stayed up past 3 last night just to finish this and wvery chapter made me let out ugly snorts of laughter. author i love your humour so much i will follow you home🫶🏻
warnings: none! just soft moments and feelings throughout. jay's part mentions themes of trust issues, past emotional hurt and anxiety in relationships but nothing heavy, skinship, not proofread
note: hi, i know things feel a little heavy for a lot of us right now :( i explained why i’m posting this in my previous post, but i just wanted to say that i hope this fic can be a small source of comfort for anyone who needs it 🤍
word count: 6.7k
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HEESEUNG — he remembered
the thing about lee heeseung was that he listened like he was going to be tested on it later.
it was never intense or clinical about it, just instinctive, the way some people have a natural sense of direction or an ear for music. he absorbed things. things you said in passing, things you mentioned once and immediately forgot you'd mentioned, observations that were barely sentences. he held onto all of it without making a show of it and you only ever found out because he'd reference something weeks later with the casual ease of someone who had never once considered that forgetting it was an option.
the first time you noticed it properly was in october, about two months in. you'd been in the back of someone's car on the way to a restaurant, making the kind of conversation that dissolves the second you arrive somewhere, and somewhere in it you'd said that you'd never been to that particular part of the city and had always wanted to. one sentence in the middle of a longer exchange. you'd moved on from it before the car had even parked and genuinely not thought about it again.
heeseung apparently had not moved on from it. two and a half weeks later, on a saturday where your schedules had lined up without either of you planning it, he'd picked you up and started driving and you hadn't thought to ask where until the street names started looking unfamiliar in a way that was becoming familiar.
you'd realised where you were going about halfway there. you'd turned to look at him from the passenger seat. he kept his eyes on the road, both hands easy on the wheel, but the corner of his mouth was doing something small and contained like he was trying not to let it become a smile yet.
"heeseung," you said.
"mm."
"you remembered that."
"yeah."
you'd stared at his profile for a moment, the straight line of his nose, the way the afternoon light came through the window and caught the side of his face, and you hadn't known what to say so you'd turned back toward the road and let the quiet sit between you, which was something you'd learnt early with heeseung. silence with him never needed filling.
the street market he'd found was one you hadn't known existed, tucked between two buildings on a block you'd never had reason to walk down, the kind of place that felt like a secret the neighbourhood was keeping. you'd spent three hours wandering between stalls while the afternoon got longer and amber, sharing paper cups of tteokbokki that burned your fingers through the paper. heeseung walked beside you with his jacket unzipped and his hands mostly in his pockets, occasionally finding the small of your back when the crowd thickened, steering you gently without pulling, just a warm and light pressure that said i have you without saying anything.
at one stall he'd stopped and held up a small ceramic thing, turning it over in his hands, not to buy it necessarily, just to see what you'd do. you'd scrunched your nose slightly and he'd put it back down immediately and moved on without comment.
"you said it once," you told him at some point, stopping at a stall with hand-embroidered things hanging in rows. "in a car. once."
"i know." he appeared at your shoulder and held out a piece of hotteok he'd collected from somewhere without you noticing. warm, wrapped in paper, perfectly timed.
"i'd completely forgotten i'd said it."
"i know you had." he said it simply, without making it into a moment, like it was just a plain and obvious fact. you'd forgotten and he hadn't and that was just how it was. the idea of it being any other way seemed to genuinely not occur to him.
you'd taken the hotteok and looked at him and felt something settle into your chest with the quiet finality of something that had found the exact right place.
he still did it, months later, well into something that had become the most comfortable thing in your life. he remembered the name of your childhood cat that you'd mentioned while laughing about a completely different thing. he remembered that overly loud background music in restaurants made it hard for you to concentrate, and he'd started steering you toward tables in corners without explaining why. he remembered that your favourite part of the year was the very end of summer right before it turned, when the evenings stretched long and everything went the colour of honey, and one evening in late august he'd knocked on your apartment door with no prior warning.
you'd opened it to find him leaning against the opposite wall with his hands in his pockets, nodding his head toward the window at the end of the hallway.
"the light," he said simply.
you'd looked. the corridor window was flooded with it, that specific amber that only existed for maybe twenty minutes at that time of year, the kind that made ordinary things look briefly sacred.
you'd grabbed your jacket and gone up to the roof access together without either of you suggesting it, just both of you knowing. you'd sat up there on the low concrete ledge while the sky went from amber to pink to the deep bruised blue of early evening, his shoulder solid and warm against yours, and you'd talked about small things and sometimes not talked at all. at some point his hand had found yours on the ledge between you, loosely, his thumb moving in an absent rhythm against the side of your hand. he hadn't made it into a thing. it had just happened the way things happened with heeseung, quietly and like they'd always been meant to.
when it got properly dark and the cold started coming in from somewhere, he'd looked over at you and asked if you were hungry, and you'd both gone to find food in the lit-up streets below, and the whole evening had felt like something he'd quietly built for you out of a single sentence you'd said once and never thought about again.
you thought about that a lot. the specific tenderness of being someone that heeseung listened to. it wasn't that he was trying to prove something or accumulate evidence of care. he just thought you were worth remembering, every unremarkable detail of you, and he acted accordingly, without announcement, without expecting you to notice. it was the most quietly devastating thing anyone had ever done for you and he didn't even know it.
JAY — you stayed anyway
the fight hadn't even been a real fight.
that was the thing that made it worse, somehow. it was just a quiet unravelling that started with you going distant over dinner and ended with jay asking what was wrong and you saying nothing in the tone that meant everything, and then the two of you sitting in separate silences on the same couch like there was a wall between you that neither of you had agreed to build.
you did this sometimes. you knew you did. something would shift inside you without warning, some old alarm would trip and suddenly the safest person in your life started to feel like a threat for no reason he'd given you, and the only response your body knew was to pull every soft part of yourself back behind the wall. it had everything to do with the people who had come before him. every time you'd let your guard down and paid for it. every time you'd made yourself available and watched someone decide you were too much. you knew this about yourself clearly and it didn't make it stop.
jay had gone to bed before you. you'd stayed on the couch staring at the dark television screen, working yourself into a slow spiral that went something like: you're doing it again. one day the patience is going to run out and he's going to look at you the way people always eventually look at you. like you're too much work.
you made it to midnight before the bedroom door opened.
jay came out in his sleep clothes with his hair soft and dishevelled from where he'd been lying against a pillow, blinking slowly in the low light. he crossed the room and sat next to you, close enough that the warmth of his arm pressed against yours, and he pulled a throw blanket over both your laps without ceremony. just tucked it in at the edges, careful, like it was nothing, like he hadn't gotten out of bed past midnight to come sit in the dark with you.
"you don't have to talk," he said.
you stared at the screen. outside a car passed and its headlights moved slowly across the ceiling like a tide coming in.
"i know i went weird," you said.
"yeah."
"it's not about you."
"i know."
you turned to look at him then. you were good at reading people, specifically the kind of reading that had developed from years of bracing for impact, and you searched his face for the thing you always looked for. the tightness around the eyes. the careful neutrality that was actually controlled frustration worn thin. jay looked back at you and he just looked like jay. tired and steady and entirely unhurried, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be than exactly here, on this couch, next to you.
"i get scared," you said, and it came out smaller than you meant it to. "that you're going to decide that i'm too complicated. that i'm not worth—" you stopped. tried again. "people have said they'd stay before."
jay was quiet for a moment and it was the kind of quiet that meant he was actually holding what you'd said, not looking for the fastest way past it.
"i know people say that," he said. "i'm not asking you to take my word for it. i get why you can't yet." he reached over then, slowly, and took your hand where it was resting on top of the blanket. he turned it over and held it loosely, his thumb moving once across your knuckles, just once, like punctuation. "i'm just going to keep showing up until it becomes something you know in your body and not just something i've told you."
your throat did something inconvenient. you looked down at your hand in his, at the easy way he was holding it, like it was the most obvious place for his hand to be.
"that could take a while," you said.
"okay," he said simply, and he said it in a way that communicated he had genuinely done the math on this and arrived at okay.
you didn't have any words for the feeling that moved through you then. you turned back toward the television and after a while let yourself lean sideways until your head came to rest against his shoulder, tentative at first and then fully. he shifted slightly to make it comfortable, tilted his head so it rested against yours, and the two of you sat there in the quiet of the apartment for a long time while the city did its late night things outside.
he didn't fall asleep. you could tell from his breathing. he just stayed awake with you until you were ready to stop sitting in the dark, and he never once made you feel like you'd cost him something.
JAKE — he was proud of you
jake's friends knew your name before he'd ever formally introduced you.
you found this out three months in at a get-together at minki's place, when sunghoon had looked up as you walked in and said, with immediate easy recognition, oh, you're the one who got the internship, like he'd been expecting you. you'd stood there for a moment genuinely wrong-footed, your eyes moving from sunghoon to jake beside you. jake had gone slightly pink across the tops of his cheeks, the particular colour that appeared when he was caught being more earnest than he'd intended.
"i talk about you," he said, in the tone of someone stating a fact while being gently embarrassed by it.
"clearly," you said.
"you got the internship. it's a big deal." he said it without any of the self-consciousness people usually had when admitting they'd been proud of someone. just plainly, like the logic was obvious. "i was proud of you."
you'd turned away before your face could do something too obvious and spent a moment very intently studying the drinks table. the word had landed somewhere it intended to stay. it wasn't that jake had been happy for you in the moment, in front of you, where it was easy and expected. he'd gone away and told people who hadn't met you yet, brought you up in conversations you weren't part of, because the fact of what you'd done had been too good to keep to himself. he'd been proud of you in rooms you weren't in, and the thought of that did something persistent to your chest for the rest of the night.
jake had a way of celebrating you that never felt like a performance. when you told him something had gone well his whole face changed, genuinely reorganised itself around the information, and he wanted the full account, not the summarised version you gave most people but the actual version with all the details, because it had happened to you and therefore it mattered to him. he asked follow-up questions that proved he'd retained everything. months later he'd bring things back up with no prompt, checking in on how something had developed, asking if a situation you'd mentioned in passing had resolved itself the way you'd hoped, and it always caught you slightly off guard, the way he kept track of the ongoing story of your life like it was something he was genuinely invested in following.
he showed up to things. that was the part of it that accumulated. he showed up to the low-key events, the ones you'd issued half-invitations to with full expectation of a polite decline, performances of friends he'd barely met, the farmers market you went to on slow sundays when neither of you had anywhere to be. he showed up with his whole attention each time. at the market specifically he'd developed a habit of walking slightly behind you when you got absorbed in something at a stall, giving you room to look without losing you entirely, and you'd turned around once to find him watching you from a couple of steps back with an expression so openly fond that you'd felt warmth spread up the back of your neck.
"what," you said.
"nothing." he was already smiling.
"you're staring at me."
"yeah," he said, and offered no further explanation, just fell into step beside you again with his hands in his jacket pockets and his shoulder bumping lightly against yours.
that evening, walking back to the car through the early dark with your hands loosely linked between you, the city doing its sunday evening things around you, he'd said out of nowhere that he thought you were one of the most interesting people he'd ever known. he said it the way he said things that he'd clearly thought about and arrived at and simply saw no reason to keep to himself. completely unadorned. like a conclusion he'd reached and was now reporting.
you'd stopped on the pavement. he'd stopped a half step after, turning back to look at you, and there was something so unguarded in his face in that moment, no armour, just jake being jake, that you'd stepped forward and kissed him right there on the street. he'd made a small surprised sound and then kissed you back immediately, his free hand coming up to your jaw, warm and careful, and when you pulled back he was a little dazed, blinking at you in the lamplight with his smile arriving slowly.
"what was that for," he said.
"nothing," you said, and used his own word back at him.
he laughed and pulled you back in by your linked hands and you walked the rest of the way to the car with your head leaning against his shoulder, and you thought that being loved by jake sim was one of the better things that had happened to you. simple as that.
SUNGHOON — the quiet kind of love
sunghoon showed up when you were sick in february and you thought that might have been the moment you understood the full shape of him.
the cold had turned mean on its second day. the kind that settled somewhere behind your eyes and filled your whole head with a heavy grey pressure, that made the distance between the bed and the bathroom feel unreasonable and made the idea of eating anything an abstract concept. you'd texted him in the morning with no particular agenda, mostly just lodging the complaint with someone who would care, not a request or an expectation, just feel horrible, not leaving bed today the way you'd text a person who was yours to tell things to.
he'd knocked on your door at noon.
he had a paper bag from the soup place on the street behind your building, the specific one you'd mentioned once a month ago in the context of a completely different conversation. the bag also contained the correct medicine, the kind of tissues with lotion in them so they wouldn't make your nose raw, a small container of the barley tea you kept at his place and had mentioned running out of, and a very deliberate orange that he'd apparently decided you needed regardless of your opinion on the matter. he'd set everything on your kitchen counter with quiet efficiency, moving around your space with the ease of someone completely at home in it, heated the soup without asking how you took it because he already knew, and brought it to you in bed along with the medicine and a glass of water.
you'd propped yourself up and stared at the tray and then at him.
"you remembered the soup place," you said.
"you mentioned it."
"once."
"yeah." he sat on the edge of the bed and looked at you with an expression that was just plain and uncomplicated. "do you want to watch something or do you want quiet?"
"something," you said. "will you stay?"
he looked at you like the question was faintly unnecessary. he reached over, pulled the blanket up more evenly over your legs, and then went to the other side of the bed and settled against the headboard beside you as if the matter was closed.
you watched two films. he stayed for the full length of both of them, your legs tangled loosely together under the blanket, the warm solid weight of him next to you the whole time. you'd been ill and half-present and your hair was unwashed and you were aware with some distant embarrassment that you were not at your most anything, and park sunghoon lay there beside you in the grey afternoon light of your bedroom and gave no indication that any of this registered as a problem.
somewhere in the second film you'd drifted off. you woke up to the room tilted into evening, the light amber and low through the curtains, and sunghoon was still there. he'd turned the volume down to almost nothing and was reading something on his phone with the focused quiet of someone who had nowhere to be. your head had migrated to his shoulder at some point while you slept and his arm had settled around you, hand resting at your waist over the blanket, and it had clearly just stayed that way for however long you'd been out.
he looked down when he sensed you wake.
"how long was i asleep," you said, voice thick.
"little over an hour."
"sunghoon. you've been sitting here for—"
"you were asleep," he said, in the tone of someone explaining something self-evident. "i wasn't going to leave while you were asleep."
you looked at him for a moment, this boy who had come over with soup and remembered which kind and stayed through two films and an hour of you unconscious on his shoulder because leaving while you were asleep had not been a real option to him. the evenness of it. the complete absence of any need for acknowledgement or gratitude or drama about any of it. he'd just come and stayed because that was what you did for the person you loved, obviously, end of reasoning.
"thank you," you said.
"you don't have to thank me," he said simply.
you turned into him slightly, pressing your face against his shoulder, and he pulled you a little closer with the arm he already had around you, unhurried, and you lay there in the quiet amber light of your own bedroom feeling taken care of in a way that went down to the bones.
later, when you were more awake and sitting up and eating the second half of the soup reheated, he'd sat across from you at the foot of the bed and asked you things, easy and unhurried. how you were actually feeling, not just the physical facts of it but generally, how the week had been before the cold arrived, whether the thing at work had resolved itself. he listened to all of it with the same steadiness he had for everything, chin resting in his hand, watching you.
the lamp was on by then, warm yellow in the dark of the room, and you'd looked at him across the bed, his face relaxed and familiar and yours, and you'd thought that this was what love actually looked like when you stripped everything else away. it wasn't the grand version. it was someone who showed up on a tuesday afternoon and stayed until you felt better and asked you the right questions and made the whole sick day feel, somehow, like one of the better ones you'd had in a while.
SUNOO — the warmth of him
dating sunoo meant being loved loudly and often and without any self-consciousness about it whatsoever.
he said i love you the way most people said good morning. which is to say frequently, and casually, and with complete sincerity and zero expectation that it be a significant event every single time. he said it when you made him laugh hard enough that he had to lean forward with his hand over his mouth. he said it when you pointed something out of a car window that he would have driven past. he said it when you sent him something at eleven at night that had nothing to do with anything, when you handed him his jacket without him asking, when you texted back too slowly and he'd already moved on but still ended the message with it anyway, appended like a habit he had no interest in breaking.
every single time, it sounded like he meant it freshly. like the feeling kept arriving and he kept reporting it as news.
it should have gotten diluted. with anyone else it might have. but with sunoo the accumulation of it had built something structural in you over time, a certainty that lived in your body rather than just your head, warm and load-bearing, the kind of thing you didn't have to think about to know. you'd started believing it the way you believed in consistent and reliable things. automatically. without having to work at it.
he also talked about you to strangers, which oscillated between endearing and mortifying depending on the day and your proximity to the event. you'd been at a café with him once, standing at the counter while he ordered, and the barista had asked the standard small talk question of how his week was going. you'd been reading the menu board above and not paying particular attention. by the time you tuned back in sunoo had managed, in the time it took to order two drinks, to mention that your week had been good actually because you'd recently done a thing he was proud of, and the barista was smiling and nodding like this was a normal conversational development.
you'd looked at the menu board very hard until your face sorted itself out.
"she asked how your week was," you told him when you sat down.
"it was a good week," he said, completely untroubled, pulling the lid off his cup to let it cool. "you're why it was a good week. it's relevant information."
"to a stranger."
"to anyone who asked." he looked at you. there was nothing to argue with in his expression. it was just sunoo, entirely certain of himself and entirely certain of you and finding no contradiction between the two. you'd picked up your own cup and hidden behind it for a moment.
the thing about sunoo was the texture of daily life with him. the way your nervous system was allowed to unclench. you could be boring with him, genuinely boring, tired and flat and strange at inconvenient hours, the version of yourself that you edited out for most people, and he'd take all of it and still look at you like you were the most interesting person in whatever room you were in. just feeling it and showing it the way he showed everything, which was openly, like he'd never learnt the thing that made most people guard their faces.
he texted you good morning every single day. not elaborately, usually just your name followed by a sun emoji, or sometimes just the emoji alone, but it had arrived without exception for so long that waking up to it had started to feel like part of the structure of a day. the one morning it had been late, delayed by something, you'd noticed its absence the way you'd notice if gravity had taken a half day. when it finally came through you'd texted back you're late and he'd responded with seventeen sun emojis in a row and somehow that was worse, meaning better, meaning the feeling in your chest had done something that required you to put your phone down for a moment.
one night late in the year, winter setting in properly outside the window, you'd been on his couch with your legs across his lap watching something neither of you were fully paying attention to. you'd been talking in the loose, unhurried way you talked when there was nowhere to be, one conversation becoming another, a lot of laughter about things that wouldn't have been funny in a different context. you'd registered at some point mid-sentence that you were laughing and that your face hurt slightly from it and that you felt, in the most uncomplicated and unguarded way, completely happy. like the word itself had found a physical location.
you'd gone quiet and sunoo had looked over.
"what," he said.
"nothing." you shook your head a little. "i'm just. i'm really happy right now."
his expression shifted into something so open it was almost hard to look at directly. he leaned forward, slow, and kissed you softly, one hand warm at your ankle where it rested in his lap, and then pulled back just enough to look at you properly.
"yeah," he said quietly. "me too."
you'd leaned forward and kissed him again, longer this time, and he made a small pleased sound and his hand moved from your ankle to your knee, warm and grounding, and outside the winter did its grey and quiet things and inside it was just the two of you, warm, unhurried, happy in the specific way that only came from being exactly where you wanted to be.
JUNGWON — the way he handled things
the most telling thing about yang jungwon was how he behaved when he was the one who had gotten it wrong.
you'd been together about five months when it happened. a schedule change had come through on his end and he'd forgotten to communicate it until you were already on your way, already dressed and out the door and ten minutes into the journey. it was small in the grand scheme. the kind of thing that happened and in a fair world got filed under life and moved on from without much ceremony. you'd been in situations before where small things like this became, through some subtle conversational alchemy, your responsibility to manage. where the apology had a shape that required you to perform forgiveness quickly and reassuringly so that the other person could feel better about it. you'd learnt to brace for that without knowing you were doing it.
jungwon called you while you were still on the train.
he said: i messed up. i forgot to tell you when my schedule changed and i should have called you way earlier than this. i'm sorry, genuinely, you got ready and came all the way out and that's completely on me.
clear, direct, without hedging, without any architecture to it that might have redistributed the weight of it onto you. he just said what had happened and said it was his fault and said sorry, in that order, and stopped.
you'd sat with your phone against your ear and looked at your reflection in the dark window of the train and felt something unclench in you that you hadn't known was clenched.
"it's okay," you'd started.
"it's not really," he said. "i don't want to brush past it like it's fine when it isn't. you shouldn't have had to find out like this." a brief pause. "where are you right now? wherever you want to go tonight, tell me and i'll be there."
you'd picked somewhere on the other side of the city, partly because you genuinely wanted to go there and partly, if you were honest with yourself, because some small part of you wanted to see if he'd mean it logistically. he showed up twenty-two minutes later. you'd been standing outside in the cold with your coat pulled around you and he'd come around the corner walking fast, slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the rushing. he'd come straight to you and taken your face in both his hands, his palms cold from the outside air, and kissed you once, firmly, before leaning back to look at you.
"hi," he said. his eyes did a small inventory of your face, checking in.
"hi," you said.
"i'm really sorry."
"i know." you meant it completely. "i believe you."
the rest of the evening had been easy in a way that felt almost surprising after the earlier part of it, like the earlier part had been dealt with so cleanly that it didn't trail into everything afterwards. you'd had dinner somewhere warm and loud and talked about unrelated things and laughed a reasonable amount and at no point had either of you dragged the incident back out and turned it over again. he'd said what needed to be said, you'd heard it, and the evening had been allowed to just be the evening.
you'd thought about that a lot afterward, the particular freedom of someone who could say i was wrong plainly and then move forward without making you manage their feelings about it. you'd had relationships before where accountability was a thing you had to negotiate for carefully, where raising something that had bothered you triggered a defensive process that eventually ended with you comforting the person who'd caused it. the absence of that with jungwon was something you kept noticing, the way you noticed the absence of a sound you'd gotten used to. there was just room to breathe.
he was like that in other directions too. when you got things wrong he told you so, but he did it with a straightforwardness that never felt like an attack, more like information being passed across in good faith, and you'd found yourself doing the same thing backs, the whole dynamic operating on an assumption of goodwill that made honesty feel easier than it had anywhere else.
there were other things. smaller and softer things that added to the same picture of him. in cinemas he reached for your hand automatically in the dark, without looking, his fingers finding yours with the ease of something they'd done enough times to have memorised the way. after long days he had a habit of finding you in whatever room you were in and just pulling you in close for a moment, his chin at your temple, not saying anything, just briefly pressing pause on whatever was happening and existing in the same space as you. the first time it happened you'd gone still, surprised by the tenderness of it, and he'd murmured hi into your hair like you'd just arrived, and you'd felt something settle in your chest so firmly it had ached a little.
he also argued with you sometimes, which sounds like the wrong thing to put on a list but was one of the things that made you trust him most. he disagreed with you when he actually disagreed, made his case, held his ground if he believed he was right, and then genuinely reconsidered if your point was good. he never agreed with you just to keep things smooth and he never made you feel like your disagreements were a problem to be solved rather than a conversation to be had. you'd grown up in a world where conflict meant someone was going to leave and somewhere along the way jungwon had quietly started dismantling that particular belief, one boring, functional, well-handled argument at a time.
NI-KI — loved the way you loved things
you had a habit of making yourself smaller before anyone else could do it for you.
it was something you'd developed so gradually that you hadn't noticed it happening until it was already just part of how you moved through the world. you'd learnt, through a series of small and accumulating experiences, that the things you cared about most were also the things most likely to be received with a raised eyebrow or a poorly concealed smile or a comment dressed up as a joke that still landed like a small, clean cut. so you'd gotten ahead of it. you started adding disclaimers. i know it's kind of stupid but and this is embarrassing but and okay don't laugh before anything that actually mattered to you, a preemptive apology for the audacity of having interests, and after a while you'd started to not even notice you were doing it.
ni-ki noticed.
it was maybe three weeks in, still early enough that you were paying attention to each other in that particular way that faded once things got comfortable. you'd been telling him about something you loved, something you'd loved for years, and you'd started the sentence with okay this is so niche but— and he'd looked at you with an expression you hadn't been able to fully read in the moment, something between curious and careful.
"why do you do that," he said.
you'd stopped. "do what?"
"apologise before you say things." he wasn't being pointed about it. he just looked genuinely curious, his head tilted slightly, watching you. "you do it every time you're about to say something you actually care about."
you hadn't had an answer for that. you'd opened your mouth and then closed it again and looked away, and a warm uncomfortable feeling had moved through you that you recognised as being seen in a direction you hadn't opened up for viewing.
"you don't have to do that with me," he said, simply, and then he'd nodded at you to continue, like the detour had been a small and manageable thing and now you were back on the main road.
you'd continued. haltingly at first and then properly, the whole thing, the full version you usually compressed for people, and he'd listened to all of it with his chin in his hand and his eyes on your face and asked you questions at the right moments, real questions that proved he was following and interested and not managing the clock. by the end of it you'd been talking with your hands, animated in the way you only got when something had its full grip on you, and ni-ki had been smiling, not at you but with the particular expression of someone watching a person be completely themselves and finding it genuinely good.
you'd felt the absence of the apology sitting at the front of your sentence and realised you'd forgotten to put it there.
it became a thing you noticed, his specific refusal to make you feel ridiculous for the things you cared about. it was consistent across everything. the media you consumed that wasn't cool. the opinions you held that were small and unimportant and fully yours. the things that made you cry that a different person might have found disproportionate. ni-ki absorbed all of it without adjustment to his expression, without the slight withdrawal that signalled judgement being kept politely internal. he just took the information in and usually wanted to know more.
you'd been watching something one evening on his couch, something he hadn't seen before, and you'd made the mistake of watching his face during the part that always got you instead of watching the screen. you'd felt the familiar prickling behind your eyes and done the usual thing, pressed your lips together, blinked it back, made yourself very still so the emotion wouldn't make it all the way to the surface.
ni-ki had glanced over at exactly the wrong moment.
"are you crying," he said.
"no," you said, in the specific tone that meant yes.
he looked at the screen and back at you. he reached over and pulled you into his side, easy, one arm around your shoulders, and said nothing at all, no teasing, no comment, just let you watch the rest of it tucked against him. when it was over and you'd straightened up and done the small business of getting your face back in order, he'd looked over and said, entirely sincerely, "okay that part was devastating actually."
you'd laughed before you could stop yourself. "right?"
"i completely understand," he said. "that was really sad."
it was such a small thing and it stayed with you for days afterward. the particular generosity of someone who met you where you were instead of pulling you up to where they were standing. who didn't require you to justify the temperature of your feelings or defend the things you loved to him. who made the space around your caring feel safe enough that you slowly, incrementally, stopped prefacing it with apologies.
you caught yourself one afternoon, months in, talking about something you loved with absolutely no preamble. no disclaimer, no preemptive self-deprecation, just the thing itself, offered plainly, and ni-ki listening with the easy attentiveness he always had. you'd noticed mid-sentence and gone quiet for a second.
"what," he said.
"nothing," you said. "i just." you thought about how to explain it and settled on the plain version. "i didn't apologise before that."
ni-ki looked at you for a moment. something in his expression shifted into something softer, something that he didn't try to cover up or underplay.
"good," he said quietly.
he reached over and tucked a piece of your hair back, just briefly, his fingers light at your temple, and then he nodded at you to keep going. so you did. the whole thing, the full version, without making yourself smaller first, and he listened to every word of it like there was nowhere else he'd rather be and nothing you could say that he'd find anything less than worth hearing.
you thought that might have been one of the best gifts anyone had ever given you. small and quiet and completely unglamourous. just someone who made you feel like the things you loved were worth loving, and like you didn't have to shrink yourself down to a more manageable size before walking into a room he was in.
you'd spent a long time being small. with ni-ki, you didn't have to be.
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
did you see the devastating news.. heeseung WHYY. i cant not believe this shit. i cant accept ot6
yes unfortunately i did. i still can't believe this real? like i genuinely thought they had a good bond and were literally at the peak of their career as a band too
pairing: psycho supervillain!sunoo x obsessed sidekick!reader
synopsis: two years of pining after sunoo like a pathetic fool, and for what? you sharpen his knives, handle his dirty work, and pretend your heart doesn't shatter every time he calls you "sweetheart" like it means nothing. you've built your entire world around him. but everyone has a breaking point, and you've finally found yours. shame sunoo doesn't handle loss well.
warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!): smut(mean dom!sunoo x bratty!reader, sexual tension, rough sex, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f. receiving), possessive behavior, degradation, praise, power imbalance, knife play, blood play, masochistic themes, overstimulation), knives, violence, cursing, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, jealousy, mentions of death, fight scenes
note: this fic definitely did not need to be this long, but i couldn’t stop yapping T T i really wanted to take my time building that toxic tension properly. i hope it came through the way i intended, enjoyyy
word count: 16.9k
taglist | more works!
you watched sunoo carve through heroes like they were nothing more than wet paper, and every single time your heart did this stupid thing where it forgot how to beat properly. he moved through the world with this casual, almost lazy grace that made violence look like choreography, his knives catching the light as they spun between his fingers. you couldn't look away even if you wanted to. which you didn't. you never wanted to look away from him.
the warehouse reeked of rust and old blood, but you barely noticed anymore. you were by his side for two years now—ever since that night he found you trying to rob the same jewelry store he was burning down. he tilted his head at you with those fox-like eyes, lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile, and said, "cute. you want to try something that actually matters?"
your life belonged to him ever since.
you said yes without thinking. without even hesitating, really, because what else were you going to do? go back to your shitty apartment with the broken heater and the landlord who kept "forgetting" to fix things? go back to stealing just enough to survive, always looking over your shoulder, always one mistake away from getting caught? he was offering you something. purpose, maybe. or at least a reason to wake up in the morning that wasn't just spite and survival instinct.
you didn't expect to fall in love with him.
that part snuck up on you slowly, then all at once. first it was admiration—the way he planned everything three steps ahead, the way he never seemed rattled even when things went wrong. then it was fascination—the contrast between his delicate features and the absolute brutality he was capable of, the way he hummed cheerfully while cleaning blood off his knives. and then somewhere along the way it became this. this aching, desperate, all-consuming thing that lived in your chest and made it hard to breathe when he looked at you for too long.
you memorised his coffee order (iced americano, extra shot, barely any water because he was a psychopath apparently), the way he liked his knives arranged (smallest to largest, always within arm's reach), the exact angle his mouth curved when he was genuinely amused versus when he was pretending. you knew he tapped his fingers against his thigh when he was thinking, that he rolled his shoulders back exactly twice before a fight, that he had a tiny scar behind his left ear that you only saw once when his hair was wet.
it was embarrassing how much you noticed. how much you cared.
and the worst part? he absolutely knew. had to know. because you weren't subtle, not even a little bit. you volunteered for every job he mentioned, stayed up late sharpening his weapons even though your hands cramped, laughed too loud at things that weren't that funny just because he was the one saying them. you were obvious and desperate and so fucking transparent it hurt.
he never said anything about it though. never acknowledged the way you looked at him, never called you out on the fact that you basically reorganised your entire existence around him. he just let you orbit him like some pathetic satellite, close enough to be useful but never close enough to actually touch.
tonight started like any other night. you got back from a job—something small, just roughing up some hero-wannabe who was getting too close to one of sunoo's operations—and you were still riding the adrenaline high. your knuckles were scraped, your shirt had someone else's blood on it, and you felt alive in a way you never did doing anything else. sunoo had that effect. he made even the violent things feel like they mattered, like you were part of something bigger.
you found him in the main area of the warehouse, surrounded by his collection. that's what you called it in your head—his collection. knives of every size and style, some plain and practical, others ornate and clearly expensive. he was meticulous about maintaining them, spending hours with whetstones and oil, handling each blade like it was precious. like it was loved.
you wondered sometimes what it would feel like to be handled like that. with care. with attention. with those elegant fingers tracing over every detail like it mattered.
god, you needed help.
"you're back early," he said without looking up from the blade he was cleaning. the silk cloth in his hand was already stained red—whether from today or yesterday or last week, you couldn't tell. "did he give you trouble?"
"no. he folded pretty quick." you dropped your jacket on the back of a chair, trying not to wince at the bruise forming on your ribs. it was nothing serious. you had worse. "threatened to call in backup though. might want to move up the timeline on the next phase."
"mm. predictable." he set down the knife he was working on, finally glancing up at you. his gaze swept over you quickly, cataloguing injuries with the efficiency of someone who did this a thousand times. "you're hurt."
"it's nothing."
"i didn't ask if it was nothing. i said you're hurt." he stood then, moving toward you with that fluid grace that made your mouth go dry. "sit."
you sat. because you always did what he told you to do, because you were completely gone for him and had zero self-respect apparently.
he pulled out the first aid kit—the actual one, not the piece of shit drugstore version you kept in your bag—and started cleaning the scrapes on your knuckles. his touch was gentle, almost tender, and it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the bruised ribs. this was the worst part. when he acted like he cared, like you were more than just a useful tool. it made you hope for things you had no business hoping for.
"you need to stop leading with your right," he murmured, wrapping gauze around your knuckles with practiced ease. "you're too obvious. anyone paying attention would see it coming."
"noted." your voice came out rougher than intended. he was so close, close enough that you could smell his cologne, could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. could see the way his lips parted slightly when he concentrated. "i'll work on it."
"you better. i don't need my best enforcer getting sloppy." he finished with your hands and moved on to checking your ribs, fingers pressing carefully against the bruised area. you hissed at the contact and he made this sympathetic sound that absolutely destroyed you. "not broken. you'll be fine in a few days."
"i'm always fine."
"because i take care of you." he looked up then, meeting your eyes, and there was something in his expression you couldn't read. something that made your stomach flip. "someone has to."
you wanted to ask what he meant by that. wanted to ask if he felt even a fraction of what you felt, if he ever thought about you the way you thought about him, if he ever lay awake at night replaying conversations and analysing every word for hidden meaning. but you couldn't. because if he said no, if he confirmed what you already knew—that this was one-sided and pathetic and you were just setting yourself up for heartbreak—you'd shatter into so many pieces you'd never find them all.
so instead you just said, "thanks."
he smiled at that. small and private, like you said something amusing. "you're welcome, sweetheart."
and there it was. that stupid pet name that made your entire nervous system short-circuit every single time. he used it so casually, like it didn't mean anything, like he didn't know it made you want to do something insane like grab him and kiss him until neither of you could breathe.
he packed up the first aid kit and went back to his knives, settling into his chair like nothing happened. like he didn't just touch you with those careful hands and call you sweetheart and make you fall even more impossibly in love with him.
you moved to the other side of the table, pulling out the whetstone and selecting one of his knives to sharpen. it was something to do with your hands, something to focus on that wasn't the way your heart was still racing or the phantom feeling of his fingers against your skin. you fell into the familiar rhythm—the slide of the blade against stone, the steady pressure, the high-pitched ring of metal being honed to a perfect edge.
this was safe. this was manageable. you could handle sitting across from him, sharing space, existing in his orbit as long as you had something to concentrate on. as long as you didn't think too hard about how domestic this felt, how right, like you were two halves of something that fit together perfectly.
you were at it for maybe twenty minutes when you felt his eyes on you. that prickling awareness that came from being watched, the weight of his attention making your hands want to shake even though you kept them steady through sheer force of will.
"you're staring again," he said without looking up, and there was this amused lilt to his voice that made your stomach flip. he knew. he always knew when you were looking, when your thoughts went somewhere they shouldn't, when your breath caught because he moved too close or smiled that specific way that made you want to do something stupid.
"sorry," you mumbled, forcing your eyes away, focusing instead on the knife in your hands. you were sharpening them for the past hour, hands steady even though your pulse wasn't. even though being this close to him made your skin feel too tight, made every nerve ending hyperaware of the space between your bodies.
he laughed. it was soft, almost fond, which was worse somehow. "no you're not."
and he was right. you weren't sorry. you'd never be sorry for looking at him, for memorising the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely amused versus when he was about to kill someone. you catalogued every detail of him like your life depended on it. maybe it did.
the sound of his footsteps made you tense before you felt his presence behind you, close enough that you could smell his cologne—something expensive and sharp that made your head spin. his hand came down on the table beside yours, fingers splayed, and you could see the old scars across his knuckles, the elegant length of his fingers. he was so close. too close. not close enough.
"we have a job tomorrow," he said, voice low and right by your ear. your hands stilled on the whetstone, breath catching. "the heroes are sending their best. should be fun."
fun. he called it fun. you called it watching him dance through combat like he was untouchable, like nothing in the world could hurt him, while your heart tried to claw its way out of your chest because what if this was the time something went wrong? what if—
"you're thinking too loud," sunoo murmured, and then his fingers were under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. they were so dark, pupils blown wide in the dim light, and there was something in his expression you couldn't read. something that made your stomach drop and soar at the same time. "i'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. i've told you this."
the pet name made heat crawl up your neck. he used it sometimes, always with this teasing edge that made you want to combust on the spot. you knew he didn't mean it the way you wanted him to mean it. knew he saw you as useful, as entertaining maybe, but not—
his thumb brushed across your bottom lip and your brain short-circuited.
"you know what i like about you?" he asked, conversational, like he wasn't currently making your entire nervous system malfunction. like his touch wasn't burning itself into your skin in a way you'd never recover from. "you're so easy to read. every thought shows on your face."
oh god. if he could read your thoughts then he knew—he knew about the embarrassing dreams, the way you watched him constantly, the fact that you'd burn the entire world down if he asked you to. the fact that you were so stupidly, desperately, pathetically in love with him it physically hurt sometimes.
you tried to pull away but his grip tightened, not painful but firm, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "i didn't say you could move."
your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. "sunoo—"
"shh." his thumb pressed against your lips, silencing you, and his smile was sharp enough to cut. "you're always so obedient. it's almost boring."
that stung. you knew you were boring compared to him, knew you were just—just there, useful for sharpening his knives and handling the boring logistics and worshipping the ground he walked on like some kind of devoted dog. but hearing him say it made something crack in your chest.
you bit down on his thumb. not hard enough to break skin but enough to surprise him, to show some kind of spine even though your hands were shaking. his eyes widened fractionally before something dangerous slid across his features, something that made every survival instinct scream at you to run.
you didn't run. you never ran from him.
"there she is," he breathed, and he sounded almost delighted. his hand moved from your chin to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, and you could feel your pulse jumping against his palm. "i was wondering when you'd stop being so scared of me."
"i'm not scared of you," you managed, voice rough. it was true. you weren't scared of him. you were scared of how much you wanted him, how you'd let him ruin you completely and thank him for it, how there wasn't a version of your future that didn't have him in it.
"liar," he said, but he was smiling now, really smiling, and it made him look younger. softer. like maybe underneath the villain there was still some part of the boy he must have been before. "you're terrified. but not of me hurting you."
his fingers flexed against your throat and you stopped breathing.
"you're scared i don't want you back."
the world tilted. your ears were ringing. had he just—did he mean—
"i—" you couldn't form words. your brain had completely shut down, every thought scattering like startled birds. "what?"
sunoo leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted across your lips, and his eyes were so dark, so intense it felt like falling. "you think i don't notice? the way you watch me, the way your breathing changes when i get close, the way you'd do anything i asked without question?"
his voice dropped lower, almost a purr. "you think i don't know you're completely obsessed with me?"
you wanted to deny it. wanted to salvage some scrap of dignity. but what was the point? he was right. he was always right about you.
"and what if i am?" you whispered, because fuck it. fuck pride, fuck self-preservation. you were already his in every way that mattered.
his smile turned wicked. "then you should know something." his thumb traced your jawline, gentle in a way that made your chest ache. "tomorrow, during the fight. one of them is going to get lucky. you're going to see something that might scare you."
your blood went cold. "what do you mean?"
"you'll see." he pulled back slightly, expression unreadable. "just remember—i told you i'm not going anywhere."
"sunoo, if you're in danger—"
"i'm not the one in danger, sweetheart. i never am." there was something strange in his voice now, something almost vulnerable. "the heroes are. they just don't know it yet."
he pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled away completely, leaving you frozen at the table, heart in pieces, mind racing.
tomorrow. something was going to happen tomorrow. something that would scare you. but you'd be there anyway, because where else would you be except at his side, watching him tear through heroes like they were nothing, bleeding devotion from every pore?
you were so fucked.
the abandoned district was perfect for what sunoo had planned. empty warehouses stretched out in every direction, windows shattered and walls tagged with graffiti, the typical place heroes loved to use for their dramatic confrontations. you perched on a rusted fire escape three stories up, exactly where sunoo told you to wait, and tried to keep your breathing steady.
you hated this part. the waiting. the watching. being stuck on the sidelines when you were perfectly capable of fighting alongside him.
it was always like this. sunoo never let you join the actual fights, not the important ones anyway. he'd let you handle the small stuff—roughing up informants, dealing with low-level heroes, the grunt work that kept his operations running. and you were good at it. you'd proven yourself over and over, taken down targets efficiently and without complications. but the moment things got serious, the moment real danger showed up, he stuck you somewhere safe and told you to watch.
it drove you insane. made you feel useless, like some helpless thing that needed protecting instead of the competent fighter you'd worked so hard to become. you'd asked him about it once and he'd just given you this soft and unreadable look and said, "humour me."
so here you were again, benched, watching him stand in the centre of the street below with his hands in his pockets, looking like he was waiting for a bus instead of an ambush.
"relax," sunoo called up to you, and you could hear the smile in his voice even from this distance. "you're so tense i can feel it from here."
"maybe because there's supposed to be five of them," you shot back, fingers gripping the railing hard enough to hurt. "and you won't let me help."
"you are helping. you're watching." he pulled out one of his knives—the small one, the one he used for warmups—and examined it in the dim streetlight. "making sure no one tries to run. very important job."
"sunoo—"
"we've talked about this, sweetheart." his voice was still light but there was an edge to it now, that tone that meant the discussion was over. "you stay up there where it's safe. this is non-negotiable."
you wanted to argue. wanted to climb down there and prove you could handle yourself, that you didn't need to be protected like some fragile thing. but you knew that tone. knew it meant he'd already made up his mind and nothing you said would change it.
it didn't make sense anyway. sunoo was invincible—literally, actually invincible. you'd watched heroes land hits that should have shattered bone and he just shrugged them off like they were nothing. watched him take knife wounds and gunshots and falls that would kill anyone else, and he'd just stand back up without a scratch. he'd never even bled in front of you, not once in two years. his superpower made him untouchable in a way that should have meant he worried about himself, not you.
but he did worry. kept you away from danger with an almost obsessive focus, like the thought of you getting hurt was worse than anything the heroes could do to him.
you were about to tell him exactly how annoying that was when you felt it—the shift in the air that meant they were here. heroes. you'd gotten good at sensing them over the past two years, the way they moved with that self-righteous confidence, like the world owed them something for existing.
they came from three directions at once. the one in front was taehyun, some rising star with enhanced strength who'd been making headlines for taking down minor villains. flanking him were two others you didn't recognise—a girl with electricity crackling between her fingers and a guy who looked like he could bench press a car. the last two dropped down from the rooftops behind sunoo, cutting off his escape routes.
classic hero formation. surround and overwhelm.
sunoo just laughed.
"taehyun, right?" he said, spinning the knife between his fingers in that casual way that made your stomach flip even now, even in the middle of this. "i've heard about you. something about justice and protecting the innocent?" he tilted his head, fox-like eyes glinting with amusement. "boring."
"kim sunoo," taehyun said, and his voice had that hero quality—all noble and dramatic. "you're under arrest for—"
"yeah, yeah, crimes against humanity, murder, blah blah." sunoo waved his free hand dismissively. "can we skip the speech? i have plans later."
the electricity girl didn't wait for permission. she lunged forward, hands crackling with power, and you stopped breathing because she was fast, faster than you expected, and her fingers were reaching for sunoo's throat and—
he moved.
it wasn't even a dodge, really. more like he just wasn't there anymore, sliding to the side with that liquid grace that made violence look like dancing. his knife flashed once, twice, and suddenly electricity girl was stumbling back with shallow cuts across her arms, blood blooming bright against her costume.
"first blood," sunoo said cheerfully. "anyone else want to try?"
they all moved at once.
you'd seen sunoo fight before. watched him take down heroes and villains and anyone stupid enough to get in his way. but it never stopped being mesmerising, the way he moved through combat like he was performing, like every strike was choreographed for maximum effect. his knives caught the streetlight as they spun, as he ducked under the strongman's punch and came up slashing, as he used taehyun's own momentum against him to send him crashing into a wall.
he was playing with them. you could tell by the smile on his face, the way he hummed under his breath between strikes. this wasn't a fight to him, more likev entertainment.
one of the heroes from the rooftop—a speedster with silver hair who moved almost too fast to track—managed to get behind sunoo and land a solid kick to his spine. you heard the impact from three stories up, heard the way it should have done damage, but sunoo just turned around slowly, rolling his shoulders back twice—that pre-fight tell you'd memorised—and smiled. "nice hit."
not a scratch, not even a bruise forming all thanks to his invincibility. it was like the hit never happened.
the speedster went for another strike and sunoo met him halfway, knife finding the gap in his defences like he'd known exactly where it would be. like he'd planned for it. blood sprayed and the speedster went down hard, clutching his leg.
taehyun roared something about protecting his team and charged again, enhanced strength making the ground crack under his feet. his fist connected with sunoo's jaw in a hit that should have broken bones, should have knocked him unconscious, should have mattered.
sunoo's head snapped to the side from the impact.
and then he straightened up and grinned, completely unharmed, looking absolutely delighted.
"my turn," he said.
what happened next was terrifying in how easy he made it look. sunoo moved through them like they were nothing, knives finding soft spots and weak points with surgical precision. the strongman went down with a knife in his shoulder. electricity girl tried to taser him and he let the electricity hit him full force, let it crawl across his skin in a way that should have stopped his heart, and just caught her wrist mid-attack, twisted, sent her crashing into the speedster who was trying to get back up.
taehyun lasted the longest, his enhanced strength letting him trade blows with sunoo in a way that would have been impressive if it made any difference. but even he couldn't do anything that stuck. every hit that connected—and there were several, hard enough that you felt them in your own bones—sunoo just absorbed like they were gentle taps.
you watched taehyun land a hit to sunoo's ribs that cracked the concrete behind him. watched him get thrown into a wall hard enough to leave an impact crater. watched electricity crawl across his entire body in a sustained attack that made the streetlights flicker.
and sunoo just kept going.
he fought the way he did everything else—with casual, terrifying ease, like the concept of being hurt didn't apply to him.
because it didn't. nothing could hurt him. that was his power, his gift, the thing that made him untouchable and terrifying and invincible.
"impossible," taehyun gasped, on his knees now, one arm hanging useless. "nothing works. nothing even slows you down."
"mm. perceptive." sunoo crouched in front of him, knife spinning lazily between his fingers. "you know what your problem is? you keep trying to hurt me. but you can't." he leaned in closer, voice dropping to something almost intimate. "no one can. i'm invincible, hero. completely and utterly untouchable."
"everyone has a weakness," electricity girl spat from where she was slumped against the wall. "everyone can be hurt by something."
sunoo's expression shifted. something flickered across his face—dangerous and possessive and real in a way that made your breath catch. "mm. true."
he stood, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. there wasn't a mark on him. not a scratch, not a bruise, nothing to indicate he'd just fought five enhanced heroes. "but my weakness isn't here. and even if it was, you'd never reach it."
he stepped over taehyun's prone form and walked away, hands in his pockets, humming that same melody from earlier. like he'd just finished a light workout instead of taking down five enhanced heroes.
you were down the fire escape before you consciously decided to move, feet hitting the ground and carrying you toward him. he caught you easily when you crashed into his chest, arms coming around you, and you hated how good it felt. how safe.
"told you," he murmured into your hair. "nothing to worry about."
you pulled back just enough to look at him, hands fisting in his jacket. "you let him hit you in the ribs. you let the electricity girl taser you for like ten straight seconds."
"had to make it interesting." his fingers came up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "can't just dodge everything. that would be boring."
"you're insane."
"and you're beautiful when you're worried about me." his smile was softer now, private, meant just for you. "even though you know nothing can hurt me. isn't that interesting?"
you didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to explain that knowing he was invincible and watching him take hits were two different things. that your heart still stopped every time even though your brain knew he was fine.
"come on," he said, taking your hand. "let's go home."
the walk back to the warehouse was quiet. sunoo kept his fingers laced with yours, thumb stroking absent patterns against your skin, and you tried not to think about how natural it felt. how right.
"you know why i don't let you fight with me," he said eventually, and it wasn't a question.
"because you're overprotective and slightly unhinged?"
he laughed, soft and genuine. "well, yes. but also because you can get hurt. you don't have invincibility. you're human and fragile and one lucky hit could—" his fingers tightened around yours. "i can't risk that."
"i can handle myself."
"i know you can." he pulled you closer as you walked, until your shoulders brushed. "i've seen you fight. you're good. really good. but good doesn't matter when you're going up against enhanced heroes who could kill you by accident. and i—" he stopped walking, turned to face you fully. "i can't watch you get hurt. i won't."
there was something raw in his voice. something that made your chest ache.
"nothing can hurt me," he continued, quieter now. "i've tested it. knives, bullets, fire, electricity, falls from buildings, poison, everything. i'm completely invincible. but that doesn't mean i don't understand pain." his hand came up to cup your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip. "i just experience it differently now. through you."
your breath caught. "sunoo—"
"so humuor me," he murmured. "stay safe. stay where i put you. let me keep you away from things that could hurt you. because that's the only thing that actually scares me anymore."
you didn't know what to say. didn't know how to process the fact that he'd just admitted you were his weakness, his only weakness, the one thing that could touch him in a world where nothing else could.
"okay," you whispered, and his smile was devastating.
"good girl."
***
the warehouse was exactly as you'd left it—knives still spread across the table, first aid kit still out from earlier even though you both knew he'd never need it. sunoo headed straight for his chair and started pulling out his weapons, laying them on the silk cloth with careful precision. they were all dirty. blood and god knows what else staining the metal.
you grabbed the cleaning supplies without being asked and settled into the chair across from him, reaching for the first knife. it was automatic now, this routine. he fought, you cleaned. he destroyed, you maintained. two halves of something that worked.
"not that one," sunoo said, plucking the blade from your fingers. "start with the small ones. work your way up."
you rolled your eyes but switched knives, selecting one of his favorites—a thin stiletto with a pearl handle. your hands were steadier than they should be as you wiped away the blood, as you checked the edge for damage. muscle memory from hundreds of nights just like this one.
except tonight was different. tonight felt charged somehow, the air between you thick with something unspoken. maybe it was what he'd said during the walk back. maybe it was the way he kept looking at you, dark eyes tracking every movement.
maybe it was the fact that you were aware now. aware of every breath, every small shift. the way his knee was almost touching yours under the table. the way his fingers moved over his knives with the same careful attention he'd touched you with earlier.
"you're holding it wrong," he said after a few minutes, and then he was standing, moving around the table, and your mouth went dry because he was right there, pressed against your back, his hand covering yours on the knife.
"i'm holding it the same way i always do," you managed, but your voice came out breathless and you wanted to die.
"mm. and you've always done it wrong." his fingers adjusted your grip, tilting the blade at a different angle. his hand was cold against your wrist, long fingers wrapping around easily, and you could feel his breath against your neck. "like this. see the difference?"
you didn't see anything. couldn't see anything past the fact that he was touching you, that his chest was pressed against your shoulders, that if you tilted your head back even slightly it would rest against his collarbone.
"better," he murmured, and his thumb stroked once across your pulse point before he let go and stepped back.
you forced yourself to focus on the knife, on cleaning the blood from the blade with hands that shook slightly. he settled back into his chair and picked up another weapon, and you tried not to notice the way he watched you. the weight of his attention making your skin feel too tight.
the silence stretched between you like a living thing.
"you're being quiet," he said eventually.
"just thinking."
"about?"
about how you just told five heroes i'm your weakness. about how you keep me away from danger like i'm something precious. about how you said you experience pain through me now. about how i want to touch you so badly it physically hurts. about how i'd let you ruin me and thank you for it.
"stuff," you said instead.
he laughed, soft and low, and it slid down your spine like honey. "liar."
you looked up and found him already watching you, and there was something in his expression that made your breath catch. something hungry and knowing. like he could see straight through you to all the desperate, pathetic thoughts you were trying so hard to hide.
"i'm going to kiss you," he said, casual as discussing the weather. "eventually. when you're ready."
your brain short-circuited. the knife clattered against the table and you barely noticed. "what?"
"you heard me." he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking absolutely delighted by your reaction. "but not yet. you're not ready yet."
"i'm not—" you couldn't even finish the sentence. couldn't form coherent thoughts past the sudden, overwhelming certainty that you were extremely ready. had been ready for approximately two years.
"you think you are," he said, reading your mind again somehow. "but i want you to understand what it means first."
"understand what?"
"that if i kiss you, i'm keeping you." his eyes were so dark, pinning you in place. "that you're mine. that i don't share and i don't let go." he tilted his head, studying you. "that the only person in the world who matters to me is the same person i'd burn the world down for."
the air felt too thick. you couldn't breathe. couldn't think past the absolute certainty in his voice, the way he said it like it was fact, like there was no other possible outcome.
"so take your time," he continued, picking up another knife. "figure out if that's what you want. because once we start this, sweetheart, there's no going back."
you stared at him. at this beautiful, terrifying, impossible man who'd just offered you everything you'd ever wanted and told you to think about it. like you hadn't already decided. like you weren't already his in every way that mattered.
but you didn't say that. instead you picked up your knife and went back to cleaning, hands somehow steady despite the way your heart was trying to punch through your ribs.
you could feel him smiling without looking up.
the rest of the night passed in that same charged silence, every small movement loaded with meaning. his fingers brushing yours when he handed you a new blade. the way his knee pressed against yours under the table. the absolute suffocating awareness of his presence, his attention, his want.
by the time you finished cleaning the last knife, you were wound so tight you thought you might shatter. sunoo stood and stretched, shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin, and you looked away before you did something stupid like stare.
"go home," he said softly. "get some sleep. we'll talk more tomorrow."
you wanted to argue. wanted to stay. wanted to grab him and kiss him and tell him you didn't need time to think, that you'd already chosen him the moment he offered you something that mattered.
but you just nodded and gathered your things, because he was right. you needed to think. needed to process what he'd said, what it all meant.
the next morning, sunoo acted like nothing happened.
you showed up at the warehouse around noon, earlier than usual because you'd barely slept, mind racing with everything he'd said the night before, everything he'd implied with those careful touches and devastating words.
you found him at the table organising his knife collection like it was just another day, and he looked up when you walked in with that same casual smile he always wore, the one that gave nothing away. "coffee's on the counter. still hot."
he didn’t mention the fight, or the charged silence while cleaning knives, to the way he'd touched you like you were precious, to the fact that he'd basically told you he was in love with you and then sent you home to think about it. he was just normal. perfectly, maddeningly normal, like the night before had never happened at all.
"thanks," you said slowly, watching his face for any sign of something, anything that would indicate he remembered what he'd said, but his expression was perfectly neutral. friendly in that distant way that made your chest ache with something sharp and painful.
he went back to his knives without another word and you grabbed the coffee, made exactly how you liked it because of course he knew, because he paid attention to every single detail about you even when he pretended not to care.
you settled into your usual chair and the silence felt different now, heavier somehow, weighted with all the things he'd said and apparently didn't mean. you kept waiting for him to say something, to reference what had happened, to look at you the way he had last night like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. but he didn't. he just hummed under his breath while he polished his blades and acted like you were exactly what you'd always been. his sidekick. his weapon cleaner. his nothing.
it made you want to scream.
"we have a job tonight," he said eventually, still not looking at you, still focused on the knife in his hands like it was more interesting than you could ever be. "information gathering. should be simple."
"okay."
"you'll handle the south entrance. i'll take north. in and out, no engagement."
"sure."
he finally glanced up and for just a second, barely a heartbeat, you thought you saw something flicker in his expression. something soft and vulnerable that made hope bloom stupidly in your chest. but then it was gone and he was back to business, back to treating you like an employee instead of someone he'd held close and whispered promises to.
"good. be ready by eight."
you wanted to ask what the fuck last night was about. wanted to demand he explain why he could say things like i've been yours since the moment i found you and then act like you were just another person on his payroll. wanted to grab him by the shoulders and make him look at you properly, make him acknowledge what had happened between you. but you didn't. because maybe you'd imagined it all. maybe you'd read too much into his words, into the tension that had felt so real, into everything. maybe this was just how he was and you were pathetic for thinking it meant something more.
so you just nodded and drank your coffee and pretended your heart wasn't cracking into smaller and smaller pieces with every second of his indifference.
it became a pattern after that, this torture of back and forth that made you feel like you were losing your mind. sunoo would have these moments, these brief and devastating instances where he'd touch you like you were precious, where he'd say things that made your entire world tilt sideways, where he'd look at you like you were the answer to every question he'd never asked. and then the next day he'd be distant and professional again. like the intimacy had never happened at all, like you'd dreamt the whole thing.
three days after the knife-cleaning incident, you were inventorying supplies in the back room, trying to focus on the mundane task and not think about him, when you felt eyes on you. you knew without looking that it was sunoo, could feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch, and you let him watch for a full minute before you finally turned around.
"can i help you?" you asked, trying to sound normal and failing miserably.
he pushed off the doorframe where he'd been leaning and walked toward you, slow and deliberate, each step measured like he was stalking prey. you backed up instinctively until you hit the shelves and then he was right there, close enough that you could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body.
"you've been quiet lately."
"i'm always quiet," you managed, even though your heart was trying to punch through your ribs.
"no. you're always thinking. there's a difference." his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and his fingers lingered against your neck, thumb pressing gently against your pulse point like he was counting your heartbeats. "what's going on in that head of yours?"
you. always you. the way you touch me like this and then don't talk to me for days. the way i can't tell if i'm losing my mind or if you actually feel something for me. the way you're driving me insane with this hot and cold routine and i don't know how much more i can take.
"nothing important," you said instead, because you were a coward who couldn't handle the possibility of rejection.
his eyes searched yours for a long moment, dark and intense and unreadable in a way that made you want to scream with frustration. then he leaned in close enough that his lips brushed against your ear and his breath was hot on your skin. "liar."
and then he walked away like he hadn't just touched you in a way that made your knees weak, like he hadn't just proven once again that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
the next two days he communicated exclusively through text messages about jobs, brief and professional, like you were just another contact in his phone instead of someone he'd had pressed against a shelf with his hand on your throat.
a week later you made the mistake of wearing a new shirt, nothing special really, just something that actually fit properly instead of the oversized hoodies you usually hid in. sunoo took one look at you when you walked into the warehouse and went completely still, his entire body tensing in a way that made your breath catch.
"what?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his stare, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest.
"nothing." but his eyes were tracking over you slowly, taking in every detail in a way that made heat crawl up your neck and spread across your cheeks. "you look nice."
"it's just a shirt," you said, aiming for dismissive and landing somewhere closer to flustered.
"mm." he crossed the room and then his hand was settling on your waist like it belonged there. just resting there with his thumb stroking against your hip bone through the fabric in a way that made it impossible to think. "suits you."
your breath caught in your throat and his hand was so warm, his touch burning through the thin material of the shirt, and he was close, so close that you could see the exact shade of his eyes and count his eyelashes and smell the mint from whatever he'd been drinking. your brain went completely offline, every thought scattering like startled birds, and all you could focus on was the point of contact where his hand met your body.
"wear it more often," he murmured, voice low and intimate, and then he let go and walked away like he hadn't just set your entire body on fire with a single touch.
that night he sent you on a solo job and didn't speak to you until you returned hours later, and by then he was back to being distant and professional like the moment in the warehouse had never happened.
it was torture, actual psychological torture, this constant back and forth that left you reeling. you didn't know which version was real anymore, the sunoo who touched you like you were precious and looked at you like you hung the stars, or the sunoo who acted like you were just another piece on his chessboard, useful but ultimately replaceable.
you were starting to think maybe they were both real, that maybe he did care about you but didn't know how to show it consistently, or maybe his feelings were just as fucked up and complicated as yours and he was struggling with them the same way you were.
or maybe, and this was the thought that kept you up at night staring at your ceiling, maybe he just liked having power over you. liked knowing you were obsessed with him, liked watching you orbit around him desperately waiting for scraps of affection, liked the control he had over your emotions.
you didn't know which option was worse.
it was three weeks of this torture when everything fell apart.
you were supposed to be gathering intel on a hero safehouse, simple reconnaissance that should have been easy. in and out, no engagement as always (sunoo had been very clear about that part). but when you got to the location you found him already in the middle of a fight with three heroes instead of the one target you'd been expecting.
one of them was heeseung, some hotshot hero with energy manipulation who'd been climbing the ranks fast and making a name for himself taking down villains. he was good, really good, moving with a precision that spoke of serious training, and he'd brought backup that was equally competent.
sunoo was handling them fine because of course he was, nothing could hurt him after all, but they were coordinated enough to be annoying. they were keeping him busy, working together to contain him, and you could see what they were doing even from your hidden vantage point. they were stalling, buying time, waiting for more backup to arrive and overwhelm him with numbers.
you should have stayed hidden like sunoo had told you to, should have trusted that he had everything under control, that he could handle three heroes without breaking a sweat. but then you saw heeseung pull out some kind of device, something that glowed with concentrated energy that looked dangerous even from a distance, and he was pointing it at sunoo's back while sunoo was occupied with the other two heroes.
your body moved before your brain could fully process what you were doing, before you could think about consequences or strategy or the fact that sunoo specifically told you to stay out of it.
you dropped from your hiding spot and tackled heeseung, momentum and surprise on your side, sending the device skittering across the pavement. his eyes widened in surprise before narrowing with recognition as he recovered quickly.
"the sidekick," he said, already shifting into a fighting stance. "sunoo's little pet."
"fuck you," you snarled, already moving because you'd committed now and there was no backing out, no retreat.
heeseung was faster than you'd expected, stronger too, his energy manipulation letting him create shields and weapons simultaneously in ways that made him incredibly difficult to pin down. but you were good too, sunoo had been right about that even if he never let you prove it in any way that mattered. you'd trained for this, spent hours preparing for exactly this kind of fight, and you held your own against him.
at least until one of the other heroes broke away from sunoo and joined heeseung against you. then you were outnumbered and outmatched, fighting two enhanced heroes at once, and you felt the exact moment things shifted from manageable to genuinely dangerous. you heard the crackle of energy building, felt the heat of heeseung's power gathering in the air around you, and you knew with sudden terrible certainty that you were about to take a hit you might not recover from.
your eyes found sunoo across the chaos without meaning to, some instinct making you seek him out. he was closer now, had taken down one of the other heroes and was moving in your direction, and his eyes met yours across the space between you. they were dark and unreadable and intense in a way that made your breath catch even now, even in the middle of this disaster.
then heeseung's partner appeared next to sunoo, the hero with enhanced speed that you'd forgotten about in the chaos.
"got something you want?" he called out, gesturing at you with one hand while holding up the device you'd knocked away from heeseung with the other. "then come get it!"
sunoo's eyes moved between you and the device and you could see the calculation happening in real time, could see him weighing options and running through scenarios, could see the exact moment he made his choice.
he went for the device.
turned away from you, from the fact that you were surrounded and outmatched and about to get seriously hurt, and went for the fucking weapon instead like it mattered more than you did.
the smirk he threw over his shoulder as he moved, that tiny curve of his lips that usually meant trust me i have a plan, felt like a knife sliding between your ribs and twisting.
heeseung's energy blast caught you in the ribs before you could process what had just happened, before your brain could make sense of sunoo's choice. the pain was blinding, white-hot and all-consuming, spreading through your entire body like fire. you went down hard and your head cracked against the concrete with enough force to make your vision blur at the edges, everything going fuzzy and wrong.
you heard heeseung saying something but the words were muffled, distant, like you were underwater. you felt hands grabbing your arms and hauling you up and you tried to fight, tried to make your body respond, but everything hurt and nothing was working right.
"hey, hey—stop." that was heeseung's voice, much closer now, and he sounded concerned in a way that didn't make sense. "she's actually hurt. we need to—"
"she's a villain," his partner said from somewhere to your left. "we should call it in, get her processed—"
"she's a person," heeseung interrupted, and suddenly his hands were on your face, tilting it up gently, and his expression was genuinely worried in a way that made something crack open in your chest. a hero was worried about you. a hero was checking your injuries with careful hands and looking at you with concern while sunoo, while your partner, the person you would have died for, had just walked away like you didn't matter.
"where's your backup?" heeseung asked, and he sounded almost sorry, like he felt bad for you. "your partner. he should be here, he should be helping you—"
"he left," you said, and your voice came out broken and shattered, barely recognisable. "he left me."
heeseung's expression shifted to something like anger mixed with disbelief. "what?"
"got what he wanted." you tried to laugh but it turned into a cough that brought the taste of blood to your mouth. "the device was more important than me."
"that's—" heeseung looked genuinely furious now, more angry on your behalf than you'd seen him during the entire fight. "you jumped in to save him. i saw you. you protected him from the device and he just left you here?"
"yeah," you said, and the word felt hollow and empty, like it was coming from someone else. "he did."
the pity in heeseung's eyes was somehow worse than the physical pain, worse than the cracked ribs and the head injury and the fact that you could barely stand. this hero who was supposed to be your enemy understood that you'd just been abandoned by the person you loved, the person you would have died for, the person who apparently didn't think you were worth choosing.
"i'm sorry," heeseung said quietly, and you could tell he meant it, could hear the genuine sympathy in his voice. "that's not—you deserve better than that."
the laugh that escaped you was bitter and sharp and tasted like blood. "apparently not."
you managed to create an opening then, throwing a smoke bomb you'd been saving for emergencies and using the confusion and heeseung's momentary distraction to run. your ribs screamed with every breath and your head was pounding and your vision kept going fuzzy, but you didn't stop or look back. just ran until your legs finally gave out three blocks away in some abandoned alley.
you'd cracked at least two ribs, maybe three. there was blood in your mouth and dripping down your face from somewhere and your vision kept threatening to go dark at the edges. but you were alive. you'd saved yourself because apparently no one else was going to do it.
the worst part, the absolute worst part that made you want to curl up and sob, was that a hero had shown you more concern in five minutes than sunoo had during that entire fight. he had looked at you like you were a calculated risk he'd decided not to take.
you pulled out your phone with shaking hands that you couldn't quite control and called the one person who might help you. not sunoo though, never him again.
"yeonjun," you gasped when he picked up, barely able to get the words out. "i need a favour."
yeonjun was a former villain who'd gone straight, someone you'd worked with before you met sunoo. he didn't ask questions, didn't demand explanations, just gave you an address and told you to get there however you could manage.
you abandoned your phone in the alley after you hung up because sunoo could track it and you weren't stupid enough to think he wouldn't try to find you eventually. you took only what you could carry in your current state and disappeared into the night, every step agony but necessary.
if sunoo thought a device was more important than you, then he could have it. he could have everything—his knives and his plans and his fucking invincibility and his empty warehouse. you were done.
the safehouse yeonjun set you up in was small and dingy, but it was off the grid and that was all that mattered. he helped you patch up your ribs without asking what happened, just gave you supplies and space and resources and promised not to tell anyone where you were.
you were there for three days when the nightmares started, vivid and terrible and relentless. dreams where you watched sunoo turn away over and over, where you felt heeseung's energy blast hit you again and again, where you died alone in that alley because you weren't important enough to save.
but worse than those were the dreams where heeseung's pitying expression played on repeat, the way he'd looked at you like you were pathetic, like he felt sorry for you. a hero feeling sorry for you because even he could see that sunoo had abandoned you, that you'd been left behind.
you woke up gasping every time, ribs aching with the movement, and you'd remind yourself that you'd made the right choice. that leaving was self-preservation, that staying would have killed you eventually if not physically then emotionally, that you deserved better than someone who would leave you to die.
but it hurt. god, it hurt so much it felt like dying anyway. because despite everything, despite him choosing a weapon over you, despite the mind games and the hot-and-cold behaviour and the way he'd played with your feelings for weeks, you still loved him. you still wanted him. you still missed him with an intensity that felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.
you were so pathetic. heeseung had been absolutely right to pity you.
but at least you'd had enough self-respect left to leave. at least you could say that. at least you'd chosen yourself when sunoo had made it clear he wouldn't.
you stayed in the safehouse and tried to figure out how to rebuild a life that didn't revolve around kim sunoo, that didn't orbit around him like he was the sun and you were just a planet caught in his gravitational pull.
it felt impossible.
sunoo stared at the empty alley where your phone lay abandoned, screen cracked and battery dying. the tracker he'd embedded in it blinked weakly before going dark and something in his chest went cold in a way he didn't recognise. you were gone. he'd come back for you, of course he'd come back for you, it had been a few minutes, the device was fake anyway, just a test from the heroes to see if he actually cared about his sidekick, and you were just. gone.
the heroes had scattered. you'd disappeared. and sunoo felt something he hadn't felt in years, not since he'd discovered his invincibility and realised nothing in the world could touch him. fear. actual bone-deep terror that made his hands shake and his breath come short because you were his and you were gone and he didn't know if someone had taken you or if you'd left on your own and he wasn't sure which option made him want to burn the world down more.
he tore through the area with increasing desperation, checking every shadow, every hiding spot, every possible place you could have gone. his knives were out and his hands wouldn't stop shaking and the fear was morphing into something darker now, something that tasted like rage and felt like madness
he found the smoke bomb residue first. then the blood, your blood, spattered on the concrete in a pattern that spoke of injury and pain. there were signs of a struggle, of you fighting your way out, of you getting hurt while he was dealing with a fake fucking device that didn't matter, because the only thing that mattered was you and he'd left you and now you were gone.
something in sunoo's chest cracked wide open and what poured out was violence.
the first building went down at dawn. sunoo walked into the heroes' main headquarters and started killing people. anyone who got in his way, anyone who might know where you were, anyone who existed in his path became a target. he was calm about it, almost detached, asking each person the same question before his knives found their throats.
"where is she? where did you take her?"
none of them knew. they were all surprised, confused, trying to fight back against someone they couldn't hurt. it didn't matter. sunoo killed them anyway because maybe the next one would know, maybe the next one would tell him where you were, maybe the next body would bring him closer to finding you.
heeseung found him three buildings later, surrounded by corpses, covered in blood that wasn't his own because blood was never his own, nothing could make him bleed, nothing could hurt him except apparently the gaping absence of you.
"sunoo, what the fuck—" heeseung stopped in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the destruction.
"where is she?" sunoo's voice was deadly calm. he turned to face heeseung with his knives still dripping. "my sidekick. where did you take her?"
"we didn't take anyone—" heeseung's expression shifted as he processed the scene. "holy shit, what did you do?"
"where. is. she." sunoo started walking toward him and there must have been something in his face, something terrifying, because heeseung actually backed up a step. "i won't ask again."
"i don't know! we let her go after—" heeseung stopped and his expression changed to something like understanding mixed with disgust. "after you left her."
the words hung in the air between them, sharp and accusatory. after you left her. like it was sunoo's fault. like sunoo had abandoned you instead of making a tactical choice that should have taken forty-five seconds and somehow cost him everything.
"i came back," sunoo said quietly, and his voice was empty in a way that made heeseung tense. "i came back and she was gone."
"yeah, well." heeseung's hands crackled with energy, preparing for a fight he had to know he couldn't win. "can you blame her? you chose a device over your own partner. she was hurt, sunoo. cracked ribs, possible concussion, bleeding, and you just walked away like she was nothing."
sunoo moved. he was across the room before heeseung could blink, knife pressed against the hero's throat, and his hands were shaking again but his voice was steady. "don't. don't you dare act like you know anything about what she means to me."
"i know you left her to die," heeseung spat, and there was genuine anger in his voice, genuine disgust. "i know i showed more concern for her in five minutes than you did in that entire fight. she was devastated. she actually thought—she believed you didn't care about her."
something in sunoo's chest twisted violently and the knife bit into heeseung's skin, drawing blood. "the device was a fake. a test. i knew it was a fake. i was calling your bluff, proving it was empty so you couldn't use it as leverage. i was going to come right back for her."
"but you didn't," heeseung said, and his eyes were hard. "you didn't come back in time and she ran. and honestly? she deserves better than someone who would leave her surrounded by enemies just to prove a point."
sunoo's knife sliced deeper and heeseung choked, hands coming up to try and push him away, but sunoo was invincible and furious and utterly past caring about consequences. "she's mine. she's mine and i'm going to find her and i'm going to fix this."
"you really think she's going to take you back after—" heeseung's words cut off as sunoo's blade found his throat properly this time, cutting deep, and blood poured hot over sunoo's hands.
"i'll make her understand," sunoo said to heeseung's dying face. "i'll make her see. she belongs with me. she'll forgive me because she has to, because we're meant to be together, because i'll burn this entire city down before i let her go."
he left heeseung bleeding out on the floor and continued his search, and over the next two weeks sunoo tore apart half the city looking for you. he destroyed three more hero headquarters, killed anyone who got in his way, followed every lead no matter how slim. he didn't sleep, didn't eat, could barely breathe properly because you were out there somewhere thinking he'd abandoned you. thinking he didn't want you. thinking you didn't matter when you were literally the only thing that had ever mattered in his entire life.
he finally found you through yeonjun. he had tracked down the former villain, cornered him in some shitty apartment, and the look on sunoo's face must have been terrifying because yeonjun gave up the address immediately, hands raised in surrender.
"she doesn't want to see you," yeonjun warned, but he was already backing away from whatever he saw in sunoo's expression. "she thinks you abandoned her. she's hurt and angry and she told me if you came looking to tell you to fuck off."
"i don't care," sunoo said, and his voice was hollow. empty. "i'm getting her back."
"sunoo, maybe you should give her space—"
"i've given her two weeks." sunoo was already moving toward the door, toward the address yeonjun had given him, toward you. "i'm not giving her another second."
the safehouse door didn't stand a chance against him. sunoo kicked it open hard enough that the wood splintered and there you were, on your feet immediately with wide eyes and an expression that was half shock, half something else he couldn't read.
you were alive. real and solid and in front of him after two weeks of losing his mind, and sunoo couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself from crossing the room in three strides and pulling you into his arms.
he held you so tight it probably hurt but he couldn't make himself loosen his grip because you were here, you were okay, you were safe and alive and he'd found you. his hands shook where they fisted in your shirt and his face was buried in your hair and he couldn't breathe properly, couldn't think past the overwhelming relief that was making his chest ache.
"you're okay," he breathed against your hair, and his voice cracked on the words. "you're okay, you're here, you're safe, i found you, you're—"
you shoved him away hard enough that he actually stumbled back a step, too surprised to resist, and when he looked at your face you were crying. angry tears were streaming down your cheeks and your expression was furious and hurt and devastating.
"don't fucking touch me," you snarled, and your voice was shaking with rage. "you don't get to touch me. you don't get to just show up here after two weeks and act like everything's fine—"
"i'm sorry," sunoo said, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice. "i'm so sorry, i looked everywhere for you, i tore apart the city trying to find you—"
"sorry?" you laughed and it sounded broken, jagged around the edges. "you're sorry? you left me, sunoo. you looked right at me, you saw that i was surrounded and outmatched and about to get hurt, and you turned around and left."
"it was a test," he said desperately, taking a step toward you even as you backed away. "the device was fake, heeseung was testing to see if i cared about you more than the mission. i knew it was fake so i called the bluff. i was going to come right back for you, it was only going to take a minute—"
"but you didn't come back!" your voice cracked and more tears fell. "you didn't come back and i was hurt and bleeding and a hero showed me more concern than you did. heeseung looked at me with pity, sunoo. actual pity. because even he could see that you'd abandoned me, that you didn't give a shit about me, that i was just—just—"
your voice broke completely and sunoo felt something in his chest shatter because you believed it. you actually believed that you didn't matter to him, that you were disposable, that he could just walk away from you.
"that's not true," he said, and his voice came out rough and desperate. "that's not true, i came back, i swear i came back. a few minutes, that's all it took to dismantle the device and prove it was fake and i turned around and you were gone. i've been losing my mind for two weeks thinking someone took you, thinking you were hurt somewhere and i couldn't find you—"
"so what?" you backed further away from him and your hands were shaking. "you want credit for that? you want me to be grateful that you went on a murder spree after you abandoned me? that doesn't change what happened. that doesn't change the fact that when it mattered, when i actually needed you, you chose wrong."
"i chose strategically!" his voice rose to match yours and he was moving toward you again, unable to stop himself. "i made the smart call, the one that would get us both out safely. how was i supposed to know you'd run before i could come back for you?"
"maybe because you've spent weeks playing mind games with me!" you were yelling now and your face was flushed with anger and hurt.
"you touch me like i matter and then ignore me for days. you tell me i'm yours and then treat me like i'm nothing. you say you'd burn the world down for me and then you literally turned your back on me when i needed you. you've given me nothing consistent except the absolute certainty that i'm not your priority, so yeah, when you walked away, i believed it. i believed that the device mattered more than me. i believed that i was expendable."
sunoo felt like he'd been stabbed, like something vital had been punctured and was bleeding out inside his chest. "you're not expendable. you're everything—"
"liar!" you grabbed something off the table, a glass, and threw it at him. he didn't dodge, didn't even try to, and it shattered against his chest and fell harmlessly to the floor. "you're a liar and i hate you and i want you to leave."
"no." sunoo shook his head and took another step forward. "no, i'm not leaving. not again. never again."
"i don't want you here!" you grabbed something else, a plate this time, and threw it harder. it hit his shoulder and shattered. "i don't want to see you, i don't want to hear your excuses, i don't want—"
you were grabbing things faster now, throwing anything you could reach, and sunoo just stood there and took it. took the mug that hit his chest, the book that caught his jaw, the vase that shattered against his ribs. he didn't dodge or defend himself, just let you express your rage in the only way you could because he deserved it. he deserved all of it and more.
your hand found a knife on the counter and you threw it with actual intent to harm, put real force behind it, and it hit him square in the shoulder and stuck there.
and he bled.
you froze immediately, eyes going wide as blood started soaking through his shirt, as the knife stayed embedded in his shoulder, as actual visible injury appeared on his body for the first time in the two years you'd known him.
