idc what y’all say nothing can change my mind I just know jungwon and jake are PACKING like have u seen jungwon shoulders and jake lower half built?? I’m saying those make up a guys size but have u seen jake soundcheck in jakarta and won weverse live with maeum.. if they aren’t huge I’ll genuinely be so shocked
No cuz I so agree with this,,
Aboyt the Jungwon live with maeumi though, I was way too focused on Maeumi to notice what Jungwon was packing but upon reinspecting the live just because of your ask, I definitely saw it lmao
warnings; angst, dacryphilia, angst, emotional abuse, ANGST, mentions of exessive drinking, did I mention angst? this chapter doesn't have much smut, it's mostly angst.
WORD COUNT: 15k
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Chapter 2 of Lessons Learned
It was gonna be hard filling out the cracks he's left on you and your family, (and vice versa), but you'll have to manage, and you are managing it. Just not in the healthiest way possible. Your coping mechanism of choice was day-drinking and party-hopping every night, making out or even going as far as sleeping with random strangers to help you forget all about Sunghoon. You thought this was fine. It wasn't harming anyone. Oh, but it did. It made Ivan grow more wrinkles, especially when you'd come home smelling like sex and hard liquor.
Ivan's brow furrowed in frustration as he paced back and forth in the small kitchen, his hand running through his hair for the third time in as many minutes. The late afternoon light streamed in through the window, casting long shadows that only seemed to emphasize the heaviness of the conversation.
You sat at the counter, arms crossed tightly over your chest, avoiding his gaze. Your fingers drummed absently on the ceramic mug in front of you, the coffee long cold. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate, and neither of you seemed able to bridge the gap that had grown between you.
"I just don't get it," Ivan finally snapped, voice low but strained with barely contained anger. "You're—you're destroying yourself, and I can't just stand here and watch you do it. What happened to you?" You stared down at the mug, swallowing hard. The words stuck in your throat, thick and bitter. You weren't sure how to explain this to him — how could you? How could you explain the hollow ache inside, the need to drown everything out with the noise of another drink, another stranger, another night that didn't matter?
"I didn't ask for your help, Ivan," you muttered, your voice rough from both the alcohol and the fatigue that seemed to have settled into your bones. "I don't need a babysitter." Ivan's eyes narrowed, a flash of hurt crossing his face before he forced it down. "I'm not trying to babysit you, damn it! I'm trying to save you." His voice shook with the effort to keep his composure. "You think I don't know what you're doing? You think I don't see you slipping further and further away every day?"
"I'm not slipping," you shot back, irritation lacing your words. "I'm fine." He shook his head, exasperated. "No, you're not. You're not fine, and you know it. You're out of control." Ivan took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but his fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. "I've told your sister, I've told your family, and still, you keep doing this. Why? Why are you doing this to yourself?"
The question hung in the air, sharp and accusing. You felt a sting in your chest, a pang of something you couldn't name. The silence stretched on as you fought the urge to let out the truth — but the truth felt too raw, too heavy. "I don't need to explain myself to you," you said quietly, but it lacked conviction. The defensiveness you put up was starting to crumble beneath the weight of his words.
Ivan's voice dropped, becoming softer, but more desperate. "You're not explaining yourself to me. You're explaining yourself to you." He took a step toward you, his face softer now, the anger replaced by worry. "Look at you. You're not the same person anymore. You're pushing me away, pushing everyone away. Do you think this is just about you drinking? It's about you running from something. I don't know what it is, but I can't watch you keep spiraling like this."
Your gaze finally lifted to meet his. There was a flicker of something in his eyes — pain, fear, maybe even a little bit of guilt, but it only made your stomach twist in knots. You wanted to scream, to shove him away, to tell him it wasn't his problem, but the words wouldn't come. You just felt numb.
"I'm fine," you repeated, but even you could hear the lie in it. "No," Ivan's voice cracked with frustration. "You're not. And I can't keep pretending like everything's okay. I care about you too much to just sit here and do nothing while you destroy yourself." You stood up abruptly, shaking your head, unable to stay still. "Don't act like you know me. You don't. You're just some guy trying to fix someone who's already broken."
Ivan stepped forward again, his eyes pleading. "I'm not trying to fix you. I just want to help you, damn it. Why can't you let me in? Why can't you trust me enough to let me help?" A bitter laugh escaped you, but it was hollow, empty. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Ivan. I'm not the person you think I am." Ivan's face softened, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the situation had suddenly crushed him. "You're still you. I know it feels like everything's falling apart, but you're not lost. You don't have to do this alone."
But you couldn't stand it anymore. The suffocating concern. The disappointment in his voice. You couldn't breathe under the weight of it. Without thinking, you turned on your heel and stormed toward the door. "I can't do this right now." Your voice cracked, but you refused to show him any more vulnerability. Ivan called after you, his voice rising with urgency, "Where are you going?"
You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your only focus was getting away from him, from the house, from the conversation that was circling back to the same tired point. Your hand gripped the doorknob as you fought back the rush of tears threatening to break free. Before you left, you glanced over your shoulder. Ivan stood frozen in the kitchen, looking like someone had punched him in the gut. His hands were trembling, and his lips parted as though he wanted to say something else, but the words wouldn't come.
"I'll be fine," you said, though you both knew it was a lie. Then you slammed the door behind you, the hollow sound reverberating in the silence that followed.
Ivan grew worried about you, but he couldn't really prevent you from sneaking out of his house. He'd check up on you in the morning after an argument about your new-found alcoholism only to find your window open and a dent in the bed you were supposed to be lying in. He's already told your family, in hopes that they could get you thinking straight again, yet even they weren't able to bring you back to your senses.
You were a mess. A drunk, depressed mess. Currently staring up at a ceiling you weren't familiar with, limbs entangled with a whole bunch of other sweaty, and blacked out people from the part you no-doubt got too excited from last night, since you felt an impending headache pound at your temples. Rubbing at your forehead with tired, nimble fingers as your brows drew together in pain. You palmed your pocket to check if your phone was there. Good news; it was. Bad news; it was dead.
Weakly gathering your belongings, you stuffed them into your purse. Skipping over the countless bodies and red plastic cups strewn all over the beds, couch and floors with a grunt, you tried to find the door out of this place so you can get the hell out and call a taxi to Ivan's as soon as possible. As if you weren't already having trouble making your way around this big ass dorm, your hangover decided to hit you now of all moments, turning the once stable room into this blurry labyrinth.
Stumbling, you felt your vision deter for a moment, legs failing to keep up with your thoughts, you were about to fall down. Thankfully, a strong grip caught you by your biceps before your ass got the chance to hit the floor. "Woah, careful there hot stuff. Looks like you had too much to drink last night." Your savior drawled, and immediately, you put a face to his voice, ultimately remembering who owned the place. It was Jay, from a certain fraternity you were affiliated with. Which would mean you were at their frat house right now.
Great. You were 40 minutes away from Ivan's.
Jay's sturdy hands pulled you back to stand on your own two wobbly feet, never leaving your arms in any case you trip over again. "You okay?" The pace of the room spinning slowed down until it came to a halt, your dreary eyes finally meeting his fierce ones. "Man you look like shit" He whispered. Mustering up what little body-control you had left to give him a nod, to which he gave an unsatisfied groan or acknowledgement. He gently pulled you somewhere, and you followed blindly. Normally, you would've slapped him and told him to fuck off by now, but you weren't really in the state to put up a fight.
He kept tugging you along behind him, looking back at you every now and then to see if you bumped into any corner or something, up a flight of stairs and a couple more turns until you reached a less crowded wing of the dorm. Finally stopping your little walk to open the door to what you assumed was his room, he ushered you (who was leaning against the wall to keep yourself from falling) into his room. You caught a glimpse of this other girl who was half-naked on his bed jolt at the sudden intrusion.
"Get out." Jay said, emotionless, stunning the girl and making her scoff, thinking he was just kidding. "You heard me, didn't you? Out. Now." He repeated, grabbing the girl by the arm and practically shoving her outside the room, all while you stood watch from the side. He finally turned his attention back to you, hands finding it's way wrapped around your wrist and guiding you to rest your body on his bed.
"Why did you kick her out?" Out of all the other, more sensical questions you could've asked, you chose that. You didn't know why but it felt like the right one to ask in that moment. Jay simply chuckled in response, joining you, collapsing onto the bed as well, cradling the back of his head with his hands. "Didn't feel like sharing space," he muttered.
You didn't bother replying. The pounding in your skull was starting to sync up with your heartbeat, and the room still tilted slightly every time you blinked too fast. You let your head fall back onto the pillow, eyes slipping shut, hoping the silence might give you a second to breathe.
But of course, he broke it. "Shouldn't your boyfriend be looking for you right about now?" he asked, voice dipped in lazy amusement. Jay grinned like he'd just caught you off guard. "C'mon, a girl like you doesn't just end up at a party like this without someone losing their mind about it. Some athlete guy or whatever, right? Skater boyfriend or something?"
That snapped your attention toward him. Your brows furrowed, confusion wrinkling your expression. "What?" "You have a boyfriend, right?" he added casually, like he hadn't just dropped a loaded issue onto your fragile morning. You sat up halfway, squinting at him. "How do you—?" Jay shrugged like it was no big deal. "Everyone on campus knew you two. The golden couple. Picture-perfect." He paused, watching your reaction closely, the smirk on his lips tightening. "Didn't expect to see you at one of our parties, though."
You swallowed hard. "We're not together."
Jay blinked, briefly caught off guard. "Oh... Damn. My bad. Just figured with how you carried yourself back then — cold, focused, untouchable — someone already locked you down." You sat up a little, groaning as your headache punched you behind the eyes. "I'm not really in the mood for small talk." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Wasn't trying to make small talk."
That answer set off a low warning in your gut, but you didn't move. You couldn't. Not yet. You just stared at the wall, chest tightening. You swallowed thickly, unsure if it was nausea or dread climbing up your throat. "Who are you?" He chuckled again, propping himself up on one elbow. "You wouldn't know me. Most people don't. But I know you." You shifted uncomfortably, wrapping your arms around yourself. The air suddenly felt colder. Jay leaned a little closer, eyes never leaving your face.
"I saw you skate once," Jay added, softer now — but not gentler. "Nationals, a couple years back. You were wearing this icy blue outfit. Hair slicked back like you were ready to ruin someone's life. I went with my mom. She kept commenting on your form. I couldn't stop staring at your legs." You stiffened slightly. His tone was too casual for what he was saying. Too confident, like he didn't think it was creepy.
"You were hot as hell," he said with a small laugh. "Still are." You turned away, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted. "I wanted to talk to you after that," he continued, eyes dragging over you again. "But you had that face. Like you were already taken. Like no one else existed." You didn't respond. Didn't want to feed the moment. Didn't want to find out where this was going, even though you already knew.
Jay leaned back again, as if he hadn't just peeled a piece of your past open and held it up for inspection. "But now," he said with a small smile, "you're here. Kinda wild how things work out." You stood up, ignoring the throb in your head, and grabbed your purse. Jay didn't move to stop you. He just watched, gaze trailing your movements like he already had a version of you built up in his mind — and last night, maybe he thought he finally got close enough to taste it.
"The door's down the hall," he said. "Don't trip on the bodies."
You didn't answer. You just left — heart racing, throat tight, wondering how you'd gotten so far from the person you used to be... and how many more strangers were going to see you like this before you finally stopped.
[*]-----===[☠]===-----[*]
Ivan opened the door for you, helplessly staring at your drunk state for what felt like the umpteenth time that week. You could barely hold yourself upright, stumbling in with glassy eyes and the scent of cheap liquor clinging to your clothes. It was becoming a twisted routine: you disappearing into the night, and him opening that same door in the early morning hours, bracing himself for the sight of you barely hanging on.
He hated it. Every second of it. But he couldn't lash out at you now—not when you looked so fragile. And tonight, you looked even more broken than usual. There was something different in your eyes. Something that clung to you like a ghost. He had a feeling he knew what it was. Or rather, who it was.
Jay's careless question still echoed in your head—"Shouldn't your boyfriend be looking for you right about now?"—and it made your stomach churn. The walk back from the frat house had been hell. That single sentence had stirred a storm of memories, forcing your mind to replay your breakup with Sunghoon over and over like a scratched-up mixtape you couldn't shut off.
It pissed you off more knowing that he was already dating that Minji bitch—openly, even proudly, parading her around campus as if you were never part of his life. You'd seen the photos. Him smiling beside her like she was the prize at the end of a race. It was disgusting. Infuriating. Heartbreaking. And somehow, Jay didn't even know you and Sunghoon had broken up. Guess the news didn't reach everyone.
Two months. It had been two months since the breakup, and yet you still hadn't moved on. Not really. How could you? You spent six fucking years loving that boy. Six years building a life with him, believing—knowing—that he was your future. And all of that... gone. Like it never meant anything to him. Because the day after he ended things, he posted a photo with Minji, hand on her waist, her lips brushing his cheek. That's how you found out.
It destroyed you.
Because that meant he had her lined up all along. That while you were crying yourself to sleep, barely able to eat, barely able to breathe, he was out there already replacing you. Already happy. His actions screamed that those six years were disposable. That you were disposable.
Meanwhile, your world collapsed. Your relationships with friends, your focus on school, even your self-worth—it all crumbled. You were stuck in the ruins, trying to make sense of what you did wrong. Wondering why he didn't fight for you. Why he didn't show up at Ivan's doorstep with your favorite flowers in hand, crying in the rain, begging to be taken back. That was the least he could've done. But he never did. No calls. No texts. Just silence. Just... nothing.
So, you started to treat him the same way.
You tried to forget him by throwing yourself into strangers—letting unfamiliar hands trace skin they didn't deserve, letting their mouths write lies across your collarbone. You smiled with your teeth and not your eyes, danced until your feet ached, drank until your lips forgot how to speak his name. Skimpy dresses became armor, lip gloss became distraction, and sex became an escape hatch. Every party was a stage, and you played your part flawlessly—the wild one, the carefree one, the girl who didn't care anymore. But deep down, you were just the girl still bleeding under her glitter.
Day-drinking was easier than admitting you were hurting. A shot before your morning class, a spiked drink tucked in your tote bag, alcohol woven into your daily routine like it was a form of self-care. Your friends raised brows, but you shrugged and laughed, playing it cool like it was all a joke. You weren't drinking to get drunk—you were drinking to forget. And most days, you were too numb to even tell the difference.
You wandered from party to party like a ghost with good eyeliner, haunted by your own heartbeat. Every night was another blur of sweaty skin and strangers' laughter, another playlist of songs you didn't like pounding in your skull. You clung to the bodies of people you barely knew, hoping their touch would scrape away the memories. They pressed you against walls, whispered nothings in your ear, hands eager, lips desperate—but none of it reached you. You felt like a mannequin dressed in desire.
Their kisses were messy and thoughtless, all tongue and teeth, nothing tender. They didn't know how to touch you, not really, not in the way you craved. Their fingers moved like they were trying to win a game, not learn your language. And yet, you let them. Again and again and again, because if you stayed still too long, you might remember the silence he left behind.
You let them fuck you in bedrooms with the lights off, in bathrooms with the sink pressing into your back, in cars that smelled like sweat and gasoline. You said yes when you didn't mean it, faked moans like it was second nature, and left before they could ask your name twice. You weren't looking for connection—you were looking for oblivion. Something fast. Something forgettable.
But nothing ever stuck. Every body you pressed against felt more like a placeholder than a presence. Every orgasm felt like chasing a high that never came. No one looked at you long enough to see past your thighs. And maybe that was the point.
You'd lie in strangers' beds with the ceiling spinning above you, the sheets damp and your skin crawling with regret. Their scent always lingered too long on your skin, clashing with your perfume in the worst way. You'd slip out quietly, clothes wrinkled, heels in hand, mascara smudged and pride shattered. Sometimes you'd catch your reflection in a hallway mirror and barely recognize yourself. You looked like a girl who had everything under control—and felt like a girl who'd lost her soul in someone else's sheets.
Even in their arms, you felt alone. Even in a crowded room, you felt invisible. Even with mouths pressed to your neck and praise spilling from their lips, it all rang hollow. They didn't want you. They wanted what you gave so easily—skin, sound, surrender.
The void in your chest grew heavier with every morning after. The more you gave yourself away, the more fragmented you became. Pieces of you scattered across dorm rooms and strangers' memories, never quite whole again. You began to wonder if there was even anything left to keep sacred. And still, you kept going.
Somewhere in the blur of hookups and hangovers, it hit you—this wasn't what you wanted. You didn't want sex. You wanted safety. You wanted arms around you, not hands on you. You wanted someone to pull you in when you were falling apart, not someone who peeled your clothes off before even learning your name.
You craved comfort like oxygen—something real, something still. You wanted the weight of someone's chest under your cheek, their voice a soft murmur in your hair, promising you that not everyone disappears. That not everyone takes and leaves. That love, the kind that stays, might still exist for people like you. But the more you searched for it in strangers, the more you realized they didn't have it to give.
These boys didn't look at you like you were something precious. They looked at you like a challenge, a pastime, a pretty body wrapped in emotional distance. Their kisses were rushed, their hands clumsy, their intentions thin. There was no warmth in them—just heat. And even that never stayed long.
You started to notice how shallow their touches were, how forced your laughter sounded, how each encounter left you colder than before. You began to feel like a shell, doing things that once gave you a rush but now just drained you dry. The hollowness crept in slowly, like smoke filling a locked room. You tried to pretend it wasn't suffocating. But every time the high wore off, you felt more alone than ever.
You stopped counting how many boys you'd kissed. You stopped looking them in the eye. Because you knew if you did—if you really saw them—you'd have to see yourself too. And maybe that was what scared you the most. The reflection of a girl who gave herself away in pieces, hoping someone might care enough to gather them.
The world felt colder now. Not in the weather or the air, but in the way people passed you without looking twice. In how easy it was to be touched but not held. In how your name was spoken like a footnote. In how no one ever stayed long enough to see past your body.
You missed the kind of closeness that didn't end with the buzz wearing off. You missed whispered conversations under blankets, sleepy morning texts, and soft laughs that felt like home. You missed being known. But most of all, you missed how it felt to belong to someone who wanted to keep you, not conquer you. Someone who made you feel like you mattered, not just in bed—but in the world.
And that someone had been him.
Sunghoon had been your anchor, the only one who ever held you together when everything else fell apart. With him, even silence had felt safe. You didn't have to chase attention or earn softness—he gave it freely. He was your calm, your constant, your shelter from the chaos.
But now, without him, everything felt unsteady. Each day was a tightrope walk with no safety net, each night a plunge into loneliness that no body could fill. The world felt sharper, meaner, more dangerous. Like you could disappear, and no one would look twice. Like maybe you already had. Like even if you disappear, no one would even notice
But Ivan did. He always does. He didn't ask questions, didn't press, didn't scold. Just caught you when you were crumbling again, holding you together in the quietest way possible. Like a thread keeping your unraveling from turning into collapse.
He didn't say anything as he helped you inside, guiding your barely responsive body toward the couch. You couldn't even meet his eyes; everything inside you was knotted and swollen, a bruised heart too sore to speak. Your limbs moved like dead weight, your soul heavier than you could carry on your own. Ivan didn't hesitate—not even for a second. He tucked the blanket around your shoulders like he'd done it a hundred times before.
He sat beside you, not close enough to crowd you, but close enough to catch you if you shattered. The silence between you wasn't awkward—it was gentle. The kind that wrapped around your ache instead of digging into it. He didn't try to fix you with words. Just his presence, steady and grounding, letting you fall apart without fear of being seen as weak.
You didn't speak either—your thoughts too loud, your throat too tight. But Ivan didn't need the noise to understand the storm inside you. He knew you too well. He'd seen you bruised, both inside and out, and never once did he look away. Never once did he treat you like you were too much to handle.
He watched you the way someone watches a fire—not with fear, but with reverence. Like you were something powerful, and hurting, and beautiful all at once. His eyes flicked over your features, tracking every quiver of your jaw, every flicker of pain behind your lashes. Not judging. Just seeing.
Wishing, with every breath he took beside you, that he could pull your sorrow into his chest and carry it for you. But he knew better than to try. Healing couldn't be handed over—it had to be reached for. And you weren't there yet. Not really.
Still, he stayed. Because he always did. Because he knew you weren't okay, and maybe you wouldn't be for a while, but you didn't have to be alone in that. Not while he was around. He made the ache more bearable just by being near.
You leaned your head against the back of the couch, staring blankly at nothing, and only then did you feel it: the subtle shift in the air. The difference between being tolerated and being cared for. Ivan didn't want anything from you—not your body, not your distractions, not your apologies. Just you, exactly as you were, broken pieces and all.
And for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like disappearing.
The silence gave you room to breathe, but it also gave your thoughts space to scream. You sat there, swaddled in Ivan's borrowed blanket, and felt the full weight of everything you'd tried to bury. It wasn't just about being used, or discarded, or forgotten—it was about being unloved. About being loved once, and then not enough to be stayed for. That kind of abandonment doesn't just sting—it brands.
You tried to make sense of it, tried to find the exact moment when things began to rot beneath the surface. Was it something you did? Something you failed to give? Something he found in someone else that he couldn't find in you? Your mind spun in circles, blaming yourself for crimes you weren't even sure had been committed.
The pain wasn't sharp anymore. It was dull and constant, like the throb of an old wound you kept picking at. You weren't crying—but your chest ached like you'd been sobbing for hours. Like you were holding back a dam with nothing but shaking hands and bitten lips. And Ivan just sat there, letting you bleed in silence.
You remembered how it felt to be loved by him—by Sunghoon. How his fingers would tangle in your hair like they belonged there. How he'd whisper your name like it meant something sacred. And for a while, it did. Until it didn't.
There was no goodbye. No dramatic end. Just the slow dissolving of effort, of softness, of presence. One day, you were the girl he smiled at first thing in the morning. The next, you were someone he could leave without a word.
And no one warns you about that. No one tells you that the real heartbreak isn't always in the ending—it's in the drift. In how someone can love you loudly and then leave you quietly. In how their absence echoes louder than their affection ever did. In how you wake up one morning and realize the arms that once held you now hold someone else.
You hated how much you still loved him. Hated how the memory of his voice could make your throat tighten. How certain songs still made your stomach drop. How you couldn't even hear his name without feeling something in your chest collapse in on itself. It was pathetic—and you knew it—but knowing didn't make it stop.
You'd given him the softest parts of you, and he'd walked away like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. And now you were left trying to stitch yourself back together with trembling hands and strangers' kisses. But none of it worked. Because he'd taken parts of you that no one else knew how to hold.
You turned your head slightly, just enough to see Ivan out of the corner of your eye—his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed, not in anger, but in that quiet frustration that came from watching someone you care about get broken by someone who didn't. He still didn't say a word. But he didn't have to. His presence was a steady reminder that not everyone leaves. That some people show up—even when you're unrecognizable in your grief.
The memories didn't wait for permission. They came like waves, crashing hard and unrelenting. You blinked, and suddenly he was there again—Sunghoon, barefoot in the kitchen, hair messy from sleep, humming some old song as he poured you coffee in your favorite chipped mug. He'd glance back at you and grin like you were everything. Like he couldn't believe he'd gotten so lucky.
You remembered the way he used to look at you from across a crowded room. How the world seemed to hush around you when your eyes met. There was always this little secret smile he gave you, the one no one else got. And when he pulled you aside, his hand on the small of your back, it felt like the whole night existed just for the two of you. Like the universe conspired to make that moment happen.
He had this way of folding you into his chest like home. You could be ranting, crying, half-laughing through the chaos of your day, and he'd just pull you close, murmuring, "You're okay. I got you." That was the part you missed most—being gotten. Being understood without having to explain yourself. You hadn't realized how rare that kind of safety was until it vanished.
It wasn't a perfect relationship. God, no. There were fights, silences, bruised egos—but even then, there had always been this belief in each other. A trust. And maybe that's what made the end feel like such a betrayal—not that it ended, but that he stopped believing in you first.
You remembered the last time he kissed you. Really kissed you. Not out of habit, not out of obligation—but with that slow, sweet ache like he still meant it. And then after that... he didn't. His lips still touched yours, but it felt mechanical. Like a door slowly closing.
The drift had been silent, almost imperceptible at first. Fewer texts. Less laughter. Shorter calls. Until one day, you realized you hadn't heard him say "I love you" in weeks—and when you did, it sounded like punctuation, not a promise. Like a line rehearsed too many times to mean anything anymore.
The worst part? He didn't fight for you. Not once. He let you walk away like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you hadn't peeled yourself open for him. Like you hadn't handed him your heart and said, "Be gentle."
You often wondered if he felt even a fraction of the wreckage he left behind. If he ever laid awake, haunted by the sound of your voice cracking mid-argument, or the look on your face the night everything crumbled. But you knew better. People like Sunghoon don't lose sleep over the girls they abandon—they just move on, leaving you to clean up the mess alone.
Ivan shifted slightly beside you, drawing you back to the present. You didn't look at him. You couldn't—not with your eyes glassy, throat tight, body filled with the ghosts of what once was. But you felt him there, solid and still. And for tonight, that was enough.
Even with the solace that Ivan's presence provided, tonight was drifting into one of those nights where the silence felt louder than any sound. Jay's words still ringing in your ears. The kind that curled around your ankles and pulled you under like smoke, dense and consuming. Outside, rain tapped the windows in a tired rhythm, the sky painted in navy and violet bruises. Inside, your apartment was dim, lit only by the blue hue of your phone screen and the flickering candle you'd forgotten to blow out.
You were three glasses of wine deep—not enough to blur the edges, but just enough to make the loneliness shimmer. You should've gone to sleep, but instead, you laid back against the couch, thumbs hovering over your screen, rereading the old messages. Not the ones filled with sweet nothings or blurry photos at 2 AM, but the ones that mattered. The ones where he said he was proud of you, that he liked your laugh when it cracked at the end, that he hated how time always ran out when he was with you.
Sunghoon.
You hadn't talked in weeks. Not since you broke things off. Not since he cheated. Not since your body curled into his bed again like it belonged there. You typed out a message; "Hey. I know it's late but... I was just thinking about you. I guess I just wondered if you're okay. Or maybe I'm just drunk. Idk." as your thumb hovered over "Send."
Then, like some cruel twist of fate, you saw it. His story. You shouldn't have tapped it. You should've closed the app. But your finger moved before your sense could catch up. It was the dimly-lit room that you once shared with him, warm with amber light. A record spun in the background, low jazz filtering through. A brief video first—just the room. Two wine glasses on the table. Someone's giggle off camera. Then the next slide. A photo. Minji.
She sat across his lap, one arm draped lazily around his neck. Her head tilted back in laughter, his eyes crinkled like they always did when he was genuinely smiling. His hands were on her thighs, intimate and so fucking familiar it made your skin crawl. Her dress hiked up just enough to show he didn't care who was watching.
No caption. None needed.
You stared. Blinked. Your throat burned. That raw heat behind your eyes stung before the tears even welled. You went back to your unsent message. Deleted it. Locked your phone. Tried to breathe. But every breath dragged against the sharp edge of something that used to be soft—used to be yours.
You buried your face in your hands, trying to will the image away. But it stuck. It rooted itself into the back of your eyelids, blooming behind your vision like a bruise every time you blinked.
You slept restlessly that night, if you could call it sleep. Mostly just shifting under the covers, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the ways people choose someone else. And how it feels when they never choose you.
Wonyoung let herself in like she always did—no knock, no warning, just the sound of keys jangling and the door creaking open. "Don't kill me, but I brought smoothies instead of coffee," she called out as she stepped inside. You were still curled up on the couch, same hoodie from the night before, eyes swollen in that tell-tale way. She didn't say anything for a second. Just stood there, her glittery nails wrapped around two smoothie cups, looking at you like she already knew.
"Oh babe," she sighed, walking over and setting the drinks down. She crouched in front of you, brushing your hair back gently. "Please tell me you didn't check his story." You said nothing. She clicked her tongue, not angry—never angry—just disappointed in that way only best friends can be. She knew what you'd seen. Everyone did. Minji had reposted it too, adding a white heart over the photo like that made it sweeter. It didn't.
"Why do you even still check his page?" Wonyoung asked softly. You gave a weak shrug. "Habit, I guess." She sighed again, standing up and handing you the smoothie. "Drink. We're going out tonight." You blinked. "What? No, Ivan really—" "Ah-ah," she cut you off, hands on her hips. "You're not sitting here and letting another girl's thigh photo ruin your weekend. You need a reset. And the best place for that?" You stared at her. She grinned. "A frat party." You groaned. "Wony—" "No. You're coming. I already picked your outfit. We're summoning your slut era, whether you like it or not."
This time, with a friend named Wonyoung in tow—your designated guardian angel in a glittery dress. She had promised to keep a watchful eye, to be your benevolent ally in case the scent of beer whispered too sweetly in your ear again. Wonyoung never drank much, claiming she liked to remember the night rather than piece it together the morning after.
She looped her arm through yours the moment you stepped inside the house, eyes scanning the crowd, lips tugged in a half-smile that almost said, I know why you're really here. And maybe she did. Maybe she saw the way your gaze flickered, the way your breath hitched when someone laughed in the same timbre as his, or how your fingers twitched like they were looking for something familiar to hold. But she didn't say anything. Just squeezed your arm gently and tugged you toward the kitchen, like a silent pact had been made: no chaos tonight—at least, not the kind that breaks you.
Scanning the crowd, you hoped you'd see a familiar mop of jet black hair. Not Sunghoon's soft ones, but a certain someone's sharp undercut. Alas, the place was filled as hell, given that this specific frat always threw the craziest parties. You were quick to give up on your little search for the man, heading to the little kitchen island where some rando was serving a concoction of assorted liquors.
Still, even after your disappointment, a small part of you genuinely wished that he'd somehow show up in front of you again. Maybe if you got damn near blackout drunk again, he'd bring you to his room to sober up again. You don't know why you're suddenly seeking him out. That is to say, you did know. You relished in the thought of someone wanting you again, not just after one night, but someone who fucking wanted you for years. You wanted to leave it to fate, yet you feared if you didn't act now, your chance with him would slip further and further away. Like how Alice desperately chased the rabbit she caught glimpses of, you wanted to make an escape to chase Jay.
Slipping away under Wonyoung's gaze when a friend of her hooked her into a juicy conversation, your feet guided you to where your heart (and pussy) was begging you to go, stopping at his door, as your hand hovered over the knob, hesitating. What if he had a girl in here? Flashbacks of the time you caught Sunghoon with Minji raced through your desperate mind. Then again, Jay seemed more than willing to kick out that girl from that morning just to get you to rest. Fuck it.
Quickly swinging the door open, you were met with Jay who was laying on his bed, guitar in hand, eyes darting to you at the sound and comotion you made for your entrance. Raising a brow in amusement, he asked, "Oh? If it isn't little miss single. How may I help you?" His teeth flashed when he gave you that grin of his, confident. Cocky.
Your eyes flicked down to the guitar on his lap, but the smirk on his face pulled you in harder than any melody he could strum. You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you with a click that felt heavier than it should've. Jay's eyebrow quirked again, this time curious, but his fingers stilled on the strings. "Didn't peg you for the barging-in type," he teased, voice low and playful, but something sharp lingered behind it—like he already knew why you were here. You didn't respond, only moved closer, drawn like a moth to a flame you knew could burn you alive.
You swiftly hovered above him now, straddling his lap like you belonged there, but Jay didn't move—not yet. His hands rested at your hips, not gripping, not pushing, just... waiting. And suddenly, in the silence that stretched too long, that memory from the morning before pushed itself to the front of your mind. The way you had slumped through the dorm halls, barely able to see straight, and how Jay—so annoyingly cool and unaffected—had wordlessly carried you to his room. You'd cried, not even knowing why, but he'd stayed through it, brushing your hair back, muttering something about how he and his mom had watched you skate, how you "floated like you weren't even human."
And maybe that was the moment something shifted. Not the words themselves, but the way he said them—quietly, like they were a secret he'd been holding onto for too long. "I never made a move 'cause you were his," he'd whispered, eyes trained on the wall like he couldn't bear to see your reaction. "But I wanted to. Since that night I saw you perform." You remembered laying there, half drunk, half crying, but fully aware that Jay had meant it—and that he hadn't touched you. Not even then.
Now, he looked at you like he might finally let himself want something. His breath brushed your lips as he murmured, "So what's this, then? Rebound? Or revenge?" It wasn't bitter—just cautious, curious. Testing if this was about Sunghoon, or if maybe... it was finally about you and him. And honestly? You didn't know either.
Your fingers curled around the collar of his shirt, grounding yourself as you tried to steady your breath. "I'm tired of choosing people who make me feel small," you whispered, your voice cracking like a window opened just enough for honesty to slip in. "You saw me. Even when I was a mess. You didn't take advantage of it. And now?" Your gaze locked with his, and you let the rest out on an exhale, almost pleading—"I want you to want me."
Jay's expression shifted—just barely—but enough that you noticed. His usual smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, heavier, like he could see right through you. You were still smeared with the night's makeup, your mascara a ghost of last night's sobs, your mind hazy from too much longing and not enough love. He didn't move to kiss you or undress you; instead, he looked at you like he was afraid you'd shatter. "You're still a mess," he said, low and blunt—but not unkind. Just honest, in a way that made your stomach twist.
You pulled back slightly, suddenly cold despite the weight of him beneath you, the warmth of his palms still gentle at your hips. "I know," you said, like it was a confession, your voice breaking in places you didn't know were still cracked. "But I still came here, didn't I?" You hated how pathetic it sounded, how desperate you were to be wanted—even if it wasn't clean, even if it wasn't fair. And Jay, for all his cockiness, didn't gloat.
Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against your chest like he was the one who couldn't take it anymore. "I wanted to be your first choice," he murmured, his voice muffled, raw. "Not your soft place to crash after he wrecked you." You felt your heart seize at that, because wasn't that the truth? You weren't here with clean hands and a clear head—you were here with baggage and bruises, hoping someone else could carry the weight for just one night. Jay's arms tightened around you, though, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it was okay to fall apart here.
"I'm not gonna fuck you just because you're broken," he said, finally lifting his head, his voice rough with restraint. "But if you're gonna let me touch you, I need it to be real." His eyes, usually so teasing and unreadable, burned into yours now—vulnerable, exposed. "No ghosts between us. No Sunghoon. No revenge." You blinked, hard, and the tears that came weren't from heartbreak—they were from the fact that someone was finally asking for you.
He held you like he meant it. Like there was something sacred about the way your breath hitched, about the way your thighs clenched around his hips as if they belonged there. And you—so stupidly hopeful, so newly heartbroken—let yourself believe it. That maybe Jay had been waiting for the right moment. That maybe his words from that morning—how you "captivated" him, how he'd "held back"—meant something deeper than lust masked as poetry.
In truth, he remembered that routine of yours not because of the artistry or grace, but because your ass looked too good in that tight velvet skirt. He'd watched with his mom, sure—but while she commented on your triple lutz, Jay had been fixated on the way your chest bounced when you landed. The only reason he kicked that girl out of his bed that morning was because you walked in, drunk, pretty, and just vulnerable enough to be pliable. But he didn't mind playing the long game—letting you cry it out, pretending to care, just waiting for your heart to split wide open. And tonight? It finally had.
Jay's touch shifted now—just barely, but enough. A little firmer on your hips. A little less hesitation in the way his hand slipped under your shirt. He kissed your jaw like he had all the time in the world, but there was a hunger there, growing sharper. You were unraveling in front of him, aching for affection—and he'd make you think he was giving it. That's what made it fun.
And you? You whispered his name like a plea, not knowing you were feeding into everything he wanted. Your body leaned into his like it remembered something he never actually gave you—safety, maybe. Love, even. He didn't have to tell you sweet lies, not when you were already doing it for him in your head. "You don't know how long I've wanted this," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, letting the words drip like honey. And you believed him.
You breathed in sharp when his lips brushed your collarbone, skin tingling under the heat of his mouth. His fingers ghosted over the hem of your shirt, not rushing, just lingering, like he was feeling out where he ended and you began. The pause was maddening, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, chest rising like your ribs were trying to break free. You could smell him—warm, faintly smoky, a mix of cologne and something uniquely him—and the scent alone made your legs tighten around his waist. "Jay..." you whispered, barely audible, but loud enough to make his gaze flick up and catch on your face again, your voice cracked and trembling.
He didn't answer right away. Just looked at you with that same unreadable softness, the kind that made your chest ache more than it soothed. His fingers traced slow circles against the small of your back, not coaxing you closer or pushing you away—just there, steady, grounding. You almost hated how quiet he was being, how still he was letting this be. Like he was giving you every opportunity to change your mind, to pull back before it turned into something real.
But you weren't going to. You couldn't. Not when his hands felt this warm, not when your body had been aching for someone to see you the way he did now—like you weren't a burden, a breakup, a mess. He slid one hand up the center of your spine, slow enough that your back arched to meet it, your body moving before your brain could catch up. And when his palm landed between your shoulder blades, he guided you down—inch by inch—until your chest pressed against his, your forehead resting against his cheek.
"I've got you," he murmured, and it was the first thing he'd said since you gave yourself to the moment. Three simple words, but they made your throat close up, made tears sting behind your eyes like a fresh slap. You didn't want to cry again—not now, not when things were soft and quiet and full of possibility. But your body remembered how it felt to be discarded, to be replaced, and now that you were held like this, it was all pouring up from beneath your skin. You turned your face, brushing your nose along the curve of his jaw just to breathe.
Jay's hands were careful, always careful, like he knew how close you were to unraveling. His thumb swept the underside of your ribs, fingers spanning the width of your waist like he was keeping you tethered. You hated how good it felt to be touched like this—like you were precious, like your skin was something to memorize instead of own. You let out a soft sound you didn't mean to make, a broken sigh that fell against his throat. He made no comment on it—he just kissed your temple, like a silent I heard you.
You found yourself shifting without thinking, your hips pressing down against his slowly, like your body had finally caught up with what your heart had already decided. The contact sent heat skittering through your spine, made your legs quake just a little from the sensitivity of it all. His breath hitched—barely—but you felt it, and it made you braver. You threaded your fingers into his hair, anchoring yourself there, gripping just hard enough to feel something solid beneath your shaking hands. "Jay..." you breathed again, and this time it came out needier, lower, like a prayer.
He kissed you then, properly this time—slow, warm, and devastatingly patient. His lips didn't rush or demand; they asked. They lingered. They learned you. And you kissed him back like you were starving, like you'd been waiting for someone to finally taste you with meaning.
The kiss deepened, but not wildly. It was still tender, still restrained, his hand brushing up your ribs as if memorizing the curve of you was more important than anything else. Your chest pressed flush against his as you tilted your head, and you could feel the beat of your own heart pounding like it wanted out. Every inch of you was awake now—painfully, electrically aware. Aware of the weight of his body beneath you, the heat pooling in your stomach, and the dangerous idea blooming in your chest: that this might matter.
You pulled back just slightly to breathe, your forehead resting against his again, eyes fluttering shut as you whispered, "Don't hurt me." It slipped out like a secret you didn't mean to tell, like a wish you were scared to say out loud. Your voice was small, the kind you reserved for moments you didn't think anyone would catch. But Jay caught it. And he didn't say anything—just ran his thumb across your lower lip like he was sealing the words there.
He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he meant to give you something and not take it. Like he knew the cracks in you and was kissing around them, not through them. Your hand moved instinctively to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it could hold you together if you clung hard enough. His body moved with yours, gentle, guiding, patient—drawing out every ounce of ache you had left inside you. And for now, even if it wasn't real, even if you were still a mess... it felt like it could be enough.
Your chests pushed against one another, heaving from the intense yet intimate makeout session. Jay's hands moved again, this time slipping beneath the waistband of your pants with a slowness that bordered on cruel. Not teasing exactly—just deliberate, like he wanted you to feel every second of this, to be fully present in every inch he touched. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your lower stomach, warm and steady, drawing your breath up sharp into your chest. You looked down at him through heavy lashes, lips parted, and for once, he wasn't smirking—he looked focused, like he was studying you. Like he wanted to earn your unraveling, not rush it.
His palms swept over your hips, thumbs pressing just enough to make you gasp, and you lifted your hips in silent permission, letting him slide your pants down slowly. They pooled at your knees first, then your ankles, and you kicked them off blindly, too busy watching the way his eyes never left your face. You were trembling now—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of it all, the way this felt like the first time someone was actually seeing you naked. Not just your body, but all the rawness underneath. Jay trailed his fingers up the outside of your thighs, settling at your hips again, grounding you in the middle of the storm you'd walked into.
He leaned up to kiss your stomach, just below your navel, soft and open-mouthed. Your breath stuttered in your throat at the contact, the gentle warmth of it making your legs twitch around his body. "Still with me?" he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, but you could feel the restraint in it—like it was taking everything in him to move this slow. You nodded wordlessly, hand threading tighter into his hair, as if answering with your body was safer than speaking. Words felt too heavy here, too vulnerable.
He moved up again, finally helping you peel your bra off with the same quiet care. The fabric slid from your shoulders, and suddenly you were fully bare under his gaze. You almost reached to cover yourself, instinctively, but he caught your wrists gently, just holding them there for a moment. "Don't," he whispered, kissing one of your palms. "Let me see you." And you let him, your arms dropping to your sides like surrender.
His hands found your waist again, and this time he pulled you flush against him, bare chest to bare chest, the heat of his skin a soft brand across yours. The contact made your breath catch—your nipples brushing against him, your thighs brushing the denim still clinging to his hips. Every inch of you buzzed under the weight of his body, but he still moved with agonizing patience, letting you feel the shape of him without taking anything too fast. His lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper, tongue brushing yours with a lazy hunger that made your toes curl. You melted into it—into him—your body all too willing to give, your heart trailing behind somewhere in the haze.
You reached for the button on his jeans without thinking, your fingers fumbling just a little from nerves. He caught your hand, not to stop you, but to guide you—his voice low as he whispered, "Go slow." There was something in the way he said it, something that made your spine tingle and your eyes flick up to his. You felt like you were learning something dangerous about yourself in this moment—how much you wanted to be told what to do, how much you wanted to trust him to lead. And when you undid his jeans and felt the heat of him beneath the denim, your stomach dropped in anticipation.
He slid them off himself, taking the last bit of space between you with them, and then he was there—solid and heavy and pressing against your thigh, the reality of it grounding you more than any words could. You could barely breathe as he leaned over you again, his hand sliding down the length of your thigh before hooking under your knee and drawing it up around his waist. The closeness made your body tremble, nerves fraying from the tension pulling tight inside you. Jay rested his forehead against yours, breath heavy, lips brushing yours as he whispered, "You sure?" And for once, you didn't hesitate.
"Yes," you breathed, almost too soft, but he heard it. His hand dipped between your legs, testing, finding, and the first contact made your hips jerk beneath him. You bit down on your lip hard to keep from moaning, but he didn't let that go unnoticed—his mouth slid to your ear, murmuring, "Don't hold back." His fingers moved slow, spreading you open, slick and ready, and you gasped, clinging to his shoulders as your head fell back into the pillows. He watched you the whole time—watched you fall apart one breath at a time.
And when he finally lined himself up with you, it wasn't rushed—it was reverent. Like every second before had been building to this one, and neither of you wanted to miss a beat. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel all of him, the stretch of it both overwhelming and perfect. You clutched at him, breath catching in your throat, your legs tightening around his waist as he finally settled inside you. And then he just held still, letting you breathe, letting you feel, forehead pressed to yours while the world outside ceased to matter.
He began to move, just barely—his hips rolling with a careful rhythm, slow enough to let your body adjust, but firm enough to make you feel every stroke. The pressure built with each glide, thick and full, filling you in a way that made your legs shake even as they wrapped tighter around him. You held on—arms looped around his neck, fingers digging into his skin—because the heat of it, the stretch, the intimacy of it all was almost unbearable. You gasped when he bottomed out again, his chest brushing yours with each breath, slick skin sliding together in a mess of sweat and heat. "You feel so fucking good," he murmured against your throat, and you whimpered from how true it felt.
Every thrust came with more confidence, but he never lost that pace—that slow, dragging pressure that made you crave more even as it gave everything. His mouth found your jaw, then your collarbone, his lips and teeth ghosting over your skin like he was trying to map you with them. You could feel him watching you between kisses, eyes flicking up to your face, taking in every change in your expression. Your eyes fluttered shut when his hips rolled just right, dragging across something that made your thighs tremble and your nails claw down his back. "Jay—oh my god," you gasped, breathless, and he answered with a low groan, like your voice alone did something to him.
You buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by how full you felt—not just physically, but in a way that made your chest burn. His arms tightened around you, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other buried in your hair as he held you close, like you were something to protect and claim at the same time. The air between you felt heavy with everything you hadn't said—everything that was spiraling out in the rhythm of your bodies. Every thrust was slow but deliberate, like he was pressing something into you beyond just pleasure. And you could feel your walls fluttering around him with every drag, your body getting too close too fast.
He noticed—of course he did—and one of his hands slipped between you, fingers finding that bundle of nerves and rubbing soft, slow circles that made your entire spine arch off the mattress. "Shit—Jay," you cried out, and your voice cracked right through the haze. He didn't let up, just kept fucking into you like he knew exactly what your body needed, whispering things you couldn't even process anymore—words that melted into your skin and made your head spin. Your legs started to shake, every breath harder to hold, every sound louder than you meant it to be. "That's it," he whispered, breath hot in your ear. "Come for me."
Your body answered before your mind did—everything coiled tight, impossibly tight, before unraveling all at once in a wave that had you crying out into his neck. Your back arched, thighs clenching around his hips, and he didn't stop—just kept moving, slower now, working you through it as your body trembled against him. You held him like you might fall apart without something to ground you, your hands clutching his shoulders like lifelines. He kissed the side of your face, your temple, your cheekbone—anywhere he could reach. "Good girl," he murmured, and it made your chest ache even more.
Jay's rhythm faltered then, his breathing ragged and sharp as he chased his own edge, the grip on your waist tightening. You blinked up at him, still dazed, and met his eyes—and god, they were so dark, so focused on you like nothing else existed. "Fuck, I'm close," he panted, the tension in his jaw almost shaking. You kissed him then—hard, messy, needing—and that was what finally pulled him over. He groaned deep into your mouth, hips stuttering as he came inside you, the sound of it raw and real, like he hadn't meant to lose control like that.
He collapsed against you for a moment, not crushing you, but enough to feel the full weight of him—his heart racing against yours, skin flushed and slick. The room was quiet except for your breathing, and the occasional twitch of your muscles trying to come down from it all. He stayed inside you, unmoving, and you didn't ask him to pull away. You just kept your arms around him, eyes closed, chest heaving as the high settled into something warm and quiet. Jay pressed one last kiss to your shoulder and breathed, "You okay?"
You nodded slowly, brushing your fingers through the back of his hair, grounding yourself in him, in this. You didn't speak—you couldn't yet. The silence between you wasn't awkward; it was full. Heavy. And for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel alone in it. 2 months of sleepless, alcohol-induced nights, now replaced by the lulling intimacy only Jay has managed to bring you. You wished time could just freeze on you, keeping this moment still for eternity.
Except, that's not how it works. You woke up, rolling on your side and expecting to curl up into Jay's tender embrace, but all that came in contact with your body was air. Cold, empty air. Propping yourself up by your elbows, you surveyed your surroundings. You were butt naked, Jay's thin, gray blanket barely covering your cunt, and totally revealing your nipples. If anyone were to walk in, they'd get a perfect view of your perky assets, so you covered it up with said blanket and hopped off the bed to find two things: your clothes and Jay. One was easier found that the other, since it was just thrown on the floor in a messy puddle.
Walking out the corridor that led to the rest of the dorm, you began your search for Jay, asking around the drunk zombies that littered everywhere, yet none of them had any idea where he was. You thought he was just busy, probably went out to buy you morning-after pills or something. Yeah. That's what you wanted to believe. So, you stayed in until person after person slowly cleared from the dorm. Hours passed, and there was still no sign of Jay, even when his other fratmates had already arrived home. When asked about Jay's whereabouts, you'd only get knowing smirks and shrugs. Maybe even get catcalled while you were at it too.
Eventually, you stopped asking. What was the point when they all looked at you like you were just another story to laugh about, another girl who got lost in the shuffle of Jay's bed? You sat back down on the edge of the mattress you'd once moaned on, blanket clutched tight to your chest like it could shield you from the humiliation. The air felt colder now, biting at your skin like even the room was reminding you of how disposable you'd just been. The ache between your legs had shifted—no longer pleasure, but a dull soreness that throbbed with each passing second he stayed gone.
Your phone buzzed once. A message. Your heart leapt, praying it was him. But when you opened it, it was just Wonyoung, checking if you got home safe. You didn't even know how to respond—did you say yes? Did you admit you were still here, curled up in Jay's empty bed like a fool who actually thought he'd stay?
You laid back down, blanket tucked under your chin, staring blankly at the ceiling. The scent of him lingered in the sheets, his cologne mixed with sex and skin and sweat—something that had felt so intimate hours ago, now curdled into something sour in your throat. You shouldn't have stayed the night. You shouldn't have searched for him like some lovesick idiot, shouldn't have clung to the idea that maybe this meant something to him too. The reality was harder to swallow than the alcohol you'd drowned yourself in the night before.
Eventually, you forced yourself to get dressed, even though your limbs felt too heavy, your hands trembling as you pulled your clothes back on. You didn't bother fixing your hair, didn't check the mirror—what was the point? You already looked like what they thought you were. Jay's little one-night stand, the next notch on his bedpost. You pressed your fingers against your temple as you slipped on your shoes, trying to stop yourself from crying.
The apartment was quiet now, eerily so, the chaos of the party faded into an oppressive stillness. You peeked one last time around the corner—his room, the kitchen, even the bathroom. Nothing. No note, no call, not even a shitty text. It was like he'd vanished the second you fell asleep.
You found yourself orbiting around him in the days that followed, like some desperate moon hoping he'd notice the tide it stirred inside you. You didn't have the strength to pretend indifference—every time you saw him leaning against some hallway wall, laughing with his friends like nothing happened, your chest caved in a little more. You'd approach him sometimes. Quiet. Hesitant. Just hoping he'd say something—anything—that proved that night had meant even a fraction of what it meant to you.
One afternoon, your voice broke before your will did. "Why did you leave?" you whispered, eyes glossy and throat tight. "I woke up alone, Jay. You didn't even say goodbye." He looked at you, annoyed, like your hurt was inconvenient. "You're really gonna get all dramatic on me now?" he scoffed. "It was just a night. Chill out."
His words sliced through you, hot and clean. "It wasn't just a night to me," you said, louder this time. "You held me. You looked at me like—like I meant something." Your voice cracked, and you hated how pathetic you sounded. "I thought you cared." Jay tilted his head, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "I did. For about five minutes."
Then he stepped closer, leaning in like your pain was an invitation. "You want me to say I'm sorry?" he murmured, voice low, almost sweet. "Or do you just want me to make you forget again?" You tried to resist. You really did. But the scent of him, the sound of his voice, the ghost of that night—it all drowned you. You didn't answer. You just let him kiss you.
He pinned you to the wall, hands already exploring like he knew he'd won. "You talk too much," he muttered against your mouth. "Let me remind you how good I make you feel." You mumbled his name, your eyes wet with something too complicated to name. And still, you dropped to your knees. You wanted to. As twisted as it is, you loved the thought of him using you, right here in this public space. "Will you let me?"
Nodding, you let him hush your pain the only way he knew how—by turning it into something physical, something rough, something empty. Your body obeyed while your heart screamed. There was no tenderness in the way he held your jaw, no apology in the way he filled the silence. Just control. Just the unspoken rule that if you gave him what he wanted, maybe—just maybe—he'd stay a little longer.
Shoving a harsh thumb into your mouth, he let your drool coat it, and later on drip all the way down unto the dirty floor. He unzipped his pants, releasing the bulge in his pants, his musk instantly blocking all your other senses from breaking free of his trance. When he finally deemed your mouth as wet enough to accommodate his dick, he thrusted forward, not letting you adjust anyway whatsoever. The gentle movements of his from your first night together, gone.
He kept right on with his merciless assault on your throat, not giving a damn whether or not someone sees him literally gag you with his dick. Hell, he maybe hoped someone could see how you looked right now. You looked fucking beautiful.
Jay couldn't help but think back to the first time he saw you perform, the memory catching him off guard in the midst of everything else. The haunting melancholy of the song you danced to still echoed in his mind, a sharp contrast to the fire he saw in you that night. Your movements were fluid yet full of weight, as if you were channeling every ounce of pain and beauty into each step. But it wasn't just the dance that had caught his attention—it was the way you held yourself, your eyes dark, but flickering with something deeper, something unreadable.
He'd always been drawn to that darkness in your gaze. It was like watching the world unfold through someone who had seen too much, yet still had so much to give. And when that warmth flickered across your face in the form of a smile, it hit him harder than it should have. It was the kind of smile that made you forget all the sadness, all the weight, just for a moment. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human, to want, to feel. And maybe, just maybe, that was when he started to realize that you weren't like anyone else.
He'd never admitted it to himself back then, but something in that moment made him want you in a way he couldn't fully grasp. It wasn't just about your beauty, or how effortlessly you captivated an audience. It was the depth of you, how you seemed to wear your emotions like armor, and yet still remained open to the world. It fascinated him. And now, as he watched you from the edge of everything, his thoughts tangled up in a mix of guilt and desire, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the brink of something he'd already broken.
He wondered if you ever felt the same pull toward him. He thought back to all the times he'd been close to you, close enough to reach out and say something, do something, but always holding back. Always waiting for the right moment, or maybe just for you to make the first move. But now, all he could do was watch as you crumbled. And maybe it was his fault. Maybe he had been so consumed by his own desires, by the allure of what if, that he had never seen the fragility underneath your strength.
And yet, every time you looked at him, every time his gaze met yours, there was a part of him that felt like he was falling into something deeper. Something more complicated. He wanted to fix it. Wanted to be the one to pull you out of this mess, but he didn't know how to fix what he had broken. Not yet.
He couldn't decide whether he was doing this to you because he was scared to admit how much you meant to him, or if it was something darker—that he never truly believed you'd let him have anything real. But there was no denying that every moment with you left him with an ache in his chest, one he didn't know how to fill. You were like the pull of gravity, always keeping him tethered to something he couldn't fully reach.
Jay couldn't bring himself to believe that you wanted him for him. Every time you were near him, every glance, every touch, it felt like you were just grasping for something to fill the emptiness Sunghoon had left behind. He had convinced himself that your attraction to him was just a side effect of heartbreak, a temporary fix. You needed someone to distract you, someone who could make you feel good enough to forget the person who had hurt you so badly.
And yet, as much as he tried to convince himself that was all there was to it, there was this gnawing feeling deep in his chest, one he couldn't shake. He knew that when your eyes met his, there was something deeper in them—something that called to him in a way he couldn't explain. And that terrified him.
It wasn't just the fear of being a rebound, of being a speedbump on your way to healing. It was the raw, intense feeling of wanting something real. Real intimacy. Real connection. Something he hadn't let himself believe in for years. Something he had always kept at arm's length. But with you, it felt different. It was the way you listened when he spoke, the way you cared about his words. It was the way you made him feel seen, even when he didn't want to be. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way you made him want to be someone better.
But even in the midst of all that, he couldn't let go of the fear. What if he was just another temporary fix for you? What if he let himself fall for you, only to realize that when you healed, you would move on, leaving him behind like everyone else? The thought of losing you, of being just another person who didn't matter enough, felt like it might break him in a way he wasn't sure he could come back from.
And so he kept his distance. He stayed away, told himself it was for your sake, for both of you. But inside, he was battling with a war he didn't know how to win. He was too afraid to get close, too afraid to let himself fall for you in a way that might just hurt worse than anything he'd ever known.
Every time he saw you, every time your voice reached his ears or your touch brushed against his skin, he was reminded of everything he couldn't allow himself to have. He couldn't have you. Not like that. Not in a way that meant something.
But damn, the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn't looking... it made him wonder. Just once. What if he could let himself be vulnerable with you? What if it wasn't about Sunghoon anymore, but about the two of them—about you and him? These were the thoughts that clouded his mind while he made you gag, until he couldn't handle it anymore. He coudln't even focus on cumming, so he just pulled you off his dick and left you there, alone. Confused. Furious. He just left you there again?
Afterward, you sat in the stairwell, still trembling, still gagging on everything unsaid. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes blank. "I hate you," you whispered, to no one. To yourself. But you knew it wasn't true—not yet. The quiet after everything was worse than the act itself. It left you hollow, like a shattered vase that had been hastily put together, but the cracks remained. You could still feel the ache in your throat, the sting in your chest, the warmth of him fading from your skin. The worst part wasn't the physicality of it—it was the feeling of being used. Of being reduced to something disposable. A fleeting moment of pleasure for him, and an emptiness for you that clung to your bones.
You wanted to scream. Wanted to run away from the weight of what had just happened. But you stayed rooted there, in the cold silence, replaying the look on his face when he walked away. It wasn't just the kiss—it was everything after. The way he left without a word, without even a glance backward, like you meant nothing at all.
But why did you let him do it? Why did you let him use you, let him take without giving anything real in return? The answer burned in your chest as you pushed yourself off the floor. You craved something he could never give. You wanted reassurance, affection, comfort. Something beyond his touch. But that was never going to come from him. He had no tenderness to offer, no real connection. He just had control, and you let him have it.
"Why the hell am I like this?" you muttered to yourself, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "I should hate him. But I still... I still want him to care." You wrapped your arms around yourself again, trying to bury the cold emptiness that threatened to drown you. It wasn't just the physical act—it was the aftermath that left you raw. The way he dismissed you. The way his touch was only ever about his needs, not yours. But somehow, in this messed-up cycle, you found yourself still longing for something that didn't exist.
In the months that bled into years, it became a cycle so familiar it might as well have been muscle memory. You and Jay, orbiting each other like two stars caught in a gravitational standoff—too close to fully detach, too volatile to stay bound. You'd chase after him, every time telling yourself this was the last sprint, the last desperate attempt. But it never was. Because he'd let you. He always did.
He let you play with him—tease him, flirt, push him just enough to blur the line between casual and cruel. And for a while, he played along. His guard would come down inch by inch, and you'd start to think maybe—maybe—this time, something real would break through. Something unspoken would finally be named.
But Jay never let things go that far.
Eventually, always, he would retreat. Disappear behind a carefully timed silence, or an excuse that didn't need to make sense. He'd ghost you for days, weeks. Not because he didn't want you—but because he wanted you too much, and that terrified him. The way you got under his skin, wrapped around his thoughts, lived in his mouth even when he wasn't speaking your name—it was too much. And so, he'd run. Because facing that pull meant admitting that you had power over him. And Jay didn't like feeling powerless.
He told himself he was just your convenience. A placeholder. That you came to him not because he was your first choice, but because he was always there. The easiest yes. The least resistance. He didn't believe he was what you really wanted—just what was available. And maybe you didn't know how much that belief of his cracked the foundation beneath your every interaction. Because no matter how close you got, no matter how raw or open you were, he never believed it was about him. Just about what you needed in the moment. That he was a fix, not a home.
And you? You couldn't stop. You hated how much you needed him—hated the silence more. You'd go weeks without him and then break, sending some half-ironic message at 2AM. Something casual, something stupid. A breadcrumb he never failed to follow. Because he missed you too, even if he'd never say it.
The worst part wasn't the chasing. It wasn't even the rejection. It was the fact that in those rare, stolen moments when everything felt almost right—when his hand brushed yours without pulling back, when his voice went soft, like it only did with you—you believed it. You believed it meant something. And then he'd vanish again, like it hadn't.
You cancel each other out.
You, desperate for something you can't quite define. Something steady. Something that stays. And Jay, who thinks he's just the safe bet when you've run out of other options. Who can't believe you're reaching for him because you want him—only him. It's a cruel, intimate kind of limbo. Not lovers, not strangers. Just two people tangled in a war of almosts and what-ifs, neither brave enough to call it love, neither willing to walk away.
Especially since you go to the same uni, even in your last semester, it didn't take much for you to see him again, that smug grin of his still plastered across his face as if nothing had changed. He didn't even acknowledge the weight of what he'd done. To him, you were just a part of his collection—another notch in the belt. And it made your stomach churn. You couldn't keep doing this. You couldn't keep letting him pull you in with empty promises and desperate touches. But how do you escape when every part of you is screaming for something that feels real? How do you move on when the hole inside you feels too deep to fill?
You turned away from him slowly, as if every movement required more strength than you had left. Each step felt like a rebellion against every instinct inside you—every impulse that screamed to turn back, to run into his arms, to beg for something that deep down, you knew would never come. You could already feel the tears building again, prickling at the corners of your eyes like they had so many times before. But this time… you didn't let them fall.
No. You'd cried too many times for him—over him. This time, you chose resolve over ruin. You wouldn’t let yourself be the fallback option anymore, the quiet standby in the wings while he chased after everything but you. You were done being his backup plan, done being the soft place he landed when his world crumbled but never the world he chose to build.
Still, your heart didn’t get the message. It pulsed with the ache of loss—of longing that refused to fade just because you decided it should. The truth was, you didn’t know what life looked like without him in it. You didn’t know how to unlearn the way your heart skipped when he laughed, or the way your body instinctively leaned toward his even when you hated him. You didn’t know how to stop feeling like you’d given him a part of yourself that he never asked for, and worse—never cared to keep.
But what you did know—what you had to know—was that you couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep breaking your own heart hoping he might eventually piece it back together. You were exhausted from the cycle of hope and disappointment, the slow death of dreams that were only ever yours. You were ready to walk away.
Even if your body still trembled with the desire to turn around. Even if your chest felt hollow without him. Even if the ghost of his touch lingered on your skin like something you’d never be clean of. You held your composure. It was time—past time—you chose yourself. Loved yourself. Enough to stop settling for scraps.
And maybe—just maybe—it was in that very moment, when your back finally turned for good, when you didn’t flinch or hesitate or look over your shoulder one last time—that Jay truly noticed. Or rather, finally accepted what he had spent so long running from. Your absence hit him like a wave—sharp, cold, and consuming. It was louder than all the times you’d raised your voice in frustration, more piercing than the door slams and bitter silences. The space you left behind wasn’t just quiet—it was hollow. Deafening in a way that made his ears ring and his chest tighten, like the world had muted itself in your wake.
He used to think he loved the sound of your crying. The way your voice cracked when you pleaded with him to meet you halfway, when you asked—again and again—why he couldn’t just choose you with both hands instead of holding you with one and pushing you away with the other. He’d give anything to hear it again. Just to know there was still something to fix. Some thread left to hold onto.
