s an expert at that.”

“Hardly have to try,” your heart trips over itself, but you just smirk back and whisper. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to wind up.”

He leans in even closer to whisper in your ear. “Careful, princess. One of these days you’ll push too far.”

You pout. “Maybe I want to see what happens.”

Jungkook watches this exchange with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Ah, you two are adorable... Watching you is like watching a car crash in slow motion, like it’s almost impossible to look away from. Really makes me miss being that young and stupid.”

“I beg your pa—”

You blink at him. “Stupid—?”

“Just an observation. You’ll figure it out.” Jungkook shrugs and looks between you with a knowing look. “Try not to kill each other. Or do. Either way, make it entertaining. But anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want to stand in the way of true love—or… whatever you kids are calling it these days.” 

He lifts his glass in a lazy salute, and his gaze lingers on the two of you just a second longer than necessary before he turns to disappear into the crowd, leaving you and Sunghoon standing there alone. You immediately pull away from his grip, not quite yanking but not exactly gentle either, and you shoot him a glare. 

“Do you have an ounce of respect in you? Or do you constantly itch with the need to prove that you think you’re better than everyone?”

Sunghoon barely looks at you, eyes darting past you like he’s checking to make sure nobody’s watching, then he looks back at you and shrugs. “I don’t think I’m better than everyone,” he smirks. “I know I am.”

“You arrogant bas—” 

“And I was just making conversation,” he completely cuts you off, speaking calmly as ever, as if he didn’t just spend five minutes trying to burn holes through Jungkook’s head with his eyes. “Or would you rather I stand here and let him eye-fuck my ‘fiancée’ right in front of me?”

“Oh my fucking god—Eye-fuck?” The way he says it just kills you, and the laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and it only pisses Sunghoon off more. “He literally treats me like I’m still a kid, you moron—please. Oh myyy god. Oh, I wish. My stomach hurts.”

“Like a kid? Did you fucking see the way he was looking at you—?” He nearly chokes, and the words spill out so fast it’s like he can’t stop himself. Then he falters and his brows furrow, and you see him actually pause like he’s trying to make sense of the universe. “What the hell do you mean, ‘you wish?”

You arch a brow and huff one last laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous, Sunghoon.”

He smoothens his expression, and his mouth curves into a mockery of a smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. When are you finally going to get it through that stubborn little head of yours that nothing you do actually matters to me? The only thing that matters to me is my image—which, unfortunately, includes you now.” 

Despite everything you’ve been telling yourself, you almost say it. It’s right there, and it’s burning the back of your throat like battery acid: 

Why the hell did you shove your tongue down that scandalous little skank of a socialite’s mouth just last week in Tokyo if this is how you’re acting?

But you ultimately swallow it down because you don’t want his answers. Not anymore.

“You were foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, but ooooookay. By all means, bullshit me.” You huff, looking around to make sure no one is too close. 

Sunghoon clenches his jaw. “No, really. If you actually want to throw yourself at him somewhere more private, go right ahead. See if I care.”

“Oh, I will.” You go for the jugular because you’re tired and bored and angry. “Maybe I’ll let him buy me a drink. Hell, maybe I’ll even let him—”

“Go,” he cuts you off, and his nostrils flare. “Be my guest. I mean it, go.”

You just stare at him for a moment, and you can’t tell if he means it or not. “Heartless bastard,” you mutter under your breath. “You really are a fucking asshole, you know that?”

He tilts his head and huffs an empty laugh. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings? What, did you expect me to beg you not to go to him?”

“No, Sunghoon,” you breathe, “I don’t think you have any feelings left to hurt.”

You’re both painfully aware of the watchful eyes circling the ballroom—the way every gesture gets noticed, catalogued, and whispered about by people who’d sell their souls just to get a small understanding of what you’re saying. You keep your posture perfect with your teeth bared in something that only barely passes as a smile.

Then you scoff and turn on your heel.

Before you can take more than three steps, his hand is desperately around your wrist—not nearly as composed as he wants to look. It’s subtle enough that it might pass for a romantic gesture from the outside, but his grip is anything but soft. You freeze, and the whole world seems to slow down for just a second.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs.

And for a second—just one—your stupid, traitorous heart actually stutters at it like it forgot itself and heard something it’s been trained not to listen for. It’s quiet and almost careless, like he didn’t mean to let it slip out that way. He leans in a fraction and lowers his voice even more, as if the walls themselves might be listening.

“…It’s going to look like you’re storming off after an argument.”

There it is.

You laugh under your breath and slowly glance down at where his fingers are wrapped around your arm, then back up at him. “Let me go. I’ll do whatever I want.”

He doesn’t let go. “I know,” he says, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “But you’re not going anywhere tonight. Not with him. He’s—”

“What?” You hiss quietly. “Is he selfish? A liar? Cruel? Oh, maybe he fucks around? Or maybe he’s just another narcissist with a pretty face and a daddy complex? Is it all of the above?” Your mouth curves up, and you lean in to whisper in his ear. “Does that ring a bell?”

His fingers dig in harder. “Keep pushing, and I’ll remind you what happened the last time you mouthed off.”

You hum just to piss him off. “Oh? What’ll you do—drag me to the bathroom and fuck me stupid with all your precious investors ten feet away? That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? You’re literally incapable of doing anything else.”

He doesn’t answer. But you catch the way his jaw clenches and his eyes darken, and that tells you everything you need to know. God, he’s so easy. 

And you’re even worse, because you almost hope he tries it. 

“Let go, Sunghoon,” you say quietly. “You don’t get to grab me, and you don’t get to scare off the people I choose to talk to just because you don’t like how it makes you feel.”

His mouth curves into that same empty smile from earlier, though the way his fists curl at his sides says otherwise. “I don’t feel anything.”

“So let go.”

He does.

And you walk away without looking back.

You unclip the double strand of pearls from your throat with shaking fingers because it suddenly feels like it’s cutting off the last bit of air in your lungs. With a sigh you can’t quite control, you set the pearls down on the marble counter, and for a second you just stand there with your palms pressed flat against the surface, letting the coolness seep into your skin and settle the electric rage buzzing in your chest. You close your eyes and count to three in a pathetic little ritual because if you don’t, you’re genuinely going to scream. 

Back in the day, you’d be out on the balcony with her brother, keeping score while she and I turned the whole garden into a racetrack. She had pigtails, I had grass stains...

Oh, he can fuck all the way off.

Actually, no. He and the boy in that memory can fuck off, loop the block, trip down the stairs, and take that cocky little nostalgia reel with them while they’re at it. You don’t know what possesses Park Sunghoon to just reach into the past and pluck out something golden and innocent as if it belongs to him, as if those memories are communal property—like he didn’t spend the last three years pretending none of it mattered, but there is something deeply, profoundly unwell about the way his mind works, and you once again have zero interest in diagnosing it.

Those memories should be yours. Yours only.

But maybe the tragedy of it all is realizing that they never belonged to just one of you. They’re his, too, and you can’t unshare them no matter how badly you want to. No, actually. The real tragedy isn’t that those memories belonged to both of you once—it’s that he only reaches for them when he wants to win. When it benefits him. When he wants to remind you that he still has access to something soft and sacred and yours. 

You don’t want him touching them with his dirty hands.

The boy from the garden is gone. You buried him yourself. And if Park Sunghoon thinks he gets to stand there in his perfect suit and cruel composure and decide when that version of himself is convenient to remember—

The bathroom door swings open.

You don’t have to look. You know it’s him by the way the room seems to contract, by the way your skin goes tight like it’s anticipating the impact of whatever is about to happen next.

Sunghoon doesn’t say your name. He never does when he’s like this. His expression is unreadable; it’s the same one he wears in boardrooms and press photos—except his jaw is clenched way too hard, and his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second too long, and his eyes—God, his eyes are burning holes through you.

“Really?” You huff irritably and turn to face him. “You can’t give me five fucking minutes alone?”

“Are you finally done making a scene?” 

You laugh and look around humorlessly. “You followed me into the women’s bathroom. Want to rethink who’s making a scene? Wait, actually—don’t you dare stand there and try to lecture me. Not when you getting blackout drunk at a formal fucking event is the reason I’m even standing here, wearing this—” you flash your ring finger at him, “—stupid fucking ring in the first place.”

“Keep your voice down,” he bites out, voice low enough to make your skin prickle. “Fuck. Do you want everyone to hear how desperate you are for attention?”

“If I wanted attention, I’d go up to Jungkook and ask him to fuck me on the table.” Sunghoon’s jaw clenches at that, and you want to grin, but you’re too pissed off and have a lot to say. “You know, maybe if you spent half as much energy minding your own business as you do pretending not to care about mine—”

Sunghoon locks the door. 

“The fuck? Why the hell did you lock—”

“Shut up,” He clicks his tongue and takes a step further. “I’m here to make sure you don’t ruin everything I’ve worked for. But you’d love it if I cared, wouldn’t you? Is that why you keep pushing me? Or is it just easier for you to piss me off than to admit you want something from me that you keep denying?”

“If anyone is going to ruin anything you’ve worked for, it’s you, you sloppy drunk bastard.” You bite back, but you can’t ignore the heat simmering between you. “What I want is for you to leave me the fuck alone. Or is that too complicated for Seoul’s precious little prince to understand?” you say slowly, enunciating like you’re talking to a particularly dense child. “Me. Want. You. Gone. Away. Not. Here.”

Sunghoon seems entirely unfazed. “You don’t want me to leave,” he says, eyes heavy-lidded with something dark that makes your stomach twist as he steps even closer. “You never do.”

Fucking hell. He needs to stop eyeing you like he’s about to devour you and get the fuck out of here before you do something really, really stupid again.

“So help me, Park Sunghoon, if you take one more step closer, you’ll see exactly how far I can push you—right down those fucking stairs outside, and I’ll make sure you hit every single one on the way down—”

He’s in your space in half a heartbeat, and his voice feels like a blade at your throat. “Stop fucking talking. You talk so fucking much, you know that?”

“I do, actually,” you snap. “And I’ll keep fucking talking if I want to. You’ve been telling me what to do all night, as if I’d actually ever listen to you.” You shove your finger into his chest, hard enough to make his suit jacket wrinkle. “Why the fuck did you follow me in here like a dog? Huh? Should I throw you a bone to make you leave, puppy? Why are you here?”

“Because—” His voice cracks with anger, and his lips twist like the words taste sour in his mouth. “Because you make me so fucking mad I can’t even think straight. You drive me insane. Is that what you want to hear?”

Oh no. You know exactly where this is about to go. 

And you should stop it right here, right now, like a rational person, because you spent the whole night swearing up and down that you were above this and that you could see Park Sunghoon one (1) time and walk away with your pride and panties intact. Oh, who the hell are we fooling? Your brain’s been on a never-ending loop playing the image of him on his knees with his full pink lips wet from your slick and his face buried between your thighs while you try and fail not to sob his name, even though every person in Seoul desperate for a scandal is just on the other side of the door.

You are about two seconds away from setting feminism back an entire decade. Oh noooooo.

“No. No. No. I don’t want to hear anything coming out of your mouth right now,” you spit back and shove him square in the chest. “Leave me alone.”

He doesn’t budge. Not an inch. The only thing that moves is his hand of his own accord to catch your wrist mid-air. Before you can snarl or snatch it back, he twists your arm behind you and spins you so your front slams against the marble edge of the sink.

“Let go—” You start, but your breath stutters when he presses right up against you and cages you in with his hips, his chest, and the iron grip of his hand. “You fucking bastard—”

“Do you even know what you look like right now? Do you think I don’t know what you’re thinking? What have you been thinking of this whole night?” He mutters into your ear, his breath hot, his hand flattening yours against the cold marble. “You want to run your fucking mouth? Then say it to your own fucking face. Look at yourself.”

He growls and roughly brings his hand up to your jaw, and it’s big enough to cover nearly half your face as he forces your chin up until you’re staring at yourself in the mirror. You glare at his reflection, but the sight of the two of you like this—your body trapped between him and the sink, his broad frame blotting out everything behind you, the raw anger written all over your faces—sends a bolt of something hot and vicious right down your spine. 

Your (not so) precious resolve is slipping through your fingers again. You need to stop this. You really, truly do. This is a disaster. This is all so, so wrong.

So why do you want it more than anything you’ve ever wanted in your life? 

“Hmm?” He slides his hand down your throat and curls his long fingers just tight enough to steal the breath from your lungs, and squeezes once. “Cat got your tongue, princess? Go on. Tell me to leave. I want to hear you say it while you look like this.”

He’s everywhere all at once. Behind you, around you, filling every inch of your space like he owns it, and worst of all, he’s curling into every corner of your mind until it feels like there’s nowhere you could turn where he isn’t already waiting for you.

You swallow against his palm. “Asshole.”

“Go on,” he growls. “Lie to me.”

Fuck this.

Maybe it’s the champagne ever so faintly humming through your system and making you braver than you should be, or maybe it’s something meaner. Either way, you twist hard out of his grip and slam your palms against his chest and shove him back with everything you have. He staggers a step, and you don’t give him time to recover before you’re on him, fisting the front of his suit jacket and pushing him against the wall with a grip so fierce your knuckles go white. 

“You know what, Sunghoon?” You tighten your grip on his jacket. “You’re the one who followed me in here with your tail wagging like you just can’t help yourself. So you tell me, what is it you want so badly? 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He rasps furiously and tries to shove you off lightly, but you dig in harder and pin him right there. “Move. Don’t fucking push me.”

“No,” you spit. “Not this time. If there is something you want, you’re going to have to fucking ask for it.”

“Y/N. I said move, or—”

You click your tongue. “If you wanted to move me, you would’ve done it by now. So shut up, and use your words.” You drag your mouth along his jaw to taunt him, and you feel the way his chest stutters under your palm as you throw his favorite phrase back in his face. “You can have anything you want—if you just ask for it. Or is the big, bad Park Sunghoon too fucking proud to beg for what he wants?”

You let your tongue flick against the shell of his ear just to drive the knife in deeper, and you can feel the way he strains against his own pride and everything that’s kept him composed this long.

“You said those exact words to me, remember?” You whisper, letting your lips drag slowly down to his throat. “So which is it, Sunghoon?”

His jaw is clenched so tight you half expect him to crack a tooth, and there is a moment where you think maybe he’ll snap, maybe he’ll just walk away and leave you trembling with all this ugly, disgusting tension. But then his hand fists in your hair, and he yanks your head back just enough that your eyes meet his. 

“What makes you think you can talk to me like this?” He grits out, voice low, but there’s a tremor in it—something that’s not anger, not entirely. “You’re such a fucking bitch. Running your filthy mouth like you weren’t out there—”

You grin and cut him off. “And you’re not getting anything from me until you ask for it, pretty prince. Up to you.”

He stares you down, and for one deliciously glorious second, you think he might actually say it.

But instead, he drags you by the hair into a kiss that’s all teeth and fury, and your hands are everywhere at once—threading into his hair and tugging hard, dragging him closer like you want to fuse your mouths together until neither of you can breathe. He groans against your lips, and the sound of it goes straight to your core as you pull his jacket off him.

Sunghoon’s hands are even worse. One is fisted in your hair, and the other’s grip is bruising, possessive, and greedy as he slides it down the length of your spine to grab your ass, hauling you up till you’re practically grinding against his thigh. You claw at his chest, at the buttons of his shirt—anything to get more, anything to get under his skin. He lifts you effortlessly and sets you back down so your ass lands hard against the edge of the sink. His tongue pushes into your mouth and tangles with yours, and you moan and arch your back further into him—clawing at his shirt until you’re tearing the first button open, then digging your nails across his skin hard enough to mark him.

He answers with a breathless groan and shoves your dress higher, and his palm skims your bare thigh, and his fingers ghost over the band of your panties until you gasp right into his mouth. He brings his other hand back to fist it in your hair so he can tug your head back to bare your throat for him, and his lips are on you in an instant—trailing harsh kisses down the line of your throat, then dragging his tongue in one hot, wet line all the way from the swell of your breast up to your ear. He leaves absolutely nothing untouched.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn whiny for someone who’s always telling me this can’t happen again,” he growls into your skin. “Is this what you wanted? Is this what you’ve been thinking about, you slut?”

He sinks his teeth into your earlobe and soothes it with a slow lick, and you shudder and roll your hips up against him without shame. The feeling of him between your legs is maddening as you feel all that hardness straining right into your core, and it only makes you want more, more, more, and MORE.

You don’t bother responding to his taunts, so you just drag him down into another kiss, and he immediately melts right into you as if he flew right into the sun. He opens his mouth, and your tongue presses flat against his, and you whine into his mouth and cling to him and let him swallow every single desperate, needy little sound you make as his soft lips kiss yours bruisingly. He grabs your hips and grinds you down onto him harder. 

“Tell me you want me to fuck you right here like the whore you are.”

