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Your fingers freeze mid-twist in the hem of your dress. Mindlessly exposing your knees.

Half the room low gasps. Someone snorts. Others laugh a bit too loudly, people your age crane their necks, searching for accomplice in embarrassment. Even you turn your head, looking for your friends to share an amused, disbelieving smile with.

And all of you are suddenly curious and aware, and maybe a little dumb.

After it’s the kind of subject we only speak about once a year.

That’s when you see , him. Jake. From the corner of your eye.

Jake’s sited two rows back across the aisle, just behind your friends and their families. Spine straight. Hands clenched on his thighs. Face calm, reverent, unreadable. The saint at rest.

Except—

He look a bit more tired than usual. His eyes dip, just for a second—

To your knees.

To the wrinkled fabric you’ve been worrying on. Then his gaze snaps up, colliding with yours. you don’t even stand it a second and just directly turn back around, that “sorry for existing typa behavior” that you hate about yourself.

It couldn’t have been more than two seconds. Two awkward, desert-dry seconds.

When you risk a quick glance, His attention is back to the priest like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t been looking at you at all. Like you imagined it.

Jake? No way. He doesn’t look at you like that. He actually doesn’t look at anyone like that.

Suddenly you feel wrong. Like maybe your dress is stained and no one told you. Maybe there’s something on your face. Maybe your knees look awkward. Too bare. Too obvious. Too much.

You resist the urge to check. To wipe at your mouth. To smooth your dress again. To twist around and confirm whether Jake’s still looking — or if he ever was.

Good girl. Be still. Be quiet. You don’t turn around. You don’t look for Jake. At Jake. You don’t ask yourself why your pulse hasn’t settled.

Because the priest has begun.

“Desire,” he says, as you take your deepest breath, “is not a sin in itself. It is a trial.” His voice is calm and practiced. “The body,” he continues, “is a battlefield. What you do with it determines whether you rule it or whether it rules you.”

You swallow, lowering your eyes fading in your cogitations.

“There is submission,” he says, “and there is domination. Both exist in God’s design. The danger lies in confusing control with righteousness.”

Your thighs press together before you realize you’ve moved, wrinkling the white fabric of your dress some more.

“Purity,” the priest continue, “is not ignorance. It is discipline.”

You listen.

But do you really? Yeah, god made everyone imperfect, yeah there’s a plan. yeah, the doctrine. Original sin and all that. Maybe yours is that ugly, gnawing need to be wanted. To be looked at and not overlooked. To be desired down to the bone.

And somewhere between the pulpit and the pew—wedged awkwardly between your faith and that gnawing little knot of guilt in your chest—you start to wonder if you’re really the only one here fighting off thoughts that have absolutely no business being inside a church.

Surely not. Statistically, that would be ridiculous. But—-your eyes scan discretly around you—if there are secret perverts sitting politely between the hymnals and the folded hands, and somehow it isn’t you… then who, exactly, is it?

You caught the priest assistant, Sunghoon lingering a look on you at that right fucking moment, as you regain consciousness and stop bit your lower lip. He’s giving you that one look that tells : you’re doing a remarkably poor job of pretending purity princess.

You’re asking for it, huh, he’s probably thinking.

You try to get it together, while your thoughts misbehave. Spectacularly sharing them thru eyes contact with that Sunghoon guy.

Maybe you’re ovulating. That has to be it. Because why else would your mind go there—imagining him in those same church clothes he’s wearing now, backing you into the confessional, crowding that small space until there’s nowhere left for you to escape. Just to force his hand under your already humid and smiring with anticipation panties, like he has some right to check. To make sure you’re still what you’re supposed to be. Still a good girl. Still unprepared, unready, unstretched.

Just to leave you, legs parted, wanting more, with your juice drying on his finger for his own fun.

you can almost feel those cold, veiny hands on you—enough to make your back oh so lightly arch before you can stop yourself.

Reality comes crashing back the moment your parents stand up. The sudden rustling of people around you breaking your… very unchurchlike train of thought.

Incredible. Truly. Your brain picks church—of all places—for that.Fucking get a grip.

Most of it, you missed. You rise in a too quick move, smoothing your dress with hands that are too sweaty, slipping into the current of families clustering together, voices overlapping in familiarity.

You’re fine with this part. This is not the reason you take three type of diferent pills to calm your anxiety. You greet people automatically. Smile where expected. Nod at the right moments. Ask polite questions you don’t really care about.Your normal social self.

It’s only when you notice who your parents are greeting now that something in you tightens.

Jake’s parents.

Of course…

Your mother hugs his with the kind of warmth she reserved for people she’s already decided are good and above, and his father easily laughs with yours.

And you? You angle your body away on instinct, already planning your escape to the youth group, when your mother’s voice cuts in.

“Don’t just hover,” she says. “Say hi, love.”

“Ms Sim, Mr Sim” you reply smoothly bowing your head, with that shy smile, greeting and chatting as you try hard not to look at Jake, “…I’ll go catch up with friends, have safe trip home.” You bow, almost excusing yourself.

but your mom raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve been ‘catching up’ for weeks. Stay here. It’s impolite.”

Before you can try countering, Jake’s mother steps closer as elegant and unhurried as always, smiling like she knows exactly how things are supposed to go.

“Jake,” she says gently, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. “Why don’t you to go join the group too. Walk her over, okay?” It’s perfect. Kindness, handled exactly how you wished you mom would have.

His mother gives you the“good girl eye” the one in between “if I had a daughter like you…” and “my poor child…” you’re used of reiveving from her since childhood.

Jake turns to you. You meet his eyes too late, then look away too quickly.

There it is. This, is the part you’re bad at. Not people. Not conversation. Just him. Just Jake freaking Sim.

Because around Jake, you’ve always felt this… The gap. Since middle school. Since spelling bees and gold stars and teachers comparing you with soft smiles.

Your effort, his ease, you studying until 2 a.m, and him just existing.

“Sure,” he says, like there was never another option.

Shit, shit, shit. You start feelling it… The anxiety.

Jake falls into step beside you down the aisle, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, shoulders close enough to look friendly, far enough to stay saintly, just socially acceptable. An d you only want one thing : get away. Just to calm that thing that is going on in your stomach.

You don’t realise, but Jake can feel your tension radiating like heat. Your shoulders rigid, your eyes everywhere except on his face, and your stomach probably hollowing out with that familiar unconfortable churn you get whenever he’s near.

He’s memorized it by now: the way you try to straighten your spine, pretend you’re fine, pretend he doesn’t make you want to puke from nerves and something else.

God, it’s pathetic.

And it’s perfect.

You, are so perfect.

He sees everything you try to hide, enjoy every little bit. The awkward fidget, the way your eyes dart anywhere. Every stutter, every forced smile, he catalogs it all.

Fuck, Jake wants to do you so bad it hurts; wants to shove you against the nearest pew, yank that dress up, and fuck until you’re crying his name instead of choking on it.

Keep it together, Jake. Golden boy. Church darling. You can’t let the mask crack.

“You alright?” he asks, voice light—like he’s just the nice guy checking in, as if he wasn’t getting off on your every reaction.

“Hm?” You blink up at him, wide-eyed, caught off guard.

It’s brilliant, that deer-in-headlights thing you do, it just, never gets old.

His gaze drops. Lower. To those fingers you’ve been white-knuckling since the sermon started. “You’ve been clenching your hands all night.”

Your eyes snap down. Fingers guilty half-second too late. And your anxiety rize. Jake can practically see it takes form…

Good.

“I… didn’t realize,” you mumble, voice barely there, with that akward smile.

“I know...” Jake is mesmerized, he watches your breath hitch. You’ve been doing this all service, twisting those fingers like they’re your only anchor. And yeah, he’s been watching. Longer than tonight actually. Longer than you’ll ever guess. “I mean,… I thought maybe you weren’t feeling well,” he continues, “You looked tense.”

A small, strangled laugh escapes you—like you’re one wrong breath from vomiting. Fuck. That sound shoots straight to his cock. He wants to push harder, make it a bit worse, make you dizzy with it maybe. But he need to control himself, If you ever realise, if you ever guess that he’s getting off on your disconfort it’s the end.

“No, I—it’s just a bad habit.” Your hands flap uselessly. Awkward smile plastered on. Stop, he imagines you screaming internally. He almost smirks.

He hums instead. “You should stop.” Another beat. Thin and charged. “I mean…” his eyes drop to your dress. “Look here.”

Jake brushes the threadbare spot you’ve been torturing. Two fingers. That’s all. No grab, no force, just the lightest graze, and your reaction is immediate.

He watches it ripple: pressure sinks through fabric, heat blooms, shiver rockets up your thigh. Goosebumps explode across your legs. Breath snags hard. Thighs twitch in the slightliest way together, desperatly, before you clamp them still.

Fuck. He wants to spread those thighs so bad right now, make you twitch for hours—-Stop! Keep it together, Jake. Control it.

He should stop, he need to. But teasing you is so addicting. “Look,” he murmurs, with that softer smile tilting, almost fond. “its thinner here… than here.”

His veiny hands doesn’t retreat. His fingers slide, slow, deliberate, along the curve of your thigh. Fabric bunches between histhumb and forefinger. His knuckles drag bare skin for three perfect, torturous second. Warm and rougher than you expected from him.

You hadn’t noticed the wear. But he did. On every spot of every cloth you were around him.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Right…” You say taking a step back.

hm? Are you trying to get away? Maybe he did go a bit far, he think. but…

“You’ll stop?” Jake say gently enough to make you doupt if it is a question or a soft command.

And you nod, more like a reflexive. But to him it’s like you’re being obedience, a pathetic state of you that make his dick twitch. You, doing everything he order you to.

He doesn’t move. Tempted to try a bit more.

“Don’t just nod.” It’s almsot imperseptible but his voice drops lower.

“Say yes.”

Your mouth goes dry—he sees the swallow stick. Another traitor nod slips out that make him wanna grab on your jaw, but the word scrapes free finally.

“Y—yes.”

Fuck, Jake fucking loves it. His smile blooms full. The polite one everyone love, yeah. But in this case, he’s just satisfied. Pupils flaring wide for half a heartbeat.

His hand twitches toward your head, like he wants to pat you, like a good pet, but suddenly he snaps out of his little ego trip and reroutes it to your shoulder, remembering he’s not supposed to be this blatant… but oh how he wants it.

Fuck it. It’s not the agreement that gets him half hard. Not even close. It’s the surrender in your personality. The way you surrender without a word, without a fight. How can you be this submisive, angel ? The way you don’t fight back. The way those doe eyes almost beg him to leave you alone… somehow that makes him go harder. Makes him need it.

At first, he didn’t get it. Why this pulls him in so much. Why the simple fact that you’re uncomfortable makes his brain—and apparently his dick—start running the show.

You too don’t get it yet.

Key word : yet.

To say all of this started with pity-hatred would be putting it mildly.

It was the first time in his entire fucking life Jake’s ever felt something so disgustingly potent crawl inside his chest. He still remembers the exact second you got him hopelessly addicted to the sick thrill of having power over you.

Two years ago, at the regional spelling bee auditorium, behind the scenes while everyone was rehearsing—the perfect little prodigy with your too-neat hair and modest knee-length skirt who was supposed to be untouchable— was in some other school senior's arms, pressed against a dark corner backstage’s curtain. His mouth on the side of your neck, leaving wet marks.

His hand shoved so far up under your skirt Jake could see the skin of your inner thigh flexing. And you moaned, a shy whimpering that punched straight through Jake’s balls, as your hips rocked forward shamelessly chasing for more.

That was that. The day Jake realized hate and want could live in the same heartbeat and feel exactly the same.

His first public hard-on. Right there sitting on folding chairs in front of hundreds, cock throbbing painfully against the zipper of his khakis while he watched you sitting down silently next to him. You, the only girl he’d ever really wanted, who got finger-fucked like she was starving for it minutes ago, and then spelling: Floccinaucinihilipilification.

You were his first real crush. His stupid, innocent puppy love.

His first heartbreak.

And—most importantly—his first real taste of rage.

How could you fucking dare give those sounds toa stranger. For days he observed you, just to realise his pure crush on you turned you into an angel you actually weren’t. 

Those moans looped in his skull for weeks. The way your cheeks flushed such a violent pink. The glassy, faraway look in your eyes right before you came. The shuddering, thighs trembling, the tiny, broken cry slipping out as you soaked that bastard’s hand.

Jake came so hard that night he saw stars. Ropes of thick cum painting his stomach while his brain short-circuited, replaying nothing but your wrecked face over and over.

First time he’d ever jerked off thinking about someone specific.

First time he experienced the pleasure of rolling over and fucking a pillow thinking of a girl inner thighs while begging for repentance.

And first time he understood what it meant to want to own someone.

From that day forward it stopped being about trophies, debate medals, perfect report cards, or the endless parade of “suitable” playdates his mom tried to arrange. None of it hit the same as the urge to touch you.

Nothing got him stupidly, painfully hard like the fantasy of finally cornering you—maybe in the back stacks of the library where you always fall asleep with your cheek smushed against an open textbook, or in an empty chem lab after hours.

He daydreamed to wash your mouth out with his tongue until you tasted like him. Wanted to bruise the skin that should’ve always belonged to him.

Wanted to be the first—and only—one to rip new sounds and reactions out of that pretty face. He wished to experiment his new obsessions on you.

And suddenly he realised that every time he smiled that gentle, angelic, good-boy smile while quietly dismantling your confidence, your eyes would go glassy, stomach visibly clenching like you were trying not to cry right there.

And fuck, that made him leak in his briefs.

It was weird. And it was scary. The thought of being purposely bad to someone was against everything he believed in.

Still, no award ceremony, no valedictorian speech, no other girl ever gave him that same feral rush. Nothing got him harder, faster, than watching you shrink under his saintly cruelty.

It’s your fault. He persuaded himself. You, turned him into a sinner.

By the time you reach the youth group, voices overlap and the moment dissolves. You both join your friends suddenly aware of your own body in a way that feels like a low vibration under your ribs.

The group is seated in a loose circle, attention focused on Brother hoon, who sits on a low chair at the end of the circle, hands folded, expression impassive.

“As Father mentioned tonight,” he says, “desire is not something to fear. Strong feelings do not make us bad people.” He smiles softly. “They make us human. What matters is how love and understanding the path of god guides them.”

He looks around the circle.

“Does anyone have a passage they think speaks to that?”

Silence.

People avoid eye contact. Someone shifts. But Jake raises his hand without hesitation.

“John 3:16,” he says evenly. “It reminds us that love is intentional. Chosen. Sacrificial. And that sacrifices vanish a lot of sins.”

Nods ripple through the group. You hesitate, then speak before you can stop yourself.

“First Peter,” you say quietly. “4:9.” You swallow, then continue. “It says that above all, we should have fervent love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins.”

Brother Sunghoon's smile deepens.

“That’s very good,” he says looking at you, “both of you.” You lower your gaze, warmth creeping into your face. Heat floods your cheeks. Oh, how pathetic it feels to crave that tiny scrap of recognition, like a dog waiting for a pat on the head. But from him? It's everything. You drop your gaze to your lap, fingers twisting the hem of your dress, a stupid smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Across the circle, Jake watches. He sees it all: the way your eyes light up for Sunghoon, the flush that creeps up your neck, the shy curve of your mouth.

Head over heels, aren't you? For that guy?.

Jake's jaw tightens. Your lips... His nails dig into his palms without him realising until he feels the warm trickle of skin tiring. Your lips, could smile at him instead. Why couldn’t they he’s always so good to you. So gentlmen. You could at least thank him for always having you in his mind. those same soft lips of yours you btting nervously could be parted around his cock as a thank you, no? You could look at him with those same shy eyes, through those long lashes, begging for that guidance he will surely give you better than anyone else. He’d be so good to you if you letted him. He clenches harder.

You have no idea the storm you're stirring in him, do you? All innocent and fluttering for the wrong man. Fuck he’s doing it again…

Jake reajust himself in the chair, hopping no one noticed, and study keep going until brother Sunghoon claps his hands once, gentle but decisive.

“Let’s do this, for this week exercise” he says. “I want you to pair up with someone,” he gesture, encouraging. “talk together about a desire, something, anything. that is stuck within you and let the other one show acceptance and understanding. It’s about recognizing when it isn’t ours to indulge, and how understanding it helps us accept it, then guide it. Not repress it as a danger. But how to dominate it.”

Murmurs spread. People already turn toward safe friends, prepping harmless confessions: I procrastinate so much…, I love junk food, I desire to skip Bible study sometimes, oops, haha. You do too, wayving at your friend, already scripting something bland and forgivable in your head. Something oh so harmless, that anyone could say “it‘s okay! How about journaling about it?” to.

Then Brother Sunghoon adds, almost offhand adds“Let’s keep it simple… I’ll pair you.” He starts calling names. Your heart drops with each one. Until he reaches you.

“You… With… Jake.” He smiles.

NO.

No,no,no,no.

Your breath catches, sharp and shallow. The room tilts a little. Why you? What could you possibly tell him? Something safe, or... God, what if anything slips out? He’s that good at talking people thru… Your hands tremble, chest tightening like a shrinked shirt. Air feels thin. It’s is a trap, isn't it? Another way for him to see how beneath him you are—frumpy little you, with your buttoned-up blouses and anxious fidgeting, spilling your soul to perfect Jake. Why does it have to be him? Your pulse hammers in your ears, vision blurring at the edges. Breathe. Just breathe. But your lungs won't cooperate, and the panic coils tighter.

He flashes that pure, trustworthy smile everyone melts for, raises his hand in a small, casual hi~ wave. Your friends shoot you those smug, giddy looks—“You’re so lucky!”—like this is some divine rom-com moment.

For one wild second you consider faking illness. Clutching your stomach, bolting for the bathroom, anything. God must be punishing you. This is divine retribution dressed in flannel and soft brown eyes. Or maybe Jake engineered it, whispered to Sunghoon, pulled strings. No, that's paranoid. But the thought makes your stomach churn harder.

“Keep in mind,” Sunghoon adds brightly, “accept with open arms. Show your partner grace. Try to find healthy paths forward together.”

Open arms…

Everyone stands.

You hesitate half a beat too long—long enough that Jake notices—then force your legs to move. Chin up. Shoulders squared. You flash him the smile you’ve practiced in mirrors a hundred times: sweet and polite, that you think look effortless. No one would ever guess how much it costs you, how your heart's racing like it's trying to escape your chest.

You meet him halfway across the room.

“So,” he says quietly, leaning in just enough that his voice stays private, “where do you wanna do this?”His tone is light. Curious. As if the answer doesn’t matter at all. and some jaleous girls side eyes you.

But, the answer genuinely doesn’t matter,.

No it actually does.

It matters so much your throat is closing around it. You need open space. People. Fresh air. A clear line of sight to the bathroom so you can bolt when the panic claws up your esophagus and you have to puke your shame into a toilet stall. Anywhere but—

“I think…” You chew the inside of your lower lip raw, teeth catching skin. Your hand drifts up, nails slidding between your teeth before you even register the motion. Bite. Release. Bite again. You scan the room like there’s an escape hatch nobody told you about. “Anywhere. Anywhere’s fine…”

Jake watches the whole pathetic performance. A second too long. His eyes darken, pupils swallowing the soft brown until they look almost black. He’s already picturing it: those same nervous teeth replaced with something thicker, your lips stretched and glistening, shy eyes flicking up at him while you choke on praise and drool. Fuck. He’ll break that nail-biting habit one day. Replace it with better habits. On your knees. Swollen mouth. Full of him.

“Study room, downstairs then.”

No.

No!!

The word screams in your head but your mouth stays shut. Those coffin-sized side rooms. No windows. No air that isn’t recycled through his lungs first. No witnesses. Bathroom a whole hallway away. You’ll suffocate. You’ll die in there. You’ll—

You nod too fast. Legs move on autopilot. You trail half a step behind him like a scolded puppy…

Inside, the room is smaller than you remembered. Sterile. Dim. One lamp throwing long shadows. Just a table against a the wall. Two chairs. Jake fucking Sim.

And your heart hurts. You want to go home…

Jake let's you go in first and the room is small you can just smell the clean cotton of his shirt and the faint cedar of whatever cologne he wears. He pulls out your chair, oh so gnetlemenly, and you drop into it so fast the legs scrape. You curl your hands into fists so he won’t see the trembling.

When Jake joins and sit… he’s too damn close. His knees bracket yours, because there isn’t anywhere else to be. You decide to make an exercice out of trying to keep yours sealed tight long enough not to touch his.

You fold your hands on the hem of your dress and suddenly flash back to when Jake told you to stop hits.

You stop.

He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. And you stastically are. Because it’s hard to calm your heart by pointing at five things in a room where the. things you see are a lamp and Jake. The silence settles, not really awkward. but as present as a third person you almost count.

Your eyes locks on the door handle behind him. He locked it. Of course he locked it. Why did he locked it? And why is there no window in the room. why is there no ventilation too? No other sounds than your breathing slowly catching.

Your vision blur in the corners.

Shit, shit, shit.

Jake tilts his head, gets closer, concern creasing his brow in that perfect, practiced way. “Hey… you okay? You look…” He pauses, voice dropping softer. “You look a bit stressed.”

Liar. He’s not concerned. He’s enjoying every seconds. You can’t feel it too much in your own head, to see the way his gaze drags over your flushed cheeks, your bitten lip, the slow frantic rise and fall of your chest. Your panic is turning him on and he hates himself for it and he loves it more.

“I—I’m fine,” you whisper. Your tongue feels thick. “Just… It’s hot. In here.”

fuck it’s almost summer, and the church can’t have a window or some kind of fan in a corner.

“You sure?” He leans forward. Elbows on the table. Closer. “Your hands are shaking. You’re pale.” His fake worry drips from every syllable like honey. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You want to scream leave me alone. Instead your mouth opens and closes like a dying fish. His finger shyly catch on chin to makes you look at him. And nausea surges, hot climbing your throat. The room spins. You lurch to your feet.

Bad idea, angel.

Your legs give out like wet paper. You don’t even stumble gracefully, you literally crumple forward, knees hitting the floor hard between Jake’s spread thighs, nails scraping at the wood between his leags. The impact jars up your spine, but the real pain is the way your chest locks tighter, air refusing to come in more than frantic little sips.

He freezes for half a heartbeat. Eyes wide. Then something darker flickers across his face.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Hey—hey, I-I think you’re having a panic attack.”

He should call for Sunghoon. He knows he should. Yell. Open the door. Get the saintly brother in here to lay hands and pray he can calm your allergy to him.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead his hands shoot out.One clamping around your jaw, firm enough to tilt your face up to his, the other slids to cradle the back of your neck just like he’s been rehearsing in his dreams for months.

“Easy,” he murmurs, thumb stroking once along the edge of your lower lip—almost tender. “Breathe for me, okay? You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You try. God, you try. But your lungs are made of stone. Your vision swims. Tears already sting the corners of your eyes because everything feels too loud, too close, too him.

Jake’s jaw ticks. His voice drops lower. “Come here.”

He hauls you up, not roughly, but with purpose, straight into his lap so you’re straddling him face-to-face. Your knees bracket his hips on the narrow chair; your dress bunches high on your thighs. His hands stay where they are: one still gripping your jaw, the other curled possessively around the back of your neck, keeping you from looking away.

You’re close enough to see the flecks of brown in his dark irises, the tiny scar on his upper lip, the way his pupils have blown wide. Close enough to feel every ragged exhale fan across your mouth.

“Still not breathing right,” Jake says, voice low, almost disappointed. His thumb strokes once along the seam of your lips, “open your mouth, angel.”

Your lips and eyes tremble, stay sealed. Terror and humiliation glue them shut.

He exhales sharply through his nose. Then two thick fingers push past your teeth without preamble. They hook over your tongue and press, stretching the soft inner skin of your cheeks until they pull tight, until your jaw screams from the angle. You gag hard, helpless, the sound is wet and obscene in the room you’re ashamed.

“Fuck,” he hisses, hips twitching once beneath you. His cock is already straining against his jeans, pressing insistently against your core through thin fabric. “Breathe, thru your mouth. In through your nose… out slow. Come on.”

You try—God, you try—but every inhale shoves his fingers deeper, every failed exhale drags more saliva spilling over his knuckles, dripping down your chin and his hand. Your tears stream freely now and a choked, broken whimper vibrates around the intrusion.

He groans low in his throat, head dropping back a bit to enjoy the show.

“You’re fucking killing me like this.”

His free hand slides down—under the hem of your dress and you jolt when it goes past the lace edge of your panties, until his palm flattens over your lower belly. Big. His hand is big. Spanning so much skin you feel tiny, fragile and kind of owned. He presses firm rhythmics. Up on the inhale, down on the exhale. Forcing your diaphragm to obey.

“Like that,” he whispers, breath mingling with yours. “Good girl. Follow my hand. In… out…”

The pressure make your insides wierd, his fingers stretching your mouth, petting your tongue like something precious turn your brain mushy. His palm grinds slightly more possessive, close enough to the fabric of your panties that your clit drags on the friction you can’t ignore. His head tips; his lips brush your temple once barely there.

“If you need to puke,” he rasps, voice cracking with restraint, “tell me, I don’t give a fuck.”

The words hit meaner than he usually speaks. He’s diferent more dominating. A soft, shattered sound tears from your throat: half sob, half plea. Drool glistens on his fingers, strings of it connecting to your swollen lips when he finally, agonizingly, slowly, withdraws them.

Three minutes. Maybe four. Your breathing stuttered, catched, steadied and now ragged gasps smooth into something almost even.

His hand stays splayed on your belly. You feels your hands again finally, resting on your thighs, when you look at them you catch on the buldge of is cock throbing beneath you with every shaky inhale you take. But you don’t look away, and not at him.

And jake doesn’t speak for a long beat.

Then, barely audible he says: “Better?”

Your tongue still tastes like the salt of his skin. You can’t answer too everwelmed, and suddenly fresh tears slip down your cheeks.

His thumb strokes once over your lower stomach, just gentle now.

“Shhh, Good girl,” he breathes. And the praise sinks into you like a cold patch on your fever, even as you tremble in his arms, with nowhere left to hide, “There you go,” he murmurs, voice all honeyed, post-crisis soft. “You’re okay, angel. Just breathe. It’s alright. Everything’s alright.”

Jake speak in the same tone people use on scared puppies or crying kids. Like he handed you a participation trophy for almost blacking out in his lap.

You’re calm(ish). Breathing steady. Heart still hammering, sure, but no longer trying to punch through your ribs.

Jake, though?

Jake is not calm.

The thick, insistent ridge of him presses up against your core through his jeans and your bunched skirt. Hard enough that every tiny shift of your hips drags a low hiss from between his teeth. You feel it twitch when you swallow. Feel it throb when your breath hitches. He’s leaking through the fabric—you’re almost sure of it—and the realization makes fresh heat flood your face.

You can’t look at him.

Not for the next two minutes that stretch into a miserable eternity.

So you do the only thing your body knows how to do when cornered: you tuck your face into the warm crook of his neck. Hide there. His skin smells like cedar and clean sweat and something faintly metallic—like he’s been biting the inside of his cheek too. Your nose presses against his pulse. It’s racing faster than yours.

His hand slides up. Fingers card gently through your hair—slow, soothing strokes from crown to nape. Petting you like you’re fragile porcelain.

His other hand drops and settles high on your bare thigh, thumb resting just under the hem of your panties. Not moving. Just… there. Claiming space. Testing how long you’ll let it stay

How the fuck are you this cute? Jake thinks, jaw tight. Hiding in his neck like a scared little cat. All flushed and messy and still trying to be good.

But the next thought comes faster and uglier:

How do he turns this into you coming completely undone under me?

He turns it over in his head like a Rubik’s cube he already knows the solution to. Every angle. Every justification.

You’re already so wet. Jake can feels it. you’re shaking because you wants it too, you’re just too shy to admit it. I could fix that. He thinks. I could make you need me so bad you’d forgets how to breathe without my permission. Make you crawl. Make you beg. Make you thank him for every things.

This is toxic as hell.

But what if it’s good for both of you?

What if Jake could give you exactly what you’r too scared to ask for, and once he’d you experience it, maybe these sick thoughts will finally shut the fuck up? Like finally playing that one game you’ve been obsessing over for years, beating it in one all-nighter, and then never touching it again because… meh. Done. Satisfied.

Yeah… He’s bad at lying to himself…

“You feel better?” he asks quietly, lips brushing your temple.

You nod against his neck. Tiny. Barely there.

He exhales like he’s been holding the breath for centuries.

“You know…” His voice drops lower, almost confessional. “I get like that too. Around you.”

You freeze.

“Not… not exactly like that,” he adds quickly. “But I feel… off. Not myself. Wired. Like my skin’s too tight.”

Silence. But you can hear his heartbeat so distinctly.

You shift barely an inch, and realize too late how it looks: the straps of your dress fallen off your shoulders, hair a wrecked halo, cheeks stained and humid. You look fucked already and he hasn’t even kissed you nor touched you.

Jake’s bangs are messy now, falling into his eyes. He looks… different. Maybe hungrier. Less like the golden youth-group Jake and more like some guy who’s been starved and have his. first meal in front him.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Jake half-smiles anf it’s devastating. You never saw him like that.

The thoughts flood back so fast he almost groans out loud.

He never really watched porn. Didn’t need to. But his brain’s been running a private channel starring you for months. You biting your lip when you’re nervous? Jake wants those lips on his cock instead. You tugging your hair when you’re frustrated? Jake want his fist wrapped in it while he fucks you till you cry. You fidgeting with your skirt hem? Jake wants to flip it up, spread you open, pull out dripping and smear the mess across your panties until you’re glazed and whimpering his name.

Jake’s fingertips graze a stray strand from your cheek. Your breath stutters. He smirks every time your eyes dart away.

“You’re uncomfortable around me, hm?”

You shake your head so violently your hair whips his chin.

He chuckles softly and dark. “It’s okay.” His humb traces your cheekbone now, slowly, deliberatly, cataloging every twitch. “I don’t mind. Actually… I kinda like it.”

His eyes follow his own touch like he’s hypnotized.

“You hate me?”

Another violent head shake.

“I won’t believe you if you don’t speak, angel.”

“I…” Your tongue darts over dry, bruised lips. You swollow dry.“I don’t hate you…” The whisper is so quiet it barely exists.

But it’s enough.

He readjusts under you. A deliberate grind that makes you gasp. and he smiles, soft and so fucking fond it hurts.

“You know…” His thumb drags over your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part it. “I tried everything to not think of this. Doubled prayer time, knelt till my knees bruised. Ran till I puked. Anything to exhaust my body, starve my mind. But the harder I tried to kill it… the clearer the pictures of you got. You. Just you. Every fucking time.”

“…What?” you whisper.

“I’m doing the exercise right now,” he says, voice cracking just a little. is head drops to your neck this time. He inhales deep your perfume, your fear-sweat, your arousal. “Fuck, it’s weird saying it out loud.”

Your heart skips a beat painfully.

“It’s just… I keep fantasizing. Obsessing. You’re the only one I think about when I—” He cuts himself off, lips brushing your skin. “I don’t know what to do. What should I do, hm? Tell me.”

Brother Sunghoon’s voice echoes in your skull like divine intervention gone wrong: Accept with open arms. he said Show your partner grace. he said. Try to find healthy paths forward together. He said.

Your hands fly to his shoulders gripping like he’s rock on your chest.

“You… what kind of thoughts?”

He fights the grin. Loses. It spreads slow and victorious across his face.

Got you.

He leans in until his mouth ghosts your ear.

“When you bite your lip? I want to replace your teeth with mine. Want to suck that plump little mouth till it’s swollen and you’re whimpering into my tongue.”

Your thighs clench involuntarily.

“When you chew your nails? I want them scratching down my back while I’m buried so deep you forget your own name.” You swallow. “Want to see those same fingers wrapped around my cock, slick and trembling, guiding every inch down your throat till you gag and swallow every drop I pump into you.”

His hand slides higher on your thigh—fingertips grazing the damp edge of your panties. Fuck what a pool.

“When you tug your hair? I want my fist in it. Pulling just hard enough to make your eyes water while I fuck your mouth slow. Pull out to wipe the mess across your lips like the lips balm you always put on and ends up licking. I want to make you taste how wrecked you make me.”

Jake’s touching you everywhere he shouldn’t under your dress. Grazing his way up your hips, teasing the small of your back, mapping out every spot he’s dreamed about ruining.

“Ahhh, sorry… it’s probably just wierd,” he lies smoothly, voice shy and coaxing. “I think it’s like, hormones and curiosity. Once I… do it. Once I get it out of my system, it’ll stop. I’ll be normal again.”

So that what it is. That’s what Sim Jaeyun had in his head all allong. “You’ll accept this part me, hm?”

“Hm?”

He’s eyes are doing this puppy thing “…That’s what the exercise is for, right?”

Fuck… The exercice…

Your panties are soaked. You can feel it all hot and sticky, more than the fabric can hold. Your clit throbed in time with his words and he just don’t shutted up. You’re dizzy again, but for a different reason.

Maybe you’re trying to help. Maybe you’re just that far gone. Maybe you just want that buldge that much… And it’s okay.

Cause love and acceptance erase a lot of sins, no?

“You… want to try?” you whisper.

Jake thrives. His eyes darken and travel everyplace he want to touch, mark and own. “Will you let me?”

For a second you almost see that shadow behind the soft dark of his eyes, the part you never saw before, and think not anyone ever saw.

You’re too wet, too shaky and too lost in the heat radiating between you, to be able to think twice so—-

You nod.

“Say it.” His eyes beg, lips tasting your with a graze.

“Ok…Yes.”

He exhales like the war is finally over and he’s the only soldier left standing. “Good,” he breathes, thumb dragging slow across your bottom lip one last time, bitting his, like he’s sealing a contract.

And just like that, his daydream becomes reality.

Jake’s eyes go black, his pupils swallowing everything soft and church-boy-ish about him. They rake down your body like he’s already mapping every place he wants to bruise, bite, own. His hands flex and fingers twitching with the too many impulses that come at him in once: rip that dress? pin your wrists? spread you wide? make you cry his name? God itself shouldn’t witness the thoughts he’s having right now.

He’s still trying to convince himself that, this, is just hormones. Just a phase. Just the exercise.

But the lie is thinning fast as his dick take control over his brain.

“It’s your fault… I wasn’t like that before you,” he mutters, voice low and cracked. “You sat there with your smile, biting your lip, tugging your hair, fidgeting like a nervous little thing—and it’s like you’re begging me—to… Take control. You think that’s fair?”

You blink up at him, chest heaving. “Wh… why am I the problem? It’s your—”

He cuts you off by hauling you up effortlessly, spinning you until your ass hits the edge of the table. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, lays you flat on the cold wood. and yanks one of your legs high, hooking it over his shoulder.

He bites down on the inside of your calve and you iss, teeth sinking just enough to make pain bloom brightly and hot.

You yelp, and the sound bounces off the walls. He smirks against your skin, tongue flicking over the fresh mark. “Why so uncomfortable around me, hm? Allergic?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Shaking your head. Too shy. Too overwhelmed. Too wet. He lets your leg fall. Steps in closer, with one leg on the table, and leans down for your mouth.

You panic, your hands fly up, palms flat against his mouth, pushing him back an inch.

“What?” His voice drops dangerously soft against your palm.

You shake your head again. No. Not that. Not yet maybe.

“You said I could try anything,” he reminds you, eyes narrowing like a sad puppy.

“Not… not that.”

He looks unhappy. Jake jaw ticks, then his hand shoots to your jaw firmly, tilting your head to the side.His lips find the nape of your neck instead and sucks hard. He marks you, and you feel the bruise blooming already.

“I’ll make you beg for a kiss,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “I’ll make you crawl for it.”

His fingers hook the thin straps of your summer dress and with one smooth tug the fabric slides down your arms, pools at your waist, then drops to the floor entirely. You’re left in nothing but damp cotton white panties and your red Converse and white socks, shivering.

His palms cover your breasts too hard at first. You wince, brows pinching. He watches your face like it’s scripture. Adjusts. Squeezes again. Just a bit softer. Then harder. Jake is testing and learning every twitch, every hitch in your breath.

You finally open your eyes and meet his.

To realise he’s gone. Gone gone.

Not Jake anymore. Something trance-like. Pupils blown. Breathing shallow. Mouth parted like he’s receiving a vision.

“Jake…?”

“Let me see,” he rasps. “All the kinds of faces you can make.”

He drops his mouth on your nipple with his dark eyes on you. ANd feel his thick lips, fangs grazing. Tongue swirling slow, then flicking sharp. He captures everything: the way your fingers dig into his shoulders to push him away, the helpless rock of your hips against his bulge, the little space between your parted lips where silent cries keep slipping out.

He’s addicted.

He tries for your mouth again. And you block him. Again. He growls like an unhappy dog in his throat. Grabs your hips and jsut forces them down hard against his cock to make grind you along the length until you yelp and yelp and yelp again.

His thumb traces your lips. Slips inside. Hooks your cheek. Fuck, he loves this view: your brows bending in that perfect needy arch, eyes watering, lashes clumping. His favorite expression. The cry-baby you.

“God bless you for being such a perfect little cry baby,” he mutters. “He made you for me. Look at you. You’re built to fall apart under my hands, hm?”

Your brain short-circuits. What the hell is he saying? This isn’t Jake. This is—

Three fingers shove past your lips. Stretch your mouth wide. He hyperfixates—watching the way your tongue flattens, the drool that pools, the way your throat works around the intrusion.

“I always see it,” he says, voice wrecked. “You biting your crayons, your nails, your lips... Every little anxious quirk. Makes me want to replace them all. Want to fuck your mouth until you’re choking on me instead of anything else .”

You hear his zipper.

He’s stroking himself now, slowly, his head bumping against the drenched cotton between your thighs. Soft whimpers escape you both.

He stops everything. Focuses on the wet patch. The sticky mess you’ve made.

“Fuck… how can you be this wet?”

His thumbs presses and stroke everywhere you wet yourself, traces the shadow of your entrance through the fabric, firmly, slowy. And you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes darting to the door.

“Jake—someone could—”

He doesn’t hear you. He’s too far gone.

He keeps smearing your slickness, adding his own leaking precum until the white cotton is translucent, clinging, buried between your folds.

Both your breaths come faster, heavier.

“I want to fuck you so bad.” He notches the head against your clit with forces pressure. You jolt—whole body arching.

You stare at him, and a sudden realization hits: he’s touching a pussy for the first time. No?

He’s acting like he want to force it inside, but he doesn’t even know where and what it really looks like up close. He’s on instinct, hunger mode. It’s thrilling. And it’s terrifying. He won’t listen. Won’t stop. So your trembling hand slides down. Brushes him. He’s veiny, swollen. So hard it hurts to touch.

He snarls. Grabs your wrist. Forces your fingers around his shaft. Makes you strock it.

“Fuck—”

You line him up—head nudging your entrance, with only the soaked fabric between.

He thrusts so shallow and desperate. The head pushes in stretching the cotton, stretching you. You arch violently. His breathing is obscene, so freaking loud and ragged.

“I’ll fuck you… fuck, I wanna fuck you so bad.”

He slams a palm on the table beside your head.

“Fuck—we can’t—” he say, but doesn’t stop. His thrusts turn erratic. Wet sounds fill the room rhythmic. Every shallow push forces the fabric deeper, almost tearing, almost letting him in.

“I want inside—fuck—I want to fuck you so bad.”

“I want to go so deep you scream.”

“I want to feel your clench around me.”

You’re close—too close—from the friction, from his wrecked expression, from the way he’s losing every shred of control. You grab his wrist, with your still trapped between his hand and his cock’s hand, and guide his fingers.

He follows. And memories flash him: the day he caught you getting fingered in secret. The way your hips bucked. The sounds.