Because the truth was, he never thought you’d really leave.
He thought you’d bend, like always. Break, maybe—but stay. That you'd show up at one more party. Respond to one more text. Keep the cycle spinning just a little longer. He never thought you'd actually stop. That you'd put yourself first.
But now, here he was. Standing in the ruins of all the chances he squandered.
And it haunted him—the way you didn’t scream this time. The way you didn’t beg or fight. You simply walked away. And in doing so, you said everything he was never brave enough to hear.
He realized then that your love had always been loud. Loud in the way you cared, the way you tried. Loud in the second chances and the space you gave him to grow in—space he mistook for convenience. He thought your devotion would last forever. That you’d wait for him to come around.
But love isn’t endless when it’s one-sided. And your silence now? It was permanent. Echoing. Like the aftermath of something sacred that had been shattered and left unrepaired for far too long. He called your name under his breath once, as if that might summon you back. As if maybe your heart was still close enough to hear. But there was no reply. Just wind. And regret.
The echo of your sad eyes—the ones that used to beg for a version of him that didn’t exist—refused to fade from his memory. And in their absence, he felt it: emptiness. He realized then that your time together hadn’t just been chaotic or passionate—it had been hell. Not the kind that scorches the skin, but the kind that slowly chips away at your soul. The two of you were like magnets with the same polarity: constantly pulled near, only to be flung apart. Over and over. Drawn together by something neither of you could explain, but never able to make it work. Always repelling. Always clashing.
Because in the end, your flaws weren’t just incidental—they were the very thing that kept you apart. Jay’s polarity was his distrust. His inability to let you in without building walls the size of his wounds. He never truly believed he could be loved, and so he ruined the love you gave—pushed it away, distorted it, tested it until it broke.
And yours?
Yours was mistaking desire for devotion. Yours was offering your body in place of your worth. Letting him take pieces of you under the pretense of passion, hoping that if you gave enough—of your time, your soul, your body—he might just decide to stay. But love built on wounds is still broken. And now, as he stood alone, finally stripped of your presence, Jay wondered if maybe the problem hadn’t been that you loved each other too little—but that you both didn’t know how to love yourselves first.
Worried—no, desperate—Jay did what Sunghoon never had the courage to. He fought. He finally fought for you. He stood at your doorstep, a mess of emotions, hands trembling at his sides. Gone was the usual arrogance in his eyes, the pride that once kept him from admitting fault. All that remained now was a boy undone—raw, vulnerable, and soaked in the kind of tears that only come when you realize you’ve ruined the one thing that ever truly mattered.
He didn’t come with your favorite flowers—because truthfully, he didn’t even know what they were. He never asked, and you never told. There hadn’t been enough soft conversations, enough idle moments between kisses and chaos to exchange details like that. He knew how your lips tasted when they trembled and how your body curled into his when it was cold, but not the color of the petals that made your eyes light up.
So he came with nothing but remorse, standing at the edge of your world hoping that maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late. But you weren’t at the door. You hadn’t been coming out much lately, not since you retreated from everything that reminded you of him. Not since you stopped showing up at his frat’s parties, the ones he threw under the guise of celebration but really, always, for you. As an excuse. A trap, almost. A way to lure you out so he could pretend the universe had brought you together again. So you could pretend you hadn’t been dying to see him too.
One good thing came from your self-induced quarantine. That was the improvement of your dynamic with Ivan. Realizing your problem meant being a bit more able to talk about it to help with coping. He understood your situation better and offered a crying shoulder when you needed. You didn't act angsty anymore, only accepting his help, which was actually much needed. You got in contact with your family again, little by little. At first, it was just your sister, and then you kept checking the family group chat more often.
Back to the matter at hand, Jay was outside. In the rain. Or maybe it was just cold. Everything about the moment felt like it came out of a movie, except the kind where everything ends well. This felt real—painfully, bitterly real. Ivan stood beside you, peeking through the blinds with a scoff that was half amusement, half disbelief. His arms crossed, his head tilted in that way he did when he thought the world was being especially stupid.
Your absence hit him like a wave—sharp, cold, and unrelenting. It was louder than all the times you’d raised your voice, more jarring than the nights you left crying, your words trailing behind like dying sparks. The silence you left in your wake didn’t feel peaceful—it felt final. Like a door slamming inside his chest.
His fists hung uselessly at his sides as he stared at the closed window, breath fogging in the cold night air, voice catching in his throat. “Please,” he said softly at first, almost afraid to hear himself beg. “Please just… open the door.” Nothing. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know that.” His voice cracked, and the next words came faster, like a dam breaking. “I pushed you away. I—I acted like I didn’t care, like you were just… something temporary. But you weren’t. You never were. And I didn’t realize that until you left.”
Still, no sound from inside. Just the harsh wind and the dull throb of silence. “I didn’t know how to let you love me,” he continued, blinking back tears. “And I hated myself for that. I still do.” He paused, the weight of his own confession staggering. And then, in the quietest voice: “I miss you.” He laughed bitterly under his breath, brushing the wetness from his cheeks, unsure whether it was rain or tears.
“You used to cry for me. All the time. And I never really heard it. Not until now.” He stepped closer to the door, pressing his palm to it gently as if he could reach through. “I was a coward. I needed to break you to feel like I was worth something. But you—you were always brave enough to stay. And now that you’re gone…” He hesitated, biting down the next sob. “Now that you’re gone, I finally understand what love sounds like without words.”
But the door stayed shut. And that, more than anything, told him the truth: you weren’t going to save him this time. You were saving yourself.
“You’re really gonna let that poor dude stand there like that?” he asked, brows raised, lips curled into a slight sneer. You didn’t answer right away. You crossed your arms tighter around yourself instead, tensing. “He’s not some poor dude,” you muttered. “You don’t know what he did.” It was a deflection. Weak. Even you knew it.
Ivan gave you a look—somewhere between pity and frustration—but he didn’t push. He didn’t need to. The way your voice cracked ever so slightly at the end was enough. You sounded angry. But you weren’t. Not really.
Because the truth was, seeing Jay out there—alone, with no armor, no pretenses, just him—it shattered something in you. Or maybe it revived something. You weren't sure. Your heart ached like it had missed him this whole time and only now dared to hope again. It fluttered, stupid and soft, at the sight of his desperation. At the way he kept glancing at the door like it would open on its own. Like love alone might be enough.
You had imagined this moment a hundred times. Him coming back. Him apologizing. Him choosing you. But reality didn’t feel victorious. It felt complicated. Painful. Hopeful, yes—but laced with fear. Because wanting him was one thing. Trusting him again? That was another. “I’m not letting him in,” you said, more to yourself than to Ivan.
But your feet stayed planted by the window. And your eyes stayed on him.
You mustn't relent. You watched him through the narrow slit of the curtain, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted to leap out and run to him—even if you wouldn’t. Even if you couldn’t. Because this—this sudden display of vulnerability—was too little, too late. A performance delivered after the curtains had already closed.
He looked broken. But so had you. Over and over. And no one stood at your doorstep when your tears fell quietly in the middle of the night. No one had fought for you then. So you stayed behind the window. Silent. Still. Letting him feel, just for a moment, what it was like to reach for something that wouldn’t reach back.
Ivan sighed beside you, giving one last glance at Jay, then turned away with a shrug. “Guess that’s your answer, huh?” he muttered, though not unkindly. Just honest. You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Your throat felt tight, your emotions coiling in your chest like a storm you refused to let loose. You turned from the window, drawing the curtain shut with slow, deliberate fingers. Out of sight. Out of reach. Out of your life.
Because as much as you wanted to run out there and fall into Jay's arms, to believe in the sincerity behind his tears and the way he looked at you like he finally saw you—you knew better now. You knew that love wasn’t supposed to cost this much of yourself. You had begged once. Stayed too long. Made excuses for the way he never really stayed, even when his body did.
So no—this time, you didn’t open the door. This time, you chose the ache of absence over the illusion of healing.
And that? That was how you finally began to love yourself.
I am so sorry but I genuinely cannot find it anymore 💀💀
I scrolled through all my bookmarks on twitter and even the accounts that posted them for like 30 minutes now but I could NOT for the life of me find that specific video
Which is sad cuz I really liked that one and felt that it relaly suited Jake 💔💔
But have this rlly messy one instead, as a compromise. Headcanon being that Jake fucks you through numerous orgasms, forming a wet mess.
Also I'm sorry if the reply took too long, I went on a trip
content tags: established relationship, sub!jake&reader, jay cameo, explicit content (smut) unprotected sex, multiple sex position: 69, doggy style, mating press. squirting, overstimulation. lots of whining and moaning, they fuck like rabbits :) MDNI. WC:2.4k
note: this is a request from an anon, hope u like it!
Who the fuck decided that two soft, submissive people in bed are automatically boring?
"Too vanilla," they say with wrinkled noses and half-laughs, like they know what happens when the lights go out.
You and Jake have been together for nearly five years—since the final months of high school, when you stumbled into something that felt a little too gentle to be real, too safe to be intense. Most people around you just don’t get it. They whisper that your relationship is sweet, sure, but stale. Predictable. Lifeless, even.
But they don’t know a damn thing.
They don’t know that you and Jake don’t need dominance or power games to melt each other down into quivering pieces. You don’t play roles. You don’t lead or follow. You move, he moves. You're both responsive, both hungry, both gentle in ways that burn just as deep. It’s not about who takes control—it's about how far you’re both willing to unravel for each other.
If those assholes could see what actually happens behind closed doors, they'd choke on their smug assumptions.
"Nghh—baby..." Jake's voice is slurred, barely even speech anymore. His face is buried between your legs, the heat of his breath searing against you, tongue dragging slow as he works you over.
And fuck, you are gone, head thrown back, hips twitching, thighs trembling around his ears.
The only soundtrack is the obscene wetness of his mouth on you, your choked moans, and the blaring growl of an electric guitar seeping through the wall, his room mate, Jay’s latest desperate attempt to drown out the symphony of you and Jake destroying each other.
It doesn’t work.
Your ears are ringing. Your vision blurs every time your spine arches off the mattress. Your legs are shaking so hard they barely stay hooked around his shoulders. Your body is covered in bruises and teeth marks. Jake’s arms are clawed raw, red streaks down to his elbows from where you grabbed and dug in, helpless under the waves he pulled from you again and again and again.
You’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you come, how many times you’ve done the same to him. It's a haze. A loop. An exchange of pleasure until your bones feel hollow.
You barely catch your breath before his fingers are inside you again, curling just right, his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing your moans as you clench around him and cum hard enough to see stars. Your hand slips between you, wrapping around him, stroking with messy urgency until he gasps into your mouth and spills across your stomach.
Then comes the slow grind of hips in missionary, Jake above you, eyes glassy, sweat dripping down his temple. He pushes in deep, moaning into your throat while you clutch at his back, legs locked around his waist, and both of you fall together again.
Vanilla, their ass.
The aftershocks haven’t even stopped vibrating through your bones when Jake rolls off of you, chest heaving, lips parted. He sprawls across the sheets, flushed and trembling.
Without a word, you swing a leg over him, straddling his face. He groans like a man starved as your thighs settle against the sides of his head, and your gaze lowers to his cock. thick, flushed, and still rock hard despite having cum four fucking times already.
You lean down, tongue flicking out to tease the head, your breath warm over his slick skin. His hips twitch instantly, a soft, choked whine escaping from under you.
“F-fuck,” he gasps, voice muffled between your thighs.
You take him into your mouth slowly, savoring the weight of him, the way his whole body tenses beneath you. At the same time, you feel his tongue drag through your folds.
You moan around his cock, the vibration making him jerk. You grind back against his mouth, and he groans right into your cunt, tongue sliding in and curling upward. He hardens it, fucking you with it, slow and deep, as your hips begin to roll.
It’s a filthy rhythm—your mouth stretching around him, sucking harder, faster, your spit dripping down his shaft while he licks and licks and licks, tongue relentless, hands gripping your ass as he pulls you tighter against his face. Your thighs clamp down on instinct, not letting him breathe, not letting him stop.
You feel the familiar pulse in your core and the slight twitch of his cock against your tongue, he’s close, again. You squeeze him tighter with your lips, hollow your cheeks, and the sound he makes is damn near ruined. His whine hits a high pitch, hips jerking once, twice and then he spills into your mouth. You swallow it greedily.
Jake latches onto your clit now, sucking, and you are barely holding on, every nerve burning. Your whole body is tensed, arms braced against his thighs, cunt pulsing uncontrollably around his tongue. Your thighs clamp even tighter, grinding down until he can’t even moan, just hums and licks and loses himself.
Jake loves it—loves how wet you get, how you suffocate him with your thighs like it’s nothing, how your pussy clenches around his tongue. He loves the little tremble in your legs, the broken cries you try to stifle, the taste of your arousal dripping down his chin.
"Jake, fuck! I'm gonna cum!" you squeal, your voice shaking, one hand fisting around his softening cock, feeling it twitch, swell, harden again.
Your hips grind down one last time, helpless, chasing that final drag of his tongue as your orgasm hits. You cry out, body shaking above him, pussy spasming around his mouth. Your forehead presses to his thigh, gasping, and you barely manage to keep sucking him as your world shatters again.
Jake lets out a high whine, hips twitching upward into your mouth. He’s still so fucking hard, again. You can feel it, thick and throbbing between your lips.
He moves again as another orgasm crashes into the both of you.
Another orgasm.
And another.
And another.
You lose count. Time folds. The two of you are always going at it like rabbits, bodies slick and tangled, pleasure drawn out like it might never end. At some point you’re flat on your back again, back arched off the wet bed, sheets soaked with sweat and everything else, Jake’s mouth between your legs for what feels like the hundredth time.
You’re delirious, you feel like you are floating.
He pulls back, lips shiny, chin drenched. You barely get the chance to breathe before he’s kneeling between your thighs, jerking himself off with quick, rough strokes. His eyes are locked on your chest, on the rise and fall of your breath, on your wrecked body twitching with aftershocks. He grits his teeth, then pulls his cock free, aiming it at you.
You're hypnotized.
By the way it twitches. By the way his jaw clenches. By the way his abs tighten and he throws his head back with a broken moan as hot ropes of cum spill across your chest, painting your skin with another climax that somehow hits just as hard as the first.
And still, he's not done.
Jake leans forward, one hand smearing the mess across your breasts, mouth crashing into yours with wild hunger. His cock presses against your thigh, still hard and leaking.
"You want more?" he pants against your lips, voice hoarse, almost disbelieving at how far you both keep falling.
You nod, eyes wide, lips parted. Jake flips you over in one smooth motion, pushing you onto your hands and knees, body trembling beneath him. His hands grip your hips, pushing inside again, deep, slow, a stretch that feels impossibly full despite how soaked you are.
You both moan at once. And then he starts to move, hips snapping into you, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the room, drowning out even Jay’s music, which is now thundering through the walls in one last futile attempt to ignore what’s happening just a few feet away.
“Ahh, fuck, Jake, baby!” you cry out, fingers clawing at the twisted sheets as the rhythm builds.
Jake groans behind you, bracing himself with both hands on yours, pinning you to the mattress as he drives deeper, rougher. You love this position—God, how you love it. He finds every spot, angles his hips just right until you’re gasping, sobbing into the mattress.
“We’re so fucking good together,” Jake pants into your ear, his voice shaking with need, “Fuck.” His lips find your neck, kissing everywhere he can reach, hot, sloppy, open-mouthed, desperate to mark.
You tilt your head back blindly, catching his mouth in a messy kiss over your shoulder, tongues tangling, moans swallowed between breathless gasps as he starts to thrust harder, deeper, your bodies slamming together.
You’re clenching around him so hard, you can feel every ridge, every twitch of his cock. The orgasm hits, your breath catching, head lolling forward as heat floods you from the inside out. "Fuck!"
Jake keeps going through it, keeps thrusting through your high, refusing it to end. Your hips instinctively push back against him, your eyes roll back, jaw slack, pleasure crackling through every nerve.
“F-fuck, I—shit,” Jake chokes out, repositioning behind you with a sharp slap to your ass that makes your whole body jolt. He watches it jiggle with a low groan, hips snapping forward again and again. Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, and your arms finally give out.
You collapse forward, face buried in the soaked mattress, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, your body slack and trembling. Completely, utterly fucked out.
“B-b-baby,” Jake stammers, leaning over you again, his chest slick and warm against your back.
You feel his arms slide beneath you, one curling tightly around your waist, the other slipping under your body to knead your breast in slow, circular motions. He’s still thrusting, slower now, but no less intense. You feel every inch, every grind of his hips, his cock dragging against your overstimulated walls as he pants against your ear.
“You can take another one for me?” he whines, voice cracking into a whisper. “P-please? Pretty—pretty please?”
You moan weakly, unable to find words, only nodding as your fingers twitch into the sheets. You’re half-asleep, fucked so deep into the mattress your limbs barely move but Jake’s still moving, still inside you.
“Don’t s-sleep, nghh, baby, fuck,” he breathes, nuzzling into your nape, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin there before sinking in gently, biting down as his hips start to pick up again.
The pleasure's too much now, tangled with pain and pressure until your body doesn’t know the difference. You're a trembling mess, whimpering, twitching, your muscles weak from everything he's already wrung out of you.
You don't know how he's still strong enough to shift your limp body, but suddenly you're on your back, legs pushed up and pinned high beside your shoulders. His hands curl behind your knees, holding you wide open as he sinks into you again with no warning.
He grunts as he slides home, balls-deep, moaning loudly, eyes locked onto your face, drinking every twitch, every gasp, every flutter of your lashes. His hips start pounding again, relentless, slapping into your soaked cunt with wet, brutal rhythm.
Your mouth falls open, lips slack, eyes half-lidded. You can't even speak.
“Baby! L-love you—ahhh!” Jake cries out. One of his hands slips down, thumb pressing to your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles.
You twitch violently beneath him, chest heaving, body barely holding together.
Even with your consciousness slipping—your mind half-blacked out from pleasure and fatigue—you feel it again. That same heat blooming low in your belly. Your legs are burning in the mating press, your lungs clawing for air, your head spinning.
“J-Jake, w-wait!” you sob, shaking your head from side to side, voice cracked, but his thrusts only get harder, his thumb moving faster, and ruthless.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop—just one more,” he begs, almost delirious.
“FUCK!” you scream, fingers twisting the sheets, your body shaking as it hits you. “Fuckfuckfuck!” you shriek as your entire core contracts violently. Your back arches. Your vision whites out. You feel the gush of hot liquid pulsing from your cunt, soaking the sheets, his pelvis, everything.
Jake groans loud and deep. But he doesn't stop. He keeps moving, keeps rubbing, his thumb grinding your clit as you cry out and shake under him. Your legs jerk in his grip, body trying to retreat, but he doesn’t let go.
Your voice cracks—"No! No more!"—but it's lost in the noise.
“O-one more, baby, please,” he moans as he leans over you again, his body trembling, lips brushing your ear.
Your scream rises again as his cock drags through your soaked walls, now slick with your release. You’re squeezing him so tight he’s nearly frozen in place. His eyes roll back, mouth dropping open.
“Jesus Christ, people! Tone it down!” Jay roars from the other side of the wall, banging his fist hard against it, rattling the drywall. His voice is muffled, furious, but distant and irrelevant.
Jake doesn’t even blink. He’s too far gone. His hands tighten around your thighs as he slams forward, again and again, slick friction loud and obscene, the slap of your bodies echoing through the room.
“Last one,” he gasps. “Fuuuuck, baby, fuck—!”
You scream again, nails digging into his wrists as your body explodes for the final time—another hot gush forced from your cunt, a violent surge that splashes his abdomen and thighs. Jake throws his head back and howls, the tension in his spine snapping as you clamp down so hard around his cock it punches the orgasm straight out of him.
He cums inside you, trembling, moaning, his voice broken and high as he spills deep, cock twitching wildly, over and over. His whole body quakes as he presses into you, emptying himself in ragged pulses that stretch on and on.
By the time it ends, you're both shaking. The room is thick with heat and the sharp, musky scent of sex, every surface damp with sweat, slick, and release.
Jake pulls out slowly, carefully, and even that soft withdrawal makes you both moan. The two of you are oversensitive.
Jake collapses beside you, arms immediately wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close. His face buries in the crook of your neck, lips pressing the faintest kiss to your skin.
You curl into him instinctively, legs tangled, your body heavy and sore but warm in the aftermath, without another word, you both drift under—naked, tangled in each other’s arms, unconscious on a mattress you’ve completely wet the bed in.
warnings: MDNI, "i can fix him" syndrome backfires, consensual underage sex, somnophilia, mentions of underage drinking, cheating, a quite heinous amount of fluff.
DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ
word count: 23.3k
Playlist for whilst you read:
A Thousand Years - Christina Perri'
You are The Reason - Callum Scott
Paper Rings - Taylor Swift
Claire de Lune - Claude Debussy
Don't Stop Me Now - Queen
"Get You" – Daniel Caesar ft. Kali Uchis
"Earned It" – The Weeknd
"Ribs" – Lorde
“Tangerine” – Glass Animals
"From the Dining Table" – Harry Styles
Chapter 1 of; Lessons Learned
The announcer's mic-amplified voice reverberated throughout the stadium as he revealed the scores of your opponent. Whilst she celebrated her relatively high score, clutching her fan-given plushie as she cheered with her coach, you fiddled with your fingers in an attempt to calm your anxious nerves. You were the last one to perform (thanks to your lucky hand when you pulled for the order of who performs), and all those before you exceeded each other's score each time, setting the standard higher and higher. And you were afraid you couldn't even just reach that same peak.
Your coach, Ivan saw your obvious discomfort, lending a firm and on your shoulder and shaking the bloody nerves off of you. "Calm down, will you? You've done months of training, just as much and maybe even more than your opps did. You'll put up a fight."
Ivan was a 29-year-old, Russian, ballet coach. He and your sister were classmates in college, and she just so happened to tell Ivan about your new little profound passion about ballet. You were only 9 at the time, but when Ivan saw that youthful spark of passion flare from your rusty arabesques, he jumped at the opportunity to shape your ember. Shape your talent into skill. And that, he did.
He streamlined your passion and made you into a decent dancer. Decent enough to win a couple regional-level competitions. Trophies of gold, silver, bronze from said competitions adorned your glass-encased achievement shelf. (Which your mom insisted to have built). Your parents were quite content with all your milestones, be it big or small. But you weren't. It pissed you off to no end that you couldn't go beyond the regionals.
One not-so-faithful day, on your last competition as a pre-junior, thoughts about how you have to win this consumed your better judgment. You couldn't focus at all. You kept throughout your entire routine, and it frustrated you to no end. And on the last Fouette that was supposed to be the cherry on top of your performance, your feet hit one another and leave you to come undone in a clumsy, crying mess.
With your heart feeling like it's caught up in your throat, you covered your tear-stained face and ran off stage right as your song ended. And so did your career. That competition had 9 finalists, and you ranked LAST. You couldn't even bare attending the awarding ceremony. You publicly embarrassed yourself out there, and especially now at your ripe pre-pubescent years, you knew your peers would be whispering among themselves about how dramatic you acted or how shitty your performance was. It was horrific. And just like that, what was once the spark that lit your dreary Mondays turned into to one of the most socially, emotionally, and mentally traumatic events of your life. So, in an attempt to cope with it, you pushed it away.
Anything related to dance, your old friends, Ivan. You wanted nothing to do with it anymore. You were already unraveling thread by thread, your fervent spark of ambition was being pulled away by the seemingly unreachable pinnacle, that is, the Nationals. Childish, or perhaps as arrogant as it may sound, you knew you had what it takes to get there, but your just somehow can't. And you don't know what's stopping you. You've blamed Ivan, for not teaching you enough, but you knew deep inside you wouldn't have gotten to the level you were at without him.
After coming to a consensus with your parents, they let you quit the team, and sent you to the studio to pick up your things while they handled the resignation letters. You were grateful they never pushed you to do anything. They saw that ballet became toxic for you and they didn't even hesitate to let you leave when you saw fit. Anyway, they drove into the studio's parking lot and headed for your head manager's office, in order to deal with the paperwork. It was nighttime now, so you presumed all of the others would have gone home.
So, you didn't expect to find him here. Ivan.
The studio was supposed to be empty. Late enough for the lights to be dimmed, the floor to be cold beneath your feet, the mirrors to stop echoing back the dancer you used to be. But there he was-Ivan-leaning against the far wall, arms crossed like he hadn't been waiting, but you both knew better.
You hesitated at the door, one foot still out in the hallway, as if you could still change your mind. As if walking away now would hurt less than what you were about to do.
"I'm done," you said.
Your voice didn't shake. It wasn't a declaration. It was just... a fact. Like gravity. Like something that had always been true, you just hadn't said it out loud yet.
Ivan didn't move. Not at first.
You didn't mean to say it like that.
But the words came out anyway, sharp and final.
"I'm done."
Your voice cracked a little, but you tried not to care. You didn't look at Ivan. You couldn't. If you did, you'd probably back down. You'd probably see that look on his face-that mix of confusion and disappointment-and swallow the words, like always. So you stared at the floor instead, at your busted old slippers with the frayed ribbons and the tiny bloodstain near the toe. You hated those shoes. And you loved them. And you hated that you loved them.
"You're quitting?" Ivan asked. His voice wasn't loud or angry-it was just quiet. Tired, maybe. Like he already knew.
You nodded, even though your hands were shaking.
"I can't do it anymore," you muttered. "I just... I don't want to."
That wasn't the truth. Not really. You did want to dance. You wanted it so bad your chest hurt. You wanted Nationals. You wanted the stage, the lights, the moment. But lately, it felt like the more you wanted it, the further it slipped from your hands.
Ivan didn't say anything at first, and that made it worse.
"I've been trying," you blurted. "I've been trying so hard. But it's like I'm stuck. Everyone's getting better and I'm just... here. Still making the same stupid mistakes. Still forgetting the same stupid counts. Still losing balance like a baby."
Your throat burned.
"I'm supposed to be good, right? That's what everyone says. 'You've got talent, you're a natural, you'll make it someday.' But what if they're wrong? What if I'm not enough?"
You finally looked at him. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight-but his eyes were soft. Too soft. You hated that.
"I thought you'd help me get there," you said, barely above a whisper. "I really did. But maybe you didn't teach me enough. Or maybe you thought I could figure it out on my own. But I couldn't. I can't."
Ivan stepped closer, but you took a step back.
"I'm twelve, Ivan," you said. "Twelve. I'm not supposed to feel like a failure already."
There was a silence after that-heavy, like the walls were pressing in. You wiped your nose on your sleeve, trying to be tough. Trying to not cry like a little kid. But everything was just... too much.
You thought he'd yell. Or say you were being dramatic. Or lecture you about dedication and drive and how quitting now would ruin everything.
But instead, he just looked at you, like he saw through all of it.
"You're not a failure," he said quietly.
You didn't answer. You didn't believe him.
Because right now? You didn't feel like a dancer. You just felt... small. And tired. And really, really lost.
He stood closer now, arms cautiously extended to his sides to offer a much-needed hug, which you've gladly accepted. You let yourself soak his leotard as you clung to him. "You've accomplished so many things-"
"Well I didn't accomplish enough! And I never will! Now that I blew my last pre-junior performance, I don't think people will take me seriously as a junior!"
He sighed and wrapped his arms around your shaking shoulders. "Would it be too soon for me to suggest figure skating?"
Now, stood you in one of the biggest ice skating competitions of your time, regionals, once again. The nationals are just at arms-length, so you knew deep within yourself you couldn't afford to pass this up. You dare not waste the 3 years Ivan has spent building you back up, this time, on the ice. You've done well in the short program, all you had to worry about now was the free skate. No longer clad in those painful pointe shoes, those itchy tutus, no. You sported a fresh, tight yet comfy, baby blue leotard that helped in boosting you confidence, paired with your favorite pair of blades-gifted to you by your sister.
The familiar vowels of your name ware called, summoning you to the spotlight, and claim the stage (rink) as your own. Breathing in the mint-scented air deeply one more time, you stepped onto the ice and glided along the sides, plastering a genuine smile and greeting those who cheered for you. The deafening clamor of the crowd's applause breeched your ears, you almost missed the first few notes of your song. The audience definitely did, though, as it seemed their hoorahs only grew louder at the sound of your performance starting.
You began to dance your prepared choreography upon hearing the calming voice of your designated piece for today-Christina Perri's "A Thousand Years." A sweet song whose melody harmoniously matched your performance. Innocent, almost fragile, your jumps were on beat with the cadence of the guitar, cello, and piano instrumental.
It wasn't just the soft melody that resonated with your performance; it was the lyrics as well. The words, "I have died every day waiting for you," seemed to echo in your heart as your body glided effortlessly across the ice. It was as if each movement was a reflection of the years of dedication, the countless hours of practice, and the quiet, unspoken devotion to your craft. Every jump, every spin, felt like a pledge of love to the art of figure skating itself-timeless and unyielding.
As the song built into the chorus, "I will love you for a thousand more," you could almost feel the embrace of the ice beneath you. It reminded you of the unspoken bond between skater and ice-an eternal connection that exists beyond the fleeting moments of each performance. The melody wrapped itself around you like a gentle, yet powerful force, urging you to give everything, to pour your soul into every movement, just as the song's lyrics spoke of eternal love.
You've always loved this part of figure skating, the cold air and ice beneath you enveloping your body and soul in this tranquil trance that helped keep your mind at ease. It was never like this with ballet. All you could feel in ballet was the sweat that would always pool at your back at the tremendous pressure of the spotlight and stares that settled on you on that non air-conditioned stage. The fans were usually directed at the judges as if they were the ones breaking their bones just to properly execute a Cambre. You never felt like that with your new love.
Figure skating, much like love, is about vulnerability-about trusting your body to carry you through difficult lifts, delicate landings, and dizzying spins, even when the odds seem insurmountable. The lyrics of "A Thousand Years" aligned with the very essence of what you felt skating on the ice: a love that transcends time, a passion that refuses to be extinguished. It was not just a performance; it was a love letter to the sport, an expression of devotion and commitment. "I will love you for a thousand more," you whispered to yourself, feeling the music fill every corner of your soul.
With each passing note, you were no longer just performing; you were telling a story of love, loss, and hope-of pushing through adversity and continuing to glide forward, no matter the challenges. Every movement you made felt like a promise-just as the song promised eternal love, you promised to keep dancing, no matter how many years it took.
And with the instruments slowing down to halt, so did your performance, as you struck your final pose. You finally let out the breath you didn't even realize was being held in and opened your eyes. The flashes of the lights overhead flickered your gaze, making you squint a bit before bowing at the judges who bared the look of satisfaction, impressed expressions. White roses and Frolass plushies were littered across the ice, which the staff has helped with gathering them all. You strode over to one of said plushies and hugged it close to your chest, giving the audience one final wave and bow if gratitude before you made your way off the ice.
Once your blades came in contact with the floor, you couldn't even get the chance to put your guards on them since Ivan sprung up to you and gave you one of the most genuine hugs he's ever given. "I told you you'd do amazing." You reciprocated the hug and pulled back, "You think the judges liked it?" Ivan scoffed, "Are you kidding? They looked entranced the entire time you were up there." The both of you couldn't help the proud smiles from spreading on your faces.
He guided you back to your designated seat where they filmed your reaction upon hearing your score, and he gave you a bottle of water, wrapping a jacket around you when he saw you shiver. You didn't notice it when you were still performing, but your hands were shaking from the cold. Well, you thought it was shaking just from nervousness. Not too long after, your family approached with proud smiles plastered on their familiar faces, already congratulating you with strings of praises regarding your performance.
A little girl passed by you, not too old-probably about five years younger than you. She was cheerful, skipping a little with each step as she clutched the hand of who you presumed was her grandmother. A middle-aged couple trailed behind, and next to them, a boy just slightly older than the girl, dressed in a striking figure skating outfit, clearly waiting for his turn on the ice.
Your heart warmed at the sight-there was something so pure about the quiet excitement of a supportive family. But then your gaze caught something else: a small red stain spreading across the girl's light shorts. You immediately recognized it. The judges take a while tocalculate the scores, so you decided to act on it.
You didn't think twice. You grabbed a pad from your bag, hid it under your jacket, and hurried towards her. Approaching gently, you quickly wrapped your jacket around her waist, discreetly slipping the pad into her pocket. Startled, the little girl stumbled back slightly, and her family froze, giving you confused, wary looks. You offered a small, apologetic smile, speaking in a hushed whisper, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but... she seems to have bled through."
The mother gasped softly, lifting the jacket to check-and sure enough, the growing stain was there. "Oh, dear," she murmured, her face melting into maternal concern. You gestured subtly to the pocket. "I slipped a pad in there... in case you need it." The mother quickly mouthed a "thank you" before hurrying the girl toward the restroom, the father and the boy following right after. You smiled to yourself, relieved to have helped, and turned to make your way back to the seating area where your parents were waiting-your performance long done, the adrenaline still buzzing faintly in your veins.
But a voice stopped you. "My, my," the grandmother called out warmly, making her way over. "You're not just a pretty girl-you've got a beautiful heart too!" You flushed, laughing shyly. "It was really nothing, ma'am. I know how embarrassing it can feel..." The grandmother nodded sagely, folding her arms over her chest. "Takes one who's been through it to understand. Kindness like that is rare, you know."
You smiled at her, a little bashful, but grateful too. Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer, her lips quirking mischievously. Then, leaning a little closer, she asked in a whisper, "Tell me, sweetheart... you're single, aren't you?" You blinked, caught completely off guard. "Um... y-yeah, I am." "Perfect!" she chirped, clapping her hands once with delight. She shuffled aside with a flourish-and only then did you notice that someone had been standing awkwardly right beside you this whole time.
The boy from earlier, the one in the figure skating costume. You had noticed him earlier when the men were called to warm up. His costume was a somewhat baggy blouse that faded from clear white into a very vivid and deep blue. It was a bit similar to yours, though much darker, it had the same ombre effect.
His head snapped up to meet your gaze at the same time you looked at him, both of you freezing like deer caught in headlights. "This here's my grandson," the grandma said proudly, patting Sunghoon's shoulder. "He's about to perform, actually. Talented, polite, good-looking-what more could you ask for, huh?" You stared, the realization hitting you a second too late. Sunghoon was stunning up close, even more so than you'd noticed before. His cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink as he gave you a tiny, sheepish smile.
"I-uh, I'm Sunghoon," he said, voice soft but clear. He gave a small, polite bow despite the obvious embarrassment pooling around him. You managed to smile back, flustered but charmed, as you introduced yourself. "I, uh, already performed. You're up next, right?"
"Yeah," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Kinda hard to focus after that whole thing, but... thanks for helping my sister." His voice was earnest, sincere, and you felt the knot of nerves slowly unspool in your chest. "It was nothing," you said, laughing lightly. "Good luck out there." The grandmother beamed between the two of you, her matchmaking spirit practically radiating. "Maybe you can stay and watch him perform?" she suggested sweetly, not even trying to hide her intentions.
You met Sunghoon's shy, hopeful gaze-and found yourself nodding before you could even think twice. "I'd love to. Is he up next?" The grandmother shook her head, "Only two more boys and then it's his turn. Won't you stay until then?" You were about to nod when you heard your dad call out your name, calling you over to them since you score was about to be announced. In a haste, you excused yourself with the promise of coming back.
Your heart thrummed violently in your chest, Sunghoon long forgotten as your mind was swallowed whole by endless insecurities and what-ifs. What if it wasn't enough? What if you fell short again? Your hands trembled as your family wrapped you into a tight, protective hug, excitement buzzing around you like static in the air.
The announcer's voice finally crackled over the speakers, slicing cleanly through the tension. "For our final competitor in the Junior Women's division-"The world seemed to slow to a crawl. "A free skate score of 117.48 points! You felt your breath catch, stuck halfway between a gasp and a prayer. "Added to her short program score of 72.36, that brings her total to 189.84 points-" A heartbeat. Another. "-securing first place!"
Your family's cheers burst into the air around you, your sister practically shaking you in her arms. You stood frozen for a second, as if the words hadn't quite registered, before the realization slammed into you all at once.
You had won.
You had won.
Cheers erupted around you, and you felt your heart soar, your dad lifted you in the air. The moment felt so surreal. Years of hard work and you've finally got what you wanted. All in an instant, it felt like a fever dream. One second you were being introduced to some cute guy, and you were a winner in the next. It's all happening so fast you couldn't believe it. It only took one look at Ivan's tear-stained face to have you let the waterworks loose too. Adrenaline and bliss thrummed throughout your veins as he spun you around. Amidst all the chaos, your eyes met Sunghoon's, who was looking at you with genuine astonishment.
Somewhere in the stands, you could faintly make out Sunghoon's family cheering too, his little sister jumping and pointing excitedly.
But right now, it was just you and the thundering beat of your heart, drowning in a tide of relief, disbelief, and a wild, soaring kind of joy you hadn't felt in years.
When he noticed your gaze on him, he hastily looked away. His mom and sister were back though, and they were looking over your noisy, still celebrating huddle as well. His mom looked over to the grandma for an explanation, which she gave. After being hauled around by your family taking pictures of you, you finally sought the chance to excuse yourself and do good on your promise to watch Sunghoon's performance earlier. Of course, your sister didn't miss the chance to tease you about it. And neither did your dad.
"Ooh, meeting boys already? Our little champion's all grown up," your dad teased, nudging you playfully with his elbow.You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "It's not like that," you mumbled, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. Your sister gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Not yet like that, you mean." Your mom chuckled from behind the camera she was still holding. "Let her be. She's earned a little attention after today."
Ivan, who had been listening nearby, chimed in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Just don't forget about us once you're famous and running off with handsome boys." That sent your whole family into another fit of laughter, and you swatted at the air in front of you, trying to escape. "I'm just going to watch his performance!" you insisted, voice climbing with exasperation. "Like I promised!" "Right, right," your dad said, exaggeratedly wiping a fake tear from his eye. "First it's watching performances... next thing you know, wedding invitations!"
"Dad!" you whined, your face burning hotter than ever. Your sister winked at you, clearly enjoying every second. "Go get 'em, champ." You shook your head, laughing despite yourself as you turned away, feeling their teasing gazes follow you all the way across the gym. Sunghoon's family beamed as they congratulated you on your win
"I knew your performance was something special. Sunghoon-oppa here couldn't take his eyes off you earlier-" Yeji, the girl you helped earlier, said brightly, but she barely got the words out before Sunghoon clamped a hand over her mouth, face turning an adorable shade of red. "Yeji!" he hissed in a hushed yell, his voice dripping with embarrassment. His nervous chuckle made their parents laugh, the sound light and teasing.
Sunghoon's mom smiled warmly at you, a fondness in her eyes as she looked between you and her son. "I hope Sunghoon gets into the nationals too," she said, voice gentle. "It'd be nice if the both of you won, right?" "It'd be the perfect excuse for a date," his grandma added mischievously, her tone playful enough to make Sunghoon visibly shrink into himself. "Halmeoni!" he groaned, dragging his hand down his face. You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of you, nerves and flattery mixing into something light and giddy.
"It's okay," you said, smiling shyly at them all. "I think... just competing together would already be really special." Sunghoon peeked at you through his fingers, and when he caught your eye, he smiled too - small, genuine, a little shy around the edges. Yeji, now free from his hand, beamed. "You have to teach me how to be that cool when I compete!" Sunghoon's dad chuckled and asked, "How long have you been skating, if you don't mind me asking?"
You shifted your weight, thinking back. "Um... technically, not that long," you admitted. "I used to do ballet, actually, until about three years ago." "Really?" Sunghoon's mom perked up with interest. "Yeah," you nodded, a little sheepishly. "I kept trying to qualify for the ballet regionals, but... I never really made it past the preliminaries. I guess after a few years of that, I just felt like maybe my heart wasn't in it anymore. Skating kind of... gave me a second chance at something I really loved."
"You must have worked really hard," Sunghoon's dad said, sounding genuinely impressed. "I still have a long way to go," you said quickly, laughing a little. "But it feels different this time. Like... even when I lose sometimes, I want to keep trying." Sunghoon, quiet until now, spoke up, his voice softer, thoughtful. "That's really cool. I mean it." You looked over and found him smiling at you again - properly this time, without hiding - and the way his eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners made your heart skip.
"You're already amazing," Yeji chimed in enthusiastically, tugging at your sleeve like you were an old friend. "I'm gonna cheer for you both at nationals!" Sunghoon's grandma patted your shoulder warmly. "You're part of the family cheering squad now too, dear. You better get used to it." Everyone laughed, including you, and for a moment, standing there with them, you felt something settle in your chest - a sense of belonging, easy and bright.
A few minutes later, Sunghoon was finally called down for his performance.
(Refer to this performance of hoonie if you want any visual aid lmao. for the sake of the plot, however, we are gonna ignore his actual rank in the video--- p.s. he did amazing here in this performance. ANOTHER P.S., this fanfic isn't too accurate on the times of hoonie's performances but alas, I am too lazy to redo it)
You hadn't expected to find yourself sitting here, bundled up among strangers who somehow already felt like family. After helping Sunghoon's little sister earlier, his family had insisted-no, insisted-you join them to watch his free skate. And you, still a little flustered and embarrassed, had agreed. Now here you were, heart thudding in your chest, watching the boy you'd only just met take the ice.
The lights dimmed slightly, and the familiar opening notes of the music drifted through the rink. It was a bright, soaring melody, full of lightness and energy-and somehow, it fit him perfectly. You leaned forward without meaning to, your breath catching as Sunghoon pushed off into his first glide.
Each movement was smooth, effortless, like water finding its path. His blades cut clean lines across the ice, turning with a precision that could only come from endless hours of practice, yet he made it look so natural, so easy. You couldn't tear your eyes away. His jumps were light, airy, as though gravity itself hesitated to pull him back down.
He was-
Beautiful.
Beside you, Sunghoon's little sister tugged your sleeve excitedly.
"Isn't he cool?" she whispered, her voice bubbling with pride.
You nodded quickly, a small, breathless laugh escaping. "He's amazing. He moves like... like the music was made just for him."
You turned your gaze back to the ice just in time to catch Sunghoon launching into a jump-a perfect triple. He landed so cleanly you barely heard the blade hit the ice. The melody picked up, playful and bright, and Sunghoon matched it effortlessly, his movements light and joyful without ever losing the grace that came so naturally to him.
His mom smiled at that, her eyes warm.
"He's always been good at feeling the music," she said softly. "Even when he was just a little boy. We'd put on anything, and he'd just start skating around the living room, pretending it was a rink."
"He makes it look easy," you murmured without thinking.
You ducked your head quickly, face burning, but couldn't help smiling.
Sunghoon's dad chuckled warmly.
"That's the trick. He's spent years making it look that way."
His grandma leaned in closer, her voice teasing.
"Maybe he's showing off a little more today, hm? After all... there's someone new in the crowd."
The music swelled into its chorus, and Sunghoon moved with it as if his body had been designed to echo the sound. Every turn, every extension of his arms felt right, like he wasn't just skating to the melody, but was the melody. You could feel his energy even from here-the quiet determination, the bursts of joy, the fierce concentration beneath it all.
The music softened into its final notes, and you turned back just in time to see Sunghoon finish with a quiet flourish, one knee touching the ice, head bowed. For a moment, the rink was silent except for the soft scrape of his blades slowing to a stop. Then applause erupted-and you were on your feet before you even realized it, clapping hard enough that your palms stung. Around you, his family cheered and whooped, but your eyes stayed locked on him.
Sunghoon straightened slowly, lifting his gaze toward the stands-and for a brief, dizzying second, it felt like he looked straight at you. Your heart somersaulted, your hands still clapping even as you forgot how to breathe. It was the kind of performance that made you fall in love with skating all over again. And maybe-just maybe-with the boy who made it look like flying.
He finally glided off the ice, going to the same seat where you were earlier. The 2 other boys who went before him gained a relatively high score, but you knew from the masterpiece you were just blessed with, he had a huge chance to win. Actually, you were praying on it. If he really did get to win, the two of you would get to go to the nationals together. You watched from afar as he heaved. All those jumps must have rendered him exhausted.
His family began to head to him, so they can check in, with you in tow. Though, it was still going to be a while before his score gets announced so you knew you had time. You passed by your family and quickly introduced them to one another first, just to get them acquainted and to let them know who you were walking with. Of course, praises for Sunghoon erupted from them as well. You've just come to terms with your attraction for the boy but it seems like he's already won the favor of your immediate family. Including Ivan.
Your seats were near the "hot seat" as you would call it, so you opted to just have the Parks sit next to your family, that way they'd be close to Sunghoon without having to stand the entire waiting time while the judges evaluated. After what felt like an eternity, the commentators finally revealed his score.
The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers, snapping you out of your daze. Everyone around you leaned forward instinctively, waiting for the numbers to flash onto the giant screen. You found yourself holding your breath without even meaning to.
"And now, Park Sunghoon's score for the free skate..."
The screen flickered, and then the numbers appeared in bold, glowing print.
"He receives 154.26 points for his free skate-"
There was a small gasp around you-his family clutching each other's arms in excitement, his little sister nearly bouncing out of her seat.
"...for a combined total of 233.75 points!"
Your hands flew up to your mouth, hiding the huge grin breaking across your face.
"Oh my god," you whispered, half laughing, half breathless.
"He did it!" his sister squealed, grabbing your sleeve and shaking it.
Sunghoon's dad let out a booming laugh, clapping his hands together.
"That's our boy!" he said proudly, his voice thick with emotion.
You could hardly take your eyes off Sunghoon, who was smiling on the monitor, bowing politely before flashing a quick, bashful grin at the camera. He looked overwhelmed, relieved, proud-and somehow still so humble despite the incredible score. Leaning closer, Sunghoon's grandma teased in a low whisper, "Better start practicing how to answer interview questions. They're gonna be calling him a national treasure soon."
His mom brushed away a tear with a soft chuckle.
"He worked so hard for this. He deserves every point."
And somewhere deep inside, a small, secret wish stirred:
You laughed, heart thudding with pride that felt far too big for someone you had only just met. But somehow, it didn't feel strange at all. Watching him stand there, practically glowing under the spotlight-you were just... happy. And honored.
Happy to have witnessed it.
Honored to be part of it, even in this tiny way.
Maybe this wasn't the last time you'd be cheering for Park Sunghoon.
The trip to another country was nice. New, but nice. Especially when a really cute guy (who is your boyfriend now) is sat next to you the entire plane ride with his head perched on your shoulder. To say you felt excited was a total understatement. You were fucking estatic. You bagged first place AND a total cutie? Honestly, the plane could have crashed but you still would have had a smile on your face.
Anyway, it's been 4 months since the regionals, during that time, Ivan and Sunghoon's coach arranged multiple joint training sessions among the two of you, the rationale being that both of you were representing the country anyway, so might as well see and know each other's routines. Maybe even help each other out and develop into partners.
And that's exactly what happened.
Every few days when your parents came to pick you up from the rink, his family would invite yours to their house to have dinner and vice versa. Everyone got acquainted quickly, and so did you and Sunghoon. Two months into practice, he told you to dismiss your parents from picking you up that day. Reason why? He wanted to walk you home. You still remember every detail from that walk so vividly.
The air was crisp, and the leaves were a cool shade of orange, since it was already fall. You're beginning to get the impression that Sunghoon had a very particular reason why he seemed hellbent on taking you home today. At first, you thought it was just because he was tired of being constantly teased and pressured both his parents and yours to get together with you, but the more you observed him that day, the more you realized he looked like he had something he wanted to say. His mouth kept opening and sharply sucking in a breath, as if he were preparing to give a speech, but alas, no words came out of his mouth.
It was a habit of his. A shy, timid boy who only gets loud with his sister. He was a man of a few words. Always twiddling with his thumbs, back slouched. Clearly not too confident in himself. You noticed this from the very first time you met, all the way back at the regionals' free skate. Whilst all the other participants flaunted even during just their warm-up with the stance and expression of confidence, he prepared meekly.
You always wondered why he was like this. To you, he has every right to parade himself, albeit you're glad he doesn't. He has the looks and talent, yet he seems to be so insecure. Opting to let someone else do the talking for him, in fear of being judged for something he'd say wrong. You wanted to change that. Help him get out of his shell and realize that he's fucking beautiful. That he has nothing to be afraid of.
You've only over seen him at ease sporadically; when he's with Yeji, when he's alone, and when he's on the ice. If only he could come to grasp how ethereal he looks when he's in his element. When he's not constantly thinking about what others have to say about him. You thought this way too, back when you were still in ballet, and it was NOT a healthy mindset. You learned that letting go of other peoples' hearsay was the key to living a happy life, ESPECIALLY as a teenager. As the saying goes; Ignorance is bliss.
As you finally got your spatial awareness back, you noticed you were already in your neighborhood. And you must admit, your curiosity of what Sunghoon wants to say was gnawing at you, since your time together for the was already close to being cut short. Looking over to the boy, he met your eyes, since he's been looking at you the entire walk, looking for a good opening to start his spiel. His head immediately turned upon being caught staring, stammering a small "sorry" as his ears flushed a nice hue of pink.
You stopped in your tracks, your gaze fixed on him with a hint of curiosity and suspicion. His flustered expression, the way he kept stealing glances at you-was it possible? Could he actually like you, too? Your thoughts began to race, but before you could process anything further, Sunghoon froze, his eyes widening slightly as he realized you weren't walking beside him anymore.
He slowly turned around, face now a deep shade of pink, and stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" He trailed off, his voice faltering as he tried to form an excuse.
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms loosely in front of your chest, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Sunghoon," you started, your voice playful yet laced with an edge of curiosity. "We've been walking for so long now. And I know you want to say something. So... just say it already."
Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering to the ground before he let out a nervous laugh. "I-uh," he began, trailing off again. The usual habit of his, always hesitant, always careful with his words, was in full force. You could see the way his fingers fidgeted at his sides, like he was gathering the courage to speak but wasn't quite sure how.
You took a step closer to him, giving him a reassuring smile. "Sunghoon, you don't have to be nervous around me. Just tell me what's on your mind."
For a moment, he looked at you, as if weighing the decision, before his mouth opened again. This time, the words came out in a rush, his voice barely above a whisper. "I-" He hesitated, then met your gaze directly, his eyes serious now, "I've been thinking about this... about you, actually." He took another breath, his voice trembling slightly, "I think... I think I might like you."
Your heart skipped a beat. The words hit you like a wave, pulling you under before you could take another breath. Sunghoon. Sunghoon was telling you that he liked you. Of all the things you thought might happen on this walk, that was the last thing on your mind.
You blinked in surprise, struggling to catch up to the moment. He... he liked you? You had always thought he was special, that there was something about him that set him apart from everyone else. But the thought that he might see you the same way? That was something else entirely.
"Really?" You managed, your voice softer now, as if you were trying to wrap your head around it. "You... like me?"
Sunghoon's face turned an even deeper shade of pink, his hands fumbling nervously with the straps of his backpack. "Yeah," he whispered, looking away, almost as if he were trying to make himself smaller, hiding behind the words that now seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. "I know it sounds sudden, and I-I didn't want to say anything at first. But... every time I see you, every time we talk, it just feels like I'm supposed to tell you. Like... like it's the right thing to do."
Your heart was racing, but you could feel your own body relaxing in response to his words. Something about the rawness in his voice made everything around you seem quieter, softer. For the first time, you realized that Sunghoon wasn't just the shy, awkward guy you always saw in practice-he was someone who, despite his quiet demeanor, felt things deeply. And he was letting you in.
You took a few steps closer to him, so close that you could almost feel the warmth of his nervous energy. "You don't have to apologize, Sunghoon," you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "It's not sudden. And it's not wrong to feel this way. But I-" You hesitated, suddenly unsure of how to say what was on your mind, "I'm glad you're telling me."
Sunghoon looked at you now, his eyes wide, like he couldn't believe what he had just confessed. You smiled at him, a soft, comforting smile, letting him know you weren't judging him. "You don't have to hide anymore," you continued, your voice calm and steady, "You've got nothing to be afraid of."
His gaze dropped again, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "I'm just... not good at this kind of thing," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I've never been good at expressing myself. I guess I was always worried about saying the wrong thing, or not being enough." He paused, biting his lip. "But when I'm with you, it's different. I don't feel like I have to hide. Even if I mess up, you're just... you're just there, listening. And I've never felt that before."
You couldn't help but soften at his words, feeling a warmth spread through you. It was clear now-Sunghoon wasn't just shy because he was uncertain about his feelings for you. He was shy because, deep down, he didn't believe he deserved someone who saw him the way you did.
You moved even closer, until you were standing right in front of him, close enough to reach out and touch him. Your voice dropped to a whisper, as if you were sharing something deeply personal. "Sunghoon, you don't need to worry about not being enough. You are enough. You're more than enough. And you deserve someone who sees you for exactly who you are, without any fear of being judged. I like you. I've liked you for a while now, actually."
Sunghoon's eyes widened, his lips parting in shock, as if he couldn't believe what you were saying. His hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders relaxing in a way that was almost imperceptible, but to you, it felt like he was finally letting go of a burden he'd been carrying for so long. "You... like me?" he repeated, his voice barely audible.
You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his arm gently. "Yeah," you said, "I like you. And I think you're incredible just the way you are. You don't need to be anything else. You've got everything it takes to be amazing, Sunghoon."
For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the only sound being the soft rustling of the fall leaves in the wind. Sunghoon's face softened as he looked at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked like he had just heard the most beautiful thing in the world, something he had been longing to hear for a long time.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for seeing me. I-I've always been so scared of what others might think, but with you... with you, it's different." He took a step closer to you, his voice barely above a breath. "You make me feel... okay. Like I'm not broken. Like I'm not something to hide."
You reached out, your fingers brushing his in a quiet, intimate gesture. "You're not broken, Sunghoon. You never were."
The moment stretched on, and for the first time, you could feel the weight that had been pressing on both of you begin to lift. The air between you felt lighter now, warmer. And in that quiet, fall evening, surrounded by the golden leaves, you realized something: this wasn't just a confession-it was the beginning of something new. Something both of you were ready for.
The plane touches down in Hong Kong with a gentle jolt, and the air shifts in an instant. After four hours in the sky, you finally step foot on the ground of this bustling city. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding your veins. The competition is finally here, and you're about to face it head-on, but the thought of being here, so far from home, feels surreal.
Sunghoon is right there beside you as the plane's doors open, both of you standing in the crowded terminal. He's been with you this entire time, and the fact that he's not just here as your boyfriend but also as a competitor, somehow makes everything easier. The initial shock of being in a new city fades when you look at him, his familiar warmth grounding you.
He notices the way your eyes are scanning the chaos of the airport, and he nudges you gently with his elbow. "Hey, are you okay?" His voice is soft, concern lacing each word, and you give him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine," you reply, trying to mask the flutter in your stomach. "Just... this is a lot."
"I know," he says, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, a gentle touch that makes your heart skip. "But you've got this. I'm right here." You nod, grateful for his support. The nerves don't completely disappear, but they're definitely easier to manage with him here. As you both make your way through the airport, Sunghoon's hand slips into yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in that comfortable, familiar way that makes you feel like you can face anything. The anxiety that's been gnawing at you slowly starts to lift with each step.
Then, from behind you, Ivan's voice cuts through the moment. "Oh, look at that," he teases, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "A couple of lovebirds, huh? Are we in Hong Kong for the competition or just here for a vacation?" His grin is all teasing, but there's a warmth in his eyes that tells you he's genuinely happy for you both.
Sunghoon rolls his eyes but grins nonetheless. "We're here to compete, Ivan, not go on a honeymoon." You grinned at his snide, lately, he's been able to joke and talk a lot more freely. It enlightened you, seeing him slowly breaking free of his laid-back inhibitions. Ivan raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "Sure, sure. Whatever helps you focus. You two are the definition of 'couple goals.'"
You glance over at Sunghoon, who's already laughing, the lighthearted moment easing the tension even more. It's good to know that even though Ivan likes to tease, he's just as invested in you both succeeding here. But what catches your attention is Sunghoon's coach, who has been silently observing from the sidelines. He quietly chuckles to himself, shaking his head as if amused by the light banter between you and Ivan, but he doesn't speak. His quiet laughter is a soft reassurance, like he's acknowledging the bond you share with Sunghoon without saying a word.
As Ivan continues his teasing, you lean into Sunghoon, your heart a little lighter. "You know," you start, voice playful, "if you keep getting teased like this, you'll never focus on the competition." "Don't worry," Sunghoon says, his voice filled with warmth. "I'm always focused when you're around." He gives you that smile-the one that always makes your heart race-and you can't help but grin back.
"Let's just focus on winning this competition first, then we can talk about being 'couple goals' after, yeah?" you say with a wink, nudging him back. He chuckles, pulling you closer, his arm casually resting around your shoulders as you walk out of the airport. "Deal. But, for the record, I'll be cheering the loudest for you." And just like that, the nervousness fades completely. With Sunghoon by your side, there's nothing you can't handle.
The competition isn't until tomorrow afternoon, because Ivan wanted to get here early, for the sole purpose of having time to explore around first. So, after the four of you went and left your luggage at the hotel you were accommodated to, the coaches let you two roam around the city (whereas they stayed behind the two of you just a few meters distant).
The narrow streets of Hong Kong bustled around you, neon signs glowing overhead as a soft drizzle misted the air. You clutched your umbrella tighter while Sunghoon adjusted the strap of his backpack, glancing over his shoulder to make sure your coaches weren't too close behind. "They're literally stalking us," he whispered, flashing you an exaggerated look of horror.
You stifled a laugh. "They're just... protective," you said, watching your coaches pretend to examine a street vendor's wares while clearly keeping one eye on you both. Sunghoon leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Protective is checking in by text. This? This is tactical surveillance." You bit your lip to hold in a laugh. "At least they're letting us walk alone," you teased. "For now." He nudged you playfully with his shoulder. "Race you to the next corner before they put us on a leash."
"You're on," you grinned, and with a sudden burst, you darted forward. Sunghoon chased after you, laughing, both of you slipping between the crowds with your coaches shouting "Be careful!" somewhere behind. When you stopped, breathless and grinning under the flickering lights of a side street, he caught your hand without thinking. "You're crazy," he said, eyes sparkling. "You love it," you teased back.
He opened his mouth like he was going to deny it, but then just shook his head, smiling. "Yeah. I do." His fingers squeezed yours. For a second, the noise of the city faded. It was just you, him, and the thundering of your heart before tomorrow's big day. "You ready?" he asked softly. "For tomorrow?" You hesitated, but his gaze was steady, grounding you.
"I think... with you here, I am," you said. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking a little bashful even as he did it. "Win or lose, you're already everything I admire." Before you could say anything, Ivan's voice rang out, startling you both. "Sunghoon! Five-minute break's over! Stretch time!"
You groaned, and Sunghoon laughed helplessly. "See? Tactical." As you made your way back toward the watchful eyes of your coaches, he whispered, "After you win, real date. No chaperones. Promise." You squeezed his hand once before letting go, feeling the silent vow linger between you. You would win tomorrow.
And Sunghoon would be waiting at the finish line.
After checking out this homey little restaurant, the 4 of you went back to your joint hotel room. The place you guys opted for was a bit expensive and fancy, so your coaches decided to just share the deluxe family room. It was beautiful there. 4 single beds, an adorable dining set just a few feet away from the beds, a fridge filled with complimentary snacks, a big ass bathroom, and a cute balcony that gave you a good view of the city.
"Whew, I am drained! You two shouldn't have run around earlier, you better not get sore right before the competition!" Ivan scolded, dramatically jumping into his bed with an exasperated groan. "Geez, we aren't old, Ivan, we don't get cramps as easily as you do." Sunghoon snickered as his coach feigned offense. Ivan could only roll his eyes at your mock, "Okay, okay. But on a serious note, you kids should rest up. Tomorrow's the big day."
You dismissed him with a nod, peering into the fridge and investigating it's contents. Oh! "Sunghoon-ah! There are some tiramisu bites here!" His eyes lit up upon the mention of his favorite dessert, "Really? No way!" He was already sticking his head into the fridge, hands already grabbing a piece, making you giggle at his eagerness. "You really like that stuff huh?" You say as you grab a piece of your own and some cheese flavored chips you bought from the convenience store earlier.
Oddly enough, the air-conditioner was positioned on the floor, right below his bed. He sat down right in front of it to refrain from sweating too much, after all, the weather here in Hong Kong is more humid than what you were used to in Korea. You settled down next to him, tearing both packets of the tiramisu and the chips, switching bites from the two snacks to avoid getting sick of the other one immediately.
The night had fallen silent, the usual hum of the city lost to the thick walls of the hotel room. The soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminated both of you as you sat on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed beneath you, staring at the floor. Sunghoon was quiet, his hands resting in his lap, fingers occasionally fidgeting with the fabric of his pants. The weight of his silence seemed to hang in the air, and it wasn't the usual comfortable quiet between the two of you. No, this was different.
You could feel his thoughts racing, the burden of something he was holding back. It wasn't like Sunghoon to be so closed off. Usually, he was the one who could make light of any situation, flashing that radiant smile that made everything feel easier. But tonight, he was distant. Something about the pressure of the competition seemed to have cracked open a part of him that he hadn't shared with anyone.
Finally, after a long pause, his voice broke the silence. It was softer than usual, quieter, almost as if the words themselves were hesitant to leave his mouth.
"You know," he started, his eyes focused on the floor as if searching for the right words. "When I first started skating, I was one of the only boys who joined. The rink was mostly filled with older girls. They were so... well, they were so different from me." He paused, his hand slowly brushing over his face, as if trying to erase the memories that were starting to resurface. "I was just a kid, and they... they never included me in their conversations. I'd watch them huddle in groups, laughing and talking about things I didn't understand. And I just... I stood there, feeling so out of place. I guess I just wasn't one of them."
There was a certain vulnerability in his voice that you hadn't heard before, a crack in his usual confidence. He didn't seem like the Sunghoon you knew, the one who walked through life with an easy smile and a confidence that could light up the room. This was something deeper. You could feel his pain in the quiet between his words.
"It wasn't just the silence," he continued, his voice growing even quieter. "They would snicker, and I could hear them whispering when I wasn't looking. 'What's he doing here?' 'He'll never make it.' I think... I think that's why I started closing myself off. I just didn't want to be the odd one out anymore. I didn't want to feel that way ever again."
You could see the sadness in his eyes now, something raw and unspoken that he was only just revealing to you. Sunghoon had always been a bit of a mystery when it came to his past, but this moment, this quiet honesty, was unlike anything you'd expected. He had always been strong, but this was his vulnerability - the part of him that had been shaped by those years of feeling alone.