You almost want to keep mouthing off—almost. But then he’s pushing your panties aside, and you’re so wet for him it’s humiliating. He can feel it too because he immediately grins like he’s won. Smug bastard.

“Fucking knew it,” he growls, sliding a finger through your slick folds. “You run your mouth like a fucking bitch and tell me to leave you alone, but you’re dripping for my cock every time I so much as look at you.”

You grab his wrist before he can feel you any further, and you dig your fingers in hard enough to stop him cold.

“Not so fast,” you breathe steadily despite the way your body’s betraying you. “You’re not getting it so easily.”

His eyes snap up to yours. “Don’t start playing games—”

“Oh, I’m not playing.” You shove his hand away from between your legs and press your palm flat to his chest, pushing him back just enough to make space. “You don’t get to touch me like that unless you earn it.” 

Sunghoon cocks a brow, and you scoff right in his face. “What? What is there to be confused about? Did you think I’d just let you fuck me immediately because you’re huffing and puffing?” you say. 

The bathroom suddenly feels too small despite how ridiculously huge it is. All you can hear is his frantic breathing now, and he looks like he might explode before he gives you even an inch of what you’re asking of him.

You tilt your head and smile meanly. “Get on your knees.”

His laugh is strained and incredulous. “You really think I’m going to—?”

“I’m not here to think.” You immediately interrupt him. “On your knees. Chop-chop. What, do you need a fucking map?”

“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” he mutters as he stares you up and down.

“And you’re still on your feet,” you shrug. “Are you hard of hearing or just stupid? Whatever it is, I really don’t have time for men who can’t follow simple instructions. Might just leave and get someone else, honestly.”

“Someone else?” he repeats quietly, and you can see him getting angrier by the second. “Do you think anyone else could make you feel the way I do, huh?”

No. “Yes.” you breathe, “I told you, I’m not here to think.”

He steps closer, so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. “You want to test that theory, princess?” 

You let out a breathy laugh. “Who says I haven’t already?” Your throat feels tight because, for a moment, you think of Jake. Though you keep your expression taunting as you go on, “Matter of fact, I could call him right now. You know who I mean, right? You’re just convenient right now. Proximity, that’s all. But if I wanted to, I could—”

He smiles as his gaze flickers across your face. “I know you haven’t,” he says. “You’re a shit liar. You swallow every time you lie, and you never look at me when you do it.” His thumb lifts, and he hovers it right under your chin. “Just like now. But hey—he already had his fill with you, didn’t he? And yet, I’m the one you always come crawling back to. Guess proximity must work both ways, huh? Or is it just that no one else can fuck the attitude out of you the way I do?” 

You have to physically restrain yourself from headbutting him. Why does he always have to say shit like that?

“Okay,” You roll your eyes like you’re bored out of your skull. “Since you’re so good at reading me, tell me this—can you also tell when I’m horny? Because I’m genuinely getting turned off. Like, do you think it’s hot that you’re not willing to do something as simple as ask for what you want? Because I know how bad you want it, considering the second your dick’s barely inside me, you act like you’ve seen the face of God. Let me just tell you, this is not working for me right now.” You kiss his cheek softly, almost sweetly, then lick a stripe up to his ear just to piss him off. Your hand slides between you, and you reach down to palm his hard cock right through his pants, squeezing just enough to make him twitch. “Which is such a shame, by the way, because you’re so fucking hot when you’re angry. I’d let you do anything you wanted if you could just ask for it like a big boy.”

Sunghoon grabs your wrist and yanks it away, not quite gently. “Don’t test me.”

You shrug again, already glancing away like you’re bored. “Last chance. If you’re not going to do it, there are about a hundred men out there who’d get on their knees just for the chance to look at me. I don’t have time to babysit your ego.”

A long, loaded silence stretches between you with your eyes locked in that ridiculous battle of wills until Sunghoon finally lets out a slow exhale, shakes his head, and tongues the inside of his cheek like he can’t believe he’s even entertaining you.

Then, ever so slowly—like he’s physically fighting himself every inch—he drops to his knees in front of you.

There he is, down on the marble floor, all glossy dark hair and those stupidly perfect cheekbones, glowering up at you with his eyebrows furrowed so hard you think he might actually combust from how livid he is. His lips are pressed in a flat, furious line, except you can feel the raw energy of his desire rolling off him like you’re standing in the eye of some ruined storm that only wants to tear you apart, burning in the way his gaze rakes over your body and snaps straight back to your eyes. 

God, he looks good like this. 

You toy with the knot of his tie and let the silk slide between your fingers as you drag it up until you’re tipping his chin up just the way you want it. You force him to look at you and make him hold it, putting on the most self-pleased smile you’ve ever had in your life. 

“There you go. Took you fucking long enough, pretty boy,” you say, letting it drip with just the right amount of mockery.

“Fuck off,” he grinds out, and he looks like he’s seconds away from killing you, and it honestly just turns you on even more. 

See, the thing is, it’s no secret that you’ve been dying to slap him all night—God knows he deserves it—and considering the way he’s looking at you now, especially down on his knees? Yeah, he’s practically begging for it. 

So you do. 

Not too hard, but just enough to make it sting and make your point. Sunghoon doesn’t even flinch or raise a hand or anything; his eyes just fly wide in shock, like he cannot for the life of him believe you actually had the audacity to just do that. You watch the flash of disbelief twist into something so much darker, and before he can react, you’re already on him, grabbing his jaw with both hands and digging your nails in deep enough to make him groan. Sunghoon’s nostrils flare, and you swear you’ve never felt more alive. You feel drunk on the sweet, dizzying power of having Park Sunghoon glaring up at you, utterly furious and still letting you hold him like that.

“You’ve really fucking lost it,” he snarls, pale cheeks blooming red faintly under your grip. “You want to play like this? You actually want to see what happens if you keep pushing me?”

“I’m not the one still on my knees,” you purr, tracing your thumb along the sharp line of his jaw before dragging it over his bottom lip. “I wasn’t kidding before. I really, really am starting to hate how you always act so tough and take whatever you want without ever asking for it first, like a real man. I need you to use your words for once and ask me nicely. Beg for it.”

Sunghoon’s brows pull together tighter, and if looks could kill, you’d be dead twice over. “Keep fucking dreaming.”

“So you’re telling me your pride is bigger than your dick? That’s honestly impressive. But like, hello? You’re literally on your knees? And a few words is what you want to choke on? God, you’re pathetic,” you say calmly despite how fast your heart is beating. You let go of his face and turn on your heel, reaching for bait you’ve used before on him. “Whatever, I’m bored. Guess I’ll just go lock myself in that stall and take care of it myself, then. Maybe I’ll even moan your name if I’m feeling generous. Or better yet—I’ll go get my phone so I can send you a video or two so you see what you’re missing out on.”

You make it two steps before he grabs your wrist tightly. “Fuck. You’re insane,” he rasps, and his hands tighten on your wrist. 

You arch a brow and stare him down. “One word, six letters. Say it, and I'm yours tonight.”

“Shut up. Just—Stop,” He grits out, and he pauses for a moment. “Stop playing games and let me touch you. Let me make you come. I need—” He swallows, eyes dark and pleading. “I need to feel you.”

You brush your fingers over his lips again, and you watch his mouth twitch and fight the urge to open for you, and it just eggs you on. “Tsk. You forgot the magic word, pretty boy,” you pout. 

His lips curl into a snarl, but his eyes are anything but that. “Please,” His voice is trembling with something you’ve never heard before. “Please let me have you.”

Fuck.

You can feel yourself dripping down your own thighs just from the sound of him, the sight of Sunghoon on his knees, angry, desperate, and all for you. It’s honestly too much, and you can’t help but slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer.

“Good boy,” you purr. “Now shut up and put your mouth to work.”

He’s on his feet for barely a second before his hands are on you and hauling you up so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs. He turns you and plants you back against the sink with a hard shove, and then, just as abruptly, he drops back to his knees. His hands slide up your thighs and drag you closer until your ass is half off the sink and your knees brace around his shoulders. His grip is unforgiving and brutal now—fingers digging in so deep and harshly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises—as if he’s punishing you for every second you made him beg and for every ounce of control you stole from him.

“You want to fucking play with me? Fine. Let’s see if that filthy little attitude holds up when I fuck it right out of you,” he growls, and then he spreads your legs wider with a bruising grip, hooking your panties aside with two fingers and staring at your slick cunt with absolutely unashamed hunger, licking his lips like he could devour you whole. “Not. A. Sound. I’ll fucking stop and leave you here to rot if you do. Got it?”

You arch into his touch. “You talk too much.”

He digs his nails in even harder, so rough it’s almost cruel. “I said, do you fucking understand me?”

“Yes—fuck, yes, whatever—just—”

He slaps you hard across the thigh, making you jolt and gasp, the sting blooming delicious and hot beneath his hand. “Talk. Fucking. Nicely.”

You glare at him, but he just raises his brows and delivers a quick, stinging slap right across your pussy—enough to make you jolt and clench around nothing. “I said. Nicely.”

Your mouth drops open, but you’re too far gone to do anything but give in. He was literally just on his knees for you, so who cares? “Please, just—please, eat me out. Be good—be mean—whatever you want, just, please.”

“That’s better,” he smirks, and then he presses his warm tongue flat against your bare cunt, and like always, your thoughts immediately float up, up, and away. The first lick is absolutely gutting. He slides his tongue up slowly, right up your slit, and he doesn’t break eye contact for a second—doesn’t let you look away as his mouth moves like he’s trying to ruin you. You stifle a gasp and dig your nails into his scalp, but you can’t hold back the way your hips twitch up and chase every filthy flick of his warm tongue. He growls and bites your inner thigh hard enough to make you whimper, then he licks a stripe back up and shoves two fingers inside you without warning. 

“Go on. Keep running that bratty mouth for me,” he growls, curling his fingers until your back arches. “Let’s see how fucking clever you sound with my tongue and my fingers inside this pretty pussy. And stay fucking still.”

You try—try—to stay still, but the moment his tongue finds your clit, you’re arching off the counter with one hand braced against the mirror and the other still fisted in his hair, and he immediately holds you down even harder and sets a punishing pace. Fuck. Sunghoon eats pussy like he’s trying to carve his name into your bones with nothing but his tongue—he groans into your cunt like he’s the one getting off and like the taste of you on his tongue is the only thing that matters in the world. His lips are so soft and plush you almost laugh, because no one with a mouth that gentle should ever be allowed to be this fucking nasty and mean. You watch him between your legs, and it honestly looks like he needs this as much as you do—Maybe he’s addicted. Maybe he likes it too much. You’d tease him for it, but your brain can barely form a thought that isn’t just his name or a litany of please and fuck and don’t stop, don’t ever stop while his thick fingers spread you open, stretch you out, and fill you until you feel him everywhere, curling right where you need it most like he wants to coax your soul out through your cunt.

“What was that? Aw. Poor baby. Not so tough now, huh?” he mutters, voice muffled by your cunt. “Look at you, already falling apart, and I haven’t even fucked you yet. You know what they’d say if they walked in right now? You know what they’d see? Everyone’s perfect little princess spread out and taking it like a cheap slut.”

“Fuck y-you,” you gasp and try to twist away, but he pins you in place and slaps your thigh once more, and you wince at the sting of it. The slick sound of your wetness, his mouth, and the guttural sounds he makes when you grind down on his face make it genuinely impossible to think, to breathe, or to let alone care about whoever the fuck could walk by and hear you. “Sunghoon—My God—”

He did say not to moan, and you’ve been so, so good about it and biting it back until your jaw aches and your throat burns from holding everything inside. But there’s only so much a body can take. So the sound slips out of you anyway, not even to taunt him this time, but just because it’s becoming physically impossible to stay quiet with the way his thick fingers are fucking you open and curling just right. Sunghoon’s mouth tears away from you, and before you can even register the loss, his hand comes down hard against your thigh again, and your hips twitch helplessly.

“What did I fucking say?” he snaps, eyes dark as he glares up at you from between your legs. “Are you fucking stupid?” His grip tightens, fingers digging bruises into your skin. “You think this is a joke? You think I’m playing with you right now?” He leans back in and bites your inner thigh as his breath ghosts over your cunt. “One more sound,” he growls, “and I swear I’ll stop right when you’re about to break. You’ll stand here shaking and dripping with nothing but your own fault to blame. Got it?”

“M’sorry,” you pout, mocking him even as he squeezes your thigh harder to the point where it makes you jerk your thigh away from his grip on instinct. “You gonna punish me for it?”

He watches you for a beat, and you can tell he can see right through you—the flash of enjoyment in your eyes and the way you practically arch into the pain instead of shying away. And then, to your utter disbelief, Sunghoon actually laughs like he can’t help himself. “You like this too much,” he murmurs, “Little fucking masochist.” He sinks his teeth into your thigh again, and this time it’s harder, and he does it long enough to leave a mark, lips slick with you as he drags them up to your cunt again. “I’m not going to punish you.” He tsks, shaking his head. “Nah. Why would I give you what you want? Dirty little whore like you just gets off on being slapped around, don’t you?” He thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them in a way that has your back arching off the sink and your nails scrabbling for anything to ground yourself while he fucks you with his hand. “Am I right? Hmm? You’re not getting shit. That’s your punishment.” 

He groans and curses into you so animalistically you feel it vibrating right up through your core and straight to your soul as he buries his face deeper between your thighs. Then he slides two thick fingers back inside you and pumps them deep and curls them perfectly in the way only his fingers ever know how to hit that sweet spot, and latches his mouth back onto your clit—sucking with a ruthless hunger that has your head falling back and your mouth open in a silent scream with your eyes shut so tight you genuinely fear you’ll go blind from the force of it.

“Fuck—fuck—yes—oh my God, I’m so close, don’t you fucking stop—” you gasp with your hands tangled in his hair as you squeeze his face harder in your thighs, everything building so fast you could die from it.

He lifts his head just enough to speak with his breath hot against your soaked skin. “Yeah?” he coos. “You close? Gonna come for me, slut?”

You’re barely coherent now, grinding your hips helplessly into his face—chasing his nose, his tongue, his literal anything. “Yes, fuck. Don’t—Fuck. I need it. I’m about to come—”

And then fucking he stops. Just like that.

The absence is agony. He pulls his mouth and fingers away and leaves you empty and shaking, and you snap your eyes open to look at him just as the heat in your belly suddenly starts abandoning you, and you nearly want to sob from the loss. 

“Beg for it.”

You immediately scowl. “Are you fucking deranged—”

He looks up at you and licks his lips slowly. “What’s wrong, princess?” he taunts. “Did you really think I’d let you come that easily? You want to act like a bitch; you’re going to suffer like one. Beg.”

“I’m not fucking begging you for anything,” you snap, but your hips buck into his hand like you’re starved for it. “Don’t underestimate my willingness to kill you in this bathroom, Park Sun—”

“Then I guess you’re not coming tonight.”

He lets one finger rest right over your slick, swollen clit—just pressed flat and heavy as you squirm helplessly beneath him. It’s torture. It’s cruel. He knows it. He loves it. You can tell by the infamous smug look plastered on his perfect fucking flushed face, and you want to slap him so hard that his face gets dented into the drywall.

“Okay. See if I care.” you pant, and you brace yourself for a strike of lightning to hit you and smite you where you stand because you are so, so full of fucking shit. “I don’t need you to come.”

You glare and try to grind down for friction, but he doesn’t budge. “Come on, baby, don’t say that,” he drawls and clicks his tongue. “You want me to make you come so bad, but you can’t even swallow your pride and ask for it? God, you’re pathetic.”

“Fuck you—” 

He grins, letting the pad of his finger dip in just enough to feel how soaked you still are. “Pretty thing. So cocky a minute ago. Now you’re dripping down your thighs and twitching for me to keep touching you. Look at you. Spreading wide for me with your parents five rooms away. What would they think of their precious little girl? Do you think they know she’s a fucking whore?”

You glare, fighting the urge to sob, to scream, to claw at him until he does something. “You’re so fucking disgusting.”

He laughs, and he sounds too delighted, and his mouth ghosts over your inner thigh. “You like it. Bet you’d come just from me talking to you like this, wouldn’t you? I want to hear you say you need me. I want you to say you’re my filthy little slut. Go on. Or I’ll make you wait all fucking night.”

Fucking bastard. You should’ve known he’d pull this shit on you.

His finger dips lower, barely grazing past your soaked folds, then he pulls them away again and tortures you with every single second. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he whispers and uses his free hand to force your chin up to make you stare at the flushed reflection of yourself. “This is what you look like when you’re desperate to come on my fingers.”

“Fuck,” you choke out, and you feel your pride dissolving into nothing in real time. “I’ll do anything. Just—let me come.”