He laughs dizzy, “I forgot… you’re a little slut, right?”

Two fingers shove inside you. No preamble. He just fuck your inside roughly. He curls. Scissors. Pumps. No pattern. Just chasing every reaction. Every flutter. Every jolt.

“How can a dick even fit in here, hm?” he mutters, completely out of his mind. “Fuck—”

Your orgasm builds terrifyingly fast. You try to fight it. Try to stay quiet. But the more you clench, the harder it hits. Your legs snap shut around his hand.

He watches from above, literally transfixed, as your body contracts, back bowing, thighs trembling.

Right when you’re about to tip over—

He pulls out. Completely.

You jolt. Thrash. Palm slams the table. Other hand clamps over your mouth. Legs convulse, and you see white for a second. The denial is stronger than any full orgasm you’ve ever had. And Jake drinks in every second—your arched back, your shaking thighs, the way you’re offering yourself without words.

Your back…

He grabs your leg. Flips you onto your stomach, the cold table shocks your nipples.

“Wait—”

He yanks your panties up so hard you’re forced onto tiptoes.

His cock slides between your fabric and ass. Its hot, thick, fucking the crease hard. Jake’s palm clamps the back of your neck and it cuts oxygen just enough to make your brain fuzzy, make everything narrow to the drag of him against you.

He grinds. Strokes your clit with the soaked cotton pulling. Faster. Faster. Meaner.

You both break at the same time. He groans and bites on the arm that hold you down, as hot and thick ropes of cum paint your back. Your legs buckle a bit a,d your orgasm crashes as silently as possible, shattering, legs trembling so hard you almost collapse.

Both of you are shaking. Breathing like you’ve run marathons.

It’s over.

But he grabs your arm. Pulls you down. You fall to your knees. “Let me see your face.” He brushes sweat-damp hair back. You look exactly like his dream: wrecked. Lips swollen. Eyes glassy.

He towers over you. Cock still half-hard and leaking. You lean forward. Press your lips to the head, with your tongue flat against the thick vein underneath.

“Ahh—-” he snaps. One hand fist your hair. Thrusts shallow, fucking the last of his cum into your mouth, to gradually fuck the back of your throat.

You gag. Tears spill. And he loses it completely, watching the tears track down your cheeks, feeling your throat work around him.

“Fuck… that’s it. Take it all.”

ANd you take it all. Every shallow thrust into your mouth, every pulse against your tongue, every drop he spills down your throat, he watches like it's the holy prouf that he’s in fact one of god’s favorite. Your eyes water and tears track hot down your cheeks. You gag softly once, twice, but you don't pull away.

Jake groans low, wrecked, fingers tightening in your hair. "I love you," he rasps, voice cracking on the words like they've been clawing at his throat for months. "Fuck—I love you so much it hurts. I want you bad. So fucking bad."

He releases with one last shudder, flooding your mouth. You cough, choke a little, saliva and cum dripping from the corner of your lips as you gasp for air. Before you can even wipe your chin, he yanks your head back by the hair, sharp enough to make you gasp, and tries to crashes his mouth to yours—-

Then his phone buzzes—sharp, insistent, vibrating against the table like a slap back to reality. He. literally freezes. His lips one millimeter away.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He wanted this to never end. He pulls back slowly, breathing ragged, passing a frustrated hand in his hair and answers the call with shaking fingers.

You sink back onto your knees, dazed, chest heaving, trying to piece yourself together while the world rushes back in too loud, and too fast. You can't hear Jake’s conversation: just muffled voices, his low "yeah, Mom," "okay, got it." His free hand reaches for yours, squeezing once, grounding.

He mouths at you silently, puppy eyes soft again: You okay? With his phone still hooked between ear and shoulder, he reaches out, rearranges your tangled hair with careful fingers, wipes the tear tracks and spit from your cheeks with his thumb and sleeve. Jake helps you too, tug your dress back up over your shoulders like nothing happened.

The call ends, and you don’t even realise it. There’s only that strange feeling of calm in you, like the anxiety is gone. And maybe too much of Jake’s presence. There’s nothing. You just don’t think anymore. And it feels somhow so pleasing.

"Hey." Jake’s hand slides to the back of your neck, with a gentle pressure turning your face to his. "My mom called. Your parents got an emergency thing from work. We're taking you home."

"Hm?"

He studies your expression, you’re in the stars right now, and oh how he wish he could keep you there. A soft, fond smile tugs at his mouth. His eyes drop to your lips. He bites his own. Leans in. But you suddnely flinch, almost dodge again.

But he goes for your cheek instead. With a soft, chaste kiss. Just a brush of lips.

"It's okay," he murmurs against your skin. "I won't do anything you don't want me to." He shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over your shoulders. Leans close again, breath warm against your ear. "Sorry… for your back."

And the rest of that. damn night is blurs. Like a lucid dream.

You vagly get the church bathroom mirror, your lips swollen, neck marked you hidded under his jacket, the sticky mess on your lower back cooling under. If this wasn't church, if it wasn’t jake… And you, anyone with eyes would know exactly what happened.

The ride home… you don't remember words. Just the echo of Jake's mom asking if you have a fever, calling you "angel" in that sweet-mom voice while your thighs stick together and your pulse won't settle.

One solid fact was that he slipped a Snickers bar into your pocket—his pocket, technically his yeah, since you forgot to give his jacket back when you bolted from the car and ran hometo shower.

It's still on your nightstand weeks later. Melting slowly in its wrapper. Proof the fever dream was real. That the reasons your wetting your panties since, is Jake. Jake and the way used you.

And if you thought that one night would kill the anxious buzz you get whenever Jake's within five meters… Wrong.

Now it's worse. One look from him across the youth group room and you're rushing to the bathroom to wipe the insane rush of wetness between your thighs. And the slapping the idea of literally eating your nails in front of him with the expectation that he ends up fucking you hard some place.

Jake's side isn't better.

That night he slept better than he ever had. First weeks of summer felt golden. He thought he had you and basta. But you went from anxious-around-him to full avoidance. If it weren't for church services, the country club brunches, the upcoming youth group trip—he wouldn't even catch your shadow.

The dreams came roaring back. but Stronger. More vivid. More real.

He needs to see you. Hold you. Now.

The country club brunch is packed, linen tablecloths, clinking silverware, parents laughing too loud. And jake half-hard, eyes in void thinking of fucking you doggy style and bend you until you scream for him to stop. You see him first. He catch you second trying to regain consciousness with his meter long eyespack. You’re across the lawn, through the crowd, eyes locked. Neither of you looks away. But in Jake head it might as well be an halucination.

His mom calls yours over and he snap. You’re here, like really here. More plates are insisted upon. "We need another setting—Jake, scoot over, sweetheart."

Your heart slams so hard you taste copper. By some divine cruelty (or blessing), you're seated right next to him at a table too small for five. Everyone chats: weather, golf scores, your perfect tenis perfs, college plans for both of you.

And—-

Jake's hand slides under the table. Under your tennis skirt. You freeze mid-sentence. His palm is bigger than you remember, rougher, hoter from whatever secret workouts he does to punish himself.

He squeezes your thigh hard. And you know what it is. A punishment. You try to keep your face neutral. Smile at someone's joke. His hand creeps higher. You yank his wrist away and bolt upright.

"Sorry—restroom."

You walk—fast—to the farthest one possible. When a hand catches your wrist near the doors. He drags you into some ladies' room stall. Locks it.

"Jake—what are you—"

"Why are you avoiding me?"

You're stunned silent.

Why? WHY?!

"You're even avoiding me now…" He crowds you against the wall. The stall is spacious and tiny at the same time. His body heat is everywhere. "I accepted you. You accepted me. For who we are. So why avoid each other?"

"What… what are you talking about?"

He bends. Mouth at your ear. "That you're a needy little slut…" Voice calm, natural, like he's reading the weather. "And I have weird… fucked-up desires about you."

You meet his eyes. And the scariest part is that he's not even trying to hide it. Just says it like fact.

"Are you… Jake…"

His head drops to your shoulder, kissing your neck. a hand slides to your hip. "I'm hard."

Your brain short-circuits.

"I still dream about you. It didn't go away. I fuck my hand remembering your throat squeezing me. Your insides clenching. I even got hard in the last days of school just because you finally stopped biting your nails."

You're breathing too loud and he straightens and locks eyes. His thumb grazes your lips. "Have you let someone else touch you?"

Head shake.

"Sunghoon?"

Shake.

"Any of the guys at the club?"

Shake.

His smile blooms slowly, victorious. "I knew it. So we're good to each other?"

"Hm?"

"I've been thinking about it, angel. About God's plan. Maybe we're meant for each other. Don't you think?"

You bat your lashes in pure incomprehension. He slides a hand around your neck, gently but possessive.

"I like to bully you…" He says as his thumb strokes your pulse. "And you love it when I use you. Right?"

He looks at you like a kid begging for the one toy he can't live without. And now the toy… Is you.

You've circled it in your head too. Mostly terrified he'd tell his friends, or confess it to father or any brother from the church. But once the panic faded with rationality… you realized… That, maybe, you never hated him.

You just wanted to be special. To someone. To him. The person everyone loves, and you couldn’t reach. To have something only you get from Jake. His dark dreams. His secret desires. Let that be yours. Only yours. The saint's secret dreams.

You nod.

He smirks. "Say it."

"…Yes."

His expression lights up brighter than when he won valedictorian last spring.

"You'll be mine?"

You shy half-nod. Eyes on his. "…hm."

"Good girl. My angel." He attacks, soft kisses everywhere except your mouth. Jaw. Cheek. Temple. Collarbone. Throat. Shoulder. Each one reverent. Worshipful. You melt. Your legs get weaker and weaker, but Jake wedges a thigh between yours to hold you up. He stops at your lips, with his thumb traces them.

"Why won't you let me kiss you?"

You whisper: "I… wanted to give my first kiss to my boyfriend."

He clicks with starry eyes, searching. "You've never been kissed?"

Another head shake. His pupils blow dark. Saint Jake is gone.

"Let me kiss you then."

"Why would I?"

"Let's date." He almost order you simply and logical. "How can I let someone else have you if you're mine? Let's tell our parents later. Let's tell everyone—so no one tries anything. wierd with you."

Very rich coming from him.

"I'll take such good care of you." He kiss your jaw. "I'll let you have anything you want." Kiss your neck. "I'll reward you when you're good. I'll help you with… everything…"

Anything? Really anything?

"Would you…” you hesitate, “Would you withdraw from head of youth group? Give my name?"

Jake smirks. "If you're mine… anything."

He closes the toilet lid and sits. Drags you forward slowly by the wirst. "Then… will you let me kiss you?"

You half-nod, but then whisper: "…Okay."

You lean in for a peck, but he pulls back.

"I want to see you on your knees. Come here… and beg me for a kiss."

Your heart jackhammers. But the idea… You don't hate it. So you execute. You sink on your knees on cold tile, yyes up at him. And just like that he exhales hard. Head falls back against the wall for a second.

"God… your eyes from this angle." His hand runs through your hair until his fingers find the rubber band and he slides it off. Jake twists it around his own wrist like a trophy. "I love how wrecked you look already."

You beg him for the first time, shy and softly trembling. "Please… kiss me."

He don’t even makes you wait of act up, Jake just pulls you up. And gives you your first kiss. His. No one else's. He's hungry. Hungrier. His lips bite yours, all gentle then sharp. His tongue sucks yours into his mouth like he's starving. It’s wet, and you try to move and wipe your mouth, with one hand Jake cups your jaw. The other fists your hair.

You pull back gasping.

"Jake—our families. They're waiting. They'll question—"

He scoffs with a smirk, eyes completely blown.

"No one would ever believe what's happening right now. Because it's me. And it's you."

He doubles down. Grabs the unspent hem of your skirt—the one you didn't realize you'd stopped fidgeting with, and stuffs it into your mouth.

"They could never imagine you're about to show me how wet you are by sliding these panties down and spreading your legs for me, right angel?" "Or that you're gonna fuck yourself on my hand after."

an electric shock runs through your whole body. "And after I taste you… I'll keep your panties. So when I miss my angel, I can remind myself until I catch you again. Hm?"

He sits back. Stroking himself slow. Pulling your hair just enough to keep your eyes on his.

No one would ever guess.

He's right. The end ~

Afterstory :

Just note that these two Never go all the way until their wedding night lmao. They got very creative but never really do it! (And yes five years into marriage, during one very drunk games night with the boys, Jake get cocky, lost a bet, and “lent” his wife to Jay for like… 15 minutes. He watched. He hated it. Never happened again. Lesson learned: some fantasies look better in his head than in real life. And keeps her all to himself like the possessive prayer-boy he still is. 😏

Anyway thanks for riding this rollercoaster with me at first the plot was reader turns 18 and can suddenly hear people desires (any cherrymagic lover in the room???) but then one day she try to wake up sweet pure ikeu and discover he's obssesed by her and somehow it turned into this shit tada. Sleep tight, dream dirty love y'all and can't wait to hear you hehehehehe 💕 I'm tired... Lassiie...

MASTERLSIT

I summon the holy TG : Thk u so so much to my girlypop @jayjw16enxp@nithxhoon, @ikeuatic @puphees @raven-unkind @hoondrop @heekolazz @thesundys @w2hoonki @jaerisdiction @keuri @v-irtujake @moasshi @wonnies-girl @seungiesdoll @jakeintoit @s4eungie @scarett-lover23 @loveminlive @isagistar @aarriiaa1

@eemchaee @gunilsguns @ashayein @1-800-peakyblinders @choeryyxyz @simj4ke @heavenlyjake @heeevangelizesmevangelizesme @heeseung64 @sotyphoonyouth @mheretoreadff @heejunluvr @choeryyxyz @hoonprksung @schniti-is-in-the-house @ii2sanrio @woniedoyouloveme @saeris-world @gonorrheaisme @soobiverse @ikeubae @wonarchy @04angelbaby

The door wasn't supposed to open—but it was too late.

The handle turned slowly under Jungwon's grip, the quiet creak almost polite, almost gentle. He stood frozen in the doorway, fingers tightening around the metal as his eyes adjusted to the scene in front of him. Right on your bed. You bent over the edge, knees on the floor chest pressed against the mattress and Jay right behind you on his knees, clothed throbbing bulge against your covered centar, fully clothed but still the act so sinful and filthy.

Jay slowed down after the sound that broke the breathless and desperate atmosphere, your gasps subduing as you raised your forehead from the fluffy duvet. Jungwon's eyes flicked to the corner of your room, to the chair that had his hoodie and sweats resting on them that he just dropped by to pick up before they were back to the both of you.

For a second, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. His eyes travel slowly, carefully, like he's afraid of what they'll confirm if he looks too fast.

You.

Jay.

Your silk pyjama shorts riding up your thighs, bunching right at your hips exposing your red ass cheeks, his old zip up hoodie you claimed as yours when your two started dating exposing your shoulders, under which you so carelessly wore nothing. The shorts he bought you on his last summer trip with his parents. The hoodie he cuddled you in, laughed with you in, fucked you in. Jay was pressed against your ass, his bulge so obviously visible as his movements stopped, the hand that was between your shoulder blades slowly dropping to your hip.

Jungwon's grip on the handle tightened at the sight that he needed some time to process. His chest tightened, stomach flipped, mind blank. Jay doesn't pull away. He doesn't look guilty, doesn't look surprised. If anything, he looks mildly curious — head tilting just slightly, dark eyes steady on Jungwon like he's waiting to see how this plays out.

Jungwon loves you.

He loves you in the quiet ways. In remembering the things you forget. In the way he reaches for your hand absentmindedly when you're walking beside him. He loves you in patient ways. In futures planned in his head that he never pressured you into. He trusts you. He trusts you enough that walking in on this doesn't make him scream.

It makes him go still.

And that stillness is worse. Because while something in him is cracking, audible, visible, you feel nothing at all. No rush of panic. No desperate apology clawing its way up your throat.

Jay has always been there. Before Jungwon. During Jungwon. And maybe that's the real betrayal. You didn't choose one, you chose both.

That's what makes the silence so loud, because he isn't shouting. He isn't asking what this is. He's just standing there, something splintering behind his eyes so subtly it almost looks like confusion. Like he's trying to rearrange the scene into something that makes sense.

It doesn't.

You don't move. No fear, no guilt. Jay's gaze flicks from Jungwon back to you, then returns to him. Calm. Unapologetic. Their eyes met in a fiery battle, Jay's mischief ones holding something darker behind them as they bored into the doe confused glassy eyes of the other man. And that's when Jungwon's jaw tightened and his eyes locked with yours for the first time.

His gaze drags over you again — slower this time. Taking inventory. The hoodie. The shorts. The way you're still on your knees and bent over the same bed you two were spending the most of the time when he was over.

His hoodie.

His throat moves like he's trying to swallow something that won't go down, eyes going over your flushed face, ruined hair and the dazed eyes absentmindedly searching for regret. Something. Just something that proves that you are sorry, that you made a mistake.

That this has not been going on for as long as his friends told him to watch out for.

Nothing. Just a blank hazy stare.

He clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek as his gaze moved over the both of you one more time. His chest filling up with sorrow, pain that threatened to burst out any second. He gulped, nodding to himself and slowly backed out of the doorway, pulling the door closed.

He wasted no time, his harsh steps already moving toward the front door, wanting nothing else then to just leave.

Leave this suffocating apartment.

———

It's been three days.

Three days since Jungwon walked in on you and Jay. Three days of silence so complete it almost feels intentional, like he decided the absence would hurt more than any words ever could. No messages. No missed calls. No late night paragraphs sent in anger. Just nothing. You expected something louder. Expected fury. Expected him to storm back in within hours, demanding explanations, demanding tears, demanding something from you. But Jungwon didn't do that. He left. And he stayed gone.

The evening settles heavy outside your apartment windows, the sky bleeding into muted orange and dull blue. The light stretches long across the hardwood floors, catching on the edges of furniture, making the place feel unfamiliar in its stillness. You've been sitting in it for a while now, letting the quiet press against you. You don't feel particularly guilty. Not devastated. If anything, you feel suspended — like you're waiting for the consequence to finally arrive.

When the knock comes, it's firm but controlled, not aggressive, not frantic. You know it's him before your body even reacts. For a moment, you stand there, staring at the door, considering how easy it would be not to answer. To let this stretch another day. Another hour. But avoidance has never really been your style. Neither has confrontation.

You open it.

He stands there, eyes are rimmed red, skin pale in the fading light of the hallway. His jaw is tight, like he's been clenching it for days, holding something back. His hands were in his pockets, grey sweats hung low on his hips and a black shirt cascaded over his shoulders and down his torso. The combo that would have made you go feral any other day and definitely in different circumstances.

"We need to talk." He says after a moment, his voice quiet but fierce, almost commanding. He doesn't ask if he can come in. He just steps past you slowly, like the threshold doesn't belong to either of you anymore. The door shuts behind him with a sharper click than before, like he didn't mean for it to slam but couldn't quite control the force and made his way towards your couch. You followed before he stopped.

For a second he just stands there in the living room space, chest heaving up and down harsher than it should. He slipped his hands form his pockets, palms flexing into fists like he didn't know what to do with them. You can see it — the effort it's taking for him to stay composed. "I've been trying..." He starts, voice low and strained. "I've been trying to figure out what to say without losing my mind."

You move past him, letting yourself lean against the counter, arms crossing over your chest. "Okay." You murmured, almost a whisper, eyes on the floor. That one word does it.

"Okay?" He repeats, incredulous. A sharp humorless laugh escaped him and your eyes flicked up to him. "That's it? That's all you have to say?" Jungwon's voice rose now, nothing controlled about it. It fills the apartment, bouncing off walls that have never heard him like this before. "You stood there..." He continues, stepping closer. The image of you bent over, grinded into by the one person you claimed to be your childhood best friend, a brother, flashed before his eyes. "You stood there with him and didn't even look shocked. Do you know what that does to someone?" He was losing it, the anger boiled in his chest, frustration getting the best of him.

Your gaze drops briefly, not out of guilt just because the intensity in his eyes is unfamiliar. Your gaze drifts somewhere over his shoulder, not meeting his eyes — not because you can't, but because the weight in the room feels foreign. In two years, it's never been like this. You and Jungwon were easy. Comfortable. Predictable in the best ways. This feels sharp. Wrong. Tense in a way your relationship never was.

"I don't know what you wanted me to say." It's the truth, but it sounds flat when you say it. Detached.

He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, except there's nothing amused about it. "Anything!" He says tone sharp as run a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps before stopping again and turning to you. "You could've said anything. Told me it wasn't what it looked like. Lied to me. At least that would've meant you cared enough to try! " His angry voice bounced off the walls again, making you flinch slightly.

He got closer, a feet away. "I kept thinking maybe I misunderstood. Maybe I walked in too fast. Maybe there was some explanation I was too angry to hear. But seeing you at the verge of being fucked right in front of me, in my fucking hoodie—!" His eyes were now glossy, throat dry as he pointed to his chest, eyes searching for yours as he was at the brink of getting in your face. "It fucking hurt."

The last word comes out raw. Not shouted — torn. His hand fists in his hair before dropping uselessly to his side. The anger burns out fast, too fast, leaving something raw underneath. He squeezes his eyes shut like he's physically trying to hold it together, but the emotion spills over anyway. A tear slips down before he can stop it. He swallows hard, breath hitching once, then again frustrated with himself for crying and unable to stop.

And then the anger drains.

It leaves him standing there looking stripped of something. Smaller. He runs a hand over his face and turns away from you abruptly, walking to the couch like his legs are suddenly heavier than they were seconds ago. He drops down onto it, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face as his shoulders rise and fall unevenly.

The apartment goes quiet except for his breathing.

You move without thinking, almost weightless. You cross the space slowly and lower yourself into the armchair beside the couch, angled toward him. Close enough to see the way his fingers press into his forehead. Not close enough to touch.

You sit there.

From the outside, you look composed. But your stomach feels tight. Embarrassment prickles under your skin — not because he caught you, but because you can see what it's doing to him. He drags his hands down his face slowly, eyes red, lashes clumped together. He doesn't look at you at first.

"I loved you." Jungwon says hoarsely. No shouting now, no fire, just pure wreckage. "I loved you so much."

Your chest tightens at his state—sitting here, ruined to the core as tears kept pouring from his always cheerful eyes, now making them appear dull and lost. No sound left him except the harsh breaths he took in. "And this?" He gestures vaguely, angrily. "This is what you've been doing behind my back?" His voice rose again, ricocheting off the dull walls that surrounded you both.

You open your mouth, but the words hesitate. "I…" You swallow. "I didn't mean for it to be like that.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes sharp and overwhelming. "Then what was it supposed to be?" You look down at your hands. Suddenly they're very interesting, very safe. "I-I don't kn—"

"How long?" He interrupted sharply. Your eyes flicked up to his but the way he was looking at you, completely different and filled with rage made you look down instead, eyes on his feet. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Hesitation was pulling you back, not because you were sorry, not because you felt like it's the right thing to do—but because you knew it's going to ruin him to the rock bottom and saying it out loud feels humiliating now.

"How. Long." Jungwon spoke through gritted teeth, eyes burning as the silence made it hurt more than any answer could. His cheeks were stained and ruined, lashes wet and eyes filled with bitterness. "Since we were sixteen..." You said quietly, eyes back on your lap and the hands that rested there.

Jungwon goes still at that, not calm but just stunned. "Before me." He says, more statement than question.

"... Yes."

His head tilts back slightly as he exhales, eyes squeezing shut for a second. Another tear escapes, trailing down his temple into his hairline. He doesn't wipe this one away.

His. You were never actually his.

"It never stopped..." He adds again, no question mark intended.

"...No."

The word hangs between the two of you, heavy and relentless. He nods once, jaw ticking as he spoke back. "Why?" It came out raw, almost desperate beneath all the rage as his bottom lip trembled. "Was I not enough? Did I do something? Tell me what I did wrong."

"You were enough." You say quickly, finally looking at him fully. There's uncertainty in your voice now. Shame threading through it. "I do love you—" His hollow laugh made you stop, he shook his head as tears continued to fall. "You love me...?" He repeats bitterly. "That's what's insane. You love me and you still kept going back to him." You don't have a clean explanation. That's what embarrasses you now — not being caught, but not understanding yourself.

"I don't know why." You admit, quieter. "It was… familiar. It started before you. I thought I could just separate it and love you. I didn't think it would—" You stop, swallowing. "I didn't think you'd find out."

The second it leaves your mouth, you see the damage. His face tightens, anger surging back to the surface. "Do you know how fucking ridiculous and selfish you sound right now?!" He yelled in frustration, his vision becoming blurry again as he tried to compose himself, but the tug at his chest that he felt was too much. "So you were just going to keep doing it?" Jungwon asks as his voice lowered into something more dangerous, eyes narrowing with disbelief and pure mockery. "Just keep lying to me and let me be stupid."

You hesitate, a deep breath of yours cut through the tension. "Yes." The honesty slices clean. He inhales sharply, like the air burned on the way in. Tears spill freely now, but his posture straightens instead of collapsing. The anger doesn't fade it refines.

"You love me..." He says slowly, wiping his face roughly with the heel of his hand, almost as if to try to get to his head. His eyes are still wet, but they're sharper now. Harder. "And you still couldn't stop." You don't argue.

"You were never mine. Never." He spoke softly to himself, nodding and reaffirming as his muscles tensed at the thought. Something changes in him then, not the hurt, not the anger. The direction of it. He leans back against the couch, shoulders squaring as if he's made a decision. His breathing evens out, though his eyes are still rimmed red, cheeks still damp.

"Call him." He says.

You blink confused. "What?"

"Call Jay." His voice is steady now. Controlled. The tears are still there, but they don't soften him anymore. They just make him look more unhinged. "Tell him to come over." Your pulse jumps. "Why would I do that?" A bitter, almost cocky smile pulls at his mouth — broken at the edges, but real.

"Because if he was comfortable enough to touch you in my clothes..." He says, leaning forward slightly, gaze locking onto yours with something dark, wounded and furious all at once. "Then he can do it while I'm sitting right here."

He wipes at his face once more, not hiding the tears — just clearing them out of his way.

"Go on." He adds quietly, voice low and sharp. "Let's see how brave he is when I'm not walking away."

Your fingers feel colder when you reach for your phone on the table with accumulating hesitation. For a second you just stare at the screen, your reflection faint against the black glass. You can feel him watching you, not blinking nor moving. Tracking every small hesitation like it means something. You scroll to Jay's name thumb hovers over it.

"Put it on speaker." Jungwon says. You glance up at him instinctively. His jaw tightens. "Speaker."

You press the call button.

The ringing fills the apartment in slow, steady pulses. Each one feels louder than it should. You become hyper-aware of your breathing. Of Jungwon's. Of how close he's sitting.

Jay picks up on the fourth ring.

"Hey." He answers, voice warm and casual, like nothing in the world is wrong. "You okay?" You feel Jungwon's gaze sharpen. "I'm fine." You say, and you have to consciously steady your tone. Not too soft or too intimate. Just neutral.

There's a pause on the other end. Then a low chuckle. "You sure? You sound weird." Your throat tightens. Jungwon leans back slightly on the couch, arm stretching along the backrest, eyes never leaving you. He looks almost relaxed now. That scares you more than when he was pacing.

"Can you come over?" You ask and there's no explanation not any kind of buildup. Just your usual. Another pause. Longer this time. "Now?" Jay asks, tone shifting slightly. Curious. "Everything okay?"

"Yes." You answer too quickly. Then you correct yourself. "I just… want to see you." Jungwon's mouth twitches at that. Not a smile. Something sharper. His throat burning as he gulped down the lump, his Adams apple bobbing from the restraint.Jay hums softly on the other end. "Alright. I'll be there in fifteen."

"Okay."

"Door unlocked?"

"Yes."

"Good."

The line clicks dead and the silence that follows is thick and immediate. It presses against your ears. You lower the phone slowly, placing it on the coffee table like it might explode if you move too fast. Jungwon hasn't shifted. He's still watching you, eyes dark, unreadable now.

"Fifteen minutes." He repeats quietly. You nod once. He exhales through his nose and drags a hand down his face, not in distress this time — just thinking. Processing. His eyes flick around the apartment slowly, as if he's seeing it differently now. As if he's mapping it.

"Does he usually come that fast?" He asks calmly. You hesitate before gulping. "Sometimes." His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods like he expected that answer. His gaze doesn't leave your face. "And when you call him..." He continues, voice low, almost steady. "Is it usually like that? No explanation. Just 'come over'?"

There's no accusation in his tone — just something searching. Something that wants to understand the mechanics of it.

"Yes." You admit.

He presses his lips together for a moment, staring at the floor before looking back up at you. His composure is intact, but there's something fragile flickering underneath it. "Does he know what side of the bed you sleep on?" He asks, the question hits differently. "What?" You muttered, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Does he know..." Jungwon repeats slowly, eyes fixed on yours. "That you curl toward the wall when you're stressed? That you steal the blanket even when you're the one who said you weren't cold?" Your throat tightens. Embarrassment creeps up your neck — not because he's accusing you, but because he sounds so sure. So certain of knowing you. Like Jay wasn't there your whole life.

Like he didn't know all that before him.

He swallows hard, Adam's apple shifting, and even though his tone remains controlled, his eyes gloss again. "Does he know you hate when the lights are completely off? That you leave the bathroom door cracked so there's some light coming in?" His voice wavers just slightly at the end, but he pushes through it. "Does he know you talk in your sleep sometimes?"

You don't answer right away.

That silence hurts him more than if you had. "I memorized those things." He says quietly. "I thought that meant something."

"It did." You say, softer now, less detached. He lets out a faint, broken breath. "Did it?" You don't know what to say to that. He inhales slowly, like he's trying to swallow something too big. "Was he there after we fought?" He asks suddenly. "When you'd leave my place upset. Did you go to him?"

You hesitate.

That's answer enough.

His lips part slightly. He looks away for a second, blinking hard. "Did he fuck you when you were still mad at me?" He asks bluntly, the word heavy, deliberate through gritted teeth. Words spat out with disgust. "Did you let him touch you just to forget me?"

"Yes." You admit, the confession almost a whisper but it still reached his ears. He nods once, slowly, like he expected it and still can't quite accept it. His lip curls slightly. "God."

"Still had my marks on you—" He continues, the words coming out sharp, almost vicious laced with disbelief. "And you let him touch you anyway?"

It usually was the other way around.

You wanted to say it, wanted to make it clear. That everytime his eyes lingered longer on the marks on the most intimate parts of your body, brows furrowing in recollection as you told him he was the one that left them in the midst of orgasm— in the heat of the moment, were actually not his. But you knew that it would only tear him down more, your mouth opened slowly;

"Yes."

He lets out a short, broken laugh that sounds more like something tearing. A tear rolled down his already ruined face, but it just makes the anger look worse. Jungwon studies you for a long moment, and you feel exposed in a way you haven't all night. Not because he's yelling. Not because he's crying.

Because he's calm now.

The seconds stretch.

You can almost hear the clock ticking somewhere in the apartment. Fifteen minutes suddenly feels like a lifetime. He stands abruptly. Not aggressive, just decisive. Your muscles tense anyway. He walks slowly toward the hallway that leads to your bedroom, pausing just before disappearing from your line of sight. He looks back at you once.

"This is where it usually happens, right?*

Your heart stutters. You don't answer.

He doesn't need you to because he already walks down the hall. For a moment you stay frozen in the armchair, staring at the empty doorway. The weight in your chest grows heavier, something closer to unease now. Not fear. Just the realization that you don't fully know what he's thinking anymore.

After a few seconds, you stand up steps fats enough following him. Because you don't want him alone in there. Because you don't want to see what he'll do with that silence. You stepped into your room and there he was, already on the edge of your bed. Sitting and waiting. His hands were supporting him as he leaned onto them, eyes skimming over each and every corner of your space. The one he thought he was the only one to know till the tiniest atom, till the most intimate edges.

A bitter smile raise itself on his lips as his eyes were stuck on the chair in the corner, his hoodie and sweats still there, the same as the other day. The one day he came to pick them up and saw his girlfriend and her supposed friend dryhumping each other into the mattress.

"Jungwon—"

"You know what's funny?"

He looked back at you, eyss meeting and cutting through you. A small smirk on his lips, but his eyes still red and glossy. "Everyone told me to actually watch out for your friendship with him..." You just stood there, still and stiff. "Each one of my friends." He said, forehead creasing in pure judgment. "But I did not listen to any of them. None." He mockingly shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving your bland ones. "Why? Because I wasn't an insecure piece of shit. Because I believed you, trusted you." His eyes flicked down your form. "Never ever have I even suspected you..."

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, again. Some kind of shield that you hoped would stop all the words he spilled to get through you. And it helped. Your face was cold, avoidant. His presence irking something in you that badly wanted to just tell him to get out. To finally leave you alone so you could breath in your own space freely.

His laugh was quiet at first. Not amused. Not even loud enough to fill the room. Just sharp enough to cut. He pushed himself up from his hands so he could sit straighter,His eyes wandered to the hoodie on the chair again, then back to you. "Was it exciting?" He asked casually. "Doing it in the same places we did it? On the same bed?" He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs now. He sneered at your silence, rolling his eyes.

"In my clothes too? Disgusting." He spat out with venom, hands back behind him as he leaned back again, manspreading as his gaze moved again over you, over your crossed arms, evaluating. Jungwon's eyes dragged over the sheets around him like they disgusted him.

"God, you couldn't even change them?" He muttered. "Or was that part of it? Keeping everything the same so you didn't have to feel how easy it was to replace me?" His eyes flicked to your crossed arms again. "You look so calm. It's insane." He shook his head. "I walked in on you grinding on someone else and you're standing here like I'm the one making a scene."

Another breath. Ragged this time.

"I defended you. I told everyone you weren't that type of girl." His lips twisted. "Guess they knew you better than I did." You flinched at that. Subtly. But he noticed. His chest vibrated with a low chuckle. Then softer. Colder. "I was proud to call you mine."

A pause.

"Now I just feel stupid."

The uneasiness set low in your stomach, dipping beneath the feel of nerves that poked at you. Especially since you heard the front door. Your head looked over your shoulder toward the slightly opened door of your own room.

Your eyes snapped back toward the man in front of you, sitting and watching your every move. "Looks like your fuckbuddy is here." Jungwon's voice was low, a whisper as his brows flashed up. Your chest tightened at that. Nerves screaming and saying that you should not have called Jay, should not have let this happen.

Should not have even opened the door to Jungwon at the first place.

But now as Jay's steps echoed through the hallway, hand on the handle as he pushed the door open—there was no going back.

Jay's eyes scanned the scene, stopping for a second at the doorway before actually stepping in and pushing the door lightly closed behind him. His eyes furrowed, but when they locked with Jungwon's red ones, it all was clear. A corner of his mouth raised, gaze scanning the boy sitting leisurely on the edge of your bed. Your back was turned to him, but one second was enough for Jungwon to stand up abruptly, grab your upper arm harshly, fingers furiously digging into your muscle as he turned you around, pushed you into Jay's chest and spat out; "Kiss him."

"Woah dude! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Jay's hands grabbed you, steadying you against him as he took a step toward Jungwon, eyes furious at the way he pushed you carelessly. "Jay. Don't." But the moment your soft and low voice reached his eardrums he took a step back, eyes scanning your face.

And that broke Jungwon even more. The way you spoke, hands clutching Jay's shirt as he obeyed your words so carelessly—stopping the same second you opened your mouth to just listen what you had to say.

"Go on. Kiss." Jay didn't look at you when Jungwon said it, he looked at him. Slowly. Lazily. Like he had all the time in the world.

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, not amused but entertained. "Relax." Jay muttered. "You sound desperate." Jungwon's jaw ticked, his lungs burning. Jay's eyes flicked to you then, briefly and assessing. Your tense shoulders. The way your fingers were slightly curled against his chest. The way you weren't moving.

Then he huffed a quiet laugh. "You really think you can order her around?" He asked mildly, tilting his head. "You don't get to do that." The air shifted making Jungwon take a step forward. "Don't act like you won something." Jay's smile widened — slow, sharp. "Didn't I?"

That did it. The tension in Jungwon's posture snapped tight, ready to lunge, but Jay didn't back down. If anything, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You walked in on us, right?" He said casually. "So you already know."

Your stomach twisted as you silently winced at that. Jungwon's hands clenched at his sides. Jay looked back at you properly this time and something in his expression softened for a split second. Not tender. Just certain.

"Go on." Jungwon repeated, voice harsher now. "Kiss." Jay didn't hesitate. His hand slid up to your jaw, not rough but firm enough to guide your face toward him. His thumb brushed along your cheek, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving Jungwon's as he leaned down.

"Since you asked so nicely." He murmured and then kissed you. Not rushed and messy but calculated. His lips pressed against yours with slow confidence, tilting your face slightly to deepen it just enough to make it unmistakable. His other hand settled at your waist, steady and possessive, pulling you half a step closer into him.

The room went silent except for the faint sound of breath and your mouths smacking. Jay kept it slow, intentional. Like he was proving a point with his eyes never leaving Jungwon's over your shoulder. The room feels like it's shrinking. Jungwon's breathing turns uneven. "You think this makes you tough?" He snaps, but neither of you pull away. Jay hums softly against your lips, like he barely heard him.

And that's it.

That's the moment something in Jungwon snaps. He moves fast. His hand shoots forward, grabbing the back of your hair — not gently — fingers tangling and tightening at your scalp as he yanks you back toward him.

The kiss with Jay breaks abruptly.

"Jungwon—" You barely get out before he pulls you flush against him. His mouth crashes against yours, rough and desperate, nothing slow or controlled about it. It's not tender nor careful.

It's angry. Possessive.

His other hand grips your waist hard enough to drag you with him as he pushes forward — and Jay doesn't move fast enough. Jay's back slams into the door with a harsh thud, the wood rattling loudly behind him. The impact makes the door swing shut with a sharp bang that echoes through the room. Jay winced at the rough slam against the door and the weight of your back pressed against his chest. Jungwon's hand pressed on your waist, pushing you harshly against Jay. His front was flush against yours as they trapped you and his mouth moved against yours furiously. You moaned hands gripping his shirt, trying to pull him closer.

For a split second everything is just breath and tension and the sound of fabric shifting and your humms against your boyfriend's lips. Jungwon pulls back first, but only barely, his grip still fisted in your hair, chest rising hard.

Your lips are swollen, breath uneven, hands still tangled in his shirt. For a second, no one speaks. Jay exhales slowly behind you. Then he laughs. Low and breathless. "Jesus." He mutters, rolling his shoulders despite the door pressing into his back. "You're losing it." Jungwon's head snaps toward him, eyes blazing. "Shut up."

But Jay doesn't.

Instead, his hands slide from your waist to your hips, steadying you — not to pull you away, but to shift you slightly. Just enough so he can lean forward over your shoulder.

Close.

Too close.

"You that jealous?" Jay murmurs, voice taunting, lips inches from Jungwon's. Jungwon doesn't step back. He doesn't hesitate. Their foreheads almost knock before their mouths do.

It's not soft. It's not curious. It's violent.

A clash of teeth and breath and pride, anger pouring into it like fuel. Jungwon grabs Jay by the collar, shoving him harder into the door as their mouths press together in something that feels less like a kiss and more like a challenge. You're caught between them, back against Jay's chest, Jungwon's body still flush to yours, heat and tension caging you in as you registered what's going on.

Jay makes a low sound in his throat — not surprised. Not offended. Amused. He grabs Jungwon's jaw, fingers digging in just enough to tilt his head, kissing him back just as harshly, controlled and deliberate. Like he refuses to be the one overwhelmed. The door rattles again from the force of it. Breathing turns ragged and when Jay finally pulls back, it's only an inch.