For a brief moment, the room was still. You could feel your heart tugging for him, understanding more than ever why he had become so introverted over the years. The isolation, the judgment, the teasing - it was all still there, lurking in the back of his mind. But he wasn't just the shy, quiet boy anymore. He was Sunghoon - strong, talented, and capable of so much more than he realized.
"You know," you began, your voice steady, but your gaze filled with empathy, "none of that matters anymore. Fuck those girls, Sunghoon." Your words were sharp, but they were laced with all the conviction you could muster. "Don't mind what anyone has to say about you. They didn't know you. They didn't see the real you."
You shifted closer to him, placing a hand gently on his arm, meeting his gaze with nothing but honesty. "You're perfect just the way you are. You're more than enough. And if they couldn't see that, then that's on them. It has nothing to do with you. You're here, you've worked so hard to get here, and you're going to keep getting better. Don't let their judgment stick with you."
For a long moment, Sunghoon remained still, absorbing your words. His gaze softened as he looked at you, a quiet breath escaping his lips as though the weight of his past had been momentarily lifted.
"You're right," he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "It's just hard to forget sometimes. You know, when you've been carrying something like that for so long..." You gave him a gentle smile, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "I get it. But you're not carrying it alone anymore. Not with me. You never have to carry it alone."
Sunghoon's lips curled into a small, appreciative smile, his eyes glistening a bit, though he quickly blinked it away. The distance between you two had closed in that moment, a bond forged not just through words but through understanding. He may have been scarred by his past, but he was no longer alone in facing it.
And for the first time in a long while, Sunghoon allowed himself to believe it. To believe in the people who truly saw him - not as the shy, isolated kid on the ice, but as the incredible person he had become. The person who deserved every bit of happiness and success that was waiting for him.
There, the both of you collapsed into laughter as you shared embarrassing stories with one another, wiping some of the tiramisu's cream on each other's noses and cheeks, and basically just cuddling with one another. You didn't even notice that your hands were intertwined with one another, but when you did, your eyes snapped to his. He was looking at you once again, this time with that beautiful smile of his etched onto his face.
The hum of the air-conditioner filled the small hotel room, a low, steady noise that somehow made everything feel even quieter between you two. You sat side by side on the floor, your knees brushing lightly now and then, switching bites between the tiramisu and the chips, laughter still lingering from earlier. Every so often, you'd catch Sunghoon sneaking glances at you - not the playful, teasing ones he usually threw your way, but something softer, something that made your heart stutter in your chest.
A smear of cream clung stubbornly to the corner of his mouth. "Hold still," you murmured, leaning closer without thinking. You wiped it away with your thumb, only realizing how near you were when you felt his breath against your skin, warm despite the cool blast of the air-con. His hand instinctively found yours again, your fingers tangling together without hesitation this time. Your laughter died down into a tender, stretched-out silence. The humid air wrapped around you both, and it was almost too easy - too natural - when you both started leaning in.
At first, it was tentative, the space between you narrowing second by second. You caught the way his eyelashes fluttered shut just as your noses brushed. A soft, uncertain breath escaped your lips - and then you closed the last bit of space. The kiss was featherlight, like the both of you were scared to press too hard, scared to shatter the fragile, perfect thing that was happening. He pulled back just slightly, enough to search your eyes, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Finally," he whispered, voice low and a little shaky. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, giddy, your forehead resting lightly against his. And for that moment - no coaches, no competition, no pressure - it was just you and him, and the sweet, dizzying feeling of falling into something you both had been tiptoeing around for far too long.
Your moment stopped when you heard the click of a camera. Your heads turned to Ivan, who had his phone out, mischievously grinning at his screen. "Ooh, I'm gonna send this to your sister." He taunted, earning a scoff from you, "You wouldn't" you challenged, now glaring daggers at the man whose fingers dangerously hovered over your sister's instagram icon.
"Hate to ruin your moment there, but you two should get ready for bed already." Sunghoon's coach tittered a laugh, nudging towards the darkening night sky that was visible from the balcony. Reluctantly, the both of you pulled away from each other as you silently agreed on who gets bathroom privileges first. It was you.
So, after quickly grabbing your hygiene kit and some pajamas from your bag, you headed into the bathroom and immediately switched on the tap and the shower, trying to make much noise as possible to cover the squeal you were about to make. OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT WAS MY FIRST KISS. The realization has just dawned you. You just kissed Park fucking Sunghoon. Of course, you're a new couple, so it took you 2 whole months to finally get a kiss in.
You were jumping around the bathroom as you watched your reflection from the corner of your eye. Your face was flushed, grin unable to be wiped off. You felt more mature then. You felt like a woman. "We can hear you, you know!" Ivan's voice rang from outside, making you sigh out in frustration. "Let me celebrate my first kiss in peace, dammit!"
Little did you know, Sunghoon was just as happy as you were, if not more. As you hurried into the bathroom, he leaned back on the bed, his eyes half-closed as the rhythm of his racing heartbeat filled his ears. Every thud felt like a drumbeat in his chest, strong and urgent, echoing the excitement that had taken root inside him since you'd stepped into his life. It wasn't just the rush of competition - it wasn't even the thrill of winning or the anxiety about tomorrow's big event. It was you.
He couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips, no matter how hard he tried to keep it in check. The joy you exuded, the little sounds you made as you moved around the bathroom, all of it made him feel like he was floating. It was a feeling he hadn't anticipated, something deep and powerful that surged up from the depths of his chest.
And then, just as he thought his heart couldn't possibly beat any faster, he heard it: your excited peals of laughter, muffled but still clear through the thin walls of the hotel room. Your happiness, your genuine, unfiltered joy - it was contagious. It hit him like a tidal wave. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself, staring at the ceiling as if trying to gather his thoughts in the midst of this overwhelming feeling.
He felt on top of the fucking world. Like nothing could bring him down, no obstacle too large, no competition too difficult to face, because you were here. You were in his life. And right now, that was all that mattered.
For a fleeting moment, his thoughts turned inward, a small but growing realization settling in his chest like a weight he couldn't ignore. Maybe it was too early to say it out loud, but the truth was undeniable. He was already in love with you.
He felt it - deep in his thrumming heart, that undeniable, warm certainty. The way his thoughts always returned to you, the way he caught himself smiling at the thought of you even in the most mundane moments. The way your laughter still rang in his ears, even now, and how it filled the empty spaces inside of him in a way nothing else ever had.
His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the blanket, but his mind was a million miles away, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that were only growing louder. It had only been a short time, but with you, everything just felt... right. More than right. Perfect. But when was the perfect time? He didn't want to rush it, didn't want to ruin this delicate, almost fragile moment between you two. It had to be special, the way everything with you felt.
As the minutes passed, and you continued your happy noises from the bathroom, he found himself lost in his own reverie, a soft smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. What was he even waiting for? Was there a perfect time, or was this it - now, in this moment, when everything felt right and the air between you two was thick with the unsaid but deeply understood feelings that had started to bloom between you?
Maybe it was the excitement and buzz for the upcoming competition, maybe it was the strange, charged atmosphere of the hotel room - but something inside him told him to hold onto this. To savor the joy, the uncertainty, the possibilities that lay ahead.
For now, he would wait. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't keep it to himself any longer. He would find the perfect time. And when he did, he wouldn't hesitate. He had to be confident in saying it.
The bustling sounds of the city faded as you and Sunghoon stepped out of the cab and approached the entrance of Mega Ice, the indoor rink located in MegaBox. The nerves in the air were almost palpable as the crowd gathered around the venue, the buzz of anticipation rising with every passing minute. Today's event was just the short program for junior men and women, while tomorrow was the free skate. Two days of hell where you'll have to show all that you've got to the judges, the audience, and the cameras who were broadcasting everything to the world.
Sunghoon's eyes flickered to the sea of people, his shoulders tense under the weight of the situation. You could see it in the slight quiver of his hands as he adjusted the strap of his bag, his gaze lost in the magnitude of the crowd. He had always been calm in the face of competition, but today, something felt different. You could feel it in the way he moved, in the tightness around his eyes. The enormity of the event was sinking in, and his usual composure seemed to be slipping through his fingers.
You slowed your pace and walked alongside him, offering him a reassuring smile. You knew exactly what to do. "Hey, just remember... we've been preparing for this," you began, your voice steady, trying to match his unease with confidence. "You've worked so hard for this moment. All that training, all the hours on the ice, it's brought you here. And no one can take that away from you."
He sighed, his eyes still locked on the crowd, his breath coming a little faster now. "I know, but... I don't know. It's just... it's different today. The crowd is huge, and I can feel the pressure." He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable in the midst of the noise and chaos. "What if I mess up?"
You stopped walking for a moment and turned to face him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at you, his expression a mixture of doubt and exhaustion. "You won't," you assured him, your voice firm yet gentle. "You're not the type to mess up. You've got this." You smiled, giving him a playful nudge. "Look at you-you're practically made for this."
He let out a shaky laugh, but the tension was still there. "You make it sound easy."
"Well, it is," you said, meeting his eyes with a look of complete sincerity. "You've been skating for years. You've trained with the best. You're ready for this. And you've got me with you every step of the way."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. "And if you fall flat on your face, what then?"
You grinned, a playful gleam in your eyes. "I'll just make sure you catch me when I do."
The tension between you two slowly dissolved as he chuckled softly, the corners of his lips lifting. You could see the edges of his nerves softening, just a little. The thought of facing the crowd wasn't as overwhelming now. You stood there for a moment, both of you looking at the massive crowd in front of you, and then you turned to face him with more assurance.
"You won't fall, Sunghoon," you said, your tone lighter now, but filled with conviction. "But even if you do, I'll be there to pull you up. And I know you'll do the same for me."
He seemed to breathe a little easier at that, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thanks. You always know what to say to make me feel better."
You winked, giving him a thumbs-up. "Of course. But remember, you're not alone in this. No matter how big that crowd is, out there on the ice, it's just you. And you're going to crush it. I believe in you."
For the first time that day, he smiled fully, the smile that reached his eyes. It was a quiet moment, but in it, you both understood - the crowd, the competition, the nerves - none of it mattered. What mattered was the trust between you, the belief that you'd both give your best. And that was enough to settle both your hearts.
The men were called to perform first, ladies' second, so you stayed near the entrance to the rink so you could watch him up close, Ivan and his coach on either side of you, almost biting their nails in anticipation. Sunghoon was already called on the ice for their warm-up. Shrieks erupted from the audience when he took his jacket off in this cool ass mannner, and you couldn't help it, the action swooned you too.
Your heart raced-not for yourself, but for him. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he adjusted his suit one too many times. You knew what was coming, yet the nerves gnawed at you both. The atmosphere was electric and thick with anticipation.
After the boys were done warming up, Sunghoon and the rest left as one participant you recognized from videos you saw online centered, in front of the judges. The stage lights flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the entire venue. The hum of excitement from the crowd filled the air, creating a buzz that seemed to vibrate through the floor. You stood in the audience, watching Sunghoon as he prepped for his turn.
You had always admired how Sunghoon could stay composed under pressure, but tonight, something felt different. His usual calm was overshadowed by a quiet unease, the kind that was hard to mask, even for him. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him everything would be fine, but you could see the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. His breath was steady, but there was a flicker in his eyes that betrayed his nerves. You could almost feel the tension in the air, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you.
"Sunghoon," you said softly, as you approached him, "You've got this." You weren't sure if he heard you, but his gaze briefly met yours, and for a second, you could see a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. His opponent was already done, and he was already up next. Then, without another word, he stepped forward, his movements graceful but deliberate. He was going first, and you knew that meant he had to set the tone for everything that followed.
The moment the music began, you held your breath. The stage was his, the spotlight an extension of his confidence. He moved with purpose, his body flowing through the choreography, his expression focused. But even as he performed with precision, you could feel the nervous energy radiating off him-like an electric current you couldn't escape. His every move was calculated, but there was an undercurrent of doubt, something beneath the surface that wasn't quite in sync with the rest of him.
You couldn't help but feel that rush of empathy for him. You knew what it was like to stand before a crowd, vulnerable and exposed. You had seen him go through countless rehearsals, pushing himself to the limit, always trying to perfect every move. Now, it was his time to shine, and yet, you could see the hesitation in his eyes. A split second of doubt-a fraction of a moment-but you felt it too.
Your heart clenched when he stumbled, just a slight misstep in his footwork. It wasn't major, but it was enough to make you hold your breath. The crowd didn't notice, but you did. His face shifted, just for a moment, as if wondering whether he should keep going. You wanted to shout out, to tell him that it was okay, that everyone stumbled sometimes. But instead, you kept silent, your fingers pressing together as if in silent prayer for him.
And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the doubt disappeared. Sunghoon steadied himself, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination. His movements regained their fluidity, his form sharpening with precision. You could see the change, the way he refocused, pushed through the nerves, and turned what had been a potential mistake into a strength. It was like watching someone transform before your very eyes, finding their center in the midst of chaos.
As the final note echoed through the arena, you let out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Sunghoon stood tall, his posture straight, his expression a mixture of relief and satisfaction. His shoulders were no longer tense, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself a small smile. The crowd erupted into applause, but you knew that it wasn't just the performance they were cheering for-it was his perseverance, his resilience. You couldn't help but feel proud, not just for the flawless performance, but for the man he was becoming.
Various stuffed toys rained from the audience, some bouquet of flowers as well for him. Another thing you loved about figure-skating was how adorable and thoughtful the crowd usually is after a performance, giving these cute gifts to those they were rooting for. Sunghoon beamed at the audience, picking up those they have offered him with sincere gratitude.
You made your way to him as he stepped off the stage, his breath coming in steady waves, his eyes reflecting a quiet pride. Without thinking, you reached out, giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder. "You were amazing," you said, your voice full of sincerity. Sunghoon turned to face you, his usual stoic expression softened by the warmth of your words. There was a brief pause before he replied, his voice almost a whisper, "Thanks."
In that moment, you realized that it wasn't just the applause or the recognition that mattered-it was the small moments between the chaos, the understanding, and the connection you shared. No matter how many performances, how many challenges, you would always be there, cheering him on. The journey was just as important as the destination, and together, you were walking it side by side.
As Sunghoon caught his breath, you stood by him, offering the comfort of your presence. The night had been a reminder of just how much he had grown, not just as a performer, but as a person. There was so much more ahead of him, so many more stages to conquer. But for tonight, you would celebrate the victory of this moment-the one where he pushed past his fears and rose above them.
And as you both stood there, amidst the echoes of the crowd's cheers, you knew that this was just the beginning. Whatever came next, you would face it together.
He gave you one final nod of encouragement as his coach dragged him away to the hot seat. The scores were still being calculated as the 3rd competitor made his entrance, the music already garnering the audience's attention. Ivan lightly tugged on your jacket and silently checked if you were anxious or anything, but his tense shoulders relaxed when he saw you didn't look pained in any way whatsoever. I mean, how could you be alarmed when Sunghoon just inspired the living shit out of you. If anything, you felt amped up. You were certain his performance would make it into the top three, so you had to make yours would be just as good.
Minutes feel like hours whenever you're waiting for something to happen. It definitely applies to when you're squirming in your seat as you worry about your score in a prestigious competition since you're representing your fucking country. That's what Sunghoon was undergoing right now. There, in the hotseat with labored breaths, a sweaty ass and a white sheep plushie squished by his clammy hands.
The chill of the rink seeps through your jacket as you wait near the boards, skate guards clutched tightly in your hands. Your heart hammers against your ribs, the steady beat louder than the buzz of the commentators overhead. You can't take your eyes off the screen, your breathing shallow and uneven.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen," one of the commentators announces, voice slicing through the tense air, "the score for Park Sunghoon in the Short Program—"
You hold your breath.
Sunghoon's performance replays behind your eyes — the sharp precision of his spins, the fluid grace of every transition, the sheer command he had over the ice. It had been the kind of skate that pulled people to the edge of their seats, left them hanging on every movement. You know he deserves a spot in the top three. Still, anticipation claws at your gut, as if some unseen hand could still tip the outcome.
"Park Sunghoon, ladies and gentlemen, delivered a truly remarkable performance today," the second commentator chimes in, a note of awe in their voice. "A seamless blend of strength and elegance, especially in those final jumps. His precision is unrivaled, and it's no surprise that he's managed to capture the judges' attention with such a commanding presence."
Your pulse quickens at the praise. You can practically feel the energy in the rink shift as Sunghoon's score flashes on the screen. "Park Sunghoon scores 56.61 points, placing him currently in second place!" The crowd erupts into a wave of cheers and applause. You feel a rush of pride swelling inside you — he made it into second place. Just like you'd hoped. Just like he deserved. His performance had earned every bit of that ranking, and you can't help but beam. You're so proud of him. But as the excitement simmers, another feeling quickly rushes in to take its place: urgency.
You glance at the running order. Two more skaters, then it's the women's turn. Your turn. Watching Sunghoon climb the leaderboard doesn't just fill you with pride — it ignites something hotter, sharper inside you. I have to match that brilliance, you think to yourself. I have to step onto that ice and make it my own.
You think of the countless hours spent alone in empty rinks, the falls, the frustration, the quiet victories no one ever clapped for. The sharp sting of sore muscles after a long practice, the lonely moments when all you had was the sound of your skates carving through the ice. Every moment has led to this — a chance to show the world what you're made of. A chance to be seen. A chance to be remembered.
As the next skater finishes their performance, the nerves in your stomach twist even tighter. You want to be calm. You want to be composed. But the adrenaline is overwhelming, your breath shallow as you mentally prepare to step into the spotlight.
Sunghoon and his coach happily march back to you and Ivan, exchanging hugs and congratulations with to them. Such a sappy moment, yet it felt nice to tangle into the sticky sweetness before stepping into the cold abyss, that is finally performing for what you've aimed for since day one. Sunghoon's hand caressed your cold ones. Which is ironic since his hand was just as cold, but it helped warm you up nonetheless.
It was finally your turn. This is your moment.
Tonight, you promise yourself, you'll leave your own mark deep in its surface.
The familiar coldness of the rink nipped at your skin, but it wasn't the chill that had your heart hammering in your throat. It was the weight of everything you had worked for, everything that had brought you to this exact moment. The crowd's energy buzzed in the air, but you shut it out, focusing only on the steady glide of your skates across the ice as you made your way to the center.
Your body moved without hesitation, instinct guiding you as you struck your starting pose. The judges' eyes were locked on you — you could feel their gaze, but it wasn't fear that tightened your chest. It was something else. You were ready. You had to be. The music began, the unmistakable opening chords of "Don't Stop Me Now" blasting through the speakers, the energy of Freddie Mercury's voice filling the arena. "Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time..."
For a second, everything else faded. The sound of your skates cutting the ice, the way the rink seemed to pulse with life — it all aligned. The song itself was a rush, a perfect match for the moment you had waited for. The kind of song that didn't just ask for you to perform but demanded that you pour every ounce of your being into it. You had no choice but to give everything you had.
Your costume caught the light as you moved — a sleek, form-fitting design that shimmered under the spotlights. The fabric was dark and mysterious, a deep, glimmering black with accents of gold that rippled as you spun. It reflected the tempo of the song, each motion sharp and confident, each movement drawing the audience in as if the performance itself was alive.
You moved across the ice with purpose, each glide more determined than the last. You remembered Sunghoon — not just the boy who had changed you, but the boy who had shared in your dreams. Together, you had promised to be winners. Together, you had built a future that seemed so possible, so real. The weight of those memories drove you forward. He had taught you how to fight for what you loved, even if he wasn't there with you now.
The music was building, your energy rising to match it. "I'm having a ball, I'm having a good time..." You could feel the audience, the judges — everything — pulling you in, urging you to give more, to push further. This was your moment. You weren't just performing for yourself anymore; you were performing for every memory, every person who had ever believed in you, every time you had doubted your worth. And yes, for Sunghoon too, in a way.
You spun, soaring through the air with a controlled grace, your body aligned with the beat of the song, the rhythm of the ice. Every jump felt lighter than air, every movement a declaration of everything you had fought for. And when you landed, the music hit its peak. You struck the final pose, chest heaving, your heart pounding not in fear, but in triumph. You had done it. You had given everything you had.
The arena erupted in applause. You couldn't help the grin that spread across your face as you skated a slow circle, the sound of your supporters cheering louder than anything else in the world. You looked up, catching sight of your friends in the crowd — and, of course, they were there, as always, holding a mountain of Pokémon plushies. Some were even tossing them onto the ice as they cheered for you, their excited shouts a joyful chorus. You scooped up one of the plushies, laughing softly, knowing that despite everything — the struggles, the pain, the growth — this was exactly where you were meant to be.
It felt liberating having to perform with all your might, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. Excitedly, you sped right through the eyes and straight at Sunghoon, jumping into his outstretched arms, sending both of you tumbling to the floor, the plushies you both were holding following suit. It's so cliche, but he made you feel all too giddy to the point where you don't care. Or maybe the adrenaline from the performance really got to you.
Your coaches cracked up at your antics, pulling you up and off Sunghoon by the arms. You just came to notice the random burst of screams that came from the crowd since you jumped into his arms, confused at the sudden sound, your eyes scouted the arena for an answer. Perhaps there was an intermission number or something that stirred the crowd awake. Your questions were answered when you heard the commentators laugh out, ""It looks like our performer's got some extra energy after that routine! What an adorable moment, everyone! Looks like we've got a little unexpected performance happening here as well!"
You blinked in surprise, your face flushing a deep shade of red. It hit you then — the crowd hadn't been screaming because of some random intermission number. They were cheering for you. For the way you had jumped into Sunghoon's arms like you were the lead in some cheesy rom-com. The realization made you both embarrassed and oddly elated at the same time.
Sunghoon chuckled softly, holding you close for a moment longer before he helped you back on your feet. His grip was steady, and the glint of amusement in his eyes only made your heart race faster. "Guess we're the show now, huh?" he teased, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. You gave a playful shove, still trying to gather yourself. "Shut up," you muttered, but there was no malice in it. You were laughing, your pulse still pounding with adrenaline. You had just given it your all, and despite the sudden awkwardness, you didn't regret a single second of it.
The applause didn't stop. In fact, it seemed to grow louder, a mix of appreciation and laughter from the crowd as they witnessed the fun, carefree moment you'd shared with Sunghoon. But you could hardly focus on that now — your eyes were still darting around the rink, scanning for your friends, your supporters, the ones who had always been there.
It was cliche, yet, but sometimes cliche felt the most real. And in that moment, with all the noise around you and the lights shining down, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be. With your heart still racing, you held onto that moment — and the plushies — for as long as you could.
Ivan eventually snatched you to the hot seat, your knees jerking as you hugged yourself in suspense. Why'd the judges always take so long in giving out ratings? It always just gives your stomach extra time to churn in and shrink itself. Your grip on Ivan's hand (which he offered for you to hold) steeled when the announcer's long awaited voice rang through the arena's massive speakers.
"And there you have it, folks, what a spectacular display of skill and grace! Let's see how the judges scored this remarkable performance." The first commentator's voice rings out, his tone full of admiration. You can feel the tension building as the second commentator chimes in."Indeed, an impressive show of precision and artistry. Now, let's get the official score. After a routine like that, it's anyone's guess where she'll land, but there's no denying the level of talent she's bringing to the ice."
Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, it feels like everything around you fades as the numbers flash on the screen. You can't tear your eyes away from the display, holding your breath in the brief silence. "And the score is in!" The first commentator exclaims. "With a total score of 57.63, she secures the second-place spot in this highly competitive short program!"
A rush of emotion sweeps over you. Relief, joy, pride. You've made it. Your hard work, all the hours spent on the ice, and the moments of doubt — it all feels worth it. The applause from the crowd fills your ears, but it's the commentators' voices that hold your attention now. "Second place, folks, an outstanding achievement, especially in a field as competitive as this! It's clear that she's earned her place at the top. With the free program still ahead, anything can happen, but with a performance like that, she's definitely one to watch."
You can feel the warm glow of satisfaction spreading through you as your supporters cheer, their enthusiasm washing over you like a wave. You glance up at them, noticing the familiar faces, their smiles of pride and encouragement. But it's not just for them — this is for you too. You've pushed yourself further than you ever thought possible. The commentators' voices continue to echo in the background, but you're too lost in the moment to focus on anything else. You've made it this far, and you're determined to finish strong.
In the end, the two of you happily walked hand in hand, wearing matching grins and silver medals dangling from your proud chests. You've already told your parents about the win, and of course they were estatic. They actually already knew, since they were glued to the tv as to support from home. Your dad was crying when he picked up the phone, drawling about how proud the family is. As expected, your sister brought up the hug, but it was overshadowed by the good news.
That night, your coaches spoiled the two of you rotten by treating you to this really fancy restaurant as a reward, buying some soju and urging the both of you to take a sip or two. "Come on, you know you want to. I won't tell you parents, so don't worry about them finding out" Ivan urged an already open bottle to both yours an Sunghoon's glass. Giving one another a look of uncertainty, the two of you internally debated whether or not to do it.
But the moment Sunghoon cracked a smile, you did too, already grabbing the battle from Ivan and pouring nearly equal amounts into your glasses, clinking it together and downing the bitter, clear liquid that was so strong, you were gagging the rest of the night while Sunghoon asked for a couple more sips. This night was the start. Sunghoon's turning point.
Years passed by in a blur, and now, you were 17, lounging in Sunghoon's bedroom as a random movie played on his laptop. The two of you has long gotten more and more comfortable with one another as you tried and experience more new things together. He bought you your first pet, you both went to your first unsupervised party together, and a lot more risque stuff. Both of you wanted to lead up to the actual thing with baby steps first instead of diving in headfirst and accidentally hurting each other in the process due to inexperience. So, you planned it.
Today, you were going through another first. Your first blowjob as a couple.
It began with a hand straying from his shoulder all the way to his thigh from beneath the blanket. Gentle caresses littered across his body until you saw a tent form. He was embarrassed from it, and tried to push you away, stammering a half-assed excuse to get you to stop, "D-don't look!" His demeanor only made you coo in his ear, "You don't want to, Hoonie?"
Your hand halted, waiting for him to push you away. One last chance to walk away, but when he didn't move, your hand flew right to his crotch. Pointer finger poking at the clothed peak of the bulge. He bit his lips, hands grabbing at the laptop to raise its volume to drown out the sinful noises he knew he was going to make. "The door is locked, right?" You asked, worried his mom might barge in on you two.
Was he able to process your question? No. Did he nod nonetheless? Yes.
Oh well, who were you to deny him of his pleasure when he obviously wants it, if his jerking hips were anything to go by. You continued palming at his erection, mouthing kisses all over his neck. Your bodies felt so hot, as if you were veiled by the warmth of your horniness, leaving you too feeling like your brains melted into a puddle of sinful desires. There was already a damp spot in his shorts, and he bagan to feel impatient.
Slipping a finger around the seam of his shorts and underwear, he pulled it off just enough to let his cock spring free. It slapped against your hand, making you retract it from the sudden feeling of touching a dick for the first time and him; sigh out in relief of feeling another hand touch his dick, even just for a split second. Your pussy fluttered when your hand made contact with the foreign...object?
Gathering enough courage, you reached for it again, feeling it twitch at your grasp, Sunghoon's already letting out silent moans. "What do I do..?" You ask eyes fully open yet not really looking at him. You were staring into nothingness as you imagined how your hand as his cock looked like under these sheets. "J-just wrap your hand around it and move it up and down.." He instructed, wrapping his hand around yours and guiding its movements.
You couldn't help but moan at the feeling of just his dick against your hand. His chest heaved as the pace of your hands quickened, "Baby, please-please.. talk.. I want to hear your voice." He breathed out. "W-what do you want me to say?" Twitch. "Anything, oh god, say anything, baby."
His voice was strained against his throat, head thrown back into the pillow. The muscles of his next were flexing, it looked so damn enticing. "Mm.. you look so hot right now Hoonie.." You say before you traced your tongue along the veins and Adam's apple on his neck. Whispering profanities, Sunghoon announced he was close. "Count for me..."
And so you did, counting down from three to one. And like some magic trick, he came on your command, cum spurting and wetting the blanket as he spasmed. His back arched, brows furrowed, mouth slacked. It felt like a blessing to get to see him orgasm. Because of your hand, not to mention.
Your lips crashed into his with a messy urgency, tasting your shared breath as your tongues slid against each other in a sloppy, desperate kiss. Every flick, every suck, felt like a continuation of what had just happened—raw and reckless. Your hand, still slick from the way you'd been stroking him moments ago, trailed off his spent cock, his cum clinging to your fingers. Instead of wiping it away, you reached for his hand, lacing your sticky fingers with his, letting the mess smear between your joined palms. Filthy, intimate, and perfect.
"How was it, baby?" you murmured against his kiss-swollen lips, voice dipped in smug satisfaction as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. They were glassy, half-lidded, the pupils blown wide with lingering pleasure.
He whimpered, actually whimpered, too fucked-out to form a real sentence. "It was... fuck, amazing..." His voice cracked, wrecked from moaning your name like a prayer.
You hummed softly, the sound low and pleased, vibrating from your chest. With a slow, languid movement, you nestled closer, laying your head over his heart, its thudding beats still racing beneath the surface of his chest. The rise and fall of his breathing began to sync with yours as your eyelashes fluttered closed. Wrapped in the sticky heat and the quiet aftermath, you allowed your body to melt into his, eyelids growing heavy, ready to drift off to sleep cradled in the comfort of his embrace.
You sighed, eyelids fluttering shut as his arm instinctively wrapped around you, cum drying on your tangled hands like a dirty little promise. The room was silent except for the soft sound of your breathing, still in sync, and the occasional satisfied exhale escaping his lips.
If you slept like this, stuck together and still covered in the aftermath, you didn't mind one bit.
"You definitely have to let me make you feel good too."
A smile found its way on your lips again, "Some other day, Hoonie."
And with that, the two of you slipped into dreamland, tangled against each other's limbs, movie long forgotten. The credit scenes were already showing at this point, when his door creaked open, revealing Mrs. Park. Had she walked in ten minutes earlier, she would've kicked you out immediately. Turns out the door wasn't really locked.
Fortunately, the sight that met her eyes was just her son and his girlfriend fast asleep as they innocently cuddled. She sighed, feeling her maternal senses take over her once again, turning the movie off and folding the laptop shut, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her so as to not wake you two up. Completely unaware that his son's dick laid flaccid, caged in your warm hands, hidden beneath the warmth of her freshly laundered sheets.
The soft hum of the air conditioner was the only sound filling your room, aside from the subtle rustling of your sheets. The house was quiet—eerily so—but you weren't complaining. Your parents and sister were away for the night, some conference meeting they couldn't drag you to, and it had left the house blissfully empty. Yours. Yours and his.
Sunghoon sat on the edge of your bed, fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of his hoodie as he looked at you with that unsure, boyish glance he always gave you right before crossing a line. You knew that look. You welcomed it. "You sure?" he asked, voice just above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile air between you. "That I can... try?"
You leaned back against your pillows, legs stretched out and bare, your shirt slightly oversized—his, actually—and hanging just low enough to be teasing. You tilted your head, smirking softly. "I told you, Hoon... my body's yours to figure out." His breath caught.
You could practically see the thoughts racing behind his eyes. He wanted to touch you—badly. Not just to get you off, but to learn. To explore. To study every sigh, every shiver, every sound he could pull from your lips. His fingers twitched where they rested on his lap. "You can experiment," you said again, a little slower this time, the weight of the words sinking into his skin. "Touch me. See what makes me feel good. What makes me melt. What makes me beg."
Sunghoon swallowed hard, and the shift in his posture was subtle—but telling. His hand finally moved, hesitantly brushing against your thigh, testing the waters. Warmth bloomed where he touched you, tentative but thrilling. "I wanna learn you," he murmured, his fingers splaying out slightly, stroking over your skin like it was sacred. "I wanna be good for you."
You reached for his hand and guided it further up, heart thudding in anticipation. "Then learn, Hoon," you whispered, breath ghosting across his cheek. "Use me." His cheeks flushed, and his hand trembled just a bit—but it didn't stop. It traveled. Down, in. Testing. Tasting. Exploring you with reverence and heat. And with the house so empty, with no one around to hear the sounds he'd draw out of you, Sunghoon let himself indulge
His fingers traced the hem of your underwear with a kind of focused awe, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you like this—soft, slow, exploring, not rushing anything. You parted your legs for him without a word, giving him silent permission, and his breath hitched at the sight of you—barely dressed, spread out just for him, waiting.
“Tell me if I’m doing it right,” he whispered, voice hoarse, but his fingers were already moving. He slipped beneath the fabric, his touch featherlight as he finally cupped you fully, his fingers grazing your folds like you were the most delicate thing he’d ever handled. You bit your lip and let out a soft moan, hips twitching into his touch. “Keep going… You’ll know when you are.”
His jaw clenched, a flicker of pride flickering in his eyes. One finger dragged through your slick slowly, his eyes glued to your expression like it was his manual. He circled your clit once, uncertainly, then again with more purpose. Your breath hitched. “There,” you gasped, voice strained, and he immediately focused on it, his finger pressing just a little firmer, learning your rhythm, watching every reaction. “F-Feels good when you do that…”
Sunghoon licked his lips, completely entranced. “You’re so wet… fuck,” he muttered under his breath, a flush creeping down his neck. “Is that all from me?” You nodded, pulling him down into a kiss as he continued working his fingers in slow, exploratory movements. “All yours, Hoon. All because of you.” He groaned into your mouth, encouraged. Emboldened. He slid a finger into you carefully, eyes darting between your parted lips and the subtle arch of your back. Then another. Your walls clenched around him, needy and warm, and he swore softly again.
“God, you feel… amazing,” he whispered, curling his fingers ever so slightly, testing, watching. You gasped and gripped his wrist. “There. Just like that. Again—”. He obeyed immediately, curling again, hitting that spot that made you tremble. You moaned freely now, the sound echoing off your bedroom walls, shameless and hot.
He was getting better by the second—more confident, more curious. Your thighs trembled around his hand as he leaned in, voice low against your neck. “I wanna make you cum with my fingers,” he murmured, breath tickling your skin. “Let me? Please?” “Do it,” you whispered, dizzy with heat. “Make me yours.”
And that he did. Quickening the pace of his fingers as your hands desperately clawed on the sheets of your pillow. The pads of his fingertips reaching the all the good crevices in you, you swore you saw stars cloud your vision when you hit your peak. Sunghoon stood watch, keeping his hand in place, peering at the way you arch and spasm all because of him. He thought you looked so damn beautiful, with your sweat-stained face and neglected nipples perking through your shirt.
Without much of a thought, he leaned in and popped your clothed bud into his mouth, nipping and prodding at it with his tongue. His act made your cunt flutter and pulse, so he kept doing it. All you could do was mewl and tangle your fingers into his soft, black locks. You rode out your high, and when you finally completely got off, the feeling of immense drowsiness took over you once again. And it seems like it had Sunghoon in a chokehold too, as he collapsed onto you and tucked his face into the crook of your neck.
Your body was still humming, nerves frayed in the best way, as if every inch of your skin had been kissed with static. You lay there—limp, warm, sticky, and so unbelievably satisfied—while Sunghoon draped himself over you like a blanket, his breath fanning gently against your neck. His lips pressed a lazy kiss to your skin, then another, like he just couldn’t stop touching you, even if he was too exhausted to do more.
You chuckled softly, the sound barely more than a breath. “You good?” you murmured, fingers lazily carding through his hair, still a little damp with sweat. “I think I died for a second,” he mumbled against your skin, voice low and hoarse, but laced with a teasing kind of affection. “If that’s what death feels like, I don’t even wanna come back.”
You laughed, cheeks warm, your heart fluttering from more than just the aftermath. “Dramatic much?” “Dead serious,” he grinned, finally shifting to look at you, his cheek pressed against your shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded, sleepy and content. “You sounded so pretty… like you were made for me.”
Your stomach flipped at the honesty in his tone. You turned to face him fully, your noses almost touching now, the air thick with warmth and something deeper than lust. “Mm… You’ve got good hands,” you murmured, fingers brushing down his jaw. “I think they’re my favorite now.” “Oh yeah?” he asked, smirking faintly, thumb tracing slow circles on your hip under the blanket. “Wanna let me try more things next time? Take notes?”
You raised a brow, pretending to be serious. “You’re taking this science experiment thing very seriously.” “I’m a thorough learner,” he whispered, kissing your collarbone softly. “And I wanna know everything… like what kind of kisses make you melt, what kind of touches make you gasp—” “What words make me beg,” you added cheekily, and he chuckled, low and fond.
“Exactly,” he breathed. The silence that followed was comfortable, filled only with the sound of your mingled breaths and the soft creaking of the sheets as you both shifted to get closer. His leg tangled with yours. His fingers intertwined with your hand under the blanket—sticky, warm, and so gentle. “I like this,” you murmured, your voice growing sleepier. “Not just the… y’know, mind-blowing stuff. I mean this. You. Here.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple, barely audible but full of something unspoken. “Me too.” And then nothing else needed to be said. Because in that dimly lit room, beneath tangled sheets and the ghost of each other’s touch, everything already felt like a promise.
You didn’t know how long you’d been lying there—tangled up, limbs heavy, breath slowing—but neither of you made any move to separate. Sunghoon stayed draped over you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go, his leg slung lazily over yours, his face still nuzzled in the crook of your neck. You shifted a little under him, chuckling weakly. “If you keep breathing on my neck like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to wind me up again.”
He groaned softly, lips grazing your skin as he spoke. “Too tired to do anything right now… but if you wake me up in, like, an hour…” You laughed, real and low and warm. “Oh? Setting a cooldown timer now?” “Call it recovery time,” he mumbled, his fingers tracing idle shapes on your side. “You wore me out, babe.”
“Please,” you snorted, twirling a strand of his hair around your finger. “You were moaning like you were the one being touched.” “That’s because I was losing my mind,” he admitted shamelessly, lifting his head just enough to meet your eyes. “You’re dangerous.” You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Dangerous, huh?”
“Mmhm. But like… the ‘ruin me in the best way’ kind.” You rolled your eyes fondly. “So dramatic.” “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheek, “but only for you.” Your cheeks warmed, but you were too relaxed to hide it. You let out a soft sigh, your hand sliding up his back, palm warm against his bare skin. The silence that followed was comforting, filled only by your breathing and the faint creak of the bed as he settled in even closer.
“Hey,” he murmured a minute later, sleep tugging at his voice. “Mm?” “When I wake up…” he paused, tracing your lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Can I try using my mouth next time?” Your breath hitched, your thighs instinctively pressing together. “Hoon.” “What?” he smirked, already smug. “You said I could experiment.” You narrowed your eyes at him, lips twitching. “Yeah, and now I’m gonna experiment with suffocating you with this pillow.” He laughed into your neck, the sound sleepy but genuine. “Worth it.”
And with that, he tucked himself in against you again, holding you a little tighter as both of you finally began to drift, your bodies messy and close, your hearts stupidly full. "Seriously speaking, though, I'll let you."
So that’s how he woke you up— Not with a kiss to the cheek, not with whispered words or lazy cuddles. No. It was the wet, deliberate slide of his tongue, dragging between your thighs, starting at the crook of your knees and working its sinful way upward.
At first, you thought you were dreaming. The warm, slick sensation felt too good, too filthy for reality. But then you blinked open your bleary eyes, only to be met with the sight of Sunghoon sprawled out between your legs, his hair messy from sleep, his eyes dark and half-lidded with hunger.
Your legs instinctively clamped together, embarrassed by how easily your body responded to him even after everything last night. But he didn’t force them apart. He didn’t rush. He simply nestled himself deeper into the space you allowed, his large palms smoothing up the outsides of your thighs in slow, lazy strokes, coaxing you to relax without a single word.
Of fucking course he was.
And all the while, his tongue continued its maddening path—
Long, wet drags along your lips, broad and languid, never breaching further, never grazing your sensitive clit. He was taking his time, savoring you, tasting you like he had all the patience in the world. You let out a soft, frustrated whimper, threading your fingers into the sheets. He was teasing you.
Every slow pass of his tongue, every deliberate avoidance of your most sensitive spot had you trembling, your hips twitching in silent desperation. But Sunghoon just chuckled low against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight through your core. “You’re so warm down here,” he murmured, voice thick and gravelly from sleep, the tip of his nose nudging gently against your folds as he spoke. “So sweet.”
You squirmed, a soft, needy sound falling from your lips, but he only pressed a kiss against your mound—tender, almost reverent—and resumed his unhurried pace. “Relax, baby,” he whispered, teasing another slow lick along your slit, making your thighs tremble against his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And God, the way he said it—low, certain, promising—made your entire body feel like it was melting into the mattress.
You gasped. Your hips jerked. Your fingers flew to his hair on instinct, clutching at the soft strands as your back arched clean off the mattress. “Shit—Sunghoon—” you breathed out, voice already trembling. He moaned low against you like he’d been starving, like the taste of you was all he needed to survive. His arms looped under your thighs, locking you in place, and then he really got to work—flattening his tongue against your clit, then flicking, then circling, relentless and rhythmic.
Sunghoon was going to ruin you again.
And you were going to let him.\But you didn’t expect how quickly he’d shift gears—how the moment he felt your thighs twitch with impatience, he gave in. His lips parted, and with one firm, messy lick, he finally dragged his tongue over your clit.
There was no more teasing. No more testing. Just full, unfiltered hunger. The slick, obscene sounds of his mouth on you filled the room, and you were already unraveling, moans spilling out freely as he sucked gently, then harder, drawing more of you into his mouth like he couldn’t get close enough. You looked down through bleary eyes, and the sight of him nearly broke you—his dark hair messy between your thighs, eyes fluttered shut like he was praying with his mouth, a single muscle ticking in his jaw every time you whimpered his name.
You came hard, with a gasp and a shudder, your body curling into itself as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. He held you steady the whole time, lapping you through it, not stopping even as your thighs trembled violently around his head. When it was over, when your body had fully gone boneless and your breath came in shallow, spent little whimpers, he finally pulled back—his lips glossy, cheeks flushed, eyes hazy with pride. He pressed a gentle kiss to your thigh. “Good morning, baby.”
He lifted his eyes then, locking them with yours, and fuck—
That look. It was so full of need. Of devotion. “Come on, baby,” he rasped, breath hot against your core as he licked you again. “Let go for me. I wanna feel you fall apart.” And with how he mouthed at your clit—sucking slow, then fast, then slow again—you did.
And just like that, you took his first time giving head. And you'll be damned if you don't steal his first time receiving either. Instantly, after you regained your strength, you flipped him over, so now, you were mounted on to him, crotches dangerously close to one another. Your breathing was ragged. If you scooched your ass just enough, you knew this would immediately lead to something else. But it's too early for that.
So, before he could even get a word in, you were already moving—sliding down the sheets with slow, deliberate grace, eyes locked onto the outline of him beneath his shorts. He was already hard. Straining. Practically twitching from how badly he wanted you, and yet still trying to keep it together.
You looked up through your lashes, lips parted just slightly, playing it innocent when the intent behind your gaze was anything but. "Can I?" you asked, voice soft—sweet like honey, sticky like sin. He looked down at you like he was caught between heaven and hell, his knuckles turning white where they fisted the blanket beneath him. You could see it all over him—the way his throat bobbed, the way his abs tightened, the way his eyes searched yours for permission and fear all at once.
You hovered just above his lap, face so close your breath ghosted over the fabric. And then—
You pressed your cheek against the bulge. That single, teasing nudge had him sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. His hips bucked, just barely, like he couldn’t help himself. Like your skin on him, even through the layers, was enough to short-circuit his restraint.
“Baby…” he whispered, voice strained, “what if I hurt you?” You blinked slowly, your expression still soft but oh so certain. “Then take it slow. Learn me.” Your fingers toyed with the hem of his waistband, eyes still never leaving his. “I trust you.” And that broke him. Something behind his eyes snapped—need, love, desperation all crashing together. He exhaled shakily, letting his head fall back for a second before locking eyes with you again, gaze wild now. Hungry.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, almost like a prayer. Almost like a promise. And then, his hips lifted slightly in silent surrender—offering himself to you, placing every ounce of his control in your hands. You smiled. Because now, it was your turn to ruin him.
Lowering his shorts, you peeled them down slowly, watching every inch of skin reveal itself like it was sacred. And the moment the waistband cleared his hips, his cock sprang free—flushed, heavy, leaking at the tip. But what caught your attention more than anything else… was the huge, damp patch darkening his gray boxers.
Your brows lifted, lips parting with a small, breathy chuckle. “Hoonie…” you murmured, tracing a finger just along the edge of the wet fabric. “Did you come while you were fingering me earlier?” His jaw tensed. His eyes fluttered shut, like even the memory of it was too much. A deep flush crept down his neck. “I—” He let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to. You were just… you looked so pretty falling apart. I couldn’t—fuck, I tried to hold it.”
You smiled, eyes softening as you looked up at him. There was something heartbreakingly sweet about it—about how much he wanted to please you, how deeply your pleasure affected him. “That hot, huh?” you whispered, leaning in to press the lightest kiss to the slick tip of his cock. He twitched under the touch, breath catching.
“You have no idea,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked. You hummed, lips brushing against him again, deliberately slow. “Guess I’ll have to return the favor… make you feel it all over again.” And this time, you weren’t playing innocent. You were in control—eager, unhurried, and fully aware of the way he fell apart beneath your touch. His hands gripped the sheets again, but this time he didn’t speak. He just watched. Watched you like you were something unreal—something he’d only ever dreamt of touching, let alone being touched by. And you—You were just getting started.
You took your time, savoring the moment—the way his chest heaved with every breath, the way his hands gripped the sheets like he was trying to hold onto his control. You knew what you were doing to him, and it made you want to tease him more.
With a slow, calculated motion, you leaned in again, this time pressing your lips gently to the tip of his cock, letting your breath flutter across him. His body stiffened immediately. You could feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his eyes clenched shut in frustration.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. “You’re killing me.”
You smiled, a soft, knowing curve of your lips as you slid your hand up his shaft, your thumb swiping at the precum leaking at the tip. His hips jerked slightly, and you had to fight the urge to laugh at how desperate he already was.
“Patience, baby,” you teased, your voice a little too sweet. You swirled your thumb over him one more time before you let your tongue flick out, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his body shaking as you moved up and down, slow and deliberate.
“Just like that… fuck,” he groaned, head falling back against the pillow, his lips parted as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath. “You’re perfect, so perfect.”
You hummed in response, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were dark with lust, lips trembling, and you could see how hard it was for him to keep it together.
“You like that, Hoonie?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “You like how I’m taking my time?”
“God, yes…” he moaned, his hips moving involuntarily. His fingers tightened around the sheets, knuckles going white. “You have no idea how bad I need you.”
You chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it—just a wicked thrill, the kind that made everything feel so much more intense. You slid your mouth down his cock slowly, inch by inch, taking him deeper. The feeling of him on your tongue made your own body ache with desire, but you were focused—completely focused on him and how he was unraveling under your touch.
When you finally took him all the way in, his body stiffened, and a loud, desperate moan escaped him. His fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you even closer, but you pulled back, lips teasing the tip once more.
“Can’t have you coming too soon, Hoonie,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but your words were laced with authority. “I want to make this last.”
He groaned, eyes shut tight as if just hearing you say it was enough to drive him mad. “You’re fucking killing me,” he breathed, voice trembling. “But god, please… don’t stop. I can’t—fuck, I can’t wait.”
And you didn’t. You kept going, taking him deeper, sucking him slowly, teasing the edges of his control with every movement. Your hands cupped his balls, massaging gently, making him gasp, pulling every inch of pleasure from him as he squirmed beneath you.
He was losing it, and you could feel it—how his body was shaking with the effort of holding himself back, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.
“Please,” he whispered, voice strained and desperate. “I need you to finish me.”
But you were far from done. With one final, long, slow draw of your mouth over him, you pulled away, leaving him gasping, eyes wild and wanting. The air between you both was thick with anticipation, the kind of tension that left you both breathless. Sunghoon’s hands were trembling slightly as he touched you, fingers skimming over your body as if he was mapping every inch of you. His lips brushed over your neck, gentle but desperate, his warm breath mingling with your skin.
"Are you sure?" His voice was low, just above a whisper, but you could hear the doubt, the fear that you might say no, even though he was aching to go further.
You nodded slowly, running your fingers through his hair, holding his face close to yours. “I’m sure, Hoonie. I want this. I want you. But I need you to take care of me.”
A flicker of concern passed through his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something stronger. Something primal. "I’ll take care of you, I swear," he breathed, his hands moving to lift your legs gently, positioning you just the way he wanted you.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His eyes were locked onto yours, searching, seeking permission. He needed to know you were truly ready, even though his body betrayed him—his cock was throbbing, aching, desperate to be inside you.
You held his gaze, offering a soft smile, your voice a whisper of reassurance. “It’s just you and me, Hoonie. Let go.”
His lips crashed to yours in an almost desperate kiss, as if the act of kissing you could drown out the flood of emotions swirling inside him. Slowly, he shifted between your legs, his breath uneven as he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock pressing against your slick folds.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead resting against yours, his body trembling slightly as he fought the urge to just push inside. He was trying to be patient, trying to give you time, but the need inside him was overwhelming.
“You’re mine now,” he muttered against your lips, as he slowly pushed the tip inside, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. “Tell me if it hurts. I’ll stop.”
You nodded, breathing deeply, your body slowly adjusting to the sensation of him inside you. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, but you knew it would be worth it. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with need. “Just… take it slow.”
Sunghoon’s face twisted in concentration, the effort to control himself evident in the way his jaw clenched. He didn’t want to rush it. He wanted to savor every second of this moment—your first time together.
He pushed deeper, inch by inch, his breath coming faster as he filled you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his back as you adjusted to the fullness of him. It wasn’t easy—there was still that stinging burn, that feeling of being stretched, but you could tell by the way Sunghoon’s eyes widened that it was just as intense for him.
"God, you feel so tight," he muttered, his voice barely audible, strained with both pleasure and restraint. “So fucking perfect.”
You moaned softly, your body slowly adjusting as he began to move, his thrusts slow and measured at first, as if he was waiting for you to tell him it was okay to go faster.
“Move, Hoonie,” you whispered, your voice thick with need. “Make me feel good.”
And with that, he let go. The restraint he’d been holding onto shattered as he started to thrust deeper, harder. His body moved with yours, a rhythm built on desire and the desperate need to feel more of each other. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, your body quickly heating up from the friction, the connection.
He kissed you again, more urgently this time, his hands gripping your hips to pull you closer, driving deeper into you with every thrust. You could feel the tension building, the way your body started to coil tighter, your moans escaping uncontrollably as he made love to you with a passion that left you breathless.
“Oh God, Hoonie,” you gasped, your hands grasping at him as you clung to him for support. “You feel so good. Don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” he grunted, his voice raw, desperate. “Not until you come for me.”
He was relentless now, his thrusts speeding up as your bodies collided with a force that made your head spin. The pleasure began to mount, and before you knew it, you were on the edge—teetering on the brink of ecstasy, every nerve in your body screaming for release.
With one final thrust, you exploded, your body shaking violently as the orgasm ripped through you, pulling a broken gasp from your lips. Sunghoon followed soon after, his name falling from your lips in a breathless, needy cry as he came inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
For a moment, neither of you moved. You were both panting, your chests rising and falling in sync as you lay there, tangled in each other, letting the aftershocks of pleasure subside.
And you knew it. You loved it. Every second of it. He did too. And he sure as hell wasn’t afraid to voice it out.
Before he could think it through, the words spilled out of his mouth, and he just couldn’t hit the brakes. His body trembled beneath yours, eyes wide, filled with a mixture of desperation and raw adoration. The room felt thick with the tension, his voice strained as he struggled to hold it all together.
"Fuck... I love you," he gasped, the words slipping out like a confession he didn’t even know he was ready to make.
The moment hung in the air between you two, heavy and electric. His gaze locked with yours, wide and vulnerable, as if he’d just said something he couldn’t take back—but he didn’t want to. Not anymore.
His chest heaved as he breathed heavily, his fingers gently caressing your hair, as if afraid to break the fragile moment that just passed. “I love you, I love you so much, I—” He cut himself off with a groan, hands finding purchase on your hips as if grounding himself. “God, I don’t know what the hell I’m saying, but I know I mean it.”
You froze for a moment, feeling a wild rush of heat fill you—not just from the way he was touching you, but from the sheer vulnerability in his voice, the way his eyes begged for you to believe him. To feel it with him.
And it hit you.
It hit you harder than any of the touches or moans, deeper than any of the teasing and slow build-ups. He wasn’t just desperate for you physically anymore. Sunghoon was in love with you.
You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, letting the weight of the moment settle over both of you. His hands were trembling now, brushing over your skin like he was still in awe of the connection between you two.
"Sunghoon..." you whispered, voice shaky but full of the same raw emotion.
His lips hovered just above yours, his breath mingling with yours as he let out another desperate sigh, this time filled with a quiet ache. "I can’t stop thinking about you," he said, his voice cracking slightly, making your heart race. "I didn’t want to say it like this... but I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you."
Your heart beat wildly, and for a moment, neither of you moved, both suspended in the fragile vulnerability of the moment, both knowing this wasn’t just about the physical anymore—it was something deeper, something neither of you could deny anymore.
And before you could even answer, he kissed you—a slow, tender kiss that conveyed everything he’d just said. The love, the urgency, the wanting.
This wasn’t a tease anymore. This was real.
And you knew, then, you were both in this together.
Reminiscing all your sweet moments, your firsts, the six years of your life you spent with him. Within those six years, you'd fixed his insecurities, helped his growth as a person, supported him through all his decisions—and he did the same for you. There was a time when it felt like the world revolved around just the two of you. You saw each other not as perfect, but as irreplaceable. Eventually, the two of you moved in together in a homey little apartment near your university. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just a one-bedroom with creaky floorboards and slightly chipped kitchen tiles, but it felt like yours. It was yours. A space that smelled like his cologne and your favorite candle, always a little cluttered but always filled with laughter.
Sunghoon had gotten a part-time job at a cute cafe just around the corner. He insisted on it—to help with the expenses, he said—but more than that, he refused to let you stress. He absolutely refused to make you lift a finger if he could help it. “You focus on school, I’ve got the rest,” he used to say with a kiss on your temple and a warm mug in hand. And for a while, that worked. For a while, things were good. You’d wake up tangled in each other’s limbs, argue over what movie to watch, fall asleep in the middle of your shared chaos. You had your own rhythm, your own peace.
But then—around five months into living together—something shifted.
At first, it was subtle. Sunghoon started coming home later and later, offering excuses that felt thin no matter how kindly they were worded. “Extra shift,” “a coworker called in,” “the register was off.” You tried not to be that kind of partner. The clingy, paranoid type. So you gave him space. You didn’t question him much. You trusted him. But days stretched into weeks, and the distance between you only grew.
He was tired all the time, barely present when he was home. Meals were skipped. Conversations were short. Affection faded. What was once his warm hand on your back as you drifted off became cold sheets and an empty side of the bed. You were patient—God, you were so patient. You tried to initiate, to ask him gently if everything was okay. But he brushed it off, each time more dismissively than the last.
Until one morning, it all boiled over. The fight started like most fights do—quiet, subtle, like a crack in glass. You didn’t even mean to start it. Not really. You just asked him if he’d be home in time for dinner.
He barely looked up from tying his shoes, already halfway out the door. “Probably not. Minji asked if I could cover her closing shift again.”
Again. That word tasted bitter on your tongue now. Minji. Again.
You stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You’ve been covering for her a lot lately.”
He looked up briefly, his brows twitching in annoyance. “She’s going through some stuff. It’s just a few extra hours.”
“A few extra hours every night,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “Hoon, I don’t even remember the last time we had dinner together without one of us falling asleep at the table.”
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, the same hand you used to hold when things got hard. “I’m working, okay? I’m trying to help. We’ve got rent, utilities, your tuition—it’s not like I’m out partying.”
“I didn’t say you were,” you murmured. “But you’re never here anymore. I feel like I live with a ghost." The fight came out fast and harsh—words sharp like broken glass. He was getting ready for another late shift, and you, exhausted and hurt from feeling ignored for weeks, finally snapped. “It’s like you don’t see me anymore,” you cried, your voice cracking. “I didn’t move in just to live alone with someone else’s toothbrush in the bathroom!”
He looked at you, jaw tense, eyes tired—not from lack of sleep, but from detachment. “I’m working so you don’t have to. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he shot back. The words felt like a slap. And before either of you could stop it, it spiraled. It turned into something ugly, something neither of you wanted to say. You didn’t even kiss goodbye when he walked out. He didn’t even look back.
The words struck something in him. He stood straighter, jaw clenched. “So now I’m the bad guy because I’m trying to keep us afloat?”
“No,” you said, a little softer now, trying to rein it back. “You’re not the bad guy. I just… I miss you.”
“We’ll talk later. I’m already late.”
He paused, and for a moment, you thought he might meet you halfway. Say I miss you too. Say Let’s figure it out.
But instead, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“Hoon—”
He was already at the door, not even looking back. “We’ll talk later.”
And just like that, the conversation ended with the click of the door closing behind him.
But guilt came fast. And heavy.
Maybe he was stressed. Maybe you’d pushed too hard. You didn’t want him walking into work with that fight weighing him down. So a few hours later, after pacing the apartment, you decided to go to the café. To surprise him. Maybe share a muffin, maybe hug him and say sorry first. Maybe—just maybe—fix things.
You stood there, staring at the silence he left behind. The untouched plates on the table. The half-cut vegetables you were chopping for a meal that wouldn’t be shared.
You didn’t know it then—but you wouldn’t get the chance to talk it out.
Because that night, while you were preparing to apologize, to meet him halfway, to forgive—
On the way, you stopped by a small fruit vendor and bought a small brown paper bag of fresh tangerines—his favorite. He always peeled them for you, careful not to get the juice on your fingers. It felt like a quiet way to say, I’m still here. I still care.
He was in someone else’s arms.
And the conversation would turn into a wound you’d never forget.
The bell chimed when you walked into the café. The place was warm and cozy, as always, but unfamiliar faces were behind the counter. One of the other staff—someone you’d only seen in passing—recognized you. “Oh, you’re Sunghoon’s girlfriend, right? He’s in the back. You can go ahead, he won’t mind.”
You smiled, heart fluttering with nervous hope, gripping the bag of tangerines tighter as you pushed through the swinging door into the back room.
And then your heart stopped.
There he was.
Sunghoon.
His back pressed against a shelf, hands tangled in the hair of a girl pressed flush against him. Her fingers were fisted in his shirt, his mouth locked with hers—hungry, desperate, familiar. You stood frozen, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere in your throat. The bag slipped from your hand. The tangerines hit the floor, rolling lazily across the tiles. They didn’t even notice at first.
It wasn’t until you turned, the door creaking slightly on your way out, that he looked up—eyes meeting yours, going wide with panic. “Wait—wait, no, fuck, baby—” You didn’t stop walking. Not until he grabbed your arm outside, dragging you away from the cafe’s front, his voice frantic and broken. “It wasn’t what it looked like, I swear, please—I messed up, but I—It didn’t mean anything!”
You laughed bitterly. “That’s supposed to make me feel better? That it meant nothing to you?” “I was confused, I was tired—things got hard, and I panicked—please, don’t leave me,” he begged, tears brimming in his eyes. “Let’s talk. Let’s fix it. We can fix this.” But something in you had already snapped. The trust you held so tightly—shattered. You had given him everything. Your love. Your time. Your home. Your soul.
And now you were standing outside the place he kissed someone else, the same place he used to bring you coffee from, the same one where you waited for him in the past—smiling, waving at him through the window like something out of a romance film. But this wasn’t a film. This wasn’t a scene you’d ever wanted to see. Because this—this was real. You were standing under the harsh neon glow of a sign that used to mean warmth and familiarity, and now it felt like it was branding you with betrayal.
The scent of roasted beans and sugar lingered in the air, but it was no longer comforting. Not when it clung to the fabric of your clothes alongside the image of her hands on him. Not when it tangled in your lungs like smoke from a fire he started with his own hands. Your voice came out quieter than expected, barely carrying over the ringing in your ears.
“I'm gonna start packing,” you said, almost to yourself. Sunghoon flinched like the words struck him physically. “No,” he whispered, as if saying it soft enough would erase it. “Please, no. Don’t go.” His hands trembled as he reached for yours, but you stepped back before he could touch you. And that broke him further. His breath hitched, eyes darting across your face like he was trying to memorize it—like he knew this might be the last time he’d get to look at you without shame, without distance, without regret.
“I know I fucked up,” he choked out. “I know I did. But I love you. I’ve always loved you. It didn’t mean anything, I swear—she was just there, and I was stupid, and I—I panicked. We were drifting and I didn’t know how to fix it.” Tears welled in your eyes, and you hated how badly you wanted to believe him. But it wasn’t about just the kiss. It was about everything that led to it. The silence. The absence. The way he started treating you like an afterthought.
“And you thought that kissing someone else would help you fix us?” you asked, voice barely steady. “You thought that would bring me back?” “I wasn’t thinking,” he muttered, almost childlike, like regret had stripped him of the version of himself you knew. “I was scared.” You shook your head slowly. “You weren’t scared. You were careless.”
He staggered back a little, like the words winded him. He opened his mouth, but no apology could fill the gaping hole he'd carved into something that used to be sacred. “I stood by you for six years,” you continued, blinking back tears. “I believed in you when you didn’t believe in yourself. I made a home with you. I chose you. Every single day. And you—you didn’t even think twice.”
“I did think. I regret it. I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave. Please,” he pleaded, voice breaking mid-sentence. “You’re all I have.” You exhaled sharply, the pain gnawing in your chest almost unbearable. “Then maybe you should’ve treated me like that before you lost me.” The silence between you stretched. Only the faint sound of traffic and your own heartbeat thrummed in your ears.
You didn’t wait for him to speak again. You turned away, your footsteps heavy against the sidewalk, each step a confirmation of the choice you had to make—for yourself. You weren’t going to beg to be chosen anymore. Not when he had already chosen someone else—even if it was only for a moment. Because that one moment had torn through six years. And some things, no matter how much you want to save them, just don’t survive the wreckage.
You laughed at the absurdity of the situation. With you, he learned to love himself. But you, you learned to let go. It took you 6 years, but you finally graduated from this lesson. You also realized that Sunghoon didn't learn you. He fucking learned to be wild. To be confident in himself. And it hurt more knowing you taught him to.