"what—" your voice came out shaky and confused. "how did i—you're invincible, you can't—nothing can hurt you—"
sunoo looked down at the knife in his shoulder and the smile that spread across his face was delighted, absolutely manic, his eyes bright with something unhinged and adoring. he pulled the knife out slowly, watching blood drip from the blade, and then he was crossing the room in two strides and grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him.
"no," he said, and his voice was soft and reverent and slightly crazed. "i'm not invincible, sweetheart. i'm immune to harm from everyone and everything in the world. except one person."
his hand came up to cup your face and his thumb stroked across your cheekbone, smearing a bit of his own blood on your skin, and his smile was soft now, tender in a way that made your breath catch.
"my true soulmate," he murmured, and his eyes were so dark, so intense as they stared into yours. "the other half of my soul. my perfect match. the only person in the entire world who can actually hurt me." his other hand tightened on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "you. it's you. it's always been you."
your brain couldn't process this, couldn't make sense of what he was saying. "that's not—no. that's not possible. you've been fighting for years, you've never been hurt, you're completely invincible—"
"to everyone else," he interrupted, and his voice was patient like he was explaining something simple. "to everyone else i'm untouchable. but to my soulmate? to the person i'm meant to be with? i'm completely vulnerable. and i've known since the day i met you. i've known you were my mate since that jewelry store because you bumped into me while running and i felt it. this little spark of sensation that i'd never felt before. you could have hurt me then and you can hurt me now and you're the only one."
"stop," you whispered, but you didn't pull away from him, couldn't make yourself move out of his arms even though you were still so angry. "stop saying things like that."
"it's the truth." his forehead pressed against yours and his eyes slid closed like he was savouring this, savouring your proximity. "i'm obsessed with you. i've been obsessed with you for two years. i think about you constantly. the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, the way you try so hard to hide how you feel about me, the way you look at me like i hung the stars even when i know i don't deserve it. i kept you away from fights because i knew if you got seriously hurt i'd lose my mind. i pushed you away emotionally because i was terrified of what it meant that you could hurt me, that i had this weakness after years of being untouchable."
"you have a really fucked up way of showing you care about someone," you managed, but your voice was weak and your hands had somehow ended up fisted in his bloody shirt.
"i know." his eyes opened and the vulnerability in them made your chest ache. "i know i fucked up. i should have told you from the start. should have explained what you are to me instead of playing games and keeping you at a distance. but i was scared. i've never been vulnerable before. never had someone who could actually hurt me. and then you showed up and suddenly i had this thing in my chest that ached when you weren't around and i didn't know how to handle it."
"so you decided to give me whiplash instead?" you couldn't keep the bitterness out of your voice. "hot and cold, back and forth, never letting me know where i stood?"
"i was trying to protect myself," he admitted quietly. "if i kept you at a distance emotionally then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much that you could hurt me physically. if i didn't let myself care too much then maybe i'd survive it when you eventually figured out you could do better than me and left. but it didn't work. i just made you think i didn't want you when you're all i've ever wanted."
"you left me," you said again, and your voice cracked on the words because that was the core of it, the thing you couldn't get past. "you looked at me and you turned away and you left me there."
"i made a mistake." his hands were shaking where they held you and his voice was wrecked.
"the worst mistake of my life. i thought—i was so sure i'd be right back, so certain i could handle it quickly and come back for you. i didn't think about how it would look from your perspective. didn't consider how it would feel to watch me walk away. i just saw the tactical solution and took it because that's what i always do, but i should have—" his voice broke. "i should have chosen you. fuck the strategy, fuck the heroes, fuck the optics. i should have gone to you first. always you first."
you wanted to stay angry, wanted to hold onto the hurt and use it as armour against the hope trying to bloom in your chest. "this doesn't fix everything."
"i know," he said immediately.
"i'm still furious with you."
"i know."
"you're going to have to work for this. no more games. no more pushing me away. no more making me guess how you feel."
"anything." his voice was fervent, desperate. "anything you want. i'll be so honest it's uncomfortable. i'll tell you every single thought i have about you. i'll stop protecting myself and just—i'll give you everything. i'll prove that you matter more than anything else in my life."
you opened your mouth to respond, to say something about how words were easy and actions were what counted, but he kissed you before you could get the words out. it was rough and desperate and consuming, his hands fisting in your hair and pulling you closer, angling your head exactly how he wanted it. you made a sound, half protest and half something else entirely, and he swallowed it, deepened the kiss, licked into your mouth like he was trying to devour you whole.
you bit his lip hard. hard enough to break skin and taste blood, and he moaned into your mouth like it was the best thing he'd ever felt.
"still mad at me?" he murmured against your lips when you finally broke apart to breathe, and you could feel his smile even though your eyes were still closed.
"furious," you gasped, but your hands were tangled in his shirt and pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, completely betraying your words.
"good." he walked you backward until your back hit the wall and his body pressed fully against yours. "stay mad. yell at me. hurt me. i don't care as long as you're here. as long as i can touch you. anything is better than the last two weeks thinking i'd lost you forever."
"you're insane," you managed, but it came out breathy and weak because his mouth was on your neck now, teeth scraping against your pulse point in a way that made your knees weak.
"for you, yes." his hand slid under your shirt and his fingers splayed across your ribs, right over the bruises that were still fading from heeseung's attack. "i've been going insane for two weeks. tore apart half the city. killed anyone who got in my way. couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think about anything except finding you and getting you back and making you understand that you're mine."
your breath caught as his fingers traced over the bruises with devastating gentleness, like he was memorising the exact shape of them. "he hurt you," sunoo said, and his voice had gone cold and dangerous. "heeseung hurt you."
"you killed him already, remember?"
"not slowly enough." his fingers pressed just slightly harder against the bruised ribs and you hissed at the spike of pain. "i should have made it last days. should have made him suffer for every mark he left on your skin. should have made him understand what it means to hurt something that belongs to me."
"sunoo—" you didn't know if you were protesting or encouraging him, didn't know what you wanted except more.
"i'm going to make this up to you," he promised, and when he pulled back to look at you his eyes were dark with intent, pupils blown wide. "i'm going to make you feel so good you forget about the last two weeks. i'm going to touch you until the only thing you can think about is me. i'm going to prove that you're mine and i'm yours and nothing else matters."
"that's not how apologies work," you tried to say, but it came out shaky because his hand was sliding higher under your shirt and his thumb was brushing against the underside of your breast and you couldn't think.
"then tell me to stop." he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes properly, and despite the heat in his gaze there was genuine question there too. "tell me you don't want this and i'll stop. i'll leave. i'll give you space. i'll do whatever you need, even if it kills me."
you looked at him and saw the desperation in his expression, the way his hands trembled slightly where they touched you, the blood still soaking through his shirt from where you'd stabbed him. you thought about the last two weeks of nightmares and pain and missing him so much it physically hurt. thought about how even after everything, even after he'd left you and broken your heart, you still loved him. still wanted him. still felt like a piece of you was missing when he wasn't around.
"i don't want you to stop," you whispered, and your voice came out broken and honest. "i hate you and i want you and i'm so tired of fighting it."
something in his expression shifted, softened and sharpened at the same time, and then he was kissing you again. properly this time, slow and deep and thorough, like he had all the time in the world to learn the taste of you. you kissed back with everything you had, two years of want and frustration and love pouring out.
your hands tugged at his blood-stained shirt until he had to break the kiss to pull it off, and then you could see the wound on his shoulder properly. it was still bleeding sluggishly, the skin around it red and irritated, and you pressed your fingers against it without thinking.
he made a sound low in his throat and his eyes fluttered closed. "does it hurt?" you asked, fascinated despite yourself.
"yes," he breathed, and when his eyes opened again they were glazed with something that looked almost like pleasure. "do it again."
so you pressed harder and watched his face as he reacted. watched his breath catch and his pupils dilate and his hands tighten on your waist hard enough to bruise. there was something intoxicating about it, something that made heat pool low in your stomach. having this kind of power over someone who was otherwise completely invincible. being the only person who could hurt him, the only one who mattered enough to break through his immunity.
"you want to hurt me?" he asked, and his voice dropped to something dangerous and inviting, something that made heat pool low in your stomach. "go ahead, sweetheart. take one of my knives and make me bleed. i know you want to."
your breath caught because he was right. you did want to. wanted to see him bleed for you, wanted proof that you had this power over him, that you could affect him the way he'd been affecting you for two years. wanted to make him feel even a fraction of the pain you'd been carrying around.
"you're still angry," he continued, reading you like he always did, like you were his favourite book and he'd memorised every page. "still hurt. so take it out on me. i can handle it. i want you to."
he pulled a knife from his pocket, one of his favourites, the one with the black handle that he always kept razor sharp, and pressed it into your palm. his fingers closed around yours, warm and steady, holding your hand around the weapon. "go on."
you looked at the blade, then at him, at the absolute certainty in his expression. the trust. he was giving you the power to hurt him, offering himself up to the only person in the world who could actually damage him, and telling you to use it. encouraging it even.
your hand was shaking as you brought the knife up to his chest, pressing the tip against his skin just above his heart hard enough to dimple the flesh. "you really want this?"
"i want everything with you." his hand covered yours on the handle, applying gentle pressure until the blade bit into his skin and blood welled up around it, bright red against pale skin. "even the pain. especially the pain, because it means you're touching me. means you're here and real and mine."
you dragged the knife across his chest, not deep but enough to hurt, enough to part skin and draw a thin line of blood, and watched his eyes flutter closed like he was savouring it. watched his lips part on a sharp intake of breath that might have been pleasure.
"fuck," he breathed, and when his eyes opened again they were glazed with something that looked almost euphoric. "again."
something dark and possessive unfurled in your chest at his reaction, something that liked having this power over him. you made another cut, parallel to the first, and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that went straight between your legs. his hands tightened on your waist hard enough to bruise and you were mesmerised by the blood running down his chest in thin rivulets, by the proof that you could do this to him.
"you like this," you said, and it wasn't quite a question because you could see it in his face, in the way his breathing had gone ragged.
"i love it," he admitted without shame, without hesitation. "love that you're the one doing it. love that you have this power over me. love that i can bleed for you when i can't bleed for anyone else."
you pressed the knife harder against his chest, dragging it down toward his ribs in a longer line this time, watching blood well up in the blade's wake like you were painting him. his stomach muscles tensed under your touch and his breathing was getting heavier, more erratic, more desperate.
"fuck," he hissed when you pressed the tip of the blade just above his hip bone, twisting it slightly to make it hurt more. his hand shot out to grab your wrist, not to stop you, just to steady himself, fingers digging in hard enough that you'd have marks later. "you have no idea what you're doing to me."
"i think i have some idea." you could see it in the way his pupils were blown wide, black almost completely swallowing the brown. could see it in the way he was already getting hard, the bulge in his jeans obvious and growing. "you're getting off on this. on me hurting you."
"of course i am." his free hand fisted in your hair, pulling you closer until your faces were inches apart and you could feel his breath on your lips. "you're the only person in the world who can make me feel pain. do you understand how fucking intoxicating that is?"
you dragged the knife across his collarbone, following the line of bone, and he groaned again. the sound was rough and desperate and so clearly pleasure that it made your own breathing pick up. blood was everywhere now, painting his chest in abstract patterns, dripping down his stomach to soak into the waistband of his jeans. he looked absolutely ruined and it was all because of you.
"that's enough playing around," he said suddenly, and his hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing but possessive. his other hand plucked the knife from your grip easily. "my turn now."
he tossed the knife aside and before you could protest, before you could even process the loss of the weapon, he was on you. his mouth crashed against yours and the kiss was immediately desperate and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours while his hand tightened slightly on your throat. you could taste something metallic and realised with a start that it was his blood from where you'd apparently cut his lip at some point.
"been so patient with you," he muttered against your lips, walking you backward until your back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. "letting you have your little tantrum. letting you cut me up like i'm your personal canvas. but i think that's enough attitude for one night, don't you?"
"i'm still mad at you," you said, even as your hands fisted in his bloody shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing away like you should.
"oh, i know." his smile was sharp and mean as he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. "and i'm going to fuck that right out of you."
"you think it's going to be that easy?" you challenged, lifting your chin defiantly even though your heart was racing and you could feel how wet you already were.
"easy? no." his hand left your throat to work at your top, yanking it over your head roughly enough that you heard fabric tear. "but it'll be fun watching you try to stay bratty when you're falling apart on my cock."
"big talk from someone who—" your words cut off in a gasp as he shoved his hand down your pants without warning, fingers immediately finding how wet you were.
"from someone who what?" he asked, voice dripping with condescension as his fingers slid through your folds, spreading the evidence of your arousal. "go on, finish that sentence. oh wait, you can't, can you? not when you're this fucking wet for me already."
"fuck you," you managed, but it came out breathless and weak.
"you will be soon." he pulled his hand out and brought his fingers to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he sucked them clean with obvious enjoyment. "mm. tastes like you're not as mad as you're pretending to be."
"i am mad—"
"then why are you dripping down your thighs, sweetheart?" he popped the button on your jeans and shoved them down along with your underwear in one rough movement. "why are you trembling? why can't you stop looking at me like you want me to ruin you?"
you opened your mouth to snap back with something cutting but he chose that exact moment to push two fingers inside you and the words dissolved into a moan that echoed embarrassingly in the small space. "
there we go," he said, and he sounded so pleased with himself it should have been annoying. "that's much better than all that talking back."
his fingers worked you with devastating efficiency, like he'd studied your body and knew exactly what you needed. they curled to hit that spot inside you that made your knees weak while his thumb circled your clit with perfect pressure. you were already embarrassingly close, wound tight from weeks of missing him and the adrenaline of the knifeplay and having him this close after thinking you'd never see him again.
"look at you," he murmured, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his eyes. "getting so close already. want to come on my fingers, baby?"
"yes," you gasped, past the point of playing hard to get or pretending you didn't want this desperately.
"ask me nicely."
"what?"
his fingers slowed to an agonising pace that had you wanting to cry from frustration. "i said ask me nicely. where are your manners?"
"please," you gritted out, hating how desperate you sounded but needing the release too badly to care about pride.
"please what?"
"please let me come."
"hmm." his fingers stopped moving entirely and you actually whimpered, a pathetic needy sound. "i don't know if you deserve it yet. you've been pretty bratty. throwing things at me, stabbing me, running away for two weeks and making me think you were dead..."
"sunoo, please—"
"tell me you're sorry," he demanded, and his eyes were dark and intense and utterly serious. "tell me you're sorry for leaving and i'll let you come."
your pride warred with need and need won decisively. "i'm sorry," you gasped out. "i'm sorry for leaving, please, i need—"
"good girl." his fingers resumed their movement immediately, faster now, harder, and you were right back on that edge within seconds. "see how easy things are when you behave?"
you came with a cry that was probably too loud, clenching around his fingers rhythmically, and he worked you through it with a satisfied smile on his face. but before you could catch your breath, before you could even start to come down, he was pulling his fingers out and spinning you around, pressing your front against the wall.
"now here's what's going to happen," he said against your ear, his body a solid line of heat against your back. "i'm going to fuck you against this wall until you forget why you were mad at me. and you're going to take it and thank me for it. understand?"
"you're so full of yourself—" you started, but cut off with a gasp as you felt him line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
"and you're about to be full of me," he said, and thrust in with one brutal movement that punched the air from your lungs.
you cried out at the stretch, at the way he filled you so completely you could barely breathe. he was big, bigger than you'd expected, and the angle had him hitting so deep it bordered on too much, on the edge of pain.
"fuck, you're tight," he groaned against your neck, and his voice was wrecked in a way that sent another wave of heat through you. "squeezing my cock like you don't want to let me go. thought you were mad at me?"
"i am," you managed, but it came out weak and breathless and completely unconvincing.
"sure you are." he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, setting a punishing pace that had you seeing stars. "that's why you're taking my cock so well. that's why you're already getting wet again. because you're so mad at me."
"shut up," you gasped, but you were already pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, chasing the pleasure.
"make me." his hand came up to wrap around your throat from behind, not squeezing but possessive, claiming, owning. "oh wait, you can't. you're too busy moaning for me."
he was right and you hated it. every thrust hit perfectly, the angle letting him go so deep you could feel him everywhere, feel him splitting you open. your legs were shaking, barely holding you up, and if it wasn't for his grip on your hip and throat you would have collapsed.
"this is what you needed, isn't it?" he panted against your ear, and each word was punctuated by a thrust. "needed me to fuck some sense into you. needed to be reminded who you belong to."
"i don't belong to anyone," you tried to argue, but it came out more like a moan than actual words.
"liar." his hand slid from your hip to between your legs, fingers finding your clit and circling it with maddening pressure. "you're mine. have been since that jewelry store. you just needed a reminder."
"sunoo," you gasped, feeling yourself getting close again impossibly fast, your body responding to him like it was made for this.
"that's right. say my name. let everyone know who's fucking you this good." his pace got harder, more erratic, and his fingers worked your clit in tight circles. "come on my cock, sweetheart. show me who you belong to."
your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, your whole body seizing up as pleasure crashed over you in waves. you heard yourself crying out his name, felt yourself clenching around him rhythmically, and it was so intense you actually saw stars, your vision whiting out at the edges.
"fuck, that's it," sunoo groaned, and his rhythm was faltering now, getting sloppy. "feel so good when you come. so perfect. gonna fill you up. gonna make sure you remember this."
he thrust into you one final time, grinding deep, and you felt him pulse inside you, filling you with heat. for a long moment neither of you moved, both gasping for air, bodies slick with sweat and blood and completely wrung out.
then he was pulling out carefully, gently, and turning you around. he caught you when your legs threatened to give out, his arms coming around you to hold you steady. his expression had shifted, the mean dominant edge smoothed away into something softer, more vulnerable.
"can you walk?" he asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice now.
"maybe," you managed, still trying to catch your breath and make your brain work again.
"good enough." he scooped you up easily like you weighed nothing, carrying you toward the bed. "we're not done yet."
"sunoo, i can't—" you started, genuinely not sure your body could handle more.
"yes you can," he said simply, and there was that commanding tone again that made your stomach flip.
"you're insane," you said, but you didn't push him away when he laid you down on the mattress and settled between your legs.
"we've established that." he looked up at you through his lashes, and even covered in blood and sweat he was beautiful. "now be a good girl and let me taste you."
before you could respond, his mouth was on you and his tongue was licking through your folds, tasting the mixture of both of you. you nearly came off the bed from the sensitivity, it was almost too much.
"too much," you gasped, hands flying to his hair, trying to push him away.
he just grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your sides, not even pausing in his ministrations. "i don't remember asking," he said against you, the vibration of his words making you whimper.
"sunoo—"
"what did i say about talking back?" he looked up at you and his eyes were dark and stern. "every time you argue, i'm adding another orgasm. want to keep going?"
you shut your mouth immediately, and he smiled. "that's what i thought. now stay still."
he went back to work with renewed focus, his tongue circling your clit while keeping your wrists pinned to the bed. you were so sensitive that every touch felt electric, overwhelming, bordering on painful but in a way that still felt good.
"that's better," he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your oversensitized flesh. "no more attitude. just taking what i give you like a good girl."
despite the oversensitivity, despite thinking it was impossible, you felt it building again. he was making it happen with that devastating tongue, working you with the kind of precision that came from paying attention, from caring.
"sunoo, i'm—" you gasped, your hips trying to move but he held you down effortlessly.
"i know." his tongue moved faster and you could feel him smiling against you. "give it to me. one more, baby. you can do it."
when you came this time it was almost painful, the pleasure so intense it felt like electricity shooting through your entire nervous system. you were vaguely aware of crying, of making sounds that didn't sound human, but you couldn't stop it, couldn't control your body's response.
sunoo worked you through it gently this time, his tongue softening as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs while you shook and gasped and tried to remember how to breathe. when he finally pulled back, you were completely wrecked, trembling and boneless and utterly spent.
"look at you," he said softly, crawling up your body to gather you into his arms. "so pretty when you let go."
you couldn't even form words, just buried your face in his chest and breathed in the scent of him. blood and sweat and something uniquely sunoo that made your chest ache with how much you'd missed it.
"come on," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "let's get you cleaned up."
he carried you to the bathroom and this time you didn't protest, too exhausted and wrung out to do anything but let him take care of you. he started the shower and helped you under the spray, his hands impossibly gentle now as he washed you with careful attention.
"did i hurt you?" he asked quietly, his fingers tracing over the marks he'd left on your body. the bruises blooming on your hips and wrists, the fingerprints on your throat. "too rough?"
"no," you said honestly, leaning into his touch. "just... intense."
"good intense or bad intense?"
"good," you admitted, feeling heat rise to your cheeks despite everything you'd just done. "really good."
he smiled softly at that, genuine and so beautiful it made your chest tight. "good. i never want to actually hurt you. even when i'm being mean."
"you were pretty mean," you said, but there was no heat in it, just fond observation.
"you liked it," he countered, and when you didn't argue, his smile widened into something more smug. "knew you would. knew underneath all that attitude you just needed someone to put you in your place."
"don't get cocky."
"too late." but then his expression softened again as he washed your hair with careful fingers, working through the tangles with patience. "but i'll try to be humble. for you."
"you're bleeding," you pointed out, looking at the cuts on his chest that were still seeping blood sluggishly into the water running down the drain.
"i know." he sounded almost pleased about it, like the wounds were a gift. "they'll scar. i'll have marks from you forever. i like that idea."
when you were both clean, when the water had finally run clear and all the blood was washed away, he dried you off with a towel and found one of your shirts. he helped you into it despite your weak protest that you could dress yourself, then carried you back to bed and settled you against his chest with your head tucked under his chin.
"i love you," he said quietly into the darkness, his hand stroking through your damp hair in soothing motions. "i know i'm fucked up about showing it. i know i hurt you. but i love you more than anything. you're my everything."
"i love you too," you whispered. "even when you're an asshole."
"especially when i'm an asshole," he corrected with a soft laugh. "that's when you get the most worked up."
"shut up."
"see? bratty even now." but his tone was fond, affectionate, full of something warm. "get some sleep, sweetheart. i'll be here when you wake up."
"promise?"
"i promise," he said seriously, and you could hear the weight of it in his voice. "i'm never leaving you again. never making you doubt how important you are to me. you're stuck with me now. for better or worse."
"mostly worse," you mumbled, already drifting off, exhaustion pulling you under.
you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling safer and more content than you had in weeks, and for the first time since everything fell apart you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
note 2: the whole soulmate thing was inspired by this!
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
P: Camp Counselor!Jake X Camp Counselor!Reader (MDNI 18+)
Warnings: Prolonged Pining, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Teasing, Mutual Attraction, Oral Fixation, Begging, Big Dick!Jake, Praise Kink, Pussy Drunk!Jake, Attempted Humor, Needy!Jake, Body Worship, Tit Play, MESSY AND SLOPPY, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Dry Humping, Masturbation, Light Humiliation, Belly Bulge, Creampies, Marking, Heeseung being a W wingman.
Wordcount: 22,9k
Synopsis: Jake was the camp’s golden boy, everybody loved his sunshine energy. But around you? He was wrecked. Hopelessly, stupidly whipped. Always hovering, stealing hungry little glances. He wanted to tell you— “I’m in love with you. I want you so badly it hurts.” —but the second you brushed against him or laughed at something he said, his brain shorted out. One touch and he was done for, stuck wondering how much longer he could keep his feelings—and his desire—from exploding.
a/n: Hey! for once its not a dark fic :D but pure filth! so bucle up.. we all remember what that woman said about Jake. REBLOGS AND COMMENTARY IS APPRECIATED!
Jake Sim had never been lucky in love. Not once. Not even by accident.
It was almost comedic at this point: girls loved him at first—sweet, polite, helpful Jake—but by month two they would look him straight in the eyes and say something gentle and devastating like:
“You’re perfect… just not for me.” or “I think I need someone more exciting.” or, the personal favorite: “You’re too nice. It’s boring.”
Then they’d leave him with a broken heart and a playlist full of songs he couldn’t listen to anymore without wincing. After the last breakup—four months ago, six dates in, she’d left him “for someone with more edge”—Jake had sworn off relationships entirely
Jake felt something. Mainly humiliation.
So now he sat on Heeseung’s floor, sprawled on an unrolled sleeping bag even though there was a perfectly fine couch available, groaning loudly into a throw pillow that smelled faintly like beer and laundry detergent.
“I swear, man,” Jake mumbled into the cushion, “I must be cursed. Like—I don’t know—romantically hexed or something.”
Heeseung, who wasn’t listening in the slightest, hummed a vague, noncommittal sound. He was too busy packing: rolling shirts, stuffing toiletries into a bag, misplacing his water bottle six times in three minutes.
Jake didn’t see the suitcase at first.
He didn’t see anything.
He was too busy wallowing.
“I treat them well, right? I’m nice. I try. I’m not a jerk. I’m respectful. And somehow, they still leave. Every. Single. Time. So clearly the common denominator is me—”
“Mhm.”
“So maybe relationships just aren’t in the cards for me. Maybe I should take a break. A long break. Like a… celibate monk arc or something.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
Jake lifted his head. “I’m dramatic! I’m heartbroken!”
Heeseung zipped up his duffel bag with one hand and tossed a pair of sunglasses in after it. “Then come be a camp counselor with me this summer.”
Jake blinked. “What?”
Heeseung shrugged. “Fresh air. No dating apps. No situationships. No exes. Just kids, nature, and free meals. Might fix your brain.”
Jake stared.
Heeseung continued stuffing socks into corners of the bag.
Jake stared harder.
Heeseung wasn’t kidding, was he?
Jake sat up straighter. A distraction. A purpose. Something new. Something healthy. A break from the heartbreak factory his dating life had become.
He latched onto the idea like a lifeline.
“You know what? You’re right.” Jake sprang to his feet with renewed determination. “I’ll do it.”
Heeseung snorted. “Bro, I was just—”
Too late.
Jake was already gone.
The next morning Heeseung opened his door—and froze.
Because on his porch stood Jake Sim:
Two duffel bags slung over his shoulders.
A bright orange life vest buckled proudly over his shirt.
Sunscreen unevenly smeared in streaks across his face.
A crooked baseball cap.
Sunglasses too big for his head.
A whistle hanging around his neck.
Hiking boots untied.
And the most earnest, determined expression imaginable
“Nope!” Jake stepped forward cheerily, boots thudding on the wooden porch. “Signed up, got accepted, printed the forms, even watched a knot-tying tutorial.”
“But—but I wasn’t serious—”
“Too late! I’m already mentally in nature mode.”
Heeseung ran a hand down his face. “Jaeyun, you look—ridiculous.”
“Prepared,” Jake corrected, beaming.
And prepared he was—prepared enough that when they arrived, he accidentally impressed the camp director by already knowing the emergency protocols, showing his whistle-usage demonstration unprompted, identifying poison ivy correctly and shaking everyone’s hand like he was running for office.
Within an hour, he was given a standard camp uniform, a set of keys, and a shared hut assignment with Heeseung.
Heeseung had mourned.
“Great,” He sighed dramatically, tossing a string of condoms into his drawer. “There goes my bachelor hut. No more bringing hot counselors back here.”
Jake blinked. “…Hot counselors?”
He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t thought about women at all, actually.
The whole point was to get away from them. Reset. Recalibrate. Heal.
But then—
Then he walked into the staff orientation meeting.
And he saw them.
Women his age. Attractive women. Very attractive women.
Sun-kissed skin. Short shorts. Uniform shirts tied at the waist or stretched across curves. Laughs that carried across the field. Smiles bright as the July sun.
Jake’s brain short-circuited.
Heeseung slapped his back. “Forgot to mention that part. Oops.”
Jake choked. “You—you brought me to temptation island?!”
“It’s literally just a summer camp, bro.”
There was nothing “just” about it for Jake.
He tried his best—really tried—to stay focused. To be professional. To avoid unnecessary touching or staring. To keep his voice steady when talking to female counselors.
He failed often.
But all those attempts shattered the moment you walked in.
You had years of experience written in confident steps. A clipboard under your arm. Hair pulled back loosely, with strands falling in the sun. Two top buttons of your uniform undone, enough to make Jake swallow hard. A glint of a lacy bra edge that seared itself into his retinas and soul. Little pins decorating your shirt pocket. Bandages sticking out of one cargo pocket. A smile that made the kids run to you like you were the sun itself.
You kneeling to tie a child’s shoelaces? Lethal. You laughing when a little boy told you you were “the prettiest lady ever”? Fatal. You twirling a strand of hair while listening to another counselor? Catastrophic.
Jake had been doomed before you even looked at him.
And when you did look at him—eyes bright, lips curved in a friendly hello—Jake felt his knees weaken so dramatically he nearly collapsed into the nearest picnic table.
Heeseung, of course, noticed.
“Ah,” he said smugly. “Found your distraction.”
Jake didn’t answer, because for the first time in a long, miserable stretch of heartbreak…
He felt something spark. Something warm. Something like desire. Something like falling.
And unfortunately for him—
It was happening fast.
It was happening hard.
And it was happening with you.
Jake Sim had survived three breakups, one allergic reaction to a cat he tried to impress a girl with, and a disastrous blind date where the woman only talked about her ex’s crypto investments.
But you?
You were the first thing to genuinely terrify him.
Which is exactly why he spent the next few days avoiding you like you were trained specifically to hunt down boys with fragile hearts. And luckily—miraculously—the kids kept him occupied enough to make avoidance a legitimate battle plan.
Jake made sure his entire schedule left no space for accidentally brushing shoulders with you.
Archery practice? He volunteered. Canoe supervision? Signed up. Arts and crafts? Already promised the kids he’d make them braided bracelets. Bug safety presentation? He memorized the handout and delivered it with genuine enthusiasm.
It helped that thirty-six children seemed determined to orbit him like satellites.
“Jake hyung! Jake hyung! Can you help me find my water bottle?”
“Jake! Tie my shoe!”
“Jake, can you do the whistle thing again?”
Heeseung, watching from across the field, looked like a man witnessing a strange phenomenon.
“Dude,” he said, leaning beside him, “you’re like… dad-coded.”
Jake wiped sweat from his forehead. “Perfect. The more dad-coded I am, the less chance I have of embarrassing myself in front of—” He abruptly clamped his mouth shut.
Heeseung smirked. “Ah. Avoiding that counselor, are we?”
Jake reddened. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m being productive.”
Heeseung pointed across the field.
You were kneeling beside a little girl helping her braid wildflowers into a crown, hair glimmering in the sun, shirt loose enough that the breeze caught it.
Jake immediately turned around and pretended to fix a crooked signpost.
Heeseung laughed for a full thirty seconds.
Jake perfected the art of being physically present but socially absent.
When you entered the dining hall? Jake exited stage left, carrying a stack of napkins he didn’t technically need.
When you walked toward the docks? Jake suddenly remembered he left sunscreen in his cabin and sprinted away.
When you greeted him with a warm, friendly “Good morning, Jake!” He panicked, waved too fast, nearly dropped his tray, then escaped into a group of eight-year-olds debating whether frogs could fall in love.
Jake’s system of avoidance worked flawlessly—until nature decided to betray him.
It happened during a swimming rotation.
Jake was teaching a small group how to float on their backs, explaining the basics with gentle encouragement. The sun was warm, the water cool, the kids giggling.
He was happy. Stable.
And then he heard your voice behind him.
“Jake! Can you help me with something?”
Every muscle in his body tensed.
Slowly—agonizingly—he turned.
You were standing at the edge of the dock, clipboard against your chest, sunglasses perched on your head, uniform shirt half-unbuttoned because of the heat.
Jake forgot what language he was speaking for a moment.
“One of my campers is scared of getting in. You’re great with the nervous ones. Mind giving her a demonstration?”
“Sure,” he croaked. “Happy to help.”
You guided the shy camper forward and knelt beside her, encouraging her gently.
Jake’s heart clenched.
God, you were sweet. Sweet in a way that made him ache. Sweet in a way that made him terrified of falling again.
He moved into the shallow water, demonstrating calmly, voice soft, arms open.
And it worked.
The little girl eventually stepped into the lake, holding onto Jake’s hands, trusting him completely.
You glanced at him, smiling warmly.
Jake forgot to breathe.
As you praised the camper who had conquered her fear, Jake found himself staring.
Not in a “wow, she’s nice” way. But in a “I am absolutely, undeniably screwed” way.
The sun hit your damp shirt in a way that made it cling, outlining the curve of your waist. Your hair was messy from the lake breeze, strands stuck to your cheek. You brushed them back casually and—
Jake swallowed.
He turned back to the kids, voice several octaves too high.
“GREAT JOB EVERYONE, LET’S—uh—float!”
It had started small. Then it got worse.
You had a habit of scribbling notes on your palm when you lost your pen. Jake noticed the ink smudge once and spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what you had written. What you were thinking. What you cared about.
Every day, it felt like you were leaving breadcrumbs without even knowing it.
Breadcrumbs Jake kept picking up like an idiot. He often found himself watching you from across the field—telling himself it wasn’t weird, he was just… aware. Vigilant. Noticing. Except it was weird, because he wasn’t noticing anyone else. Only you.
The way you pushed your hair out of your face when the wind blew. The way your shirt rode up when you bent over to pick up stray sports equipment. The way your hands moved when you talked—soft but animated. The way your laughter rolled across the lawn, making the younger kids giggle just because you did.
He tried to stop.
He really did.
But every time you smiled at someone—even a kid—Jake felt that awful, sinking heat curl in his stomach.
At night in the hut, Jake lay on his back, staring at the wooden ceiling while the darkness pressed in around him.
He remembered the way your shirt clung to your back when you came in from the heat, the thin fabric damp and outlining things he had absolutely no business noticing. He could still see it when he closed his eyes. He remembered the moment you stretched to hang a sign above the craft table, your uniform lifting just enough to reveal the soft line of your waist. He’d looked away immediately—too fast, too guilty—yet the image stuck to the inside of his skull like honey.
He remembered your voice going low and warm when you comforted a kid who scraped their knee. It wasn’t meant for him, not even close, but it still sank under his skin, unraveling him from the inside out. He remembered walking behind you on the trail, watching how the breeze tugged at the hem of your shorts—how he’d forced himself to stare at the trees instead, counting them like that would save him.
Each memory hit him with the force of something he wasn’t prepared for, something he couldn’t guard against no matter how hard he tried.
And he hated—truly hated—how quickly his thoughts slipped into places they shouldn’t go. Places that made his breath hitch and heat rise under his skin.
This summer was supposed to save him. Give him distance. Help him reset.
A clean slate. A distraction. A break from feeling too much.
But all it took was you—just you—and Jake was already spiraling. Falling again, harder than ever.
Jake groaned low in his throat, the sound muffled against the crook of his elbow as he rolled onto his stomach. The thin camp mattress creaked under him like it was judging every pathetic shift of his hips.
The fan whirred uselessly on the nightstand, pushing lukewarm air across his bare back. It did nothing for the heat crawling under his skin—nothing for the way his pulse had taken up permanent residence between his legs.
He pressed his forehead harder into the pillow, trying to smother the images that kept flashing behind his eyelids.
You, laughing after that cannonball contest with the older kids. You, bending to tie a little girl’s shoelace, the curve of your ass filling out those damn camp shorts like they were custom-made to torture him.
He imagined what it would feel like to slide his palms up under that damp shirt, fingers splaying wide over your ribs, until you arched into him.
Imagined pinning you against the boathouse wall after lights-out, your legs hooked around his waist, while he ground against you—slow at first, then desperate, fabric dragging over his leaking cock until you were both shaking.
His hips rocked once, involuntary, into the mattress. The friction sent a sharp jolt straight up his spine. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper.
“Fuck,” he whispered into the dark.
He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.
But his hand was already moving—sliding down his stomach, past the elastic of his boxers, wrapping around the thick, aching length of himself. He was so hard it hurt; the head flushed dark and slick, smearing precome across his palm the second he touched it.
One slow stroke and his breath punched out of him.
He pictured your mouth instead—soft, parted, tongue flicking out to taste him. Pictured the way your eyes would widen when you realized just how big he was, how you’d have to stretch your lips around the head, cheeks hollowing while you tried to take more. Pictured the little whimper you’d make when he hit the back of your throat, the way your thighs would press together like you were already soaked just from having him in your mouth.
Another stroke—tighter this time, twisting at the crown—and his hips jerked up off the bed.
He imagined flipping you onto your stomach on this very mattress, yanking your shorts down just enough, spreading you open with his thumbs. Imagined the way you’d gasp when he nudged the fat head against your entrance—teasing, barely dipping in—before sinking in until your back bowed and you sobbed his name into the pillow.
“Jake—”
He choked on a whine at the fantasy of you saying it like that—breathless, wrecked, needy.
His fist sped up. The wet, filthy sound of skin on skin filled the tiny cabin, louder than the fan, louder than his breathing. He didn’t care anymore if Heeseung woke up in the next bunk. Didn’t care about anything except chasing the image of you clenching around him, milking him, begging him to come inside, to fill you up.
Heat coiled low and vicious in his gut.
He turned his face into the pillow, muffling the broken moan that tore out of him as he came—hot, messy pulses spilling over his knuckles, soaking into the sheets. His hips bucked through it, chasing every last aftershock, thighs trembling.
Jake lay there for a long minute after, chest heaving, sticky hand still curled loosely around his softening cock. The fan kept droning like nothing had happened. The cabin smelled faintly of pine, sweat, and sex.
He dragged himself up on shaky legs, boxers half-down his thighs, come already cooling on his fingers and streaking the inside of his shorts. He hissed at the mess, at himself, at how pathetic this had become.
The bathroom was just a small stall tacked onto the side of the counselors’ hut— row of sink, flickering bulb, mirror that made everyone look like a zombie at 2 a.m. Jake flicked the light on and winced at his own reflection: flushed cheeks, wild hair, pupils blown wide like he’d been drugged. He looked wrecked. He felt worse.
He turned the faucet to cold and shoved his hand under the stream, scrubbing at the tacky evidence with furious little jerks. Soap foamed pinkish-white down the drain. He kept scrubbing long after it was gone, like he could wash the thoughts out too.
But they came back anyway. Uninvited. Relentless.
His cock twitched against his thigh—already half-interested again, traitor that it was.
“Stop,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink edge so hard his knuckles bleached. “Just—fucking stop.” He splashed cold water on his face. It dripped down his neck, soaked the collar of his tank top. Didn’t help. The images kept looping: your thighs parting for him, your fingers in his hair pulling him closer, your voice cracking on his name while he licked into you until you were shaking.
He groaned, low and defeated, forehead thunking against the cool mirror.
He was hard again. Not fully—yet—but enough that the waistband of his boxers tugged uncomfortably. Enough that he could feel the slow, heavy throb returning, insistent, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be over.
“You’re disgusting,” he whispered to himself.
The door creaked open behind him.
Jake’s eyes snapped to the mirror.
You.
Standing there in the doorway like a fever dream he hadn’t earned the right to have.
Tiny sleep shorts—barely more than cotton underwear with legs—riding high on your thighs, the hem frayed from too many washes. A thin, worn tank top clinging to you from the humid night air, straps slipping off one shoulder, the fabric so soft and faded it was practically see-through under the shitty bathroom bulb. Your hair was a wild, sleep-tousled mess, strands sticking to your neck from the heat. Flip-flops slapped softly against the tile as you took one hesitant step inside.
You froze when you saw him.
“Jake?” Your voice was sleepy, soft, and surprised. “I—I thought everyone was asleep. I just needed to… brush my teeth or something. Sorry, I didn’t—”
You stopped talking.
Because you’d noticed.
The way he was braced over the sink, shoulders rigid, tank top rucked up from where he’d been gripping the counter. The flush that hadn’t left his cheeks. The obvious, obscene tent in his boxers—thick outline straining against the thin cotton.
Your eyes widened, pupils blowing out in the dim fluorescent light.
For a split second, the world narrowed to just the two of you: the hum of the fan outside, the drip of the faucet, and the way Jake’s cock twitched visibly under your stare, the fat head pushing insistently against the waistband like it had a mind of its own.
“Shit—fuck—wait—” Jake scrambled, voice cracking high and panicked. He spun half-away from you, one hand flying down to cup himself through the boxers while the other snatched the nearest thing—a thin, ratty hand towel hanging off the rack—and tried to hide it over his crotch like that would somehow erase the last thirty seconds.
The towel was too small. It barely covered anything.
“I—I wasn’t— I mean, this isn’t— fuck, I was just— washing my face! Yeah! Washing my face and— and thinking about— about tomorrow’s schedule! Canoe races! Kids! Lots of kids! Totally innocent!”
The words tumbled out in a frantic, breathless rush. His face was scarlet, ears burning, eyes darting everywhere except your face. He kept shifting his weight, trying to angle his body away, but the mirror betrayed him—every desperate twitch of his hips reflected right back at both of you.
You just stood there, your gaze dropped again to where his hand was futilely trying to shield the bulge. You watched the way his fingers flexed, knuckles white, like he was fighting not to stroke himself right there in front of you.
Jake’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice wrecked. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t— I’ll go. I’ll just— I’ll leave. Right now. You can— you can have the bathroom. I swear I won’t—”
Jake took a hesitant step forward, trying to sidestep you toward the door, but the bathroom was small and you were right there, blocking the narrow path like you’d grown roots into the tile.
He froze mid-motion, arms hovering awkwardly at his sides. Every inch of him screamed to bolt, but moving meant brushing past you—meant feeling the heat of your body, the soft brush of your bare arm against his, and he couldn’t. He just couldn’t trust himself not to shatter if he touched you right now.
So he stood there. Frozen. Breathing too fast. The air between you thick.
You still didn’t move.
“Uh—” His voice cracked. “Can you—please—just—” He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the door, then back to you.
You tilted your head, just a fraction. Still silent. Still watching.
The silence stretched until it hurt.
Finally, desperation won.
Jake reached out—gentle, careful, like you were made of glass—and placed one trembling hand on your upper arm. His fingers curled lightly around your bicep, warm skin under his palm, soft and fever-hot from the humid night.
The contact hit him like a live wire.
He pushed—just enough to ease you sideways, creating the barest sliver of space—and slipped past you in one frantic, clumsy movement. His shoulder grazed yours. Your arm slid against his chest for half a second. The scent of your skin—coconut, lake water—flooded his lungs.
The door banged shut behind him as he stumbled out into the cool night air. Flip-flops forgotten somewhere on the bathroom floor. Bare feet slapping against the wooden path as he half-ran, half-staggered back toward the hut.
He could still feel you.
The exact imprint of your arm under his palm—soft, yielding, alive. The ghost of your heat lingered on his skin like a brand. Every nerve ending in his hand tingled, replaying the texture, the warmth, the way your muscle flexed just slightly under his touch.
He burst into the hut, door slamming louder than he meant. Heeseung’s soft snores came from the other bunk—thank fuck he was still asleep.
Jake collapsed onto his mattress face-first, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
He pressed his hand—the same hand that had touched you—against his cheek, trying to cool the flush there.
It didn’t work.
Because now all he could think about was how close he’d been. How easy it would’ve been to pull you against him instead of pushing you away. How your skin had felt like silk under his fingers.
His cock throbbed painfully against the mattress, still hard, still leaking, still aching for the one thing he’d just run from.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice muffled and broken. He was never going to sleep tonight.
Not after… that.
So the next morning, Jake implemented Operation: Avoid you at all costs with military precision.
And he meant it.
He avoided you like you were a live wire and he was barefoot in the rain.
The first new rule: Never be alone with you.
He woke up early—before Heeseung, before the kids, before the mosquitoes even had the decency to start buzzing—just to leave the hut before you could walk by on your usual morning route.
At breakfast, he positioned himself strategically between two tablefuls of kids, knowing you’d never be able to squeeze into the chaos.
During activities, he always made sure another counselor was nearby—someone loud, someone distracting, someone who would prevent you from stepping within arm’s reach.
It worked.
For a few hours.
Then the universe remembered Jake was its favorite target.
And the main problem: You were everywhere.
You walked into the arts-and-crafts cabin to grab paint just as he was slipping out the door. Jake swerved so hard he crashed into a rack of hula hoops.
You laughed softly behind him and Jake nearly ascended into the stratosphere from shame.
Jake was supposed to be supervising the canoe station.
Supposed to be.
Instead, he stood rooted to the dock, gripping his paddle so tightly his knuckles whitened, because across the shoreline—just a few feet away—you were kneeling in the grass helping three little campers tie their life vests.
And the heat was brutal today.
Which meant the camp uniform—already a questionable sin—looked even worse on you. Your shirt clung to every curve. Your shorts were barely shorts at all. Your legs caught the sunlight like it had a personal vendetta against him.
Jake swallowed hard. No—he choked on air.
God, he was so screwed.
You leaned closer to one of the kids, brushing hair from their face. Your shirt dipped. Jake saw far more than he should’ve. His brain immediately short-circuited, crashing like a cheap computer overloaded with images he had no business imagining.
And then his body responded.
Fast. Painfully. Predictably.
Jake inhaled sharply and discreetly tugged his paddle lower, shielding the very visible problem forming in his shorts.
“Dude.”
Heeseung’s voice came from behind him like a death sentence.
Jake jumped. “Wh–what?”
Heeseung leaned his elbow on Jake’s shoulder, smirking like the menace he was.
“You’re staring so hard I’m shocked her clothes haven’t caught fire.”
“I—I wasn’t staring,” Jake stammered, sweating harder than the sun could account for.
“You’re literally drooling.”
“I’M NOT—”
Heeseung just laughed, clapping him on the back. “Bro, you’re gone. Like, beyond gone. NASA couldn’t retrieve your dignity at this point.”
Jake groaned into his hands. “Shut up.”
But it was too late. Heeseung had seen everything—Jake’s flushed face, blown pupils, and the way he kept subtly angling his paddle to hide the mess in his shorts.
Heeseung whistled low. “Wow. She bends over one time and you’re ready to propose marriage?”
“I’m NOT— it’s not— dude, stop talking.”
Heeseung leaned closer, voice dropping. “Then stop looking at her like you want to get on your knees in the middle of the camp.”
Jake choked on his own saliva.
“HEESEUNG!”
“What? I’m just narrating what I’m seeing.”
Jake was going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. Preferably with a life vest.
Jake, still recovering from the verbal assault that was Heeseung’s commentary, made the single worst mistake of his entire existence.
He looked back at you.
And you were already staring at him.
Not glancing politely. Not half-looking. Not scanning the field. You were focused. Eyes on him like he was something worth noticing—worth studying. Your brows lifted the barest amount, lips soft and parted, like you’d caught him mid-thought… mid-stare… mid-sin.
Jake’s brain detonated.
Full catastrophic system failure.
His throat tightened. His hands numbed. His pulse skyrocketed so violently he wasn’t sure if he was dying or being reborn in the worst possible way.
Because you weren’t just looking at him. You were looking into him.
He felt heat explode across his cheeks, racing down his neck, blooming under his shirt. His heartbeat slammed hard enough to rattle his ribs.
You saw him. You saw him staring. You saw the mess he was trying so desperately, pathetically, humiliatingly hard to hide.
Beside him, Heeseung made a choked noise of triumph—like a man who had just spotted Bigfoot and gotten it on video.
“Oh my GOD,” he whispered, gleeful as sin. “She’s LOOKING at you—”
And that was it.
Jake panicked. He panicked like someone had just shouted “SHARK!” in knee-deep water.
His grip spasmed.
The paddle slid out of his hands.
“No no no no—” Jake lunged for it.
“DON’T—!” Heeseung snapped, reaching out.
But Jake was already in motion. Already doomed. His foot caught the edge of the dock. His balance tipped backward. His whistle swung up and smacked him in the chin. His sunglasses—how were they even still on—flew off into the air.
Jake grabbed wildly at nothing—truly nothing—because the paddle bounced away from him like it had been training for this moment its whole life. He went down hard, arms flailing, knees buckling, legs pinwheeling like a newborn deer.
And then—
SPLASH.
The sound burst across the entire lake like a small tidal wave.
Kids shrieked. Counselors gasped. Birds took flight in a panicked cloud overhead. Even the lake seemed offended.
Heeseung made a sound like he was being physically strangled by laughter.
Jake sank beneath the surface with all the grace of a bowling ball. For one long second, he sat there at the bottom of the shallow lake, bubbles drifting up around him as he contemplated every decision that had led to this moment.
Then he kicked up, resurfacing in a violent gasp, sputtering, coughing, eyes wide, looking like a drowned cat that simultaneously regretted every life decision.
But it got worse. Much worse.
Balanced perfectly on top of his head— as if placed there by the comedic gods themselves— was a bright green lily pad.
A lily pad.
On his head.
And sitting comfortably on that lily pad, blinking slowly… was a frog.
A frog.
Jake Sim—camp golden boy, heartbreak survivor, current emotional disaster—was treading water with a literal frog crown.
Kids started laughing. One screamed, “JAKE IS KING OF THE FROGS!”
Heeseung folded onto the dock, wheezing, nearly crying from how hard he was laughing. “Oh—my—god,” he gasped between breaths. “This is the best day of my LIFE.”
Jake spit out lake water. “This isn’t—! I didn’t—! GET IT OFF ME!”
The frog did not get off. It simply adjusted itself, as if settling more comfortably into its throne.
Jake, sputtering and panicked, swiped his hand over his head in a frantic attempt to knock the frog off.
“GO—SHOO—LEAVE ME ALONE—!”
The frog blinked once, unimpressed. Then, with the dignity of a royal being dismissed by an incompetent servant, it hopped off the lily pad and launched itself into the lake beside Jake.
PLIP.
A small, perfectly aimed splash hit Jake right in the face.
Jake shut his eyes, jaw clenching.
Great. Perfect. Amazing.
There went any hope of impressing you. Straight to the bottom of the lake with the lily pad.
He groaned under his breath and swam—miserably—toward the metal ladder bolted to the dock. The water felt colder now, mocking him with each stroke. He grabbed the rungs, dragged himself up rung by rung, boots heavy, clothes clinging to him like a second skin. Dripping. Humiliated. Confidence somewhere downstream, probably floating next to the frog.
The moment he reached the top, two adult counselors rushed over, shoving towels at him.
“Oh my god, Jake, are you hurt?”
“Are you okay?”
“That was a fall, man.”
“I’m fine,” Jake muttered, rubbing water from his eyes. He was fine.
Physically.
Emotionally? He had the confidence level of a damp crouton.
A couple of the other male counselors snickered behind their hands, whispering to each other. Jake didn’t have to hear the words to know exactly what they were saying. They weren’t exactly subtle. One mimed falling off a dock. Another did a frog ribbit.
Jake’s jaw tightened. Great. Just great.
He was the newest counselor. The one who was already trying to prove he wasn’t a total walking disaster.
This definitely helped.
Not.
Of course. He couldn’t even fall into a lake normally…
But none of that mattered.
Because suddenly—
You were there.
Right in front of him.
Where did you even come from? Had you teleported? Materialized from thin air just to make his pulse explode?
“Jake?” you asked softly, stepping closer. “Hey. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Jake forgot how to breathe. He forgot how to stand. He forgot everything.
Because you were looking at him with real concern—warm eyes scanning his face, brow furrowed just a little. Not laughing. Not mocking.
Worried.
About him.
Jake’s heart did a full somersault. And before he could react, you reached up and gently tugged the towel onto his head, fingers brushing his temples.
“Here,” you murmured. “You’re freezing.”
Jake made a strangled noise.
You started blotting water from his hair, using both hands, the towel rustling softly. You leaned in slightly to reach the back of his head—completely unaware of how absolutely, catastrophically close you were.
Jake went rigid.
Your scent drifted over him—clean laundry, sunscreen, something sweet he couldn’t name. His face hovered dangerously close to your shirt, just inches from your chest, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth radiating from you.
His brain ceased all function.
Thoughts: gone.
Language: deleted.
Motor skills: offline.
He stared ahead helplessly, praying he wasn’t shaking.
You kept drying his hair, completely focused, completely gentle. “Hold still,” you whispered. “You’ll catch a cold like this.”
Jake tried to respond. He really did. He tried to say, “Thanks,” or “I’m okay,” or literally anything that resembled human speech.
What came out was:
“Ah—gu—h—”
You giggled softly—quiet, warm, like the sound was meant only for him.
The little puff of laughter brushed against his forehead, and Jake’s entire nervous system short-circuited all over again.
You kept drying his hair, gentle fingers working through the wet strands at the back of his head, tugging the towel this way and that. Every small movement seemed to pull you closer. Or maybe he was imagining it. Maybe the universe had decided to personally torture him today.
But no—no, he wasn’t imagining it.
Your chest was definitely inching nearer.
The soft swell of your breasts, barely contained by that thin, slightly damp camp shirt, hovered closer with every careful swipe of the towel. Close enough now that he could see the faint freckles scattered across your collarbone. Close enough that the fabric stretched just a little tighter across your skin. Close enough that when you leaned in to reach the stubborn wet patch at his crown, the very tips of your breasts brushed—barely, feather-light—against his cheek.
Jake’s brain flatlined.
A strangled, high-pitched noise escaped his throat—something between a whimper and a prayer.
Your giggle turned into a soft hum of amusement. “Relax, Jake,” you murmured, voice low and teasing, warm breath ghosting over his temple. “You’re so tense. I’m not gonna bite.”
He wanted to die.
He wanted to live forever.
He wanted both at the same time.
His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, fingers curling into fists so he wouldn’t do something stupid like grab your waist and pull you the rest of the way against him. His face was burning so hot he was sure the lake water was evaporating off his skin in little puffs of steam.
Jake’s eyes squeezed shut.
He was going to pass out.
Right here.
In front of the entire camp.
He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears, in his throat, lower—his shorts suddenly way too tight despite the cold water still dripping down his legs.
You finally pulled back—just enough to look at him, towel still draped over his head like a sad, soggy crown. “There,” you said, smiling that soft, devastating smile. “All better.”
Jake opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“…Th-thanks,” he managed, voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old’s.
Your eyes sparkled with something dangerously close to mischief.
“Anytime, Jake.” Then you gave the towel one last gentle pat—right on top of his head—and turned to walk away, hips swaying just enough to make sure he watched every step.
Jake stood there, dripping, red-faced, towel askew, heart trying to claw its way out of his chest.
After that towel incident, Jake’s dick officially declared independence.
It had a sixth sense for you now—like a goddamn compass needle snapping toward north the second you walked into a fifty-foot radius. Full traitor mode. Uncontrollable. Radar-locked to your presence like some feral heat-seeking missile.
You walked into the mess hall for lunch? Instant throb in his shorts before you'd even crossed the threshold, straining against the zipper like it could smell your coconut lotion from twenty feet away. He'd cross his legs under the picnic table, fist clenched around his fork, pretending to focus on his mystery meat while visions of bending you over that very table flashed behind his eyes.
You laughed during arts & crafts, that husky ripple carrying across the field? His balls tightened. Cock swelled heavy and hot, leaking into his boxers so fast he felt the wet spot bloom. He'd mutter excuses—"Gotta piss"—and bolt to the nearest bathroom stall, slamming the door and yanking his shorts down. Fist wrapped tight around his throbbing length—veins pulsing, head flushed purple and slick—stroking furious and sloppy while he bit his lip bloody to stay quiet. Imagining your thighs spread wide on the craft table, your pretty cunt clenching around his fingers.
He'd come with a muffled groan, ropes of thick cum splattering the toilet rim, knees buckling as he slumped against the wall. Only then—only after painting his hand white—would the ache finally ebb enough for him to face the world again.
The worst was the day Heeseung walked in.
Jake had bolted to the hut after free swim, your bikini top had slipped just enough while you adjusted a strap, flashing a sliver of underboob that sent him spiraling. Jake thinking he had the hut to himself — curled on his bunk, shorts shoved to his knees, hand flying over his dick as he pictured you on your knees, tiny shorts pooled at your ankles, mouth stretched wide around his girth. Drool dripping down your chin. Eyes watering as you gagged, taking him deeper.
He was so close—thighs trembling, precome slicking his palm when the door banged open.
Heeseung froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, eyes wide.
Jake yelped—high-pitched, mortified—scrambling to yank the sheet over his lap.
"SHIT—HEESEUNG—FUCK—SORRY—"
Heeseung slapped a hand over his eyes, but not before that perv glanced down—clocking the sheer size of it.
“DUDE! WE SHARE THIS SPACE! THERE ARE RULES! AT LEAST WARN A GUY!”
"I'M SORRY—OH GOD, I'M SO SORRY—" Jake babbled, rolling off the bed in a tangle of sheets, cock flopping heavy against his thigh as he tried to hide like a cornered animal, trying to tuck himself away while babbling apologies like a broken record. "It won't happen again—swear—I'll go outside—I'll jerk off in the lake—PLEASE DON'T TELL ANYONE—"
Heeseung backed out, still shielding his eyes, laughing so hard he wheezed. "Chill, virgin! I'm not telling the whole camp you're blue-balling over her. But boundaries, bro! Boundaries!"
Heeseung peeked through his fingers, then dropped his hand with a dramatic sigh. “Bro. You’re jerking it like three times a day now.Your dick’s gonna file for workers’ comp.”
“I know! I know! I’m disgusting! I’m sorry—”
“Bro. Listen to me. You are not disgusting. You are tragically horny. There’s a difference.”
Jake dragged both hands down his face, smearing come across his cheek in the process. He didn’t even notice. “I came in my shorts during swim lessons yesterday. Just—watching her adjust her whistle. I had to dive into the lake to hide it.”
Heeseung barked another laugh. “Classic.”
“No it's not!” Jake wailed, flopping backward onto the floor like a starfish of despair. “I tried thinking about baseball. Taxes. My grandma’s knitting club. Nothing works. It’s like my brain is just… her. All the time. Her smile. Her laugh. The way her hair sticks to her neck when she’s wet from the lake. The way her thighs look when she’s sitting on the dock. I’m gonna die, Heeseung. I’m actually gonna die.”
“Okay, drama queen. First: breathe. Second: you need to do something about this before you actually combust. Or before you get caught jerking it in the supply closet again.”
Jake’s head snapped up. “You know about the supply closet?”
“Dude. Everyone knows about the supply closet. There’s a rumor you’ve christened every shelf in there.”
Jake made a sound like a dying animal and pulled the sheet over his head.
Heeseung snorted, leaning against the doorframe, suddenly way too amused. “You know what the funniest part is?”
Jake groaned into his hands. “Please don’t.”
“She’d probably love your little buddy.”
Jake’s head snapped up. “What?”
Heeseung grinned like the devil. “I’m saying, if she knew how whipped your dick is for her, she’d probably be flattered. Might even wanna meet it. Personally.”
Jake’s brain blue-screened.
With a wordless yell, he launched himself across the room—full football tackle—crashing into Heeseung and sending them both tumbling onto the nearest bunk in a tangle of limbs.
“SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP—”
Heeseung cackled underneath him, arms up in mock surrender while Jake tried (and failed) to smother him with a pillow. “Okay okay! Truce! Truce! I’m just saying—she’s got you by the balls, man! Literally!”
Jake groaned—long, defeated, the sound of a man who’d lost every battle with his own dignity—and rolled off Heeseung, collapsing face-first onto the bunk mattress like he’d been shot. The pillow stayed clutched to his chest like a shield.
Heeseung sat up, still grinning, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You done trying to murder me?”
Jake’s voice came out muffled into the fabric. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t. You love me. I’m your emotional support wingman.” Heeseung poked him in the ribs with his foot. “Come on, bro. You can’t keep living like this. You’re one accidental brush of her hand away from coming in your shorts in front of the entire camp.”
Jake lifted his head just enough to glare. “I’m handling it.”
“You’re not handling it. You’re jerking off six times a day and jumping me like a feral cat every time I mention her tits. That’s not handling it—that’s a cry for help.”
Jake buried his face again. “Shut up.”
Heeseung sighed dramatically, flopping back onto his own bunk and staring at the ceiling like a philosopher. “Look. I’m saying this as your best friend who has seen you suffer more than any human should: confess. Or at least do something. Ask her to help you ‘check the boathouse inventory’ after lights-out. Corner her behind the craft shed. Hell, just tell her you’ve been thinking about her non-stop since day one and your dick won’t give you a single peaceful moment.”
Jake made a strangled noise.
“I’m serious,” Heeseung pressed. “She’s been looking at you like she knows exactly what’s going on in that horny little head of yours. The towel thing? The eye-fucking across the lake? The way she ‘accidentally’ brushes up against you every five minutes? She’s teasing you, man. She wants you to crack. She’s waiting for you to man up and take what you both clearly want.”
Jake rolled onto his back, staring at the wooden beams overhead. His chest rose and fell too fast. “And what if I’m wrong? What if she’s just… being nice? And I make it weird and ruin everything?”
Heeseung snorted. “Dude. She dried your hair like a mom while her tits were literally in your face. That’s not ‘nice.’ That’s foreplay.”
Jake groaned again, dragging both hands down his face. “Fuck.”
“Exactly. Fuck. Her. Preferably soon. Before your balls explode and we have to explain to the camp director why there’s a crater where you used to be.”
Jake was quiet for a long minute. Then, quieter:
“…What if she says no?”
Heeseung sat up again, suddenly serious. “Then at least you’ll know. And you can stop torturing yourself. But Jake—” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re not paying attention. The way her eyes linger. The way she bites her lip when you talk to the kids. She’s not saying no. She’s waiting for you to say yes.”
Jake swallowed hard. His heart was hammering again—not from embarrassment this time, but from something sharper. Hope. Terror. Want.
Heeseung kicked his foot lightly. “So what’s it gonna be, lover boy? Keep hiding? Or finally grow a pair and go get your girl?”
Jake stared at the ceiling for another beat.
Then he sat up slowly, jaw set, eyes a little wild.
“…I’m gonna do it.”
Heeseung’s grin returned full force. “Atta boy. Tonight?”
Jake exhaled shakily. “Tonight?”
The hut suddenly felt too small, the air too thick with the scent of pine and his own unresolved tension. He was still flushed from head to toe, cheeks burning, cock giving a traitorous twitch in his shorts at the mere idea of finally confessing—of touching you, kissing you, burying himself so deep inside you that neither of you could think straight. But first, he had to actually get you alone. How hard could that be? He’d spent the last week dodging you like a pro; reversing it should be easy, right?
Heeseung, sensing Jake's hesitation like a shark smelling blood, hopped off his bunk and grabbed a crumpled notepad from the nightstand—the one they used for doodling dumb canoe race strategies. "Alright, lover boy, let's strategize. We're not sending you in blind. This is Operation Get Jake Laid—er, I mean, Confessed. Whatever..."
Jake rubbed his palms on his thighs like he could wipe away the nervous sweat. "Okay. Plan. Good. What's the move?"
Heeseung paced the narrow space between the bunks, tapping the notepad with a chewed-up pen like he was a general mapping out a battlefield. "First things first: timing. Tonight's the bonfire sing-along after dinner. Everyone's gonna be there—kids roasting marshmallows, staff pretending not to hate 'Kumbaya' for the hundredth time. That's your window. Chaos equals opportunity. You slip away early, say you're grabbing extra firewood or some bullshit. I'll create a distraction—maybe 'accidentally' knock over the s'mores station. Kids go nuts, staff scrambles, and boom—you pull her aside to the boathouse path. It's dark, secluded, romantic as fuck with the lake view. Confess there. Worst case, if she rejects you, you can jump in the water and drown your sorrows."
Jake nodded slowly, picturing it. The boathouse—dim moonlight filtering through the trees, the soft lap of water against the dock. You standing there, close enough to touch, your eyes widening as he finally spilled it all: how he couldn't stop thinking about you, how every brush of your skin made his brain melt and his cock ache, how he wanted to drop to his knees and worship you until you were the one begging. His breath hitched. "Yeah. That... that could work. But how do I get her to follow me? Just... ask?"
Heeseung snorted. "Subtlety, man. Walk by her during the fire, lean in close—like, whisper something about needing help with 'inventory' in the boathouse. Make it sound urgent but flirty. You've got that puppy-dog charm; use it. Girls eat that shit up. And if she hesitates, flash those dimples. Bam. She's hooked."
Jake ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "Okay. Distraction. Whisper. Boathouse. Got it." He stood again, pacing now himself. "What if someone's with her? She's always got a kid hanging off her or one of the other counselors chatting her up. Remember yesterday? She was braiding hair for like six girls at once during free time."
Heeseung waved it off. "That's why the bonfire's perfect. Everyone's scattered. I'll scout ahead—make sure the path's clear. If there's interference, I'll run blocker. Pretend I need her friend's help with something dumb, like fixing the guitar strings. Easy."
They spent the next twenty minutes hashing out contingencies: If the bonfire ran late, pivot to the morning hike trail before breakfast. If rain hit (unlikely, but summer storms were sneaky), use the supply shed as backup—cozy, private, full of ropes and tarps that Jake's filthy mind immediately twisted into fantasies he had to shove down before Heeseung noticed his shorts tenting again. Heeseung even drew a crude map on the notepad: X for bonfire, arrow to boathouse, stick-figure Jake with hearts for eyes confessing to stick-figure you.
By the time they finished, Jake felt a fragile buzz of confidence. "Alright. This is solid. Thanks, man."
Heeseung fist-bumped him. "Go get cleaned up. And hey—don't chicken out. You've got this."
Jake nodded, grabbing a fresh towel and heading to the showers. Under the lukewarm spray, he tried to psych himself up, but his hand drifted south anyway—wrapping around his half-hard cock, stroking slow as he imagined your reaction. Your lips parting in surprise, then curling into a smile. Your hands pulling him closer. Your thighs wrapping around his waist as he pinned you against the boathouse wall, cock sinking into your tight heat until you were whimpering his name. He came with a choked groan, cum mixing with the water swirling down the drain. Tonight, he promised himself. No more running.
But as dinner rolled around, the plan started crumbling like a stale graham cracker.
You were at the head table, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling preteens who'd apparently declared you their queen. They were all over you—handing you plates, showing off friendship bracelets they'd made "just for you," dragging you into their drama about who kissed who. Jake hovered at the edge of the mess hall, plate in hand, watching like a creeper. Every time he thought about approaching, another kid popped up. Heeseung shot him a thumbs-up from across the room, mouthing "After eating."
Post-dinner cleanup? You volunteered to help the kitchen staff, elbow-deep in soapy water with two other female counselors, chatting and laughing about some inside joke. Jake lingered outside the window like a stalker, pretending to tie his shoe for the third time. Heeseung wandered by, whispering, "Abort. Bonfire next."
The bonfire crackled to life as the sun dipped low, casting orange glows over everyone's faces. Kids clustered around the fire pit, staff scattered on logs and blankets. Jake scanned the crowd—there you were, sandwiched between a hyper ten-year-old boy telling ghost stories and one of the senior counselors, a chatty guy named Sunghoon who kept leaning in way too close to "share" his marshmallows. Jake's jaw clenched. Fuck. He circled once, twice, trying to catch your eye for the whisper ploy, but every approach was blocked: a kid running by with sparklers, the camp director calling everyone for the first song, Heeseung's distraction (a fake spill of chocolate syrup that only drew more people over).
"Pst—Jake!" Heeseung hissed from behind a tree as the group launched into a off-key "The Wheels on the Bus."
"New plan: Wait 'til s'mores wind down. I'll lure Sunghoon away—say I need help with the canoes for tomorrow. You swoop in then."
Jake nodded, heart pounding. But s'mores time turned into chaos: Sticky fingers everywhere, kids demanding seconds, you organizing a impromptu "s'mores assembly line" with half the staff involved. By the time it quieted, the director announced lights-out in fifteen, and you were already herding your cabin group toward the bunks, arms linked with two girls who wouldn't let go.
Jake deflated against a log, watching your silhouette disappear into the trees. Heeseung plopped down next to him, clapping his back. "Tough break. Tomorrow, then. Early bird gets the worm—or the girl alone."
But tomorrow was worse.
Morning hike: You were at the front of the pack with the lead guide, pointing out birds and plants to an enraptured cluster of kids. Jake hung back, trying to work his way forward, but the trail was narrow, and every time he got close, someone needed water or a bug bite check. Heeseung tried distracting the guide with questions, but it backfired—drawing you into the conversation instead.
Arts and crafts: You were manning the bead station, kids swarming like bees. Jake "casually" wandered over to the paint area nearby, but before he could signal, a little girl dragged you away to judge her macaroni necklace.
Swim time: You were on lifeguard duty with three others, perched on the dock in that red one-piece that hugged every curve, whistle around your neck. Jake swam laps to "cool off," planning to ask for your help with "equipment" after. But post-swim, you got roped into a volleyball game on the beach—surrounded by laughing staff and kids spiking the ball like noobs.
By lunch, Jake was fraying. He and Heeseung huddled in the hut during siesta, notepad out again. "This is insane," Jake muttered, head in hands. "It's like the universe is cockblocking me now! She's never alone. Avoiding her was easy enough—getting her isolated? Fucking impossible!!"
Heeseung tapped the pen thoughtfully. "She's popular. Kids love her, staff loves her. We need stealth. New plan: Fake an injury during archery this afternoon. Nothing bad—twisted ankle or some shit. Ask her specifically to help you to the first-aid cabin. It's private, got that cot in the back. Confess there. I'll cover your group."
Jake's eyes lit up. "That's... genius. Yeah. Let's do it."
Archery rolled around. Jake "tripped" mid-demo—dramatic groan, clutching his ankle like he'd been shot. The kids gasped; staff rushed over. "I'm good, just—ah, shit—twisted it. Hey, can someone grab Y/n? She's great with this stuff."
But fate laughed. You were already there, kneeling beside him with concern etching your pretty face—but so was half the camp. The director insisted on two people helping him limp to the cabin, and a nurse volunteer tagged along. Inside, it was a circus: Ice packs, questions, kids peeking in the door. No alone time. The "injury" fizzled out fast—Jake had to fake recovery to avoid real medical attention.
Dinner: More crowds.
Evening games: You refereed capture the flag, untouchable, no time alone.
By nightfall, Jake was back in the hut, collapsed on his bunk, cock throbbing painfully from a day of near-misses and pent-up fantasies. Every glimpse of you—bending to tie a shoe, laughing with wind-tousled hair—had him hard and leaking again. He'd jerked off twice already, once in the woods mid-hike (hiding behind a tree, fist flying as he imagined pinning you against it, rutting into your soaked pussy while you muffled moans into his neck), once in the shower (coming to the thought of you on that lifeguard chair, legs spread, his face buried between them until you squirted on his tongue).
Heeseung flopped down, undeterred. "Alright, Plan Z: Tomorrow's the talent show prep. She's emceeing. I'll sign us up for a 'duet' or something dumb—get you backstage with her. Private green room vibes."
Jake groaned, rolling over. "If this doesn't work, I'm quitting camp. Moving to Antarctica. Penguins don't tempt me."
Heeseung laughed. "Hang in there. She's worth the blue balls."
But as Jake drifted off, dick still half-chubbed under the sheets, he wondered if he'd survive another day of this torture. Getting you alone wasn't just hard—it was a goddamn quest. And he was more desperate than ever to win.
The talent show prep turned out to be another spectacular disaster in Jake's ongoing saga of blue-balled misery. He and Heeseung had signed up for a "duet"—some half-assed acoustic cover of an old camp song that Jake could barely strum through without his fingers shaking from nerves. The plan was simple: Get backstage with you during rehearsals, where you'd be organizing the lineup. The "green room" was really just a curtained-off corner of the main pavilion, cluttered with props and folding chairs—private enough for a quick confession, or at least a stuttered invitation to talk later. Heeseung would "forget" his guitar picks or something, leaving Jake alone with you for those precious few minutes.
But reality? A shitshow. The pavilion was packed with hyper kids practicing their acts: Little girls twirling batons, boys doing awkward magic tricks, a group of teens attempting a rap battle that devolved into giggles. You were in the thick of it, clipboard in hand, directing traffic like a pro—smiling that soft, devastating smile as you adjusted a kid's costume or gave a thumbs-up to a nervous singer. Jake lurked at the edge, guitar slung over his shoulder, heart hammering so loud he was sure the strings were vibrating from it. When Heeseung finally nudged him forward during a break, Jake approached, mouth dry. "Hey, uh..." he managed, voice cracking like he was back in puberty. You straightened up, turning with that warm gaze that made his knees weak. "Need help with... with the script? Or something?"
You blinked, then laughed softly—god, that sound went straight to his balls. "Actually, yeah! Can you hold this for a sec?" You thrust the clipboard at him, your fingers brushing his in the handoff. Electric. His dick twitched hard, thickening instantly like it knew exactly who was touching him. But before he could stammer out anything resembling a confession, a swarm of kids descended: "Miss, my hat fell off!" "Can I go next?" "Look at my dance!" You were pulled away in a whirlwind of tiny hands and excited chatter, leaving Jake standing there with the clipboard pressed awkwardly against his crotch to hide the growing bulge. Heeseung shot him a sympathetic shrug from across the room, but the moment was gone. Rehearsal ended with Jake barely exchanging three words with you beyond "Here you go" when you reclaimed the board.
That night, back in the hut, Jake jerked off furiously under the sheets—fist pumping his thick cock in brutal strokes. He came with a muffled groan, cum spilling hot over his knuckles, but the relief was temporary. Hollow. He needed the real thing.
The next day brought more failures, each one chipping away at Jake's sanity like a dull axe. Morning yoga session by the lake: You were leading a group stretch, and Jake "casually" joined, positioning himself in the back row for a view that nearly killed him—your body bending into downward dog, ass up, shorts clinging to every curve. His cock went rock-hard in seconds, throbbing painfully against his thigh.
The plan was to linger after, ask for "private tips" on his form. But as the group dispersed, Sunghoon—that tall, smug bastard with the perfect hair and easy charm—sauntered over, slinging an arm around your shoulders like he owned the place. "Hey, great class. Wanna grab coffee from the mess hall? I could use some pointers too." You laughed, nodded, and walked off with him, leaving Jake frozen.
Afternoon canoe races: Heeseung rigged it so Jake's team "needed" your help as a spotter on the dock. But the races turned chaotic—kids capsizing, laughter echoing, and you ended up knee-deep in the water, helping flip boats and towel off soaked campers. Jake paddled close, ready to "accidentally" bump your section and pull you aside, but Sunghoon appeared again, "helping" by lifting you out of the water with his hands on your waist—your wet shirt clinging transparently to your breasts. Jake's vision tunneled red. Alarms blared in his head: Red zone. Danger. Back off. He paddled away furiously, beaching the canoe and disappearing into the boathouse for a frantic wank.
Evening campfire stories: Heeseung's new ploy—start a "scary tale" chain and "need" you to sit next to Jake for "moral support." But you arrived flanked by staff, including Sunghoon, who plopped down beside you first, sharing a blanket and whispering something that made you giggle. Jake sat across the fire, staring daggers, his dick traitorously hardening at the sight of your lips curving into that smile—even if it was for someone else. The alarms in his head screamed louder: He's too close. Touching her knee. Fuck him.
Jake excused himself early, claiming a headache, and jerked off in the hut.
The failures piled up like a cruel joke.
By mid-week, Jake was a wreck—eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. Heeseung was fraying too, his pep talks turning exasperated. "Dude, this is ridiculous. She's like a magnet for people. And Sunghoon? That guy's orbiting her like a fucking moon. Saw him 'accidentally' bump her during volleyball yesterday—hand on her ass for a second too long. If you don't do something soon, he's gonna beat you to it."
Possessive heat curled low in his gut, twisting with jealousy until he felt physically sick.
“I’m done, man,” he mumbled, voice cracking. “I’m done. She’s too busy. Too liked. Everyone wants a piece of her—kids, counselors, fucking Sunghoon. I can’t even get close without someone interrupting. Penguins in Antarctica sound better than this torture. They don’t have perfect tits and laugh like angels and make my dick try to escape my body every five seconds.”
Heeseung flopped backward onto his own bunk, arms spread wide, staring up at the wooden ceiling beams like they held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.
“Maybe,” he conceded, tone dry. “But watching Sunghoon get closer? That’s the cherry on top of this shit sundae. Alarms are blaring for a reason, bro. Red zone. Full red alert. If he makes a move first…”
Jake’s fists clenched so hard his knuckles bleached white. The thought hit him like a punch to the solar plexus—Sunghoon’s perfect, smug face leaning in, lips brushing yours, hands sliding under your tank top to cup your breasts while you arched into him with that soft little gasp Jake had only heard in his filthiest dreams. Sunghoon’s cock—probably average, probably nothing like Jake’s—pushing into your perfect, tight, dripping pussy, stretching you open while you moaned his name instead of Jake’s.
The image was so vivid Jake could almost hear it: the wet slap of skin, your breathy whimpers, Sunghoon’s low groan as he bottomed out inside you. Jake’s vision tunneled red while his heart hammered with a mixture of murderous jealousy and bone-deep despair.
“I can’t,” he whispered, voice raw. “I can’t watch him touch her. I can’t watch him make her smile like that. I can’t—I’ll fucking die, Heeseung. I’ll actually die.”
Heeseung watched Jake unravel for a long moment—fists clenched, eyes glassy, breathing too fast—like the guy was one wrong word away from either punching a wall or bursting into tears. Finally, Heeseung sighed, long and dramatic, and flopped back onto his bunk with the air of a man who had officially thrown in the towel.
“Alright,” he said, voice flat, resigned. “Fine. You win. She’s untouchable. Sunghoon’s probably already got his tongue down her throat behind the craft shed or whatever. Let’s just… move on. There are other fish in the lake, right? Plenty of hot counselors who aren’t currently being fought over by every breathing person in a ten-mile radius.”
Jake didn’t respond. He just stared at the ceiling, jaw so tight it looked painful.
Heeseung kept going anyway, ticking names off on his fingers like he was reading from a mental catalog.
“There’s Minji from the arts cabin—tall, legs for days, always smells like vanilla and paint thinner. She’s got that whole ‘quietly unhinged artist’ vibe. Could be fun.”
Nothing from Jake. Just a slow blink.
“Or Yuna,” Heeseung continued, undeterred. “Lifeguard duty with her would be a religious experience. She’s got abs you could grate cheese on and that little mole right under her left eye? Deadly. She smiled at me once during relay races and I forgot how to swim.”
Still nothing. Jake’s breathing was shallow, like he was trying not to hyperventilate.
Heeseung rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand. “Chaeryeong’s single now, too. The one with the short black hair and the lip piercing? She’s got that ‘I could ruin your life and you’d thank me’ energy. Probably bites. You like biting, right?”
Jake’s voice came out small, cracked. “Stop.”
Heeseung ignored him.
“Or hell—go for someone completely different. Jiwoo from the mess hall. She’s sweet, makes those killer brownies, always smells like cinnamon. Zero drama. Zero competition. She’d probably bake you cookies after you fuck. Low stakes. Safe.”