“Anything?” He smiles gorgeously and cruelly. “That’s more like it. That’s what I like to hear.”  His finger circles your entrance, still not giving in entirely, but it’s enough to make you whine. “Tell me whose filthy little slut you are. I want you to say it nice and flowery, just like you look, pretty baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, but he tightens his grip on your jaw until your gaze is locked with your own ruined reflection. “I’m—” The words are shameful, and you feel tears prick your eyes from the sheer overwhelming need to come and from how fucked out you already feel. “I’m your slut. Nobody else gets me like this, just you. I’ll be good; I need you so bad, Sunghoon—Want you to make me come so bad. Please.”

“That’s it,” he rasps. “My perfect little slut. All mine. You sound so fucking sweet when you beg. If anyone saw you right now, they’d know exactly who you belong to. Such a shame no one ever will.”

His finger finally pushes inside, and he dips back down and presses his mouth to your clit and immediately starts sucking harshly, punishingly, until the room spins again. You’re clawing at his hair, choking on your own moans, and barely managing to hold back any sound at all. He fucks you with his thick fingers harder and harder, rings dragging in and out of you with every pump, and your entire body bows, and pleasure rips through you so sharp it almost hurts.

“That’s it. Fuck. Make a mess for me.”

Your orgasm hits so hard you almost black out. But you keep your lips sealed and don’t let a single moan escape as your eyes roll back and your whole body shakes apart. Your head tips back and hits the mirror with a soft thud as your whole body quakes around his hand. “You know how good you look like this? Dripping all over my hand and biting your tongue like a good girl. Fuuckk.”

“Sunghoon,” you pant, voice nothing but a desperate whisper, not even sure if you’re begging or just clinging to the only name that means anything right now. “Sunghoon—Sunghoon—h—”

“Can’t even speak? You’re just my good little fucktoy, all dumb and desperate for me. That’s all you are.” 

He keeps pumping his fingers deep, coaxing every aftershock out of you and refusing to let you go. His breath is rough, and then he rises—mouth and chin shining with your slick—he leans in and captures your lips before you can even catch your breath. He kisses you slowly, and you moan quietly into his mouth, and he swallows it right up with his lips pressed tight to yours as his thumb strokes you in slow, lazy circles. He kisses your nose, then your eyelids, gently, reverently—and it always manages to shatter you even more than the roughness does whenever he gets like this. You clutch at his shirt and let yourself collapse against him with your face buried in his neck, just breathing him in.

But before you can fully catch your breath, Sunghoon’s hand is right back between your legs, and his thick fingers are sliding through your messy, dripping cunt like he owns it. “You’re not going anywhere until you’re wrung out and wrecked and leaking all over my hand. I’m not leaving you alone until you give me everything and beg me to stop.”

The joke’s on him, you think, even as your eyes roll back and you violently twitch in his grip as his fingers slowly start working you again, because if he still thinks you’ll ever beg him to stop, he’s clearly never met a girl who could match him round for round. You might just be the one who ends up leaving him wrung out and begging for mercy. But all your thoughts fade into static when Sunghoon shoves two of his fingers deep inside and twists it upwards until he finds that spongy, devastatingly sweet spot, and he stays there—swirling his fingers, pressing into it, rubbing you from the inside out, and the pads of his rings drag along your slick walls, making you twitch and arch and tremble against him. 

“Oh my god. That feels so—Why—why the fuck do you even know how to do that?” you gasp into his mouth, not even meaning to say it out loud. 

He smiles wickedly into your mouth. “You like that?” he tilts his head down to softly trail kisses down your neck. “It’s all you. You’re just so fucking sensitive and easy. I barely have to do anything, and you’re already falling apart for me.”

You’re still twitching and grinding helplessly down onto his hand, not even sure if you can stop as he pumps his fingers into you harder, the sound of your wetness filling the bathroom. “More—Harder. I could fucking live like this. Don’t you dare stop, Park Sunghoon, or I swear I’ll kill you—”

“You keep saying don’t stop. Why would I ever stop? Especially when you’re being so fucking good for me. So perfect. Just the way I want you.” He laughs—and it’s shaky and raspy, and so, so hot you almost can’t breathe. “Just look at you—fucking shaking and twitching on my hand and still begging for more. That’s what I fucking love about you—you can never get enough, can you?” He almost sounds dazed, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your hip. “Drive me fucking crazy.”

You instantly feel the weight of a thousand suns drop right in the center of your stomach—not from pleasure at all, but from the sheer audacity of that word coming out of his mouth. 

No. Absolutely fucking not.

You don’t give yourself time to think through the haze or even let it settle. Before he can even process what just came out of his own mouth, you fist your hand in his hair and yank him down, and he grunts in surprise as you drag him down and crash your lips into his messily. You suck on his lower lip until he groans, then you shove your tongue into his mouth furiously, like you’re reminding him exactly what this is and what it isn’t. His fingers keep pumping in and out of you, and his thumb drops back to your clit and starts working slow, cruel circles that make you twitch again and again. You dig your nails into his shoulders and then down his neck, scratching hard enough that he hisses into your mouth and bites down on your lip in warning. 

“Faster, Sunghoon—fuck, you’re so good, fuck, don’t stop, you’re perfect—fuck you, fuck—”

You scratch harder and drag your nails down his neck like you want to carve your entire being into him. You grind down onto his hand shamelessly and keep chasing that pressure inside you, and then his thumb presses harder onto your clit. Just enough.

You shatter.

He dips his head and kisses you again, swallowing every broken moan as you come for him a second time, harder than before. Your body seizes up so violently you nearly drag him down with you, and Sunghoon doesn’t even say a word—just grunts into your mouth while his fingers pump you through every aftershock and every shudder. He presses his free hand flat against your stomach, holding you steady as your muscles spasm and twitch under his palm, hips jerking helplessly into his grip like you’re not even in control of your own body anymore. Your forehead drops to his shoulder, and your body is still pulsing around his hand while he continues to finger your overstimulated cunt, and the only thing tethering you to the earth is the vice grip you have on him and the filthy sound of his groans in your ear.

“God, what the fuck are you doing to me—” you whine shakily. “Fuck.”

Sunghoon pulls his fingers out from you, and you don’t even waste a second, even through all your panting and shaking. You grab his wrist, bring his hand straight to your mouth, and suck his fingers in deep without breaking eye contact. You curl your tongue and taste yourself, then you moan around the thickness of his fingers just to fuck with him.

He bites his lip and stares at you like he wants to eat you alive. “My fucking girl,” he rasps when you bite down lightly on the pad of his index finger. “So fucking filthy.”

You ignore the way your heart skips a beat at what he says and pull his fingers from your mouth with a soft, wet pop, and before he can breathe, you’ve got him by the tie, yanking him down to devour his mouth again in an open-mouthed, desperate, filthy kiss. Your tongue traces the taste of yourself off his lips, and his mouth is hot and demanding as he kisses you back like he wants to fuck the air out of your lungs. Your hands fumble with his belt frantically with trembling fingers until you get it open, and his cock is already so fucking hard you swear you can feel it throb before you even wrap your hand around it. Fuck… you also don’t think you’ve ever seen him this hard and heavy, which is crazy because you’re pretty sure this thought occurs every single time you see him bare for you. 

You drag your hand along his length with the slowest, meanest rhythm you can muster, and the moment you pull back from the kiss and fix your gaze on him, a hunger to devour him whole washes over you so fast it makes you dizzy. Sunghoon’s pretty pink lips are parted and his head is tipped back, and a raw, guttural sound claws its way out of his chest, and it’s so fucking gorgeous you want to bottle it and wear it like perfume. You take your time with him and draw your fist up slowly from the thick, heavy root of his cock all the way to his flushed, leaking tip that’s dripping with need and slicking your thumb as you circle it in a lazy spiral. 

You pause at the crown, giving it an extra squeeze, thumb flicking over the slit until he jerks in your grip, so sensitive you genuinely almost feel bad for him. “Fuck—you’re really this needy?” you murmur, voice taunting and cruel as you watch another bead of precum well up and smear across your knuckles. “All pent up for me, poor thing.”

He shudders, breath hissing out between his teeth as you start setting a pace. “F-fuck. You little—Fuck—”

You smile lazily and lean in to lick a filthy, wet stripe right up his Adam’s apple, slow enough to feel him swallow around it. “Hmmm? Does that feel good?”

You don’t even get to enjoy it a second longer because his hand snaps around your wrist, and he looks down at you with dark, blown-out eyes and a crooked, dangerous smirk. Oh, fuck off. He’s doing it again. “I want to fuck you.”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Well, he’s certainly never said that before. The words punch straight through you like electricity, and they go all the way from your heart right down to your cunt, and your whole body seizes up and everything goes light and fuzzy at once as if your bones have been dissolved and every single nerve ending is sparkling with desire. He really should not have this fucking grip over you. Dear God.

“You do this every single time,” you manage, though your heart is shaking with need. “Trust me, I wouldn’t waste your time.” You purr, and then you hum and try anyway—ducking your head down instinctively as your hunger takes over—but he catches your face in his hand and presses his thumb into your cheeks until you’re forced to look up at him. 

“Uh-uh, not when you look like this,” he says quietly. “I’m not letting you get away with shit tonight.” His forehead drops to yours. “Not your mouth, not your hands, not a single fucking inch unless it’s your tight little pussy wrapped around my cock right now.”

Before you can answer, he drags you up for another kiss with his hand cupping the back of your head. He tastes like everything you want and shouldn’t have, and you can feel his cock pulsing in your fist as he grinds into your hand like he’s literally seconds away from losing his mind, and honestly, you might be too. Maybe you’ve lost it. 

And then—CLICK.

Someone tries the handle, and a muffled voice calls out from the other side of the door, “Hello?!”

The door rattles again, and another muffled voice comes on the other side, and your eyes fly wide open, and reality hits you like an absolute truck as logic, panic, and self-preservation all come flooding in at once. “Wait—Fuck, Sunghoon, what time is it—? Oh my god—How long have we—”

But he shuts you up by kissing you even harder and not letting you get a single inch away. The way his hand slides between your thighs again is so tremendously possessive and unhesitant—like he’d ruin you right here no matter who’s listening, who’s knocking, or whether you’re both about to be on the six o’clock news. He kisses down from your mouth to your jaw, then down the curve of your neck, and every word is spoken hot and breathlessly into your skin between the pulse points he licks and kisses. 

“To hell with it,” he mutters as he drags his lips over your throat. “There are other bathrooms.”

You try—you actually try—to claw your way back to logic and be the voice of reason for once, if only so you can look back and say you made an effort. “You’re supposed to—fuck—Sunghoon. Wait, you asshole—supposed to maintain appearances—”

He cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and it’s the kind that steals the thought right out of your head, and his hand slides up to palm your ass so he can drag you forward until your legs fall open for him. You instinctively arch into his touch because, honestly, what other option is there? The sound of the door rattling again and the distant panic of whoever is outside is nothing compared to the way his body slots against yours like it was designed this way or the way his mouth moves on your skin like he’s marking territory. And maybe you should care. Maybe you should panic, but you really just don’t. If anything, it makes it feel ten times hotter, and it feels like your clit might just catch flight and detach from how hard it’s buzzing. 

“Stop fuckin’ whining. There is not a single goddamn soul outside that door that I give a shit about right now,” he says with his mouth grazing your neck, then he licks a line up your throat, and you feel your knees threaten to give. “Nothing’s dragging me out of here until I’ve had you. I don’t care—” kiss “—if the whole fucking board tries to open that door. All I care about is you—” kiss, “—and the way you’re about to take every inch I give you.” 

You stare at him, and you think you’ve genuinely never ever been more turned on in your entire life. “You’re actually obsessed with me.”

“Yeah?” Sunghoon licks his lips and grins lazily. “You’re the one spread out on this counter for me, so what does that make you?” 

You don’t get to answer. Or maybe you do, just not with words, because the second his mouth crashes back onto yours, your body betrays you so completely it would be infuriating if you weren’t so damn turned on right now. He crushes his mouth back onto yours and slides his tongue in so hot and filthy that your knees actually threaten to give out. Your back slams into the mirror, and the sound that spills out of you and into his mouth is straight-up pornographic and embarrassingly loud. 

“Fuck,” he rasps like it actually hurts him. “We’re only kissing, and you already sound like I’m balls deep in you.”

He drags one hand up to squeeze your breast hard, and he digs his fingers in like he’s staking a claim, and you nearly sob from it. Then you whine even louder when he bites your lower lip and tugs on it while holding eye contact, all dignity lost to the sound of your own need.  “There,” He groans as his fingers pinch your nipples through the fabric, hard enough that you arch up for more. “That sound. You always make that sound for me. You like it when I kiss you? You fucking love it, don’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you gasp, but it comes out weak when he kisses you again and swallows the words whole. “I hate you so fucking much,” you try, but your mouth is too full of him for it to matter. “I thought you didn’t want me making any sounds, huh? What happened to being quiet?”

“I don’t want anyone else to hear you,” he says, like he doesn’t even know he’s saying it—dragging his mouth along your jaw until you shudder. “But maybe I’ll let them hear just enough—so they know you only ever sound like this for me.”

You shove him off before his head gets any bigger.

Just enough to break the kiss and buy yourself a single, agonizing lick of space. His heavy-lidded eyes glint like he’s about to grab you again, but you reach down and drag the top of your strapless dress lower (painfully slowly) until the corset dips and your breasts spill free, heavy and bare and flushed from how worked up you are. Nothing in the way except all that anticipation and a little bit of wicked pride. You do it just to watch the way his face changes.

And it’s beautiful. There’s no other word to describe the way his mouth falls open in a silent, almost reverent curse, like he’s seeing you for the first time and the thousandth all over again every single time. Every single cell in his body is locked onto the swell of your breasts, and his face is carved into pure, aching hunger—the kind that looks like he’d crawl through hell on his hands and knees just to get his mouth on you. He bites down on his bottom lip so hard you half expect to see blood, and for a second, you think he might actually just come in his pants just from you baring yourself for him.

“Oh, fuck me,” He groans, and then he’s on you in half a second and his hands are coming up to cup the weight of them, squeezing them hard, rolling his thumbs over your nipples as he leans down and takes one into his mouth. You arch into his mouth shamelessly—almost laughing at how fucking obscene you both are. “Fuck, these tits. You know how many times I’ve thought about fucking you just like this?”

You press your chest up into his mouth and gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple and his fingers squeeze around the soft weight of you. For a moment, you let yourself just bask in how completely ruined he looks. Park Sunghoon, usually so composed, is now devouring you like a starved man.

You bring your own hands up and brush your thumbs over your nipples as you force him to watch. His eyes drag over you, dark with desire. “Yeah?” you taunt, twisting your own nipple between two fingers. “What exactly did you think about, Sunghoon?” You purr and guide his chin up with your pointer finger, making him look at you. “Or are you too busy drooling to answer?”

He laughs low in his throat and pinches your nipple hard between his fingers until you gasp. “You really wanna know, princess?” When you nod, he brings his mouth right up to your ear as his hands knead your breasts. “I’ve thought about pinning you down and fucking you with your tits squeezed tight around my cock.” He groans and drops his head, then he sinks his sharp teeth into the curve of your breast in a burning bite that makes you moan with your back arching off the counter and your chest pushing shamelessly into his mouth as the mark blooms under his lips. “Every time I see you in one of these dresses, I think about covering them in my cum until you’re a mess. Then I’d make you lick it off your own skin while you look up at me like the needy little slut you are.”

You squeeze your thighs together. Honestly, this might be the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and you’re two seconds away from letting him do whatever he wants right here—

For fuck’s sake.

What are you even doing, letting him play with you like this? Some small, rational corner of your brain is shrieking at you to hurry up before someone kicks the door down and you end up on the front page of the news, but the rest of you? The rest of you is hopelessly, stupidly drunk on him and the way his mouth is wide open around your nipple, sucking like he wants to leave you marked forever.

“Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you someday. Just—just fuck me and get it over with. God, you’re so slow,” you gasp, letting your head fall back against the mirror as he squeezes your tits together and licks a stripe up from your breast to your jaw. “Fuck—Are you planning on taking all night or—?”

The asshole laughs, latches his mouth right back on your nipple, and swirls his tongue around it slowly, and then he lets go just long enough to let the cool air hit your wet skin. The look in his eyes is pure filth as he drags his teeth across your breast before he looks at you. 

“You really still don’t get it, do you?” he growls, squeezing your breasts rough enough to make you whine. “I don’t give a single fuck about time. You’ll take whatever I give you as slow as I want.” His tongue laps another wet stripe over your breast, then he bites down again hard enough to make your hips buck. “And next time you whine about how slow I am, I’ll keep you locked in this fucking bathroom all night. I’ll fuck you on every surface. We’ll see if you’re still a brat when you’re stumbling out to breakfast with my cum leaking down your thighs and everyone wondering why you can barely walk.”

Oh, you’re so fucking doomed.