Eventually, you finally gathered all your belongings from your former home, opting to move in with your homie for life, Ivan, who accepted you with open arms. He didn't even say a word to your family or the Parks, but they still somehow managed to find out, awestruck and just as heartbroken as you were at the sudden separation. They couldn't blame your for wanting to leave, though. It just gravely affected them too, since you and Sunghoon practically came as a pair in gatherings or even just a normal dinner on a Tuesday night.
It was gonna be hard filling out the cracks he's left on you and your family, (and vice versa), but you'll have to manage, and you are managing it. Just not in the healthiest way possible.
pairing: boxer!sunghoon x afab!reader
word count: 922
synopsis: you help relieve your fwb after his boxing match
warnings: swearing, oral (m. rec), a bit of blood, literally the whole plot is sucking him off tbh. MINORS DNI!!!
“Stick that tongue out, darling.” Sunghoon whispers, pressing his thumb down on your bottom lip. His own tongue sliding across his lips, barely smearing the blood that pooled from his split bottom lip.
You were already on your knees in front of him, worry filling your face, you’re sure. Eyes scanning over the fresh bruises that coat over his cheekbones and bridge of his nose.
“Darling, what did I ask of you?” He calls out your lack of listening, “I really need you right now, baby. Will you help me?”
Sunghoon loved seeing you down on your knees before him, loving that he has this much power over you. It feels him with such lust that his cock is straining against his boxing shorts. He can also see your worry, and it pings at his heartstrings. He can’t lie and say this is just a normal fuck, he cares deeply about you. Maybe even feels something more than just wanting to get in your pants a couple times a week. But with his job, he can’t bring himself to make anything official with you.
So, friends with benefits is where you’ll both stay. Not that either of you are really complaining. Yes, you’d LOVE to be his girlfriend and take care of him on more than one level, but you’ll take any pieces of him he’s willing to give you.
He presses his thumb harder on your lip, “Darling…”
You do as you're told, dropping your jaw and sticking your tongue as far out as it can go.
And just seeing that sight in front of him has him groaning deeply.
Slowly Sunghoon unties his shorts, looping his thumbs under the waistband and pulling them down, taking his underwear with it, letting it hit the floor and his cock springing free.
Gently taking his shaft between his fingers, he slowly places the tip of his cock against your tongue. A moan escapes his mouth, biting down hard on his bottom lip and feeling the blood on his taste buds. Sunghoon tensed up, his muscles screaming in pain from the boxing match that ended not even a whole hour ago.
He won the fight, but just barely. His opponent was a lot bigger and faster than he expected, but he kept his gloved fists up and took the gold in the end. And now, he celebrates with your tongue pressed to his lip.
You squeezed your thighs together, wanting nothing more than to wrap your mouth around him, taking him fully until the tip kissed the back of your throat. But you wait, because nothing pleases you more than pleasing him by doing what you are told.
Sunghoon smirks at your obedience and patience, quickly tapping his cock on your tongue, the slapping sound echoing in the quiet of your apartment kitchen. With one final tap, he slowly lifts his dick, moaning at the string of saliva that connects the two of you together.
“Darling, are you ready for me?”
You nod frantically, chest heaving, and pushing your tongue out further.
“Come get it, baby.”
And you're on him. Hands bracing on his bare thighs and tongue flattening against his shaft, licking from bottom to top and giving the tip a little flick before sucking on it gently. A few good sucks and tasting his precum, you take him in your mouth, whimpering at the stretch of your throat as the tip kisses the back of your throat. Drool spills from the corner of your mouth, and you don’t even care. And Sunghoon relishes in it.
His self-control is slipping, taking a handful of your hair and bucking his hips back, waiting for the tip to barely leave your lips before shoving himself back in.
“Fuck, darling,” He grunts, flinging his head back and rocking his hips, “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”
You hum in response, nails digging into his thighs and wrapping your tongue around his cock as it slides perfectly in and out your mouth.
Sunghoon’s tense muscles relax, all the pain fading away just by the simple feel of your mouth wrapped around him. He tightens his grip on your hair, bucking his hips faster, fucking your mouth at such a pace that has tears filling your eyes and nails tearing at his skin at his thighs.
“Y/N, I-I don’t know how m-much longer I can last.” He whispers, stuttering over the fucking simple words. Shivers climb up his body from the vibrations of your moans, causing his balls to clench and sweat to trickle down his temple, “Need to cum in this mouth, right now.”
You once again hum in response, wanting to have your fill of his cum. Wanting to taste and savor it. Please please please let me have your cum.
He opens his mouth to tell you he was about to burst, but that final push of his cock to the back of your throat had his seed spitting out and you relish in the feel of it going down your throat as you swallow every last drop he gives you.
“Oh, baby,” He cooes, looking down at you, pulling you back with your hair, forcing you off his dick. He kneels to his knees, becoming eye level with you, brushing his fingers over your swollen lips, “You ready to bounce on this cock now, ya?”
“Yes, please!” you quickly spit out.
Next, you knew, you were pushed onto your back and legs over his shoulders.
Warnings: underage sex (purely consesual), sweethearts, fluff, angst, cheating, profanities, high school sweethearts trope, idk how to warn
current wc: 5.3K
estimated wc goal: 21k
The announcer's mic-amplified voice reverberated throughout the stadium as he revealed the scores of your opponent. Whilst she celebrated her relatively high score, clutching her fan-given plushie as she cheered with her coach, you fiddled with your fingers in an attempt to calm your anxious nerves. You were the last one to perform (thanks to your lucky hand when you pulled for the order of who performs), and all those before you exceeded each other's score each time, setting the standard higher and higher. And you were afraid you couldn't even just reach that same peak.
Your coach, Ivan saw your obvious discomfort, lending a firm and on your shoulder and shaking the bloody nerves off of you. "Calm down, will you? You've done months of training, just as much and maybe even more than they did. You'll put up a fight."
Ivan was a 29-year-old, Russian, ballet coach. He and your sister were classmates in college, and she just so happened to tell Ivan about your new little profound passion about ballet. You were only 9 at the time, but when Ivan saw that youthful spark of passion flare from your rusty arabesques, he jumped at the opportunity to shape your ember. Shape your talent into skill. And that, he did.
He streamlined your passion and made you into a decent dancer. Decent enough to win a couple regional-level competitions. Trophies of gold, silver, bronze from said competitions adorned your glass-encased achievement shelf. (Which your mom insisted to have built). Your parents were quite content with all your milestones, be it big or small. But you weren't. It pissed you off to no end that you couldn't go beyond the regionals.
One not-so-faithful day, on your last competition as a pre-junior, thoughts about how you have to win this consumed your better judgment. You couldn't focus at all. You kept throughout your entire routine, and it frustrated you to no end. And on the last Fouette that was supposed to be the cherry on top of your performance, your feet hit one another and leave you to come undone in a clumsy, crying mess.
With your heart feeling like it's caught up in your throat, you covered your tear-stained face and ran off stage right as your song ended. And so did your career. That competition had 9 finalists, and you ranked LAST. You couldn't even bare attending the awarding ceremony. You publicly embarrassed yourself out there, and especially now at your ripe pre-pubescent years, you knew your peers would be whispering among themselves about how dramatic you acted or how shitty your performance was. It was horrific. And just like that, what was once the spark that lit your dreary Mondays turned into to one of the most socially, emotionally, and mentally traumatic events of your life. So, in an attempt to cope with it, you pushed it away.
Anything related to dance, your old friends, Ivan. You wanted nothing to do with it anymore. You were already unraveling thread by thread, your fervent spark of ambition was being pulled away by the seemingly unreachable pinnacle, that is, the Nationals. Childish, or perhaps as arrogant as it may sound, you knew you had what it takes to get there, but your just somehow can't. And you don't know what's stopping you. You've blamed Ivan, for not teaching you enough, but you knew deep inside you wouldn't have gotten to the level you were at without him.
After coming to a consensus with your parents, they let you quit the team, and sent you to the studio to pick up your things while they handled the resignation letters. You were grateful they never pushed you to do anything. They saw that ballet became toxic for you and they didn't even hesitate to let you leave when you saw fit. Anyway, they drove into the studio's parking lot and headed for your head manager's office, in order to deal with the paperwork. It was nighttime now, so you presumed all of the others would have gone home.
So, you didn't expect to find him here. Ivan.
The studio was supposed to be empty. Late enough for the lights to be dimmed, the floor to be cold beneath your feet, the mirrors to stop echoing back the dancer you used to be. But there he was—Ivan—leaning against the far wall, arms crossed like he hadn't been waiting, but you both knew better.
You hesitated at the door, one foot still out in the hallway, as if you could still change your mind. As if walking away now would hurt less than what you were about to do.
"I'm done," you said.
Your voice didn't shake. It wasn't a declaration. It was just... a fact. Like gravity. Like something that had always been true, you just hadn't said it out loud yet.
Ivan didn't move. Not at first.
You didn't mean to say it like that.
But the words came out anyway, sharp and final.
"I'm done."
Your voice cracked a little, but you tried not to care. You didn't look at Ivan. You couldn't. If you did, you'd probably back down. You'd probably see that look on his face—that mix of confusion and disappointment—and swallow the words, like always. So you stared at the floor instead, at your busted old slippers with the frayed ribbons and the tiny bloodstain near the toe. You hated those shoes. And you loved them. And you hated that you loved them.
"You're quitting?" Ivan asked. His voice wasn't loud or angry—it was just quiet. Tired, maybe. Like he already knew.
You nodded, even though your hands were shaking.
"I can't do it anymore," you muttered. "I just... I don't want to."
That wasn't the truth. Not really. You did want to dance. You wanted it so bad your chest hurt. You wanted Nationals. You wanted the stage, the lights, the moment. But lately, it felt like the more you wanted it, the further it slipped from your hands.
Ivan didn't say anything at first, and that made it worse.
"I've been trying," you blurted. "I've been trying so hard. But it's like I'm stuck. Everyone's getting better and I'm just... here. Still making the same stupid mistakes. Still forgetting the same stupid counts. Still losing balance like a baby."
Your throat burned.
"I'm supposed to be good, right? That's what everyone says. 'You've got talent, you're a natural, you'll make it someday.' But what if they're wrong? What if I'm not enough?"
You finally looked at him. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight—but his eyes were soft. Too soft. You hated that.
"I thought you'd help me get there," you said, barely above a whisper. "I really did. But maybe you didn't teach me enough. Or maybe you thought I could figure it out on my own. But I couldn't. I can't."
Ivan stepped closer, but you took a step back.
"I'm twelve, Ivan," you said. "Twelve. I'm not supposed to feel like a failure already."
There was a silence after that—heavy, like the walls were pressing in. You wiped your nose on your sleeve, trying to be tough. Trying to not cry like a little kid. But everything was just... too much.
You thought he'd yell. Or say you were being dramatic. Or lecture you about dedication and drive and how quitting now would ruin everything.
But instead, he just looked at you, like he saw through all of it.
"You're not a failure," he said quietly.
You didn't answer. You didn't believe him.
Because right now? You didn't feel like a dancer. You just felt... small. And tired. And really, really lost.
He stood closer now, arms cautiously extended to his sides to offer a much-needed hug, which you've gladly accepted. You let yourself soak his leotard as you clung to him. "You've accomplished so many things-"
"Well I didn't accomplish enough! And I never will! Now that I blew my last pre-junior performance, I don't think people will take me seriously as a junior!"
He sighed and wrapped his arms around your shaking shoulders. "Would it be too soon for me to suggest figure skating?"
Now, stood you in one of the biggest ice skating competitions of your time, regionals, once again. The nationals are just at arms-length, so you knew deep within yourself you couldn't afford to pass this up. You dare not waste the 3 years Ivan has spent building you back up, this time, on the ice. You've done well in the short program, all you had to worry about now was the free skate. No longer clad in those painful pointe shoes, those itchy tutus, no. You sported a fresh, tight yet comfy, baby blue leotard that helped in boosting you confidence, paired with your favorite pair of blades—gifted to you by your sister.
The familiar vowels of your name ware called, summoning you to the spotlight, and claim the stage (rink) as your own. Breathing in the mint-scented air deeply one more time, you stepped onto the ice and glided along the sides, plastering a genuine smile and greeting those who cheered for you. The deafening clamor of the crowd's applause breeched your ears, you almost missed the first few notes of your song. The audience definitely did, though, as it seemed their hoorahs only grew louder at the sound of your performance starting.
You began to dance your prepared choreography upon hearing the calming voice of your designated piece for today—Christina Perri's "A Thousand Years." A sweet song whose melody harmoniously matched your performance. Innocent, almost fragile, your jumps were on beat with the cadence of the guitar, cello, and piano instrumental.
It wasn't just the soft melody that resonated with your performance; it was the lyrics as well. The words, "I have died every day waiting for you," seemed to echo in your heart as your body glided effortlessly across the ice. It was as if each movement was a reflection of the years of dedication, the countless hours of practice, and the quiet, unspoken devotion to your craft. Every jump, every spin, felt like a pledge of love to the art of figure skating itself—timeless and unyielding.
As the song built into the chorus, "I will love you for a thousand more," you could almost feel the embrace of the ice beneath you. It reminded you of the unspoken bond between skater and ice—an eternal connection that exists beyond the fleeting moments of each performance. The melody wrapped itself around you like a gentle, yet powerful force, urging you to give everything, to pour your soul into every movement, just as the song's lyrics spoke of eternal love.
You've always loved this part of figure skating, the cold air and ice beneath you enveloping your body and soul in this tranquil trance that helped keep your mind at ease. It was never like this with ballet. All you could feel in ballet was the sweat that would always pool at your back at the tremendous pressure of the spotlight and stares that settled on you on that non air-conditioned stage. The fans were usually directed at the judges as if they were the ones breaking their bones just to properly execute a Cambre. You never felt like that with your new love.
Figure skating, much like love, is about vulnerability—about trusting your body to carry you through difficult lifts, delicate landings, and dizzying spins, even when the odds seem insurmountable. The lyrics of "A Thousand Years" aligned with the very essence of what you felt skating on the ice: a love that transcends time, a passion that refuses to be extinguished. It was not just a performance; it was a love letter to the sport, an expression of devotion and commitment. "I will love you for a thousand more," you whispered to yourself, feeling the music fill every corner of your soul.
With each passing note, you were no longer just performing; you were telling a story of love, loss, and hope—of pushing through adversity and continuing to glide forward, no matter the challenges. Every movement you made felt like a promise—just as the song promised eternal love, you promised to keep dancing, no matter how many years it took.
And with the instruments slowing down to halt, so did your performance, as you struck your final pose. You finally let out the breath you didn't even realize was being held in and opened your eyes. The flashes of the lights overhead flickered your gaze, making you squint a bit before bowing at the judges who bared the look of satisfaction, impressed expressions. White roses and Frolass plushies were littered across the ice, which the staff has helped with gathering them all. You strode over to one of said plushies and hugged it close to your chest, giving the audience one final wave and bow if gratitude before you made your way off the ice.
Once your blades came in contact with the floor, you couldn't even get the chance to put your guards on them since Ivan sprung up to you and gave you one of the most genuine hugs he's ever given. "I told you you'd do amazing." You reciprocated the hug and pulled back, "You think the judges liked it?" Ivan scoffed, "Are you kidding? They looked entranced the entire time you were up there." The both of you couldn't help the proud smiles from spreading on your faces.
He guided you back to your designated seat where they filmed your reaction upon hearing your score, and he gave you a bottle of water, wrapping a jacket around you when he saw you shiver. You didn't notice it when you were still performing, but your hands were shaking from the cold. Well, you thought it was shaking just from nervousness. Not too long after, your family approached with proud smiles plastered on their familiar faces, already congratulating you with strings of praises regarding your performance.
A little girl passed by you, not too old—probably about five years younger than you. She was cheerful, skipping a little with each step as she clutched the hand of who you presumed was her grandmother. A middle-aged couple trailed behind, and next to them, a boy just slightly older than the girl, dressed in a striking figure skating outfit, clearly waiting for his turn on the ice.
Your heart warmed at the sight—there was something so pure about the quiet excitement of a supportive family. But then your gaze caught something else: a small red stain spreading across the girl's light shorts. You immediately recognized it. The judges take a while tocalculate the scores, so you decided to act on it.
You didn't think twice. You grabbed a pad from your bag, hid it under your jacket, and hurried towards her. Approaching gently, you quickly wrapped your jacket around her waist, discreetly slipping the pad into her pocket. Startled, the little girl stumbled back slightly, and her family froze, giving you confused, wary looks. You offered a small, apologetic smile, speaking in a hushed whisper, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but... she seems to have bled through."
The mother gasped softly, lifting the jacket to check—and sure enough, the growing stain was there. "Oh, dear," she murmured, her face melting into maternal concern. You gestured subtly to the pocket. "I slipped a pad in there... in case you need it." The mother quickly mouthed a "thank you" before hurrying the girl toward the restroom, the father and the boy following right after. You smiled to yourself, relieved to have helped, and turned to make your way back to the seating area where your parents were waiting—your performance long done, the adrenaline still buzzing faintly in your veins.
But a voice stopped you. "My, my," the grandmother called out warmly, making her way over. "You're not just a pretty girl—you've got a beautiful heart too!" You flushed, laughing shyly. "It was really nothing, ma'am. I know how embarrassing it can feel..." The grandmother nodded sagely, folding her arms over her chest. "Takes one who's been through it to understand. Kindness like that is rare, you know."
You smiled at her, a little bashful, but grateful too. Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer, her lips quirking mischievously. Then, leaning a little closer, she asked in a whisper, "Tell me, sweetheart... you're single, aren't you?" You blinked, caught completely off guard. "Um... y-yeah, I am." "Perfect!" she chirped, clapping her hands once with delight. She shuffled aside with a flourish—and only then did you notice that someone had been standing awkwardly right beside you this whole time.
The boy from earlier, the one in the figure skating costume. You had noticed him earlier when the men were called to warm up. His costume was a somewhat baggy blouse that faded from clear white into a very vivid and deep blue. It was a bit similar to yours, though much darker, it had the same ombre effect.
His head snapped up to meet your gaze at the same time you looked at him, both of you freezing like deer caught in headlights. "This here's my grandson," the grandma said proudly, patting Sunghoon's shoulder. "He's about to perform, actually. Talented, polite, good-looking—what more could you ask for, huh?" You stared, the realization hitting you a second too late. Sunghoon was stunning up close, even more so than you'd noticed before. His cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink as he gave you a tiny, sheepish smile.
"I—uh, I'm Sunghoon," he said, voice soft but clear. He gave a small, polite bow despite the obvious embarrassment pooling around him. You managed to smile back, flustered but charmed, as you introduced yourself. "I, uh, already performed. You're up next, right?"
"Yeah," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Kinda hard to focus after that whole thing, but... thanks for helping my sister." His voice was earnest, sincere, and you felt the knot of nerves slowly unspool in your chest. "It was nothing," you said, laughing lightly. "Good luck out there." The grandmother beamed between the two of you, her matchmaking spirit practically radiating. "Maybe you can stay and watch him perform?" she suggested sweetly, not even trying to hide her intentions.
You met Sunghoon's shy, hopeful gaze—and found yourself nodding before you could even think twice. "I'd love to. Is he up next?" The grandmother shook her head, "Only two more boys and then it's his turn. Won't you stay until then?" You were about to nod when you heard your dad call out your name, calling you over to them since you score was about to be announced. In a haste, you excused yourself with the promise of coming back.
Your heart thrummed violently in your chest, Sunghoon long forgotten as your mind was swallowed whole by endless insecurities and what-ifs. What if it wasn’t enough? What if you fell short again? Your hands trembled as your family wrapped you into a tight, protective hug, excitement buzzing around you like static in the air.
The announcer’s voice finally crackled over the speakers, slicing cleanly through the tension. "For our final competitor in the Junior Women’s division—" The world seemed to slow to a crawl. "A free skate score of 117.48 points! You felt your breath catch, stuck halfway between a gasp and a prayer. "Added to her short program score of 72.36, that brings her total to 189.84 points—" A heartbeat. Another. "—securing first place!"
Your family's cheers burst into the air around you, your sister practically shaking you in her arms. You stood frozen for a second, as if the words hadn’t quite registered, before the realization slammed into you all at once.
You had won.
You had won.
Somewhere in the stands, you could faintly make out Sunghoon’s family cheering too, his little sister jumping and pointing excitedly.
But right now, it was just you and the thundering beat of your heart, drowning in a tide of relief, disbelief, and a wild, soaring kind of joy you hadn’t felt in years.
Cheers erupted around you, and you felt your heart soar, your dad lifted you in the air. The moment felt so surreal. Years of hard work and you've finally got what you wanted. All in an instant, it felt like a fever dream. One second you were being introduced to some cute guy, and you were a winner in the next. It's all happening so fast you couldn't believe it. It only took one look at Ivan's tear-stained face to have you let the waterworks loose too. Adrenaline and bliss thrummed throughout your veins as he spun you around. Amidst all the chaos, your eyes met Sunghoon's, who was looking at you with genuine astonishment.
When he noticed your gaze on him, he hastily looked away. His mom and sister were back though, and they were looking over your noisy, still celebrating huddle as well. His mom looked over to the grandma for an explanation, which she gave. After being hauled around by your family taking pictures of you, you finally sought the chance to excuse yourself and do good on your promise to watch Sunghoon's performance earlier. Of course, your sister didn't miss the chance to tease you about it. And neither did your dad.
"Ooh, meeting boys already? Our little champion's all grown up," your dad teased, nudging you playfully with his elbow.You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "It's not like that," you mumbled, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. Your sister gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Not yet like that, you mean." Your mom chuckled from behind the camera she was still holding. "Let her be. She's earned a little attention after today."
Ivan, who had been listening nearby, chimed in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Just don't forget about us once you're famous and running off with handsome boys." That sent your whole family into another fit of laughter, and you swatted at the air in front of you, trying to escape. "I'm just going to watch his performance!" you insisted, voice climbing with exasperation. "Like I promised!" "Right, right," your dad said, exaggeratedly wiping a fake tear from his eye. "First it's watching performances... next thing you know, wedding invitations!"
"Dad!" you whined, your face burning hotter than ever. Your sister winked at you, clearly enjoying every second. "Go get 'em, champ." You shook your head, laughing despite yourself as you turned away, feeling their teasing gazes follow you all the way across the gym. Sunghoon's family beamed as they congratulated you on your win
"I knew your performance was something special. Sunghoon-oppa here couldn't take his eyes off you earlier—" Yeji, the girl you helped earlier, said brightly, but she barely got the words out before Sunghoon clamped a hand over her mouth, face turning an adorable shade of red. "Yeji!" he hissed in a hushed yell, his voice dripping with embarrassment. His nervous chuckle made their parents laugh, the sound light and teasing.
Sunghoon’s mom smiled warmly at you, a fondness in her eyes as she looked between you and her son. "I hope Sunghoon gets into the nationals too," she said, voice gentle. "It’d be nice if the both of you won, right?" "It’d be the perfect excuse for a date," his grandma added mischievously, her tone playful enough to make Sunghoon visibly shrink into himself. "Halmeoni!" he groaned, dragging his hand down his face. You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of you, nerves and flattery mixing into something light and giddy.
"It's okay," you said, smiling shyly at them all. "I think... just competing together would already be really special." Sunghoon peeked at you through his fingers, and when he caught your eye, he smiled too — small, genuine, a little shy around the edges. Yeji, now free from his hand, beamed. "You have to teach me how to be that cool when I compete!" Sunghoon's dad chuckled and asked, "How long have you been skating, if you don't mind me asking?"
You shifted your weight, thinking back. "Um... technically, not that long," you admitted. "I used to do ballet, actually, until about three years ago." "Really?" Sunghoon's mom perked up with interest. "Yeah," you nodded, a little sheepishly. "I kept trying to qualify for the ballet regionals, but... I never really made it past the preliminaries. I guess after a few years of that, I just felt like maybe my heart wasn't in it anymore. Skating kind of... gave me a second chance at something I really loved."
"You must have worked really hard," Sunghoon’s dad said, sounding genuinely impressed. "I still have a long way to go," you said quickly, laughing a little. "But it feels different this time. Like... even when I lose sometimes, I want to keep trying." Sunghoon, quiet until now, spoke up, his voice softer, thoughtful. "That's really cool. I mean it." You looked over and found him smiling at you again — properly this time, without hiding — and the way his eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners made your heart skip.
"You’re already amazing," Yeji chimed in enthusiastically, tugging at your sleeve like you were an old friend. "I’m gonna cheer for you both at nationals!" Sunghoon’s grandma patted your shoulder warmly. "You're part of the family cheering squad now too, dear. You better get used to it." Everyone laughed, including you, and for a moment, standing there with them, you felt something settle in your chest — a sense of belonging, easy and bright.
A few minutes later, Sunghoon was finally called down for his performance.
(Refer to this performance of hoonie if you want any visual aid lmao. for the sake of the plot, however, we are gonna ignore his actual rank in the video--- p.s. he did amazing here in this performance.)
You hadn't expected to find yourself sitting here, bundled up among strangers who somehow already felt like family. After helping Sunghoon’s little sister earlier, his family had insisted—no, insisted—you join them to watch his free skate. And you, still a little flustered and embarrassed, had agreed. Now here you were, heart thudding in your chest, watching the boy you’d only just met take the ice.
The lights dimmed slightly, and the familiar opening notes of the music drifted through the rink. It was a bright, soaring melody, full of lightness and energy—and somehow, it fit him perfectly. You leaned forward without meaning to, your breath catching as Sunghoon pushed off into his first glide.
He was—
Beautiful.
Each movement was smooth, effortless, like water finding its path. His blades cut clean lines across the ice, turning with a precision that could only come from endless hours of practice, yet he made it look so natural, so easy. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. His jumps were light, airy, as though gravity itself hesitated to pull him back down.
Beside you, Sunghoon’s little sister tugged your sleeve excitedly.
"Isn’t he cool?" she whispered, her voice bubbling with pride.
You nodded quickly, a small, breathless laugh escaping. "He’s amazing. He moves like... like the music was made just for him."
His mom smiled at that, her eyes warm.
"He’s always been good at feeling the music," she said softly. "Even when he was just a little boy. We'd put on anything, and he'd just start skating around the living room, pretending it was a rink."
You turned your gaze back to the ice just in time to catch Sunghoon launching into a jump—a perfect triple. He landed so cleanly you barely heard the blade hit the ice. The melody picked up, playful and bright, and Sunghoon matched it effortlessly, his movements light and joyful without ever losing the grace that came so naturally to him.
"He makes it look easy," you murmured without thinking.
Sunghoon’s dad chuckled warmly.
"That’s the trick. He’s spent years making it look that way."
His grandma leaned in closer, her voice teasing.
"Maybe he’s showing off a little more today, hm? After all... there’s someone new in the crowd."
You ducked your head quickly, face burning, but couldn't help smiling.
The music swelled into its chorus, and Sunghoon moved with it as if his body had been designed to echo the sound. Every turn, every extension of his arms felt right, like he wasn’t just skating to the melody, but was the melody. You could feel his energy even from here—the quiet determination, the bursts of joy, the fierce concentration beneath it all.
The music softened into its final notes, and you turned back just in time to see Sunghoon finish with a quiet flourish, one knee touching the ice, head bowed. For a moment, the rink was silent except for the soft scrape of his blades slowing to a stop. Then applause erupted—and you were on your feet before you even realized it, clapping hard enough that your palms stung. Around you, his family cheered and whooped, but your eyes stayed locked on him.
Sunghoon straightened slowly, lifting his gaze toward the stands—and for a brief, dizzying second, it felt like he looked straight at you. Your heart somersaulted, your hands still clapping even as you forgot how to breathe. It was the kind of performance that made you fall in love with skating all over again. And maybe—just maybe—with the boy who made it look like flying.
He finally glided off the ice, going to the same seat where you were earlier. The 2 other boys who went before him gained a relatively high score, but you knew from the masterpiece you were just blessed with, he had a huge chance to win. Actually, you were praying on it. If he really did get to win, the two of you would get to go to the nationals together. You watched from afar as he heaved. All those jumps must have rendered him exhausted.
His family began to head to him, so they can check in, with you in tow. Though, it was still going to be a while before his score gets announced so you knew you had time. You passed by your family and quickly introduced them to one another first, just to get them acquainted and to let them know who you were walking with. Of course, praises for Sunghoon erupted from them as well. You've just come to terms with your attraction for the boy but it seems like he's already won the favor of your immediate family. Including Ivan.
Your seats were near the "hot seat" as you would call it so you opted to just have the Parks sit next to your family, that way they'd be close to Sunghoon without having to stand the entire waiting time while the judges evaluated. After what felt like an eternity, the commentators finally revealed his score.
The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers, snapping you out of your daze. Everyone around you leaned forward instinctively, waiting for the numbers to flash onto the giant screen. You found yourself holding your breath without even meaning to.
"And now, Park Sunghoon’s score for the free skate..."
The screen flickered, and then the numbers appeared in bold, glowing print.
“He receives 154.26 points for his free skate—”
There was a small gasp around you—his family clutching each other’s arms in excitement, his little sister nearly bouncing out of her seat.
“...for a combined total of 233.75 points!”
Your hands flew up to your mouth, hiding the huge grin breaking across your face.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, half laughing, half breathless.
"He did it!" his sister squealed, grabbing your sleeve and shaking it.
Sunghoon’s dad let out a booming laugh, clapping his hands together.
"That's our boy!" he said proudly, his voice thick with emotion.
His mom brushed away a tear with a soft chuckle.
"He worked so hard for this. He deserves every point."
You could hardly take your eyes off Sunghoon, who was smiling on the monitor, bowing politely before flashing a quick, bashful grin at the camera. He looked overwhelmed, relieved, proud—and somehow still so humble despite the incredible score. Leaning closer, Sunghoon’s grandma teased in a low whisper, "Better start practicing how to answer interview questions. They’re gonna be calling him a national treasure soon."
You laughed, heart thudding with pride that felt far too big for someone you had only just met. But somehow, it didn’t feel strange at all. Watching him stand there, practically glowing under the spotlight—you were just... happy. And honored.
Happy to have witnessed it.
Honored to be part of it, even in this tiny way.
And somewhere deep inside, a small, secret wish stirred:
Maybe this wasn’t the last time you’d be cheering for Park Sunghoon.
In a web of complex relationships, a young woman navigates her connections with three men: her childhood friend, who was her first love; a confident college fling who helps her grow; and a captivating yet immature stranger who ignites intense passion. When the three men unexpectedly meet and discover their shared history with her, they confront her about their tangled past. Ultimately, she must choose between them, each representing different facets of love and personal growth.
Warnings: a lot of smut, some angst, if you squint you'll find a bit of fluff, no use of Y/n, underage sex (consensual), no protection, foursome, exhibition, fights, gaslighting, manipulation, breeding, dubcon, etc.
Syllabus: (all loading)
Lessons of letting go
Reader x P.SH
release date - May 1, 2025
Story Summary:
You were at an age where you wanted to explore. You wanted to try so many things. But you were scared of the bastards out there that could all but treat you well. There was only one guy you trusted with your body and soul; Sunghoon. Your childhood best friend whom you've shared both good and bad bonds with. It was inevitable that you two were gonna develop as each other's firsts. First kiss, first love, first date, first fuck. Sunghoon was an insecure, timid boy before you happened to him. But your relationship with him built him into a confident, poised man. Too confident, in fact, that he started becoming unfaithful. You found out about his infidelity and broke it all off. With you, he learned to love himself. But you, you learned to let go.
Prerequisite: Six years of holding on too tight.
The hardest lesson: how to release someone, even when your heart still clings to them. You’ll spend years in this class, but it’s worth it when you finally graduate from the past.
After leaving your entire world behind—your lover, your childhood—you stepped into college, heartbroken and eager to escape your past. Seeking distractions, you met Jongseong at a welcoming party. Confident and charming, he was the perfect escape, offering a much-needed reprieve from the pain. But his cockiness soon turned controlling, and what started as thrilling quickly became suffocating. Over time, his behavior became toxic, and you did what you’d done with Sunghoon: you left. The hardest part wasn’t the breakup itself, but the longing that followed. Despite everything, you couldn’t escape the desire for a connection that never truly existed. And in the end, you learned the hardest lesson of all: longing isn’t something you can easily outrun. Who new a one-night-stand could leave such a lasting impression? Well.. I guess it's not a one-night-stand if it turns into 2.. or 4.. or 80-ish.
Prerequisite: A three-month stretch of missing someone so badly, it hurts to breathe.
The bittersweet truth: sometimes, you’re not meant to have what you long for. And learning to live with that longing is the only way to move forward.
You never considered yourself as one who would fall in love at first sight. Especially after your unlucky strikes at love. Yet here you were at a pet café, lovingly staring at a stranger playing with a dog. One thing led to another, and that ended in you stalking his socials. You didn't even hesitate to say yes after he asked you on a date the same night you started talking. All was well, you were moving quite fast. Before you knew it, you moved into his flat, doing the chores as he relaxed, fucked him whenever and wherever he wanted. That's how you like it. That's how he liked it. Just when everything was perfectly fine with your dynamic, you realized that you weren't ready for this. After the independency you've acquired after leaving Jongseong, you just weren't ready to be dependent again. Stuck hip-to-hip like how you were with Sunghoon. In the midst of what Jake thought was another normal day with his new girlfriend, you gave him the sentence that would make anyone grimace with fear. "We need to talk". "This too rushed, too impulsive a decision." You said. Of course, Jake thought this was absolute bullshit. Why now, when your relationship was perfect, you'd see these cracks in its foundation. But your mind was set. You packed your bags, leaving behind 2 weeks of paradise and a cataclysmic mess of a man whom you've broken.
Prerequisite: Two weeks of jumping headfirst into something without thinking.
A crash course in what happens when you fall fast and hard—and why sometimes, it’s the reckless moments that teach you found the most.
Three guys, born in the same year but in different dates and places. Each have their own personality and experiences carved out into fine, porcelain statues that built their character. Each had similarities and differences, to the other. Jay, the eldest, most conceited of the bunch. Jake, the nicest, most affectionate one, as loud-mouthed as Jay. These two are the more impulsive, active ones. A much-needed stark contrast to balance out their spontaneity is Sunghoon, who's passive and reserved.
All three found each other one time at a mutual friend's party and formed a bond no one could break. They had made traditions and precious memories together. Drinking together was one of their favorite things to do as a group as they talked about life.
It was like any other drunk conversation they had: Jay confidently expressing some of the old flings he had. Until he mentioned one name in particular that sobered the younger two up. After sharing more about the girl with one another, they'd confirmed that they were all referring to one person.
The alcohol hasn't fully left their systems though, seeing as they pulled a bold decision to call you up and confront you.
When the three men who taught you these lessons find each other, they all come to you with the same question: Why did you leave us? But it’s not about them—it’s about what they made you realize. Reflections on the chaos, the love, and the mess they caused. Time for a re-enrollment.
The voices of your holy trinity circled around your mind in an abrasive manner, making your state of mind drift back and recall the memories you've had with them. Why did you leave them? At this point, you're already walking right up to the school of love's admission office with your registration form clutched in your trembling hands. Your three former teachers watching you with eyes as sharp as those of a hawk's whilst you hesitate on passing the form.
You've gotten a sense of clarity after fully assessing what went wrong in your relationship with each of them. Telling them off for trying to make it seem like you were in the wrong. That it was your actions that led to the fallouts. Seeing your newfound assertion, the 3 men's sturdy complaints began to crumble. You were mad, and wanted nothing to do with either of them anymore, so you stood up to leave. Desperate to keep you after finally getting to see you again after so long, they begged you to give them another chance. Gave you reasons, offers, sugarcoats of how much it'll leave you at an advantage if you'd let them back in your life. Like the debating technique— The use of Ethos-Establish credibility, Pathos-Appeal to emotion, and Logos-Appeal to logic. They provided you with promises of emotional and physical pleasure. Dangling a diploma right in front you. You have to make a bold choice between dropping out like before or finishing the course.
After giving in to the coos and pleas of your past, you finally let the tear your walls down. This chapter is just gonna be downright, hardcore, filthy smut. So, buckle up!
Avoidance was your only way to move forward, but Jay and Jake weren’t about to let you slip away so easily. How could you pretend you didn’t want them when your body told a different story? If you wanted to play stubborn, fine. But brats don’t get to run—they get put in their place. And they were more than ready to show you exactly what spicy really meant.
content tags: everyone is gay or fruity!!! angst! reader is self sabotaging, she made jake cry, jay is angry (and stressed), let's play back to friends by sombr, psych majors who don't know how to communicate, reader assume sunghoon's sexuality, reader cuts her hair short, jay's pov, sunoo is just sunoo.
explicit content (smut): uhm threesome (switch jake, rough mean dom jay, sub reader), dubcon!!! public sex, unprotected sex, humiliation (?), dacryphilia, rough throat fucking, cunillingus, jake tried to be angry but went soft, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration, creampie, anal sex (mxm). MDNI! WC: 21.5K
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"I think red nails would look good on me, don't you think?" You flipped your hand over, inspecting your nails with a thoughtful look.
Sunoo barely glanced up from his phone before reaching out to grab your hand, tilting it side to side. "Hmm... Maroon, definitely. With silver designs," he decided with a nod.
"Almond shape?" you asked, watching his expression closely.
Sunoo furrowed his brows, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he considered. "Square could work too... gives that classic, clean look. But yeah, almond is a solid choice. It'll look good when you're, like, casually reaching for things."
"Okay, I should set an appointment with the nail tech Wonyoung keeps talking about," you mused, already pulling out your phone. As you both walked past a full-length mirror in the store, you stopped in your tracks, turning your head slightly to get a better look at yourself.
"Maybe I should cut my hair, no?" You ran your fingers through the strands, tilting your head as if trying to picture it. "Or maybe I should dye it? What color do you suggest?"
Sunoo looked up from his phone, finally giving you his full attention. His mouth was slightly open, eyes squinting as he observed you.
"I tried a new makeup style today," you continued, adjusting your reflection with your fingers. "I don't know if it suits me yet, but if I cut my hair, maybe it would. This length would be good, right?" You pointed just below your ears, mentally mapping out the bob cut you were suddenly considering.
Sunoo blinked, then gasped dramatically. "You're planning to get a bob cut, bitch? Are you fucking serious?!"
You raised an eyebrow at his tone. "What? You don't think it would look good?"
He placed both hands on your shoulders like he was about to shake some sense into you. "Do you have any idea what a bob cut means?"
You laughed, shaking him off. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Short hair on a hot girl?" Sunoo huffed, crossing his arms. "That's a crisis cut. A post-breakup cut. A someone just emotionally wrecked me and I need a fresh start cut!"
You rolled your eyes, but your smile faltered slightly. "Maybe I just want a change."
Sunoo wasn't buying it. He crossed his arms, his expression shifting into something more serious. "Yeah, right." He paused before adding, "By the way, Jake keeps texting me, asking when our vacant period is. He says you're not replying to them."
Your steps faltered, but you quickly regained composure. "I already told them I'm busy," you said, forcing a casual shrug. "Our internship is coming up next year, so I have to start networking now. I need professors to recommend me to the best hospitals—ones that actually offer jobs after the internship."
Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "That's a solid excuse, I'll give you that. But babe, you're literally ghosting them."
"I'm not ghosting."
"Bitch." Sunoo deadpanned. "You left them on read for two weeks."
"Because I'm not in the mood to fuck them anymore," you said flatly, resuming your pace.
Sunoo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh my god. The coldness. The absolute heartlessness." Then, his voice softened. "Babe, you sound like a total bitch right now, but I know you. And I know there's a reason you cried that night."
You exhaled sharply, staring straight ahead.
"I'm your friend," Sunoo continued, his tone gentler now. "You can tell me if they hurt you. Did they do something? Say something? I mean, yeah, they're my friends too now, but you know I'll always have your back first. So tell me."
You sighed, rubbing your temples. "It's not like that. They didn't do anything."
"I just... I don't know, Sunoo." You stopped walking, running a frustrated hand through your hair. "I thought I could handle it. I thought it would be easy to keep things casual. But the longer I stayed, the harder it got. Now, it just fucking hurts."
Sunoo crossed his arms, watching you carefully. "You like them."
"Sunoo—"
"You like them," he repeated, this time with certainty. "Not just one of them. Both of them."
Your throat felt tight. "It doesn't matter."
Sunoo scoffed. "It matters if it's eating you up like this."
You swallowed, avoiding his gaze. "I was never supposed to catch feelings."
Sunoo let out a long breath, his expression softening. "You're human, dumbass. Not a fucking robot. It was bound to happen."
"It doesn't change anything." Your fingers clenched at the hem of your uniform. "It's just—fuck. I don't even know where I stand with them. I mean, they're sweet, they treat me so well. Who wouldn't fall for them?" You let out a bitter chuckle. "But that's the thing, isn't it? I don't know if it means anything."
Sunoo tilted his head, watching you carefully. "Have you told them how you feel?"
"What for?" You scoffed. "So I can humiliate myself? So I can hear them say, 'Oh, that's cute, but we never actually saw you that way'?" You let out a hollow laugh. "No, thanks."
Sunoo pursed his lips. "You don't know that's what they'd say."
You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo. Because even if—if—they felt something, it wouldn't change the fact that I'm still just an extra in their relationship. They've had each other for years. I'm just..." Your voice faltered, and you forced a small smile. "Temporary."
"Babe," Sunoo frowned. "That's a really shitty way to look at it."
"Is it?" You met his eyes, voice quieter now. "Or is it just reality?"
Sunoo sighed, rubbing his temple. "I'm saying, maybe just tell them what you feel. Communicate—"
"No." You cut him off, shaking your head. "It's better to just move forward. Cut them off and be done with it." Your voice wavered, but you quickly steadied yourself. "As I said, even if they did feel something, it wouldn't change anything." You swallowed the lump in your throat, "I'll just consider them a hookup. That's all they were supposed to be anyway."
Sunoo huffed. "Look, babe. You wouldn't be spiraling over them, trying to change your hair, your nails, your entire damn life just to get away from the way they made you feel." He sighed again. "I get it. Feelings suck. But lying to yourself? That's worse."
You exhaled sharply, looking away. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo."
"It does matter." He poked your forehead. "And sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it."
Well, too bad because Sunoo didn't have a choice but to deal with your stubbornness. He had seen you shut down before, had watched you bury your emotions so deep that even you forgot they existed.
Avoidance was the only way. Cutting them off was the only way. If you ever told them the truth, it wouldn't change anything. If they did feel something for you, it still wouldn't matter. Because being together with two guys? It wasn't realistic.
Jake and Jay were perfect together—enough for each other. Their love was already deep, already established, already real.
You were just an afterthought, a temporary distraction, a spice added to their relationship to make things more exciting for a while.
That was why you had to let it go. Because holding on would only break you more.
Avoidance was the only option. But that didn't mean it was easy.
You shared three majors with them, which meant there was no real escape. Every time Jay or Jake tried to talk to you, you scrambled for a half-baked excuse, something—anything—to put distance between you.
And you felt guilty. Because at this point, you weren't just avoiding them, you were leaving Sunoo to deal with the fallout.
Every. Single. Time.
"Sorry, I already made plans to get my nails done," you said, forcing a smile as Jake grabbed your arm after your laboratory class, trying to pull you toward the arcade.
"We can just go with you!" Jake perked up immediately, his eyes practically sparkling at the idea. He turned to Jay, beaming. "Right?!"
Jay, as always, was quieter, but his gaze was on you.
You resisted the urge to sigh. "Uh—actually, I'm going with my other friends."
Beside you, Sunoo tensed, trying not to roll his eyes so hard they got stuck.
"Then Sunoo can go with you guys," you added quickly, shoving the attention onto him.
Sunoo's head snapped toward you so fast, "Excuse me?" His expression was pure betrayal.
Jake blinked, tilting his head. "Wait. Sunoo's not going with you to get your nails done?"
"Nope!" Sunoo answered before you could. "Because I'll be with you guys. Losing all my money on rigged machines. Can't wait!"
He hooked his arms through Jake and Jay's, dragging them away before you could say another word. But not before shooting you a sharp, knowing look.
Avoidance was the only option, but it was hard.
It was almost funny, how desperately you were trying to erase them from your life, only for your own mind to betray you at every turn.
Jay's lips were always dry. Did he ever listen and start using the lip balm you recommended? Or was he still stubborn about it?
Jake had a terrible habit of not drinking enough water, always running on boundless energy until he inevitably crashed. You wondered if Jay kept that in mind—if he reminded him to drink more, if he handed him a bottle without a word, the way you used to.
Not your problem anymore.
"Your nails are so pretty!!!" Wonyoung screeched, grabbing your hand and turning it under the flashing club lights. The silver designs shimmered, catching every flicker of neon.
"Thank you," you muttered, tipping back your drink without hesitation. The alcohol burned down your throat, but you welcomed it. Anything to dull the edges. Sunoo sat beside you, talking how he wants to have sex tonight.
Another drink. Then another. By the time the rest of your friends arrived, your head was already buzzing, you can't even keep up with the conversation anymore. You laughed at the right moments, nodded when necessary, but your mind was elsewhere.
"Can you recommend a good waterproof mascara?" you mumbled, resting your head against Sunghoon's shoulder.
He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed with your state. "I don't know? Maybelline, I guess? Or some Japanese brand—those are good too."
"You're gay," you giggled, voice slightly slurred.
Sunghoon scoffed, shifting slightly so you didn't slide off him. "How the fuck is that gay?"
"You just know things." You poked his chest, eyes drooping.
"It's called having sisters, dumbass," he deadpanned.
You giggled, the alcohol making everything funnier than it should be. "Hehehe, ever since you joined our group, you've had this, like... boy love energy."
"I'm not into boy love," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.
You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "Oh my god. You're homophobic."
Sunghoon choked on his drink so hard he nearly spit it out. "What?! Where the fuck did you get that from?"
"How are you not into boy love?" You slurred, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Boy love is great. It's wholesome, it's cute, it's—"
Your voice cracked and your lips wobbled, remembering Jay and Jake. Suddenly, your eyes burned.
You sniffled. Sunghoon, who had been mid-rant about how you made no sense, suddenly froze. He stared at you, wide-eyed.
"Hey... are you—are you crying?"
You sniffled, waving a hand dramatically. "I miss them."
Sunghoon blinked. "Miss who?"
"Boy love!" you wailed, smacking the table. "Boy love is so cute! It makes me so jealous! Agh—fuck! How can you not like boy love?! I miss seeing some boy love, but it hurts seeing some boy love!"
"Bro, what the fuck are you talking about?"
You sniffled harder, rubbing your eyes aggressively. "It's so unfair. Why are they so perfect together? Why can't I just be happy watching them be happy?!"
Sunghoon, still utterly baffled, slowly turned his head, scanning the club for someone or anyone to deal with your mess. His gaze landed on Sunoo, who was currently twerking in the middle of the dance floor, hyping himself up with your other friends.
"It's really hard to avoid them," you hiccupped, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. "I miss them."
Sunghoon let out a slow breath. "Uh-huh."
"I'm making the right decision, right?" you asked, eyes wide and desperate, like you were begging him to validate your self-sabotage.
He scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh... yeah?"
"Yes," you repeated, sniffling. "I'm right. They'll stop. They'll forget me. They'll live happily ever after."
Sunghoon nodded again, then you let out a wobbly sigh. "I will also forget about them," you declared, before promptly bursting into tears again.
You wiped your nose aggressively. "I'll just go back to my old self. No more stupid feelings, no more heartbreak, no more—no more them."
He gave you a cautious thumbs-up. "Sounds... healthy."
"I'll just masturbate with my vibrator," you continued, completely ignoring him. "At least my vibrator doesn't make my heart hurt."
Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ."
"Women can over-complicate things, and that's because they go deeper—sometimes too deep, admittedly."
Yes. Exactly. To avoid over-complicating things, avoidance was the only solution.
You were just walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when a hand suddenly grabbed yours.
You yelped, eyes widening. "What the—?!"
Before you could even react, you were being pulled, not roughly, but firmly, until you stumbled into an empty mini-theater room. The door clicked shut behind you, and your heart pounded as you whipped around.
"Jake?"
He was standing there, hand still wrapped around your wrist, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. His usual playful energy was nowhere to be found.
The room was too quiet and intimate. The only sound was the distant hum of the campus outside, muffled by thick walls, the kind that trapped secrets and held them hostage. Your pulse was a dull roar in your ears as you stared at him.
God, you missed him. The playful lilt of his voice, the way he always smelled like clean laundry and something unmistakably Jake. You missed the way he touched you—soft, then rough, then soft again. You missed them. Him and Jay.
Your chest tightened, instead you swallowed, immediately trying to pull away. "Jake. Let go."
His fingers twitched against your skin, like he was debating something—like he wanted to hold on a second longer, just in case you changed your mind. But then, finally, he released you, but he didn't step back.
He was still too close.
"You are avoiding us." He said, wounded by frustration. "Why?"
Panic coiled inside you, what the fuck. You weren't ready for this. Your thoughts scrambled, reaching for an excuse, anything—anything—that would make him back off. Think. Think. Think.
But then Jake's face softened, and he exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry if we did something wrong," he said. "Just—please, talk to us. If you don't want to have sex anymore, that's okay. I understand. We understand." He took a step closer, voice cracking slightly. "Just don't shut us out, please."
Fuck. You almost caved. Jake have this eyes that knew exactly how to weaken you, but you spent enough time to hardened yourself. Pulled your walls up so high that even you couldn't see over them.
Lied through your fucking teeth.
You crossed your arms, forcing a blank expression. "I'm busy, Jake. I don't have time to play around with you two anymore."
Jake blinked, hurt was flashed across his face. "P-Play around?, I-Is that what this was to you?"
You scoffed, "What else would it be?"
Jake's expression twisted, like your words had physically knocked the breath out of him. Good. Maybe he'd finally get the hint.
"Look, Jake." You forced yourself to keep your voice steady, swallowing down the lump clawing its way up your throat. "I don't want to be mean, but get a fucking clue. Okay? Yes, I'm avoiding you. You and Jay were fun. The sex was good. But that's all it ever was."
Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. His eyes, still locked onto yours. "Just explain to us, why?"
"I don't owe you an explanation in the first place!" you snapped, voice rising despite yourself. You could feel your resolve cracking, your emotions clawing their way to the surface. But you couldn't let them win. You couldn't let him see you break.
Lied through your fucking teeth.
"I got tired of it, okay?!"
Jake's breath came out unsteady. "You could've just told us," he said, "I-Instead of... this—instead of just shutting us out like we never meant anything. We're friends, r-right?"
That last word came out, and his voice cracking, and that was what almost broke you.
Because Jake was looking at you like he was desperate to understand, like he needed you to say something—anything that could make this all make sense.
"Friends?" You let out a cold, hollow laugh, tilting your head like he'd just said something stupid. "Jake, we were never friends."
The second the words left your mouth, Jake flinched, his breath stuttering. His entire body stiffened, his shoulders curling inward.
"Don't say that," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You don't mean that."
You clenched your jaw so hard it ached. "I do."
Jake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared at you like he was trying to see through the wall you'd just slammed between you. Like if he looked hard enough, he'd find something—some sign that you were lying.
But he wouldn't. Because you were good at this. You were good at pretending.
"Just tell me why," he tried again, softer this time, more pleading than before. "If you ever cared about us at all, just... tell me why you're doing this."
Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, your entire body screamed at you to stop, to take it all back, to fix this.
But you couldn't. You forced out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "God, Jake, you're so clingy." Jake flinched, and you saw the exact moment something in him cracked.
"You took everything way too seriously," you continued. "It was just sex. I don't know what the fuck you thought this was, but it wasn't deep."
"You were convenient," you added, twisting the knife deeper. "That's all. And now? I'm over it."
Jake sucked in a breath, his shoulders stiffening. You noticed the way his lips trembled. And then slowly—he nodded.
Tears streaked his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away. He didn't lash out. He didn't beg. He just looked at you—looked through you—his expression heartbreakingly soft despite everything.
Jake didn't yell. He didn't curse you out, didn't demand answers or call you a liar. Instead, he just stood there, letting the weight of your words settle between you. His eyes were soft—too soft, filled with a quiet kind of devastation that made your stomach churn.
Without another word, he turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, and that was it.
Your body sagged the moment he was gone, like the strings holding you together had been severed. You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself, but the air felt suffocating. Your hands trembled at your sides, your fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out, to pull him back.
Don't break down. Don't be weak. You did what needed to be done.
One minute. Just one minute to get yourself together.
Your heart pounded against your ribs, your throat burned from holding back something that wanted to crawl out, guilt, regret, longing, you didn't know. Didn't want to know.
Then, finally, you exhaled. Straightened your back. Set your shoulders and walked out.
The hallway was quiet, but not empty.
Your steps faltered as you saw them—Jake, standing there with his back slightly hunched, his hands gripping the hem of Jay's uniform. His shoulders shook and his breathing uneven.
And Jay stood right in front of him, tense and rigid, watching him with a concern expression. His fists were clenched, but his hands hovered just slightly—like he wanted to touch Jake, to comfort him, but didn't know how.
And when he looked up, his eyes found yours. The softness that was there for Jake was gone.
Jay's gaze was dark, sharp, and cold in a way that made your breath hitch. There was no visible anger, just an overwhelming quiet rage simmering.
Your pulse kicked up, you immediately turned away to avoid his gaze.
Spun on your heel and walked in the opposite direction, forcing your steps to be even, controlled. Ignoring the way your chest ached, the way your throat felt tight, the way your lungs felt like they couldn't get enough air.
You did the right thing.
BACK in high school, Jay never really liked being around too many people. He wasn't exactly antisocial, he could hold a conversation when needed, and he got along fine with classmates.
But having a solid group of friends wasn't his thing. Socializing felt like a chore, something that drained him. It was exhausting trying to keep up with people's expectations, their small talk, their unnecessary drama. So, he kept his distance, floating between different groups without ever fully settling in.
Girls, especially, were a whole different kind of exhausting. He wasn't clueless—he knew most of the guys in his class were obsessed with them, always whispering about who had the best tits, passing around porn links like they were trading cards.
Sure, Jay could admit that women were attractive. Sexy, even. Tits were nice, pussy was great. But in his experience, being around women felt more like a headache than a pleasure.
They were too complex, too hard to figure out. One moment they were sweet, the next they were upset over something he didn't even understand. And somehow, he was always expected to know why. It was frustrating. The high-pitched screeching in the hallways, the emotional rollercoasters, the way they'd take out their bad moods on him for no reason—it was all too much.
So, he stayed detached. Women were beautiful, but from a distance. Up close, they were just another thing he didn't have the patience to deal with.
"Did I just... get rejected?"
Jay barely had a second to process before the words came tumbling out from the stranger standing in front of him. The guy was wearing a soccer jersey, his eyes red-rimmed like he'd been crying for a while.
Jay raised an eyebrow, not sure why he was being dragged into this. He didn't even know the guy.
"Do you think I'm ugly?" the stranger asked, pouting up at him like some kicked puppy.
Jay gave him a once-over. The guy was about his height, maybe a little smaller, with messy hair and wide, golden-retriever eyes that only made his pathetic expression worse.
"She said I give the best head," the guy continued, sniffling. "But, continue to say some monologue that it's not me, it's her. What does it even mean?"
Jay sighed, running a hand down his face as he stared at the sky. Out of all the people this guy could've dumped his sob story on, why him? He just wanted to go home, lay in bed, and maybe practice a few guitar solos, not babysit some heartbroken stranger.
And that's how he met Jake.
If Jay was being honest, Jake could be a lot to handle. He was loud, clingy, and had the attention span of a golden retriever, but somehow, they just worked.
They balanced each other out in a way Jay never expected. They didn't argue much, jealousy was never an issue, and even when they weren't in the mood to deal with each other, they just shrugged it off—no drama, no unnecessary fights.
And Jay loved him. So much that he followed him to university, enrolling in the same classes just to be with him.
That was why, when Jake first brought up the idea of a threesome, Jay had been flabbergasted. He wasn't the sharing type. He was possessive by nature, and the thought of someone else touching his Jake made his blood boil. But Jake was patient, communicating his feelings in the only way he knew how: between tangled sheets.
It took months for Jay to even consider it. He didn't know what to think, didn't know if he'd be okay with it. Whether it was another guy or a girl, the thought of it made him wary.
Then, one day, he and Jake went out to his favorite café, and that's when he noticed you.
You weren't looking at him. You were looking at Jake. Staring—too long, too obvious.
Jay's eyebrow twitched. He knew exactly where he had seen you before.
You were the girl at the freshmen welcoming party, kissing random girls like it was nothing, completely lost in the haze of alcohol. He remembered the way you moaned when two girls did body shots off your stomach. You were that drunk—so far gone that, by the end of the night, it was him and Jake who had been instructed to carry you back to your dorm.
And now here you were, staring at his boyfriend.
You like guys too?
He huffed, raising an eyebrow when he caught you looking.
Then there was the train ride during the retreat. Another moment. Another time you stared at Jake when you thought no one was looking.
Jay had noticed.
"Do you think she's into threesomes?" Jake had whispered to him that night, curiosity practically dripping from his voice. He was always like this—open, playful, intrigued by new experiences.
Jay had just sighed, brushing the thought aside. "How would I know?"
He didn't think about it much after that. At least, not until he saw you sneak out of the drinking room at the retreat.
And for some reason, he followed.
He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was suspicion, or maybe it was something else. And that's when he saw you grinding against some guy named Heeseung, lips locked in a messy kiss, your whimpers barely muffled by the night air.
Jay's fists clenched at his sides. He should've turned back. Should've left. But instead, he stood there, watching.
And fuck, he didn't expect his pants to feel this tight.
Jay thought you were beautiful. Not just in the obvious way—yeah, you had the kind of face that turned heads, but it was more than that. You had this energy, this pull, something that made people gravitate toward you like you were a magnet. And Jay had always been the type to keep his distance, to stay in control, but even he wasn't immune to it.
And he knew Jake wasn't either.
Jake was naturally affectionate, clingy even, but with you, it was different. He paid attention in a way Jay had never seen before, like he was cataloging every little thing about you.
"She likes soft textures," Jake mused, scanning the shelves of the convenience store. He grabbed a puff pastry filled with chocolate and strawberry, tossing it into their basket. "She'd like this."
Jay raised a brow, watching as Jake continued down the aisle, muttering to himself.
"I think we should get makeup wipes," Jake said, grabbing a pack without hesitation. "She uses this brand, right?"
Jay exhaled through his nose, amused. "Since when did you memorize her entire skincare routine?"
Jake shrugged, grinning. "Since she started leaving her stuff at our place."
That part was true. At first, it had been little things, a stray hair tie, a forgotten hoodie—but now there was a whole section of their bathroom cabinet stocked with your products. Your shampoo was in their shower. Your chapstick was on the nightstand. Your presence was everywhere, lingering like the scent of your perfume.
It annoyed him, how easily you captured Jake's attention, how effortlessly you slipped into their dynamic like you'd always belonged there. Jay had never been the jealous type, not really, but something about the way Jake gravitated toward you, the way he paid attention to you in ways that felt too careful made something uneasy settle in his chest.
But over time, Jay realized it wasn't just Jake.
He found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit, listening when you talked, remembering the small details about you without even trying.
He started noticing things—how you always smelled like vanilla and something sweet, how your nose scrunched up when you were focused, how your lips parted slightly when you were about to tease someone. It wasn't just Jake who was drawn to you. Jay was, too.
"Men have different parts in their brain," their professor droned on at the front of the lecture hall, pacing slowly as he gestured to the board. "It's an anatomical difference that affects communication—"
Jay barely heard the rest. Instead, his attention drifted to you, slumped against Sunoo's shoulder, your mouth slightly open as you slept. Sunoo was just as bad, his head tilted against yours, completely knocked out.
Jay huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
The two of you looked ridiculous, but for some reason, he felt that same annoying warmth in his chest that he'd been trying to ignore. The same feeling that made him buy your favorite snacks at the convenience store without thinking. The same feeling that had him listening a little too intently whenever Jake talked about you.
"Anatomical difference, my ass. Men just use their dicks instead of their mouths, that's why they're assholes," Yunjin muttered, typing away on her laptop while half-listening to the lecture.
Jay didn't agree with that. He knew men communicated—just differently. Maybe not with words the way women did, but through actions and through presence.
Like how Jake never outright said he wanted you, but always found an excuse to bring you up in conversations, to keep you close.
Like how Jay himself never said much at all, but still, for some reason, his attention always gravitated toward you.
They just had different ways of showing affection, and for a while, Jay thought that was enough.
Until it wasn't.
"It's freezing. What are you doing out here?" Jay asked, stepping onto the snow-covered porch where Jake sat curled in on himself. The night air was sharp, biting against his skin, but Jake didn't seem to notice.
Jay's eyes trailed over him—his red nose, the slight tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes were swollen and glassy.
"Were you crying?" Jay frowned, reaching out to tilt Jake's face toward him.
Jake flinched, but he didn't pull away. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
"Baby, talk to me," Jay said, firmer this time.
"I—I..." Jake's voice wavered. His breath came out in a shaky cloud, visible against the cold air. "I'm sorry."
Jay's brows furrowed. "For what?"
Jake squeezed his eyes shut, as if saying it out loud would break him.
"I like her, Jay."
Jay's breath hitched at the confession, Jake had always been expressive—his love was loud, easy, all-consuming. But maybe, just maybe, Jay had never truly listened. Never truly looked. Because if he had, he would've seen this coming.
Jay let out a slow breath, steadying himself. Then, without hesitation, he cupped Jake's face, thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down his cheek.
"I'm sorry, I know it's wrong —"
"You don't have to be sorry," Jay murmured.
Jake sniffled, confused. "But—"
Jay shook his head, cutting him off. "I like her too."
Jake stilled. His grip on Jay's jacket loosened slightly, as if he didn't believe what he just heard.
Jay exhaled, looking past Jake for a moment, toward the snow-covered street, the dim porch light casting a soft glow around them. It had taken him too long to realize it, but now that the words were out, they felt right.
"I didn't want to admit it, but I get it. I get why you feel this way."
Jake's lips parted slightly, his breath hitching. "Then why did we—" He hesitated. "Why didn't we talk about this sooner?"
Jay fell silent, because that was the problem, wasn't it?
Their entire relationship had been built on silent understandings, unspoken words, actions instead of conversations. It had always been enough—until it really wasn't.
Jay wasn't the type to talk about feelings, and Jake... well, Jake always just went with whatever Jay was willing to give.
Jay sighed, finally meeting Jake's gaze again. "Because we never really talk about things, do we?"
Jake let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking his head. "No. We really don't."