Jake’s fists clenched harder. His knuckles were white.
Heeseung kept listing, voice getting flatter with each name.
“Soojin. The one who teaches archery. Quiet, deadly accurate, thighs that could crush a watermelon. She’d probably pin you to the target board and have her way with you. Hot, right?”
Jake’s breathing hitched.
“Or Hyein. Blonde, always in those little sundresses, giggles at everything. Easy. No baggage. She’d probably blush the whole time and call you ‘oppa’ while you—”
“Stop.”
The word ripped out of Jake like a gunshot.
Heeseung finally went quiet.
Jake sat up slowly—elbows on his knees, head in his hands, shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold in on himself.
“None of them are her,” he whispered, voice raw and trembling. “None of them laugh the way she does. None of them smell like coconut and lake water and summer. None of them look at the kids the way she does—like they hung the fucking moon. None of them make my chest hurt just by existing in the same zip code.”
He dragged his hands down his face, hard enough to leave red marks.
“I don’t want Jiwoo’s brownies or Yuna’s abs or Chaeryeong’s lip piercing or any of it. I want her. I want her smile. I want her teasing me across the mess hall. I want her thighs wrapped around my waist. I want her moaning my name. I want to wake up every morning and see her marks on my neck and know I put them there.”
He looked up at Heeseung—eyes red-rimmed, voice cracking on every word.
“And if Sunghoon gets there first… if he touches her, if he kisses her, if he makes her come… I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna fucking break. Because she’s supposed to be mine. She’s always been mine. And I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it.”
Jake's life really sucked sometimes.
Jake’s blood ran hot and cold at the same time.
Fifteen minutes after lights-out, the camp had fallen into that soft, cricket-laced quiet. He was supposed to be in his own hut, following Heeseung’s latest desperate plan: wait until tomorrow’s canoe trip, “accidentally” capsize near you, then use the chaos to pull you aside on the far shore. Simple. Safe. Controlled.
Instead, he was crouched behind the big pine tree that overlooked the girls’ row of huts, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.
Because he’d seen you.
You stepping out of your cabin door, hair loose and messy from the day, wearing that oversized camp hoodie that swallowed your frame and those tiny shorts that barely existed. And Sunghoon right there beside you—close enough that his shoulder brushed yours when you laughed at whatever smooth bullshit he’d just said. The two of you lingered on the porch for what felt like an eternity: heads bent together, your hand brushing his arm once—twice—before he leaned in and murmured something that made you smile that soft, devastating smile.
Jake’s stomach twisted into a green, burning knot.
Then Sunghoon gave you a lazy, smug little wave—fingers lingering in the air like he owned the right to touch you—and sauntered off toward the boys’ side, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed like a man who knew he was winning.
You watched him go for a second.
Then you turned, slipped back inside your hut, and closed the door.
Jake didn’t think.
He just moved.
His feet carried him across the pine-needle path before his brain could catch up. Every step felt like stepping off a cliff. Alarms blared louder in his head—not the jealous ones this time, but the: “this is insane, you’re going to get fired, you’re going to ruin everything” ones.
He ignored them.
The door to your hut was in front of him, he tested the handle—quiet, careful—and it gave easily under his palm.
He pushed the bug net aside with trembling fingers and slipped inside.
The air hit him like a drug.
Warm. Sweet. Coconut sunscreen mixed with vanilla body lotion and the faint smoky trace of the bonfire that had clung to your clothes all night. Candles flickered on the small wooden table near the window—three of them, soft golden light dancing across the walls, turning everything hazy and intimate. The scent of melting wax and you wrapped around him so completely he nearly groaned out loud.
And there you were.
Standing with your back to him.
Undressing.
The oversized hoodie was already off, pooled at your feet. You were shimmying out of the khaki shorts, letting them slide down your legs until they puddled around your ankles.
All that was left were the tiniest pair of lacy panties—white, delicate, the kind with little satin ribbons. The fabric hugged the perfect curve of your ass, barely covering anything, the lace so sheer he could see the shadow of skin beneath.
You reached for the thin cotton sleep top folded on the edge of your bunk. No bra. Nothing underneath. Just soft, bare skin and the gentle sway of your breasts as you lifted your arms to pull the top over your head.
Jake’s mouth went dry.
He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound.
You hadn’t noticed him yet.
You were humming softly under your breath—some little tune from the campfire—completely unaware that he was standing in the doorway, staring like a man starved.
The green monster in his chest roared louder than ever.
She was alone.
No Sunghoon. No kids. No staff. Just you. In lace panties.
And Jake—desperate, defeated, possessive, aching Jake—finally snapped.
He stepped forward.
The floorboard creaked.
Your humming stopped.
You froze, hands still tangled in the hem of your sleep top.
Slowly—agonizingly—you turned.
Your eyes widened when they landed on him.
“Jake…?” Your voice was barely a whisper, soft and surprised and a little breathless.
He didn’t move. Every muscle was locked tight, gaze raking over you like he was trying to memorize every inch before you screamed or told him to get out.
Your nipples were visible through the thin cotton of the top—hard little peaks that made his mouth water. The lace panties clung to you, the fabric already darkened slightly between your thighs.
You didn’t cover yourself. You didn’t scream.
You just stared back at him—eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushing a deep, telling pink.
And then, so quietly he almost missed it:
“…You’re not supposed to be here.”
But you didn’t tell him to leave.
And Jake—heart in his throat, cock throbbing so hard it hurt—took another step closer.
“I know,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “But I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away anymore.”
Jake took that final, trembling step forward, crossing the threshold completely into your hut. The wooden door swung shut behind him with a soft, definitive thud that echoed in the quiet space like a heartbeat.
He reached back without looking—fingers finding the simple metal latch—and slid it home.
Click.
The sound was small, but it rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit hush. No one could walk in now. No interruptions. Just the two of you.
Your breath caught audibly—a tiny, startled hitch that made Jake’s cock jump hard in his shorts. He watched the way your eyes widened fractionally, pupils blowing out in the flickering light. Your lips parted on a soft, involuntary exhale. You didn’t move to stop him. Didn’t protest. If anything, your body language shifted—shoulders relaxing just a touch, thighs pressing together almost imperceptibly.
The thrill of it surged through him like lightning.
You liked the sound of that lock.
You liked being trapped in here with him.
Jake’s pulse roared in his ears. His hands flexed at his sides, aching to touch you, but he forced himself to stay still for one more second, drinking in the sight of you like a man who’d been starving for years.
Jake’s voice came out rough, almost broken. “You didn’t tell me to leave.”
Your gaze flicked to the locked door, then back to his face. Your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip and Jake nearly groaned out loud at the sight.
“I know,” you whispered, voice soft and a little shaky, but there was heat underneath it. “I… I didn’t want to.”
Another step. Closer now. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off your body, smell that intoxicating mix of coconut and vanilla and you.
His eyes dropped to your chest again—couldn’t help it—watching the way your breasts rose and fell with each quick breath. Then lower, to the lace clinging to your hips. “I’ve been going fucking insane,” he rasped, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Every time I see you… every time you smile, or laugh, or bend over, or just exist… I get so hard it hurts. I can’t think straight. I can’t sleep… I can’t stop wanting you.”
Your thighs pressed together and a tiny, needy sound escaped your throat.
Jake took one more step. Now he was close enough to touch. Close enough that if either of you leaned forward even slightly, your bodies would meet. He lifted one shaking hand, hovering it near your cheek—giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
Instead, you tilted your head just enough that your cheek brushed his palm. Soft. Warm. Perfect.
His thumb traced the line of your jaw, slow and reverent.
“I saw you with Sunghoon tonight,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “Laughing. Touching his arm. Smiling at him like that. It fucking killed me. I wanted to drag him away and show him you’re mine.”
Your eyes fluttered half-shut at the rough edge in his voice, but the corner of your mouth curled—just a tiny, wicked little tilt that made Jake’s heart stutter.
“Yours?” you echoed softly, voice breathy and teasing, like you were tasting the word. Your cheek stayed pressed to his palm, nuzzling ever so slightly into his touch. “That’s a pretty big claim, Jake… especially when you’ve barely said two words to me all week.” You tilted your head further, letting your lips brush the pad of his thumb—barely a kiss, more like a ghost of one. Just enough to make his breath hitch audibly. “I mean,” you continued, voice dropping lower, silkier, “if I’m yours… then why did Sunghoon get to make me laugh tonight? Why did he get to walk me back to my hut? Why did he get to touch me right—” You lifted your hand and traced one fingertip down the length of his forearm, following the tense line of muscle. “—here?”
Jake’s entire body locked up. A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest—half growl, half plea.
You leaned in closer, lips hovering just shy of his, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath against his mouth. “Were you jealous, puppy?” you whispered, the pet name slipping out sweet and cruel at the same time. “Did it hurt watching him get so close? Did you imagine ripping him away and fucking me right there on the porch so he’d know who I really belong to?”
That was it.
The last thread of Jake’s restraint snapped like a cheap string. With a broken, desperate groan he surged forward—hands clamping around your waist like iron bands, yanking you flush against him so hard your feet left the floor for a split second. His mouth crashed down on yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
It was filthy. Starving. All teeth and tongue and weeks of pent-up obsession pouring out at once. He kissed you like he was trying to devour you—lips bruising yours, tongue plunging deep to taste every corner of your mouth, swallowing the soft, surprised moan you let out. One hand slid up your back, fingers tangling roughly in your hair to angle your head exactly how he wanted.
His other hand slid down your body with rough, greedy purpose—fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass through the thin lace of your panties. He squeezed hard, kneading the curve like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin.
A low, broken groan vibrated against your lips as he rolled his hips forward—slow at first, testing, savoring—then harder, more insistent. The thick, heavy length of his cock dragged against your lace-covered pussy with every grind, the rigid heat of him pressing right where you were already soaked and aching.
“Fuck—” he gasped into your mouth, voice wrecked and trembling. “You feel that? That’s all for you. Been like this for weeks.” He ground again—deeper this time, hips snapping forward in a filthy rhythm that made your clit throb against the swollen head of his cock through the layers.
Jake’s control was unraveling fast. His brain was gone—completely hijacked by the pulsing, aching need between his legs. His dick had taken over like some feral puppet master, yanking every string, making his hips buck harder, faster, more erratic. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. “Shit—shit, baby—” he panted, forehead dropping to your shoulder, teeth scraping over your collarbone. “Can’t—can’t think—need you so bad it hurts—fuck, you’re so wet, I can feel it through everything—”
He was shaking now—whole body trembling with the effort of holding back, but his hips wouldn’t listen. They kept grinding, kept fucking against you like he was already inside, like he could come just from this alone. One particularly hard thrust had you gasping and Jake whimpered. A real, broken, needy sound that he couldn’t swallow back.
“S-sorry—fuck, I’m sorry—” he babbled against your neck, but he didn’t stop. “Just—need to feel you—need to—gonna come like this if you don’t stop me—please—”
You didn’t stop him.
Instead, you leaned in closer—lips brushing the shell of his ear—and whispered, soft and wicked, “Come like this, Jake. Right here. Make a mess for me.”
That was all it took.
He came hard—so hard—hot, thick pulses spilling into his shorts, soaking through the fabric in heavy, obscene spurts. A long, wrecked moan vibrated against your neck, muffled into your skin as he shuddered through every wave, hips stuttering, cock jerking with each rope of cum that painted the inside of his shorts. “F-fuck—oh god—baby—” he babbled, voice cracking, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from how intense it was.
When the last pulse finally ebbed, he sagged against you—forehead dropping to your shoulder, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.
You didn’t let him catch his breath.
Your fingers tightened in his hair again—harder this time—and you pulled his head back just enough to crash your mouth against his in a deep, filthy kiss.
Jake moaned into it—loud, devastated, the sound vibrating against your tongue. He kissed you back desperately, sloppy and needy, letting you lead. His tongue slid against yours, tasting faintly of salt and desperation, and when you tugged his hair again—sharp, possessive—he made the most broken, wrecked noise from the back of his throat. You pulled him with you, guiding him backward step by stumbling step until the backs of his knees hit the edge of your bunk.
One firm push, and he went down.
He landed on the mattress with a soft oof, legs splayed, chest still heaving. The kiss broke with a wet, obscene sound—strings of saliva connecting your lips for a heartbeat before snapping.
Jake stared up at you, dazed and utterly ruined. His hair was a wild mess—strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyes huge and glassy with that big, pleading puppy look that made your stomach flip. Drool glistened on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips and ran in a thin line down his chin. His cheeks were flushed dark red, pupils blown so wide they were almost black.
And between his legs—
The incriminating wet stain on his shorts was massive. Dark, spreading across the front, clinging to the thick outline of his cock. Even now—after coming so hard he’d nearly blacked out—there was still a heavy, obscene bulge there. His dick hadn’t gone down at all. If anything, it looked even thicker, twitching visibly under the soaked fabric like it was already begging for more.
You slid down slowly, your knees hitting the worn wooden floor of the hut with a soft thud that seemed to echo, Jake’s breath punched out of him in a sharp, shaky exhale as he watched you settle between his spread thighs, your hands resting lightly on the tops of his knees.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice cracking. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, like he didn’t know whether to reach for you or grip the sheets to keep himself grounded.
You looked up at him through your lashes—eyes dark, lips parted—and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his ruined shorts. The fabric was soaked through, clinging obscenely to his skin, the dark stain spreading from the thick outline of his cock all the way down his inner thighs.
You tugged.
Jake lifted his hips on instinct, helping you drag the shorts and boxers down in one pull. The elastic caught for a second on the swollen head of his dick before snapping free, and then he was bare—springing up against his stomach with a wet slap.
His cock was thick, veiny, flushed an angry dark pink at the base and deeper at the tip where precome still leaked in steady, glistening beads. The length curved slightly upward, heavy and throbbing, the slit weeping openly. Cum from his earlier release still streaked the shaft in pearly ropes, mixing with fresh precome to make everything slick and shiny.
You gasped involuntarily, eyes widening as you took him in fully.
Jake’s entire body tensed. His face flushed deeper, a wave of self-consciousness crashing over him even as his dick twitched violently at the sound. “Shit—sorry—I know it’s… it’s a lot, I get it, I can—” The words tumbled out in a frantic, breathless ramble, hands fluttering like he wanted to cover himself. “I didn’t mean to—fuck, I can go if it’s too much, I don’t want to—” His babbling choked off into a strangled, high whimper the second your fingers wrapped around him.
Your grip was warm and perfect, circling the thick base where your thumb and fingers barely met. You gave one slow, experimental stroke upward, and Jake’s hips jerked up off the mattress like he’d been shocked.
Then you leaned in.
And kissed the tip.
Just a gentle press of your lips to the swollen, leaking head, tasting salt and him on your tongue.
Jake’s head fell back against the pillow with a broken, devastated moan—long and raw, the sound tearing from deep in his chest. His hands flew to the sheets, knuckles bleaching white as he gripped them hard enough to tear fabric.
You lingered—lips still brushing the sensitive slit, letting your tongue flick out in a swipe to collect the fresh bead of precome that had welled up the moment your mouth touched him. The taste of him burst across your tongue: salty, musky, unmistakably Jake.
A high, broken whine tore from his throat—raw and helpless—and his hips bucked upward, pushing the swollen head past your lips just enough for you to feel how hot and velvet-hard he was against your tongue. “F-fuck—oh god—please—” His voice cracked, trembling on every syllable. Veins pulsing along his forearms where his hands gripped the sheets like a lifeline. Knuckles white. Fingers shaking.
You hummed softly around the tip—barely a vibration—and Jake’s head snapped forward. His eyes flew open, glassy and wide, pupils blown so huge they swallowed the hazel entirely. He looked wrecked: cheeks flushed dark, mouth hanging open, drool shining on his chin, messy hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. That big, pleading puppy stare locked onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
“Baby—shit—I can’t—I’m gonna—”
You pulled back just enough to speak—lips still brushing the head, breath hot against the slick skin. “Shh,” you murmured, voice low and soothing, almost teasing. “I’ve got you.”
Then you took him deeper.
Just the tip at first—lips wrapping around the fat, flushed crown, tongue swirling slow circles over the slit while your hand stroked the base in long, firm pulls. Jake’s moan was immediate and devastating—long, ragged, breaking into little whimpers every time your tongue flicked the sensitive underside.
“Oh fuck—oh fuck—your mouth—baby, your mouth—” The words dissolved into another whine as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking gently, letting your tongue press flat against the underside and drag back up in one slow, wet stroke.
Fresh precome flooded your mouth. His cock throbbed so hard you felt it against your tongue, thick veins pulsing under your grip. You could taste how close he already was again—how the earlier orgasm had done nothing to take the edge off, only made him more sensitive, more desperate.
One of his hands flew to your hair—fingers tangling gently at first, then gripping tighter as he fought not to push. “Please—please—don’t stop—gonna—gonna come again—fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t—”
You answered by taking him deeper still—half his length sliding into the wet heat of your mouth, lips stretching wide around his girth. Your tongue worked relentlessly—swirling, pressing, lapping at the underside while your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit.
Jake’s back bowed off the mattress. A strangled cry ripped from his chest—high and broken—and his thighs trembled violently around you.
“Baby—oh god—gonna—gonna come—”
He tried to warn you. Tried to pull back.
But you didn’t let him.
You sucked harder—hollowing your cheeks, tongue flicking the slit one last time—and Jake shattered.
His hips snapped up, burying another inch deeper as he came with a long, wrecked moan that echoed off the cabin walls. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your mouth—pulse after pulse, so much it spilled past the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy streaks.
Jake collapsed back against the pillows with a shuddering exhale, his entire body going limp as the last weak pulses of his orgasm ebbed through him. His head lolled to the side, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth open in a dazed, wrecked expression—like he’d just been hit by a truck and loved every second of it.
You pulled off him slowly, lips swollen and glistening, a soft, wet pop echoing in the quiet hut as the head slipped free from your mouth. Thick strings of cum and saliva stretched between your tongue and the flushed, still-throbbing tip—glistening, obscene, snapping one by one as you leaned back. A final bead of his release clung to your lower lip before you licked it away with a slow swipe of your tongue.
“Your turn now,” he rasped suddenly, voice wrecked but burning with intent. “Been dying to taste you—been dreaming about it every fucking night.”
Before you could respond, he surged up—hands strong despite the way they still shook—and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed on the soft sheets with a quiet gasp, hair fanning out around your head like a halo. Jake climbed over you instantly, caging you beneath him with his broad shoulders and trembling arms.
He kissed you deeply—messy, desperate, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning into your mouth like the flavor drove him insane. His lips were swollen, breath ragged, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he poured everything into the kiss: gratitude, obsession, raw need.
Jake’s hands roamed—sliding up your sides, under the hem of your thin sleep top. His palms were warm, calloused from weeks of camp work, and they trembled slightly as he pushed the fabric higher. Inch by inch, he revealed you: the soft curve of your stomach, the dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts. He broke the kiss just long enough to drag the top over your head and toss it somewhere behind him, only to immediately descend—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down the column of your throat like he was starving and you were the only thing that could feed him.
When he reached the swell of your breasts, he paused, breath ragged and hot against your skin, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Can I…?” he whispered, voice hoarse, almost pleading.
You nodded, fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. “Please, Jake… touch me. Taste me. I want you to.”
Jake groaned and dove in like a man who’d finally been given permission to worship. His mouth closed around one nipple, hot and wet, tongue swirling slow circles around the hardened peak before he sucked—hard, greedy, pulling the sensitive bud deep into his mouth. His hand cupped your other breast, thumb brushing back and forth over the nipple in perfect rhythm with his tongue.
You arched into him with a soft, needy moan, back bowing off the mattress. “Oh god—Jake, yes—just like that…”
The praise hit him like a drug.
He moaned against your breast and switched sides, giving the other nipple the same devoted attention. “Fuck—you taste so good,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled and wrecked. “So perfect—been dreaming about these tits every night—wanted my mouth on them so bad—”
You threaded your fingers deeper into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him whimper around your nipple. “You’re so good, puppy,” you breathed, voice trembling with pleasure. “So good with your mouth—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
His hands roamed everywhere—kneading, squeezing, thumbs flicking your nipples until they were swollen and aching. He buried his face between them, groaning deep in his throat as he nuzzled the soft valley, then dragged his tongue up the underside of one breast in a slow, filthy stripe before latching on again.
“Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, voice thick with awe. “So fucking beautiful.”
He shifted lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your stomach, worshipping every inch. His tongue dipped into your navel, swirling lazily before he pressed a lingering kiss just above it. His hands followed—palms sliding up your sides, thumbs tracing your ribs, fingers splaying wide across your waist like he was trying to hold all of you at once.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, voice cracking with emotion. “Every single part of you—fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted to touch you, taste you, make you feel how much I—” His hands slid down to your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle pressure, thumbs stroking the soft inner skin in slow circles.
He looked up at you again—eyes shining, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening.
“I love you,” he whispered, raw and shaky, like the confession had been ripped out of him. “I’m so fucking in love with you it hurts. Every smile, every laugh, every time you look at me—I’ve been gone for you since the first day. And now you’re here, letting me touch you… letting me love you…” His voice broke on the last word. A single tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away—he just leaned down and pressed his forehead to your stomach, breathing you in like you were oxygen.
Your breath caught at the trembling confession—his words sinking into you like warm honey, sweet and heavy and almost too much to hold. “Jake…” you whispered, voice soft and thick with emotion. “Look at me.”
He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes—his own wide, glassy, shining with something so vulnerable it stole your breath.
“I love you too,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, but steady. “I’ve loved you since the first time you smiled at me across the mess hall and tripped over your own feet. I’ve loved you every time you played with the kids and made them laugh, every time you looked at me like I was the only person in the world. I’ve loved you through every single one of your shy glances and every time you blushed so hard I thought you’d catch fire.”
A fresh tear slipped down his cheek. He let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh—half sob, half joy—and turned his head to press a desperate kiss to your palm.
“Baby…” he choked out, voice wrecked. “You… you love me too?”
You nodded, smiling through the tears gathering in your own eyes.
“I love you so much it hurts,” you whispered. “So please… don’t hold back anymore. I want everything. I want you.”
“You mean it?” he whispered, voice barely audible, cracking on every syllable. “You really want… everything? All of me?”
“I mean it,” you breathed. “I want all of you, Jake. No holding back. No hesitation. I want you to take me—love me—the way you’ve been dying to. I’m yours. Completely.”
The last thread of restraint snapped.
He trailed kisses down the crease where thigh met hip, then lower still, until his lips found the plush, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He kissed one thigh, then the other, alternating back and forth like he couldn’t decide which one deserved more attention.
Every time his mouth moved, his breath ghosted over your soaked panties, making you squirm. You moaned softly—fingers tightening in his hair—and the sound made him whimper against your skin, hips twitching helplessly against the mattress.
“Jake…” you breathed, voice trembling. “Please…”
He pulled back just enough to look.
And stare.
“Look at this pretty fucking pussy,” he rasped, voice raw with devotion. “So wet she’s crying for me…I’ve dreamed about this—imagining.. And now you’re letting me see it… letting me have it…”
You couldn’t take it anymore. The ache between your legs was unbearable—every word, every hot exhale making you clench around nothing.
“Jake…” you breathed, voice trembling, hips lifting just a fraction off the mattress in desperate search of contact. “Please… please, just taste me. I need your mouth on me—now.”
That single, pleading “please” snapped something inside him. With a low, guttural groan that sounded like it had been torn from his soul, Jake smashed his face against you.
No hesitation.
His nose pressed right to your clit through the lace—inhaling deeply, greedily, like he was trying to drown himself in your scent. A long, broken moan vibrated straight through your core as he breathed you in—once, twice, three times—his whole body shuddering with how good you smelled.
Then he opened his mouth.
Wide.
And dragged his tongue flat and hard up the entire length of your soaked slit through the lace. The rough texture of the fabric dragged deliciously over your swollen folds, catching on your clit with every pass. He licked again—broader this time—tongue pressing firm and hot, soaking the already drenched lace even more with his spit.
“God—taste so fucking good,” he mumbled between licks, voice wrecked. “Even through this… so sweet… so wet… can’t get enough—never gonna get enough—” His hands gripped your thighs tighter—fingers digging in possessively—as he smushed his face deeper, cheeks flushed and slick with your arousal, chin glistening.
“Tell me you love it,” he pleaded against you, words muffled and frantic. “Tell me my tongue feels good—please, baby—tell me I’m making you feel so fucking good—”
“Yes—fuck, Jake—your mouth is perfect—don’t stop—please don’t stop tasting me like that—”
Jake was utterly gone.
“Jake—please—” you gasped, voice breaking on a whine. “Please… take them off. I need your tongue on me—properly. Need to feel you—please, puppy, I can’t take it anymore—”
“Anything,” he rasped, voice trembling. “Anything for you.” With shaking hands, he hooked his fingers under the soaked lace at your hips and tugged the fabric down your thighs.
You were spread open for him—glistening, swollen, blooming like the prettiest flower he’d ever seen. Your folds were dark and slick, clit throbbing visibly, entrance fluttering with every shaky breath you took. A fresh trickle of arousal slipped free, sliding down toward your ass, and Jake made a low, devastated sound in the back of his throat before he dove back in—face-first, no hesitation, no lace in the way this time.
The first real taste of you made him groan so deep it vibrated through your entire body. His hands gripped your thighs harder, spreading you wider, holding you open as he buried his face between your legs like he never wanted to leave.
And god almighty—he never wanted to.
His mouth worked messily, greedily, with no trace of restraint left. Long, sloppy drags of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, lapping up every drop of your arousal like he was dying of thirst and you were the only thing that could save him.
The sounds were filthy.
Wet. Obscene. Disgusting in the best possible way.
Every time his tongue plunged back into your dripping entrance, there was a lewd shlick—the slick glide of his tongue through your folds, followed by the wet slurp as he sucked your arousal straight from the source.
Then his hands moved. He slid both palms up the backs of your thighs, fingers hooking under the soft, swollen lips of your pussy before he pulled them apart—spreading you wide open, exposing every inch of your glistening, fluttering core to his hungry gaze.
He didn’t even give you time to feel shy. He dove right back in—face buried even deeper now, tongue thrusting inside you, fucking you while his nose ground against your clit.
“Jake—oh god—Jake—yes—right there—fuck—”
Your hips rolled shamelessly against his face, grinding your clit against his tongue, smearing your arousal across his cheeks, his chin, his nose. He was soaked—face glistening, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut in pure ecstasy as he devoured you like a man who’d never eat again.
Then—while his lips were sealed tight around your throbbing bud, tongue flicking fast and relentless—two of his fingers slid down through your dripping folds.
He teased your entrance first—slow circles around the fluttering hole, collecting your slick before pressing the tips inside. Just the first knuckles—enough to make you gasp—then deeper, until both long fingers were buried to the hilt.
The moment Jake’s fingers sank fully inside you—long, thick, curling perfectly against that spongy spot deep within—your whole body seized.
A sharp, broken shout tore from your throat—“Jake—oh fuck—!”—and then you were coming.
Hard.
Your walls clamped down around his fingers like a vice, fluttering and pulsing in violent, rhythmic waves as the orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his knuckles, coating his hand, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. Your back arched off the mattress, fingers yanking at his hair so tightly you were sure it hurt, but Jake only moaned louder.
When the first brutal wave finally began to ebb, Jake pulled back from your clit with a loud, wet pop—lips swollen and shiny, chin dripping with your release. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He crawled up your body in one fluid motion as he settled between your legs. His fingers never left you—still buried deep, still curling lazily inside your fluttering walls.
Then his mouth crashed down on yours.
You moaned helplessly into him, arms wrapping around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, arms wound tight around his neck, nails raking down the backs of his shoulders, leaving stinging little trails he’d feel tomorrow and love.
Minutes passed like that. Maybe longer. Time dissolved into nothing but heat, wet sounds, and the feeling of Jake consuming you from the inside out.
Then—reluctantly—he pulled his mouth off yours. A thick string of spit connected your bottom lip to his for a heartbeat before it snapped.
“Need to taste you again,” he rasped, voice ruined. “Everywhere.”
And then he started moving down. Open-mouthed kisses. Hot. Hungry. Worshipful.
He kissed the corner of your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat, sucking a fresh bruise into the skin he’d already marked earlier. Lower. Lower. His mouth found your tits again—immediately latching onto one nipple. At the exact same moment, you felt pressure at your entrance.
A third finger.
He didn’t force it—just nudged, teasing the slick, fluttering rim, letting your own arousal coat the tip while he waited.
You answered instantly.
Your thighs fell open wider, hips canting up in a silent, desperate plea.
He moaned against your breast—vibrating the sensitive bud—before he started pushing in.
Slow.
So fucking slow.
Just the tip at first, letting you feel the stretch, then deeper, until all three thick fingers were buried inside you, spreading you open, filling you so perfectly your eyes rolled back. Your walls fluttered wildly around the new fullness, clenching and releasing as he curled them gently, stroking that perfect spot over and over.
The stretch of his three thick fingers inside you was overwhelming—perfect, burning, delicious. They filled you so completely, knuckles brushing every sensitive wall as he pushed in slow and deep, then dragged back out with agonizing patience before thrusting in again. Every time he curled them—hooking right against that spongy, electric spot—your walls fluttered wildly around him, clenching down like you were trying to keep him buried forever.
“Jake—oh god—fuck—” Your fingers tightened in his hair, yanking him closer to your chest while your other hand cradled his face like he was something precious.
Jake never wanted to let go.
His mouth stayed latched to your breast—specifically that one perfect, swollen nipple. Every few seconds, he let his teeth graze—just a gentle scrape, a soft chew—nothing hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your whole body jolt. He’d nibble lightly at the tender flesh around the areola, then soothe it immediately with his tongue, sucking the nipple back between his lips like he couldn’t bear to be parted from it even for a second.
He had always had a thing for keeping something in his mouth.
A pacifier when he was little. A pen cap when he was nervous. His own fingers when he was deep in thought.
And now—you.
The taste of your skin, the weight of you on his tongue, the way you filled his mouth so perfectly—it was everything he’d ever craved without knowing it.
You didn’t hate it.
Not even close.
Your reactions told him everything.
Every time his teeth grazed, you gasped—sharp and needy—hips bucking up against his thrusting fingers. Every time he chewed softly, nibbling like he was savoring the softest candy, your thighs trembled and squeezed around his head, trapping him there. Your fingers in his hair tightened to the point of pain, yanking him closer, pressing his face deeper into your chest like you were trying to smother him with your tits—and god, he would have happily died like that.
His mouth stayed locked on that one perfect breast—the right one, the one that seemed to fit his lips like it was made for him. It throbbed under his attention—dark, puffy, flushed an angry pink. It pulsed against his tongue with every heartbeat, swollen and hypersensitive, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight between your legs every time he drew it deeper.
“Jake—fuck—yes—don’t stop—suck harder—please—”
The desperate whines spilling from your lips, the way your body arched and shook, the way you clung to him like you’d die if he pulled away—it was too much.
Jake felt it—the perfect moment.
With a low, muffled groan against your breast, he shifted his hand. Three fingers were already stretching you wide—curling deep, stroking that perfect spot over and over—but he needed more.
You needed more.
He was big. Far too much to take without preparation. And he refused to hurt you. He wanted you ready. Desperate. Begging for every inch when the time came.
He kept his mouth working to keep you distracted, keep you lost in the pleasure. At the same time, a fourth finger nudged at your entrance—sliding through the dripping slick, teasing the already stretched rim before he pushed in.
The stretch was intense—burning, overwhelming. Four thick fingers spreading you wide, filling you so completely your walls fluttered wildly around him, clenching and releasing in helpless little spasms. He curled them gently—stroking that perfect spot in slow, deep drags—while his thumb found your clit and started rubbing circles.
You were a mess of high, needy sounds—whimpers turning into broken sobs, hips rolling up to meet every thrust, fingers yanking at his hair so hard it had to sting. Your other hand cradled his cheek, thumb stroking over the flushed skin as you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.
Only when your pleas turned truly desperate—when you were practically sobbing his name, begging for his cock, hips bucking wildly against his hand—did he finally decide you were ready.
With a reluctant whine he pulled his mouth off your breast—leaving the nipple dark, swollen, glistening with spit and throbbing in the cool air.
Then agonizingly, he slipped his fingers out of you.
A thick, wet string of your arousal connected his knuckles to your entrance before it snapped, dripping down onto the sheets. Jake stared at the mess he’d made—your pussy gaping slightly, fluttering around the sudden emptiness, slick coating his hand from wrist to fingertips—and groaned like a dying man.
Without hesitation, he brought his dripping fingers to his mouth. He sucked them in deep—eyes fluttering shut, cheeks hollowing as he licked every trace of you off his skin.
You watched him—breathless, mesmerized—watching the way his tongue swirled around his knuckles, the way his eyes rolled back a little, the way he drooled over his own hand like he couldn’t get enough.
Then his gaze flicked back to you—dark, hungry, adoring. He pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop and brought them to your lips instead. “Open,” he whispered, voice trembling.
You did—immediately—parting your lips so he could slide his slick fingers inside. You tasted yourself on his skin and sucked eagerly.
Jake’s breath hitched. His eyes dropped lower—to your open, dripping pussy, folds swollen and glistening, entrance fluttering like it was begging for him. And god—it was begging. Winking at him. Opening for him. Practically pleading for his cock.
Jake groaned and pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. He wrapped his hand around the thick base of his cock—veins pulsing visibly under the flushed skin, head swollen dark and leaking a steady stream of precome that dripped in slow, silvery strands. He lined himself up, the fat, blunt tip kissing your entrance—hot, slick, pressing insistently against your fluttering hole.
He watched—completely entranced, eyes dark and glassy—as he started to push in.
The first inch was already a challenge.
Your pussy opened for him, stretching around the impossibly thick head like it was being forced to learn how to accommodate something so massive. Your walls fluttered wildly, clenching and spasming around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the sheer girth that was splitting you open. It felt like he was carving out new space inside you, reshaping you to fit only him.
You couldn’t breathe properly. Every shallow inhale came out as a shaky whimper. Your thighs trembled around his hips, muscles jumping with the effort of staying open for him.
“Fuck—baby—” Jake choked out, voice wrecked and trembling. “You’re so tight… so fucking tight… trying to take me… god, look at you—trying so hard to let me in…” The head popped past your entrance with a soft, wet sound, and your walls clamped down hard around him in reflex. A sharp, high gasp tore from your throat—half pleasure, half overwhelmed sting—as the thick ridge stretched you wider than you’d ever been stretched before.
“Jake—oh god—” you whimpered, voice cracking. “You’re so big—too big—it’s—fuck—it’s stretching me so much—”
“Shh—shh, baby—I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice shaking with both restraint and awe. “You’re doing so good… taking me so perfectly… just breathe for me… let me in… let your pretty pussy open up for my cock…” He rocked forward another fraction—barely an inch—and you cried out softly, nails digging into his shoulders. The stretch burned hotter now, your walls fluttering desperately around the thick intrusion, trying to accommodate the impossible girth. You could feel every vein, every ridge as he sank deeper—slow, torturous, filling you so completely it felt like he was reaching places inside you no one else had ever touched.
“Fuck—look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on where your bodies joined. “Look how your little pussy is stretching around me… taking my fat cock… so greedy for it… so wet and hot… god, you’re perfect… made for me…”
Another inch.
Your back arched, a broken moan spilling from your lips as the head nudged against that deep, sensitive spot inside you. The pressure was everywhere—filling you so full it felt like he was rearranging your insides, claiming every inch of space as his. “Jake—please—” you sobbed, voice trembling. “It’s so much—so deep—stretching me so wide—feels like you’re gonna break me—”
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The sound of his voice pushed you right to the edge of sanity. With a soft, needy whimper you slid both hands up to cradle his face—thumbs brushing the sharp line of his jaw—and pulled him down into a fierce, hungry kiss. The moment your lips crashed against his—fierce, hungry, desperate—Jake’s entire world narrowed to that single point of contact and his restraint shattered like glass.
His hips snapped forward in one brutal, perfect thrust.
The last thick inches drove into you hard—burying him to the hilt so deep the fat, swollen head slammed right up against your cervix with a force that punched the air from your lungs.
You screamed into his mouth—high, startled, overwhelmed—back bowing off the mattress, thighs clamping around his hips like a vice.
“You took me—” he rasped, voice cracking with awe and disbelief. “All of me—all of me—god, look at you… stretching around my cock like you were fucking made for it… so tight… so hot… I can feel you squeezing me—milking me—fuck, baby, you’re perfect… so fucking perfect…” The overwhelming heat, the tight, rippling grip of your walls clenching around every pulsing inch of him—it was too much. Too perfect. Too everything.
“You’re squeezing me so good… feels like you’re trying to keep me inside forever…” He started rocking into you—shallow thrusts. Just a few inches back and forth, never pulling out too far, never giving you a second without feeling him. The wet, filthy schlick of him moving inside you filled the room, mixing with your shared breaths and soft moans.
Then—he made the mistake of looking down. He only meant to admire your tits but his gaze drifted lower.
And he froze.
There—right above your pubic bone—was the unmistakable bulge of his cock. Every slow rock made it shift—his thick head pressing up against your lower belly, the outline visible under your skin like a brand.
Jake’s breath punched out of him in a strangled groan.
“Oh… fuck…”
Something primal snapped inside him. With no warning—no hesitation—he pulled all the way out. Until only the fat, leaking tip remained nestled against your entrance.
Your walls clenched around nothing—aching at the sudden emptiness—and you whimpered, hips lifting instinctively.
Then he thrusted in. Hard. Deep. One brutal stroke that buried him to the hilt again.
Your back arched off the mattress with a raw, broken scream “Jahke—!”
His mouth found your throat—teeth grazing, then biting down just hard enough to mark—while his hands flew to your waist, gripping your waist like handles, fingers digging into the soft flesh, using the leverage to yank you back onto his cock every time he pulled out. “Look at how deep I am inside you… look at this fucking bulge—see it? See how my cock stretches your little belly every time I bottom out? That’s me. That’s my dick rearranging your insides, making you feel me in places no one else ever has.”
He made sure you felt every thick, veiny inch drag against your fluttering walls before slamming back in with a wet smack. “Sunghoon could never fuck you like this,” he snarled, the name dripping with venom. “He could never fill you this deep. Never make you scream like that. Never leave you shaking and dripping and marked the way I do. He’d be done in two minutes—average little cock barely touching the sides—while I’m here splitting you open, ruining this perfect pussy for anyone else.” Another brutal thrust—hard enough to make your tits bounce, hard enough to punch a raw cry from your throat. “He’d never make you cry from how good it feels,” Jake continued, voice shaking with triumph. “Never make you come so hard your legs stop working. Never pump you so full of cum that it leaks out for hours. He’d never look down and see his own cock bulging in your stomach like this—like I’m branding you from the inside. You’re mine. This pussy? This body? All mine. Not his. Never his.”
He leaned back just enough to look down—eyes locked on the obscene outline of his cock moving under your skin—watching it shift with every deep, claiming thrust. “That’s me. That’s how much bigger I am. That’s how much better I fuck you. He could never do this. Could never make you take every fucking inch like you were born for it. Could never make you sob my name while your tight little cunt milks me dry.” He slammed in again—harder—making the bulge rise sharply under your lower belly. “Say it,” he demanded, voice low and dangerous, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Tell me who owns this pussy. Tell me who fucks you like this. Tell me who you belong to.”
You could barely speak—voice wrecked, breath punched out of you with every thrust—but the words spilled out anyway, broken and desperate. “You—you, Jake—only you—fuck—only your cock—only yours—”
He groaned—deep, guttural, victorious—and fucked you even harder, hands bruising your waist, hips snapping forward like he was trying to imprint himself into your very core. “Damn right,” he snarled against your throat.
Then—without warning—Jake’s hands slid under your ass. Strong arms flexed under your thighs, biceps bulging as he lifted you clean off the mattress in one smooth, powerful motion. The world tilted for a heartbeat—your back leaving the sheets, your weight shifting entirely onto him—as he pulled you up and settled you firmly in his lap, legs draped over his hips like you belonged there.
You sank down hard—gravity and his guiding hands forcing you onto his cock in one brutal, breathtaking drop. The thick length speared into you deeper than before, the angle hitting new, untouched places inside you that made your vision blur and a raw, high-pitched cry rip from your throat. He was too big, too deep, too everything.
He set a punishing rhythm immediately: slow on the upstroke, lifting you with those powerful hands until only the thick, flared head remained nestled just inside your entrance, then he yanked you back down, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke that punched the air from your lungs. Your ass met his thighs with a sharp, wet slap that echoed through the cabin, followed immediately by your broken, high-pitched moan as he filled you completely once more.
Again. And again.
Each time he yanked you down, your breasts bounced heavily—full, flushed, marked with the dark red-purple blooms of his bites and the faint indents of his teeth. The soft, bruised flesh jiggled with every rough drop, practically begging for attention.
And Jake?
Jake needed his mouth busy.
Always had.
The sight of your tits bouncing right in front of his face—close enough to taste—was the most tempting invitation he’d ever been given.
With a low, broken groan that sounded more animal than human, Jake surged forward.
His mouth crashed onto your right breast like a starving man finally allowed to feast. No preamble, no teasing—he simply opened wide and took the swollen, dark nipple deep into the wet heat of his mouth, lips sealing tight around the areola as he sucked hard enough to hollow his cheeks.
His free hand slid up cupping the underside of your other breast. He lifted it, squeezed, then slapped—hard enough to make the flesh jiggle. The sharp smack echoed through the room, followed immediately by your high, broken moan. He watched, utterly fascinated as the red bloom of his handprint bloomed across the pale skin. Another slap—harder—watching the flesh move in hypnotic ripples.
“Jahykeee—” The sound came out high and needy, open-mouthed, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your head fell back. You couldn’t form full sentences anymore—just his name, over and over, moaned like a prayer.
Everything was wet.
Disgusting.
Perfect.
You were babbling now—incoherent, desperate little sounds that barely formed words. “gonna come—oh god—”
A few more brutal thrusts—deep, punishing, hips snapping up to meet every downward slam—and Jake broke. With a raw groan that vibrated against your breast, he buried himself to the hilt one last time and came. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you—pulse after violent pulse—filling you so full you could feel every spurt painting your walls.
The sheer volume of his cum filled you so completely you could feel it sloshing gently with every tiny shift of your hips, warm and heavy, some of it already leaking out around the base of his cock in slow, creamy rivulets that dripped down his balls and onto the sheets beneath you. Neither of you moved to pull apart.
You didn’t want to. He didn’t want to.
His mouth stayed latched to your swollen nipple—nursing with slow, lazy pulls that made the tender bud throb against his tongue. Every few seconds he’d give a tiny, gentle suck—like he was drawing comfort, drawing life from you. He gnawed softly at the areola, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you shiver, then returned to nursing with quiet, contented hums vibrating against your chest.
You let your own hands drift up—fingers threading gently through his damp, messy hair. You smoothed it back from his forehead, petting him slowly, lovingly, nails scratching lightly over his scalp in soothing little circles.
“Good boy,” you whispered, voice soft and wrecked. “Filled me up so perfectly…”
That made him melt.
A high, broken whimper escaped around your nipple as his hips gave a tiny, helpless roll beneath you. The motion dragged his still-hard cock against your sensitive walls, stirring the thick load he’d just pumped deep inside you.
You gasped—sweet and soft—at the sensation.
“Good boy… look at you—still so hard for me… still filling me up…”
Jake’s entire body trembled against yours—shaking like a leaf in a storm—his face buried so deep between your breasts that his nose pressed into the soft valley, inhaling you like you were the only air he needed. His arms wrapped around your waist tighter, hands splayed wide across your lower back, fingers digging in just enough to keep you locked against him. He wasn’t thrusting anymore—not really. He was just… moving. Like his body couldn’t bear to be still inside you.
“Please say it again… please…” He sounded so small, so utterly wrecked. The filthy boy who’d just fucked you senseless was gone. In his place was this trembling, desperate thing.
You cradled his face gently between your hands, thumbs brushing over the flushed apples of his cheeks, feeling the way he trembled under your touch. His eyes—big, glassy, and completely lost—lifted to meet yours, pupils blown wide with need and adoration.
“My sweet puppy,” you murmured, voice soft but firm, lips brushing his forehead. “You’ve been so good for me. You can fuck me again, baby. You have my permission, puppy. Take what you need.”
A broken, grateful whine tore from his throat—high and shaky—like the words alone were enough to unravel him completely. “Thank you—thank you—” he choked out, voice cracking as he nuzzled into your neck for a heartbeat before lifting his head.
You tilted his chin up with gentle fingers, guiding his mouth to yours.
The kiss started soft—slow, deep, tender. You led at first, tongue sliding against his in lazy, loving strokes, swallowing the little whimpers he let out every time you nipped his bottom lip. He melted into it—letting you take control, letting you set the pace—hands trembling where they gripped your hips like he was afraid to move without your say-so.
But Jake was needy.
Desperate.
And he could only hold back for so long.
A low moan slipped out against your mouth as his tongue plunged deeper—still following your rhythm at first, but growing hungrier, chasing every slide of your tongue like you were pure nectar he’d die without. You could taste the salt of his tears, the faint musk of your earlier release still lingering on his tongue, and it made you moan softly into him.
You started moving—lifting yourself up his thick length with agonizing slowness, letting him feel every dragging inch as your walls clung to him, fluttering and squeezing around his girth. When only the swollen head remained inside you—stretching your entrance wide—you sank back down in one smooth, deep drop, taking him to the hilt again.
Jake’s entire body jerked beneath you, and his hands on your hips tightened, fingers digging in just enough to help guide your rhythm, lifting you just enough on the upstroke, then guiding you back down with gentle pressure, making sure you took every inch. But he didn’t thrust up into you. He didn’t dare. He just… assisted. Letting you use him exactly how you wanted.
Eventually you could feel it building again—slow, hot, inevitable. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably around his waist, breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pressure crested. “Jake.. gonna—gonna come—” you sobbed, voice breaking into a high, desperate whine.
The second the words left your lips, something shifted in him. His hands—previously only guiding, tightened. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave fresh marks over the old ones, and he took over.
No more teasing rhythm. No more letting you lead.
He surged upward driving his cock deep inside you in one smooth, punishing stroke that punched the air from your lungs. Your back arched violently, a raw cry tearing from your throat as he bottomed out again. One hand slid up your side cupping the heavy curve of your breast, thumb flicking over the swollen, spit-slick nipple before pinching it hard enough to make you gasp. His other hand slipped between your bodies—fingers finding your clit immediately, rubbing fast little circles, then pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers, rolling it gently before flicking it hard enough to make your hips buck.
“Gonna come so pretty for me, aren’t you? Gonna cream all over my dick while I fill you up again—”
You shattered.
Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave—walls clamping down around his cock in violent, fluttering spasms. Your thighs squeezed his hips so tight it hurt, toes curling, vision whiting out at the edges.
You went limp beneath him, your arms flopped weakly to your sides, legs splayed open around him, chest heaving with ragged breaths. You could barely think, barely move—just lay there, wrecked and panting, letting him use you as he chased his own release. And with a few more desperate grinds, he broke.
With a muffled cry, he came again—hot, thick ropes flooding deep inside you, mixing with the first load until you felt impossibly fuller.
You both stayed like that—locked together, trembling—for long minutes. Jake’s hands roamed lazily over your body, petting your sides, squeezing your ass, like he was memorizing every curve.
Then slowly—ever so slowly—he shifted, with a soft, reluctant whine—he started to pull out.
You winced at the feeling—sharp and empty—as his cock dragged against your oversensitive walls. A gush of his cum followed immediately, spilling out of you in a warm, thick flood that ran down your ass and pooled on the sheets. The sudden loss made you whimper, thighs twitching.
But before you could even process it— Jake’s mouth was there, strong hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wide—and buried his face in your pussy.
You shouted—high and startled—“Jake—fuck—too much—!”
Overstimulation hit like lightning—your hips bucking up instinctively, hands flying to his hair to push him away as his tongue dragged flat up your leaking slit.
But Jake didn’t budge.
His tongue pushed past your swollen folds, lapping at the creamy mess he’d left inside you: his thick cum mixed with your slick, warm and salty-sweet on his tongue. He scooped every drop with broad swirls—moaning low against your pussy like the flavor was pure ecstasy.
“Gotta clean you,” he mumbled against your folds, voice thick and wrecked, lips moving wetly as he spoke. “Gotta taste us…”
He ate you thoroughly—relentlessly—tongue curling inside you, swallowing with a low hum—throat working visibly, nose nudging your swollen clit with every deep thrust of his tongue.
You tried to push at his head, but he wasn’t having it. He grabbed both of your wrists in one large hand and pinned them to your stomach—holding you down, while his other hand clamped harder on your thigh, thumb stroking the soft inner skin in slow, soothing circles.
“Stay still, baby,” he rasped between licks, voice muffled and dripping with need. “Let me clean you… I’m not done yet… not even close…”
He kept going—tongue plunging deep, then dragging up to your clit before sucking the swollen bud between his lips with gentle insistence. He nursed on it softly—sucking, licking, humming in quiet bliss.
He kept going until your pussy was clean, glistening only with his spit now, fluttering weakly around nothing.
He gave one last long, savoring lick from your entrance all the way up to your clit—collecting the final traces—before pulling back with a low, wrecked groan.
He crawled up your body until his face hovered over yours.
Then he kissed you.
Deep. Slow. Filthy.
His skin was flushed and sweat-slicked, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, but his eyes never left yours—dark, glassy, shining with something so raw and tender it made your heart stutter.
When his face finally hovered over yours—close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the salt and musk of sex clinging to his skin—he paused for one heartbeat, just breathing you in.
Then he kissed you.
His mouth sealed over yours like he was trying to crawl inside you all over again—lips soft but insistent, parting yours with a gentle nudge before his tongue slid in, hot and thick and unhurried. The first taste hit you immediately: the heady, salty-sweet mix of both of you—his cum still lingering on his tongue, thick and musky, blended with the slick tang of your own arousal that coated every inch of his mouth. It was obscene, intimate, utterly filthy in the most perfect way—evidence of everything he’d done to you, everything you’d let him do, still warm and fresh on his tongue.
You moaned into the kiss and he groaned back—low and wrecked—swallowing the sound like it was nectar, his tongue sliding deeper, curling around yours in slow, lazy drags that made your toes curl against the sheets.
The kiss was sloppy, unashamed—filthy in the best way.
He shifted slightly—weight settling more firmly over you—and one of his hands slid down your body with intent. Rough fingertips trailed over your ribs, your stomach, until they reached the space between your thighs. He cupped your pussy in one big palm—hot, calloused, fingers splaying wide to cover every inch of your swollen, sensitive folds.
Your thighs clamped around his hand instantly—reflexive—trapping him there. The wet heat of you was obscene— still swollen and tender from everything he’d done to you.
Without breaking the kiss, his ring and middle fingers slipped inside you easily—two thick digits sinking deep into your heat with a soft, wet schlick. Your walls fluttered around them immediately, still sensitive, still clenching like they were trying to pull him deeper. He curled them slowly—hooking against that perfect spot inside you—while his thumb brushed feather-light over your swollen clit, circling once, twice, then pressing down just enough to make your hips buck. Your own hand came down to cover his—fingers wrapping around his wrist, not to stop him, but hold on, feeling the flex of his tendons, the way his forearm tensed every time he pushed deeper.
He worshipped you like this for long, unhurried minutes—fingers massaging slow and deep, thumb circling your clit with perfect patience, mouth moving against yours in lazy, loving strokes. You could feel yourself climbing again, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your belly despite the oversensitivity. But Jake felt it too. He felt the way your walls started fluttering faster, the way your breath hitched against his mouth, the way your fingers tightened around his wrist.
With a soft, reluctant groan he finally eased his fingers out carefully, curling them one last time against that perfect spot before sliding free.
He broke the kiss just enough to press his forehead to yours—breathing hard, eyes glassy and dark with adoration.
“Don’t wanna push you too far, baby,” he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling. “You’ve already given me everything.” He pressed one last, soft kiss to your swollen lips—gentle this time, then collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his arms, chest to chest, legs tangling, his face immediately burying in the crook of your neck. His breath came in shaky, happy little puffs against your skin as he nuzzled closer, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, the other resting possessively on your hip.
“Mine…” he whispered, voice hoarse and drowsy, lips brushing your pulse point. “All mine…”
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your throat—then another, and another—like he couldn’t stop tasting you even now.
You hummed—soft, content—fingers threading gently through his damp hair, petting him slowly while your other arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close.
Completely, blissfully content.
The next morning dawned bright and mercilessly hot, the kind of summer day that turned the entire camp into a shimmering haze. You stood in front of the tiny mirror in your cabin, trying—and failing—to cover the evidence of last night.
The marks were everywhere.
Dark, blooming hickeys and faint bite marks painted your throat like a collar of bruises. A constellation of red-purple blooms trailed down your collarbone, over the tops of your breasts, and disappeared beneath the neckline of your top. Your inner thighs were mottled with finger-shaped imprints and suction marks, and your hips bore the faint outline of Jake’s hands where he’d gripped you like he never wanted to let go.
You tried a scarf—ridiculous in this heat. A high-collared shirt—immediately discarded when sweat beaded on your neck within minutes. Long sleeves? Impossible. The sun was already brutal, and the thought of layers made you feel like you were suffocating.
So you gave up.
You tugged on your usual camp uniform and stepped outside. Immediately, the heat pressed against your skin like a living thing, but more noticeable than the temperature was the way your body moved.
You were limping.
Not dramatically, but enough that every step sent a dull, delicious ache radiating from between your thighs. Your pussy still felt swollen, tender, stretched in a way that made you clench involuntarily every time you shifted your weight. And your skin—god, your skin—glowed. That unmistakable post-sex flush clung to you, making you look like you’d been thoroughly, repeatedly ravished.
The female counselors noticed first.
They were gathered near the mess hall, sipping lukewarm coffee, when you limped past.
“Holy shit,” Minji—choked on her drink, eyes widening as she took in the full display. “Girl, what the hell happened to you? Did you get attacked by a vacuum cleaner?”
Chaeryeong—leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “No, no, look at those marks. That’s not a vacuum. That’s a whole-ass man. Who fucked you so good you look like you got mauled?”
You laughed—hoarse, a little breathless—and tried to shrug it off, but the movement pulled at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, making you wince.
“Someone got carried away,” you said, voice still a little raspy from all the moaning and screaming the night before.
“Carried away?” Yuna echoed, eyes sparkling. “Babe, that’s not carried away. That’s claimed. Look at your thighs—those are handprints. Plural. Who is this man and does he have a brother?”
The male counselors, meanwhile, were noticeably quieter.
They glanced over—then quickly looked away. Some flushed red. Others suddenly found the ground very interesting. Sunghoon, in particular, was standing near the canoe rack pretending to check ropes, but his ears were bright pink and he refused to meet anyone’s eyes.
The kids were… less subtle.
A group of eight-year-olds ran up while you were trying to help set up the morning activity board.
“Whoa, Miss, what happened to your neck?” one little girl asked, pointing openly at the dark hickey just below your jaw.
Another boy gasped dramatically. “Did a bear get you? Or a tiger? You look like you got mauled by an animal!”
You crouched down—wincing slightly—and ruffled his hair. “No bears, promise,” you said with a grin. “Just… a very enthusiastic mosquito.”
The kids blinked, clearly unconvinced, but ran off to tell their friends about the “mosquito attack.”
The adult staff—counselors and the camp director included—mostly just stared at you like you’d grown a second head. A few raised eyebrows. A couple of knowing smirks. One of the older female staff members muttered something about “kids these days” while pointedly looking anywhere but at your neck.
But none of it really bothered you. Not when Jake was trailing behind you like a lovesick shadow.
He hadn’t let you out of his sight since breakfast—still a little dazed, still a little sore, still glowing. He carried your water bottle without being asked. He hovered while you handed out activity schedules. He practically vibrated with pride every time someone’s eyes flicked to your marks and then to him.
And when Sunghoon tried to approach you near the craft table—casual, friendly, like nothing had changed—Jake was suddenly right there, sliding an arm around your waist, chin resting possessively on your shoulder.
Sunghoon blinked, glanced at the obvious handprints on your hips peeking out from under your top, then at Jake’s smug little smile—and backed off without another word.
Jake practically preened.
By evening, the bonfire crackled high, kids roasting marshmallows, counselors scattered on logs and blankets. Jake was sitting on one of the bigger logs, legs spread, looking every inch the smug, satisfied man who’d finally gotten his prize.
You didn’t even hesitate.
You walked straight over—limp still noticeable—and plopped right into his lap. His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling your back flush against his chest. His chin hooked over your shoulder, nose brushing your neck right over one of the darkest hickeys.
“Hi, baby,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and content, just for you.
Kids giggled and whispered. Counselors exchanged looks—some amused, some scandalized, most just resigned. Sunghoon stared into the flames like they’d personally offended him.
Jake didn’t care.
He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck—right over a particularly dark mark—and sighed like the happiest man alive.
You were perfectly content right where you were: settled sideways across Jake’s lap, back resting against his chest, legs draped lazily over one of his thighs. His arms were wrapped around your waist like he was afraid someone might try to steal you away if he let go for even a second. His chin rested on your shoulder, nose occasionally brushing the side of your neck where the darkest, most obvious hickey bloomed like a bruise-colored flower.
You weren’t doing anything.
Just sitting.
Breathing.
Existing in his arms.
And that was more than enough. Because beneath you Jake started to harden.
You felt it happen in stages: the first subtle thickening against the underside of your thigh, the way his cock twitched once, then again, as if waking up. Then the gradual swell, pressing insistently against your ass through the thin layers of your shorts and his. He shifted once—barely a movement, just trying to adjust—and the motion only made him harder, the thick ridge of him settling right between your cheeks.
A soft, involuntary groan slipped from his throat—barely audible over the fire, but you heard it. Felt it rumble against your back. You tilted your head just enough to whisper against the shell of his ear, voice low and teasing, lips brushing the sensitive skin.
“Getting hard just from me sitting on you, puppy?” you murmured, letting your breath ghost over his earlobe. “Poor thing… can’t even control yourself around me anymore, can you?”
Jake’s whole body jerked. “Baby—fuck—” he breathed against your neck, voice wrecked and trembling. “Don’t—don’t say that—please—I’m trying to be good—”
But he wasn’t being good.
Not at all.
His hips gave another tiny, helpless roll—grinding his aching length against you—just enough to make you feel every thick inch. His breath came in short, shaky pants against your throat, lips brushing the bruise he’d left there like he couldn’t help himself.
Across the fire, Heeseung was watching the whole thing with the stupidest, most shit-eating grin on his face.
When Jake’s eyes flicked up—wide, panicked, pleading—Heeseung just raised both thumbs in an exaggerated double-thumbs-up, wiggling his eyebrows like he was at a comedy show.
Really helping the situation.
Jake buried his face deeper into your neck with another pathetic whine, hips twitching again despite his best efforts to stay still. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna lose it right here if you keep talking like that…”
You only smiled—slow, wicked—and shifted just enough to press your ass down a little harder against his straining cock.
“Shhh,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear again. “Be good for me, puppy. Or everyone’s gonna know exactly what you’re thinking about right now.”
Jake’s only answer was a low groan, broken, and completely wrecked.
a/n: i wrote most of this while at work. so sorry its shit.
♡ when heeseung agrees to test jungwon’s new dating sim game, girlfriend simulator, he expects a dumb, half finished game, until he boots it up on his switch, the screen glitches, and he’s dragged straight into the world he just created. the “girlfriend” character, you, isn’t scripted at all; and heeseung has to figure out how to get out while accidentally developing feelings for a girl who inconveniently does not exist in real life.
♡ pairing: heeseung × fem!reader | ♡ genre: fantasy; romcom; fluff; comedy; light sci fi; college au; game simulator; slow burn; smut (mdni) | ♡ playlist: gameboy - katseye | jellyous - illit | super shy - new jeans | i am shampoo - bibi | turn it up - pinkpantheress | sun and moon - aespa | ♡ wc: 37k
♡ ronnie notes: hi guyssss!! hope you enjoy this fic 🫶 i wanted to make this as a little celebration for hitting 4k followers here hehe i’ve been writing this for a while and i lowkey think it’s about to become my little favorite / comfort fic around here!! i’ve always wanted to write something with a gaming theme because i am a gamer (derogatory) so huge thank you to my sister @iyoonjh and @hoonieyun and @jayflrt for helping me with everything league of legends related because yeah i was dumb enough to write league scenes without ever having played that shit myself lmaoo anyway i really hope you guys like girlfriend simulator
HEESEUNG'S FAVORITE PART OF ANY GAME WAS THE DIALOGUE OPTIONS. Little boxes that told you exactly what to say and exactly what would happen after. Real life should've come with that feature. would've saved him a lot of trouble. He wasn't completely hopeless, though. He had friends, he could hold a conversation if he had to. But there was always this gap between what he meant and what came out, or worse, between what he said and how people reacted to it. Like everyone else had gotten a patch update on social interaction and he was still running on the default version.
Maybe that's why dating never quite worked for him. Every time he tried, he felt like he’d missed a tutorial somewhere. He could talk, sure, and he could be funny when he wanted, but halfway through a conversation he always drifted, like thinking about assignments or projects or that interesting research thread he'd meant to look into. People would smile at him politely, the kind of smile that told him they’d already made up their mind: sweet guy, but not for me.
The last time he'd tried going on a date, he’d barely made it through an hour. He’d checked the timestamp afterwards and realized he’d spent exactly forty eight minutes pretending he wasn't thinking about a bug he’d found in his graphics project. He’d texted Jungwon: "bro i think i fumbled bad." Jungwon had sent back a voice note where he laughed so hard he hiccuped. Comforting, in its own way.
Jungwon was one of like three people Heeseung could be around without keeping a mental checklist of normal things to say. They’d been friends since first year when they got paired on a project and realized they both worked better at two in the morning with no one else around. Jungwon was quiet in the same way Heeseung was, but also completely unhinged when it came to code. He’d get an idea and just lock in for days. So one afternoon, while Heeseung was in the lab pretending to fix code he’d actually broken on purpose because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t understand it, Jungwon walked in with that mischief look. He sat down next to him, opened his laptop, and said, "ok, don’t make fun of me, but I made something."
Heeseung didn’t look up. "Is it stable this time?" which was generous, because Jungwon’s projects were never stable.
"Define stable," Jungwon said, clicking through a folder that had way too many warning icons. "Anyway, it’s a dating sim."
That finally made Heeseung look. "A dating sim? Why?"
"Research." Jungwon always said that when he’d clearly done something for fun and wanted it to sound academic. "It’s called Girlfriend Simulator."
Heeseung stared at him. "That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."
Jungwon didn’t even blink. "Yeah, I know. But I need someone to test it, and you're the only person who’ll actually give me notes instead of lying to make me feel better."
Heeseung wanted to argue, but he was tired and they had a midterm coming up and honestly he didn't care enough to fight. So he sighed and pushed his chair closer. "Fine. Show me." Jungwon grinned like that was all he’d wanted since morning. He opened the build file, and the screen filled with placeholder art, branching choices, and a character slot labeled "y/n_default." And Heeseung, who was too distracted to think twice, just shrugged.
He had no idea that saying yes to that stupid looking game would end up being the most disastrous decision of his entire academic life.
He only agreed because Jungwon wouldn't shut up about it, and because even with all his complaints, he had this soft spot for him that made it hard to say no. Also, he didn’t have anything better to do on a friday night; the rest of their friends were out, and he wasn't in the mood to socialize. And, honestly, he liked games where he could pretend to be slightly less single than he actually was. It was pathetic, sure, but it wasn't like anyone needed to know.
So later that night, Heeseung sat on his bed with the lights off and his switch on max brightness, which was probably not great for his already questionable sleep schedule but whatever. Jungwon had sent him the build file with a message that just said "lmk if it crashes :)" which was not exactly confidence inspiring, but Heeseung had agreed to this so he couldn't really back out now.
The game booted with this weirdly soft 8 bit lullaby that sounded like it was trying to hypnotize him. The title screen was clean, minimalist, just the words "Girlfriend Simulator" in a font that looked expensive. Heeseung snorted. Jungwon had definitely spent more time on the typography than the actual game mechanics, which tracked. Character customization loaded next, and Heeseung had to admit it was smoother than he expected. The interface was intuitive, the options were detailed, and the hairstyle physics were suspiciously good for something Jungwon had supposedly coded in his free time between problem sets.
He made his character half heartedly. Messy hair because that's what he had in real life and he wasn't creative enough to imagine anything else. A hoodie because hoodies were safe. He picked "student" as his class, and when it came to stats, he maxed out "humor" because he genuinely thought he was funny, even if nobody else seemed to agree. Then he looked at "emotional intelligence" and left it at zero. Honesty was important, right?
The loading screen that followed was surprisingly elegant. Just a slow fade to black with some text that read "Your First Meeting" in delicate script. Heeseung settled back against his pillow, expecting the usual dating sim fare: a classroom, a coffee shop, maybe a cherry blossom tree if Jungwon was feeling cliché.
And then the screen flickered. Just once, quick enough that Heeseung thought maybe it was his eyes. But then it happened again and the lights in his bedroom pulsed in sync, like someone had wired his lamp to the game's framerate. "What the hell," Heeseung said to no one.
The switch started vibrating in his hands. Not the normal rumble feature, but something harder, more insistent, like the controller was trying to shake itself apart. On screen, a figure materialized. The girlfriend character. For a second Heeseung just stared because the sprite work was genuinely impressive. The lighting was too good, the shadows moved wrong. Everything felt almost real in a way that made his skin prickle.
And then the girlfriend, you, turned around. Slowly like you already knew he was watching. Your face came into view and Heeseung's brain did this weird stutter because you didn't look like a game character, you looked like a person, with the kind of detail you didn't get from placeholder art. Heeseung felt this uncomfortable twist in his stomach like he was the one being observed.
Then you spoke. Not with a text box, not with that awkward text to speech voice that indie games always used. Actual audio, clear and warm and way too close for his own good. "You're here!"
Heeseung's hands went cold. The voice didn't sound small or synthetic or compressed. It sounded like someone was standing directly behind him in his dark bedroom, breath on his neck, words in his ear. He whipped around so fast he nearly dropped the switch, but his room was empty. Just his desk and his dying succulent and his pile of laundry that he'd been meaning to deal with for a week. "What the—"
Before he could finish the thought, before he could even process what was happening, the lights in his room popped, like every bulb had blown at once. The screen went pure white, so bright it hurt to look at, and the controller in his hands went from cold to burning hot in the span of a heartbeat. He tried to drop it but his fingers wouldn't move, locked in place like the plastic had fused to his skin. The air pressure in the room shifted. His ears popped like he was in a plane taking off, and he felt this pull, this hook behind his ribs, yanking him forward with a force that didn't make any physical sense. He tried to pull back, tried to let go, tried to do anything, but the world was already dissolving.
The last thing Heeseung managed to think before everything shattered into pixels was that he was going to kill Yang Jungwon.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the world was too bright. The grass beneath him looked like high definition fairy dust, each blade catching light in a way that grass absolutely should not. The sky was blue in that aggressive unnatural way that only existed in concept art. Everything was sharp and vivid and wrong. Heeseung sat up slowly, head spinning, and looked down at himself. His clothes had changed. Instead of his worn out hoodie and sweatpants, he was wearing the outfit his avatar had been wearing. The same hoodie he'd picked in character customization but real now, solid and heavy on his shoulders. His hands looked like his hands but also didn't. The proportions were slightly off, the lines a little too clean.
"What the fuck," he said out loud, and his voice sounded normal, which was worse. Everything else was strange but his voice was still his.
"You made it!"
Heeseung's head snapped up. You were someone standing a few feet away, watching him with this expression that was hard to read. Amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Like you'd been waiting for him and was pleased he'd finally shown up. except you weren't a sprite anymore. You were real, or at least as real as anything else in this place. You looked exactly like the character on screen but with dimension now, depth, the subtle movements of someone actually breathing. Your hair moved slightly in a breeze he couldn't feel. You were wearing something casual but put together in that effortless way that Heeseung had never managed to pull off.
You smiled at him, and he felt something weird in his stomach. "Hi," you said, like this was completely normal, like he hadn't just been ripped through a screen into a video game that shouldn't exist. "Nice to meet you!"
Heeseung opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. His brain was doing this thing where it tried to process too many things at once and ended up processing nothing at all. "What," he finally managed, which wasn't even a complete sentence but it was all he had.
"Sorry I'm late," you said, but you didn't sound particularly sorry. "Jungwon said you might be running behind. He's the one who set this up, by the way. Said we'd get along."
Heeseung blinked. "Jungwon... set this up?"
"Yeah, the blind date?" You looked at him like he was being slow on purpose. "He said you needed to get out more. His words, not mine."
And that was such a Jungwon thing to do that Heeseung almost believed it. Almost. Except he was still processing the fact that the world around him looked like someone had turned reality into a video game filter. "This is insane," he muttered under his breath. "This is the most realistic game I've ever—"
"Game?" You interrupted, and your smile faltered just slightly. "I'm not playing games with you."
The way you said it made Heeseung freeze. It wasn't defensive or annoyed, it was sincere like you genuinely meant it, like you had no idea what he was talking about. And that's when it hit him: You could hear him. Not just the dialogue options he was supposed to pick. Everything. his actual thoughts spoken out loud. "Wait," he said slowly, "you heard that?"
"Heard what?"
"Nothing. Never mind." Heeseung cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. He could freak out later. Right now there was a person in front of him — a very real feeling and cute person — and he was being weird. "So. Blind date. Right. Jungwon's idea."
He really looked at you then. You were pretty, in this approachable, comfortable way that made him think maybe he could actually talk to you without saying something catastrophically stupid. You had this ease about you, like you weren't trying too hard, and your eyes had this spark that suggested you were probably smarter than you let on. Basically, you were everything he'd ever put on one of those hypothetical "ideal type" list.
"So," you said, cutting through his thoughts. "Jungwon mentioned you're into games?"
Heeseung tried not to laugh at the irony. "Uh, yeah. You could say that."
"Me too." You brightened, and it was genuine, not that polite interest people usually faked. "I've been replaying persona 5 royal for like the third time. I know, I know, it's excessive."
"No, that's— that's actually really cool," Heeseung said, and he meant it. "Most people don't get the appeal of replaying stuff."
"Right?" You gestured as you talked, animated in a way that made him want to keep listening. "Everyone's like 'you already know the story' but that's not the point. It's about the experience, the details you missed, trying different builds—"
A notification sound chimed softly in the air between you. Heeseung jumped. You didn't react. In the corner of his vision, barely perceptible, text appeared: romantic interest +5. common interests discovered.
Oh. Oh no. This was a dating sim. An actual, literal dating sim. And he was living it.
"You okay?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.
"Yeah, totally fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thought I heard something."
You nodded, accepting this easily, and then said, "Do you want to walk? There's this spot by the lake that's really nice."
"Sure," Heeseung said, because what else was he going to say?
You started down a path that looked hand painted, every stone deliberately placed, every flower color coordinated. You reached the lake, which was absurdly picturesque, and sat down on a bench that looked like it had been placed there specifically for this moment. Probably because it had. Heeseung sat next to you, not too close but not weirdly far either, and tried to act like this was normal. "Oh," you said suddenly, looking up. "Look at that." Heeseung followed your gaze. There was a flower growing on a low hanging branch, except it wasn't growing so much as hovering there, pulsing slightly with a soft golden glow. It bobbed up and down in a loop, the universal sign of an interactive object. You didn't seem to notice anything weird about it. "That's pretty," you said. "I've never seen a flower like that before."
Heeseung stared at it. The glow intensified slightly, like it was trying to get his attention, like it was waiting for him to do something. Oh god. This is a prompt. He was supposed to pick the flower and give it to you, that's how this worked. That's how you earned affection points or route progression or whateverJungwon had programmed into this thing. So he stood up. "I'll get it for you."
"You don't have to—"
"No, I want to," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was somehow worse. He reached up and plucked the flower from the branch. It came away easily, and the moment his fingers closed around the stem, the glow faded into something softer, more natural. It looked real now. I mean, it felt real. He turned back to you and held it out, suddenly aware of how much this looked like a scene from every romance movie he'd ever suffered through, not that he suffered through many. "Here," he said.
You took it, and your fingers brushed his for just a second. You looked down at the flower, then back up at him, and your smile was so genuinely happy that Heeseung forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be a game. "Thank you," you said. "That's really sweet."
The notifications stacked in his peripheral vision, and Heeseung felt something between triumph and existential dread. "It's just a flower," he said.
"Maybe," you said, twirling it between your fingers. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" And the worst part was that you seemed to actually believe that. You weren't reading from a script or following programmed responses. You felt real, real enough that Heeseung was starting to forget why that should scare him.
You tucked the flower behind your ear, adjusting it carefully, and Heeseung had to physically stop himself from saying something embarrassing about how that was probably the prettiest thing he'd seen all week. He sat back down on the bench, leaving what he hoped was an appropriate amount of space between you. "So," you said, tilting your head. "What do you do for fun? Besides picking flowers for girls in parks."
Heeseung felt his face get warm. "I don't— that's not a thing I do regularly."
"Shame. You're good at it." You were grinning now, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Come on, tell me. What's your thing?"
"Uh. Games, mostly. I play a lot of games, like Jungwon said."
Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh yeah! What kind?"
"Mostly League. Some RPGs. Anything competitive, I guess." He expected the usual response, the polite nod and change of subject that he got whenever he mentioned gaming to people.
Instead, you leaned forward, genuinely interested. "Wait, you play League? What's your main?"
Heeseung blinked. "You play League?"
"Obviously. Answer the question."
"I mean, I play mid usually. Zed, Leblanc, that kind of thing." He was still processing the fact that you not only knew what League was but apparently played it. "What about you?"
"Support. I'm a Janna main and i'm not ashamed of it." You said it with this defiant pride that made Heeseung want to laugh. "I know, I know, support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."
romantic interest +10. shared interests discovered: league of legends.
Heeseung felt something shift in his chest. He'd never met someone who got it like this. Who understood that games weren't just mindless button mashing but actual strategy and skill. "What rank are you?" He asked.
"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and kind of gave up on the grind." You made a face. "What about you?"
"Diamond 3." Heeseung said, oddly proud of himself but pretending he wasn't.
"Oh, so you're actually good." You looked impressed, which made Heeseung feel ridiculously more pleased with himself. "We should play together sometime."
"Yeah, definitely," Heeseung said, and then remembered that this was a game and there probably wasn't a 'sometime' outside of this moment. The thought made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. You shifted on the bench, getting more comfortable, and somehow ended up closer to him. And just like that, you were off. Heeseung found himself talking more than he had in weeks, and you had opinions, strong ones, and you weren't afraid to argue with him when you disagreed. But it wasn't hostile or competitive, it was fun. At some point, you started talking about other games too. You mentioned playing Stardew Valley when you wanted something relaxing, getting unreasonably invested in Hollow Knight, rage quitting dark souls three times before finally beating it. "I'm not good at souls games," you admitted. "I panic dodge. I know you're supposed to learn the patterns but my brain just goes 'roll roll roll' and then I die."
Heeseung laughed. "That's valid. I did the same thing my first playthrough."
"Really? You seem like you'd be one of those people who does no hit runs for fun."
"Absolutely not. I died to the tutorial boss in Elden Ring."
You gasped, mockingly scandalized. "No you didn't."
"I really did. it Took me like fifteen tries." You were laughing now, the kind of laugh that made your whole face light up, and Heeseung felt ridiculously proud that he'd caused it. There was something about making you laugh that felt like winning.
romantic interest +8. humor appreciated.
You kept talking, jumping from topic to topic with the kind of ease that Heeseung had only ever experienced with Jungwon or Jake at best. Except this was different because you were looking at him like everything he said was interesting, like you actually wanted to hear his thoughts on whether the Death Note ending was satisfying or if Eren from Attack on Titan was justified. The sun was properly setting now, painting everything in warm colors. there were fireflies starting to appear, floating lazily through the air in a way that was definitely too perfect to be natural. Heeseung watched one drift past your face, and you reached out to let it land on your finger. "Pretty," you said softly, watching it glow.
Heeseung was looking at you, at the flower still tucked behind your ear and the way the sunset caught in your hair and the small smile on your face as you watched the firefly. "Yeah," he said. "Really pretty." You glanced at him and caught him staring. For a second, Heeseung thought he'd made it weird, but then you smiled, almost shy, and looked back at the firefly.
romantic interest +15. moment shared.
The firefly flew off, and you watched it go before turning back to him. "Hey, can I tell you something?" He nodded so you kept going. "I wasn't really sure about coming today. I almost canceled, actually." You pulled at a thread on your sleeve, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm not great at the whole meeting new people thing. I always feel like I'm going to say something weird and scare them off."
"You're not weird," Heeseung said automatically.
"You literally just met me. I could be extremely weird."
"Okay, but like, good weird. The kind of weird that's actually interesting." Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Most people just want to talk about surface level stuff, you know? But you actually have things you care about."
You looked at him for a long moment, and Heeseung couldn't read your expression. Then you smiled, soft and genuine. "You're really nice, you know that?"
"I'm really not," Heeseung said, but he was smiling too.
"Yes you are. You're nice and you're a good listener and you have good taste in games." You counted off on your fingers. "That's like, three whole good qualities. Most people don't even have one."
There was a moment of comfortable silence where you just sat there, watching the fireflies multiply in the growing dusk. Heeseung thought about how easy this felt, how he wasn't checking the time or looking for excuses to leave. How he kind of never wanted this to end.
You turned your head to look at him. "So do you want to do this again? Like, another time?"
Heeseung's heart did a weird jump in his chest. "Like another date?"
"Yeah. If you want. No pressure or anything." You said it casually, but Heeseung could see the hint of nervousness in the way you weren't quite meeting his eyes. "I just think it'd be fun to hang out more. Maybe we could actually play League together or something."
Every logical part of Heeseung's brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. That he should figure out how to exit this game and go back to real life and deal with the fact that he'd just spent hours in a virtual reality dating sim. But the less logical part, the part that was currently winning, wanted to see you again. Wanted to hear you laugh more. Wanted to keep talking about stupid stuff that mattered to him and apparently mattered to you too. "Yeah," he heard himself say. "Definitely, yeah, I'd really like that."
Your smile was so bright it could've competed with the fireflies. "Okay. It's a date then."
romantic interest +20. second date confirmed. route progression: 15% complete.