But if there’s one thing you know how to do, it’s swallow your massive pride when it gets you what you want (especially when you want it this badly.) So yeah, screw this. You're not above a little begging, and besides, it’s not like you don’t absolutely eat up the way his eyes go pitch-black and starving whenever you whine his name in that desperate, wrecked tone you know drives him mad. 

So you lace your fingers in his hair and drop your voice into that sweet, spoiled cadence despite how every part of you wants to take him up on what he just said. “I wanna feel you deep inside me. Come on. I’ll be so good.”

He kisses you so hard you feel it all the way down your spine, and his mouth is rough and angry as his hand fists in your hair to yank your head back. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Say my name. Say it so I know you mean it.”

You roll your eyes just to piss him off, but your body betrays you with the way you squirm against him and reach for his cock to stroke him just once. “I want you to fuck me, Park Sunghoon. Want you so bad I could scream. Is that pretty enough for you? Or do you want it in writing, since you’re stupid?”

“You’re gonna eat those words, brat.” He huffs and suddenly he’s gripping your waist and hoisting you up like you weigh nothing, and then he spins you around so you’re facing the mirror and the image staring back at you is obscene: you, flushed and wild-eyed with your lipstick smudged, tits fully bare and heaving, with Sunghoon pressed up behind you with his shirt wrinkled and his tie loosened, so much taller, so much broader, his face smeared with your lipstick and his hands already roaming over every inch of exposed skin and your lipstick all over his face. He bunches up your dress around your waist and shoves your panties halfway down your thighs, all while spreading your legs wide with a hand rough enough to bruise. 

“Eyes on the mirror,” He lines up behind you and lets the heaviness of his fat tip press right up against your entrance, so big you almost sob from just the anticipation as his fingers dig into the softness of your thighs and ass, forcing you open even wider and more helpless in front of the glass. “You wanna act like a slut, you’re gonna watch yourself be one. Don’t even think about looking away. You don’t even blink unless I say so.”

And then he pushes in. He starts so slowly and it still nearly kills you, stretching you out inch by inch as your grip tightens on the sink and you bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud (though you fail terribly.) “Arch for me,” he growls and flattens his palm hard over your lower back, forcing your spine to curve and pushing your ass back into him until you feel every goddamn inch. It hurts—not in a way you want to stop but in a way that makes your brain immediately fade into static and your body greedily arch back for more even as your muscles struggle to take all of him. 

“F-fuck—oh my god—Fucking hell, Sunghoon—‘s too much—”

“I said eyes up.” His other hand comes down to cup your jaw and force your gaze up until you’re staring straight into your own eyes in the glass as your body trembles with how full you feel. You watch the way his Adam’s apple strains in the mirror as he groans and tips his head back out of pleasure and flutters his eyes shut for a second before they snap back open, dark and wild and locked on you in the glass. “God, you’re so fucking wet—the tightest fucking pussy ever,” he pants and pushes in even deeper, and you really can’t help the way you squeeze your eyes shut at the overwhelming sensation of being stretched open to the point where it borders on too much, toes curling and legs trembling as he splits you open inch by aching inch. Your body’s not sure if it’s pain or pleasure; all you know is you can feel him everywhere. You’re clenching around him so hard you nearly push him out, and Sunghoon’s grip just gets meaner as his fingers dig into your jaw to yank your face back up. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he bites out meanly, but there’s something almost tender in the way he stills with his cock nearly buried to the hilt, waiting for you and searching your face in the mirror. “Look at me—You want me to stop? Talk to me.”

“No, don’t stop, just—fuck—” you gasp and push back against him to feel every thick inch of him stretching you open and filling you up even more. “Need it. Need all of you. Don’t you fucking dare stop—no one’s ever been this deep. I want you to make it hurt—need you to fuck me stupid—”

“Listen to you. Such a needy fucking whore. Bet you can feel me all the way in your stomach, huh?” he rasps and snaps his hips even harder just to hear you cry out again. “Pretty fucking pussy stretched around me—fuck, you’re so fucking tiny and barely taking me, but you’re squeezing me like you’re trying to keep me inside forever.” His hand is still on your jaw, forcing you to keep your gaze locked on the mirror, making you watch the way your mouth falls open, the way your eyes roll back, and the way your breasts bounce as he starts to push deeper. “Yeah, keep your eyes open. I want you to see exactly how stupid you look. Look at your face, look at your mouth—fuck, look at those pretty tits bouncing for me. That’s it—good little slut.” 

You moan his name even louder this time, and it’s so pornographic you almost don’t recognize the sound as your own. “Fuck, you’re so loud tonight.” Sunghoon pants behind you, and the sound of your bodies meeting echoes obscenely in the bathroom, filthier than anything you’ve ever imagined. “You really do want everyone to hear, huh? Want them all to know who’s got you bent over and drooling?”

You just… can’t even answer. But he doesn’t give you the chance anyway. He shoves two thick fingers right into your mouth. “Open wider,” he commands, and you do, sucking him in so obediently and whining around them as you taste yourself on his skin, and the metal of his rings as he pushes them even deeper. He tips your head back until your hair falls over his shoulder and your neck is against him, and then his mouth is on your throat, trailing kisses as if he’s tracing the path of the ones he left there before. His thick cock pounds into you, and you feel every ridge, every pulse, and every sharp drag against your swollen walls. Sunghoon’s breath is hot against your neck as he fucks you harder and faster, rutting into you so furiously like he wants to leave bruises on your insides. 

Your body tightens without warning, and you feel that sharp edge climbing up where pleasure tips into something feral and uncontrollable. “Sunghoon. Fuck ‘M gonna come, holy shit—don’t stop. Go faster—harder.” You can barely even hold yourself up as his thrusts start turning even more brutal and relentless. You look at Sunghoon, and you see the way his nose is scrunched with his brows pulling together hard in concentration, his mouth falling open on a rough, broken groan as he fucks into you faster. His hips snap forward in short, brutal thrusts, every one knocking the breath clean out of you and making your body tighten so hard around him that he moans and throws his head back for a moment.

Then his hand slides up your throat, and he curls his fingers tight enough to steal the air right out of your lungs and pin you exactly where he wants you, forcing your chin up when your eyes try to flutter shut. “You—shiiit—really don’t fuckin’ listen, do you? Don’t look away.” You hold his gaze in the mirror, and he squeezes your throat slightly. “You like this?” His grip tightens and stars spark at the edges of your vision as he presses his thumb in ever so harder. “You like it when I choke you out like this?”

You nod frantically as your lips part around another obscene moan, and that’s what does it for him. His grip tightens for one deliciously brutal second more, and then he releases you right on the edge. You gasp and shudder and cling to him with your chest heaving, and he holds you up while softly sliding his palm down your neck and caressing your throat with his thumb.  “Fuuuck—shit, you feel insane—Shit, you’re so fucking tight. So warm. You’re clenching so hard I can barely move.” Each syllable is punched into you with a bruising snap of his hips. Then he pulls almost all the way out again, cock dragging along your walls, leaving you empty and aching, before driving all his thick throbbing inches back inside in one brutal thrust. “I’m fuck—I’m getting close—shit—Keep your eyes on me. Good girl. Juuuuust like that. Don’t hold back your pretty noises.”

Sunghoon’s name rips out of your throat like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known how to say as your orgasm crashes over you so hard you almost black out. The only thing anchoring you to reality is the grip of his hands—one bruising your hips, the other tight around your throat—while you convulse and twitch, forced to keep your eyes on the mess you are in the mirror. It’s obscene, it’s raw, and it’s everything you said you’d never let happen again. But there has never been a single thing in your life that’s ever felt as right—or as wrong—as being fucked senseless in the women’s bathroom at this stupid fucking annual party or whatever as your body clamps down around him, fluttering and squeezing so tight it makes him lose his rhythm and curse under his breath.

“So fucking perfect. You know who you belong to now, don’t you? This tight little pussy is mine, you hear me? Tell me who owns you.”

Even now, all breathless and twitching, you bare your teeth in the mirror and glare at his reflection. “Fuck you. M’not telling you shit.”

Sunghoon’s mouth twists. “You wanna play that game right now?” 

His hand snaps away from your throat, and before you can even catch your breath, he pulls out of you with a rough curse, leaving you gaping and empty. You try to move, but he grabs your wrists and pins them behind you, and he rips his tie loose from his collar with one hand. You barely even have a second to struggle before he’s wrapping it around your wrists and tying it so tight your pulse jumps against the silk. You whine and attempt to mouth off, but he manhandles you and holds you steady with one big hand pressing into the small of your back to keep you balanced. He drags you back onto his cock with no patience, just brute force, fucking you even deeper with your wrists tied behind your back. You’re so dizzy and wrecked and fucked out that the part of you that should be arguing (just for the hell of it) barely even gets alerted. If anything, your brain offers up a traitorous thought that this is… hot. Does he really think this is some sort of punishment? He yanks it tighter on your wrist, and all you can do is arch back further into him as he shoves you deeper onto his cock, every inch dragging a broken moan out of you every time he thrusts. 

“Look at you, not even fighting it. Can’t even pretend you don’t like being tied up and used like a little toy. Fuck, you’re so loud—Yeah. Moan for me. Shit—Sluts like you need to be kept on a leash.” He thrusts again, harder, deeper, like he’s trying to push himself into places that don’t exist, and you feel it pressing in everywhere, in your spine, in your ribs, and in your soul. And then he just buries himself inside you to the hilt and goes perfectly still. He grabs your face in his big, rough hand and tilts your head right into himself, and his thumb presses into your cheek as he leans in. “Now be a good girl and tell me where you want me,” he pants, and his voice is so wrecked and raspy it almost makes you come. “You want to walk out of here stuffed full of my cum and leaking down your thighs, or should I paint your pretty tits and make you lick it off in the mirror like the messy little whore you are?”

You bite your lip, still defiant, and still very much cock-drunk—but the thought of him filling you up again has your knees buckling and your cunt clenching down around him, desperate for every drop he can give you. “I’m on the pill.”

And that’s all he needs to hear. Sunghoon groans, and his hand comes down hard against your ass and the sting shoots straight through you. “Knew you’d want it—knew you couldn’t go a single night without me filling you up. Fuck—” He yanks you back with the tie even harder until your chest bows out. “You want me to breed you like this—You wanna walk back out there with everyone watching you, smiling like nothing’s wrong, while you’re dripping down your thighs and all you can think about is me inside you—my cum, my fucking cock—”

“Ah—you talk so much,” you pant, tossing your head back against his shoulder. “I want it. I want all of it. Wanna feel you leaking out of me every time I walk. Fill me up.”

He twists you suddenly and wraps one arm around your waist to lift you clean off your feet and slam you back against the wall. The tile is cold, but your gasp is swallowed instantly as he crashes his mouth back into yours. It feels like forever since he last kissed you, and it’s so frantic that it feels like neither of you can afford to waste a second not kissing. He hikes your thighs up, grips under your ass, and starts fucking into you while standing, and every single thrust knocks a broken moan out of both of you. His hips snap faster, and his nose scrunches as he loses himself completely, groaning your name like it’s torn out of him. “Fuck—Sunghoon—” you moan in response, locking your legs tight around his waist like you want to fuse your bodies together until you’re one.

He moans into your mouth and bites down on your bottom lip, spit trailing between your lips. “Gonna breed you right here, baby. You ready for me? You’re gonna take every drop—bet you’d let me fuck you in every room of this fucking building. Fill you in each time till you’re just full of me and nothing else.”

“Want it,” you gasp, dizzy and delirious and not entirely sure of what you’re even saying anymore, “Need you to come inside me. Make me yours.”

“You’re already mine,” he growls as his breath comes in short, hungry gasps, getting sloppier and sloppier with every thrust as he chases his own high. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill, mine to break. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

If you had half a mind to care about anything else, like the rattling doorknob or the muffled voices outside or maybe even the shit that’s coming out of his mouth right now, you’d tell him to eat shit and die, or you’d just definitely say something smart, but all you care about is that perfect, ecstatic, devastating rush of pleasure building up once again as you feel the thick head of his cock press into you even harder from this angle, the way your name sounds falling from his lips, and the fact that you’ve never felt so fucking alive in your life as Sunghoon fucks you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, grunting, moaning, and burying his face in your neck as he finally loses it and spills his load deep, deep, deep inside you. He holds you pressed to the wall until the shaking subsides as his lips drag lazy, ruined kisses over your jaw. His hands don’t leave you—not even when he finally pulls his cock free with a slick, obscene sound that makes your cheeks burn. 

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he slides his hand up to untie the tie from your wrists, fingers working clumsily as he continues to slightly tremble and pant from how hard he just came. The second you’re free, Sunghoon holds you and steadies you by kissing you like he could swallow you whole. He’s flushed and pink, and sweat is dripping down his temple, with his hair sticking to his forehead. You lean in and lick a hot stripe up his cheek, tasting salt and heat, dragging your tongue over the sweat at his hairline just to hear him whine, eyes fluttering, so sensitive he shivers. “God, you’re so fucking hot like this, I could eat you,” you murmur deliriously against his skin and press a kiss to his nose, “Can feel you dripping out of me. Want to take care of it and make sure it stays in?”

Sunghoon grunts a curse and pushes your back flush against the cold wall again, and then he drops to his knees right there on the bathroom floor without another word, like he’s worshipping at the altar of your ruin. Then his hands are spreading you open, thumbs digging into your thighs as he stares at the mess dripping out of you, his cum spilling slowly and stickily down your legs. Sunghoon’s eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, wild, and utterly fixated as he licks his lips and groans low in his throat. “So good—so fucking perfect—I can’t believe how fucking pretty you look right now.”

He slides two thick fingers into you and gathers up every drop of his cum spilling out of you, and he pushes it back in deep, fucking it up into you with a slow, relentless twist that makes you whine and claw at the tiles. “Don’t waste a fucking drop,” he murmurs, and then he brings his face right to your cunt, sharp nose pressing just where you’re the most sensitive as he leans in to mouth at your swollen cunt, sucking at the slick mess and grunting as his tongue swirls on the taste of both of you. “So much—fuck—I’m going to have you like this every night until you can’t even walk, until all you know is my dick, my cum, my name, just me.”

You shudder and reach for him to tug his hair, arching your back to offer more into his mouth, eyes rolling back as his tongue and fingers work in tandem, licking and sucking, nose pressing hard into your clit until you’re mewling for him. 

You have this stupid, floaty thought right at the edge of your brain, which is unhelpful and very much not the time for it, about how the last man you were with couldn’t even stand the sight of his own cum after. And now here you are grinding into Park fucking Sunghoon’s mouth as he eats his own cum right out of your pussy and moans into it like he’s being blessed by the heavens.

“Sunghoon—oh, fuck—Fuck—Oh my God. What the hell is wrong with you, you fucking freak?” 

It honestly isn’t the filth that has you falling apart—but it’s the way he looks up at you through his lashes while he does it. His eyes are filled with a kind of tenderness that shouldn’t exist in a moment like this, but that thought floats away as quickly as it appears when he gathers the slick on his fingers and pushes them back into your sensitive, fluttering entrance again—one finger, then two, and then he sinks a third in with no warning.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he breathes, glancing up through his lashes, smug and gentle all at once. “Just know what I want—Look at that. Stretched you out so good you’re taking three fingers with such ease now. I could play with this pretty pussy all fucking night.”

You reach down and tug on his hair hard to drag him up to look at you. “Y-Yeah?” you breathe, barely holding yourself together. “Tell me I’m replaceable now, Sunghoon. Fuck—look me in the eyes and s-say it again.”

He blinks up at you, and his brows knit together for a moment. Then he gives you a disgustingly dangerous half-smile and your heart stutters, because you’ve only ever seen him look like this when he’s drunk out of his mind. “Can’t. I can’t,” he slurs. “No one—fuck—nobody tastes like you. I hate it. I fuckin’... hate you.”

You stare down at him, and for a second, your brain just blanks at how he just folded for you, babbling like it’s your fault his self-control dissolved somewhere between your thighs. And you—God, you’re not even mad, are you? No, you’re practically glowing and melting right onto his stupid, perfect face. Part of you definitely wants to gloat and say some nasty, mean shit, but your brain is too fried, and your pride is too busy soaking up the way he’s falling apart at your feet. All you can do is clutch his hair and roll your hips into his face. You moan so loud you’re sure the whole building can hear it, but you truly don’t care when his mouth on your pussy feels better than sin and better than forgiveness and better than anything you’ve ever known. 

You come again with his name caught and breaking in the back of your throat, knees giving out so hard you have to grab onto him just to stay standing as pleasure rolls through you in hot, blinding waves. Sunghoon stays exactly where he is—holding you together while you shake and gasp and come apart.

“Spread your legs wider. I want to see how much more you can take.”

And god help you; you already know the answer.