Jay reached up, threading his fingers through Jake's hair, pulling him into a slow, grounding hug. Jake melted into him instantly. For a while, neither of them spoke. The cold wind bit at their skin, the snow crunching softly beneath their feet as they shifted slightly in place. But neither moved to go inside.
"I miss her," Jake finally whispered. His voice was small, fragile in a way that Jay rarely ever heard. "Is it right to tell her how we feel?"
Jay stiffened slightly at the question, that was the real problem. It wasn't just about their feelings anymore—it was about yours too.
He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed the shift in your energy, the way you had started pulling away, the way your texts had become shorter, emptier.
Maybe you felt it too. Maybe you had been trying to fight it just as much as he had.
But unlike him, you had chosen to run.
And Jay hated that.
Because the truth was, he had spent so much of his life avoiding unnecessary complications, keeping people at arm's length to protect himself from feelings he didn't know how to deal with. Relationships were easy when they were just sex, when there were clear boundaries that everyone followed.
But you had blurred every single one of those lines.
He had spent months trying to ignore the way he felt, convincing himself that this was nothing more than what it started as — just a bit of fun. But then you wormed your way into their lives in ways he never anticipated.
It was in the way you laughed at Jake's stupid jokes, in the way you pout your lips at certain foods, in the way you always took extra time to make sure Jake was drinking enough water or that Jay wasn't skipping meals.
It was in the way you would fall asleep on their couch, curled up like you belonged there, as if you had carved a space for yourself in their world without even realizing it.
And yet, they had never said anything. They had never talked about what any of this meant, never acknowledged the growing weight of their emotions.
"I don't know," Jay admitted, "but I know I don't want to lose her."
Jake swallowed hard, his grip on Jay tightening. "Me neither."
He wasn't sure how to approach this, wasn't sure how to untangle the mess they had all made. But one thing was certain—he and Jake wanted you.
And if there was even the slightest chance that you wanted them too, Jay would figure out a way to make this work.
Poly relationships existed, didn't they?
And if that was the way to keep you, then Jay would do everything in his power to make you stay.
...
Except you were acting like a fucking bitch.
Despite all the planning, about how to approach this properly, Jake had gone ahead and done the one thing Jay told him not to do—talk to you without a plan. Without giving you time. Without preparing himself for the worst.
And now Jake was curled up in Jay's arms, shaking, trying to choke back his sobs while Jay clenched his jaw so tightly.
Jake was impatient, and you were pushing them away.
Jay's head was going to fucking explode. He didn't know how to handle this. He hated seeing Jake cry, hated the way his hands trembled as he held onto him. Hated the way you had shut them out like they didn't mean a goddamn thing to you.
Well, he knew that they meant something to you.
Jay's patience had been stretched thin for weeks now. Every time he thought he might have a chance to talk to you, you slipped away like smoke between his fingers. It was pissing him off. He could feel you pulling back, putting up walls he hadn't even realized were there. And the worst part is he had no fucking idea how to break them down.
He wasn't the kind of guy who begged. He wasn't the kind of guy who chased. But for you? For you, he was losing his goddamn mind.
"Hey, shhh, it's okay, I'll talk to her," Jay murmured, his voice steady despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. Jake sniffled, his face buried in Jay's shoulder, but his grip didn't loosen. His whole body shook, fingers digging into Jay's back.
Jay sighed, bringing a hand up to wipe Jake's wet cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Jake's lips trembled.
"She's not even giving us a chance."
Yeah, he fucking noticed.
And it pissed him off. Not just because you were avoiding them, not just because you were pushing Jake away—but because Jake wasn't even mad about it. He wasn't angry; he was hurt. Both of them knew you didn't mean what you had said that day. But what could they do when you refused to talk? When you were so hell-bent on running?
"...Many individuals engage in self-sabotage not because they don't want happiness, but because they fear it."
Jay blinked at the professor's voice, his jaw tightening as he focused on the lecture.
"Fear of commitment, avoidance of intimacy, and reluctance to accept positive emotions often stem from deep-seated insecurities. This can manifest as pushing people away when they get too close, fixating on imperfections to justify emotional distance, or convincing oneself that they are 'better off alone.'"
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.
"To put it simply," the professor continued, leaning against his desk, "people self-sabotage when they don't believe they deserve good things. They anticipate failure or abandonment, so they preemptively destroy what could be good before it has the chance to hurt them."
Jay's head instinctively turned to where you usually sat. Your seat was empty. Of course, it was.
His fingers drummed against the desk, irritation flaring in his chest. He already knew you were avoiding them, but it was becoming worse. First, it was the silent treatment, then skipping plans, ignoring texts. Now, you were barely showing up to class. What the fuck were you thinking? Were you really about to fail a major subject just to get away from them?
Jake nudged him lightly, his eyes worried. "She's really doing this, huh?"
Jay clenched his jaw. "Fucking ridiculous," he muttered.
He didn't understand. Why were you acting like this? They had never once made you feel unwanted. Never treated you like an afterthought.
The professor moved on, but Jay wasn't listening anymore. His mind was spinning, the weight of your absence pressing heavily against him.
Prelims came and went. And still—no shadow of you.
Jay barely glanced at his exam paper as he turned it in. He had spent the past hour only half-focused, tapping his pen against the desk in frustration, mind elsewhere. He already knew his score wouldn't be his best. Not with the way you were consuming his every thought.
Outside the exam hall, Sunoo approached him hesitantly. Jay didn't miss the way he shifted awkwardly on his feet, fingers twisting together like he was debating whether to speak.
"I'm sorry," Sunoo finally said, sighing. "I hope... whatever's happening with you guys, you'll be patient with her."
Jay exhaled sharply through his nose. Yeah. He was trying to be patient, but patience was running thin when you wouldn't even look at them anymore.
Sunoo hesitated again before glancing around, making sure no one was listening. "It's not my story to tell," he admitted carefully, voice softer, "but she likes the both of you." He shook his head, lips pressing together. "She just... she's being negative."
Jay's grip tightened on his exam booklet. Of course, he fucking knew that. It wasn't just obvious—it was the only explanation that made sense. But hearing it from Sunoo, having someone else confirm it, should have made him feel better. It didn't.
Because knowing that you wanted them didn't change the fact that you were pushing them away. It didn't change the fact that you were choosing to ruin this before they even had a chance to prove to you that it could work.
Sunoo studied Jay's face, reading his silence before sighing. "She's just scared," he muttered. "That's how she is."
Jay huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I'm getting really fucking tired of watching her run."
Sunoo gave him a look, almost as if to say, then catch her.
Fine. He would. One thing was clear—this avoidance shit? It needed to end.
They had to talk. They had to communicate. Well, they had been trying. But talking to you was like grasping at smoke. Jay had tried to contact you, but it was clear you had soft-blocked them both. His messages stayed unread. Calls went straight to voicemail.
Jay had tried to find you. But every time he did, you ran. Midterms came. Jay was exhausted, irritated, and so fucking done with the distance.
And then, he saw you. Laughing like nothing had happened, like you hadn't disappeared off the face of the fucking earth. You were standing outside the library with a group of friends, flexing your nails dramatically as the others fussed over them. Jay's steps slowed. Your hair was different, it was short.
A bob cut. The sight of it made his chest tighten. It wasn't a bad thing—hell, it looked good. But it was different. You were different.
He inhaled sharply and stepped forward, but before he could close the distance, your gaze flickered up. And you saw him for a second your expression froze.
Then, before Jay could even process it, someone else entered the scene.
Some guy. That fucking guy and his girlfriend.
Jay watched as they approached you, watched as the girl kissed your cheek, Heeseung slinging an arm around your shoulder.
And you let them. You let them pull you away before Jay could even reach you. No fucking way.
"Do you think we should give up?" Jake had asked once. Jay only shook his head. No.
Communication is key—but with the way you're acting, they need a different strategy to reach you.
You don't get to run. Not anymore. Men speak in different ways they said, and if the softest way doesn't get through to you then he'll have to go rough.
"Oh my God, this is the most chaotic event ever," Sunoo complained loudly, fanning himself dramatically with his schedule sheet. "Who in their right mind thinks it's a good idea to hold university games when summer is practically melting us alive? That's actual insanity."
Sweat clung to your forehead, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. All around you, students were sprawled across the open field, desperately searching for shade or breeze.
Sunghoon turned on his small turbo fan and aimed it toward you and Sunoo. A soft hum filled the air, and you immediately leaned into the stream of cool air.
"Bless your soul," you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as the breeze hit your face.
Meanwhile, Wonyoung sat cross-legged on the grass nearby, sipping water with a serene expression, completely unbothered by the scorching sun.
"This is actually so unfair," you muttered, glancing at her in disbelief. "I look like a soggy dog, and she's out here looking like a skincare commercial."
"She's probably not human," Sunoo said flatly.
You slumped dramatically closer to the turbo fan, shoulders sagging with defeat. "Why did you even register us for dodgeball?!" you whined, voice muffled as you practically shoved your face into the breeze. "I look like I've been through five stages of grief, I don't even barely survive now that we don't do anything, then what about tomorrow."
Sunoo shrugged, unapologetic. "It's tradition. And it's the only time I get to legally throw a ball at people I don't like."
You gave him a flat look, lifting your face just enough to mutter, "That includes me, doesn't it?"
"Depends on how much more you complain," he deadpanned, eyes hidden behind his oversized sunglasses.
Sunghoon leaned slightly forward with a furrowed brow. "Hey, your mascara is kind of melting. Like... a lot."
You gasped, sitting up straight. "No! No, no, no—" You fumbled through your bag in a mild panic, fishing out your phone. The moment your reflection came into view, you groaned. "I look like a raccoon who just got dumped."
"You always say that," Wonyoung chimed in with a lazy smile, finally acknowledging the conversation as she shifted beneath her sun umbrella. "And yet somehow you still pull."
"Not in this heat I don't," you grumbled, pressing a tissue to the corner of your eye. The moment you pulled it back, it was smudged black. "Great. I look like I'm melting from the inside out."
You leaned into the mirror on your phone, trying to fix the damage but the more you dabbed and adjusted, the worse it got. The eyeliner smeared into your under-eye, and your lashes clumped at odd angles. You cursed softly under your breath, cheeks hot with both embarrassment and the unforgiving sun.
"I need to go to the bathroom," you muttered, standing quickly and brushing off the back of your shorts. "This is a mess—I need to fix this before I look like I got dumped and then thrown into a fire."
"I told you to change your mascara," Sunoo mumbled. "Waterproof isn't just a suggestion in this weather."
"I didn't think it'd get this bad!" you hissed, reaching for your bag—which, naturally, was hanging from Sunghoon's overburdened shoulder. He handed it off without complaint, arms already full of Wonyoung and Sunoo's things too.
"Where are you going?" Wonyoung asked without moving.
"To salvage my face," you said over your shoulder. "If I don't come back, assume I drowned in the sink."
You didn't wait for a reply, slipping away from the group as your shoes scuffed against the hot pavement. The chatter of students faded behind you, replaced by the distant hum of activity inside the university. The moment you entered the shaded hallway, the temperature dropped just enough for you to breathe.
Your footsteps echoed lightly as you made your way toward the restroom, the cold tile of the building cooling the soles of your feet through your sneakers. You exhaled a long, slow breath—finally out of the noise and the sun.
You pushed open the bathroom door and slipped inside, letting it close behind you with a soft click.
You dropped your bag on the counter, you pulled out your makeup, eyeing the smudged disaster on your face. Carefully, you began dabbing away the ruined mascara and eyeliner, patting concealer beneath your eyes and slowly rebuilding the illusion of composure. Your lashes clumped slightly as you reapplied your mascara, and you leaned in closer to the mirror to separate them.
You were just about finished when a voice cut through.
"Figured I'd find you here."
You jumped, nearly knocking your makeup pouch off the counter. Your head whipped toward the door—where Jay stood, leaning against the frame.
"This is the girls' restroom," you snapped, the panic slipping into your voice. The last thing you wanted was to be cornered by him. And God, of all the times, why did he have to look so fucking good in that damn denim jacket?
Jay didn't flinch. He just stared. "It's not like I haven't seen everything already," he said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him with a low thud.
You scoffed, hard, grabbing your bag off the counter. "Right. And that gives you a free pass to stalk me now? Is that how it works?"
Jay's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed low. "I didn't stalk you. I came to talk. Since you're ghosting every call, and message, avoiding us, and you made Jake cry," he added, emphasizing the last part.
"Maybe because I don't want to talk," you bit out, slamming a lipstick back into your bag. "I already told your boyfriend—I'm done with the both of you. So stop. Stop being so fucking annoying."
You tried to storm past him, but his hand shot out fast, gripping your shoulder, forcing you back.
"What the hell is your problem?!" you snapped, "You think cornering me like this is gonna change anything?"
Jay's eyes darkened, his voice dropping a notch. "Yeah. Maybe it will. Since the version where I let you push us away didn't work."
"You don't get to decide how I feel," you hissed, shoving at his chest. "You don't get to show up like this just because you're pissed I won't answer you."
"And you don't get to shut down every time something doesn't go your way," he shot back. "You act like you don't care, but if that were true, you wouldn't be shaking right now."
Jay's eyes dropped to your arm, the subtle tremble giving you away. You quickly swallowed the lump rising in your throat and tucked your arm behind your back.
He raised a brow. "Can you stop being a brat for five seconds and just hear me out?"
You scoffed, biting down the sting in your chest. "I told you—I'm not interested anymore. Why are you so damn pushy?!"
"Because we fucking like you!" Jay snapped, you stiffened, the silence that followed hitting louder than his voice had. Your breath caught. His jaw clenched, and the space between you suddenly felt way too small.
Being with them isn't realistic.
Push them away.
Lied through your fucking teeth.
"Wow. Great. That's your excuse?" you spat, though your voice shook just enough to betray you. "You like me, so now I'm supposed to just roll over and forget everything? Grow up, Jay. That's not how this works."
Jay stepped forward slowly. You instinctively backed up, your spine hitting the cold edge of the counter.
"You felt something too," he said, eyes fixed on you. "Don't bullshit me."
"Shut up," you shot back too fast, and too obviously defensive.
He didn't stop. His gaze locked on yours, footsteps steady. "You can act cold, pretend you're done, like we didn't get under your skin. But I know better."
You pressed harder into the counter. "You don't know shit," you hissed. "It was a mistake. A phase. Whatever the hell you thought you saw—it wasn't real."
Jay's mouth curled, smirking. "Funny. That 'phase' made you tremble like that? That mistake had you gasping my name?"
Your chest rose and fell fast, your heart thundering behind your ribs like it wanted out.
He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. "You're not scared of us. You're scared of how real it felt. You're scared because it meant something—and you don't know what the hell to do with that."
"Shut up," you repeated, but your voice cracked on the edge of it this time.
Jay went still and finally, he heard it. That tiny crack in your armor, the one you didn't mean to let slip. The one he'd been waiting for.
His expression shifted, the usual smirk gone. What was left was quiet, focus and dangerous stare.
"You can keep pushing us away. Say it was fake. Say it was a lie. But you and I both know—" his voice dipped, "—it was the most real thing you've ever felt."
You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him. If you met his eyes now, it was over, you knew it. So you stared at the floor, at the sink, at anywhere but him.
"Look at me," he said.
You didn't. So he grabbed your jaw, rough, and tilted your face toward his. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you locked eyes with him. And that was it. The moment cracked open, revealing everything you hadn't said.
His gaze bore into you, not blinking, not softening. "You gonna keep pretending this meant nothing?" he murmured, breath ghosting over your cheek. "You gonna keep walking around like you're not haunted by us every fucking night?"
You said nothing because you couldn't. Jay stepped in closer, so close the space between you vanished, the scent of his cologne hitting you hard, that familiar deep and musky. Your legs wobbled, barely holding you up, and you cursed your body for betraying you.
He leaned in, his hand still holding your face, thumb brushing the edge of your lip. "You really think you can just move on? That someone else is gonna touch you the way we did? Know you the way we do?"
His voice dropped even lower, a growl at the edge of it. "You think you're just gonna give that cunt to someone else?" His hand slid down, slow, dragging along your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. "You think it's gonna listen to them?"
Your thighs clenched on instinct. Fuck.
Jay caught the reaction—he always noticed. His lips curved just barely. "Your body doesn't lie," he said, "It remembers us. The way you moaned. The way you begged. That pussy listens when we speak. You know it. I know it."
His hand rested just above your chest now, feeling your heartbeat racing beneath it.
"You can lie all you want," he said, eyes dark and locked on you. "But your body's telling the truth."
You were frozen, pulse slamming in your throat, heat spreading beneath your skin. Jay's lips brushed the shell of your ear. "Say it didn't mean anything. Look me in the eye and say it."
A soft, broken gasp—no, worse. A moan left your mouth. You felt the slow smile curl against your skin, felt the change in the air as his grip shifted.
"There she is," he murmured. "Couldn't hold it in, could you?"
"Fuck you," you choked, breathless, humiliated, every inch of your skin lit up with heat and shame.
His hand slid from your chest to your neck again, thumb brushing your jaw as he tilted your head up. "You already did," he said. "And you fucking loved it."
His other hand slid to your hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he stepped in fully, pressing his body flush against yours, pinning you between the counter and him.
"Push me away," he said, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling, eyes locked on you like a hunter cornering prey.
But you couldn't look away. His scent coiled around you, and your legs barely held you up. You felt it, the warmth blooming between your thighs, the traitorous ache soaking into your panties, and you hated how much he could still do this to you with so little.
"Push me away," Jay repeated. "Make me cry the way you fucking did to Jake."
His hand tightened around your throat suddenly. Your hands flew to his wrist on reflex, clutching him but you didn't push. You didn't even try. A squeak escaped your lips, your fingers just held him there, trembling, as the air caught in your throat and heat flared down your spine.
"Stop talking," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut, as if you could block out the sound of his voice.
But his grip on your throat only tightened. "Why?" Jay murmured, his tone taunting. "Can't take it?"
Your lips parted, breath ragged. "I—I'm s-sorry, okay? I'm sorry," you gasped.
Jay's eyes narrowed, and a sharp, mocking smile curled at his lips. "Sorry?" he echoed. "Now you're sorry?"
"No. You don't get to say sorry and pretend that fixes this," he snarled. "You lied. You ran. You made Jake cry. You threw us away —and now look at you."
"Look at yourself," he hissed. "Pathetic little whimper in your throat every time I speak."
You tried to shake your head, but he didn't let you. "No. Don't look away now," Jay growled, fingers still wrapped tight around your throat, forcing your eyes up to meet his. "You wanna play cold? Strong? Then own it. Stand tall. Push me off. Say it was all a fucking lie."
Your lips trembled. You tried. You tried to hold it in—but everything broke at once. "It's not!" you cried, voice cracking, hands shaking against his wrist. "It's not! I'm sorry!"
Your chest heaved. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to—I just—" your voice splintered into breathless pieces, eyes glassy, vision blurring, "please just—just—fuck!"
You grabbed his shirt, knuckles white.
"Touch me, please!"
The words left your mouth like a scream torn from your core, soaked in shame, in need.
"There's the truth." His grip released your throat to slide lower, hands now on your waist. Your hips met his, and the hardness pressing against your core made your breath stutter, arousal flooding you so hard your legs gave a twitch.
"You begged," he whispered, eyes never leaving yours. "Say it again."
You swallowed hard, breath catching, lips parted and trembling.
"Say it," he repeated like a command. "Say it so you remember how low you got."
You hesitated, just for a second, but the ache between your legs, the fire in your belly, the heat in your cheeks—it was too much.
"Please..." you whispered, eyes wide, voice shaking. "Touch me."
Jay tilted his head slightly, then leaned in to your ear again, mouth brushing your skin. "Louder."
You shut your eyes, biting your lip, humiliated but so fucking far gone. "Please," you gasped, louder now, every word dripping with shame, "touch me. I need it. I need you."
Jay didn't answer immediately. He let the silence hang heavy, waiting—making you sweat in it. Then he leaned closer again. "Think you deserve it?"
Your breath caught. "No..." you whispered. "N-No. I don't."
Jay smiled. "Exactly." And then, without another word, he pulled away. Just let go of you and stepped back, turning his back.
"H-Huh?" you breathed, the air suddenly cold without his touch. "Where are you going?"
"Back to the field," he said flatly. "You don't deserve shit—not after all the stupid games you played."
Panic flared so violently inside you it made your knees weak. The throbbing heat between your legs was unbearable now, your panties soaked, your stomach aching from how badly you needed release. But worse than the arousal was the cold pit of humiliation, of abandonment.
You lunged forward, clutching his wrist with both hands. "No, no—please! I'm sorry!" your voice cracked. "Please, I'm sorry, I just— I got jealous. With you and Jake, I— I like you. I like both of you, I just thought..."
You were sobbing now, tears spilling hot and fast down your cheeks. "I thought it would be better if I was out of the picture. I didn't know what to do. I miss you! I— I need you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
Jay turned slowly. "And you acted like a bitch because you thought it'd be better?" he hissed. "We chased you for three fucking months."
You froze, mouth parted, lips trembling. "And what did you do?" Jay continued, voice rising. "Blocked us. Ignored us. Walked away like we were nothing. Like you didn't feel anything."
"I did," you whispered. "I did."
He stared down at you, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on your tear-soaked face and the hands still clutching his wrist
"You're going to earn your place back," he said coldly. "We're not just taking you back. You'll crawl for it. You'll beg for it."
You stood there, frozen, tears still fresh on your cheeks. Shame burned through you, and the arousal between your legs was only getting worse.
"You want me to touch you?" he asked, his voice low, mocking. "You think I'll give that to you just like that? Just because you cried a little? Because you finally admitted you fucked up?"
You shook your head slowly, lip trembling. "N-No..." you whispered.
"No?" he echoed, lips curling. "Then why are you still standing like you're in control?"
You blinked at him, confused for half a heartbeat. And then the word dropped. "Kneel."
You flinched. Your legs almost didn't respond but your body knew. Knew the command, knew his tone, knew exactly what was expected. Your knees buckled beneath you, and you sank slowly to the floor, the cold tile biting into your skin.
Jay towered over you now, looking down with nothing but cold amusement in his eyes. "Pathetic," he muttered. "You were so full of fire. So quick to run your mouth. What happened to all that attitude, huh?"
You kept your head down, cheeks flushed hot, hands trembling in your lap.
He stepped in close behind you, hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back just enough for you to gasp. "I should make you wait longer," he said, staring down into your eyes. "Should make you watch me walk away again. But then I'd miss watching you break. And I like this view too much."
Your lips parted, breath caught between a sob and a moan.
"You know what I should do?" Jay whispered. "I should call Jake. Let him see what's left of the girl who told him she was 'done.' Let him see you begging on your knees, soaked and broken. You think he'd feel sorry for you?"
You shook your head again, tears welling up all over, and yet—your thighs pressed together.
Jay smirked. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
He released your hair, let you slump forward just slightly. "You're going to stay right here," he said. "On your knees. Hands behind your back. You don't get to touch. You don't get to beg again unless I say."
"Yes..." you whispered, eyes shut, heart racing. "Yes, okay..."
You heard the soft rustle of denim—Jay pulling off his jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the counter. The metallic click of a belt followed, then the slow grind of a zipper sliding down. The sounds alone made your pulse spike.
Jay stood above you, fingers resting at his waistband. His gaze dropped down to meet yours and the look in his eyes made your stomach twist in the most helpless, humiliating way.
He shifted his stance slightly, drawing closer, one hand sliding into the front of his jeans, adjusting himself as his breath hitched low in his chest. A dark patch spread along the front of his briefs, Jay let out a low hiss through his teeth, his jaw tightening as he watched you watching him.
Jay's thumb brushed your bottom lip, dragging the soft flesh down just enough to part your mouth. With one hand, he pushed his briefs down just enough to free himself, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his cock. The head was flushed, already wet at the tip, and he slowly angled it toward your waiting mouth.
You opened for him without hesitation, lips parting wide, tongue slightly curled. You saw the flicker in his expression, by the way his breath hitched sharply, his brows twitching together.
"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, just before his hips surged forward. The sudden thrust made your throat constrict, a choked gasp escaping you as you adjusted, eyes watering.
Both of his hands moved to your head now, fingers splaying through your hair, rough and needy. He let his fingertips glide against your scalp at first, almost soothing, before his grip tightened. A sharp tug followed.
"Why'd you cut your hair, anyway?" he asked, breathless, but the question was half a growl, half a genuine bite of irritation. His fingers tangled in your shorter strands, clearly missing the length he used to wrap his fists in.
Tears blurred your vision, slipping down your cheeks, but you didn't stop. Your throat worked hard around him, swallowing, adjusting, the wet sounds of gulp, gulp, gulp are echoing against the tile walls of the bathroom.
Your lips stayed stretched around him, tongue coiling beneath the shaft, dragging slow and deliberate from the base upward as you swallowed him again and again.
The world outside the bathroom didn't exist. You'd forgotten where you were, forgotten the echo of distant footsteps, the fact that the tiled walls weren't just enclosing heat and pleasure but public space. You were too far gone in the taste of him, in the stretch of your lips, in the burn of each breathless gasp you took through your nose.
Then—knock knock. A sharp, sudden rap on the door snapped. You flinched, instantly trying to pull back, eyes wide in panic, throat clenching around him. But Jay didn't let you go.
"Shh," he murmured. His fingers tightened in your hair, the other hand sliding to the back of your neck. Before you could react, he forced you down—all the way. His cock sank into your throat in one sharp, complete thrust, your nose pressed flat against the skin of his pelvis. The breath caught in your lungs. Your eyes watered harder. You were choking, but you stayed, frozen, as his grip held you exactly where he wanted.
The door creaked open.
"It's just me," came a soft, casual familiar voice.
You heard the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place behind him. A moment later, you could feel the weight of Jake's stare, as he stood there, just inside the bathroom door, watching.
Jake's tone was edged with uncertainty, but not surprise. "You said you were just gonna talk," he said as he took in the scene—your knees on the cold tile, face flushed, cheeks hollowed, and Jay buried deep in your throat.
Jay exhaled through his teeth, head tilting back slightly, his grip finally loosening just enough for you to breathe again. But he didn't pull out.
"That's her way of apologizing," Jay hissed, his hips rolled forward again with purpose, forcing another wet choke from you. "Isn't that right?"
His hand remained in your hair, holding you steady, guiding your mouth with every thrust. His other hand slipped down to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, smearing the spit that clung there like gloss.
You looked up and there was Jake.
You'd always remembered Jake as soft-spoken, the kind of boy smiled too gently. Sweet to a fault. The kind of person who would've cupped your cheek and whispered it was okay, would've helped you up and kissed the tears from your face.
But not now. Now his eyes weren't soft. They were cold, sharp and predatory.
Even through the blur of your lashes and the sting of fresh tears, you saw it: the shift. The hunger.
"You're crying," Jake said. He tilted his head, studying your face. "She's crying, Jay."
And how you remembered, too well, the way he had this thing with you crying every time he fucked you. A fascination of your tears.
"She should be," he said flatly. "After the shit she pulled? She should be sobbing." He thrust forward again, slow and deep, watching your throat stretch to take it.
Jake didn't blink. His expression didn't soften. He just knelt lower beside you, one hand resting casually on his knee as he leaned in a little closer. His eyes were fixed on your tear-streaked face, watching every twitch of your mouth, every breath you struggled to take around Jay's cock.
His cock twitched in his pants. There was a fire building in his chest stoked by the sight of you like this—on your knees, choking, tears running, all for his boyfriend. And yet... all he could think about was that moment. That time he tried talking to you, voice soft, reaching out with patience, and you'd barely looked at him. Just shrugged him off.
Maybe he'd been too kind. No—he had been too kind.
Jake didn't know exactly what he was feeling as he watched Jay drive himself deeper into your mouth, but it wasn't softness. Not anymore. A new edge in his blood he hadn't recognized before. Every time your throat clenched, every time another tear slipped down your cheek, something inside him twisted tighter.
"You're so unfair," Jake said. He stood slowly, eyes never leaving your face.
Jay reached up, hand curling around the back of Jake's neck, fingers threading into his hair. He pulled him down, and their mouths met in a slow kiss.
You whimpered around Jay's cock, your voice small and choked as your eyes followed the scene unfolding above you.
They didn't look at you. Their kiss deepened quickly, mouths open, tongues sliding together in a messy, hungry rhythm. Jay tilted his head, humming low against Jake's mouth, and Jake responded with a moan that vibrated through him—a sound that made Jay's grip on your hair tighten just slightly.
Their bodies leaned into each other, mouths devouring, heat bleeding off them like they'd forgotten you were even there. You whimpered again, louder this time, throat sore, nose running, your jaw aching, but they still didn't acknowledge you.
Then you sobbed, your body trembling as another wave of tears spilled down your cheeks. Jake pulled back from the kiss, breathless, lips slick.
"Stop being dramatic," he muttered as he looked down at you. His hand came down with no hesitation, fingers sliding into your hair alongside Jay's to push you further.
You whimpered one last time, cut off by the sudden pressure as your head was forced forward. Your nose pressed flush to Jay's skin again, throat stretched to its limit.
"Shut up," Jake said quietly. Jay hissed through his teeth, his body jerking slightly as your throat took him again, deeper now under Jake's added weight.
You gagged again, but Jake didn't flinch. He just turned his head and watched his boyfriend with a crooked smile. before leaning in to kiss him again. Their mouths met above you, hot and open, tongues sliding as if you weren't there.
You couldn't breathe.
Your throat burned, raw and stretched too wide, and your jaw felt like it was splitting apart under the unrelenting ache. Jay's pace had become erratic now, his stomach bouncing against your nose with each desperate thrust. You could feel the tightness in your chest spreading, oxygen slipping further and further out of reach.
Your lungs screamed. Your eyes streamed. But neither of them looked down.
And just when you felt his cock throb in warning, when your body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable—
Jake pulled you off.
You gasped as you were suddenly released, choking, coughing, collapsing sideways onto the cold tile floor. Your body folded, weak and trembling, chest heaving as you dragged in greedy, ragged breaths. Your lips were swollen, spit-slick and trembling, and the back of your throat felt like it had been clawed raw.
You barely had time to lift yourself onto your elbows when you saw Jake move again.
He dropped to his knees smoothly in front of Jay, his mouth opened without a word, and he took Jay in deep, his jaw relaxed. You watched through bleary, tear-streaked eyes as Jake's head began to bob, slow and sinuous, his lips wrapped around the same cock that had just brutalized your throat.
Jay groaned, one hand bracing against the counter, the other curling in Jake's hair. His hips jerked once, twice—and then he came.
Jake didn't flinch. He swallowed it all, his throat working silently, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring it. His fingers dug into Jay's hips, keeping him in place as the last tremors rolled through him.
You stayed on the floor, trembling, watching through a curtain of tears you couldn't stop.
Jake pulled back with a wet drag of his mouth, lips glossy, tongue flicking out to catch the last trace of Jay's release. He looked up at him with hooded eyes, mouth still parted slightly, breath heavy. Jay let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing Jake's hair back from his face.
Something in you twisted again. Bitter. Ugly. It crawled up your chest and sat there. You wiped your face with the back of your trembling hand, smearing the tears more than cleaning them. The other reached up shakily, trying to push your hair out of your eyes, trying to regain some kind of dignity.
But Jake didn't give you the chance. He turned to you slowly, head cocked, still licking the corner of his mouth. His gaze locked onto you, that same hunger was still in his eyes.
"You think you're done?" he asked. Jay's hand dropped from Jake's hair, and looked down on you again.
Jake stood and approached you with the lazy certainty of someone who already knew you wouldn't resist. He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours. He reached out and brushed your hair back
Your lips trembled as you tried to speak. "I-I'm sorry, Jake..." you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. "Both of you mean something to me. I just... I didn't know how to handle it. I miss you. I didn't mean to make you cry. You're precious to me, baby."
Jake stilled. For a moment, he didn't blink. His gaze searching yours. His breath hitched, just enough to give him away, his jaw tightening as his face flickered with softness. Behind you, Jay leaned back against the wall with a soft exhale, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flicked between the two of you.
Jake's hand hover near your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You leaned into it simply to feel him again. Just that brief, tender contact that used to come so easily. Your skin brushed his fingertips, and he didn't pull away.
"I'm so sorry," you sobbed. Your body trembled, shoulders shaking, the emotion too big to contain any longer.
Jake exhaled sharply, his entire demeanor going soft suddenly. "Shhh..." he finally whispered, pulling you into him.
His arms wrapped around you tightly, and he tucked his face into the side of your head. His nose pressed gently to your temple. One hand moved to your back, slowly rubbing up and down.
"You meant it?" he murmured. "All of it?"
You nodded into his shoulder, arms tightening around his waist as you clung to him. "I meant it," you whispered, breath hitching. "Every word."
Jake didn't move right away. He just held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other drawing slow, rhythmic circles against your spine. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, faster than it should've been.
For a moment, everything else faded— the ache in your throat, the sting of your tears, even Jay's quiet presence nearby. It was just Jake. Just the closeness you hadn't had in too long.
"I should be angry," Jake murmured after a pause. "But I missed you too much." He pulled back just slightly, enough to look at you. "Don't lie to me again. Don't run." he said softly.
"I won't," you whispered. "Let me fix things." The moment the answer left your lips, Jake moved, he hooked his arms beneath you, lifting you up.
You let out a small gasp as he turned, setting you down on the cold counter behind you. Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, the glass cool against your scalp as your legs instinctively parted to accommodate him stepping in between them.
He kept his eyes on yours, even as his hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers working them down. "Let's fix things, huh?" he murmured, dragging your shorts down in one motion. "You want to make things right?"
You nodded again, barely able to breathe as the air hit your wet skin.
"Then spread those pretty thighs," Jake growled under his breath. He dropped the fabric carelessly to the floor, hands sliding up your inner thighs, his eyes landed on the soaked fabric of your panties before he pushed them aside.
"Already dripping," he muttered. His fingers pressed against your folds through the soaked cotton, dragging slowly up your slit, teasing you. The friction of the fabric sent jolts through your core. He pressed a little harder, making your hips twitch in response.
Another presence pressed close—Jay. He moved in behind Jake. "You're spoiling her again," Jay said as he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.
His hands slid up your body from behind, palms rough, until they found your breasts. He cupped them through your top, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they stiffened beneath the fabric. He gave a sharp little pinch that made you whine, your body jolting forward as your thighs tensed around Jake.
"I don't think she's learned her lesson though," Jay muttered, rolling your nipples between his fingers lazily.
"She looks sorry," Jake said, but his eyes were locked on your glistening cunt. "But I don't think that mouth means anything until it's begging."
Jake dropped to his knees between your legs, mouth already parting as he pressed it against your heat. He pushed the fabric aside with one hand and gave your folds a slow, deliberate lick that made your head fall back against the mirror.
"I'm sorry," you choked out, voice shaking. "I mean it—please. I'm really sorry!"
Jake didn't answer. He just groaned against your pussy, his tongue flicking against your clit. The vibrations made your thighs clench around his head, but he held you in place, grip firm, unmoved by your squirming.
Jay chuckled above you. "That's one. Keep counting." He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. "You don't get to say you're sorry once and expect it's over, sweetheart."
"I am, I swear—" you gasped as Jake sucked your clit into his mouth, making your hips jerk. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jake. Jay, please—please forgive me..."
Jay's hand slid lower, fingers trailing a heated path down your trembling stomach. His hand slipped between your thighs, right above Jake's head, and his fingers found your clit in seconds, rubbing slow, tight circles in contrast to the deeper movements of Jake's tongue.
The combination made your head tilt back, a cry caught in your throat.
Jake groaned against you, the sound buzzing through your core as he pushed his tongue into your hole, fucking you with slow, deep strokes. His nose nudged against Jay's fingers as he worked in tandem.
Jay's free hand found your breast again, making your shirt up to your collarbone and exposing your skin. His fingers found your nipple in your bra, pinching it between his knuckles until your back arched involuntarily.
Jake pulled back just enough to speak. "She tastes like guilt," he muttered before dipping back in. This time, his tongue flattened against your slit, licking long and firm, each pass rougher than the last.
"I am guilty!" you cried out, voice cracking as your fingers clutched the edge of the counter. "I fucked up—I know I did, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I missed you, both of you—"
Jay didn't respond right away. His thumb rose to your throat, brushing the hollow there gently, deceptively. "You're not forgiven yet," he said calmly. "But keep begging. Maybe we'll believe you."
Jake moaned into your cunt, tongue working harder, faster, burying himself in your heat while his grip on your thighs tightened, nails biting into your flesh to keep you still.
Your body arched reflexively, head pressed hard against the mirror behind you. The cold glass was a cruel contrast to the fever building inside you, the friction between their mouths and fingers making your thoughts blur and your words tumble out in desperate, breathless gasps.
"I'm sorry—please, I'm so sorry—Jake, Jay—don't stop, please—don't leave me—I'll do anything—"
"You will do anything," Jay murmured, lips brushing your jaw as he kept one hand working your clit and the other still wrapped around your throat. "But that doesn't mean we're done punishing you."
Jake pulled back just long enough to spit on your cunt, watching it drip down before diving back in.
"Y-Yes, yes, yes..." you breathed. A few strands of your hair had fallen across your face, clinging to your flushed cheeks. Jay tsked under his breath, brushing the messy hair away with care. His fingers swept your temple, tucking the strands behind your ear to clear the view. He wanted to watch your face, every twitch, every tremble, every silent plea written across your features.
Jake's tongue flicked over your clit again, followed by a slow, deep press inside. Your thighs shook against his shoulders, toes curling over the edge of the counter.
"You don't even know which one of us you're moaning for, do you?" Jay whispered.
"I c-can't—" you whimpered, breath stuttering. "I'm sorry—Jake, Jay—I'm sorry, I swear—please..."
Jake growled softly between your legs, like your apology alone made him want more. He shifted his angle, tongue plunging deep as his nose rubbed against your clit, creating friction that made your spine arch and your head knock back into the mirror again with a dull thud.
Jay caught your head this time, hand sliding behind your skull, fingers threading through your hair.
"You'll come like this," Jay murmured, his lips brushing yours without closing the distance. "On his tongue, with my hand around your throat, and every breath you take will be ours."
"Jake—fuck!—Jay—I'm—" You choked on your own voice, the climax coiling inside you about to snap.
Jake didn't slow. His tongue moved in steady, ruthless strokes. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you anchored, legs trembling under the weight of everything he was drawing from you.
Jay's hand remained firm around your throat, not choking but holding. His thumb pressed lightly just beneath your jaw, grounding you as the rest of your body lost control. His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every flicker of surrender build in your face.
"Look at me," he ordered softly. "Don't look away."
You tried—God, you tried—but your vision blurred with tears and white-hot pleasure, your eyes fluttering, lashes damp as you clung to consciousness. "I—can't—" you gasped, every breath shallow, high-pitched.
Jay leaned in, brushing his mouth against yours without kissing you. "You can," he whispered. "You will."
Jake's mouth locked around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking fast, perfectly cruel. One hand slid beneath your ass, lifting you just enough to change the angle, and the pressure hit exactly where you needed it. The world around you fractured.
Your entire body arched.
A scream tore from your throat as Jay's hand held your windpipe and Jake's tongue forced you over the edge. Your vision went white behind your eyelids, every nerve in your body seizing with the violence of your orgasm. Your thighs clamped around Jake's head involuntarily, hips grinding into his mouth.
"There it is," Jay growled, watching the climax crash through you. "Fuck, that's it. That's what sorry looks like."
You sobbed, mouth open and shaking as aftershocks rolled through you, making your legs twitch, your fingers slip on the counter's edge.
Jake didn't stop right away. He licked you through it, each drag of his tongue coaxing every last tremor from your core. Only when your body jerked from overstimulation did he finally pull away, mouth slick, chin wet, his breath ragged.
"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough as he looked up at you from between your legs. "Still the sweetest fucking thing I've ever tasted."
Jay eased his grip on your throat and let your head fall forward against his shoulder. You collapsed into the space between them, boneless, panting, your body trembling and used, your voice lost somewhere.
Jake rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he reached for his waistband. He was flushed, breath ragged, hands already moving to undo his pants. You lifted your head weakly, eyes wide, still dazed as you looked up at Jay. "A-Are we really doing this? In here?"
Jay arched a brow. "Jake just had his mouth buried in your pussy," he said smoothly. "Don't start playing modest now. Don't be selfish."
Jake let out a sharp breath as he freed himself, hissing softly as his hand wrapped around his cock.
Your breathing hitched when he stepped in closer. He lined himself up with you, the swollen head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding up through your folds, collecting the wetness there before grinding it against your clit.
You whimpered at the friction. "My back hurts..." you managed to stammer out. "It's... it's uncomfortable."
Jake didn't even flinch, he pushed in his whole length into you in one motion. You both moaned at the feeling.
"We'll make it comfortable." Jake growled, breath hot against your cheek as he gripped your waist.
Without warning, he lifted you off the counter, his hands strong under your thighs. You let out a startled gasp, your legs instinctively locking around his hips as he held you up with ease. His cock stayed buried inside you as he adjusted his grip, settling you in against him.
"Ahh—Jake!" you cried out as he began to move, bouncing you on his cock. Every thrust drove him deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing sharp against the cold tile walls. Jay moved without a word. He slipped in behind you, one hand found your hip, steadying you as your body jolted from Jake's pounding pace, while the other reached up, sliding to seize your breast.
"God, fuck—" Jake groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your damp skin before he started kissing and biting, not caring about the sweat.
Jay's mouth found your shoulder first, then your throat, trailing wet kisses up your jaw until he reached your lips. Your head lolled back against him, mouth already open, and he took full advantage—tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing the moans Jake was forcing from your chest.
You whimpered into Jay's mouth, his cock grinding against your lower back, the friction syncing with every bounce of your hips. Your body moved helplessly between them, each movement rubbing him against you, closer... lower...
"You're so fucking wet," Jake growled against your throat. "I can feel it all over me." He thrust harder, teeth grazing your shoulder as he panted.
Jay broke the kiss with a sharp nip to your bottom lip, tugging until you gasped. "I think we'll fit," he said, voice low, eyes flicking down to where your bodies met. "Don't you think?"
Your heart lurched.
Your eyes widened as you felt Jake adjust his stance, your weight shifting in his arms. Your body tensed immediately, the pressure at your core tightening to near-panic. "Wait! W-Wait—!" you stammered, breath catching in your throat.
Jay was already positioning himself, one hand on your lower back, the other on Jake's hip for balance as he leaned in. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before you felt it—his cockhead, thick and hard, pressing lower just beneath where Jake was already buried inside you.
The angle was careful. Slick with your arousal and the lingering wetness of Jake's earlier mouthwork, Jay began to push slow his shaft grinding against Jake's through the tight squeeze of your entrance, the pressure unbearable even before he was fully inside.
Jake slowed immediately, holding you tighter in his arms, breath ragged against your cheek. His voice was low, firm, grounding.
"Relax for him. Breathe. You can take it."
But your body was shaking, the stretch is too intense, and too foreign.
"Fuck! I can't—" The words tore from your throat, panic bleeding into your tone—cut off almost instantly when Jake surged forward and kissed you. His mouth swallowed your cry as Jay began to sink in, splitting you further, claiming space that wasn't there.
Your entire body tensed, clutching, pulsing, your walls clamping down instinctively on both cocks as they shifted inside you, working together to make room.
Both men moaned low in your ears. "Shit," Jake gasped into your mouth, breaking the kiss just to breathe. "Fuck, she's tight—Jay—go slow."
Jay's groan was more guttural, his lips brushing your shoulder. "I am—she's gripping us like she's trying to push us out."
You whimpered as your body was forced to take it—all of it. The thick drag of Jay's cock sliding in alongside Jake's, every inch of your walls stretched to their absolute limit, friction pressing between them, heat building inside you so violently it made your toes curl.
Their hips pressed in unison, the base of their cocks grinding together deep inside you, buried to the hilt. You could feel them inside each other through you, the shared space, the impossible pressure, the slow pulse of them twitching inside your cunt, both thick and deep and so full it.
Jay hissed, forehead pressed to your back. Your mouth hung open, panting. All you could do was hold on—legs locked around Jake's waist, arms limp around his shoulders, your body trembling violently between them.
You couldn't tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began.
Jake's head dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel him," he whispered. "Fuck, I can feel him moving through you."
Jay's hand shifted from your hip to Jake's jaw, guiding his face upward. Their bodies pressed so close, only you between them, joined not just through you, but with you.
Jay leaned in, lips met Jake's, tongues brushing, mouths sliding together as their hips shifted slightly, still buried inside you. Their kiss deepened quickly, tongues pressing hard, teeth grazing. Jake groaned into it, when he pulled back from Jay only to kiss you next.
His lips claimed yours fast, almost needy—salt and sweat and desperation—and Jay didn't wait. He was already kissing along your neck, up behind your ear, while his hand slid between you to stroke your clit with slow circles.
The shift in pace was dizzying. They weren't pounding into you. Not yet. They were just holding you. Deep, warm, kissing, mouths trading between you and each other.
Jake finally broke the kiss, forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, "You feel like heaven right now."
Jay's mouth brushed your shoulder again. "She's shaking. Poor thing's too full to even speak."
Your fingers digging into Jake's shoulders, back arching slowly. The pressure of them both still lodged inside you kept your body humming with tension.
Jay kissed the side of Jake's mouth again before murmuring, "Move with me, baby."
Jake nodded once. They shifted. And then, slowly, carefully, they began to move.
One would pull back while the other pressed in, your body stretching and clenching around the rhythm. It was slower than before, more controlled, but no less overwhelming. The glide of two thick cocks inside you, perfectly in sync, had your body twitching, tears pricking your lashes again.
Their mouths kept moving, on your throat, on each other, across flushed skin and slick shoulders. They didn't speak much, just low moans, shuddered breaths, the soft slap of bodies finding rhythm again. Jay's hand never left your clit. Jake's arms held you close.
"Stay with us," Jake whispered into your mouth, the tip of his nose brushing yours.
"Don't run next time," Jay added, his voice deep in your ear. "We just want to keep you." And their cocks kept moving, slow and deep and together, keeping you open, full, and exactly where you belonged.
Jake shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his stance, the grip on your thighs tightening as he found more control in his movement. The slow rhythm gave way to more deeper, and faster, his hips slapping up with wet, rhythmic sounds that bounced off the walls.
The moans pouring from you grew louder. You were unraveling again, overstimulated, but your legs refused to stop twitching, clinging around Jake's waist as your hands clawed at anything for purchase—his shoulders, Jay's neck, the edge of the mirror behind you.
A sudden sound echoing outside, footstep and people murmuring as they pass by. Panic stabbed into your chest. You froze for a moment, instinct flaring, shame bubbling up behind your ribs. The reality of where you were hit hard—legs wrapped around one man, another flush to your back, both of them inside you, fucking you, right there in the university bathroom.
But the pleasure didn't stop. You twitched, thighs squeezing reflexively, a cry caught in your throat. "Someone's—"
Jay's hand came up instantly, cupping the side of your face as he leaned in, swallowing your next sound with a kiss. His mouth sealed over yours just as Jake drove up harder, his thrust knocking the breath from your lungs, forcing the moan straight into Jay's waiting tongue.
"Let them hear," Jake hissed, voice rough against your skin, his pace unrelenting now. "Let them wonder who's making you sound like that."
The footsteps outside faded, but your heartbeat didn't slow. It thundered in your chest, driven by both fear and the savage pleasure coursing through your nerves.
Jay broke the kiss with a strand of spit between your lips, eyes half-lidded, and flushed. "You're squeezing us like you want to get caught," he murmured, fingers slipping between your bodies to rub your clit again, drawing a fresh, keening whimper from your throat.
Every drag of their shafts against each other inside your overstretched cunt sent aftershocks through your core, your body trembling violently with each grind and press. The feeling of them rubbing together inside you, separated only by the thin, spasming walls of your body, wasn't just overwhelming—it was ruinous.
"F-Fuck," Jake choked, hips jolting up hard. The impact of his thrust slammed you forward into Jay's chest, your breath ripped from you as your body tried—and failed—to brace for the intensity.
Jay grunted, catching your body easily, his hand fisting your hair as he held you in place. His cock surged deeper alongside Jake's, the slick sound of their movements inside you impossibly loud in the quiet space.
"Can't hold it," Jake panted, sweat dripping from his temple, breath stuttering. "She's—she's so tight I can feel you through her—fuck, Jay—"
Jay growled, his own control shattering with every convulsion of your clenching walls. You could barely think anymore—your mouth hung open, no words left, only broken gasps and sobs as your body tightened around them again. The pressure had built too fast. It rolled up from your core, cresting so high you couldn't breathe.
Your orgasm hit hard. It exploded through your abdomen, a pulsing, electric burst of heat that seized every muscle. You screamed, not even a word, just sound—your voice breaking as your cunt clenched violently around them, walls spasming uncontrollably.
"Fuck—" Jake snarled, the rhythm of his hips shattering.
He slammed in once more, his cock jerking violently inside you as he came with a rough moan, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt. You felt every spurt, thick and hot and deep, and the sensation of being filled only sent another shiver of pleasure rolling through your already-fractured nerves.
Jay wasn't far behind. Your body's violent squeezing around both cocks at once pushed him over the edge—his thrusts turned erratic, hard, his breath tearing through his chest.
"Gonna fill you up," he groaned against your throat, voice ragged, hips pressing as deep as they could go. "You're gonna take all of it."
Then he came. You felt the way his cock throbbed next to Jake's inside you, the rush of hot fluid spilling in, mixing with Jake's release, both of them pouring into the same aching space. Their hips jerked in sync, involuntary tremors shaking them as your body held them tight, refusing to let go.
Your own climax still burned through you, wave after wave wracking your limbs, your nails digging into Jake's shoulders as your vision blurred.
You were just there, caught between their shaking bodies. They didn't pull out. They stayed inside you, panting, foreheads pressed to your skin, arms wrapped tight around your waist. The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, the soft whisper of sweat-slicked skin, the occasional stuttered groan as aftershocks rolled through all three of you.
Jake leaned his forehead against yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're so beautiful."
Jay's hand came up to stroke your side. "No more running, okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he spoke. "We're going to talk this time. Really talk."
You tried to nod, but your head only shifted slightly. A soft, low hum escaped your throat as your vision swam and your body slumped against Jake's chest. Everything ached. You weren't sure if your legs were still attached, or if you'd ever feel your core without that deep, burning throb again.
It had been so long since you'd let yourself be used like that... and even longer since it had ever felt like this. Safe. Claimed. Held.
Jake was the first to move, easing himself out of you. You whimpered faintly at the loss, but even that sound felt distant in your own ears.
"Hey," he whispered, fingertips brushing your cheek. He tapped gently, calling your name. "Hey, come back to me, baby."
But you couldn't answer. Your eyes were half-open, glazed with exhaustion. Your body limp between them. There was no strength left in your limbs just the slow throb of overstimulation and the deep, quiet ache that said you'd been pushed right to the edge of yourself.
Jake's expression changed instantly. "Shit—she's out of it," he muttered, voice sharp with guilt.
Jay's brows furrowed. "She's overwhelmed. Fuck."
Together, they moved quickly, shifting their grips. Jake bent to retrieve his pants, tugging them up with one arm while the other held you carefully to his chest. Your body sagged against him, boneless but trusting, your cheek pressed to the slick skin of his shoulder. "I've got her," Jake said quietly.
Jay adjusted himself quickly, stepping in to help. His hands cupped your thighs, his gaze scanning your face. "We need to get her cleaned up. Somewhere soft."
"Yeah," Jake agreed, his hand smoothing the back of your hair.
You couldn't speak—not really. You were too far gone, too worn down in the sweetest, most bone-deep way.
But you felt them. You felt the tissue as they wiped between your legs, cleaning their combined mess from your trembling thighs. Another passed over your face, cool and damp, brushing away the sticky sheen of sweat and the tears you didn't remember shedding. Fingers were tender as they tucked your hair back, smoothing it down, and you sighed softly into the sensation.
Jake carried you effortlessly, holding you to his chest. You felt Jay beside you, one hand steadying your legs as they moved together. Their voices were hushed now, murmurs exchanged just beyond your hearing, their steps soft against the tile.
When the door opened, the shift in air hit instantly—cool and dry from the hallway's air conditioning, raising goosebumps across your flushed skin.
You managed one last, drowsy breath as the cool air washed over you. Then your eyelids dropped.
You stirred slowly, the first thing you felt was warmth. A soft bed cradled your body, the sheets cool against your bare skin, but it was the sensation wrapped around your waist that anchored you. The scent pressing against your back was just as recognizable—clean sweat, faint cologne, and something uniquely him.
You blinked slowly, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks before you opened your eyes fully.
Your head was nestled into the crook of someone’s neck. His skin was warm beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a steady thrum beneath your ear. You shifted slightly, body still sore and heavy, and looked up.
Jake was watching you, eyes soft. He rubbed slow circles against your side with the pad of his thumb, his other hand still resting gently across your waist, holding you close.
“Hi,” he whispered.
You managed a small, sleepy smile. “Hi. How long was I out?” you asked, blinking again to clear the haze still lingering behind your eyes.
Jake exhaled through his nose, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “About an hour,” he murmured.
Your brows knit faintly, and he brushed a thumb along your temple. “Don’t worry,” he added with a soft smile. “We covered for you. Told them you fainted because of the heat—overexerted, nothing serious.”
You let out a quiet laugh, the sound dry in your throat. “Technically not a lie…”
Jake’s grin widened just slightly, a playful glint flickering behind the softness in his eyes. “Mm. They don’t need the exact details.”
You gave a breath of a laugh, but it faded quickly as your gaze lingered on his face—the gentle curve of his smile, the creases near his eyes, the way he was watching you so closely.
“Jake…” your voice came out small.
He stilled, but his thumb never stopped moving on your side. “Yeah?”
You hesitated, the flood of everything you’d been trying to suppress surged up your throat. You swallowed it down once, then let it rise.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For avoiding you. For running off. For shutting down instead of just…” You trailed off, sighing as your brows pulled together. “I was scared.”
Jake’s lips parted slightly, his grip on you tightening for a moment before he pulled you in closer, pressing your cheek against his chest. You felt the beat of his heart against your skin.
“I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling,” you continued. "I started… caring. And that made everything messy. Because you and Jay—you’re already whole. You don’t need someone like me getting in the middle of that.”
Jake was silent, listening, his hand still tracing soft patterns into your skin.
“And I kept thinking…” You swallowed hard. “If I let myself fall deeper, I’ll only be the one who ends up hurt. Like I’d ruin what you both already have. That I didn’t deserve it, any of it.”
He finally spoke, his voice low. “Why didn’t you just tell us that?”
“I didn’t know how,” you admitted. “And then when I saw the two of you together, being so perfect—it made me realize how small my place in this is. Or… was.”
Jake shook his head, exhaling as he tilted your face up gently with his fingers. “You think we’re perfect?” he said, a sad sort of smile curling at the corners of his lips. “We’re not. We’ve made mistakes. We didn’t talk about a lot of things. But one thing we were sure of?” His thumb brushed across your cheekbone. “We both want you.”
Jake's thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. His breath was warm as he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing briefly. “I’m sorry we didn’t make it clearer,” he whispered. “We thought we were showing you—through touch, through time, through every little thing we did. But we never said it. And maybe that’s where we messed up.”
You blinked back the heat behind your eyes, your throat tightening. Jake’s fingers brushed under your jaw, coaxing you to look at him again.
“We want you,” he said, “In every way. Not just in our bed. Not just when it’s convenient. We want you in our life. You’ve already made space in it—you didn’t ruin anything.”
You let out a shaky breath, and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your face into the crook of his neck again, seeking warmth, shelter, reassurance. His arms wrapped tighter around you.
“And Jay?” you asked quietly, voice muffled against his skin.
Jake chuckled softly, the sound a little choked. “Jay’s downstairs trying to pretend he’s not pacing. He’s been wanting to talk to you too. But I asked him to give me this moment first.” He pulled back just enough to brush your hair from your face. “You mean more to him than you think.”
The soft knock came, Jake didn’t move right away, just held your gaze, giving you a choice without saying a word. When you gave the smallest nod, he leaned over and called out gently, “It’s okay. Come in.”
The door cracked open, and Jay stepped inside. His eyes immediately found yours, and the moment they did, the edge in his posture melted. He wasn’t guarded like he usually was.
“You’re awake,” he said softly, stepping closer.
Jake shifted slightly to make space on the bed, and Jay took it without question. He sat on the edge first, then leaned in beside you, bracing one hand on the mattress near your hip.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Sore,” you said, voice raspy with sleep. “Like I got hit by a very… affectionate truck.”
That pulled a laugh from both of them. Jake’s body vibrated behind you with the sound, and Jay let out a quiet chuckle as he rubbed a hand gently over your knee, his thumb brushing just above where the blanket had slipped.
“Sorry,” Jay murmured, though the smirk was playing at his mouth now. “Not sorry.”
You rolled your eyes but leaned into him when he bent down and pressed a kiss to your temple. His lips lingered there for a beat longer than expected. When he pulled back, he looked more serious.
“No more running,” he said quietly, “I’m not great with… talking. Feelings. All that shit.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down briefly before returning to yours. “But I want this. I want you."
Jake let out a quiet huff behind you, shifting closer as he nuzzled the back of your shoulder. “He’s always like that,” he whispered, “I was the one who confessed first. Initiated the first kiss. First sex.”
Jay’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You asshole,” he muttered.
“You blushed when I touched your wrist,” Jake added, grinning now.
“I was cold,” Jay shot back. You laughed then soft, but real—and both of them stilled like they’d been waiting for the sound. Jake’s smile softened, and Jay, still glaring at his boyfriend.
Jake grinned wider. “He literally couldn’t make eye contact for twenty-four hours after we slept together the first time.”
“I hate you,” Jay muttered, but he was already reaching for you again, hand slipping beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, drawing you back toward him as he curled in behind.
“You don’t,” Jake replied, smirking as he met your gaze. “He just never knows how to say the nice shit.”
“I will push you off this bed,” Jay warned to keep Jake from opening his mouth again. “Then we’ll fall together,” Jake countered smoothly, wrapping an arm tighter around your waist.
You sank into their warmth, nestled between their bodies. You turned your face slightly, resting your cheek against Jay’s collarbone while one of your hands found Jake’s under the blanket.
For a long, comforting moment, no one spoke. Then, quietly, Jay’s voice rumbled near your ear. “Were we too rough earlier?”
You shook your head without hesitation, cheek still pressed to his collarbone. “No. I needed it,” you murmured, honest and calm. “It pushed me out of my head. That’s what I needed.”
Jake’s hand tightened slightly around yours, and he smiled softly. “So… are we okay now?”
You turned your head toward him, lips curving with amusement. “That depends,” you said. “Was that makeup sex?”
Jake raised a brow, mouth twitching. “Wait—that wasn’t?”
Jay snorted behind you. “If that was just a warm-up, I’m scared to know what the actual makeup sex is supposed to look like.”
You laughed, low and a little breathless, the sound making both of them smile wider.
“I guess we’ll have to do it again,” Jake said, voice dropping just enough to make the tease linger. “Y’know. For clarity.”
It didn’t take long. Clothes were shed, tossed carelessly across the floor—shirts half-inside out, underwear tangled near the foot of the bed. You were on your back with Jake above you, his mouth on yours, his tongue moving with a tenderness that made your body ache all over again.
Then Jay moved. You barely had time to gasp before his hand curled into Jake’s hair, tugging sharply. Jake groaned into your mouth, the kiss breaking as Jay pulled him back.
“Not so fast,” Jay said, “You had your turn.”
He dragged Jake down the length of the bed, making him twist and arch, until Jake’s head was between your thighs, his back curved beautifully under Jay’s grip. Jake didn’t resist—he melted into the position, groaning as he inhaled the scent of you, mouth finding your cunt.
You gasped, your legs parting without thought. The sting from earlier still lingered, but it was chased by the familiar, glorious heat of Jake’s mouth. He licked into you slowly at first, tongue stroking over your clit.
Your back arched as he moaned against your folds, his face buried deeper. “F-fuck, Jake—” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair, hips twitching against his face.
Jay watched from behind him, one hand stroking down Jake’s spine, the other trailing lower. You didn’t see the moment he slipped his fingers between Jake’s cheeks, but you felt the way Jake moaned louder against your cunt, hips jerking slightly as Jay began working him open.
“Want to see you fuck him,” you breathed, voice cracked with need. “Please. I want to watch.”
Jake whimpered into your pussy, tongue fucking you deeper in response. Jay’s eyes lifted to yours. His fingers were slowly pushing into Jake. “She wants a show,” he said, leaning in to kiss Jake’s neck. “You gonna be good for her?”
Jake moaned again, his voice muffled by your cunt, and you tightened your grip in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp.
Jay’s hand slid away briefly, and you heard the soft click of the drawer beside the bed opening. A moment later, the quiet sound of a bottle opening filled the space. Cool lube met skin, and Jay didn’t hesitate—he returned to Jake’s body with a steady hand, working the slick between his cheeks.
Jake whimpered again, body shuddering beneath both of you. Jay kept stretching him, fingers moving in slow, deep circles, curling and scissoring in a rhythm that made Jake pant harder against your pussy. His mouth never stopped licking, sucking, groaning into your folds with more desperation the more he was opened up.
You looked down and nearly lost your breath at the sight: Jake’s flushed face buried between your legs, his lips wet and glistening, while Jay knelt behind him, eyes dark, and focused as his fingers slick, sliding in and out of Jake’s ass with increasing ease.
Jake was trembling now, his thighs twitched against the sheets, and you could hear the breathless hitch in his throat each time Jay’s fingers pressed just right inside him.
“She’s gonna see how good you take it." Jake moaned hard against your clit, and you cried out—your hips bucking into his face. He didn’t stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, tongue working you open.
Jay leaned forward, pressing a kiss between Jake’s shoulder blades. “You ready for me, sweetheart?”
Jake’s reply was only a ragged whine, and it made your pulse spike.
“Please,” you said softly, the only voice in the room not breaking. Jay’s eyes flicked to yours, gaze locking for one searing moment. Then he leaned forward, hand steady on Jake’s lower back, and began to push in.
Jake let out a strangled groan against your cunt, his tongue faltering for a heartbeat before diving back in with renewed force. Your legs tightened around his head, your hips rising helplessly into his mouth.
“Good boy,” Jay breathed, voice thick as he slid deeper. “Keep eating her.”
Jake moaned again, the vibration pulsing through your clit as Jay’s cock pressed deeper inside him. You could feel Jake struggling to hold rhythm, overwhelmed by the dual sensations—his mouth locked to your cunt while Jay slowly filled him from behind.