And then, without any warning at all, the world started to blur at the edges. The colors bled together, the sounds got muffled and distant, and Heeseung felt that same pulling sensation from before. Like someone had hooked a line to his chest and was reeling him back. "Wait— " he started to say, reaching out instinctively. You were looking at him with concern, mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what you were saying anymore. Everything was dissolving into static and white light and that horrible feeling of falling. The last thing he saw before everything went black was your face, still worried, still perfect, with that flower tucked behind your ear. Then he was gasping awake in his dark bedroom, switch controller still hot in his hands, his heart racing. The screen showed a save menu: progress saved. continue tomorrow?
His hands were shaking. "What the hell," Heeseung said to his empty room.
And he barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the park, the fireflies, your smile. he kept reaching for memories that felt too solid to be from a game. By the time his alarm went off, he'd already been awake for an hour, staring at his ceiling and trying to convince himself that he hadn't just experienced the most elaborate hallucination of his life.
He found Jungwon in their usual spot in the computer lab, hunched over his laptop with his headphones on, nodding along to whatever he was listening to. There were three empty energy drink cans next to him, which meant he'd probably been there since before sunrise. Heeseung dropped his bag on the desk with more force than necessary. Jungwon jumped, pulling his headphones down. "Jesus, dude. Learn to announce yourself like a normal person."
"We need to talk about your game," Heeseung said.
Jungwon's face lit up. "Oh my god, you played it! what'd you think? Was she cute? Did you get to the part with the—"
"Jungwon." Heeseung sat down, leaning forward. "What the hell did you put in that thing?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it was way too real." Heeseung ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain something that sounded insane even in his own head. "It felt like I was actually inside the game."
Jungwon frowned. "Wait, you used a VR headset or something?"
"No, I just played it normally! On my switch, in my room." Heeseung could hear how crazy he sounded but he kept going anyway. "But it wasn't like regular gameplay. It was like the game pulled me in. I could smell things, Jungwon."
Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly took a sip of his energy drink. "Bro. You got that invested in it?"
"I'm not— that's not what I'm saying."
"You literally just described sensory immersion that doesn't exist yet." Jungwon was grinning now. "Holy shit, you're actually down bad. You played a dating sim for like two hours and now you're having full vivid memories about it."
"It wasn't like that," Heeseung insisted, but even he could hear how weak it sounded.
"Dude, you need to get an actual girlfriend. Like, a real one. Made of flesh and blood and everything." Jungwon was trying not to laugh and failing. "Look, I'm glad you liked it. Genuinely. But maybe we should set you up with someone real before you completely lose touch with reality." Heeseung slumped back in his chair. Maybe Jungwon was right. Maybe he had just gotten way too into it. Maybe his brain had filled in details that weren't actually there because he was that desperate for connection. "I'm not judging! Okay, maybe I'm judging a little bit, but I'm also proud. My game is so good it's causing psychological breaks from reality." Jungwon looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Okay, but if you're playing tonight, there's something you should know."
"What?"
"The second date has a mini game. Like, a fight sequence."
Heeseung blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"A fighting mini game."
"Why the fuck does a dating simulator have a fighting mini game?"
Jungwon shrugged. "I thought it'd be fun. Adds variety and keeps things interesting."
"That makes absolutely no sense. What am I supposed to be fighting?"
"You'll see," Jungwon said, and his smile was deeply suspicious.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting. I'm not spoiling my own game." Jungwon turned back to his laptop. "Just make sure you've been keeping up with your stats. You're gonna need decent strength and agility."
"I maxed out humor and left emotional intelligence at zero."
Jungwon turned around slowly. "You what."
"What! I was being honest about my abilities!"
"Heeseung. My guy. My dude." Jungwon looked pained. "You're supposed to actually try to build a good character."
"My character is fine."
"Your character is going to get his ass kicked." Jungwon pulled up something on his laptop, clicked around for a second, then shook his head. "Okay, you know what? It's fine. You'll figure it out. The game has adaptive difficulty anyway."
Heeseung really looked at Jungwon. "Adaptive difficulty in a dating sim."
"In the fighting portion, yeah. The dating part is all you, buddy. That's pure skill based."
Heeseung wanted to argue that there was something deeply wrong with Jungwon's game design philosophy, but he also kind of wanted to know what the hell happened on the second date that required combat stats. "Is she going to be there?" He asked. "During the fight thing?"
"Obviously. It's her date." Jungwon was smirking now. "Why, you worried about impressing her?"
"No."
"You're totally worried about impressing her. A girl who doesn't exist."
Heeseung threw a pen at him. Jungwon dodged it without even looking up from his screen. And the rest of the day dragged. Heeseung went to his classes and took notes and nodded at the appropriate times, but his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about the park. About the way you'd looked at him when he gave you the flower. About how easy it had been to talk to you. He knew it was just a game. He knew you were just code, just a really well designed character or whatever that Jungwon had somehow made feel real. But knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to see you again.
By the time he got back to his dorm that night, he'd already decided he was playing regardless of how pathetic it made him look. He grabbed his switch, plugged in his headphones even though he hadn't used them last time, and loaded up the save file. The screen flickered once. Twice. Here we go again, Heeseung thought. And then the world tilted, and he was falling forward into light. When the world stopped spinning and Heeseung's vision cleared, he wasn't in a park this time. He was sitting in a desk chair, his own desk chair. In what looked exactly like his dorm room, except cleaner, way cleaner. His laundry wasn't on the floor and his desk wasn't covered in empty energy drink cans. His monitor was on, displaying his league of legends home screen, and his keyboard had that soft RGB glow that looked way more expensive than his actual setup.
"Okay," Heeseung said to the empty room. "This is new." His phone — or the game's version of his phone — buzzed on the desk. He picked it up and saw a discord notification.
you: you're online! finally
you: i've been waiting like ten minutes
you: i was starting to think you ghosted me
Heeseung's heart did that stupid jump thing again. He typed back quickly.
heeseung: sorry, just got on
heeseung: ready when you are
His discord pinged with an incoming call. He stared at it for a second, then clicked accept. "There you are," your voice came through his headphones, clear and warm and doing absolutely nothing good for his heart rate. "I thought you bailed on me."
"I wouldn't do that," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was concerning considering you were a video game character.
"Good. Because I already said we were playing together and if you didn't show up i would've looked stupid." Heeseung could hear the smile in your voice. on his second monitor — since when did he have a second monitor? — a small window popped up showing your avatar. It was cute, some anime style drawing with the same flower from yesterday tucked behind the character's ear. "Okay, so I set up a custom game. Two versus two," you said.
"Sounds good. Who are we playing against?"
There was a pause. "Okay, so don't freak out, but it's my exes."
Heeseung's hand froze on his mouse. "I'm sorry, what?"
"My ex boyfriends. Both of them. They wanted a rematch from last time." You said it so casually, like this was a completely normal thing. "They're kind of toxic about League. They got really mad when I beat them."
"You want me to play League against your ex boyfriends?"
"Technically we're playing against them together as a team. Bonding activity!" You sounded way too cheerful about this. "Come on, It'll be fun. Plus i really want to beat them again. They've been talking shit in the group chat all week."
quest unlocked: defend your girlfriend's honor (in league of legends) | objective: win the 2v2 match | optional objective: make her exes regret queueing up
The notification appeared in the corner of his vision and Heeseung had to resist the urge to laugh. This was insane. This entire situation was insane. But he went for it anyway. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it." the invite popped up and Heeseung accepted. The lobby loaded and he could see the other two players: "toxicking" and "yourworstnightmare" which were possibly the most obnoxious usernames he'd ever seen. "Those are real people you dated?" Heeseung asked.
"Unfortunately. My taste in men used to be really bad." You paused. "It's gotten better though." Heeseung tried not to smile and failed completely.
The chat lobby loaded and immediately one of them started typing.
toxicking: oh look who showed up
toxicking: brought a new victim i see
yourworstnightmare: this gonna be quick lol
"They're always like this," you said, sounding tired. "Just mute them if they get annoying."
"I'm fine," Heeseung said. "I've dealt with worse in solo queue."
"Ooh, confident. I like it."
romantic interest +5. confidence appreciated.
You locked in Janna, just like you'd said yesterday. Heeseung hovered over Zed for a second, then switched to Leblanc. If this was going to be a two versus two, he wanted mobility and burst damage. The game loaded, Heeseung cracked his knuckles and adjusted his grip on his mouse. "Okay, game plan," you said. "I keep you alive, you delete them. Simple." The match started and immediately the other team was in all chat. Heeseung checked their champions. Yasuo and Yone. Of course they were playing the flashy high skill ceiling champions. He would've bet money they had mastery 7 emotes ready to spam. "They always play like this," you said. "Super aggressive, trying to outplay everything. It's kind of predictable once you get used to it." The minions spawned and both teams moved forward. Heeseung played it safe at first, watching how the exes moved, learning their patterns. And then suddenly, first blood!
"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," you shouted, and Heeseung couldn't help but grin.
toxicking: wtf
toxicking: that was lag
yourworstnightmare: ur getting carried
yourworstnightmare: ur duo is doing everything
"He's salty," you said, laughing. "This is great." The match continued and it became increasingly clear that Heeseung and you had better coordination. You'd shield him right before he went in. You moved together like you'd been playing as a duo for months. "Behind you," you called out, and Heeseung instantly dodged. It wasn't even close. By fifteen minutes, the score was 15 to 3, and Heeseung had more kills than both of the exes combined.
toxicking: this is bullshit
toxicking: whoever this guy is he's probably smurfing
yourworstnightmare: yeah no way he's actually this rank
toxicking: fucking carried loser
"They're so mad," you said, and you sounded absolutely delighted. "Oh my god, they're so mad. This is the best day of my life."
Heeseung was grinning so hard his face hurt. "Should we end it?"
"Absolutely, yeah. Let's make it hurt." You pushed mid together. Heeseung went in first, deleting the Yasuo instantly. You polymorphed the Yone, and Heeseung finished him off before the polymorph even ended. The nexus exploded.
victory! +50 romantic interest. victory achieved. quest completed. achievement unlocked: better than her exes (at league of legends)
Heeseung leaned back in his chair, feeling more satisfied than he had any right to feel about a video game within a video game. "That felt good."
"Right? God, I've been wanting to do that for weeks." You sighed happily. "You're really good, by the way. You weren't kidding about being diamond."
"I don't really joke about my rank."
"Noted. Confidence is earned." There was a pause. "Hey, want to play another one? Just us this time?"
Heeseung absolutely should not spend more time in this game. He should log off and go to sleep and maybe talk to a therapist about why he was emotionally investing in a dating simulator. "Yeah," he said instead. "Let's play another."
You made a happy sound that did dangerous things to his chest. "Okay! I'll make the lobby.” Your laugh was bright and genuine and perfect. "I knew you were my type."
You played two more games and won both of them. When you finally left the lobby, Heeseung realized he'd been playing for almost two hours. His hands were sore from gripping the mouse and his face hurt from smiling. "Hey," you said, your voice softer now. "Thanks for playing with me. And for, you know, obliterating my exes. That was really fun."
"Anytime," Heeseung said, and meant it. "This was really fun. I don't usually have this much fun playing league."
"Me neither," you admitted. "Usually it's just people being toxic or trying too hard. But this was nice. You're nice." There was a comfortable silence, just the sound of both of you breathing through the discord call. Heeseung looked at his monitor, at the League client, at the clean version of his room that didn't exist in real life. "So," you said eventually. "Same time next week?"
Heeseung's chest tightened. "Yeah. Definitely."
"Cool. It's a date." You paused. "Well, another date. Our third date. Okay. Well. I should probably get going. Okay. Goodnight, Heeseung."
"Goodnight." The discord call ended and Heeseung sat there in the quiet of his too clean room, staring at his monitor. The screen started to blur at the edges, colors bleeding together again. Here we go again, he thought, again.
progress saved. route progression: 30% complete.
And this whole thing it became a routine faster than Heeseung wanted to admit. He'd go to class, take notes he barely remembered, nod at Jungwon when they crossed paths in the lab, and then he'd go straight back to his dorm. Dinner was whatever he could eat with one hand because he was already booting up the switch with the other. Jake, his roommate, asked him once if he was okay, and Heeseung said he was fine, just really into this new game. Which was technically true, even if it didn't come close to explaining what was actually happening.
The third date was at an arcade. Not a real arcade, obviously, but the game's version of one. You showed up wearing this oversized hoodie and jeans and you looked so genuinely excited to be there that Heeseung forgot for a solid minute that none of this was real. The mission was simple: win you a prize from the claw machine. Except the claw machine was rigged in that way that all claw machines are rigged, and it took Heeseung fifteen tries before he finally got the stuffed cat you'd been eyeing. When he handed it to you, you hugged it to your chest and smiled at him like he'd just won you something actually valuable, and the notification that popped up said his charm stat had increased by ten points. He was starting to understand how the game worked now; every interaction mattered and every choice added up.
On the fourth date, you took him to a bookstore, and the mission was to pick out a book for each other. You spent almost an hour wandering through the aisles, pulling out books and reading the backs and showing him things you thought he'd like. You picked him this SciFi novel about time loops and said it reminded you of him because he seemed like someone who'd want to figure out how to break the system. He didn't know how to tell you that he was currently living in something that felt suspiciously like a time loop, so he just took the book and thanked you. He picked you a fantasy novel with a really detailed magic system. When you read the description your whole face lit up and you immediately added it to your reading list. His intelligence stat increased and so did the romantic interest meter, which was now sitting at somewhere close to seventy percent.
Date five was a cooking challenge in your apartment, which Heeseung didn't even know you had until he loaded into the game and found himself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came out of an interior design magazine. You were already there, tying your hair back, explaining that you'd challenged him to see who could make the better pasta. Heeseung had never cooked pasta in his life that didn't come from a box with instructions, but he wasn't about to admit that. The mission objective said to impress you with his cooking skills, which seemed optimistic given his actual skill level, but he tried anyway. He burned the garlic immediately. You laughed at him but not in a mean way, more like you thought it was endearing that he was trying. You ended up helping him, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume, guiding his hands when he didn't know how much salt to add. Your pasta turned out better than his but you ate his anyway and said it wasn't that bad, and his cooking stat went from zero to fifteen which felt generous but he wasn't complaining.
By date seven Heeseung's character stats had changed completely. His confidence was maxed out now, sitting at ninety five out of a hundred. his charm was at eighty. Even his emotional intelligence had somehow climbed to sixty despite him never actively trying to level it up. The game was keeping track of everything, he realized. Every time he listened to you talk about something you cared about, every time he remembered a small detail you'd mentioned, every time he made you laugh, the numbers went up. He was being rewarded for paying attention, for caring.
Date seven was a hiking trail that wound up a mountain to a viewpoint. The mission was just to reach the top together, which sounded simple except the trail was longer than expected. Heeseung offered to take a break but you said you wanted to keep going, you wanted to see the view. So you kept climbing and Heeseung found himself naturally slowing his pace to match yours, offering his hand on the steeper parts, pointing out interesting rocks or plants just to give you reasons to stop and catch his breath, because the game kept showing pop ups of him showing that his hydration meter was almost on 10%. When you finally reached the top the sun was setting and the view was objectively incredible, the kind of thing that didn't exist in real life because real life didn't have rendering engines that could make every cloud perfect. You sat down on the bench at the summit and Heeseung sat next to you and you leaned your head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"This is nice," you said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too," Heeseung said, and he meant it so completely it scared him.
"You know, when we first met, I wasn't sure if this would work out. I didn't like the idea of a blind date." You were looking out at the view, not at him. "But I think I was wrong. I think we make sense together."
The romantic interest meter hit ninety percent and a new notification appeared: relationship milestone approaching. prepare for confession sequence. Heeseung's stomach dropped. Confession sequence. That meant the game was building toward something, toward an ending. toward him having to either commit or walk away. He'd known this was coming, obviously, this was a dating sim, the whole point was to get to the confession. But now that it was actually happening he wasn't ready. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to keep going on dates and learning things about you and making you laugh and existing in this space where things made sense.
"Hey," you said, turning to look at him. "You okay? You got quiet."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
About how you're not real, he didn't say. About how I'm going to have to leave eventually and you'll just be code again. About how I'm way too invested in something that was only supposed to be a game. "About how nice this is," he said instead.
You smiled and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Yeah. It really is." You sat there until the sun finished setting and the stars came out, which happened too fast because game time didn't move like real time. When the world started to blur at the edges and Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation, you squeezed his hand once before letting go. "See you next time," you said, and your voice was already fading.
Heeseung woke up at his desk again, neck sore, hands cramped around the controller. His phone showed it was three in the morning. He had class in five hours. He should sleep. He should eat something. He should probably shower because he wasn't sure he'd done that today. Instead he looked at the switch screen. progress saved. route progression: 90% complete. next date: confession sequence available.
The next day, Heeseung found Jungwon in the same spot as always, corner desk in the computer lab with three monitors running different programs simultaneously. Heeseung dropped into the chair next to him hard enough that Jungwon jumped. "What happens after the confession?" Heeseung asked without preamble.
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"In your game. What happens after the confession scene. I need to know."
"Oh, you're at that part already?" Jungwon's eyebrows went up. "Uh, I don't know if i should tell you though. Spoilers and all that."
"Jungwon."
"I'm serious! The whole point of a game is discovering it yourself. If I tell you what happens it ruins the experience." Jungwon was grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "You're supposed to go in blind and make your choices based on what feels right in the moment."
Heeseung resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "I just want to know what to expect. Is there a good ending? A bad ending? Multiple endings?"
"There are multiple endings, yeah. Depends on your choices throughout the game and your final stats." Jungwon tilted his head, studying him. "Why are you so stressed about this? It's just a game. If you get a bad ending you can just reload and try again."
"I don't want to reload," Heeseung said, and he could hear how intense he sounded but couldn't seem to stop. "I want to get it right the first time."
Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly set down his drink. "Okay, you need to be honest with me right now. How much have you been playing this game?"
"I don't know. A few hours a day."
"Heeseung."
"Okay, maybe more than a few hours."
"How many hours are we talking? Ballpark estimate."
Heeseung did the mental math and immediately regretted it. "I don't think that's relevant."
"Oh my god, you're obsessed." Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. "Dude, it's a dating sim. A fictional dating sim. With a fictional girl who doesn't exist. You know that, right? You know she's not real?"
"Obviously I know that," Heeseung said defensively, even though there were moments when he forgot, when you felt so real that it didn't matter what you were made of.
"Do you though? Because you look like you haven't slept in three days." Jungwon was trying to be lighthearted about it but there was genuine worry underneath. "I made the game to be immersive but this is kind of next level." Jungwon paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. Do you have the save file on your switch?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Can I see it? I want to check something." Jungwon was already pulling out a cable from his bag. "I've been trying to track some of the game metrics and I want to see how your playthrough data looks. Might help me optimize things for the final build." Heeseung hesitated for a second, then pulled out his switch and handed it over. Jungwon connected it to his laptop and started pulling up files, his eyes scanning lines of code that moved too fast for Heeseung to follow. "Okay so your save file shows you're at ninety percent completion, which tracks," Jungwon muttered, clicking through folders. "Romance points are maxed, most of your stats are really high except wisdom which is still somehow at like twenty, but that's on you for ignoring all the library study sessions —" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait."
"What?"
"Hang on." Jungwon leaned closer to his screen, scrolling through something. his expression shifted from curious to confused to something that looked almost worried. "This doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"These files. There are scripts here that I didn't write." Jungwon opened another window, comparing code side by side. "Like, entire dialogue trees that don't exist in my original build. And these asset files, I definitely didn't create these. The arcade date was supposed to be at a generic arcade but your file shows custom assets for specific machines."
Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Maybe you forgot you added them?"
"I don't forget code I write, Heeseung. That's not how this works." Jungwon was scrolling faster now, opening more files. "And look at this, the dating locations are generating based on your preferences. I programmed like five set locations but your save file has seven different ones and they're all places that align with interests you've demonstrated in gameplay." He clicked on something else. "Oh this is weird. Really weird."
"What?"
"The dialogue system. I built it to pull from a database of pre written responses with some randomization for variety, but this–-" Jungwon gestured at the screen. "This is learning. It's analyzing your responses and generating new dialogue options that don't exist in my database. It's writing its own conversations."
"Is that bad?"
"It's not bad, it's impossible. I didn't program that. I don't even know how to program that." Jungwon looked up at him, and for the first time since Heeseung had known him, he looked genuinely unsettled. "Your game is developing its own code."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the computer lab's ventilation system and the clicking of someone's mechanical keyboard a few desks over. "Is that dangerous?" Heseung asked.
"I don't know. Probably not? I mean, it's still just a game. It's not like it can affect anything outside of itself." Jungwon didn't sound entirely convinced though. "But it's definitely something I need to look into. This could be a massive bug or it could be the framework doing something really innovative that I didn't anticipate."
"But the game still works, right? Like, I can still finish it?"
Jungwon gave him a look. "You're really determined to finish this thing, aren't you?"
"I'm ninety percent through. I'm not stopping now."
"Even knowing that the game is apparently developing sentience or whatever?"
"It's not sentient, it's just adaptive," Heeseung said, trying to sound convincing.
Jungwon sighed and unplugged the switch, handing it back to him. "Okay, fine. But I'm keeping a copy of your save data so I can analyze this more. And maybe after you're done we can talk about what's actually happening here because this is either a huge breakthrough in game design or a really concerning glitch and I genuinely can't tell which." Heeseung nodded, pocketing the switch. "And Heeseung?" Jungwon's expression was serious now. "Be careful with the confession sequence. I know you want to get it right but just remember that at the end of the day it's still a program. It's responding to inputs and generating outputs. It's not actually feeling anything."
Heeseung nodded, but he was thinking about the way you'd looked at him during the sunset on the hiking date or about how your smile seemed genuinely happy when he won you the stuffed cat. "Right," he said. "Yeah, I know that." Jungwon didn't look convinced, and honestly, Heeseung wasn't either.
By the time he got back to his dorm that evening, he'd made a decision. He was going to finish the game. He was going to do the confession sequence. And he was going to be honest, say what he actually felt, because even if you were just code, the feelings were real, his feelings were real. That had to count for something. So he sat down at his desk, picked up his switch, and loaded the save file. the screen showed the usual menu: Continue, Load, Settings. He selected continue and the familiar loading screen appeared with its soft music and the progress bar that now read ninety percent. The world loaded and Heeseung found himself standing in front of a location marker that hadn't been there before. It was highlighted in gold and pulsing softly, and when he walked up to it, a notification appeared.
final date available: confession sequence. proceed?
Heeseung took a breath, his actual physical breath in his actual room, and then pressed yes. The world reformed around him and he was standing outside an apartment building he recognized as yours. The sun was setting, painting everything in warm golden light. His outfit had changed without him doing anything; he was wearing a button up shirt now, dark jeans, shoes that were nicer than anything he owned in real life. His hair felt different too, like someone had styled it properly instead of his usual routine of running his fingers through it and hoping for the best. And then a notification appeared:
quest: the perfect date. objective: confess your feelings. bonus objective: make it memorable.
current stats — confidence: 95. charm: 80. emotional intelligence: 60. romantic interest: 90%.
Heeseung looked at the apartment door and a dialogue option popped up floating in his vision.
> knock on the door > text her that you're here > wait for her to come down
He selected the first option because knocking felt more personal, more intentional. He walked up to the door and knocked three times, and there was this weird moment where he could feel his heart actually racing even though he was pretty sure his real body was just sitting in a chair holding a controller. The door opened and you were there, and Heeseung forgot how to think for a second. You were wearing a dress, which he'd never seen you in before. It wasn't overly fancy, just simple and nice and it suited you in a way that made his chest tight. Your hair was down and you'd clearly put in effort and you looked nervous in a way that made him want to tell you that you had nothing to be nervous about. "Hi," you said, and you were smiling but there was something uncertain in it.
dialogue options: > you look really pretty > ready to go? > sorry, am i early?
Heeseung picked the first one without hesitating. "You look really pretty," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected.
Your smile got more genuine, less nervous. "Yeah? I wasn't sure if this was too much. You didn't tell me where we were going."
"It's perfect," Heeseung said, even though he also didn't know where you were going.
romance +5. successful compliment.
You grabbed your bag and locked the door behind you, and when you turned back to him there was this moment where Heeseung almost offered his hand but wasn't sure if that was too much. The game solved the problem for him by providing another choice.
action options: > offer your arm > walk beside her casually > hold her hand
He selected the first one, old fashioned but confident, and held out his arm. You looked at it for a second and then smiled and took it, linking your arm through his, and suddenly you were walking together down the street like this was something you did all the time. "So where are we going?" You asked, looking up at him.
"This place I found," Heeseung said, even though he hadn't found anything because this was a game and the location was predetermined. "I thought you'd like it."
The restaurant, when you got there, was the kind of place Heeseung had only seen in movies. Small and intimate with soft lighting and candles on every table and windows that looked out over the city. There was a host at the front who smiled at them like he'd been expecting them, and he led them to a table by the window without Heeseung having to say anything. You sat down across from him and looked around, eyes wide. "Heeseung, this place is really nice. You didn't have to do all this."
dialogue options: > i wanted to > you deserve it > it's not that fancy
He picked the second one. "you deserve it," he said, and you looked at him with this expression he couldn't quite read but that made something warm settle in his chest. The waiter came by with menus and Heeseung noticed that all the food options had little stat indicators next to them. Ordering the pasta would give a +5 to sophistication. The steak was +8 to confidence. The wine selection had various charisma bonuses. It was surreal, sitting in what looked like a real restaurant while video game mechanics floated at the edge of his vision. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, and Heeseung realized he'd been quiet for too long.
dialogue options: > just trying to decide what to order > thinking about how nice this is > thinking about you
The third option felt too direct, too soon, so he went with the second. "Just thinking about how nice this is," he said. "Being here with you."
You smiled and looked down at your menu, and Heeseung could see the faint blush on your cheeks. "Yeah. It is nice." You both ordered food and fell into easy conversation. You told him about something funny that happened in your class and he told you about nearly falling asleep during a lecture that morning. The food came and it was actually good, or at least the game's version of good, and Heeseung found himself relaxing into the moment.
Halfway through dinner, you reached across the table and stole a bite of his food without asking. It was casual and comfortable and exactly the kind of thing you'd done on previous dates, but this time when you pulled back, Heeseung caught your hand before you could fully retreat.
action options: > hold her hand > let go after a moment > bring her hand to your lips (high risk)
His confidence stat was at ninety five. He picked the first option and just held your hand there on the table, his fingers laced through yours, and you looked surprised for a second before your expression softened into something that looked almost relieved. "Is this okay?" Heeseung asked quietly.
"Yeah," you said, and your voice was just as quiet. "This is okay."
You finished dinner like that, hands linked across the table, and Heeseung had never felt more present in a moment that he knew wasn't technically real. When the waiter brought the check, Heeseung paid without looking at it, because, well, that wasn't his real money. And you didn't protest, just squeezed his hand once and smiled. Outside the restaurant, the city had transformed into its night version. String lights hung between buildings and the streetlamps cast everything in a warm glow. There was soft music coming from somewhere, ambient and atmospheric. "Do you want to walk for a bit?" You asked. "I'm not really ready to go home yet."
dialogue options: > absolutely > whatever you want > i was hoping you'd say that
Heeseung picked the last one. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, and you laughed and pulled him down the street, still holding his hand.
You walked through the city without any real destination, just moving together, and Heeseung was hyperaware of every point of contact between you. Your hand in his, the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm, the way you'd lean into him slightly when you laughed at something he said. Eventually you led him to a park that Heeseung didn't remember seeing before. It was mostly empty at this time of night, just a few NPCs scattered around looking decorative. There was a fountain in the center and benches arranged around it, and you pulled him toward one of the benches and sat down, tugging him down next to you. You didn't let go of his hand. "Can I tell you something?" You asked, looking at the fountain instead of at him.
"Of course," Heeseung said.
You took a breath. "I really like spending time with you. Like, really like it. You make me feel like I can just be myself and that's enough, you know? I don't have to try to be cooler or funnier or different. I can just exist and you seem to like that."
Heeseung's throat felt tight. "I do like that," he managed. "I like you exactly how you are."
critical moment approaching. romance threshold: 95%.
You finally turned to look at him, and your expression was nervous and hopeful and vulnerable in a way that made Heeseung forget that you were supposed to be code. "The thing is," you continued, "I don't usually do this. I don't usually let people get close like this. But with you it felt easy from the start and now I'm just —" you stopped, searching for words. "I'm really happy you're here."
confession sequence initiated. select response: > i'm happy too > i feel the same way > i need to tell you something
Heeseung knew this was it. This was the moment the whole game had been building toward. All those dates, All those conversations, all those stat increases and romance points, everything had led to this choice. He could play it safe with the first two options or he could go all in with the third one. His confidence was maxed out. He'd earned this moment. So he picked the third option.
"I need to tell you something," Heeseung said, and his voice was steadier than he expected. "I didn't really know what to expect when we first met. I thought maybe it'd be awkward or forced or like every other time I've tried to get to know someone. But it wasn't like that at all." You were watching him carefully, not interrupting, and Heeseung kept going. "You're the first person in a really long time who makes me want to actually try, you know? Like, I want to be someone worth your time. I want to hear about your day and your opinions on League of Legends and game mechanics or how you wanted to live on a farm one day. I want to keep doing this, all of it, for as long as you'll let me." Romance stats were at 98% now. "What I'm trying to say is —" Heeseung paused, and the game provided one final choice, the last decision that would determine everything.
final confession: > i really like you > i think i'm falling for you > i'm in love with you
Heeseung looked at you, at the way you were watching him with your full attention, at the hope in your expression, at how real you felt in this moment. He picked the middle option, the one that was honest without being overwhelming. "I think I'm falling for you," he said quietly. "Actually, I don't think. I know. I'm falling for you and I don't really know how to stop and I don't think I want to."
The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the ambient sounds of the park faded into nothing. You were staring at him with wide eyes and Heeseung's heart was racing and for one terrible second he thought he'd picked wrong, said too much, ruined everything.
Then you smiled, the kind of smile that started small and grew until it took over your whole face, and you said, "oh thank god."
"What?"
"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for like days now." You were laughing, almost giddy with relief. "I kept overthinking it and planning the perfect moment and the perfect words and then you just — you just said it and it was perfect anyway."
"So," Heeseung said, because he needed to be absolutely sure. "Does that mean —" You didn't let him finish. You just leaned in and kissed him.
For a second, Heeseung's brain completely short circuited. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. He'd expected more dialogue options, maybe a choice prompt, some kind of warning that this moment was coming. But there was nothing, just the sudden warmth of your lips against his and the way his entire nervous system seemed to light up all at once. It wasn't dramatic or earth shattering or any of the things movies made kissing out to be. It was soft and brief and a little tentative, like you weren't entirely sure if you were doing it right. Your lips were warm and you tasted faintly like the wine from dinner and Heeseung could feel your hand trembling slightly where it was still holding his. He barely had time to process any of it, to kiss you back properly, before you pulled away, looking nervous again.
"Was that okay?" You asked, and your voice was quieter than before, uncertain. "I should have asked first probably but you were taking too long to —"
Heeseung cut you off by kissing you again, properly this time. He brought one hand up to cup your face and he could feel how warm your skin was under his palm, could feel the slight texture of it like actual skin and not polygons. His other hand stayed linked with yours and he squeezed gently, anchoring himself to you, to this moment that felt too real to be made of code. This kiss was different from the first one. Longer, more certain, like now that he knew what he was doing he could actually do it right. You made this small sound against his mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and Heeseung felt it all the way down to his toes. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss and you responded immediately, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
This has too much detail, Heeseung thought distantly. Games didn't work like this. He shouldn't be able to feel the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth. Shouldn't be able to notice how you leaned into him, closing whatever small distance had been between you. Shouldn't be able to smell your perfume or feel the way your hair brushed against his hand when you tilted your head.
romance: 100%. relationship established | achievement unlocked: first kiss | achievement unlocked: good ending route - mutual confession.
You pulled back just enough to breathe, and Heeseung followed without thinking, not ready to stop yet. You laughed softly against his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, and kissed him again. This time it was you who took control, you who pressed closer, and Heeseung let you, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He could feel your heartbeat and that's what finally made his brain catch up to what was happening. His thumb was resting against your pulse point and he could feel it racing, quick and real and impossible. Games didn't simulate heartbeats. Games didn't need that level of detail. But he could feel it anyway, the proof that maybe you were here, that this was happening, even if it shouldn't be possible.
"Okay," you said quietly, and you were smiling. He could hear it in your voice even before he saw it.
Heeseung laughed, the sound coming out rougher than he intended. "That was better than okay."
You opened your eyes and looked at him, and Heeseung's breath caught because the detail was impossible. He could see the exact color of your eyes, could see the way they reflected the light from the streetlamps, could see the slight dilation of your pupils. This wasn't game graphics. This was too real. This was beyond anything Jungwon could have programmed. "You're staring," you said, but you didn't sound upset about it. If anything you sounded pleased, a little shy.
"Sorry," Heeseung said, but he didn't look away. "I'm just — you're really pretty."
You bit your lip, trying not to smile too wide, and Heeseung watched the movement with more attention than was probably appropriate. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wanted to understand how any of this was possible. "Can I ask you something?" Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper because speaking any louder felt like it would shatter whatever spell they were under.
"Anything," you said, and your hand was still pressed against his chest and Heeseung wondered if you could feel his heartbeat too, if the game had coded that detail as well.
"Does this feel real to you?"
You tilted your head slightly, considering the question. "What do you mean?"
"This. Us. Right now." Heeseung knew he wasn't making sense but he needed to know, needed to understand if you felt it too, this strange impossible realness of everything. "Does it feel real?"
You were quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful, and then you squeezed his hand. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt," you said simply. "Why? Does it not feel real to you?"
"No, it does. That's the problem." Heeseung couldn't explain what he meant without revealing that you were in a game, that this was all supposed to be simulation, that none of this should feel the way it did. "It feels too real."
"I don't think something can feel too real," you said, and you leaned in and pecked his lips, soft and quick. "Either it's real or it's not. And this is real." Heeseung wanted to argue, wanted to explain all the reasons why this couldn't be real, why you couldn't be real. Maybe it didn't matter. maybe real was just whatever felt like this. "Kiss me again," you said against his mouth, and it wasn't really a question. So Heeseung did. He kissed you until he forgot where he ended and you began, until the only thing that existed was this: You and him and this impossible moment that felt more real than anything in his actual life ever had.
Eventually though, the world started to glitch again. The colors began bleeding together and the sounds got distant and muffled. Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation and knew his time was up. "Hey," he said urgently, taking both your hands. "I—"
"It's okay," you said, and you were smiling even though your eyes looked sad. "I know you have to go."
"I don't want to."
"I know. But you'll come back, right?"
save data complete. route finished: good ending achieved. new game+ unlocked. additional content available.
"Yeah," Heeseung promised. "I'll come back."
You kissed him one more time, quick and desperate, and then the world dissolved completely and Heeseung was falling backward through light and color and static. He woke up gasping in his desk chair, controller clutched in his hands so tight his fingers had gone numb. The switch screen was showing the ending credits, rolling slowly with soft music playing. His face felt wet and he realized with some embarrassment that he was crying.
congratulations! you've completed the good ending route.
relationship status: official couple.
total play time: 51 hours, 23 minutes.
would you like to start new game+ with additional couple content?
yes / no
Heeseung stared at the options, his hands still shaking, his heart still racing. He thought about you, about your smile and your laugh and the way you'd kissed him. He thought about how none of it was real but all of it felt real, which was somehow worse. But there was more content. The game was offering him more time with you. More dates, more conversations, more moments. How could he say no to that?
His thumb hovered over the yes option for only a second before he pressed it. The screen went black. Heeseung waited. The switch made its usual loading sound, the soft hum that meant something was processing. He stared at the blank screen and waited for the menu to load, for the game to boot up, for something to happen. But nothing happened, the screen stayed completely black. No loading bar, no menu, no error message. Just his own reflection staring back at him in the screen's surface. He looked terrible, he realized distantly. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair was a mess and he looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was probably accurate.
"Come on," Heeseung muttered, pressing the home button. The switch menu popped up normally, showing all his other games, his profile, the usual interface. He clicked back into Girlfriend Simulator and the screen went black again. he waited another thirty seconds, nothing. He restarted the entire console. When it booted back up and he launched the game, the screen flickered once, twice, and then showed the title screen. Heeseung felt relief flood through him, almost dizzy with it. He clicked continue. The screen loaded for a moment, and then: game over. thank you for playing.
Credits started rolling. The same soft music from before, the same slow scroll of names and acknowledgments. Heeseung watched them pass in disbelief, his stomach sinking further with each line. When the credits finished, it kicked him back to the title screen. He clicked continue again. Same thing: game over, credits, title screen. "What the hell," Heeseung said out loud. He tried load game instead, pulling up his save files. They were all there, all his progress, all forty seven hours of gameplay. He selected the most recent one, the completed route with the good ending marker.
this save file has been completed | start new game+ to continue.
He clicked yes. Black screen. Then after a long pause: error: unable to load content.
"No no no no," Heeseung heard himself saying, clicking frantically now, trying every option, every menu, every possible path to get back into the game. Nothing worked. He checked the time on his phone. 3:29 am. He'd been playing for hours and now he'd been trying to reload for almost thirty minutes. His rational brain knew he should sleep, should deal with this tomorrow when he was thinking clearly, but his rational brain had apparently left the building several dates ago.
He pulled up his recent calls and hit jungwon's name before he could think better of it. it rang once, twice, three times. Then voicemail, Jungwon's voice cheerful and pre recorded telling him to leave a message. Of course Jungwon wasn't answering, it was almost four in the morning. Normal people were asleep at four in the morning. Normal people weren't having breakdowns over video games at four in the morning. Heeseung put his head in his hands and tried to remember the last time he'd felt this hollow about something ending. A relationship, maybe, though his dating history was sparse enough that he couldn't think of a good comparison. This felt worse somehow. The rational part of his brain that hadn't completely shut down was telling him this was ridiculous. Well, it could happen, people got attached to fictional characters all the time. The solution was obvious: take a break, get some perspective, maybe go outside and remember what actual human interaction felt like.
But the rest of him, the larger and louder part, was stuck on the way you'd looked at him on that park bench. The way you'd smiled when he gave you the flower. The way you'd kissed him like you'd been wanting to for a while and were just waiting for permission. The way you'd felt real, impossibly real, more real than most of the interactions he had in his day to day life. "It's not real," Heeseung said out loud to his dark room, his voice rough. "She's not real. It's just code. Just really good code that learned too well."
But his chest ached anyway. And somewhere around six am, Heeseung finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, his switch still sitting on his desk with the title screen frozen on the display. When his alarm went off three hours later for his morning class, Heeseung woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to sleep. His eyes were gritty and his head hurt and his chest still had that hollow ache that he couldn't explain away as anything other than what it was.
Heeseung found Jungwon in the computer lab during lunch, exactly where he always was. "Hey," Heeseung said, dropping into the chair next to him. He pulled his switch out of his bag and set it on the desk between them. "The game broke."
"What do you mean broke?" Jungwon glanced at the switch, then at Heeseung, then did a double take. "Dude, you look terrible."
He decided to ignore that. "I mean I finished it. Got to the end, got the good ending, and then it asked if i wanted to start new game plus." Heeseung picked up the switch and demonstrated, clicking through the menus. "I said yes and then it just stopped working. Look, it keeps giving me this error or just showing the game over screen. I can load old saves but I can't progress forward."
Jungwon took the switch, frowning at the screen. He clicked through a few menus, tried the same things Heeseung had tried, and his frown deepened. "That's weird. The new game plus feature should be fully implemented. I tested it before I gave you the build."
"Well it's not working now."
"Yeah, I can see that." Jungwon was scrolling through something, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "This is really strange. It's like the save file is corrupted but also not corrupted? Like it knows you finished the route but it can't load the post game content."
"Can you fix it?" Heeseung asked, and he hated how desperate he sounded but couldn't seem to help it.
Jungwon looked at him for a long moment. "I can try. I'll need to take this and run some diagnostics, see what's actually happening in the backend. But Heeseung, I need you to manage your expectations here."
"What does that mean?"
"It means this is a test build. That's literally why I asked you to play it, to find bugs like this. If something went seriously wrong with the code, if the file corruption is bad enough, I might have to rebuild the entire post game sequence from scratch. That's going to take time."
"How much time?" Heeseung asked, and his voice came out smaller than he intended.
"I don't know. Could be that I have to scrap this version entirely and start over with a clean build." Jungwon was being gentle about it but firm, like he needed Heeseung to understand the reality of the situation. "This is what testing is for dude, finding the breaking points before release."
Heeseung felt something sink in his chest. Weeks. Or maybe never, if Jungwon had to start over. "Okay," he said, because what else could he say. "Okay, just let me know what you find."
"Yeah." Jungwon pocketed the switch cartridge and gave Heeseung another concerned look. "Seriously though, are you okay? You're acting really weird about this."
"I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just frustrated. I was really into it and now I can't finish it."
"It's just a game though."
"I know that."
Jungwon didn't look convinced but he didn't push it either. "Okay. Well, go get some sleep or something. You look like you're about to pass out."
Heeseung nodded and left the lab, feeling hollow in a way that didn't make sense. It was just a game. Jungwon was right. He'd gotten too invested and now he needed to take a step back and remember that normal people didn't have emotional breakdowns over dating simulators. He went to his afternoon lecture and sat in the back and didn't retain a single word the professor said. He took notes anyway, his hand moving automatically across the page while his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about you waiting in that park, kept wondering if you were still there or if you'd disappeared when the save file corrupted. Kept wondering if code could feel abandoned.
After class he went back to his dorm and tried to do homework. He opened his algorithms textbook and stared at the same problem for twenty minutes without making any progress. Jake came in around six, dumping his bag on the couch and immediately noticing something was off. "You good?" Jake asked, pulling off his jacket.
"Yeah, fine. Just tired."
"You've been saying that all week." Jake sat down at his own desk and spun his chair to face Heeseung. "You've been acting weirder than usual. What's going on?"
Heeseung considered lying but he was too exhausted to come up with anything convincing. "I was playing this game Jungwon made, got really into it and now it's broken and I can't play it anymore and I'm being weird about it."
"Oh." Jake processed this. "Was it one of those games with like, romance options and stuff?"
"Yeah."
Jake nodded slowly, like this explained everything. "Okay, those games are designed to get you attached, man, it's not your fault." He paused. "By the way, there's a party this weekend. Jay's throwing it at his place. You should come."
"I don't know," Heeseung said.
"Come on, it'll be good for you. Get out of your head for a bit. When was the last time you went to a party?"
Heeseung tried to remember and couldn't. "I don't know. Freshman year maybe?"
"Exactly. You need to socialize with actual human beings. No offense but you've been kind of hermiting lately." Jake was already pulling out his phone. "I'm telling Jay you're coming. It's saturday at eight."
"I don't —"
"Nope, you're coming. I'm not letting you sit here and mope about a video game all weekend. That's sad, even for you."
"What does that even—," Heeseung wanted to argue but he was too tired and Jake had a point. Sitting in his room thinking about you wasn't going to fix anything. Maybe going to a party would help. "Okay, yeah, fine," Heeseung said. "I'll go."
"Good. It's going to be fun." Jake turned back to his desk, already texting. "And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone."
Heeseung doubted that but didn't say it out loud. And saturday came faster than Heeseung expected, which was probably for the best because it meant less time to think about backing out. Jake had been monitoring him all day like he was afraid Heeseung would make a run for it, which was fair because Heeseung had definitely considered it at least three times.
By the time eight rolled around, Jake had already gone through Heeseung's entire closet and vetoed most of it. "You can't wear that, it has a stain. That one's too wrinkled. That shirt makes you look like someone's dad." Eventually they settled on black jeans and a dark blue button up that Heeseung had forgotten he owned, probably because he'd bought it for some family thing two years ago and never wore it again. "There," Jake said, looking satisfied. "You look like an actual person now instead of a sleep deprived computer science major."
"I am a sleep deprived computer science major."
"Yeah but you don't have to advertise it." Jake was already heading for the door.
The party was at some place off campus that apparently belonged to Jay's older brother, which explained why it was bigger and nicer than most student housing. The music was loud enough that Heeseung could feel it in his chest before they even got through the door. Jake immediately got pulled into a conversation with some people from his econ class, and Heeseung grabbed a drink from the kitchen just to have something to do with his hands. He wandered through for a while, recognizing some faces from classes but not really knowing anyone well enough to join their conversations. this was why he didn't go to parties. He always ended up standing awkwardly in corners wondering when it would be acceptable to leave.
"Heeseung!" Someone called, and he turned to see Beomgyu waving at him from the balcony. "Dude, I didn't know you went to parties. Come here." Heeseung made his way through the crowd to the balcony where Beomgyu was standing with Soobin and Riki, and the air was clearer out here, easier to breathe. Beomgyu was holding what was very obviously a joint. "Want some?" Beomgyu offered, holding it out. "It's good stuff."
Heeseung normally would have said no because he had assignments due and didn't really like losing control of his thoughts, but tonight his thoughts were the problem so maybe losing control of them for a bit wasn't the worst idea. "Yeah, okay."
He took it and inhaled, immediately coughed. It felt someone had turned down the volume on all his anxious thoughts. He passed it back to Beomgyu and leaned against the railing. They stood out there for a while, passing the joint around, and Heeseung felt himself relax in a way he hadn't in days. Eventually they went back inside and the party had gotten more crowded. Heeseung got another drink and let himself get pulled into a conversation about the upcoming finals with some people he vaguely recognized from his algorithms class. The weed was making everything feel softer and more manageable, like he could actually handle being around this many people without wanting to escape.
Jake found him around eleven and looked genuinely shocked. "You're still here. And you're smiling. Did someone drug you?"
"I drugged myself, actually. Beomgyu had weed."
"Good for you. See, I knew this would be good for you." Jake clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get another drink. You good?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
And the weird thing was that Heeseung actually meant it. He was good. He was at a party and he wasn't hating it and he hadn't thought about the game in at least an hour. Maybe this was what moving on felt like, just slowly forgetting to think about the thing that had been consuming you.
He made his way toward where people were dancing, not to join them but just to watch, and that's when he saw you. Or someone who looked exactly like you.
You were in the middle of the crowd, dancing with a group of friends, and Heeseung's brain stopped. Same hair, same face, same smile he'd memorized over dozens of hours of gameplay. You were wearing a black dress and your hair was down and you were laughing at something one of her friends said, and Heeseung felt like he'd been punched in the chest. It couldn't be you. It just couldn't be. You weren't real. You were code, pixels, a character in a dating simulator that didn't even work anymore. But she looked exactly like you, moved like you, had the same mannerisms he'd come to recognize, and Heeseung couldn't look away.
He stood there frozen, drink forgotten in his hand, just staring. The weed was definitely not helping because it made everything feel surreal and dreamlike, like maybe he'd fallen asleep at the party and this was just his brain torturing him with what he couldn't have. You spun around to the music and laughed and Heeseung's heart was doing something painful in his chest.
And then, as if you could feel him watching, you turned and looked directly at him. Your eyes met across the crowd and the world seemed to stop. Your expression shifted from happy to confused to something Heeseung couldn't identify, like recognition but also shock, like you'd seen a ghost. A pretty one, actually. You stared at him with the same intensity he was staring at you, both of you frozen while people danced and laughed around them, completely oblivious to whatever moment was happening. And Heeseung's mind was racing. You seemed to recognize him, but that was impossible because you'd never met, because you were a stranger, because the person you looked like didn't exist outside of a video game.
Your friends said something to you and you blinked, breaking eye contact. You looked at them, said something Heeseung couldn't hear over the music, and then looked back at him one more time. That same confused, almost dazed expression. Then you turned back to your friends and kept dancing, but your movements were more mechanical now, less loose, like you were going through the motions while your mind was somewhere else. Heeseung just stood there, rooted to the spot, his drink sweating in his hand. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he couldn't tell if it was the weed or the shock or both. Probably both. He was high at a party and he'd just seen someone who looked like a video game character and convinced himself it meant something. He was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Or the weed was laced with something. Or he'd finally actually lost his mind.
He turned and pushed through the crowd, Making his way to the bathroom. He needed to splash water on his face, Needed to get his head straight, needed to stop seeing you everywhere just because he missed the game. Heeseung practically fell inside and locked the door behind him. He turned on the faucet and let the water run cold, then splashed it on his face once, twice, three times. The shock of it helped, made everything feel more real and less dreamlike.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were definitely red from the weed and he looked slightly unhinged, hair messed up from running his hands through it too many times. "You're fine," he told his reflection. "You're high and you're seeing things and you're fine. She just looks like her. Lots of people probably look like her. Jungwon probably based the character on some generic attractive person template. It doesn't mean anything."
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a questionable towel that was hanging on the rack, and tried to pull himself together. He couldn't hide in the bathroom all night. He needed to go back out there, find Jake, maybe go home and sleep this off. Maybe in the morning this would all make sense or at least feel less overwhelming.
He opened the door and nearly ran directly into you. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said quickly, stepping back.
Heeseung froze. Up close you were even more exactly like the character from the game, every detail perfect, from the shape of your eyes to the way you were nervously adjusting the strap of your dress. You looked at him for a second, that same confused recognition flickering across your face, and then you moved to step past him.
"Wait," Heeseung said, turning before he could stop himself. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "I'm sorry, do we know each other from somewhere?"
You stopped and turned back, tilting your head slightly as you studied his face. "No, I don't think so. I think I'd remember if we'd met before." You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly like you'd just heard what you said. "I mean, not that I'm saying you have a particularly memorable face or anything. Wait, that sounds bad. I'm not saying you're forgettable either, you're just— " you stopped yourself and took a breath. "Sorry, I'm making this weird. I don't think we've met but you do seem familiar somehow."
Heeseung just stared at you, his brain trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him, real and solid and rambling nervously in the exact same way the game character had. The same mannerisms, the same voice, the same way of talking yourself into circles when you were flustered. It was you. It was actually you. "Are you okay?" You asked, looking concerned now.
"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine." Heeseung tried to pull himself together. "You just really remind me of someone."
"Good someone or bad someone?"
"Good someone. Definitely good someone."
You smiled at that, a small genuine smile that made Heeseung's chest ache because he'd seen that exact smile dozens of times through a screen. "Well that's good at least. I'm Y/N, by the way."
"Heeseung."
"Nice to meet you, Heeseung." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, and Heeseung noticed your phone in your hand. The case had a photocard of a character that he recognized immediately — Janna from League of Legends, in her star guardian skin.
"You play league?" He asked before he could think better of it.
Your face lit up. "Yeah! How'd you know?"
"Your phone case."
"Oh my god, yes." You turned your phone to show him properly, looking pleased that he'd recognized it. "I'm a Janna main and I'm not ashamed of it." Heeseung felt something cold run down his spine. Those words. he'd heard those exact words before. "I know, I know," you continued, in the same tone, the same cadence. "Support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."
Heeseung couldn't breathe. Word for word. You'd just said exactly what you'd said in the game, with the same inflection, the same defensive pride. This wasn't a coincidence. This couldn't be a coincidence. "What rank are you?" He managed to ask, his voice coming out rougher than intended.
"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and gave up on the grind." You were fully animated now, talking with your hands. "What about you, do you play?"
"Yeah. Diamond 3."
"Oh so you're actually good." You looked impressed. "We should play together sometime."
The world tilted. Heeseung was pretty sure he was having some kind of break from reality because this conversation had already happened. He'd already lived through this exact exchange in the game, and now it was happening again in real life with a real person standing in front of him saying the same things.
"Heeseung!" Someone called out, and Heeseung turned to see Jungwon pushing through the hallway crowd, looking genuinely shocked. "Holy shit, you actually came to a party. I didn't think I'd see this day." Jungwon reached them and then seemed to notice you for the first time. His expression shifted from surprised to confused. "Wait, you two know each other?"
"You know each other?" Heeseung and you said at the exact same time, then looked at each other in surprise.
Jungwon looked between the two of you, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, Y/N's in my game design class." He turned to you. "And Heeseung's my best friend, we're in the same program."
"Wait, so you're that Heeseung!" You looked at him. "He talks about you all the time, by the way. I know your entire sleep schedule at this point."
"That's concerning," Heeseung said.
"Very concerning," you agreed. "So what brings you to the party?" You asked Heeseung. "Jungwon made it sound like you're basically a hermit who only emerges for classes and food."
"My roommate forced me to come. Said I needed to socialize."
"Same, actually. My best friend is around here somewhere." You glanced back toward the party. "She has this theory that I spend too much time gaming and not enough time experiencing real life."
"Gaming is real life," Heeseung said.
"Exactly! That's what I told her." You seemed genuinely pleased that he understood. "But she's on this whole thing about how I need to make more friends and go out more and whatever. So here I am, at a party, making friends." You gestured between yourself and Heeseung. "Look at me, being social."
"Thanks, I'm trying." You checked your phone quickly. "Speaking of my roommate, she's texting me asking where I went. I should probably get back." You looked at Heeseung. "But seriously, add me on league. I meant what I said about playing together."
"Yeah, I will," Heeseung said, and he meant it even though his brain was still trying to process the fact that you were real and standing in front of him.
"Cool. See you guys around." You smiled at both of them and headed back toward the party, weaving through the people in the hallway.
The moment you were out of sight, Heeseung grabbed Jungwon's arm and pulled him toward the front door, outside where it was quieter and they could actually talk without shouting over music. "Dude, what the hell," Heeseung said the moment they were on the sidewalk. "You used her to make the character in the game?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "What? No. What are you talking about?"
"The character in girlfriend simulator. She's exactly like Y/N. Exactly like her, Jungwon. Same face, same personality, same everything."
Jungwon's confusion seemed genuine. "Heeseung, the character customization is completely random for each player. I'm still working on implementing a proper character creator but I ran out of time, so right now it just generates a random appearance based on some base parameters. I didn't use anyone specific as a model."
"That's impossible. She looks exactly like her."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah! I spent fifty one hours with that character. I know what she looks like." Heeseung could hear how unhinged he sounded but he couldn't stop. "And it's not just appearance. The way she talks, the things she said— it's all the same, like, word for word."
Jungwon was quiet for a moment, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "Okay, I think you need to calm down for a second. I think maybe you played the game too much and now you're seeing patterns that aren't there. Like, you spent all week interacting with this character and now you meet someone who has some similar traits and your brain is making connections."
"Jungwon, I'm not making it up."
"I'm not saying you're making it up, I'm saying your brain might be filling in similarities that aren't actually there." Jungwon pulled out his phone. "Look, I don't even really know Y/N that well. We work on projects together but we don't like, hang out or have deep conversations. I definitely didn't use her as a base for anything."
Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Then how do you explain the game knowing things about her? The league stuff, the personality, all of it?"
"The game generates dialogue based on common interests and gaming culture. Lots of people play league. lots of people main support. It's not that weird that there'd be overlap." Jungwon looked genuinely worried now. "Heeseung, I think the game messed with your head more than I thought it would. Maybe we should scrap it entirely."
"No," Heeseung said quickly. "No, I just — I need to understand what happened."
Jungwon sighed. "Look, I actually gave the game to Y/N to test too. A while back, before I gave it to you."
Heeseung's head snapped up. "You what?"
"There's an option in the loading screen. You can choose to play as the protagonist or as the girlfriend. I thought it would be cool to have both perspectives, make it more replayable." Jungwon was scrolling through his phone now. "You didn't see that option?"
"No. There was just a loading screen and then it started."
"Weird. It should have given you a choice." Jungwon pulled up what looked like a message thread. "Anyway, I gave Y/N a beta version to test like a month ago. But she gave it back to me after one day. Said it was too realistic and kind of freaked her out."
"What do you mean too realistic?"
"She said the immersion was too intense. She said it made her uncomfortable how real the boyfriend character seemed." Jungwon looked up from his phone. "Which, now that I think about it, is basically the same thing you've been saying about the girlfriend character."
Heeseung's mind was racing. "So she played it. She played the game from the other perspective."
"Yeah, but just for a few hours. She didn't finish it or anything." Jungwon pocketed his phone. "Why does that matter?"
"I don't know. It just — " Heeseung stopped, trying to organize his thoughts.
Jungwon was watching him carefully. "You look kind of freaked out right now."
Heeseung leaned against the wall of the building, suddenly exhausted. "I just spent a week falling for someone who I thought was just code. And now I find out she looks like a real person and I've been talking to her for the past fifteen minutes like a normal person and I don't know what to do with that information."
"Well, she gave you her discord. You could message her. Play some League together. Get to know the real her instead of the game version." Jungwon paused. "Unless that's too weird for you."
So when Heeseung was ready to leave the party, Jake and Jungwon looked almost disappointed but didn’t argue. They made their way through the crowd toward the front door, and that’s when Heeseung saw you again. You were standing on the sidewalk with two other girls, you were bent over laughing, that genuine kind of laugh where you forget to be self conscious about it.
Heeseung slowed down without meaning to, and Jake nearly walked into him. But then you looked up, like you could sense someone watching. your eyes met Heeseung’s across the sidewalk and you smiled, a smile that felt almost conspiratorial. Like you two were in on a joke that nobody else knew about. Which was insane because you’d met like half an hour ago and had one conversation in a hallway. One of your friends said something and you broke eye contact, still smiling, and climbed into the back seat of the car. Through the window Heeseung could see you saying something that made your friends crack up again. The car pulled away and you didn’t look back, but Heeseung kept staring at the taillights until they disappeared around the corner.
“Okay, what was that?” Jake asked.
“What was what?”
“That whole…” Jake gestured vaguely. “Moment. You guys were having a moment.”
“We weren’t having a moment.”
“You were definitely having a moment. Who was that?”
“Just someone I met. Friend of Jungwon’s.” Heeseung started walking toward their dorm and Jake followed, still looking suspicious.
“You met someone and had a moment with them? At a party? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious, this is unprecedented behavior from you. You don’t do moments with strangers.” Heeseung didn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t felt like meeting a stranger. It had felt like running into someone he already knew, someone he’d been thinking about for days. Which was objectively insane but that didn’t make it any less true.
When they got back to the dorm, Jake immediately went to take a shower, still talking about the party through the bathroom door. Heeseung sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up discord before he could talk himself out of it. He typed your name into the search bar. There were like fifteen results but he scrolled through until he found one account that matched your username, with a profile picture that matched; a cute drawing of what looked like a cat in a witch hat. He clicked on your profile and immediately started going through your connected accounts and activity like some kind of creep, but whatever, that’s what public profiles were for, right?
Steam account: 847 hours in League of Legends, which was honestly rookie numbers compared to his own. Recently played Roblox, which he wasn’t going to judge because he had his own embarrassing game collection. He’d been growing a garden in Grow a Garden for like six months now and his sunflowers were thriving, thank you very much. Stardew Valley with 234 hours, which was extremely respectable and also adorable. Unpacking with a lot of hours, which he’d never played but had heard good things about. And The Sims 4 with an amount of hours that suggested you had a serious problem with simulation games. Which, to be honest, he kind of had it now too.
Your Spotify was connected too and he could see you’d been listening to a lot of bedroom pop and indie stuff. Your about me section just said “life ain't cookies n cream lil fella,” which made Heeseung chuckle. You had a sense of humor, which is something he kind of already knew, even though he only knew the game version of you.
Heeseung realized he’d been sitting there scrolling through your profile for like ten minutes and definitely needed to actually send the friend request before this got any weirder. He clicked add friend and then immediately closed his laptop like it might explode. He tried to do other things. He checked his phone. He looked at his algorithms homework and immediately closed that because absolutely not. He reorganized the pens on his desk. He considered making ramen but wasn’t actually hungry. Until his laptop pinged. Heeseung lunged for it so fast he almost his water bottle off the desk. He opened discord and there it was: you accepted his friend request. His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. It was just a discord notification, normal people didn’t have heart palpitations over discord notifications. But Heeseung wasn't normal anymore.
But before he could stop himself, before his brain could catch up with what his hands were doing, he opened the dm and typed hey and then, because apparently he was determined to embarrass himself, he sent the little waving robot sticker that discord suggested unintentionally. He stared at what he’d just done in absolute horror. The waving robot. He’d sent you the waving robot sticker. “Oh my god,” Heeseung said out loud to his empty room. His fingers were already flying across the keyboard.
heeseung: sorry lol
heeseung: idk why i sent that
heeseung: the robot i mean
heeseung: anyway hi
He watched the three dots appear that meant you were typing. they disappeared. appeared again. Disappeared. Heeseung was going to have a heart attack.
you: no the robot was cute
you: very welcoming
you: really set the tone
Heeseung couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him or not.
heeseung: the tone being what exactly
heeseung: desperate?
you: i was gonna say endearing but sure we can go with desperate
Heeseung laughed out loud, an actual laugh that made Jake yell “You good?” from the bathroom. Heeseung didn't answer.
heeseung: cool cool cool love that for me
heeseung: starting strong
you: you’re doing great
you: so did you add me just to apologize for an emoji or was there something else
Heeseung stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could play it cool, say something casual about League or whatever. Or he could be honest, which was terrifying but also the weed was still kind of in his system making everything feel less scary than it probably should.
heeseung: honestly i just wanted to talk to you more
heeseung: the conversation in the hallway was cool
The thing was, Heeseung felt bold saying that. Actually bold. This was probably the most direct he’d been with someone (in real life) in years, and he half expected you to think it was weird or too forward or whatever. But you didn’t. You just said “aw that’s sweet, me too!” with a smiley face and kept talking, and Heeseung felt something in his chest unclench. And you talked for hours. About games mostly, because that was the safe territory, the common ground. You told him about how you had been completely consumed by Pokemon Legends ZA, playing it every free moment you had. He admitted he’d loved Arceus when it came out but hadn’t gotten around to ZA yet, and you immediately started telling him everything he was missing out on, your messages coming in quick bursts of enthusiasm about the new mechanics and the Kalos region and how you’d already put in like sixty hours.
You asked him what his favorite games of all time were and he gave you his top five, and you had opinions about all of them, good opinions, the kind that made him want to keep talking just to hear what you’d say next. Somewhere around 1am you sent: “btw you seem really cool hee. we should play something together sometime if you’re down” and Heeseung stared at that message for long enough. You’d called him hee. You’d given him a nickname. And you wanted to play games together. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he could feel his face getting warm, which was stupid because you couldn’t even see him, but his body didn’t seem to care about logic.
heeseung: yeah definitely
heeseung: i’d be really down for that
You sent back a heart emoji and said you had to sleep, and Heeseung said goodnight, and then he just sat there for a minute staring at the conversation like if he looked at it long enough he could figure out what was happening to him. He was down bad, really down bad. Which was insane because he’d been down bad before this even happened, down bad for a video game character that turned out to look exactly like you, and now he was down bad for the actual real you, and his brain couldn’t quite process the overlap. It felt like two separate situations that had merged into one extremely confusing situation that he didn’t know how to handle.
When he finally went to bed that night, he had that specific feeling you get when something really good has just happened and you’re lying in the dark replaying it in your head. That flutter in your stomach, that slight buzz of excitement, that sense that you’ve just met someone who’s probably going to matter. Someone who’s going to take up space in your life in a way you can’t predict yet but can already feel coming.
And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t spend the entire next week looking for you on campus. Not in a weird way. Or maybe in a weird way, but he was trying to make it not weird. He’d just happen to walk past the design building between classes. He’d just happen to take a longer route to the dining hall that went by the areas where Jungwon said you usually hung out. He’d just happen to check the game design lab when he was meeting Jungwon, looking around all casual like he wasn’t actively scanning for your face.
Monday: nothing. Tuesday: he saw someone with similar hair from behind and did a weird half jog to catch up only to realize it was absolutely not you and he’d just chased down a complete stranger for no reason. Wednesday: he sat in the campus coffee shop for two hours pretending to do homework but really just watching the door. Thursday: more nothing. By friday Heeseung was starting to think maybe you were a figment of his imagination, maybe the whole party had been a fever dream, maybe he’d made you up entirely. So by afternoon Heeseung had given up. He was going to the library to actually do the algorithms homework he’d been ignoring all week, and he was going to stop being a weird person who wandered around campus hoping to accidentally run into someone.
Except then he walked into the library and saw you. You were tucked into a corner on the second floor, the quiet study section where people went to actually focus. Your laptop was open in front of you, headphones on, and you were doing that thing where you chewed on your pen cap while reading something on the screen. There were books and papers scattered around you in what looked like organized chaos, and your coffee cup said something in sharpie that Heeseung couldn’t read from where he was standing like a creep behind a bookshelf.
Okay. Okay, this was fine. This was a normal situation. You were here, he was here, both of you were in a library because that’s what students do. He just had to walk over there and say hi. Simple. Easy. Not weird at all. But what if you were in the zone? What if you were working on something important and he interrupted and you got annoyed? What if you didn’t actually want to see him and had just been being polite when you said you should play games sometime? He could just sit near you, not like right next to you, but in the general area. That would be natural. He needed to study anyway, it made sense to sit in the quiet section. So he picked a table that was close but not too close. Close enough that you might notice him but far enough that it didn’t look intentional.
He sat down and pulled out his laptop and his textbook, arranging them very carefully, very normally. Then he just sat there, staring at his algorithms homework. Not doing it, just staring. But five minutes passed and you hadn’t looked up. Heeseung opened his laptop. Closed it. Opened it again. He was being ridiculous. He should just get up and go say hi because that’s what normal people did. Normal people didn’t stage elaborate accidental meetings, they just walked up and said hello. He stood up, sat back down, stood up again. And then you finally looked up. Heeseung froze, half standing, half sitting, in the most awkward position possible. You pulled off your headphones and your face went from confused to surprised to happy in the span of like two seconds.
“Heeseung?” You said, keeping your voice library quiet. “What are you doing?”
“Studying,” Heeseung said too quickly, and then realized he was still in that weird half crouch position and sat down properly. “I mean, I was about to. study. I’m here to study.”
You smiled and Heeseung’s brain stopped for a moment. “Oh cool. Me too, obviously.” You gestured at your chaos of books and papers. "Working on this project that’s slowly killing me.”
“Do you want company?” Heeseung asked, and then immediately wanted to take it back because what if you said no, what if you were here specifically to study alone, what if—
“Yeah, actually that’d be nice.” You started clearing some space on your table, moving books and papers around. “I’ve been here for like three hours and I’m losing my mind. Could use a distraction.” So Heeseung grabbed his stuff and moved to your table, trying very hard to look like this was a normal thing he did all the time, sitting with people in libraries, being a person who had casual study sessions with other people. “So,” you said, once he was settled across from you. “What are the odds we both ended up in the same random corner of the library?”
You agreed, and there was something in the way you said it that made Heeseung think maybe you knew it wasn’t really a coincidence, maybe you’d seen him doing his weird laps around the second floor, but you were being nice about it. You settled into studying, or at least Heeseung pretended to study while you actually did work. You’d put your headphones back on but kept one ear uncovered, just in case he needed to ask you something about something, which he definitely wasn’t going to do because he wasn’t actually reading anything on the page in front of him.
Instead he was watching you, maybe in a weird way, but he couldn’t help it. Because sitting there across from you, seeing you up close in the quiet library light, Heeseung was hit with how much you looked like the character from the game. It wasn’t just the face, though that was uncanny enough. It was the mannerisms and the little things, like the way you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating, eyes narrowed slightly at your screen. The way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear every few minutes even though it would just fall back. The way your nose would scrunch up a little when you read something confusing. He’d seen all of this before, dozens of times, in the game. I mean you had done all of these exact things, in the game.
You looked up suddenly and Heeseung’s eyes immediately darted to his textbook, pretending he’d been reading the whole time. He could feel you looking at him for a second before you went back to your work, and Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This happened like four more times. Very smooth. Very natural. Definitely not obvious at all.
Then you checked your phone and made a small sound of surprise. “Oh shit, I have class in ten minutes.” You started packing up your stuff quickly, shoving papers into your bag without any real organization. “I totally lost track of time.”
“Yeah, me too,” Heeseung lied, because he’d been very aware of every single minute.
You stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and then you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Just like that. Casual and quick. Your lips pressed against his cheek for maybe half a second before you pulled back. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you said, smiling. “See you later, Hee.”
And then you were gone, weaving through the tables toward the stairs, and Heeseung just sat there frozen. His hand slowly came up to touch his cheek where you’d kissed him, like he needed to confirm it had actually happened. His face felt hot. His brain felt scrambled. You’d kissed him on the cheek. People did that, right? That was a normal friend thing? Except you barely knew each other so were you even friends? And why did his cheek feel like it was burning? And Heeseung realized he was just sitting there touching his face like a complete idiot and forced himself to put his hand down. He should pack up, he should go to his next class. He should do literally anything except sit here having a crisis over a cheek kiss. But he didn’t move, he just sat there, staring at nothing, replaying the moment over and over.
“You good, man?” Heeseung’s head snapped up. Jungwon was standing next to the table, looking at him with concern and also amusement, which was a terrible combination.
“When did you get here?”
“Like two minutes ago. You were very deep in thought.” Jungwon sat down and then casually tossed something onto the table. The switch cartridge, the Girlfriend Simulator cartridge. Heeseung stared at it. “I fixed the game.” Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking proud of himself. “You can keep playing from where you left off. It was easier to fix than I thought it’d be, just had to rebuild some of the backend routing for the post game content.” Heeseung picked up the cartridge, turning it over in his hands. "The save file's intact," Jungwon continued. “All your progress is still there. The new game plus should work now. I tested it on my switch and it loaded fine."
"Thanks,” Heeseung said, and his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. He shoved the cartridge into his bag and stood up. “I’m leaving."
“Don’t you have that lecture in twenty minutes?”
“Don’t care. Bye.” He left Jungwon sitting there chuckling and headed straight out of the library, across campus, back to his dorm. Jake wasn’t there, which was good because Heeseung didn’t need any more people commenting on his alleged vibe. He sat down at his desk and just looked at the cartridge for a minute. He should think about this. should consider whether playing the game again was a good idea now that he knew you, the real you. Now that things were getting complicated in a way that made his head hurt. But he wasn’t thinking. He was just plugging in his switch, loading up the game, watching the title screen appear with its soft music and clean typography.
continue from last save? yes / no
Heeseung pressed yes immediately. The world materialized around him in that same disorienting rush, colors bleeding into focus, sounds filtering in like someone was slowly turning up the volume. When his vision cleared, he was standing exactly where he’d left off at the park. The fireflies were still drifting lazily through the air like they’d been paused mid flight waiting for him to come back. And you were still sitting on the same bench, looking at him with an expression that made Heeseung’s chest tight.
“You’re back,” you said, and your smile was so genuinely happy it hurt to look at. You stood up and walked over to him, and Heeseung noticed the way the game rendered every detail. The way your hair moved, the exact shade of your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks. “I missed you.” The words hit him harder than they should have. Heeseung opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out what to say. In the game, no time was supposed to have passed. He’d left right after your confession, after the kiss, and now he was back and theoretically it should feel like seconds had gone by. But for him it had been days. Almost a week. A week where he’d met the real you, talked to you, sat across from you in a library, felt your lips on his cheek.
Dialogue options appeared: > i missed you too > sorry i was gone so long > it feels like it’s been forever
Heeseung picked the first one because it was the most honest. “I missed you too,” he said, and he meant it in a way that felt complicated and confusing.
You stepped closer, close enough that Heeseung could see the individual pixels that made up your irises, except they didn’t look like pixels at all. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “After everything, I thought maybe you’d just… disappear.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Heeseung said automatically, and then felt weird about it because he kind of had done that, he’d been gone for days even if the game didn’t register it that way.
You reached up and touched his face, your hand warm against his cheek, and Heeseung’s brain short circuited a little because he could feel it. the texture of your palm, the slight pressure of your fingers. This level of detail shouldn’t be possible. “I really like you,” you said, looking directly into his eyes. “Like, a lot. Is that okay?”
Before Heeseung could pick a dialogue option for that, you kissed him. It wasn’t like the first kiss, this was different. Your hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck and you pressed closer, and Heeseung forgot for a second that this was supposed to be a game. His hands found your waist automatically, pulling you against him, and you made this small sound that he felt more than heard. When you pulled back, you were breathing harder and your eyes had this look in them that Heeseung recognized from somewhere, that slightly dazed expression people get when they’re thinking about something they want. “Do you want to come back to my place?” You asked, your voice lower now, and your hand was still on the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair in a way that was extremely distracting.
quest update: relationship progression available | warning: mature content ahead | proceed? yes / no | action options: > yes, i’d like that > maybe we should slow down > are you sure?
Heeseung stared at the options. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This was new, this was definitely new. The game had never had anything like this before. Jungwon had mentioned adding post game content but he definitely hadn’t mentioned adding this kind of content. “Heeseung?” You said, tilting your head slightly. “You okay? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought—”
“No, I want to,” Heeseung said, picking the first option before he could overthink it. “I definitely want to.”
Your smile turned into something that could only be described as pleased, maybe a little mischievous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and started walking. The park dissolved around you in that smooth transition the game did, colors bleeding together and reforming into a new location, your apartment, and it looked different now, with softer lighting, more intimate somehow. There was music playing quietly from somewhere, something ambient and atmospheric. You let go of his hand and walked further, then turned to look at him. “You can sit down, you know. You don’t have to just stand there.” Heeseung moved to the couch and sat down, hyperaware of every movement, every detail. His hands felt sweaty and his heart was racing. This was insane, this was absolutely insane. He was about to have virtual sex with a video game character that looked exactly like a real person he’d just met and had a weird complicated semi crush on. You sat down next to him, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. “Can I ask you something?” You said.
“Sure.”
“Why did you come back?” Your expression was serious now, searching his face. “I mean, you finished the route. You got the good ending. You didn’t have to come back.”
dialogue options: > i wanted to see you again > i wasn’t ready to say goodbye > because i care about you
Heeseung picked the third option. “Because I care about you,” he said, and it felt true even though it shouldn’t, even though you were code, even though this wasn’t real.
“I care about you too,” you said quietly. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, and this time Heeseung didn’t think about the game mechanics or the dialogue options or any of it. He just kissed you back. Your hands slid under his shirt and Heeseung gasped slightly at the sensation, the feeling of your fingers on his skin. It felt real, too real, like impossibly real. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes dark. “Is this okay?” You asked, your hands still under his shirt, warm against his stomach.
action options: > yes > this is more than okay > [pull her closer]
Heeseung picked the third option and pulled you closer, and you made this satisfied sound and kissed him harder. You shifted in his lap so you were straddling him, and Heeseung’s brain was trying very hard to process the logistics of what was happening. This was a Nintendo Switch game. This was running on a console made for Pokemon and Mario Kart. There was no way this level of content was actually programmed in here. You smiled and kissed his jaw, then his neck, and Heeseung felt his brain dissolve into static. Your teeth grazed his skin lightly and he made a sound that was probably embarrassing but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
intimate scene progression: 45% | continue? yes / no
current comfort level: high | romantic tension: maximum |achievement unlocked: relationship deepening
The notifications kept appearing in his peripheral vision and Heeseung tried to ignore them because they were extremely distracting and also kind of killing the mood, if a video game could have a mood, which apparently this one could. “Hey,” you said, pulling back to look at him. Your face was flushed and your lips were slightly swollen and you looked devastating. “You’re thinking too hard. I can tell.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
dialogue options: > nothing’s wrong > this feels really intense > i’m just overwhelmed > i keep forgetting this isn’t real
Heeseung wanted to pick the last option but that felt like it would break something, some unspoken rule about the game. So he picked the third one. “I’m just overwhelmed,” he admitted. “In a good way. You’re just really… a lot. In the best way possible.”
You softened at that, your expression shifting from concerned to affectionate. “You’re sweet, you know that?” You kissed his cheek. “We can slow down if you want. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“No, I want this,” Heeseung said, and he did, desperately, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “I’m just trying to figure out how this is even possible.”
“How what’s possible?”
“You. This. All of it.” Heeseung knew he wasn’t making sense but the words kept coming anyway. “You feel so real. More real than anything I’ve experienced before. More real than most things I've experienced in actual life, honestly."
You looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable in your expression. Then you said, very quietly, "Maybe that’s because I am real.”
The world glitched. Just for a second, so quick Heeseung almost missed it. The lighting flickered, the textures of the room seemed to shift and resettle, and there was this sound, like static, like interference. You didn’t seem to notice. You were still looking at him with that same expression, waiting for him to respond. error log: reality sync mismatch detected | warning: boundary deviation exceeding normal parameterssystem status: unknown variable introduced
“What do you mean?” Heeseung asked, his voice coming out strained.
“I said maybe I’m real. Maybe this is real. Does it matter?” You touched his face again, gentle. "Does it change anything if I'm real or not real? You’re here, I’m here, this moment exists. Isn’t that enough?”
dialogue options:> yes, that’s enough > no, i need to understand what’s happening >i think something’s wrong with the game > [kiss her to avoid answering]
Heeseung stared at the options, his heart pounding. Part of him wanted to pick the second or third option, wanted to understand what was happening, wanted to figure out why the game was doing things it shouldn’t be able to do. But another part of him, the larger part, just wanted to stop thinking and exist in this moment with you, real or not real, code or person or whatever you were. So he picked the fourth option. His hands moved before his brain could catch up— one sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your jaw — and he pulled you in, kissing you like the question itself might disappear if he just didn't let go. You made a soft, surprised sound against his lips, but it melted into something needier, as you kissed him back just as fiercely. His hands slid up your thighs, over the soft fabric of your dress, until his fingers found the hem. He tugged lightly, a silent question, and you answered by pressing closer, your body rolling against his in a way that pulled a rough sound from his throat.
action options: > pull her closer > slide hands under her dress > grip her waist and guide her hips > [kiss her neck]
Heeseung didn't even look at the options properly this time. He picked the third one instantly, fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you flush against him, guiding the slow, deliberate grind of your hips. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping lightly down his chest through his shirt, and the sound you made was needy and it went straight through him. "Heeseung," you breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. your cheeks were flushed deep, lips swollen and wet, dress riding up slightly from the way you were moving in his lap. "You feel—"
He didn't let you finish. He kissed you deeper, harder, tongue sliding against yours like he needed to taste every part of you. One hand stayed firm on your waist, keeping the rhythm, while the other slipped higher under the hem of your dress, tracing the bare skin of your thigh. You shivered, thighs tightening around his hips, and he felt you press down harder, chasing the friction. You pulled back suddenly, just far enough to grab the bottom of his shirt. Your eyes locked on his, asking. He nodded once, barely, and you tugged it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, your hands were on him again, palms sliding over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle like you were mapping him out. "Better," you whispered, voice rough now, and then your mouth was on his collarbone, kissing down his chest, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss. Heeseung's head fell back against the couch for a second, eyes squeezing shut, before he surged forward again.
action options: > pull the straps of her dress down > flip her onto the couch > trace her back and pull her even closer > [let her take control]
He picked the third, hands sliding up your back under the thin straps of your dress, fingers splaying wide as he pulled you impossibly closer. Your chest pressed against his, skin on skin now except for the flimsy fabric between you, and he could feel your heart racing just as fast as his. You moaned softly against his neck, hips moving faster, more desperate, and Heeseung matched the rhythm, guiding you with his grip on your waist. Every roll of your body against his made his breath catch, made the heat coil tighter low in his stomach. Your hands were everywhere — his hair, his shoulders, nails dragging down his back— and he was losing it, completely losing it.
action options: > slip the straps down her shoulders > lift the dress over her head > tease the hem higher > [kiss her while undressing her]
He picked the first one, sliding the straps down slowly, watching as the dress loosened and slipped lower, exposing more of your skin. You didn't stop him, instead, you arched your back slightly, helping it along, your eyes locked on his with a look that dared him to keep going. The dress pooled around your waist, and Heeseung's breath caught at the sight of you, bare from the waist up, the soft curve of your breasts rising and falling with each breath. "God," he muttered, voice barely audible, and then he leaned in, mouth finding the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed there first, open mouthed, then grazed his teeth lightly, sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, a low moan escaping your lips that vibrated against his skin. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, and Heeseung felt that coil of tension wind tighter, his hips bucking up instinctively to meet your rhythm. The friction was maddening, too much and not enough, and he could feel himself hardening against you, the thin layers between you doing nothing to dull the sensation.
intimate scene progression: 92% | arousal level: peak | system warning: immersion threshold breached
A faint static hum buzzed in his ears for a split second, the room's edges blurring like a bad render, but it passed as quickly as it came. You didn't notice, or if you did, you didn't care — your focus was on him, on the way his mouth moved down your neck to your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face flushed, eyes glassy with want. "Heeseung," you said, voice husky and breathless, "Do you want to take this to the bedroom? We can… get more comfortable."