His lips are slightly parted, gaze dropping briefly to Jungwon's mouth before returning to his eyes. "Didn't know you were into that, loverboy." He says, voice rough but cocky. The nickname felt like a jab at Jungwon's chest as it heavied uncontrollably.

You on the other hand felt the switch in the room. The two hot bodies pressed up against you, Jay's bulge against your ass, grazing your covered ass cheeks as Jungwon's hips pushed and pressed you back against the man behind you. Jay's hand slides up your side again, steadying you against him

Jungwon's hand pressed next to Jay's head, holding himself and bracing as his hips rutted against your front. You moaned out, spreading your thighs as you tried to connect your center's, your hands grabbing at Jay's hips behind you, trying to lean back and position yourself.

"Jungwon I—" You were interrupted when his palm trailed around your jaw, fingers digging into the bone before his digits entered your mouth. And you just took it. His two fingers thrusted into your warm cavity in synch with his hips that grinded against you. Jay's gaze flicked over to your head that leaned back onto his shoulder, sucking on fingers that you so wordlessly took—no protest. The tension doesn't break.

It mutates.

Jungwon's anger doesn:t cool — it burns hotter. Jay's smirk lingers just a second too long, and Jungwon's hand slides from the door to Jay's collar again, gripping tight. Not to shove him away this time. Not to separate.

To pull him closer again.

"You think this is funny?" Jungwon breathes, fury shaking through him. Jay doesn't look away.

That does it.

Jungwon kisses him again — not wild this time, not clumsy. Controlled rage. His hand stays twisted in Jay's shirt as their mouths meet, hard and deliberate, like neither of them is willing to lose ground.

You're losing it too. The fire in your belly consumed you as your tongue dances around his long digits, humming as he pressed down on your tongue, your warm muscle heavy against his fingertips. Your thighs felt weak, arousal pooling between them with each passing second.

This is bad. This is so bad.

What is happening is so wrong.

Jay's hand tightens at your waist, fingers flexing as if to steady himself — or you — and instead of pulling away, he deepens it. Matches Jungwon's force with his own. The door thuds softly from the pressure of their bodies shifting again. You feel it, the way they stop pretending this is just about you. It's about dominance, about pride.

It's about who folds first.

Jungwon breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale, chest heaving, eyes blazing. His fingers left your mouth, wet hand comes to your jaw, turning your face toward him, his thumb pressing firm against your cheek. "You like this?" He asks you, voice rough, furious. "You like watching us lose it over you?" Your breath stutters, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pupils blown as you looked up at him, heart hammering inside your ribcage abnormally. You gulped, his nails leaving marks into your jaw.

Jay leans in behind you, lips grazing near your temple, not kissing — just close enough to be felt, and it made goosebumps arise on your skin. "She does." Jay says lowly and Jungwon's eyes snapped to him. "Shut the fuck up."

But he doesn't move away. Instead, he crowds closer again, pressing you tighter between them, like none of you are willing to be the first to step back. His anger is still there, sharp and unstable, but it's tangled now with something else. Something magnetic. Jay tilts his head, breath brushing Jungwon's mouth again. Teasingly. Jungwon's eyes were blazing, lashes wet as he gritted his teeth.

You were breathing hard, the closeness making you dizzy. Everything seemed to narrow down to just them. But still, the way your heart hammered in your ears made you actually pause, keeping you still tethered to the reality. You blinked, Jungwon's shirt squeezed into your hand as you tugged at it at an attempt to make him look down at you again. "Won... Please stop." You muttered, gaze searching for his own as he was not moving, eyes still blazing into Jay's, their faces just an inch apart. His chest was heaving under your hand, you could feel it, the way it was vibrating with every shaky breath he took.

Even if his emotions were concealed by anger, you knew he was still the soft and hurt boy you knew. You knew it with certainty, he just needed to snap out of it.

But you would lie if you said his current burst of rage didn't unsettle you. It was unfamiliar. It made you unsure, retract and let yourself suck the emotions and feelings he never let himself show in front of you, at least not this intense and eruptive. Still your hand tugged at the fabric of his shirt again, but the only reaction was a smirk. A smirk in Jay's face as his eyes went over his face, down to his lips before moving back to his eyes.

Jungwon's hand left your jaw as it traveled down to your arm. His nails dug into your flesh as you hissed and he moved back, finally letting you breath as he pulled you harshly over the room and toward the bed. He sat down on the edge, glaring at the man who stood leaned against the door with a lazy smirk on his face. Jungwon's muscles tensed with a surge of annoyance. "Jungwon what are you—"

You stumbled, barely catching yourself as he dragged you across the room. The distance to the bed felt longer than it was. He shoved you ahead of him and dropped down onto the edge of the mattress, shoulders tense, jaw locked tight. Across the room, Jay lazily crossed his arms, a slow infuriating smirk curling his lips. Like he was enjoying the show.

Jungwon's expression darkened.

"Please just—"

"On your knees."

The words were flat. Worse than if he had shouted as he cut you off. He spread his thighs, one hand still wrapped around your arm. He tugged once — sharp — pulling you closer. His eyes flicked up to yours, blazing, not loud anger but something colder. Your knees hit the plush carpet between his legs. The impact was soft, but the command behind it wasn't.

He didn't look at you again right away. Instead, his gaze locked back onto the man by the door. "You like watching?" Jungwon asked quietly, tilting his head just slightly. "Then watch." His fingers undid his sweatpants, hooking into the waistband and tugging them down together with his boxers. His other hand rested firmly at the back of your neck— not forcing, just there. A reminder.

Jungwon's hand moved fast enough around his semi-hard length, stroking with fast and urgent tugs. He let out a whimper, brows furrowing as he felt blood rush to his cock. His hand was dry, uncomfortablly dragging down his girth as he felt the heaviness against his palm, precum slowly oozing out the tip. You placed your hand on his knee, trying to steady him, snap him out of the seizure of frustration—trying to maybe cool him off. "Baby, just—"

"Don't fucking baby me now. Open your mouth." His hand moved from your neck and up, his digits tangling at the back of your hair. He gripped your roots, making you wince silently as your eyes flicked to his.

And when your eyes locked you knew he was not stopping.

Jungwon's felt his now fully hard cock pulse, tip raging for stimulation, hot precum leaking. Is this really happening? Are you really going to suck your boyfriend off in from of your best friend?

But your mouth still parted, eyes looking up at him through your lashes, face poker. Jungwon guided his head to your dry lips, his hips adjusting against the mattress, moving right onto the edge as he pushed his tip between your warm lips. He slid in with no sugarcoating, his length filling your mouth as he pushed your head down. You hollowed your cheeks, tongue flat at the bottom of your warm cavity as he filled it.

"She likes it when you get rough, doesn't she Wonnie?"

The nickname rolled teasingly off Jay's tongue—the nickname only you called him, only you uttered when you two were alone. Jungwon's teeth grinded against each other, eyes still down on you as his cock was slowly getting swallowed by your plush lips. He pushed you head down harshly, till your nose hit his abdomen and your throat constricted against his tip. You grabbed his thighs, nail digging into the fabric of his sweatpants.

Your eyes went shut tight, tearing up as you struggled to breath from the sudden feeling of pressure against your uvula. The words attempted to get out, to make him release his grip on your hair, but the sound only came out muffled and broken. "Was my dick not enough for you?" He spoke, feeling the vibrations against his head as the poor sounds left you. "So you had to always go back to him?"

He pulled your hair, making you glide up against his length, mouth still tightly shut around it, saliva dripping off the corners of your mouth. And you were again down his cock, the vein on the side pulsing against your warm cheek. "I didn't fuck you good enough?" He muttered, his abdomen flexing at each drag of your familiar warmth around him. "Or were you just a whore the whole time?"

His digits tightened as he kept on dragging you up and down with aggressive tugs. You peered up at him, eyes stinging with salty tears, ruined. Your body felt assaulted, just from the way he was handling you—strong forearms flexing as he made you blow him, his eyes dark and slanted, the look something you never ever saw. His moves were sharp and pent up, he kept on lowering you till your nose reached his pelvis, till his balls were covered in your saliva and his hot precum. You groaned against him each time he slammed against the back of your throat with no mercy, his hips slightly thrusting up to make it more painful.

It did hurt. But the way he was holding you, gazing down at you had the ache between your legs pulse, drool all over your underwear—slick and wet. You pressed your thighs together in endurement, fingers fisting his sweats at your sides as your eyes went tight shut with his hips meeting your head halfway.

Jungwon did not move his eyes from you, pants escaping him with every angry thrust he delivered to your mouth as you let him abuse it. He bit his lip, the image that flashed through his mind of you letting the man just a few meters away have you the same way made his blood boil, breath hitching as he groaned. "You like this?" He muttered darkly, voice low and venomous. "You like when I'm like this?"

His jaw flexed again, teeth grinding as he shot a glare toward the man by the door — daring him to speak again.

"Don't look at him." Jungwon snapped immediately at the feel of your resistance, fingers tightening just enough to force you harder down his pulsing cock, the pure action of you trying to get air triggering him as you wanting to go to Jay. "You don't get to look at him." Jungwon's hand stayed firm at the back of your head stopping, not forcing movement now—just holding you there like a display.

He tilted his head slightly as he scanned your face, lips curling in something colder than a smirk. "You really have no shame, do you?" He said quietly, his fingers tightened just enough to remind you who was in control. "Back straight. Knees apart." He ordered flatly, like he was correcting posture. "If you're going to suck my dick, at least do it properly." His eyes dragged slowly over you — not admiring. Assessing. Saliva was creating a mess, some of it trickling down your chin, some dripping down the underside of his cock, some clinging to your streched lips around him. You readjuated your knees on the floor, getting them away from one another as your pussy throbbed, the pulse in your clit making your thighs quiver.

"You always pretend you're hard to get." He continued, voice edged with mockery. "But you fold so easily. Each time." A low exhale left him, almost disappointed.

"Tell me..." He went on, tone deliberately humiliating as he guided you down, filling your mouth to the brim again with his hard girth. "Does it make you feel important? Being fought over when all you really are is… convenient?"

His fingers aggressively angled your face up, his tip hitting your mouth plate as he kept you there eyes glaring down at yours. Movement stopped again. You were ruined, all too fucked out and mouth tired. Your gaze almost begging him to stop—or destroy you. "You don't even look embarrassed." He muttered. "Is that because you enjoy this?"

The stare was overwhelming. One of your cramped hands went down his forearm that held you up. Fingers wrapped around his strong wrist before you moaned around him, vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him as he inhaled and closed his eyes. And you shamelessly urged him to push your head down, tugging at his wrist as you tried to move over his cock against his grip.

Jungwon's eyes snapped open the second he felt you tug at his wrist, urging him for more. For a moment he just stared down at you breathing hard, chest rising and falling like he was trying to contain something too big for his ribs. Then his expression shifted. Not softer. Not gentler.

Crueler.

"Shameless." He muttered under his breath, and he way he started thrusting into your mouth as he guided your head made you close your eyes shut again. Tears pricking at the corners of your lids, nails dug into his forearm, bracing as he hit the back of your throat repeatedly.

His grip tightened in your hair, not letting you guide anything, not letting you set the pace. You didn't get to control this. You didn't get to decide how far it went. Jungwon panted with each gag you suppressed, hissing at your nails as they marked his skin deeper even through the material. You cried out against his pulsing cock, tears rolling down your flushed face. Scalp felt like it was screaming in agony. Throat already bruised.

Jungwon's could feel the way your jaw slacked, surrendering as you try to keep up. But he felt the shake of your shoulders and the way you are crying around him now, tears streaming down your pretty face, saliva coating his cock more with each plunge as some dripped down onto the fluffy white carpet.

He moans at the tight feeling in his pelvis, hips meeting your mouth in harsh thrusts. He pants and grunts as he chases his high that was so close. Across the room, Jay had gone quiet.

Too quiet.

His lazy posture had disappeared. His arms weren't crossed anymore. His stare had sharpened, focused entirely on the way your body reacted, the way you trembled, the way you clung. And the way Jungwon handled you. He was watching now. Not smirking anymore. Not teasing.

Watching.

Your back faced him completely, your body framed between Jungwon's legs, every small movement visible from where he stood. The way your shoulders shook when Jungwon made you go down on his cock. The way you didn't pull away.

Like you knew Jungwon's rhythm by heart.

His pants felt too tight, the fabrics restraining his already hard member. Each whiff of air felt suffocating and flaming. His tongue ran slowly over his bottom lip as he shifted his weight forward. His gaze darkened, following the way Jungwon handled you — the roughness, the control, the claim.

Jay exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his own jaw, the lewd sounds you two let fill the room making his head spin. "God." He muttered under his breath at the way Jungwon's another moan resonated through the room, followed by your poor attempt to moan back.

Then he moved. Before Jungwon could react, Jay closed the distance in a few long strides. His hand shot forward, gripping your arm firmly, not gently. Jungwon's fingers loosened at the suddeness of Jay's movement as he pulled you away from him, snatching you harshly making your mouth separate from Jungwon's throbbing length, leaving him just at the brink of his orgasm.

Jungwon's eyes shot up to Jay, his chest heaving up and down as he panted, gaze cutting through the other man. Your knees barely steadied as he rose you on your feet before Jay's hand was at your waist, lifting you up and tossing you back onto the bed beside Jungwon. The mattress dipped under your weight. Jay glanced at Jungwon as he dropped his jacket down onto the floor, quick to grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head. "My turn." He said with cockiest smile on his face, letting the shirt meet the floor.

You raised yourself on your elbows, face ruined, throat feeling stuffed even if you had nothing in the way now. And Jay was over you, his weight pressing you onto the mattress as he smashed your lips together, your saliva and salty precum that clung to your lips make his hungry kisses messier and filthier. He tilted his head, letting his tongue drag against your swollen bottom lip before smashing your lips again. You moaned, one hand moving to his cheek, deeping the kiss, letting your tongues caress. His thumb brushed your chin as he kissed you, collecting the liquid before he pulled back just an inch, thumb raising to his mouth as he sucked off the obscene wetness that coated it.

Jay didn't hesitate.

His mouth trailed lower, slow and deliberate — not rushed, not clumsy. He kissed down your jaw, your throat, letting his teeth graze lightly over your skin before soothing it with his tongue. Every movement felt intentional. Like he knew he was being watched.

Your focus shifted completely.

The room narrowed until it was just the weight of him above you, the warmth of his hands sliding over your waist. His fingers hooked under the hem of your shirt, dragging it upward inch by inch, exposing more of you to the cool air and to Jungwon's stare.

He didn't rush pulling it off. He made a show of it. Fabric peeled away, discarded somewhere on the floor leaving you in your bra. Jay's eyes dragged slowly over your body before dipping his head again, pressing a kis over your decollete, lower… lower. His hands followed, thumbs brushing along your sides as if mapping you out.

Just centimeters away from your heated bodies, Jungwon sat rigid. Upper body turned to you both a palm supporting him against the duvet, cock throbbing and neglected, standing tall and pulsing. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle ticked near his temple. His hand curled into a fist against the bed, nails digging into his palms as he watched Jay' every move. And the thing that made him almost cry out in pure disappointment and rage. The necklace. The matching necklace you two had. A silver chain right around your neck, resting on the same chest Jay trailed his kisses over. The same one he is wearing right now under his shirt, the same one you chose.

It made his lips tighten, jaw hurting from all the pent up emotions as his eyes flicked back to the whole scene. Jay's fingers slid to the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down in one smooth motion. He didn't look back at Jungwon — but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, like he could feel the fury burning into his side. Your breath hitched when Jay settled between your thighs, his knees meeting the carpet as he pulled you toward the edge.

He didn't touch you right away. He just looked at you, really looked, eyes dark, lips slightly parted, like he was savoring the sight of you undone. His eyes danced over the ruined underwear that stuck to your puffy folds, drenched and tempting him.

Your fingers tangled into the sheets as he leaned down, his mouth brushing over your inner thigh first. Not where you expected. Not yet. You shivered at the feeling of his wet lips against your trembling flesh. Your arousal spreading wildfire as your mind had only one task to conquer. To come.

Jungwon's breathing grew heavier. He saw the way your body arched slightly. The way your lips parted. The way your focus had completely shifted — locked onto Jay. His teeth ground together. Jay's hands slid up your thighs, spreading them wider as he lowered himself further, pressing slow kisses higher, closer, teasing without giving. Teasing you till your pussy burned in desire. Your elbows gave out, muscled trembling and head tipping back against the mattress. A soft sound left you before you could stop it. A whine.

That sound snapped something inside Jungwon.

His eyes darkened further, chest rising sharply as he watched the way you reacted, the way your hips moved instinctively toward Jay's mouth, dick twitching at the sight.

He didn't interrupt.

He didn't step in.

He just watched.

Every twitch. Every breath. Every quiet, needy sound.

Jay nuzzled his nose into your wetness, inhaling with delight your essence through the thin fabric. You purred, hands fisting the sheets by your sides as you rolled your hips up into his face. Jay let his tongue taste the mess you made, leaving a stripe form your hole and up to your covered clit. "Jay..." A whimper left you at his familiar touch that never failed to unravel you. He let his tongue glide over— up, down, up, down— enjoying the slick that coated his senses. "You taste amazing angel..." The nickname rolled of his tongue, a mocking tone underneath that made Jungwon stiff. Jay's eyes traveled to the man that had his eyes glued to your cunt and his mouth that kept running all over it. Jungwon's eyes flicked to Jay's. Jay smirked. "... like always."

The words made Jungwon's rage flair, but still he kept on observing. Jay's attention was back to you, hands traveled up your thighs evoking goosebumps as he grabbed the waistband of your underwear and pulled it off. The string of arousal snapping as he pulled them away from your slick folds. "A fucking mess, aren't you?" He chuckled as you whined with hips urging him to do something, anything.

His fingers dug into your thighs, right after throwing the panties over his shoulder, pushing them far apart and his mouth was against you. His jaw slack as he engulfed your slit in his warmth, sucking and teasing. You rose up on your elbows again, hands hurriedly finding the bra clip at your back and undoing it, throwing it somewhere on the messy floor and eyes back on Jay. He peered up at you, hair falling over his dark hungry eyes as he let his tongue circle your clit, flicking and rolling it just right. You took a sharp breath in, your hand down to move the hair from his forehead, digits tangling in it—not pushing him against you, just holding the hair out of the way.

"Fuck... Yes... Right there."

Your needy voice encouraged him, praising as you watched the way he played with your spread pussy. He knew the right pace, knew the right moves. His lips wrapped around your clit, pulling it with harsh suction that made your toes curl, teeth dig into your bottom lip and eyes fight to stay open. The wet sounds were echoing the room, slurping and lapping of his too obscene. Broken sounds left you, hands gripping his scalp as you threw your head back. Jay smirked against you, chin and nose drenched as he kept on assaulting your pulsing folds, toying with it the ways he only knew and wanted.

He pulled away for a second. You whined, head returning to look at him, face dazed. His eyes danced over your raw flesh, your hole that clenched around nothing, your puffy clit, your puffy lips. Everything was slick and messy, some of it dripping down onto the sheets from how embarrassingly wet you were.

And was there a better way to make it filthier than to let a glob of spit drop down from his lips and right onto your clit. And he licked it up right away, dragging the tip of his tongue through the slick mess before spitting again, this time lower, your pulsing entrance. He slurped it all up again. Messy.

Your musles trembled, eyes were heavy and wet as you tried to supress the sounds that were bubbling up right in your throat. You pressed your lips tight, face felt like it was on fire as he tongue fucked your cunt, tip of his warm muscle prodding at the entrace, feeling your gummy walls spasm.

Your arm gave out, your back flush against the mattress again as you lost the grip on his hair too. You whined and whimpered, eyes tight shut as you concentrated on the building pleasure. "Jay!" You cried out when his big palms found your breasts, calloused thumbs stroking your nipples as he sucked on your bundle of nerves feverishly.

Your back arched against his touches. You felt your body flare up, everything dulling. The know in your abdomen grew bigger with each flick of Jay's thumbs against your hard peaks, each drag and suck of his ravenous mouth against your slickness. Everything felt overwhelming, you arched against him—but in the midst of it, your head turned, eyes searching for the sad and angry ones.

Jungwon's.

His eyes moved from Jay's assault to your red face. Hair disheveled, body bare. And your almost hazy and lost gaze bored into his angry eyes. Your trembling hands reached for his wrist, a loose grip around it. "Jungwon..." You whimpered out, low and rough. Voice at the brink of giving out from the way the other man ate you out.

Jungwon stared back, face blank. The warmth from your burning body made his own skin burn. But he did not move yet. His mind was processing everything. You spread out just an inch away from him, letting Jay have you in the most filthy way he could imagine. If you let this happen right next to him on your bed, what did you let Jay do to you when you were alone?

The thought teared his chest in half, his breathing heaving. Everything seemed to narrow down to the image of you two before him. The way you moaned Jay's name. The way you moved his hair with care from his forehead as he lapped you up. The way your body was attuned to him, moving in synch and perfection disguised in familiarity. That tore him down.

Your nails dug hard into Jungwon's wrist, moans and gasps leaving your parted lips. It snapped his attention back to the man between your thighs that had no intention of stopping, only going at it more passionately a she made out with pussy. Spitting. Flicking. Sucking. So there was nothibg left.

Your arched harder against him, hips chasing his mouth in despair. You were close. Jay felt it. And Jungwon saw it. The way your muscles tremored, your chants of pleas escaping you with a need so insatiable. Your lower stomach flexed, eyes going shut tight as you gripped Jungwon's wrist with strength so messy but firm. Almost. You were almost there.

But suddenly the stimulation stopped, right at its peak. The heat dissappeared from your thighs, making you whine desperately as you raised your head, body sweaty and trembling. Slowly realizing you were not holding Jungwon anymore. "You are not making her cum." Jungwon spat out into Jay's face after he peeled him away from you. Jay sat on the floor, a cocky sneer making it's way out of him as he peered up at Jungwon who got into his face, still sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jay purposely let his tongue dart over his bottom lip, nose and chin stil drenched. He rose himself on his knees, shoulders rolled back as he spoke. "Says who?" His brow flashed up, teasing the other as he got slightly closer, their breaths mingling as Jungwon did not budge. "Me." Jungwon murmured, low and rough. The air was laced with greed. Jealousy. Possessiveness.

Jay scoffed, his grin widened as he got closer, knees dragging against the carpet. "Oh yeah?" Their gazes fought in unspoken silence, your harsh needy breathing steadying slowly as you observed. Legs still spread, sheets a mess and arousal pooling even more at the sight of them. You gulped, something actually uncertain growing in you with their overwhelming stare down, faces just centimeters away. The tension threatening to snap into fists or something far more questionable.

Jay wiped his mouth slowly with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving Jungwon's. That smirk didn't fade, it sharpened. "You're just jealous." He said quietly, almost amused. Jungwon's jaw flexed. In one swift motion the distance between them disappeared in a second—chests brushing, breaths mixing as theirs noses bumped. The fury in Jungwon's eyes met the challenge in Jay's, and neither of them pulled back.

It wasn't hesitation—it was collision. Jay grabbed Jungwon by the collar and pulled him in. Their mouths crashed together hungry and rough. It was teeth and heat and possession, like they were trying to swallow each other whole. Jungwon responded instantly, one hand gripping Jay's jaw hard enough to tilt his head, the other fisting into his shirt. The kiss deepened into something competitive, lips parting, breaths turning uneven.

You could still feel the echo of Jay's mouth between your thighs, your body trembling from being left right there. Almost there. And now they were devouring each other over you. Jay raised himself with force, grabbing Jungwon's knees as he pushed him until his back hit the mattress, Jay following immediately, caging him in.

Their mouths didn't separate.

Jay's hand slid into Jungwon's hair, tugging just enough to draw a low sound from him, pressing his covered painful bulge against Jungwon's leaking hard cock. He pulled back barely an inch, just enough for their lips to brush as he murmured, voice rough and taunting—

"You really think you can outplay me?"

A smirk ghosted over his mouth, and he let out a quiet, teasing moan, deliberate and slow as he rolled his hips against Jungwon's raging length that was harshly pressed against his shirt, precum staining the black fabric as Jay's sweats rubbed against it—just to see Jungwon's composure crack.

And it did.

Jungwon's eyes darkened instantly. His grip tightened. The teasing tone vanished from the air as he surged upward, flipping them over in one sharp motion. Jay's back hit the mattress now, and Jungwon was above him, breath hot, expression furious. The kiss that followed wasn't playful anymore, it was territorial. Jungwon's hand pinned Jay's wrist into the sheets as their mouths met again, deeper, rougher —like he was claiming something. Like he needed to prove something.

Jay didn't resist.

He grinned into it, hips bucking up in search of friction. You were still there beside them, chest rising fast, thighs tense, watching the way they fought for control over each other through nothing but mouths and hands and raw, heated pride. You felt the sudden sharp burn between your spread legs, throbbing that's seemed to worsen the more you stared at the scene right by you. You pressed your thighs together, the slickeness sticking and fusing your flesh together as you whimpered at the feel. You let your musles squeeze, rubbing the trembling legs together in search of a relief, eyes glued to the scene.

Jungwon finally pulled back just enough to look down at Jay, lips swollen, breath unsteady. "You really think I'd let you?" Jungwon hand teased the waistband of Jay's sweats. Jay's eyes flicked down and back to Jungwon's. "You are pretty bold. I'll give you that." Jungwon added, hand dipped in his underwear with no warning, fingers grazing Jay's hard cock. Jay shuddered at the touch but his attitude did not let down, he smirked and answered. "Please... If she wanted you that badly I wouldn't still be here."

Jungwon's fingers wrapped around the wet heavy length, harshly tugging it with fast strokes. Jay took a sharp inhale through his nose, eyes closing for a second as squelching noises filled the quiet room. Jungwon's hand glided with ease, the precum that kept oozing out Jay's pulsing tip drenched his hand in seconds. Jay's breathing changed, teeth gritted as he rose himself up on elbow in some kind of intended assertion. Jungwon kept on rapidly moving his hand, trying to get some kind of reaction from the other—reaction that showed surrender. Submissiveness. But Jay did not give any. His chest was moving erratically but no sound dared to make his way out through Jay's gritted teeth.

A thin layer of cold sweat emerged on his skin, gaze burning Jungwon's in a way too intense. Jungwon didn't slow. If anything, his movements stayed deliberate and punishingly steady —not frantic, not sloppy but controlled and intentional. His eyes never left Jay's.

Jay's breathing had changed heavier now but his smirk clung stubbornly to his face. "You're trying too hard." Jay muttered, voice strained but still edged with mockery, jaw threatening to go slack. "Is that what this is? Proving something?" Jungwon's eyes darkened at his breathy tone. "Proving?" He repeated, almost amused but there was no humor in it. "You think I need to prove anything to you?" Jungwon slightly squeezed Jay's cock as he kept his rhythm. Jay's composure faltered for half a second. A sharp inhale, flicker in his eyes. But he recovered quickly.

Jungwon's teeth ground together again, fury flashing bright and immediate. He could feel the heaviness of Jay's pulsing length. The way is was burning up, tip overly sensitive and leaking more and more with each glide that Jungwon provided. He leaned down, their foreheads almost touching. "She folds for whoever pushes hard enough." Jungwon snapped, twisting his wrist, the move that made Jay let out a groan before continuing. "That's the problem."

Jay's eyes flickered briefly toward you who was looking in awe, then back to Jungwon. "Yeah?" He said softly, breathing sped up, pelvis growing with pressure that threatened to snap any second. "Maybe if she wanted you that badly, you wouldn't be trying this hard to prove it." The air snapped. Jungwon's kept on stroking him fast. The furious moves made Jay close his eyes, abs flexing with unexplainable strength. He let out low whimpers, hips raising from the fluffy bed to fuck up into Jungwon's fist that kept assaulting his sensitive cock. His briefs were a mess, all sticky and wet. His balls felt full. Too full before he felt his body shudder. Jungwon did not stop. The white semen shot out of his tip, the warm liquid coating his cock and balls, Jungwon's palm ruined and stained with cum. Jay threw his head back, hips still working their way into Jungwon's moving hand till there was no more left.

He hissed at the last thrust, breathing steadying gradually and Jungwon's tired hand stopped all the work. Jay's breathing finally began to steady, chest rising and falling as he dragged a hand down his face. The cocky smirk was gone, replaced with something more dazed, more raw. Jungwon didn't look at him anymore. His gaze had already shifted to you. You were still there — lips parted, thighs pressed together, eyes wide in a way that only made something darker settle in his chest.

He released Jay's used cock, pulling out his hand from Jay's underwear, cum dripping from his fingers and palm as he crawled toward you. Weight of his stare made you completely enchanted eyes on his moving figure as he grabbed one of your ankles and pulled your thighs apart. You obeyed. You gawked at him kneeling tight between your calves, stills away but still so close. His grip on your ankle tight and steady. You trailed your gaze over his covered shoulders, down the fabric of his shirt before you stopped on his erect cock. It stood tall and throbbing, the painfully red head smearing the hot precum all over the black material, leaving small strings of wetnees. His sweats and briefs were still clinging to his hips, bunching right under his heavy balls.

Your folds burned. The sudden throb almost made your hips raise from the bed. Jungwon scanned all of it, catching each linger of your heavy eyes on him. He almost scoffed. Instead, he brought his stained hand over to your lower stomach, the thick liquid clinging more and more the longer it stayed on him. And before you could register what he was doing, he wiped his hand on your stomach. A sharp inhale entered through your nose, his nails dug into your ankle keeping you there. "There..." He started, making sure to clean all of his hand against your sweaty, warm skin. "Since you like his cum so much." Your breath hitched at that.

Jay shifted besides both of you, pushing himself up off the bed. He didn't interrupt and didn't speak. He just swung his legs over the edge and stood, still catching his breath. His boxers all ruined, he could feel the stickiness of his own release coating his skin. It felt too messy, his nose scrunching in sensitivity.

Jungwon's stared you down as he grabbed the hem of his shirt, finally pulling it off and throwing it somewhere on the floor, forgotten. His tense muscles felt finally free, pecks slightly flexing at the sudden feel of air against his heated flesh. He continued, his hands finding the waistband of his pants before he kicked them off too, together with his underwear ending up on the cute fluffy carpet.

Completely bare.

You two were now complete bare.

But your eyes flicked up to his neck. The small silver chain he always wore. The samr one you have around your neck. And you gulped. The perception was quickly pushed out of your senses since Jungwon's hands were already on you.

He turned you sharply, pushing you forward until your palms hit the mattress. He pressed between your shoulder blades, bending you down without hesitation as a gasp left you. Face down, ass up as your cheek meet the mattress. The mattress dipped as he positioned you, his grip firm at your hips, adjusting you exactly how he wanted.

Across the room, Jay moved slowly, deliberately.

He grabbed the desk chair at the side of the bed and dragged it out slightly, the sound scraping faintly against the floor. He turned it around toward you both before lowering himself into it, breath still uneven. He shifted in the chair, adjusting himself as he leaned back, elbows resting on the armrests. His eyes found the scene fast — not smirking, watching.

Jungwon's hands settled on your hips. He didn't grope. Didn't tease. He just held you there, fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to ground you in place. Your breath came out uneven.

He said nothing.

That was worse.

His thumb dragged slowly along your lower back, up your spine, then back down again. Measuring. Memorizing. Reclaiming without needing to announce it. From the chair, Jay exhaled softly. "Quiet now?" He muttered, voice low but edged, eyes stuck to your arched figure before flicking to Jungwon for a brief second.

Jungwon's shoulders tensed. Still no reply.

Instead, his grip tightened slightly on your hips, pulling you back an inch — a silent correction. A reminder of who was physically there. Your body reacted without thinking, arching subtly into his hold, a low moan of affirmation at his move left you.

Jay noticed — of course he did. A slow, almost taunting breath left him.

Jungwon's hand slid over your ass and down. Right there where you needed him the most. His thumb run through your slick folds harshly. You bit your lip, muscles tensing and toes curling in anticipation. The pad of his thick digit found your puffy bud and the moment he felt it pulse against his finger, he started leaving fast tight circles on it. Your fingers curled into the sheets, eyelids dropping. Your lips went agape, brows furrowing at the deliciously familiar pattern against your clit.

"Jungwon..." You breath out, followed by a gasp. The pace he rubbed you with so overwhelming that it made your throat dry, hips trying to meet his hand but also run. Jungwon's eyes were stuck to the way your wetness covered his hand. The way your puffy lips swallowed the tip of his thumb as he kept the pressure consistent and rhythm steady. The other hand on your hip, grounding you in place, fingers firm against your skin.

Whimpers left you with each roll of his fingertip. Rough and claiming. Possessive. You let out a low moan, hips moving back against his hand. Pleasure built, the stimulation hitting your nerves just right. Your mind turned fuzzy, only narrowing down to your clit and the way he played with it.

Until Jungwon stopped his movements, moving his hand down, lower. Fingertips grazing your stomach. Right where he smeared the remnants of the other man. The man that watched. Jungwon collected it, his thumb drenched in cum as he returned to your slit. You gasped again, the feel of it mixing with your arousal making you jolt. Jungwon rubbed your clit again, squelching sounds filled the room as he mixed the thick cum with your slimy wetness.

The sound of you gasping filled the space between all three of you. Jungwon didn't slow, his movements stayed firm, deliberate — controlled in a way that made it clear he wasn't losing himself.

He was choosing this. His fingers pressed harder, drawing another broken breath from your lips. Your body trembled beneath his hold, hips instinctively trying to chase the rhythm he set. "You don't even care whose it is, do you?" He muttered, voice low and edged with something raw.nHis thumb kept its steady pace, never faltering. "You just want it." He added, quieter, feeling your clit get too puffy. Too aroused. "Anything that makes you feel full."

Jungwon moved his thumb up to your clenching and pulsing entrance. Quickly filling your hole, thrusting in and out, making sure the cum is pushed inside. Your fingers twisted into the sheets at that, your walls clamping his digit that mercilessly entered your heated pussy.

Slightly away from the bed, Jay shifted in the chair. The faint creak of a seat reminding you he was still watching. Still there. Jungwon noticed the way your breathing hitched at the sound.His hand tightened on your hip immediately, finger possessively setting a pace. "Don't react to him." He said flatly. "You don't get to." You moaned out, forehead creasing and sweat emerging on your flushed skin.

"You're soaked." He continued, jealousy bleeding into every syllable, eyes tracing your face that was pressed cheek first into the bed. "From him. From me. Doesn't matter, right?"

Your thighs trembled harder. A whimper escaped you when he pulled his thumb out, your walls collapsing back against each other. Jungwon's eyes scanned your side once more. The messy hair sprawled on the bed. Your flushed cheek. Your nose that flared with each breath you took.

The necklace.

The necklace that was around your throat, a small white pearl pendant laying leisurely on the bed from your neck that was pressed against your mattress. A tug at his chest. Again. He gritted his teeth, eyes threatening to tear up. "Fucking bitch." He muttered, rage and hurt slipping through cracks of confidence. You heard it. The words made your eyelids slightly open, pants leaving your dry lips, drool slipping and damping the duvet.

And before you could actually process it, he pushed in, his hand guiding the head of his cock against your entrance and splitting you open. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, burying your face into the bed, eyes going tight shut. Jungwon's hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers curling there and pressing hard. You swallowed him with ease, cock gliding with slickness as he set a pace right away. He gritted his teeth, hips slamming against your ass sending your body jolting against the bed. Your eyes teared up, moans muffled as your face nuzzled into the duvet deeper.

Jay could feel himself get hard again. A tent forming again in midst of all the mess. But for the first time he could not look away, not because it had him horny, not because he wanted to join. But because he felt like he was watching something he should not be apart of. His gaze stayed on both of you. The way Jungwon fucked into you with fury, the way you were at his mercy, at the verge of suffocating. He noticed earlier the way Jungwon looked at you, the way something in his expression cracked before he swore at you. He could see his eyes slightly tearing up before he slammed into you.

Jay simply stayed quiet by the side, ignoring the growing ache between his legs and not doing anything about it. Simply observing.

Your knuckles were white form all the gripping on the sheets. Jungwon rammed into you — your gummy walls taking it, every single angry thrust. His forehead dipped forward briefly, hovering near your shoulder but not touching. Jealousy radiated off him in waves — thick, suffocating, restrained only by sheer force of will.

He didn't need to speak. The tension in his hands said enough. The way he held you like something that was his, something that had slipped, said the rest. The way he fucked into you like you were never his, never something he cherished or cared for. Jungwon didn't slow.

He couldn't.

Every movement was sharp, controlled only by the thin thread of restraint he still had left. His hand stayed firm at the back of your neck, holding you down. Not to suffocate you, but to keep you there. To keep you with him. Your breath broke against the sheets beneath you, fingers twisting tighter into the fabric at each slide of his cock into your sopping hole. At every feel of his tip kiss your walls at is slid through with ease. Arousal dripped down your thighs, the back of them red from all the skin on skin contact.

He leaned forward, chest nearly flush with your back now, and for a moment his forehead almost touched your shoulder again. Almost. "You feel that?" He muttered, voice rough, strained as he felt you squeez him. "You feel how angry you make me?"

His hips didn't lose their rhythm. "You always liked when I was gentle." He went on, words slipping out harsher than he meant them to. "When I took my time. When I made sure you were okay." A bitter huff of air left him. "You don't get that now."

You made a broken sound beneath him—half pleasure, half protest—and it only made his jaw tighten more. "I looked at you like you were something special." He said, the hurt starting to bleed into his tone whether he wanted it to or not. "Like you were mine."

Another sharps thrusts. Controlled. Deliberate.

"And you still let him touch you."

There it was — the crack. His grip faltered for half a second before tightening again, as if he was angry at himself for even letting that slip. "Tell me..." He demanded quietly, breath hot against your skin. "Was I not enough?" Your body reacted instinctively to his pace, but your silence felt heavier than anything you could've said.

Jay sat frozen in the chair, watching. Not aroused now, just witnessing. He saw the way Jungwon's eyes glistened, even as he tried to blink it away. Saw how his mouth tightened every time you made a sound. How his anger wasn't just about pride—it was about loss.

Jungwon bent closer, voice dropping lower right by your ear. "I would've given you everything." He said, almost to himself with eyes teary. "Soft. Slow. All of it."

His pace didn't soften. "But you chose this instead." Your back arched beneath him again, not from pain or fear, just from the overwhelming mix of sensation and emotion crashing together.

He swallowed hard, jaw trembling for just a second. Jungwon knew it wasn't that deep. You were just for two years together, not like you were married or anything. He knew that he could just let it go, suffer in silence for a couple of days. Let his friends help him, have his fun at this young age. He is fucking twenty two, at the end of the day.

But he couldn't. He cared. He cared too much and that was the biggest flaw of his. The one that is his downfall.

"You don't get to ruin me." He said quietly, the rage thinning around the edges as his fingers flexed around your nape, hips slamming frantically against yours. "And still expect me to hold you like you're fragile."

Another sharp breath left him. "I'm not the one who broke this." His hand at your neck loosened slightly—not enough to release you, but enough to show he was holding on for himself now, not just to control you.

By the side, Jay stayed silent. Because it didn't feel like a competition. It felt like watching someone fall apart in real time.

Jungwon raised himself, teeth gritted as he still held your neck down. His eyes went over your spine, over your trembling shoulders, fisted hands as you clawed at the sheets. Your arch that he would never get tired of seeing. And finally his gaze dropped to the way you took him. The way your folds drooled all over his length, walls sucking him in as he slammed hard. His cock was coated with your mixed essences. And Jay's.

And fucking Jay's cum from earlier.

He felt the sudden burst of anger inside him, the overwhelming feeling that overpowered the pleasure. He pressed your face harder into the mattress, angling his hips as he felt the pressure in his pelvis grow. He leaned forward, body hovering over yours as he fucked you into the bed. You couldn't do anything but take it, crying into the sheets as he brought you closer to your orgasm.