Somehow, against all odds and most laws of god and man, you manage to pull yourselves off each other and look vaguely human again to re-enter civilization after having just broken every single promise you’ve ever made to yourself and to poor, long-suffering Wonyoung. Oh God. Let’s not think of Wonyoung right now.

You look in the mirror one last time before you turn to leave, and you somehow (kind of) look like a functioning, perfectly respectable human being and not like a girl who just got fucked to hell and back by the devil in Prada for God knows how long. Also, by some absolute miracle—or maybe just Sunghoon’s freakish self-control—there’s not a single incriminating mark on your neck. Nada. Which is crazy considering he’s always tearing into you like a feral dog. Sunghoon’s neck, on the other hand, is sporting a suspicious flush, and there are definitely like three hickeys half-hidden by his collar if you look too closely. (Oops.) But despite that, he somehow looks even more put together than when he went in, which is absolutely fucking infuriating—downright offensive, honestly.

But whatever. The horror and shame of anticipating the looks you’re about to get when you re-enter that ballroom is so much louder than any petty anger at the fact that Park Sunghoon is apparently immune to looking like a mess. Besides, it’s also hard to keep track of anything when you’ve just spent the last five minutes bickering like lunatics while both of you were still half-breathless and trying not to strangle each other over who should walk out first and what to say and what not to say.

So the two of you do the walk of shame with the kind of composure only the truly deranged can manage: steps perfectly in sync, faces perfectly blank, and not looking at each other once. You think—just maybe—you’ll actually make it. Just slip right back into the crowd, pretend you were powdering your nose for an ungodly amount of time, and no one will ever know—

“ARE YOU—NO. Are you KIDDING ME?!” 

Oh, dear sweet baby Jesus. Here we go. 

Heeseung practically yells (startling the living shit out of the two of you), stumbling back into the opposite wall with his eyes blown wide with pure, biblical horror. You barely have time to blink before his finger is flying back and forth between you, Sunghoon, and the now-infamous bathroom door. 

“Hee—?” you start, but you know it’s too late. You can practically see the gears in his head breaking down one by one in his head.

“Don’t Hee me,” Heeseung’s eyes flick to the poorly hidden lipstick stains on Sunghoon’s collar (your handiwork) and your slightly failed attempt at powdering up your smudged mascara (Sunghoon’s handiwork). “Oh my god—At first I thought—No, I prayed—I was literally texting Jay. He was like, ‘Heeseung, there’s only one Sunghoon out there, man, accept it,’ and I said, ‘Noooooo, our Sunghoon? Bro he’s not capable. He drinks tea with his pinky out.’ But then—I don’t know, man, I started thinking about it… And I was like damn, it checks out. But thinking it and hearing it and now seeing it are three very, VERY different things.” 

“You told Jay?!” you wince.

Heeseung looks at you like he’s offended you’d even ask that, and then he ignores you and gestures wildly at Sunghoon again (who is seemingly too stunned to speak right now.) 

“Guys. Mannnnnn. In the women’s bathroom? At your family’s event? THAT LOUD?! Ohhhhh. I want to be dead,” Heeseung adds sincerely. “Lord, I’m ready to come up.”

Honestly? Same. Except you’re pretty sure whatever direction you’re headed, it’s definitely not up.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, covering your face with both hands as the absolute terror of how loud you actually were comes crashing down on you. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Meanwhile, next to you, Sunghoon looks as if he’s been hit by a truck, but in classic Park Sunghoon fashion, he is valiantly remaining composed. Though you can tell that he’s clinging to whatever’s left of his sanity by a single, rapidly fraying thread as his eyebrow twitches. 

“Hyung, you’re being a bit too dramatic,” Sunghoon says calmly. “You’re just… drunk. Let’s go sit down, yeah?”

“You think I have enough alcohol in my system for this?” Heeseung’s eyes bulge even wider, and you wonder how that’s even possible. “Y/N, how—how am I supposed to look your mom in the eye again? She literally chased me down—twice—asking if I’d seen you. I started avoiding the ballroom after, like, forty minutes because I was sweating so much I thought I’d leave a trail behind me. I mean, do you two just—feel nothing? No shame? Is nothing sacred? Is sex just—not SACRED anymore? Is that it?!” He fans himself dramatically. “I’m sweating again. I need to change my name and go to Bali and become a man who sells bracelets on a beach. Or maybe I’ll become a nun. Yeah. Nun sounds good. Do they take boys? Wait, do not answer that—I cannot handle a hypothetical rejection right now, I am far too emotionally fragile, and frankly, I don’t want to know. In fact, I don’t want to know anything anymore.

“We should’ve left separately,” you hiss to Sunghoon and smack him hard in the arm as Heeseung continues to speak in tongues. “I told you—didn’t I fucking tell you? Look at what you’ve done. You broke Heeseung. Like, actually broke him. Are you proud of yourself?”

Sunghoon barely blinks. “How the hell is this my fault?” His voice is maddeningly calm and borderline amused, which only makes you want to set him on fire.

“Because! Because you—with your freakish stamina and your deranged control issues and—” you gesture furiously at him up and down, “—your stupid, evil cum kink—”

Heeseung stops mumbling and makes a choked sound like a dying bird, and Sunghoon’s nostrils flare as he looks at you. “You wanna try saying that a little louder, sweetheart? I don’t think the pastry chef in the next building heard you.” He huffs, “And I fucking said let’s wait five minutes. What did you say?” He lifts a finger in the air and drops his voice into a perfect mockery of yours: “‘Noooo, nobody’s out there—it’s already late enough, you fine, handsome man, oh, you absolute sex god, Sunghoon, please—’”

You smack him even harder this time. “I did NOT say that last fucking part—!” 

“WELL, CLEARLY SOMEONE WAS OUT THERE! Hello! I’m still here!” Heeseung points between you two, making a sound that can only be described as the death rattle of a man who saw Satan and lived to tell the tale. “Just stop. No more talking from you two. Stop saying things. No more. There are children here, you filthy sex goblins—”

“There are literally no children at this thing—”

“I’M the child now!” Heeseung plants a palm to his chest and flashes you his big, desperate, drunken Bambi eyes. “I have regressed. I need my mommy.”

“Oh my God. Can we not do this in the hallway?” You ultimately give up and groan, stepping closer to pat Heeseung on the arm in some sort of comforting way. “Come on, Hee. Deep breaths. Let’s get you some water, okay? And then, I’ll have to kill you so you can’t tell anyone about this. No hard feelings.”

“Oh, good,” he nods dramatically and gives you a thumbs up. “Make it quick. I’d rather die than live in a world where I got front row auditory tickets to the Park Sunghoon Breeding Kink Extended Director’s Cut.”

Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “Heeseung, seriously, stop fucking talking—”

“Don’t talk to me right now, Sir Breedalot.” Heeseung yelps and scoots closer to you and physically hides behind your shoulder, clutching the back of your arm like a human shield as he presses his forehead into your neck.

Sunghoon’s eyes widen comically in absolute disbelief at the nickname, and his brows raise up so much they’re practically kissing his hairline, but before he can say anything, you nearly choke trying to keep a straight face—and the laugh escapes anyway—a sharp, traitorous snort you try to disguise as a cough again, which only makes it worse.

Sunghoon slowly turns to you with murder in his eyes. “Don’t,” he says flatly. “Fucking laugh.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Shut the fuck up.”

Heeseung, unfortunately, has momentum now. And once Heeseung gets momentum, God himself couldn’t stop him. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. My brother,” He pulls you closer and squeezes your arm, “Not the guy who desecrates public property with my pseudo-little-sister. Not the guy who talks during it. You talk so much. So. Much. Oh my god.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenches. “Were you fucking list—You know, you didn’t have to stand there, you freak.”

“Don’t give me that look! You know that the bathroom is right next to the fucking lounge I escape to! And for the record, I left,” Heeseung says, backing away when you also turn to glare at him. “Oh, I left. I’m not a monster. But… then I came back because… because? Bro, do you even know how long you were in there for? I thought it was a medical emergency, Sunghoon. Do you understand? I was worried. I am a good man.”

“I was fine,” Sunghoon huffs.

“YES. I KNOW THAT NOW.” Heeseung shrieks. “Wait—Is this, like, a thing now? Are you two… Is this happening? Like, for real? Because I’ve had my suspicions ever since I caught you in my own fucking living room—thanks for that again, by the way, really lovely. Nice little public sex kink you have going on right now, very cool, very not fun for me. But is this… are you two, like…? Is this a regular thing? Are you—” he lowers his voice, “—fuckbuddies?”

“Yes,” Sunghoon says immediately.

“NO,” you snap at the exact same time.

There’s a beat where all three of you just stare at each other. Then you whip around and slap Sunghoon upside the head so hard his hair flops. “Are you out of your rotten, diseased, childish mind?”

Sunghoon just shrugs like he’s above it all, but his lips are twitching at the corners. You think you might strangle him. “What? It’s the truth. And it’s Heeseung.”

“You know what? Heeseung is gonna go—Heeseung is going anywhere else. I’m gonna go sit down. Or maybe just try to lobotomize myself with a butter knife,” Heeseung groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I genuinely can’t—like, I literally can’t even process what this means for your relationship, you know? No—please, God. Especially having to sit and witness the two of you acting like you’re not hopelessly in love with each other since the dawn of civilization, like some modern-day retelling of Romeo and Juliet except you’re both freaks and meaner and, frankly, more dramatic—”

Your mouth actually falls open. Like. Fully. You stare at him in pure horror and finally find your voice. “Shut up. Oh my God, shut up right now.”

Sunghoon clears his throat loudly beside you and looks very interested in the far wall. “You’re out of your mind,” he mutters, sounding offended. “With her? Please. Don’t make me sick.”

You immediately shove Sunghoon, and he barely even stumbles back. “Oh, fuck you—”

Heeseung pauses and looks between the two of you, then scoffs and throws his hands up. “Oh, I’m the crazy one? Woowwwwww. Okay. Yeah. Let’s all gang up on Heeseung. He’s sooooo handsome and hilarious and whimsical and underappreciated.” He points at you, then at Sunghoon. “You know what? Figure yourselves out. Or don’t. I don’t care. I care a normal amount. Which is not at all because I’m normal.” He turns and starts walking away, then spins back around. “Also, you’re both NASTY. Deeply. Just so we’re clear. AND THAT’S COMING FROM ME!”

And then, still muttering to himself as a deranged man lost at sea, Heeseung disappears around the corner and leaves you and Sunghoon standing there in what is quite possibly the most cursed silence of your entire lives. 

“…Don’t fucking start,” Sunghoon says.

“Oh, I’m absolutely fucking starting,” you say, and then kick him in the shin. “We need to set some ground rules for… whatever this sex thing is.” 

Sunghoon raises a brow. “So you finally admit you want it to keep happening?”

“Don’t give me that smug look of yours,” You scowl. “It’s just sex.”

“Did I say it was anything else?” he fires back with a shrug, then he huffs out a low, humorless laugh and shakes his head. “And I don’t know what this obsession is you have with… rules, but I’m not doing that shit. Not on your terms.”

“Too fucking bad,” you fire back instantly. “I don’t care.” You jab a finger into his chest. “Go get me a pen and paper, unless you want me to carve them into your forehead.”

He stares at you like he’s deciding whether to throttle you or not, then after a moment of silence, he ultimately sighs and rubs his face. “You are so fucking annoying,” he mutters.

You smile sweetly and entirely unrepentant. “And you’re still going to listen to me. Chop chop, pretty boy.”

FEEDBACK & REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ( ˘⌣˘)♡(˘⌣˘ )

[hoonkitti]

save a horse, ride a cowboy ─ ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

what's better than riding a big horse? ride the owner, and his bigger horse!

𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 i make a lot of noise 'cause the girls they are so pretty. riding up and down broadway. on my old stud leroy. and the girls say, "save a horse, ride a cowboy!" everybody says, "save a horse, ride a cowboy!" ─ save a horse ride a cowboy, big & rich ⫶ 𐔌masterlist꒱

𓆩♡𓆪 you know i have to. i have to. speedrun the crap out of this <3 !! this is so nasty ahwhejdxj so just brace yourself for little plot n just filth >.< i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless~ as usual, reblogs, comments, likes, and asks are soo appreciated!

word count 10k warning advisory cheating, sexual tension is crazy, light possessive behaviour, lots of flirting, he's so fucking hot, they're so down bad for one another but adult style, innaccurate cowboy jargons, i don't proofread the smut because i'm shy smut advisory more fucking than plot, making out all the fuckin' time, sunghoon has a big cock sorry, pussy eating/licking, squirting, fellatio, throat fucking, fucking against the countertop, face sitting, cowgirl (duh!), mating press, creampie, lots of dirty talking, profanity, reader orgasms a lot, reader's a lil bratty, dom!hoon, fucking while wearing the cowboy hat yeehaw >.<

“what the fuck…?” 

the car sputtered one last time before the engine died completely, rolling to a pathetic stop on the empty stretch of highway. dust kicked up around the tires as you gripped the steering wheel tighter. 

“no, no, no—come on!” you slammed your palm against the wheel, once, twice, the horn blaring uselessly into the dry air. the dashboard lights flickering like it’s mocking you before going dark. 

dead.

just completely dead.

you twisted the key in the ignition again—nothing. not even a weak cough or a vibration—just silence. “baby, seriously? now?” your voice cracked with frustration as you let your forehead thud against the steering wheel—once, twice—hands gripping the wheel. 

“i just got you out of the workshop!” 

you were already running late, even dressed up nicer than usual—your baby tees that weren't oil stained for once, the one that hugged your curves just right, paired with shorts that fit, and the delicate necklace your boyfriend had given you last month. 

not to mention, your hair was done, a touch of makeup—with that fluttery feeling in your tummy because tonight was supposed to be special. weeks of texting, late–night calls, finally seeing him again…

and now you were stuck on the side of some forgotten highway with a dead car and no signal. 

you let out a shaky breath. thank god the sun wasn’t dipping yet—it was only around 4 p.m. there was plenty of daylight left, hours before the sky would think about turning purple orange. that bought you time to get some help and inform your boyfriend the car was broken.

except…

your phone had no signal.

“oh my gosh—is this a joke?” you shook your phone again, tapping the surface on your palm in hopes it’d suddenly receive a signal from somewhere. when it didn’t—you tossed your phone to the side, landing on the passenger seat. 

“okay… okay yn, think,” you muttered to yourself, leaning back and rubbing your temples. pop the hood? you weren’t a mechanic—you’d only do damage to the car. or wait it out—someone had to drive by eventually, right? 

you stared out the windshield at the empty road stretching both ways, the quiet was almost too loud. your eyes trailed up to the little hill. you could walk a little ways to see if you could find higher ground for signal?

but it’s so… high and your last meal was a brunch that was almost four hours ago…

sit here and… hope?

you reached for the door handle, about to step out and at least look like you were doing something, when a sound caught your ear—clearer and closer.

hoofbeats.

steady… unhurried… like the rider itself had all the time in the world. 

you froze, hand still on the handle, and watched from the rearview mirror as he emerged fully into view.

a lone rider on a sleek black horse, moving along the edge of the highway. dark jacket opened over a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his black cowboy hat pulled low, shadowing his face just enough to make your stomach flip with curiosity.

the way he sat on the saddle—straight–backed, relaxed but controlled—that quiet confidence dripping off him. 

the man guided the horse closer, slowing to a stop a respectful distance from your car. the animal snorted softly, tossing its head to the side, and the rider leaned forward to calm it with a gentle pat on the neck.

then—those dark eyes lifted to meet yours through the mirror.

sharp. intense.

your breath hitched in your lungs—he swung down from the saddle effortlessly, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. tall—taller than you’d expected—long legs, lean build … biceps… the kind of presence that made the wide–open desert space around you feel suddenly smaller.

he adjusted his hat with one hand, the other holding reins loosely, and took a few slow steps toward your opened passenger window.

“hey there,” he said, voice low and smooth like… whiskey over ice, a faint tint drawl curling around the edges. he tilted his head just slightly, studying you—and the dead car—with calm interest.

“car troublin’ ya?”

your mouth went dry and you swore you forgot how to breathe. up close—he was even more fuckin’ striking. high cheekbones, honey skin glowing in the sunlight, lips pressed into a subtle line that hinted at amusement. 

you… you didn’t know who this guy was—but fuck, he’s fucking hot. 

you swallowed, managing a small nod. “y—yeah,” you finally said, voice coming out softer than you meant. “it just… died. won’t start—and there’s no signal out here.”

his gaze flicked to your phone on the passenger seat, then back to you. one corner of his mouth lifted.