The action wheel popped up: action options: > carry her to the bedroom > pull her up and walk together > push her down on the couch instead > [deepen the kiss and decide later]
Heeseung picked the first one without a second thought. In one fluid motion, he stood, arms wrapping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. You yelped in surprise, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. the sudden shift made you cling to him, arms around his neck, and Heeseung kissed you hard as he carried you, tasting the salt on your lips from the heat of the moment. The transition was seamless, the game dissolving the living room around you in that familiar bleed of colors, reforming into your bedroom. Soft lighting from a bedside lamp, sheets rumpled like they'd been waiting, the air thicker somehow. Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, following you down, his body covering yours as he settled between your legs. You looked up at him, hands sliding down his chest to his waistband, fingers teasing the edge. "Now where were we?" You whispered, pulling him closer.
Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, the mattress dipping under your combined weight as he settled between your legs. Your dress was already bunched high on your thighs, and the air between you crackled with anticipation. You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, hands tugging at his waistband, pulling him closer until his hips pressed against yours. The heat of you through the thin fabric was driving him insane — his hands braced on either side of your head, breath ragged as he leaned down to kiss you again, deeper, hungrier.
But just as his fingers brushed the hem of your dress to slide it off completely, everything froze. The world glitched hard; colors inverting for a split second, a low error chime ringing in his ears like a nintendo switch low battery warning. You froze mid motion, lips parted, eyes wide and unblinking, like a paused cutscene. The music cut out. Notifications exploded across his vision in a pop up that took over half the screen:
kink compatibility survey | new content unlock: personalized intimacy | please select preferences to optimize experience (this will not affect main storyline) > time remaining: 30 seconds
Heeseung blinked, staring in horror as a massive form materialized, checkboxes scrolling down like some deranged tinder profile from hell:
His face burning hotter than the tension from seconds ago. "What the fuck is this?" His thumbs mashed the joy cons frantically, heart pounding from equal parts embarrassment and urgency. Thirty seconds? He wasn't even thinking straight — he just spam clicked the safe ones to get it over with. Checkmark on praise kink. Oral focus (both). Dirty talk (why not, he was already losing his mind). Slider cranked to 7 because... yeah. No bondage — keep it simple, game. Vanilla only stayed unchecked because apparently this freakshow had layers.
The pop up vanished with a cheerful ding. You unfroze instantly, blinking like nothing happened, your hands resuming their path down his chest. "Hee?" you murmured, voice soft and teasing, thighs parting wider beneath him. "You okay?"
He swallowed hard, brain still reeling. "Yeah, yeah." You smiled, wicked and knowing somehow, and pulled him down into another kiss. His hands finally obeyed, pushing the dress the rest of the way off your hips, sliding it down your legs until you were bare except for your underwear. The sight of you all spread out hit him. He trailed kisses down your chest, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking gently as you arched into him with a gasp. "You feel perfect," he whispered against your skin, the praise slipping out naturally, and you shivered, fingers threading into his hair. His hand slid lower, between your thighs, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your underwear. You moaned his name, hips lifting eagerly, and Heeseung pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had you writhing. "So wet for me already," he murmured, voice rough with want, testing the dirty talk, and god, it worked, because your breath was hitching beautifully.
You tugged at his pants impatiently. "Off. Now." He obliged in a blur, shedding them along with everything else until there was nothing between you. He hooked his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down slowly, eyes locked on yours as he tossed them aside.
action options: > taste her first > enter her slowly > tease with fingers > [let her guide]
He picked the first, Heeseung's mind was a haze of want and disbelief as he settled between your thighs, your legs parting wider for him like an invitation he couldn't refuse. The sight of you — bare, glistening, so ready —made his mouth water. This is a game, he reminded himself, heart pounding. Just a fucking game. I can do whatever I want. Things I'd never have the guts to try in real life. No judgment, no consequences. Just you, writhing under him, and the freedom to indulge every filthy thought he'd ever buried.
He hooked his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer until his face was buried between your legs. His tongue flicked out experimentally at first, tasting you, sweet and tangy, like nothing he'd imagined, but better. You bucked against him with a sharp gasp, and that sound flipped a switch. Heeseung groaned against you, the vibration making you whimper, and he dove in deeper, tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, dirty words spilling out because why the hell not? In real life, he'd be too shy, too careful, but here? He could be filthy. "So wet for me already, dripping down my chin. You like that, huh?"
You moaned louder, hands fisting the sheets, then tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Yes god, Heeseung don't stop." Your voice was wrecked, breathy and desperate, and it fueled him. He sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it in circles, then flicking fast and hard, alternating with long, sloppy licks that had you trembling. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open, spreading you wider so he could bury his face deeper, nose pressing against you as he devoured you like he was starving.
He picked the fourth mentally, because fuck it, this was his chance to let loose. "Tell me how good it feels," he growled, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your slick folds, watching you shiver. "Tell me you want my tongue fucking you deeper."
"Please," you gasped, hips grinding up toward his mouth, chasing the contact. "Heeseung, your tongue— fuck, it's so good. Deeper, I need it deeper."
He plunged his tongue inside you, thrusting it in and out, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock later. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles while he tongue fucked you, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. You were soaking him, face, chin, and he loved it, lapping it up greedily, humming in approval at how messy it was getting. "You're gonna come on my face, aren't you?" He taunted, voice rough and low, pulling back to suck your clit again, harder this time, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. "Do it. Come for me, show me how much you love my mouth on this pretty pussy."
You arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit, waves crashing through you. Heeseung didn't stop, licking you through it, drawing it out until you were oversensitive and twitching, begging him to ease up. only then did he pull away, lips shiny and swollen, grinning up at you with a wicked, satisfied look. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, though he didn't really want to, part of him liked the mess, the evidence. you were panting, eyes hazy as you reached for him. He crawled back up your body, capturing your lips in a kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue, another thing he'd never dare in real life, but here it felt right, hot. "You taste yourself? So fucking dirty," he whispered against your mouth, positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready for more?"
"Yes please," you begged, nails digging into his shoulders, your voice a needy whine that made his cock twitch against you. You were so wet, slick from his mouth and your own release, and Heeseung could feel the heat radiating from you, pulling him in. But before he could thrust forward, the game intervened again again:
position selection: customize your intimacy > missionary (classic connection) > doggy style (deeper access) > her on top (let her ride) > against the wall (intense standing) > [spooning (gentle side entry)]
Heeseung stared at the options, a mix of arousal and exasperation flooding him. Jungwon, you pervert, he thought, adding a fucking position menu? He timer was ticking— 15 seconds — and you were frozen mid breath, eyes locked on his with that desperate, submissive Gaze that made him want to wreck you. He picked the third option fast, because fuck, the idea of you riding him, taking control but still under his command? Yeah, that was it. The menu vanished with a satisfied beep, and the scene resumed seamlessly. You blinked, as if nothing happened, but your hands were already pushing at his chest gently, urging him to lie back. "Let me... let me ride you," you murmured, voice soft and obedient, like you were reading his mind, or the game's script. "Please? I want to make you feel good."
Heeseung grinned, dark and dominant, shifting onto his back and pulling you with him until you straddled his hips. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in possessively as he looked up at you, flushed, eager, completely at his mercy. "Yeah? You wanna ride my cock like a good girl?" He growled, the words coming easier now, dirtier, because this wasn't real life. No holding back.
You whimpered, hands bracing on his chest, your hips grinding down instinctively against his length, coating him in your wetness. "Please, Hee... I need you inside me so bad. I'll be good."
Fuck, he thought, she's so subby, so perfect. The game's kink sync must've kicked in, amplifying everything — your voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading, body arching like you were made to submit. Heeseung's hands slid up to your hips, guiding you, lifting you just enough to position himself at your entrance. "That's my girl. Sink down on me slow— let me watch you take every inch." You obeyed instantly, lowering yourself onto him, the head of his cock pushing past your folds, stretching you open. It was agonizingly slow, and Heeseung groaned low in his throat, feeling the tight, wet heat envelop him inch by inch. You were so fucking real, hotter than any game should allow, clenching around him like velvet, your walls fluttering as you took him deeper.
"Oh god you're so big," you gasped, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted, a shiver running through you. It felt too real, the stretch, the fullness, the way he throbbed inside you, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive spots. Heeseung could feel it all, amplified, like the game had cranked the sensitivity to max. Sweat beaded on his skin, your thighs trembling around him, and for a second, he forgot it was code — this was you, real you, riding him.
intimate scene progression: 98% | dominance level: high | submission sync: optimal | warning: haptic feedback overload
A faint glitch rippled through the air — the lamp flickering, your moan echoing with a digital edge for a heartbeat — but it only made him thrust up harder, hands gripping your ass to pull you down rougher. "Ride me, baby. Bounce on my cock," he commanded, voice gravelly and demanding, slapping your ass lightly to spur you on. "Faster, come on."
You moaned louder, hands on his chest for leverage as you started moving up and down, hips rolling in circles that ground your clit against him. "Like this? Fuck, Heeseung it feels so good— you're so deep." Your voice broke on a whimper, body obeying his every cue, riding him harder, faster, tits bouncing with each thrust.
Heeseung bucked up to meet you, thrusting deep enough to make you cry out, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat gently. "That's it, take it all. You're mine in here, aren't you? My perfect little girl, creaming all over my cock." You clenched tighter, nodding frantically.
"Yes—fuck, Heeseung, I love it. You're so deep, so big...." Your voice was breathy, submissive, breaking on moans as you submitted completely, body moving exactly how he wanted, faster when he slapped your ass, slower when he pulled you down hard.
action options: > thrust up harder > put a finger in her mouth > choke lightly > [pull her hair]
Heeseung picked the second without hesitation, his thumb tracing your lower lip before pushing it into your mouth. You sucked on it immediately, tongue swirling around it like it was his cock, eyes half lidded and locked on his, so obedient it made his dick twitch inside you. "That's it, suck it like a good girl," he rasped, your wet lips wrapped around his finger, drool starting to drip. "Imagine it's my cock in your mouth while I fuck this tight pussy. You'd take both, wouldn't you?" You moaned around his thumb, sucking harder, hips stuttering as the added sensation pushed you closer to the edge. Then, in the corner of his screen, a new notification flickered: partner preference update: increase roughness? yes / no | affinity: high for dominant play
She likes it rougher? Heeseung thought, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mentally selected yes. Wow, this is way easier than in real life. The game adjusted instantly, your moans turning needier, body arching more desperately as he ramped up the intensity. "You want it rougher, huh?" He taunted, pulling his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting it to your lips. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise — if this were real— and thrust up sharply, slamming into you with more force. "Beg for it then. Tell me how bad you want me to wreck this pussy."
"Please—fuck me harder, Heeseung," you cried out, leaning forward to brace on his shoulders as you rode him faster, chasing the roughness.
intimate scene progression: 99% | climax indicator: approaching for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position
The bar flashed red in his peripheral, both your arousal meters pulsing near max. He could feel it too, the coil tightening low in his gut, your body starting to tense and shake. But Heeseung wasn't ready to end it. He selected prolong and switch position, flipping the script. He rolled you both over, pulling out just long enough to maneuver you onto your side, spooning behind you. His chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tight, the other lifting your thigh high. "Not yet," he whispered hot against your ear, nipping the lobe. "Gonna fuck you like this now." You nodded weakly, pushing your ass back against him. Heeseung thrust back in from behind, the angle hitting deeper, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every slow, rough pump. His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your clit fast and hard, while his other arm pinned you close. "That's my good girl," he growled, pounding into you now, the spooning position letting him grind deep. "Taking it so well." Your moans turned into desperate sobs, body arching back into him.
Heeseung's thrusts were relentless, his cock dragging deep inside you with every slow, powerful snap of his hips. You were a whimpering mess against him, back arched, ass grinding back to meet him as his fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles. "Fuck you're so tight like this," he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder, leaving a mark that made you shiver.
intimate scene progression: 99.5% | climax indicator: critical for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position
The meters were flashing urgently now, his own arousal bar teetering on the edge, but Heeseung still wasn't done — he wanted more, wanted to push the limits of this insane game until it broke. One more switch, he thought, selecting prolong and switch position again. The game responded instantly, a soft chime echoing as he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach with rough hands. You gasped at the sudden movement, face down on the bed, ass up as he positioned himself behind you, knees spreading your thighs wide. "On your stomach, baby— ass up for me," he commanded. He slapped your ass hard, the crack echoing, your skin blooming red under his palm, and you cried out, pushing back eagerly like the subby little thing the game had turned you into. "That's right, take it. You love being fucked like this, don't you?"
You nodded into the sheets, voice muffled and needy. "Yes—god, yes, Heeseung." The game's encouragement popped up in his vision — dominance boost: activated | roughness level: max | achievement: total submission unlocked — and it spurred him on, like the system was egging him to go further, deeper into the filth.
He thrust back in from behind, burying himself to the hilt in one rough stroke, the angle hitting even deeper, making you scream into the pillow. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, pounding into you with brutal force, skin slapping loud and obscene. "So fucking wet, dripping all over me," he snarled, spanking your ass again, harder this time, alternating cheeks until they were stinging red. You arched higher, offering more, moans turning into sobs of pleasure. He tangled one hand in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck, lips brushing your ear as he growled, "look at you, taking my cock like a good girl. Beg for more — tell me how much you need me to ruin this pussy."
"Please—ruin me, Heeseung," you begged, voice breaking. The game flashed more incentives — rough play affinity: 100% | continue for bonus immersion — and Heeseung lost it, spanking you in rhythm with his thrusts, pulling your hair tighter to arch your back, fucking you rougher, faster, the bed shaking under the force. Glitches were hitting harder now, but it only made him thrust deeper, the hyper real sensations overwhelming: the sting of your skin under his palm, the tight ripple of your walls around him, your sweat slicked back against his chest.
intimate scene progression: 99.99% | climax indicator: imminent | warning: system overload detected
He was right there, teetering on the edge, cock throbbing inside you, but you twisted slightly, looking back at him with glassy, desperate eyes. "Heeseung — cum inside me, please," you implored. "Fill me up, I need it."
For a split second, his brain stopped. Wait, cum inside? What if— but then reality (or unreality) hit him comically hard. It's a game, dumbass. Pixels can't get pregnant. He almost laughed mid thrust, the absurdity breaking through the haze, but he shoved it aside, diving back. "Yeah? You want me to breed this tight pussy?" He growled, slamming into you harder, spanking one last time for good measure. "Beg for it louder—"
"Yes—fuck, Hee!" You cried, clenching around him desperately, body trembling on the brink. "Cum inside me, please— breed me, make me yours!" That did it. The climax hit like a wave, crashing over you both at once. Heeseung thrust deep one final time, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, feeling the hot pulse of his release mix with your own orgasm, walls milking him dry. You screamed his name, body convulsing under him, the shared peak amplified by the game — sensations exploding, vision blurring with pleasure and glitches alike.
As your body shuddered through the aftershocks, Heeseung collapsed beside you, pulling you close against his chest with a gentleness that felt worlds away from the roughness just moments ago. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand stroking your hair softly, fingers threading through the tangled strands like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. The room was still glitching faintly, but he ignored it, focusing on you, on the way your breaths synced with his, slowing down together.
Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, his voice dropping to a whisper, sweet and caring, laced with concern. "Hey... you okay? I got carried away back there. I'm sorry if I hurt you."
You looked up at him, eyes soft and hazy, a small smile tugging at your lips as you snuggled closer, head resting on his chest. "No, Hee... I liked it. A lot. It was perfect." Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin, voice turning playful, like the dynamic lingered just a bit. "You made me feel so good. Don't apologize."
He chuckled quietly, relief washing over him, and he hugged you tighter, hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Good. I just... want to take care of you now." The game prompted options in his vision, soft and glowing: aftercare options: > hold her closer > kiss her gently > whisper sweet nothings > [offer water/snack] -- he picked the third, leaning down to murmur against your ear, "you're amazing, you know that? So beautiful, so perfect for me. I could stay like this forever." You hummed contentedly, body relaxing fully into his, the contrast hitting him. The glitches were fading, but notifications kept pinging: comfort level: maximum | post intimacy glow: active | save progress? yes / no
You shifted slightly, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Affectionate, but something deeper, almost knowing. "Heeseung..." your voice was quiet. "See you out there."
He blinked, confusion creasing his brow. "What do you mean?" He sat up a little, heart picking up again, but before you could answer — or before the dialogue wheel could pop up — the world started dissolving. colors bled out, the room flickering violently, static roaring in his ears like a system crash.
Everything went black. Heeseung jolted upright in his chair, the Switch still clutched in his sweaty hands, the screen dark and powered off. His room came into focus: the dim light from his desk lamp, posters on the wall, the faint hum of his pc in the background. His heart was racing, breaths coming fast, and then he felt a sticky, warm mess in his pants, soaking through his boxers. "What the—" he muttered, voice cracking as the full reality sank in. His face burned hotter than ever, cheeks flaming red as he shifted in the gaming chair. He'd actually cum inside his pants. For real. Not just some weird dream or an asleep fantasy — no, full on, pants ruining orgasm from a Nintendo Switch Girlfriend Simulator game. "Holy shit."
Heeseung stared at the dark screen in his hands, the console now completely powered off, innocent looking with its cute joy cons and pastel buttons. It looked so harmless sitting there on his lap, like it hadn't just mind fucked him for hours and then physically fucked him back. He finally set the switch down on his desk, pushing it as far away as the cords allowed. He groaned, dropping his face into his hands.
After cleaning himself up in the bathroom — which involved avoiding eye contact with his own reflection because he couldn't handle the judgment he knew he'd see there — Heeseung collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. His body felt loose and tired in a way that should have been relaxing but instead just made him feel deeply, profoundly embarrassed.
The worst part was that he wanted to do it again. That was what really got him. Not the fact that it happened, but the fact that his brain was already thinking about when he could play next, or well, when he could fuck you next. He felt like a teenager who'd just discovered something he definitely shouldn't have and was now completely obsessed with it.
He'd spent most of his Sunday in his room alternating between staring at his Switch and telling himself he absolutely was not going to play it again, which had been moderately successful except for the part where he'd picked it up four different times before forcing himself to put it back down. So on that week, he started walking across campus toward the engineering building, head down and hoodie up because he felt like everyone could somehow tell what he'd done just by looking at him, when he saw you. You were sitting on one of the benches outside the library with your laptop open, clearly working on something, your hair pulled back and you were wearing an oversized hoodie that had some game logo on it he couldn't quite make out from this distance. Heeseung immediately changed direction.
He took the long way around the building, added an extra five minutes to his walk, and showed up to lecture slightly out of breath. He was very deliberately not thinking about the fact that he'd just actively avoided you. Which was ridiculous. You hadn't done anything, you didn't even know what had happened. You probably hadn't thought about him at all since that day at the library, were probably just sitting there doing homework like a normal person while Heeseung was having a complete psychological breakdown over a video game.
The problem was that every time he thought about you now, his brain immediately supplied images from the game. The way you'd looked at him, the way you moaned, the sounds you'd made, the way you came, the way it had felt so impossibly real that his body had reacted like it was actually happening. And now he couldn't separate that from the real you, the person he'd met at the party who'd been nice and funny and way too easy to talk to. The rest of the week continued like this. He saw you everywhere now, which was ironic because before the party he'd never noticed you once and now you were apparently in every building he entered. Tuesday you were in the coffee shop in the student center. Wednesday you walked past him in the hallway between classes. Thursday he saw you in the library again, this time on the second floor, and he'd actually turned around and walked back out.
His switch was on his desk, fully charged, basically taunting him. He'd managed to avoid playing it all week, had told himself he was being responsible and mature about the whole situation. But he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time his mind wandered, it went right back to that night, to the game, to you. And his body was betraying him too, which was mortifying. He'd be sitting in lecture and think about the game for half a second and suddenly he'd have to adjust his laptop to hide the fact that he was getting hard in the middle of algorithms class. It happened during study sessions, during meals, during completely random moments when his brain decided to remind him that the game existed and he could play it whenever he wanted.
He felt disgusting. He was kink shaming himself, which he didn't even know was possible, but here he was, lying in bed at two am feeling like a creep for being attracted to a video game character who happened to look exactly like a real person he'd met. But he also couldn't stop thinking about playing again. About whether it would be like the first time or if there were other features, other scenarios. His brain kept supplying possibilities and his body kept responding and he felt trapped in this cycle of shame and want that he didn't know how to break.
And then on friday afternoon, Heeseung was in his dorm trying to focus on an assignment that was due monday when someone knocked on his door with the kind of aggressive persistence that could only be Jungwon. He considered pretending he wasn't home but Jake had already opened the door before Heeseung could say anything. "Oh hey Jungwon," Jake said. "He's here but he's been weird all week so good luck."
"Thanks for the warning," Jungwon said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He went to Heeseung's room and looked at him, who was very deliberately staring at his laptop screen. "Okay, we're going to Five Guys. Get up."
"I'm busy."
"No you're not." Jungwon grabbed Heeseung's hoodie off his chair and threw it at him. "Come on. We're getting burgers and you're going to tell me why you've been ignoring me all week."
"I haven't been ignoring you."
"You answered my texts with one word responses and you've avoided me on campus. That's ignoring me." Jungwon crossed his arms. "So either you come willingly or I'm going to make a scene. Your choice."
Heeseung knew Jungwon well enough to know he absolutely would make a scene. "Fine. But I'm not hungry."
"You're never not hungry. Let's go." And twenty minutes later they were sitting in Five Guys with their orders, the place mostly empty since it was that weird time between lunch and dinner.
Heeseung had been hoping the walk would give him time to figure out what to say to Jungwon, but instead he'd just spent it thinking about the game and feeling more and more uncomfortable. Because the thing was, if Heeseung had done what he'd done in the game, that meant Jungwon had programmed it. Jungwon had sat at his computer and coded in all those options, all those scenarios, all those very specific and detailed features that Heeseung had discovered. Which meant either Jungwon was way more perverted than Heeseung had ever given him credit for, or something else was going on.
"Okay, you're doing it again," Jungwon said, interrupting Heeseung's spiral. "You're being weird and quiet and you won't look at me. What's going on? Is it about the game? Did something break again?"
Heeseung knew he had to say something because this had gone too far. Because if the mature content was intentional, then they needed to have a very different conversation about boundaries and warnings and maybe Jungwon's concerning lack of shame. And if it wasn't intentional, if this was some kind of glitch or malfunction, then that was somehow even worse because it meant the game was doing things beyond anyone's control. Either way, Heeseung couldn't keep avoiding this. Jungwon was his best friend. If he couldn't talk to Jungwon about this, even if it was mortifying, then what was the point of having a best friend? So Heeseung admitted: "Yeah, it's about the game."
"Okay, so tell me." Jungwon looked at him.
"Look, you could've just... you could have warned me that it had adult content." Heeseung forced himself to look at Jungwon. "Like, explicit that I wasn't expecting in a dating simulator."
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"I'm just saying, a heads up would have been nice. I know you're trying to make it realistic but I wasn't prepared for how detailed it was going to get."
"Bro, what are you talking about?"
And then it all came out like Heeseung couldn't stop himself. "I'm talking about the fact that the game has very explicit scenes with very detailed options and I don't know if you've ever actually looked at what you programmed but it's intense, Jungwon. Like the dialogue options were insane, I could say basically anything and the character would respond and some of those options were really freaky. And the action options were even worse, there were so many of them and they were all very specific and very detailed and I'm not going to list them but oh my god and then there was a whole section where it asked me about preferences and kinks and I thought that was just for character building but no, it actually used that information! And there were position suggestions. Position suggestions, Jungwon! With fucking diagrams, man. Why did you add diagrams?! And the whole thing was just very immersive and very realistic and I had a physical reaction that I'm not going to elaborate on but I think you can figure out what I mean and I've been avoiding you all week because I didn't know how to have this conversation without wanting to die of embarrassment."
Heeseung finally stopped to breathe and realized Jungwon was staring at him with an expression of complete bewilderment. "Heeseung," Jungwon said slowly. "I didn't add any of that content."
"What."
"I didn't program explicit scenes. There's no adult content in the game. It's a dating simulator not a porn game. The most intimate it gets is like, hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end if you get the good ending." Jungwon set down his burger. "What are you talking about dude?"
"Don't fuck with me right now."
"I'm not fucking with you, I'm being completely serious." Jungwon was looking at him, shocked. "I didn't add any of that stuff. I wouldn't even know how to program half of what you just described. Like what the fuck is even a kink questionnaire?!"
Heeseung felt cold. "Then how did I experience it, man?!"
"I don't know!" Jungwon was still shocked. "But this actually makes sense now. Y/N's been avoiding me too this week, even more than you have. She won't answer my texts and she literally ran away from me in the hallway yesterday. I thought maybe she was mad at me about something but what if she experienced the same thing you did?"
"What do you mean?"
"Okay, last Friday, remember when you were studying in the library and Y/N left suddenly? I texted her right after she left asking if she wanted to try the updated version of the game and she texted back immediately saying yes and that she was coming to get it right then." Heeseung remembered that day, your phone had buzzed and you'd looked at it and your whole expression had changed, you'd packed up your stuff so fast, muttering something about being late for class even though Heeseung was pretty sure you didn't have class at that time. "She took the game and left," Jungwon continued. "I didn't hear from her after that until she texted me the next day saying she was returning it and that she didn't want to play anymore. And now she won't talk to me."
"What time did she take the game?" Heeseung asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.
"I don't know, maybe around four? Four thirty?" Jungwon paused. "Why?"
Heeseung felt like the world was tilting. "I picked up the game from you around four forty five. Remember?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So we both had the game that night. We both played it that same night." Heeseung's mind was racing, putting pieces together. "And you're saying there's no adult content programmed into the game. But we both experienced something intense enough that we're both avoiding you. And we both played it at the same time."
Jungwon's eyes widened. "Oh my god."
"What if—" Heeseung stopped, because what he was about to say sounded insane. But everything about this situation was insane. "What if the game connected us somehow? What if when we both played it at the same time and it put us in the same… I don't know, session?"
"That's not possible because I didn't program any multiplayer features."
"You also didn't program explicit content but I definitely experienced it, man!" Heeseung put his head in his hands. "Jungwon, the character in my game looked exactly like Y/N, exactly like her. And you said the character customization was random."
"It is random. I didn't—" Jungwon stopped. "Wait. She actually said something similar. When she gave the game back she mentioned that the boyfriend character looked really realistic, like someone she could actually know."
Heeseung felt like throwing up. "Did she say who?"
"No, she just said it freaked her out how real he seemed."
Heeseung was pale now. His brain was doing that thing where it tried to process too much information at once and ended up just kind of spinning in place. You had played the game, you had seen a character that probably looked like him. You had found it so realistic it freaked you out. And then you'd played it again last friday, the same day he did, probably around the same time. And Jungwon was sitting here swearing he hadn't programmed any of the content that Heeseung had definitely experienced. Which meant one of two things: either Jungwon was full of shit, which didn't make sense because why would he lie about this, or the game had somehow done something it wasn't supposed to do. Connected two players who didn't know they were playing together, made them interact without telling them, let them do things with each other while both of them thought they were just playing a single player game with really good immersion.
And if that was true, if you'd actually been playing together, then the character Heeseung had been with wasn't just some algorithm. It was you, making choices and responding to him. Doing all those things that he'd been replaying in his head all week. Which meant you'd been doing those things with him, or with a version of him, and you probably had no idea it was real either. So Heeseung stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. "What's Y/N's dorm?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"Her dorm. Which building is she in?"
"Uh, west campus. Building C, I think? Room 304, why?"
"I gotta go." Heeseung was already grabbing his hoodie.
"Ho where? Heeseung, what—" but Heeseung was already walking, he heard Jungwon call after him something about texting him later but he wasn't really listening. His mind was too busy spiraling through everything he needed to say to you, everything he needed to ask, everything that didn't make sense.
The walk to west campus took fifteen minutes but it felt both longer and shorter than that. Heeseung's hands were shaking and he shoved them in his pockets. He tried to figure out what he was going to say. Hey, so I think we accidentally had virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch last week and neither of us knew it was real. Yeah, that would go over great. Or maybe, hi, remember how we both played that game? Turns out we were playing together. Surprise! Yeah, also worse.
By the time he got to building C, he still hadn't figured it out. Heeseung stood outside the door and realized he couldn't actually get in without a key card or someone letting him in. He was standing there trying to figure out his next move when the door opened and two girls walked out, laughing about something on one of their phones. Heeseung caught the door before it closed and slipped inside. Probably not his finest moment in terms of dorm security, but he was past caring about minor rule violations.
He stood in front of your door for a solid thirty seconds, hand raised to knock, unable to make himself actually do it. This was insane, he was insane. He should turn around and leave and text Jungwon and let Jungwon handle this because Jungwon had made the game and this was technically his responsibility. But he didn't leave, he knocked. And nothing happened for a long moment. Heeseung was starting to think maybe you weren't home, or maybe you were home but ignoring the door, when he heard movement from inside. Footsteps and then a pause. Then your voice, muffled through the door.
"Who is it?"
Heeseung's mouth was dry. "It's Heeseung."
Another pause, longer this time. He could picture you on the other side of the door, probably frozen, probably panicking, probably wondering why the hell he was at your dorm right now. Then the lock turned and you opened the door. You were pale, like actually pale, but you smiled anyway. "Hi Hee. Is… everything alright?"
Heeseung looked at you. You were in pajamas, soft looking sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with some faded band logo on it. Your hair was up in a bun that was more mess than anything else, strands falling out around your face, no makeup. You were standing there at your door at five pm on a friday looking comfortable and real and so pretty it made his chest hurt. He knew he was down bad already. Had been since the game, since the party, since the moment you'd turned around in that park with a flower behind your ear that he'd picked for you except it hadn't actually been you, or maybe it had been, he didn't even know anymore. But looking at you now, in your actual dorm with your actual face and your actual voice saying his name like that, soft and a little worried, he realized the game version hadn't even come close. This was better because this was real.
"Well, yeah, I mean, technically no," he said. Then stopped. "I mean yes. I mean, I need to ask you something and I don't want to sound crazy but I'm probably going to sound crazy anyway so I don't know how to do this without sounding crazy."
Your expression shifted. Something in your eyes changed, like you knew exactly what he was going to say but didn't want to believe it. You stepped back and pulled the door open wider. "Come in."
Heeseung walked into your dorm and tried not to look around but he couldn't help it. The space was small but you'd made it yours, there was a Janna poster on the wall near your desk, the star guardian skin, same one you had on your phone case. Next to it was a persona 5 royal poster that looked like it had been put up carefully. Your Switch was sitting on your desk next to your laptop, the joy cons that soft pink and blue that came with the Animal Crossing edition. Your bed was unmade, blankets pushed to one side like you'd gotten up in a hurry. There were books stacked on your nightstand, a pair of headphones tangled on top of them. A stuffed cat that looked old and well loved sitting on your pillow. It was so much like the apartment in the game that Heeseung felt dizzy. The colors, the vibe, the way things were organized. But also different and better because it was lived in and messy in ways the game couldn't replicate.
"Do you want water or something?" You were standing by your mini fridge, hand on the door, looking at him with that same careful expression.
And then Heeseung opened his mouth and everything just came out.
"Jungwon gave me this game to test Called Girlfriend simulator and I thought it was stupid, like, the most desperate thing I could possibly do, like an actual certificate that I'm way too single for a guy my age. But I played it anyway because I can't say no to Jungwon and also because I was curious and I went on this date with this girl and she liked League of Legends and I had to pick this flower that was glowing and she loved it, and this firefly landed on her hand and she smiled at me like and then we played league together and destroyed her ex boyfriends, and we cooked pasta and she helped me because I was burning the garlic and the game kept giving me dialogue options but then I started just talking and it kept responding like it knew what I was going to say. And then things got really intimate, like really intimate, in ways I'm not going to describe because I'll die of embarrassment but you can probably guess what I mean. And the girl, she... she looked exactly like you. Not kind of like you, exactly like you. same face, same voice, same everything. and i talked to jungwon today And he said there's no adult content in the game, that he never programmed any of that, and that you played it too, last friday on the same night I did. And I think we were playing together and I think we were in the same game, in the same session or server or whatever, and I think the characters we were playing with weren't just game characters and I think they were each other. So I need you to tell me right now, does the boyfriend character in your game look like me?"
You were staring at him. Your hand was still on the mini fridge door but you weren't moving. Your face had gone from pale to flushed and your mouth was slightly open like you wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what. Heeseung's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat and his hands were shaking and he'd just word vomited the entire situation at you without taking a single breath but he couldn't take it back now. You closed the mini fridge. Didn't get water, just stood there looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. Your eyes were moving across his face, his hair, his shoulders, like you were checking something or maybe confirming something.
"Yes," you said finally. Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
The word hung in the air between you. Heeseung felt something in his chest crack open, something between relief and panic and a feeling he didn't have a name for.
"Yes he looks like you," you continued, louder now. "Exactly like you and I thought I was going crazy and I thought Jungwon had somehow used photos of you without telling me, or that I was seeing patterns that weren't there, or that I'd just completely lost my mind. But it was you."
Heeseung took a step closer without meaning to. "You played it last friday."
"Yes."
"Around six thirty."
"Yes."
"And things got—" he stopped, couldn't say it.
"Intense." You finished for him. Your face was completely red now.
"So it was real." Heeseung's voice sounded strange. "We were playing together. We were with each other and we didn't know it."
You were breathing faster now. He could see your chest rising and falling under your hoodie. "So when I— when we—"
"Yeah." The room got quiet after that. You looked at him and he looked back and there it was again, that pull from the game, except now there was no screen between you. Just him standing in your dorm with his messy hair and that hoodie you'd seen in the character creator, and you knowing exactly how his hands felt even though you'd never actually touched him before. Your breath caught. His did it too, you saw his chest hitch. Neither of you said anything, you both just moved, like someone had pressed play at the same time. He leaned in, you tilted up, and your mouths met in the middle.
You kissed at the same time.
His mind was racing: this is real, this is actually happening. No reset button, no save file, and he could not stop it even if he tried. Your lips were soft and moving against his in a way that made his hands come out of his pockets and find your waist, pulling you in a bit. You felt his fingers press into the fabric of your hoodie, and you responded by sliding your hands up to his shoulders, gripping the soft material there.
The kiss deepened, his tongue brushed yours lightly, exploratory, and you leaned into it, your back arching off the mini fridge as he stepped closer, bodies pressing together now. A small sound escaped you, not a moan exactly, but something involuntary, and Heeseung reacted by tilting his head more, his hand moving up your back under the hoodie, fingers splaying against your skin, warm and calloused a little. His hands shook a little on your hips, and thank god there were no pop up flashing with options like "kiss deeper" or "pull away," and no dialogue tree to pick from.
You broke for air just a second, foreheads touching, both of you breathing hard. "this is way better than the game," he muttered, voice low and rough, with a tiny grin pulling at his lips.
You huffed a laugh, your hands still on his shoulders. "Shut up."
You pulled him back in before he could say anything else. This kiss was different, harder, more sure. Your teeth caught his bottom lip and he made a noise he'd be embarrassed about later. His hand came up to your face, thumb against your cheek. Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged and he pressed you back against the fridge hard enough that the door rattled. He kissed down your jaw, taking his time, and you tilted your head to give him room. Your breathing was coming in short bursts. He got to your neck and stayed there, face buried against your skin, breathing you in. You made a sound that kinda sounded like a purr and that did something in him. In his head, he was scrambling, piecing together bits from the game, like the survey thing, where things got rough, when he knew you liked it rough. But now? No way, he wanted this slow, careful, the way you deserved. He slowed his kisses on your neck, his thumb tracing small circles on your side under the hoodie. Don't rush, idiot, his brain nagged, you're not on a timer here.
He pulled back just a bit, forehead against yours, and said, "Sorry, this was kinda... out of nowhere."
You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "It wasn't."
He looked at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. "If this is weird for you though. With everything. I can stop."
"No." You said it fast, then quieter. "I want this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." you paused, then added quieter, "I haven't stopped thinking about it. Or… you. I can't stop thinking about you."
His brain glitched hard at that. wWait, she what? Holy shit, okay, don't screw this up. And he leaned in again, kissing you deeper now, hands sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. He nipped at your lip, testing, as things heated back up, his pulse loud in his ears. You pushed him back gently, hands on his chest, guiding him across the room step by step until his back hit the wall with a soft thud. The kiss turned messy then, tongues clashing, breaths mixing in quick gasps, neither of you holding back anymore. Your lips moved to his jaw, nipping lightly, then down to his neck, sucking at the skin there.
He let out an uncontrolled whine, his hands tightening on your hips. That sound made you bolder, so you slipped one hand under his hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You pulled back up to kiss him again, fast and urgent, teeth grazing his lip. He bent his knees a bit, hands sliding down to your thighs, and lifted you up in one smooth motion. Your legs wrapped around his torso automatically, and he spun you around, pressing your back against the wall now. No action option popped up in his head, no prompt telling him what to do next — he'd done it all on instinct, and that made a quick flash of pride hit him, like he was finally off script, just going with it.
Between kisses, you murmured against his mouth, "Hee, you feel so good."
"You too, god" he breathed back, voice rough. He pressed in closer, his body flush against yours, the bulge in his pants obvious now between your legs. You let out a quiet moan, your head tipping back against the wall. He kept you pinned there against the wall, his hips rolling slow against yours in a rhythm that matched your breaths, each grind pulling a small gasp from you. His hands slid up under your hoodie, fingers spreading wide over your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping in like he couldn't get enough. You arched into his touch and nipped at his earlobe, then soothed it with your tongue. He shivered, a low groan escaping him, and you felt him harden more against you, the friction sending sparks up your spine.
He lowered you slowly to the floor, knees bending as he guided you toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. You tugged at his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one messy motion, his hair falling wild as it came off. His skin was warm, flushed, and you ran your hands over his chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they peaked under your touch. He laughed softly, a little breathless, as he peeled your hoodie off next, tossing it aside. His fingers traced the strap of your bra, slipping it down your shoulder before leaning in to kiss the exposed skin.
You pushed him back onto the bed, climbing onto his lap, your thighs straddling his as you ground down slowly, feeling his erection press right where you needed it. His hands gripped your hips, guiding the motion. As his fingers worked the clasp of your bra, letting it fall away, Heeseung's mind clicked into place: this was infinitely better than any simulator. In the game it was all presets, like surveys and options that guessed at what you liked, scripted responses that felt good but flat. Here, he could watch your reactions for real, feel the way your body tensed or relaxed under his hands, discover the spots that made you squirm without a pop up telling him what to do. No algorithms dictating the pace; just trial and error, his lips on your skin, learning from every shiver, every moan. Why settle for a program when he could map you out himself, piece by piece?
Things picked up then, his mouth closing over one of your nipples, tongue flicking slow at first, then sucking harder when you arched into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Hee, yes— like that," you breathed, grinding down firmer, the wet heat between your legs soaking through against his sweatpants. He switched sides, hand cupping the other breast, thumb rolling over the peak. He helped you take your sweatpants off, and then his free hand slipped between you, fingers pressing over your clit through your panties, rubbing in tight circles that had you moaning louder, hips bucking. You reached down, palming him through his pants, feeling the outline of his cock twitch under your hand. "You're so hard already," you said, squeezing gently, watching his face contort. He thrust up into your touch, a whine slipping out as he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and deep.
His fingers dipped under your waistband now, sliding through your slick folds, one dipping inside you slow, curling just right. "So wet, fuck," he whispered, adding another finger, pumping steadily as his thumb found your clit again. You rocked against his hand, breaths coming faster, and tugged at his sweatpants, freeing him enough to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking slow from base to tip, thumb swiping over the precum beading there. He bucked into your grip, groaning into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. "Keep going," he panted, fingers speeding up inside you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.
You sped up your strokes, matching his rhythm, the slick sound of your hand on him mixing with the wet push of his fingers in you. He dropped his head to your shoulder, mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing skin as his free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks. You rolled your palm over the head on every upstroke, spreading the precum down his length, and he thrust into your fist harder, a low whine catching in his throat. His hips stuttered, thrusts into your hand getting erratic, and you felt him swell thicker against your palm. Suddenly he grabbed your wrist, stopping your movement, chest heaving. "I can't— fuck— I'll cum so fast like this."
"Yeah," you breathed, nodding quick, "Fuck, okay." He kissed you hard once more, then pulled his fingers out slow, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean while looking right at you. You bit your lip, heat rushing lower. You shifted back a bit, still catching your breath. "You got a condom?"
"Oh shit," he muttered, eyes widening. He reached down to his sweatpants, still tangled around one thigh from your handjob. And dug into the pocket, fumbling for his wallet. You leaned in, kissing along his neck slow, tongue flicking the spot that made him shiver earlier, just to keep him distracted. He huffed as he finally pulled out the foil packet. He glanced at it, then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. In the game you didn't need this shit — couldn't exactly knock up pixel pussy.
He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling it on quick but careful, hand stroking himself once to settle it. Then he nudged you back onto the bed, settling between your legs as you lay on your back. He kicked off the sweatpants fully, nearly tripping when they caught on his ankle, and you both grinned at the awkward shuffle. He hovered over you, one hand bracing by your head, the other guiding himself, tip brushing through your folds once, twice, coating in your wetness. "You okay?" he asked, voice low, eyes locked on yours.
"Yeah, fuck, please," you said, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
He pushed in slow, the head of his cock breaching you first, that initial stretch making him grit his teeth; tight, wet heat wrapping around him like a vice, slick from all the buildup, but still enough resistance that he had to ease forward inch by inch. His breath caught sharp in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a second as the sensation hit him full force: warm walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper, the condom dulling it just a bit but not enough to hide how perfectly you fit, how your body gave way but clung at the same time. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed there, pulsing inside you, the fullness making his thighs tense.
This was miles better than the game. In the sim, it was all smooth, predictable friction, coded to feel good but always a step removed, like jacking off to a video. Here, though, buried deep in you, he felt every twitch, every squeeze of your cunt around his cock, the real heat radiating through him, the way your wetness coated him completely, Making each tiny shift send sparks up his spine. It was messy and raw, just the obscene reality of how soaked you were, how his balls pressed between your thighs, heavy and tight, begging for more. He started moving then, slow pulls back and thrusts in, the wet slap of skin filling the room as he found a rhythm. You arched up to meet him, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red lines he could feel stinging already. "Fuck, you're taking me so well," he muttered, voice wrecked, as he snapped his hips harder once, watching your tits bounce with the impact. He leaned down, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise while he ground deep, cock dragging along your walls, hitting spots that made you clench tighter around him.
Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him faster, and he obliged, thrusts turning rougher, the bed creaking under you both. He could hear the squelch each time he buried himself balls-deep, your pussy gripping him. "So fucking wet," he groaned against your skin, one hand sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you onto him harder. You moaned louder, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as he pounded in, the angle shifting so his pubic bone ground against your clit with every thrust.
He flipped you over suddenly, hands on your hips yanking you up onto all fours, and slid back in from behind in one smooth push, deeper this way, his cock curving just right to make you gasp. He started railing you, skin slapping loud, his balls smacking against you with each brutal thrust. You pushed back against him, meeting every snap, your walls fluttering around him, milking him tighter. He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy circles while he fucked you harder.
His mind flashed back to the game then, that kink survey popping up, how you'd picked options that leaned heavy into rough. He wondered if it carried over, if real you craved that edge too. Testing it, he drew back a hand and landed a smack on your ass, not too hard, just enough to sting and make the flesh jiggle under his palm. The sound cracked through the room, sharp over the wet slaps of his thrusts. You moaned low, pushing back harder against him, your pussy clenching tight around his cock like a reflex. That reaction lit him up — okay, she likes it — and he felt bolder, the dom side kicking in without overthinking. "Yeah, you take that so good," he groaned, rubbing the spot he smacked, soothing the heat before landing another, a bit firmer this time, watching your skin pink up.
He kept pounding in, deep and steady, the angle letting him hit that spot inside you that made your knees buckle a little. Reaching forward, he grabbed your wrists, pulling your arms back and pinning them at the small of your back with one hand, your chest dropping lower to the mattress. It arched your ass higher, letting him drive deeper, his free hand gripping your hip hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The restraint made everything tighter, your walls hugging his cock obscenely, slick dripping down his balls with each thrust. "Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he panted, voice breaking as he felt you flutter around him, the build-up coiling tight in his gut.
"Hee—close, I'm so close," you gasped, face pressed into the sheets, hips grinding back desperate now. He picked up the pace, thrusts turning frantic, skin slapping louder, his balls tightening as he railed you harder. "Come on, let go for me, you feel so good clenching like that," he muttered, leaning over you, breath hot on your back. The friction built fast, your moans turning high and broken, and he felt you shatter first, your pussy spasming hard around his cock, milking him in waves, wetness gushing out and coating his thighs. That pushed him over, his hips stuttering as he buried deep one last time, groaning loud as he came, pulsing inside you, the condom catching every thick spurt while your bodies locked together, shaking through it.
You both stayed like that for a minute, chests heaving, sweat cooling on your skin, the room thick with the smell of sex. He was still buried inside you, pulsing faintly with aftershocks, but he didn't want it to end yet. Slowly, he eased out, the condom slick and heavy as he tied it off and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. His hands loosened on your wrists, letting your arms fall forward as you collapsed onto your stomach with a soft groan. He leaned down, lips brushing the small of your back, tasting the salt there, then lower, kissing along the curve where your spine dipped. His teeth grazed the swell of your ass, biting just hard enough to make you twitch, then soothing it with his tongue. You pushed back slightly, thighs parting on instinct, and he took the invitation— hands spreading you open as he dragged his tongue slow from your asshole down to your entrance, lapping up the mess you'd both made. The taste hit him full: tangy, musky, mixed with the latex from the condom and your arousal, thick and real coating his tongue. He groaned into you, diving deeper, tongue pushing inside your pussy, curling to scoop out more, nose buried against you as he ate you out sloppy from behind.
Your hips started rocking back, muffled moans into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. He kept going, alternating broad licks up your slit with flicks over your clit, then back to spearing his tongue inside, feeling your walls flutter again. His face was soaked now, chin dripping, lips swollen, as he sucked your clit into his mouth, humming low. You tensed hard, thighs shaking, and came again with a broken cry, pushing back against his face, wetness flooding his mouth as he licked you through it, not stopping until you sagged limp.
He pulled back finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but mostly just smearing it, face shiny and wrecked. He flipped you over gentle, onto your back, and just looked; your cheeks flushed deep red, hair stuck to your forehead, neck and thighs dotted with fresh bruises from his mouth and grip, chest rising fast. You looked completely fucked out, eyes half lidded, lips bitten raw. His gaze dropped to himself: cock half hard again already, hanging heavy, the used condom on the floor bloated with his load, cum visible through the latex. This was nothing like the game. There, everything reset clean, no mess, no lingering taste on his tongue, no actual bruises blooming on skin. Here, he could smell you on his face, feel the ache in his jaw from eating you out, see the evidence of how hard he'd fucked you. Way better. Infinitely better.
He crawled up beside you, collapsing half on top, one leg tangled with yours, hand resting on your stomach as you both caught your breath again. The air was still thick, sheets twisted around your ankles, and Heeseung shifted a little closer, propping his head on one hand to look at you. He picked up your hand, fingers tracing over your knuckles before bringing them to his lips, kissing each one slow, like he was checking they were real. "Hey," he said soft, "was is... good for you?"
You glanced away for a second, cheeks heating up again, then nodded. "Yeah. Really good." Your voice came out quieter than you meant, thumb brushing his wrist. He smiled small, relieved, and pressed another kiss to your fingertips. You swallowed, still coming down, and mumbled, "want some water?"
"Yeah I'll get it," he said quick, already pushing up. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, then paused mid step, one hand going to his lower back with a quiet "Ow—shit." He stretched a bit, wincing. Last time he'd moved like that was... well, in the game and pixels don't pull muscles. He huffed a laugh at himself and shuffled over to the mini fridge, the floor cool under his feet.
He grabbed two bottles, cracked one open for you first, and came back, sitting on the edge of the bed close enough that his knee bumped yours. You sat up a little, taking the water, and he reached out, fingers threading through your messy hair, smoothing it back gently while you drank. His touch was light, almost absent minded, but steady. You lowered the bottle and just looked at him— hair sticking up, lips swollen, a faint red mark on his neck from earlier. You let out a soft laugh, nose scrunching. he raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Hi."
"Hi," you said back, still smiling.
He tilted his head, thumb brushing your cheek. "You need to pee."
You snorted, covering your face with one hand. "Yes, I know." He didn't even hesitate, just slid his arms under you, one behind your back, the other under your knees, and lifted you up like you weighed nothing. You yelped quietly, arms looping around his neck on reflex. "Hee—"
"I got you," he muttered, carrying you across the room to the bathroom door, stepping carefully around the clothes scattered on the floor. He set you down gentle inside, kissed your forehead quick, and pulled the door almost shut behind you. "Take your time." You heard him flop back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, probably rubbing his back again, and couldn't help smiling to yourself in the mirror.
When you came back, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, boxers pulled on, knees apart, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up as the bathroom door opened and gave you this small, lopsided smile, half awkward, half couldn't-hide-it-if-he-tried glad. His hair was still a mess, sticking up where your fingers had been, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn't know where to put his hands now. You walked over and sat next to him, close enough that your thighs touched, the mattress dipping a little under both of you.
For a second neither of you said anything, just the quiet hum of the mini fridge and the faint rustle of sheets when you shifted. He glanced at you sideways. "So... that happened."
You huffed a small laugh, pulling your knees up. "Yeah. It did."
He was quiet for a moment. "Was it—" he stopped, started again. "I don't want you to think that's why I came here. Or that I expected—"
"I know."
"Because we don't really know each other. Like, actually know each other. And I don't want you to feel like this was too much or—"
"Don't we though?"
He looked at you. "What?"
"Know each other." You tucked your hair behind your ear. "I lived all of it with you. In the game."
"Yeah but that wasn't—"
"The date in the park," you said. "You picked that flower for me. The one that was glowing.” Heeseung was very still now, watching you. "And we played League together," you continued. "Destroyed my exes, even though they don't even exist in real life. Also, you were so smug about it, kept emoting after every kill, I thought you were so cute. And then we cooked pasta at my place and you almost burned the garlic and I had to help you and we ended up just—" you stopped, smiled a little. "It felt easy and natural like I'd known you forever. And the dates after that. Like the arcade, that hiking trail." You were looking at your hands now. "And then the park again at night. You told me you were falling for me. I remember it all too well. It was the most real thing that's ever happened to me." You finally looked at him. "And when I met you at the party and realized you were an actual person, I freaked out. Because how was I supposed to deal with the fact that I'd already fallen for you before we'd even met?"
"You—" his voice cracked slightly. "You fell for me?"
"Yeah." You said it simple, like it was obvious. "In the game. I didn't know it was you, but I felt everything. And then when Jungwon texted me about the update, I couldn't — I had to play it again. I had to see you again, even if it was just in the game. I thought it was just the game being really immersive and really realistic and I didn't think you were actually there."
Heeseung let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I thought the same thing but I couldn't figure out what else it could be."
"And then we both avoided each other for a week." You laughed, dropping your head against his shoulder. "We're idiots."
"Complete idiots." He leaned his head against yours. "But like, in our defense, how were we supposed to know we were accidentally having virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch?"
You snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Please never say that sentence again."
"Which part, the virtual sex or the Nintendo Switch?"
"Both. That whole thing."
He was grinning now. "But it happened."
"Ynfortunately yes."
"And it was—" he stopped.
"Really good," you finished.
He pulled back a little, just enough to look at you, his fingers sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, thumb brushing your cheek. "Yeah. It was. But this way is better." You smiled, he did too. But then he paused, and said quieter, "We don't have to figure it all out right now, you know. The whole... what this means. But," he swallowed, hand dropping to lace with yours on the sheet. "If you want to. If you're down... I'd really like to try this for real. Like, dates that don't require a Switch cartridge. Real hiking and a real arcade. And the boring real stuff too."
You turned your hand over, squeezing his fingers. "Boring real stuff sounds good."
"Yeah?" His smile went soft, relieved, and he shifted closer, knee bumping yours. His free hand came up to your waist, pulling you gently until you were half in his lap, legs tangled again. He kissed you slow then, nothing rushed, just lips moving soft, his hand splaying warm on your back. You kissed back, fingers threading through the hair at his nape, tugging lightly when he deepened it a bit. He pulled away just enough to breathe, lips still grazing yours. "This okay?"
"More than okay," you murmured, chasing his mouth for another quick kiss. He smiled into it, then another, hand sliding up your spine, thumb tracing lazy lines. You broke apart for air, but stayed close, foreheads together. "So," you said, poking his chest. "First real date. You picking or me?"
"I owe you that glowing flower," he said, fingers playing with your hair. "But like, from an actual field this time."
You laughed softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Deal. But you're still helping with the garlic."
He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow and pulling you with him so you landed half on his chest. "Fine. But no emoting when I burn it."
You settled there, ear over his heartbeat, his arms wrapping loose around you. "We'll see."
And you did see, because you saw him burn garlic three more times over the next month, and you emoted every single time, just to watch him get flustered and defensive about it. And the dates weren't like the game. There were no perfectly timed sunsets or fireflies that landed on cue.
Your first real date was at a diner near campus at two in the afternoon because that's when you both had free time between classes. He ordered pancakes and you stole half of them. The syrup was too sweet and the coffee was burnt and it was perfect anyway. You went to an arcade on a Tuesday night because you both thought it would be funny and all the good machines were broken. Heeseung spent twenty bucks trying to win you a stuffed cat from the claw machine and failed every time, just like the game. You ended up buying one from the prize counter with your own money and he carried it around for the rest of the night looking mildly offended. The hiking trail he took you on wasn't the picturesque mountain path from the game. It was a local trail that was mostly flat and next to a highway. You could hear cars the entire time. He tripped over a root and almost took you down with him. But he held your hand the whole way and pointed out a bird he thought was cool, and when you sat on a bench to rest, he kissed you and it tasted like the granola bars you'd been sharing.
You learned things about him that the game had never shown you. That he was grumpy in the mornings and needed at least ten minutes of silence before he could form coherent sentences. That he had a specific way of organizing his desk and got stressed when things were out of place. That he laughed at his own jokes before he finished telling them and it was the most endearing thing you'd ever seen. Meanwhile, he learned that you talked to yourself when you were concentrating, narrating your own thoughts out loud without realizing it. That you had strong opinions about which anime openings were skippable and which were sacred. That you stress baked at midnight and would show up at his dorm at one am with cookies that were still warm and slightly misshapen.
You played League together and he actually did run it down once and you flamed him for fifteen minutes straight. He took you to his favorite boba place and you hated the drink you ordered but drank it anyway because you didn't want to admit you'd made a mistake. He noticed and switched cups with you without saying anything.
And the domestic stuff was better than any game could've captured: grocery shopping together and arguing about which brand of ramen to buy; him falling asleep on your shoulder during study sessions in the library; you stealing his hoodies and him pretending to be annoyed but leaving them at your place on purpose. The way he'd text you random memes at three am just because he thought you'd find them funny. The way you'd save the last bite of your food for him without thinking about it. It was real and messy and nothing like the perfect dates the game had generated. It was so much better.
Three months in, Jungwon decided he wanted to do a pizza night at his place. Make-your-own-pizza, he'd said. It'll be fun, he'd said. He'd assigned everyone tasks and you and Heeseung got stuck with grocery shopping because apparently you were the only ones who could be trusted not to forget something important. Which is how you ended up in the pasta sauce aisle of the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, having an increasingly heated debate about pizza sauce. "This one has basil already in it," Heeseung said, holding up a jar.
"But that one's too sweet. We need the plain one so we can add our own seasonings." You grabbed a different jar.
"Nobody's going to taste the difference."
"I'm going to taste the difference!"
"Yeah, that's because ou have the most specific opinions about things that don't matter."
"Excuse me, pizza sauce matters. This is important." He looked at you, standing there in your hoodie and jeans with your hair falling out of your bun, holding a jar of pasta sauce like it was a matter of life and death, and he felt something in his chest shift. You'd been arguing about groceries for ten minutes. Before that it had been flour — he'd grabbed all purpose and you'd insisted on bread flour even though Jungwon probably wouldn't care. You had strong opinions about olive oil brands. You'd spent five minutes reading the labels on different types of cheese. It was so mundane and domestic and real and he was so gone for you it was ridiculous.
Heeseung caught your wrist and pulled you back. You turned, surprised, the jar of sauce still in your hand. "What?" He just looked at you for a second. The fluorescent grocery store lighting was terrible and someone's kid was screaming two aisles over and the store radio was playing a compressed version of some pop song from five years ago. Nothing about this moment was romantic or special or anything like the game would've generated.
"You know," he said, "if this was a cooking game, you'd be picking all the wrong action options right now."
You laughed. "What?"
"The wrong sauce. Insisting on fresh garlic when the jarred stuff is right there. Making this way more complicated than it needs to be." He was smiling now, pulling you closer. "You'd be failing the efficiency route."
"Good thing this isn't a game then."
"Yeah." His other hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Good thing." You were looking at him with this soft expression, waiting for whatever he was going to say, and Heeseung realized he'd been waiting for the perfect moment for weeks now. The right time, the right place, the right words. But standing in a grocery store on a random Saturday arguing about pizza sauce felt more right than any perfectly rendered sunset could've been. "I love you," he said.
You went very still. "What?"
"I love you." He said it again, steadier this time. "And I want to finally beat fuck ass Girlfriend Simulator. Make it official."
"Heeseung—"
"I want to complete the Girlfriend Simulator route," he continued, and he was grinning now because he could see you trying not to smile. "Get the good ending. Unlock the girlfriend achievement."
You laughed. "You're such a nerd."
"Yeah, I know. so?" He squeezed your hand. "Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"
You set the jar of sauce down on the nearest shelf, not even checking if it was the right spot, and kissed him. Right there in the middle of the grocery store with terrible lighting and screaming children and elevator music playing overhead. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were both grinning like idiots. "Yes," you said. "Obviously yes.”
And you kissed him. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. You pulled back just a little, hands sliding up to rest on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. The kiss turned slower then, softer, your lips brushing his again and again like you couldn't quite stop. He made this quiet hum, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking the skin there while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you close. Some lady pushed her cart past you both, wheels squeaking on the linoleum, but neither of you moved.
When you finally broke apart, foreheads still touching, you were both breathing a little harder. "I love you too," you said, voice low but steady. "Obviously. And I'm really glad I beat Boyfriend Simulator."
He laughed soft, nose bumping yours. "Wait." His face went serious all of a sudden, eyes narrowing. "That was the name of your game? Boyfriend Simulator?"
"Yeah." You bit your lip, trying not to grin too big. "Jungwon said it was different from Girlfriend Simulator because this one has a multiplayer option."
He shook his head slow, arms still around you, holding you there in the aisle like he wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. You both just stood there, wrapped up in each other between the shelves of pasta sauce, carts rumbling by, some kid yelling about cereal in the distance. Heeseung stared at you, processing, then let out this quiet groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "I'm going to kill Yang Jungwon."
You laughed into his hair, fingers threading through it at the nape of his neck. "Get in line."
[GAME COMPLETE] GOOD ENDING UNLOCKED: REAL LIFE ROUTE ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: GIRLFRIEND.EXE NEW GAME+ AVAILABLE: THE REST OF YOUR LIVES
⸺ IN WHICH you can't stop thinking about what you saw him doing
﹙3714﹚ nerd best friend ! sjy 𖹭 𝒻em. reader — best friends to ?? nsfw kissing cursing porn mention handjob kinda overstimulation sub jake ℳORE ❜
fluffy brown hair, flushed cheeks and black glasses. that's what you think when you think about jake.
jake, who is soft spoken, a little bit shy, funny, not too talkative when it's the wrong people. jake, your best friend for three years.
jake, who you're watching now with wide eyes, how he's pounding into some random girl like a fucking animal.
you didn't mean it. you were just looking for the bathroom in this big ass house, who you don't even know who's it is, when you opened a random one, just to find your friend fucking a girl.
so, even if you were drunk, you understood the situation, closing the door right after you came to your senses. your heartbeat sounding more loud in your ears than the music itself.
and now, a day later, you're still repeating that scenario again and again in your head.
we're talking about jake sim, who will tell you random facts in the middle of the conversation when he's nervous, the one who's too afraid of insects at his grown age, jake, who you never saw talking with a girl in that way.
“hey!” the man next to you waved his hand in front of your eyes, snapping you out of your thoughts.
you blinked a couple of times, turning your head in his direction.
“are you listening to me?” he asks, huffing as he sits straight on the chair next to you. you shake your head, dropping it as you sigh.
“sorry, i was... uh, thinking about something,” you turn your eyes to your food as you hear him sigh.
“right. quantum physics i guess,” he jokes as he looks at you, raising one brow.
“yeah, kinda,” clearing your throat you look up again, putting your thoughts aside. “anyways, sorry, sunoo. what were you talking about?”
“so... i was saying that we should go jay's cafeteria when we finish,” his eyes were now looking at his phone as he talked.
place where jake works, the person you have been avoiding since last night. well, maybe he didn't even noticed that you didn't answer his messages from this morning.
“yeah, sure. why not?”
what the fuck were you thinking? of course, jake would be here. he works here. but, you thought that he only worked in the morning.
“guys! nice to see you.” the charming smile of jay was the first thing you saw when you entered the place.
“hi, jay,” you also smile at him. sunoo and you were about to order.
you looked around the place, and it was almost full. the people came and went, the tables were all occupied, and the waitresses walked with their hands full.
and then you saw him. he was smiling at some old lady as he handed her what she ordered. his hair was under a blue cap that was part of the uniform, letting you see only a few strands of his brown hair. and obviously, with his black glasses on, making him look cuter than usual.
“so, you're gonna order the usual, y/n?” you immediately looked at him and nodded, trying to focus on the mini conversation they were having, but you simply couldn't.
minutes later, you were waiting for your order with sunoo next to you, as jay kept attending to the people.
you tried not to look in jake's direction, only looking at sunoo and paying attention to what he was saying, and how he kept complaining about an assignment that one professor gave you a few days ago.
“and i can't believe that he paired us with—” your friend's complaining was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“hi guys, what's up?” judging by his usual behavior, he doesn't seem to have noticed what happened yesterday, and maybe that is because you were very careful when you closed the door.
then you don't have to worry about anything; you were just exaggerating.
“hi, jake,” you smile at him, losing the tension of your shoulders, and well, your whole body.
“so... the usual,” he said as he read the piece of paper and then at you two as he maintained a tiny smile between his lips.
his lips were swollen. you didn't mean to stare too much but the color of it wasn't the usual color, they were... brighter? and when you looked at his mouth, you remember the obscene and almost pornographic sound that came out of it after you closed the door.
you wanted to run and hide in a cave so you could stop thinking about your friend.
“here yall go,” he passed sunoo's one to him and extended yours in your direction, so you stepped closer to grab it. “you... ignored my messages from today,” his voice came out a little lower; he didn't want anyone to hear.
sunoo was too occupied on his phone again to notice it. jake's your friend, it's not strange.
“sorry, i was, um, in class,” you chuckle, trying not to sound too obvious or too uncomfortable about all you were thinking. and how just the touch of his fingers against yours made your head start to remember.
“mhm, yeah.” he didn't believe what you said, but nodded anyway as he let go of the cup. “then, can you come to my apartment at night? i have a new setup of lego, it's sick! you're gonna love it.”
you sigh as you laugh.
and there it was again. the usual jake.
his eyes shine behind his bangs as he looks at you, waiting for your response. so, after a few seconds, you nod as you smile.
“yeah, sure. i'll be there.”
when you knocked at his door was about eleven pm. and, as you looked at your phone, the door in front of you opened up, just to show you jake, who was with his hair dripping water, a towel around his shoulders and in his pajamas.
“why didn't use your keys?” he asks as he steps aside to let you in. you clear your throat as you put your phone in your pocket.
“well, just because.” not like you think that could happen what you saw the other day.
“hm, right... well, have you eaten?” as he closed the door he walked to the kitchen, and you followed him after putting on the slippers that you had there.
“yeah, a while ago. you?” even if you have been here countless times, you can't help but look around the place.
“yup, but if you're hungry, i can cook something,” he offers as he takes two cokes out of the fridge. you shake your head.
“no, i'm fine,” you chuckle. “so, where's your impressive new acquisition?” after you take a seat in one of the chairs, you look at him.
a bright smile appears on his face. it looked like he forgot about it, and you just reminded him.
“come, we can build it in the floor of my room,” he started walking with the two cokes and two glasses in his hands.
you don't even remember when you started to do this. it happened just one random night when you arrived here, and he was in the middle of building a spaceship, and a piece of it got lost, and jake passed the next three days talking about it, so you came back, and after a few minutes, you found it right under the carpet of his room.
after that, you told him that you could help him so he wouldn't lose anything, and also because you liked to see him building it.
“a gigantic castle,” you stare at the big box in front of you on top of jake's bed. and judging by the illustrative image, it was cute.
“mhm. don't even ask how much it cost, i'm... not gonna buy anything like this in a while,” he took a big sip of his coke and then looked at you. forgetting about the class he brought.
“yes, i imagined it. but it's nice, this is gonna take you a while,” you smile at him as you push him with your shoulder. he smiles too, lowering his head, looking at the floor.
“yeah, and i have you to help me with it.” you look up at him, and he's looking at you with the same expression. you nod as you grab the coke from his hand, just to take a sip. “i brought one for you!”
“open it up, nerd. we have a job to do,” you make an exaggerated tone as you point at the box with your free hand, completely ignoring his words.
jake bit his lips as he smiled, turning himself to kneel on the floor so he could grab the box.
you sit on the floor where there is a big gray carpet, which he uses on these occasions, as you wait for him to put the box on the floor.
minutes later, he's sitting next to you as you look at the pieces inside plastic bags in front of you.
“a lot of pieces,” you murmur, making yourself comfortable next to him. jake nods as he looks down at the instructions.
“amazing, right?” he says after a few seconds of silence, now looking at you. so you turn your head and nod, chuckling again because of his excitement.
“yeah, you're gonna be entertained,” you tap his shoulder two times and then look at your phone.
“you're not gonna help me?” the tone of disappointment in his voice made you turn to him again. “i thought that's what you're gonna do.”
“you're such a crybaby,” sighing, you put your phone down. “i was just looking at the time.” you show him your blocked phone, the screen marked 11:17 pm.
“oh,” he turned his head in another direction, but you could catch a glimpse of the blush over his cheeks. his fluffy hair made him cuter, even if it was still a little humid.
“aw, you're blushing again,” you search for his face as you smile, mocking him. jake doesn't let you see his face as he turns it in the opposite direction.
“i am not!” he clears his throat and straightens up his composure. “stop messing with me,” he murmurs after a couple of seconds, and the smile on your lips widens.
“finee, i'm not gonna bother you, jakey. so let's start!”
you entertain yourself looking around his room from your position. from the posters of random movies and things related to football on his walls, to the physics books he has on his shelf, everything screams jake.
but, even if you were a little entertained looking around, you actually were bored.
“let's stop for a bit,” you groan, stretching your limbs as you look up. jake, next to you, looks down.
“but you didn't do anything,” he huffs as he turns his eye to the pieces between his fingers. you look to the wall and roll your eyes.
“i was too busy looking that anything went missing,” jake carefully puts down the legos and then looks at you properly.
“you're lying on the floor, using my lap as a pillow, and you're saying that you're helping me?” you nod with your lips forming a straight line. he blinks and then looks up again, concentrating on what he was just doing.
he completely ignores your complaints. so, after some seconds, you speak in the middle of the comfortable silence.
“hey, whose party was it last night?” you ask, as you look at your nails. jake hums, not stopping his action. now he was trying to build a tower.
“i heard that it was one of jay's friends, i don't remember...” he takes a break at each word, too focused on the legos, but still listening to you. “why?”
“uh, well, i was so drunk that i don't even remember,” after yawning, you turn yourself to the right to be more comfortable. flat cheek against his left thigh as your eyes land on the legos on the floor.
“don't move,” he breathes out, stopping his fingers, without taking his eyes from the pieces. you frozen in place, putting your hand on the floor, close to his knee.
“about that,” he continues after some seconds, “who took you to your home last night? and why didn't you answered my messages?” this time he said the full sentences, without taking any time to speak.
“i think that it was... anton? huh, i don't remember that much,” you lie, unconsciously biting the skin of your lower lip. “and i told you that i was in class today, seriously.”
“you let him take you home?” noticing his surprise and a little annoyed tone, you turn your eyes towards him.
“why? he's nice. he just took me home.” you don't understand why he would react this way.
“i think that he wants to get in your pants,” he says, sighing, making you turn yourself again, without raising your head from his legs.
“what are you talking about? anton isn't like that, he's nice to me,” you scoff, looking up at him, moving your head again. and jake finally let the legos on the floor and looks straight ahead of him, without meeting your eyes.
“if you wanna think like that, then it's fine,” he shrinks.
“are you making a scene?” your tone came out sarcastic. his words are offending you, but you can't avoid the smile that grows between your lips.
“what? no.” he finally looks down at you, his brows are furrowing under his bangs, and the shine in his eyes is different.
“i thought so, because you have no right to make a scene after—” you close your mouth immediately, looking away as you mentally slap your face.
“after what?” he blinks, still with his brows furrowed. but you didn't even want to look him in the eye.
why would you say that out loud?
and now you remembered everything again, so vividly that it makes your heart beat.
“what is it?” jake turns his head, like a confused puppy, staring at you, waiting for your response.
“nothing, forget it,” you sigh, trying to brush it off, to stop your mind from thinking and remembering it. “continue with the castle, or it's gonna get too late.”
even if you tried to change the subject jake didn't move. the curiosity was picking at his mind as he kept looking at you.
“stop staring and keep doing what you were doing,” you sigh, turning one more time just to avoid his gaze.
“y/n, wait—” but this time you turned to the right instead of the left. “a-ah.” almost the same sound that you heard before came out of his mouth again. maybe you put your head too close to him this time.
you didn't move and neither did jake. he remained in silence after that. you blinked a couple of times, and you realized that you were basically facing his cock.
this gotta be some porn cliché plot; it can be happening to you right now. but at the same time, you can't get away because you can't face him right now, so you close your eyes for an instant.
seconds later, you hear him swallow saliva, and his hand, which you didn't notice that he put behind your head —maybe to stop you, got away.
“jake, are you having an erection?” you talked in the middle of the silence, after opening your eyes and paying a little more attention.
and yes, even if his pajama pants are black, you can still notice it, and also because it's right in front of your face. you feel his body stiff.
“i-i'm not,” his voice sounds trembling, like he was holding his breath. his thigh muscles stiff under your head.
“you are...” you made a sound like you were about to laugh. this can't be the same guy you saw last night. maybe you saw it wrong. even if you clearly saw his back and brown hair.
“damn it,” he murmurs very low, but you listen to him anyway.
slowly, and not so sure you put your left hand on his thing, close to your nose and very close to the growing erection. jake breathed out a little more loud than he thought.
“w-hat are you doing —ah!” he moaned at the same time he let his head drop, and squeezed his eyes close.
now, the palm of your hand was softly palming him through his pants, and since they were made of a very thin and comfy fabric, you practically could feel his length through it. he still wasn't very hard, so you stroked it a few times, slowly torturing him as jake contained his mouth shut to not let out another sound.
“you're funny jake. you're having an erection right now.” even if you were ashamed about what you were thinking all day, you had to admit that, in fact, you wanted to see him like this.
and obviously, his reactions didn't disappoint you.
“that's... that's because y-you're touching me. ngh.” it wasn't a complaint, it was just a fact. and just the heat of your palm was about to make him come in his pants.
“nu-hu, you were like this before i noticed,” you hummed, chuckling again as you kept slowly rubbing him, this time a little more roughly. “you're a pervert, jake.”
“n-no. it was j-just...” he didn't finish his sentence before another needy moan came out of his mouth as his thighs moved above your head, and his hands turned into fists.
“you finished just because of that?” you were again holding a laugh, as you let your hand in the same place, starting to feel how it was getting wet.
“i didn't,” he sighed-whined, “stop messing with me, y/n.”
“i am not messing with you...” you slowly sat, without moving your hand away, your thighs bumping with his as you did it. “...jake.”
your body was stuck to his, legs right beside his. and you finally met his eyes, which looked dazed behind his black glasses that were slowly sliding through his nose.
you came closer to his face and lifted your hand, fixing his glasses with one finger. jake's eyes never left your face.
after licking his lips, he opened his mouth to say something.
“how the hell are you hard again?” you breathe out, as you look down one time before looking at his eyes again. he blinks, too focused on something else that you missed. his cheeks are bright red, and his chest rises and falls again and again.
“i... i don't know,” he whines again, too embarrassed to look down or anywhere else. you breathe out a laugh, raising one eyebrow.
then you put the palm of your free hand over his cheek. jake swallow again, his eyes almost expressing all his thoughts. his skin is burning under your hand.
when you move away the hand that was on his crotch, jake sighs, almost disappointed, making you smile.
the next second, you're putting down his boxer and pants, just enough so you can take his dick out. and jake doesn't say a word as he squeezes his eyes shut one more time, breathing more heavily.
his length spreads free, almost touching his lower abdomen. making you finally look down as you maintain one hand on his cheek and the other grabbing the waist of his pants. of course, it's hard again.
before thinking too much, you wrap your hand around it.
“hm!” he bites his lips as he throws his head to your shoulder, forehead landing against it, as his right hand flies to your hand on his cheek. his hand is also warm, or maybe yours it's cold.
you look up again, your nose accidentally touching his shoulder. then you turn to look at him, but his face is hidden on your shoulder.
so you start to slowly move up and down your hand, making him whine embarrassingly loud. and maintaining the same peace, you keep stroking him as he let out muffled noises.
“you're cute,” you say after some seconds as he whines again. his hand squeezes yours, and he groans.
“i'm... not cute, hm,” he says before moaning. you accelerate the movements of your wrist, up and down. and from time to time, you make circles on his tip with your thumb, making him twitch under your touch. he was about to come again.
“of course you are.”
then you lower your hand on his cheek, putting it behind his head, on his nape, and bringing it to your face, finally kissing his lips. and even if he was surprised, he immediately returned the kiss, letting his hands fall to the floor as you grabbed the hair of his nape, deepening the kiss.
meanwhile you kept stroking his length quickly. your wrist was starting to hurt, but you kept doing it as you kissed his lips. his glasses were bumping your forehead from time to time because of the way he was kissing you. you would never know that he would kiss like this.
his tongue played with yours, and he bit your lips, but also kissed your lips with care and passion. he breathed through his nose more heavily as your hand stroked him. until he froze with his mouth over yours, moaning in the middle of the kiss, as his mouth fell open.
and then you felt how warm liquid started to spill from his cock, spreading over your hand and his clothes. but you didn't stop your wrist, making him almost cry because of the overstimulation.
“stop, y-you're...” immediately, you take your hand away, resting it against his thigh.
you keep staring at him in silence, looking at his fucked up face. his glasses are a little fogged, but still, you can see his dark eyes. his bangs are messy over his forehead, his hair is drier under your fingers, and his cheeks are still flushed red.
he hadn't moved an inch; his lips touch yours. and when you were about to pull away, he reached the back of your head, kissing you again with the same intensity as before.
maybe sim jaeyun wasn't the little nerd and clumsy guy that you thought he was all this time.
genre: college au, eventual simp x simp dynamic, smut, slow burn
synopsis: getting partnered with jake, the tall awkward nerd from on of your computer science classes, should've been simple—work on the project, get your grade, move on. except now you're completely obsessed with him and he's totally clueless about it. between tutoring sessions you definitely don't need and "coincidental" dorm hall run-ins, you're pulling out all the stops. too bad jake's more interested in his textbooks than your very obvious flirting.
you've never been rejected before, so this should be fine.