"Baby!" You raised your head, eyes ruined and teary as you called out to him, voice trembling and needy. "I'm gonna cum." You hiccuped, neck and cheeks all flushed and wet. The nickname made him groan, only fueling his anger. "Don't fucking call me that! You don't deserve to..." His voice trailed off, eyes spilling tears. They dropped down his lashes and warm cheeks, staining his skin with a burning path — and he let them. His other hand moved down over your hip and found your bud. He rubbed it aggressively, slick coating his hand as you gasped. "Fucking whore." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. For the first time meaning it. An ache shot through him as tears dropped down his face.

Your ears started ringing, everything shutting down as you could feel the wave coming. His unrelenting thrusts and rubs on your clit pushed you further before it snapped inside of you. You screamed, burying your face into the wet sheets. Your hips tried to move back against his, but you couldn’t. Orgasm shook you to the core as you spasmed around his moving cock and against his rapid fingers.

He fucked you through it, thrusts never faltering as he let your clit rest as it throbbed with aftershocks. He finally released your neck moving to hold himself up over you as he grabbed your chin and turned your head to the side. He brought the stained hand to your lips, pushing it forcefully into your warm cavity. And you took it, mind hazy and mushy. You wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking off your arousal that coated them. Jungwon could feel his dick twitch inside you at the feel of your tongue dancing around his fingers.

He sniffled, eyes closing as he pulled them out supporting himself with the other hand too. Mattress deeped at the sides of your head as he was completely over you, hovering as his hips drilled you into overstimulation. You bit your lip, your pussy burning and aching as you endured. "Wonnie—" You whined, each drag of his against your walls felt too good but at the same time too much.

Jungwon's breathing turned uneven. His grip on the mattress tightened near your head, knuckles whitening as he hovered over you. His lashes were wet, clumped together when he blinked, but he didn't let himself slow.

Each thrust grew sharper at the end, not wild but desperate. Like he was chasing something that kept slipping just out of reach. "Don't say it like that." He muttered hoarsely when you whimpered his nickname. His jaw trembled for a second before he clenched it again. "Don't make it sound sweet." Your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed, toes curling at the feel of him twitch again inside of you.

Jungwon felt it too, the way you responded to him no matter how angry he was. His brows pulled together harder, a broken breath escaping him as he drove into you again deeper and rougher. As if trying to erase the thought of anyone else ever being there.

"You're not mine." He rasped, voice cracking at the edges. "You don't deserve it." That was the last thing he managed before the control snapped. His hips stuttered, rhythm breaking as he pushed forward and held there, body tensing, a low moan leaving his throat as white ropes of seed shot deep into you.

He didn't pull away, he stayed inside you fucking everything deeper and deeper. Making sure not a drop gets out. The roughness at the end had been almost punishing, not to hurt you, but to claim something back. To fill you completely. To make sure there was no question about who had been there last. You moaned out at his rough punishing thrusts, spreading your knees more to let him have his way. Let him claim you.

Jay was stiff. His eyes sucking in everything that was going on in front of him. He just watched Jungwon's shoulders rise and fall, watched the way his fingers trembled slightly where they pressed into the mattress.

Jungwon swallowed hard, still hovering over you, his hips finally stilling. For a moment, the rage was gone. All that was left was the sound of his breathing and the quiet fragile aftermath of a jealousy that had finally burned itself out. He gulped, hand coming up to wipe his runny nose, tears already dry. With a heavy heart he pulled out, you hissed at the emptiness, body aching and too tired as you finally let your hips meet the bed. He got off the bed, back turned to your sleepy figure that was dozing off, eyelids too heavy. He grabbed his shirt, put it on. He grabbed his underwear and sweats, steadily getting them on, snapping the waistbands down on his hips.

Jay stayed quiet, watching Jungwon get dressed with no words, not daring to even readjust on the chair from the overwhelming silence that took place except your hard breathing. You somehow mustered the strength, turning yourself over and holding yourself on your trembling elbows. Glossy eyes went over Jungwon's back as he adjusted his sweats.

And when he turned around and your eyes met, for the first time he looked emotionless. You opened your mouth to say something. But no words escaped your dry throat. Your eyes flicked lower in shame. In compassion. Your chest felt tight for the first time tonight. He raised his hand up to his neck, fingers dug into his shirt as they hooked onto the silver chain. It snapped. The chain snapped as he snatched it off his neck. He threw it at the bed, the small pendant lending right by your feet.

"I hope he was worth it."

And he turned around and left. The door clicked shut behind him, steps echoing further and further before the click of the front door followed.

Silence.

You looked down at the small chain, eyes flicking to to the door. Your eyes turned glossy in seconds, tears gathering behind them threatening to fall any second.

You gulped in an attempt to swallow the lump in your throat but it only tightened. Your chest felt tight, overwhelmingly full of something you could not put a finger on. Your heart felt like it was going to burst any second, like it's about to die down. Your gaze flicked down to your lower stomach. The evidence of Jay right there. Smeared and stuck. The feel of Jungwon's release leaking out of you, made you grit your teeth. But you could not stop the hollow feeling that followed.

"He left..."

You whispered, voice strained and a little too quiet. Your bottom lip trembled slightly as you fought the tears that were scratching the back of your eyes, gaze boring through the door that he closed a minute before.

Jay stayed leaned in the chair.

He didn't look at you at first. Just stared at the floor, jaw tight, hands clasped loosely between his knees. The room felt different now. Heavy and wrong. The heat from earlier had burned out, leaving only the echo of the door shutting and the image of Jungwon walking away.

Jay's gaze flicked up once quick and almost hesitant, taking in the way you sat layed there staring at the door, small and shaken. Something in his chest shifted.

This didn't feel like a win. It felt like he'd stepped into something fragile and watched it break. He leaned his head back slowly in the chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

And for the first time since it started, he felt like he shouldn't be there at all.

———

! this is all work of fiction. in no way this is a representation of enhypen members nor do I believe this is how they behave in real life or condone these actions!

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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Acceptance is a big thing your family lacks doing, always seeming to be in the denial stage when it does no justice to anyone but themselves.

The selfish of the selfish, only caring about themselves and how to look the best. So due to the uncontrollable association it only must be true on your end. The apple never does fall too far from the tree.

You are not a good person.

That is what you used to believe until you met your sister's current new boyfriend, Jake.

While this was the first time you were dissecting any of her relationships, it was obvious this one was different. It wasn't like any of her old ones. There were too many loop holes on how they came to be, especially when she had just gotten out of a 1 year relationship with her longest lasting boyfriend—Heeseung.

It started off as a rough patch like always until she found herself a new boyfriend to keep her busy, and you just thought it would be someone within her usual taste.

Yet, this time she was charted into territory that she would never be caught dead in but on the opposite side, you would have an absolute field day in.

That's how indefinitely you knew you were not a good person.

Not because of the association or pressure to fit in but rather because it's just in your blood.

'He always keeps looking at me even when he's clinging to my sister like a vice and it's fucking aggravating’

'How do they cross paths? That's the million dollar question'

'Usually she's the one parading her latest boyfriend around but I just guess not this time’

'All I want to know is how she stumbled upon this gem by chance'

You scribble out the last sentence and groan loudly as you end up ripping out the page and crumbling into a ball in frustration. Huffing you squish the paper ball, your phone pinged and you glanced over to see the message 'Come over' illuminating your screen.

Sighing heavily as you flip your phone over and stand up from your chair and walk out of your room to dispose of the crumbled paper properly.

You make a mental note to search for your old trash bin in order to avoid having to come outside of your room so much.

Right when you were about to turn the corner, you yelped and dropped the paper in hand when you heard the cluttering noise in the kitchen.

Rounding the corner quickly, you catch Jake with piles of plastic containers scattered around and a small pot in hand as he stares at you like a puppy that just got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes! Sorry, I'm okay. I just wanted to make some ramen cause I got a little hungry and your sister told me I could just go alone to make it since she didn't feel like coming with me"

"Sounds typical of her" You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose for a second before letting go and looking at him, "Do you need any help?"

Jake waves his hand and smiles warmly, "No I should manage fine hopefully" He chuckles and awkwardly rubs his nape, "If not you can come running back when you start to smell smoke or hear a loud thud"

"Oh don't worry I'll be on high alert" He chuckles softly and it makes you softly smile back before clearing your throat at the awkward silence, "Well uhm l'm gonna go, please don't blow up our house "

"Can't make any promises"

You give a tight smile as you quickly speedwalk away as fast as you could before it can be considered running.

Grumbling under your breath when you made it back your room, you thump your head back against the door and closed yours eyes with a deep sigh, "She doesn't deserve him"

"Hey wait!" Jake calls out when he sees the balled paper sitting perfectly where you once stood but sighs heavily when he realizes you were gone

He stoops down and picks up the discarded paper and he knows he should be more mindful to not read it. But, he's a curious person.

He unfolds the paper and once it's flattened out just enough, he glances over it and proceeds to reread the note or more like diary entry way more than he would like to admit.

There was a beating in his chest that he couldn't control and the small smile grew wider until his teeth were showing. Trying to hide it with a hand over his mouth as he kept repeating the first two sentences.

'Dear diary, I have a confession to make'

'My sister's boyfriend is fucking hot'

Jake gulps down his happiness to neatly fold the wrinkled paper and tuck into his pocket, "Your dirty secret is safe with me"

⊹ ࣪ ˖

You were tiptoeing out of your room, biting down on your tongue to hold back a hiss for the loud click of the closing door behind you echoing in the dead silent house.

Stopping dead in your tracks to roam your eyes around the empty hallway. When noticing it didn’t alarm anyone you sighed out in relief. Only managing to take two steps from your door until you nearly jumped out of your skin at the soft whisper, “Heading out somewhere?”

You tensed recognizing the deep accented voice before painfully turning around to see your sister’s boyfriend standing straight with an empty bowl in hand.

“What are you still doing up?” Your quiet whisper made Jake look at you up and down, taking in your appearance with thin lips as his grip around the bowl tightened

“I could ask you the same, where are you going so.. Dolled up?” Jake watched how you deviated your gaze away from him when questioned

It hadn’t even been less than an hour ago where you caught him making a mess in your kitchen just to make a bowl of ramen. Now he’s catching you crawling out of your room to go somewhere that isn’t your home.

Jake looked at you as the words of the paper tucked away safely in his pocket rang through his head. He shuffles his weight between his feet, you were still yet to find out he picked up the dropped diary entry.

‘Dear diary, I have a confession to make’

‘My sister’s boyfriend is fucking hot’

His mouth runs dry, he tries to swallow the lump and covers it by his mouth turns into a slight pout as you notice the change of expression.

A burning warmth spreads across your cheek as an unease settles in your body the longer you’re in his presence. “I was just“

“Sneaking out to go to her little boyfriend’s house” A third voice chimed in and recognizing it anywhere, you look to your sister emerging from her room and walking towards the both of you

“He’s not my boyfriend” You quickly snapped but she waved you off with a laugh and ignored the harsh glare you sent her

Unbeknownst of the look Jake shot your way the moment he heard your sister’s words—a failure to mention that minor detail, his eyes raked back over you, his bottom lip pouting out more.

“Right, he’s just a friend” She put the last words in air quotes before laughing a scoff and wrapping her hands around Jake’s bicep giving him a smile before looking back at you, “Go while I’m still in a good mood”

“Unless you want me to tell mom and dad you’re sneaking out again” You narrowed your gaze, the heavier glare sent to not phasing her in the slightest

Moving your lips in an uncomfortable manner, you bite on your tongue and turn a sharp heel to head towards the front door without a word.

“Such a brat” Your sister rolled her eyes before tugging at Jake, “You still haven’t put the bowl away in the kitchen? Whatever let’s go to bed, I’m tired”

Jake’s eyes remained where you once stood before a harsher tug pulled him out of the daze and back to the reality of your sister—his girlfriend pulling at him.

“Right” He muttered under his breath, “What were you doing up anyway? I thought you said you were going to sleep” Jake murmurs to your sister as he stares off to the distance in hopes of catching a glimpse of the front door

His girlfriend gave another harsh pull on his arm that woke him up from his haze. In a confused face, he looked up to your sister, mouth ajar at the glaring gaze examining him, “She always acts out like that if that’s what you’re wondering”

“Our parents told her to stop messing around and just focus on her studies but she just doesn’t listen” Your sister sneered at the reminder of your reckless actions, “I’ve even had to receive an earful for not keeping a closer eye on her when they first caught her sneaking out”

“There’s been more than one instance?” Jake flinches when your sister laughs out loud, he remains silent since he didn’t even have to say anything, your sister just rambled out everything he wanted to know

“Oh there’s been so many times that I can’t even keep track anymore”

“I’ve told her so many times to be better in sneaking out because I won’t cover for her” You sister dragged him back to the room and threw herself onto the bed in a loud huff, “Plus her and her little fuck buddy that she calls a friend isn’t going anywhere, so I don’t get the point of risking our parent’s trust for it”

She roughly pushed herself up to look at him with a scowl at Jake’s lack of agreement to her statement, “Am I right?”

“How long have they been seeing each other?” Jake glossed over it with a voice scratchier and more pronounced than usual as he rested up against the closed door

Your sister perked at the question and raised an eyebrow, “I don’t know, a few months maybe? I don’t keep tabs on her life”

“So there’s no attachment between them? Just two people messing around?” Jake awkwardly clears his throat and rubs the back of his nape with his freehand

“She swears that they're just friends but I call bullshit on that” Your sister rolls her eyes at the instance that whatever it may be is anything but innocent, “Otherwise she wouldn’t be pulling this type of shit for the sake of friendship”

Her ramble stops abruptly as she stares at Jake with raised eyebrows for his sudden curiosity about you. It was interesting when Jake had shown no interest in you when she first mentioned you to him.

Leaning forward, her elbows perched on her knee as she zeroed in on Jake with a tugging smirk, “Why so curious?”

He harshly gulped, both hands pressed the bowl into the middle of his chest as his mind racked for anything and every thought imaginable to save himself, “Just want to look out for her. Make sure she doesn’t get heartbroken from messing with the wrong guy”

“Aww look at you worrying over my sister, aren’t you just such a caring boyfriend”

⊹ ࣪ ˖

Laying on your back, you kept shifting your body weight to get comfortable to sleep but you couldn’t seem to get any shut eye when you kept hearing your sister’s giggle down the hallway followed by Jake’s deeper chuckle.

You plopped yourself on your side harshly with a recoil and sighed heavily. Meeting Jake the first time was a revolutionary moment, you’re still just unsure if it was for the worst or the best.

"Uh... What happened to Heeseung?" The question imposed innocence and probably should have been asked during a time when it was just you and your sister and not be the first thing you asked when you opened the door for her after not seeing her for months

But it just slipped out before you could stop it.

It was just that seeing an unfamiliar face next to your sister, a sweet smile stretched on his face with loosely baggy clothes fitting him perfectly was odd when her and Heeseung had just celebrated their one year.

You hissed when a hand flew your way and smacked your arm. Immediately jerking yourself away from it and looking at your mom's warning gaze. "I am so sorry for that! She doesn't know when to be quiet" She loudly chuckled to fill the awkward silence

Your sister's hand gripped around the male's bicep tighter before straining out a smile, "This is my boyfriend, Jake"

Looking over to the male next to her, you took in his appearance. He was nowhere near her usual type and you knew your sister was very adamant on who she spent her time with.

Yet, noticing the fluff of his hair, his soft and warm eyes, high cheekbones for the sheepish smile he had as he talked to your parents, his giggle that was light but strong—He was the perfect fit of your ideal type.

“Congratulate your sister” Your mom whispered into your ear with a grip of your arm before letting go to show a wide smile with opened arms to the new addiction of the family

Jake gave your dad a firm handshake until it got to your turn. His eyes landed on you, looking up and down—taking in your appearance with a slight nod that you would’ve missed if you weren’t paying close attention.

He leaned in, his arms opening and engulfing you into a hug before you could even retaliate. You suddenly become rigid in the embrace, his hands sprawled across your lower and mid back to flush your bodies together before he lets go with a smile lingering on his face. “Nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you”

Sneaking a glance to your sister with furrowed eyebrows before giving a kind smile, “Nice to meet you too” You quietly greeted which prompted his smile to grow in size

It would be a long break with your parents, your sister and her new boyfriend

⊹ ࣪ ˖

When your parents suggested the pool to cool off during the heat. Jake didn’t imagine you’d invite whoever it was rubbing sunblock all over your back.

Sunglasses perched on his high nose bridge did nothing to hide his burning gaze at the fit of giggles you let out.

Forced to watch the guy spreading the moisture onto his hands before splattering it onto your back making you squeal from how cold it was. Jake sees the wide smile the guy had hearing you giggle and he dug his nails deep into the flesh of his palm.

What you didn’t notice but Jake did was the way the guy looked at you while you weren’t paying attention. How the wide smile softened and became warm.

It was like a bubble that surrounded you both—away from everyone. Away from him. It settled something weird in him, an ache in his chest that bubbled something nasty.

“Jake, can you put sunblock on my back?” He snapped away from your direction at the sound of his girlfriend right in front of him, holding the bottle that was just at your side a moment ago

He pursed his lips out before grabbing the bottle from your sister and lathering it over his hands before motioning for her to sit down. His hands threaded to her skin though his mind was in a different place.

Trying to focus on the flesh of skin under his hands but his eyes wondered where you were sitting but he stopped his hands when there was no sight of you. The sudden sound of splashing water followed by your loud laughter slipped past his ringing ears.

He whipped his head towards the source to see you already in the pool, swimming closer to the guy who dipped his feet in as he fondly smiled at you.

“Hey why’d you stop?” Your sister snapped her head to Jake

However, instead of sticking by her side like she said to, he suddenly took of his shirt and his legs picked him up and threw himself into the pool before he could second guess himself

You turned away to stop the water from getting into your face at the sudden cannonball in the pool. Turning around when the coast was clear but to your shock, Jake was already swimming towards you.

You straightened your posture as he grew closer, he slicked back his wet hair, the water droplets falling onto his forehead before skidding down the side of his face.

He gave the signature shy smile he gave when you first met and extended his hand out, not to you but to who was in front of you, “Nice to meet you, name’s Jake”

Sneaking a glance towards you before pulling his arm from behind and gripping Jake’s into a firm shake, “Nice to meet you, I’m Jay”

“So how long have you two been dating?” Jake fiddled a finger between you two, a fake smile bright on his face

The sudden question made your eyes nearly pop out while Jay coughed and retreated his hand back to his side with an awkward laugh.

“I thought I told you babe, they aren’t dating” Your sister’s voice chimes as she carefully dipped her legs into the pool and extended her arms out, waiting for him to come to her

Jake sneaks a glance to your unreadable gaze and lets out a sigh under his breath before moving towards where your sister waited. “They’re just merely screwing around, isn’t that right sis?” Your sister shot you a look you knew far too well

You grimace at how she grabbed onto Jake’s offered hands and dipped into the pool with a slight shiver by the contrast of temperature. Not choosing to respond, you gravitate towards Jay who only gave you a strained smile before entering the pool himself.

Jake watched how you and Jay were nearing closer together and felt his chest cave in itself, without thinking his mouth moved before he could stop himself, “Why don’t we play marco polo?”

Everyone looked at him with weird expressions and he awkwardly smiled, nervously swishing the water away around him. “I mean why not right? Gives us time to spend together”

Whilst, no one was fond of his decision—he could tell that much, they all still reluctantly agreed, having nothing better to do than just swimming and chilling in the pool.

Instead of following traditional rules, the game was twisted in their own ways. Instead of having only one person close their eyes, everyone does and you can open them once you find someone.

Now closed eyes, arms stretched out that he was sure he looked silly.

“Marco!” He was the first to yell out, heart thumping in his chest as he realized how he didn’t have much sense around him besides touch and sound

Hearing how the swashing over water overruled any other sound until he heard the sweetness of your voice calling out, “Polo!” There was a twinge of excitement in your voice

Before he could open his mouth to respond back, the only other husky deep voiced chipped in as the sound of the rustling in water grew closer, “Marco”

Something switched in Jake as his feet moved on their own. Pulling him in the direction his gut screamed at him to go in. “Polo!” He responded, his hands moving around to get a touch of warmth

“Marco” He heard the in the faint distance of your sister responding but choosing to ignore it and move farther from it, he trusted his gut feeling more than he should have

“Polo” Jay responded back once noticing your sister was getting no response from anyone

“Marco” You decided to chirp in and Jake could feel his heart pounding out of his chest when it sounded like it came from right of him

His hands naturally gravitated towards the noise as he threaded as quickly as possible to be unnoticed if it were actually you—which he is almost positive it is.

The plush warmth of skin was jaw dropping, it was much softer than your sister’s skin that he couldn’t help but dig his nails in. You slightly hissed and he bit down on his bottom lip to conceal the smile that would go unnoticed by anyone already. “Polo” He huskily whispered and he could feel the small bumps forming under his fingertips, “Got you”

You tried to wither out of his touch realizing the accented voice wasn’t the one you were with just a few moments ago but Jake kept you planted where he found you. “Ok-” A hand slapped or tried to cover your mouth that made you squeal

“Don’t want to ruin the fun now do we? We only just started playing” His reasoning that didn’t make sense, you always could just do another round at least that what you would hope for

However, you remained silent and tapped his forearm to release you but your hand rested there for a second longer than you anticipated.

The popping veins on his skin, tracing all over made you shudder under your breath as you were pushed up the pool wall followed by a heavy presence over you.

“Jake” You shakily called his name and he felt something twitch unsure if it was internal or external, all he cared about was that the way you said his name so breathlessly and worry

He doesn’t trust himself to say anything but just can’t seem to keep his hands off of you. He hears the way the breath got sucked right back into your throat and feels the way your heart pounds out of your chest.

Your skin burned under his lingering touches, how he manages to make you feel like you were stripped bare was concerning when you still had the garments covering your body at least to make sure nothing was seen.

You tried to push his shoulder but freeze at how wide—much broader than anything they feel under your hands. Seeing them and feeling them under your hand were two completely different things.

The push of his leg in between your thighs as if to support your body up had you sitting on top of his knee and you resume your attempt to push away your sister’s boyfriend.

“It’ll be tiring if you keep standing. I got you” The words brushed into your ear and a shiver ran down your spine

“I don’t need your help” You murmured but when his body flushed to you in excuse of not wanting to get caught because by his logic with your bodies squished together, you both will be counted as one, “What are you doing?”

“Making sure we stay in the game” He responds far too quickly like he’s rehearsed it numerous times, “We don’t want to get caught do we?”

Jake can’t bring himself to let go of you, you fit perfectly in his hold especially knowing if Jay and his girlfriend just opened their eyes you’d be caught.

Instead of feeling dread and fear like how you are currently feeling, he realizes it’s bad that he doesn’t care if they saw you two. There are no eyes on them besides the four of them—so who cares?

Well you did. Especially you.

When Jake hears swishing of water, his heartbeat picks up and he could feel you pushing at his chest but he doesn’t budge. Instead he grips onto the ledge for even more ground to keep him close to you.

“What the fuck?” Your sister shrieked causing you and Jake’s eyes open to each other's face so close to one another

Your breaths fanned over while he looked at you with a repressed gleam and a shake under his breath when he saw you trapped in his arms and sitting on his knee.

You looked away to see your sister frowning with crossed arms over her chest and Jay facing the opposite side of the pool awkwardly squatting and arms out to catch anyone.

You instantly push yourself out of the pool, leaving Jake in the same position he trapped you in. Trying to hide the burning under your cheeks to quickly walk back into the house.

Jay yelled your name when he noticed you leaving and chased after you the moment he pulled himself out of the pool. Jake cringed at the sight but sucked in a breath when your sister laughed behind him.

“What was that about?” Your sister came up behind Jake and smacked his burnt back making him hiss at the reddening mark splayed on there

However, Jake never looked back to his girlfriend once, instead he kept himself focused on where you once were and where you disappeared off to in the house with Jay trailing after like a lost puppy.

“Just trying to not get caught”

⊹ ࣪ ˖

Jake is trying to focus on the warm home cooked meal, he just can’t seem to get his eyes off the way Jay wrapped his arm at the back of your chair.

Which just so happened to be in front of him as you laughed into his personal space as he spoke to your parents like a talk show host.

A natural charm that wooed them for who knows how long. He found it amusing how he was the boyfriend and wasn’t getting the slightest bit of attention because Jay had it all.

It was more ironic seeing how you and Jay were the only ones on the other side of the dining table and the rest of them were squeezed into one row.

Having to watch Jay whisper something in your ear before pulling back to admire your giggles was annoying enough.

But immediately you stopped when remembering you’re at a dinner with your family including your sister’s boyfriend was better than any comedy show he’s ever watched.

You clear your throat and straighten up your posture and Jake sees the way Jay smugly leans back in his chair and lifts a leg over his knee with a sweetening smile towards your parents.

“So what are you two?”

You shy away from the question asked by your parents but Jake being too curious for his own good, a habit he needs to desperately fix.

He jumps in to be a good look out on the boys you’re fooling around with.

“Yeah? Want to make sure she isn’t messing with the wrong crowd do we?” Every eyes were on him before being focusing on Jay who coughed into his fist with a quick smile

“Oh we are just friends” Jay wraps an arm around and brings your closer to his side

Jake, who couldn’t watch what was in front of him anymore, gripped the utensil and stabbed his food with so much force that it clanked against the plate in a loud manner.

Everyone’s attention shifted to him again made him feel like a dog who just got in trouble with the way he cowered into himself with a soft apology leaving his mouth.

Your mom clears her throat and leans over and smiles warmly at Jake who returns the gesture, “Say Jake, how did you and my daughter meet mhm? I bet it’s a cute love story”

“Mom” Your sister whines and your mother jumps in a laugh at the normal remark, while Jay joined in laughing.

Jake looked over to you as you stayed silent and only looked at your plate. Too engrossed with fiddling with the food when you were kicked directly in the shin.

Silently groaning and lifting your head up with a scowl thinking it was your sister but instead see Jake mouthing an apology.

Your words die on your tongue and slowly nod your head in acceptance of the apology and try to rejoin your attention on your mom and sister bickering while Jay talked with your dad.

When you reached over to get Jay’s attention you got kicked again straight to your shin. You snapped your head towards Jake who silently apologized again.

Yet, there was no sign of actual remorse behind that toothy grin and blown out eyes. You shifted in your seat to see if that could stop the hits to your leg but when you got struck again you nearly launched yourself up from your chair to yell at Jake to leave you alone.

The first few times you looked past it, accepted it to be a mistake but after what felt like the millionth time you were growing tired of it.

Instead of doing something to get him to stop, you stayed rooted in your chair and kicked back with less force in his direction.

Jake holds back his grin as he pushes at your ankle noticing your annoyance towards him. Yet, when you push him back, he feels ecstatic.

Your hands gripped the ends of the chair to focus on bringing the equal or if not more force in your kicks the same way Jake was kicking you.

When he finally came to a stop, you thought it was over with a sigh of relief.

Until you felt a graze at the bone of your ankle. You send a hard glare his way and he only perches his elbow on the table and covers his mouth with his hands as he stares directly back at you.

He allows his foot to trail up the bare of your leg, the way it glided against your skin that he thanks the lotion you put on after the much needed shower from the eventful day in the pool.

You squirm in your seat and you try to pull your leg away but when he hooks the front of his foot to the back of your calf, you don't attempt to pull away anymore.

Jake covered his smile under his hand but he swore it could be felt by a mile away.

He sees how your head hangs low, visibly shaking under his foot trailing higher up your leg. When he passed your knee he decided to trace the ball with the tip of his foot to feel the light shiver it caused you.

Harshly pulling on his bottom lip to conceal the giggle daring to escape he raises his foot past onto your thigh. You squished your thighs together and Jake’s smile turned into a frown instantly.

He tapped at the plush in a silent plea but when you refused, the tips of mouths grew lower when you were pulling away.

Jake grabbed the back of your knee and kept you in place before perking up when your mother focused on him again after having all of her attention on Jay practically the entire dinner, “Say Jake, what are you studying?”

“Engineering” He answers with a kind smile making you cough to clear your throat at his reply

Jake sends one last soft kick at the side of your thigh making you jump and bang your knee onto the table.

“Woah you okay?” Jay worriedly asked and leaned in to you to see what happened but you flushed your body over the table to make sure he couldn’t see Jake’s retracting foot from your side of the table back to his own

“Wait, aren't you failing some engineering course?” Your sister mumbles under her breath to take a jab at you but Jake picked up on it instantly

“You’re struggling with a class?” He innocently asked like a puppy that wasn't just tormenting you under the table

“I can help you out with that! Wouldn’t want you to fail a summer class right?” The smile he was giving everyone was too faxed and down right sinister but everyone believed it except you

When peeking through the corner of his eyes to you. He thumbs his lips and tilts his head while sucking in a breath and lightly shaking his head as he looks at you.

“You should be careful though” Jake licks his lips with a concerned pout

He traces his eyes over your jaw and down to your clear neck before looking back and replacing the pout with a lopsided grin that reached his eyes, “You look like you can bruise easily”

⊹ ࣪ ˖

“Not sleeping over Jay?” Jake’s voice broke through the hushed whispers between you and the said male when he suddenly appeared behind the front door and took it out of your grasp

You snap your head towards the make who innocently rose his hands up, “I’m just asking”

Trying your best to hold back from rolling your eyes you smile warmly at Jay who laughed awkwardly and shook his head before giving a tight lip and took a step out of the door.

“Don’t let the door hit you on your way out!” Jake cheerily chimes and slammed the door shut before the male could get any response back to him

You narrow your eyes at him and he only sheepily smiles like he knew no wrong that it ticked your nerves.

“What the fuck” Jake flinched when you sneer at him but your gaze averts when your sister snickered off from the side

“You should be lucky mom and dad didn’t question you anymore about inviting a friend over” The glare you gave her could be felt from a mile away but it didn’t phase her in the way you hoped, “This is supposed to be a family bonding summer sis”

“I’m going to wash up first” She strides over to Jake and plants a soft kiss to his cheek, your hands balled at your side when she never broke eye contact once from you

Jake remains frozen in place long after your sister walks off, leaving the two of you together. Your eyes fidget around one another but never on each other.

When you walked off, he trailed after you and you didn’t bother to shake him off. You knew it would be impossible to escape him when he’s sleeping under the same roof.

Sighing heavily and plopping yourself onto your couch and stretching your neck to the side, a loud hum ripping your throat as you tried to massage your aching muscles.

It would’ve stayed silent, just like how you would’ve wanted, if he wasn’t the one to break the silence with the voice that rose goosebumps at the back of your neck.

“I was serious about what I said”

“Which part?” Jake chuckles at the snarky remark and he nods his head in defeat but he sighs heavily and tilts his head to the side making the fluff of his hair to fall to the side and curtain his face perfectly for you to see him

“About helping you out with your engineering class. Not to toot my own horn but I am pretty familiar in that department” When you peek in the corner of your eye to see Jake’s grin, you instantly shake your head at the offering

You were trying everything in your power to stay away from Jake as much as possible but the more hours spent with him, the more that possibility diminished.

Focusing on stretching the muscles on your own, you feel the warmth hovering your skin that makes you jump in place. Peering over your shoulder, Jake is sitting closer than before with a softer closed smile.

“What are you doing?” You whisper low, afraid that if you spoke louder, it would entail something and you didn’t need that on your conscious

“I give good massages” He justifies by shaking his hands, “Ask your sister”

You shudder at the thought of your sister and you shook your head, “I rather not”

“Does that mean I can give you one?” He looked helpless, eyes riming with a gloss and a pout that jutted out his plush bottom lip, “Please”

“I would hate to see you in pain” You scoff at his remark and choosing to stick to as minimal words as possible, you adjust yourself to the edge of the couch with your back turned to Jake

“Yeah right, you were straight up kicking me like some socc-” Your voice gets caught in your throat the moment Jake’s hand lands on your shoulders and immediately squeeze them

“Relax. you’re so tensed” You sucked in a breath and bit on your lip to stop the strained noise from slipping out. He whispers in the shell of your ear that nearly made you rip away from him, “Just relax for me”

The words were slurred and felt hot against your neck. It would kill you to give him the satisfaction but you swear he can see it by the way he giggles and continues the motion on your neck.

The tips of his finger tips glide up and down your spinal cord nearly making your topple over but when the rest of his fingers dig into your shoulder blade, you yelp before a soft moan enlightens from you.

Jake didn’t pull away like you thought he would, instead he only worked in silence to feel the way you melt into his hands. His chest swells in a satisfaction he never had before.

“I want to say I’m sorry about the pool thing” You weren’t planning on saying anything for the weak apology but instead the words slipped past your mouth like it was second nature

“No it’s okay. Like you said it was to win the game” The purpose of the the game was to not get caught by anyone and yet, you and Jake failed completely but in your books, it counts as a win

His touches burned through your skin like straight fire. It was messing with your mind that you didn’t question them roaming down your back to your sides.

You only let your eyes flutter close and enjoy the feel of his calloused hands holding you. Your head lulled to the side and focused on how his hands held you—A delicate touch that excited you in every wake of his fingers gliding over your skin.

“Is that good?” He asked when your head was too hazy to answer

Not realizing the weak moan coming out instead, you realize when Jake halts his movements as he grips your shoulders and it snaps you awake from the daze.

He could feel the tension rising back into your fibers and noticing his hand flinched around your shoulder, you pulled yourself away hastily that you nearly fell off the couch.

However, reaching out to you in the process, you fell right into the arms waiting to catch you from the fall.

Instead of falling forward, you’re pulled to the side and your hands rest on his chest as he hovers over you. A knee lodge between your squished legs, his face just right above yours, and a widening silence that made your heart hammer out.

You could feel how his arms wrap tighter around from under, a drowning feeling filling to muffle the ringing in your ears. Seeing how his eyes search over your face only to land back to your eyes that didn’t deviate from his own made your knees buckle.

How thankful you were to already be lying down.

Your hands fist the material of his loose shirt and it stretches the collar but Jake didn’t seem to care when he didn't flinch in the slightest.

Unsure if your mind was playing tricks but the way his eyes flicker down to your lips and almost as if he was leaning in closer made it feel like he wanted to kiss you.

Weird right?

“Jake” You softly called his name and it jerked something inside of him as his breath fanned over yours that you can smell the musked cologne he wore to cover up the underlying chlorine smell from the pool

He didn’t answer, choosing the silence to speak louder than anything he could say.

Jake didn’t pick on the faint footsteps but you did. Years of living under the same roof, you pick up on patterns and it was like instinct when you shove him off of you and he landed straight to the floor.

He yelped and sent a confused look your way but when the cheering voice of your sister came back to stop at the opening of the living room to see you and Jake still alone.

She didn’t get a chance to say anything as you quickly pushed yourself up from the couch in a haste and to your wobbly feet best ability, rushed past without a glance to the male on the floor whose gaze followed you until you were out of sight.

“What the fuck was that?” Your sister snaps Jake out of his trance and he sighs heavily and dusts the dirt off his clothes, lingering at his chest where you held before dropping his hand

“Nothing. I was just telling your sister what timing our tutoring session will be” He oddly said louder than usual while his girlfriend looks at him confused but doesn’t question it

Little did she know that you rested behind the wall you disappeared by and stared ahead with a shaky breath passing your lips because you knew there was no way of escaping him.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

You were grumbling under your breath, you don’t want to do this.

With a hand hovering the door, you gulped down the lump in your throat and softly knocked to get out of your thoughts.

Instantly, you heard shuffling and your sister screaming, “Hold on, give us a minute!”

Retracting your hand away at the breathless tone in her voice, you listen to the cluttering and thudding from the other side of the door.

Rapid feet scrambling with hushed voices that you couldn’t hear but the door yanked open just enough to see your sister’s disheveled state.

She was out of breath and her sweet smile fell when she saw that it was just you. A loud huff fell from her mouth as she pulled the door open enough for you to see inside and spot Jake lying on her bed panting with his body covered by the sheets.

“I thought you were mom and dad” Jake snapped his head over to see you standing like a stick at the doorway

He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over himself to fall face first before picking himself up to stand next to your sister. From the dreading face and ragged breaths, it was all you needed to know.

Ripping your gaze away with a frown and looked to your sister with a strained lip, “Mom is calling you for shopping”

“She’s paying?” When you nod, she squeals loudly and claps her hand, “Give me 5 minutes”

Your sister twirled on her heel, leaving you and Jake alone. Too often being left alone with him was worrying.

Keeping your line of sight trained on the floor while he stared at you through his lashes. It was particularly hard to keep himself from saying something that could ruin the moment but it was even harder to not do it.

“So-” He starts but your sister comes back beside him with a frown at you still being there

“Are you going with us?” You instantly shake your head and a bright smile returns to her face, “Perfect, it’ll just be me, Jakey, and mom”

“Actually” Jake steps in the moment he was mentioned, “Me and your sister have our first tutoring session so I won’t be able to make it. I’m sorry” The apology felt half assed but the look of annoyance on her face was everything you needed to let out a small smile

She sent Jake a glare before walking back into her room without another word. He sighs heavily in relief that he escaped her wrath but he sucks in a breath when he sees your narrowed eyes pointed at him.

“What tutoring?” It registers in your mind the moment the words fall from your mouth and you instantly shake your head with a scoff, “Absolutely not. I told you I don’t need it-”

“Jake! Are you joining me and my daughter today?” Your mom from behind to check that you actually relayed the message instead of backing out

The flattering smile on his face was replaced with a fake bright one as you quickly stopped talking to see him lightly shake his head and holds his arms behind his back. Chest pumping out of his shirt that made you turn a gaze away.

“I was just telling her that I sadly have to decline in order to help this one over here with her engineering class” Your left eye twitches when Jake pursed his lips towards you with a light laugh

“You’re such a sweetheart Jake. Thank you so much for doing this” Your mother gleefully clasped her hands together as if it were the best news to hear

“I’m sorry that you have to take matters into your own hands. We told her to not bite off more than she can chew but she never listens” Your mother laughs and pats your back repeatedly as if to comfort you

Jake’s brow querked and he held back his grin by covering it with a laugh with the perfect timing of your sister being already ready.

“Bye” She waves and doesn’t bat an eye to either of you, almost as if you didn’t exist in her world, nothing far from the obvious

“Uh honey aren’t you forgetting something?” Your sister pulls her sunglasses up in confusion at your mom’s question

Yet before she could say anything, Jake jumps in with a laugh, “My hug”

You instantly notice how your sister becomes rigid and tries to laugh it off with an awkward hug. It was barely considered one with how he wrapped one arm around her and she barely even touched him.

He didn’t tighten his hold—not like how he did it with you.

“Nonsense! I meant a kiss!” You mother giggled behind a hand that she waved, “Don’t be so shy around us”

“Mom” Your sister grits through her teeth, “Let’s just go”

However your mother only became more encouraging to see more, “Just one kiss! That’s all I ask” As your sister drags her away before she can say anything more

In the distance, you can hear the faint bickering but the slam of the front door was a great indicator that they left. You sighed heavily but jumped when you felt a breath tickle your ear.

Turning your head around to see Jake leaning in with a grin spread across his face. “Woah what’s up with the hostility? That’s no way to treat your sister’s boyfriend”

The reminder of his relation had you scrunch your face to hide away the scowl daring to show over.

It was a whiplash you weren’t prepared for, the complete difference from how he was acting with your mom.

“Let’s go?”

“What?”

“You didn’t think I was lying about the tutoring session right?” Jake laughs like it was the funniest thing he has ever heard, “Oh no I was being serious”

“I already told you that I don’t need tutoring” You snapped but see how Jake only sighs and walks into your sister's room leaving you outside

You blink but remain rooted in place until he comes back in view. He held a folded paper, fiddling it between his fingertips before smiling to himself and handing it over. You suspiciously look between him and the paper as he shakes it for you to grab.