Jake’s fingers were clutching your hips, knuckles pale, his lips slick with your arousal as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again—desperate, hungry, obedient. Behind him, Jay moved with a slow, grinding pace, hips rolling forward, burying himself inch by inch into Jake’s tight, slicked hole.
“Shit,” Jay groaned, head dropping for a second as his hands gripped Jake’s waist.
Jake whined against you, hips pushing back to meet Jay’s thrusts even as his mouth stayed locked on you, his tongue circling your clit in dizzying spirals. You could feel him moaning again and again.
Your hand threaded deeper into Jake’s hair, pulling tight, guiding his mouth where you needed him as your hips rolled shamelessly against his face. His moans were frantic now, high-pitched, especially when Jay snapped his hips forward harder—burying himself to the hilt.
His tongue was relentless, and the pressure was building again in your core, fast and burning, pulled taut by every flick of his mouth, every grind of Jay’s cock rocking through him from behind.
You were right on the edge—suspended between pleasure and the raw thrill of watching them together.
Jay’s rhythm grew rougher, his groans more ragged. One hand slipped from Jake’s hip to curl around his waist, holding him in place, deepening every thrust. The wet slap of skin filled the room, matched by the obscene, eager sounds of Jake’s mouth on your cunt.
Your back arched. Your breath hitched. “I’m—fuck—Jake!” you cried, your orgasm tearing through you.
Jake moaned loud and deep into you as you came, your body spasming under his tongue, your legs clamping around his head as your hands tangled tight in his hair. You rode it out on his mouth, grinding into him, the pressure of Jay’s thrusts making Jake groan right through your high, pushing you even further.
Your body melted into the sheets, chest heaving, but your eyes stayed locked on the scene unraveling in front of you.
Jay didn’t relent. He adjusted his grip, arms slipping under Jake’s chest to haul him higher, fucking into him harder from behind with a pace that was nothing short of brutal. His skin slapped against Jake’s ass with wet, relentless rhythm, and Jake took it beautifully—his moans muffled, body twitching with every deep thrust.
You watched them, your lips parted, breath shallow. Both their faces were flushed and wild, lost in each other. And instead of jealousy, the sight only fed the fire already burning in your gut. The ache that never really went away around them now pulsed hotter, deeper.
Jake’s voice broke as he moaned loud enough to echo through the room. “Jay, baby—oh fuck!”
Jay reached up, tangled a fist in Jake’s hair, and yanked him back just enough to crush their mouths together. The kiss was messy, desperate, teeth clashing, tongues sliding, both of them breathing into each other’s mouths.
The noise of it made you whine. You couldn’t stay still. You crawled forward on shaky limbs, eyes locked on Jake’s cock, thick and flushed and bouncing wildly with every one of Jay’s thrusts.
Your hand wrapped around it in one slow, sure stroke, and Jake shouted into Jay’s mouth. Jay pulled back just slightly, his eyes flicking down to see your hand wrapped tightly around Jake’s length, pumping him in time with the rhythm of their bodies.
Jake’s head fell back, hips jerking forward into your touch, his stomach tight and trembling. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, then a broken moan when you dragged your thumb over his leaking tip, smearing the precum down his shaft.
“Fuck,” he choked, voice shaking. “That—God, that feels so good.”
Jay groaned behind him, his rhythm stuttering just for a second at the sight in front of him. His gaze dropped to where your fingers wrapped around Jake’s cock—your nails catching the light, long and perfectly shaped, moving over him in steady, merciless pumps.
He hissed through his teeth, fucking into Jake harder. Jake moaned again, louder this time, his whole body pushing back into Jay while thrusting forward into your hand. His eyes fluttered open, hazy and wild as they met yours, lips parted.
Jay’s voice cut. “Lay down, baby.”
You blinked, heart pounding. You released Jake’s cock with one last stroke, watching his hips twitch at the loss, and moved backward on the bed without a word. You lay back across the pillows, your legs parting instinctively as you settled into the space, your body already pulsing in anticipation.
Jay pulled out of Jake with a slick, wet sound, his hand curling around Jake’s hip to steady him. “Come on,” he said, gaze flicking to Jake, then to you. “Enter that pussy and ride my dick.”
Jake didn’t wait. He crawled over you immediately, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders, and with one fluid motion, he lined himself up and sank into you.
You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as the stretch hit you hard all over again. Your walls were still sensitive, still twitching from your last orgasm, and now he was filling you again.
Behind him, Jay didn’t waste time. He adjusted, positioned himself, and with one slow, deliberate push, slid back into Jake’s ass.
"Ahhh!" Jake’s whole body jolted. A strangled sound caught in his throat, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that was sloppy, all tongue and open breath. His hips began to move almost immediately, short shallow thrusts between your legs while Jay drove into him from behind.
“F-fuck,” Jake moaned into your mouth, pulling back only to drop his lips to your throat. He bit down hard—just enough to make you cry out—then dragged his mouth lower, tongue hot on your skin as he kissed, licked, and bit his way down to your collarbone.
Your fingers clutched at his back, and every time he thrust forward into you, it was followed by the shock of Jay’s cock driving him forward again—his motion caught between both your bodies.
Jake was trembling, moaning louder than ever, his rhythm completely overtaken by Jay’s pace. Every thrust from behind forced him deeper into you, the sensation nearly too much. His moans spilled against your throat, turning into helpless gasps as his cock slid in and out of your soaked cunt.
His voice broke in short, frantic cries. “Jay! Jay—please, baby, oh God—”
His mouth returned to your neck, teeth scraping the skin before he latched on, biting down with desperate force. The sharp sting drew a gasp from you, the pain blooming into pleasure just as Jake’s hips jolted forward again, burying himself to the base.
He held there for a moment—frozen, panting, his breath hot against your skin. His back was slick with sweat beneath your palms, muscles twitching under your touch.
Then he pulled back, just enough for you to see his face. His lips parted, breath shaky and shallow. His eyes were unfocused, lashes wet, the flush across his cheeks deep and burning. He looked wrecked, and completely beautiful—mouth closed now.
You clenched around him involuntarily. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “So fucked-out.”
Your hips rose instinctively, pushing up into him, your body begging for more, for all of it.
Jake let out a shuddering groan. He rolled his hips again, slow and deep, and the way you took him made him press his forehead to yours.
Behind him, Jay didn’t slow. He was pounding into him with brutal control, groaning with every thrust, his grip locked tight around Jake’s hips to keep him in place. You could feel each stroke reverberate through Jake's body, transferring into yours.
“F-Feels so good—ahh, fuck—feel so good!” Jake cried out, voice cracking, mouth open in a moan that bordered on a sob.
You reached up with a shaky hand, brushing the damp strands of hair from his face, your thumb stroking gently along his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch, lips trembling, eyes half-lidded and glassy.
Your body clenched again, the pressure cresting high, unbearable and exquisite.
“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet his every desperate thrust. “Jake—cum with me, please—ahh—now!”
Jake’s breath hitched, his hips faltered before he slammed into you one final time, burying himself deep. His entire body seized, a loud, gasping moan torn from his chest as he came hard, cock pulsing inside you with wave after wave of heat.
You fell with him, your orgasm ripped through you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your cunt clenched around him, milking every drop of his release. Your cry echoed into his mouth as he kissed you again.
“Fuck—both of you are so hot—God—”
Jay’s pace grew rougher, deeper, his restraint unraveling with every breathless sound spilling from Jake’s lips, every clench of your cunt around Jake’s cock. He watched you both, panting, his hands gripping Jake’s hips so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.
“Fucking hell,” Jay growled. Jake moaned again, overstimulated and soft, his forehead still resting against yours as Jay buried himself one last time with a low groan,
You felt it in Jake’s shudder, the way his breath stilled as Jay’s cock throbbed deep inside him. The sound Jay made as he emptied himself, his body pressing tight to Jake’s back.
Jay was the first to exhale, his lips ghosting over the back of Jake’s neck as he slowly eased out. Jake let out a soft whimper, his body twitching from the sensitivity, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, one hand sliding over his spine.
Jake collapsed onto you gently, his full weight cushioned by your body, his cheek pressed to your shoulder as he panted, still flushed and wet with heat. You stroked his hair, letting your fingers card slowly through the damp strands.
Jay shifted beside you, climbing up the bed on unsteady arms before dropping down on your other side. His chest was heaving, he wrapped one arm around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach, fingers brushing softly against your skin.
Jake tilted his face up to look at you. “You okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse.
You nodded, stroking his cheek. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Better than okay.”
Jake gave a breathless laugh, burying his face briefly into the crook of your neck. “Fuck,” he groaned, still catching his breath. “That was the most delicious orgasm I’ve ever had."
You chuckled, breath hitching a little as you threaded your fingers into his hair again.
Jay leaned in from your other side, his body pressing close, his mouth trailing a soft kiss along your shoulder before brushing Jake’s temple. His arm wrapped around the both of you, pulling you tighter into the warmth of him. Your legs tangled instinctively, bodies nestled under the sheets that now clung to the lingering heat of sex and skin.
None of you spoke for a moment, the silence stretching comfortably between heartbeats and shallow breaths.
Then you glanced between them, your voice still breathless. “So…” you murmured, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Does this mean I have two boyfriends now?”
Jake’s head popped up slightly, a crooked grin forming. “Only if you’re okay being heavily spoiled and never allowed to escape.”
Jay made a quiet sound of amusement beside you, his thumb brushing a lazy line along your hip. “We’re clingy,” he said, voice low, eyes half-lidded but sincere. “Terrible at sharing. Lucky for us, we just want the same person.”
You laughed, letting yourself melt back into the weight of them, your body still pulsing with quiet aftershocks and warmth. “I think I can live with that,” you said softly, eyes fluttering closed as their hands continued to drift gently over your skin.
And then you suddenly remember something. Your eyes snapped open as panic surged through your chest.
“Shit—Sunoo!”
You shot up so fast that the blanket fell off your chest and Jake practically flinched, startled, his sleepy post-orgasm daze completely shattered. Jay blinked at you from behind, frowning in confusion. Then he realizes what you meant.
“Sunoo!!!”
Jake’s voice echoed across the grassy field the next day, dramatically over-the-top as he broke into a slow-motion sprint—arms wide, expression exaggerated with mock desperation.
You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath, trailing behind him with your fingers laced through Jay’s. Sunoo, on the other hand, stood perfectly still ahead, arms crossed, expression locked in a glare.
Just as Jake went in for a hug, Sunoo’s palm came up and smacked him square across the face—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jolt the dramatics right out of him. Jake stumbled back, blinking.
“You didn’t text, you didn’t call, and my best friend just disappeared with you two?” Sunoo snapped, pointing an accusing finger toward you and Jay.
You smiled awkwardly, offering a sheepish little wave behind Jake’s shoulder.
“She fainted!” Jake explained, hands flying up. “We were busy assisting her. Medical-grade care. You should be grateful your best friend fell into the right hands.”
Sunoo’s eyebrow arched so high. His gaze slowly dropped to your neck… and then narrowed. “Yeah, right,” he said dryly, arms crossing again. “That why she’s covered in poorly hidden hickeys?”
Jake blinked, he slowly reached out and bit his own finger, eyes wide as he turned to stare at you. “Babe,” he whispered. “You said you’d cover those.”
You flushed, dragging the collar of your shirt higher with a quick tug. “I did! Jay distracted me!”
Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Dodgeball’s starting now—don’t actually faint this time.”
Your fingers gently slipped away from Jay’s, reaching out to Sunoo instead. You slid your arm through his as you began walking beside him, your shoulder brushing his. He let you lean into him without hesitation.
“I assume the three of you are okay now,” Sunoo said after a pause, voice lighter, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m still scared,” you admitted. “But… as long as I’m with them, I think I’ll be fine.”
Sunoo gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, well. You’ve got me at your back too.”
Jake popped up beside Sunoo, slinging an arm over his shoulder with a wide grin, pressing in close to you on the other side. Jay followed right behind, falling into step beside you with that calm, quiet presence that always made you feel anchored.
“So,” Jake said casually, stretching his arms above his head before locking them behind his neck. “What do you guys want to eat later? Because I’m seriously craving some Samyang Buldak noodles.”
Sunoo stared at him, blinking once. Then, flatly: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jake blinked back, innocent. “What?”
“It’s thirty-four degrees,” Sunoo said, gesturing wildly to the sky like the sun itself was his witness. “And your dumbass is out here craving spicy death noodles? Are you okay? Do we need to check for brain damage?”
"Well, I love spicy!" Jake scoffed, throwing his hands up.
Their voices quickly dissolved into muffled bickering again—Jake insisting it was about heat and thrill, Sunoo arguing that eating molten fire under the sun was a cry for help.
Jay exhaled a quiet laugh beside you, his fingers brushing against yours. You felt the heat of it—not from the sun, not from the air, but from them.
From all of this. And as you watched your best friend and your boyfriend argue, with Jay steady at your side and your pulse still echoing from the day before, you couldn’t help the smile curling at your lips.
Maybe Jake was right.
Maybe a little spicy-ness was exactly what made life interesting.
SYNOPSIS: Seven years ago, a parasite fell from the sky and rewrote the boundaries of biology, blurring the line between host and invader. Park Jongseong, now exists in the in-between, neither fully human nor entirely parasite, a hybrid organism shaped by adaptation and survival. Hunted by those who fear what they cannot categorize, he searches for meaning in the world—and finds it in you.
content tags/warnings: sci-fi— bio thriller, parasite hybrid pjs, parasite hybrid reader, they fight when they first met. body horror, graphic violence, injury and blood, death/near-death experiences, militarization, post-traumatic themes, mild animal endangerment.
explicit content (smut): unprotected sex, fingering, cunilingus, multiple sex position (their refractory period is broken, they keep going and going), double penetration, tentacles (?), monster fucking. READER DISCRETION IS ADVICED. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! WC: 23.1K
note: the idea of monster and parasites in the story is inspired by the kdrama and anime: parasyte. but the biology, and how they merged was slightly different and some of it was my own writing.
Human psychology is deeply rooted in a survival mechanism that instinctively reacts with fear toward the unknown.
This fear, often manifesting as hostility, arises when individuals encounter phenomena that defy their understanding. When faced with the unfamiliar—particularly that which cannot be categorized within existing frameworks—the response is often defensive aggression. The unfamiliar is perceived as a threat, and in the absence of comprehension, elimination becomes the perceived solution.
Approximately seven years ago, Earth began experiencing a biological incursion in the form of a parasitic organism of unknown origin. This entity operates by infecting human hosts, initiating a fatal transformation process. The host is systematically destroyed at a cellular and cognitive level, as the parasite integrates with and ultimately overrides the nervous system and bodily structure.
Upon successful assimilation, the parasite reconstitutes the human form into a highly adaptive biomechanical entity capable of extreme morphogenesis. These entities exhibit advanced shapeshifting capabilities, able to reconfigure their structure into a variety of forms and tools, limited only by mass and matter conservation principles.
Neurologically, the parasite erases the host's personality and emotional spectrum, replacing it with a singular directive: to propagate through predation and infiltration. These organisms display a rudimentary form of consciousness, retaining fragments of the host's memories for navigational or social camouflage but are devoid of empathy or emotional regulation. Their cognitive processes are entirely geared toward strategic murder and survival.
Park Jongseong is different.
He adjusted his glasses, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying his own cellular data. Streams of biological activity lit up the screen—cells dividing, mutating, adapting. He was lucky to have access to advanced medical equipment. After all, he was a doctor.
Humans are naturally afraid of what they don't understand. It's part of how the brain reacts to threats—if something doesn't fit into what's familiar, the instinct is fear, often followed by violence. That's how humanity responds to the unknown: eliminate it.
Jongseong had become the unknown.
He didn't know what he was anymore. His thoughts still felt like his own. He still felt emotion, empathy, fear, curiosity. Yet something deep inside had changed. His body was no longer entirely human. Something else lived in his blood.
But with Jongseong, something went wrong—or maybe something went right.
The parasite had merged with him, not replaced him. His cells had changed, yes—they were stronger, more adaptive. He could feel the shift in his physiology: faster reflexes, enhanced senses, the strange ability to alter parts of his body at will. Yet his mind remained intact. His identity remained intact.
He was both parasite and human. A hybrid. An anomaly.
From a biological standpoint, it shouldn't be possible. The parasite is known to override the host completely—shutting down the brain, rewriting the nervous system, restructuring tissue on a molecular level. But in Park Jongseong's case, the process didn't go as expected. His consciousness remained. His emotions remained. He wasn't fully human anymore, but he wasn't fully parasite either.
And that made him dangerous—to both sides.
Creatures like him were being hunted by the government. Classified as biohazards. The official statement warned the public daily:
"Be careful around your friends, relatives, family—anyone could be infected. Parasites look just like us, until they kill."
Murder cases connected to parasitic activity filled the news. Victims were often found mutilated beyond recognition, their internal organs rearranged, their skin marked with unfamiliar growths. Fear spread faster than the infection itself. Jongseong watched the reports from his house, barely breathing. Every passing day made it harder to stay hidden.
If the government found him, they wouldn't ask questions. They'd dissect him alive—tear his mutated body apart in the name of research and national security.
"How do you identify a parasite?"
That was the question echoed by media and scientists. For humans, the method was crude but effective: parasites can't fully mimic human hair. A simple hair sample under a microscope reveals the truth—parasitic tissue lacks keratin structure, instead made of a flexible protein-carbon lattice designed to replicate appearance.
But parasites had their own way of detecting each other. A subtle biological signal—an acoustic resonance picked up only through the inner ear. Like a hidden frequency, only recognizable to those with the altered cochlear structure. Jongseong had experienced it more than once. He would walk past someone, hear that strange, low echo in his skull—and feel a sudden, icy stillness in his blood.
He wasn't alone. Parasites were organizing. At first, they were random killers. Now, they were moving in packs—coordinated, methodical. Adapting. Evolving. And so is he.
"That'll be 700 won," the cashier muttered, not bothering to meet his eyes.
Jongseong kept his head down, slipping the coins onto the counter. No conversation. No eye contact. He took the plastic bag with a silent nod, his fingers tightening around the thin handles before he turned and stepped back into the cold night.
Even with the parasite inside him, he still felt hunger—raw, physical. His body demanded energy like any other, though now his metabolism ran hotter, faster. He still craved food.
He still felt the ache of sadness, the longing to return to something normal. Something human.
But that life was gone.
The night air of Seoul stung against his skin, the cold seeping through his coat. He moved with the crowd, head low, blending in with the blur of footsteps, voices, and passing cars. Every sound echoed. The parasite had enhanced his senses, and sometimes the world was simply too loud.
Then he felt it, a low, familiar vibration in his inner ear—a biological resonance only detectable by parasite-modified auditory systems. His breath caught, and a pulse of instinctual fear ran through him. He looked around carefully, eyes scanning faces, shadows, movement. One of them was nearby.
His pace faltered. That's when he saw you.
You stood out—not because of your appearance, but because of what you did. In the middle of the crosswalk, your hand casually brushed your ear. A subtle motion, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him it screamed recognition.
You were a parasite.
His brows drew together. Something was off. Parasites usually acted in groups—hunting together, assimilating their targets with military precision. If you were one of them, you should've engaged him.
But you didn't. You kept walking, fast and purposeful. Almost like... you were running away.
Jongseong stayed still for a moment, the bag of food hanging from his hand, forgotten. His heartbeat was heavy in his ears, half fear, and half curiosity. Why would a parasite avoid confrontation?
Jongseong moved. Not fast, not slow—just enough to stay behind you without drawing attention. He weaved through the crowd with quiet precision, his eyes fixed on the back of your coat. The city noise drowned under the low pulse still humming in his inner ear. It wasn't strong. Just enough to confirm you were still nearby. Still parasite.
The further you walked, the thinner the crowd became. The bright shops faded behind them, replaced by rusted gates, shuttered storefronts, and flickering neon signs. This was the forgotten edge of the city. The place people passed through quickly. The place no one paid attention to.
You turned down a narrow alley.
Jongseong hesitated at the entrance. The cold bit harder here, funneled between brick and concrete. His fingers curled, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles—his body silently preparing to shift if needed. Bone could become blade in less than a second now. But he held it back.
He stepped in. The alley stretched narrow, damp, littered with the scent of oil, metal, and old rain. Pipes hissed from the walls. Ahead, your footsteps had stopped. You were waiting.
When he turned the final corner, he found you standing in front of a rusted service door leading into a forgotten subway access station.
You didn't move. Neither did he.
"If you're looking for another kin," you snarled without turning, "then get the fuck out and leave me alone. I'm not one of them."
Your voice was sharp making Jongseong's body tensed instantly. The shift in your tone, the unnatural dilation of your pupils, set off every instinct in him. His hand inched slightly to the side, fingers twitching, ready to reconfigure.
Then it happened. Too fast to follow with human eyes.
Your right shoulder warped violently—tissue splitting and reshaping into something jagged, organic, and grotesque. It extended outward, not as a limb but as a weapon—wing-like in structure, but edged with hooked thorns.
You lunged, Jongseong barely reacted in time, his arm snapping up, skin splitting as a skin liked carapace laced with tendon grew along his forearm—absorbing the blow with a sickening crack of thorn against hardened flesh.
He staggered back, eyes narrowed, breathing sharp.
"You kept your mind," he growled, muscles tensed, his cells humming beneath his skin, ready to shift again. "But you're still dangerous."
Your shoulder pulsed with unnatural motion, the wing-like appendage twitching as it began to fold back. "I don't want to be part of your kin," you hissed, your voice jagged with fury. "Leave me the fuck alone. I am not a monster like you!"
Jongseong's eyes widened. He barely had time to respond before you surged forward. The air tore around you as your body shifted mid-motion—bone spiking from your forearm like a serrated blade. You slashed.
He ducked, sparks flying as your weapon scraped against the metal wall. He twisted, arm reforming into hardened muscle and armor-like plating, launching a counterstrike aimed at your ribs.
You blocked with an organic shield that burst from your side—scaled and ridged like insect chitin. The impact sent both of you skidding back across the damp concrete.
Your eyes met again. Rage. Confusion. Pain.
Jongseong lunged first this time, his limbs reshaping with practiced speed—flesh snapping, tendons stretching. A blade grew from his wrist like a fang of obsidian, and he swung it toward your shoulder.
You caught it, barehanded.
Your arm, now half-shifted and armored, trembled with force as it held his blade in place. But what caught him wasn't your strength—it was your face. You weren't snarling anymore. You were breathing hard. Your eyes... they were terrified.
Your reaction wasn't instinctual. It wasn't predatory. You had hesitated. Controlled your form. Redirected the attack instead of going for the kill. Just like him.
Jongseong pulled back, staggering a step. His breathing slowed. "You're... like me."
You stood still, chest rising and falling. The bone blade on your forearm quivered, then receded slowly, melting back beneath your skin.
"Don't say that," you whispered, voice cracking. "Don't compare me to you."
But the truth was there—in the way your limbs didn't shift fully, in the way your face still held emotion, conscience, even after a violent clash. You hadn't killed him when you had the chance. You chose not to.
"I'm a hybrid," Jongseong whispered, "I'm not a monster. I'm not human either. I assume you are too."
You didn't answer right away. Your eyes flicked toward the tunnel, where the distant clicking echoed like something crawling just beyond the light. Then, slowly, you turned back to him. Your jaw clenched, the muscles in your cheek twitching like you were holding something in.
"I'm a human." It sounded more like a plea than a statement. "I was—" you paused, blinking hard, "—I was a person. I had a name. A home. I worked a job. I went to cafés and hated Mondays. I had a cat."
Jongseong didn't move.
"I wasn't this," you went on, your voice rising. "I didn't ask for it. I woke up one day and everything was... different. My skin felt wrong. I couldn't stop hearing things. Smelling things. My body... it started moving on its own. Changing. Splitting open."
Your breathing quickened. "And now I can feel it, all the time. In my bones. In my mind. Whispering. Pulling that doesn't belong to me."
Your eyes met his—wide, wet, terrified. "I don't want to be what you are."
Jongseong lowered his gaze for a moment. He understood that look. He'd seen it in the mirror more than once.
"I didn't want this either," he said quietly. He took a slow, cautious step forward, then crouched to your level, his voice soft—human.
"I was a doctor," he said, almost with a tired smile. "Worked long shifts. Rarely slept. I used to stress-eat... corn, of all things. Still do. I don't know why. Guess the parasite didn't kill that part of me."
You blinked, confused by the strange confession. But it grounded you, if only for a moment.
"I think about who I used to be all the time," he continued. "That guy who thought medicine could fix anything. Who didn't believe in monsters—just diseases, mutations, pathology." He paused, watching your face. "Then I became the thing we used to study. And I realized something... I'm still here. Somewhere beneath all of this."
His fingers lightly tapped his chest.
Your gaze dropped, lashes trembling as you stared at the space between your knees, the damp concrete still stained from your earlier strike. You didn't say anything right away. Your breathing was shallow—measured, like you were trying not to fall apart.
"I used to love the rain," you said quietly, almost to yourself. "Now it just smells like metal and rust and... blood."
Jongseong didn't interrupt. He stayed crouched, steady, watching you.
"I haven't slept in two weeks. Not really. I keep waking up in the middle of the night with my hands turned into something else. Blades. Claws. Once, it was... wings." You gave a bitter laugh, dry and hollow. "I think they were wings. They tore the ceiling fan clean off."
"I keep thinking if I ignore it, if I just pretend hard enough, it'll go away. But it's always there. Under my skin. In my head."
Jongseong's voice came calm, anchored. "You're not imagining it. It's real. And it's not going away."
Your hands clenched into fists. "Then what's the point of fighting it?"
He didn't answer immediately. He sat down fully, folding his arms over his knees, not trying to lecture you but to just exist beside you.
"I fight it because I still remember what it felt like to make people better," he said. "Because I don't want to lose that part of me. Even if it's buried under everything else." He glanced at you. "Because maybe... if I keep holding onto it, I can be something in between. Not human, not parasite. Something new."
You shook your head. "That sounds like a lie people tell themselves to feel less afraid."
"Maybe it is," he admitted. "But it keeps me sane."
Another silence settled in. Then, a small voice escaped you—quiet, brittle. "I used to sing. Just... badly. In the car. In the shower. Everywhere. And now when I try, nothing comes out. Like my voice doesn't belong to me anymore."
Jongseong looked at you. "That part's still there. Buried, but not gone."
You blinked rapidly, jaw tightening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you carried a strange weight—grief, recognition, something neither of you could name but both felt. The bond of shared monstrosity. Of shared humanity refusing to die.
Then, softly, Jongseong added, "We don't have to be monsters, even if that's what we've become. We get to choose."
You were quiet for a moment, staring down at the cracks in the pavement. Your voice came small, almost like you were afraid the answer would make it more real.
"How long have you been... like this?"
Jongseong's gaze drifted for a second, remembering. "Two and a half years," he said quietly.
You looked up at him, your voice trembling. "Two months. That's how long it's been for me."
He nodded, listening.
"I ran away from home when I realized what was happening to me," you continued. "I couldn't stay. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I couldn't even trust myself." You exhaled shakily, brushing your palm across your face as if trying to wipe the memory away.
"I ran into a parasite once," you said. "Fully changed. No humanity left. Said he'd been like that for two years."
"What did he do?" Jongseong asked, already suspecting the answer.
"When he felt that I wasn't like him... he didn't speak. He just attacked. Like I was an error. A mutation. Something that needed to be erased."
Jongseong's jaw tightened. "You barely survived."
You nodded. "He tore my side open. I didn't even realize I could heal until after." The memory made you shudder.
"I thought maybe I could hide. Blend in. Pretend I was still normal. But that encounter changed everything. I knew then... there was no going back."
Jongseong looked at you, really looked, and said gently, "You've made it this far on your own. That counts for something."
You laughed bitterly. "Does it?"
"It does," he said. "Because most wouldn't have."
"The parasite in us... it doesn't understand mercy. Or hesitation. The fact that you've held on this long, that you chose not to give in—that means you're still you."
Your eyes flicked to him, unsure. "And if I stop choosing?"
"Then I'll stop you," he said, not as a threat, but as a promise. You blinked, searching his face for cruelty and finding only empathy.
It was strange, in a quiet way—comforting—to be near someone like you. Someone who understood. That's how you would describe it. A sense of relief wrapped in unease. You were still hiding, but not really. Not anymore.
You learned his name is Park Jongseong. He told you in passing, but you held onto it. Jongseong, meaning "collecting stars." It made you smile softly, secretly. How fitting, you thought, for someone piecing himself back together from fragments of something once human.
He gestured toward a small kit laid out between you. "Try to relax. I'm going to insert a needle—just a quick sample," he said, already prepping the syringe.
You stared at him, arching a brow, half laughing. "You know I merged my body with blades, right? A needle isn't exactly nightmare fuel, Dr. Park Jongseong."
He let out a quiet breath of amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle, reluctant smile. It was the first expression that looked genuinely human since you'd met him. Still, he moved with the calm, clinical precision of someone who'd done this thousands of times. His hands didn't shake, and his voice stayed even.
You extended your arm, the skin unusually smooth where it had once morphed—no visible scars.
He carefully inserted the needle into your arm. The sensation was oddly muted—your pain receptors dulled, altered by the parasite. Your blood didn't flow quite like before; it was slightly denser and darker.
"This should be enough," Jongseong murmured, capping the vial. "I'll isolate the DNA structure, run it against my own. I want to see how your immune system adapted. If your T-cells underwent the same mutations."
You looked at him curiously. "You think we mutated differently?"
"I think we merged differently," he said, eyes flicking to his portable scanner. "The parasite doesn't always follow the same pattern. In most hosts, it hijacks the immune system completely—overrides all genetic repair functions, takes full control. But in us..."
"It coexists," you said softly, finishing his thought.
He nodded. "Exactly. It integrates rather than eliminates. Your T-cells should be producing chimeric proteins—part human, part parasite. Like mine."
You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. "You ever seen that happen before?"
He shook his head. "No. Just us."
You both sat in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of his scanner whirring softly as it began processing. Data streamed across the small screen, lines of genetic code scrolling faster than most could read.
"It's weird," you said. "I hated this thing inside me. Still do. But sitting here... I feel like I'm finally studying it. Like it's not just happening to me anymore. I'm taking it back."
Jongseong looked up from the scanner. "Exactly. That's what I've been doing for two years. Trying to understand it."
You watched him work. There was a quiet intensity to the way he moved, so focused, almost surgical. His fingers danced over the scanner's interface, eyes tracking streams of data with an ease. But your gaze wasn't on the screen.
You studied him. His nose was too pointed, almost sculpted. His jaw, sharp like it had been carved with purpose. The light caught on the angles of his face, shadows tracing across his skin like ink. His raven-black hair fell slightly over his brow, just messy enough to look deliberate, and yet... it suited him perfectly.
And his eyes, sharp, eagle-like. At first glance, they looked cold. Angry, even. The kind of gaze that could cut. But as you kept watching, you saw through it. There was no rage behind them. Only exhaustion and softness.
"I can feel you staring," he said suddenly, not looking up from the scanner.
You blinked, caught off guard. "You have a strangely symmetrical face."
He smirked faintly, still focused on the readout. "Years of stress must have evened me out."
"I think you're too pretty to be a walking biohazard," you added dryly.
That made him glance at you, a flicker of amusement breaking through the wall of control. "That's not usually the first thing people say when they see me split my arm open."
You tilted your head. "It's the second thing."
He huffed a quiet laugh. Just for a moment, you saw it—the man beneath the monster. The one who used to save lives, who still wanted to, even if he didn't say it aloud.
"I used to keep my reflection covered," you admitted, your voice softening. "Couldn't look at my own eyes. I was afraid one day they'd stop looking like mine."
He didn't respond right away. Just stared down at the glowing genetic map on the screen, jaw tight. Then he said, "Your eyes still look human to me."
Your cheeks flushed, the blood rising unbidden. A strange irony, considering how much your blood had changed, but it felt too human.
After the blood draw, he insisted on running a full assessment—"purely diagnostic," he said, slipping back into the old habits of a physician. His voice turned more analytical. But his touch remained cautious, and gentle.
You sat on the metal examination table, legs swinging slightly, eyes drifting over the cluttered shelves and half-finished notes pinned across the wall. He moved in the background, scanning a new set of neural data. But your attention wasn't on the screen.
"Do you feel lonely in here?" you asked softly, not looking at him.
He didn't answer immediately. Just continued working for a few seconds, then said, "I don't notice anymore."
You didn't believe him. You don't think he did either.
After another minute passed, your voice returned, gentler. "What happened? When you first realized you were like this? Did you just... stop being a doctor?"
Jongseong paused, then turned slightly, leaning back against the counter. The light from the scanner flickered behind him, "I was attacked by a gang," he said flatly. "Back alley. They thought I had money. I lost count after the twentieth cut."
You stared at him, stunned.
"I had thirty-five knife wounds across my torso, chest, and abdomen," he continued, "deep lacerations. Organ damage. Multiple perforations. I was dying. I think... I was dead."
You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on him.
"I assume the parasite entered my body when I hit the threshold," he said. "Critical condition. Immune system collapsed. Internal bleeding. It's my theory that the parasite thrives more when the host is on the edge—when the system is weak enough to take, but not too far gone to recover."
His gaze lowered to your arm where the sample had been drawn. "My theory is... I wasn't strong enough to resist it. That's why I didn't die like the others. The parasite didn't need to fight me. It just filled in what was already broken."
"So, you think it chose you because you were weak?"
He met your eyes again. "I think it needed someone weak. It needed space to grow."
A pause. His voice softened. "But maybe... maybe that's also why we didn't become them. Because we didn't fight it like a war. We... merged."
You shifted slightly, the sterile metal of the table cold under your fingertips. "You think that's why I'm still here, too?"
Jongseong nodded. "Your neural scans still show strong activity in the amygdala, the hippocampus. Emotional processing, memory retention. That's rare in infected hosts. Most show degeneration within a week of full takeover."
"And mine?"
He turned the screen slightly to show you. "Yours are still human. Intact. Maybe even more responsive than average."
You blinked. "So I'm... emotionally stronger?"
He gave a faint, crooked smile. "Or just more stubborn."
You laughed under your breath, soft eyes lingering on him, the curve of your smile not wide, but real. For a moment, Jongseong couldn't look away.
There was something in your expression that unsettled him more than any mutation, more than any parasite or hybrid anomaly. It was the trace of comfort. The ghost of peace in a body that shouldn't have had room for it.
On another day, beneath the soft whir of outdated HVAC vents and the mechanical rhythm of genetic sequencing equipment, your voice stirred.
"What happens to the parasite inside us?" you asked. "Where does it go?"
He didn't answer at first. Jongseong stood across the room, bare-chested, his skin partially illuminated by the sterile blue glow of the diagnostic interface. He was facing a mirror bolted to the wall—cracked slightly near the corner, the silver peeling at the edges. He hadn't looked into it for a long time. Not really.
But today, he was watching himself. And in the reflection, he saw you, standing behind him, the question still hovering in the air. He held your gaze for a second through the mirror, then turned back to his own reflection.
"I don't know," he said eventually. His voice was calm, but not detached. He was thinking—hard. "At least, in my case, I don't feel anything inside anymore. Not like those early days, when it felt like something was pushing... crawling beneath my skin. That pressure's gone."
He paused, lifting his hand, flexing his fingers slowly—watching the tendons shift under his skin.
"It's like... I consumed it," he said quietly. "Or maybe my body did. My cells stopped resisting. Stopped treating it as foreign. They absorbed it."
"You think your immune system... adapted?"
"Yes," he said, nodding faintly. "I've run thousands of blood scans. The parasite's original RNA is still there, but it's no longer dominant. It's dormant. Integrated. Like mitochondria."
You raised your brow. "You're saying it's symbiotic."
"More than that," he replied. "It's part of my physiology. My T-cells don't fight it. They use it. They've evolved—specialized to incorporate its functions. Shape-shifting, cellular regeneration, neural acceleration. My body didn't reject the parasite."
The parasite didn't dominate him. It became part of him.
You exhaled slowly, your voice soft, almost like you were speaking to yourself. "You're still human, after all..."
He didn't respond, his gaze lingered on you.
You looked down at your hands, turning one over, flexing your fingers. "You and the parasite... you didn't fight each other. You merged." You hesitated, the word strange on your tongue. "I don't even know if merge is the right term. That makes it sound clean. Voluntary."
Jongseong turned to face you fully now, taking a slow step closer. "It wasn't clean," he said. "And it sure as hell wasn't voluntary."
You looked up at him again.
"It was pain. Constant. Days of fevers, hallucinations, muscles tearing themselves apart. My nervous system was rewriting itself in real-time. I could feel my own memories slipping... then coming back sharper. Warped, like they'd been filtered through something else."
He tapped his temple once. "I didn't think I was going to survive it. I shouldn't have. But something inside me didn't break. It adapted. And when the parasite realized it couldn't overwrite me, it... integrated. Not by choice. By necessity."
Your brows furrowed slightly. "You're saying it didn't want you like that?"
"The parasite wants dominance," Jongseong said. "Control. But when it senses it can't win, it changes strategy. Tries to preserve itself through compromise. It's not a thinking organism, not in the way we are—but it learns."
You nodded slowly, eyes drifting to the cracked mirror behind him. "Then maybe it's not about merging or fighting. Maybe it's about outlasting it."
He studied you carefully, the muscles in his jaw flexing just slightly before he spoke.
"Exactly. If you can hold on long enough, if you can stay yourself through the pain... you don't lose. You evolve."
You looked down again, thinking of all the moments you thought you were slipping. All the nights your body changed without your permission. All the times you'd woken up shaking, afraid of your own skin.
And yet... you were still here.
You looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers slowly. The skin looked normal now. "My hand hurts sometimes," you admitted, voice quiet. "It's like... a pressure building under the bone. I can control my shifting, but sometimes it feels like something else is doing it for me."
Your eyes lingered on your arm as if it might betray you in the next breath.
"I feel like I'm not me."
"That's normal," he said. "You're still only two months in. Your body's not fully stabilized yet. It takes time. The neural pathways between your conscious mind and the parasite's reactive systems are still syncing."
You glanced up at him. "That sounds way too clinical for my hand turns into a blade without asking."
He smirked faintly. "Point is—you'll get used to it. Eventually, the signals align. You won't have to fight for control. You'll just be in control."
You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But what if I don't?"
His smile faded, but his expression didn't turn cold. "Remember what I said when we first met?" he asked.
You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as the memory stirred. Jongseong gave a soft tired smile. "I'll stop you."
You stared at him, reading the weight behind the words. "And you'd really do it?" you asked.
"If it came to that," he said, without hesitation. "If you lost yourself completely—if there was no coming back—then yeah. I would."
"But not because I see you as a threat," he added. "Because I'd want someone to do the same for me."
"I don't want to become something I'd have to be stopped from," you whispered.
"Then don't," he said simply.
Another day blurred into a week, and somehow, it became routine.
You and Jongseong were always near each other now. You simply showed up, and he never asked you to leave.
Every morning, without fail, you arrived at his doorstep. Sometimes barefoot, sometimes holding a plastic bag of random things you'd picked up—food, spare clothes, old electronics scavenged from forgotten corners of the city. Always with that same wide smile and a casual wave, like the world hadn't tried to erase you.
His home sat far from the crowded parts of Seoul, nestled in the quiet sprawl of the outer districts—secluded enough that no one asked questions, yet comfortable in a way that surprised you. It wasn't sterile or abandoned. It was... lived in. Warm wood tones, clean tile, books stacked in corners, a faint smell of roasted coffee in the mornings.
You didn't expect someone like him to have soft blankets and expensive sheets. But then again, he had been a doctor. Years of relentless work had filled his bank account even as it slowly emptied him. He rarely touched the money now, except to keep the house running and the lab functional. The rest stayed untouched, gathering dust, like a forgotten version of himself.
Still, his kitchen was well-stocked. His bed was always made. And now, somehow, you had become part of that space.
One quiet afternoon, sunlight filtered through the wide windows, casting long golden shadows across the hardwood floor. You stood barefoot in his living room, playfully holding your arm out as it began to shift.
Jongseong watched from the couch, sipping lukewarm tea, his eyes narrowed in equal parts curiosity and caution.
"It's my first time encountering someone who can shape their hand into wings," he said.
You smirked and raised your hand, flesh trembling, tendons coiling and restructuring. The skin along your forearm peeled open in seamless, silent motion, splitting into more organic. A full wing unfurled—sleek and wide, nearly as tall as you. Its edges were curved like a crescent, the shape aerodynamic but jagged, ringed with short, blade-like protrusions.
It was the color of your skin, yet it glinted faintly in the light.
"Most parasites use their heads," Jongseong murmured, leaning forward slightly. "They split open like flower petals—exposing core structures for attack or communication."
He stood and stepped closer, gaze fixed on your transformed arm. "But this... this is different. It's not just offensive. It's built for movement. Flight, maybe. Or at least gliding. Your body's adapting beyond the base strain."
You watched his fascination with a faint grin. He spoke like a scientist.
"Does your head still hurt?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes.
You hesitated for a moment, then shook your head. "Not anymore," you said softly. "I started doing what you told me. Focusing on breathing. Slowing everything down when it starts building up."
He nodded, approving. "The headaches come from pressure. When the nervous system tries to regulate a function it doesn't fully understand. But when you center your breathing, you give the brain a stable pattern—something to anchor the mutation against."
You laughed a little. "You sound like a meditation app."
"Doctor first," he replied, raising a brow. "Monster second."
You folded the wing back into your arm slowly, watching as the skin sealed over again, leaving no sign it had ever been anything else. Jongseong handed you a towel to wipe the sweat off your hands—it wasn't painful anymore, but it still took effort.
"Do you ever get tired of analyzing me?" you teased, dabbing your brow.
"Not yet," he said. "You're the only other hybrid I've ever met. Every reaction you have, every adaptation—it all tells me more about how this thing works."
You leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking at him with warmth. "So I'm your favorite test subject?"
He smiled faintly. "You're the only one who smiles back."
You started living around him—and it wasn't planned. It just... happened.
There was no formal moment when it became your place too. You simply never left. You came in, stayed for a while, and then stayed a little longer. Your bag ended up in the corner of his hallway. A change of clothes appeared on the back of his chair. Your toothbrush found its way into a cup next to his. No one said anything.
His laboratory is tucked beneath the basement. Stainless steel counters were cluttered with vials, blood samples, biofeedback equipment, and an old centrifuge that rattled every time it spun. Some walls were covered with whiteboards, sketched with frantic genetic maps, neural networks, protein structures, and lines of code that only made partial sense to you.
You stood in the doorway for a long time watching him. Despite not wearing a coat or a stethoscope anymore, he was still a doctor. He spent hours down there, alone, dissecting the mystery of what you both had become. Studying the hybrid genome, comparing tissue reactions, tracking metabolic rates, rebuilding broken sequences.
He never said it, but you knew he wasn't doing it for science.
He was doing it to keep himself sane.
So, you stayed. And while he worked, you started moving through the rest of the house. Dust had gathered in the corners of rooms he didn't use. Shelves were layered with months of settled particles, and forgotten books lay unopened beneath it. So you cleaned. One room at a time.
You cooked, mostly for yourself at first. But eventually, you started making enough for two. He always ate. Silently, usually. But he ate. Sometimes with a quiet compliment, sometimes with a small smile.
Later, you found the backyard—overgrown, wild, and tired. The flower beds were choked by weeds, the soil cracked from neglect. You didn't ask permission. You just started clearing it out. Pulling weeds. Watering the roots that still had life left in them. Then you bought seeds, colorful ones: snapdragons, asters, cosmos. Something bright. Something that still dared to bloom.
He noticed, of course. But he didn't stop you.
Sometimes, at night, when the house was still and the garden smelled faintly of wet soil, you found yourself staring at the ceiling of the guest room—Jongseong's oversized hoodie draped around your shoulders, warm with his scent—and wondered:
Is this what being human still feels like?
You asked yourself the question over and over, unsure of the answer. You still laughed. You still dreamed. You still loved food, flowers, music. You still worried.
Your mind drifted to things you hadn't let yourself think about in weeks. Your mother. Your cat. Your home.
The lie you told when you disappeared—telling your family you'd run off with someone. You'd sent one message. Just one. And never replied again.
Do they hate me for it? you wondered. Do they think I'm alive? Do they sit at the dinner table and leave your place empty, hoping?
The thought made you smile—but it was the kind of smile that didn't reach your eyes.
You snorted under your breath, turning onto your side.
Because now, in some twisted, literal sense, you were living with a guy. A guy who wasn't exactly human anymore. A guy who slept only four hours a night and spent the rest of his time trying to outsmart biology. A guy whose hands could become blades. Whose eyes still softened when he thought you weren't watching.
A guy who hadn't kicked you out. Who never would.
"You can shift your hands without blades?"
Your eyes widened as you stared at Jongseong, the question tumbling from your lips. The very idea felt foreign—impossible, even. Your own shifting had always come with sharp edges, bone-splitting pain, and the quiet terror that you might lose control if you shaped too far.
Jongseong glanced down at his hands, calm and controlled. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lifted one hand and extended it toward you, palm up. "Watch," he said simply.
His dark eyes shifted—pupils dilating slightly, the irises deepening in color until they almost looked black, consuming the natural brown. You knew what that meant. It was a physiological marker—hybrid activation. Your eyes did the same when you shifted. His were sharp, but not hostile, focused, but unthreatening.
The structure of his hand started to ripple not violently, not like yours usually did. No sharp angles, no sudden protrusions of bone or blade. The skin thinned and stretched, flowing in a fluid-like motion that reminded you of melting wax. It wasn't grotesque—it was graceful.
His fingers elongated and curved slightly. From the base of his palm, tendrils began to unfurl—slender, flexible, organic. Not quite like vines, not quite like tentacles, but something in-between. Soft ridges lined their surfaces. They pulsed faintly with life, reacting to the air, to temperature, to you.
They didn't glint like blades. They didn't threaten. They moved with purpose.
Your breath caught as you watched, caught between horror and awe.
"How...?" you whispered.
Jongseong didn't smile, but there was a quiet light in his eyes. "The parasite doesn't only build weapons. It builds tools—if you teach it to."
You stepped closer, cautiously, drawn to the strange, mesmerizing movement of his altered hand. "I thought it only knew how to kill."
"So did I," he said. "At first. But then I started thinking like it. Observing. Not just resisting. It reacts to survival instinct, yes—but it also responds to intention. Will."
He slowly closed his hand, the tendrils retracting fluidly, vanishing back into his skin as the flesh reformed and returned to normal.
You blinked, letting out a slow breath. "Wow. That's impressive but... completely useless," you said, your voice laced with sarcasm.
Jongseong's eyes returned to their usual deep brown, pupils shrinking, the hybrid dilation fading. He looked up at you, a beat of silence passing then he laughed.
It was soft, unguarded. A sound you hadn't heard often from him, but when it came, it felt genuine, surprisingly warm. "Well, thanks," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Glad to know my non-lethal biological innovation gets such rave reviews."
You shrugged, trying not to smile. "Sorry, Dr. Frankenstein. I just can't think of a practical use for creepy space noodles."
"Tactile sensory extensions," he corrected with mock offense. "They can be used to detect surface tension, pressure shifts, chemical traces—"
"So basically... weird science-fingers."
Jongseong gave you a long, theatrical sigh, one hand dragging down his face in mock despair, though the amused curve of his mouth betrayed him.
"You know what? Fuck it," he muttered, turning back to his workstation, but not before you caught the upward twitch of his lips.
Another month drifted by.
You woke, cooked, trained, experimented, and sometimes just existed with Jongseong in quiet companionship. The world outside still cracked and groaned with danger, but within the walls of his house, it was a different season.
And outside, life was starting to bloom.
The garden you once cleared had transformed. Where dry soil had stretched beneath tired weeds, color now flourished. The seeds you planted with no real hope had taken root. Soft petals in pinks, purples, and golds opened under the late spring sun, nodding gently with every breeze. You had come to love the quiet act of watering them in the morning, a grounding ritual. Something beautifully, stubbornly normal.
This morning, as dew still clung to the flowerbed leaves and your fingers dripped with the cool mist from the watering can, a small sound broke the usual silence.
A tiny cry. High-pitched. Fragile. You turned, instinctively alert. But it wasn't danger waiting for you in the corner of the fence.
It was a kitten. A small, orange-furred ball curled beneath the bushes—wide green eyes blinking up at you, damp fur clinging to its sides. It looked no older than a few weeks, its tiny ribs shifting with every shaky breath.
"Awww," you murmured, your voice softening as you crouched slowly to its level.
The kitten tilted its head but didn't run. You extended a hand carefully, fingers open, palm low.
"Hey, sweetheart... Where's your mommy?" you whispered.
It answered with a soft meow, barely more than a squeak, and nudged its head forward until it touched your fingers. Warmth bloomed in your chest, before you realized what you were doing, you scooped it gently into your arms, pressing it to your chest.
You didn't hesitate. You brought it inside.
When Jongseong stepped out of the lab hours later, adjusting the settings on his neural scanner, he stopped in the middle of the hallway.
You were sitting cross-legged on the couch with a towel-wrapped bundle in your lap. The orange kitten, freshly cleaned and fed, purred softly as it nuzzled your hand.
"You brought home a cat," he said flatly, blinking.
You looked up at him, eyes wide with innocent pride. "I named him Jongjong."
His expression flickered. "Jong... jong?"
You nodded with complete seriousness. "Because he's small. And soft. And a little grumpy."
Jongseong blinked again, then exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half disbelief. "I can't decide if I'm offended or flattered."
"Oh, definitely flattered," you said with a grin. "He's the cutest thing I've seen since I moved in."
The kitten let out a mew, as if to confirm the sentiment. Jongseong stepped closer, crouching beside the couch to get a better look. The kitten stared back at him, unblinking, then gave a dramatic yawn and immediately fell asleep on your lap.
"He trusts you," Jongseong said, softer now.
You looked down at the little creature and ran your thumb gently between its ears. "He doesn't know what I am."
Jongseong was quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's the point."
You glanced at him.
"Maybe he just sees what's real," he added. "And not what we're afraid we've become."
You didn't answer right away. You just watched Jongjong breathe, tiny chest rising and falling against your arm, and felt the quiet weight of peace settle in the room like sunlight through the window.
Jongseong had spent years alone his house, surrounded by machines and memories. He thought solitude was necessary, that isolation kept him safe. That by keeping others out, he could contain the thing growing inside him, the part of him that wasn't entirely human anymore.
That was why, when you first asked him if he ever felt lonely, he hadn't known how to answer.
Now, he had an answer.
Yes.
Because since you arrived, he'd started to remember what it felt like not to be alone. And that contrast made the emptiness he'd grown used to feel sharper, heavier in retrospect. The silence he once embraced had been suffocating. But he hadn't noticed until it began to lift.
You filled the space with little things—sounds, gestures, life. The clink of ceramic mugs in the morning. The quiet murmur of your voice as you read out diagnostic data. The rustle of your clothes as you passed him in the hallway, always brushing just a little too close, like your gravity had started to pull on his.
He never told you that he started waking up before his alarm—not for research, but to hear you moving through the house. The sound of water boiling. The soft click of the stove. The faint hum of your voice when you thought no one could hear.
He never mentioned how he started leaving notes near your table. Little reminders. Jokes hidden inside formulas. Once, a crude sketch of a protein chain that somehow resembled a flower. You'd found it, looked at him with one raised brow, and said nothing, but your smile had lingered for hours.
Maybe you already knew.
Because some nights, when the house fell silent again—when the tunnel lights above the basement flickered and the lab's hum faded into a deeper hush—you would sit beside him on the couch, not asking questions, not filling the air with unnecessary words. Just being there. Shoulder to shoulder. Warm. Quiet.
And the silence didn't feel empty anymore.
"Peek-a-boo!"
Jongseong spun around and froze.
Your face had split clean down the middle, skin peeled open like flower petals under pressure, revealing the intricate folds of your brain, glistening and wet. Thorned tendrils coiled from within the exposed cavity, twitching slightly as if sensing the air. Despite the grotesque transformation, one half of your mouth was still smiling, playful, unbothered, as if this was just another joke between the two of you.
And somehow, impossibly, Jongseong found himself staring—not with fear, but with a strange, quiet awe.
Even like this warped, twisted, exposed, he still thought you were beautiful.
Terrifying, yes.
But beautiful.
Jongseong let out a sigh and pressed his lips to the rim of his coffee mug, hiding the curve of his smile behind it. He didn't laugh—barely. It wasn't that it wasn't disturbing. It was. You looked like something torn from a biology textbook on alien evolution.
With a twitch of muscle and membrane, your face knit itself back together, seamlessly folding in. The thorns retracted, the skin closed, the tremors stopped. You bounced on the balls of your feet, practically glowing with excitement.
"I learned that yesterday!" you said, beaming. "Can you do that too?!"
You looked at him like a child begging for a party trick, eyes wide, shining with that strange joy that came with discovering just how far the body could stretch before breaking.
Jongseong tilted his head, smile lingering at the edges of his lips. He set his coffee down on the lab table and stood slowly. "It's not exactly the same," he murmured, voice low and calm, "but... sure."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Then his skin split—not down the middle like yours, but in five clean diagonal lines across his face. The motion was quiet, each line peeled open slightly, like vents adjusting to pressure. From the top of his forehead, the bone shifted and stretched, revealing a sliver of cerebral tissue beneath a thin veil of skin—pale, veined, faintly glowing. A single blade unfolded with a smooth, mechanical grace, jutting forward from the frontal bone, not sharp enough to kill, but certainly enough to threaten.
"That's... beautiful," you whispered.
He let the mutation retract slowly, each fracture sealing with precision. No blood. No pain. Just practiced control.
"I thought we were past the point of calling brain blades 'beautiful,'" he teased, reaching for his coffee again.
You shrugged. "I think we're past the point of pretending we're not fascinated with each other."
That silenced him for a second. You stepped in a little closer. Not touching—just close enough to share breath. Close enough to see your reflection in his eyes. "Is that why you looked at me like that?" you asked, voice quieter now. "When I split open?"
Jongseong didn't answer immediately. He studied your face—not the skin, not the features, but the you beneath it. The remnants of humanity still clinging to something that should've been lost. The way your voice still held inflection, still carried joy. The way your smile wasn't entirely biological, it came from memory, not muscle.
"Yes," he said finally. "Because no one's ever shown me something monstrous... and looked so alive doing it."
You didn't move. Neither did he.
You stood there, close enough that you could hear the soft intake of his breath, the quiet thrum of his altered heart beneath his ribs, beating in a rhythm that no longer matched human biology... yet somehow still made your chest ache.
You reached up slowly, not asking permission, not speaking, just brushing your fingertips along the faint lines that remained on his cheek. The skin was smooth, impossibly warm, as if something still lived just beneath the surface, twitching, waiting. He didn't flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch, just a fraction subtle enough to be instinct, but intentional enough to mean something.
"You're always so careful," you whispered, your voice barely more than breath.
Jongseong's eyes met yours. "If I'm not, I might hurt you."
You smiled faintly. "Maybe I don't mind."
That earned a small, broken sound from him. He reached up, slowly, carefully, and took your hand in his. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist.
"I don't know what this is," you said softly, searching his face. "I don't know if it's real or just chemical—just mutation convincing us we're closer than we are."
His fingers laced between yours.
"Maybe it is chemical," he said. "But if that's true, then so is every heartbeat. Every kiss. Every touch humans have ever shared. Maybe we're just... another version of it now."
You stared at him for a long moment. Not a word passed between you. Then you leaned forward slowly, testing the air between your mouths like it was charged and he met you halfway.
It wasn't a desperate kiss. It wasn't rushed, or hungry, or tangled in panic. It was precise.
His lips were warm—almost too warm. His body still carried that inhuman heat, like the parasite burned deeper than blood. But you kissed him anyway, because in that heat, you felt something real. Something yours.
He drew you in gently, hand sliding behind your neck. You felt your body respond, you tilted your head, lips parting slightly, angling the kiss deeper, fuller. He tasted like cheap coffee and the metallic hint of sterile air, but it didn't matter.
"I used to think I'd die without ever feeling something like this again," he murmured.
You ran your fingers along his jaw, still touched by the faint lines of his previous transformation. "I thought I had already."
He smiled against your skin. "Guess we were both wrong."
Then his mouth was on yours again, this time deeper, more certain. Not rushed, but hungry. His hand slid down your spine, fingers curling at your waist as he drew you in until there was nothing but heat between you.
You gasped softly against his lips, the sound spilling from you before you could stop it. Your hands moved up, wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He took that moment, his tongue slipped past your lips gliding against yours.
His hands were on your thighs, firm but gentle, and you responded without hesitation. In one motion, you jumped, legs wrapping around his waist, your bodies moving together. He didn't break the kiss—not even for a second—as he carried you with careful steps.
And then you felt it: the shift beneath your back, the familiar give of fabric and old springs. The soft mattress beneath you.
You exhaled as your spine met the bed, his weight settling over you. His lips moved from yours, dragging downward, slower along the edge of your jaw, then to the tender skin just below your ear, and further down to the place where your pulse fluttered.
"Jongseong," you whispered, your voice shaky, half-lost in the sensation, as his mouth lingered at your neck. You felt the sharp heat of his breath, then the sudden sting of teeth—not enough to break skin, just to claim it.
He groaned against your throat, the sound guttural, vibrating against your skin as his hips pressed down, grinding against yours with a rhythm that sent sparks through your nerves.
"Do parasites get this horny?" he murmured. You laughed, high and breathy, your hips tilting up to meet his. The movement drew a sharp moan from both of you as friction met heat, and the space between you disappeared again.
"Maybe it's just us," you said, fingers digging into his back. "Maybe we're the broken ones who feel too much."
His forehead pressed to yours, his lips hovering just above your mouth as he whispered, "Then I never want to be fixed."
He shifted his weight, sitting back just enough to reach for the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms without hesitation, eager, your skin already humming with anticipation. The fabric peeled away easily, and the moment the cold air kissed your bare skin, a shiver ran through you.
Jongseong's gaze darkened.
"Shit..." he murmured under his breath, almost like he couldn't help it. Then his mouth was on yours again—hotter now, more desperate. His hands braced your hips as you reached between your bodies, finding the waistband of his pants and slipping your fingers underneath. You cupped him through the fabric, palm slow and the sound he made into your mouth was something deep. His hips jolted, twitching into your hand, hungry for more.
Your bra was the next to go, tossed carelessly across the room. The moment it was gone, his hands returned to your body. He paused, looking down at you. His fingers traced the lines of your waist, thumbs brushing the curve of your ribs, his breath shaking as though the sight of you unraveled something inside him.
He looked into your eyes—asking, without words.
And you answered. "Please... touch me more," you whispered, his mouth lowered, finding the curve of your breast, lips brushing the delicate skin before closing around your nipple. His tongue moved slow at first, teasing the areola in gentle circles, and then with more pressure—suckling, tasting, devouring.
Your back arched off the mattress, every nerve lit in a low, burning ache that made your breath catch in your throat. A breathy sigh slipped past your lips as you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him there, needing more.
"God—Jongseong..." you moaned.
He responded with a groan of his own, vibrations rumbling against your skin as his hands slid down again. His mouth moved across your chest, his tongue leaving trails of heat as he worshipped every inch he could reach.
Beneath it all was something that had nothing to do with instinct. You weren't two creatures responding to any programming. You were two broken people learning how to feel again, how to love without shame—even if your bodies weren't built like they used to be.
"Remove it," you whispered, fingers curling in the fabric at his waist.
His mouth left your breast with a soft pop, his breath warm against your skin. He met your gaze and then rose onto his knees, hands moving quickly to strip the last layers away. Shirt, pants, boxers—gone in seconds, discarded to the shadows around the bed.
Your breath caught. Your eyes dropped, landing on his body, honed, powerful, beautiful in a way that bordered on unnatural. And then your gaze found his cock: thick, flushed, already aching for you. The sight sent heat spiraling through your core, a pulse deep between your thighs.
Your mouth watered.
You sat up, hands reaching for him, fingertips tentative at first, then bolder—wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him, the twitch beneath your touch. Your movements were a little clumsy, a little hungry.
Your thumb grazed over the slick at the tip, smearing it down the shaft with a slow drag that made his breath hitch.
He was so hard. So warm. You could feel his pulse there, alive in your palm.
You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face. And God, how could someone look so divine?
The dim lights above caught on his sweat-damp hair, his chest rising and falling with every uneven breath. His lips were parted, his eyes hooded but fixed on you like he was watching a miracle unfold. Like you were the miracle.
You stare at him back, and it hits you. He wasn't human—not anymore. Because no human was this breathtaking. No man could look so effortlessly beautiful, even when his body was wrapped in scars, mutations, and power.
Ethereal, you thought.
You arched your back slightly as you leaned down, breath skimming along his length, and you kept your eyes locked on his. The second your tongue flicked out to lick the tip—slow, teasing—he let out a low, guttural sound that made your whole body throb with need.
His hands gripped the edge of the mattress, muscles tightening.
You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, teasing him. You loved the way he watched you.
"Fuck..." he whispered, voice hoarse.
You smiled against him, mouth opening wider as you took him in again—inch by inch, savoring the feel, the taste, the heat. Your fingers stroked what your lips couldn't reach, working in tandem as your pace gradually deepened, your body moving with quiet, desperate rhythm.
His hands found your face, thumbs gently cradling your cheeks as he looked down at you with that subtle, crooked smile—soft and filled with adoration. His gaze was half-lidded, dark with desire, but calm, too.
You hummed around his cock, the vibration making his stomach tense and his breath falter. You continued your rhythm, your head bobbing as your tongue worked him. Each motion earned a different sound from him, deeper now, breathless and ragged, his self-control rapidly fraying.
"Stop for a while," he breathed, voice tight, hand sliding to your jaw as he gently pulled you back.
You let him go, a thin string of saliva still connecting your lips to his tip, glistening between you. He didn't look away, his thumb brushed the slick trail from your mouth, and with a smirk, he pressed it between your lips.
You closed your mouth around it instinctively, eyes locked with his.
"Fuck," he whispered, as if the sight of you like that physically hurt. "You're so goddamn hot."
His hand slid from your cheek to your side. He guided you back down to the mattress, kissing you softly between each motion, your cheek, your shoulder, the center of your chest—as his fingers hooked the waistband of your pants and pulled them down, taking your underwear with them.
Cool air hit your thighs, and you shivered—but not from the temperature.