…right?
warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut (oral sex(f. and m. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, big dick!jake, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk!jake, dry humping, heavy makeout, whiny!jake), cursing, mild alcohol use, emotional manipulation, jealousy, themes of insecurity, angst, lots computer science related terms(i kind of geeked out here), reader's kind of delulu and a jerk
note: i'm back to my writing style for lighthearted fics for this one hehe. i lovelovelove nerdy shy men tropes sooo much. i did try to keep it a little realistic though. i hope you like this! enjoyyy
word count: 21.8k
taglist | more works!
you were alone in the computer science lab at nearly midnight, which wasn't unusual. assignments had a way of turning the building into a second home. but tonight felt wrong. everything felt too much. the lights buzzed too loud, drilling into your skull with that persistent electrical hum. your eyes burned from staring at your screen for four hours straight, vision going fuzzy at the edges. somewhere around hour three, you'd stopped actually processing code and started just staring through it.
your cold coffee sat forgotten beside your laptop, abandoned but still somehow necessary because the alternative was admitting defeat and going back to your dorm where your roommate and her boyfriend were probably still taking up the entire common space. you'd rather deal with this. the overstimulation. the way every tiny sound felt amplified in the empty lab. the aggressive brightness of your laptop screen. the uncomfortable pressure building behind your eyes that meant you were about to either cry or throw your laptop across the room. probably both.
your code wasn't working. hadn't been working for two days, and you'd tried everything. every forum suggestion, every stack overflow solution, every pathetic office hours visit where you'd explained your problem three times and still left confused. the cursor blinked at you on line two thousand and forty seven, mocking. the compiler kept throwing errors you didn't understand, and you'd rewritten that function six times already. your hands shook slightly from too much caffeine and not enough food. that tight, hot feeling crept up your throat. the one that signalled imminent breakdown.
you pressed your palms against your eyes until you saw spots, trying to reset something in your overwhelmed nervous system. didn't work. nothing worked tonight.
the silence in the lab was the worst part, it was so quiet that it made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, your heartbeat, the small wet sound your tongue made against the roof of your mouth when you swallowed. you hated it.
then suddenly, the power cut out. total darkness that swallowed everything in an instant, your laptop screen going black, even the emergency exit signs disappearing. your heart kicked into overdrive, adrenaline flooding so fast you felt dizzy. you reached out instinctively for your laptop, fingers scrabbling across the desk, needing to confirm it was still there, that everything you'd been working on wasn't just gone.
suddenly you heard footsteps. someone else was in the lab. you hadn't known anyone else was here. the realisation sent fear spiking through your chest because you'd been so certain you were alone. now there was someone moving closer, footsteps uneven and hurried like they couldn't see any better than you. you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could form words there was sudden pressure against your shoulder, hard and unexpected, and then there was the splash of cold liquid, spreading across your lap and chest.
your coffee. the cup tipped and spilt, liquid soaking through your jeans, spreading sticky and uncomfortable across your thighs. panic hit first, pure and primal, because for a split second all you could think was laptop, everything's gone, hours of work, my entire project. your hands flew out in the darkness, patting frantically at the desk, trying to assess the damage. your chest was so tight you couldn't get a full breath.
then came the anger. fast and hot and overwhelming, rising from somewhere deep in your stomach. you wanted to scream. wanted to grab whoever crashed into you and shake them. wanted to cry from sheer frustration because this was exactly what you didn't need tonight, not when you were already hanging on by a thread.
"oh my god, oh my god, i'm so sorry, i didn't see you, i didn't think anyone else was here, i'm so sorry." the voice came rapid-fire from somewhere to your left. male, young, pitched higher than normal with genuine distress.
he kept apologising, words tumbling over each other, and there was something in his tone that didn't sound rehearsed. he sounded actually afraid, like he'd just committed some unforgivable sin.
"i didn't mean to, i couldn't see, the power just went out and i was trying to get to the door and i'm so sorry, did it get on your laptop? please tell me it didn't get on your laptop."
you took a breath, trying to force words past the tightness in your throat, trying to formulate some response that matched the fury still coursing through your veins. your mouth opened, something sharp and cutting right on the edge of your tongue.
the emergency lighting kicked in. not much, just pale green strips along the baseboards casting everything in eerie, insufficient glow. enough to see by. enough to make out shapes, faces.
the guy who'd run into you stood about two feet away, and the first thing you noticed was his hands. hovering in the air between you, trembling visibly even in the dim light, fingers spread like he wanted to help but didn't dare touch anything. he was tall and lean, dark hair stuck up in odd directions like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. glasses had slipped down his nose, and behind them his eyes were wide. genuinely panicked in a way that didn't feel performed at all.
"your laptop," he said, voice still shaking with that same desperate concern. "what model is it? did the coffee get on it? the keyboard is the main concern, if liquid got into the keyboard we need to shut it down immediately and flip it over to drain, we need to know if you had everything backed up."
he was already moving closer, trembling hands reaching toward your desk, and you realised with a start that he hadn't even looked at you properly yet. his entire focus was on your laptop. on the problem he'd created. on fixing it.
"it's fine," you managed, voice coming out rougher than intended. you looked down at your computer. sitting safely to the right of where your coffee had been, completely dry and unharmed. "it didn't get on it."
the relief that washed over his face was so profound you almost felt embarrassed witnessing it. his shoulders sagged. his hands finally dropped to his sides. he let out a long, shaky breath like he'd been holding it since the collision.
"okay. okay, that's good, that's really good." then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes finally moved to actually look at you. taking in your coffee-soaked lap, your tense posture, your expression which you were sure wasn't friendly. "are you okay? did you get burned? that coffee looked hot, if it was hot we should get you to a sink, run cold water on it."
"it was cold," you said. true, but didn't make the situation better. your jeans were soaked through, fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin, coffee starting to seep into your chair. you were sticky and irritated and still running on too much adrenaline. but he looked so genuinely distressed that some of your anger started deflating despite yourself.
"cold coffee is still a problem," he said, already pulling his backpack off his shoulder, unzipping it with fumbling fingers. "the sugar content means it'll get sticky when it dries, and it can stain, especially on lighter fabrics. i have napkins, i think, or maybe paper towels, i definitely have something."
he was rummaging through his bag now, pulling out crumpled papers, a graphing calculator, several pens, tangled earbuds, talking the entire time in that same rapid, anxious way.
"i'm really sorry, i should have been more careful, i knew the power was out, i should have used my phone flashlight, i just thought i knew the layout well enough to navigate in the dark but obviously i was wrong."
you watched him. something uncomfortable shifted in your chest. you'd been prepared to snap at him, to unleash all your accumulated frustration on whoever had been careless enough to run into you. but he wasn't making excuses. wasn't trying to minimise what he'd done or deflect blame or make some joke to lighten the mood. he was just genuinely, almost painfully concerned about the problem he'd created. the way he kept apologising, kept trying to fix things, made it very hard to stay angry.
"here," he said triumphantly, producing a small pack of tissues from the bottom of his bag. he held them out, then seemed to realise how inadequate they were and let out a frustrated sound. "these aren't going to be enough. we should go to the bathroom, get some actual paper towels. or maybe the kitchen area on the second floor, they have those industrial dispensers that are way more absorbent."
he paused, finally seeming to register that you hadn't moved, that you were just sitting there watching him. his ears went red, visible even in the dim green emergency lighting. "sorry, i'm sorry, i'm doing it again. my sister always tells me i go into problem-solving mode when i'm anxious and it makes people feel like i'm not actually listening to them. are you okay? like, actually okay, not just physically okay?"
the question caught you off guard. nobody had asked you that in days. maybe weeks. everyone just assumed you were fine because you were handling things, meeting deadlines, showing up to class. but this stranger who'd just spilt coffee all over you was looking at you with genuine concern, waiting for a real answer. something in your chest felt suddenly too tight.
"i'm fine," you said, softer than intended. you took the tissues from him, dabbing uselessly at your jeans. he was right. they weren't nearly enough. but the gesture felt important somehow. "it's been a long night."
"assignments?" he asked. when you nodded he made a sympathetic noise. "yeah, same. i've been here since six. had a project deadline at midnight but then the power went out fifteen minutes before and now i don't know if my submission went through because the wifi died with the electricity." he pushed his glasses up his nose. nervous gesture you got the impression he did frequently.
"i'm jake, by the way. jake sim. i feel like i should probably introduce myself since i just, like, assaulted you with your own beverage."
despite everything, ruined jeans and exhaustion and broken code, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch. not quite a smile, but close. "assaulted me with my own beverage?"
"well, yeah," he said, looking vaguely embarrassed. "i mean, i weaponised your coffee against you. that's technically assault, right? or maybe battery? i always get those mixed up. my roommate's a poli-sci major, he'd know."
he was rambling now, words spilling out in that same anxious rush, and there was something almost endearing about how completely lacking in artifice it was. he wasn't trying to be charming. wasn't trying to be funny. just genuinely nervous and dealing with it by talking too much.
you told him your name. he repeated it carefully, like he was committing it to memory. "i really am sorry," he said again, quieter this time. "what were you working on? before i interrupted?"
"data structures project," you said. just thinking about it made your shoulders tense again. "it's due tomorrow and there's a bug i can't figure out and i've been staring at it for hours."
his eyes lit up behind his glasses, spark of interest that transformed his whole face. "what kind of bug? runtime error? logic error? is it a pointer issue? those are always the worst, especially with linked lists."
he was already moving closer to your laptop, stopping himself at the last second like he'd realised he was being presumptuous. "sorry, i mean, i could take a look if you want? i'm pretty good with data structures. it's kind of my thing. i'm a TA for comp 201 actually, so i see a lot of common bugs. but also totally no pressure, i know i just dumped coffee on you so you probably don't want my help."
you should have said no. didn't know this guy, didn't owe him anything. you'd been managing just fine on your own. except you hadn't been managing fine. you'd been on the verge of a breakdown in an empty lab at midnight. now here was this nervous, rambling stranger offering help without expecting anything in return, looking at you like your problem was genuinely important to him.
it was disorienting. how quickly your anger had evaporated, replaced by something you couldn't quite name. you found yourself noticing details you shouldn't care about. the way he kept pushing his glasses up. the way his hands had finally stopped shaking now that he had something concrete to focus on.
"okay," you heard yourself say. his whole face brightened in a way that made something flutter uncomfortably in your stomach. "yeah, if you don't mind looking at it."
"i don't mind at all," he said quickly, already pulling up a chair. he left careful distance between you though, hyper-aware of not invading your space again. "show me what you've got."
you turned your laptop toward him. he leaned in, eyes scanning the lines with immediate focus. his expression shifted into something concentrated, intense. this was probably what he looked like when he wasn't tripping over people in the dark and panicking about it. he started asking questions about your implementation, your logic, what you'd already tried. his voice had lost that nervous edge. this was clearly where he was comfortable. in the clean logic of code, in problems that had solutions.
you answered his questions. watched as he nodded, occasionally pushing his glasses up, finger tracing lines of code on the screen without quite touching it. the emergency lighting cast strange shadows across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed in concentration.
you were noticing things you shouldn't notice. but you told yourself it wasn't because you found him attractive. you were just paying attention because he was helping. because he'd disrupted your solitary misery and replaced it with something else. something that felt almost like companionship.
"there," he said suddenly, pointing to a line in the middle of your function. "you're incrementing the counter before you check the condition, but you need to check the condition first. it's causing an off-by-one error. see? you're accessing index n when your array only goes up to n minus one."
you stared at the line he was indicating. slowly, horribly, you realised he was right. such a simple mistake, the kind of thing you should have caught hours ago. but you'd been too tired, too frustrated, too deep in your own head to see it. "oh my god," you said quietly. "that's it. that's the whole problem."
"easy fix," jake said, smiling now. a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "just move that line down two spaces and add the conditional check first. you want me to...?" he gestured at your keyboard, asking permission. you nodded, watched as he made the adjustment with quick, confident keystrokes. "there. try running it now."
you hit compile, holding your breath. for the first time in two days the program ran without errors. the output printed exactly the way it was supposed to. clean and correct and perfect. relief flooded through you so intensely you felt dizzy with it, all the tension you'd been carrying suddenly releasing at once. "thank you," you said, voice more emotional than intended. "seriously, thank you, i've been losing my mind over this."
"it happens to everyone," jake said gently. "sometimes you just need fresh eyes. i've definitely been there." he leaned back in his chair, that nervous energy returning now that the immediate problem was solved. "your code is really clean, by the way. like, really well-structured. that bug was literally the only issue, everything else is solid."
the compliment settled warm in your chest. you realised with a start that you felt calm. actually calm, for the first time all night. your heart rate had slowed. your hands were steady. the overwhelming pressure behind your eyes had eased.
the lab was still too quiet, the emergency lighting still eerie and insufficient, your jeans still soaked with cold coffee. but somehow none of it felt as unbearable as it had fifteen minutes ago. and that was because of him. because jake had crashed into you in the dark and apologised too much and fixed your code and made you feel less alone in this empty building at midnight.
jake was gathering his things, shoving papers and pens back into his backpack with the same energy he'd had while searching for tissues. "i should probably try to find someone about the power situation," he said. "and you should probably change before that coffee stains permanently. there's a campus store in the student centre that's open twenty-four hours, they have overpriced sweatpants but at least they're dry."
"yeah," you said, surprised to find you didn't want him to leave yet. "yeah, i probably should."
he stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and hesitated. "hey, um. if you ever need help with code stuff again, or if you just want to work in the lab at the same time, i'm here most nights. usually not spilling beverages on people, but, you know. tonight was special." he smiled awkwardly. you found yourself smiling back, a real smile this time.
"i might take you up on that," you said. meant it.
jake's expression brightened again. that same transformation you'd noticed earlier. he nodded. "cool. yeah, that would be cool. okay. i'm gonna go now before i accidentally break something else." he gave you a small wave, started toward the door, then turned back. "your code really is good, by the way. i wasn't just saying that."
then he was gone, disappearing into the dark hallway beyond the lab. you were alone again. but that realisation, that awareness that a stranger's clumsy kindness had affected you so much, sat uncomfortable and warm in your chest as you saved your work and finally, finally, packed up to leave.
you walked into your lecture the next morning running on four hours of sleep and caffeine-induced alertness that felt vaguely hallucinogenic. your jeans from last night were balled up in your laundry basket, probably stained beyond saving, and you'd thrown on the first clean thing you could find.
you slid into your usual spot next to yunjin, who was already comparing notes with beomgyu across the aisle. they were your people. your safe zone. the ones you'd suffered through intro courses with, pulled all-nighters with, shared desperate pre-exam breakdowns with.
"you look like death," yunjin said cheerfully, not looking up from her phone.
"thanks. love you too."
"late night?" beomgyu leaned over, stealing one of yunjin's chips. "you missed the group chat meltdown about the algorithms homework."
you hummed noncommittally, pulling out your laptop. your code from last night was still open, that perfect, error-free output staring back at you. you'd submitted it at 12:47 am, seventeen minutes after jake had fixed it. seventeen minutes after he'd disappeared down that dark hallway.
you hadn't told yunjin and beomgyu about any of it. the power outage, the coffee, jake. especially jake. it felt somehow private, like explaining it would cheapen it or make it feel less significant than it had been in the moment.
professor kim walked in, and the room settled into that particular brand of restless attention that morning lectures always had. "alright, alright," she said, pulling up a slide that made half the room groan in unison. "i know you're all thrilled to hear this, but it's time to discuss your semester-long project."
chairs scraped against floors as people twisted around to look at their friends. voices overlapped, people already calling out names, forming pairs out of habit and convenience. you felt yunjin's hand on your arm at the same time beomgyu leaned over.
"partners?" yunjin said.
"obviously we're doing a group," beomgyu added. "the three of us, right?"
you nodded, half-listening, your attention already drifting across the lecture hall. you weren't sure what you were looking for until you found it. him. jake was sitting near the back with a small group of guys you vaguely recognised from other cs classes. he was hunched slightly over his notebook, pen moving across the page, taking notes while everyone else was busy forming alliances. his hair was even messier today, sticking up on one side like he'd rolled out of bed. his glasses kept sliding down his nose and he kept pushing them back up with his index finger, that same nervous gesture from last night.
he looked small somehow, despite being tall. like he was trying to take up less space. one of his friends said something and laughed, nudging jake's shoulder, but jake just smiled politely without really engaging. his attention stayed on his notebook.
you watched him for a moment longer than necessary. watched the way his shoulders curved inward, the way he held his pen, the concentrated furrow of his brow. something in your chest did an uncomfortable little flip.
"so we're agreed then?" yunjin was saying. "i'll handle the frontend, beomgyu can do the database stuff, and you can—"
you stood up. the decision happened before you'd fully processed it, your body moving on instinct or impulse or something you didn't want to examine too closely. your chair scraped loud enough that a few people glanced over.
"actually," you said, already stepping past beomgyu into the aisle. "i'm gonna partner with someone else."
"what?" yunjin's voice pitched up in genuine confusion. "who?"
but you were already walking. moving up the steps toward the back of the lecture hall, weaving between people who were still negotiating partnerships and arguing about skill distributions. you were aware of people watching. of yunjin and beomgyu's matching expressions of confusion. of the way conversations paused as you passed.
jake's friends noticed you first. one of them, a guy with bleached hair, nudged jake's arm and nodded in your direction. another one went quiet mid-sentence, eyes tracking your approach with unconcealed curiosity. jake looked up last, following their gazes, and when his eyes met yours he froze. actually froze, pen suspended over his notebook, lips slightly parted like he'd been about to say something and forgotten how.
you stopped at the edge of their row. suddenly hyperaware of how many people were definitely watching this interaction. "hey," you said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near awkward. "you have a partner yet?"
jake blinked. once, twice. his friends were staring at him now, then at you, then back at him like they were watching a tennis match. "i—what?"
"for the project," you clarified, gesturing vaguely at professor kim who was still explaining requirements at the front of the room. "do you have a partner?"
"i—" jake's hand came up to push his glasses up his nose even though they hadn't moved. his ears were already turning red. "no? i mean, no, i don't, but—" he glanced at his friends, then back at you, looking genuinely lost. "are you—do you mean—"
"i'm asking if you want to partner up," you said, more directly this time. your heart was doing something weird and arrhythmic in your chest. "for the semester project."
the guy with bleached hair made a noise that might have been a strangled laugh. another one of jake's friends just gaped openly. jake himself looked like you'd just spoken to him in a language he only half understood. "you want to—with me?"
"yeah."
"but—" he gestured helplessly toward where yunjin and beomgyu were sitting, both of them now watching with unconcealed shock. "don't you usually work with your friends? i thought—"
"i'm asking you," you said, cutting him off before he could talk himself out of it or before you could overthink what you were doing. "if you already have other plans it's fine, i just thought—" you paused, scrambling for justification that didn't sound insane. "you're good at this stuff. you're a TA. you knew exactly what was wrong with my code last night in like, five seconds. it makes sense. strategically."
strategically. god, you sounded unhinged.
jake stared at you. his friends stared at you. half the lecture hall was probably staring at you at this point. "i—" jake swallowed visibly. "yeah. yes. i mean, if you want to, then—yeah. okay."
"yeah?"
"yeah." he nodded, more firmly this time, though he still looked vaguely shell-shocked. "we can—yeah. that would be—yeah."
his friends exchanged glances that were absolutely loaded with unspoken communication. the bleached hair guy, jungwon you think, was grinning now, looking between you and jake like he'd just witnessed something phenomenal. "well," he said, voice thick with amusement, "this is interesting."
you ignored him. "cool. we should probably meet up sometime this week to go over the requirements?"
"yeah, definitely," jake said quickly, already pulling out his phone with hands that trembled slightly. "i can—do you want my number? or i can get yours, or—we could use email if that's easier—"
"number's fine." you rattled it off, watching him type it into his contacts with endearing focus, tongue poking slightly between his teeth. when he looked up his expression was softer, less panicked. almost shy.
"okay," he said. "i'll text you?"
"sounds good."
you turned to head back down to your seat, acutely aware of the weight of multiple stares following your retreat. yunjin grabbed your arm the second you sat down, eyes wide with questions, but professor kim chose that moment to actually start the lecture and yunjin had to settle for furious whisper-hissing "what the hell was that?" while you studiously ignored her.
you pulled up your laptop, pretending to focus on the slides about project requirements and grading rubrics. but your attention kept drifting. you could feel it, that awareness of jake sitting several rows behind you. you wondered if he was taking notes. if his friends were grilling him. if his ears were still red.
you told yourself this was practical. logical. jake was skilled, focused, clearly knew his stuff. working with him made sense from a grades perspective, from an efficiency perspective. it was a smart choice. strategic, like you'd said.
but the justification felt thin even as you repeated it to yourself. because practical partnerships didn't make your pulse spike like this. strategic choices didn't leave you feeling weirdly breathless, or hyperaware of your phone in your pocket, waiting for a text that might come in an hour or a day. smart decisions didn't come with this flutter of satisfaction sitting warm and dangerous in your chest, the kind that felt unearned and a little reckless.
you'd just chosen jake over your actual friends for a semester-long project. you'd walked across the entire lecture hall in front of everyone to ask him specifically. you'd done it without planning it, without fully understanding why, acting on instinct alone.
your phone buzzed. you grabbed it maybe too quickly, ignoring yunjin's pointed look.
unknown number: hi, it's jake. from the lab? and also from just now. obviously. you know who i am. anyway this is my number.
unknown number: we can meet whenever works for you btw. i'm pretty flexible.
unknown number: sorry i'm rambling over text now apparently. i'll stop.
despite everything, despite the weirdness of the entire situation, you felt yourself smile. properly smile, which made yunjin lean over and whisper, "oh my god, you're blushing," which you absolutely were not.
you saved his number. typed out a response. deleted it. typed it again.
you: library tomorrow at 6?
his reply came almost instantly.
jake: perfect. i'll see you there.
yeah. perfect. that's exactly what this was.
you'd gotten there ten minutes early, which was ridiculous and you knew it, but you'd told yourself it was just to secure a good table. not because you were nervous. definitely not because you'd changed your shirt three times.
jake showed up at 6:02, slightly out of breath like he'd been rushing, backpack slung over one shoulder and hair even messier than usual.
"sorry, sorry," he said, sliding into the chair across from you. "my last class ran over and then i couldn't find my charger and—" he stopped himself, ears going pink. "sorry. you don't need the full explanation. i'm here now."
"you're fine," you said, surprised by how much you meant it. "i just got here too."
it was a lie, but whatever.
he pulled out his laptop, a slightly battered thing covered in tech company stickers, and immediately opened what looked like a meticulously organised project folder.
"so i was thinking we could start by breaking down the requirements," he said, already pulling up the assignment sheet. "if we divide it into modules we can work on different parts simultaneously and then integrate everything at the end. i made a rough outline last night, but obviously we can change whatever you want."
you blinked at him. "you made an outline? already?"
"i—yeah?" he looked uncertain suddenly, like he'd done something wrong. "was that—should i not have? i just thought it would be helpful to have a starting point, but if you wanted to plan it together—"
"no, that's—" you leaned closer to look at his screen, close enough that you could smell whatever soap or shampoo he used. something clean and faintly citrusy. "that's really good actually. you're like, super organised."
"oh." he pushed his glasses up, not quite meeting your eyes. "thanks. i just like having things structured, it makes the actual coding part less chaotic."
you shifted your chair around the table, closing the distance between you under the pretence of seeing his screen better. your knees almost touched under the table. jake didn't seem to notice, already walking you through his outline with the kind of focused enthusiasm that made his whole face more animated. he talked with his hands a little, you realised. small gestures that punctuated his explanations.
it was kind of endearing. he was kind of endearing, in this unpolished, genuine way that made you want to keep watching him talk even though you should probably be paying attention to the actual content of what he was saying.
"—so if we use that framework it'll save us a ton of time on the backend. does that make sense?" he glanced at you, expectant.
"yeah, totally," you said, even though you'd caught maybe half of it. "you're really good at this."
"at what?"
"explaining things. breaking stuff down." you let your voice soften deliberately, the kind of tone you'd use on someone you were interested in. testing. "you must be a really good TA."
jake's expression brightened with genuine pleasure, completely innocent. "oh, thanks! i really like teaching actually. it's really satisfying when something clicks for someone, you know?" he turned back to his laptop. "okay so for the first module, i was thinking we could—"
you felt something deflate slightly in your chest. he'd just. moved on. thanked you politely and redirected straight back to work like you'd commented on the weather.
you tried again twenty minutes later, when he'd finished explaining the database architecture. "seriously, how is your brain even wired like this?" you said, letting your hand rest on the table between you, close enough to his that moving a few inches would mean touching. "like, this would've taken me hours to figure out and you just see it."
"i mean, i've been coding since i was like twelve," jake said, smiling in that self-deprecating way that made your stomach flip. "my dad's a software engineer so i kind of grew up around it. you'd be just as good if you'd had the same exposure."
he grabbed his water bottle, took a sip, completely oblivious to the way you were looking at him. "anyway, should we start on the initial setup? i can handle the repository if you want to draft the pseudocode for the first function?"
"sure," you said, trying not to sound as frustrated as you felt.
it continued like that. you'd find little ways to compliment him, to touch his arm when he said something funny, to lean into his space. and every single time jake would light up with friendly appreciation and then just. keep going. keep working. keep being nice in this utterly platonic way that was starting to drive you slightly insane.
when you suggested taking a break and offered to buy him coffee, he'd said "oh that's so sweet, but i'm good, i don't want to lose momentum." when you'd asked about his hobbies, trying to find some common ground beyond code, he'd given you a genuine answer about gaming and soccer and then immediately asked about your hobbies with the same earnest interest he gave to literally everything.
he wasn't being cold. wasn't being dismissive. he was just. friendly. sincerely friendly in a way that suggested he thought you were also just being friendly and nothing more. the idea that you might be flirting with him clearly hadn't even crossed his mind.
it shouldn't have bothered you. it was one study session. you barely knew him. but there was something about the way he was so completely unaffected that made you want to push harder, try more obviously, make him see you the way you were apparently seeing him.
which was insane. you were being insane.
"okay i think that's a good stopping point," jake said eventually, glancing at his phone. "we got through way more than i expected, honestly. you're really fast at this."
"we work well together," you said, maybe too much emphasis on the together part.
"yeah," he agreed easily, already packing up his stuff. "this is gonna be way less painful than i thought. usually group projects are a nightmare but i think we're pretty compatible."
compatible. he said it like he was talking about software versions.
you packed up your own stuff, trying to shake off whatever weird frustrated feeling had settled in your chest. this was good. you had a competent partner who was easy to work with. that's what mattered. not whether he noticed when you laughed at his jokes or sat closer than strictly necessary.
the library had gotten dark outside while you'd been working, the early winter darkness that feeking too heavy for eight pm. you pushed through the doors together, the cold air immediately biting at your face.
"which way are you headed?" jake asked, adjusting his backpack.
you pointed toward the east side of campus. "miller hall."
jake stopped walking. just fully stopped and stared at you. "wait, seriously?"
"yeah?"
"i'm in miller," he said, and his face did this thing, this open, delighted thing like you'd just told him something genuinely exciting. "i'm on the fourth floor. what floor are you?"
"third," you said, trying to keep your voice normal even though your brain was already racing ahead. same building. same building. you lived in the same building and you hadn't known. "that's—what are the odds?"
"i know, right?" jake fell into step beside you, and he seemed more relaxed now, less formal than he'd been in the library. "i can't believe we haven't run into each other before. though i guess i'm not around that much, i'm usually either in class or the lab or—" he laughed. "okay i'm making myself sound really boring."
"no you're not," you said, maybe too quickly. "i'm the same way. especially during midterms."
"the worst," he agreed. "hey, at least now if we need to meet up for the project it's super convenient. we can literally just knock on each other's doors."
he said it so casually. so normally, like it was just a nice logistical benefit and nothing more. meanwhile your mind was already cataloguing possibilities. you could time your meals to match his schedule. figure out when he usually left for class. find reasons to be in the common areas when he might pass through. it would look natural, coincidental. just friendly neighbors running into each other.
you were already strategising.
the realisation made something uncomfortable twist in your stomach. this was. this was too much maybe. you were thinking about him too much, cataloguing details about him like you were studying for an exam. getting frustrated when he didn't respond to your flirting even though you had no actual reason to expect him to. you'd had one late-night interaction and now one study session and somehow you were already rearranging your mental map of campus to accommodate his presence in it.
"you good?" jake asked, and you realised you'd gone quiet.
"yeah, just tired."
"same." he smiled at you, easy and warm. "thanks for picking me as your partner, by the way. i know you could've worked with your friends and i'm—i'm really glad you asked me instead. i think this is gonna be fun."
fun. he was looking forward to the project because he thought it would be fun. because he liked coding and teaching and he probably thought you were a cool person to work with. he was just. happy to have company. happy to make a new friend.
meanwhile you were over here planning imaginary coincidental run-ins and getting weirdly possessive over someone who didn't even know you liked him.
god, you were pathetic.
"yeah," you managed. "me too."
you reached miller hall, and jake held the door open for you, still talking about some technique he wanted to try for the project. you half-listened, watching the way his hair flopped over his forehead, the animated way he gestured when he got excited about something.
the elevator ride to your floor felt too short. jake got off with you, said he'd just walk up the extra flight of stairs for the exercise. "text me if you think of anything for the project," he said, already heading toward the stairwell. "or honestly just text me whenever. i'm always on my phone."
then he was gone, and you were standing alone in the hallway outside your door, feeling weirdly deflated and wired at the same time.
your phone buzzed before you'd even gotten your key out.
jake: forgot to say this but your idea for the UI was really smart. i think it's gonna make the whole thing way more intuitive.
jake: ok NOW i'm done bothering you. have a good night!
you stared at the messages, that dangerous warm feeling spreading through your chest again. he'd texted you immediately to compliment your idea. with absolutely no prompting.
you were smiling at your phone like an idiot.
yeah. you were definitely pathetic.
"i'm just saying, he's clearly not interested," yunjin said, stabbing her salad with more force than necessary. "like, you've tried everything."
you were sitting in the dining hall, picking at your food while yunjin and beomgyu conducted what was essentially an intervention about your jake situation. an intervention you hadn't asked for and definitely didn't want.
"maybe he's just shy," you said, defensive.
beomgyu snorted. "shy guys still notice when someone's flirting with them. they just get weird about it. this guy sounds like he genuinely has no idea."
"which means he's not into you," yunjin added, gentler now. "and that's fine, you know? you can just be project partners. you don't have to keep torturing yourself."
except the thing was, you weren't entirely convinced jake wasn't interested. or maybe you just didn't want to accept it yet. because he texted you unprompted sometimes, sent you memes he thought you'd find funny, always smiled when he saw you in the hallway. that had to mean something, right?
"i'm not torturing myself," you muttered.
"you've mentioned him like fifteen times in the past hour," beomgyu pointed out.
"have not."
"you literally just told us about how he holds his pen. his pen."
okay. maybe you were torturing yourself a little.
you left the dining hall feeling irritated and restless, your friends' words circling in your head. he's not interested. he has no idea. you're torturing yourself. maybe they were right. probably they were right. you should just focus on the project, get a good grade, and move on like a normal person.
you were cutting through the student centre, not really paying attention to where you were going, when you passed the community bulletin board. the usual chaos of flyers and posters, study abroad programs, club meetings, someone selling a barely-used microwave. your eyes skimmed over it automatically, not really looking.
then you saw his name.
TUTORING AVAILABLE - COMP 101, 201, 301
patient, experienced, flexible schedule
contact: jake sim
there was a row of little tear-off tabs at the bottom with his phone number. several were already missing. the flyer itself was simple, almost plain. you stared at it. people flowed around you, conversations and footsteps and the ambient noise of the student centre, but you just stood there staring at jake's handwritten flyer.
you didn't need tutoring. your grades were fine. good, even. you and jake were in the same advanced class, for god's sake. he'd probably seen your test scores when he was TAing. this would be…obvious. wouldn't it? taking a tab would be transparent and desperate and—
your hand moved before you'd fully decided. the paper tore with a soft sound that felt too loud. you stared at the little strip in your palm, jake's number printed in his neat handwriting even though you already had it saved in your phone.
what were you doing?
you shoved the tab in your pocket and walked away quickly, like someone might have witnessed you doing something incriminating. your heart was beating too fast. this was insane. this was transparent. he was going to see right through it.
but.
but it was also legitimate, wasn't it? people got tutoring all the time, even when their grades were fine. wanting to understand the material better, wanting a different perspective, wanting to be extra prepared. those were all valid reasons. normal reasons. and yeah, maybe you had ulterior motives, but the cover story was solid enough that you could maintain plausible deniability. to him. to yourself.
you made it back to your dorm before you pulled out your phone.
you: hey! i saw your tutoring flyer in the student centre. do you still have availability?
you hit send before you could overthink it. then immediately started overthinking it anyway. he was going to ask why. he was going to point out that you clearly didn't need help. he was going to—
your phone buzzed.
jake<3: oh hey! yeah i have some slots open. but wait, aren't you doing pretty well in class? i've seen your test scores when i'm grading and you're like, consistently in the top range
jake<3: not that you CAN'T get tutoring obviously! everyone can benefit from extra help
jake<3: i just want to make sure you actually need it and aren't just being nice or something
god, he was even considerate about this. checking in to make sure you weren't wasting your time or money on something you didn't need. being thoughtful and genuine while you were over here manipulating the situation to manufacture more time with him.
you felt a twinge of something uncomfortable. guilt maybe. but you pushed it down.
you: i mean yeah my grades are okay, but i feel like i'm just memorising patterns without really UNDERSTANDING the concepts you know? like i can solve the problems but i couldn't explain WHY
you: i just want to make sure i actually get it. especially since the material keeps building on itself
it wasn't entirely a lie. you did sometimes feel like you were pattern-matching your way through assignments. and deeper understanding was always good. these were reasonable concerns. the fact that they weren't your primary motivation didn't make them untrue.
jake<3: oh yeah that makes total sense actually. i see that a lot with students. they can execute but the underlying logic isn't solid
jake<3: okay yeah we can definitely work on that! my rate is $20/hour but honestly for you i'd be happy to just do it for free? since we're already working together on the project anyway
you: no way i'm paying you. you're already helping me so much with the project
jake<3: the project is a two person thing, you're helping me just as much
jake<3: but okay we can argue about payment later. when works for you?
you felt that warm, dangerous flutter again. he'd offered to tutor you for free. just casually, like it was no big deal. like spending extra time with you was something he actively wanted to do, even without compensation.
you: i'm pretty flexible. whenever you have time
jake<3: thursdays at 7? we could do the library again or somewhere on our floor if you want somewhere quieter
jake<3: also i promise i'll actually TEACH and not just fix your code for you like last time lol
you smiled at your phone. somewhere on your floor. which meant his room or yours. which meant private, just the two of you, no other students around.
you: thursdays work for me!
jake<3: cool! we can switch off. i'll bring snacks
jake<3: this'll be fun :)
he'd sent a smiley face. an actual emoticon. it shouldn't have made your heart skip but it did.
you locked your phone and sat on your bed, that satisfaction settling warm in your chest. you'd done it. you'd created a legitimate, recurring excuse to see jake outside of project work. an hour a week, minimum, where you'd have his complete attention. where you could sit close to him in the privacy of a dorm room, help him help you, let those boundaries get just a little bit blurrier.
it was harmless. he was offering tutoring anyway, you were just taking him up on it. and yeah, maybe your motivations weren't entirely pure, but you weren't lying to him. not really. you did want to understand the material better. the fact that you also wanted to be around him more was just. additional context. secondary reasoning.
you were being smart about this, honestly. creating opportunities without being pushy. letting things develop naturally within structures that already existed.
you ignored the small, quiet voice in the back of your mind that whispered this was too much. that you were engineering situations and manufacturing proximity and maybe that wasn't as harmless as you wanted to believe. that jake was offering to help you in good faith while you had an agenda he knew nothing about.
you were good at ignoring that voice.
your phone buzzed again.
jake<3: btw i've been thinking about the database structure and i had an idea
and just like that you were smiling again, typing back, that uncomfortable feeling dissolving into something easier and warmer and more immediately gratifying.
it was fine. everything was fine. this was just tutoring. just spending time with someone you enjoyed being around. there was nothing wrong with that.
nothing wrong with it at all.
you'd been doing the tutoring sessions for three weeks when your roommate officially moved out. well, not officially officially. her stuff was still there, her side of the room still technically occupied. but she'd been spending every night at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment for the past month, and one day she just stopped pretending she was coming back.
"i'm still paying rent," she'd said, shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "so like, it's still my room. i'll probably crash here sometimes. but you basically have the place to yourself."
you'd nodded sympathetically while internally celebrating. your own space. privacy. no need to coordinate schedules or deal with her boyfriend's annoying habits. it was perfect.
it took you less than a day to realise it was perfect for other reasons too.
the next tutoring session was supposed to be in the library. thursday at seven, like always. but you'd been sitting in your empty apartment that afternoon, looking at your space with new eyes, and the idea had planted itself so naturally you'd almost convinced yourself it was practical.
you: hey, would you maybe want to do tutoring at my place tonight instead? my roommate moved in with her boyfriend so it's way quieter than the library
you: totally fine if you prefer the library though!
the response took longer than usual. long enough that you started second-guessing yourself. maybe this was too much. too obvious. crossing some line from study partner into something else.
jake<3: oh
jake<3: um
jake<3: yeah that's fine. if you're sure?
jake<3: i don't want to like. intrude or anything
jake<3: but yeah quieter is definitely better for focusing
you: you're not intruding i literally invited you haha
you: i'm in 3B. just come by at 7
jake<3: okay! see you then
you spent the next two hours in a cleaning frenzy you absolutely did not want to examine too closely. you weren't trying to impress him. you just wanted the place to look nice and presentable. the fact that you changed your clothes twice and lit a candle that made the whole apartment smell like vanilla and sandalwood was just. coincidence.
the knock came at exactly seven. jake was annoyingly punctual.
you opened the door to find him standing in the hallway looking uncertain, backpack slung over one shoulder, holding a bag of chips. "hi," he said. "i brought snacks. i didn't know what you liked so i just got the variety pack."
"you didn't have to do that."
"i know, but—" he shifted his weight. "i don't know, it felt weird showing up empty-handed."
you stepped back to let him in, watching as he moved into your space with obvious hesitation. he didn't walk in so much as carefully entered, like he was worried about disturbing something. his eyes went immediately to your walls, taking in the art prints you'd hung, the string lights, the bookshelf crammed with novels and textbooks. then to your desk setup, the small kitchen area, the couch that your roommate had left behind.
"wow," he said quietly. "this is. really nice."
"it's just a dorm apartment."
"no, i know, but—" he gestured vaguely at everything. "it's decorated. like, actually decorated. my place looks like a prison cell compared to this." he was still standing near the door, like he hadn't fully committed to being here. "is that an original print?"
you glanced at the framed artwork he was pointing at. "yeah. local artist. i got it at a campus market thing."
"it's really cool." he finally took a few more steps inside, setting his backpack down carefully on the floor like he was afraid it might scuff something. his attention caught on your kitchen counter, where you'd left out the fancy coffee you'd bought yesterday. the expensive cheese and crackers. the fruit you'd pre-cut and arranged in a bowl because apparently you were that person now.
jake went quiet for a second. then he laughed, but it sounded a little uncomfortable. "okay i have to ask. are you like, rich?"
you felt your face heat. "what? no."
"because this—" he gestured at your apartment again, at the candle burning on your coffee table, the throw blanket artfully draped over your couch, the general aesthetic coherence of the space. "this seems like. i don't know. very put together for a college student."
"i just like my space to feel nice," you said, defensive. "there's nothing wrong with that."
"no, definitely not! i didn't mean—" he ran a hand through his hair, flustered. "i just meant. my room has like, a bed and a desk and some clothes on the floor. this looks like an apartment from a magazine. in a good way," he added quickly. "it's impressive. i'm just. you know. mildly intimidated."
"don't be intimidated," you said, softer now. trying for casual. "seriously, make yourself comfortable. do you want something to drink? i have coffee, tea, juice, those fancy sparkling waters—"
"you have fancy sparkling water?"
"they were on sale."
they were absolutely not on sale. you'd bought them specifically because you remembered jake mentioning he liked trying different flavours. but he didn't need to know that.
"um, sure. i'll try one." he was still standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room, like he couldn't figure out where he was allowed to exist.
you grabbed two cans from the fridge, handing him one and gesturing toward the couch. "we can work there if you want. or the desk. whatever's comfortable."
"couch is good," he said, finally sitting down and immediately looking slightly less tense. he opened the sparkling water, took a sip, and made a surprised noise. "oh this is actually really good."
"told you." you sat next to him, closer than you would have in the library. not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him next to you. close enough that when he leaned forward to pull his laptop out of his backpack, you caught that familiar scent of soap and citrus.
he pulled up the lesson he'd prepared, something about optimisation algorithms, and fell into his teaching rhythm. you'd noticed this about jake before. when he was explaining code, he became more confident. less apologetic. his hands moved as he talked, tracing invisible diagrams in the air, and his whole face became more animated.
you were trying to focus. really, you were. but you kept getting distracted by the fact that he was here, in your space, sitting on your couch. his knee bumped yours at one point and he apologised even though it was barely contact. you told him it was fine. his handwriting was neat when he sketched out examples in your notebook. he had a small scar on his left hand you'd never noticed before.
"are you following?" he asked, glancing over at you.
"yeah," you said, snapping back to attention. "sorry. just thinking."
"it's kind of a dense topic," he said, apologetic again. "we can take a break if you need."
"no, keep going. you're good at this."
something in his expression softened. "thanks. i—i actually really like doing this. the tutoring, i mean. it's nice having someone to talk through concepts with who actually cares about understanding them properly." he paused, looking around your apartment again like he was seeing it with fresh eyes. "and this is. yeah. this is better than the library for sure."
"yeah?"
"the library's always so loud, even in the quiet sections. and people keep interrupting to ask if they can take chairs from our table." he settled back into your couch slightly, his shoulders loosening. "this is way better. i can actually think here."
you felt that dangerous satisfaction bloom in your chest. this is better. i can actually think here. he was comfortable. in your space. comfortable enough to relax, to take up room, to exist without that careful hesitation he'd had when he first arrived.
"we should do all our sessions here," you said, trying to sound casual. "if you're cool with it."
jake glanced at you, then around the apartment again. for a second you thought he might question it. might recognise this for what it was. but then he just smiled, easy and genuine. "yeah, i'd like that. this is really nice."
"cool," you said. your heart was doing that annoying fluttery thing again.
you went back to the lesson, jake's voice steady and patient as he walked you through increasingly complex problems. his knee stayed pressed against yours. he'd stopped apologising for taking up space. he reached for the fancy crackers you'd set out without asking if it was okay first, just casual and comfortable like he belonged here.
and god help you, you liked seeing him like this. liked having him in your space, surrounded by your things, relaxed and focused and entirely unaware of how much thought you'd put into creating this exact scenario.
he was more comfortable here than he should be. settling into your life with an ease that should have alarmed you but instead just made you want to pull him deeper.
you were playing a game he didn't know existed. creating intimacy in careful increments. manufacturing closeness that felt organic to him but was entirely designed by you.
"okay your turn," jake said, pushing your laptop toward you. "try implementing that function we just talked through."
you pulled the computer into your lap, fingers moving over the keys, hyper-aware of jake watching. of his presence next to you, patient and encouraging. of how easy it would be to let this become routine. thursday nights on your couch, just the two of you, the rest of the world locked outside.
professor kim handed back midterms on a wednesday, and the energy in the lecture hall was exactly what you'd expect. nervous shuffling, people immediately comparing scores, that girl in the front row who always cried regardless of her grade already tearing up.
you flipped your exam over and saw the 100 staring back at you. perfect score. you felt a flush of satisfaction that had nothing to do with the grade itself and everything to do with the fact that jake would see it.
"holy shit," yunjin whispered, leaning over to look. "you got a perfect score?"
"apparently."
"that's insane. i got an 87 and i thought i did well." she shook her head, impressed and maybe slightly annoyed. "what did jake think? he must be so proud, that's basically a direct result of his tutoring."
speaking of jake, he was two rows behind you, and you could hear his friends' voices carrying.
"dude, you got a 98," one of them said. "that's insane."
"i missed this one question," jake said, and he sounded genuinely disappointed. "i can't believe i mixed up the time complexity."
you turned around without really thinking about it, catching his eye. he was already looking at you, and his face did this thing, this hopeful uncertain thing. "how'd you do?"
you held up your exam. his eyes widened.
"you got a hundred?" he said it loud enough that a few people glanced over. then he was standing up, moving past his friends, coming down to your row with his exam still in his hand. "holy shit, that's—that's amazing. you—" he stopped himself, looking almost embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. "sorry, i'm like. weirdly excited about this."
"don't apologise," you said, smiling despite yourself. "you sound more excited than i am."
"because i—" he gestured at your exam, then at you. "you understood it. like really understood it. i could tell during our sessions that things were clicking but seeing it actually translate to a perfect score is just—" he ran his hand through his hair, grinning in a way that made your stomach flip. "i'm really proud of you."
the words hit you weird. i'm proud of you. said with such genuine warmth, such unironic sincerity. like your success was somehow his success too. like he was personally invested in your performance because he'd helped you get there.
except you hadn't really needed the help. you'd manufactured the entire situation. you'd been doing fine before the tutoring started and you'd probably have gotten a perfect score regardless. jake's proud smile was based on a false premise. he thought he'd helped you achieve something when really you'd just. used him. used his time and his patience and his genuine desire to help people, all so you could sit close to him once a week.
something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. you shoved it down.
"i couldn't have done it without you," you said, because that's what you were supposed to say. what he expected to hear. even if it made you feel slightly sick.
"i know, i know. it's a good grade. i just hate making careless mistakes." he smiled at you again, softer this time. "but seriously, i'm really happy for you. you worked really hard for this."
"we should celebrate," you said, before you could second-guess it. "both of us. good scores, successful tutoring, whatever. come over tonight? i'll make dinner, we can watch a movie. my treat, as a thank you."
jake hesitated, just for a second. "you don't have to thank me."
"i want to," you said firmly with a smile. "you've been helping me for weeks and not accepting any payment. the least i can do is feed you."
"when you put it that way." he was smiling again, that easy smile that made your heart do stupid things. "yeah, okay. what time?"
"seven?"
"perfect."
...
you went slightly overboard with dinner. not crazy overboard, just. more effort than was strictly necessary for a casual thank-you meal. homemade pasta, the good parmesan, a salad that actually had more than three ingredients. you'd also bought wine, which felt very adult and sophisticated until you remembered you were literally just having your study partner over.
jake showed up at seven on the dot, holding a bag of cookies from the expensive bakery near campus. "i know you said your treat, but i can't show up empty-handed," he explained, handing them over. "it's like, physically impossible for me."
"you're ridiculous."
"i've been told." he stepped inside, immediately more comfortable than he'd been that first time. he knew where to put his shoes now, where to set his bag. he went straight for the couch like he belonged there.
dinner was easy. conversation flowed naturally, jumping from classes to campus gossip to a debate about whether the dining hall pizza was underrated or genuinely terrible. jake argued passionately for underrated, gesturing with his fork, getting sauce on his chin that he didn't notice until you pointed it out. he laughed, embarrassed, wiping it away.
"wine?" you offered, after you'd cleared the plates.
"oh, um. sure?" he looked uncertain. "i'm not really a big drinker."
"me neither. but we're celebrating, right?"
"right." he accepted the glass you poured, taking a small sip and making a face. "god, why do people like this? it tastes like someone made juice go bad on purpose."
you laughed despite yourself. "it's an acquired taste."
"that's what people say about things that are objectively bad." but he took another sip anyway, settling back into the couch as you pulled up netflix.
you ended up on some action movie neither of you had seen, the kind with improbable stunts and a plot that didn't require much attention. which was good, because you weren't really watching it. you were too aware of jake next to you, closer than he needed to be, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours. he'd finished his wine faster than you expected and seemed looser now, more animated. he kept making commentary on the movie, pointing out plot holes and questionable physics, his hands moving as he talked.
"—and there's no way that building would still be structurally sound after that explosion," he was saying, gesturing at the screen. "like, basic engineering, you know?"
"you're thinking too hard about it."
"i can't help it. my brain won't turn off." he glanced at you, something warm in his expression. "this is nice though. just hanging out. we're always studying or talking about the project, it's cool to just…exist. without an agenda."
without an agenda. the words hit harder than they should have. because you did have an agenda. you'd had one this entire time. this whole evening was carefully constructed, from the homemade dinner to the wine to the deliberately casual intimacy of it all.
"yeah," you managed. "it's nice."
the movie continued. jake shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours. you didn't move away. his arm ended up along the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close enough that you could feel the warmth of it. neither of you acknowledged it, but neither of you adjusted either.
"can i ask you something?" jake said during a particularly slow part of the movie.
"sure."
"why did you pick me? for the project, i mean." he was looking at you now instead of the screen, his expression curious and open. "you could've worked with your friends. people you already knew. but you walked all the way across the lecture hall to ask me."
your heart kicked up. "i told you. you're good at this stuff."
"yeah, but." he paused, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. "it felt like. i don't know. like you went out of your way. and i've been trying to figure out if i'm reading too much into it or if there was something else."
the air felt suddenly thinner. "something else like what?"
"i don't know." he laughed, self-conscious. "i'm probably being weird. forget i said anything."
"jake."
"i just—" he met your eyes, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that made your breath catch. "i really like spending time with you. like, more than i probably should for someone who's just a project partner and tutoring student. and sometimes i think maybe you. i don't know, feel the same? but i'm also really bad at reading these things so i'm probably completely wrong."
oh. oh.
"you're not wrong," you said quietly.
his eyes widened slightly. "i'm not?"
instead of answering, you leaned in. gave him enough time to pull back, to stop this, but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips soft and uncertain against yours. for a second neither of you moved, the kiss chaste and almost careful. then something shifted. his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you pressed closer, your fingers curling into his shirt.
jake made a soft sound against your mouth, surprise or maybe pleasure, and kissed you back with more confidence. his other hand found your waist, tentative at first then firmer, pulling you closer. you ended up in his lap somehow, his hands spanning your back, your fingers threading through his hair. he tasted like wine and something sweet from the cookies he'd brought.
"is this okay?" he whispered against your lips, breathing hard.
"yes," you said, and kissed him again before he could second-guess it.
his hands moved under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you felt him shiver when you rolled your hips experimentally. "god," he breathed, sounding almost pained. "we should—are we really—"
"do you want to stop?"
"no. god, no. i just—" he looked up at you, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen. "i didn't think this would happen. i'm not. i don't usually."
"it's okay," you said softly, meaning it. "we don't have to do anything you don't want."
jake didn’t stop you. instead, he seemed to melt into the contact, his hands trembling as they slid further up your back, skin hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. when you moved to guide him off the couch and onto the rug, he followed with a sort of dazed compliance, his glasses slightly askew on his face.
you knelt between his legs, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. the movie was still playing—some distant sound of tires screeching—but all you could hear was the ragged, uneven hitch of jake’s breath. when you reached for the button of his jeans, his hand flew to your wrist, not to stop you, but just to steady himself. his knuckles were white.
"are you sure?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "i—i'm not... i don't want to mess this up. our project, the tutoring... i don't want to make things weird for you."
"jake," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "shut up and let me."
he let out a shaky, half-strangled laugh, his head hitting the base of the couch as he let go of your wrist. "okay. okay, yeah. shutting up."
as you eased his jeans down, you realised the lanky, awkward way he carried himself in the halls was a massive deception. he was built with a surprising, heavy sturdiness that the oversized hoodies always hid. his legs were long, his thighs thick with the kind of muscle that suggested he actually did play soccer as more than just a hobby. and when you finally freed him, you couldn't help the small, sharp intake of breath that escaped you.
"jake," you breathed, your eyes widening. "holy..."
he groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, and covered his eyes with his forearm. "don't. don't look at me like that. i know. i'm sorry, is it... is it too much? i can—"
"it's perfect," you cut him off, reaching out to touch him. his skin was searing, and the moment your fingers closed around him, his entire body jolted like he’d been hit with a live wire.
when you leaned forward to take him into your mouth, jake’s reaction was explosive. he arched off the floor, his fingers tangling desperately in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. he was so sensitive, so completely overwhelmed by the sensation that it felt like he was losing his grip on reality.
"oh god," he choked out, his voice high and strained. "wait, wait—that's—you’re so... the pressure, i can't—"
you didn't slow down. you liked the way he lost his composure, the way the articulate, logical TA was reduced to incoherent stutters. you used your hands to keep him steady, your tongue swirling around the head of him, and jake’s hips began to move in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm. he was trying to keep some semblance of control, trying to stay "polite," but the sheer intensity of it was breaking him.
"i'm gonna... i'm actually gonna..." he gasped, his hands tightening in your hair, pulling you closer until he was practically burying himself in you. "please, don't stop. don't stop, just like that—right there—"
he hit his limit with a loud, guttural shout that was muffled only by the back of his hand as he bit down on his own knuckles to stay quiet. his body went rigid, muscles in his arms and chest standing out in sharp relief as he came, the force of it leaving him limp and shuddering against the couch.
it took him a long time to come back down. for several minutes, the only sound in the room was his heavy, labouring breath and the flickering light of the tv. you pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling a fierce, glowing sense of triumph. he looked completely wrecked—hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear, chest heaving.
you felt powerful. you’d spent weeks engineering this, calculating every move, and seeing him like this—totally undone by you—was better than any perfect exam score.
"you okay?" you asked, leaning your chin on his knee.
jake let out a long, shaky exhale, finally moving his arm to look at you. his eyes were hazy, his face flushed a deep, beautiful red. "i... think my brain just short-circuited," he whispered, a small, dazed smile tugging at his lips.
"in a good way?"
"in the best way." he reached out, his fingers trembling as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "thank you. seriously. i don't—i don't even know what to say."
you smiled, leaning into his touch. the apartment was warm, the air still smelling of vanilla. "you don't have to say anything. you should just stay."
the words were soft, natural. it felt like the obvious next step. but the second they left your mouth, you felt the shift.
it was subtle at first—the way jake’s fingers went still against your skin. then his pupils, which had been blown wide with pleasure, suddenly constricted. he blinked, the haziness clearing as his internal "problem-solving mode" kicked back in with a vengeance.
"stay?" he repeated, his voice sounding suddenly small.
"yeah. it's late, and it's cold out. just stay over. we can... i don't know, wake up and have coffee. maybe look at the project again."
jake’s eyes darted toward his hands, then to his backpack, then to the door. the relaxation in his shoulders vanished, replaced by a rigid, frantic tension. he looked like he’d just realised he was standing in the middle of a minefield.
"i—" he started, scrambling to pull his jeans up. he was moving so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. "i can't. i mean, i should... i have that grading to finish. for kim. and i—i didn't bring my toothbrush. or my meds. and my roommate, he—he'll wonder where i am. he gets worried."
"jake, it’s fine, you can borrow—"
"no!" he said, a bit too loudly. he was fumbling with his belt, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely loop it through. he wouldn't look at you. his face wasn't flushed with pleasure anymore; it was pale, his expression twisted into something that looked dangerously like panic. "no, i really should go. i’m sorry. i just... i realised the time. i have to go."
you stood up, feeling a cold, hollow pit open in your stomach. "did i do something wrong? was it... was it too much?"
"no! no, it was... it was amazing," he said, finally getting his shoes on, not even bothering to tie the laces. he grabbed his backpack, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "it was too amazing. that's the... that's the problem. i'm—i'm not good at this. i think i need to... i need to think. logically. about the implications."
"the implications?" you asked, your voice rising with a sharp, hurt edge. "it was just a night, jake. it doesn't have to be a 'logical problem' to solve."
"i know, i know. i'm sorry. i’m just... i'm a mess." he backed toward the door, his hand fumbling for the handle behind his back. "i'll text you? about the project? we still have that deadline on tuesday."
"jake—"
"goodnight! thank you for dinner. the pasta was really... the texture was perfect. okay. bye."
he practically fell out of the door, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway as he sprinted toward the stairs.
the click of the door closing felt final. you stood in the centre of your perfectly decorated, candle-lit apartment, surrounded by the remnants of the dinner you’d spent hours on. the half-empty wine glasses, the bag of expensive cookies, the rumpled rug.
you felt a hot, stinging prickle behind your eyes. you’d done everything right. you’d been strategic, patient, and kind. you’d gotten him to open up, to trust you, to want you. and yet, watching him run away like you were a bug in his code—something to be deleted or fixed—hurt more than any midterm failure ever could.
you sat back down on the couch, the silence of the room suddenly feeling just as oppressive as it had back in the computer lab. you picked up your phone, looking at his last text. this'll be fun :)
you threw the phone onto the cushions and buried your face in your hands, the smell of his citrus shampoo still clinging to your skin, mocking you.
jake didn't text.
you stared at your phone for the entire next day, watching the screen like you could will a message into existence. the "i'll text you" he'd thrown over his shoulder before fleeing felt increasingly like a polite lie. by saturday afternoon you broke first.
you: hey, you okay?
the message sat there. delivered, but no response.
you tried again sunday morning, going for casual.
you: still on for project work this week?
still no response.
by monday you'd moved past confusion into something that felt uncomfortably like panic. this wasn't how things worked. people didn't just. stop responding to you. they didn't ignore you or avoid you or remove you from their orbit like you were some problem to be managed. you were used to being wanted, pursued, the one who had to let people down gently. this reversed dynamic was unfamiliar and honestly humiliating.
you saw him in the dining hall on tuesday. he was with his friends, laughing at something one of them said, looking completely normal. like nothing had happened. like he hadn't been on your couch four days ago falling apart under your touch.
you started walking toward their table before you could think better of it, but jake's eyes flicked up, met yours for a fraction of a second, and then he was standing, gathering his tray, saying something to his friends. they all got up and left. just. left. walked out the side exit while you stood there holding your lunch like an idiot.
yunjin grabbed your arm. "okay, what the hell was that?"
"nothing," you said, but your voice came out wrong.
"that was not nothing. did something happen with you and jake?"
"no. i don't know. it's complicated."
it wasn't complicated. it was actually pretty simple. you'd pushed too hard and now he wanted nothing to do with you.
wednesday he wasn't in his usual spot in lecture. you spent the entire class scanning the room, finally spotting him in the very back corner, a place he'd never sat before. he kept his eyes on his laptop the entire time, didn't look up once. when class ended he was the first one out the door.
thursday was supposed to be tutoring. seven pm, his room or yours, the standing appointment you'd had for weeks now. you waited in your apartment, laptop open to the half-finished project, telling yourself he'd show up. he was responsible and dedicated. he wouldn't just bail without saying anything.
seven came and went. then seven-thirty. by eight you accepted he wasn't coming.
you: are we still working together on the project? i need to know so i can plan accordingly.
again, no response.
friday morning you were walking to class when you saw him ahead of you on the path. for once he hadn't spotted you first. you sped up, closing the distance, and watched in real time as he seemed to sense your presence. his shoulders tensed. then he took a sharp left turn down a path that definitely wasn't toward any of his classes. he was actively avoiding you. taking different routes. altering his entire routine just to not run into you.
something hot and humiliated burned in your chest.
by next week, you'd had enough. you knew his schedule. knew he had algorithms right before lunch on mondays, in the engineering building, third floor. you positioned yourself outside the classroom before class ended, ignoring the curious looks from other students filing out. you spotted jake immediately when the doors opened. he saw you at the same moment and actually stopped walking, causing someone behind him to bump into his back.
"we need to talk," you said.
"i have—i need to get to—"
"jake." your voice came out sharper than intended. "five minutes. please."
something in his expression shifted. resignation maybe. he nodded once, following you to an empty study room down the hall. you closed the door. the small space suddenly felt suffocating.
"you've been ignoring me," you said.
"i know."
"for a week. you didn't text, you didn't show up to tutoring, you're literally avoiding me on campus."
"i know," he said again, quieter. he wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed somewhere around your shoulder. "i'm sorry. that wasn't— i should have communicated better."
"so communicate now. what's going on?"
jake was quiet for a long moment. when he finally spoke, his voice was careful. measured. "what happened last week. that crossed a line for me."
"we both wanted it."
"did we?" he looked at you now, and there was something in his expression that made your stomach drop. "because i've been thinking about it a lot. about how we got there. and i feel like. i don't know. like maybe i missed something."
"what do you mean?"
"the tutoring," he said. "you didn't actually need it, did you? your grades were already good. and the project. you had friends you could have worked with. people you actually knew. but you picked me." he paused. "why did you pick me?"
the question hung in the air between you. you could lie. deflect. but something about the way he was looking at you, patient and a little sad, made it feel pointless.
"i liked you," you said finally. "i wanted to spend time with you."
"okay." he nodded slowly. "so the tutoring was. what. an excuse? a way to manufacture time together?"
"it wasn't like that."
"wasn't it though?" there was no anger in his voice. just. tiredness. "because from my perspective, i thought i was helping someone who needed help. i thought we were becoming friends. and then suddenly we're… doing that. and i'm trying to figure out when the shift happened and i can't. because maybe there was no shift. maybe that's what you wanted the whole time and i just didn't see it."
"i did want to be your friend," you said, defensive now. "i wasn't. it's not like i was using you."
"weren't you?"
the words hit harder than they should have. because he wasn't wrong. you had used him. used his kindness, his eagerness to help, his complete inability to see through your motivations. you'd engineered situations and manufactured proximity and told yourself it was harmless.
"i like you," jake said, and somehow that made it worse. "i really do. but i feel. god, i don't even know how to explain it. exposed? like you saw something in me that made me an easy target and you just. went for it. and i didn't even realise what was happening until it had already happened."
"that's not—"
"and the thing is," he continued, talking over you gently, "you're so far out of my league. like, objectively. you're smart and pretty and confident and you have your shit together. and i'm just. me. i'm awkward and i ramble and i spend friday nights debugging code for fun. so the fact that you were interested never made sense. i kept waiting for it to click, for me to understand why, and now i think i do. it wasn't about me. it was about. i don't know. the chase? the conquest? i was a project to you."
"no," you said, but your voice came out weak. "jake, that's not true. you weren't a project."
"then what was i?"
you didn't have an answer. or you did, but it was complicated and messy and saying it out loud would mean admitting things you didn't want to admit.
jake sighed. "i'm not trying to be cruel. i'm really not. but being around you right now makes me feel uncomfortable. like i can't trust my own judgement because i didn't see any of this coming. and that's. that's my issue to work through. but i need space to do it."
"what about the class project?"
"we can do it over email. divide up the work, combine it at the end. we don't have to see each other."
"and tutoring?"
"i think we should stop. you don't actually need it anyway."
each sentence felt like a door closing. practical, reasonable, and completely final.
"i'm sorry," you said, and meant it. "i didn't mean to. i wasn't trying to hurt you."
"i know," jake said, and he sounded sincere. "i don't think you set out to do anything malicious. i just think you didn't really consider how it would feel from my side. and now we're here."
"so that's it? we just stop talking?"
"for now, yeah. maybe later we can be normal around each other. but right now i need. distance."
he moved toward the door, his hand on the handle. you wanted to say something, anything that would fix this. some argument that would make him see you differently. but looking at his face, at the quiet certainty there, you knew there was nothing you could say. he'd made up his mind. he'd set a boundary. and you had no choice but to respect it.
"i really am sorry," you said again.
"i know," jake said. "me too."
then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with that same horrible finality. you stood there in the empty study room, staring at the space where he'd been.
you couldn't even argue with his reasoning. everything he'd said was true. you had manufactured situations. you had used his kindness and his obliviousness to get what you wanted. you'd told yourself it was harmless, that your feelings were real even if your methods were questionable.
but intent didn't matter when the impact was someone feeling manipulated and exposed.
you left the study room feeling hollowed out. the campus looked the same. people laughed and talked and went about their days. somewhere out there jake was probably headed to lunch with his friends, relieved to have finally said what he needed to say.
and you were just. alone. with the sharp realisation that you'd ruined something before it even had a chance to be real.
the party was exactly the kind of loud, chaotic mess you needed. bass thrumming through the floors, bodies packed into every available space, the air thick with sweat and cheap alcohol and too many competing perfumes. yunjin had dragged you here, insisting you needed to "get out of your head" after moping around for two weeks straight.
so here you were. red cup in hand, smile fixed in place, laughing at jokes you weren't really hearing. performing normalcy while your brain kept circling the same thoughts on loop. jake's face in that study room. the careful way he'd said i need space. the hollow feeling that had taken up permanent residence in your chest.
"you good?" beomgyu asked, leaning close to be heard over the music.
"yeah, great," you said automatically, taking another drink.
you were on your third. or fourth. you'd stopped counting. the alcohol sat warm in your stomach but hadn't managed to quiet your thoughts yet. maybe if you drank enough you'd stop replaying every conversation with jake, analysing every moment for signs you'd missed, evidence of how thoroughly you'd fucked everything up.
"i'm gonna get another drink," you said to no one in particular, pushing through the crowd toward the kitchen.
that's when you saw him.
jake. standing near the makeshift bar someone had set up on the counter, red cup in hand, talking to a girl you didn't recognise. and he was laughing. actually laughing, head thrown back, completely at ease in a way that made something hot and ugly twist in your chest.
because he never looked like that with you. even before everything went wrong, even during those tutoring sessions in your apartment when you'd thought you were building something real, he'd always been slightly careful and polite, like he was containing himself. but now he was loose and animated, gesturing with his free hand while the girl laughed at whatever he was saying, her hand resting on his arm.
her hand was on his arm.
you watched as she leaned closer, saying something that made jake grin. that specific grin, the one where his eyes crinkled at the corners and you could see his perfect teeth on display. you'd thought that smile was special. something you'd earned. but apparently he was just like this, with everyone who wasn't you.
the jealousy hit so hard it felt physical. burning through your chest, turning your vision sharp and focused. you were moving before you'd decided to, weaving through people, your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
jake saw you coming. his smile faltered, something uncertain crossing his face. "hey—"
"who's this?" you said, gesturing at the girl. your voice came out sharper than you'd intended, heavy with something you couldn't quite name.
the girl looked between you and jake, confused. "i'm mina. jungwon's sister remember? we just met like ten minutes ago."
"oh right." you focused on jake, ignoring her entirely. "you look like you're having fun."
"i—yeah?" jake's eyebrows drew together. "it's a party?"
"funny how you can make time for parties but couldn't respond to any of my texts about the assignment."
"i told you we could do it over email—"
"is that what you're doing right now? project work?" you knew you sounded irrational, accusatory, but you couldn't stop. the words kept spilling out, poisoned by alcohol and jealousy and two weeks of feeling like you'd been the only one affected by any of this.
"or are you just. moving on? found someone new to—"
"okay, i'm gonna go," mina said, backing away with her hands up. "this seems like. a thing. nice meeting you, jake."
she disappeared into the crowd. jake stared at you, his expression shifting from confused to something harder. "what the hell was that?"
"you tell me. you've been ignoring me for two weeks and now you're here flirting with random girls?"
"flirting?" jake's voice pitched up slightly. "flirting? i was literally just talking to her. she asked where the bathroom was and then we started chatting about the music. that's—that's not flirting, that's called being polite."
"she had her hand on your arm."
"so?" jake looked genuinely baffled now. "people touch arms when they talk. that doesn't mean anything. and even if it did—" he stopped himself, jaw tightening. "i don't owe you an explanation. you don't get to. we're not together. we're not anything."
the words hit exactly where they were meant to. "right. because you decided we're not."
"no, because you decided we weren't, like a month ago when you started playing games instead of just being honest." his voice was rising now, frustration bleeding through. "and now you're mad because i'm talking to someone else? you don't get to do that. you don't get to manipulate me into something and then act possessive when i try to move on."
"i'm not—" you started, but stopped. because he was right. you were being possessive and irrational. reading intent into a harmless conversation because you wanted there to be something there. wanted confirmation that jake was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him.
but he wasn't. he was just living his life. talking to people at parties. laughing easily with strangers. completely unaffected while you spiralled.
"i wasn't flirting with her," jake said, quieter now. tired. "i was just being friendly. that's what normal people do. they don't engineer entire relationships or manufacture situations. they just exist around each other."
"i know," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you wanted. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have. that was out of line."
jake nodded once, already turning away. "yeah. it was."
you watched him disappear back into the crowd, leaving you standing alone by the kitchen counter. your hands were shaking. you downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.
you'd just proven everything he'd said about you. possessive. manipulative. unable to let go. you'd projected your own feelings onto a completely innocent interaction and made a scene because you couldn't handle seeing him okay when you were so thoroughly not okay.
you'd been so certain. so sure he was flirting, that the girl meant something, that you'd caught him in some kind of lie. but you'd been wrong. completely, embarrassingly wrong. because you didn't actually know what jake was thinking. you never had. you'd just assumed, projected, filled in the gaps with your own narrative.
and now he was probably telling his friends what a psycho you were. probably regretting he'd ever let you into his life in the first place.
you grabbed another drink.
…
the party had devolved into that late-night haze where everything blurred together. people you didn't recognise, conversations you weren't part of, music that had gotten somehow both quieter and more invasive. you'd lost track of yunjin and beomgyu somewhere around drink number six. or seven. the room tilted slightly when you moved too fast.
you were trying to find your jacket, ready to call it a night, when you spotted him. jake. sitting alone on a couch in the corner, looking absolutely exhausted. his head kept drooping forward like he was fighting to stay conscious, then jerking back up. his eyes were half-closed, his usual careful posture completely abandoned.
you should walk past him. nothing good could come from another interaction tonight. you'd already embarrassed yourself once. but your feet carried you closer anyway, some magnetic pull you couldn't quite resist even knowing it was a bad idea.
you were almost past him when his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "don't," he said, not looking at you. his voice was rough, slurred slightly. "don't leave."
you stopped. "jake—"
"been trying," he mumbled, his grip loosening but not releasing. "trying so hard. but you make it impossible."
"what are you talking about?"
he finally looked up at you, and his eyes were unfocused, glassy with alcohol. "you. i'm talking about you. can't stop thinking about you. it's driving me insane."
your heart lurched. "you're drunk."
"i know but so are you," he said, like that explained everything. "that's the only reason i'm saying this. because sober me knows better. sober me has self-control and boundaries and all that shit." he pulled gently on your wrist, making you stumble slightly closer. "but drunk me is tired. so tired of pretending i don't want you."
"you said you needed space."
"i do need space. because when i'm around you i can't think straight. i can't trust myself." his words were coming out uneven, tripping over each other. "you think i was avoiding you because i was mad? i was avoiding you because if i saw you i'd—" he made a frustrated noise. "i'd do something stupid. like this. this is stupid."
you sat down next to him, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. "jake—"
"you're so pretty," he said, almost accusatory. "and you smell good. and you're smart, like actually smart, not just good at school. and when you laugh it's. it does things to me. and i hate it. i hate that you have this much power over me when i don't even know if you actually like me or if i'm just… convenient."
"i do like you," you said quietly. "i've liked you the whole time."
"but do you?" he turned to face you more fully, his eyes searching yours even though he seemed to be having trouble focusing. "or do you like the idea of me? the nerdy guy you can manipulate? your little project?"
"that's not—" you stopped. "it wasn't like that. it's not like that."
"then what is it like?" he was still holding your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "because i've been trying to figure it out for weeks and i can't. i can't understand why you'd want me. what you get out of this. and maybe i'm just stupid but i need you to tell me. plainly. what do you want from me?"
"you," you said, the word coming out more honest than you'd intended. "just. you."
jake laughed, bitter and tired. "that doesn't make sense."
"i know."
"i'm not interesting. i'm not cool or funny or—"
"you are though," you interrupted. "you are all of those things. you just don't see it."
he went quiet for a long moment. then, so quietly you almost missed it: "i've been trying so hard not to want you back. because i knew—i know it's not good for me. but i can't stop. and i'm so tired of trying."
his hand slid from your wrist to your hand, fingers threading through yours. the touch was so much gentler than you expected, almost reverent. "i deleted your texts without reading them," he admitted. "because if i read them i'd respond. and if i responded i'd end up right back where i started. wanting you. letting you in. getting hurt."
"i don't want to hurt you."
"i know. that's what makes it worse." he leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closing. "you don't mean to. you just. do."
you didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to fix the damage you'd done or convince him that your feelings were real when your actions had been so calculated. so you just sat there, holding his hand, feeling the warmth of him next to you.
"i missed you," jake said, so quiet you barely heard it over the music. "i fucking missed you and i hated myself for it."
"i missed you too."
"yeah?" he opened his eyes, looking at you with something raw and unguarded. "you missed manipulating me?"
"that's not fair."
"isn't it though?" but there was no heat in his words. just exhaustion. "god, i'm so tired. tired of being angry. tired of trying to stay away from you. tired of pretending i don't want you so badly it hurts."
the confession hung in the air between you. jake was looking at you like he was waiting for something, permission or rejection or maybe just confirmation that you'd heard him.
you leaned in. gave him time to pull away, to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with none of the careful hesitation from before. this was messy and desperate, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. he kissed you like he'd been holding back for too long, like all that careful control had finally snapped.
you shifted closer, practically climbing into his lap, and he made a sound against your mouth that went straight through you. his hands were everywhere, spanning your waist, sliding up your back, gripping like he was afraid you'd disappear if he loosened his hold even slightly.
"been thinking about this," he mumbled against your lips, barely pulling back enough to speak. "every night. hated myself for it but couldn't stop."
"me too," you admitted, kissing along his jaw. "i couldn't sleep. kept replaying everything."
"i lied about the texts i didn't respond to," he said, tilting his head to give you better access. "i read them. all of them before deleting. at like three am. read them over and over."
"why didn't you answer?"
"because i wanted to say things i shouldn't say. like how much i missed you. how i kept going to the lab hoping you'd be there. how seeing you at the party tonight fucking destroyed me even though i pretended i was fine." his hands tightened on your waist. "how i've been so fucking miserable without you."
you kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing his words. he responded immediately, pulling you fully into his lap now, and you could feel how much he wanted this, wanted you. it was overwhelming. intoxicating. the desperation in every touch, every small sound he made.
"we should," he said between kisses, "we should probably stop."
"do you want to stop?"
"no. god no." he pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, lips swollen. "but i'm drunk and you're drunk and tomorrow we're gonna regret—"
"i won't," you said firmly. "i won't regret this."
something shifted in his expression. softened. he touched your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "you're gonna break my heart," he said, not quite a question.
"i'm not."
"you will." but he kissed you anyway, softer this time. slower. like he was memorising the feel of you. "and i'm gonna let you. because i'm weak and pathetic and i want you so much i don't even care anymore."
"you're not weak."
"i am though." he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closing. "i'm so weak for you. it's embarrassing."
you could feel his exhaustion creeping in, the way his body was getting heavier against yours, his movements slowing. "come on," you said softly, standing and pulling him up with you. "let's get you somewhere you can actually sleep."
"don't wanna sleep," he protested, but let you guide him anyway. "wanna stay with you."
"you will. i'm not going anywhere."
you found an empty bedroom on the second floor, the door unlocked and the bed mercifully unoccupied. jake collapsed onto it immediately, pulling you down with him. he was asleep within minutes, his arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck. his breathing evened out, deep and steady.
you should probably feel guilty. taking advantage of his drunken honesty, letting him confess things he'd normally keep locked away. but you were too tired, too overwhelmed by everything he'd said. i want you so badly it hurts. i've been so fucking miserable without you. you're gonna break my heart and i'm gonna let you.
you didn't have answers. didn't have promises you could make. didn't know how to fix the fundamental imbalance between you, the manipulation and hurt that had gotten you here.
but for now, in this quiet room with jake's warmth pressed against you, you could pretend tomorrow didn't exist. could pretend this was simple. just two people who wanted each other, tangled together in the dark, nothing more complicated than that.
you fell asleep still wearing your shoes, jake's arms tight around you, his heartbeat steady against your chest.
you woke to pale morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the warm weight of jake still wrapped around you. for a disorienting moment you couldn't place where you were. then it came back in pieces. the party. the confrontation. jake's drunken confessions. falling asleep tangled together.
jake stirred against you, his breath catching as he woke. you felt the exact moment awareness returned, the way his body went tense. slowly, carefully, he pulled back just enough to look at you. his hair was a disaster, sticking up in every direction. his glasses sat crooked on the nightstand. his eyes were cautious but clear.
"hi," he said quietly.
"hi."
he didn't let go of you. didn't immediately scramble away or apologise or retreat into panic like last time. he just looked at you, searching your face for something.
"i said a lot of things last night," he finally said.
"yeah."
"i meant them." his voice was serious, steady despite the embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "i know i was drunk, and i probably shouldn't have said half of it, but. i meant it. all of it."
your heart kicked up. "jake—"
"i like you," he said, cutting you off gently. "i've liked you since that first night in the lab when you were stressed about your code and i got to actually help you with something. and it's been killing me trying to stay away from you because every time i see you i just. want you. so much that it scares me."
"why does it scare you?"
"because i don't know how to want someone this much and still protect myself." he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see you better. "last time i didn't protect myself at all. i just. gave in. and then i panicked because it felt too big, too fast, and i didn't know how to handle it."
"and now?"
"now i'm still terrified," he admitted. "but i'm more scared of not trying. of walking away and spending the rest of college wondering what could have happened if i'd just. been brave enough to give you a real chance."
you felt something tight in your chest start to loosen. "i want that. a real chance. i want to do this right."
"yeah?"
"yeah." you reached up, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. "i'm sorry. for all of it. the manipulation, the games, not being honest about what i wanted. you deserved better than that."
"i know," jake said simply. then, softer: "but i also know you were scared too. just in a different way."
he leaned down, kissing you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. different from last night's desperate intensity. this was slow, careful, almost questioning. you kissed him back, trying to pour everything you couldn't quite say into it. apology and promise and want all tangled together.
when he pulled back his eyes were dark, pupils blown. "i want to try again," he said. "properly this time. but i need you to be honest with me. about what you want. about what this is."
"i want you," you said. "not as a project or a conquest or whatever i convinced myself it was before. just you jake."
something in his expression softened. "okay," he said. "okay. we can work with that."
he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt his weight settle more fully over you. "i want to make it up to you," he murmured against your lips. "for running away before. for making you feel like you did something wrong when i was just scared."
"you don't have to—"
"i want to." he was already kissing down your neck, hands sliding under your shirt. "let me. please."
there was something in his voice, almost pleading, that made you nod. he smiled against your skin, helping you out of your clothes with more confidence than he'd had before. when you were bare beneath him he just. looked. taking his time, hands mapping your body like he was memorising every detail.
"you're so pretty," he said, almost reverent. "i thought about this. about you. so many times."
then he was moving lower, pressing kisses down your stomach, your hip bones, the inside of your thighs. when his breath ghosted over where you needed him most you couldn't help the small sound that escaped.
"tell me if anything's too much," he said, glancing up at you. then he lowered his mouth to you and your brain short-circuited.
he started slowly, almost tentatively, like he was learning you. his tongue moved in careful strokes, testing what made you gasp, what made your hips shift toward him. when he found the rhythm that had your fingers tightening in his hair, he made a low, satisfied sound against you that you felt everywhere.