Instead of being gentle, you yank it from him and he smiles before retracting his hand.

Upon opening the paper, you crumble it instantly and throw it against his chest with a grimace, “Is this some joke?”

He bent down and picked up the paper with a kiss of his teeth, “Don’t be wasteful. We must be grateful of our environment and recycle what we can”

“How did you get my gradebook?” You snapped when he straightened his posture and sheepishly smiled seeing how your frown only pulled further down, “Answer me Jake”

“Your mom” He said easily, as if it were only natural for him have his hands on it, “She slipped it under the door with a sticky note for me”

He waved the pink slip in between his fingers and when you tried to grab it from him, he pulled away with a smile as he turned it over and read it out loud, “As you can see her grade for the class is the worst out of everything this semester. Can you please help her out” He empathized the please from the written note by your mom and it made your angry

“Unbelievable. I told her that- How did she even get access to my account?” Jake watched your distress and the dirty look you gave him when you see the sparkle in his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that”

“That’s no way to treat your tutor is it? C’mon. Just let me help you out. I’m pretty confident I know what I’m doing” The pride omitted from him wasn’t comforting in the slightest

You nibble away at your lip making it grow raw. You know the failing grade would knock your GPA down if you don’t manage to get it up before the course ends.

You were a scholar—you took pride in that, your parents were aware, Jay knew, your sister even knew it, and now Jake knows that.

As now there was a gnawing in your stomach that yelled at you to focus on the paper on your sister’s desk. There was no way to get rid of the visual haunting your thoughts instead of the physics question in front of you.

While Jake was sitting in your tutoring session with physics engineering questions already printed out, you caught sight of his lockscreen the moment he put down his phone right next to you on the table.

It showed a picture of him and your sister, hands softly intertwined as he hovers his head closer to her face with a soft stretched smile.

Stop thinking about it. Stop it. Why does he look so good? And why is it with your sister? You tried to shake these thoughts from you to force your attention on the paper

However, you couldn’t focus on the printed sheet or the dusted textbook beside you or even the pen that wasn’t yours clenched in your hand.

Every crossing thought was just about that picture and Jake who sat behind you with his arm cradling the back of your chair.

You hadn’t dared to look behind you, it felt impossible to breathe when you were too focused on the heavy breathing against your back.

“That’s the wrong answer” Jake whispered softly into your skin when he noticed the empty piece of paper

“I didn’t even start the problem” You replied and he snickers at the weak excuse

“That’s the issue. You can’t not rush engineering” He sighs and you peek over your shoulder to see him so close to you, you hold your breath and he tilts his head to the side

“We must be precise but fast. No room for mistake but enough to be efficient”

“Think you can handle that?” The corner of his mouth lifted to the side, “I mean it seems like you always seem to bite off more than you can handle”

You were looking at him with an unreadable expression but the excitement was felt in his bones. He shifts himself behind you, arms wrapping around almost as if to cage you, “You start the question like this”

The more he leaned in closer, the more the familiar cologne filled your nose and made your head woozy. His calloused hands engulf yours to guide over the paper.

Never once did he look away from your shivering eyes. He pursed his lips towards the paper to direct your attention but you didn’t look away.

Your eyes jumped from in between his, a rumbling feeling in your lower abdomen when trailing to the tall nose bridge you spotted from the moment you saw him, pink plump lips that he sucks between his teeth.

“You’re not paying attention” He hums and you knew you weren’t, you were trying to snap out of it, even if you had a vendetta against your sister, it didn’t mean you would be like this

Even if she played dirty with you, it shouldn’t mean you should play dirty back right?

The sound of the front door snapped you out and you stood up in a haste, the chair screeching from underneath, pushing Jake away in the process, “Okay that’s enough for today”

Jake leaned back in the chair, his lower body pushed out and legs spread open as he watched you gathering what you can and rustling out of the room.

You didn’t even look back at him but you could still feel his gaze on you while your sister yelled for Jake to come help with the bags.

Left with the lingering thought of your words through his head. He shakes his head to himself. It’s a lie he reminds himself that neither of you could possibly believe.

It would never be enough. Not until he finally has you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

Another day, another distraction.

“I told you to stop flipping” You squealed as Jay flipped into the pool making the water get all over you

Jay emerges from underwater, swimming to the ledge where you sat on with your legs dipped in. He cheekily smiles and shakes his wet hair in close proximity as you try to kick him away but he grabs your ankles before you could succeed.

He holds your ankles as he adjusts himself right in between your legs and wraps them around his back.

When you see his side smile, you can’t hold back your own as you push back his dripping hair back into a slick back, “You know I always love seeing your hair pushed back”

“You do? Last time I did it, I thought you hated it” You laugh and shake your head as you rake your fingers through his hair

Your light tugs let dark hums to erupt from his throat while his eyes fluttered closed making you admire him.

“You’re getting badly pruned” You point out when his hands come up and grab on your thighs, the bumps on his skin were soft—Jay’s hands were always soft, never a callous in sight despite working out often

“I could stay in this moment” He ignores your words as he lays his head on your lap, you squeeze your thighs together—keeping him close to you and continue to brush his hair, “You’re so warm”

You don’t pick up on his compliment. You peered over your shoulder to the house that you’ve constantly been checking for the past hour.

This time you catch a sway of a curtain that you instantly think must've been Jake. Shaking your head from that thought because Jake left to go shopping with your sister and mom.

It was just you and Jay—there was no way it could’ve been him.

The wet kisses that were pressed against your skin were what ripped your attention to the male who was now gleaming up at you. His eyes speaking louder than anything and it made your heart rate stay the same.

“Could get lost by you” Jay’s lustful voice made shivers run down your spine

You locked eyes with him, the weakened smile lazily spread on his face as he tilts his head just slightly to the side with a soft pout and shining eyes from the reflection of the sunlight hitting the pool.

You gulped down the lump in your throat as your hand stops brushing his hair to slowly fall onto his shoulder. “Or maybe better yet… In you”

Jake feels as proud as ever that he managed to deny yet another invitation from your sister and mom with the excuse that he was feeling a bit under the weather.

He was pleased that they bought it or more so your mom did while his girlfriend only glared at him but still didn’t say anything to him about it.

Truthfully all he wanted to do was stay home to relax and if that just also happens to mean keeping an eye on you and Jay. Then, he doesn’t mind his to-do list for today.

The two of you were supposed to stay in the pool, just like how you promised your dad before he left for work and your mom before she left with your sister for shopping.

It was an empty promise clearly—just to show some warning that there is some type of stability in this home. Jake always hates to be the bearer of bad news but he's going to have to relay the message that their house is built on broken grounds.

What a shame.

He walked away just for a second to change into his swimming trunks—tired of seeing you and Jay so lonely in the pool. The two of you disappeared with no trace of where you went.

Hastily he throws on the closest baggy shirt he can find and rushes out his girlfriend’s room. He tries to shake the thoughts from his mind but it does not do justice when all he can think about is how he's doing this to look out for you.

Jay is up to no good-he can see it. That settled an unconscious fear that he couldn't explain when he thought about the two of you alone.

Right when he was about to yell out your name, he passed by your slighted jarred door and sighs in relief. A bright smile comes back to his face and redirects his pattering feet over to your room.

There were many things that managed to make Jake feel sick to his stomach like realizing he missed an entire paper or seeing how his grade dropped by 10 points because of a false 0 on his 100 percent project. Or even worse when news spread that Heeseung and his darling girlfriend broke up.

But none of those top his list now and never will again.

Jay sits at the edge of your bed, head knocked back as low groans leave his mouth. You on your knees, nestled right in between his opened legs—his cock lodged down your throat as you cupped whatever couldn’t fit.

The sound of the creaking door snapped you and Jay’s attention over to Jake covering his eyes and slamming the door shut with a weak apology “Woah sorry” following.

Those simple two words drenched you in fear like a bucket of cold water. Jay cursed under his breath and hastily shoved himself back into his pants, slightly hissing at the restraint for his hard-on but picked up on your horrified expression more.

He grabs under your arms to help you up, “Do you think he’s going to say something?”

You stand on wobbly legs that if it weren’t for Jay holding you up, you would’ve crumbled to the ground. You gulped down, the aftertaste of a salty mixture made you cringe when a fear fills you.

“I really hope not”

⊹ ࣪ ˖

Ever since Jake walked in on you and Jay whenever you tried to talk to him to at least clear the air, he would turn the other way and act like you didn’t even exist.

Ironic on his end when he was acting like you were the center of his world.

Somehow your parents decide it was the perfect time to have a family dinner. No one was invited unless they were partners. Meaning Jake was invited and Jay was left behind.

“Fuck I have to face him alone” You grumbled under your breath as you were finishing up the final touches of your makeup before slamming down your lipgloss in annoyance

“Hey” You freeze at the sound of an accented voice that felt like you hadn’t heard in years

You turn to see Jake bringing down his hand from knocking as he pushed your door open to peek his head in before his body followed through.

“Jake?” You called out and he closes the door behind him but left it cracked open

“I just wanted to check in on you” He hums, walking over to your vanity where you are

His attention linger at the edge of your bed that was cleared of any wrinkle from anyone sitting there. The corners of lips pulled down and he lightly shook his head when he leaned against the vanity with his palm over the very gloss you just put on.

“For what?”

“Thought you might’ve gotten hurt with how you were trying to suck Jay off”

Your face drops in mortification when the words leave his mouth. You looked up at him through the mirror and saw the toothy grin.

“Jay said I was doing good” Unsure of why that was your first instinct to say but it was too late before you could catch yourself

Jake laughs, a hard one that erupts from the pits of his stomach that left him clutching his abdomen, “Oh sweetheart he was lying to you. That shit looked like it hurt”

The corners of your lips tugged down trying to hide the burn of your cheeks and Jake felt his heart explode in his chest, “Aww don’t pou-“

“For whatever reason it concerns you, I’ve never done it before so I wouldn’t know”

There was a silence that made your gaze turn away from the male beside you and down to the clutter on the vanity. The way you casually start to nitpick stuff back into their respective spot, Jake tries to hang on the little dignity and sanity he has left so he doesn’t say anything.

However, his mouth has a mind of its own. He tilts his head and bends his knees down to level with your head when he brushes against the shell of your ear.

The sudden warmth made goosebumps gaze at your skin as he saw the small bumps littering your skin making him lightly chuckle that had your stomach flipping.

“I guess this is just another thing I have to teach you” A sultry in his tone that matched him, “But don’t worry I’m pretty good at teaching this too”

“What? No! We can’t do this and you know that”

“Are you telling me that or yourself?”

When the looming presence disappeared, you became hyper-aware of the ruffling sounds of sheets behind and a belt unbuckling rippling around your silent room.

Slowly peering over your shoulder, Jake sits at the edge of your bed, legs spread open, his black slack unbutton and buckle of his belt undone as he leans back on his arms.

“C’mon it’s nothing bad. We aren’t doing anything that’s wrong” He peers his head to the side with a jut of his bottom plush lip, “I just want to help you”

“Plus don’t you want to please your little boyfriend properly?”

“He’s not my boyfriend and you know his name” Jake hangs his head in a sigh before shifting his position and you can see him aiming back for his belt as he buckles it back on again

“Yeah yeah Jay and whatnot” The rolls of his eyes made your stomach twist in unease

Watching him fix his clothes, the black slack pants and black button up opened just enough to see the silver chain against his chest.

He adjusts his sleeves up to his forearm after dropping to low, multiple distinct veins popped from under his skin and sleek slender fingers that had prominent veins of their own.

Sighing heavily and brings himself to properly sit up, pushing himself just an inch before you’re hastily standing up and walking over to him.

He instantly plops himself back down when you’re standing right in front of him. Such unwavering eyes and confidence that was crumbling right before him.

“Yes?”

His tone was obviously teasing, he fluttered his eyelashes against his cheeks that made an instant panic rise in you. Your lips pull downwards but licking away at your sticky lips when you catch sight of the dent in Jake’s pants.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak nonsensical words so instead you sink down to your shins and Jake smirks wildly at the sight of you on your knees for him.

“You got a bit of droll there baby” He cups your jaw and wipes the corners of your lips

“Don’t call me baby” Jake coos at the sternness in your voice, “This is just like how you said. This isn’t bad”

“We are just trying to help me out for the future”

“Keep telling yourself that babe” He laughs when he leans forward and tilts your chin up

A craze glare shimmered in his eyes that lit up like he held the stars in them. Jake doesn’t give you a chance to respond when his thumb slipped past your lips and straight down your throat.

Gagging instantly when he pressed down on your tongue and opened the warm canal, he squinted his eyes and moved your head around to examine the inside of the pink gummy muscle.

Your throat tries to push the foreign flesh out, not used to being exposed like this.

While for Jake, the contraction around his thumb wasn’t enough, “You have a really good gag reflex” He clicks in his tongue and you could feel his annoyance

He pulls back his thumb with a connected strip of saliva from your esophagus to the shiny thumb. He looks in amusement at it before shaking his hand.

You pant heavily and swallow down the wetness in your mouth that seems to keep coming back. You look up to see the disappointment in his eyes.

“I-Is that not good?” Your hands balled on top of your lap in worry

“It’s fucking terrible” He tsked and it made your heart drop to the pit of your stomach, it must’ve been noticeable on your face because Jake creases your head softly, “It’s okay though, this is an easy fix”

“H-how?” A helpless plea that made Jake lightheaded

He taps your lips with his index finger to open, you follow through, not like how others would have. He doesn’t even give you a chance to fully open your mouth before he is shoving two fingers to the back of your throat.

The sounds of your gags fill his ears and it was the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard, “Sorry what was that? I couldn’t hear you”

Your throat shrinks when he twiddles around your mouth in exploration, seeing where really had you gagging more than others.

The slides of his fingers made you screw your eyes shut tight while your hand weakly wrapped around his wrist to try and push him away.

“Don’t fucking pull away from me” Jake grits and rogughly places his palm on the back of your head and flushes you to his knuckles making you wail louder than intended

“You’re going to have to be quiet unless you want someone to hear what we’re doing. Then you’ll be screwed trying to explain yourself”

You clawed at his wrist making him suck in a breath and hiss as your nails drag down to the back of his hand leaving a redding line in its wake matching the natural blush on his knuckles.

He pried your mouth open when he scissors the motion for more space. Seeps of drool spill from the corners down his hand when your mouth opens and closes around his digits, you were rapidly patting his forehead to gain his attention but he only kept you in place.

“This is lesson 1, don’t want to fail right?” He chuckles when you stop fighting and hold onto his forearm instead for support, “Good girl”

Jake sees the shimmer on his hand and he wasn’t sure if it was from the gloss you applied or the saliva spilling and yet, his chest swells as he lingered his gaze all over your face.

Screwing your eyes shut, mascara smudging in the corner with specks of wetness seeping down your cheek.

Your hand grip him like a life support with the sounds of your gags and loud slurps louder as he rests the two fingers to the back of your throat.

It tries to restrict him from moving further but a stronger will drives him to pull your head back as he sits further on the edge of your bed. At the new angle, he adds a third finger into the mix.

“Ah-Ah, now we don’t want to go doing that now” Your mouth closed around his fingers to speak and Jake giggled at the failed attempt, “An important key point that you should definitely know by now is to never talk with your mouth full”

“Guess you forget your manners in moments of pleasure” A sinister smile formed on his face that made your think, what the fuck is he smiling about

However the thought is wiped away when he tickles the flesh inside of your throat making your head jerk and he shakes his head displeased at the reflex you had, “Oh baby. You were doing so good for me”

Such a soothing tone left your thighs squishing together, shifting in place to soothe the ache that rushed under your skin down to your throbbing self.

He smirks at the sight of your eyes blinking uncoordinately, the streaks of tears fell back thanks to him and how your body uncomfortably switches.

But it’s the view of your legs squishing tighter that jumps his heart into his throat.

He yanks his hand out without a word and drops your head. Without the support, it hangs between your shoulders as ragged breaths wheezed from your mouth.

You’re coughing and rubbing the skin over your throat, swallowing down every second to soothe the soreness.

“What was the third one for?” Your voice hoarse that you almost didn’t recognize yourself

“Preparing you for your exam” Jake laughs leaving you more confused, “Of course we need to see if you actually learned anything or if you were just fucking around”

“What exam? What are you-” Your words die on your tongue when Jake rises from your bed to loom over your sitting position, eyes dimming but his smile dark

The reopened buckle hangs in front of your face and as you wait, Jake shakes his head, “You’re on your own for this this”

“I won’t help you unless you beg for it” You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand to grimace at the ruined lip combo spread across your hand, “Don’t fail me on this one, I have some hope for you”

You look up through eyelashes to see Jake eyeing the smudge lipgloss on the back of your hand. He smirks before sitting back down on the edge of your bed, arms extended behind, “Timer starts now”

Cheeks burned in embarrassment that this was what everything had succumbed to. Having to graze against his slacks, the smooth material under your hand clearly shows a poor decision, therefore, you should stop here and kick him out of your room.

Instead, you fiddle more with Jake’s belt. Fingers tracing over the popping boner. Jake groans when you faintly touch him and he senses your hesitation when your hands retract to your chest in worry.

“Keep going” His reassurance fills your heart but doesn’t stop it from his unrhythmic pace

Reaching up his fly that feels heavier than anything you have ever held before you shakily stabilize one hand on his thigh while the other pulls down on it.

“Don’t worry you’re not going to hurt me” He encourages you but when he lifts his head and rests it on his shoulder, his cheek getting squished in the process dazingly a smile, “Can’t say the same for you though”

At the end of his zipper, the slacks opening fall even further apart to catch the common white Calvin Klein boxers—a color that contrasts his all black attire.

“What do you mean?” You fall back on your calves and Jake takes the time to appreciate the innocence in your eyes, how you look like you despised him but also ogle at like a forbidden fruit

He presses a finger to his lips to quiet you down and while you hated his efforts, you focused back on the bulge popping through the opening of his pants.

“Jake I asked you something” The sudden confidence in your tone made him snap his attention back to you that made you squirm under his glare

“And what did I tell you? I’ll only help you if you beg for it”

“So if I were you, start picking up the pace or start rubbing your hands together and spewing whatever helpless plea from that pretty mouth of yours”

“You think I’m pretty?” You flutter your lashes trying to cover your shyness with pride but Jake saw right through the facade

He reaches a hand out and strokes your head while the other free hand pushes off the bed and rubs your arm.

It felt loving, the warmth tracked through your entire body the moment his calloused hands touched you.

“I think you’re the prettiest girl ever” Jake grips your nape and dragged your head closer to his clothed crotch in a split second making you yelp, “But you’ll be the most beautiful person ever with your mouth full”

Your mouth falls open but closes and he cackles when nothing comes out of it.

“You think I’m pretty” Your question now a statement as you look up at him to catch him already looking at you, he let out a chuckle of amusement before shaking his head

“Oh foolish you are” There felt to be more to his words than what he let on, “Careful there, you’re drooling again sweetheart”

“Let me get it for you” Jake trails up your arms leaving goosebumps in its wake and circles your jaw before wiping away at the corner of your mouth

Yet, you gargle a sound when his finger starts pushing back into its old spot in the warm wet embrace of your mouth.

No restraint anymore as you accept it without much thought.

“Here’s a hint for you, no teeth whatsoever” He lifts your head up just enough where you level with his abdomen, your eye looked up at him with a silent plea

“I would never” Your speech slurred thanks to his thumb and he shakes his head with a disapproval sigh

“Already one point deducted. You know not to talk during an exam” He dragged your jaw further down and replacing the two slender flesh was much thicker and saltier

You flicker your gaze down to the veiny shaft being pushed into your mouth without fail.

Jake is breathing heavily as he pushes inch by inch, the warm confinement welcomes him that a pride fills his chest..

Pressing down on his thighs to stop his hips from bucking the entire length for you to scarf down, you pull your head back from what was in your mouth in a loud gasp.

You were in a trance when you saw what was just shoved into your mouth. Jake could tell by the way your eyes clouded and your mouth twitched.

“What’s wrong?” He faked care that didn’t last long when you continued to stare at his cock

“You’re big”

The comment fueled his ego, you didn’t mean to say it, it just came out.

“Thanks” He chuckles softly, “And I hate to break it to you but time is ticking”

The ball was in your court. You have the chance to kick him out of your room and try to act like nothing happened again.

But when you pause for a second before scooping him up in your hands, the corner of his mouth pulls up to the side.

You loll out your tongue and drag it down from the base up to the tip, Jake lets out a satisfied groan and lets his hands fall back on your bed.

You pull down further on his articles of clothing as you try to suck the side of his cock but Jake jerks at the feel of his skin being nicked.

“Teeth” He grits and you murmur a quick ‘sorry’ as if it makes up for it

So to properly make up for it, you run a tongue over where you bit down, the low hum he released made your heart gleeful as you drag the flat of your tongue over the veins that popped more than the ones on his hands.

You wondered if he was this veiny anywhere else and now you got your answer that yes he is and in the best spot too.

Circling your tongue around his slit, your hand grasped the wet cock and pumped it once before sucking the leaking tip into your mouth.

Jake’s breath went ragged when he felt the run of your tongue over him. You pull back with a plop and place soft kisses around the head while you pump what you couldn’t take in your mouth.

Jake weakly thrusts up to meet your jerk and you tightened your grasp around him to have an inconsistent pace that is clearly amateur.

“A-Ah that’s good” Jake’s voice whines as you incorporate the rapid licks over his tip with then up and down motion, “That’s good baby”

Pushing your head down slowly after one last lick, you were careful not to take in more than you can handle.

You’re trying to fix that habit before it comes back and bites you in the ass.

Using your hand to continue stroking the inches that weren’t in your mouth, you breathe through your nose like how Jay thought of you as you try to keep your teeth out of the process like how Jake told you.

You hollow your cheeks when you slowly bobbing your head up and down, twisting your hands around Jake’s cock as you tried to stop yourself from gagging so much.

It was pointless when even the smallest swallow would cause him to slip further down your throat.

Your hand pressed on his thigh to push yourself up from him but you squelched when he pressed his hand at the back of your head and further down his shaft.

You tapped on his thighs rapidly as inch by inch your mouth became more filled with Jake.

“It’s okay baby. You passed, it’s time for lesson 2” Jake groans loudly when he hilts into your throat, your nose buried to the base of his crotch, “Taking a cock like a fucking pro”

“But it seems you already have this one down” He pulls his hips back leaving your panting around his tip with heavy breaths, “Who would’ve known you would be so good at that”

“Jake” You mewl and it was sounds wetter, more pleading and far more desperate than anything he’s ever heard you, “It’s too much I-I can’t”

“But you already did. You took me so well that I can properly reward you now” You flutter your damp eyes through the hue of lighting and blurry vision and see Jake’s toothy grin

Sweat trickling down his neck and exposed forehead to his button up. He was stroking your head and you fluttered your eyes close and gulped down whatever was in your mouth to cringe slightly at the bitter taste.

Yet unable to dwell on it when you were pushed back down to his crotch.

“Just let me have this” He grunts when he pushes past your welcoming lips mouth and jerks his hips up to meet your mouth

“That’s it- An absolute sweetheart for letting me use your mouth like this”

The back of your throat constricts around the length lodged deep inside, you choke around it, spit accumulating in the corner of your lip as he thrusts into your mouth at a speeding pace

“It sucks that Jay experienced this before me” He points out through spewed whines of his, “Even worse that he was in this same spot”

“But it makes me disgusted that he couldn’t even teach you properly”

Jake’s groans grew into small whimpers the more your throat tightens around his moving shaft. Each push has your face contorting with tear drops spilling from the corners of your eyes.

His balls slapping against your chin each time his base met your nose which was every single time.

“An absolute loss on his side” Jake pushed your head down to chase after his hips until it completely stopped and your head was the only thing moving up and down his stilled hips

His tip bruised the back of your throat with no remorse. “So tight and perfect shit” The pitch of his voice jumped higher into a cry as he merely uses your throat like a personalized fleshlight and you let him

Feeling how your throat clenched with each noise sent waves of pleasure straight to his head that his groans were melting away into whimpers and whines as his abs tightened.

His hand flies to grab your neck when he switches to using only one hand to hold the back of you. He tightens his fingers around your already constricted throat making your sounds strained and heaving for any air that you could get.

The pressure around your neck makes your jaw fall further down which you didn’t think possible. Each poke of his cock protruded out of your skin to hit his hand.

You moan around his cock and he smiles crazily when he hears it in the mix of everything else.

The obscene noise of his skin hitting yours, your strained noises and the held back wails from Jake made your stomach twist

“Such a nasty girl for letting me your throat like this”

“Bet you wouldn’t even mind if I cummed down your throat would you” You tried shaking your head but it only continued going up and down his length instead, “Aww look at you nodding your head yes”

You can’t even open your eyes without tears spilling out, “Such a nice fucking thorat for me- Shit. Shit. Shit” Jake strains the chants as the lower abdomen tightens

He pulls your head off his length with a push and loud pop from how your lips sucked around him and you chase him back into your mouth.

That was until he pushes you away and makes you cup his balls as he jerks down his raging length. Your hands fiddle however Jake guided you with the push of his own fingers behind your knuckles.

Anytime that you gripped tighter than intended it would ignite a louder sound from him that made you need to hear more.

There were no words spoken anymore as all he could do was let out strained noises at the pace he set himself with your hand being too fast than you could consciously move.

Jake unrhythmically ruts his hips up to chase after your hand or morse both of your hands.

He pants heavily when he adjusts his line of shot perfectly to your fucked out face. Letting out the loudest moan rip out of you, not caring who hears him as ropes of cum shoot out as he aims it to land directly onto your face and neck.

Not stopping there, he continues your guiding hand to jerk him off past the point of regular stimulation to make sure not a single ounce was put to waste.

“Your sister is going to kill me” His breaths were uneven as he roughly shakes his head ruining the fluff of his styled hair for the dinner

He laughs when your eyes shoot open at the mention of your sister. He loudly hissed when you tightly gripped at his balls that you haven’t seemed to let go of.

You look past the extra weight on your skin and stare at Jake through making his smile grow impossibly wider as he pulls your hands off of him.

Watching how his cock springs against his stomach, white goo spilling from the tip. You lick your lips at the sight yet, he stands up without a word and pushes himself back into his slack.

Your knees aching from the position, you accept the soft stroking to your head with a gaze far too fond that makes your heart thump.

Looking up with ruined makeup and drippy eyes, Jake can’t hold back him smile, “You look so pretty”

You didn’t even get a chance to say anything when you heard the loud shout of his name from the familiar pitch of your sister.

He strains a smile and shoves his hands into his pocket before walking past you to the door.

Jake waves a hand behind his back—not even sparing a glance back at you before opening the door and stepping out and softly closing it behind him to avoid any evidence he was there.

Running a hand under your aching jaw to ease the pain, you freeze upon the contact of a thick substance.

Quickly tumbling over your numbed legs, you press yourself to the vanity to see your reflection. Once put together—ready for a family dinner now ruined.

Your makeup smudged beyond no recognition. Lip gloss smudged all over your chin and cheeks, black outlining broken with dried tear stains down your cheek all covered by white splotches.

“Are you done? We’ve been ready and we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up” Your sister walks in with a huff of annoyance but stops at the doorway when she sees you staring in the opposite direction of her

She raises an eyebrow and knocks louder against your door for some response, “Hello! Are you there?!”

“J-Just give me 5 minutes” Your voice was hoarse and tender that it hurt to even speak anything louder than a whisper

Your face shifts as you could feel her questioning gaze burning the back of your head.

Yet, the trickling feeling sliding down your cheek to hang by your chin and fall onto your lap caught your attention way more.

Slowly inching your attention to the whitening patch on your lap, you carefully put a hand over it to cover it from your sister’s sight.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

“Coming!” You rush to throw your journal that somehow turned into your personalized diary into the bottom drawer of your desk, throwing your pen in the cabinet to be hidden from plain sight

Your written words caught your attention before it disappeared from sight.

‘A big ego for a big dick’

You sigh when the shake of your door handle rattles even more, “How many times have I told you to stop shaking the handle like that”

Even with years down the line, your sister hasn’t changed a bit.

When you yanked the door open in annoyance, you instantly tried to close it when you see who’s behind it but a flat hand stopped you.

You stumble back at the unbalance but swiftly Jake catches your back before you could fall.

“Why did you knock like my sister?” Jake kicks the door with his foot that doesn’t fully close the door in order to ensure privacy

You push at his chest and break free out of his hold leaving him to sigh as his arms rest at his side

“It was the only way to get you to open the door”

“You and I both know you wouldn’t have opened it if you knew it was me”

You averted your gaze away but Jake hooks a finger under your chin to bring it back onto him, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” You pulled your head away and walk away as he trails after you

“Rigjr and you’re passing your engineering class” Jake plops himself face first onto your bed causing you to wistfully look around as if there was anyone else but the two of you, “Let’s both stop lying please”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Think you can fit me in that tight schedule of yours?” He adjusts himself to lay on his side, arm bending to rest his head on his palm after grabbing one of your childhood stuff animals and hugging it with a sly smile

”Shouldn’t you have plans with your girlfriend or something?” You snapped and Jake threw his head back in a laugh before resting his head back on his palm, “Why are you laughing Jake?”

“Oh my god, why are you so tense? It’s just me” Your shoulders hunch as if it only being him made it better for your consciousness, “She had some plan with your parents, don’t know what though”

“So why didn’t you go with them?”

“Because we have a tutoring session today”

“Absolutely not” You walk off to your door and crank it open to point out into the hallway with your finger, “Get out”

Jake stared at you with a certain glint that made you shift the weight on your feet and squish your thighs together.

When he shows no motive to move from the comforts of your bed, he digs into his pocket to pull out a note and pries it from the wrinkled state and you furrow your brows at the familiarity.

He clears his throat and sits up, crisscrossing his legs as he takes a peek up at you still standing by the doorway. He smiles and looks back down to the paper, “Dear diary I have a confession to make”

“My sister’s boyfriend is fucking hot”

“Geez I wonder who this can be out” All color drains from your face when those words fall from Jake’s lips

He held back a smile but it wasn’t contained when he laughed loudly as he continued to read off the paper, “He always keeps looking at me even when he’s clinging to my sister like a vice and it’s fucking aggregating”

Launching over to grab the paper from his grasp but he pouts as he reaches out for it. “Wait, I have a question! What does the last one say? You crossed it out and I’ve been trying to find out what it says”

“How did you- where the hell did you get this?!” You yelled that he got his hands on something like this

He throws his head back and rolls it around to crack his bones before looking at you. “If I tell you, will you tell me what the last one said?”

“No! Are you crazy?!” You crumble the paper in hand and Jake’s smile staggers before falling in a thin line

“You know that’s the thing about you” He grumbled making you narrow your eyes at him

“What about me Jake?”

“That you never think about anyone but yourself” You drop your arms to your side as you stare at him with wide eyes, “I thought your sister was selfish but you’re on a whole other level” He watched as your mouth opened and closed to form a sentence but failed in the end.

“I tutor you and what have you given me in return for taking time out of my day to help you?” He smirks as he inches himself to the corner of your bed to be closer to you, “Absolutely nothing”

The way how he tilts his head to the side in innocence made your grip crush the paper even more until your nails dig into the flesh of your palm, “Now don’t get me wrong there’s a lot you don’t know and I don’t have any problem lending a helping hand”

“It’s just that you have to work with me”

“All this tutoring isn't free. I need some type of compensation for all that I am doing for you”

“Comprensation?” You mock and shake your head while waving a finger his face as you march over to him

Jake looks up at you with his pouty lips and shining eyes, your hands twitch around the crunched paper, “In case you forgot I didn’t ask for your help. I told you I didn’t want it”

“And yet, you proceeded to leech off me and take it”

“Remember you did suck me off” You stay silent to swallow your guilt of the resurfacing memory from a couple days ago

“Tell me did it work? Did you manage to get Jay off?” The mention of the other male had you grimacing, making Jake raise his hands up in surrender, “What? I’m only asking” He laughs

“But your silence is telling me everything I need to know. You’re welcome then” Jake offers a hand but you slap it away with a gruff

He sighs heavily and runs the stinging hand to push the back the fluff of his hair, “No one is forcing you to do any of this”

“You have the free will to walk away and kick me out. Hell you can even tattletale on me to your sister”

“But you never do” His voice dropped into a slur when he pushed himself so close to the edge that you thought he was going to fall, “And you never will”

Your arms reach out to catch him in case he did fall and Jake smiles at the action. He looks up at you to see how you avert your eyes away from him as you pull your arms back like you hadn’t done anything.

“You live off the thrill. You thrive in the fact you have leverage over her” Your mouth gaped to say something to defend yourself but the only thing that came out was a strained noise, “So what will be in it for me if I continue to help you? Mhm?”

A loud squeal escaped your mouth when he grabbed your wrist and flipped you to your bed. His body hovers over you and smiles down on you when both of your arms are pinned down to your side.

He takes a moment to appreciate your sprawled body underneath him. His heart races and his pants tightened seeing your shaking eyes, “Actually I know exactly what can be my form of payment”

Jake lets go of your wrist having you quickly rest on your elbows when he starts to trail down your front. He hooks his hands under your ankles and pushes your legs up to your chest—exposing your clothed core.

“J-Jake” You stuttered, he hums softly to encourage you to continue which you do, “Ho-Hold on- Wait”

Following your line of sight towards the opened door, he chuckles digging your knees into your chest just enough to have your breast jump.

“What’s wrong baby?” He coos, running a hand up your shin that had you shuddering, “It’s just the two of us”

“Please don’t call me baby” Your elbows grow weak that your body sprawled back on the mattress

Right when he was going to respond, he stopped at the sight of you wiggling to push your hips out more to meet his face. He breathlessly laughs and drops his head in a shake, “Alright fine. If that’s what you want”

He rubs his calloused hand over your thighs and each shiver fueled him even more. Left to admire how you were exposed to him with no resistance whatsoever.

Yet, he doesn’t do anything beyond that causing a whine to leave past your mouth. ”Jake” You drag the last letter of his name in impatience, “Please!” You said louder than you wanted but your frustration can be heard in the tone better

He laughs and pats the side of your hip and traces his finger over your skin with a shake of his head, “What are you pleading for sweetheart?”

“Anything- Just do something”

“Aww c’mon I need better words than what” He teases knowing you would only grow even more frustrated, “I want to hear it from you”

“J-Jake just fuck me”

Jake hisses from the abrupt confession, “Did anyone ever tell you to have such a way with words?” He sucks his teeth and shakes his head, “That isn’t specific enough though, what exactly-”

You cut him off with a frustrated yell, “Stick your fingers in me, use your mouth. I don’t care, just fucking do something”

Expecting some reaction you let out a shaky exhale but you quickly suck in a breath when Jake grips the waistband of your pants and dragged them down your bent legs and threw them somewhere to be forgotten about.

“Shit you’re so fucking wet” He comments at the sight of the wet patches making your cheeks burn, “You’re soaking right through your panties”

Pulling his face to your enticing entrance, he lays a flat tongue over your panties making you squeal. He instantly groans the faint taste on his tastebuds. It was dizzying how you filled his mouth through the thin fabric.

He centered and sucked at your folds that made you jerk your hips when a weak moan left your mouth.

His nails dig into the flesh of your back thighs while lathering his mouth over the outline of your pussy. A groan ignited from his mouth when your hand found the back of his head and tangled his hair between your fingers.

Rutting into his face, his tongue protruding the tight hole that he whimpers at the retraction it gave him when he pushed too far.

The wetness lathers over his face from your soaked panties and drenches his lower half. He harshly pulls at the elastic of the band molding the shape of your cunt making you scream to pull away when it digs between the slit of your folds.

Jake pushes his hips against your bedding and the moan vibrating against your core makes you jolt, tugging harder on his hair for support.

He slurps louder when lines of arousal leaked out of you. Nicking your clit repeatedly as he presses down your hip to stop your arching back—to pull away from his opened mouth kisses.

Your slicks slide down the back of his throat and stain it of a sweetness. Tilting his head over to the side, slacking his jaw open to trails from your entrance to your bundle of nerves to gather more of it down to his stomach.

“Jake” You weakly call his name, your hands pushing his hair back to help from it getting in the way of your pleasure, “More! need more of you”

The jumps of your hips to meet his face half way made him smirk and when he runs a finger between the wettest slick he’s ever seen, he adores the shaping of your pussy.

Tugging at the thinned panties to the side to be met with your glistening entrance.

“No wonder you’re drenched” He murmurs under your breath and just let a magnetic pull that dragged him to attach his mouth back to you

He hums loudly at the direct connection of flesh on flesh and you let out your loudest moan yet when you feel the drag of his wet tongue against you.

Immediately the heels of your feet trap him by pressing down on his mid back and grind your folds over his face.

The clicks of his nose hitting your clit and his tongue inching into your entrance had you seeing stars. Jake was growing dizzy, the lack of air was the least of his concern when your arousal was all he needed to live.

Lapping over your cunt like he’s been starved was an understatement. He moves his head up and down as he lifts your hips for a better angle.

“Jak- Jakey” The you call his name makes his tongue flicker all around, your arousal dripping down ruining your sheets and flying everywhere

Left to only wither under his folding hands as he focuses on circling his tongue around your clit, he pops it into the warmth of his mouth that makes you jerk.

He blabs incoherency into your cunt as you chase after this locking mouth. The tightening of your lower abdomen tensening as your body indents the mattress with your pitiful cries as you come all over his mouth.

“Jake!” You scream his name without a care in the world as you push his head down to your spasming self

“No more-S-Sensitive” You wail realizing how Jake didn’t stop his attack on your cunt

He drags the flat of his tongue to spread the excessive amount of slick everywhere. Of course not before he downs what you released from your ripping orgasm.

Words fall deaf on your ear focusing on how the muscle flickers to encourage more release from your hole. You weakly shake your head but with the ruts of your hips contradict your words.

You feel his tongue tease your entrance that made you tighten around, he slaps the side of your thigh as he forces his mouth to latch all over your slicken core.

Pushing down on the balls of your feet to chase after your post high, your body felt light. Your clit tingles when his tall nose bridge brushes against it. Your hips jerked each time he moved with an unfaltering pace.

He breathes through his nose and inhales the sweetness of your arousal. All his senses were becoming filled by you.

When he stretches the entirety of your folds by his tongue to trail up to your bundle of nerves. You wailed weakly tugging on his hair and ears—practically anything you could get yours hands on.

The sucked in of your stomach before locking into a tightening grip as your cheeks flared in embarrassment when you felt it different from the first. You shake your head to deny and stop it from happening, “W-Wait, s-stop”

Your pleas were useless against Jake’s dazed mind. He continued to unhinge his jaw for a clear shot when you came for a second time so easily with the following of a stream shooting out of you.

Jake doesn’t pull away at the release instead he runs two fingers over your folds to usher more as he slurps at your cunt, “Messy messy” You managed to pick up on his slurred words but were too jerky to respond right away

“To-too much Jake please” Your body shakes as you weakly kick his shoulder to push him away

“Aww what happened to you calling me Jakey baby” He pants over your core but lathers his soaked face back to your aching self

You weakly shake your head but the soft peppering kisses made you melt and inch closer to his face. A ringing messed your hearing but when you feel your legs finally let go to drop to the side—leaving you still spread and exposed for him, a moan ripped from your throat.

His kisses move away from your pussy to the inner of your thighs, “So pretty” He pecks and nibbles on your skin causing to jump and making him smile against you, “You’re the prettiest girl ever”

Your heart shouldn’t jump the way it did. But you smiled in your daze and gleamed brightly as your chest bloomed.

Jake saw how you lit up at his words and he ran his rough hands over. Placing a kiss on both of your knees and the rounds of your hips, he pulls your shirt up exposing your stomach to him.