His breath hitched audibly as the scent of your arousal flooded the space between you. His cock twitched visibly, a strangled groan catching in his throat as his eyes dropped to the heat between your legs. And when he saw you—really saw you—his hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he gently, but insistently, pushed them apart.
There you were. Glistening. Dripping. Your pussy visibly clenching, aching around nothing. Open to him.
"Haah..." he moaned. "You're perfect."
"Jongseong," you whined, hips tilting upward, searching for friction, for touch, for him. "Please... touch me already."
He leaned down, his mouth met your clit in one hot, wet stroke. You cried out at the contact, your back arching, fingers flying to his hair, gripping tight. He groaned against you, vibrating straight through your core.
His tongue moved with hunger, circling your clit, then flattening against it, then flicking with just enough pressure to make you gasp. His hands held your thighs open, possessive and steady, his mouth working you like he was starved for you.
Then he dipped lower.
His tongue slid down through your folds, gathering your slick, then pressing against your entrance—probing, pushing, entering.
You moaned, loud and breathless, as his tongue fucked into you, warm and firm and impossibly deep. It was intimate and wild, like he wasn't just tasting you—he was making out with your cunt. Every slurp echoed in your ears, every flick sent sparks crawling up your spine.
You could feel his tongue twisting inside you, exploring every inch, curling upward, coaxing you open in ways no one ever had. His mouth moved between your clit and your core, switching seamlessly, building pressure until you were panting, writhing beneath him.
"Are you gonna cum, my love?" Jongseong murmured, lifting his head just slightly to look at you.
My love.
The words hit deeper than his fingers ever could. Your chest fluttered, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. You couldn't answer with words—only a frantic nod, your fingers tightening in his hair, mussing it, holding him
His mouth returned to your cunt, tongue working your clit with firm, relentless pressure. He licked harder, faster, each stroke pushing you higher, your body already teetering on the edge.
You were twitching, panting, the heat spiraling out from your core in waves. You'd forgotten what it was like to feel so alive, so overwhelmed in the best possible way—like every nerve had come back to life.
You shattered with a cry, orgasm tearing through you like fire.
But Jongseong didn't stop.
Even as your thighs trembled, even as your body jolted with sensitivity, he kept his tongue swirling over your clit. And then, as if he knew just how to break you open all over again, he pushed two fingers into you, his middle and ring finger, long and strong and perfectly angled.
He curled them inside you, then began to thrust, steady and deep, knuckles brushing your entrance on every stroke.
"Ahhh! Jongseong!" You gasped, sitting up involuntarily, hips bucking against his face. Your body screamed with overstimulation, but it was too good to stop. Too much and not enough, all at once.
Back when you were still "normal," an orgasm like that would've left you limp and done. But now? Now you felt supercharged, every cell vibrating, your skin buzzing with more instead of fatigue.
You needed more and so did he.
The same fire burned beneath Jongseong's skin—evident in the way his hands gripped you tighter, in the flush blooming across his cheeks, in the heat radiating from his body like a furnace stoked too long.
He pulled himself up, chest heaving, and kissed you hard. Your tongues tangled instantly, messy and desperate, your panting breaths shared between kisses.
His fingers never stopped, still inside you, still thrusting, now with an animalistic rhythm that had you whining into his mouth. Each stroke sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core, your thighs twitching around his hips.
He swallowed every sound, every moan, and you could feel the satisfaction in the way he kissed you.
"More," you breathed against his lips.
His gaze darkened, his fingers thrusting deeper. "Then I'll give you everything."
He kissed you again, slower this time. You could feel his cock, hot and heavy, pressed against your thigh, throbbing with the need to be inside you.
He slowly slipped his fingers from you, your body twitching at the sudden emptiness, and shifted forward, positioning himself between your legs. His hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself once, then guiding the tip down between your folds. He didn't rush—he dragged the head of his cock through your slick, coating himself in the warmth of your arousal.
You whimpered, legs spreading wider, instinctively offering yourself to him, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
"Put it in," you whispered, desperate, lifting your hips to meet him. "Please..."
But he held you still, fingers tight on your hips. "Not yet," he murmured, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock. "I want to feel you beg for it."
You moaned softly, hips twitching, the heat between your thighs unbearable now.
He finally pressed forward, just the tip breaching you and both of you cried out in unison. It wasn't just the physical sensation. It was the shock of connection.
"God—your pussy's sucking me in," Jongseong groaned, his head tilting back slightly, neck tense, jaw clenched. "Oh, fuck..."
When he pushed deeper, you choked on a moan, head dropping back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets. Inch by inch, he filled you completely, the stretch perfect, overwhelming. You could feel every vein, every pulse, your body clenching desperately around him as he reached places you forgot were there—almost brushing your cervix, almost too deep, but just right.
Jongseong leaned into you, pressing his body against yours, skin to skin, chest to chest. His arms wrapped around you. He hugged you—his full weight over you. His face buried in your neck, breath warm against your pulse as he finally began to move.
Slow thrusts, measured and deep. Every time he pushed inside you, it felt like a wave crashing over your soul—bringing back color, sound, breath. You clung to him, your arms around his back, legs locking around his waist.
"I feel so alive," Jongseong whispered against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin as he kissed it.
The room was filled with heat. The sound of breath, of skin meeting skin echoed through the space only the two of you could hear. Outside, the world moved—wind howling through the tunnels, distant animal sounds sharp on the air, senses heightened by your altered bodies.
But none of it mattered.
The only scent in the air was arousal—yours and his. The only sounds were gasps, moans, curses whispered into sweat-slick skin.
"Nghh... Jongseong..." you cried, voice cracking as you pulled him closer, fingers digging into his back like you could drag him deeper inside you.
His rhythm shifted, harder now. More forceful. And then he angled his hips just right—and hit you there.
Your scream tore through the room as his cock slammed into your g-spot, stars bursting behind your eyes. You clenched around him, tight and involuntary, your body no longer yours—only his, only this.
"Fuck," he cursed, head dropping into your shoulder as your walls fluttered around him. "You feel like heaven."
"Harder... please," you begged, your voice a broken whisper. "Want it harder."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath uneven, eyes blazing with raw intensity. "Yeah? This not enough for you?" he rasped.
You could only shake your head, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes from how good it felt. His hand reached up, fingers gently sweeping the damp strands of hair from your face. Then he kissed you again. Pouring every ounce of feeling into it, swallowing your moans as he slammed into you with brutal precision.
Each thrust shook your entire body. He moved faster now—faster than any human could. "Want more?" he growled against your lips. "You want to be filled, baby?"
You nodded desperately, too far gone to speak, your hips rising to meet every thrust, chasing the edge you could feel surging again. He groaned into your mouth, losing himself completely, fucking you.
When your orgasm hit, it tore through you, your whole body tensing, twitching, legs locking around his waist as you came hard, gasping his name.
And he felt the every pulsing wave, every clench of your slick, desperate walls around his cock—and he came with a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt as his release surged into you, thick and hot. You could feel him throbbing inside you, filling you deep, but he didn't stop.
Jongseong kept moving. His thrusts slowed but stayed deep, grinding into you. Your eyes rolled back, heat still pulsing violently through every inch of your body.
And for him—it was more than pleasure. He felt something inside himself realigning. Cells reorganizing, adapting again, responding not to survival... but to you. His body recognized yours, welcomed it.
The usual limits of human bodies didn't apply to either of you anymore. You should have been spent. Exhausted. But your broken refractory periods meant nothing now. The hunger didn't fade—it simply deepened.
He shifted without warning, flipping you effortlessly beneath him—then pulling you back, guiding you to straddle him instead. He collapsed onto his back, chest slick with sweat, arms open.
You took it. You climbed over him, breathless, body still buzzing, and sank down onto him in one smooth motion. A choked sound escaped both of you. You were so sensitive, your walls gripping him tight, but your need, your craving was louder.
You started bouncing, fast and messy, hips slapping against his thighs. "Fuck—yes, just like that," Jongseong growled, hands locking around your waist. His hips bucked up into you, matching your rhythm.
You braced your hands on his chest, fingers curling into his skin as your body began to spiral again. Your thighs trembled, knees shaking as your orgasm crept up again. You could barely breathe, barely think, only ride.
Jongseong shifted beneath you, planting his feet firmly into the mattress for leverage—and thrust up into you with such force you cried out, nearly collapsing over him. He fucked you through your orgasm, each thrust dragging the climax out longer, deeper, until your whole body convulsed, your cries echoing off the walls.
"Ahh—want more," you slurred, voice ragged, utterly cock-drunk.
Jongseong didn't speak. His breath came in hot, heavy bursts as he kept thrusting up into you. His hand reached up, slipping two fingers between your lips—quieting you. You moaned around them, muffled, your tongue swirling instinctively.
He watched you, eyes half-lidded, wild with lust. "You can't get enough, huh?"
Your moans vibrated around his fingers, still buried in your mouth, muffling your cries as your body kept bouncing on his cock, fast and needy.
You clenched around him again, and another guttural groan tore from his lips.
Jongseong slid his fingers from your mouth, glistening with your spit. He brought them to his lips and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The simple act made your pulse spike, your rhythm falter for a beat before you recovered.
Your hands slid back to brace against his knees, your back arching sharply. The change in angle made him slip deeper inside you, and you both gasped—his cock visibly outlined beneath your skin, filling you to the hilt. You saw the way his chest stuttered with each breath, eyes tracing every inch of your exposed body.
Then Jongseong laid back, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of you. His gaze locked with yours, you gasped softly when you notice the change in his appearance.
His pupils had gone completely black, pure darkness, blown wide.
Something else wrapped around your waist—slick, warm, textured like stretched skin, soft and strong at once. Your eyes widened as you looked down to see tendrils—tentacle-like extensions—curling from his body, wrapping around your midsection, your hips, your thighs.
"Jongseong..." you breathed.
He smirked and thrust into you hard enough to make your vision blur.
You cried out, body jolting, and then you felt another tendril—longer, thinner—slide between your legs. It pressed against your clit, stroking with an eerie, perfect pressure.
Your whole body keened.
"Oh—fuck!" you moaned, louder than before, your voice cracking as the sensation detonated through your core. It was too much. It was perfect.
Jongseong's other hand gripped your hips tighter, his fingers now stretching with inhuman dexterity, more of him wrapping around you, holding you. His cock kept thrusting up into you, the tendril at your clit stroking in sync, teasing the edge of your next orgasm.
Your breath hitched, your mind unraveling, the next orgasm building fast and hot, just out of reach.
"Need more?" Jongseong teased. More tendrils slithered around your body, responding to his command, flickering against your nipples—tight, wet licks of pressure that made you arch and whine, your chest thrusting forward instinctively. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, your head falling back, lips parted in wordless pleasure.
Your mind was far too hazy at this point, soaked in ecstasy and sensation.
Then you felt something soft and cool brushing the tight ring of your ass.
You flinched, hips jerking instinctively, but the tendrils around your thighs clamped tighter, anchoring you. Keeping you still. Keeping you open.
"Shh," Jongseong whispered against your neck, his voice patient, tender even as his body dominated yours completely.
The tendril at your ass was thinner than the rest, careful as it pressed inward—probing, stretching, sliding slowly. You gasped, muscles tightening, overwhelmed by the double penetration. His cock still thrust into your soaked cunt, fast and deep, while the tendril began to move inside you, teasing your second entrance.
You were so full, stuffed, surrounded, owned and every part of your body lit with fire.
"Why are you not talking?" Jongseong whispered, lifting his gaze to yours.
His eyes were fully dilated, pure black, wild and beautiful. You stared at him, mouth open, gasping—because God, he looked so hot. That face. That voice. That control.
The tendril inside your ass began to thicken, stretching you further, matching the rhythm of his cock as your body struggled to keep up. Your legs shook violently, your core fluttering as another orgasm surged too quickly to contain.
You were crying out, words lost to moans and breathless gasps. Jongseong thrust harder, faster; his hands, his cock, his tendrils working in unison. Every inch of you was stimulated. You were locked in his arms, caged in his grip, the hybrid strength in him overpowering but not brutal.
"I can feel you," he groaned. "All of you. You're squeezing me so tight, fuck—don't stop. Cum for me again."
And you did, you shattered, screaming his name, your entire body shaking as pleasure tore through you in electric waves. Your cunt clenched violently around his cock, your ass pulsing around the tendril still buried deep, and everything inside you collapsed into white heat.
Jongseong held you through it, driving into you with steady, desperate rhythm, chasing his own high, his body burning beneath yours, jaw clenched as he thrust one final time and groaned as he came deep inside you again.
Your head rested against his shoulder, your breath shaky in his ear. Slowly, the inhuman tendrils that had wrapped around you began to withdraw, pulling back into his arms, retreating beneath the skin.
His human hands replaced the tendrils, sliding around your back, palms soft as they cradled you. Then his lips pressed to your forehead, he brushed the hair from your face, fingers gliding through it carefully, over and over. The small, unconscious motion soothed something deep inside you.
The affection made you smile. You let your body melt into his, sinking deeper into the curve of his neck, where his scent surrounded you.
"Love you," you whispered in confession, your voice barely there . You felt the subtle shift in his chest, the rise of a soft laugh beneath your palm as he smiled against your hair. “I don’t want to regret any day I didn’t say that,” you continued. “Even if what I feel is just parasitological reaction, even if it’s some rewritten instinct pretending to be love—I don’t care. I love you.”
His hand pressed gently against the curve of your spine. "I love you," he whispered back, and the way he said it—so simply, made your heart throb.
You lifted your head slightly to look at him, eyes still half-lidded, dazed from pleasure and affection. You took in the mess of him: sweat-slick skin, tousled hair, the soft flush across his cheeks.
Beautiful, you thought again.
You smiled, lazy and warm. “More?”
Jongseong’s lips curved slowly into that familiar, crooked smirk.
The morning crept in quietly.
No alarms, no machines humming, no scans running downstairs in the lab. Just the soft amber light of dawn leaking through the half-closed curtains, casting warm streaks across the floor and the tangled mess of sheets.
You stirred first.
Jongseong’s arm was still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep. His warmth radiated through the blankets, his breath steady against the back of your neck. You could feel his hand resting against your stomach.
You didn’t move right away.
You let yourself lie there, blinking slowly at the ceiling, muscles pleasantly sore, body still humming in a low, contented way. You could still feel the echo of last night in your bones, in your skin. The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.
You turned slowly in his arms to face him.
He was awake. His eyes were open, soft with sleep but focused entirely on you. The moment your gaze met his, his lips curved into a small smile, tired but intimate.
“Morning,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep.
“Hey,” you whispered. “How long were you watching me?”
“A while,” he admitted. “You twitch when you dream.”
You groaned, burying your face briefly in his chest. “Great. Bet I looked terrifying.”
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your cheek. “No. You looked... peaceful.”
You shifted, resting your chin on his chest to look at him properly. “You sleep?”
His hand brushed up your back in a lazy, soothing arc. “I do. When you’re here.”
That silenced you for a moment. “You always say things like that,” you murmured, “like you don’t expect this to last.”
Jongseong was quiet for a long breath. His fingers slid into your hair, combing it gently, thoughtfully. “I don’t take it for granted,” he said. “Not when everything about what we are could change tomorrow.”
You watched his face, trying to read between the words. “Do you think it will?”
He met your gaze. “Maybe. Our biology’s still in flux. Your last scan showed increased neural conductivity in your spinal column. Mine too. Whatever’s happening to us—it isn’t done yet.”
You nodded slowly, tracing the skin of his shoulder with your fingertip. “Do you think we’ll stop being us?”
He caught your hand and pressed it against his chest, over the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t know. But if I do change... I want to remember this. You. This moment.”
You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “Then let’s make more of them.”
His arm tightened around you, pulling you close until your nose brushed his. “Deal,” he whispered.
“Pathology of Parasites.”
You glanced up from your spot on the floor beside Jongseong’s lab table, brows lifted as you read the scribbled title on the datapad he'd just tossed aside.
“Wow,” you said, lips curving. “Very romantic.”
Jongseong looked up from his microscope, clearly unamused. “It was a working title.”
You held back a laugh as you pulled the datapad closer, scrolling through the contents—notes, schematics, overlapping neural maps. Some of it made sense, some of it looked like nonsense equations written in a fever dream. But it was his—every word a window into how his mind worked. Clinical. Focused. Relentless. And yet… there were margin notes scrawled in a different tone—curious, reflective.
One read:
Subject B demonstrates emotional regulation post-mutation. Possibly adaptive. Possibly… intentional?
You knew Subject B was you.
“You study me a lot,” you said softly, setting the pad down beside you.
Jongseong looked at you for a long moment, eyes steady, warm. “I don’t study you,” he corrected. “I try to understand you.”
You smiled faintly. “That’s somehow worse.”
He snorted. “Maybe. But you’re fascinating.”
You turned your head to rest it against the side of the table, eyes drifting upward to where he sat, perched in his rolling lab chair, hunched slightly over some slide under the scope.
“Do you ever miss it?” you asked. “Being a normal doctor?”
His jaw tensed, and he leaned back slowly, pulling away from the microscope. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “I miss helping people and knowing what I was fixing. Now... I’m just making guesses. Mapping new anatomy no one’s ever named. Studying nervous systems that grow new endings when I’m not looking. It’s not medicine anymore. It’s—”
“—exploration,” you finished.
He glanced at you again, his lips twitching slightly. “That’s one way to put it.”
You reached up and tugged at the end of his sleeve. “Come down here.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, now.”
He hesitated only a second before pushing the chair back and sliding to the floor beside you. You leaned against him immediately, head settling on his shoulder, your knees brushing his thigh.
“You ever think,” you murmured, “if we weren’t like this… if we were just two strangers in a city... we would’ve passed each other without a second glance?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Maybe.”
You looked up at him. “Do you like that idea?”
He met your gaze, something soft flickering behind his eyes. “No.”
You tilted your head. “Why not?”
“Because if we were normal,” he said, “I wouldn’t have seen you split your face open like a flower. Or sprout wings. Or smile after turning into something terrifying. I wouldn’t have seen all the parts of you that are beautiful because they’re impossible.”
Your throat tightened. “You always say the nicest horrifying things.”
“I mean every one of them.”
You turned toward him fully now, your legs folding under you, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. “Do you think we’d still fall in love?” you asked.
He paused. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe we’d never look close enough.”
You nodded slowly, fingers tracing invisible lines over the back of his hand. “Then I’m glad it happened like this.”
He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through yours. “Even if it hurts?” he asked.
You looked up at him, smiling just a little. “Especially because it hurts.”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and grounding. “You know what I think?”
“Hm?”
“I think our pathology isn’t just parasitic. It’s poetic.”
You laughed under your breath. “Are you writing love poems in medical terms now?”
He smirked. “Only when I’m inspired.”
You leaned in and kissed him. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat or need—but about knowing and choosing.
When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead against his.
“I like this version of you,” you whispered. “The one who smiles when I mess with your research notes.”
He chuckled, his voice low in your ear. “And I like this version of you—the one who pretends not to be touched when I leave you notes shaped like protein chains.”
“You thought I didn’t notice?”
“I was hoping you did.”
You smiled. The datapad beside you still read Pathology of Parasites, but under it, someone had added in smaller handwriting—And the ones who survive them together.
The weather was quiet—eerily so.
Outside, the garden swayed gently under a pale morning sky. The another flowers you'd planted weeks ago had begun to bloom in earnest, soft bursts of color dancing in the breeze. Petals fluttered open toward the sun.
Inside, the air was still. Calm. The kind of stillness that didn't last.
Jongseong sat hunched at his lab desk, deep in a web of data. The neural scanner whirred quietly beside him, tracking changes in his cellular rhythms. Graphs rose and fell on the screen. Numbers blurred into pattern. His brow furrowed, fingers flying over the touchscreen, eyes sharp with focus.
The sound of wheels.
Faint at first. Too faint for most ears.
But not his. Jongseong body tensed instinctively.
Wheels. Two vehicles. Tires on gravel. He closed his eyes for a second, counting.
One... two… four sets of footsteps. Three kilometers.
Getting closer.
Jongseong rose from his seat with calculated calm, brushing a hand back through his hair, then pulled off his glasses and set them on the desk. His movements were controlled, but fast. He strode to the reinforced lab door, locking it with practiced ease before tugging a small, folded rug from under the emergency shelf. He draped it over the entry seam, concealing the frame as if it were just a storage hatch, then adjusted a nearby cabinet to further obscure it.
Once satisfied, he stepped back, exhaled sharply, and turned toward the stairs.
By the time he reached the living room, you were already there.
You stood at the edge of the hallway, barefoot on the wooden floor, arms wrapped around Jongjong. The little orange cat was tense in your grip, ears back, tail stiff, sensing the same wrongness that you did. Your eyes met Jongseong’s—and they were wide with fear.
“Who are they?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I heard—cars, and footsteps. They're close.”
Your brow furrowed, panic rising, but Jongseong was already moving toward you. His expression was calm, but you could see the tightness in his jaw. He cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye. “Shhh… don’t be afraid,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “I don’t know who they are. But I’ll protect you.”
You swallowed hard, nodding once, clutching Jongjong closer to your chest.
The knock came sharply. Jongseong froze, he took a slow breath, then stepped forward, unlocking the front door with careful precision, standing just beyond the threshold was a man in a dark-gray uniform, flanked by two others. Another figure stood beside the nearest vehicle, partially obscured.
The man at the door wore a clean, crisp jacket with a silver emblem pinned near the collar. His expression was unreadable, polished. Government.
“Good morning, Dr. Park Jongseong,” the man said evenly. “I’m Lee Heeseung. Task Force Division Five. Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”
Jongseong’s eyes flicked down briefly to the ID badge clipped at the man’s belt, then back up to his face. His features didn’t move.
“I wasn’t aware I was still listed under my former title,” he replied coolly.
Heeseung’s lips twitched into something close to a smirk. “Well, it’s been what… two years since you resigned after your incident. You can imagine it took some digging to find this place.”
He gestured loosely toward the landscape—gravel winding through old pine, the isolation of the hills, the unmarked road that led to nowhere. “Your house is… subtle,” he added. “Almost like you didn’t want to be found.”
Jongseong didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t know that was illegal.”
“It’s not,” Heeseung replied, smile sharpening slightly. “Not yet. But you know how we work—we keep tabs on anyone with a profile like yours. Especially those who survived and then disappeared without a trace.”
“I resigned because I was hospitalized with thirty-five internal injuries,” Jongseong said evenly. “I’m sure you read the files, didn’t you? Spent a few late nights combing through the classified parts?”
Heeseung gave a quiet chuckle. “I skimmed the highlights. They don’t make many survive cases like yours, so you’re... of interest.” His eyes flicked past Jongseong’s shoulder—and landed on you.
You stood near the far end of the hallway, half-visible in the doorway, Jongjong cradled in your arms. You tried to stay still, neutral, but the weight of his gaze made your grip tighten. The kitten stirred with a faint mewl as you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
Heeseung’s head tilted slightly. “Girlfriend?”
There was something in his tone—probing, too casual to be genuine.
“Quite a familiar face,” he added. “I think we flagged her name once. Ran away from home, wasn’t it?”
You swallowed, every muscle in your body tensed beneath your skin.
Jongseong stepped forward, subtly blocking the doorway with his body to cover you. “We’re getting married,” he said flatly.
Heeseung’s brows lifted a fraction, but the smirk never left his face. “Well. Congratulations, then.” His tone made it sound like anything but a blessing.
Jongseong’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
Heeseung’s smile faded slightly. Not gone but tempered. “There’s been parasite movement in this region,” he said. “We’ve been tracking electromagnetic fluctuations coming from your grid. Spike patterns. Irregular heat signatures. Even some satellite interference.”
He paused, studying Jongseong's face for a flicker of reaction that never came. “Nothing conclusive,” Heeseung added, “but... interesting. Enough to warrant a visit.”
Jongseong didn’t flinch. “Congratulations,” he said dryly. “You found a retired doctor with backup power.”
“Maybe.” Heeseung tilted his head slightly. “Or maybe we found a man who’s been hiding something more than outdated diagnostics.”
Jongseong stepped back half a pace—not in retreat, but to take a stronger stance. The door remained open behind him, but his presence filled the threshold like a barricade.
“If you had proof,” he said, voice low, “you wouldn’t be here asking questions.”
Heeseung’s smirk returned. “That’s true. For now.” His eyes flicked to the hallway again—just a second too long, settling on the space where you'd stood before he arrived. His gaze lingered, speculative.
“Thing is,” he continued, tone softening just enough to unsettle, “it’s only a matter of time. Sooner or later, all hosts lose containment. Doesn’t matter how strong they are. Or how careful.”
Jongseong’s jaw flexed. “And if they don’t?” he asked.
Heeseung’s eyes gleamed with the hint of something darker—curiosity, maybe. “Then they become something else. And that’s when they’re really interesting.”
Heeseung stepped back. His smile returned as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small card, placing it gently on the railing beside the door.
“If you ever decide you want to talk,” he said. “I’d be happy to listen.”
Jongseong didn’t respond. He didn’t take the card. Just watched.
Heeseung turned away, nodding once to the officers near the car. As he walked down the steps, his voice carried over his shoulder:
“Take care of your fiancée, Doctor."
The car doors shut with a dull clunk, and the engines rolled back to life.
Jongseong waited until the sound faded completely before closing the door. Not slamming it, just quiet.
The room was still again.
The echo of car engines faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick silence of the woods. But the unease didn’t leave with them. It settled in the corners of the room, in the shadows of the hallway, in the hush of the air itself.
Jongseong stood unmoving for a long moment, staring at the door. Then, slowly, he backed away, step by step, until he reached you.
His voice was low. Bitter. Tired.
“Government’s so fucking fake,” he whispered under his breath. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.
Your body responded before your brain could catch up. Your arms encircled him, clutching Jongjong between you, the little cat still tense, mewing softly with each shift of breath.
You could feel Jongseong’s heart beating faster than usual. Not panic—but calculation. Instinct already grinding into motion.
Your own chest ached with the weight of it. “They’ll raid us,” you said, your voice strained. “You know that, right? It’s just a matter of time.”
“I know,” he murmured into your hair.
He was already thinking, you could feel it in him—muscle memory kicking in, mind running down contingency plans, routes, caches, what to take, what to leave behind. But for one more second, he just held you there, breathing in the moment. Then he pulled back, hands firm but gentle on your shoulders.
“We need to move. Fast.”
You nodded, eyes wide but steady. “Where?”
“There’s a site. Old observatory, two hours east. No power grid, no satellite interference. It’s buried in forest. Abandoned for years.” He was already turning, heading toward the concealed panel in the hallway, the one that led down into the lab. “I used to store backup gear there. We can set up a new node. No one should find us.”
You followed him, Jongjong tucked against your chest, your footsteps light and quick on the floor. Down in the lab, the air was cooler—sterile, humming with faint electricity. But this time, the room didn’t feel like safety. It felt like a ticking clock.
Jongseong moved with swift. He was already pulling storage drives from the mainframe, detaching power cells, collecting physical records. “Grab your scans,” he said without looking. “The ones from last week. The DNA strand with the tertiary mutation—we can’t leave that behind.”
You rushed to the desk, locating the labeled folders, the encrypted drives. “Do we take the entire core?”
“No. Too heavy. Just the segments I isolated in Case File Delta-11. Everything else, we burn.”
You paused, breath caught. “Burn?”
He turned, locking eyes with you. “If they come here, they’re not just looking for us. They’re looking for proof. If they find it, we lose everything.”
You swallowed hard and nodded.
He returned to packing—the slow dismantling of a life that had once felt permanent. The garden. The house. The bed. The scent of tea in the morning and soft footsteps on wood. All of it, now just a risk.
“You’re doing okay?” he asked suddenly.
You looked at him, startled by the question. “What?”
He paused. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m trying not to fall apart,” you said honestly.
Jongseong walked to you, took your hand, laced his fingers through yours. “Then fall apart later. Right now, we survive.”
You blinked fast, refusing to cry, and nodded.
For the next hour, the house came alive with motion You cleared out the bedroom, pulling your few clothes into a duffel bag. Jongseong moved through the kitchen, the basement, the lab—grabbing rations, medical supplies, essential tech. Caches were unlocked from beneath floorboards. Batteries charged.
Jongjong mewed at your heels, sensitive to the sudden shift. You scooped him into a small reinforced carrier, latching the top shut gently as you whispered, “It’s okay, baby. We’re not leaving you.”
When everything was ready—what little they could carry—the rest was rigged.
Jongseong stood by the lab console, thumb hovering over a small interface.
“Are you sure?” you asked softly.
He looked around the room. The whiteboards, the shelves, the soft glow of monitors that had flickered through endless nights of quiet obsession. “I loved this place,” he said. “But it was never meant to last.”
Then he pressed his thumb to the screen. The countdown began: 120 seconds.
He turned to you.
“Let’s go.”
The two of you moved quickly through the trees, boots crunching against the uneven trail that led away from the house. The duffel bags strapped over your shoulders weighed heavy, and Jongjong’s carrier bumped gently against your side as you kept pace with Jongseong. Every breath burned in your chest, lungs tight from urgency, but you didn’t slow.
The road wasn’t far. Behind you, the first hint of black smoke coiled upward into the sky—thin at first, then thicker, darker, alive with the scent of something ending. Chemicals. Plastic. Burnt paper. Memories.
You glanced back once, just once, and saw the roof of the house begin to buckle in the distance, flames licking hungrily through the glass of the greenhouse.
The safehouse was gone.
You turned your face forward again, biting down hard on the grief rising in your throat.
Then, just as you and Jongseong stepped out from the treeline onto the narrow, cracked road, you heard it—engines. Multiple.
Too close.
Jongseong’s hand shot out instinctively, halting you in your tracks as headlights cut across the road ahead. Then another flash of light from behind. The hum of electric motors shifted into full roar as a wall of vehicles emerged from the forest—sleek, matte black, no visible insignia.
One car. Then two. Then four. They encircled you with military precision.
“Fuck,” Jongseong breathed.
Your heart kicked into a sprint.
The tires screeched as the cars completed the circle, trapping you both in the center. Doors slammed. Boots hit gravel. From the trees, two more massive transport trucks rumbled into view—large, reinforced, bearing symbols you didn’t recognize.
Your pulse rang in your ears. Jongjong whimpered inside his carrier.
Around you, agents moved into formation—helmets, rifles, armor too advanced for local law enforcement. These weren’t just military. This was containment.
You felt Jongseong’s hand slip into yours, grounding. His grip was steady, but the tension radiating from him was unmistakable.
They’d come fast. Too fast. Someone had been watching long before Heeseung ever stepped onto the porch. The visit had been a test—a warning disguised as politeness. And now, the real answer had arrived.
Jongseong stood still beside you, his body calm but coiled like a spring. Eyes scanning every angle—counting rifles, reading stance, calculating distance.
“We don’t run,” he said quietly, his voice low and measured.
You nodded, barely. Your mouth had gone dry. Every muscle in your body was buzzing with restrained panic, but his steadiness held you together. Barely.
Then the voice came, amplified by a mounted speaker from one of the armored vehicles ahead.
“Park Jongseong. Parasite host that evolved with retained intelligence. Subject Code 1072. You are surrounded. Surrender peacefully.”
Parasite. Host.
You felt something clench in your chest. They thought Jongseong was gone. That he was nothing but a skin-walker—a parasite wearing his face. They thought he had taken Jongseong’s memories. Not kept them.
And if that’s what they thought of him… what did they think you were? You were both still yourselves. Still human in the ways that mattered. Conscious. Feeling. Choosing. How could they not see that?
It was easier to reduce you to subjects—to codes and categories. It was easier to eliminate anomalies than to understand them.
You flinched as the quiet clicks of safety switches echoed around you. One by one. Like a metronome of dread. The hiss of containment coils charging up, the faint hum of EMP disruptors warming beneath the truck chassis. Cold, impersonal tools built to restrain monsters.
This is it. This is how it ends.
You choked back a cry, your vision blurring with panic, heart jackhammering in your chest.
A hand, warm and steady, wrapped around yours. You looked up instinctively, drawn by that calm pull, and saw Jongseong’s face turned toward you. No fear in his expression.
Only you.
His thumb brushed gently across your skin—once, twice, the motion grounding. His eyes held yours, soft and unwavering, and in them was a message louder than the voice still barking orders from the trucks:
We’ll be alright.
No matter what happened next. Whether they fought, ran, or burned it all down—he would not leave you. Not now. Not after everything.
You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder.
“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said. “I’m not a host. I’m not a parasite."
But they weren’t listening. Before the next breath, the soldiers moved.
Shadows broke from the perimeter—six of them, black-clad, rifles raised, moving with ruthless efficiency. You barely had time to react before they were on you, splitting you apart.
“Jongseong!” you screamed, voice raw, panic lacing. You twisted violently in their grip, but they were trained for this. One of them was already behind you, and then—Cold metal—pressed hard against the back of your skull.
“Do not touch her!” Jongseong roared, voice losing all calm. “I came out here on my own. I’m trying to handle this peacefully—hear me out first!”
“What a nerve for a parasite.”
Heeseung stepped forward from the rear of one of the vehicles, casual as ever, a tablet under one arm and a sleek black coat whipping slightly in the breeze. His expression was between amused and disappointed.
“You know what fascinates me about your kind?” he asked. “You think memory makes you human. That because you remember who you were, that gives you the right to pretend you still are.”
Heeseung smiled thinly, but his eyes were sharp and gleaming. “You’re not a miracle, Park Jongseong. You’re a malfunction. A parasite too stubborn to wipe clean. An error in the code.”
“You’re wrong,” Jongseong said, voice low and shaking with barely-contained rage. “I’m not pretending. I am still me.”
“Oh?” Heeseung lifted an eyebrow, then glanced at you, pinned and trembling. “Then why does your biology say otherwise?”
“This,” Heeseung continued, “is not human. And it never will be again.”
He stepped closer to you now, far too close, gaze crawling over you. His hand reached for your face.
You flinched and Jongseong snapped. “Don’t touch her!” he bellowed. His body tensed, pulsing with barely contained energy, the hybrid signature humming just beneath his skin.
But the soldiers were faster this time. Before he could fully shift, they surged forward, slamming him to the ground with blunt, brutal force. A shriek tore from your throat as metal restraints clamped around his wrists, locking into his nerves with a cruel hiss. Another device—a containment collar—was pressed to the base of his neck and activated with a low whine. It snapped shut, injecting something through the skin.
"No!" you screamed, trying to lunge toward him, but two soldiers seized you by the arms and yanked you back. From the corner of your eye, you saw them dragging Jongseong toward one of the trucks. His head lolled forward, jaw clenched, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But his eyes—his eyes—were still locked on you.
“My cat,” you whispered hoarsely, panic rising in your throat as you clutched the carrier tighter to your chest. The soldiers didn’t stop—they reached for it too.
"Please don’t hurt Jongjong,” you begged, voice cracking as the straps were torn from your hands, the warm weight of the carrier suddenly gone. “Please.”
The truck doors slammed behind Jongseong. Heeseung approached you, boots slow on the gravel, his expression unreadable. You expected amusement, or cold detachment. Instead, he looked… fascinated.
He stopped just in front of you, gaze flicking over your face, then lower, he reached out and plucked a strand of your hair.
You jerked back, but he already had it between his gloved fingers, holding it against the light.
It twitched. A subtle motion, almost imperceptible. The strand pulsed—flexed—like something living beneath the keratin. A ripple of parasite-altered structure, responsive to stress. Adaptable.
Just like Jongseong’s.
“Fascinating,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. You stood rigid, breath shallow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear.
He didn’t need you to speak. He already knew. You moved differently too.
Not like the ones they captured in the early waves—parasites that tore through their hosts in hours, leaving nothing behind but mindless hunger. Those were feral. Primitive. No self-awareness, no identity. They moved in twisted packs, bonded by instinct and survival programming alone.
You showed restraint. Expression. Emotion. A parasite that retained host memories wasn’t unheard of, but this level of cognitive mimicry? This illusion of selfhood? It was advanced. Dangerous.
Heeseung’s gaze flicked toward the truck where Jongseong was being restrained, injected, monitored. Still conscious, still resisting. Still looking at you.
The way you’d screamed for him. The way he’d fought back. The way your bodies moved in sync when threatened, like one half of the same adaptive system.
Heeseung’s brow furrowed faintly as his mind worked. Two parasites. Two separate hosts. And yet—shared behavior, matched speech patterns, mirrored stress responses.
Coordination. There was no record of parasite hosts operating this way.
No. These two were different.
They operated like a bonded system—distinct, but synchronized. Reflexively connected. Conscious units that didn't just act... they adapted. They evolved in tandem.
Like they remembered how to be human.
Heeseung turned from you without another word and walked briskly toward the rear vehicle.
The heavy doors of the transport truck slammed shut behind him with a hollow thud, sealing away the forest light. Inside, the air was sterile and close—metal floors, reinforced paneling, containment restraints bolted to the walls.
Jongseong sat chained at the wrists and ankles to a steel platform welded to the floor. A neural-suppression collar wrapped around the base of his neck, blinking with slow, pulsing red light—designed to keep his nervous system dormant. His breathing was shallow, restrained by the collar’s influence, but his eyes…
His eyes were alert. Fixed on a spot on the floor in front of him, still burning with thought.
The soldier at the rear finished checking the restraints, nodded once to Heeseung, then stepped out, leaving the two of them alone as the engine rumbled to life.
The truck began to move.
Heeseung sat across from him, there was a moment of silence before Jongseong spoke.
“Where did you put her cat?”
He didn’t look up—just stared at the floor, wrists loose in the restraints, posture deceptively relaxed.
Heeseung blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Not a threat. Not a plea. Just calm, focused concern. That tone again. Human, not host mimicry.
“She was worried,” Jongseong continued. “Even when they put a gun to her head. She didn’t cry for herself.”
“Your first question,” he said at last, “after all this—after being tranquilized, collared, contained—is about a cat?”
Jongseong’s jaw shifted slightly. “He’s all she has left."
Heeseung leaned back in his seat, watching him, trying to see where the parasite ended and the man began. “You say that like you care.”
“I do,” Jongseong said simply.
“You’re not supposed to,” Heeseung said flatly. “Parasites don’t care. They consume. They replicate. They preserve function only long enough to blend in and feed. Emotions aren’t in the architecture.”
Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. And when he did, the calm in them unnerved even Heeseung. “Maybe your data’s outdated.”
Heeseung didn’t answer right away.
The collar blinked again—another suppression pulse. Jongseong winced slightly, just a flicker. But the control was slipping.
Jongseong tilted his head. “You think that’s the parasite, don’t you? A mimicry of love?”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” he replied quietly. “It’s something stronger than that. Something your experiments can’t replicate.”
Heeseung watched him for a moment longer, then pulled a tablet from his coat. He tapped the screen once, bringing up a live feed.
On it—your containment cell.
You were seated on a cold bench, hands cuffed, staring at the wall with red-rimmed eyes. Jongjong’s carrier sat in the far corner, intact. The kitten was curled up inside, asleep, breathing shallow but steady.
“She’s safe. For now,” Heeseung said. “As long as you cooperate.”
Jongseong didn’t speak. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes on the screen showing your containment room. The only motion came from his fingers—subtle, rhythmic tension in the knuckles as they flexed against the cuffs around his wrists.
The low rumble of the truck filled the silence between them as the vehicle rolled down the cracked road. The steel walls vibrated faintly with every turn, every bump. The hum of the suppression collar echoed with each pulse, a soft, almost inaudible thrum designed to keep the nervous system in check.
Heeseung sat opposite him, tablet resting on one knee, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.
He was watching him. Heeseung had spent years studying parasite behavior. He’d seen the aftermath of outbreaks, the scorched ruins of cities where hosts turned feral. He’d dissected bodies whose minds had been consumed, hijacked by instinct. He knew how the infection behaved. The timeline. The neurological decay.
Heeseung leaned forward slightly, watching every twitch of the man’s jaw, every micro-movement in the corners of his eyes. There was no vacant, drone-like stillness. No flickering dissonance between body and mind. Jongseong moved with control. With memory.
“Two years,” Heeseung said quietly. “Since your incident.”
Still, no reply.
“No symptoms of degeneration. No neural collapse. No regression to instinctive behavior. Not even a shift unless provoked.”
Heeseung’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Parasites don’t do that.”
“You should’ve lost cognitive function by now,” Heeseung muttered, as if to himself. “Or at least shown instability. But you’re not twitching, not fragmenting. You’re still here.”
Jongseong didn’t answer.
Heeseung studied him harder now. “You responded to pain. But you didn’t lash out. You defended her first. Like you weren’t the one being contained.”
He stood slowly, pacing a step across the cramped transport cabin. “You aren’t fighting for survival like the others. You’re fighting for her. And the cat.” He said the last part with disbelief.
“And even now—with everything shut down inside you—you’re not asking how to escape.” He tapped a knuckle lightly against the wall. “You’re asking about a cat.”
Heeseung exhaled slowly, almost reluctantly, he muttered the thought that had been coiling in the back of his mind since he first saw the two of you together:
“…What if we didn’t catch a parasite?”
Across from him, Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. “You didn’t,” Jongseong said quietly.
His voice was calm. Too calm. It made Heeseung’s spine tighten.
“You didn’t catch a parasite,” he repeated. “You caught me.”
Heeseung turned toward him, narrowing his eyes, the flicker of doubt still not strong enough to override years of indoctrinated procedure. “So what are you then? The host pretending to be alive? Or the thing that took his name?”
“I’m not pretending,” Jongseong said, sitting straighter despite the restraints. “I never stopped being me.”
Heeseung folded his arms, cautious. “Parasites can adapt to memory. Form neural imprints. Replay emotions. It doesn’t mean they feel them.”
“I remember my mother’s voice,” Jongseong said. “The smell of mint in my lab. The first time I stitched a wound clean."
He leaned forward just slightly, eyes locked with Heeseung’s. “Tell me. What kind of parasite chooses restraint?”
Heeseung didn’t answer.
“I should have attacked when you put the collar on,” Jongseong continued. “When you touched her. When you threatened a cat. But I didn’t. Because I still have choice. I still have will. And if I wasn’t me... you’d all be dead.”
Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “That’s not proof of humanity. It’s control.”
“It’s both,” Jongseong said. “That’s what you can’t see. You’ve been fighting a war against an infection—but you never stopped to consider that maybe, some of us… integrated.”
Jongseong nodded once. “Symbiosis. On a level your science hasn’t reached yet. Our cells merged. Our minds remained intact. Not corrupted."
The idea clawed at the edge of his discipline. It wasn’t just unorthodox—it was heretical in the field of parasite containment.
“This isn’t a theory we can test,” Heeseung muttered, as much to himself as to Jongseong. “There’s no model for what you’re describing. No neural map that explains how host and parasite can both retain identity—”
“Because you’ve never looked,” Jongseong cut in. “You see symptoms. You don’t see survival. You isolate, contain, and kill before you understand.”
Heeseung stopped, and look at him again. “Why her?” he asked again, softer this time. “Why protect her like that?”
Jongseong’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because I love her. Not because the parasite remembers it. Because I do."
Heeseung was silent, the silence between them thickened.
“If you're going to cut us open, then leave her out of it. I’ve already run my bloodwork. The cells in our systems—they’re nearly identical. If you need a subject, take me.”
Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You’re admitting you’re infected.”
“I’m saying I know more about what’s happening inside me than you ever will,” Jongseong said. “I’ve seen the mutation pathways. I’ve watched how the parasite interacts with host DNA. It doesn’t consume. Not in our case. It synchronizes. Rewrites with us, not over us.”
“You expect me to believe this is some kind of... biological partnership?”
“I don’t care if you believe it,” Jongseong said coolly. “I care if you let her live.”
Heeseung stood motionless, his fingers tightening slightly over the edge of his tablet. His mind clearly spinning, trying to stitch logic back together with a theory that had no precedent, no documented case, no rules.
Then a sudden bang was heard at the front of the transport.
The front of the transport jolted sideways, metal groaning as something massive rammed into the vehicle’s outer shell. Jongseong’s head snapped up, his body jerking violently against the restraints. The suppression collar flared with a pulse of light as it tried to regulate the surge in his nervous system.
But instinct was already rising. From deep in his bones, something ancient and sharpened stirred.
Warning sirens shrieked from the cockpit, pulsing red light flooding the interior. A violent, inhuman screech tore through the walls of the transport, piercing and layered with a sound that no natural throat could make.
Heeseung spun toward the back, eyes wide, gun already in hand as static exploded over the comms.
“—under attack—Sector Four breached—multiple signatures—non-registered forms—”
Then: silence. The comm cut out with a sharp burst of static.
Another impact—closer now.
The left panel of the truck ripped open, jagged claws punching through the hull. The interior sparked, wires torn from the wall. Screams erupted outside, brief, panicked, human—and were immediately silenced.
Gunfire flared, distant and fast. Then stopped. The truck screeched to a halt. Everything inside shuddered.
Jongseong’s breathing slowed. His pupils dilated. A sharp ringing started in his ear, piercing and constant. A signal. An echo. He knew that sound. The ferals were here.
Heeseung backed toward the wall, cursing under his breath, eyes darting toward the ruptured seams of the truck. “Shit—ferals. We’re not the only ones who tracked your signal.”
The vehicle hissed, locking down in emergency containment mode, blast doors grinding into place—but it wouldn’t hold.
It never held against evolved ferals.
A voice crackled in over the emergency channel, panicked and distorted.
“They’re cutting through the outer convoy—unit integrity compromised—blades—gods, their heads—!”
Heeseung turned toward the hatch with frantic precision, slamming a hand against the biometric reader. It blinked red.
Denied. Lockdown protocol in effect.
He snarled and spun toward one of the soldiers just as they dropped in from the front cabin, blood on their chest armor.
“What the hell are they doing here?!” Heeseung barked, breath ragged.
The soldier stumbled forward, panting. “We were being tracked. They're grouped, coordinated. They sensed the suppression signals. We were too focused on the subject—on capturing him—we didn’t see them grouping up!”
Heeseung’s face twisted, horror blooming beneath the sweat on his brow. He hit the external door override and shoved it open.
The wind roared in—along with the sharp scent of blood and ozone. He stepped out onto the highway and stopped cold.
The road was carnage.
Vehicles overturned. Trucks in flames. Smoke coiling into the sky. The asphalt was smeared with streaks of red. Civilian cars had been caught in the chaos, crumpled in the crash zone, some still running. The sound of alarms blared faintly beneath the screams.
And all around them—parasites. Dozens of them.
Moving in brutal synchronicity. Their heads had split open, revealing rows of blade-like bone and twitching sensory tissue, extending into curved, serrated weapons. Limbs bent at impossible angles. Some crawled low, others leapt over crushed vehicles.
One slammed a containment soldier into a guardrail, slicing through armor like foil. Another dragged someone beneath a flipped transport, the sound that followed barely human.
“Fuck!” Heeseung shouted. “We’re on a highway! Civilians are here!”
He watched as one parasite tore through a family vehicle. And suddenly, Heeseung understood the truth he’d ignored for too long:
While the government hunted for anomalies, the real parasites were already evolving—together.
"Jongseong!" Your voice cut through the gunfire, the sirens, the screeching metal—and Jongseong’s body reacted instantly.
His head snapped up, muscles tensing, eyes blown wide with instinct. The suppression collar hissed against his neck, trying to contain the surge of parasitic activity pulsing beneath his skin, but it was failing—overloaded by the ambient energy from the ferals outside. He pulled against the restraints, harder than before, the reinforced cuffs groaning.
Heeseung spun, eyes wide, curse caught in his throat as he raised his pistol again and fired into a cluster of parasites tearing through the defensive line.
Shots rang out, shells clinking against the scorched metal floor. Smoke billowed from one of the downed trucks. The soldiers had formed a defensive circle around the transport, rifles raised, trying desperately to hold position. Their formation was tight focused on protecting the anomaly inside.
But they didn’t see you. Your form moved like a blur—inhumanly fast—leaping across the crushed hood of a nearby vehicle. Metal dented under your weight as you sprang upward, hair whipped by the wind, eyes burning.
“How the hell—” one soldier stammered. “How did she escape containment?”
Another parasite lunged toward you, its jaw split wide in three directions, blade-arms drawn back to strike—but you twisted mid-air, your arm morphing as it flared into a winged shield, catching the creature mid-swipe and launching it backward with a bone-cracking crash.
You landed hard on the ground, crouched and panting, blood spattered on your cheek but your eyes were locked forward.
“Get away from him!” you screamed, your voice tore through the cacophony.
More soldiers had arrived—reinforcements spilling onto the blood-slick highway, shouting over their comms, rifles raised, movements tight and confused. But they couldn’t keep formation. They couldn’t keep up.
The parasites were everywhere crawling over the wreckage, tearing through armor. Heads split in jagged, serrated formations. Limbs bent backward, adapted for slicing, climbing, killing.
Heeseung stood in the center, spinning in place, trying to process it all.
Too fast. Too many. His team was trained for containment, not war.
“Sector is compromised—” a soldier barked through the radio before his voice was swallowed in static and a wet, bone-snapping crunch nearby.
All around him, his men were falling. One circle formation collapsed entirely, parasites tearing through the armored bodies within seconds. Another squad tried to regroup behind the burning transport, but were picked off before they even knelt.
Heeseung turned, frantic, searching for something to ground the moment. His eyes locked on you again.
You were in the open now—half-covered in smoke and ash, crouched behind a twisted heap of steel. Your breath was ragged, chest heaving, your once-formed wing-arm flickering with strain. Bone pushed through skin, not cleanly. It was raw. Exhausted. Overused.
You lifted your hand again but it refused to hold shape. Too many eyes.
The soldiers had seen you, so had the parasites.
And now everyone was targeting you. They didn’t care if you were like them or not—they only knew you weren’t theirs.
Gunfire cracked again, a warning shot grazing the steel beside your head. You ducked, eyes wide, hand burning as it twisted, half-shifting into something between claw and shield.
“Jongseong!” you cried out, breath shattering on his name. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but he felt you.
Body twisting against the chains as the parasite beneath his skin surged upward. The steel groaned. Jongseong’s wrists ripped free from the restraints in a burst of heat and sound. Sparks rained down as his hands—half-shifted now, gleaming with dark, fluid armor—tore the collar from his neck with a violent crack, tossing it against the wall where it exploded in a flash of white.
One leap carried him from the open truck, landing on shattered pavement just a few meters from you. Smoke curled from his shoulders. The wreckage of the convoy burned behind him. But he wasn’t looking at the fire.
He was looking at you.
“Stay back!” one of the soldiers shouted, stepping into his path.
Another raised a weapon and then they shot him.
The crack of the rifle echoed.
A high-velocity round tore into Jongseong’s back, slamming into the base of his spine, his arms dropped slightly.
And that’s when something inside you snapped.
The sound of the bullet, the sight of him being hit—again—sent a wave through your chest that wasn’t fear.
"No!" Something inside you responded. Your ears rang—not from the gunshot, but from a deeper frequency. Like pressure under water, like something old and waiting inside your blood suddenly woke up.
Heeseung saw the shift too late.
“No! Hold your fire!” he shouted, voice cracking as he pushed through the chaos, waving his arm wildly at the squad still taking aim. “Cease fire—stand down!”
Jongseong’s body hit the pavement hard, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat. The bullet had struck at the base of his spine—the most sensitive part of his body, where parasite and host tissue merged deepest. His limbs trembled, nerves crackling like snapped wires. The world around him blurred.
Sound fractured. Vision swam. But even through the fog, his body moved.
He forced one arm forward, dragging himself across the cracked asphalt, blood trailing behind him. Grit tore into his palms. Every movement lit his back. He had to reach you.
His breath hitched, when he looked up and saw you.
You were standing amidst the ruin, body trembling, chest rising, your head is split. Down the center, your skull had begun to peel open, petals of bone and skin folding back in a horrifying symmetry.
Inside, the interior of your skull pulsed with living tissue—luminous, intricate, organic architecture sculpted into motion. The folds moved, shimmering with pale bioluminescence beneath layers of exposed membrane. Thorned tendrils extended into the air, twitching like antennae, reaching in all directions—reading everything.
You weren’t looking at anyone. You were looking at everything.
And anything that moved was a target.
Jongseong watched, breath stuttering in his throat as he pushed himself to his feet, limping, wounded, bleeding, but still moving toward you.
“No…” he whispered, his voice frayed with pain. “Please—look at me.”
But your head remained split open, the sensory limbs on full alert, searching, flinching, vibrating with threat-perception. You were caught in something deeper than instinct. Something merged. Not fully parasite. Not fully human.
Hybrid rage.
He saw your hands flex—one already reshaped into a half-scythe, twitching.
His steps faltered. You didn’t recognize movement anymore. Only motion. Only danger.
And that’s when a memory crashed through him.
“If I stop choosing?” you asked him, voice fragile, small in the silence of your shared bed. “If I lose myself?”
He cupped your face and smiled faintly, "remember what I said when we first met?"
"I’ll stop you,” he said.
Jongseong staggered closer, lifting a hand.
“Come back to me,” he whispered, blood dripping from his fingers. “It’s me, remember? You asked me to stop you. But I know you’re still in there.”
Your tendrils twitched, one sweeping dangerously near his face. Another moved to your back—coiling instinctively, ready to strike anything that came close.
He didn’t move faster. He moved slower. One step at a time. No aggression. No sudden gestures. Just presence.
Your exposed mind pulsed again, recognition flickering across the movement sensors.
The rage inside you paused.
Jongseong was right there, wounded and reaching. His hand stretched toward you, fingers trembling, eyes full of you.
You saw him. He saw you.
For a moment, the chaos faded beneath the ringing in your head. The rage had cracked open, flared, and then wavered. The kill-reflex that had overtaken you flickered like a faulty circuit. Jongseong was there—his body broken, bleeding, limping toward you, arms out like he wasn’t afraid. And you weren’t afraid either.
He was calling you back. You could feel it in the weight of his gaze, in the tremble of his voice, in the way he said your name like it still belonged to a person, not a monster.
But the world never gave you time to breathe.
“Target in range!” came the voice, sharp and too close.
A soldier burst through the smoke to the left of the wreckage, rifle raised, armor streaked with ash. He’d broken rank. His orders were panic now, and his eyes were locked not on you—but on Jongseong.
He didn’t see the moment between you.
He saw a parasite protecting another parasite. He pulled the trigger.
And the world snapped back into motion.
Your body reacted faster than thought. Your limbs twisted with violent precision, burning pain ripping through your shoulders as tendrils re-flared wide. The trajectory of the bullet was instant, and so was your movement. You lunged—not toward the soldier, but toward Jongseong.
The shot rang out.
It hit you in the side of the head. The force snapped your body mid-leap, the angle of your descent faltering as the impact twisted your momentum. You crumpled in the air, before collapsing into Jongseong’s arms.
He didn’t process it at first. His mind refused to.
He had just seen your face—your eyes, focused and full of something fierce. You’d moved to shield him. You had chosen. And now your weight was in his arms, limp, warm, and wrong.
Jongseong’s eyes widened, his pupils blown wide as your body hit him. You slid into his chest, your limbs folding over him.
“No—” The word broke from him. Your blood was already pooling in his lap, hot and thick, soaking through the front of his shirt.
Your head lolled against his shoulder, and for one breathless, agonizing moment, he thought it was over. That whatever part of you had held on through mutation and fear had finally let go.
Then, you moved.
Your fingers twitched against his chest, searching weakly, as though your body still knew him. As though your nerves had memorized where he was. His hand flew to your cheek, cradling your face, feeling the fresh, searing heat of the wound just above your brow, where the bullet had grazed—not pierced—just grazed, carving a shallow line along the temple instead of burrowing deep.
It hadn’t gone through.
It hadn’t gone through.
“Hey—hey,” Jongseong whispered, his voice trembling as his thumb brushed away the blood streaking down the side of your face. “Stay with me. Look at me. Come on, open your eyes.”
You stirred faintly in his arms, eyes fluttering open halfway. Blurry. Unfocused. One pupil dilated, the other slow to respond. Your breathing came shallow, uneven. But you were still there.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, slurred. “You were in the way.”
Tears welled in Jongseong’s eyes, stinging hot. “You think I care about that?” he said, a bitter laugh breaking through his grief. “You shouldn’t be protecting me. I’m supposed to protect you. That was the deal. That was the whole damn deal.”
Your mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “We keep switching places.”
He let out a breath—part sob, part laugh—and pulled you tighter against him, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of this. Just don’t close your eyes, okay?”
Around you, the world was still burning.
The smoke curled through the air, lit red by fire and violence. Parasites clashed with soldiers. Screams rose and fell. Metal groaned as the transport vehicles burned. But inside this circle, there was only the two of you.
Jongseong cradled your body close, arms trembling, holding you. You were breathing but just barely, and each breath was a battle. Your eyes were open, unfocused, but searching only for him.
“I said hold your fucking gun!” Heeseung’s voice tore through the smoke, sharp and furious. He stormed forward, boots crunching glass and debris.
But halfway there, he froze. A small, unmistakable sound pierced the tension.
"Meow."
Heeseung blinked, momentarily disarmed.
Out from behind a crushed tire, padding softly on tiny feet, came the orange kitten. Its fur was matted with soot, but it was unharmed. It limped slightly, dazed but determined, weaving its way across the field of bodies and broken machines. It meowed again, louder this time, heading straight toward the two figures curled together on the ground.
Heeseung watched, stunned.
The kitten crawled into the small space between your arms and Jongseong’s chest, nudging at your hand until your fingers curled faintly around its fur. A soft sound escaped your lips—almost a sob. Jongseong let out a broken breath, head bowed low, tears trailing silently down his blood-streaked face.
Heeseung had seen hundreds of parasite cases. Dissections. Failures. Living corpses. He’d seen what it looked like when something wore a human face like a mask.
They weren’t mimicking emotion.
They were feeling it.
And suddenly, something cracked in him. Maybe it was the way Jongseong hadn’t fought back. Maybe it was the way you had shielded him without hesitation. Or maybe it was the cat—meowing stubbornly like it belonged in this hell, like it belonged to someone who mattered.
Heeseung turned away. “Take them to the hospital,” he said gruffly. "Now.”
The remaining soldiers hesitated. He turned his head slightly, eyes hard. “They are just normal beings. You hear me?”
The sun was bright—too bright, almost unreal after everything. You lay on your back in the grass, eyes half-lidded, your arm stretched above your head as your fingers tried to catch the warmth. The heat soaked into your skin that reminded your body it was still alive.
The breeze danced lightly across your face, carrying the scent of earth and new flowers. Birds chirped somewhere distant, lazy and indifferent to what the world had gone through.
For once, it was quiet.
Jongseong dropped down beside you, his breath soft as he settled into the grass. His shoulder brushed against yours.
“You’re happy?” he asked, you turned toward him, giggling gently as you scooted closer, resting your head against his arm until your nose touched the soft fabric of his shirt.
“Yes,” you whispered, eyes closing. “The house you bought has neighbors. Real ones. I hear them laughing sometimes through the trees.”
You let your hand slide down into the grass, brushing over a patch of tiny purple flowers that had just begun to open. “The flowers are blooming again,” you added.
You felt his arm slide under your neck, pulling you gently into him. The warmth of his chest against your back. The sound of his heart, steady and strong.
“You’re blooming again too,” he said quietly, lips brushing the top of your hair. You smiled, tucking yourself in closer, your fingers playing absently with the hem of his shirt.
“I talked to my mother,” you said after a pause, voice barely more than a breath.
Jongseong tensed slightly behind you, just surprise. His fingers paused mid-stroke along your arm.
“They cried,” you continued, your voice catching somewhere between joy and guilt. “Not because I ran… but because I was alive. Still me. I don’t think they fully understand what I’ve become, but they—believed me. That was enough.”
“That’s more than most people get,” he said softly. “More than I thought either of us would get.”
You turned just enough to look up at him over your shoulder, your cheek still resting on his chest. “They asked about you too, you know.”
He smiled faintly. “What’d you tell them?”
“That you were the reason I came back. That you weren’t a monster. That you were the most human thing left in the world.”
He didn’t answer that. Just held you tighter.
The breeze passed again, ruffling his hair, and for a few long moments, you stayed like that.
“I… got a job offer.”
You blinked, lifting your head slightly. “A job?”
He nodded. “From the Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”
You sat up just a bit, your brow furrowing as you turned toward him. “Huh? That doesn’t even make sense—they tried to kill us. You think they won’t dissect you the moment you scan wrong on their monitors?”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Not this time. Heeseung vouched for me.”
You stared at him. “The guy who raided your house and locked me in a steel box?”
Jongseong gave a small shrug, like he was still trying to believe it himself. “He said watching us changed something. That they need people who understand—not just destroy. Someone who’s walked both sides.”
You exhaled slowly, processing that. “And… do you trust him?”
“No,” he said honestly. “But I trust myself.”
You looked at him, eyes soft but filled with worry. “I don’t want to lose this. What we have. What we made.”
“You won’t,” he said, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “I won’t let them take that. I just… I want to be part of shaping what comes next. So no one else has to live like we did.”
You were quiet for a moment, then reached up and ran your fingers through his hair.
“So…” you murmured with a crooked smile, “I’ll just be the one staying home? Waiting for you to come back from your mysterious, morally ambiguous government job?”
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”
You shrugged, teasing. “I don’t know. I was hoping for something a little more… exciting.”
Jongseong’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing between yours gently. “Then marry me,” he said.
You blinked. “W-What?”
He turned slightly onto his side to face you, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand. His voice didn’t shake. His eyes didn’t stray.
“Marry me,” he repeated, lips still brushing your skin. “Not because it’s perfect. Not because we’re normal. But because we survived. Because I want to spend every day I have left choosing you again.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You sat up slowly, stunned, the words echoing louder now in the silence between you. The wind quieted. Even the trees seemed to hush.
“You’re serious,” you whispered.
He sat up with you, his face close now, eyes full of something more vulnerable than fear. “I don’t know how long this peace will last. But I know I want to build something with you. Something that no one can take from us. Not science. Not governments. Not even time.”
You laughed. “You idiot,” you said, tears in your eyes. “You didn’t even bring a ring.”
He smiled. “You’d say no if I did?”
You shook your head, laughing again through the tears. “No.”
Then quieter, as your hand pressed to his chest, you whispered:
“Yes.”
And when he kissed you this time, it was full of sunlight and the sound of blooming things.
“Pathology of Parasites.”
The words glowed dimly on the top corner of Jongseong’s datapad screen, the title of a document he’d first created over two years ago.
Rows of categorized data: genome sequencing, mutation rates, cellular instability markers. Diagrams of parasite-host binding sites. Bone marrow compatibility. Immune rejection cycles. Timelines of when the parasite first entered his nervous system. His own handwriting, still neat back then, filled the digital margins—observations in shorthand, notes from sleepless nights.