"jake," you breathed, and he looked up at you through his lashes, pupils blown wide, lips glistening with your arousal.
"tell me," he said, voice rough. "tell me what feels good."
"that—" your words cut off as he did it again, tongue flicking over your clit with that same perfect pressure. "right there. just like that."
he was a quick learner. always had been. he catalogued every reaction, every sound you made, adjusting and refining. except this wasn't detached or analytical. this was hungry. desperate. he sucked your clit into his mouth and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your thighs trembling on either side of his head.
"fuck, jake—"
"god, you taste so good," he mumbled against your pussy, barely pulling back enough to speak. his chin was wet, his glasses fogged slightly. "been thinking about this. wanted to do this right last time."
he was getting lost in it now, the careful control slipping into something messier, greedier. he alternated between focused attention on your clit and broad, indulgent strokes through your folds, like he couldn't decide between making you fall apart and simply savouring you. his tongue pushed inside you and you keened, your back arching off the bed.
"oh my god," you gasped. "jake, your mouth—"
he moaned against you, the vibration making your thighs clench around his head. he didn't seem to mind, just gripped your hips harder, pulled you closer, like he wanted to suffocate in your pussy. when his fingers joined his mouth, sliding through your wetness before pressing inside, you nearly sobbed.
"so wet," he murmured, almost to himself.
he crooked his fingers, finding that spot inside you that made you cry out, and worked it mercilessly while his tongue circled your clit. the dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building so fast you couldn't catch your breath. your fingers tightened in his hair, probably painful, but he just groaned and doubled his efforts.
"jake, i'm—fuck, i'm gonna—"
"i know," he said against you, his voice wrecked. "i can feel it. let go for me."
his fingers thrust deeper, faster, his mouth sucking hard on your clit, and you shattered. your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your whole body going taut as pleasure whited out your vision. you were dimly aware of the sounds you were making—high, desperate whimpers and moans—but you couldn't stop them.
jake moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he didn't let up. he worked you through it with devastating patience, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him like he was starving for it.
"jake," you gasped, trying to push at his head. "too much—"
but he just whined—actually whined—and gripped your thighs tighter, keeping them spread. "please," he mumbled against your pussy, his words muffled and desperate. "please, just one more. need to feel you come again. please."
"i can't—" but your protest died as he sealed his lips around your clit again, sucking gently, his fingers still working inside you. the overstimulation was almost painful but it was already shifting into something else, something that had you gasping and arching into his mouth instead of away from it.
he was making sounds now—desperate, needy whimpers and moans that vibrated against you. he was rutting against the mattress, you realised dimly, seeking friction while he lost himself in eating you out. his hair was a mess from your fingers, and he looked absolutely wrecked.
"so good," he whined between licks. "taste so good. could do this forever. please let me—need to make you come again—"
he was babbling now, drunk on you, his movements getting messier and more desperate. his tongue worked your clit in frantic circles while his fingers curled inside you, and the pleasure was building again impossibly fast. you were so sensitive that every touch felt electric, overwhelming.
"that's it," he gasped, feeling you start to tighten around his fingers. "yeah, give it to me. please, please—"
your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, ripping through you with an intensity that had you crying out his name, your thighs clamping around his head. jake moaned like he was the one coming, his hips jerking against the mattress as he worked you through it, tongue lapping up everything, fingers gentling but not stopping until you were actually sobbing from oversensitivity.
only then did he pull back, and when he finally lifted his head he looked completely gone. his face was flushed and wet, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his lips swollen and red. he looked drunk on you, his eyes unfocused and dark.
"fuck," he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "you're so hot when you come. the sounds you make—"
you pulled him up into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, feeling the way he groaned into your mouth. his cock was rock hard against your thigh, leaking and desperate.
"your turn," you said, reaching down to wrap your hand around him.
he hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward. "you don't have to—"
"i want to." you stroked him slowly, base to tip, feeling how hot and heavy he was in your palm. precum leaked from the slit and you used it to ease the glide. "you're so hard, jake. does eating my pussy turn you on that much?"
"fuck—" his voice broke. "yes. god, yes. you have no idea."
"tell me." you tightened your grip slightly and he whimpered. actually whimpered. "tell me what you were thinking about."
"i was thinking—" he gasped when your thumb swept over the sensitive head. "thinking about how good you taste. how you were shaking. how i could feel you clenching and i wanted—wanted to be inside you—"
"yeah?" you stroked him faster, loving the way his abs tensed, the way his thighs trembled. "you want to fuck me, jake?"
"so bad," he choked out.
you guided him between your legs, not quite inside yet, just letting the head of his cock slide through your wetness. he made a strangled sound, his whole body shuddering.
"we should—do you have—" he was trying to think through the haze of arousal, being responsible even now. "condom?"
"pill," you said. "i'm on the pill. and i'm clean. tested recently."
"me too. clean, i mean." his cock twitched against you, smearing precum through your folds. "can i—fuck, can i feel you bare?"
"yes," you breathed. "want to feel all of you."
he positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head pressing against you, and even that felt like too much. he pushed in slowly, so slowly, and the stretch was intense. you were wet enough that he slid in smoothly at first, but the sheer size of him was overwhelming.
"oh fuck," you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders. "jake, you're so—you're so big—"
"i know, i'm sorry—" he froze, only halfway in. "am i hurting you?"
"no, don't stop," you urged, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him deeper. "just—go slow. need to adjust."
he sank in another inch and you both moaned. he was splitting you open, stretching you so full you could barely breathe. when he finally bottomed out, buried completely inside you, he dropped his forehead to yours.
"oh my god," he choked out. "you're so tight. so fucking tight and wet and—i can't—"
"don't move yet," you managed, clenching around him involuntarily. he was so deep you could feel him everywhere, pressing against spots that made your toes curl. "just let me—fuck—"
"you feel incredible," he said, his voice shaking. "i've never—nothing compares to this."
you tightened around him experimentally and he swore, his hips jerking forward. "sorry, sorry," he gasped. "i'm trying to hold still but when you do that i want to—"
"want to what?" you rolled your hips slightly and he groaned, deep and guttural.
"want to move," he admitted, his control clearly fraying. "want to fuck you."
"then do it," you said.
something in him snapped. he pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in hard, the force of it punching a cry from your lips. he did it again, and again, finding a rhythm that was deep and relentless. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust.
"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "just like that—don't stop—"
"god," he panted, his voice wrecked. "you feel so good."
you looked down between your bodies and moaned at the sight—his thick cock disappearing into you, glistening with your wetness, stretching you obscenely. "jake, oh my god—"
"feel how deep i am?" he thrust particularly hard and you keened.
"yes—fuck yes—"
he wasn't being careful anymore, wasn't being gentle. he fucked into you with abandon, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine. the sounds were obscene—skin slapping against skin, the wet slide of his cock, his grunts mixing with your moans.
"wanted this," he said against your neck, his breath hot. "wanted you. for so long."
"tell me more," you demanded, loving this unfiltered version of him.
"thought about this constantly," he admitted, his thrusts getting harder. "thought about having you like this. making you feel good. hearing you say my name."
"jake—" you were getting close again, that familiar tension building low in your belly.
"touch yourself," he said. "want to feel you come on my cock. need it. please."
you slid your hand between your bodies, finding your clit, already swollen and sensitive. the added stimulation made you clench around him and he swore, his rhythm faltering.
"that's it," he encouraged, his eyes fixed on where your fingers worked. "fuck, that's so hot. you're so hot. make yourself cum. let me feel it."
you worked your clit in tight circles, the pressure building faster with each thrust of his cock. he was so deep, hitting all the right spots, the slide of him inside you absolutely perfect. you were making sounds you'd never made before—high, desperate whines and gasps.
"close," you managed. "so close—"
"come for me," he urged, his voice strained. "squeeze my cock. want to feel your pussy milk me. come on, baby, let me feel it—"
the orgasm hit you like lightning, sudden and intense. you cried out his name, your whole body convulsing, your pussy clamping down on him rhythmically. waves of pleasure crashed over you, so intense you forgot how to breathe.
"oh fuck," jake choked out, his hips stuttering. "you're—i can feel you—i'm gonna—"
he tried to last, you could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his arms were shaking. but your pussy was still fluttering around him, still clenching in aftershocks, and it was too much. he buried himself deep with a broken moan, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. you felt the warmth of it, felt him fill you up, and the intimacy of it made something in your chest crack open.
"fuck," he gasped, collapsing on top of you. "oh my god. that was—i've never—"
you wrapped your arms around him, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing in sync. he was still inside you, softening slowly, and you could feel his release leaking out around his cock.
"that was amazing," you said when you could finally speak. "you were amazing."
he lifted his head to look at you, his expression soft and vulnerable. "i think i might be falling for you," he said quietly. "is that okay? am i allowed to say that?"
your throat felt tight with emotion. "yeah. that's okay."
"good." he kissed you gently, sweetly. "because i don't think i could stop even if you told me to."
he pulled out carefully and you both hissed at the sensitivity. immediately he was gathering you into his arms, pulling you against his chest like he couldn't stand not touching you. you fit there perfectly, your head tucked under his chin.
"we should probably talk about this," you said after a while. "about us."
"we will," jake promised, his fingers tracing patterns on your spine. "but can we just stay like this for a bit first?"
"yeah." you pressed closer, breathing in the scent of him. "we can stay like this."
and you did. stayed tangled together as the morning light grew stronger, as the sounds of people leaving the party filtered up through the floor. his cum was still leaking out of you, making a mess on your thighs, but neither of you moved to clean up. you just held each other in this new, tentative peace.
jake changed almost overnight once you started dating. it was like giving him permission to want you openly had flipped some switch in his brain. suddenly he was everywhere.
he'd show up at your door before your 9 am lecture with coffee, your exact order memorised, his hair still messy from sleep because he'd woken up early just to see you. he'd kiss you goodbye and then text you five minutes later with some random thought he forgot to mention. did you know that octopuses have three hearts? just learnt that. thought you should know.
in class he'd sit next to you instead of in his usual back corner spot, his knee always pressed against yours under the desk. sometimes his hand would find its way to your thigh, just resting there, his thumb tracing absent patterns while he tried to focus on the lecture. you'd catch him staring at you instead of his laptop, and when you'd raise an eyebrow he'd just smile, unashamed.
"you're distracting," he'd whisper.
"i'm literally just sitting here."
"i know. it's very distracting."
study sessions became impossible. you'd be explaining a concept and he'd lean over to kiss your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth. "jake, i'm trying to help you."
"i know, keep going," he'd say, already doing it again.
"you're not even listening."
"i am. you were talking about. um." he'd grin sheepishly. "okay i wasn't listening. but you're just so pretty when you're focused."
your friends noticed immediately. yunjin had taken one look at jake's arm slung around your shoulders at lunch, the way he was playing with your hair while talking to beomgyu, and pulled you aside.
"okay so he's like. obsessed with you," she said. "it's actually kind of cute. in a golden retriever kind of way."
"he's not obsessed."
"babe, he just offered to carry your bag even though your apartment is literally three minutes away. and he's been smiling at you for the past ten minutes like you hung the moon. it's obsessed behaviour."
but she said it fondly, and later you caught her telling beomgyu that she'd never seen you this relaxed before. "she's not performing," yunjin had said. "she's just. being."
and she was right. with jake you didn't have to strategise or calculate or perform anything. he wanted you. obviously, openly, without games or subtext. when you showed up to his place in sweats and no makeup, he'd light up like you'd dressed up specifically for him. when you stole his hoodies, he'd just buy more so you could steal those too.
"i like seeing you in my clothes," he'd admitted once, pulling you close. "makes me feel like. i don't know. like you're mine."
"possessive," you'd teased.
"is that bad?"
"no," you'd said, kissing him. "i like it."
jake's friends had their own reactions. you'd been nervous meeting them properly, remembering that disastrous first encounter at the party. but they'd welcomed you easily, even if they did give jake endless shit.
"dude, you're so whipped," his roommate said, watching jake immediately get up to refill your drink without being asked.
"and?" jake had said, completely unbothered.
"and nothing, it's just funny. remember when you said you'd never be that guy who drops everything for someone? and now you're literally—"
"finish that sentence and i'm not helping you with discrete math anymore."
but he was smiling when he said it, and later his roommate told you that jake talked about you constantly. "it's honestly annoying how happy he is."
the thing was, you were happy too. unexpectedly, overwhelmingly happy. jake made you sharper somehow, more focused. when you studied together you actually retained information because he made learning feel collaborative instead of competitive. he celebrated your successes like they were his own, staying up with you before big presentations, bringing you stress-relief snacks, sending you encouraging texts.
and you did the same for him. learnt his patterns, his tells when he was overwhelmed. you'd show up at the lab with dinner when you knew he'd been working for hours. you'd run your fingers through his hair when he was stressed, and he'd melt into your touch, all that tension draining away.
"you make everything easier," he'd told you once, late at night when you were both too tired to filter. "like the world's less heavy when you're around."
"that's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."
"i know. i mean it though."
weeks blurred together in the best way. stolen kisses between classes. jake's hand always finding yours. the way he'd kiss you goodbye at your door and then text you goodnight five minutes later even though he lived one floor up. movie nights that turned into makeout sessions on your couch, jake's glasses getting in the way until you carefully removed them, setting them aside so you could kiss him properly.
he got clingy when he was tired, wrapping around you like a koala, mumbling into your neck. "don't leave."
"i'm just going to get water."
"too far. stay."
"jake, i'll be gone thirty seconds."
"thirty seconds too long."
you'd laugh, running your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and feel something warm and settled in your chest. this was what it was supposed to feel like.
the beach had been jake's idea. "there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight," he'd said, eyes lighting up behind his glasses. "and i know this spot that's perfect for stargazing. barely any light pollution. we could bring blankets, make a whole thing of it?"
so here you were, sitting on a blanket in the sand while the ocean crashed softly in the background. the sky was impossibly clear, stars scattered across it like someone had spilt diamonds. jake lay with his head in your lap, one of your hands playing with his hair while he pointed up at the sky.
"okay, so see those seven stars there?" he traced a pattern with his finger. "that's the big dipper, which is part of ursa major. but if you follow those two stars at the edge, they point directly to polaris. the north star."
you hummed, only half listening to the actual words. you were too busy watching him. the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, how animated his expressions were when he talked about something he loved. the moonlight caught on his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips.
"and that one—" he was still going, completely absorbed. "that's cassiopeia. she was a queen in greek mythology who bragged about being more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so poseidon punished her by placing her in the sky upside down. you can see how the constellation kind of looks like a W? that's her throne."
"jake," you said softly.
"oh, and if you look over there, that really bright one? that's actually venus, not a star. common misconception. planets don't twinkle like stars do because—"
you leaned down and kissed him, cutting off his rambling mid-sentence. he made a surprised sound but responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. when you pulled back he followed your lips automatically, trying to chase another kiss.
"you were saying?" you teased.
"i—" he blinked up at you, slightly dazed. "what was i saying?"
"something about venus."
"right. venus. because of the. um." he lost his train of thought as you leaned down again, kissing him slower this time. "you're distracting me from the meteor shower."
"am i?"
"yeah. very effectively." but he was smiling, pulling you down for another kiss.
you shifted, moving to straddle his lap properly. jake's hands immediately found your waist, sliding under your shirt to rest against bare skin.
the kissing turned heated quickly. jake made these small, needy sounds that drove you crazy, his hands roaming over your back, your sides, anywhere he could reach. when you rolled your hips experimentally he gasped into your mouth, his grip tightening.
"fuck," he whispered. "you're gonna kill me."
you kissed down his jaw, his neck, feeling his pulse racing under your lips. his hands had moved to your hips now, guiding your movements, and you could feel how affected he was. "still thinking about the stars?" you teased.
"what stars?" he pulled you down for another bruising kiss, one hand tangling in your hair. "can't think about anything except you."
you ground down harder and jake made a sound that was almost a whine, his head falling back against the blanket. "please," he gasped. "please, i need—"
suddenly, the loud, insistent beeping of his watch interrupted the moment.
you both froze.
jake's face went bright red as he fumbled with his wrist. "oh my god. oh my god. it's my fitness watch. it thinks i'm exercising because my heart rate—" another beep. "make it stop."
you couldn't help it. you burst out laughing, burying your face in his shoulder while his watch continued its concerned beeping about his elevated heart rate. "it's not funny," jake groaned, still trying to silence the watch. "this is so embarrassing."
"it's a little funny."
"my watch just cockblocked me. there's nothing funny about that."
you kissed his jaw, still giggling. "i think it's cute. your heart rate got that high just from kissing me?"
"you were not just kissing me, you were—" he made a frustrated noise. "yes. okay. yes. you have that effect on me. are you happy?"
"very." you settled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing under your ear. the watch had finally stopped beeping. "for what it's worth, my heart's doing the same thing."
"yeah?" he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.
"yeah."
you lay there together, the ocean providing a steady soundtrack, the stars scattered above you. jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "i love you," he said softly. "in case that wasn't obvious from the way my watch literally staged an intervention."
you lifted your head to look at him. his eyes were soft, open, vulnerable in the moonlight. "i love you too," you said, meaning it completely.
he smiled, that full, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. then he kissed you again, sweet and unhurried, his hands gentle on your face.
"we should probably head back soon," you murmured eventually. "it's getting late."
"five more minutes," jake said, pulling you closer. "just. let me hold you for five more minutes."
you settled back against him, his arms wrapped securely around you, both of you looking up at the vast sky. you'd come here to watch a meteor shower but you'd been too distracted by each other to notice if any had passed.
somehow, you didn't mind at all.
"hey," jake said softly. "thank you."
"for what?"
"for giving me another chance. for being patient with me while i figured my shit out. for. this. all of it." his arms tightened around you. "i know i was difficult at first."
"you weren't difficult. you were protecting yourself. i get it now."
"still. you could have given up on me. but you didn't."
"of course i didn't," you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "you're worth it. you've always been worth it."
jake made a soft, overwhelmed sound, burying his face in your hair. "i'm gonna marry you someday," he mumbled. "just so you know."
"jake—"
"not now. obviously not now. but someday. when we've graduated and figured our lives out and i can actually afford a ring. i'm gonna marry you."
you felt your chest go tight with emotion. "okay," you whispered. "someday."
"yeah. someday."
you stayed like that until the cold started seeping in, until you were both shivering despite being pressed together. finally, reluctantly, you packed up the blanket and headed back to campus. jake held your hand the entire walk, occasionally pulling you close to kiss you at random intervals.
"what was that for?" you asked after the third surprise kiss.
"just because," he said, smiling. "because i can. because i love you. do i need more reasons?"
"no," you said, kissing him back. "no more reasons needed."
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
🍒 ﹐ telling enhypen members you found their friend on tinder — 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ˙𐃷˙ 𝗑 𝑔𝑛!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ﹐ ⓘ 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗌 , 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 , 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀
izas note 💌 — do we like the new smau layout.. question mark question mark question mark. this is for anon that says i never post xx jk it’s for whoever requested this thanks cutie !!
TAGLIST — enha/master | @cosmicalily @stvrhven @fdzvie @fizzandsage13 @keysfg @honghwaluvr @siracoreee @brisiqnq @nekobbin @lezleeferguson-120 @staarflowerr @wonnieeluvvr @cutiebinni @Hwatention @4espaz @junpom | click here to be added/removed ᢉ𐭩
❝ y/n, please stop calling my clone the freakatron 3000. ❞
PAIRING ▸ jake sim x fem!reader
GENRES ▸ psychological horror, crack, sci-fi, angst, some fluff
WARNINGS ▸ profanity, implied sex but nothing explicit, murder, questionable ethics, jake cutely spirals into madness as he breaks every lab safety protocol ever, jayke's tom and jerry dynamic, depersonalization, everyone's a few shades darker than morally grey, jay on some doofenshmirtz ass villainry, ft. interns kim sunoo & jang wonyoung
SUMMARY ▸ world-renowned inventor jake sim creates the prometheus prototype, a machine that allows one to create copies of themselves. with his insatiable thirst for science overpowering all restraint, jake must hide his creation from his best friend (who's also—horrifyingly enough—his boss), jay park; his high-strung intern, kim sunoo; but not you, his enigmatic coworker he's had his eye on for years. jake is now somewhere between the flesh, the machine, and the divine, stuck in an endless cycle of succumbing to the rot by his own hands. he won't lose his mind trying to become something bigger than he is. he won't.
alternatively, once greatness abandons mortality, a new god is born.
WORD COUNT ▸ 23,400 words
PLAYLIST ▸ puddles by not for radio • pretty when you cry by lana del rey • i bet on losing dogs by mitski • to by yerin baek • calm myself by sunmi
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this was inspired by mickey 17 (incredible movie btw) hope u enjoy reading!!
IMPORTANT please read!
i'm doing an event for this fic to donate to sudani women in refugee camps and women in congo! please check out the full details here
SO, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED IN THE MIDST OF HIS GENIUS, JAKE SIM HAD A MINOR PREDICAMENT.
Normally, these hiccups rarely phased him. He wasn’t one to brag about it—in fact, he despised those who peacocked about—but Jake was what people would consider a child prodigy. From the moment he was introduced to numbers, Jake could scramble those integers into something more complex, something real, and he saw patterns that none of his peers could identify.
They called him a gift from God, but Jake wasn’t devout in the slightest; his God was nuclear, existing in the quantum vacuum between the nucleus and its electrons. His God didn't speak to him through a burning bush but through equations. Mathematics became his scripture.
In a sense, his future was set from a young age. A stroke of luck led him to becoming close friends with Jay Park, the heir to Park Industries; his high school passion projects got him invitations to speak at conferences; and he managed to end up on Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list four years in a row. Sure, it was largely due to his connection to Jay that boosted his name in the tech industry, but Jake never took his opportunities for granted. He worked to the bone to make a name for himself and to put his inventions out there.
Jake knew he could take the world far with creations birthed from his own two hands.
He, after all, was the star intern of Park Industries. Almost everyone working for the company knew of his story, how he interviewed for their summer program during his junior year of high school and hadn’t stopped working since. After assisting Dr. Oscar Diaz with his research on the use of CRISPR-Cas9 to repair human tissue, Jake was praised so highly for his help that he was offered a part-time position throughout his undergraduate degree. MIT hardly mattered now that Jake had a leg-up in the industry (although he still managed to make the President’s List consecutively with a 3.9 GPA and graduated summa cum laude).
Years later, after Jay took over his father’s position at the company (at a shockingly young age, reporters noted), Jake was granted his own lab at the age of 25.
Some called it nepotism because of the strings Jake had to pull with Jay to obtain his own space, and some called it the well-deserved fruits of Jake’s labor.
He liked the sound of the latter, but if he was going to be honest, Jake would have to agree with the former; no matter how shiny of a gem his brain was, there was no company executive on the planet that had the same streak of rash judgement that his dear friend did. Even Jay’s father didn’t exactly exude an air of responsibility with the way he retired early to play golf at overpriced country clubs. Several complaints came in about Jay’s unreasonable decisions, which the newly-minted CEO simply replied to with the link of the Forbes article that had Jake’s face plastered on the cover. Take it up with the 30 Under 30 list, was what his message for them seemed to be.
Jake wasn’t complaining, though. If he had to step over some heads to climb the ladder of success, so be it.
There were failures, of course, but his pushes forward were always bigger than any setback he ever encountered. Six years ago, his proposal to create synthetic bio-organs was nearly ripped to shreds, but Jake spent countless nights pushing for his work to be recognized, for someone to see potential in it. And, at the mere age of 26, his bio-organs became revolutionary in the medtech industry. Naturally, his minor predicaments paled in comparison to his glowing accomplishments.
But what bothered him were the whispers. There was no doubt that Jake was smart, but for someone who conveniently landed all the right connections, it was easy to question his genius—whether he truly deserved to stand where he did. He had to pull off something huge.
The bar was set high, and he chucked it somewhere stratospheric.
It took an elevator trip, three ID scans, and one fingerprint scan to get into Jake’s laboratory. The space was basically his second home. He had a kitchenette, a mattress on the floor, a company-issued Keurig, and every single tool at his disposal to craft wonders. What more could he ask for?
The reason why Jake requested a private laboratory was because he was working on something extraordinary. With all of the work he had done in bioengineering, Jake started secretly working on something that would elevate him to God status in the biotech world.
The Prometheus Prototype.
He knew that it was dangerous to play God, but who said he couldn’t try getting close? Icarus flew too close to the sun, but he still flew all the same, didn’t he? Jake could operate at a distance, and then he was sure he would be able to soar over the sun, over its blazing rays.
He had been working on the Prometheus Project for years until he finally got approved for the funding to go ahead with his invention. Of course, Jake had many, many meetings with several ethical review boards (all of whom he lied to) and had many NDAs signed, but he knew what he was getting himself into.
He was creating a machine that could clone humans, after all.
It was inside his mammoth of a laboratory—far past appropriate working hours for him to call his intern, Kim Sunoo, for help—where Jake was experiencing a slight inconvenience.
At first he thought he was delirious from the lack of sleep, but no matter how long Jake gawked for, there was no doubt that the man standing across from him was… himself?
Oh, shit, was Jake’s first thought.
This is bad, was Jake’s second thought.
“You’re so fucked right now,” said the Jake duplicate, who vocalized what happened to also be the real Jake’s third thought.
Earlier in the evening, Jake stayed back in the lab to test the Neural Entanglement component they had just developed. It was the final part for the Prometheus Prototype—not that it was ready for testing, but the machine was finally whole. The Neural Entanglement device was responsible for making a copy of Jake’s consciousness and memories to transfer into the new body.
The process of uploading a copy of his brain scan took several hours, considering he had to remain perfectly still with several electrode sensors attached to him. Plus, Jake hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks, so could he really be blamed for dozing off during the process?
What he could be blamed for, however, was accidentally triggering the machine to transfer his printed consciousness into a new body. And because the machine only had Jake’s genetic information stored, the assembled body was an identical copy of him.
Good news: it worked.
Bad news: it worked.
Jake wasn’t sure how long he was asleep for, but his doppelganger didn’t seem to be in a hostile or distressed state, much to his relief. Being the first subject from the Prometheus Prototype, things could’ve gone very wrong.
The clone did, however, come out completely naked. Jake had to sacrifice a lab coat so that his duplicate could maintain some decorum.
But, once again—hiccups aside—Jake was a fucking genius. Yeah, they called him the Einstein of the 21st century for a reason, and perhaps this breakthrough would put him up there with the greats.
“Okay,” Jake started shakily, fumbling for his glasses before placing them on the bridge of his nose. He reached for a pen and started scribbling on the first piece of paper within reach. “You can speak coherently, you can move around just fine, you seem to have the same proportions as me, and…”
“And my dick’s still the same size, yes,” the clone finished.
Jake paused, then frowned.
“How’d you know I was thinking about that?”
“I think you should be asking yourself why you were thinking about that,” his duplicate retaliated. Jake added the word smartass to the list of observations he was compiling. “We share the same brain with the same memories up until this moment. I know you better than anyone else does.”
“Fascinating,” Jake breathed out. “Let’s call you Jake-001—Jake One for short.”
“Jake One? That’s kinda boring. Can’t I be, like, Alpha Jake?”
He made a noncommittal sound. “No—too omegaverse for me.”
PROMETHEUS PROJECT / JAKE-001 LOG:
04:12:45 // Basic biological functions stable
04:15:11 // Delayed motor functions
04:36:09 // Brain scans show abnormal activity in the amygdala and prefrontal cortex in the dorsolateral and ventromedial regions
04:42:55 // Impulsive speech and actions with little regard for consequences, likely due to the damage to the prefrontal cortex
04:43:08 // No clue how the amygdala is affected yet
04:43:12 // He’s almost perfect
It was nearing 5 a.m. by the time Jake started to feel anxious about the whole situation. In the next hour, Kim Sunoo would come bursting through the door with two coffees in hand and his ID card between his teeth. An hour after that, Jay would waltz in without a care in the world, complaining about some shareholder meeting he had later in the day.
Jay was the one person who absolutely couldn’t see Jake One right now. His best friend would call for a press conference immediately for Jake to share his breakthrough with the world, for Park Industries to become a heavy-hitter in the field of artificial intelligence. By no means could Jake let anything about the Prometheus Project get out to the public. He didn’t even clue the CEO in on how much progress he made with Sunoo; his work always came first because Jake knew that, at the end of the day, everyone around him was frantically trying to get to the top.
Moreover, if Jake was discovered, this would be a huge ethical problem. He was 100% not supposed to create a clone of himself already, and the fact that he tested on himself before using lab mice was a violation of dozens of ethical standards.
There were three things Jake needed to do: give Sunoo the day off, convince the poor intern that he wasn’t getting fired, and figure out a way to get Jake One out of the high-security building.
He knocked out the first two pretty easily. The easiest way to convince Sunoo not to come in for work without raising suspicion was by assigning him unrelated busy work.
Jake: The Neural Entanglement device is still on standby so you don’t have to come in today
Sunoo: ??? whatttt
Sunoo: but i’m on the subway rn :(
Jake: I need you to run some errands instead. I’ve forwarded a list of things we need to order. Can you get that done?
Jake: Also if you can draft this week’s progress report that would be great
Jake: You can present at the stakeholder meeting next week
Sunoo: yes i can!! :D so excited yay!!!
Kim Sunoo should’ve been grateful that he was incredibly brilliant and had a young innovator like Jake Sim as his boss. If he spoke to anyone else like that, he really would’ve been reprimanded or fired by now.
Now that his nosy intern was out of the way, Jake had to get through a morning briefing while leaving Jake One unsupervised. He was unsure of whether his clone would be able to stay in place, but Jake One did have the same level of intelligence as the original Jake, so he had to be somewhat trustworthy.
And Jake One was technically… him—at a genetic level, even. They must’ve shared the same interests and tastes, too.
“You like ramen, don’t you?”
Jake One’s eyes lit up. “Ramen?”
“There’s a kitchenette through that door over there,” Jake said. “Knock yourself out if you get hungry. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Jake was confident in his ability to bullshit his way through life.
It helped that most people deeply trusted him. He was a rising star among innovators across the world, so why would anyone doubt him in the first place? Thanks to his reputation, it was easy to get by with minimal effort. That was exactly how he got through his morning debrief without getting grilled for not having concrete results to show.
But he knew he had results, and that was what mattered. In fact, the outcome of his results was currently making ramen in his laboratory.
Now, he had to figure out a way to get his double out of the building without raising suspicion. Perhaps he could cover Jake One up and sneak him out, but the problem was security cameras were littered along the hallways of Park Industries. If the situation were to escalate, Jake wouldn’t have an answer for how one person entered his lab and two people left.
On his way to the elevators, he heard two familiar voices down the hallway.
“Jay, please,” you insisted, white-knuckled as you gripped your folder. Jake watched as you basically shoved the file into Jay’s hands. “My nanobots work. I just need the funding to develop them into something bigger.”
Ah, how pathetic. Jake couldn’t stop his heart from stuttering in his chest.
Over the years, Jake never really had the time to be in a relationship like most young adults his age would. Since he was flying out to conferences and symposiums every other week, he didn’t exactly have the time to start anything serious with someone. That was why all of his encounters with women never went past hooking up or a few dates.
He wished things would be different with you, but that wasn’t the case. Jake asked you out once—and he thought the date went rather well and you seemed to be enjoying yourself—but nothing happened after that. It was as if you two never kissed. You were too buried in your work, much like he was, and Jake was too much of an idiot to come clean about how badly he wanted a relationship to work out.
Jake Sim was suave, charming, confident—so the unsophisticated rush of emotions that flooded his chest was not at all representative of his character.
The CEO flipped through the papers as he answered, “It’s great stuff, Y/N, really—but it’s too ambitious. You’ve gotta narrow your scope a bit more.” He passed your work back to you before stepping into the elevator. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a busy day ahead of me”—(Jake knew he was lying through his teeth; this was around the time when Jay scheduled his afternoon nap)—“and no time to look over this. Have your intern—what’s her name again? Won-something? Wonjung? Wonyoung, that’s right—have her hand it over to Jungwon and I’ll give it a read tonight.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but the elevator doors closed before you could rip into Jay. Jake heard all about your rejected proposals over plenty of late-night beers with his coworkers. You often got emotional over drinks; Jake was the one who had to drag you back to your apartment and listen to you mope. This would be your third or fourth time passing your work to Jay’s personal assistant, Yang Jungwon, only to hear nothing back about it.
From behind you, Jake plucked the folder right out of your hands to look over your abstract. “Nanobots, huh?”
“Oh, hey, Jake.” Even with all of your attention now on him, you still looked and sounded distracted. He was always desperately trying to pull you back down to the ground. “Sorry you had to witness my very embarrassing, very hopeless attempt at getting my funding approved.”
“You’re good. I’ve had people start coming to me about grants.”
“Lucky you.” You hummed with an inquisitive lilt at the end. “It’s rare I get to see you around here, by the way. You’re always locked up in that lab of yours.”
That last comment plucked him right out of the section on proteins. “Thought I’d at least show face. Why? Were you lonely without me?”
A bold move, for sure. Jake laughed it off as a lighthearted joke, except it wasn’t a joke for him. Whatever you followed up with was critical to his mental health. Your words would impact the next few weeks of his restless nights, weighing on his heart like a storm cloud. For a heart-fluttering, fleeting second, he almost thought you would flirt back.
“It’s pretty hard to feel lonely these days,” was your stone-cold response, lodging itself right into a lonely chamber of Jake’s pathetic heart. “I can’t catch a break on Heeseung’s team. I swear, the only reason he dumps all this work on me is so that I don’t have time for my own research.”
“Looks like you’re doing just fine, though.”
“Does it? I’ve been pushing for them to get approved for over a year now. I’m thinking I should just give up.”
“Why would you do that? This is incredible stuff.”
“You think so?”
“How biocompatible are these? Can they pass through the blood-brain barrier?”
“Ideally, yeah, but I haven’t been able to test them yet,” you answered. “Biodegradable polymer—so there shouldn’t be a problem.”
Very interesting. Finding human participants to test your nanobots would be difficult, but wouldn’t the Prometheus Prototype be the perfect solution for that? Not only would Jake be able to prove the usefulness of his invention but it would directly benefit your nanobots. There were definitely several ethics violations that he wasn’t considering at the moment, though.
“Well, I don’t think you should narrow your scope,” he told you. “Nothing’s too ambitious, if you ask me.”
You scoffed. “Maybe that applies to you. I wish it were that easy, but Jay keeps blowing me off. I think my nanobots can be something big. I don’t feel like dumbing them down to get my funding approved.”
“Let me give it to him this time. That guy can be a douchebag.”
Only Jake, who had a long history with his closest friend, could get away with insulting the CEO like that, and that was probably why your expression dimmed. Anything and everything he wanted from Park Industries was well within his grasp while you had to work ten times harder than anyone else to be recognized. Jake knew it wasn’t fair, but he also didn’t know what he could do about it aside from offering his help.
It became clear to him, though, that what he thought to be kind gestures were more of a slap in the face for you.
“I appreciate it, Jake,” you said, eyes flitting away momentarily when the next elevator door opened, “but I need to get my work out there on my own.”
Jake swallowed thickly.
“Makes sense.” He handed your folder back to you and stepped inside with you. “Which floor?”
“Eight.”
Just as he was about to press the button for you, though, a high-pitched alarm sounded from his phone. Jake normally kept all of his alarms the same, but this specific sound was distinct for a reason. The security alert for his laboratory was unmistakable, and since it hardly ever went off, Jake was frozen for several moments before he reacted.
He pulled out his phone, checking the security app that he’d created himself. Perhaps it was an excessive layer of protection, but Jake didn’t trust footage of his laboratory being in the hands of anyone but him.
To his horror, smoke was billowing in front of the lens. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on, but this was, no doubt, a fire. Jake had security measures in place, of course, but a fire in the same proximity as the Prometheus Prototype was making him anxious.
His eyes were fixed to his screen as he punched the button to his floor instead. He was certain he heard you worrying in his ear—something along the lines of “Jake, is everything alright?”—but he couldn’t focus on anything else but getting to his lab.
“Oh, shit,” you breathed out after catching a glimpse of Jake’s screen.
“Y/N,” he ordered, grabbing ahold of your shoulders and looking you in the eye. There was unmistakable worry drawn across your face, but he was firm. “I need you to keep this between us. Don’t tell a soul.”
“Don’t tell? But—but, Jake, if there’s an emergency—”
“Thanks, I knew you’d understand,” he got out quickly before it even clicked that you had, in fact, not understood.
Everything’s perfectly fine, he told himself, although he couldn’t calm his racing heart nor stop his anxious habit of tapping his foot. Jake One’s probably handling it right now. There’s a fire hydrant right by the door. Sprinklers should’ve activated. He’ll be fine. He can take care of it.
Jake sped down hallways and turned corners, tuning out the ringing in his ears and hoping his urgency didn’t alert anyone. He felt bad for leaving you so lost and confused, but you were definitely not supposed to see the clone of himself standing in his laboratory. He had a sinking feeling about the security camera footage, and the only thing on his mind was that he had to get to his laboratory as quickly as possible. He hardly even thought to look back as he scanned his ID through each locked door until he was pushing open the entrance to his workspace.
Instantly, he was hit with billowing clouds of smoke and the rotten smell of human flesh.
The fire burned from the kitchen, only suppressed by the sprinklers that stopped it from consuming the entire space. The flames weren’t anything he couldn’t tackle himself with the equipment in his lab, but there was something disturbing about the sight before him that made his stomach feel like a bottomless pit. The ground wobbled under him.
A pair of legs stuck out from the doorway. The upper half was engulfed in flames, but the body remained motionless aside from involuntary jerks.
Strange. Jake always thought it would be the fumes that did him in, but it was rather the sight of watching someone with his face burn to death. Amidst the crackling and popping, a scream rose over the cacophonous flames that sounded eerily like his own. No, it was his own—Jake One’s voice—ringing in his ears louder than ever.
Jake didn't realize he was shaking until he dropped his ID card. This laboratory was his dying body, a prison of his own flesh.
And it was rotting before him.
He dropped to his knees, digging his palms into the crevices of his ears to block out the skull-splitting screams. He really should’ve been blocking his nose to keep himself from inhaling the fumes because his head was already starting to feel funny, but Jake’s judgement was already clouded by the death rattle that cried over the fire.
All at once, and then no more.
Just when he thought that he, too, would pass out, a spray of cool, white powder swept the base of the flames, side to side until they started to die down. He looked up to see you holding a fire extinguisher, the collar of your shirt hiked up to cover your nose.
The smoky heat must’ve been getting to his vision, too. Jake balled his fists to rub at his eyes, but they felt like they’d been peeled and rubbed raw. Despite that, you were still there.
Ash and powder dusted the kitchen. The residue smelled like ammonia and stung his eyes. Jake wanted to scream and ask what the hell you were doing here, but when he caught sight of Jake One’s burning remains again, his mind was slipping away from him—fast.
Right when he caught your words framing his name, the ground rushed up to meet him.
When Jake came to, he found himself in the makeshift bed he had set up next to the Prometheus Prototype. It was sort of an obsessive worry—wanting to be next to his invention at all times—but Jake had proper reasons for it.
He opened the door to the containment enclosure that housed his machine and started examining its shell. When he looked at himself through his reflection in the smooth metal coating the exterior of his machine, Jake saw that he was sporting a nasty bruise on his jawline. There didn’t seem to be any external or internal damages, but while he tinkered around, a knock came at the glass, scaring him out of his wits.
It was you.
“I didn’t realize you woke up already,” you said, holding out a cup of coffee to Jake as he shut the door behind him, ignoring the throbbing ache in his skull. This was bad, this was bad, this was bad, this was really fucking bad. “How’re you feeling? Can you breathe okay?”
That was when he noticed his lungs ached.
“You can’t be here, Y/N, it’s—”
Before he could get the words out, he was splashed with hot coffee. Thankfully, it wasn’t hot enough to scald him, but Jake winced and wiped the excess that dripped from his chin. What the hell? You just saved him from a fire and now you were trying to make him a burn victim?
He started, “What the—”
“This isn’t the time to order me around. Do you even realize how many lives you’ve put at risk because of your… whatever that was?!”
Okay, given the situation you were in, perhaps he deserved the hot cup of coffee to his face.
Jake swallowed thickly. “So, he’s…” Dead. He didn’t want to say the words himself, but that was the bitter reality he couldn’t quite bite down on.
You gave him an uneasy look. “I brought my nanobots. I don’t know if there’s much they can do at this point, and fourth-degree burns are a bitch to treat, but they’re trying to repair his lungs right now. It’ll take longer to rebuild his tissue, though.”
Patting his face and neck with a napkin, Jake circled around to walk over to the kitchen. There was still ash and soot staining the ground, but you seemed to have done your best to clean up the place. The air was breathable now, thanks to his state-of-the-art air purifiers, but the sight of Jake One’s charred body on the floor sucked all the air out of Jake’s lungs.
“I didn’t want to move him,” you said. “He was barely breathing after I put out the flames.”
You put out the flames, brought your nanobots in an attempt to revive Jake One, and you even cleaned up the place. Somewhere between all of that, you even managed to drag Jake to his bed. All while he had been completely useless and immobile. How long had he been asleep for to miss all of that?
“Thank you,” he said. “Seriously, Y/N, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”
“Probably wouldn’t have ended well.” Then, hesitantly, you looked toward the body and asked, “That’s not your intern… right?”
“No,” he responded quickly, shaking his head, relieved that it wasn’t beloved-by-all Sunoo that was caught in the lab fire. “No, it’s…” But how the fuck was he supposed to explain that the body was him? Or, well, a duplicate of him. Jake was going to sound like a madman and risk being reported, but he figured an explanation was what he owed you after everything you had done. “What I’m about to tell you is highly classified information. I’m dead serious. You can’t tell a soul—not even Jay.”
Jake was probably the biggest idiot in the world for trusting you so wholeheartedly, but there was no way his Mensa-certified supercomputer of a brain could think of any other way to get out of this. Instead of the usual nervous tapping of his foot, Jake settled for fidgeting with his pen in his pocket, pressing his thumb into the metal nub until it hurt.
He broke everything down for you as gently as he could. He started from the Prometheus Prototype, earning a lot of oohs and ahhs that didn’t exactly feel appropriate for the situation at hand, but the amazed look in your eyes morphed into one of horror when you realized what he was getting at.
“So, you’re telling me that body over there is you?” Your mouth was agape as you looked from Jake to Jake One. “That’s a clone?”
“He has all of my DNA and memories up until last night,” he answered, “but we have separate consciences, I think. I’m still me and he’s… I don’t know.”
Anyone else would be downright horrified by the confession, but you, who shared the same thirst for science as Jake did, simply breathed out, “That’s incredible.”
“I know, right?” Except for, like, Jake One turning into a human blowtorch. “I might have a breakthrough on my hands.”
“But Jake… none of this has been approved of, has it?”
“Uh… it’s sort of been approved.”
“What does that even mean?”
So, yes, Jake might’ve lied a little when he was getting funding for this project… and for, like, all the required paperwork that he submitted—but he still got approved to create something regardless! Sure, it wasn't what he actually proposed, but that was something he could easily smooth over with a quick chat. He also had to keep Sunoo in the dark for some aspects of the Prometheus Prototype, but that was mostly to protect his intern in the event that they faced any repercussions. To Sunoo’s knowledge, the Prometheus Prototype wasn’t going to be in its testing stage for at least another two years.
“On a scale of one to ten, I’d say it’s around a four? In terms of approval.”
You didn’t look impressed in the slightest. “I don’t know if this counts as working with human subjects, but there’s no way the Board’s gonna be happy about this.”
Jake set his lips in a grim line. “I know. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Then why did you? You had to hook yourself up to that thing, didn’t you?” Disbelief clouded your face as you questioned him. Jake couldn’t even understand it himself; it was as if he was addicted to the finish line. “And you’re telling me not even Jay knows?”
His face soured. “Why would I tell Jay?”
“Well, he’s kind of your boss—and your friend.”
“Yeah, but I know Jay. He’s gonna want publicity on this the second he finds out, and I just know he’s gonna try to profit off of it. I don’t want his hands on any of this yet. It’s way too risky. I kept all this under wraps for a reason.”
You raised an interesting point, though. Jay was his friend—his closest one, at that. It was a friendship that started off like any other, but relationships often got muddled in new environments. Perhaps becoming an employee under his childhood friend led Jake to build up a wall between them, but more than that, the greed that wound up consuming Jay was what forced some distance.
They were still close, of course, but there were times when Jake felt like his words had to be carefully chosen. Always guarding something, even if there was nothing to shield.
“It’s getting late,” he said, although he was reluctant to let you go. It wasn’t a war with his heart, though; Jake was afraid that you would run off to report him the second you walked out the door. “You should go home. I’m gonna stay here with Jake One. I’ve gotta run some tests and—”
“Actually,” you cut him off, “there’s something else.”
“Oh? Go on.”
“Let me be part of this,” you blurted out, unyielding in the way you stared Jake down.
You must’ve been out of your mind, proposing such a thing after witnessing his lab nearly exploding and his clone’s scorched body on the ground. He couldn’t weave together a coherent thought as he gawked at you.
He was in a dither over how to respond. "I don't think you understand what you're getting yourself into."
“I know it’s reckless, but I… I need to do something.”
“You do—you do more than enough, Y/N.”
“I wish it was enough for me to hear that from you. It’s just…” Your eyes went unfocused for a brief second before you blinked again. “I love what I do, but I don’t have a place here if I’m not constantly proving myself—and if I don’t have this, I don’t have anything.”
“That’s not true. You have—”
“Nothing,” you finished for him. “If I take off my lab coat, I have nothing. I don't get things handed to me because I’m friends with the CEO, Jake. I have to work ten times harder on Heeseung’s team just to get some recognition, and even then it’s just a shout-out during a meeting.” The light in your eyes dimmed a little. “You don’t understand the lengths I’d go to just to be recognized.”
He understood you. Maybe it wasn’t exactly the same, but the sentiment was still there.
It was a thought Jake hardly ever voiced aloud, even to himself, because he knew how damaging of a mentality it came with.
If he couldn’t be perfect, he truly believed that was as good as not existing at all.
Jake remained quiet as you went on, “You need my nanobots, Jake. If something like this happens again, what’s gonna happen to your clone?”
You had a point there. Your nanobots were far too convenient of an offer for him to pass up, but there were just too many technicalities and dangers that he couldn’t allow you to waltz right into.
Yet, Jake was insatiable in his thirst for science, in such a way that simply couldn't be reasoned with. It tore open his chest worse than any cleaver.
He needed you, and you needed him. It was almost too perfect of a deal.
So when Jake answered in full agreement, it was with all caution thrown to the wind.
Jake enjoyed simple pursuits of knowledge, too, such as reading. When he was a kid, waiting for his library assistant mother to finish up work so they could stop for burritos on the way home, Jake would sit criss-cross in the aisles and read whichever book piqued his interest. By the time he stopped hanging around the library, he’d read almost every book on the shelves. He liked the way words functioned as tools, each one working within some larger apparatus of thought to shape meaning itself.
He read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, of course. As someone with an ambition that rivaled Victor Frankenstein’s, the classic resonated strongly with Jake.
Genius and madness were two sides of the same coin, was what Jake gathered. Genius without restraint, bleeding into obsession, was what led Dr. Frankenstein to believe he could play God.
Jake wouldn't make those same mistakes, not even if hubris clung to him like morning dew on grass. He wouldn't isolate himself from the world the way Victor Frankenstein did. He was tethered to his humanity. After all, now he had you on his team. You could keep him grounded. Keep him from obsessing over every calculation and formula that could perfect his machine.
Ever since he agreed to work with you—a little over a month ago—Jake calculated that it would indeed be possible to recover Jake One with your nanobots. You were working tirelessly to make sure your nanobots were running 24/7 for the clone’s recovery. Jake was honestly awed by how you could juggle that and being on Heeseung’s team.
“Dr. Sim,” Sunoo called out to him, a little wary, “has this closet always been locked?”
Not only did Jake have to keep Jake One’s existence a secret from Sunoo, but he also had to hide the fact that Jake One almost died and was currently laying on the floor of one of his storage closets until his health stabilized.
“Uh, yeah,” Jake said, getting up from where was seated on the floor, counting the spare parts he had leftover. “I lost the key, so I’m getting the lock replaced this weekend. Did you need something?”
“The drills—aren’t they always here?”
“Oh, right, um… guess we can’t use them today. How about you take the rest of the day off, then? Clock out when you feel like it and start your weekend early.”
“Wait, what? But—”
“Don’t all the interns go out for dinner on Fridays or something? You’ll actually be able to make it this time.”
“Well, I guess, but—” Whatever Sunoo was going to say, however, died on his tongue. He looked deep in thought before suddenly saying, “Dr. Sim, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“There’s this intern named Wonyoung… she’s, like, always here. The other interns say she’s always buried in work, so she can’t even get lunch with them or anything. She hasn’t even been able to show face at socials.” He hesitated, then asked, “Why aren’t I always here?”
Jake raised a brow. “Sounds miserable. You’re telling me you want that kind of schedule?”
“No, it’s just that she—I don’t know… it sounds like she’s actually needed.”
His eyes softened. “You are needed, Sunoo.”
Needed to go home, but Sunoo didn’t need to know that part.
“But I’m telling you to go out so you can get on good terms with the other interns,” Jake went on to say, and seeing how stiff his intern’s shoulders were, decided to let slip the words that he knew would put Sunoo at ease, “and, who knows? Maybe some of them will be your future coworkers. Better to build your connections now.”
Jake thought his response sounded promising enough without giving too much away, but Sunoo’s unease didn’t seem to let up. He mumbled a couple of words of understanding, trying to sound enthusiastic but failing miserably. Even after Sunoo left, Jake was trying to rack his brain to grasp what was so difficult to understand about his words.
But this was for the best. Sunoo had to be kept in the dark for the time being.
“Oh, right,” Sunoo started again, handing Jake a yellow post-it note and offering an awkward laugh. “Uh, I think this is from Dr. L/N. What does she mean, Freakatron?”
The note—very straight to the point—read: I’ll be over tonight for the Freakatron 3000.
Unable to find a way to explain any of that to Sunoo (which he really should've because it just sounded like workplace harassment), Jake could only manage an expression that bordered on concern.
“I really don’t know,” he answered.
He really couldn’t explain it to Sunoo—not now, at least. There were far more pressing matters on his mind, and his intern wasn’t someone that was going to be around for the long run, anyway. Once he was off the clock, Jake would work nonstop until you joined him. He even pulled a few strings to get Heeseung to ease up on letting you off sooner.
Unfortunately, you were still working overtime. It was less overtime, though.
Later that evening, Jake was having a wonderful snack break as he watched you tinker with your nanobots in his lab. He took a bite out of his jelly-filled doughnut (one of their coworkers left a dozen of them in the break room), chewing away mindlessly as he stared at the loose strand of hair that kept falling in your face. For a handful of your questions and comments, he would have to mumble some sort of acknowledgement around the thick dough in his mouth.
“Y/N,” he called once he wasn’t occupied with a mouthful of doughnut, “please stop calling my clone the Freakatron 3000.”
He pulled the thin sheet of yellow paper out of his pocket, flicking it in your direction. You grinned at the message and leaned back on your hands. Of course, Jake’s serious front was doing little to hide the fact that your smile was making him melt like butter.
“My intern found it for me,” he elaborated. “I can tell he’s been getting anxious.”
Your smile didn’t let up, though there was an inflection of concern when you asked, “Anxious? About what?”
“I think it’s about your intern, actually. Apparently you’ve been overworking her, and now Sunoo’s gotten himself all worried because he thinks he’s supposed to be in here twenty-four-seven.”
This managed to pull you from your monitor, dropping the grape-sized nanobots that you were toying around with. “Overworking? Wonyoung chooses to stay back.”
“I guess that’s what Sunoo wants, too, but I can’t get him involved in this.”
You shrugged. “You got me involved.”
“That’s completely different. I need you for this. With Sunoo… I had no choice but to take an intern, and he was the most promising applicant.”
“Jake,” you called suddenly, expertly ignoring his muddled confession. Your eyes were trained on your screen. “Jake, come here.”
When he walked over to you, leaning over to see what was on your monitor, Jake grew incredibly flustered when he realized your eyes were on him instead of what you wanted to show him.
“Oh, sorry, you've got a little something right”—you reached up to swipe away the crumbs of powdered sugar at the corner of his lip—“there.”
“Ah.” Jake’s heart slammed into his ribcage. “Thanks.” It took a few more seconds for Jake to realize that you were already saying something when he asked, “Sorry, repeat that?”
“Right there,” you enunciated, pointing at your display, right where it said “nanobot_repair”: 0.02 in the output. “There’s only two percent left. Jake One should be fully recovered by morning.”
The delight that shot up his spine quickly dissipated. “Shoot. I’m leaving for Hong Kong tonight.”
“Hong Kong? Is this for the same conference Heeseung’s going to?”
“Yes. I’m one of the speakers this year. It’s just for the weekend, but…” Jake pressed his lips into a thin line before patting down his pockets, feeling for his phone. “Let’s get your fingerprint registered in my security system before I leave today.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, someone needs to be here when Jake One’s awake—if you can come in tomorrow, that is.”
“Y-yeah, I can. It’s not a problem at all.”
“Great.”
“But you’re really okay with registering my fingerprint? And me coming here by myself? I mean, you’ve secured this place pretty heavily.”
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” Jake cocked his head to the side. “When I agreed to work with you, I was putting my full trust in you. Plus, someone has to be here when Jake One wakes up. If it can’t be me, I’d rather it be you.”
A smile tugged at your lips, until it reached your eyes. “Thanks for trusting me, Jake.”
He must’ve been mental. He must’ve been absolutely mad.
But Jake’s heart was beating faster than hummingbird wings.
PROMETHEUS PROJECT / JAKE-001 LOG:
19:28:02 // Vitals are stable
19:28:31 // If everything goes well, Jake One should be up by tomorrow
The high glass ribs of the exhibition center disappeared into the bank of clouds that were rolling in from the harbor. Jake watched the Hong Kong skyline glittering from a dining room that overlooked the City of Victoria. He looked down at the cars that zipped by in ribbons, sipping from his flute of champagne while the room of industry experts chatted away around him. Jake only got his two minutes of solitude before he was approached by another group of scientists that bombarded him with questions about his new projects.
He couldn’t be bothered to pretend he was half-interested in what the guy speaking to him had to say, however. It was the same tired inventions that they wanted to hear praise for. The same recycled ideas that didn’t have any significant purpose in the world.
His first year here, Jake was buzzing with so much excitement that he couldn’t see what became evident now.
Everyone in that room wanted something. Money, fame, a chance to get in Jake’s pants—whatever it was, they were all bloodthirsty for it.
Jake couldn’t deny that he didn’t have hidden intentions of his own, but he was certain that his plans were greater by incomprehensible magnitudes. He didn’t need to suck up to big shots like the rest of them. The Prometheus Prototype would be revolutionary, unlike anything anyone’s ever seen before.
“Excuse me. I need to take this,” he interjected during a very meaningless conversation about sustainable architecture, to which everyone turned to him and gave polite smiles. Your caller ID flashed across his screen, and oh, what he’d give to be with you instead of all those boring people.
He picked up and asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Jake,” you started, breathless. He cupped his hand over his other ear to block out all the noise around him. “He’s awake. He’s okay.”
He felt as if a massive boulder had just been lifted off him. Jake felt tears prick his eyes.
It worked.
It worked. Your invention worked—and that meant the Prometheus Prototype could be tested properly.
When Jake returned to his office after an awfully tiresome weekend, he was so scatterbrained that he jumped upon seeing you and Jake One in his laboratory. His flight landed at 4:00 a.m. and he booked it to Park Industries straight from the airport. He figured he wouldn’t run into anyone because of how early it was, but there you were, hunched over your laptop while Jake One was attempting a handstand on the other side of the workspace.
Jake spluttered something incomprehensible, dumbfounded. “You—!” That streamline of speech trickled into nothingness.
Jake One’s kick-off was unsuccessful. He straightened up to turn to Jake, looking smug while the sound of the door slamming reverberated throughout the room, and then he looked in your direction. “Told you he’d be speechless.”
With your gaze now fixed on Jake, with zero consideration for how you made his heart leap to his throat, you hummed absently. “Well, I guess you know yourself best, don’t you?”
Your mouth curved into a smile and you stood up to make your way over to him. Something went fuzzy in Jake’s ears. Incredible. You were incredible. Hearing it over the phone was one thing, but seeing it in the flesh? You actually pulled it off… and Jake thought he could lean over and kiss you on the spot.
“You look good,” you mused, reaching forward to straighten his loosely-fixed tie. You were so close that he could smell the powdery, floral notes of your perfume. The compliment almost flew over Jake’s head because his breath caught when you tightened the knot with careful hands. “How was your trip?”
Completely distracted by the sight of your fingers on his chest, Jake wound up spluttering some unintelligent response that he didn’t give you time to respond to. He immediately turned the question back on you.
“I really wasn’t sure you were telling the truth about creating a clone at first, but he’s so much like you. All the same memories, too. You actually created a fully functional duplicate of yourself!” you gushed, your scheming fingers trailing down the length of his necktie, even as you kept your eyes on him. “He’s had to be on IV drips because the repair process must’ve been really hard on his body—actually, he isn’t supposed to be doing handstands over there—I’ll go tell him to rest later—but I seriously couldn’t—”
Somewhere amidst that spiel, Jake let his duffel bag fall to the ground.
He gripped your face with both hands and pressed his lips to yours in a rush. There was, to his pleasant surprise, no fight in you as your mouth sank deep against his. He kissed you before—just once—but this was different. There was no shyness, no first time nerves; it was so all-consuming and familiar. It was almost desperate in the way your fingernails dug into his shoulders and he breathed sharply around intervals of mindlessly chasing your lips, longing for lungfuls of your scent.
Jake pulled away with a groan, looking down at the floor because he knew he would be a wreck if he caught sight of your flushed face. You were still so close, your breath hot against his neck, and he wanted nothing more than to keep you there with him. A dangerous thought crossed his mind; he would shut himself away from the world to be with you, if he could, but that was exactly the path he told himself he wouldn’t go down.
“This is amazing,” he was finally able to start, speaking through shallow breaths, all the while peppering kisses all over your face. “This is all so… you’ve really outdone yourself, Y/N.”
You let out a breathless sort of laugh, flustered. “Please, I was just nervous the first time we kissed. When was that, two years ago?”
“No—I mean, that applies, too—but I’m talking about your nanobots.” He pressed a kiss to your ear and ran his hands down to your hips. “We can really make this work.”
When he met your gaze, your eyes were filled with such sincerity that he nearly leaned closer and kissed you again.
“I think so, too.”
And when Jake took you out to dinner that night, he reserved a private room for you two to celebrate the milestone. Unlike the usual company formalities, however, dinner ended with a lot more kissing and an invite back to Jake’s penthouse.
The next day, when his ceiling-high windows breathed in morning light, Jake’s eyes fluttered open to see your bare body bathed in the sunlit glow.
Strange. Jake wasn’t one to believe that concepts like “true love” existed, but as he watched your chest rise and fall, he couldn’t help but wonder that maybe God didn’t play dice. Maybe you two were puzzle pieces born to fit each other.
Maybe love was never something Jake needed to solve.
It wasn’t the sort of equation he could piece together with integers and formulas. Rather, if he thought deeper about what an equation was in the first place, the obvious answer was: two mathematical expressions that were equal to each other. That would only mean that love wasn’t an equation; it was the solution—two expressions, possibly structured without much cohesiveness, finding a balance together.
He pulled the covers back over you and pressed a kiss to your hair, careful not to wake you because he felt bad keeping you up until dawn. Jake could’ve laid beside you forever, committing the fine details of your features to memory, but too soon did he feel the sharp sting of time that prompted him to get ready for work.
PROMETHEUS PROJECT / JAKE-001 LOG:
07:19:33 // Jake One fucking died
It happened like this: Jake walked into his laboratory, far too excited about his duplicate being successfully resuscitated; he found the space to be eerily quiet when he called out to the clone, so he went looking around the floor to see if Jake One had been sleeping; and there was his double, on the ground, right next to the prototype—lifeless.
His limbs were all folded under him, stiff and cold, and his neck was bent at an awkward angle. It was almost as if he died… doing a handstand. Jake’s blood thrummed in his ears. Then it was all too much for him to think about, and with zero preamble, he burst into hysterical laughter. It was ridiculous—so ridiculous—to think that a fucking handstand was the reason his clone met a tragic ending.
It was like Jake had been shot straight through the heart in a single blow, and his manic laughing died down when he realized tears were streaming down his face.
There was a dead body on the floor.
His dead body on the floor.
A prick of dread started at the base of his neck.
It crept across his skull. It trickled down his spine. It spread through each limb.
Feeling the world slide out from under his feet, Jake pressed his hand to his mouth, swallowing back a sickening wave of nausea. Not a single helpful thought ran through his head—just a mantra of fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!—until his brain was about to explode from the stress.
Fumbling for his phone, Jake found himself dialing your number with shaky hands. One hand came up to fist in his hair as he waited for you to pick up.
“Hey. What’s up?” you answered, and he could hear the wind whipping in the background. You must’ve been on your way to Park Industries.
Jake’s throat felt like sandpaper, but he swallowed, trying to dislodge his heart from his throat. “Y/N, you, uh…” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Your nanobots can’t bring people back from the dead, right?”
“No. They still have to be… um… sorry, there was someone walking by—they have to be alive.” There was another pause, then you ventured, “Why? Did something happen?”
“I-it’s just—I don’t know how to—”
“Shit—sorry for cutting you off—Wonyoung’s already waiting for me. I’ll be there in ten minutes, Jake. I don’t know what’s going on, but if it’s serious, you should probably tell your intern to take the day off.”
And you hung up.
Okay.
Okay.
Jake could do that. It was a simple task, wasn’t it? Look away from the corpse, message Sunoo, wait for you. Look away from the corpse, message Sunoo, wait for you. Look away from the corpse. Look away from the corpse. Look away from the corpse. Look away from the corpse. Look away from the corpse.
Why couldn’t he simply look away?
His chest heaved against the weight of panic pushing down on him. Nothing dulled the horror that spread across his chest like a thick, murky fog. That was his face. His face that shouldn’t have been looking back at him, slack-jawed and empty.
Jake stumbled backward, shaking all over, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Jake One. He never thought about what it would be like to see his own dead body, and it made him feel like he was peeling away from reality, detaching himself layer-by-layer.
That was when you burst into the lab.
“Jake?” you asked, frantic. He could hear your footsteps against the epoxy flooring. “Jake! What the hell hap—” You stopped short when you saw Jake One’s still body on the ground, crumpled into himself so helplessly. “Oh my god. Oh my god, he’s…”
“Dead,” Jake finished for you, his own voice sounding foreign and hollow in his ears. “Fuck.”
“Oh my god.”
“I know.”
“I think I’m gonna throw up.”
He inhaled sharply. “I called you here to help.”
“And I will,” you hissed, “but holy shit, Jake! What is this, manslaughter? Negligence? Is he… is he even considered one of us?”
“One of us?”
“You know—a human.”
“Of course he is!” Jake’s words ran like water, spilling out with any proper thought. “Look at him! That’s my face, Y/N!”
You looked uneasy. “Jake, but he’s not…” You stopped, re-evaluating your choice of words before you continued, “This is the first time someone’s replicated human life. We don’t have laws for this. If he’s considered a human, then fuck, we’re screwed. But if he’s not, then, well…” You didn’t finish that sentence, much to Jake’s relief because he was already sick to his stomach at the thought of dealing with a dead body.
Jake felt torn. They were walking blind on a legal tightrope, but his whole goal was replicating human life, so why would he discredit himself by considering his creation as anything less than himself? On the other hand, to consider his clone as equal to him would mean that Jake had blood on his hands. Human blood on his hands.
He didn’t want to keep thinking about it, though. Any moment spent thinking about Jake One only let that cold fear sink its jaws deeper.
“He’s human,” was the only stubborn conclusion Jake could come to. “He has my memories, my DNA, my fucking face—he’s human. He’s not some lab rat.”
A long-suffering sigh slipped from your lips. “Okay, sure, let’s say he is human. That means you and I are in a closed lab with a dead guy who doesn’t exist on any record, and we’re the only witnesses. No one else can even prove he was ever alive.”
“What are you saying?” Jake asked, but he already had an awful feeling he knew what you were getting at.
“We hide the body… and move on.”
He was shaking his head before you could even get through your words. “That’s psychotic, Y/N.”
“It’s the only option we’ve got! What, do you want us to lose our jobs and go to prison? And it’s not just that, Jake—they’re gonna shut down our projects. They’re gonna take away your prototype, and they’re gonna take away my nanobots—to take all the credit for themselves, probably! We’re getting locked up and left to rot while someone else’s name is all over our work.” Then, pointedly, you tacked on, “Probably Jay’s.”
“That’s quite the scenario you’ve created in your head.”
You gave him a grim look, steely-eyed. “Yeah? And how are you so sure that’s not exactly what’s gonna happen? Maybe it won’t be the case for you, but I haven’t even gotten my funding approved for years now, Jake! This company doesn't give a shit about me. You don’t get it. I've watched my female coworkers drop like flies here, while people like Heeseung get promoted doing half the work a woman does.” You jabbed a finger at his chest. “But you… you shouldn't get too comfortable, either. You think Jay’s gonna bail you out of this one?”
That was, in fact, exactly what Jake thought. He decided he wouldn’t vocalize it out of spite.
And since Jake's situation was such a laugh that the universe thought it would be hilarious to doom him even further, a knock came at his door seconds later—the distinct ‘shave and a haircut’ pattern that Jay always used.
Your eyes widened. “You didn’t send your intern home?”
“It’s not him,” Jake replied (admittedly, he also did forget to message Sunoo), “it’s just Jay. I’ll tell him right now’s not a good time.” He approached the door and pressed the intercom. “Fuck off for a bit, Jay. I’m busy.”
“Jake,” came Jay’s voice from the speaker, cold and stern, “let me in right now.”
Ignoring the bewildered look you were giving him, Jake scoffed. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You want me to explain a two-letter word to you?”
“Go ahead, seeing as you’re struggling with ‘let me in,’ smartass.”
Before Jake could press the intercom button again to fire back another rebuttal, you grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“You’re making yourself look even more suspicious,” you said through gritted teeth. “I’ll hide the body—just stall him ‘til then.”
The body—not Jake One, but the body. It sent a shiver down Jake’s spine.
“But the machine!” he protested weakly. You gave him a knowing look, as if to say it was about time Jay found out. Or maybe you were banking on Jake lying through his teeth for that, too. Whatever it was, he wasn’t sure he was ready. “Okay, fine, but be quick.”
“Jake, open this door right now,” Jay warned again, “or I’m using the master key.”
That, of course, wasn’t going to happen. Jay entrusted the master key to Jungwon, who safeguarded it closely because the CEO had butterfingers. The idiot also kept forgetting that he left it with his personal assistant. Still, Jake pressed his body against the door in a completely unnecessary attempt to keep it shut.
“Wait—please, just—just wait a moment. I’ll come outside myself.”
“Too late. I’m pulling out the key! Shit, this is my credit card… oh, wow, I thought I lost my Amex… receipts, receipts, license… oh, sweet, it’s my punch card for that frozen yogurt place! I’ve been looking for this everywhere! Phenomenal froyo, seriously. Hey, Jake, you remember that store with the really good froyo, right?”
Jake promptly decided to ignore him and asked, “Um, so did you find the key yet?”
“Oh, right.” He was able to count around a minute of silence until Jay confirmed, “No.”
“Well, have a good day.”
“Jake,” Jay started, sharper this time, “your intern brought something worrying to my attention, so I’d advise you to open up before we have to escalate this.” Jake’s blood went cold at his words, and he turned to you like a deer caught in headlights. Your eyes were saucer-wide just the same. “I didn’t bring Jungwon, just so you know. It’s just me.”
This was it. Sunoo reported him, Jay was going to find out about Jake One, Jake was going to be kicked to the curb, and you—
But, oh, Jake’s brain supplied as he scanned the perimeter, you hid the body.
He just had to get through this one conversation with Jay before his friend picked up on a faint whiff of rotting flesh. Jake would just have to shed his skin of shame and lie his way out of this mess—the same way he did for all those board meetings.
He smoothed his sweaty palms down his pants before opening the door. Jay, wearing sunglasses indoors as one from his tax bracket would—a serious inconvenience, really, because Jake couldn't tell where he was looking—shook his head disapprovingly as he walked into the laboratory. You stood off to the side, wringing your wrists.
“Jake, I…” Jay sighed and tutted. “Jeez. I don’t even know where to start.”
“I don’t know what Sunoo told you, but—”
“You should’ve told me what was going on,” Jay cut him off. “I’m not just your boss. I’m your friend, too. I’m supposed to be here for you, man. You can push your intern away—who cares about that guy, y’know?—but you don’t have to push me away.” He gave Jake a calculating once-over before he continued, “I did wonder, why’s he spending more time with Dr. L/N than me? Why her? So inconspicuous, so unassuming”—(this was when your jaw dropped, almost comically, and Jake had to put a hand on your shoulder to keep you from lunging at Jay for his… cavalier choice of words)—“much like a shadow. Or maybe a cloud rolling by, blending in with all the other—”
“Alright, I think you’ve made yourself clear. Can you get to the point now?” you interrupted, scornful.
Jay wore an almost convincing look of shock. “See? I didn’t even notice she was here. Bless her, what an underwhelming presence.” He promptly ignored your offended gasp and continued, “Anyway, I went ahead and booked us a guy’s trip—one week in the Swiss Alps. You can make up for last year’s embarrassing ski trip. Oh, and actually, it’ll be four days, not a week. Jungwon nearly had a heart attack when I asked him to clear my schedule for five days, so I just settled for a Thursday and Friday sometime next month.”
Now Jake was sure they were on completely different pages. He knew his friend through and through, so it was clear as day that this show of faux concern was just a ploy for Jay to entertain himself.
“You threatened me and insulted Y/N,” started Jake, slowly, “because you want to do a guy’s trip?”
“Hm, yes, exactly… I don’t like your phrasing, but that’s the gist of it, yeah.”
“You used my intern as leverage!” Jake exclaimed. Jay only snickered in response to that, which made Jake feel partly irritated and partly relieved that Sunoo hadn’t grown that tired of him. “So… he never said anything to you, then?”
“Not to me—or, well, at least not directly.”
Jake’s eyebrows furrowed. “Not directly? What do you mean?”
You peered over Jake’s shoulder when Jay handed over his phone.
r/antiwork • 2 hr. ago
jack_of_some_trades
HELP! my boss HATES my guts and wants me to DIE
i (23 m, 5’10”) scored the craaaziest post-op so i thought i was pretty set for life ??? but now i think it’s time for me to start thinking about a career switch and maybe moving to a different country because it’s become quite obvious to me that my boss regrets taking me as an intern and is waiting to fire me :/ let me explain:
so, it all started when we were working on this super top secret thing together. can’t really explain what it is exactly but let’s just call it our prototype. at first everything was going good but now he’s been pushing me away and letting me take days off. isn’t that REALLY BAD like I’M GETTING BLACKLISTED FROM THE COMPANY level BAD???? i thought the prototype was like…… our thing :((( well it’s mostly his thing but i’m a big part of it too!!! i think?? i’m his only intern!!! (could he be seeing another intern behind my back...? can someone tell me if this is a thing that happens) my friends say it’s normal that an intern doesn’t have much to do but getting days off feels so weird…. i thought us interns weren’t supposed to be treated with kindness or given freedom so i don’t like this at all
also. he said something very concerning. i mentioned how i felt like i wasn’t being given enough work and he said he wants me to “get on good terms with the other interns” because “maybe some of them will be your future coworkers” …. ???? is he telling me to make connections to prepare for unemployment???
idk if i’m the problem but i want this to work out really bad. is our communication the problem here?? are we just growing distant because we don’t spend enough time together?? should i ask him to get dinner or something?? please give me advice or just let me know if i’m overreacting :(
tldr: boss wants me to kill myself
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BigShotCEO55 • 1h ago
Oh yeah he 100% hates your ass
jack_of_some_trades OP • 55m ago
u think so ? :(( do u think it’s weird if i text him about it
BigShotCEO55 • 47m ago
Not at all. I think that’s very normal
BigShotCEO55 • 46m ago
Also ngl I didn’t read any of that
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jake grumbled. “Can you please stop harassing my intern on your Reddit burner? This is so obviously you.”
“But he’s so fun to mess with,” Jay said, with clearly no intention of stopping.
“How do you even know that’s Sunoo’s account?” you asked.
With a shrug, Jay answered, “I like doing wellness checks on my employees.”
Translation: He was so curious about Jake taking in an intern that he found Sunoo’s Linktree through his Instagram. Apparently, along with the Reddit account discovery, Sunoo also streamed PUBG to his 15,000 Twitch subscribers when he wasn’t losing his mind over work.
Just when Jake thought he successfully evaded all grounds of suspicion, Jay followed up by asking, “So, what’s this prototype he’s talking about, anyway?”
The prototype was, in fact, the massive hunk of metal that was right behind Jake.
“Just something we’ve, uh, been working on. Nothing crazy,” he answered, stiffening, “but, anyway, the Alps—sure, I’ll go.”
It was a promising attempt at changing the topic, but Jake almost winced from how horribly unconvincing his delivery was.
Jay seemed to mull this over, which was odd considering he was the one who proposed it. “Hm… okay then,” he replied, in a peculiar way that left Jake feeling uneasy. “I’ll have Jungwon send you the details later.” His hand froze over the door handle, just as he was about to open it. “Oh, you should really open up a window in here, by the way. It smells like something died in here.”
Jake could hear his thundering heart now. He managed a courteous smile.
“Mm. Will do.”
You and Jake remained perfectly still even after the door shut behind Jay. It took a few more moments for Jake to find his voice again.
“That was close,” you breathed out.
“Too close,” Jake said. He half sat, half wilted into a nearby chair. “He’s definitely suspicious of us, but I don’t think he’ll act on it.”
“We can’t bank on that. We need to get the body out of here before anyone else notices.” You started to pace now, walking back and forth from the prototype to Jake. “What do you think we should do? Stuff him in a bag or something?”
Jake winced at the very thought. “That’s vile.”
“Well, we have to do something.”
You resumed your incessant pacing, and Jake could only bury his face in his hands. His brain was absolutely scrambled and the last thing he wanted to think about was hiding a body.
“I do have an idea, actually,” you said after a while, and you were nervously biting at your fingernails when Jake looked up again, “but you’re gonna have to trust me on this. Like, really trust me on this.”
Wary, he asked, “Well, what is it?”
“Wonyoung—my intern—her dad owned a crematorium, and—”
“No.”
“Jake—”
“No! Y/N, come on… are you serious? We’re already in deep shit and you wanna get your intern involved in this? She’s a—she’s a kid.”
“She's not a kid,” you said, “and I know she’d do anything for this.”
“That doesn’t mean we can just—” Jake tugged a hand through his unruly hair, frustrated. “Look, it’s already fucking me up that this even happened in the first place. It feels even worse that I had to involve you. Asking me to let an intern handle the dirty work? I’d never be able to forgive myself.”
“Jake.” You placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed—too firm to be comforting. “This isn’t about forgiving ourselves. It’s about cleaning up this mess before anyone else finds out—before it ruins us. This isn’t the time for your moral high ground.”
For the first time, Jake thought he was almost a little scared of you.
He could feel a pulse in his neck start to throb. Then it spread to his skull until it was pounding.
“This is—no, this is too much for me, Y/N.” His voice came out as a breath, and he felt like a bout of anxiety was oncoming.
Your eyes softened as you bent down in front of him, placing your hands on his knees. “Jake, there’s nothing morally wrong about medical advancement. This—yes, this sucks, but think about how many more lives you can save with your prototype when it’s complete. You have to understand that there are gonna be… bumps in the road like this.”
Then, you took Jake’s face in your hands and pressed your lips to his—and although kissing you was everything he ever wanted, your touch suddenly felt colder. Instead of making his heart beat faster, his blood ran cold.
“Do you trust me?” you mumbled the words against his lips, and he gave a half-hearted nod, though his head was elsewhere. “Then stay put. Let me handle this.”
PROMETHEUS PROJECT / JAKE-001 LOG:
07:43:18 // We’re going to try again
07:43:23 // END
However Jang Wonyoung managed to dispose of the body undetected, Jake was left completely in the dark about it. He was sort of in a rut, with his head not exactly screwed tight on his shoulders, and he kept staring off blankly into space and losing sight of what he was supposed to be doing at work.
You were all go, go, go about the prototype and your nanobots, but he was still so shaken up about Jake One dying like that. How could he not be traumatized? It was like watching his own self die in such a lonely, horrific way. But even though you were right by his side, he felt like he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He couldn’t even explain how he felt to himself.
Every time he looked in the mirror, it was like seeing that corpse staring blankly ahead. Jake couldn’t help it; his mind became a centrifuge, spinning the image of Jake One in his head until he couldn’t separate himself from his clone.
He tried to anchor himself in the facts: I’m the original. (Or a fraud?) I’m the one who’s alive. (Was he?) I’m the real Jake Sim. (Prove it.)
He turned his personhood into a resource—something expendable, dilutable—and now he was paying the price.
Maybe all of this was a mistake.
Some days, looking at the Prometheus Prototype just made him feel sick. How was one supposed to preserve the very thing that was devouring them?
“I keep thinking,” he told you one day, flipping a wrench in his hand, “if I just… just calibrated the machine differently, maybe he wouldn’t have died like that.”
You two were holed up in his lab yet again, working into the late hours of the night. Jake was starting to feel time blur together at this point. The days were loose sand slipping through his fingers. It had only been a week since they cleaned up the incident with Jake One, but it felt like Jake lived through a lifetime.
You, on the other hand, held yourself together quite well. Maybe it was because someone had to, but Jake couldn’t help but feel uneasy about how calm you seemed on the surface.
“You have to stop thinking about it. What’s done is done,” you replied before swiveling your chair around to face him. “Look at me, Jake. You didn’t die. Your clone did. And you aren’t a clone. You’re a real person—flesh and blood.”
“But it felt like seeing my own dead body.”
“That’s your problem, Jake. You not being able to separate your identity from your experiments is clouding your judgement. You don’t have to feel this way.”
Anger rose like bile in his throat. “And you wouldn’t feel that way at all? Watching a version of yourself die?”