He stares at the bareness of it, he gets lost on how clean it is, not a single flaw on it.

The aching of his cock restrained in his pants didn’t help but the sounds of keys slotting into the front door and the clear cut voice of his girlfriend, he inaudibly sighs and presses the longest kiss yet in the center of your stomach.

“My pretty girl”

⊹ ࣪ ˖

“How come your little fuck buddy isn’t here?” You snap your attention to your sister laying on a pool chair, sunglasses perked on her nose as the sun hits her

Your mouth twitched and almost contemplated leaving, almost.

Instead you take the seat right next to her, laying out your towel and plopping yourself down. She peeks in the corner of her eye and screeches when you snatch her sunscreen, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?

“Why so curious about him? Focus on your own boyfriend- Where even is he?”

She glared at you and you could feel it through the glasses. She snatches the sunscreen back, her nails scratching you in the process but not caring when you hissed and held your wrist forming white lines.

“Wouldn’t you like to know” She grits through her teeth and your furrow your brows in the middle, “You know ever since I showed up with him, you’ve been nothing but more of a brat”

You scoffed and nodded your head as your tongue poked the inside of your cheek, “Really? I’ve been a brat?”

“Yes! Look, I don’t care what’s happening between you and whatever you want to call what Jay is to you” You grimace harshly at her when she waved her hand in front of your face to shut you up

“But for someone of us, you know the ones that actually have a boyfriends, unlike you, are trying to get mom and dad to be aboard with him but he’s over here wasting time with you because you can’t handle a simple summer class”

“You’re acting like you need to work for their approval. News flash, you already have it no matter what you do” When you snapped she jerked back at the raise of your voice

You suck in a breath and you were going to apologize but she laughed mockingly, “Ohhhh I get it now, you‘re just jealous”

“Well it’s not my fault that I’m not like you” She shivers at the comparison of possibly being like you, “Don’t even know how we are even related”

Maybe because we both are not good people. Once your sister learns to accept them, you can actually take her seriously.

“But I am curious though, how is it knowing you’re not the favorite?”

Your hands balled into fist, an anger that only your sister can bring out of you made you feel nasty. You opened your mouth to fire back but a third voice chiming in shattered something in you.

“Woah what’s going on?” The worried accented voice, breathless from whatever the case may be, made shivers run up your spine

You look up to see Jake, sweat dripping down his forehead and neck. Oil grease and black smudges all over his sleeveless white tee and shimmering skin.

His hands were dirty with the discoloration but the bright red knuckles and joints were still visible as he moved his hair with the pull back of his head as a whole.

“Where have you been?” Your sister stands up and stomps her feet to him and grabs the bend of his arm, Jake looks away from you to his girlfriend in shock

“I-I was with your dad helping with the car” Jake stutters at the harsh tone your sister gave him like he did something wrong

“We were supposed to go out today” You picked up on the hushed words but couldn’t hear what else she said afterwards but the change in expression on Jake’s face was all you needed to know

He closes his eyes, scrunching his face as your sister rambled on about something you tuned out long ago. He sighs heavily when your sister walks inside without a glance back at him.

Your jaw clenched to screw your mouth shut but when Jake walks over to where you are, you soften your jaw and look up at him with a certain glint in your eyes of understanding.

“I’m in trouble again” He scoffs a chuckle when he sits down on your chair instead of the chair opposite of you, the one where his girlfriend sat in

Scooting an inch away from him, Jake catches it in his peripheral view. He frowns and wraps an arm around your bare waist and slides you back to plaster to his side. You yelp and put your hands to his chest when he pushes you down on the pool chair.

“Jake!” You quietly yelled his name to snap him out of it but his hair fell forward from framing his face, your breath get caught in your throat as you swallow down your words when he only stares at you, “She can come back any second- Someone will catch us”

“Then let them” He responds immediately with a hearty laugh, a hint of underlying playful tone that was almost too serious for you.

He suggest to see your face contouring into horror at the thought of being caught with him, “But if you really want, we can go somewhere a little more private”

“It wouldn't be so bad if they see us though right?” You pushed his shoulder as he spoke but he didn’t budge, “They can just call it bonding time between us”

“You’re insane” You grumbled under your breath and Jake simply smiles that made your stomach full with butterflies, he dips his head into the crevice of your neck starts to place soft kisses against your neck

You’re a goner.

“Does that mean we can move this somewhere else?” He softly asked against your skin, his tongue dragging around the unblemished skin

Your hand twitched against his shoulders, he slightly lifted his body up, just enough for you to wiggle out if you wanted to. However, when you clasped them around the points of his shoulders, he smirks and you lightly hit his upper back as his arm slipped under your body making you giggle.

You didn’t bother to change out of your swimsuit. There was a growing wet need right in between your legs and with the most convenience of Jake being there, so willing to please you whether it was actually for you or for himself—Why would you waste another second? Exactly. You wouldn’t.

And as Jake let the back of knees hit your bed, his body instinctively falling backwards in the middle as you crawl over him. He felt small under your narrowed gaze, the jut in his chest made him smile when each of your legs rested on the side of his hips. Hoisting himself up by one arm as he held your waist with the other, he looked up at you fondly.

You push back the ruffle of his hair and gleam when you see the entirety of his face. He allows his head to knock back and feel the rake of your fingers through his hair.

“I’m dirty” He chuckles but you shake your head

“No you aren’t” That was an understatement, he reeked of mechanics, poorly applied sunblock and pure sunshine. However for the last one, doesn’t he always smell that

“Lesson 3” He lifts his head to align with yours, you freeze on top of him, strong eyes staring right back at you, they slightest creased from his soft close lip smile

There was shimmering fondness in his eyes as he stared at you. He was inching closer and he softly chuckled when his lips hover right over yours. He watched how you closed your eyes shut and scrunched your face as if you were waiting for something from him.

“Expect the unexpected” When he past your face to whisper in your ear, your eyes opened and pulled away just enough to get a good look at the toothy grin spread across his face

“What if you do expect something” You meekly spoke out and he couldn’t help and giggled

He adjusted himself to lazily wrap his arms around your waist, “Never do baby”

As you settled on Jake’s lap. He was leaned up against your headboard, your door for some odd reason slightly opened when you swore you told Jake to fully close it.

He held your waist, swollen plump lips attached against your neck again.When you felt his teeth hovering over your neck pressing with pressure, you pulled his hair and he yelped when he was far from you.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop pulling my hair” He complained but the crazed cloud in his eyes looked at you like you were the center of his world

“Because if I don’t you’ll leave me in bruises and bite marks” He sheepishly smiles before shrugging his shoulders and pouting his lip

“It’s not my fault that you would look so good with my hickies all over your body. Plus would it be so bad after all?”

“Yes, if Jay sees this-” Jake loudly groans interrupting you with a harsh roll of his eyes

“Why do you even bother to mention him around me? I don’t get it. Shouldn’t you be more concerned with, I don't know, if your sister sees them?”

Your back straightens under his hand to softly reply, “She wouldn’t know if they’re from you”

But the dark hum from him made you flutter your eyelashes cluelessly at him, “You don’t think my own girlfriend will notice her boyfriend’s marking on someone else?”

Your body became rigid completely at the thought that this was in fact not Jake’s first time. He's probably done this multiple times to the point where he-

“It’s innocence lost, don’t fret it anymore. I can see it running through that pretty head of yours” Jake faces your head from the side to face him

You felt bare—exposed to Jake. It warmed but terrified you at the same time. It could’ve been with Jay, with anyone else that you felt this with and you would be fine, maybe a little unhappy but it would do because it wouldn’t be wrong.

Instead of confronting the gnawing thought in your head, your hand palms the bottom of his chin and lifts it up as Jake grants you to do it easily. You lick your lips at the bare of his slightly dirty neck from working with your dad outside.

You hesitated but when he pressed the back of your head down to his body, you instantly pressed feathering kisses and his broad shoulder loosened under your hands and you sigh happily that the topic was forgotten.

“You get it now?” He heartily laughs and accepts the fate and knocks his head with a thud against your headboard

Your kisses switched into soft suckles against his skin. More access to the harness of soft skin that you wondered why your sister never did anything to show her possessiveness over him.

You heard the stories of her relationships on how she was always doing the most to make sure her boyfriends were marked.

“You sure were to talk about me not leaving marks on you but you want to go ahead and mark me up?” He lowly hummed but when you continued to suck on the soft skin, the corners of his lips tug down as you blatantly ignore him

Jake’s hand gently glides up from your waist to your front. You shiver feeling the callousness against your bare skin, his hands rough, the black streaks being left from his hand to your skin like a tattoo. A reminder of what is happening.

The hand wraps around your throat and pushes your head away, reluctantly you released him with a plop of his skin between your lips,

“That’s not how it’s going to go” He sternly says, making you lightly frown when he kisses the roof of his mouth with his tongue, “You’re so greedy. Always wanting to take and take but never give”

He cooed softly, his hand letting go of your throat to crease your cheek, “Remember baby, this is a two way street. If you want to leave hickies, don’t you think I should be able to leave some as well?”

“No” You quickly shut the idea down with a firmness that made him sigh in defeat, “Jake you know that-”

“Fine” He releases your cheek to fold his arms over his chest instead of resting them on your waist, “It’s whatever”

“Wait Jake, are we okay?” You softly asked realizing how dissociated he sounded, you gulped down the nerves and poke his shoulder when he looks away

Though your soft touch melts his heart, the pressure on the tip bone of his shoulder makes him turn to face you—which should’ve been the first mistake.

There was one thing he learned about you from the time he’s spent either around you and observing you, there was nothing he could do to salvage himself whenever he looked at you. ”Why wouldn’t we be baby”

“How many times do I have to tell you to not call me baby”

Your little fit about the name calling always made him smile. The initial annoyance fading away when his sleazy tease that jerks yours and his heart, “However many times until it sticks into my mind and rolls off my tongue like second nature”

You narrow your eyes when he fiddles with the ribbons of your bathing suit, “You know you look very pretty” He tilts his head up from looking over your body

There a was a burning sensation under your cheeks and you tried to hide your face by turning to the side but the grip on your chin forced you to turn and face him again, “Look the absolute prettiest when you’re flustered”

“Don’t say that”

“Why not?” He jerks his hand away making you miss the warmth of his skin on yours

“Because you don’t mean it” Your voice grew smaller each time you spoke

There were many expressions you’ve seen from Jake but none of them were half as emotional as this one. His eyes were wide in disbelief, his jaw dropped, looking at you like you were insane for even saying that.

“Don’t look at me like-“

“What do you mean that I don’t mean it? I’m pretty sure I know what comes out out of my mouth is real or not”

You sigh heavily, shuffling awkwardly on his lap, trying to pull off him but Jake digs his nails into the flesh of your hips and brings you down, this time right on top of his hard-on.

You let out a weak wanton moan at the poke inside of your thigh passing to your covered core. “Go on. Say it”

“You probably tell this to every girl you’re with. My sister wouldn’t be far from there either-“ You don’t know why you spoke your mind, it was something being picked apart by the very hands that held you

“Lesson 4” He cuts you off curtly making you quiet, “Law of assumption is a nasty one”

You snicker which was the second mistake.

“You think it’s funny baby?”

“Stop calling me-” He cut you off with an abrupt kiss that left your mind dizzy, you freeze for a second but it was dreading when you fall into a rhythm

Your nails dig into the flesh of his bare broad shoulders, he holds you tightly by your lower back and brings you closer to him. The traveling of his hand up your middle back—tracing your spinal cord in the process sent goosebumps everywhere.

You tilt your head to the side, gripping the fluff of his hair to push further into the kiss. Jake crossed your lips with his tongue before squeezing your skin and biting your bottom lip that made you squeal just enough for the wet muscle to slip into your warm mouth.

He sighs in satisfaction and nibbles on any flesh he could sink his teeth into.

“Gonna need to be quiet if you don’t want to be caught” He blabs against your mouth but he knew he couldn’t keep up with his own words, it was a paradise kissing you

Your lips felt sore and raw from how much he kept biting on them, you tried to lightly push him away due to the lack of oxygen making you feel like you would pass out from kissing him.

The way Jake’s hair slots perfectly through the cracks of your fingertips as you allow yourself to melt into his embrace. Having a cramp form from the force of craning your neck downwards couldn’t bother you more than the growing need in between your legs.

Your heart was thumping as you kept chasing after his mouth when he pulled away just a little. Adjusting yourself in his lap, the poking against your thigh had you falling apart and softly moaning into his mouth.

He swallowed down those sounds for his ears only. His hand travels over your bare back and in a fit of giggles, he smiles brightly against your lips because if there was one thing that he knew, he would leave this room having you.

Pulling away in a haste making you gasp loudly before sinking your teeth into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. He breathlessly laughs and runs his fingers bone to bone.

“What’s wrong baby, you keep moving. Feeling uncomfortable?” The tone was falsed with care

“Jakey” You slurred your words, “Please”

“Aww what are you pleading for sweetheart?” His warm breath grazing your skin felt like fire running under his skin to burn him whole

The tips of his fingers fiddled with the hem of your swimsuit before pulling your nape up to make you look at him with begging shaking eyes. “Words now”

“Fuck me please” Your voice as small and he almost couldn’t catch it, who is he deny your helpless pleas

“You’re shameless” He grazes his lips with yours and laughs against it

You weakly shake your head to deny it but you let out a loud gasp when his hand slips from your mid back and to your stomach and trails down.

His wicked laugh contradicts your frantic breaths. “No? Oh we don’t like liars now do we baby?”

“The law of assumption is a nasty one” You repeat back his words and he let out a smirk

A feeling driving him crazy from the moment he laid his eyes on you—His girlfriend’s sweet and innocent sister.

“It is when you’re not being truthful but in our case. We aren’t”

Jake didn’t give you a chance to fight back, not when he pulled your swimsuit aside—his fingers teasing the skin just above your core.

“Lift your hips up for me” He whispers past the shell of your ear and not wasting time, you followed his words because you didn’t feel like testing him today knowing he could leave you hot and bothered and worst of all, untouched

Jake gleams seeing how you did what he asked. Instead of letting you off his lap completely, you’re stopped midway and the confusion written over your face was everything to him, “Trust me”

You shouldn’t have, that much you knew. However, putting your faith into him. You flutter your eyes closed. Thighs and knees burning from your held position yet, that pain faded away into an adrenaline when you feel his rough hand on you again.

Digging your fingers into his shoulders, feeling the broadness of them again, you tremble realizing what you had pleaded for him, your sister’s boyfriend.

He silently hissed but the death grip on your hips distracted either of you from anything else. You become rigid above Jake when you feel

him tugging the bottoms covering your core.

“Fuck how are you this wet? Does Jay even try to make you come?” Jake spat more for himself when he saw you soaking through your bottoms like you had taken a swim, “Absolute imbecile”

Your eyes almost fluttered open instead you let out a loud shriek and screwed your eyes tighter when he harshly grabbed at your thin clothed breast. The roughness dug into your flesh making you cry, “What the hel-“

“To distract you” He murmurs cutting you off before you get another chance to speak, he drags your body back down causing your jaw to fall slack

“Jake!” You squeal his name at the stretch of his tip entering you and splitting you apart

Digging your nails into his shoulder blades while Jake tightened his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet when you couldn’t stop sobbing, never being this stretched out ever before.

“S-So big- it’s too much” Your eyes finally open and through wet tears, you look down to see the bareness of his cock disappearing into you

“You’re so tight fuck” He breathlessly says, “Does he never stretch you out or what?”

Through hiccups and sniffles you weakly shake your head no the more you sink down onto his hard length. A thought of Jay crossing and disappearing as quickly as it showed up when you feel Jake twitch inside of you.

You could feel every vein, each jerk and waking pump that he had as he pushed through your walls.

“J-Ja-Ja…” You wail and Jake slams you down to fully engulf him making your scream and he throws a hand over your mouth to shut you up

“Jay ever made you feel this good? Is that why you’re calling out to

him?” You roughly shake your head, tears running down your cheeks and dangling at your chin before falling to his chest, “Then why are you saying his name like he’s the one fucking you”

You weakly slap his chest the moment he bottoms out. Your fluttering hole gaped around the length, welcoming him into the warm wet confinement that he couldn’t not ram into you.

The slickness spilling past your pussy and lathering over him all the way to the base was enough to make him slide in like it was home. Your bottom half of the bathing suit rubbed his base and your clit making each of you suck in a breath.

Your ragged breaths muffled by his hand finally fell off when you were blabbing into it and shaking your head uncontrollably as if to prove something.

“N-No he’s never” It was like fireworks going off in his heart, the gnawing disgusting feeling faded away to a mellow happiness

It was his revelation and the third and possibly the biggest mistake of the day.

“Oh he’s never fucked you?” He raised an eyebrow, the hands holding your hips pushed them up against his crotch making you strain a moan

The corner of Jake’s mouth pulls up as he watches you chase that small friction. Groaning softly when you rutted your hips harder down, balled up fist against his chest, your tears drying only to be drenched again by the new ones.

“Glad to know he won’t ever after this” He laughs when your head is thrown back, such unrhythmic movements of your hips to make you unconsciously good, “Let's break you on my cock mhm?”

“Going to fucking ruin you baby”

Jake leans against the headboard, his warm hands leaving your burning body to stretch over his head and watch you. You whine when he doesn’t help you and instead he sucks his teeth and shake his head

“You wanted to get fuck right? So do it yourself” The tone was clear and stern, no room for arguments and you didn’t want to test him today

Moving your hand from his chest to hold his shoulders with a weak wet

bounce that rippled in the room. Your body is still not accustomed to the stretch yet forcing yourself to be by the way he fills you up. It was too delicious to pull away from.

Your head hangs back as you drag yourself from him before slowing back down. Fresh tears fell from the corners of his eyes as he wiped away gently.

Jake watches how your bottom lip shivers, shaking when you repeat the motion again and again until you find a slow pace. Your moans were growing by the second that he swore someone would hear you from down the hallway.

“Thought you didn’t want to get caught” He strains through gritted teeth when you clamped down around his length and continued inconsistent movements, “Why happened to that moral compass of yours?”

You couldn’t respond, he knew that. All that slipped past your lips were weak whines and incoherent blabs ranging from ‘Help me’ and ‘So good’ and his favorite, ‘Fuck me Jakey please’

The more you clamped around him, not letting him go even more than an inch before you were back at the base. The leaking tip pressed into your gummy walls and you felt full while barely moving.

“I can’t even be mad at you” He softly creased your head, “You’re taking me so well baby, I could stay inside of you forever”

Jake chuckles when he feels your hole fluttering around him, “You like the thought of that?”

“That I fuck you so good that you’ll be full of me to the point it’ll drip out of you”

“Jakey” You whimper his name focusing on chasing the pleasure you felt when he first rammed you onto him

“Tell me what you want” His tone smooth and slurred, a warm hand carefully wrapping around the back of your neck and pulling you up to face him

“Tell me what you want” He repeats what he says but when you screw your eyes shut the grind of your hips, finally finding the spot that hit your clit made a louder moan rip out of you

The soft grip tightened instantly and it woke you up from the daze when Jake’s free hand stopped your moving hips. You peer open your eyes to see the stretched frown as he stares at you.

When you discreetly move your hips in a circle, Jake instantly stops it and taps the side of your hips, “Up babe” Simple words but more than enough for you to slowly get up on your knees and stare at him like he hung the stars

His lips twitch into a soft smile and he hooks a hand under your arms and pulls you off him. “Shit” He grunts when you wrapped perfectly around his tip until your pussy reluctantly let him go with a plop

Your mouth was wide open with uneven breaths following when you looked down and caught sight of the very cock you had in your mouth, resting heavy and hard on his tanktop. The glistening shaft with the distinctive veins trailing all around, a red angry tip leaking of precum and a base covered in your arousal alone.

“Dirty girl” He chuckles making a dust of heat cross your cheeks as you look at him through clearing eyes, you wiped your face to rid of any tears left behind

Jake softly pushes your body to the bed to hover over you. Sweat trickling down his forehead down his neck as he admires you with shining eyes but toots and disappointedly shakes his head.

It must’ve shown on your face how confused you were when he laughed. A hand reached down and pulled his shorts up, stuffing his pulsing hard-on back in the restraints of his pants and pushed himself off of your bed and straight to your door.

“Lesson 2 baby” He grins even when you catch sight of his bulging tent peeking through before he squeezed out of your room, purposefully leaving your door open

You quickly rush up on your palms and stare where he once stood. You throw a blanket over your body and cover yourself with an agape mouth when through a lust needy cloud, you recall the said lesson of expect the unexpected.

Grumbling loudly under your breath but stopped when your sister passes through and stops at your open door, “Why do you have the door open?” She stops and scrunches her face in distaste, “Ugh why do you still have your bathing suit on if you were working with dad”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion and she sighs aggravated and points towards you, “I’m talking about those black streaks all over neck, the most you could’ve done was clean it off before getting into bed”

You first put on your sheets and strain a faltering smile, trying to hide your tingling and rest of your marked body from sight. All while trying to get the feel of fullness out of your head, “Expect the unexpected I guess”

⊹ ࣪ ˖

It sounded nasty in your sister’s room. The muffled shouting and yelling heard from down the hallway. You were only going to go to the bathroom, you didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Yet, the moment you stepped out, it was like your feet got glued to the ground and you couldn’t move from your doorway as you try to make out whatever they were arguing about.

“Jake you suck as a boyfriend do you realize that?” The said male sighs heavily and rubs his creased forehead

“Fake boyfriend” He corrects with emphasis under his breath which got drowned out by your sister’s continuous rant

“Last time I checked you promised to the be the best boyfriend ever but ever since we came here you’ve been sticking to my sister like a vice and it’s frustrating”

“What is that about huh? Do you fucking like her or what? Don’t miss me with that love bullshit”

“Don’t ask me about nonsense” Jake harshly whips his head over to your sister, “Why don’t we talk about if Heeseung actually cares about this fake ass relationship may I remind you and will crawl back to you”

“Let me remind you that she has Jay so don’t start getting ideas thinking you’re special and stupidly get attached to her” Jake balls his fist at his sides at the mention of Jay’s name again floating in the air like how it always does in this house

“I should’ve gotten someone else that would’ve actually tried to make

this plan work instead of you” Your sister yells as she opens the door hastily, “Fuck you Jake”

“Yeah don’t hold your breath” Jake scoffs loudly when your sister stomps down the hallway making him sigh heavily

Jake grabs whatever he sees in sight and chucks it across your sister’s room in anger. He lets out a frustrated yell and when he hears a soft knock at the door, he whips his head thinking it was his girlfriend.

But at the sight of you hesitantly bringing your hand back down from the door, his shoulders slouch, the aggravated face and glaring eyes softened instantly. He lets out a deep exhale and runs a hand through his hair, ruining the styled fluff of it.

“Are you okay?”

Jake doesn’t respond, instead he walks over to the edge of your sister’s bed and plops his body heavily on there before sighing heavily and running another hand through his hair, ruining it completely. The slight styled waves landed over his forehead, almost enough to cover his eyes.

He looks up at you with a slight frown and shakes his head. Extending out his hands and doing a grabby motion towards you. You try to hold back the smile by covering it up with a small cough.

Slowly walking over to him and just when you were in distance, he wraps his arms around you and brings you to him. You let out a squeak when his head pressed into your stomach.

Nestling his cheek, you freeze at the gripping embrace. A wave of fondness glosses over making you softly pet his hair before running your hands through it, much more careful and gentle than how he did earlier.

“Just need you right now” He murmurs against your shirt having you lightly giggle to conceal the thumping of your heart

You were sure he could feel it by being pressed up against you and instead of freaking out, you accept it and nod your head, “Okay… I can stay for a minute”

“No please stay longer” Jake roughly shook his head and rested his chin on you

Your gaze shifts down to see him, a soft pout stretched down on his face, big droopy eyes staring up at you and his hands rubbing any piece of you he could get his hands on.

You stop pushing back his hair, resting it just by his ear. “I really really need you” His voice was softer than anything he’s ever said before

When Jake’s hand roamed your body, moving from your back to your sides, down your hips and thighs to stop at the waistband of your pants. You close your eyes and softly push at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge and instead digs his chin harder into your ribs.

“Goodnight Jake” You sternly say but your words slowly fade out when his fingers hook under the entirety of the elastic, “No- At least not here”

Jake could only care about the fact you said at least not here. You weren’t denying him anymore.

Letting out a yelp when you were suddenly flipped to your sister’s bed. Your body jumps from the soft mattress, a loud gasp escaping your mouth when Jake is on top of you.

Instantly he attaches his mouth to your soft skin, trailing soft kisses from the point of your shoulder to the sweet spot on your neck that cracked the sweet noises he adored. Pursing his lips together and sucking harshly on the unblemished skin.

You shudder a moan, back arching slightly as he slots a knee in the middle of the legs, brushing up against your clothed pussy making you melt further into the mattress.

“Anywhere but here Jake” He sighs heavily, pulling his head away to focus his attention on you to make sure you see him shaking his head

“It’s either here or nowhere” Jake scoffs, making your heart drop to the pit of your stomach, “Why do you even care? You don’t even like her”

“That’s not the point” You gulp down the lump forming in your throat and awkwardly clear it

“Well it doesn’t matter. She treats you like crap and this is the perfect opportunity to get back at her” He hooks a finger under your chin and lifts it up to make you face him, “Wouldn’t it be good to know that you fucked your sister’s boyfriend in her own bed”

“You know how much she loves this shit like it’s her palace”

You grip his shoulders, frantic eyes looking away because you knew he was right. And he knew you knew he was.

He smirks and presses rough kisses against your neck and you hit his back but not to hurt him but just enough to make him grin harder against your skin.

"Fuck you Jake" He chuckles at the venom seeping through your words

He breaks away from your neck, feathering kisses trailing up the line until he outlines the shell of your ear. His hot breath made your legs clench around his knee and you whimpered when he grips your hips tightly, "You already have"

When he pulls away and you turn to face him, he smiles and leans in. He captures your lips in a feverish way, teeth clanking together, his tongue lathering itself all around your plush flesh. He was kissing you like a starved man who has been denied his only need for decades.

For a second you freeze and screw your eyes shut, your nails graze his back until you tilt your head and melt into the kiss. He smiles happily that you’re reciprocating the kiss again.

The fitted black shirt did nothing for your imagination as you dragged down his shirt when he pressed his lips deeper on yours.

You whimper in the kiss, trails of red left behind in your wake through his shirt. Jake shakingly cups your jaw as he slides across your bottom lip—begging for entrance.

The slight opening was more than enough to have him sliding past and exploring your mouth. He groaned softly when you clawed at his skin.

Jake wasn’t someone spontaneous, taking pride in always being somewhat calculated. Yet, he always had to expect the unexpected when it comes to you. Especially now when it dawns over him that it’s addictive kissing you.

His cold hand fiddles with the hem of your shirt before slipping it under against the harness of your skin. Moaning softly into the needy kiss, you feel the hand roaming—memorizing every dip and curve you had to offer.

The higher he trailed up the more your breath hitched until it got stuck in your chest and a loud gasp escaped your mouth when he roughly cups at your breast.

His fingers instantly run over the hardening bud and twisting it making you wail just enough for Jake sticks his tongue further down your throat from the perfect opportunity.

You silently gagged around the intrusion while he gargled a laugh at your struggle. Hastily pulling back with a heavy breath from you, you’re panting trying to make up for the lost air.

“You have to be quiet” Jake knows he wouldn’t stay true to his words but he just loves to see the twitches on your face to hide your worry

“Jake” You swallow down each breath, “Hold on”

Your pleas fall deaf on his ears the moment he reattaches himself back to your lips. Pecking the swollen plush repeatedly to cut off any words or thoughts daring to come from you.

“That’s right baby. Just let me do everything. Let me take care of you” Instead of trying anymore, you fall into it and kiss back with less of a need to keep you both connected

He squeezed around your breast, nails digging into your flesh making you cry. Pinching on your hardened bud to irritate it made you jolt in your sister’s mattress more.

“Stop teasing” You grit through your teeth even though you were loving every second of it, “Do something”

“So impatient” He lowly slurs before running his hand over both of your breast, “Guess the apple never does fall too far from the tree”

“I know you can take me, no point in wasting time” Your head pushes back into the bedding when he fondles them with a harsh touch, not caring if he was gentle or not

A roaming hand travels down past your stomach to play with your waist band before hooking under it and tugging down both your garments in one trip. “What a nasty girl” He laughs when he noticed you helping him out

He shifts his potions to stand, hands letting go of your body to bring attention to the edges of your pants. He trugs softly at them until they slip past your hips and removes them in one go.

Your legs tried to squish together before he could catch a glimpse of your glistening entrance but he sprawled his palms on your knees and spread them to the bed to expose you to him.

Your hands fist the sheet and screw your eyes shut when he softly cooed, “Aww is this all for me?”

When you don't respond, he frowns and runs a finger over your slit making a wanton moan rip out of you. “I asked you something baby”

“Yes! It’s for you! All for you Jakey” The words rushed out in a single breath

He plunges his finger in one swift motion that makes you frantically gasp. “That’s good” He chuckles, “Glad to know you wouldn’t be like this for anyone else that isn’t me”

Stretching out your hole little by little in a scissoring motion had you withering in the sheets. Jake hooked his free arm under your leg to keep you from moving and slacked his jaw open to attach to your dripping core.

“J-Jake!” You squeal, tugging softly on the fluff of his ruined hair as Jake sucked and sucked all arousal that spilled out

His fingers worked simultaneously to pump in and out of you while he tongue flickered over your folds, lathering your arousal with his saliva.

He groans when you harshly tug his head closer to you, grinding your hips to his face as weak moans fall from your mouth. It managed to shake all the way up to your head and instantly take over your rationality.

Jake continued to lap at your pussy like it was the sweetest treat ever. A lovely essence that he can’t grow sick of when his fingers curl, your body curls too.

“So fucking sweet, I love how you taste baby” He blabs against your entrance leaving you shivering with each wet kiss he plants

You couldn’t respond when his tongue teased your filled hold and you jerked to move away from the extra intrusion. Jake was quicker than you anticipated and held your place.

“Nu uh none of that. You’re going to take it for me” He lifts his head with a heavy pant and you see the string of saliva connecting him from your pussy to his mouth

You swallow down your words when he grins and licks his lips, breaking the string. He hummed blissfully at the taste, eyes fluttering close in pleasure before forcing himself back down for more.

“Be good for me alright?” He doesn’t give any warning when he drags his two fingers out, only leaving his fingers buried in your hole

He stays like for a moment before pushing in three fingers knuckle deep without a care how you clench around him. “Need to fill you up right” His dark laugh that has you insides twisting, “I couldn’t ignore how you suck me in”

“Want to see how much you can take before you’re coming without any stop” You strain a mewl and attempt to grab his wrist in response to his words making him lightly chuckle

The drag of his fingers were rough and deep, three fingers squished in your gaped hole, squeezing around him perfectly that left his mind dizzy and needing more.

Repeating the motion again and again of dragging his fingers out before sliding them back in. The squelching out your arousal and quiet moans left you both in a daze, “You need to be more quiet there”

“You don’t want to get caught right?” He whispered just enough for you to hear but when you clench around his fingers, he crocks a brow upwards, “Or maybe I stand corrected”

“You want to be seen like this don’t you?” He laughs almost manically, a warm breath fanning over your core that ran a shiver up your spine

You weakly shake your head but the loudest moan ripped out of you when he attached his mouth directly to the swollen bud. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he curls and opens you up more.

Every flick followed by suck on your clit and pump of his fingers knuckles deep into you had you shaking, back arching off your sister’s bed just for him.

No longer trying to pull away from him, you wrap your legs around his head to latch his moving mouth to your pussy.

“There’s my dirty babe” He mumbles against your slicken core, he knew you were close to edge, it was obvious with the way you kept pulse around his digits to keep him buried in you

“Right there- Jakey” Your voice was pitched and strained when a gush rushed out of you that managed to push him out of your gaped hole

You were gasping loudly when he attached his lips back to your pussy with such need. He rubbed his face harshly against you, his fingers rubbing over your folds to usher more of your release on his tongue.

He slurped whatever release came out of you, not wanting anything to go to waste. “Keep it coming baby” He screws his eyes shut feeling your fluttering hole around his intruding tongue, “Give it it to me”

You wailed to the muffled words, your body shaking trying to pull away from his ruthlessly kisses. The sensitivity grows too much for you to handle but Jake toothily grins when you take his fingers back into you. You weakly try to push him away but fail when he pressed his body onto your lower body.

He pushes in and out, every squelch bounced off your sister’s walls. “You’re making a mess sweetheart” He taunts even though he presses a free hand down your lower abdomen

Your legs weakly push his shoulders but with fail, Jake didn’t move an inch. He only continued to lap at your pussy, blatantly ignoring the ache in his jaw.

“Can’t take anymore Jakey please” You shake your head but the pressure on your stomach digs deeper as Jake ushers his fingers up and down your core

To your horror, flings of your arousal landing everywhere on his hands, arms, face and the bed underneath you. “Yes you can” He breathlessly pants as he rubs his palm over you

You’re a moaning mess by the time he feels your clenching around him again. Rutting down his hand harder and faster, his palm rubbing your clit continuously, his fingers curling up to your gummy walls and scratching them to leave his mark on you.

Your lower stomach flexed as you came over his fingers and mouth for the second time tonight. Shots of your arousal came out of you and over his fingers but his pace didn’t stop.

“Jake” You tried to crawl away from him but you were rooted into place, tongue lolled out to swallow everything that you were offering him

“There’s my girl. So beautiful. So perfect for me” He encourages more of your release to land on his tastebuds, his head was dizzy unsure if it was from the lack of oxygen or your sweet venom

Either way, this was the paradise he would rather get ripped apart for before willingly giving you up.

Jake presses soft kisses and carefully pulls away completely. Your mind was reeling to come down from the pleasure you had never felt before. Your ragged breaths mixed with his heavy pants.

“You okay baby?” He strokes the side of your face softly and you nestle into it for a form of comfort. You look up at him with rimmed eyes to see his pupils blown out all to stare at you like the center of his universe

A toothy lopsided grin made your heart flutter that you swore Jake would be able to hear from where he stood in front of you. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, your fisted hand loosened around the sheets and you stare at him with wet eyes.

“Fuck me”

Jake physically jerks at your words but the toothy grin is replaced with a smug smirk. He leans over your body, hands hiking up your shirt as he lets out a deep chuckle that makes your insides tingle. “Say it again. I need to hear you say it again”

“Fuck. Me. Jake” You emphasis every word sending him down a rabbit hole he didn’t want to escape from

“Such nasty words” He lowly hums while fumbling his belt as he makes his way towards you, a gaze that clouded his eyes darkly, “Think you can stay quiet?”

“Who cares” You stared at him at the foot of the bed, a prominent bulge daring to burst at any moment

“You do” Jake’s quick rebuttal made you quiet making him giggle at your stare, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one with the need to stay a precious innocent angel”

He doesn’t struggle freeing himself from his raging hard-on. Your eyes widened at the angry red tip shining with precum slapping against his abdomen. Regardless of seeing it already, you swallow watching how it twitches at the freedom.

Jake laughs watching your slacked face and chuckles with a blooming across his chest. “Why so serious?”

“You know you can take me, no need to be scared” He runs a rough hand up and down your side until he rests his hand just above your heart, “Relax for me baby”

Your breath comes out in intervals, so uneasy that your chest rises and drops unnaturally. There was thumping against your chest that Jake for sure knew about now. Never in your life did you think you would ever be in this position. Well now you were and there was no turning back.

“Good girl” A single finger trails down your chest, circling your covered nipple and slipping down, “You never disappoint. Your sister doesn’t even give me this”

The mention of his girlfriend, your own sister, made a sense of dread fill your stomach. A reminder that Jake isn’t actually yours even when it felt like he was from the moment he walked through the front door.

You screw your eyes shut because if it was out of sight then it would be out of mind. You focused hard enough you can smell her signature perfume lingering in the air, forcing you to claw at Jake’s shoulder.

He hisses loudly and grips your hips while pressing down on your body with his own. “You have some nasty secrets but it’s okay because I have them too”

“Let me put these dirty secrets on you” You crack open your eyes for a second to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes

Jake was gorgeous, generally perfect for you. The only downside, he was dating your sister.

Or at least that was what they made you and everyone else believe.

He aligns the tip of cock to your entrance, he slides his length to lather your arousal over him before carefully pushing in just past the tightness. You loudly gasp, knocking your head back at the slow stretch growing the more you sink down his cock.

“Fuck” You breathlessly said, inhaling sharply where the faint notes of his cologne filled your noise, the smell of your sister’s scent of her room fading out of your mind

It takes everything in Jake's power to not bottom out like how he did before but it was difficult when the delicious wet confinement welcomed and accustomed to him.

“S-Shit you take me so good” He drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and neck, “You’re always so good”

Jake didn’t move from where he stopped pushing in. The both of you peered down to see him disappearing into you. A clear amount of inches left to be sucked in.

Your ragged breaths follow his heavy pants and without warning or struggle, Jake snaps his hips forwards making your body jolt and the bed creak under his movements.

“Jake!” You shout his name but he slaps a hand over your mouth with a warning glare

“Shhh keep it quiet for me sweetheart” He smiles but now that he was bottomed out in you without struggle, only feeling how you try to get used to his length, “You can do that for me right?”

“Yes” Hearing how your voice cracks fills his chest with pride and he softly nicks your skin with his grazing teeth, “Jakey” You moan his name like it’s the only thing you have ever known

“That’s right say my fucking name” He groans as he drags his cock our before roughtly pushing back in

Your sister’s bed creaks under his first thrust and only continues when he drags his hips already too deep in his sense of the way you wrap around him. Each thrust left you empty for a moment before you were instantly filled up again.

His tip pressed into your gummy walls in ways you didn’t know possible. Each push and pull he gave you was each press into your g-spot.

You shake your head when he repeatedly hits the same spot once he realizes that was what let your loudest moans rip out.

“You say goodnight yet your pussy keeps me buried in you. Which one is it? Cmon baby where are you now?” Jake says as he picks up his pace into a ruthless manner

The creaking of your sister’s bed worsened, your moans and his grunts mixing as one as you wrap your arms over his body for leverage. There were no thoughts in your mind besides the fulfillment Jake was giving you.

“I don’t even fuck my girlfriend like this” He huffs like it was something to be proud, “There’s no way she would take me as good as you do”

“You’re better than her- Far much better”

You were relishing the backhanded praises. It made your heart drop with each compliment but there was a hidden happiness that filled you with it. Your skin crawls at the revelation but you’re far too gone to care anymore.

“He don’t fuck you like this does he?” Jake snorts in the shell of your ear, you knew who was he was referring to but when you opened your mouth to respond, he slammed his hip upwards in a bruising pace

Your reply to him was nothing but whines and breathlessly gasps. Jake felt you clamping around him causing him to darkly chuckle but never letting his fast pace let up, “Tell me he doesn’t fuck you this good”

“Jake slow down please” You wail with nails scratching down his broad back, it pierces through his shirt that he could feel the burn forming where you claw at him

“No” He growls, pressing down on your hips to continue slamming into you, “Take it for me. Say this is only for me”

Jake was losing sense of reality with the way you grip around him, this was all he ever needed. “Say it”

“For you Jakey” You sink your nails into his shoulder blades, “For you”

Jake couldn’t help but proudly smile. His heart thumping against his chest that he swore it would burst out any second. “So good- It’s all just for you”

Harsher thrust was his response, you could tell it fueled his desire when every thrust left you empty and slammed full in a matter of seconds. Your broken wails were muffled by the rush of his mouth meeting yours.