“mind if i take a look?” 

you gave him a small nod—he knew you’d say yes anyway, what option did you have? he stepped toward the front of the car. you popped the hood from inside, the latch clicking, then pushed the door open and climbed out.

the warm, dry, afternoon air hitting your skin.

sunghoon moved with that same unhurried motion, grace, looping the reins over his horse’s neck so she stayed put. he took off his jacket and rolled off his sleeves a little higher as he approached the engine, revealing his… toned forearms and biceps dusted with dust and sunlight.

you tried not to stare.

he leaned over the hood, one had bracing against the metal, the other tracing—his index and middle fingers—along the battery cables, checking connections… peering at belts and fluids… things that a pretty girl like you wouldn’t and shouldn’t know anyway. 

those nice… slender fingers… suited being somewhere… better.

your eyes travelled at the way his black shirt stretched across his back and shoulders when he shifted… the light caught the sharp line of his jaw. 

you stood a few feet away, arms loosely crossed against your chest, pretending to care about the car—but there’s a better view before you.

“battery looks fine,” he murmured, almost to himself. he straightened slightly, wiping a smudge of grease onto his jeans without care, then glanced over at you.

his eyes lingered.

not that… quick check–in if you were okay; but that slow… deliberate… lingering sweep—down the length of you. sunghoon swallowed in the baby blue baby tee clinging softly to your frame, the way your hair fell across your shoulders, the faint flush rising on your cheeks.

sunghoon tried so hard—so fucking hard—to not let his eyes fall onto the dip of your cleavage.

he failed.

when his gaze came back up to meet yours, he made it so obvious he was checking you out. there was something dark and unreadable flickering behind those orbs. curiousity—interest, something warmer than… the polite stranger act.

you shifted, suddenly hyper–aware of how close he was, how the faint scent of leather and sun–warmed skin drifted on the breeze. 

“there’s a leak,” he said finally, tipping his chin toward your engine. “that’s why she overheated and shut down.” his tone was matter–of–fact, but he held your eyes longer than necessary made it feel anything but casual.

“...oh,” you managed, stepping closer—to see what he was pointing at—but honestly, just really drawn into his aura. you were so close to see the faint sheen at his temple, the way his lashes cast shadows. you were so close sunghoon could see the droplets of sweat trailing down the side of your neck, the way your upper teeth caught on your bottom lip.

he didn’t move. 

instead, sunghoon stayed leaned against your car, arms loosely folded, watching you—not the engine—so painfully obvious it made your pulse flutter. 

wow—you had no idea what’s leaking… in terms of the car, at least.

“you headed somewhere importan’?” he asked, voice dropping a fraction lower. his gaze flicked to your lips, then back up before you caught it. you swallowed. “mmhm. i… was supposed to meet… someone.”

a beat. 

sunghoon’s head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitched into the tiniest smirk. “must be real disappointed right now,” he said, soft and slow, eyes never leaving yours. your breath hitched and the tension coiled tighter, warm and heavy in your chest… spreading lower.

“i—it’s okay,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out shy and a little breathless. your laugh soft and nervous as you tucked a strand of hair. “they’ll understand.”

his eyes stayed on you for a beat, dropping down just a little on your collarbone—but that faint smirk deepened just enough to make your tummy flip. after what felt like hours, sunghoon pushed off your yellow car, straightening to his full height that just towered over you.

“sunghoon,” he said simply, extending his hand. his voice was low, steady. 

sunghoon, you rolled his name mindlessly in the back of your mind, tasting his name on your tongue. “mmhm,” you slipped your hand into his—warm and rough against your bare, softer skin—his grip firm but careful, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

the contact lingered, and neither of you pulled away first. 

“yn,” you answered. 

“yn,” he repeated, tasting the name like he was trying it out. a small nod, almost approving. sunghoon licked his lips before continuing. “pretty name for a pretty girl stuck on the side of the road.”

heat rushed to your cheeks and you quickly glanced away, pretending to look at the engine, but you could feel his gaze still on you. it’s so unfair, you thought. 

you broke it first. “well,” sunghoon sighed, closing the hood with a gentle thud, wiping his hands on his handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket. “car’s ain’t gonna fix themselves out here. leaking like that—you’re not drivin’ anywhere tonight without coolant.” 

you bit your lip, shaking your head, glancing at the empty hallway. “yeah… i figured.”

sunghoon looked at you—pity girl—then at his horse, then back at you—something flashed in his eyes. 

“look,” he said, running his fingers through his dark locks. “i’ve got tools back at the ranch. spare house, too. it’s only a couple miles down the road.” he tilted his head slightly, making his gaze feel more intense. 

“you can ride with me. get it fixed before dark, get your back on your way.”

your heart stuttered. ride with him..? ride him? on the horse? or…?

he must’ve seen the question in your eyes because the corner of his mouth lifted again. “my girl can take us both. or i can lead and walk, and you just sit pretty.” 

you swallowed, glancing at the sun still high enough in the sky, the golden light catching on his shirt. then your gaze flicked back to the horse—big, calm, but still a horse…

what about… stranger danger…? 

the thought slipped out before you could stop it, soft and uncertain, fingers twisting around the hem of your baby tee. 

“um… what about stranger danger?” you asked, half laughing to cover your nerves, cheeks heating up again. you supposed you could just… ask this kind sunghoon stranger to return with a pipe… or something…

“i mean, i don’t know you—you don’t know me… and you want me to just… hop on your horse and ride off to your ranch?”

sunghoon paused. for a second, his expression didn’t really change, but the corner of his mouth curved. he’d find your worry both endearing and adorable. 

cute.

“fair,” he said, shrugging. there was no defensiveness, or offense in it at all. he let his hand drop to his side, giving you space. “if you’re wonderin’ or scared, i get it. pretty girl alone out here—i’d be worried too.”

he glanced down the road in the direction he’d come from, then back at you.

“i live just a couple miles that way,” he continued, nodding toward a faint dirt turnoff you hadn’t noticed before. “there’s a diner right off the main road before you even get to my ranch—folks and ladies there know me.” 

a small huff escaped him. 

“or,” he added, tilting his head slightly, eyes softening. “we can walk the whole way. i’ll lead the way slow. you stay ten feet back if you want, i’ll even let you hold the reins.”

he said it completely serious too… like your comfort truly mattered more than getting back quickly. the sincerity in his voice, the way he didn’t push or be weird about it—just offering—made something in your chest loosen.

you looked at him again—you supposed… there was no point in waiting for other help to come by—and your heart gave a traitorous little thud. 

“mm… okay. lead me the way.”

you slipped your hand out—and his fingers closed around yours and he guided you toward his horse. the animal watched you with dark eyes—much like the owner—ears flicking as you approached. 

“easy now,” sunghoon murmured, more to the horse than you, running his hand down her neck. “snow’s gentle, she won’t throw you.”

he turned to you, smiling. “you ever been on a horse before?”

you shook your head, laughing nervously. “never… not even once—never had a reason to.”

a soft huff escaped him—almost a chuckle. “first time for everything.”

sunghoon moved to the side, cupping his hands together in a boost. “left foot here, grab the saddle horn and swing your right leg over it when i lift.” 

your heart pounded, but you did as he said. sunghoon’s hands settled on your waist as he hoisted you up, strong and sure, and then you were in the saddle—legs dangling awkwardly, gripping the horn.

“eek—!”

he chuckled, swung behind you in a motion he’d done a billion times, settling in close—really close. his chest brushed your back as he reached around you for the reins, thighs framing yours, the heat of him immediately and overwhelming. 

“you good?” sunghoon asked, voice low near your ear. you swallowed the lump in your throat, his warm breath hitting the shell of your ear. “m—mmhm,” you managed, hyper aware of every little shift and contact. 

sunghoon’s arm circled loosely around your waist just to steady you on the horse—and you felt the subtle shift of his body as he nudged the horse forward with his heels. 

snow started walking and rolling—making you sway instinctively. you tensed, gripping the horn harder.

“relax,” he said quietly, breathing now against the side of your neck. “lean back a little, i got you.”

you eased against him just slightly. his arm tightened the tiniest bit in response—reassured. the horse settled into a rhythm along the edge of the highway, hooves clopping against the dirt. the sun was still bright, golden, warm breeze carrying the scent of dry grass and… him.

for a minute, neither of you spoke. 

until sunghoon broke it.

“so… where were you headed, dressed up like that?”

you laughed softly, glancing down at your baby tee and your nice jeans. “just… meeting someone.” sunghoon hummed, a deep sound that vibrated against your back from how close he was. “poor lad, waitin’ somewhere wonderin’ where you are right now.” 

“probably,” you bit your lip, suppressing back a smile. 

another beat. 

his thumb brushed idly against the rein near your hip. “must be somethin’ special between you two,” he murmured, humming. “to get you out here lookin’ this pretty.”

your cheeks burned. you turned your head just enough to catch him—sharp line of his jaw… the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes.

“mayhaps,” you said softly. “could be i just like dressing up sometimes.”

sunghoon let out a quiet breath of laughter. “fair enough.”

snow kept walking, carrying you both on her strong body. you shifted slightly, getting used to the rhythm, and you slowly realised you weren’t as scared anymore. 

actually… it felt kind of nice. the warmth of sunghoon, the strength of his arms, the quiet that didn’t feel awkward at all. 

“so…” you said after a moment, corner of your lips twitched into a teasing smirk. “you do this often? rescue stranded girls on horseback?” 

his lips curved—just a little. “first time of everything.”

you smiled despite yourself. “lucky me, then.”

he didn’t answer right away, just tightened his arm a fraction, guiding snow off the highway and onto the dirt path leading to the ranch. “yeah,” he said finally, voice warm against your ear. 

“lucky me.”

——

sunghoon reached up for you, hands settling on your waist again—firm and steady—lifting you down like you weighed a feather. your boots hit the ground, but his hands lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

“welcome to the house,” he said dryly, gesturing at the perfect tidy yard. a faint smile tugged at his lips as he tied the reins. “come on in, i’ll grab you something while i check the garage.”

he led you up the porch steps and pushed open the front foor—no lock, you noticed. must be safe around here, you thought, humming. the cool air inside hit you—the faint smell of coffee and wood floors.

“make yourself at home,” sunghoon said, tipping off his hat and hanging it on a hook. his dark hair fell slightly messier without it, a few strands brushing his forehead. “water, iced tea, lemon—fridge it through there.” he nodded toward the open kitchen.

“i’ll be in the garage. shouldn’t take long.”

his space was simple and tidy—leather couch facing a fireplace, shelves lined with books and framed photos of … sunghoon and his friends. his six other friends. equally as fine. a worn acoustic guitar leaned in one corner, blankets folded neatly over the couch arm.

no clutter, nothing sterile either. 

just him.

you wandered through the big picture window overlooking the fields, the late–afternoon light pouring in soft. a few horses grazed in the distance. 

everything was peaceful in a way the city never was. 

the glass of lemonade cold in your hand as you turned slowly. your eyes landed on a small cluster of framed photos near the front door—one of sunghoon on horseback, younger; another him with an older man who shared the same features. must’ve been his father. 

you didn’t realise you’d drifted closer, drawn in by that smile on his face. you were standing right in front of it, lemonade tilted slightly in your grip—completely lost in the photo,

when the door swung open.

sunghoon stepped inside, grease smudged rag in one hand, the other pushing the door wide—and you startled hard.

the glass jerked in your fingers—cold lemonade sloshed over the rim, splashing down the front of your baby tee in a sticky streak that soaked straight through the thin fabric. 

“oh—gosh—” you gasped, jumping back a step, holding the glass out. sunghoon’s eyes widened half a second before he was moving, closing the door behind him with his boot and crossing to you.

“fuck, sorry—didn’t mean to scare ya’,” he said, voice rushed, already reaching for the rag in his hand. but it was dirty, so he stopped. “gosh, you okay?”

you laughed, breathless, embarrassed heat flooding your face. the lemonade left a cold, clinging patch right… across your front. “it’s fine, i wasn’t paying attention,” you mumbled, dabbing at the stain with your fingers instead. 

“was looking at your pictures.”

he didn’t move back, didn’t look away. the air between you felt suddenly too small and cold again… despite everything burning. 

“i’ve got spare shirts in the laundry room,” he said after a beat, eyes dropping to the stain—pervert—once more before meeting yours again. “clean ones, if you want to change.”

you nodded slowly, heart thudding in against your ribs. 

“mm.. yeah, sure,” you said softly, glancing up to him from underneath your lashes. “that… might be good.” 

——

you peeled off your soaked baby tee, the sticky lemonade making it cling uncomfortably. you’re only grateful your bra was there to soak the rest before the liquid reached your skin. 

his… white shirt was huge—falling halfway down your thighs and completely covering your shorts, sleeves past your elbows, the collar loose enough to slip off one shoulder if you weren’t careful. 

it smelled like sunghoon—clean cotton and traces of wood musk.

“... nice,” you caught your reflection in the small mirror above your dryer and laughed quietly to yourself. you looked swallowed whole by it.

just then, your eyes landed on something else through the reflection—his brown cowboy hat, hanging on a hook just inside the door. the different one from what he wore earlier. you bit your lip, glancing toward the door.

no signs of him.

just for fun, you never wore a cowboy hat before.

you reached up on your tippy toes and plucked it off the hook, settling in your head. it was too big, obviously—sliding down over your eyebrows until you had to tip it back with a finger. 

to be honest, you looked kinda… hot. yeah—seductive, almost. 

you smoothed his shirt down, adjusted the hat, and pushed the door open. 

sunghoon was leaning just against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, looking down at his boots—but the second you stepped out, his head lifted.

and he froze. 

his gaze swept over you—deliberately. the—his—oversized shirt hanging loose on your smaller frame, the hem brushing your thighs (only the little ripped strands of your shorts were showing up), the way the fabric draped over your shoulders.

that… hat tilting playfully on your head.

everything about him stilled. even the air felt heavier. his pants got tighter.

“everything’s… big,” you giggled, laughing to break the sudden tension, tugging at the sleeve that swallowed your hand. you gave a small spin, the shirt flaring slightly—you held the hat by the brim. 

“like, really big.”

he didn’t laugh. didn’t even smile at first.

sunghoon just stared, his eyes darker than before, jaw tight, lips… wet. 

then he pushed off the counter, closing the distance in one slow step. 

“yeah?” he murmured, voice rougher, dropping an octave lower… low enough that you swore it vibrated in your chest. sunghoon reached out, fingers brushing the brim of the—his—hat, adjusting it slightly so it sat better.

so he could see your pretty face clearer.

his thumb grazed your temple as he did. 

“looks better on you.” 

your breath caught. he was close again—too close—hand lingering near your face. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his musk and sweat filling every inch of space between you.

he didn’t step back.

he took a slow step forward—then another.

until your back met the wall with a soft thud, the cool wood at your spine contrasting to what’s warming you up in front of you. the hat tilted slightly on your head as you tipped it back to look up at him, and his eyes—heavy lidded—locked onto yours.

“r—really?” 

his hand dropped from the brim, trailing down the side of your neck, over the loose collar of his shirt on you, until his palm settled at your waist. fingers splayed wide—possessive—puling you in just a fraction closer.

then his hand went lower, skimming the curve of your hip, thumb pressing lightly into the dip above your shorts. 

you didn’t want to move.

your hands came up instantly, fingers curling into the front of his black shirt, feeling his heart thumping under your palms. 

“mmhm,” sunghoon leaned in, forehead almost touching yours, breath warm against your lips. “you’ve been driving me crazy since i saw you in that car,” he said, voice low. “now you’re in my shirt, my hat—lookin’ like you belong here or somethin’.”

your lips parted, but no words came—just a soft, shaky exhale.

his gaze dropped to your mouth. 

“you do this often?” sunghoon murmured, his fingers drumming your skin. “wreck your car hopin’ some stranger’ll come along and fix it?”

you felt the words more than heard them… the teasing edge softened by the way his thumb traced your hip. 

“only cowboys like you,” you whispered, the words barely out before—

sunghoon closed that tiny gap.

he slammed his lips against yours—evoking a soft, surprised gasp out of you—his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him and positioning his knee in between your legs. 

you melted almost instantly into his mouth, hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him down as sunghoon angled his head to kiss you harder and deeper. his tongue traced your bottom lip, teasing, then slipped inside when you gasped for him—slow, hot, unhurried. 

it made your knees buckle and weak. 

sunghoon groaned quietly when you tagged at his hair, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “ngh—hngh—” you moaned into his mouth, tugging him down. the hat titled precariously; but he caught it with one hand, readjusting it on top of your head without breaking the kiss. 

both of his hands were back on you—one splayed across your lower back, the other cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, lifting your head up. sunghoon glided his tongue along your row of teeth, tasting you slow and thorough. 

a low hum rumbled in his chest when you parted for him, your own tongue meeting his in a slick curl that made you tighten your grip around his shirt. “hah—s—sunghoon,” you breathed out. your salivas mixed, messy and hot, a thin strand connecting your lips when he pulled back just enough to breathe—

only to dive back in harder, swallowing every little whimper and moan. 

sunghoon kissed like he worked for it… having complete control like he would with snow—angling your head to take it deeper how he wanted it to be. your back arched against the wall as his hand on your lower back slid lower, palm running along the globe of your ass before it spread over the curve of your hip.