Date: March 4
Neurological sensitivity peaked at 3:21 AM. No external triggers. Breathing accelerated. Controlled.
Note: Dreamed in third person again. Strange.
But the pages had changed with time.
What began as cold, methodical data shifted the moment you entered his life. Your name didn’t appear at first. Then it did.
“Unconfirmed bond pattern. Same cellular merging. Same control.”
But eventually, it wasn’t numbers anymore. He'd begun sketching you—rough outlines in the corner of the file margins. Not parasite diagrams. Just you. The curve of your jaw when you smiled. The ripple of your morphing wing when light hit it just right. The split of your skull the first time you showed him what you really were—and how he still found you beautiful.
More files were added. Pages documenting the moments no microscope could capture:
“She laughed while watering the flowers today. Her breathing pattern returned to baseline immediately afterward. Possibly tied to emotional regulation.”
“Her T-cells adapted faster than mine. She smells like copper and summer rain when she’s shifting. No documented reason. Just… her.”
The datapad buzzed faintly beneath his fingertips. He sat in the quiet of his study, your silhouette just visible through the open window—standing in the garden, laughing at Jongjong as the cat tried to chase a butterfly it would never catch.
Jongseong looked down at the title again.
Pathology of Parasites.
He stared at it for a long time. Then, slowly, he raised a finger and tapped on the word Pathology.
He highlighted it, then deleted it to typed something else.
warnings: BDSM, unsafe sex (don't copy them), dacryphilia, begging, brat, POV, rough sex, daddy dom!Jay, loud af, dubcon
Chapter 8 - Try It On You
Now, it was your turn to avoid Jay. How could you not? The guy fucked another girl while burning a hole through all three layers of your skin and soul with his searing gaze. If the grannies managed to pick up on your wary behavior, so did Jay. And this is all according to his plan. Now that you were keeping your distance, he got to revel in watching you tremble at the mere sight of him from afar.
You started timing your grocery runs like a military op. You'd peek through the peephole, wait an extra minute after hearing his boots clunk past the hallway, then sprint down the stairs with your keys gripped like a weapon. Evelyn once caught you frozen behind the stairwell door, whispering a confused, "Sweetheart, are you hiding from someone?" You gave her a thin smile. "No one, just pretending I'm invisible. That's all."
The mailboxes became your personal hell. God forbid your letters came after 6 p.m.—Jay always checked his mail around then, lingering in the corridor like he owned the place. So, you stopped checking yours. Weeks piled up. Rosie thought it was just youthful irresponsibility, but you knew better. It was easier to miss a bill than to risk seeing his smirk.
You even began avoiding the Wednesday knitting circles—not because you gave a damn about yarn, but because Flor insisted on hosting them in the common lounge. And Jay knew it. He'd walk by, shirt half-buttoned, humming low, casual. Like your pain was background noise. And if your name came up in passing, his voice would always cut through the chatter with that maddening calm; "Oh? She still lives here?" Thought she moved out. As if he didn't literally own the building and know all your activities.
Once, you caught a glimpse of him by the laundry room, back turned, white shirt loose over his frame. You bolted, basket still full, making up a lie about needing detergent. You could feel him smiling even though you didn't look back. He thrived in the silence, in the way your footsteps changed when he was near—faster, clumsier, scared.
Gale offered to drop off some muffins at your door and you nearly begged her not to. "He'll see you," you whispered, like it was a curse. "Who?" she blinked, genuinely confused. You didn't answer. How could you explain that Jay wasn't just someone you avoided—he was a gravitational pull you were actively resisting, teeth gritted, heart bruised?
And still, he watched. Through cracked doors, behind the railings of the third floor, always just close enough to remind you he was there. He didn't need to chase you. You were already running. And in his twisted little world, that was more than enough.
Every time you lay in your bed, the seething memories of that night kept blocking your path to dreamland. It was as if you could still hear the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. Jay's quiet grunts, and the gasps and shudders of that lady. She looked like she was having the best dick of her life.
Gosh, you wanted what she was having. Not just the dick, but the whole person wielding it. No matter how much you tried to detach yourself, Jay had this magnetic pull that apparently only affects you. And it frustrated you to no end.
Gale was wrong about what she said, by the way. He did come around and was clearly ready—to drive you to insanity, that is. Not to forgive you. That man was doing everything in his power to slither into the tightest and deepest crevices of your brain and conquer it. If he did have a soft spot for you as Gale assured, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it.
Every time you think you've outrun it, every time you believe you're finally free, something pulls you back in. It’s not even a physical thing—he doesn’t need to touch you, doesn’t need to lay a finger on your skin. His presence alone is enough to strip you bare, to make you feel exposed in ways you’ve never felt before. Jay. That damn name. That damn person.
How does he do it? How does he always find a way to weave himself into every moment of your day, even when you’re not looking for him? It’s like he’s a shadow that lingers, hovering just on the edge of your thoughts, always threatening to consume you. You can’t even breathe without feeling the weight of him pressing against you, suffocating you in your own skin.
It’s the way he looks at you—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, like he’s aware of the effect he has. That stare of his, that burning, unrelenting gaze that makes your pulse race even though you know you should be running in the opposite direction. You tell yourself you hate it, that you hate how much you crave his attention, how much you want to be seen by him. But you don’t. You crave it more than you can bear to admit. You crave it in the quietest parts of you, the parts you try to keep locked away, the parts you don’t want him to touch.
It’s not just the way he looks at you, though. It’s the way he exists in your space, in your life. He doesn’t need to be loud or overt. He doesn’t need to chase you down or beg for your attention. He’s content to just be there, in the background, always present, always looming. He knows it drives you crazy. He knows that the simple act of him being near is enough to unravel you.
God, how did it all get this way? How did you let him get under your skin? It’s not like you haven’t tried to avoid him. You’ve been hiding. You’ve been running, trying to outrun whatever part of you still wants him, still yearns for him. You time your grocery runs like a military operation. You check the peephole before you even think about leaving the apartment. You make sure you’re never caught in a hallway with him. You avoid the common areas, the places where he might be, where he might look at you with that damn, knowing gaze.
But you can’t keep running forever.
Even when you think you’re safe, he finds a way to slip back into your head, into your heart. He doesn’t even need to speak. His presence is enough to make your skin hum with anticipation, to make your stomach churn with the memories of what you used to have, or what you thought you had. And now? Now all that’s left is this ache—this unbearable, gnawing ache in your chest that won’t go away, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.
What are you doing to yourself? Why do you let him do this to you? Why do you let yourself feel this way? You hate it. You hate that you want him, that a part of you still craves the way he used to touch you, the way he used to hold you. The way his hands felt like they were meant to be on you, like they belonged there.
But it’s not just the touch. It’s the way he made you feel like you were the only one in the world that mattered. You were everything to him, or at least that’s what you thought. But now you know better, don’t you? Now you know that all he wanted was to break you, to watch you fall apart and then stand there, cold and detached, and act like it was all just a game to him.
That’s what hurts the most, isn’t it? The realization that everything you thought you had was a lie. He never cared the way you did. He never saw you the way you saw him. And now, every time you look at him, you see the proof of it—the way he moves on without a second thought, the way he doesn’t need you the way you need him. It stings. It fucking stings.
You hate that you still care. You hate that you still feel this pull toward him, this desperate need to have him see you, to have him want you again. But you won’t let him. You won’t let yourself fall back into that trap, into that mess of emotions that he so easily twisted and distorted. You can’t. You won’t.
But even as you say it, you know it’s a lie.
You’ll never be free of him. Not as long as you keep letting him live in your head. Not as long as you keep pretending that you’re okay, that you’ve moved on. Because you haven’t. And you probably never will.
UGH I FUCKING HATE HIM.
Oh, who are you kidding. He was purposely torturing you with all this free space and jealousy, yet you still wanted him. Badly. His little stunt was supposed to shove your desire for him back in the shadows, but all it seemed to do was pry it to the surface, now more than ever. And you alone, were left to suppress yourself and deal with the damages Jay caused. And somehow, you didn't mind.
The grannies where beginning to be concerned about you, considering how active you were in the community. Now, you barely left your flat—for reasons you absolutely could not share. You couldn't just disclose the fact that you've been gooning nonstop because of Jay, after all.
Your lack of explanation only worsened the grannies' fears, so they pressured Jay into checking up on you, since both of you were around the same age, they thought you'll have an easier time opening up to him. Blissfully unaware that he was, in face, the reason why you haven't been stepping foot out the apartment to touch grass. You were touching something else. You were racing your frantic, sweaty hands all over your pleasure points; your breasts, your mounds of Venus, your tits, you clit, your tits, your holes, did I mention your tits?
Based on what you've read on his diary, Jay was definitely a tits guy.
And you tried your best to mimic all the ways he'd abuse them, using his staggeringly detailed stories as a guidebook. Lubing up your fingers with your spit, spreading it all over your perky nibbles, then twisting and pulling at it mercilessly. The sensation traveled all the way to your pussy, making it pulse and clench around nothing. You wished it had something—someone to clamp on, though.
That someone was currently advancing his way to your room slowly, after being forced to, landing a few curt knocks on your main door, he was met with silence. As if you had no intention of knowing who was beyond the door—and you didn't. You were too caught up in daydreaming about Jay taming the beast that is, your desire. Your horniness.
It's quite ironic. You thought of him as this horny ass guy who wrote about his experiences so in any case he'd forget all the orgasms he had, he had something to remind him of all the sensations.
Anyway, by this point, Jay began to get irritated because he hadn't heard a peep come from inside your door at all. He knew the grannies would not stop pestering him about your well-being, so he had to at least know you're not dead in there. One statement from you should be enough. And then it's back to condemning you with neglect.
That was the plan, but little did he know, it was about to go downhill soon.
He circled around to the other side of the flat, where the door to the BDSM room was tucked away. Unlocking it as stealthily as he could, he creeped into the room and to the concealed door that led to the hallway separating your bedroom from the kitchen. Why the hell am I trying to be quiet?
Pulling the door, he made his way and noticed how the entrance to your bedroom was open. That wasn't the only thing he took note of—you were definitely here. Your soft moans breached his ears the moment he set foot in here. When he came to process what he was hearing, that's when he also caught a whiff of the smell of sex. Messy, hot sex and the sinful, squelching sounds of a wet pussy being pounded to oblivion.
He didn't hesitate to march right up to your room. It was practically beckoning— no. begging him to come inside. And there you were, sprawled up on your bed, as 3 of your fingers plunged in and out with such vigor. He was basking in how slick your pussy looked, when your hand jolted and came to hault—pulling out with a very audible whine erupting from you. It seemed you finally realized that there was someone else in the room.
Propping yourself up on your elbows and crossing you legs in a desperate and futile attempt to cover what he has already seen, you screeched. "W-what the hell are you doing in my room?!" Your pulse quickened at the smile that spread on his face as he strode to your bed.
A calloused hand ran up from your foot to your raised knees, which he gently lowered. And you let him. Your breath staggered, "J-jay..?"
"Look at you trying to deal with yourself like this.. so wet and ready to be bred, but with no dick to satiate your heat." His hand trailed from your knee to your thing, the finally to your still pulsating heat, tapping on it a few times, then blowing on it. "Tell, what was in your mind while you were fucking yourself"
His eyes finally met yours. He held the look of condescension and cockiness on his face, and it irked you. You huffed but made no effort to stop his wandering hand. Raising a brow at your deliberate ostracism. "Choosing to ignore me, no?"
"A self-destructing course of action when you're literally letting me feel your pussy up you know." He leaned down to your face, and when you thought your lip were about to crash against one another, his head pivoted to your ear. "I have an offer."
A trap. You knew it was. But it piqued your interest. As hard as it was to focus on what he was saying when his hot breath fanned your sensitive ears, you tried.
"If you tell me your fantasies.. I'll make them come true."
Score. Your eyes lit up as you heard his words.
Fuck the plan, he thought.
"So, we got a dea—" You." You didn't even let him finish when you blurted out.
Perplexed, Jay looked at you, who continued. "I've been having so many fantasies of you...you keep leaving me traces or just flat-out hints of your sex life, even letting me actually see you in action, and it gets me so riled up sitting through all of them, knowing you have interest in letting me have a taste. And honestly...fuck you for that."
Your sudden rant both stunned and humored Jay as he lets out another one of those ridiculously attractive chuckles of his. The reverberations of his voice felt so much more intense, given your proximity.
It was your turned to be stunned by his next words.
"Want me to use them on you?"
It was always this back and forth; cat and mouse game between the two of you. Shots backfiring at each other, every time.
Without missing a beat, you nod all too quickly. Then, like a bolt from the blue, Jay lips finally came in contact with yours. He tasted sweet... it was a familiar taste. And you had this sudden itch in your brain to figure out what that taste was—by pushing your tongue in his wet cavern and exploring it. He reciprocated with 10 times more passion though, practically devouring your face as he kissed back.
His hands fled from your and to your legs, wrapping them around his hips as he carried you to the room without breaking the kiss at all. When his knees touched the edge of the bed, he gently let you down.
You wanted to prolong the kiss, savoring his taste as much as you can when he pulled away, setting a hand on your chest and guiding you to lay on your back. Then he stood up and headed for the closet, leaning over his shoulder to ask you, "What toy do you tend to play with yourself with?"
An abundant level of blood rose to your cheeks as you meekly pointed to the pink one you used the first time you've snuck in here. After picking out a few other toys, Jay came back you and planted a sweet peck on your forehead. "Wait here, I'll wash this real quick." You nodded, not finding it within you to disobey him.
You thought he was about to leave when he leaned back up, but he grabbed at your arms—which was already sneaking its way down to your core. "You are not going to touch this pussy the entire time I'm gone, alright? If I find these pretty little fingers of yours anywhere near this cunt by the time I get back, you're getting punished."
That was the last thing he said—no, threatened to you before he left the room.
You wanted to disobey him, but as you heard the sound of his footsteps descend into your bathroom, the aching need from your cunt amplified. You tried to just rub your legs together, but the friction it provided did nothing to soothe your heat, so after much deliberation, you gave in, swept your panties to the side—you can't be bothered to take it off— and gave your clit a light smack before shoving a finger back into your sopping wet hole.
It felt so nice and warm, almost like it belonged there. To elevate the pleasure, you sent a hand to your breast and started kneading it.
You didn't get much of a chance to relieve yourself any further when Jay came back from his trip to clean the toy he was supposed to use on you. You weren't fast enough to pull your fingers out on time, and he caught it.
"You just couldn't wait, huh?" His eyes darkened, inching closer to the bed and tossing the toys aside, he grabbed at your arms and held it up, inspecting your pruned fingers, then looking you in the eye and shoving them inside your mouth.
Once he yanked them out, your lips curled into this wicked smile. "You having a laugh?" taunted Jay. You were too excited by the mere thought of being punished physically and sexually. A damn good time, and here he's trying to threaten you with it? You fought off the urge to say the infamous line and opted to just bite your lips instead to hold back. "I'll be sure to wipe that smile off that cute face of yours."
"Do it then, JJ."
Raising a brow at your words, he laid the toys out on the table next to the bed, and you caught sight of the long, black and red ropes that tangled among the toys. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what Jay was planning to do with it.
Jay sat you up with your legs criss-crossed applesauce— on the middle of the bed and positioned himself behind you, the rope already in hand. Leaning his chin on your shoulder, he made the first loop right below your tiddies, which he knotted at your back. Going back every few times to adjust it. Make sure it's tight enough to pleasure, not harm.
He was taking his time.
Then, he bent your arm so that your hand was touching your shoulder, and made two more knots two secure it to the first loop he made. After reenforcing it to his better and experienced judgment, he repeated the same steps on your other arm. Looking at your reflection on the mirror, you saw his concentrated, pouty face and couldn't contain your grin from spreading, a light scoff of affection leaving you.
Right about after he finished the knots on your hands, he peppered kisses on your neck. "Still smiling, even when I'm literally tying you up?" His hands drifted to your thighs, ghosting all over your bare skin. His touch scorched through every piloerection that adorned your flesh. Eventually, his hands skewed over to your feet and he began tickling you.
"What— Jay!" You squirmed as you struggled to escape his random giggle assault. Both of you were all smiles by this point. The giddy atmosphere was short lived though, as he pulled out another rope, this time, it's black.
He stretched it out to its extent first to detangle it before tracing his hands all over your legs and core again, until it reached its final destination—your ankles. In the blink of a hazed eye, your ankle was bound, and the rope snaked all the way around your thigh. He spiraled more tight knots until it reached just below your knee.
Taking another break from tying you up, his hands raked upwards, barely grazing your nipples and catching your lips in a wet embrace with his. He sneaked out another coil of rope, stealthing it over and around your neck as a makeshift choker, preventing all the moans from reverberating in your throat.
His hot kiss prolonged for a few more seconds, until he broke it off by flicking your head forward as he whipped the rope in front of you, the end of it barely missing your clit, making you jerk in surprise at the sudden movement.
Jay's attention was now directed to your pussy, as the last rope moved your panties to the side and held it there. It was tied to the fabric, and the other ropes on your thigh. Jay's ropework was now done, so he immediately went to the next course, seizing the toy you chose earlier and going straight for your clit.
Overwhelming, was what you described the sensation. It felt so much more toe-curling, back-arching, finger-licking, eye-rolling...All just so intense. Your mind shot back to the first time you used it. Despite everything, a breathless laugh escapes you. Despite everything, a breathless laugh escapes you—sharp and unexpected in a moment like this. Jay most likely thought this was the first time you were experiencing this toy.
"What's so funny?" He asked, slipping the toy into you, earning a gasp, yet you still answered.
"I used this toy before." You weakly muttered, eyes darting to the way the toy just disappears inside you. "You have the same exact model as this?" Jay played along, keeping the conversation as he prodded at your insides with the pink vibe.
"No, like— I've used this toy before" The toy hit a certain spot inside you, and your knees twitchted, your breathing now much heavier than before. Jay pressed his lips to the curve that connected your shoulder to your neck. "What do you mean?"
"I-I snuck in here b-efore.. the first and only time..I—" a mewl interrupted you when the toy hit that spot again, and this irritated Jay. "Keep talking, princess." "I.. got so turned o-on by what I saw in your diary.. I felt like I was actually experiencing you.."
Jay hummed, as he let you ramble on. You don't know where the sudden honesty stem from, but you couldn't seem to press the brakes, the words just kept spilling out.
"Your.. attention to detail, and those vulgar words of yours turned me on so much, I-I couldn't help myself... So I rummaged through that closet and looked for something to use.."
"And you chose this one?"
You nodded, your mind now too clogged to speak another word. "What made you choose this one?" Jay queried, and you tried to answer with just a mewl, but Jay didn't like this—stopping the movement of his hand. "Words, princess. Use them."
This felt like a torture method. Cognitive tethering, as some would call it. You've heard about it time and time again, but you never would have thought that it'd be used on you someday.
You whined, just wanting to chase the pleasure and drown in it, but your constraints made it impossible. "It's big... and I thought the shade was pretty." When your voice broke through the whirring vibrations of the toy, Jay plunged it back in and out, making your pussy flutter.
"Shameless, aren't we?" his free hand teased at your nipple through your silk shirt. Silk always seemed to enhance the tingling sensation of pleasure, you mentally praised yourself for choosing to wear it tonight of all nights. It was like the stars knew you were gonna get laid tonight.
More minutes of Jay's onslaught on your body gone by, now, you were so desperate to cum. He didn't let you, of course, this was your punishment for being too greedy. He kept on asking you questions, keeping light conversation to keep you from enjoying the pleasure too much, and when you refused to talk, he'd refuse to move. It was cruel.
While you were losing your mind, Jay was losing interest in the position you were in, so he pulled back the toy and himself, releasing on of your legs from the binds in one swift motion before he stood both of you right below this large metal ring that dangled from the ceiling.
His long hands maneuvered the ropes onto the ring, hanging you on it like some Christmas stocking, leaving one of your legs untied so you had an anchor. He came back behind you and pressed the vibrator back to your clit, hastily pulling it away for a moment to tie your hair into a loose, messy bun.
You're gonna have to question him he made it effortlessly look good later.
One hand holding the vibrator in front of you, the other secured behind you to keep you from moving too much—while it caressed over your folds. No words were exchanged between the two of you know. He let you focus on the pleasure as he focused on inducing it. His large fingers finally slammed into you.
It didn't take long before you felt that familiar swirl of pleasure in your guts. But this one felt different. "J-Jay.. something's gonna..!" He hushed you, "I know princes, let go for me." A few more thrusts and you felt it. Jay felt it too. Your pussy convulsed as you squirted. Literally squirted. It sprayed through Jay's fingers and all over the floor.
Loud, almost piercing moans erupted from you as your vision flashed white for a couple seconds—you felt like you were at Heaven's gates. The fluid kept gushing out for what felt like an eternity, it made your legs tremble against the ropes.
"That... felt amazing." You finally managed to say when your soul came back to your body. Jay quirked a smile, "First time?" You felt clocked by his guess, but he wasn't wrong, so you kept your mouth shot as he unbuckled you from the ring.
You thought he was done. You thought he was just going to use the toys on you. But he had no intent to stop there. That much was clear when he threw you back on the bed just seconds after he let you down, practically pouncing onto you with a hungry, heated kiss.
The world spun for a quick second as he flipped you over and dove down to your ass—licking and biting so hard, you were certain he drew blood. Smack. His hand landed harshly against your supple cheeks, earning a yelp out of you. More slaps followed before he had enough and flipped you over again, now just on your side, so he can move the hair away from your face. He wanted to see you. Every twitch of your brows, every roll of your eyes, and how flushed you were.
Your nipple was then encased in his warm mouth, tongue constantly flicking at your sensitive peak. Yup, totally a tiddies guy. Or is he? You were quick to take you words back when he moved back to your ass, rimming your hole before landing more harsh spanks on it. The pain seared, especially since you felt his bitemarks, but you loved it. You loved the dopamine he was giving you from this.
Before you knew it, your cunt was leaking with arousal again. Uusually, you only last one round before you're a sleepy mess. But Jay had his way of driving you so horny to the point of insanity. Your face was now shoved into the mattress as Jay raised your ass up, slithering a hand to your spine to make it arch, rubbing you against his clothed hard on you.
It had just occurred to you that Jay was still fully clothed. Not a single piece of garment missing from his body. You swung a hand behind you, to land it on his hip, and you clawed at his black sweatpants. "Off, please" you drawled voice pitched so high, you could barely recognize it was you who said it.
"Patience, princess." He pivoted you back around, so you laid on your back, he finally took off those sopping panties of yours, throwing it to your face to piss you off, briskly sweeping your legs by the back of your knees to make it reach your shoulders, and delving into your cunt.
His whole mouth covered your hole and clit, tongue working wonders on them. You felt every single movement of the slimy muscle as you rewarded his service by moaning out his name. Heartbeat as rushed as ever, blood as hot as boiling water, you felt so fucked. And Jay hasn't even whipped his fucking dick out yet.
You reached a hand down, and your fingers came in contact with his soft hair and sweaty forehead. "Jay.." You whispered, testing out the waters. You were afraid this was just another dream or hallucination and waited for the pleasure to end and you to wake up with cum-soiled pants again. But you didn't. Jay was still between your legs, absolutely devouring you. So your calls of his name grew louder, and louder, and louder until it was the only thing you knew how to say.
It felt ground-breaking, liberating, to finally know you weren't going crazy over being touch starved. You were actually getting laid by the person you've pined over with much intensity. You almost couldn't believe it.
At some point, he whipped you around again, so your face was now inches away from his crotch, your panties were shoved in your mouth, and your hands were tied up again. Well, they were supposed to be, but you were so distraught by the idea of being deprived the privilege to touch him again after you just came to process that he isn't just a hallucination anymore, you were brought to tears.
So, Jay let your hands roam free, helping him pull down the seam of both his pants and boxers all in one go. He shoved his cock into your mouth without so much as a warning before he went down on you again, doing the 69 position. He wanted to keep going but he felt your nails dig in his thighs as you made a painful choking sound, so he pulled back in a panic.
"What's wrong?! Did I hurt you?" His normal, sweet and responsible side was back, he was completely sober for a hot minute, genuinely concerned about you. Though, his worries were subdued when he saw the look in your eyes, "Use me, Jay. Fuck into my throat as if I were a fucking pocket pussy."
It was like the sweet Jay disappeared in an instance and let the horny Jay take over completely. Without so much as a nod, he fulfilled your request—demand— holding the back your head and mercilessly pushing you back and forth on his cock. His other hand poked at your cheek, he wanted to feel the movement of his dick through your skin.
His groans filled the room, his eyes were closed, brows furrowed, nostrils flared as his chest heaved. You could see his nipples perking through the thin fabric of his sage green shirt. He looked fucking beautiful like this. Raw and completely untamed, doing as he pleases. Though you were seeing this in a blur—because he was fucking your moth so rapidly—you still felt like you were seeing him so clearly at this moment.
Tears streamed down your face as you came to see how honored you were to get to see him in this state. Him, with his head thrown back, s his Adam's apple bobs at every gulp he takes, his sharp jaw in all its glory. Fuck, you loved him. You want to hog all of him to yourself. You want no one else to see him like this, and you're gonna die on that hill. You wanted nothing in that moment but to lock him down.
Unbeknownst to you, Jay was thinking the exact same thing. How kindly you interact with the neighbors, how you matched his freak (despite him being a bitch at first), how you were so fucking willing to jump at the opportunity he gave you made his heart (and dick) flutter. Not to mention how fucking ethereal you looked when he first met you with that yellow little sundress of yours, he wanted you the moment he laid eyes on you.
Karina's metaphorical chains were still weighing him back though, and he wanted—no, needed you to help him break free. All those walls he built around him were just a fucking front. So, like any normal guy, he laid out hints for you, and to his relief, you took them. And did exactly as he had planned.
Back to the present, Jay snapped out of his mind and saw that you were crying. Panic rose from within him again as he pulled you up and cradled your face in his hands, "Shit, I totally lost control again,"
It warmed your heart—truly warmed it—to see how thoughtful he still was, even when, ironically, you’d wanted him to do it in the first place. He hadn’t just reacted out of obligation or guilt. It was genuine, instinctual—him. And maybe that’s why you weren’t crying out of pain, or sadness, or fear. Not this time.
Your fingers twitched softly before you reached out, tracing a light path over the back of his hand. His skin was warm. Solid. Familiar. Slowly, almost shyly, you interlaced your fingers with his, grounding yourself in the moment that somehow felt louder than the silence.
"I'm fine, Jay..." you whispered, your voice trailing off before you could say what you really wanted to. Your throat tightened, and your lips trembled with hesitation. Just three words. Just three syllables. You’d said them before in your head, over and over like a quiet mantra—but saying it out loud, to him, felt so much heavier. So much more real.
Jay didn’t interrupt. He just looked at you—eyes wide, silently brimming with concern and patience, like he was preparing himself for you to pull away. To change your mind. To break his heart. But he didn’t let go. He just held your hand tighter, waiting.
He looked so fucking adorable, you almost wanted to laugh. His brows slightly furrowed, eyes soft and glinting with emotion. He looked like he cared. No, scratch that—he did care. Every inch of him radiated it. That was what gave you the strength to breathe past your nerves. That look—so tender, so heartbreakingly sincere—steeled your mind.
"I love you."
You said it quietly, but it still felt deafening in the stillness.
Jay blinked. Once. Then again. His eyes widened, like his brain was buffering—trying to load the weight of what you’d just said. Shellshocked didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face. For a split second, you wondered if he’d heard it wrong. Maybe he thought you said something else. Maybe you were imagining this whole thing.
But he didn’t pull away.
He just stared, stunned into silence, like you had handed him the entire universe and he didn’t know how to hold it yet.
Jay blinked. Once. Then again. His eyes widened, like his brain was buffering—trying to load the weight of what you’d just said. Shellshocked didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face. For a split second, you wondered if he’d heard it wrong. Maybe he thought you said something else. Maybe you were imagining this whole thing.
But he didn’t pull away.
He just stared—like he was watching something sacred unravel right in front of him.
His jaw clenched, his lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he let out a shaky breath that tickled the space between you. Then, slowly, he moved. Not with hesitation—but with purpose. One hand slid up, cupping your cheek so gently it made your chest ache. His thumb brushed just beneath your eye, catching a tear that had stubbornly lingered.
“You mean that?” he asked, voice low—softer than you’d ever heard it. So laced with emotion it made your throat tighten.
You nodded, And that was all it took.
Jay leaned in—not rushed, not desperate, but hungry in a way that made your breath hitch. His lips captured yours with a heat that nearly stole the air from your lungs, not because it was forceful, but because of the way he kissed you like he’d been holding back for so long. Like your confession had broken something open in him.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You could feel the thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips, his heart racing just like yours. The kiss deepened, grew messier, more vulnerable—his forehead resting against yours as he finally pulled back to breathe.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he whispered, his voice wrecked in the most beautiful way. His eyes flickered between yours, and he gave a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, brushing your lips again like he couldn't get enough. “I love you too. God, I love you.”
Your chest swelled at the sound of it, like your whole body had been waiting just to hear those words from him. And maybe… maybe it had.
His hands didn’t leave you—not your face, not your waist. He held you like he was afraid you might disappear, like you were something precious he’d only just been allowed to touch. Both of you felt this way. After having one too many daydreams, who could blame you? And the way he looked at you now?
It wasn’t just love.
It was awe. It was fire. It was yours.
Jay was yours.
He kissed you once again, as he slipped his dick into you. You swore you could see fireworks at the feeling of just his tip alone. It helped that he was going raw. This meant you could feel every vein, curve, and twitch of it. Same goes for Jay, as he was bottoming out, he made a point to visualize and engrave the memory of each crevice and attribute of your cunt.
Once he finally got all of him in, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and it only got caught in his throat when he felt you clench on him. "Fuck, princess... you're so tight." He said as he looked you in the eyes, raising a hand to his cheek, he leaned in to your touch, "Just for you.." You muttered, Jay lowered his head onto yours, foreheads against each other as he began to thrust into you.
Your hands flew to his back, carving out your initials and the word "mine" into his flesh.
He wasn't fucking you. He was making sweet, passionate love to you. His hand was cupped your face, thumb tracing over your lower lip as he fixed his eyes on you with affection. His hips sensually moved with intent to fill your womb up and make you his. By making you bare his child. What he would give to see your belly all swollen up because of him. How good you'd look pregnant. What a good mom you'll be.
The thoughts of having a family... a future with you drove him to the edge, every sense is tingling.
He was so ready to spill into you now, and by the looks of it, you were ready to take it too. Trapping your lips in one more kiss, Jay thrusted up one final time before shooting every drop of his love embodied into your cunt, he let out a loud, primal groan before continuously cooing praises and "I love you"s into your ear.
You, on the other hand, was just as blissful as he was.
Your legs spasmed one last time before relaxing completely on your sides. Sweat slicked and dripped down both of your bodies, but you don't give a shit. All you cared about now was Jay.
-----------------------------------
The grannies grew more anxious by the minute. Jay still hasn't returned from his trip to your room, so they stressed he might've never gone there in the first place. So, with a much of baked goods, tea, and handmade blankets in tow, he rallied up to your flat, and they were about to know on the door before they heard you.
"Ngh, Jay! Fuck, right there!"
They all halted, like full on paused mid-knock. They heard another voice. This time, it was Jay's.
"Take all of it, princess. fuck— Such a good girl, yeah?" Followed by the sopping, wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. Vigorously.
Evelyn choked as Gale gushed, "Oh my! It's happening!" She excitedly callped her hands while the other grannies inwardly groaned, pulling Gale by the shoulder to take their leave. "Let's give them some privacy."
// The End //
And there we have it, folks. Diary of a Horny Man is officially done.
To be completely honest with you guys, I had to watch an actual bdsm porn video to get this much detail in LMAO
warnings: BDSM, unsafe sex (don't copy them), dacryphilia, begging, brat, POV, rough sex, daddy dom!Jay, loud af, dubcon
Chapter 8 - Try It On You
Now, it was your turn to avoid Jay. How could you not? The guy fucked another girl while burning a hole through all three layers of your skin and soul with his searing gaze. If the grannies managed to pick up on your wary behavior, so did Jay. And this is all according to his plan. Now that you were keeping your distance, he got to revel in watching you tremble at the mere sight of him from afar.
You started timing your grocery runs like a military op. You'd peek through the peephole, wait an extra minute after hearing his boots clunk past the hallway, then sprint down the stairs with your keys gripped like a weapon. Evelyn once caught you frozen behind the stairwell door, whispering a confused, "Sweetheart, are you hiding from someone?" You gave her a thin smile. "No one, just pretending I'm invisible. That's all."
The mailboxes became your personal hell. God forbid your letters came after 6 p.m.—Jay always checked his mail around then, lingering in the corridor like he owned the place. So, you stopped checking yours. Weeks piled up. Rosie thought it was just youthful irresponsibility, but you knew better. It was easier to miss a bill than to risk seeing his smirk.
You even began avoiding the Wednesday knitting circles—not because you gave a damn about yarn, but because Flor insisted on hosting them in the common lounge. And Jay knew it. He'd walk by, shirt half-buttoned, humming low, casual. Like your pain was background noise. And if your name came up in passing, his voice would always cut through the chatter with that maddening calm; "Oh? She still lives here?" Thought she moved out. As if he didn't literally own the building and know all your activities.
Once, you caught a glimpse of him by the laundry room, back turned, white shirt loose over his frame. You bolted, basket still full, making up a lie about needing detergent. You could feel him smiling even though you didn't look back. He thrived in the silence, in the way your footsteps changed when he was near—faster, clumsier, scared.
Gale offered to drop off some muffins at your door and you nearly begged her not to. "He'll see you," you whispered, like it was a curse. "Who?" she blinked, genuinely confused. You didn't answer. How could you explain that Jay wasn't just someone you avoided—he was a gravitational pull you were actively resisting, teeth gritted, heart bruised?
And still, he watched. Through cracked doors, behind the railings of the third floor, always just close enough to remind you he was there. He didn't need to chase you. You were already running. And in his twisted little world, that was more than enough.
Every time you lay in your bed, the seething memories of that night kept blocking your path to dreamland. It was as if you could still hear the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. Jay's quiet grunts, and the gasps and shudders of that lady. She looked like she was having the best dick of her life.
Gosh, you wanted what she was having. Not just the dick, but the whole person wielding it. No matter how much you tried to detach yourself, Jay had this magnetic pull that apparently only affects you. And it frustrated you to no end.
Gale was wrong about what she said, by the way. He did come around and was clearly ready—to drive you to insanity, that is. Not to forgive you. That man was doing everything in his power to slither into the tightest and deepest crevices of your brain and conquer it. If he did have a soft spot for you as Gale assured, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it.
Every time you think you've outrun it, every time you believe you're finally free, something pulls you back in. It’s not even a physical thing—he doesn’t need to touch you, doesn’t need to lay a finger on your skin. His presence alone is enough to strip you bare, to make you feel exposed in ways you’ve never felt before. Jay. That damn name. That damn person.
How does he do it? How does he always find a way to weave himself into every moment of your day, even when you’re not looking for him? It’s like he’s a shadow that lingers, hovering just on the edge of your thoughts, always threatening to consume you. You can’t even breathe without feeling the weight of him pressing against you, suffocating you in your own skin.
It’s the way he looks at you—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, like he’s aware of the effect he has. That stare of his, that burning, unrelenting gaze that makes your pulse race even though you know you should be running in the opposite direction. You tell yourself you hate it, that you hate how much you crave his attention, how much you want to be seen by him. But you don’t. You crave it more than you can bear to admit. You crave it in the quietest parts of you, the parts you try to keep locked away, the parts you don’t want him to touch.
It’s not just the way he looks at you, though. It’s the way he exists in your space, in your life. He doesn’t need to be loud or overt. He doesn’t need to chase you down or beg for your attention. He’s content to just be there, in the background, always present, always looming. He knows it drives you crazy. He knows that the simple act of him being near is enough to unravel you.
God, how did it all get this way? How did you let him get under your skin? It’s not like you haven’t tried to avoid him. You’ve been hiding. You’ve been running, trying to outrun whatever part of you still wants him, still yearns for him. You time your grocery runs like a military operation. You check the peephole before you even think about leaving the apartment. You make sure you’re never caught in a hallway with him. You avoid the common areas, the places where he might be, where he might look at you with that damn, knowing gaze.
But you can’t keep running forever.
Even when you think you’re safe, he finds a way to slip back into your head, into your heart. He doesn’t even need to speak. His presence is enough to make your skin hum with anticipation, to make your stomach churn with the memories of what you used to have, or what you thought you had. And now? Now all that’s left is this ache—this unbearable, gnawing ache in your chest that won’t go away, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.
What are you doing to yourself? Why do you let him do this to you? Why do you let yourself feel this way? You hate it. You hate that you want him, that a part of you still craves the way he used to touch you, the way he used to hold you. The way his hands felt like they were meant to be on you, like they belonged there.
But it’s not just the touch. It’s the way he made you feel like you were the only one in the world that mattered. You were everything to him, or at least that’s what you thought. But now you know better, don’t you? Now you know that all he wanted was to break you, to watch you fall apart and then stand there, cold and detached, and act like it was all just a game to him.
That’s what hurts the most, isn’t it? The realization that everything you thought you had was a lie. He never cared the way you did. He never saw you the way you saw him. And now, every time you look at him, you see the proof of it—the way he moves on without a second thought, the way he doesn’t need you the way you need him. It stings. It fucking stings.
You hate that you still care. You hate that you still feel this pull toward him, this desperate need to have him see you, to have him want you again. But you won’t let him. You won’t let yourself fall back into that trap, into that mess of emotions that he so easily twisted and distorted. You can’t. You won’t.
But even as you say it, you know it’s a lie.
You’ll never be free of him. Not as long as you keep letting him live in your head. Not as long as you keep pretending that you’re okay, that you’ve moved on. Because you haven’t. And you probably never will.
UGH I FUCKING HATE HIM.
Oh, who are you kidding. He was purposely torturing you with all this free space and jealousy, yet you still wanted him. Badly. His little stunt was supposed to shove your desire for him back in the shadows, but all it seemed to do was pry it to the surface, now more than ever. And you alone, were left to suppress yourself and deal with the damages Jay caused. And somehow, you didn't mind.
The grannies where beginning to be concerned about you, considering how active you were in the community. Now, you barely left your flat—for reasons you absolutely could not share. You couldn't just disclose the fact that you've been gooning nonstop because of Jay, after all.
Your lack of explanation only worsened the grannies' fears, so they pressured Jay into checking up on you, since both of you were around the same age, they thought you'll have an easier time opening up to him. Blissfully unaware that he was, in face, the reason why you haven't been stepping foot out the apartment to touch grass. You were touching something else. You were racing your frantic, sweaty hands all over your pleasure points; your breasts, your mounds of Venus, your tits, you clit, your tits, your holes, did I mention your tits?
Based on what you've read on his diary, Jay was definitely a tits guy.
And you tried your best to mimic all the ways he'd abuse them, using his staggeringly detailed stories as a guidebook. Lubing up your fingers with your spit, spreading it all over your perky nibbles, then twisting and pulling at it mercilessly. The sensation traveled all the way to your pussy, making it pulse and clench around nothing. You wished it had something—someone to clamp on, though.
That someone was currently advancing his way to your room slowly, after being forced to, landing a few curt knocks on your main door, he was met with silence. As if you had no intention of knowing who was beyond the door—and you didn't. You were too caught up in daydreaming about Jay taming the beast that is, your desire. Your horniness.
It's quite ironic. You thought of him as this horny ass guy who wrote about his experiences so in any case he'd forget all the orgasms he had, he had something to remind him of all the sensations.
Anyway, by this point, Jay began to get irritated because he hadn't heard a peep come from inside your door at all. He knew the grannies would not stop pestering him about your well-being, so he had to at least know you're not dead in there. One statement from you should be enough. And then it's back to condemning you with neglect.
That was the plan, but little did he know, it was about to go downhill soon.
He circled around to the other side of the flat, where the door to the BDSM room was tucked away. Unlocking it as stealthily as he could, he creeped into the room and to the concealed door that led to the hallway separating your bedroom from the kitchen. Why the hell am I trying to be quiet?
Pulling the door, he made his way and noticed how the entrance to your bedroom was open. That wasn't the only thing he took note of—you were definitely here. Your soft moans breached his ears the moment he set foot in here. When he came to process what he was hearing, that's when he also caught a whiff of the smell of sex. Messy, hot sex and the sinful, squelching sounds of a wet pussy being pounded to oblivion.
He didn't hesitate to march right up to your room. It was practically beckoning— no. begging him to come inside. And there you were, sprawled up on your bed, as 3 of your fingers plunged in and out with such vigor. He was basking in how slick your pussy looked, when your hand jolted and came to hault—pulling out with a very audible whine erupting from you. It seemed you finally realized that there was someone else in the room.
Propping yourself up on your elbows and crossing you legs in a desperate and futile attempt to cover what he has already seen, you screeched. "W-what the hell are you doing in my room?!" Your pulse quickened at the smile that spread on his face as he strode to your bed.
A calloused hand ran up from your foot to your raised knees, which he gently lowered. And you let him. Your breath staggered, "J-jay..?"
"Look at you trying to deal with yourself like this.. so wet and ready to be bred, but with no dick to satiate your heat." His hand trailed from your knee to your thing, the finally to your still pulsating heat, tapping on it a few times, then blowing on it. "Tell, what was in your mind while you were fucking yourself"
His eyes finally met yours. He held the look of condescension and cockiness on his face, and it irked you. You huffed but made no effort to stop his wandering hand. Raising a brow at your deliberate ostracism. "Choosing to ignore me, no?"
"A self-destructing course of action when you're literally letting me feel your pussy up you know." He leaned down to your face, and when you thought your lip were about to crash against one another, his head pivoted to your ear. "I have an offer."
A trap. You knew it was. But it piqued your interest. As hard as it was to focus on what he was saying when his hot breath fanned your sensitive ears, you tried.
"If you tell me your fantasies.. I'll make them come true."
Score. Your eyes lit up as you heard his words.
Fuck the plan, he thought.
"So, we got a dea—" You." You didn't even let him finish when you blurted out.
Perplexed, Jay looked at you, who continued. "I've been having so many fantasies of you...you keep leaving me traces or just flat-out hints of your sex life, even letting me actually see you in action, and it gets me so riled up sitting through all of them, knowing you have interest in letting me have a taste. And honestly...fuck you for that."
Your sudden rant both stunned and humored Jay as he lets out another one of those ridiculously attractive chuckles of his. The reverberations of his voice felt so much more intense, given your proximity.
It was your turned to be stunned by his next words.
"Want me to use them on you?"
It was always this back and forth; cat and mouse game between the two of you. Shots backfiring at each other, every time.
Without missing a beat, you nod all too quickly. Then, like a bolt from the blue, Jay lips finally came in contact with yours. He tasted sweet... it was a familiar taste. And you had this sudden itch in your brain to figure out what that taste was—by pushing your tongue in his wet cavern and exploring it. He reciprocated with 10 times more passion though, practically devouring your face as he kissed back.
His hands fled from your and to your legs, wrapping them around his hips as he carried you to the room without breaking the kiss at all. When his knees touched the edge of the bed, he gently let you down.
You wanted to prolong the kiss, savoring his taste as much as you can when he pulled away, setting a hand on your chest and guiding you to lay on your back. Then he stood up and headed for the closet, leaning over his shoulder to ask you, "What toy do you tend to play with yourself with?"
An abundant level of blood rose to your cheeks as you meekly pointed to the pink one you used the first time you've snuck in here. After picking out a few other toys, Jay came back you and planted a sweet peck on your forehead. "Wait here, I'll wash this real quick." You nodded, not finding it within you to disobey him.
You thought he was about to leave when he leaned back up, but he grabbed at your arms—which was already sneaking its way down to your core. "You are not going to touch this pussy the entire time I'm gone, alright? If I find these pretty little fingers of yours anywhere near this cunt by the time I get back, you're getting punished."
That was the last thing he said—no, threatened to you before he left the room.
You wanted to disobey him, but as you heard the sound of his footsteps descend into your bathroom, the aching need from your cunt amplified. You tried to just rub your legs together, but the friction it provided did nothing to soothe your heat, so after much deliberation, you gave in, swept your panties to the side—you can't be bothered to take it off— and gave your clit a light smack before shoving a finger back into your sopping wet hole.
It felt so nice and warm, almost like it belonged there. To elevate the pleasure, you sent a hand to your breast and started kneading it.
You didn't get much of a chance to relieve yourself any further when Jay came back from his trip to clean the toy he was supposed to use on you. You weren't fast enough to pull your fingers out on time, and he caught it.
"You just couldn't wait, huh?" His eyes darkened, inching closer to the bed and tossing the toys aside, he grabbed at your arms and held it up, inspecting your pruned fingers, then looking you in the eye and shoving them inside your mouth.
Once he yanked them out, your lips curled into this wicked smile. "You having a laugh?" taunted Jay. You were too excited by the mere thought of being punished physically and sexually. A damn good time, and here he's trying to threaten you with it? You fought off the urge to say the infamous line and opted to just bite your lips instead to hold back. "I'll be sure to wipe that smile off that cute face of yours."
"Do it then, JJ."
Raising a brow at your words, he laid the toys out on the table next to the bed, and you caught sight of the long, black and red ropes that tangled among the toys. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what Jay was planning to do with it.
Jay sat you up with your legs criss-crossed applesauce— on the middle of the bed and positioned himself behind you, the rope already in hand. Leaning his chin on your shoulder, he made the first loop right below your tiddies, which he knotted at your back. Going back every few times to adjust it. Make sure it's tight enough to pleasure, not harm.
He was taking his time.
Then, he bent your arm so that your hand was touching your shoulder, and made two more knots two secure it to the first loop he made. After reenforcing it to his better and experienced judgment, he repeated the same steps on your other arm. Looking at your reflection on the mirror, you saw his concentrated, pouty face and couldn't contain your grin from spreading, a light scoff of affection leaving you.
Right about after he finished the knots on your hands, he peppered kisses on your neck. "Still smiling, even when I'm literally tying you up?" His hands drifted to your thighs, ghosting all over your bare skin. His touch scorched through every piloerection that adorned your flesh. Eventually, his hands skewed over to your feet and he began tickling you.
"What— Jay!" You squirmed as you struggled to escape his random giggle assault. Both of you were all smiles by this point. The giddy atmosphere was short lived though, as he pulled out another rope, this time, it's black.
He stretched it out to its extent first to detangle it before tracing his hands all over your legs and core again, until it reached its final destination—your ankles. In the blink of a hazed eye, your ankle was bound, and the rope snaked all the way around your thigh. He spiraled more tight knots until it reached just below your knee.
Taking another break from tying you up, his hands raked upwards, barely grazing your nipples and catching your lips in a wet embrace with his. He sneaked out another coil of rope, stealthing it over and around your neck as a makeshift choker, preventing all the moans from reverberating in your throat.
His hot kiss prolonged for a few more seconds, until he broke it off by flicking your head forward as he whipped the rope in front of you, the end of it barely missing your clit, making you jerk in surprise at the sudden movement.
Jay's attention was now directed to your pussy, as the last rope moved your panties to the side and held it there. It was tied to the fabric, and the other ropes on your thigh. Jay's ropework was now done, so he immediately went to the next course, seizing the toy you chose earlier and going straight for your clit.
Overwhelming, was what you described the sensation. It felt so much more toe-curling, back-arching, finger-licking, eye-rolling...All just so intense. Your mind shot back to the first time you used it. Despite everything, a breathless laugh escapes you. Despite everything, a breathless laugh escapes you—sharp and unexpected in a moment like this. Jay most likely thought this was the first time you were experiencing this toy.
"What's so funny?" He asked, slipping the toy into you, earning a gasp, yet you still answered.
"I used this toy before." You weakly muttered, eyes darting to the way the toy just disappears inside you. "You have the same exact model as this?" Jay played along, keeping the conversation as he prodded at your insides with the pink vibe.
"No, like— I've used this toy before" The toy hit a certain spot inside you, and your knees twitchted, your breathing now much heavier than before. Jay pressed his lips to the curve that connected your shoulder to your neck. "What do you mean?"
"I-I snuck in here b-efore.. the first and only time..I—" a mewl interrupted you when the toy hit that spot again, and this irritated Jay. "Keep talking, princess." "I.. got so turned o-on by what I saw in your diary.. I felt like I was actually experiencing you.."
Jay hummed, as he let you ramble on. You don't know where the sudden honesty stem from, but you couldn't seem to press the brakes, the words just kept spilling out.
"Your.. attention to detail, and those vulgar words of yours turned me on so much, I-I couldn't help myself... So I rummaged through that closet and looked for something to use.."
"And you chose this one?"
You nodded, your mind now too clogged to speak another word. "What made you choose this one?" Jay queried, and you tried to answer with just a mewl, but Jay didn't like this—stopping the movement of his hand. "Words, princess. Use them."
This felt like a torture method. Cognitive tethering, as some would call it. You've heard about it time and time again, but you never would have thought that it'd be used on you someday.
You whined, just wanting to chase the pleasure and drown in it, but your constraints made it impossible. "It's big... and I thought the shade was pretty." When your voice broke through the whirring vibrations of the toy, Jay plunged it back in and out, making your pussy flutter.
"Shameless, aren't we?" his free hand teased at your nipple through your silk shirt. Silk always seemed to enhance the tingling sensation of pleasure, you mentally praised yourself for choosing to wear it tonight of all nights. It was like the stars knew you were gonna get laid tonight.
More minutes of Jay's onslaught on your body gone by, now, you were so desperate to cum. He didn't let you, of course, this was your punishment for being too greedy. He kept on asking you questions, keeping light conversation to keep you from enjoying the pleasure too much, and when you refused to talk, he'd refuse to move. It was cruel.
While you were losing your mind, Jay was losing interest in the position you were in, so he pulled back the toy and himself, releasing on of your legs from the binds in one swift motion before he stood both of you right below this large metal ring that dangled from the ceiling.
His long hands maneuvered the ropes onto the ring, hanging you on it like some Christmas stocking, leaving one of your legs untied so you had an anchor. He came back behind you and pressed the vibrator back to your clit, hastily pulling it away for a moment to tie your hair into a loose, messy bun.
You're gonna have to question him he made it effortlessly look good later.
One hand holding the vibrator in front of you, the other secured behind you to keep you from moving too much—while it caressed over your folds. No words were exchanged between the two of you know. He let you focus on the pleasure as he focused on inducing it. His large fingers finally slammed into you.
It didn't take long before you felt that familiar swirl of pleasure in your guts. But this one felt different. "J-Jay.. something's gonna..!" He hushed you, "I know princes, let go for me." A few more thrusts and you felt it. Jay felt it too. Your pussy convulsed as you squirted. Literally squirted. It sprayed through Jay's fingers and all over the floor.
Loud, almost piercing moans erupted from you as your vision flashed white for a couple seconds—you felt like you were at Heaven's gates. The fluid kept gushing out for what felt like an eternity, it made your legs tremble against the ropes.
"That... felt amazing." You finally managed to say when your soul came back to your body. Jay quirked a smile, "First time?" You felt clocked by his guess, but he wasn't wrong, so you kept your mouth shot as he unbuckled you from the ring.
You thought he was done. You thought he was just going to use the toys on you. But he had no intent to stop there. That much was clear when he threw you back on the bed just seconds after he let you down, practically pouncing onto you with a hungry, heated kiss.
The world spun for a quick second as he flipped you over and dove down to your ass—licking and biting so hard, you were certain he drew blood. Smack. His hand landed harshly against your supple cheeks, earning a yelp out of you. More slaps followed before he had enough and flipped you over again, now just on your side, so he can move the hair away from your face. He wanted to see you. Every twitch of your brows, every roll of your eyes, and how flushed you were.
Your nipple was then encased in his warm mouth, tongue constantly flicking at your sensitive peak. Yup, totally a tiddies guy. Or is he? You were quick to take you words back when he moved back to your ass, rimming your hole before landing more harsh spanks on it. The pain seared, especially since you felt his bitemarks, but you loved it. You loved the dopamine he was giving you from this.
Before you knew it, your cunt was leaking with arousal again. Uusually, you only last one round before you're a sleepy mess. But Jay had his way of driving you so horny to the point of insanity. Your face was now shoved into the mattress as Jay raised your ass up, slithering a hand to your spine to make it arch, rubbing you against his clothed hard on you.
It had just occurred to you that Jay was still fully clothed. Not a single piece of garment missing from his body. You swung a hand behind you, to land it on his hip, and you clawed at his black sweatpants. "Off, please" you drawled voice pitched so high, you could barely recognize it was you who said it.
"Patience, princess." He pivoted you back around, so you laid on your back, he finally took off those sopping panties of yours, throwing it to your face to piss you off, briskly sweeping your legs by the back of your knees to make it reach your shoulders, and delving into your cunt.
His whole mouth covered your hole and clit, tongue working wonders on them. You felt every single movement of the slimy muscle as you rewarded his service by moaning out his name. Heartbeat as rushed as ever, blood as hot as boiling water, you felt so fucked. And Jay hasn't even whipped his fucking dick out yet.
You reached a hand down, and your fingers came in contact with his soft hair and sweaty forehead. "Jay.." You whispered, testing out the waters. You were afraid this was just another dream or hallucination and waited for the pleasure to end and you to wake up with cum-soiled pants again. But you didn't. Jay was still between your legs, absolutely devouring you. So your calls of his name grew louder, and louder, and louder until it was the only thing you knew how to say.
It felt ground-breaking, liberating, to finally know you weren't going crazy over being touch starved. You were actually getting laid by the person you've pined over with much intensity. You almost couldn't believe it.
At some point, he whipped you around again, so your face was now inches away from his crotch, your panties were shoved in your mouth, and your hands were tied up again. Well, they were supposed to be, but you were so distraught by the idea of being deprived the privilege to touch him again after you just came to process that he isn't just a hallucination anymore, you were brought to tears.
So, Jay let your hands roam free, helping him pull down the seam of both his pants and boxers all in one go. He shoved his cock into your mouth without so much as a warning before he went down on you again, doing the 69 position. He wanted to keep going but he felt your nails dig in his thighs as you made a painful choking sound, so he pulled back in a panic.
"What's wrong?! Did I hurt you?" His normal, sweet and responsible side was back, he was completely sober for a hot minute, genuinely concerned about you. Though, his worries were subdued when he saw the look in your eyes, "Use me, Jay. Fuck into my throat as if I were a fucking pocket pussy."
It was like the sweet Jay disappeared in an instance and let the horny Jay take over completely. Without so much as a nod, he fulfilled your request—demand— holding the back your head and mercilessly pushing you back and forth on his cock. His other hand poked at your cheek, he wanted to feel the movement of his dick through your skin.
His groans filled the room, his eyes were closed, brows furrowed, nostrils flared as his chest heaved. You could see his nipples perking through the thin fabric of his sage green shirt. He looked fucking beautiful like this. Raw and completely untamed, doing as he pleases. Though you were seeing this in a blur—because he was fucking your moth so rapidly—you still felt like you were seeing him so clearly at this moment.
Tears streamed down your face as you came to see how honored you were to get to see him in this state. Him, with his head thrown back, s his Adam's apple bobs at every gulp he takes, his sharp jaw in all its glory. Fuck, you loved him. You want to hog all of him to yourself. You want no one else to see him like this, and you're gonna die on that hill. You wanted nothing in that moment but to lock him down.
Unbeknownst to you, Jay was thinking the exact same thing. How kindly you interact with the neighbors, how you matched his freak (despite him being a bitch at first), how you were so fucking willing to jump at the opportunity he gave you made his heart (and dick) flutter. Not to mention how fucking ethereal you looked when he first met you with that yellow little sundress of yours, he wanted you the moment he laid eyes on you.
Karina's metaphorical chains were still weighing him back though, and he wanted—no, needed you to help him break free. All those walls he built around him were just a fucking front. So, like any normal guy, he laid out hints for you, and to his relief, you took them. And did exactly as he had planned.
Back to the present, Jay snapped out of his mind and saw that you were crying. Panic rose from within him again as he pulled you up and cradled your face in his hands, "Shit, I totally lost control again,"
It warmed your heart—truly warmed it—to see how thoughtful he still was, even when, ironically, you’d wanted him to do it in the first place. He hadn’t just reacted out of obligation or guilt. It was genuine, instinctual—him. And maybe that’s why you weren’t crying out of pain, or sadness, or fear. Not this time.
Your fingers twitched softly before you reached out, tracing a light path over the back of his hand. His skin was warm. Solid. Familiar. Slowly, almost shyly, you interlaced your fingers with his, grounding yourself in the moment that somehow felt louder than the silence.
"I'm fine, Jay..." you whispered, your voice trailing off before you could say what you really wanted to. Your throat tightened, and your lips trembled with hesitation. Just three words. Just three syllables. You’d said them before in your head, over and over like a quiet mantra—but saying it out loud, to him, felt so much heavier. So much more real.
Jay didn’t interrupt. He just looked at you—eyes wide, silently brimming with concern and patience, like he was preparing himself for you to pull away. To change your mind. To break his heart. But he didn’t let go. He just held your hand tighter, waiting.
He looked so fucking adorable, you almost wanted to laugh. His brows slightly furrowed, eyes soft and glinting with emotion. He looked like he cared. No, scratch that—he did care. Every inch of him radiated it. That was what gave you the strength to breathe past your nerves. That look—so tender, so heartbreakingly sincere—steeled your mind.
"I love you."
You said it quietly, but it still felt deafening in the stillness.
Jay blinked. Once. Then again. His eyes widened, like his brain was buffering—trying to load the weight of what you’d just said. Shellshocked didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face. For a split second, you wondered if he’d heard it wrong. Maybe he thought you said something else. Maybe you were imagining this whole thing.
But he didn’t pull away.
He just stared, stunned into silence, like you had handed him the entire universe and he didn’t know how to hold it yet.
Jay blinked. Once. Then again. His eyes widened, like his brain was buffering—trying to load the weight of what you’d just said. Shellshocked didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face. For a split second, you wondered if he’d heard it wrong. Maybe he thought you said something else. Maybe you were imagining this whole thing.
But he didn’t pull away.
He just stared—like he was watching something sacred unravel right in front of him.
His jaw clenched, his lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he let out a shaky breath that tickled the space between you. Then, slowly, he moved. Not with hesitation—but with purpose. One hand slid up, cupping your cheek so gently it made your chest ache. His thumb brushed just beneath your eye, catching a tear that had stubbornly lingered.
“You mean that?” he asked, voice low—softer than you’d ever heard it. So laced with emotion it made your throat tighten.
You nodded, And that was all it took.
Jay leaned in—not rushed, not desperate, but hungry in a way that made your breath hitch. His lips captured yours with a heat that nearly stole the air from your lungs, not because it was forceful, but because of the way he kissed you like he’d been holding back for so long. Like your confession had broken something open in him.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You could feel the thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips, his heart racing just like yours. The kiss deepened, grew messier, more vulnerable—his forehead resting against yours as he finally pulled back to breathe.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he whispered, his voice wrecked in the most beautiful way. His eyes flickered between yours, and he gave a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, brushing your lips again like he couldn't get enough. “I love you too. God, I love you.”
Your chest swelled at the sound of it, like your whole body had been waiting just to hear those words from him. And maybe… maybe it had.
His hands didn’t leave you—not your face, not your waist. He held you like he was afraid you might disappear, like you were something precious he’d only just been allowed to touch. Both of you felt this way. After having one too many daydreams, who could blame you? And the way he looked at you now?
It wasn’t just love.
It was awe. It was fire. It was yours.
Jay was yours.
He kissed you once again, as he slipped his dick into you. You swore you could see fireworks at the feeling of just his tip alone. It helped that he was going raw. This meant you could feel every vein, curve, and twitch of it. Same goes for Jay, as he was bottoming out, he made a point to visualize and engrave the memory of each crevice and attribute of your cunt.
Once he finally got all of him in, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and it only got caught in his throat when he felt you clench on him. "Fuck, princess... you're so tight." He said as he looked you in the eyes, raising a hand to his cheek, he leaned in to your touch, "Just for you.." You muttered, Jay lowered his head onto yours, foreheads against each other as he began to thrust into you.
Your hands flew to his back, carving out your initials and the word "mine" into his flesh.
He wasn't fucking you. He was making sweet, passionate love to you. His hand was cupped your face, thumb tracing over your lower lip as he fixed his eyes on you with affection. His hips sensually moved with intent to fill your womb up and make you his. By making you bare his child. What he would give to see your belly all swollen up because of him. How good you'd look pregnant. What a good mom you'll be.
The thoughts of having a family... a future with you drove him to the edge, every sense is tingling.
He was so ready to spill into you now, and by the looks of it, you were ready to take it too. Trapping your lips in one more kiss, Jay thrusted up one final time before shooting every drop of his love embodied into your cunt, he let out a loud, primal groan before continuously cooing praises and "I love you"s into your ear.
You, on the other hand, was just as blissful as he was.
Your legs spasmed one last time before relaxing completely on your sides. Sweat slicked and dripped down both of your bodies, but you don't give a shit. All you cared about now was Jay.
-----------------------------------
The grannies grew more anxious by the minute. Jay still hasn't returned from his trip to your room, so they stressed he might've never gone there in the first place. So, with a much of baked goods, tea, and handmade blankets in tow, he rallied up to your flat, and they were about to know on the door before they heard you.
"Ngh, Jay! Fuck, right there!"
They all halted, like full on paused mid-knock. They heard another voice. This time, it was Jay's.
"Take all of it, princess. fuck— Such a good girl, yeah?" Followed by the sopping, wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. Vigorously.
Evelyn choked as Gale gushed, "Oh my! It's happening!" She excitedly callped her hands while the other grannies inwardly groaned, pulling Gale by the shoulder to take their leave. "Let's give them some privacy."
// The End //
And there we have it, folks. Diary of a Horny Man is officially done.
To be completely honest with you guys, I had to watch an actual bdsm porn video to get this much detail in LMAO
I'm thinking of compiling all the chapters into one big fic and add a few more chapters, what do yall think?
My brother was curious about what I write and in a fit of joy, I decided to show him- completely forgetting the I write smut stories of 20+ year old korean men.😭😭😭😭
And that one of the latest stories I updated is literally called "Diary of a Horny Man"
...
For a complete second, I really thought I had something wholesome to show, but NO. NONE. I forgot I cannot write straight up fluff to save my life so now my brother knows the degeneracy I've been portraying on the internet
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