You gargled a noise but he swallowed it into his mouth as he messily dragged his tongue all over your lips. “Let them fucking hear how beautiful you sound for me”

Dragging your hand up to the back of his hair and pulling on it as your legs hook around his waist to keep him buried in you. “I’m going to breed your pussy baby that you’ll be so full of me”

“How does that sound? mhm?” He pops your bottom lip through his teeth, “You’ll like that? Be so full of me that you can’t even hold it and it’ll just have to slide down your thigh the moment you stand up”

“Yes! Yes!” You chant, your walls memorizing the drags of his cock, feeling the veins that traced all around it and mold it into your gummy velvet walls, “Yes please Jakey”

His thrust was growing erratic, unrhythmic if they were even that in the first place. Jake’s tip was ripping and bruising your insides with each movement he did, he couldn’t help himself any longer.

“Come for me baby” He grunts lowly just enough for you to hear the more you clamped around him

Each pulse around his moving shaft was daring enough to bring him closer to his orgasm. “Can I come inside- Let me come inside you” He whines as his hips were chasing after your confinement, "Please please”

Tightening your legs around him, your fingers aching by the way you kept gripping him and when your arms flail around his body to hold him close as you let out your loudest moan yet as you came all over his cock.

The wet squelch worsened by your release glistening his shaft and while you entered a state of bliss, Jake continued to chase after his own despite the sudden limitation for his range of motion. However, the new profound tightness was a blessing in disguise.

He lets out uneven breaths in a shudder when his thrust continues their awkward pace as he paints your velvet walls white of him. “So good shit- Too good for me”

“I love you. I love you” His words cleared your muffled ears, your eyes jump wide open as your mind short circuits from the three words said so easily

Your heart is hammering against both of your chest as he pushes his cum deeper into you, you claw harder down his back when he doesn’t still his thrust.

Moans bounce off the room’s walls until Jake finally comes to a complete stop. His cock lodged deep into you, his chest fell up and down after each breath, his eyes trained on how the rim of your pussy and his base gleamed white.

You felt the endless twitches inside the gummy walls however it disappeared making you whine at the sudden emptiness. Jake pulls his hardened cock out of you to hang right over your stomach.

Jake seems to have many mistakes but this was his biggest one when he looks up at you and catches the afterglow you were shimmering in. Your mouth slacked open, fresh tears he didn’t even notice streaking down your cheeks, and his marks littering your skin from your neck for everyone to see down to your rising chest only for him to see.

His eyes trails down to see the glops of his cum seeping out and onto your sister’s bed. His heart stops for a second before it jumps into his throat that he tried to swallow away.

“Jakey” Your voice hoarse and weak and it rips his attention away from the sight to focus on your fucked out expression

The way you looked up at him with pleading confused eyes, a harsh swallow to clear your throat twisted his chest and his body moved on its own. You whine when your body is flipped on the opposite side, your head turning to the side and pressed into your sister’s pillow and one of your legs is hiked up to the side.

He pushes your head down to the soft slick pillow and pushes his cock past into your aching pussy.

You flail your legs under him, hands fisting the sheets again until your knuckle turns white and your mouth slipping out moans to be drowned in your sister’s bed.

Droll slipped past the corner of your mouth, pooling onto the pillow when Jake grips the side of your hips and pulls it harshly to the side to watch how you swallow him in.

You grip the edge of the bed and moan loudly with each thrust that sends your body jolting further into the mattress. Your clit rubbing in the shit mixed with him filling you up, “Jake- Fuck slow down” You try to say but he only groans to avoid responding to your fake plea

“Take it sweetheart. Be a good girl for me and fucking take it” He thrust harder up, watching the recoil where you and him met

He pressed down on your knee to keep it leveled higher than your hip. The position had your eyes rolling to the back of your head while Jake was lost in the trance of his cum leaking down to the bed.

This time feeling the tears dimming your eyes and falling down your cheeks as you couldn’t contain your moans any longer with each hard thrust. Jake watched how your mouth was permanently opened as the beautiful noises he lives off of falls from your mouth.

“So fucking perfect for me. I need you forever baby” He drags his length out of pussy, leaving your empty for a second too long than what you wanted

Yet, he rams back into you to make up for the extra second of emptiness. “Who says I need your sister? I don’t need her anymore when I have you”

Your heart flutters at his words but you bury your head into her pillow in shame. You didn’t mean for it to turn out this way but your sister didn’t deserve him, everyone knew that.

Jake deserved better or worse. That is why he chose you in the end over her.

“You can be my girlfriend instead of her” He groans watching how you kept clenching around his cock the more he spoke, “Or maybe I get the best of both worlds by riding it out with her”

“Taunting you and fucking you behind her back. Sounds like an absolute dream”

Like a bucket of cold water was thrown over you to snap out of the haze that you peer behind you watching how Jake was already staring at you. He lets out a sinister grin as his pace slowed down but his thrust never faltered.

Each one teased your inside, poking where he could and will taint you. “You’ll drop that asshole of your boyfriend you have so that I can keep you all to myself”

You slam your hand down in the mattress with a shiver of your bottom lip, “Not my boyfriend” You correct in a time like this

Jake laughs loudly, his bruising grip pulling your body further apart to watch how your pussy allows him with ease and a big warm wet welcome.

He slips his hand under your body and down to your begging bundle of nerves and giggles when you wail and try to wiggle away from him. “Don’t run from me babe. It breaks my heart when you do that”

You let out a loud moan when he pressed harder down your clit and pushed his cock deep into you as you came around him again for how many times he ripped one of you the entire night.

He chuckles happily with no intent of stopping his own chase of pleasure again. Jake continues to push deeper into your gummy walls, you pawed at his wrist to rid it from your bud of nerves.

He ripped your freehand with his own and pressed it down to his girlfriend’s bed. Your balled up hand is engulfed by his as he holds it tightly. “Jake- Please” Your mind was too fogged to care about anything else that wasn’t him

The gnawing sensation in your stomach faded away as a pleasurable warmth filled you. Your body arches inwards when he stays true to his words of filling you up. The mess of your white velvet walls once again covered in white because of him.

Jake hovers his mouth over your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin and clamping down but not enough to break the skin to keep quiet of his own whines.

He lets out strained noises when you keep fluttering around him—trying to push him out when he doesn't dare move an inch out of you. “So good for me” He presses soft kisses from your shoulder up to your neck, “You make me so proud”

The praises filled your weakened mind and made a warmth cross your cheeks as you buried your face more into the pillow to hide away from him. “Knew you would be perfect for me” Jake continues, loving how you react to his words, “Wish I met you instead of your sister. Would’ve been nice if you were mine instead of her”

The words left a sour taste in your mind but you couldn’t deny the fluttering of your heart. A forbidden desire in the form of your sister’s boyfriend was your worst nightmare but your biggest desire.

When Jake pushes off your body with one last nibble to your earlobe, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your hand loosened from the edge of your sister’s bed and tried to move but hissed at the undeniable ache all over your body.

You can hear Jake giggling from behind you and you peer over your shoulder and horror daunted over you when you see his phone out, pointed directly to where he was still twitching in you, a sudden flash filling the room as he took a picture.

“What are you doing?!” A rush of adrenaline coursed through you and you try to push yourself up but Jake presses a flat hand on your back to keep you still

Watching his thumb effortlessly move across his screen until a satisfied grim stretches across his face. His eyes shined and you were unsure if it was from happiness or his screen.

His index fingers turn off his phone before panning the device over to you and turning it on with a single touch. Mortification runs your blood cold when you see the picture he had just taken as his lockscreen.

Instead of the picture of him and your sister in the mirror holding hands. All you see is the glops of white semen splattered all underneath your sister's bed and his still hard cock buried deep in your white slick hole.

He throws his phone somewhere onto his girlfriend’s bed before lifting your hips up from their laid position and raising them into the air—not once did he detach himself from your core. He pressed your face down to the mattress and you didn’t resist once—letting him do as he pleased.

“What the fuck” Your words muffled as you stare at him with shaky eyes over your shoulder but he only smiles widely and brings a finger to his mouth as if to keep you quiet

“This’ll be our dirty little secret”

——

your dress is gorgeous, silk and lace and embroidery that took someone weeks to finish. but it weighs a ton, and the corset digs in just enough to remind you that looking the part isn't the same as wanting to play it. your heels scrape marble when you pace (which you do a lot, especially lately) until the sound gets so deep under your skin you want to scream.

your husband has been gone for a week. some mission in the mushroom forest, maybe, something about goombas. you stopped listening halfway through. the toads check on you every few hours like clockwork. bring tea you don't drink, ask if you need anything. you smile and say no and then they leave. they tried to save you the first few times. they don't anymore. and your husband — god, your husband probably thinks you're still waiting with your hands folded, hopeful, counting on him. but you stopped counting weeks ago.

and then you wait.

because heeseung always comes back. and he doesn't break down the door this time.

he just walks in, boots heavy on stone slowly like he's got all the time in the world. the chandeliers shake a little even though he's trying to be quiet — they always do when he's around, like the whole castle recognizes his presence and tenses up. you hear the clink of metal. he stops in the doorway of your oversized bedroom, with his hands in his pockets, dark hair falling into his eyes. looking at you like he's double checking he's got the right princess, the right tower, the right night.

you don't scream, damn you don't even flinch. you just sit up straighter on the edge of the bed, smooth your skirt once, and say calmly, almost bored:

"you're late."

heeseung grins, lazy and shameless.

"had to wait for your boyfriend to leave first," he says, stepping inside. the door clicks shut behind him but he doesn't lock it. "he's real chatty, you know that? i almost felt bad."

"you don't feel bad about anything."

"true." he walks closer slowly. the floor creaks under his weight and you feel it more than hear it. "but i could pretend, you know, for you."

you tilt your head slightly and let the crown sit crooked. a strand of hair falls across your face and you don't fix it. "the toads are gonna notice i'm gone soon," you say. not worried, just factual.

"good." he stops right in front of you now. close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to look at him. "that's the whole point, isn't it, princess?"

you raise an eyebrow. "remind me again why we're doing this?"

"because," heeseung says, voice dropping lower, rougher, "you man's gotta come save you. and you gotta be stolen. and i gotta be the bad guy." he leans down just slightly. "it's all very tragic."

"right." your lips twitch with almost a smile. "so tragic."

"heartbreaking, really."

"and the part where you tie me up and drag me out of here kicking and screaming?"

his grin sharpens, all teeth. "that's my favorite part, baby."

he doesn't answer right away. just reaches behind him and pulls out rope this time, thick, rough hemp. he lets it uncoil slowly in his hand, dragging across the floor with that low rasp that makes your stomach flip. his hands reach your hips, gripping, and then he turns you around, looping the rope once around your wrists, crossed behind you. his fingers brush your skin as he works. 

"last time you used the chain." you muttered.

"last time i wasn't worried about evidence." he tugs the knot tighter. "gotta make it look like you fought back."

you tilt your head so you can see his face. "what if i don't fight?"

he pauses and looks at you with that dark, lazy amusement. "then we improvise." another loop, higher this time, binding your forearms together. "you can scream in the hallway. thrash a little. toads eat that shit up."

you flex your fingers and feel the rope pull. "you like this too much."

"maybe." he finishes the knot at the small of your back, then comes around to face you. crouches down so you're eye level. "but you're letting me. so."

you hold his gaze. "he's gonna see these," you say quietly. 

heeseung tucks that loose strand behind your ear with the knuckle of his index finger first — slow drag, rough skin catching lightly on the shell of your ear before he switches to his thumb. it lingers there on your cheekbone, pressing just firm enough that you feel the callus from whatever weapons he swings when he’s not playing villain. "who fucking cares? tell him i was rough," he says, voice pitched low and close. "that you begged me to stop. cried a little maybe." his thumb slides down, traces the curve of your jaw, then hooks under your chin to tilt your face up higher. "and while he’s kissing it better you’ll be thinking about how i tied you up spread out on your own bed, skirt shoved to your waist, while he was out playing hero somewhere stupid."

your breath snags in your throat and he hears it. his eyes flick down to your mouth for half a second then back up. "you’re the worst," you whisper and it comes out shaky.

"yeah." he stands in one smooth motion, yanks the rope upward like it weighs nothing. he steadies you with a hand on your hop, fingers digging in deep enough to leave crescent marks through the silk “but you keep letting me come back right?” he adds.

he steps behind you then. both hands on your wrists now — rough palms sliding up your forearms, checking the rope. he tugs each coil tighter until the hemp bites red lines into your skin. his thumbs press into the pulse points at your inner wrists, feeling how fast your blood’s moving. then he leans in close — chest to your back, hips slotting against your ass — and reaches around to adjust the front of your dress where it’s slipping off one shoulder. his knuckles graze the swell of your breast on purpose as he pulls the fabric back up, just enough to tease the edge of your nipple through the corset.

“i’ll mark you real good tonight,” he murmurs against the side of your neck. hot breath and his teeth scraping once over your earlobe. "he’ll see these tomorrow and think you fought like hell.”

he steps back, grabs the chain from his belt. he drapes it over your shoulder slow — heavy links sliding across your collarbone, cool against flushed skin — then lets one end trail down between your breasts like a deliberate path. his fingers follow it for a second, brushing the valley there, pressing just hard enough you feel it in your nipples. "for effect," heeseung smirks. “and because you like the sound it makes when you move.”

you roll your eyes but the smile’s already there. "so what, you just carry me out screaming?"

"that’s the plan.” he hooks one arm under your knees, the other around your upper back, and lifts you like you’re nothing. the motion forces your thighs apart around his waist, rope pulling your arms tight behind you so your chest arches forward into him. your bound wrists dig into the small of your back; the angle makes your hips tilt up, cunt pressing right against the hard ridge of his belt buckle through your dress. he shifts you higher on purpose — one quick bounce — so the metal grinds against your clit for a split second. you choke on a sound that’s half gasp, half moan.

“you ready?” he asks, his voice wrecked already.

you lean in, lips brushing his ear. “make it convincing. he’s gotta hear it from the next kingdom over.”

heeseung’s grin splits wide. “oh don’t worry, princess.”

he kicks the door open so hard the frame rattles. strides into the hallway, boots slamming marble in steady rhythm. you count two heartbeats and then scream loud and raw, the sound echoing off stone walls like you’re being torn apart. you thrash, your hips rolling against him more than fighting, thighs squeezing his sides, heels kicking once into his thigh. the rope creaks with every twist; the chain clinks against your chest. he doesn’t flinch, just clamps his arm tighter under your ass — fingers splaying wide, one slipping between your thighs from behind to press flat against your soaked cunt through the silk. he rubs once — slow, firm circle right over your clit — while he keeps walking.

“that’s it,” he mutters against your hair, so low no one else hears. “sell it, pretty. scream like i’m ruining you…”

you do, louder. wetter sounds slipping between your fake cries every time his fingers grind against you with his next step. and the whole castle hears the princess being stolen while the monster carries her out like she belongs to him.

heeseung doesn’t slow down until the castle gates are long behind you. the night air hits cold against your flushed skin as he crosses the bridge, then ducks into the shadowed path that leads straight to his domain — the dark, jagged spires of bowser’s keep. the drawbridge groans open without him even asking; the lava moat bubbles low and angry below.

inside it’s warmer and the stone walls pulse with heat from the torches and the underground fires. he carries you through echoing corridors, past chained goombas who don’t even glance up, until he hits the spiral staircase to the tallest tower. he shifts you roughly and flips you over his shoulder. your wrists still tied tight and your ass is up and your thigh is framing his neck.

the first step up the stairs jolts you. his shoulder digs into your stomach, forcing a real huff out of you. then his free hand comes down — hard, open palmed slap right across your bare ass cheek and the sound cracks through the stairwell. you yelp, legs kicking once on instinct.

"quiet down," he growls, but there’s a grin in it. another slap sharper, catching the sensitive underside where thigh meets ass. your cunt clenches hard around nothing; you feel the slick slide down your inner thigh. "here you don’t need to keep screaming for your husband anymore, princess." another slap and this one lingers, his palm stays pressed flat, fingers curling in to squeeze the stinging flesh. he spreads you a little with the grip, thumb brushing the edge of your dripping slit from behind. “no more lying about how wet you get when i take you.” his voice drops darker. “just you, spread out, begging the monster to fuck his pretty little traitor.”

you moan muffled against his back and he laughs mean. he keeps climbing, every few steps another slap, alternating cheeks, building the heat until your skin’s hot and throbbing, every smack sending fresh sparks straight to your clit.

by the time he reaches the top, your thighs are shaking. he kicks the heavy door open and it bangs against the wall and strides straight to the massive four poster bed in the center of the chamber with black sheets and red velvet hangings.

he doesn’t set you down gentle, he throws you. you land on your back with a bounce, wrists still bound behind you, forcing your shoulders to arch, tits pushed up against the tight corset. the dress is a mess — hiked to your hips, soaked silk clinging between your legs. he stands at the foot of the bed with his eyes raking over you slowly. heeseung's chest heaving a little from the stairs, belt already half undone.

"look at you," he says and his voice is rough and mocking. "princess peach, all tied up and dripping in my bed. what would your husband say if he saw his perfect wife like this? legs open, cunt leaking for the monster who just kidnapped her."

you try to close your thighs, more tease than resistance, but heeseung grabs your ankles, yanks them apart, your knees hooked over his elbows. the rope pulls tighter behind your back and you whimper. "don't even try," he warns you as he drops to his knees between your legs. "you're not going anywhere."

heeseung doesn't pull your dress up further, instead, he just ducks his head under the silk skirt, like it's a veil, his shoulder forcing your thighs wider. his hot breath hits your clit first, then his tongue, flat, with a slow drag from your entrance all the way up, tasting every inch of the mess you've made. he groans against you like hés starving. "fuck, this pussy tastes so good," he mutters into your cunt. "sweet and dripping, all f'me."

then he really dives in, his tongue pushing inside you, fucking you open while his nose grinds against your clit. you arch hard and he just grips your hips tighter, nails digging crescents into your ass to hold you down. he sucks your clit into his month, then releases it with a wet pop, only to lick broad stripes again. the sounds are loud, he's slurping and sucking and your own choked moans are mixing with the wet smack of his mouth.

his hands keep your thigh pinned wide, his thumb spreading your lips open so he can get deeper. "scream for real this time," he orders, his voice muffled against your pussy. he pulls back just enough to spit on your clit, then drives back in. "let the whole fucking tower hear hoe much you love getting eaten out by the bad guy."

your hips grind up into his mouth harder now, the rope pining your arms so tight behind your back, that every buck makes the hemp scrape fresh burns into your wrists, but you don't care. you chase it, thighs clamping around his head. "f-fuck heeseung, —" you gasp. "please don't stop—"

he pulls back just enough to make you whine, and he smirks from under the skirt. "who said you get to tell me what do do, princess?" his voice is mean and his fingers dig harder into your ass, bruising. "you're the one tied up, baby. the one cheating on her hero husband with my tongue buried in her cunt. shut up and take it."

you giggle, and kick your heel lightly into his back. "make me."

so he does. he dives back in rougher, his tongue flicking fast and relentless over your clit, two fingers shoving inside of you without warning, curling hard and pumping deep. his free hand slaps your inner thigh and then he holds it open wider. "that's right," he growls against your folds. "keep running that pretty mouth, see what it gets you."

you're responsive now — every lick pulls a sound out of you. moans turn into whimpers, your hips rolling messy and urgent. "harder— hee, please, fuck—" you're begging, thighs shaking harder around his ears. he sucks your clit between his teeth and you shatter. whole body seizing up, cunt clenching around his fingers as you cum hard. a raw cry rips out of your throat and you flood his mouth, your vision spotting white. he doesn't stop, just laps you through it, his tongue slow and filthy now, drinking every drop of you. your hips twitch and even though you're oversensitive you grind down anyway because it hurts so good.

when you finally slump back, he pulls out from under the skirt and stands up slowly, at the foot of the bed. his face was wrecked — his lips were red, his chin dripping, his eyes dark but still fixed on you like a prey. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but his gaze doesn't leave yours. "look at the mess you've made," he says. "cumming all over the monster's face, while your husband is out there saving the day. how pathetic."

your bratty fire sparks back, so you bite your lip and shift on the bed, pushing yourself up to sitting, your knees together like you're trying to play innocent. "yeah? then why are you so hard?"

your eyes drop to the bulge straining his pants, and heeseung's jaw ticks. he steps closer and towers you from the edge of the bed. he grabs your chin hard, bruising, his fingers still slick with you, and forces your face up. "on your knees," he orders.

but you don't move, instead, you just stare up at him, defiant. "make me."

his grip tightens, he yanks you forward by the chin until you're sliding off the bed, your knees hitting the stone floor with a thud. you're so much smaller like this on your knees, looking up at his bigger frame, his boots plant wide on either side of your thighs, basically caging you in. "yeah, that's better," he mutters. his thumb smears your own wetness across your bottom lip. "brats like you belong down here anyway."

you lick if off slowly, eyes locked on his. "fuck you, heeseung."

"you will." and then he lets go of your chin, his hands moving to his belt, unbuckling it completely. he pulls the zipper down slowly and he shoves his pants open, pulls himself out — he's thick, hard, huge, veins pulsing under your gaze. you almost drool at the sight, pre cum beads at the tip already, and he strokes once, base to head, unhurried. "open," he says.

you make him wait a second longer just to be a brat. "what if he walks in right now?" you murmur, your lips almost brushing the tip of his cock. "sees me on my knees mouth full of his rival's cock?"

heeseung growls and grabs the back of your head, his fingers tangling hard in your hair, and pushes in without warning, filling your mouth deep. "then he would know what a cheating little slut his wife really is," he hisses. he holds you there for a second, feeling your throat adjusting to his size. "now suck this cock, princess."

you moan around him and he starts moving, your tongue swirling messy under his shaft, cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. your spit slicks him up quickly, dripping down your chin onto your chest. he's thick enough it aches your jaw, but you push through, looking up at him the whole time. "that's it," he mutters, with his hips rocking forward. "choke on it. pretend it's his — but we both know you'd rather have mine." his free hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing into the bulge where he's filling you. "gonna cum down your throat and send you back to him with my taste still on your tongue."

you hum in agreement and suck harder, heeseung's grip tightens on your hair, and he rocks forward letting you feel every thick inch sliding deeper, until the tip of his cock bumps the back of your throat. "relax that pretty mouth," he mutters. "you're gonna take it all princes, you know how, don't you?"

so you try, your throat working, but when he pushes the last inch in, your eyes water instantly. your nose is pressed to his pelvis and you make a muffled wet sound around him, half protest and half moan. he groans with his hips twitching forward. "fuck, that's it — feel how deep i am?" he holds you there a second longer than you can handle, feeling your throat squeezing him. he pulls back just enough for you to drag in a shaky breath through your nose before sliding back in, slower this time.

"look up at me," he orders. so you do, and your lashes are wet, tears clinging, but you blink up at him anyway. "good girl. your husband is never gonna get this version of his princess, is he?"

you shake your head and whine around his cock, and then he starts fucking your mouth for real. every thrust bumps the back of your throat making your gag reflex flutter. spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and drips down onto your chest. "fuck, you're taking it so well." your eyes are rolling back a little when he grinds in deep and holds, but then he speeds up, chasing it. "gonna cum—" he warns. "gonna fill that mouth and you're gonna swallow every drop, you hear me princess?"

you moan in agreement and he loses it, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing thick on your throat as he comes hard. you swallow reflexively, throat working around him, milking every last bit. when he's done, he doesn't pull out gentle, he yanks your head back by the hair, his cock slipping free with a wet pop. strings of spit and cum connect your lips to the tip for a second.

you gasp, coughing once, your chest heavy. "up," he snaps. his hand is still fisted in your hair and he hauls you up to your feet. your legs shake, your knees weak from kneeling so long but he doesn't care. he spins you around fast, shoves your face down onto the bed. your bound arms twist awkwardly under you; cheek pressed to the sheets, your ass up, dress still bunched around your waist.

he kicks your thighs wider apart. one hand plants between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard. the other grips your hip. you whimper whiny, your hips rocking back instinctively. "heeseung — please —"

"please what?" he mocks. then he leans over you, his chest to your back, his cock still hard and sliding between your folds. he teases your entrance without pushing in. "please fuck your cheating cunt? please make you forget your fucking husband exists?"

"yes—" you whine, voice breaking. "please, just — i need it, i need you—"

he laughs and slams in in one brutal thrust, bottoming out so deep your breath punches out of you. the stretch burns so good and you're still sensitive from cumming earlier, walls fluttering around his cock. "fuck you're tight," he grits out and starts moving roughly in a punishing rhythm. hips snapping hard enough the bed frame creaks. every thrust jolts you forward, face smushing into the sheets. "taking me so good even after i fucked your throat raw— greedy little thing."

you moan into the mattress pushing back to meet him as best you can with your arms tied. “harder — please, heeseung—”

he slaps your ass once then grips both hips, yanking you back onto him with every stroke. “you want it harder princess?” his voice was  strained. “you just take it. take it and think about how you’re gonna crawl back to him tomorrow with my cum leaking out of you.”

your whines turn higher, needier. “gonna — gonna feel you all day—”

"damn right you will." he angles deeper and hits that spot that makes your toes curl. one hand slides up and wraps around the rope binding your wrists and he uses it like a handle, pulling your shoulders back, arching you harder. "scream for me again, let the whole fucking castle know who owns this pussy."

you do, while he fucks you rough and relentless, claiming every inch like he's marking territory your husband will never touch again. heeseung's hips snap harder now, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room like a filthy rhythm. your whines turn desperate, high pitched, every thrust punching the air out of your lungs. "f-fuck — too deep, hee —" you gasp.

he laughs darkly and breathless, one hand sliding up your sweat slick back to fist your hair again. "to deep? you're fucking soaked, princess, dripping down my balls." his voice is wrecked and mean, his hips grinding in deep circles. "bet you never cum this hard on his tiny dick. that's why you keep letting me steal you, huh? you need a real monster cock to stretch this cheating pussy?"

you're right on the edge — walls fluttering tight around him, clit throbbing from the friction every time his hips slam. "heeseung — i'm gonna — please"

that's when the door bursts open and slams against the wall with a crack. in waddles this short, stocky guy, his red hat crooked, his mustache twitching, overalls dirt streaked from whatever dumb quest he was on. his eyes go wide, his face flushing redder than his shirt as he freezes in the doorway. the little gloves on his hands clench into fists but he doesn't move. he just stands there, staring at the scene: you face down on the bed, ass up, bound arms pinned, your dress ruined and shoved to your waist while heeseung fucks you from behind.

heeseung doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down. if anything he goes even harder, his thrusts turning brutal, cock slamming so deep you feel it in your guts, and the obscene squelch of your cunt taking him deep fills the silence in the room. he glances over at the intruder, smirks wide and feral and then he turns back to you like the guy's not even there.

"oh look," he drawls, voice loud and mocking. "your little hero showed up early, probably thought he was gonna rescue his perfect princess." he yanks your hair back harder, forcing your head up so you're looking right at the door, right at him. tears streak your cheeks from the overstimulation and you bite your lip, but a moan slips out anyway, raw and needy. "tell him how good it feels, baby, come on. tell him you're creaming all over my cock instead of waiting for his pathetic ass."

your husband stammers something high pitched italian accented gibberish, his face twisting in horror and humiliation. his eyes dark from your flushed wrecked expression to where heeseung's thick cock disappears into you, slick and shining, his balls slapping your clit with every rough pound. your husband takes a step forward, then stops, his hands shaking like he doesn't even know what to do.

you try to speak, but heeseung cuts you off with a hard slap on your ass. your cunt clenching hard around him from the sting, and you whimper, your hips pushing back on instinct. "heeseung, f-fuck—"

"don't lie to him now baby," heeseung growls, leaning over closer, chest to your back, his mouth hot against your ear. "tell your husband the truth, tell him how you beg me to tie you up and fuck you raw every time. how his wife's pussy milks my cock." he punctuates each word with a deep thrust — in, out, in — making your tits bounce under the corset.

your husband's face crumples and he backs up a step, muttering something and then he spins on his heels and bolts out the door, slamming it shut behind him so hard the torches flicker. heeseung bursts out laughing and immediately pick up the pace, his hips pistoning faster now. "poor little guy," he mocks, chuckling under his breath.

his hand slides down from your hip, his fingers slick with your arousal, and without warning he presses one thick digit against your asshole, slowly at first, circling the tight rim before pushing in knuckle deep in one smooth slide. you jolt forward with a chocked whine, whole body clenching around both his cock and digit. the stretch burns, making everything feel even filthier.

"fuck you just squeezed me so tight," heeseung groans against your ear, finger curling inside you in slow, teasing pumps matching the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. "you like that, huh? my finger in your ass while i fuck this cheating pussy raw?"

you can't form words, just moans and whimpers, face pressed into the sheets now, drool pooling under your cheek. your hips push back chasing both sensations and heeseung laughs again, darker this time and twists his finger deeper. "answer me, princess," he demands. "tell me you love being stuffed full like a dirty little slut while your husband's probably crying somewhere."

"y-yes—" you sob, voice wrecked. "fuck yes — i love it, hee, please don't stop—"

"that's my girl," he hisses, stretching you wider with his finger while his cock pound relentless. "now cum for me, princess, cum hard on this cock."

and you do instantly, walls clamping down like a vice, your whole body shaking as the orgasm rips through you. "heeseung — fuck yes—" you sob, your voice whiny, gushing wet around him in hot pulses. he groans loud and follow right after, burying deep with one last brutal thrust. his cock throbbing, spilling thick ropes of cum inside you, filling you up until it leaks out around him, dripping down your thighs in warm, sticky rails.

heeseung collapses over you for a second, his chest heaving against your back, his cock still twitching inside you as the last pulses fade. his breath fans hot across your shoulder before he finally exhales. he pulls out carefully, watching the thick white spill out of you the second he bottoms out. it drips slow down your thighs, mixing with your own slick. he groans low at the sight, his thumb brushing once over your asshole down your swollen folds just to spread it wider, like he's admiring his work.

"that's my good girl," heeseung murmurs, the mean edge softening. he flips you over gentle, his hands under your shoulders, easing you onto your back so the rope doesn't dig in worse. your arms ache when they finally relax forward and he notices, and his fingers work the knots loose one by one, careful not to yank, rubbing slow circles over the red welts left behind. "fuck look at theses marks," he says. "gonna bruise so pretty tomorrow."

you shiver at the thought. he leans down and presses a slow open mouthed kiss to each wrist, his tongue flicking over the rope burns like he's soothing them and claiming them at the same time. then he hits back on his heels, his eyes raking over the rest of you: corset still half laced, dress a crumpled ruin around your waist, crown long gone somewhere on the floor.

"c'mere," he says, sliding his arms under your knees and back. he lift you like you weigh nothing, cradling you against his chest. your head lolls onto his shoulder, you're boneless and wrecked and still leaking him down your thighs. he carries you across the room, past the heavy velvet curtains into the attached bath chamber.

the tub's massive, black marble, filled and steaming with hot water that smells of something herbal like he planned this part too. he stops at the edge, still holding you, and sets you down on your feet gently, steadying you with his hands on your hips when your legs wobble. "easy there. let's get this off," he murmurs, his fingers finding the laces of your corset, working them loose one by one, slowly pulling out the silk loosen around your ribs. you breathe deeper, and then he peels the ruined dress down, no rush and no roughness. he strips down every last layer gently until you're completely bare.

he stands again, his eyes dark but soft as he takes you in. he doesn't say anything filthy this time, just leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, soft. he scoops you back and lowers you into the sub carefully. the hot water stings the fresh mark on your wrists and the raw skins of your ask for a moment, then melts into soothing warmth that makes your whole body loosen.

heeseung strips himself next, armor pieces first, his leather straps undone, shirt tugged over his head in one smooth motion, revealing the hard lines on his chest, the faint scars that look like old battle marks. pants down next, kicked off with his boots, and he's bare in seconds, his cock still semi hard, his thighs thick and his skin flushed from everything you just did.

he slides in behind you after, water sloshing over the rim. his long legs bracketing yours, chest to your back, pulling you in until you're resting against him completely. his arms come around you — one hand splayed low on your stomach, the other dipping under the surface to rest between your thighs, possessive but careful.

"relax baby," he murmurs against your ear softly. "let me clean you up, mhm?" he reaches for a cloth on the edge and dips it, squeezes warm water over your shoulders. he watches it run down your collarbone, between your tits and his hand follows, soapy now, sliding over your skin in long strokes. his hands roam over down your arms, careful over the rope marks. across your stomach, and then, between your thighs.

you tense when his fingers brush your cunt still sensitive and swollen but he shushes you. "easy, princess, i'm just washing you." but his touch lingers. two fingers part your folds gently, rinsing away the mess he left, thumb grazing your clit in slow barely there circles. you whimper, hips twitching up into his hand on instinct.

he chuckles low, his breath hot on your neck. "still needy huh? after all that?" he presses a kiss to the side of your throat, then another lower, teeth grazing your pulse. "good, means you're mine."

his hand keeps moving, washing and teasing, never quite enough to make you cum again but enough to keep you trembling. the other hand slides up to your neck, thumb under your jaw, tilting your head back so he can kiss you properly. he kisses you slowly and deeply, his tongue sliding against yours like he's tasting the last of himself on you.

when he pulls back, water dripping from his hair onto your shoulder, his voice drops quieter, rougher. "i want you to be my princess now," he says, his voice raw. "for real this time. not the fake kidnapping bullshit, just… you. here with me, no more going back to him."

you swallow, his fingers are still between your legs, but not moving now, just resting there. "say it baby," he whispers, lips brushing your ear. "say you're mine, please."

your breath hitches. you turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. "i'm yours, heeseung," you murmur, your voice small but sure.

heeseung exhales hard through his nose and kisses you again, harder this time, and his hand finally moves. his fingers slipping inside you slow, curling gentle but deep, his thumb pressing firm on your clit. "good job baby," he growls against your mouth. "now cum for me one more time, mhm?"

so you do — arching back against him, water sloshing over the edge, moaning soft and broken into his kiss while his fingers work you open and claim you all over again.

your husband will never know you spent the whole night tied up and desperate under the guy he thinks is his enemy. at least, it's not that hard being princess peach anymore.

perm taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff  @gh9sty @xoenhalover @bambiens @hoonsocks @jaeyunflix @jakesimfromstatefarm @hoonieyun

Even the sound of his name made your stomach twist. Lee Heeseung. It had that polished, arrogant ring to it, like it came pre-packaged with good genes, private tutors, and a trust fund.

He was everywhere. Every class you took, every debate you signed up for, every scholarship you applied to, there he was. Always one seat ahead, one second faster, one mark higher.

Four years. Four years of war.  NYU’s golden boy. The department’s favorite. And your personal nightmare. It didn’t matter how clever you were, or how incredibly, relentlessly responsible, because the conversation would somehow always circle back to Heeseung somewhere or other. It was always 

“Oh Y/N, this is great, but now take a look at Heeseung’s here—” 

Heeseung this and Heeseung that.  You were quite literally fed up with it. So, so tired of it.

“Miss Y/L/N, I assume you’ve completed the reading?” Professor Adler’s voice cut through your thoughts. You blinked, realizing too late that every head in the room had turned toward you.

“Yes,” you managed, flipping through your annotated copy of The Social Construction of Genius. “In fact, I was just thinking about how selective recognition often undermines actual intellectual merit.”

The professor raised an approving brow. “An excellent observation.”

Behind you, Heeseung’s smooth voice followed: “Are we implying, then, that recognition itself invalidates genius? Because if that’s the case, half of the Western canon ceases to exist.”

Your jaw tightened. He didn’t even look up from his notes; he just said it, confident and deliberate, like he knew you’d take the bait.

You did.

“I’m implying that social bias tends to elevate the loudest voice, not the smartest one,” you snapped. And there it was, the faint smirk you hated more than anything, that slow, condescending curl of his lips.

“Ah,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair, “then it’s fortunate I’m both.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the lecture hall. You didn’t laugh. You were too busy imagining how satisfying it would feel to throw your pen at his perfectly symmetrical face.

Oh how you would love to twist his perfect hair out of his scalp until—

“Miss Y/L/N, your counterpoint?”

You blinked, snapping back to the present. Professor Adler stood at the head of the seminar room, looking mildly entertained, which was far too much for your liking. The rest of your classmates had already turned toward you with that familiar, anticipatory grin.

Because everyone knew what was coming.

You and Heeseung were the unspoken spectacle of the Political Theory department, equal parts admired and pitied. Every lecture was a battlefield. Every debate, a duel.

“Yes, Professor,” you said, forcing a calm tone as you adjusted your notes. “While Mr. Lee makes an excellent argument about social contracts as tools of cooperation, he conveniently ignores their function as instruments of control. Hobbes wasn’t writing about harmony; he was writing about fear.”

A low hum of approval rippled through the room. You caught Heeseung’s subtle exhale, short, amused.

He looked infuriatingly relaxed in his seat, legs crossed, a fountain pen twirling between his fingers. The navy sweater he wore fit too well; his hair fell in just the right kind of mess that looked unplanned, but you knew wasn’t.

He smiled. “Fear, yes, but fear is what maintains order. You can’t expect morality without consequence. We aren’t altruistic by nature, are we?”

You gave him a tight smile. “Speak for yourself.”

The class laughed. Adler sighed.

“Children,” she said, though there was no real reprimand in her tone, “one of you will have to concede eventually.”

You glanced at Heeseung. “He can start.”

He grinned, pen tapping against his notebook. “After you.”

The debate dragged on for another fifteen minutes before the professor finally dismissed the class, muttering something about “academic tension and actual tension” under her breath.

You gathered your notes quickly, determined to escape before—

“Y/N.”

That voice again. Smooth, self-satisfied, silk dipped in amusement.

You didn’t turn right away. “What do you want, Heeseung?”

He leaned against the desk beside yours, close enough that the sharp scent of his cologne, expensive, woody, maddeningly clean, reeking of someone who’d never taken the subway during rush hour, slipped through the air between you. He never seemed to sweat, never seemed ruffled. Always perfect.

“Just checking if your boyfriend’s coming to the study group later,” he said, tone casual but eyes glinting. “I wouldn’t want to intimidate him again.”

Your jaw flexed. “He’s busy.”

He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “Shame. He’s fun to watch. Gets that twitch in his jaw every time you and I start arguing.” The corner of his mouth curved. “Almost like he’s… threatened.”

“He’s not.”

“Oh, come on,” Heeseung murmured, taking a small step closer. “Business major, right? You think he’s not comparing himself to your GPA?”

You glared at him. “Don’t talk about him.”

“Relax, I’m just saying—”

“Don’t.”

For a heartbeat, the room went still. He held your gaze, the practiced smirk fading into something quieter, almost curious. Then he straightened, sliding his pen behind his ear with that infuriating grace of his.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, rival.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving the echo of his cologne, his voice, and the uncomfortable thud of your pulse behind.

That night, your apartment felt too small. The hum of the refrigerator, the muted rush of city traffic, even the neon glow leaking through the blinds pressed against you like static. You should’ve been reading, outlining, doing anything productive, but every time you tried, his voice slithered back into your head. You dropped your pen, rubbed your temples.

Why does he always have to—

Your phone buzzed.

Jae: heeseung giving you hell again? You: always. Jae: don’t let him get to you. he’s just jealous.

You stared at the message for a long moment. A faint smile tugged at your lips, affection, habit, guilt. The idea of Heeseung being jealous of anything you had felt absurd, but the thought lingered anyway.

You typed back, He’s not worth the headache, then set the phone face-down. Silence again. The apartment lights were low, your laptop screen a pale reflection in the window. Outside, the city glowed, sirens, laughter, the hiss of rain on asphalt. It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

Because your heartbeat still hadn’t slowed since class. Because you could still see the shape of his grin when he’d said “rival.”