“ah—,” you gasped as he pressed forward. you felt the head line of his cock beneath his jeans against your stomach—he was just as wrecked as you were.

sunghoon broke the kiss only to drag his mouth along your jaw, teeth scraping at the sensitive spot under your ear before coming back to your lips, no less filthy than before—long and wet and deep that left you dizzy.

your pussy was growing crazily wet and warm—heat pooling your tummy as you began grinding and rubbing yourself on his knee. 

“still wanna get that car fixed?” he whispered, teasing against your swollen mouth, lips brushing but not quite kissing.

you panted, looking up at him through half lidded eyes, before answering by pulling him back in, kissing him open–mouthed and desperate, fingers threading through his hair to keep him there. he groaned into you, low and raw, and kissed you back just as deep.

sunghoon’s hands roamed—down your sides, slipping into the loose fabric of his shirt on you—until he suddenly spun you around in a smooth motion—your palms hitting the kitchen counter with a slap. 

“hngh—?” you gasped as he pressed in behind you, chest to your back, hips slotting against you. sunghoon didn’t stop kissing you—his strong… bigger hand came up to your jaw, fingers curled around your soft jaw as he turned your head sideways so he could claim your mouth from this new angle.

deep.. messy, relentless—the other hand splayed across your tummy, pulling you flush.

“fuck,” he murmured, grinding slow and deliberate against the curve of your ass through your shorts, the friction sending sparks down your cunt. a low rumble vibrated from his chest as he rolled his hips again, his hard on pressing hard between your asscheeks. 

sunghoon’s lips broke from yours to drag wet kisses along your exposed side of your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he left angry lovebites before he turned your face toward him again, capturing your mouth in another horny kiss. 

all while his hips kept that rhythm—rubbing against you, clothed but undeniably fucking horny. “you feel what you’re doin’ to me?” 

you could only whimper in response, arching your back and pushing against him—eliciting a groan out him, deeper, his hips snapping forward—so fucking hard—before he slowed.

you pulled back to catch your breath, knees weakening as you braced yourself on your forearms. the words slipped out before you could stop them—half plea, half teasing.

“are you going to keep humpin’ me, or are you going to let me ride you, cowboy?” 

the air went still for a beat.

the corner of his lips twitched—and so did his eye—sunghoon scoffed dryly. you barely had time to register the shift in his energy and demeanour before his palm cracked against your ass through the denim. 

not gentle.

a firm, stinging smack echoed in the kitchen made you gasp, jolting forward against the corner. 

“watch that mouth,” he hummed low against your ear, body still pinned, his hand caressing the globe of your ass where he’d just smacked them. “you don’t get to call the shots just yet.” 

you breath hitched at the first rush of the sting, at the command of his voice. you bit your lip to keep another bratty remark to yourself—but failed to hide the way your hips rolled back against him. 

he huffed before he moved—hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady, turning you just enough to guide you back against the counter before he sank down. 

slowly.

until sunghoon was on his knees behind you, eye level with the curve of your ass, one palm smoothing over the spot he’d just smacked. “i’ll tell you what to do,” he murmured, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your jeans. he didn’t ask; just straight up unbuttoned them with a quick flick of his slender fingers and tugged everything down in one drag—

jeans and panties together—until they pooled at your knees. 

“mmmh,” cool air hit your skin, but only for a second before his warm hands were back on your asscheeks, spreading them apart from behind. “hold still, pretty girl,” he muttered—and just like that—

his mouth was on your cunt. 

no teasing and no hesitation—just confidence dripping down like your juices down your thighs. sunghoon licked a long, flat stripe up your centre, groaning low at the taste that he’d been starving for. “ungh—oh gosh,” you gasped, knees buckling on his face as you gripped the counter harder, shaky moans slipping out.

sunghoon’s tongue circled your clit from behind—once, twice—sucking the little pea in pressure that made your hips jerk back against his face. “fuckin’ hell, so sweet,” he rasped. his strong arm banded across your lower tummy, locking you in place—on his handsome face, sharp nose digging between your ass.

he didn’t let you move or shift as much as he slipped his tongue inside your cunt—sliding back up, in and out, flicking, and swirling around inside. “s—sunghoon, sunghoon,” you moaned softly, eyes fluttering. 

wet sounds filled up his kitchen, filthy and so fucking obscenely loud—his mouth working you open, lips sealing like he’s making out with your pussy lips now before it moved around your clit again and again, sucking until your thighs trembled.

he sucked and tugged the pea towards him. 

it’s something you’ve never, not in the years of your life, ever experienced. every time you tried to push back down for more, sunghoon only tightened his hold and slowed down like he’s telling you that you’re not in charge here. 

then, he dragged his tongue in lazy, torturous strokes until you whined, before speeding up suddenly—fast with relentless flicks that had you gasping his name. “your tongue feels s’good, oh fuck,” 

his free hand came up between your legs, two fingers sliding into you without warning, stretching you tight cunt and curling deep and stroking in time with his tongue. the combo wrecked you badly—your head dropped forward, forehead pressing to the cool counter as your toe curled inwards on itself.

“w—what—?! oh, fuck, sunghoon—” 

he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks in your tummy, and doubled down. “gotta stretch you out before i give you the real thing,” he murmured against your wet cunt, sucking hard, fingers thrusting faster, pressing on that spongy spot inside. 

your legs shook as you began subtly riding on his two fingers as he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue. “‘m cumming, wanna cum, cum—,” you whined adorably, chest heaving as pleasure swelled up in your gut.

“mmhm—?” sunghoon hummed teasingly, you felt the corner of his lips twitched. you tightened around his fingers—walls spasming around his digits. sunghoon curled his fingers inside and traced his name against your walls. 

he’s so fucking filthy, it’s disgustingly hot.

an ecstasy tidal wave quickly rushed over you—and before you knew it, your walls pulsated before you came right on his fingers and tongue, against his face. “oh fuck—!” you cried out sharply, curling your hands into fists as you hung your head low.

every limbs of yours felt like jelly, your body twitched—clenching around him as he licked you through every pulse, gulping down your juices and squirt that trailed down your inner thighs. 

“fuck, you’re so sweet, so good,” he moaned, slowly pulling his fingers out that left you empty almost instantly, pussy squeezing the thin air. your thighs trembled in pleasure as sunghoon spread your asscheeks with his wet fingers, pressing one last slow, deliberate long lick from your sensitive clit up to your entrance. 

“good girl,” he whispered, hands smoothed up your sides before rising behind you. 

“now… about that ride you wanted…”

you turned in his arms, still buzzing, still twitching, legs unsteady. sunghoon’s eyes were swimming with lust, lips slick and swollen from you. the hard line of him pressed against your hip through his jeans—impossible to ignore. 

a slow, wicked smile tugged at your mouth as you sank down now—your turn, mirroring the way he’d just knelt for you—until you were on your knees in front of him. 

sunghoon’s breath hitched, hand automatically coming up to lift the brim of his hat to look at your face. you looked up at him from under your curled lashes, palms sliding up his thighs, feeling his cock tense and twitch under denim. 

“fair’s fair, cowboy,”

he exhaled a rough laugh, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “you don’t have to—”

but you were already popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down slow enough to make him groan—preparing himself. “don’t have to what?” you asked innocently, tugging everything down just enough, and his—

his cock sprang free—thick, heavy, flicked dark and already leaking precum at the tip. 

your eyes widened and your breath hitched, his cock throbbed right in front of your eyes—it casted shadow over your face. your lips parted, a gasp escaped your lips.

sunghoon was fucking big—no, huge—the biggest you’ve ever seen before. 

you could tell it was painful for him from the way his cock twitched in neediness, a low hiss escaped from his lips. “shit… surprised?” 

you wet your lips before swallowing the lump in your throat. there was… almost no way it’d fit in your mouth, much less your pussy. but you wrapped your hands around him—even with both hands, it still wasn’t enough to hold his whole cock—stroking once, twice, feeling him throb in your grip.

sunghoon’s head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed locked on you. 

you continued jerking him off in your hands, dragging every skin, feeling every veins, milking more of his precum that trailed on the side of your hands. “i thought only horses have big cocks…” you murmured before leaning in—tongue flicking out to taste the bead at the head, salty and warm—before taking him into your mouth in one slow slide.

“but i guess their owners have too…?” 

“fuck—” the curse tore out of him, low and husky, fingers tightening at your hair as his hat tipped to the side a little. he didn’t push, just holding as you took him in deeper, lips stretching around him. 

you only managed to take half of his cock inside your mouth before pulling back almost all the way, tongue swirling around the tip, then took him again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing. sunghoon tasted manly—sweaty, but not the nasty kind. just… a man. 

his hips twitched, but he let you set the pace yourself. you worked him slow at first—wet, messy suckings, hand twisting in strokes at the base at the same time as your mouth—then faster, taking him in as far as you could until the tip hit your uvula, and your eyes watered.

“yn, fuck,” he groaned your name. your mouth was warm and wet, like entering a slimy, hot pond, cock totally engulfed in your saliva. it felt heavenly. you were disheveled and messy—but still so hot. glossy and smudged lipstick over your lips, leaving a pink ring mark around his cock with your flushed cheeks.

every time you pulled off to breathe, you looked up—watching his handsome face, thick brown furrowing, lips parted before his canines dragged the bottom lip, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he fought not to thrust and fuck your mouth.

you hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks up his cock that made it twitch and he cursed again, “just like that,” he murmured.

you took him inside your mouth again, this time picking up your speed and pace in sucking him—the tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag and roll your eyes behind. 

his veins glided along your wet tongue, sunghoon squeezed his eyes shut as wet, clicky sounds filled the space. sunghoon falls into his temptation and thrusts his hips upward, hitch in his breath as you deepthroat him. 

“shit, ‘m cummin, fuck,” 

his whole body went rigid, hips jerking shallowly before spilling hot down your throat, pulse after pulse. your eyes widened but didn’t pull away, taking it all. contrasting from how soft you hummed around him while he shuddered through it, curses and your name tumbling from his lips.

your throat worked in gulps as you swallowed his milk down, hands steadying his thighs. sunghoon sagged back against the counter, chest heaving as you eased off low—lips sliding along his cock until he slipped free with a pop.

a thin strand of cum and spit connected you before breaking.

“hah… hngh,” you looked up at him, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb before slipping it inside your mouth to lick it clean, a smug little smile tugging at your messy lips. sunghoon stared down at you, breathing ragged, furrowing. 

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he muttered, running his hand down his face before reaching down to haul you up by your arms until you were pressed against him, foreheads touching. “you’re g’nna kill me.”

then he kissed you—deep, filthy—combining both the taste of him and you on your tongue and groaning into it. his hands slid down to grip your thighs, turning and lifting you easily onto the counter. 

“my turn again,” he murmured, hiking up your—his—shirt until it bunched at your waist. you were fully exposed to him from the hips down. “i ain’t stoppin’, so don’t tell me to.”

you only whimpered in response as sunghoon’s palm splayed across your lower stomach, holding you while the other hand wrapped around his cock, guiding himself to your entrance. the head of his cock scooped your slickness.

sunghoon teased you by slipping in just the head, stretching you and barely enough to evoke a soft gasp from your lips. from behind, he smirked at your reaction, looking down at how your slick hung down from his cock. 

“easy now,” he muttered, hissing as finally pushed in slow. the stretch was immediate though, thick and burning in the best way possible. you gasped aloud, head falling forward, fingers clawing at the granite as he sank deeper—inch by inch—until he almost bottomed out with a low, guttural groan against your neck.

“oh my fuckin’ god, sunghoon,” you cried out, feeling him in your stomach. “shit, you’re perfect,” he rasped, pulling back almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, hard—burying all his inches inside you. the slap of skin echoed in the kitchen as your body jolted forward with the force, the hat you’re wearing tipped sideways.

he set a relentless, needy pace from the start—deep and punishing thrusts that had you moaning and crying with every slam, his hand on your stomach pressed down his bulging cock through your flesh, feeling the skin swelling.

his other hand gripped your hip, steadying you while his fingers dug hard enough to bruise, pulling you back to meet every roll of his hips. “so goddamn tight,” he hissed, teeth grazing your shoulder. 

“takin’ me like you’re made for me.”

every thrust only dragged your walls, the head slamming and bullying that soft spot inside you, forming a wave of pleasure that coiled tighter and tighter until you’re left trembling against the counter. your breath hitched, babbling his name.

“more—more, more, more,” you whined. sunghoon didn’t let you up, his fingers moved down to work on your clit, rolling and rubbing his middle finger on that little pea as his hips snapped forward without mercy. 

sunghoon’s so horny it’s fucking crazy—he fucked into you deep and hard, every thrust punching air from your lungs. sweat beaded along his neck, rolled down his collarbone; dark hair stuck to his forehead—barely leashed hunger. 

he was always like this when he finally snapped—weeks, sometimes months, of nothing but endless ranch work and journey, early mornings, late nights, calloused hands busy with fences and horses and hay to even think about getting laid. 

there’s almost no time for bars, patience for games (although he liked to indulge himself in dart games), just pure, pent up need stacking higher and higher. 

so when you showed up—pretty, stranded, looking at him with those wide, pleading eyes, spilling lemonade down your shirt and ending up in his clothes and hat, space, hands…

 a girl like you, soft and city–sweet and practically begging to be taught how the town works, walking straight into his world—he couldn’t have stopped if he tried. he didn’t want to stop. 

a guttural sound tore out of him when you tightened, fingers rubbing your clit harder, pressing down. “fuck—take it,” he rasped. “take every fuckin’ inch,” 

you gasped, blossoming with excitement and arousal. your pleasure spills out in trembling moans, breathy cries mixing with the echo of your skin slapping together. “fuck, fuck, it feels so good, hoonie,” 

his eyes twitched before he delivered a smack against your asscheeck, the flesh jiggling before he quickly smoothed it down with his hand. “good,” he panted, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder. the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt reverberated through the kitchen. 

“wanna cum, a—again, please,” you pleaded, lips parting as you hung your head down. his cock was able to delve deeper from this position of your leg on the countertop, spreading your thighs further. “hm—? cummin’ again already?” sunghoon chuckled softly, slamming and bucking his hips up that the tip slammed against your cervix.

you nodded eagerly, whimpering. you’re so overstimulated—couldn’t think straight at the way your pussy spasmed around his throbbing length. “please, please i wanna cum real bad,” you whined, pleading. 

sunghoon dragged his nails and held your hips, his cock dragged against your velvety walls. “show me,” his words broke apart, the rhythm of his hips frantic and desperate. he wasn’t as close to cumming, and he wished to keep fucking you—but he supposed city girls didn’t have a lot of stamina. 

“cum on my fuckin’ cock, baby,”

you cursed out loud as a gush of warm liquid squirted out and down on your thighs—and his cock totally engulfed him warm and wet. he was buried so deep inside you, not moving as much to allow you to steady yourself. 

the orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami—overwhelmingly relentless. your vision whited out at the edges, walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, milking him, pulling him deeper like your body refused to let go. 

heat bloomed low in your tummy and spread in shocks as your body twitched, slumping on the counter. “oh gosh—oh my gosh,” you whimpered, thighs trembling, breath sharp, desperate gasps.

“fuck—look at you,” sunghoon rasped, fingers digging into your hips as he thrust through your climax, chasing his own release in the tight, slick grip—still not pulling out. “soakin’ me like that…” 

you felt vulnerable and claimed—there was no fucking way any other men can ever come close to this—sunghoon, his demeanour, his energy, his cock—ever again. not your boyfriend, not any boys anywhere. 

the wet mess between your legs proof of how thoroughly he done fucked you up.

“hngh—ah, i…” your words trailed off as you panted, pussy twitching around his cock… you stayed like that for a long moment—bent over his counter, wearing his shirt, his hat—his chest heaving against your back. 

sunghoon caressed the globe of your asscheek, spreading to see his wet cock and the way your squirt dripped down on his tiles. “you what?”

you shook your head, biting your bottom lip to stifle another whimper, then turned your head just enough to meet his gaze—eyes glassy, cheek adorably flushed, with that little bratty smile.

“i still haven’t ridden the cowboy…” 

sunghoon’s eyes widened for a fraction before a grin spread across his face.

“oh darlin’,” he chuckled softly. “you’re takin’ the reins.”

——

“oh fuck—!”

the sound tore out of you, high and whimpery as sunghoon licked straight up between your pussy lips one long stroke. no teasing this time—just pure filth and hunger. his tongue plunged inside you, swirling and thrusting back and forth inside your cunt, lips sealing around to suck hard.

your hands flew to the wooden headboard for balance, gripping the wood, hips rocking instinctively against his handsome face. the tip of his nose brushed your clit every time you moved. 

sunghoon groaned into you, the vibration going up your cunt. his hand held your hips from falling, the other wrapped around his throbbing cock, jerking off the taste of your cunt and the sound of your moans. 

wet sounds filled this room now, his nose brushing your clit as he devoured you from below. 