You reached for a sheet of paper, any excuse to focus on something else. A blank page stared back at you, judgmental.

At the top, in sharp, impatient letters, you wrote:

10 Things I Hate About You

You paused, then started listing.

You’re fucking selfish.

You make my boyfriend look like a roach.

You’re an annoying, cocky, rich bastard who doesn’t know what it’s like to work a day in your life.

You’re so bitchy, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.

You’re… handsome… I guess.

You’re fucking smart.

You’re unreasonably irrational.

Ink pressed deep into the paper, almost tearing it.

And right above it, a printed, zoomed-in photo of Lee Heeseung you snatched from the university website, his stupid NYU ID grin and all. You take a thick black marker and scratch a line straight through his eyes, once, twice, again, until the paper wrinkles under your fury. Then, for good measure, you add doodles, devil horns, a pitchfork, a speech bubble that reads “I’m a pretentious jerk.”

When you step back, arms crossed, breathing hard, the sight calms you. A little.  Until you remember you’ll have to see him again tomorrow. And then the marker squeaks again, right over his smile this time.

You leaned back, chewing at your lip. The first three spots were still empty, waiting for something vicious, something that would make the list feel complete. But your mind stayed blank. Or worse, it kept circling back to the way his voice had softened when he said your name.

You exhaled, frustrated, and pinned the list to the wall above your desk with a pushpin. A list for your own sanity. A declaration of hatred, discipline, survival. You told yourself it was proof, proof that you despised him, that you were in control of the narrative.

But as you stared at the crooked paper fluttering gently in the breeze from the half-open window, another truth whispered through the noise of the city. If you didn’t write it down, if you didn’t force yourself to remember all the reasons you loathed him…

You were afraid you might start thinking about him again.

The NYU campus always looked prettier when you were in a bad mood. Maybe because you refused to admit that anything about this place could actually be pleasant.

The morning air bit at your cheeks as you crossed Washington Square, cup of coffee in one hand, laptop bag in the other. The quad was alive with that academic chaos you secretly loved, students shouting about forgotten projects, professors clutching their papers like shields, the occasional skateboarder weaving through the crowd like a death wish in motion. You thrived in this misery. It was your natural habitat.

You had a seminar in thirty minutes and a caffeine dependency to feed, so you ducked into the tiny café off Mercer Street. It smelled like burnt espresso and ambition, just the way you liked it.

Nothing like a cup of overpriced coffee and the crippling weight of student debt to start the morning.

The line moved slow. You scrolled through your emails, tuning out the chatter behind you, until you heard a voice that made every nerve in your body stiffen.

“Large Americano. Two shots of espresso. And, uh, put it on my tab. Lee Heeseung.”

You froze. Of course. Of course, he’d be here. You could almost feel the universe laughing at your suffering.

When you turned, there he was. NYU’s golden boy himself, standing at the counter with that effortlessly perfect posture, a navy sweater rolled up just enough to show his veins, hair tousled in the kind of way that screamed I don’t try, I just wake up like this.

Heeseung glanced over his shoulder and met your stare, like he’d felt your glare burning into his back. His lips tilted into that infuriating smirk, the one you’d come to recognize as his favorite pastime.

“Y/N,” he said, voice smooth as espresso. “Didn’t think you were a morning person.”

“Didn’t think you were a person at all,” you muttered.

He laughed. God, even that sounded smug. “Still as charming as ever.”

“And you’re still everywhere I don’t want to be.”

“You wound me.”

The barista slid both your coffees across the counter at once. You grabbed yours like a weapon. Heeseung lingered just a second longer, enough to make it annoying, enough to make your stomach twist with irritation (and something you refused to name). You could feel his smirk following you out the door.

By the time you reached your seminar room, you’d already decided to forget about him. You had bigger things to worry about, like your final thesis proposal, which was due next week. You’d spent months researching potential mentors, finally settling on Professor Kim, the woman who basically ran the entire department.

When she walked in, everyone straightened up. She had the kind of presence that could silence a hurricane.

“I’ve reviewed all of your thesis requests,” she announced, setting a neat stack of papers on the podium. “And I’ve made my decisions.”

You sat up a little straighter.

“For the joint thesis mentorship, our top applicants—” She paused, scanning the class. “I’ll be pairing Y/N and Lee Heeseung.”

It took a full three seconds for your brain to process the words. Then you blinked.

“Wait, what?”

Heeseung turned his head, slow and deliberate, eyes locking with yours. His expression? Pure, delighted evil. Lucifer would be jealous. Gosh, how much you wanted to punch that expression off his handsome—no, wait, not handsome—face.

“Two best minds in my department,” Professor Kim continued, clearly proud of herself. “You’ll challenge each other. Competition breeds brilliance.”

“Or murder,” you muttered under your breath.

“I’m sorry?” the professor asked, glancing up.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, arms crossing, a lazy grin on his lips.

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, huh?”

You gripped your pen so tightly you were surprised it didn’t snap.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ll be too busy actually working.”

“Good,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to carry you.”

You hated that your pulse skipped when he said “we.”

Misery loves company.

You hated him. You hated his smirk, his laugh, his unearned confidence. But most of all, you hated that your heart was beating faster than it should’ve been.

You told yourself it was just a presentation. One joint project, one shared grade, one final chance to prove that Lee Heeseung wasn’t as perfect as everyone thought he was.

You were wrong.

The first study session was at Bobst Library, third floor, right under that giant window that made everyone look academically miserable in the morning light. The kind of light that exposed every pore and regret. You arrived early, because of course you did, claiming the table near the outlet and spreading your notes like battle plans.

Your coffee had gone lukewarm by the time he appeared.

Heeseung strolled in like the world owed him a GPA. Coffee in one hand, laptop in the other, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. He looked like the kind of person who didn’t study so much as absorb knowledge through sheer arrogance. That damn easy grin was already in place.

“You started without me?” he asked, sliding into the chair opposite you.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t show up,” you said, not looking up.

“That’s rude.”

“That’s honesty.”

He laughed softly. It wasn’t even a bad laugh, worse, it was the kind of laugh that made the corners of your mouth twitch before you caught yourself. You hated that.

“So,” he said, opening his laptop, “our topic—‘The Intersection of Economic Inequality and Modern Ethics.’ Sounds fun.”

“Fun?” You raised a brow. “You think the collapse of late-stage capitalism is fun?”

“Everything’s fun when you win.”

You stared at him for a long, dangerous second.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here we are, studying together.”

You briefly considered shoving your stapler into his coffee.

Heeseung worked in irritating bursts, typing fast, leaning back, sipping coffee like it was an accessory to his brilliance. You, on the other hand, poured over citations, checking every comma like it was sacred. Every so often he’d lean over, his cologne brushing the air, and murmur something like:

“You know, for someone who hates me, you sure like sitting close.”

“I’m sitting close to the outlet.”

“Sure you are.”

You considered throwing your pen at him. Instead, you highlighted your notes with unnecessary aggression. Pretty sure you tore a page at some point of time.

By 8 p.m., the library had mellowed into that quiet hum of collective suffering. Someone’s classical playlist leaked faintly from across the aisle. The smell of stale espresso and ambition hung in the air.

“You type too loud,” you said suddenly.

Heeseung didn’t look up. “You breathe too judgmentally.”

“You click your pen like you’re trying to summon demons.”

“You highlight like you’re trying to exorcise them.”

You scowled. Heeseung smirked. Somewhere in your chest, something traitorous fluttered. You blamed it on low blood sugar and the stress he was giving you.

Around nine, you both decided to take a break. You went to refill your water bottle; he followed, of course. 

“Following me now?”

“Supervising. I don’t trust you not to poison my coffee.”

“I don’t need to. The campus café did that for me.”

He snorted, leaning against the vending machine. “You know, I actually thought you’d be worse.”

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged, the motion lazy, infuriatingly confident. “You give off overachiever with a superiority complex vibes, but you’re… tolerable.”

“Wow. High praise from the man who thinks capitalism is a competitive sport.”

He smirked. “You noticed.”

You hated the way your pulse jumped when he said it.

Back at the table, the silence was louder. The kind where every key press felt intimate. You caught yourself glancing at his hands, long fingers tapping the trackpad, knuckles flexing. You quickly looked back at your notes like they’d personally offended you.

He leaned back suddenly. “Your thesis paragraph’s weak.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s circular. You’re using the conclusion to prove the premise.”

“It’s nuanced.”

“It’s a rhetorical ouroboros.”

“You’re a rhetorical nightmare.”

Heeseung laughed quietly, eyes glinting. “You like it when I challenge you.”

“Wrong.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

You wanted to strangle him with your laptop charger. But he’d laugh, and probably say something along the lines of, “That’s kinky.” You vanquished that image from your mind as quickly as it had propped up, because you did not need that kind of energy. By midnight, the library had thinned out, leaving only the desperate and the delusional. The city glowed faintly through the glass. You’d both slouched into an unholy blend of exhaustion and focus.

When you caught him staring, you didn’t mention it. When his knee brushed yours under the table, you pretended it didn’t happen.

“You’re frowning again,” he said.

“I’m thinking.”

“You always frown when you think.”

“You always talk when no one asks.”

“See? That’s why we work well together.”

You gave him a flat look. “We don’t.”

“Sure we do. You bring the neurosis, I bring the charm.”

“You bring the delusion.”

“That too.”

He smiled, slow, knowing, dangerous.

At 1 a.m., you finally saved your draft and shut your laptop with a sigh. “Truce,” he said, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up just slightly.

You looked away too fast. “This isn’t a war.”

“Sure feels like one.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’d rather die than admit you like the competition.”

He wasn’t wrong, and that was the worst part.

You both headed out together, the fluorescent hallway buzzing faintly. Heeseung walked beside you, too close, your shoulders brushing every few steps.

“Next session, my place,” he said casually.

You scoffed. “So you can distract me with your ego? No thanks.”

“Please. My ego’s the least distracting thing about me.”

You gave him a look so sharp it could’ve drawn blood. “I’m sure you think that’s true.”

He smiled, leaning just a little closer. “I don’t think. I know.”

You reached the elevator, hit the button a little too hard. “Goodnight, Heeseung.”

“Night, partner.”

The doors closed on his grin.

Back home, your room looked like the inside of your brain, notes, coffee mugs, half-dead highlighters. On your wall was your “10 Things I Hate About You” list. Above it, taped crookedly, was a candid photo from class, Heeseung mid-smirk, mid-sentence, mid-irritation.

You grabbed a marker and, in furious black ink, wrote:

11. You make me forget I’m supposed to hate you.

Then you stared at it for too long before scratching it out, the ink smearing. You dropped the marker, muttering, “Not worth it.” Because you didn’t need that energy in your life. 

But when your phone buzzed, the screen lit up with a new text:

Heeseung: next time, bring better arguments. and maybe better coffee.

Asshole, you muttered, smile betraying you.

You sighed, half-laughing, half-ready to throw your phone across the room. Then, against your better judgment, you saved his contact under HEESEUNG (DNI!) and went to bed smiling, furious about it the whole time.

You had never believed in curses until that day, the day of the presentation from Hell.

Because apparently, the gods of Academia had decided that watching you and Lee Heeseung crash and burn in front of an entire seminar room was peak entertainment.

Now, three days later, your list titled “10 Things I Hate About Lee Heeseung” had evolved into something far less poetic and far more deranged, forty-three bullet points of rage, complete with footnotes, timestamps, and the occasional profanity-laced rant in all caps.

You’d even taped a printout of his face on the cover of your notebook (mainly because you ran out of space to right more on the original one still taped above the list) a very unflattering picture from the campus newspaper, and scratched over it with black ink until it looked like some avant-garde art project about suffering.

Nothing like a cup of overpriced coffee and casual defamation, you muttered under your breath, nursing your latte as you sat in your usual corner of Bobst Library.

The paper cup was already sweating against your palm, caffeine burning through your veins as if it could erase the memory of his smug face saying, ‘You sure you want to go with that argument? It’s weak even for you.’

You’d wanted to throw your entire laptop at him. Instead, you’d smiled sweetly and said, “I’d rather be weak than wrong, but clearly, you wouldn’t know the difference.”

The class had gasped. The professor had sighed. And Heeseung had grinned. Now, every time you blinked, you saw that grin, the kind of grin that said I got under your skin, and you can’t stand it.

You took another sip of your drink, scrolling through your notes. The thesis outline was a disaster: chaotic annotations, mismatched citations, and a Google Sheet that looked like it had been color-coded by Satan himself.

Somewhere between the footnotes and the coffee stains, you realized the most humiliating part of all: he’d been right about a few of his critiques.

Just a few, though. Enough to make you furious about agreeing with him. 

So you added another item to the list:

#44 — He’s annoyingly correct sometimes, and I hate that about him.

It wasn’t just that presentation. It was every presentation after that.

Because somehow, despite your mutual loathing, the professor thought your “chemistry” made your debates productive. She called it “healthy academic friction.” You called it hell in a PowerPoint.

Week after week, you found yourselves side by side again, debating utilitarian ethics, arguing over Kant versus Marx, and turning every discussion into an intellectual knife fight.

Heeseung would lean back in his chair, that lazy smirk tugging at his mouth, and say things like: “Your definition of moral relativism is convenient. You should trademark it.”

And you’d shoot back, “Maybe I will, since you love profiting off other people’s ideas.”

The class loved it. Your professor called it “dynamic engagement.” You called it slow emotional decay. Because the worst part wasn’t that he got under your skin, it was that sometimes, he made sense. And that, God help you, was almost attractive.

By the time Jaehyun, your sweet boyfriend, showed up at your table that afternoon, you’d already spiraled into the familiar academic delusion, where your laptop screen looked blurry from exhaustion and your thoughts felt like static.

“Hey, baby.”

You looked up to find him holding a smoothie in one hand and his backpack in the other, hair tousled like he’d just come from a jog. Business major, marketing minor, too kind for his own good.

He smiled at you, that soft, easy smile that always made your heart unclench.

“You’ve been here since morning, haven’t you?” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. “Did you even eat?”

You hummed, reaching for his smoothie straw. “Coffee counts.”

He gave you that look, the one that said he’d argue if he wasn’t too used to losing. “You’re gonna burn out, Y/N.”

You offered a dry smile. “I’ll burn out faster if I fail.”

He chuckled, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “You won’t fail. You never do.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the words “never do” suddenly reminded you of Heeseung, because that’s what people said about him.

And that reminder sat like a stone in your stomach.

“Was it that bad?” Jaehyun asked later, after you’d packed up your notes.

You hesitated. “You mean the presentation?”

“Yeah. I heard from someone in the class next door. They said it got… heated?”

You snorted, looking away. “That’s one word for it.”

Jaehyun smiled lightly, trying to coax the tension out of your shoulders. “You didn’t punch him, right?”

“Tempting, but no. I used my words like a civilized scholar.”

“That’s my girl,” he teased. “Always articulate, even in warfare.”

You grinned, because he was trying, and that softness of his had always been your weakness. But your mind, cruelly, flickered to the memory again, Heeseung standing beside you at the front of the room, his voice low and steady, the two of you volleying arguments back and forth like it was a blood sport.

He’d cornered you rhetorically, just enough to make your pulse quicken. You’d countered with a point sharp enough to draw metaphorical blood.

And when the professor finally stopped you both, he’d leaned down and whispered, “You make losing almost worth it.”

Almost.

You’d stared straight ahead, every nerve in your body awake.

Now, sitting across from Jaehyun, you forced a laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Heated’s the word.”

He followed you home that evening, carrying your bag like he always did, talking about his internship, the new campaign he was planning, how excited he was for summer. His voice was calm, steady, dependable. Everything Heeseung’s wasn’t.

At your apartment, he set your bag down, opened the takeout boxes, and said, “I figured you’d forget dinner. Again.”

You smiled faintly, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “You know me too well.”

“Of course I do.” He sat beside you, passing you chopsticks. “So, how’s the thesis coming?”

You hesitated. “Exhausting. Heeseung’s… Heeseung.”

Jaehyun grinned. “The guy who argued with the professor about ethical relativism for twenty minutes?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sounds like you met your match.”

“God, don’t say that.” But you were smiling again, small and traitorous.

He nudged you. “Hey, maybe he pushes you because he sees potential.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “People only argue that hard when they care. You both clearly… care.”

You nearly choked on your noodles. “We don’t, no, he’s, ugh. He’s impossible.”

Jaehyun laughed, oblivious. “You always say that when you like someone a little bit.”

You went very still.

He reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

You forced a laugh, even though something cold unfurled in your stomach.

He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. Because nothing had happened. But still, there was something about the way Heeseung looked at you across the seminar table, the way his voice dipped when he said your name, that made you feel like something had.

And that guiltm the quiet, heavy kind, was starting to eat at you.

After dinner, you both sat watching some mindless reality show. Jaehyun’s arm was draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. You leaned into him because you wanted to feel steady again.

“This is nice,” he murmured. “You, me, no spreadsheets, no caffeine addiction.”

You smiled into his shoulder. “You make it sound like I’m a corporate intern, not a philosophy major.”

“Same thing.”

You laughed. He pressed a kiss to your temple, soft, familiar.

And yet, in that soft moment, your brain betrayed you again: Heeseung’s voice, low and mocking, saying, ‘You argue like you’re afraid of being wrong.’

You blinked it away, forcing yourself back into the present, into Jaehyun’s warmth.

“Sorry,” you murmured, pulling back slightly. “Just… brain’s still in study mode.”

He nodded, smiling even as a hint of worry crossed his face. “It’s okay. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

You wanted to reach out, to tell him that it wasn’t him. That it was the damn project, and the rivalry that had turned into something you couldn’t quite name. That you didn’t mean to carry the ghost of another man into your living room.

But instead, you just squeezed his hand.  Because Jaehyun was safe. And Heeseung was chaos.But your heart enjoyed the adrenaline of the thrill he gave you.

That night, when you got home, you opened your notebook again.

Page after page of messy handwriting, coffee smudges, and angry doodles, Heeseung’s name scribbled over, circled, underlined.

You traced the list with your finger. #12 had been “He breathes too loud.” #17: “Thinks sarcasm is a substitute for personality.” #38: “Smiles like he knows something I don’t.”

You added one more line, slow and deliberate: #45 — He ruins everything good. Even the people who don’t deserve it.

Then you stared at it for a long time, jaw tight, before closing the notebook and turning off the light. But as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone buzzed once.

HEESEUNG(DNI):

Next week’s topic, moral responsibility under power imbalance. Try not to make me look too bad, yeah?

You didn’t need to ask who it was. You stared at the message until the screen dimmed, your pulse thrumming in your throat. Then, against your better judgment, you added a new note at the bottom of the list:

#46 — I hate that I want to reply.

The final presentation day came like a storm.

You’d dressed in your sharpest blazer, printed the slides three times, practiced until your throat ached. You weren’t nervous, not really, but the moment Heeseung walked in, something in your chest went tight. He looked infuriatingly calm, like the room belonged to him, like you belonged to the argument that was about to unfold.

He dropped into the seat beside you, tie perfectly straight, voice low enough for only you to hear. “Ready?”

“Born ready.”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth curving in that way that made your pulse flicker. “Let’s hope your argument was, too.”

You wanted to roll your eyes. You wanted to hate the way he smelled faintly like cedar and coffee. Instead, you stared ahead and told yourself that the heat in your neck was irritation,  not anything else.

At first, it went fine. The two of you were balanced, almost graceful: he spoke, you followed; you countered, he adapted. The class was caught between awe and anticipation. It should’ve been perfect, it always almost was.

Until it wasn’t.

He cut in halfway through slide nine, voice steady, confident. “Oh, come on, Y/N,” he said, a hint of laughter beneath the words. “You can’t seriously think your theory holds without variance bias. That’s, what? freshman-level oversight?”

Your heart stuttered. Not because of the jab, but because he was smiling when he said it. Like this was foreplay. Like you were the only one who mattered in the room.

You forced a breath, the edges of your voice sharper than you meant. “Maybe if you actually read the data instead of coasting on charm, you’d see the difference.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, surprise, maybe. Hurt, maybe. He hid it with a lazy lean on the podium. “Some of us don’t need to read everything twice to understand it.”

The room fell quiet. You could hear your heartbeat in the silence.

You finished your part, each sentence mechanical, distant. But your hands trembled on the remote, and your throat burned with words you couldn’t say, You make me crazy. I hate that I care what you think. I hate that I see you.

When the polite applause came, you didn’t wait. You gathered your notes, spine stiff, and walked out before anyone could stop you.

You heard him behind you, his voice, softer this time, calling your name. You didn’t look back. Not until the sound of quick footsteps closed in, and a hand caught your wrist.

“You don’t always have to prove you’re smarter than me,” he said. It wasn’t mocking. Not this time. His voice was low, raw, like he’d been swallowing those words for weeks.

You turned slowly, your breath uneven. “Maybe if you weren’t handed everything, I wouldn’t have to.”

The line hit him harder than you expected. For once, Heeseung looked unsure, eyes flickering over your face like he was trying to read something that didn’t belong in the syllabus.

“I didn’t mean to humiliate you,” he said finally. His voice cracked just slightly, enough to sound human. “I just, I get caught up when it’s you.”

That last word hung there. You. It wasn’t the word itself, but how he said it, careful, quiet, like it meant too much.

You swallowed hard, trying to hold the glare, but your pulse betrayed you. “Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t say things you don’t mean just because you feel bad.”

He shook his head. “You really think I don’t mean it?” He took a small step closer. You could see the tension in his jaw, the apology in his eyes that words could never cleanly hold. The hallway light hit his face just right, and suddenly he didn’t look like your rival anymore. Just a boy who’d spent four years hiding behind precision and ego, too proud to admit what was obvious to everyone else.

For a moment, you forgot to be angry. For a moment, you almost let him touch your face.

Then the thought of slide nine, of the laughter in his voice, the sting of the class watching, came crashing back. The ache hardened.

You pulled your hand free. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“Y/N—”

“No,” you said quietly, backing away. “You don’t get to look at me like that after what you said.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that pressed between ribs. He opened his mouth, closed it again. And when you turned, the air between you trembled, a wound half-open, half-healed.

You walked away before he could see the first tear fall. But he didn’t move either, not until the echo of your footsteps faded completely, leaving him alone in the fluorescent quiet with the taste of everything he never said.

There were worse ways to ruin a week than crying in a university hallway because of Lee Heeseung. You told yourself that on repeat for the next two days, while pretending not to hear his name in class, while skipping the seat you always took beside him in the library, while ignoring the small white envelope someone had slipped onto your desk during seminar.

His handwriting was unmistakable, neat, angled, infuriatingly confident.

You left it there the whole lecture, staring straight ahead while your pulse thrummed in your ears. When class ended, you shoved it into your bag without opening it. You didn’t want to know what he had to say. You didn’t want to see his words and feel something again.

You lasted until Friday.

Inside wasn’t a letter, just a single sticky note, black ink on white paper, written in that maddeningly calm handwriting you’d memorized from every red-marked comment on your Google Docs.

We don’t have to hate each other. Let’s be civil. Coffee? Sunday, 4 p.m., Blue Bottle, Lafayette Street.

You stared at it for a long time before tossing it into the trash.

You picked it out again five minutes later.

You spent Saturday overanalyzing every word. 

“Civil” — what did that mean?

“Coffee” — neutral, safe, casual, but written with a period, not a question mark. Was it really an invitation or a command?

And Sunday? He knew you hated studying on weekends. Was that deliberate? Was he deliberate?

By Sunday afternoon, you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even forgiveness. It was diplomacy. A truce. Two overachievers agreeing not to combust in public again.

Still, you changed your outfit three times.

You ended up in a cream sweater, dark jeans, and boots that clicked too sharply against the pavement as you walked. You didn’t bring your notes, but you did bring your pride, stuffed somewhere between your phone and your emergency concealer.

“Nothing like a cup of overpriced coffee and unresolved resentment,” you muttered under your breath as you pushed open the door.

The café smelled like roasted beans and quiet pretension. He was already there, of course he was, sitting by the window, sunlight painting his skin gold. His navy sweater looked soft, annoyingly so, and his hair fell just the right way over his eyes as he scrolled through his laptop.

You froze for half a second. He looked… human. Not the academic rival who made your blood boil, just a boy who’d stayed up too late grading his own perfection.

Then he looked up and smiled, and the spell broke.

“You came,” he said, standing just slightly, like you deserved a proper greeting. “Didn’t think you would.”

You crossed your arms. “You left me a note. Who does that? Are we twelve?”

He chuckled, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. “Apparently, it worked.”

You sat, dropping your bag onto the floor like a punctuation mark. “Let’s make this quick.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You always start conversations like that?”

“Only with people who make me cry in hallways.”

He flinched, small, barely visible, but it was there. You caught it, and for a split second, you hated yourself for noticing.

“Right,” he said quietly. “About that. I was, I went too far.”

You folded your arms tighter. “You think?”

“I just… sometimes I forget that not everything’s a competition.”

“That’s literally all you make it.”

“I know.” He met your gaze, and this time there was no smirk to hide behind. Just a raw honesty that made your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “That’s why I asked you here.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You’d built your entire script around hating him, not around him apologizing. So you looked away, muttering, “This doesn’t make us friends.”

He smiled faintly, almost shyly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The first twenty minutes were awkward. You stirred your coffee until the foam collapsed. He made polite small talk about class. You gave short answers that were supposed to end conversations but somehow didn’t.

Then, slowly, the tension shifted. He made a joke about your color-coded notes, “I swear you’re one sticker away from a full psychotic break.”

You snorted, despite yourself. “You alphabetize your citations. You have no right to talk.”

“Touché.” He grinned. “But mine at least look normal.”

“Normal?” you scoffed. “You literally color-code your pens.”

“That’s organization.”

“That’s a cry for help.”

The banter slipped back like muscle memory, sharp, familiar, addictive.

You teased him about his pretentious taste in coffee (“You pay eight dollars for bean water”), and he shot back, “I’d offer to buy you one, but you’d accuse me of privilege again.” You laughed, an actual laugh this time. The sound startled both of you.

After that, it got easier. You talked about professors who graded too harshly, about the smell of the psychology lab that no one could explain, about how the vending machine on the second floor only ever dispensed diet soda.

He told you about the time he accidentally called your mentor “Mom” in a meeting, and you laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink. He laughed too, and it wasn’t that calculated, public kind of laugh you’d seen in class. It was real, unguarded, boyish.

Somewhere between all that laughter and teasing, you realized something horrifying: you were having fun.

You shouldn’t have been. But you were.

When you looked up mid-sentence, you caught him watching you, not with amusement or challenge, but with something warmer. Softer. Like he was memorizing you.

“What?” you asked, heat crawling up your neck. He blinked, looking away too quickly. “Nothing.”

“You were staring.”

“You were talking.”

“Same thing.”

He smiled, small and knowing. “You think I stare at everyone I talk to?”

You scoffed, flustered. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’re still here,” he murmured.

The air shifted, heavier, quieter, charged. You busied yourself with your drink, but your heart was drumming too loudly for you to taste anything.

When you finally glanced at your watch, it was almost six. You stood abruptly. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Right,” he said, smiling like he already knew you were lying to yourself. “Just two people who hate each other a little less.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’ve said worse.”

As you turned to leave, he called out, “Hey.” You looked back, hand on the door.

“Next time, I’ll buy the coffee.”

“There won’t be a next time,” you said automatically.

He only smiled. “We’ll see.”

That night, your phone buzzed.

A new message. 

Heeseung: Still think I’m a rich asshole?

You stared at it for a full minute before typing back.

You: Yes.

A pause. Then —

Heeseung: Goodnight, rival.

You rolled your eyes, thumbs flying.

You: Don’t call me that.

No response.

You stared at the screen for longer than you’d admit, waiting for the typing bubbles that never appeared.

When you finally set the phone down, you realized your chest felt strangely hollow. Not angry. Not smug. Just, expectant.

Outside, the city hummed softly through your window, lights blinking like faraway stars. You told yourself it was just caffeine. Just the high of debate and intellectual adrenaline.

But deep down, you knew better. Because every time you closed your eyes, you still saw him, leaning across the café table, smile crooked, eyes warm, saying your name like it meant something new.

You could feel the distance before it had a name.

At first, it was just space, small, harmless things. The missed calls, the rescheduled dates, the way Jaehyun’s texts came slower, shorter, like ellipses that never quite closed.

Then it was the silences. The kind that didn’t come from anger, but from exhaustion. The kind where he’d sit beside you on the couch, scrolling through his phone, and you’d sit there too, close enough to touch, but miles apart in every other way.

And under it all was that quiet, gnawing guilt.

Because you knew why.

You thought about someone else too much.

You said you hated him, but your heart didn’t believe it.

It never did.

Jaehyun noticed before you did.

He noticed the way your tone changed when you said Heeseung’s name.

He noticed how your eyes flicked down when he asked how the project was going.

He noticed that you smiled, smiled, when you got a text late at night and swore it was “just your class group chat.”

He didn’t ask at first. He trusted you. You’d been together for two years, through finals and burnout, broken coffee machines and nights spent studying until dawn. He knew you better than anyone. At least, he used to.

Lately, you’d stopped talking at all.

It started small. A Thursday night, his apartment. You showed up late, still buzzing with caffeine and irritation, muttering about Heeseung’s impossible standards and his ridiculous new “efficiency chart.”

Jaehyun listened, like always, half-smiling, half-tired, until your rant trailed into silence. Then he said, quietly, “You talk about him a lot.”

You froze mid-sip. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but there was an edge there. “Just… you talk about him more than you used to.”

You blinked. “Because he’s annoying, Jaehyun. You know that. I’m venting.” 

“I know,” he said. “It just… doesn’t sound like venting anymore.”

That stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “It means I can tell when something, someone, is getting under your skin. And I think he has.”

You laughed, sharp and defensive. “You think I like him? Are you kidding me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Jaehyun looked at you then, really looked, and there was something in his eyes you’d never seen before. Something brittle. “I think you think about him,” he said slowly. “And I think you don’t realize how much.”

You scoffed. “So now I can’t even talk about my partner for class without being accused of cheating?”

He shook his head, jaw tight. “That’s not what I said.”

“Feels like it.”

“I said you think about him,” he repeated, voice rising a fraction. “That’s not the same thing, but maybe it’s worse.”

You set your cup down hard. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“It means I watch you,” he said, exasperated. “I watch you light up when you talk about him, even when you’re mad. I watch you defend him when your friends complain about him. I watch you come here every night exhausted and still manage to bring up something he said.”

“That’s not fair—” 

“It’s true!”

The word cracked through the room.

You stared at him. “You’re overreacting.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Am I? You don’t tape pictures of people you hate.”

You went still.

He nodded once, grim. “Yeah. I saw it.”

“Jaehyun—”

“The list,” he said quietly. “The one on your wall. Ten Things I Hate About You. Real subtle. And the extended one in your notebook?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“It’s not what you think,” you managed finally, voice small.

He laughed once, sharp and hollow. “Then what is it? A scrapbook?”

“It’s a joke,” you said quickly. “It’s stupid. It’s—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted. “It is. Stupid. And childish. And maybe even cruel.”

You flinched. “You’re making this sound worse than it is.”

“I don’t have to make it sound like anything,” he said, pacing now, running a hand through his hair. “You already did that yourself.”

“Jaehyun, please, stop. You’re twisting it.”

“No,” he said, turning sharply. “You are. You’re twisting everything. You’re twisting how you look at him like you don’t even realize it. You talk about how much you hate him, but your eyes say something else. You think I haven’t noticed?”

Your chest felt tight, your throat burning. “You’re imagining things.” 

He barked out a humorless laugh. “Right. I’m imagining the texts you hide, the late nights, the way you flinch when his name comes up. I’m imagining the smile you try to bite back when you read your stupid project messages.”

“Stop,” you said, voice trembling.

“Why? Does it sound too close to the truth?”

You stared at him, tears stinging. “You think I’d ever do that to you? After everything?”

He shook his head slowly, something breaking in his expression. “No,” he said softly. “I think you already did, just not in the way you think.”

You swallowed, the room spinning. “You’re being unfair.” 

“I’m being honest.”

Silence. It was unbearable. He finally spoke again, voice quiet, wrecked. “I don’t think you cheated, Y/N. I think you fell in love with the idea of someone who challenges you. Someone who fights you. Someone who sees you the way you’ve always wanted to be seen.” He exhaled, long and shaky. “And I think you stopped seeing me a long time ago.”

Your lip trembled. “Jaehyun—”

He shook his head. “Don’t. You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m not,” he said, eyes glassy now. “You are.”

You took a step forward, desperate. “I only have eyes for you.”

He gave a soft, bitter laugh that sounded like the end of something. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”

The words hung there, trembling between you.

Something inside you splintered.

He exhaled again, quieter this time. “You don’t have to explain it. I get it. I really do. You can’t control what you feel.”

“Jaehyun, please, don’t go.”

He smiled sadly. “You already did.”

The silence that followed felt endless.

You didn’t cry until he closed the door, quietly, carefully, like he still didn’t want to wake you from the wreckage.

And when you finally did, it wasn’t loud. It was the kind of crying that came from your ribs, quiet, trembling, raw. Because for the first time, you realized you’d lost something good. And worse, you weren’t even sure you wanted it back.

You block him before you can change your mind.

Not Jaehyun, Heeseung. It happens in the half-light of evening, your reflection ghosted on your phone screen, thumb trembling over his name. You stare at it like it might blink first.

There’s no unread message. No missed call. Nothing waiting. He hasn’t texted since the presentation feedback last week, nice revisions, good job, rival. But that doesn’t stop you from checking. Over and over.

Every time your screen lights up, a part of you hopes it’s him. Every time it isn’t, something small inside you sours.

So you do it. Block.

The gray icon disappears, and with it, every trace of his number. The chat thread turns to dust, all those sarcastic quips, snarky comments, inside jokes born from too many nights editing Google Slides together. Gone in a second.

Silence.

Your chest burns like you swallowed static. You don’t breathe until your phone screen goes black again, until there’s no chance of him replying, until the quiet presses so hard it becomes a sound of its own.

You shove the phone into your tote bag before you can regret it, before you can start imagining what he’d say if he found out.

(You blocked me? Wow. Guess I win after all.)

(Or maybe he wouldn’t say anything.)

That thought hurts worse.

You switch on Do Not Disturb like it might mute your thoughts too, then head for the subway. You don’t even know where you’re going until you’re already there.

Bobst.

It’s muscle memory, your body moving through the gates, your ID card beep echoing faintly, the scent of old books and burnt espresso wrapping around you like something half-familiar. The third floor. Near the outlets. Your spot.

You’ve always liked it there, tucked behind the concrete pillar, half-hidden from view, where you could disappear for hours under fluorescent light. No one ever takes it because it smells faintly like dust and caffeine and loneliness.

You drop your bag. The thunk echoes. Open your laptop. The screen flares to life, sterile and white. Blinking cursor. Blink. Blink. Blink. It almost sounds like a heartbeat. You’re supposed to be finishing your paper. You’re supposed to be fine.

But Jaehyun’s voice won’t leave your head. “You don’t tape pictures of people you hate.” 

And your own voice, brittle, defensive, “It’s not like that.”

And then the silence that followed. The kind that settled like ash after something burns out. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You try to type. You really do. But every word feels hollow, meaningless, tinny against the white noise of your thoughts. You told him it was bullshit. You told him you loved him. You told him Heeseung was nothing.

And maybe, maybe you even believed it when you said it. Maybe you wanted to. But sitting here now, under the too-bright lights of the library, your reflection warped in your laptop screen, you realize how quiet it’s been since you blocked him.

Too quiet. Too still. Heeseung used to fill the silence. Not kindly, not gently, but completely.

With sarcasm, with competition, with that sharp glint in his eye when he’d say, You missed a citation, or You’re getting sloppy, rival. With laughter that slipped out between arguments, too quick to catch. With tension that lived in the air like a current, humming beneath every word.

Now there’s nothing. Just the hum of the outlets beneath your table. The faint buzz of someone’s pencil scratching behind you. The hollow ache of space he used to take up without even meaning to. You glance at your phone again, knowing what you’ll find:  Nothing. No missed calls, no messages, no notifications, just the faint ghost of his contact name still flickering behind your eyes.

You tell yourself you did the right thing. That cutting him off is cleaner. That silence is easier than confusion. That love isn’t supposed to feel like an argument you can’t stop having.

But the cursor keeps blinking, steady and cruel, and all you can think about is how much you miss the noise. How much you miss him.

And how blocking someone doesn’t make them leave. It just means they live somewhere quieter, in your head, in the pauses between sentences, in the silence you tried so hard to escape.

The library’s nearly empty when you realize you’re crying.

Not the cinematic kind, no trembling lip, no single tear gliding down your cheek like a poetic tragedy. It’s the ugly, silent kind. The kind that sneaks up on you mid-sentence, salt water catching in your throat until you can’t swallow around it anymore. The kind that leaves your sleeve damp and your heart hollowed out.

You don’t even remember what triggered it. Maybe a stray sentence in your draft. Maybe the memory of Jaehyun’s voice, tired and heavy. Or maybe just the sound of your own breathing echoing too loud in the emptiness. You try to hold it in, to blink fast, breathe steady, pretend your body isn’t betraying you, but it’s useless. You press the heel of your palm to your eyes, like you could physically push the emotion back inside, but it spills through anyway, quiet and relentless.

That’s when you hear it. Footsteps. Soft. Hesitant. Familiar. And somehow, you know. Of course you do. You don’t need to look up. Your body recognizes the rhythm before your brain does. Of course it’s him.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, his name catching like a splinter in your throat.

For a second, there’s nothing, just the sound of the outlets humming, the air conditioner sighing. Then comes the scrape of a chair pulled out beside you. He doesn’t say anything, no smirk, no comment, none of the sharp edges you’ve learned to brace for. Just the quiet rustle of fabric as he sits.

You keep your eyes on the table, because looking at him feels dangerous. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t try to. He just sits there, elbows resting on the desk, gaze flicking between your laptop and your trembling hands like he’s trying to measure the damage without making it worse.

For a moment, you both just breathe. The world narrows to that, breathing, blinking, existing. The hum of the outlets fills the space. The city beyond the glass blurs into streaks of orange and white, like watercolor bleeding at the edges. Somewhere below, a siren wails and fades. Someone laughs too loud on the first floor. Life goes on, indifferent, distant.

Then, finally, his voice, soft enough you almost miss it.

“You know,” he says, “you’re the only person I can’t predict.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. “That’s because you think too highly of yourself.”

He smiles, small, real, a flicker of warmth cutting through the chill in the air. It’s the kind of smile that starts in his eyes and doesn’t need words to finish. For the first time in weeks, the silence isn’t cruel. It’s gentle. Like a truce neither of you expected but both needed.

You stare at the table, tracing a crack in the wood with your fingertip, before your voice breaks the quiet again, soft, cracked open. “I feel guilty, Heeseung. So fucking guilty.”

Your throat burns, your eyes sting. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t answer. He just shifts, the movement so subtle you barely notice until his chair scrapes closer. Then his arm is there, hovering, hesitant, like he’s asking without words. You don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

When his arms finally wrap around you, it’s cautious at first. Then tighter, steadier, an anchor you didn’t know you were reaching for. You let yourself fall into it. Into him.

The scent of his hoodie, clean detergent and coffee and something that’s just him, floods your senses. Your forehead presses to his shoulder, tears soaking through the fabric. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. He just holds you.

He doesn’t say it’s okay. He doesn’t say I told you so. He just lets you cry, steady and real, until the ache in your chest starts to ebb.

It’s the first time you’ve ever let him. The first time you’ve let anyone. When you finally pull back, your eyes are swollen, your nose red, your breath uneven. The laptop screen glows quietly between you, the cursor still blinking like a metronome for everything unsaid.

Your voice comes out a whisper, small and breaking. “He and I... we didn’t officially break up yet.”