“hoonie—fuuuckkkk,” you whimpered, head falling back as you quickly held the hat on your head. sunghoon insisted—begged—you keep it on your head. said it’s fuckin’ hot, said you’re—

his.

sunghoon answered by clamping his teeth down on your flesh, not hard that it’s painful, but enough for you to feel the pressure and his canines. his one hand left your hip to reach up and palm your tits, thumb flicking the nipple while he sucked your clit relentless. 

there’s no way you could last much longer. not like this—not with him eating and tongue–fucking you like a straved man. 

and from the way his hips rolled up in his grip, cock leaking against his hand—he was loving every second of it. 

“hoonie, here it is’, oh jesus,” your voice broke as you grind harder. the orgasm hit like a bungee—your whole body tensed as your thighs trembled and kept his head locked between you as you came hard down on his face. 

a rush of warmth flooded out of you again, coating his mouth, chin, and sunghoon licked you clean, drinking your liquid down. your legs gave out completely and you sagged forward against the headboard, panting, shaking, the aftershocks rippling through you as he gentled his tongue in soothing licks to ease you.

slowly, sunghoon lifted you off him—guiding you down to straddle on his hips again. his face was slick with you, lips red and swollen, eyes dark and triumphant as he looked at you—hair a mess, tipped hat, chest heaving. 

your nipples perked up.

“fuck,” he rasped, cupping your tits. “you taste even better the second time.”

you collapsed forward onto his chest, feeling his cock hard and hot against your stomach. 

sunghoon wrapped his arms around you, one hand stroking your back, the other tangling in your hair. “ready to be a cowgirl, babe?” he murmured against your temple, hips rolling up once—his cock glided against your tummy. “or you need another minute?” he teased.

you whimpered and shook your head, already shifting your hips and straightening your spine. you placed your hands on his toned chest, biting your lip. 

“no more minutes,” you murmured, flicking your thumbs over his nipples. “i want my cowboy now.”

he grinned, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“then take him.” 

you didn’t need to be told twice.

you sank down slowly at first—teasing the head along your folds, coating, moving your hips and drawing it out until his hands gripped your hips. silent warning to not tease him—he ain’t the strongest soldier here.

you giggled softly before taking him in one smooth drop, all the way to the hilt.

“ngh—!” the stretch burned perfectly, filling and stretching you up that you both groaned at the same time at the pleasure. your head tipped back slightly, his fingers digging into the flesh. sunghoon was thick, hot, throbbing inside and you felt every inch as you adjusted, walls fluttering around him.

you were pretty, tight, warm—wrapping around him nicely.

“fuck,” he hissed, eyes squeezing shut before he opened them again, watching the lewd expression on your face. “juuust like that… ride me, pretty cowgirl,” 

you began—rolling your hips in deep, lazy circles, grinding down so he hit every spot inside on every pass. your hands braced on his chest, nails dragging lightly over his skin as you lifted yourself and sank back down.

like a cowgirl—sunghoon let you lead for a while; watching you through half lidded eyes, one hand slipping up to play with your tits, thumb teasing your nipple in the same breath as your movements. the other stayed on your hip, guiding but not controlling. 

he lets you take what you want.

but that only lasted a while.

you started moving faster, riding, hoping (more like a bunny, than a cowgirl)—tits bouncing so lewdly, pitchy little ah, ah ah’s moans escaping your lips. the slap of skin got louder, his cock disappeared as quick as he saw it.

sunghoon couldn’t stay still anymore.

his hips snapped up to meet you halfway, driving deeper, harder, making your cries louder as pleasure spiked suddenly. 

“that’s it,” his voice wrecked, sitting up suddenly so you were chest to chest, his hands on your hips as he lifted you up and down on his cock, pulling you down harder onto every thrust. 

“fuckin’ ride me just like that—use me,”

you clung to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, moving together in a frantic rhythm. your sweat dripped down on his skin as his did too, sunghoon’s mouth found your neck where he sucked marks into your skin as you clenched tighter. 

“hoonie, hoonie, so good, feels s’good,” you whimpered, holding his hat on your head with one hand, the other wrapped around his neck.

“come on,” he chuckled low and filthy against your throat, your head tipped back. one of his hands palmed your tits, pinching your perky bud. “keep ridin’ me like that. fuck—takin’ my cock so good. you’re made for this ranch—made for me,”

you nodded, his balls slapping the curve of your ass as you go—giggling—just mind fucked over his cock. 

“love it, don’t cha?” he kept going with his filthy talks, breath hot against your skin. “love bouncin’ on a cowboy you just met, creamin’ all over him while your little guy’s waitin’ somewhere,” sunghoon hummed, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder. 

“bet he’s never fucked you this good—never made this pussy cream so many times in one evening.”

you moaned louder, clenching at his voice and words. he grinned against your neck, thrusting up harder to meet you. 

“say it,” he rasped, rolling your nipple slow and mean between his fingerpads. “tell me how good you’re gettin’ it.”

“hoonie—” you whined, walls fluttering wildly. 

“say it,” he coaxed, hands dropping to grip your ass, guiding you faster, deeper. “tell me whose cock you’re gonna be thinkin’ about from now on,”

you were too far gone to care—pleasure coiling tight and how low in your tummy. “yours,” you gasped, hat tilting crooked as you slammed down faster. “only yours—hoonie, fuck—only you, wanna be yours,” 

sunghoon’s cock twitched. “that’s my girl,” he praised, voice dripping sin, hips snapping. “cream this cock again. milk me—let me feel that pretty pussy.”

and with his mouth on your collarbone, fingers twisting your nipple, his thick cock dragging your velvety walls—you came.

your whole body seized—back arching, a broken cry tearing from your throat. another rush of warmth flooded out of you, soaking where you joined, dripping down his length and onto his thighs. the fourth orgasm rolled through you, thighs shaking. 

sunghoon groaned as well, holding you tight but he didn’t follow you over the edge—not yet. the night is still young, after all. his cock throbbed inside, impossibly harder, slick with release, but he gritted his teeth, letting you ride the aftershocks while he stayed buried. 

“hngh—i—hah,” you slumped forward, panting against his chest, hat slipping sideways. sunghoon caught it and settled it back on your head. “came so pretty for me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“but i’m not done with you yet.”

he didn’t give you much time to recover before his arms hooked under your knees and he flipped you onto your back. the air left your lungs as your body bounced lightly on his mattress. “hm—?” 

sunghoon folded you in half, knees pushed to your shoulders, hips tilted up—completely open, bare, exposed, and pinned beneath him in a deep, filthy—

mating press.

the hat finally tumbled off your head and onto the pillow. you barely noticed before sunghoon picked it up and wore it himself.

sunghoon loomed over you, dark hair falling into his eyes, cock still rock–hard and wet as he nudged back inside in a slow thrust. the new angle dragged him deeper than before—stretching you wide, pressing and making your eyes roll back from pleasure. 

“fuck… look at ya,” he chuckled, hips rolling slow to let you feel every thick inch. “takin’ me so deep… pussy made for me, wasn’t it?”

you could only nod and whimper, looking up at him with doe, glassy eyes and swollen lips from clamping down. you looked so fucking feastible like this—body filled with his lovebites, nipples perky and red from pinching, your sweaty and glossy skin—

so perfect.

sunghoon only meant to help a poor stranded girl with her broke down car, he swore—but he supposed ending the day with a girl didn’t sound so bad.

he began moving—long, solid hard strokes that punched the air from your lungs each time he pulled up. the position left you no room to move, no escape from the overwhelming fullness, every thrust driving him against your g–spot. 

sweat dripped down from his brow onto your chest—sunghoon crashed his lips against yours in open mouthed kisses with tongue involved. “tell me again,” he snapped his hips to draw a cry out of you. “who’s makin’ you feel this good?”

“you—hoonie, only you—,” the words slipped out rushly. sunghoon chuckled, the headboard knocked against the wall from the way your folded body rocked with every thrust, breasts bouncing. sunghoon gripped the backs of your thighs to keep you spread wide and pinned.

“gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he rasped, eyes locked on where you joined—his cock disappeared inside you over and over. “everytime you close your eyes, you’re g’nna remember how deep i got, how hard i fucked you, how many times i made this tight pussy come.”

your heart thumped, tummy’s doing cartwheels at his words. “yes! please, please, please—’m cumming!” you gasped, back arching as you dragged your nails down his shoulders. sunghoon’s relentless thrusts hitting your soft spot without mercy. 

the coil snapped again—you came with a cry of his name, walls clamping down around him in tight, waves, another nth gush of warmth soaking you both as you whole body shook helplessly in his hold.

“fuck,” sunghoon cursed filthy, fucking you turned erratic as he chased his own high. a few more deep, brutal strokes and burying himself to the hilt—sunghoon spilled inside of you, pulsing hot and endless streaks of semen, hips jerking through every wave. 

he held your hips up, milking himself dry as your pussy spasmed around him, squeezing every last drop. “shit… shit…” he panted, staying pressed for a long moment as he lazily thrusted his cum inside.

both of you panted, trembling, sweat slick, and spent. your body twitched in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as you catch your breath. slowly, carefully, sunghoon eased your legs down, letting them fall open around his hips as he pulled his cock out.

cum dribbled down your puffy, swollen cunt, messy—sliding down your folds and onto his sheets beneath you. more followed as your body slumped down.

sunghoon’s gaze dropped between your legs before back on your face—his hand gently stroking your thigh like he couldn’t stop touching you. his cowboy hat tilted crookedly on his head, casting a shadow over his eyes as he fixed it. 

you whimpered—too sensitive and overstimulated—but didn’t pry him off when he pushed his cum lazily inside just to watch you shiver. finally, sunghoon leaned down, lips brushing to exhaustedly kiss you—your lips, cheeks, and temple.

“you okay, darlin’?” he murmured, arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest as he rolled to the side. sunghoon tucked you against him, tangling your legs together. 

you nodded into his neck, fingers tracing idly. “more than okay.” you murmured, “never been better.” sunghoon huffed a hum, kissing the top of your head. 

“good,” he said simply, voice low in the dim room. “‘cause car’s definitely ain’t gettin’ fixed anytime soon,” he murmured, pulling the blanket to cover the two of you. “means ‘m keepin’ you here till mornin’. maybe longer.”

the last of the daylight had faded into deep twilight.

oh well—

your… ex boyfriend waiting somewhere could sit tight and wonder all he wanted; his plans had been bucked off the trail the moment the real cowboy rode in. 

this filly had found her herd, and she wasn’t wandering back to any old pasture soon.

you supposed some breakdowns are just detours to exactly where you’re meant to end up.

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ♡໒꒱.°⑅ @yenienha @hoonsocks @imnotyizhuo @nesquikluvr @hhoneyhan @jjongsies @s3ouln1 @hiddencavernsun @stellargolden @astelunar @somuchdard @eirlyscloud @slu33yblushlace @solonenova @jinsuus <3

[jakescapes]

ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴡᴏᴏᴅ

pairing: bestfriend!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: What happens when you wake up next to your best friend with raging morning wood?

warnings: smut!

word count: 1.1k

author's note: hey long time no see guys. just wanted to share this oneshot with yall cuz i havent posted in forevaaa. hope u enjoy ^^

-

You've known Jake since you were kids. Growing up together, your bond was unbreakable, more like siblings than friends. Sleepovers were a staple, sharing a bed without a second thought, even as teens. Now in your early twenties, attending the same university, that closeness lingered, though life had pulled you in different directions. Platonic. Familial. Always.

Last night was a blur of thumping bass and neon lights at the club. Shots flowed too freely, you were far too drunk and exhausted to make the trek back to your dorm, so Jake, ever the reliable one, slung your arm over his shoulder and guided you to his off campus apartment. "Crash here," he'd said with that sly grin. "Like old times.'" And it was no big deal. You'd piled into his queen sized bed in your clothes, Jake's steady breathing lulling you to sleep within minutes.

The next morning, light filtered through the blinds, stirring you awake first. Your head throbbed faintly from the hangover, but you felt surprisingly cozy in his bed. Blinking away your sleep, you turned toward Jake. He lay on his back, shirtless as always when he slept, his broad chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. The covers had slipped low, leaving him in just his tight black boxers. And there, straining unmistakably against the thin fabric, was his morning wood. Thick. Prominent. Impossible to ignore.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You'd never seen him like this, never really looked. Sure, accidental glimpses while changing clothes over the years, but nothing like this blatant display. Your best friend, exposed in his most primal state. A strange flutter stirred in your stomach, warm and unfamiliar, pooling lower. What the hell? You swallowed hard, eyes locked on the bulge, torn between averting your gaze and... something else. Curiosity? Arousal? It made your thighs clench involuntarily.

Jake stirred then, a low groan escaping his lips as he stretched, arms flexing above his head. His eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep, and he turned his head toward you with a lazy smile. "Morning, sleepyhead. You look like hell, rough night, huh?"

You forced a laugh, tearing your eyes up to his face, but your voice came out a bit too high. "Yeah, uh, clubs hit different after a while. How're you feeling?"

He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw, propping himself up on one elbow. The movement made the tent in his boxers shift noticeably, but he seemed oblivious. "Like I got hit by a truck, but I'll live. Coffee? Or you wanna lay here for a bit more?"

"Coffee sounds good," you replied, trying to focus on his words, on the posters on his wall, anything but the heat radiating from his body next to yours. You shifted slightly, the sheets whispering against your skin. "Last night was insane, though. Remember when that creep tried to grind on me and you just... yeeted him?"

Jake barked a laugh, sitting up fully now, the outline of his erection bobbing with the motion. "Dude had it coming. No one's messing with my bestie on my watch." His gaze drifted down, following yours despite your efforts, and he paused. Realization dawned at what you were staring at, and he glanced at his lap with a casual shrug. "Oh... that? That happens every morning. No biggie."

Your heart hammered. Why did that nonchalance make it hotter? You don't know what possessed you, maybe the hangover loosening your inhibitions, maybe the sight of him so vulnerably hard, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. "Do you... need help with it?"

His eyes widened, snapping back to yours. For a beat, silence hung thick in the air. Then a slow, surprised grin spread across his face, darkening with intent. "You serious?"

You nodded.

-

Jake's hand tangled in your hair as you knelt between his legs, his boxers shoved down to his thighs. His cock stood rigid, veined and throbbing, pre-cum beading at the slit. You wrapped your fingers around the base, stroking firmly while your tongue flicked out to lap at the tip, tasting the salty essence. He hissed, hips bucking slightly. "Fuck... yeah, just like that."

You took him deeper, lips stretching around his girth as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks. Your head bobbed steadily, tongue swirling along the underside, tracing every ridge. He was huge, filling your mouth completely, but you worked him with fervor, slow drags followed by faster pumps, one hand twisting at the root while the other cupped his balls, rolling them gently. Saliva dripped down your chin, messy and obscene, as you hummed around him, the vibration drawing guttural moans from his throat.

"Goddamn, your mouth... best fucking head ever,'" Jake groaned, guiding your pace, abs clenching. You glanced up, meeting his heated gaze, and doubled down, deep throating him until your nose brushed his trimmed pubes, gagging softly but pushing through. He swelled impossibly harder, cursing under his breath. "Shit, I'm—"

He came with a groan, thick ropes of cum flooding your mouth. You swallowed greedily, milking every drop until he slumped back, panting.

But he wasn't done. In a blur, Jake hauled you up, flipping you onto your back. "My turn to wreck you," he growled, ripping your clothes off with zero patience. Your pussy was soaked, aching, and he wasted no time. lining up his still hard cock and slamming in raw, bare, to the hilt.

You cried out, walls clenching around his thickness as he set a brutal rhythm. No mercy. He pounded into you relentlessly, hips snapping with punishing force, balls slapping against your ass. "So fucking tight... take it all," he grunted, pinning your wrists above your head. "You feel like a virgin... are you?"

"Hah... you wish. You think a virgin could suck you off like that?" you shot back.

He just laughed, low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest as he drove deeper. "Yeah, you're right. Take it all like the slut you are," he growled. Each thrust stretched you wide, hitting deep, your juices coating him as he railed you into the mattress.

He hiked your legs over his shoulders, angling deeper, grinding against your g spot until stars burst behind your eyes. You came hard, screaming his name, pussy spasming around his cock, but he didn't stop. Flipping you onto your stomach, he yanked your hips up and drove back in, fucking you like an animal, hand fisting your hair. Sweat slick skin slapped together, his grunts mixing with your whimpers as he chased his release.

"Cum inside me," you begged, and that undid him. With a final, savage thrust, he buried deep and erupted, flooding your pussy with hot spurts of cum, marking you as his.