“I’m not saying that,” you said, trying to conciliate by placing a hand over his. “I think it’d be horrifying, of course, but I’d remind myself of what’s real and what’s not.” Something about the way you classified Jake One made Jake feel rather uncomfortable, but he stayed quiet as you continued, “You can’t test something just once. We’re gonna have to do this again, and again, and again. I need you to be ready for that. If you let yourself get like this after every experiment, then you’re gonna break before your prototype does.”
“So, what—I’m just supposed to become numb to it?”
“I mean—”
He threw his wrench to the ground, and it resounded throughout the lab. Regret immediately washed over him when you flinched.
“That’s bullshit, Y/N.”
You gave him a hard look. “Understand what you saw wasn’t you. It wasn’t a person. Think of it as a lab mouse—a sophisticated one, sure, but a lab mouse nonetheless. Its only purpose is to be experimented and tested on. You don’t mourn a lab mouse, Jake.”
Jake—who had, in fact, mourned lab mice in the past—sat with your words for a moment.
“And… if it bothers you so much,” you said, quieter now, “isn’t that more of an incentive to perfect your machine? Then you won’t have to watch any more of them die.”
He did want to perfect the prototype. It was more than just a moral crisis over seeing his own eyes with the light sucked out of them; if Jake’s machine was wired properly, then none of this would’ve happened. He simply wasn’t good enough. That scared him more than anything else.
“Watch them die… it’s like…” Jake trailed off, trying to find sense in his own words. “No, it was always when I wasn’t there… like I couldn’t be there to stop him. The fire, the stupid fucking handstand—his instincts were way off.” His eyes sharpened with clarity. “That’s why there was abnormal activity in his amygdala—his brain didn’t register danger properly! That’s why he was so… so…” He tried for a word that sounded humane enough, but nothing came to mind except: “So defective.”
He wondered if you would be satisfied with that verbiage. Him implied a person, but defective implied that Jake One wasn’t ever really a person. You made it very clear about what the clones were not, and judging by the look on your face, it seemed like you were finally satisfied that you and Jake seemed to be on the same page.
He still wasn’t sure that he was with you, but all that mattered was that you believed he was.
“Okay,” you said, a hint of encouragement pressing into those syllables. A smile was growing on your face. “Okay, so we can fix that, right?”
“I mean, we can try.”
“And you know that it might not be an immediate fix, right?” You paused, as if choosing your next words carefully. “It might take several attempts. You have to be ready for that.”
Meaning: Several failures. Several deaths.
Several bodies that Jake would have to grit his teeth through.
He swallowed thickly. “Right… I guess I’m just gonna have to push through.”
In the following three months, Jake only entered a depressive episode about five times. He puked his guts out double that amount, woke up in a cold sweat from bone-chilling nightmares almost every night, and was plagued with panic attacks about every other day.
Pushing through indeed proved difficult for him.
(He did begrudgingly go on that weekend retreat to the Alps. It was quite nice since Jay didn’t ask about the prototype once. Jake unfortunately ate shit on the slopes multiple times, which, according to Jay, didn’t make up for their last embarrassing ski trip.)
In other news, Jake-002 came to life.
Jake used the word “born” at first, but he could tell that it made you feel uncomfortable, like you thought he was going to get too deep in his head and spiral again. So, he settled for calling Jake Two sentient instead. It was disconnected enough of a word for your eyes to brighten at.
And he liked it when you looked at him like that. He liked a lot of things about you. Too much for him to dwell on how frustrated you made him that day—not that he would ever admit that. Maybe it was stupid and selfish, but Jake was okay with burying all those negative feelings so he could enjoy the bliss of your company.
Then, two weeks later after he was formed from machine and flesh, Jake Two intelligently decided to get his bread out of the toaster with a fork, of all things. It was a bit disheartening that a clone with Jake’s brains would think that was a good idea, but Jake Two electrocuted himself (nearly taking the whole power unit out with him) and died tragically.
Jake tried very, very hard to pretend like it didn’t affect him. It did—deeply—but he swallowed down the nauseating bile that rose up his throat and let you deal with it.
It was so wrong to leave something so sinful for a mere intern to clean up, but Jang Wonyoung never argued back. Every time Jake passed by her in the hallway, she put on a calm front, as if she were completely unbothered by what wicked deeds they were making her commit. He so badly wanted to ask her if she, too, felt like the guilt was eating her alive, but they always passed by each other without a word.
It went on like that. Jake Three, Jake Four, Jake Five—they were all getting themselves killed for ridiculous reasons. It then started to frustrate Jake that he simply couldn’t figure out how to fix the one thing that was screwing up all his clones. What did that say about him as a scientist? He was supposed to put an end to all these pointless deaths, but now it felt like all the corpses weighing down on him were getting heavier and heavier.
By the time Jake-012 came out of the Prometheus Prototype, Jake was almost convinced that he, too, was one of his doppelgangers that somehow managed to outlive him, that he succumbed to all the pain in his heart along the way.
At that point, he stopped hoping for them to stay alive. He knew their fate would catch up to them soon enough, and it was almost sadistic of him to keep the experiments going. Still, you were relentless with your pursuit of artificial life—more than he was.
Jake 12 had a much more innocent personality compared to the other Jakes—always smiling big and wide as you poked and prodded at him, always warming up to Jake despite being a shadow of the original. He stuck around a lot longer, too. That was why it broke Jake’s heart a little more when he walked into the lab one morning to see Jake 12 lying in a pool of his own vomit.
“Oh, man,” your voice sighed out from behind him. “I liked him a little more than the others, too.”
Jake just stared blankly ahead. “Yeah, same.”
“Well, I texted Wonyoung and she’ll… oh, Jake.” When Jake thought he simply just started tuning you out, your hands found his face and lifted his chin up. “Ah, you’re crying. Here, wait—” You pulled out a tissue from your front pocket and started dabbing at his wet cheeks. “You haven’t reacted like this in a while.”
Not in front of you, at least. He saved his breakdowns for the days he isolated himself.
“I’m fine,” he said, grabbing hold of your wrists and pushing them down. “Let’s just get him out of here before Sun—”
“What a mess.”
Jake jolted before he turned around, and you quickly stepped in line with him to hide the very obvious dead body behind you two.
It wasn’t Sunoo, though. It was Wonyoung.
Jake’s mind was too preoccupied with Jake 12 to wonder how she could’ve possibly gotten inside.
Wonyoung always looked impassive and closed-off whenever Jake saw her, even though she had delicate features that could come off as alluring if only she smiled a little more. This was the first time he was seeing raw emotion on her face—one that was stripped of her usual feigned politeness—and there was resignation settling in her eyes, like this was simply an added weight to an already heavy ledger.
Both of them—you and Wonyoung—looked composed in the way seasoned criminals did when they’d crossed the line far too many times for the guilt to settle in. Why was it that Jake couldn’t manage to be the same?
Floundering for words, Jake started, “This… this isn’t—”
“You don’t have to be nervous. I called for her,” you assured, though Jake felt none of it. Your hand squeezed his shoulder hard. “We both have meetings throughout the morning. We can’t afford to call out, but Wonyoung can take care of it, okay?”
He didn’t know. He really didn’t. What was the right thing to do? He couldn’t tell anymore. How could he just keep going with his day? Maybe he could die? Would that be any different?
What if, came the horrifying thought in the midst of his brain fog, I’m not even the original Jake anymore?
No, he was. He knew he was. He had all his memories, but… they all technically had his memories, didn’t they? They all had memories of the hardships he overcame, the successes he worked for, the moments he cherished—everything that made him human.
At this point, did it even matter who the real Jake was?
Wonyoung dropped the duffel bag onto the floor as she stepped aside to tie her hair up. It seemed almost procedural for her, the way she headed straight to the closet for the cleaning supplies. So familiar with the space, despite Jake never having seen her in it.
And then, a new voice cut through the air: “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Sunoo’s voice caught Jake completely off-guard. When did the door swing open? Had Jake just been completely out of it? That must’ve been the case, given the state he was in. The intern stood there, still as a statue, his very breath stolen from him. His eyes drifted from Jake, to you, to the corpse on the ground, and then to Wonyoung.
“You’re—you’re early,” Jake stammered out, sniffling sharply to get rid of the burn in his nose and throat.
“There’s a—that’s a—there’s… there’s… oh my fucking god, I’m gonna be sick.” Sunoo clamped a hand over his mouth, moaning feebly at the mere sight. He was pale as a sheet, and Jake was afraid that he’d collapse any second now.
“Sunoo, this isn’t—”
“Oh my god, I’m going to prison. We’re all going to prison. I’m gonna be held responsible by association and no one’s ever going to hire me!” The intern started hyperventilating by now, pacing back and forth in unsteady strides.
This time, you tried, “Sunoo, please calm down and try to understand.”
“Understand? Dr. L/N, respectfully, don’t tell me to understand! How could I just—how could I ignore—”
Jake stepped forward and grabbed Sunoo’s shoulders, grimacing when the boy flinched and froze in place. “Sunoo, she’s right. You need to relax. None of us are going to prison. I’m not gonna let that happen to you.”
“I knew it all along,” Sunoo said, letting out a curt and brittle laugh. From this distance, it looked like his pupils were shaking as he tried to keep himself together. “I knew this was happening right under my nose. I respect you a lot, Dr. Sim, but I’m not stupid. I saw this coming ages ago.”
Eyebrows pulling into a frown, Jake pulled back. “You knew? Since when?”
“Ever since you started letting me take days off, or you just didn’t have me come into the lab.”
Jake sucked in a sharp breath.
Then, Sunoo said, “You want Wonyoung as your intern, don’t you? Not me.” As if that wasn’t bizarre enough of a conclusion, he appended that with, “That’s why you told me to get off early and meet the other interns after I told you about how I felt about her. You just wanted her for yourself.”
Okay, no.
Jake wanted Sunoo to shut up for two reasons: the first being that the intern was completely and utterly wrong, and the second being that Wonyoung now looked extremely put off because Sunoo just made Jake sound like a total creep.
Maybe something was wrong with Sunoo, too, because this was an extremely odd complaint considering there was the stench of death in the air and a rotting corpse before them. He supposed there was madness that came with a certain level of genius, but this was just strange. Why was everyone so seemingly unaffected aside from him?
“No… no-no-no-no-no-no-no.” Denial spilled from his tongue like a torrent. Jake shook his head vehemently and put his hands on the boy’s shoulders again, gripping firmly. “Look, Sunoo, it’s true I’ve been hiding a lot from you about this project, but that was only because I didn’t want to drag you into anything dangerous, or something that would mess up the future you want for yourself.”
“There’s a dead freaking body in the lab!” Sunoo spluttered out. “It sounds like it’s already pretty fucked up to me!” There was a glint of betrayal in his eyes that pierced right through Jake’s chest. “That body looks… it looks exactly like you. You tested the prototype yourself, didn’t you? You told me it wouldn’t be in the testing stage for years. You just sent me off on useless errands while you worked on the whole thing yourself. You had me thinking I was part of something big, but the whole time I was just the useless intern they send out for coffee runs.”
What was Jake supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? What would make this situation any better? His blood was rushing hot in his head now, like his ears had a pulse of their own. Everything Jake had said to Sunoo up until now, despite believing he chose the right words, had proven to not reassure his intern in the slightest.
He was scared he was going to mess up again. He knew he wasn’t cut out for this. He never should’ve let Jay convince him to take in an intern, so why did he? Because he thought he could be a mentor of sorts? That was a laughable thought. Jake was sure he had a lot to offer in terms of knowledge, but he was never one to share it. Moreover, he didn’t exactly know how to share it.
His thoughts were thrown into a maddening spiraling. Getting out of hand. Like a void swallowing him whole. The kind of mentor Sunoo needed wasn’t him, was what Jake thought before he turned his head to glance in your direction, but you.
What would you do in his shoes? That was simple. Even though Jake hadn’t seen your intern around as much, Wonyoung was practically ubiquitous. You made sure she was deeply involved—so much that it almost scared Jake that he might’ve been blind to what else Wonyoung knew—but there was a trust between you and your intern that he hadn’t seen with anyone else. That was perhaps why Wonyoung was so successful, so well-known among this year’s batch of interns.
It was probably why Sunoo was so insecure about her.
Maybe all Jake needed to do was be brave and trust his intern, whether that was blindly or confidently. Maybe that was what a true mentor was supposed to do.
“You wanna be part of something big?” Jake asked. “Then I need you to do exactly as I say.”
Sunoo supposed he asked for this—begged for it, even—but he was starting to really regret putting his foot down in front of his boss.
He was in the car with Wonyoung, sitting in the passenger’s seat and doing his best to ignore the stuffed duffel bag on the floor of the back seat. He kept glancing nervously back at it, as if the corpse would come back to life, pry the zipper open, and strangle Sunoo from behind.
It wasn’t like he was in the right state of mind when he blew up in front of you and Dr. Sim. He just didn’t know how to react when he saw the dead clone and Wonyoung in the lab, and it felt like everything had come crashing down on him. If he knew that Jake was going to task him with getting rid of the evidence, he would’ve just resigned then and there.
Or, would he? He ultimately had the choice, right? It wasn’t like he was under the impression that Dr. Sim would try to silence him forever to take his secret to the grave. Sunoo wasn’t really thinking at all back then. He just went with it because he was so pathetically desperate to prove himself.
Wonyoung was driving down a long stretch of deserted road, with nothing but trees around them for miles. It almost felt like they would reach a dead end eventually, or they’d have to drive into the thick of the woods to find a path that led elsewhere. Neither of them dared speak to each other—and Wonyoung, in true psychopath fashion, drove without any music. (On second thought, music probably wouldn't be appropriate for this situation.)
Finally, off to the side in a clearing, there was an abandoned crematorium that looked weathered down from years of age. Sunoo wasn’t enthusiastic about going inside, but Wonyoung didn’t look the least bit hesitant as she turned off-road and parked by a couple of trees. He had so many questions for her, but judging by the way she swiftly avoided interacting with him, her glossy hair bouncing as she got out of the car, Sunoo knew he wouldn’t be able to sate his curiosity.
“Get the bag,” she ordered. That was the first thing to come from her mouth since they left Park Industries.
A dead body, with its limbs broken and crammed into a duffel bag, proved difficult to carry. Sunoo ended up dragging it by its handles, although he had to pause every several feet when the load inside shifted, forcing him to readjust his grip. It was bad enough that he had to haul it along grass and dirt, but once he got to the steps, Sunoo tried to block out the dense thuds as nylon dragged against the stone.
This all seemed routine for Wonyoung with how she unlocked the door and led Sunoo inside, down the hallways and past several doors. How many clones had they gone through by now? Why was this what they had to resort to?
It was only when Sunoo saw the cremator that there was some acknowledgement for the person that once inhabited the weight he had dragged this far. Was he considered a person? If he was living—flesh and blood—he had to be one, right?
It would be a much more comfortable thought if the clone wasn’t deemed a real human. Then, this would just be a simple cleanup. It would be like disposing of roadkill. Sunoo wouldn’t have to deal with that pit of anxiety in his stomach, or his shaking hands as he unzipped the bag (with great effort, as it kept getting caught on the corpse’s flesh), and he wouldn’t have to feel sick as he looked into the faraway eyes of someone who looked exactly like his boss.
To his surprise, Wonyoung helped him heave the body onto the cremation tray. She opened the loading door, and Sunoo pushed the tray inside until the chamber swallowed the corpse whole.
After Wonyoung turned on the machine, she said, “Now we wait.”
That queasy feeling returned. He supposed flesh and bone behaved the same no matter how it came into being.
“How long?” Sunoo asked.
“A couple hours.”
“A couple hours?”
She raised a perfectly threaded eyebrow. “How long did you think it took to incinerate a corpse?”
“Gee, I don’t know. This isn’t exactly a regular Tuesday for me.”
“We still have to burn its bone fragments after this, too.”
“And how long does that take?”
“Shouldn’t be too long. Depends on what’s left in the ash.”
“Great.” Sunoo sighed. He didn’t want to admit that the unsettling building was already doing a number on him. They lapsed back into silence until he bit the bullet and asked, “Can I ask you a question?”
She sounded more irritated than anything when she said, “What?”
“Why’d you agree to doing all this, anyway?” Sunoo asked, then proceeded to scoff when Wonyoung simply turned her back to him with her arms folded across her chest. “Or—whatever—don’t tell me.”
It was only after a stretch of long silence between them, filled only by the sounds of the blower and burner running, that Wonyoung asked him, “Do you know the story of Adam and Eve?”
“Uh… the gist of it, yeah.”
“A lot of people misunderstand the serpent,” she said, eyes downcast. “The serpent never tempted Eve with sin; the Forbidden Fruit was from the Tree of Knowledge. If you had to choose between gaining knowledge that could shatter everything you thought you were, or ignorance that would cost you everything you could ever become, which one would you choose?”
When Sunoo didn’t respond, only being able to stare at her with his brows drawn, Wonyoung answered for herself, “I’d choose eating the fruit every single time, because if I can’t amount to anything, then I might as well be nothing at all.”
What terrified Sunoo most was that he thought he’d do the same.
But that didn't mean he thought this was right.
After receiving word from Sunoo that he and Wonyoung took care of his mess, Jake went straight home after work and laid in bed with you until he had the strength to face reality again. He had more to say to Sunoo, of course. Their last conversation left him restless—so anxious to the point where he wound up crumbling in your hold after the interns left.
He quite enjoyed being with you, though. You were over at his place most nights now, and watching you pour wine and bring him dinner in bed was a feeling like no other. Jake was certain he wouldn’t even feel this blissful in Heaven.
You smiled when you caught him staring, setting the glasses of wine on the nightstand before you cozied back up to him. “What’s on your mind?”
Jake shrugged, idly dragging his finger along the curve of your shoulder, playing with the strap of your nightgown. “Just thinking about how pretty you are.”
“And nothing else? You sure?”
His full lips peppered kisses on the side of your mouth, along your jawline, and down your neck. “You don’t believe me?”
“Not”—you reached under the sheets and grabbed his knee, squeezing firmly to stop his nervous tic of repeatedly shaking his leg—“when you keep doing that.”
“I’m sorry.” He shuddered out a sigh.
You shook your head. “I just hate seeing you so stressed.” With a featherlight touch, you brushed his mussed hair off his forehead before he grabbed your hand and pressed more kisses to your knuckles. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“What do you think about…” you trailed off, biting your lip, then finished, “putting an end to all this?”
Jake let go of your hand and sat up. “What?”
“I don’t mean us,” you clarified. “I meant the prototype. I think we should stop all these experiments before it becomes a point of no return.” Jake thought they’d crossed the Rubicon ever since Jake One died, but then you tacked on, “And I’m worried about you, Jake.”
“But, Y/N, I spent years—”
“Trust me, I know,” you cut in. “I considered everything before I decided to ask. I’d rather keep it going, too, but seeing you like this isn’t worth it. You’re hurting. It’s like you’re losing more of yourself every time we bury another clone. We can put a stop to all of this now… before we end up in deep shit.”
“I told you how I felt the first time, but I can handle it now—really.”
“I know you want to.”
“If I can just figure out how to fix what’s screwing up their heads, then we can—”
“Jake, please.” You reached over to place a cold hand on his cheek, making him shiver. “Just think about it. Promise me you’ll at least think about it.”
He sighed, resigned. “Sure, yeah. I will.”
You gave him a small smile and turned to grab the glasses of red wine. “Cheers to our partnership, then?”
Jake took the one you handed to him and clinked his glass with yours. “And our future.”
And as Jake downed the drink in one go, a warm feeling in his chest suddenly erupted—delightful, dizzying, and hazy. He wasn’t sure if he dropped the glass or set it down properly, but he focused on the way your lips framed his name, and he tried to lean closer to profess his love for you in a drunken whisper.
His tongue, however, was heavier than stone when he tried to speak. Somewhere between wondering if he delivered the message and trying to pull the sheets back over him, Jake’s body felt like lead and his head spun until nothing felt real anymore. He was falling through the sky, hurtling through clouds, and the world shifted violently under him.
Jake felt as if he were slipping into a void of darkness, and then there was nothing at all.
After Jake came to, he felt his heart plunge into the depths of his stomach.
The flesh putrefies.
The Prometheus Prototype was alive and buzzing.
The machine rusts.
A dozen electrode sensors were attached to his body.
The divine corrupts.
Another Jake was sitting in the chair right beside him.
And so the rot remains supreme.
Before, all Jake had to do was press a button that generated another clone that would be ready to go within a few hours. He initiated that process with the full body scan of himself that produced a clone with his genetic data and his memories up until that scan. As a result, every clone had his memories from before he started duplicating his body.
The Jake before him—Jake 13, if he were to be specific—now possessed the memories of all his clones’ deaths. More specifically, how far Jake went to cover it all up.
Danger flickered in his eyes.
“You’re awake,” Jake 13 lilted, reaching over to curl a strand of his creator’s hair around his finger. There was a lazy smirk growing on his face. “Came here behind Y/N’s back, did you?”
“I didn’t—” Jake stopped himself short and looked down to see that he was wearing the same clothes that he wore to bed. His shoes were mismatched. His hair was scruffy. It was the middle of the night and he had no idea how he’d gotten to Park Industries. “I have to get back home. You have to go… you can’t…”
Jake 13 flashed a wicked grin. “Trying to dispose of me already?”
“No! No, that’s not it. I never wanted any of them to die, I just—”
“You just what? Felt bad before you started treating us like reusable waste?”
Jake didn’t respond. He let the words fester.
“You might’ve gotten rid of the other Jakes, but you’re not getting rid of me,” Jake 13 continued, sneering. “You know why? Because getting rid of me means perfecting the machine, and once the company gets their hands on our prototype, they’re gonna clone copy after copy after copy of you—endlessly. We’re the brightest minds they’ve got. Why wouldn’t they want more of us, huh?”
Jake still wouldn’t answer him.
“Admit it, Dr. Sim,” Jake 13 muttered darkly, “you’re completely replaceable, just like the rest of us.”
His chest constricted like a snake, boiling with anger, ready to strike.
“I’m born of flesh and blood—from my parents. The only reason you’re here is because I existed. I’ve never been replaceable.”
“Is that what you think?”
Jake just scowled at him.
Jake 13 then jutted his chin toward Jake’s chest. “We use that pen every single day, don't we? When’d we get it? Four or five years ago, if I remember correctly? Anyways, it's a good pen. Always running smooth and never bleeding through the page. But one day, if we lose that pen, what’re we gonna do? Maybe we’ll spend a few days poking around for it, but after it’s gone for good, we’ll just replace it, right? We’re gonna replace it with a random pen that might not be as good, but we’ll make do with it ‘cause it gets the job done.” He plucked the sharp-tipped pen right from the breast pocket of Jake’s lab coat. “Even if it’s the best pen in the world, it doesn't really matter because, at the end of the day, we just need a pen that works.”
“Well,” Jake started with an uncharacteristic venom coating his words, snatching the pen back, “you’ll be shocked to find out that I’m not a pen. People will notice if I’m gone.”
“But they won't.”
“They will.”
“They won’t,” he repeated, flatly this time. Jake 13’s smile was mocking and Jake so badly wanted to hit him. “Because you'll perfect the machine, Jake—we’ll perfect the machine. It’s just in our nature. We don’t leave projects unfinished, and we certainly don’t back down from what we started.” Jake swallowed thickly as Jake 13 leaned in closer to mutter, “And once the prototype’s perfect, it won’t matter if you’re the original or a clone.”
He was right, as much as Jake hated to admit it. Edgar Allen Poe said something about true geniuses shuddering at incompleteness—imperfection, and yeah, there was nothing Jake despised more than an unsolved problem. An itch that wouldn’t go away.
“You chose this,” Jake 13 said. “You made yourself replaceable.”
Jake didn’t go back home to you that night. He was too afraid of leaving the lab, of leaving Jake 13 alone with anything in there.
PROMETHEUS PROJECT / JAKE-013 LOG:
04:03:37 // Something’s very wrong with him
04:03:52 // I have to get rid of him
04:42:08 // I think I’m about to do something I might regret
05:01:22 // I can’t do it
05:03:13 // I won’t
Understandably so, you were outraged when you finally managed to reach Jake the next morning.
He had his head buried in papers up until you walked through the door. Jake didn’t even notice that he missed twenty calls from you because he was so consumed in doing exactly what Jake 13 predicted he would.
Finally, he cracked the code. After hours of recalibrating and tweaking the neural lattice, Jake managed to figure out why the Prometheus Prototype wasn’t giving him perfect clones. He spent all morning fixing the machine itself, and when you walked in, it looked like you were caught between anger and concern.
“You left in the middle of the night to come here?” Your expression was grim. “You said you’d at least think about putting an end to this.”
“I know, I know. I’m an idiot, and you can yell at me all you want after this.” He stood up, grabbing a cloth to wipe off the grime caked in his palms. “But I finally did it, Y/N. I fixed the prototype for good this time. No more cleaning up my messes.”
This, of course, immediately swayed you. Prodigious minds were fools to brilliance, after all.
“Seriously?” Your eyes darted to the messy scratchwork on his desk, and your brows furrowed as you looked over the pages. “How’d you do it?”
“Well, I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I made another clone.”
“You what?”
“I don’t know how it happened. I think I just found my way here when I was blacked out. After I woke up, he was just there.”
A deep crease formed between your eyebrows. “Jake…”
“I know it sounds crazy.”
“Where is he?” you asked, looking around the lab whilst growing visibly anxious. “I don’t see anyone else here.”
That managed to snap Jake out of whatever science-induced trance he was in. He dropped his pen and jumped to his feet, following your gaze around the room. Shit. To be frank, he hadn’t thought of Jake 13 until he was prompted to tell you about him, and now that the clone was on his mind, Jake realized that he hadn’t kept track of his whereabouts for hours.
He raked his fingers through his hair, agitated. “This is bad.”
“I’ll go look for him,” you said. “You stay here. People are gonna freak out if they see two Jakes running around the place.”
His heart felt heavy. You were always cleaning up after his mess and taking responsibility, even when you had your own work to take care of. Jake just felt like a burden to you.
Still, there was nothing he could do but say, “Okay. Thank you.”
Just as you were turning around, though, the front door swung open. Jake froze up, but his blood turned cold when he heard familiar chatter—more specifically, Jay’s voice.
Even worse, Jake 13 was beside him. Jake wasn’t sure how horrified he looked, but the subtle smirk from his clone had him seeing red.
“—so early, I thought you’d…” Jay trailed off when he saw Jake’s face across the room—the real Jake, not the poser beside him—and started spluttering, looking between Jake and Jake 13 over and over again. Jake 13 simply looked pleased with himself. “Wait, but you’re—I thought—how did you—huh?” He blinked several times before admitting, “Look, I did do a bump of coke this morning, but I don’t think coke usually has me seeing more than one Jake. A bit too many Jakes than I’m used to, if I’m gonna be honest.”
Jake stood up, one hand still on the head of his chair, and glared at the clone. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. “Are you insane?”
Jay looked a bit taken aback. “It was just a teensy, tiny pinch of coke—”
“No, not you—him!”
Jake 13 pointed at himself. “Me?”
“Yes! Obviously! Why’re you both so confused?”
“Well, I did snort some—”
“Enough with the cocaine! We get it!” Jake snapped.
Jay rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “Okay, can someone start explaining why I’m seeing two of the same annoying fucker?”
All the words were tangled and knotted in Jake’s throat. He played out this kind of situation in his head before, and he always knew exactly what to say, but now his mind was blank. The curve of Jake 13’s smile only made it harder for him to concentrate, for he was too caught up with thinking about how to choke the daylights out of him.
“It’s… complicated,” Jake finally said.
“I think I’ve gathered that by now. Thanks for nothing.” Jay scoffed before turning to you. “You—tell me what’s going on.”
Jaw tense, you huffed out a laugh. “I’m good.”
The door swung open again, and Sunoo’s voice came rambling through the opening before anyone could even see him walk in.
“Dr. Sim, I’ve been thinking about it, and I really don’t think it’s right to be using the prototype like this. I mean, getting rid of the bodies is just—” He abruptly fell silent when he saw that Jake wasn’t alone in the lab. The door slammed shut behind him. “Oh.”
Jake exhaled slowly before groaning into his palm.
Jay jerked his thumb in Sunoo’s direction. “Jake… what’s Anxiety talking about?”
(“Anxiety?” Sunoo mouthed, making a face.)
Jake sighed. “Nothing important. He’s just—”
“No, I want you to tell me now.”
The corner of Jake’s mouth twitched, but before he could blather out some pathetic excuse, Sunoo spoke up, “With all due respect, sir, Dr. Sim isn’t obligated to share any details of his project at this point in time.” His eyes were wide and frightful, but he maintained direct eye contact with Jay.
Jake blinked, surprised, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. Warmth spread through him despite the tension in the room. Maybe he hadn’t completely driven Sunoo away from him.
“With all due respect, soon-to-be-unemployed intern,” Jay started, smiling all good-natured, “you’re gonna tell me what’s going on here, or you’re getting fired. Choose wisely.”
“He made a cloning machine,” Sunoo answered quickly.
Well, there went the warmth.
“A cloning machine?”
Sunoo shot Jake an apologetic look. “Um, yeah… for humans.”
It took the CEO a moment to collect himself. He looked around the laboratory, staring at the machine in a new light, ogling at Jake and Jake 13 with a strange look on his face. Jake wasn’t sure if he was revolted or amazed by the clone.
“This is your clone, then,” Jay said, his voice sounding strangely distant. “It must be. It hasn’t opened its mouth to piss me off yet... and the real Jake would never invite me to his lab out of nowhere.”
“It?” Jake 13 scowled. “I’m a he.”
Jake felt an odd satisfaction in knowing that Jay could tell the real him apart, but he had to shake that off to appease his friend first.
“I was gonna tell you, really,” he tried. “I just—I just needed more time.”
“You’re telling me,” Jay thundered, his chest swelling with indignation, “all of this was going on without my knowledge?”
“No, no,” Jake placated. “I was just, uh… surprising you?”
His friend’s anger seemed to melt away almost instantaneously. “Really? You mean it?” Before Jake could take his words back, Jay’s face broke into a smile and he clasped his hands together. “What a nice surprise. This really made my day, man.”
Jake couldn’t believe he fell for that so easily.
“You know, this is great!” Jay continued enthusiastically. “Think about all the possibilities! All the money we could make! We could clone to harvest organs!”
You and Jake shared a horrified look. Even Jake 13 looked rather put off. Sunoo returned Jay’s zealous punch to the shoulder with a weak smile, rubbing the sore spot afterward. The depths of Jay’s imagination was truly fascinating.
“Oh, no, that’s… that’s pretty dark,” Jake replied, disturbed.
Awfully pleased, Jay ignored him and said, “I need to make a call.”
Like it was instinctual, Jake bounded forward as soon as Jay reached to pull out his phone. He grabbed it right out of his hand, just before his friend was about to unlock it. Jay returned a confused look, rolling his shoulders before he tried snatching it back, but Jake kept it out of his reach.
“What the hell’s up with you?”
“Jay, I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, but it is absolutely paramount you don’t let anything about the prototype get out to the public,” Jake urged, stressing each syllable for good measure.
“Paramount? I don’t even have a Paramount subscription.”
“Not the—how does that even—” Jake bit back the rest of his sentence and groaned. “Paramount means important, you idiot.”
With an ill-concealed wrinkle of his nose, Jay scoffed before asking, “Well, why didn’t you just say that to begin with? Paramount—get a load of you, William Wordsworth.”
“It’s not my fault you have the vocabulary of a five-year-old.”
“I can tell you right now that no normal person uses paramount in their daily vocabu—”
“Will you two quit arguing?!” you yelled over them. All the while, Sunoo was quietly observing, as if he were watching a tennis match, though he looked a bit frightened. “My god, how do you guys ever get along with each other?”
Jay’s face curdled. “Why’s the situationship talking? We get along perfectly fine.”
“You have the self-awareness of a sponge,” you deadpanned, “but I guess that’s what happens when our CEO’s a personality hire.”
“Personality hire? You’re calling me a personality hire?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to side with Jay on this one,” Jake chimed in. “He has such an unemployable personality. Nepotism was his only chance.”
“Yeah!” Jay then thought on his friend’s words for a moment longer. “Wait, what?”
“Mm. Must be why you need Jake to keep this company afloat,” you said to Jay, disdain weighing heavy in your eyes. “Without him, Park Industries would’ve tanked years ago.”
The CEO shrugged. “Every team has its star player.”
“This isn’t a team if you only support one person.”
“This is starting to sound like a deeply rooted insecurity, Y/N. Park Industries offers free employee counseling services.”
You sneered. “How generous of you.”
“Okay, we’re seriously getting off topic here,” Jake cut in, then handed Jay’s phone back to him. “Jay, what’s important is you don’t leak anything about the prototype—not yet, at least. It could be dangerous if it falls in the wrong hands.”
“Then let it fall in my hands.”
“No! You’re the dangerous one I’m talking about, by the way.”
“Just let me borrow it,” Jay pleaded.
“No.”
“Forever.”
“I said, no! Why would you think that’s any better!”
Jay let out a drawn-out sigh and let his shoulders slump, flipping his phone horizontally, as if he were watching a video. “Please? Can I please have your cloning machine? I promise I won’t do anything evil with it. Not even a little evil. It'll be the least evil use of a cloning machine you've ever seen.”
“I can’t really trust that you won’t when you’re… wait—are you seriously playing Clash of Clans right now?”
“Yeah? Is there a problem?” His eyes were glued to the screen without a care in the world. “I’m an absolute legend in this game, by the way. They say no one upgrades a Town Hall like I do.”
(“Who’s they?” Sunoo muttered from beside Jake, but he gave up on trying to find reason in Jay’s words and simply shook his head.)
“Jay, we’re having a serious discussion here.”
“And I’m having a serious clan war.” He raised a brow. “I can’t multitask now?”
“He’s hopeless, Jake,” you said, sighing heavily. “Just let it go. There’s no getting through to him.”
“Ooh, giving up already? That’s rich, coming from you.” The corner of Jay’s mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes were still trained on his phone. “Maybe she doesn’t actually care about you that much, Jake. She certainly didn’t back down when it came to her own project.”
You fixed him with a hard look. “My project? The one you never funded?”
“Budget cuts, sweetheart. Nothing I can do about it.”
Jake, accredited with years of charity work that involved being Jay Park’s friend, knew when that moron was lying.
This was one of those times.
“Uh-huh,” you remarked brusquely. “You probably blew all the money to get a bowling alley installed in your office, anyway.”
“Funny.” He barked out a curt, suppressed laugh. Then, he exited the game. “Very funny, Y/N, but—for your information—I don’t have a bowling alley,” Jay snapped, sneering at you before turning around sharply. Holding his phone up to his ear, Jay lowered his voice to order, “Jungwon, I want a bowling alley in my office—as soon as you can get it done—yes, it’s urgent—yeah, yeah, whatever, we can just say we have budget cuts coming up.”
It happened all too fast. One second, Jay was walking back over to them, pocketing his phone; the next, a wrench came swinging down on Jay’s head. Jake, still saddled with the annoyance bubbling inside him, didn’t even have time to scream as Jay crumpled to the ground immediately, his limbs going slack. The culprit, Jake 13, stood over Jay’s limp body and looked from you, to Sunoo, then to Jake.
“Well,” the clone said, “that’s taken care of.”
“Y-you attacked the CEO!” Sunoo cried.
Jake let out a shaky breath and dropped to his knees, haphazardly searching for a pulse point to make sure Jay was still breathing. “Why the fuck did you do that?” he asked, voice strangled.
“Just so he’d shut up for a minute.” Jake 13 dropped the wrench and met Sunoo’s eyes. “Get me some rope, kid—or duct tape, whatever.”
“Jake, stop it,” you warned, gesturing for Sunoo to stay put.
When Jake looked up, only to see that you were looking at Jake 13, he shouted, “Y/N!” Your gaze flicked to his, and he frowned at you. “How could you call him that?”
You gave him an exasperated look. “That’s your name! What, you want me to use his number with it?”
Jake 13 only simpered. “I know exactly what he’s thinking. Y/N, the language you use is very important, you know? People don’t realize how much language shapes our reality, how it influences our own beliefs. Today I’m Jake 13, but keep calling me that, and one day I’ll just be Jake—and no one’ll question whether I’m a clone or not.” He stepped over Jay’s legs and circled around you. When he was right behind you, one hand trailed down your arm. “What really sets us apart is that number; otherwise, how are you gonna be able to differentiate us?” He dipped his head so that his lips were at the shell of your ear, his breath fanning your jaw. “Then who’s to say I’m not the original Jake?”
“I know you aren’t, and that’s enough for me,” you said stiffly. “What’s your goal here?”
“The same as his—mostly,” Jake 13 said. “But maybe I have goals of my own, too, and they don’t include Jay selling the machine under that Jake… and I guess they don’t include Sunoo being here, either.” His eyes fell on the intern now. “Why are you here, anyway?”
Sunoo gulped. “Um… I was… I was gonna tell Dr. Sim… making us hide his dead bodies is, uh… not great.”
“Dead bodies?” came Jay’s voice, and the other four whipped around to see him reclined on the floor, propping his head up on an elbow. “What the fuck were you even doing in here, man?”
“You’re awake!” Jake wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was relief that Jay was alright or sheer terror that he heard, but his emotions were rampant all the same.
“What am I supposed to do, lay here and get brain damage? None of you humanitarians seem to be in any rush to call an ambulance.”
You raised a brow. “How long have you been awake for?”
“Since that corny little speech,” Jay said. “By the way, you’re getting fired for that, Evil Jake. I seriously hope I’m concussed so I forget about it.” He turned to Jake with ostentatious worry drawn all over his face. “Can we circle back to the dead bodies now? Considering your Freakatron 3000 over there looks like he’s considering making me one!”
Freakatron 3000 rang a bell. Jake could see that you looked mortified upon the realization that you and Jay had a similar sense of humor.
“He calls me Jake 13,” the clone answered through gritted teeth. “That means there were twelve before me—twelve who were killed by him.”
“I never killed them! They just died!” Jake protested. “Jay, you gotta believe me. I was doing everything I possibly could to keep them alive.”
“You knew the chance of them dying was high, and you still experimented on them like lab rats!”
This was it. This was when Jay abandoned him for good. His heart was already sinking, preparing itself for his best friend of years to finally turn his back on him. Jake was a fool for thinking he could keep getting away with this; his invincibility complex had seen to that, and he truly hadn’t planned for what he’d do if it ever came to this.
Albeit visibly concerned, Jay reached over and squeezed Jake’s shoulder. Jake was almost to the point of quivering, so he remained stiff as he reluctantly made eye contact with him.
Jay leaned in, his mouth close to Jake’s ear so no one could see the words taking shape on his lips, and he muttered, “Get rid of this one, too, and I’ll pretend I never heard that.”
Oh, fuck. He really was going to get away with this once again.
As much as Jake tried to feel disgusted with himself, a sick smile threatened the corners of his lips.
Jay grunted as he got upright again. He patted down his slacks and inhaled deeply, his chest swelling for long enough to make it known that he was unnerved. That was right. Jay had his back. He’d always had his back, no matter the cost.
“It was nice, uh… nice—” The CEO cut himself off with a yawn, which he lazily attempted to hide in his fist. “—nice talking to everyone. Pleasant chat. Do fill me in on Jake’s murderous tendencies next time, or make it an email maybe. I’d really love to stay longer, but it’s time for my afternoon nap.”
You looked utterly baffled. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I seriously need a nap right now,” Jay said matter-of-factly. “What? Still worried about me keeping my mouth shut? I’ll stay quiet for now, but I’m giving you until tomorrow to set up a meeting with me. Otherwise, my hand might just slip.”
He swiftly made his way out of the lab. Jake was only relieved that Jake 13 didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping Jay on the way out. After all, Jake 13 still had the same emotions and memories that he possessed; he wouldn’t want to hurt Jay any further—at least Jake hoped not.
Jake turned on his clone, his eyes cold. “Why’d you bring him here in the first place? You know how Jay’s like. You know he’d want to get his hands on the machine.”
“Well, I thought that’d go a bit differently,” Jake 13 admitted, “but this is fine, too. Him finding out means you’ve already crossed that hurdle for me.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I’m gonna be the only Jake by the end of this. I’m gonna be the Jake behind the Prometheus Prototype.” He stepped closer. “You can’t give me the same ambitions and take away my dreams—and I know I can be so much better than you.” Jake 13’s eyes darkened as hot anger roiled in Jake’s gut. “I’m you without all the cowardice. Took twelve of you to get that out of your system, huh?”
So it wasn’t just him that was planning to get his hands dirty again; Jake 13 was also planning on killing Jake, laying his plans out in the open like a fool. Sure, he might’ve been braver than the others, but he was still a defective copy. He couldn’t discern what to keep to himself and what to share, but that was to Jake’s advantage now.
Jake 13 turned to you now. “Think about it, Y/N: My name on the prototype and yours over those nanobots.” He spoke with wonderment, moving to grip your shoulders firmly. You couldn’t say anything at first, as if you were struck by the fantasy that the clone was painting for you. “It’ll be both of us under the spotlight, for our own work.”
“And, Sunoo,” he continued, pressing on even as the intern flinched, “I’ll draft up that offer letter for you immediately. We get rid of him, and you’ll never have to question your place in this company again.”
Jake’s fingers twitched. He needed something sharp—anything. There was a crowbar in the closet and a couple utility knives laying on a table somewhere, but there was no time for Jake to get to any of them without raising suspicion.
And then it hit him.
His pen.
Certainly unassuming, but with enough force, Jake was sure he could ram the sharp tip into the side of Jake 13’s neck or something. He’d at least buy himself enough time to finish the clone off with something more effective.
Jake Sim would never be replaced.
Sunoo looked sullen. “I don’t know… I don’t think any of this is right—please stop, please.”
“You’re right, Sunoo,” Jake spoke up, placing a hand on his shoulder to force him to turn around, “so look away.”
Glowering, Jake 13 started, “What are you—”
In a flash, Jake’s body moved on its own. With one hand, he grabbed a fistful of Jake 13’s hair and yanked his head to the side; with the other, he drove the pen right into his jugular. He could hear yours and Sunoo’s gasps from behind him, but he was relentless. Where the sharp point pierced tender skin and spilled blood, Jake twisted the pen deeper into the doppelgänger’s neck.
“Jake!” you cried out, distraught.
They found themselves on the floor now, with Jake straddling the clone’s waist to hold him down. There was the terrible, eerie sound of squelching coupled with the blood Jake 13 was gurgling. The side of his neck and chest were drenched in crimson now.
And then Jake’s hands were trembling. He was sure it wasn’t fear this time. Rather, excitement pulsed through his body, but it also made him want to keel over and throw up all the bile in his stomach. He pulled the pen out, breathing ragged and heavy as he watched blood drop from the nib.
Jake 13’s hand flew to clamp over the wound, gripping tightly in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. It would be of no use, though. Without immediate attention, he’d bleed out to death on the ground, and Jake would ensure that no one would come to help him. Then, Jake 13 used his free hand to grab Jake’s throat, holding it like a vice. He squeezed around the one spot responsible for his airflow, and then Jake seriously thought he’d pass out if Jake 13 held on any longer. Without thinking, he slashed the pen around wildly, managing to nick his carotid artery.
The clone choked on his scream as blood splattered out. Sunoo let out a miserable, whimpering sound before he started to cry. Judging by the direction of the spray, he must’ve gotten Jake 13’s blood all over him. Jake couldn’t look behind him. Not now. He had to finish the job, and that meant holding Jake 13 down until he bled out for good.
“Fuck.” Your voice came out feeble and wavering. “Sunoo, go to the supply closet. Lock it from the inside and don’t come out until I come get you.”
Sunoo must’ve hesitated for a moment longer because it took a few more seconds for Jake to hear his footsteps trail off. The closet door slammed shut seconds later, and then the click of the lock echoed in his ears.
Helplessly, all you could do was retrieve one of the utility knives while Jake kept Jake 13 in a death grip. He watched the light leave his fearful eyes—slowly, dripping like molasses—and there was some sort of sick fascination in watching the clone draw in an unsteady, final breath.
Jake just stared at his own face for a few moments longer. His own face with the light in his eyes dimmed.
He didn’t realize he was crying until he noticed it wasn’t blood dripping onto Jake 13, but his own tears.
“Oh, Jake,” came that sweet, honeyed voice of yours, and despite everything, it was enough to pull him out of this moment.
“Y/N, I don’t know anymore,” he sobbed. “This is all so fucked up. Can I… is there even a chance for me to go back from this?”
He’d been staring at the pen for so long that he could make out his hazy reflection in the metal, though it was all distorted and stretched.
He couldn’t even tell if the person staring back at him was really his own reflection.
He couldn’t even tell if he was Jake anymore.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, kneeling down to embrace him—blood-soaked clothes and all. “He attacked you first, okay? That should be believable enough for the cops. You just acted out of self-defense.”
He buried his face into your shoulder and nodded. A few more tears slipped out. Jake thought that if he was shattered beyond repair, he knew that at least you would take care of his broken pieces and make him feel whole again.
This felt right. Being with you always felt right.
Then he felt a raw, searing pain at the base of his spine, and heat unfurled through his back.
Jake’s breath left him like a startled gasp. He realized dimly he’d been stabbed, but his body felt locked in shock.
“And then you stabbed him,” you murmured, seemingly ignorant of how Jake was gagging on the blood that was rising up his throat. “That’s our story, my love. You were wonderful till the very end.”
It couldn’t be. No, no, no, no, no, no, no—not you. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew how your hand felt against his back. Anger flared up in him, hot and vengeful, before it collapsed into grief that struck him like a tempest. It was never supposed to be you. The wound hurt, but what hollowed him out was knowing whose hand clutched the blade.
He wondered when you stopped being on his side—and whether you ever truly were.
He gurgled, then coughed until blood splattered down your back. “B-but why—”
“Shh, it’s okay,” you cooed, keeping your voice low. “I’m right here.”
His vision was blurry, fading in and out. You pulled the cool blade out, bringing about a strange combination of relief and white hot agony, but Jake’s body sagged forward. You couldn’t support his weight anymore, so you gently pushed him off you, laying him down on the floor.
Pathetically, even though he was dying at your hands, mercilessly betrayed, Jake couldn’t help but think about how pretty you still looked. How funny. Perhaps you’d been shifty this whole time, and he was simply too blinded by love to notice it.
Weakly, he got out, “Y/N, p-please don’t…”
You tutted lightly. “Jake, I thought you knew.”
He garbled out a confused sound.
“I told you from the very beginning,” you explained, “you don’t understand the lengths I’d go to. I work ten times harder than anyone here, and it’s always a man getting the promotion I deserved. Always a man getting the funding I’ve been waiting for.”A tear slipped down his cheek. I know, he wanted to say. I know, and I hate them for it. You pulled back to look him in the eye, surprisingly gentle in the way you smiled at him. "But now? I'm taking it all for myself."
How could he say anything to you when he’d done nothing about it? How could he reason with you without sounding like he was just trying to save his own skin?
But, if he was going to be honest with himself, he was trying to save his skin.
He didn’t want to die.
He wanted more time for his grand legacy, to show the world how incredible he was. He wanted more time for the mundane parts of life—everything he’d been putting off until after he achieved greatness. He wanted more time for the mornings with you, the kisses before bed, and the blissful future he’d dream of.
Jake Sim didn’t want to die.
The thought floated by with less conviction this time, fraying at the edges. The world felt farther away now. He tried to anchor himself to your face and your voice, but he couldn’t hear the words your mouth was framing anymore.
He wasn’t ready for this. Jake always wanted to be the kind of person who would die ready, content after a long, fulfilling life; instead, the last, dismal thought he had was how badly he wished he could stay.
EPILOGUE
TWO WEEKS LATER
“You did a good job.” You placed a hand on Wonyoung’s shoulder while you circled around her to sit at the other end of the table—Jake’s table at his penthouse. Playing the mourning ex-girlfriend was the perfect cover for you to stay at his place for now. “I know this one was a hassle to clean up, but it’s all finally over.”
The intern set down her wine glass. There was a pinkish glow in her cheeks from the alcohol—or it might’ve been from your praise.
“It was really no problem,” she said, then hesitated. “Don’t you think pinning it on Sunoo was a bit much, though? I thought our target was Jay.”
You hummed, remorseful. “I was hoping we could just use Jay, but Sunoo being there sort of… complicated matters. When he got that clone’s blood all over him and hid in the supply closet, I knew it’d be much easier to convince the police he was behind everything.” The red wine swirled around in the glass you cradled. If you looked at it any longer, it would remind you of that day, with Jake’s blood all over you. “It worked out better this way, too. If we took Jay out, they’d just appoint another CEO that’s just as bad as him.”
"Don't you think he's still dangerous, though? He knows about the prototype."
You waved her off. "Even if he does, he won't say anything. He still blames himself for Jake dying. He thinks none of this would've happened if he didn't tell Jake to take care of Jake 13."
Before the cops received word of the incident, Wonyoung cleaned up and dealt with all the security cameras, all according to plan. Months prior, you registered Wonyoung’s fingerprint into Jake’s security system without his discretion. There were a few close calls, but he never seemed to catch on—and he never would.
You were left to deal with the contents in Jake’s phone; whereas Wonyoung took Jake 13’s body to the crematorium, burned him to nothingness, and then drove two hours to dispose of the knife you used to stab Jake. She dropped it off the edge of a bridge, watching it plunge into the sea and sink into the deep blue.
You, on the other hand, played the damsel in distress, holding Jake’s lifeless body and sobbing all the way until law enforcement arrived. With Sunoo locked in the closet, covered in Jake’s blood, it was almost hopeless for him to plead that he didn’t do anything—not that he even tried proving his innocence. Sunoo looked so traumatized that he trudged over to the police car without a single word, a faraway look haunting his eyes.
“Do you really think you’ll be able to take the position from him, though? I thought you and Jay were on bad terms.”
“We’ve been… consoling each other,” you said with a snort, “through our grief. Honestly, tolerating him is more painful—but after seeing Jake dead, his mental state was so shattered that he’s considering retiring early just to focus on recovering. If I play my cards right, his position goes to me.”
Wonyoung threw her head back to let out a delightful laugh. “You really thought this through.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. Your idea to drug his drink and bring him to the lab? Genius. He fully thought he was the one who hooked himself up to the prototype.”
As for the machine, it was far too impressive of an invention to let go of. After you rolled out your nanobots, you were going to introduce the Prometheus Prototype to the world the right way, with proper approval and the testing stages that Jake completely ignored. (Yes, it was blatant theft, but you never said you were going to be a saint.)
Wonyoung flushed under the dim light. “Oh, please. It was nothing.”
“It was more than I could’ve asked for. I have something for you, by the way, but it’s not enough for everything you’ve done for me.”
She perked up when you pushed a piece of paper in her direction. She stared at it for a moment before snatching it to hold it against the light, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Seriously?” she asked, perfect lips curving into a rare smile as she examined the offer letter. “That’s a six figure salary.”
“You deserve it. Congratulations.” You raised your glass as a toast, and she eagerly followed. “It’ll be hard filling Jake’s shoes, but once I figure out how to rewrite his memories, maybe we can bring him back one day.”
She shrugged. “That’s probably the best way to persuade the Board to approve funding for the Prometheus Prototype.”
“And convince the public we weren’t involved in his death.”
“He brought that upon himself, Dr. L/N,” Wonyoung said lightly. “Whether you had a hand in it or not, he was becoming a madman.”
“I guess you’re right.” You then noticed Wonyoung shifting uncomfortably and raised a brow in question. “Everything okay?”
“I’m just worried,” she said. “What if they end up tracing it back to us?”
You simply smiled. “Then I’ll have a plan to get us out of the mess. You trust me, right?”
“Of course.”
“Perfect. They’ll never suspect us, anyway, and even if they do, men are too easy to deceive. You let them think they’re in control, and they’ll never notice the leash.”
AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ thank you for reading if you made it all the way to the end !! support women's rights and wrongs amirite 💞 can you tell i had sooo much fun writing jay (the bias shows through and through) but wonyoung i really enjoyed too despite her shorter screentime !! cast her in yuri when🧎♀️ also please do check out the donation links at the top of this post and share awareness posts you come across when you get the chance 💗 have a wonderful 2026 everyone! i can't wait to work on more fics this year and share them with everyone !!
TAG LIST ▸ @fancypeacepersona @filmnings @jongseongbutt @doraemon02 @simpikeu @heejamas @prettygirlthings-world @amajinu
word count: 12k (idk what happened, just go with it!)
contents: enemies to lovers, steve harrington x fem!reader, group beach trip, alcohol consumption, reader avoiding steve/feelings (so real) angst, angry love confession, smut, 18+ MDNI!
The car smelled like a mix of sunscreen, stale French fries, and the faintest hint of Robin’s strawberry shampoo. The summer air drifted in through the cracked windows, warm enough that it stuck to your skin, but not enough to justify the whining coming from the passenger seat.
“You drive like an old man,” you muttered, arms crossed as you glared at Steve’s profile.
His jaw flexed. “And you chew gum like a cow. Guess we all have our flaws.”
“Excuse me?” You turned fully toward him, mouth falling open.
“I said,” he repeated, voice smooth and infuriatingly calm, “that every single smack of your gum is making me want to drive this car straight into the ocean.”
Robin snorted from the back seat. “Play nice, children. We’ve got, what, three more hours of this? I don’t think Nancy’s cousin’s beach house comes with free therapy.”
“I am being nice,” you shot back, twisting around in your seat to face her. “I didn’t say anything about his tragic taste in music.”
“Hey!” Steve glanced at you, scandalized. “This mix is golden era, thank you very much.”
“Golden era of what? Bad decisions?” You jabbed a finger toward the cassette deck where REO Speedwagon was blaring like a soundtrack to your personal hell.
Robin leaned forward, “As much as I love a good lovers’ quarrel—”
“We’re not—” you both started at the same time, voices overlapping.
Eddie cut in, grinning. “—I vote we keep it going. Way more entertaining than the highway.”
Jonathan, driving the second car with Nancy, had made the smarter decision, splitting up the group so not everyone was trapped in the same vehicle. Of course, luck had cursed you into Steve Harrington’s passenger seat.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
By the time the convoy finally rolled into the driveway of the beach house, the sun was sinking low, streaking the sky in pinks and oranges. The house was perched just a short walk from the water, a sprawling two-story with a wide porch and weathered shutters. It should’ve been the kind of view that took your breath away—except Steve had beaten you to it.
“Finally,” he groaned, throwing the car into park like he was landing a plane. “I thought I was gonna have to listen to you complain until retirement.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” you snapped, unbuckling with more force than necessary. “I was pointing out your shortcomings.”
“Same thing.” He smirked, and you had to resist the violent urge to slam the door in his face.
Instead, you plastered on a sweet smile and turned toward the trunk, where everyone’s bags were stacked. Robin was already grabbing hers, Eddie juggling his guitar case, and you made a point of helping with Nancy and Jonathan’s things.
Steve’s bag? The one sitting right there, obnoxiously labeled with a dumb Harrington monogram patch? You breezed right past it.
“Uh, are you blind?” Steve’s voice came sharp from behind you. “Bag. Right there. Big one. With my initials on it.”
“Oh, weird. Didn’t see it,” you said, feigning innocence as you handed Nancy her duffel.
Steve narrowed his eyes. “You saw it.”
“Did I?” You tilted your head. “Must’ve been a hallucination.”
“Unbelievable.” He shoved past you, yanking his own bag out of the trunk with a muttered curse. The muscles in his arm flexed as he hoisted it onto his shoulder, and you hated yourself for noticing—even more than you hated him.
Inside, the beach house smelled like salt and sunscreen, the wooden floors worn smooth from years of sand-scuffed feet. Nancy gave the quick tour—living room with giant windows, a kitchen stocked with mismatched mugs, a handful of bedrooms upstairs and down.
“I call the room with the balcony!” Robin declared immediately.
“Already taken,” Nancy said smoothly. “Jonathan and I have it.”
Eddie groaned. “Guess that leaves the rest of us to fight to the death.”
“No fighting necessary,” Steve chimed in. “I’m not rooming with her.” He jabbed a finger in your direction.
“Perfect,” you shot back. “Because I’d rather sleep outside with the seagulls.”
“Glad we agree.”
Robin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is gonna be a long weekend.”
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
That night, after pizza boxes were scattered across the table and everyone was sprawled in various states of exhaustion, you found yourself staring out the big front windows. The ocean was just visible past the dunes, waves glowing faintly in the moonlight. It should’ve been peaceful.
But of course, Steve had to ruin it.
He brushed past you to grab another slice, muttering just loud enough for you to hear: “You know, if you’re gonna spend the whole trip glaring, maybe invest in sunglasses.”
You snapped your head toward him. “If you’re gonna spend the whole trip breathing, maybe learn how to do it quieter.”
His smirk came fast, sharp. “Keep dreaming, sweetheart.”
God, you hated him.
Or at least… you kept telling yourself you did.
The morning sun crept through the thin curtains, tugging you awake with the salty tang of ocean air drifting through the cracked window. You stretched, every muscle slow and stiff from the road trip, and for a brief moment you forgot you were sharing a house with Steve Harrington.
Until you walked into the kitchen.
There he was, hair already perfect, tan skin glowing under the pale light as he leaned against the counter drinking orange juice straight from the carton.
“Do you mind?” you asked, crossing your arms.
He glanced at you over the rim, unfazed. “Do you own the carton?”
“That’s disgusting.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirk curling. “You’re welcome to join me.”
“God, you’re so annoying.” You yanked a mug from the cabinet, focusing on pouring coffee just so you wouldn’t throw it at his head.
Robin wandered in then, hair a mess, yawning. “You two already fighting? It’s not even nine.”
“Not fighting,” Steve said smoothly, plunking the empty carton back in the fridge. “Just making conversation.”
Your glare could’ve burned holes in the linoleum.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
By midmorning, the group had migrated down to the beach. Towels sprawled across the sand, umbrellas pitched into place, coolers filled with sodas and beers sweating in the heat. The ocean sparkled like glass, small waves lapping gently at the shore.
Nancy and Jonathan were out in the water almost immediately, laughing as they splashed each other. Robin was stretched across her towel with a book, sunglasses slipping down her nose, while Eddie attempted to teach himself how to skimboard and nearly faceplanted on his second try.
You settled into your chair with a sigh, soaking up the warmth. For a blissful ten seconds, you actually relaxed.
Until Steve dropped into the chair beside you.
“Seriously?” you asked, shielding your eyes to glare at him.
“Seriously what?”
“There are literally a dozen other spots.”
He shrugged, tilting his sunglasses down to flash you that smug grin. “Best view’s right here.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you keep talking to me.”
Before you could snap back, Eddie shouted from the shoreline. “Oi, Harrington! Get your Baywatch ass over here, I need backup.”
Steve shot you a wink, then jogged off to join him, muscles shifting under his sun-warmed skin as he moved. You hated that your eyes lingered. Hated it more that your stomach flipped when he tackled Eddie into the surf, both of them laughing like idiots.
When he returned, dripping wet and shaking his hair out like a dog, you turned your gaze back to your book, pretending you hadn’t been watching.
“You staring at me?” His voice came smug, low, right by your ear.
You didn’t even look up. “In your dreams.”
“Mm.” He stretched out on his towel beside you, chest gleaming with salt water. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll save you a spot.”
You gripped your book tighter, cheeks burning despite the heat.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
By the time the sun dipped lower, everyone was pink-cheeked and sandy, trudging back toward the house for showers and dinner. The air buzzed with laughter, stories spilling out of Eddie as he described his wipeouts in dramatic detail.
You carried a bag of towels, deliberately walking ahead of Steve. But of course, he caught up easily, brushing past you on the narrow path.
“You’ve got sand on your face,” he said casually.
You frowned, swiping at your cheek. “Where?”
“Everywhere.” He grinned, smug as ever.
“You’re a child.”
“And you’re fun to mess with.” He leaned down, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach twist. “Admit it—you’d miss me if I didn’t.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but Robin’s voice carried from up ahead, saving you. “Hurry up, slowpokes! I’m starving.”
Steve chuckled, and you forced your legs to move faster, ignoring the way his words stuck in your chest.
Dinner was chaotic in the best way. Nancy was focused on making sure the pasta didn’t burn, Jonathan dutifully chopping garlic under her watchful eye. Eddie sat on the counter, swinging his legs and plucking a lazy tune on his guitar, while Robin raided the fridge for the beer she swore she’d packed.
“You didn’t,” Nancy said flatly, catching Robin rooting through a drawer instead of helping.
“I did! I literally packed it myself—” Robin’s voice pitched higher when Steve appeared at her side, holding up a six-pack with an infuriating grin.
“You mean this?” he asked.
Robin snatched it from him. “You absolute troll.”
“Saved dinner,” Steve said smugly.
You rolled your eyes. “You found the beer. Congratulations.”
“Don’t be jealous just because you didn’t.” He winked before turning back to help Jonathan stir sauce like he’d been cooking all his life.
By the time plates hit the table, the house was alive with chatter. Eddie held court with a story about the time his band had been double-booked with a clown act. Robin nearly choked on her pasta from laughing, and even Jonathan cracked a grin.
Nancy nudged him, smiling. “You should write these down.”
“What, like memoirs?” Eddie grinned. “The Life and Times of Eddie the Great.”
“Self-published disaster,” you muttered, sipping your beer.
Eddie pointed a noodle-laden fork at you. “Better than ‘How to Be a Buzzkill: By You-Know-Who.’”
The table erupted in laughter. Even Steve chuckled, his eyes flicking toward you, daring.
“Glad I could provide entertainment,” you muttered, stabbing your pasta.
Steve leaned back in his chair, swirling his beer bottle lazily between his fingers. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re always entertaining.”
The way he said it made heat crawl up your neck, and you dropped your gaze to your plate before anyone noticed.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
After dinner, the group migrated down to the beach with blankets, the night warm and humming with cicadas. Eddie and Robin built a fire with more enthusiasm than skill, Jonathan patiently helping until flames licked skyward and the smell of woodsmoke mingled with the salt air.
You sat wrapped in a blanket, sand cool beneath your toes, the ocean a black stretch beyond the firelight.
“Marshmallows?” Nancy offered, passing a bag around.
Eddie immediately burned his to a crisp, holding it up like a trophy. “Charred perfection.”
“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it,” Steve scoffed, carefully rotating his marshmallow until it was golden brown.
“Oh, sorry, Harrington,” Eddie drawled. “Didn’t realize I was dining at a five-star Michelin beach.”
Robin snorted soda out her nose, sending everyone into fits of laughter.
For a while, it was easy—stories, firelight, the soothing crash of waves. Until you realized Steve was across from you, fire painting gold into his hair, gaze fixed on you again.
He didn’t smirk this time. Didn’t tease. Just watched. And it made your chest feel too tight.
You tore your eyes away, focusing on Nancy and Jonathan curled together, whispering. Anything but him.
When the fire burned low and the group finally dragged themselves back to the house, you slipped away to your room, heart pounding.
You told yourself it was just exhaustion. Just the alcohol, the laughter, the firelight.
But when you crawled into bed, sheets cool against your skin, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears. You’d been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, blanket twisted around your legs, too hot, too restless, too aware of the faint thrum still buzzing in your chest from the beach fire.
With a groan, you shoved the blanket off and slipped out of bed. A glass of water, you told yourself. That’s it.
The hallway creaked under your bare feet as you padded toward the kitchen. But when you rounded the corner, the dim glow of the lamp in the living room stopped you.
Steve was there.
He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. His hair was mussed, his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, and the soft lamplight made him look… less like the smug jerk who’d driven you crazy all day, and more like a boy who couldn’t sleep either.
You froze. “What are you doing up?”
His head lifted, eyes finding yours. Something unreadable flickered there. “Could ask you the same thing.”
“I couldn’t sleep, too quiet.” You hugged your arms around yourself, shifting your weight. “Came to get water.”
Steve huffed a soft laugh. “You? Complaining about quiet? That’s a first.”
You scowled, but the bite was weak. “Funny.”
He gestured toward the kitchen. “Get your water.”
You did, filling a glass at the sink, trying not to notice the way his gaze followed you. When you came back, you hovered awkwardly near the couch.
“Don’t just stand there,” he said quietly, patting the cushion beside him.
Against your better judgment, you sat. The couch dipped under both your weight, your knees almost brushing.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the ocean, faint through the open window.
Finally, you cleared your throat. “What’s your excuse?”
“For being awake?” He leaned back, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “Couldn’t shut my brain off.”
“Too much ego rattling around in there?”
That earned you a real smile, crooked and soft. “You’d know, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged upward before you could stop them.
It was dangerous, this. Sitting here in the half-light, bantering without the sharp edges. His knee brushed yours, and you didn’t pull away.
“You really hate me that much?” he asked suddenly, voice low.
The question startled you. You looked at him, really looked, and for once there wasn’t mockery in his eyes. Just curiosity. Maybe something else.
“I…” Your throat went dry. “You make it easy to.”
His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it. “Guess I deserve that.”
Silence stretched again, heavier now. And then, as if pulled by some invisible string, you found yourself leaning closer.
So did he.
The kiss was slow at first, tentative. Testing. His lips were warm, softer than you expected, and the moment you sighed against him, he deepened it—hand cupping your jaw, tilting your face up as his tongue brushed yours.
You gasped, fingers curling into his shirt, and that was all the encouragement he needed. The kiss turned hungry, years of bickering collapsing into heat and want.
“Steve—” you breathed when his mouth trailed to your throat.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, teeth grazing your pulse.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
Instead, you tangled your hand in his hair and pulled him back to your lips.
By the time you stumbled into your room, the door clicking shut behind you, you were both breathless, laughing quietly against each other’s mouths as if you couldn’t believe what you were doing.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
Steve pressed you against the door, kissing you like he’d been starving for it. His hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered, mouth moving down your neck.
“You’re the one—” Your protest dissolved into a moan when his hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through thin fabric.
He groaned, head falling back. “Jesus, you sound… fuck.”
Clothes came off in a messy blur—his shirt over his head, your sleep shorts tossed to the floor. His body was warm, solid, muscles shifting under your hands as you traced down his chest.
He kissed you again, deeper this time, as he guided you back to the bed. You fell onto the sheets together, tangled and desperate. His hips ground against yours, the hard press of him making your breath catch.
“Want you,” he whispered into your mouth. “So bad. Been trying not to—”
You silenced him with another kiss, pulling him closer, not caring about what he had to say, just wanting him.
His mouth trailed down your body, tasting, worshiping, until you were trembling under his touch. His fingers slid against you, slow and skilled, and when he finally pushed inside, you clutched at his shoulders, moaning his name like a confession.
“Look at me,” he demanded softly, hovering above you. “I want to see you.”
You did—and the heat in his eyes undid you completely.
The rhythm built, frantic and tender all at once, until every thought blurred into him—his lips, his voice, his body moving with yours. The insults and banter and years of friction melted into something raw, something real.
When you came apart beneath him, he followed, burying his face in your neck with a groan that sounded like your name.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
You lay tangled together in the dark, hearts pounding. His hand smoothed over your side, gentle now, and for a second you let yourself sink into the warmth.
Then reality crashed back.
This was Steve Harrington. The boy you’d sworn to hate. The boy you’d told yourself you couldn’t stand.
You pulled away, rolling onto your side. “You should go.”
He went still. “…Right.”
You heard him shift behind you and when the door clicked shut behind him, the room felt too quiet, too empty.
You closed your eyes, willing yourself to believe it didn’t mean anything. That it was just desperation. Or maybe the beer.
Anything but the truth—that it had meant everything.
The next morning, sunlight poured through the windows like nothing had changed. Birds sang. The ocean waves kept their steady rhythm. The house smelled like coffee and toast.
And you felt like you were crawling out of your own skin.
You’d barely slept after Steve left your room, tossing and turning with his touch still ghosting over your skin, his voice still echoing in your head. When you finally dragged yourself downstairs, you plastered on a smile like armor.
Robin was at the table with cereal, flipping through a magazine. Eddie was sprawled across the couch strumming his guitar, hair wild from sleep. Nancy and Jonathan were already dressed, making plans to head into town for supplies.
Steve was at the counter.
He turned when you walked in, eyes locking with yours instantly. The memory of last night flared between you, hot and undeniable.
You broke it first, looking past him like he wasn’t even there. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Robin echoed, oblivious. “Want coffee?”
“Please.” You busied yourself pouring a cup, keeping your back to Steve, keeping your voice even.
But you could feel him watching. Could feel the tension buzzing like static every time you moved.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
The whole day dragged on like that.
At the beach, you stuck close to Robin and Nancy, pretending you were absorbed in their chatter while Steve and Eddie tossed a football back and forth in the surf. You laughed too loud at Robin’s jokes, stared too hard at the horizon, did everything you could to avoid looking at him.
But sometimes, you slipped.
Your eyes caught on the curve of his shoulders as he dove into a wave, on the way water slicked down his chest when he came up. And every time, he caught you watching.
You’d whip your head away, cheeks burning, pretending it hadn’t happened. Pretending last night hadn’t happened.
Because if you acknowledged it, if you let yourself believe it meant anything… you’d unravel.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
By late afternoon, you were helping Nancy prep dinner in the kitchen when Steve walked in.
“Need any help?” His voice was casual, too casual.
Nancy smiled. “Sure, can you grab the—”
“I’ve got it,” you cut in quickly, brushing past him to grab the pan yourself. “No worries.”
Steve’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t push it. Just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you.
You refused to look at him. Refused to let him corner you here, in front of everyone.
Nancy glanced between you, brow furrowed like she could sense something off, but she didn’t comment.
When Steve finally left the room, your shoulders slumped in relief.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
That night, everyone gathered in the living room for a movie. You chose the chair farthest from the couch, sinking into it with a blanket pulled tight around you.
Steve sat on the couch, one arm slung across the back, eyes flicking to you every few minutes.
You ignored him. You laughed at Eddie’s commentary, teased Robin about her snack hoard, anything to avoid meeting his gaze.
But you felt it anyway. That burn. That pull.
When the movie ended and everyone started yawning their way off to bed, you bolted upstairs first, shutting your door behind you with shaky hands.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
You thought you’d gotten away with it.
Until the next morning, when you came down for breakfast and Steve cornered you in the hallway.
“Seriously?” His voice was sharp, quiet enough not to draw attention from the others. “You’re just gonna pretend the other night didn’t happen?”
You froze, heart slamming. “Keep your voice down.”
“Answer the question.”
You forced your chin up, even as panic twisted in your gut. “It was nothing, Harrington. Just… we’d had a lot to drink, that’s all.”
His eyes darkened. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not.” You shoved past him, ignoring the way his hand twitched like he almost reached for you. “Drop it.”
He let you go, but the muscle in his jaw ticked furiously.
And for the rest of the day, the air between you was electric—charged, ready to spark.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
That night, lying in bed with the sound of the ocean drifting through the open window, you realized you were waiting. Waiting for the door to creak open, for him to appear again.
But it never happened.
And somehow, that made it worse.
The last night of the trip smelled like smoke and salt.
Eddie had gone all out, building a fire twice the size of the first, flames leaping high enough to lick at the stars. Nancy had found marshmallows and chocolate in her cousin’s cupboards, Jonathan had his camera balanced on his knee, and Robin was already giggling too loudly after a few pulls from Eddie’s stash.
Everyone was loose, warm, glowing with the kind of contentment only summer nights could bring.
Everyone except you.
You sat stiff on your blanket, knees hugged to your chest, eyes fixed on the fire. Every laugh felt too loud, every smile too sharp. Steve sat across from you, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, and every time his gaze brushed yours, your stomach twisted.
You’d spent days convincing yourself it was nothing. That the night in your bed was just desperation, or maybe boredom, or maybe the heat of the moment.
But every look he gave you made that lie harder to swallow.
Robin broke into another fit of giggles, Eddie trying to teach her how to blow smoke rings, Nancy pretending not to laugh at Jonathan’s deadpan commentary. It should’ve been easy to join in. To let yourself drift.
But then Steve opened his mouth.
“You know,” he said, his tone just sharp enough to cut, “I think this is the longest you’ve gone without complaining all trip.”
The words hit like a slap.
Your head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”
He smirked, lazy and cruel. “Just saying. Guess miracles do happen.”
Heat flushed your cheeks, anger bubbling up before you could stop it. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“And you’re predictable.”
The group went quiet, tension slicing through the smoke. Robin shifted uncomfortably, Eddie raised his brows, but no one jumped in. They knew better by now.
You shoved to your feet, sand scattering. “I’m not doing this with you.”
“Where are you going?” Robin called after you.
“Anywhere he’s not,” you snapped, stalking toward the dark stretch of shoreline.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
The cool night air hit you as you left the glow of the fire behind, the ocean hissing in the distance. You kicked at the sand, fury tangled with something messier, heavier.
You’d made it halfway down the beach when footsteps crunched behind you.
“Of course,” you muttered, not bothering to turn. “Can’t let me get five minutes of peace, can you?”
“Peace?” Steve’s voice was low, sharp. “You think that’s what this is?”
You spun, firelight faint behind him, the ocean silver at his back. “What the hell do you want, Harrington?”
He stopped a few feet away, chest heaving, eyes blazing. “I want you to stop acting like that night didn’t mean anything.”
Your stomach dropped. “Keep your voice down—”
“No.” He stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides. “I’m done pretending. You keep running, keep avoiding me, keep acting like I was drunk or desperate or—”
“You were!” The words tore out, too loud, too desperate. “It was a mistake, Steve.”
“Bullshit.” He closed the space between you in two strides, so close now the heat of him seared against your skin. “I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t desperate. I wanted you. I want you.”
Your throat went dry, heart hammering so hard it hurt. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” His voice cracked, raw. “You think I stay up at night replaying it because I didn’t mean it? You think I’d follow you down here just to fight if I didn’t—”
He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. For once, he looked wrecked. Vulnerable.
“I’ve tried to hate you,” he admitted, voice low and rough. “God knows you make it easy. But I can’t. I never could. And the second we kissed—” He shook his head. “I was done for.”
You stood frozen, the ocean crashing behind you, his words crashing harder inside you.
“Steve…”
“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he demanded, eyes searching yours. “Tell me, and I’ll leave you alone. But don’t lie.”
The anger in his voice was gone now, stripped bare. All that was left was fear. And something that looked a hell of a lot like love.
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Because the truth was there, burning through every nerve, impossible to deny.
“I…” Your voice shook. “I don’t hate you.”
His chest rose, hope flaring in his eyes. “Say it.”
“I don’t hate you,” you repeated, louder this time, truer. “I never did. I just—god, you drive me insane, and it was easier to fight than…”
“Than what?” He stepped even closer, so close the waves lapped at your ankles together.
“Than admit it.” You surged forward, grabbing his shirt, pulling his mouth to yours.
The kiss was fire and salt, angry and desperate and sweet all at once. He groaned against you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you like he couldn’t get you close enough.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead rested against yours.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. Not cocky, not smug—just certain. “You’ve always been mine.”
And for once, you didn’t argue.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
Back at the fire, Robin elbowed Eddie. “Where’d they go?”
Eddie smirked, eyes on the dark stretch of beach. “Nowhere good for our sleep schedules.”
Robin groaned. “Finally.”
The sun woke you before you were ready.
It filtered in through gauzy curtains, golden and warm, tangling across tangled sheets and tangled limbs. Steve was sprawled beside you, one arm heavy over your waist, his face buried in your neck like he was trying to hide from the light.
For a second, you didn’t move. Just listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, felt the lazy brush of his thumb against your hip. It was terrifying how easy it felt. How right.
Eventually, he groaned, shifting. “Morning.” His voice was rough with sleep.
“Morning,” you whispered back.
He cracked an eye open, smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” He nuzzled against your jaw, smug and soft all at once. “Can’t believe it. All those years of you wanting to strangle me and here you are, smiling in my bed.”
“It’s technically my bed,” you shot back.
He kissed the corner of your mouth, quick, sweet. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine now.”
Your heart did a stupid little flip. You tried to cover it with a scoff, a giggle slipping through. “You’re so annoying.”
“And you love it.”
You didn’t answer, but the smile on your face betrayed you.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
Breakfast was chaos.
Nancy tried to wrangle eggs on a pan that clearly hated her, Robin burned toast, and Eddie ate half a bag of marshmallows before anyone could stop him. Jonathan just documented it all with his camera, unbothered.
You and Steve walked in together, and the room went very still.
Then Eddie grinned like a wolf. “Well, well, well. Look who finally pulled the stick out of their—”
“Eddie,” Nancy warned.
Robin’s eyes were bright with triumph. “Knew it. I knew it.”
You froze, heat creeping up your neck. “Knew what?”
“That you two were gonna…” She gestured vaguely, grinning. “Explode. In one way or another.”
Jonathan, without looking up from his camera, muttered, “About time.”
Steve slung an arm around your shoulders, annoyingly pleased with himself. “What can I say? She couldn’t resist my charm.”
You elbowed him in the ribs, but he just laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple like he didn’t care the whole room was watching.
And maybe, you realized, you didn’t care either.
⋆ ୨ৎ ⋆
The drive home was… different.
Still bickering, still jabs thrown back and forth, but lighter. Softer. Every time you rolled your eyes, Steve’s fingers brushed yours on the seat between you, and you didn’t pull away.
Robin caught it in the rearview mirror and whispered to Nancy, “They’re disgustingly cute.”
Nancy smiled, leaning back in her seat. “Told you it would work out.”
The ocean was miles behind you now, but the warmth lingered, woven into your skin like salt and sun.
And for once, you weren’t dreading what came next.
You were looking forward to it.
A/n: i drive down to the oregon coast every summer for a few days, and im now realizing that I need an angry love confession on the beach. I crave it actually. also catching up on tsitp isn’t helping.
forced proximity with Stevie in the van where him and r have to get along during a crawl mission? 🥺
ty for requesting :D — the worst part about hating steve is that he loves how mean you are to him (enemies to lovers, grump!fem!reader, first kiss | 1.5k)
The WSQK van breaks down halfway through Crawl #6, and it feels like the universe is trying to punish you in some way.
You stew in your misplaced annoyance with your elbow propped on the car door and with your head in your hand, gritting your teeth every time Steve crunches into another Bopper. The crinkling of the plastic lights a newfound rage in your chest for a reason you can’t name. Actually, now that you think about it, everything about Steve enrages you so fiercely that it makes wildfires rush through your veins instead of blood.
You hate him so much that it’s turned you less than human.
“Can you stop chewing so loud?” you blurt when Steve takes another loud bite of the candy bar.
Your head whips around to glare at the boy slouching in the driver’s seat, set aglow by the amber headlights from the Jeep parked ahead of you, where an annoyed college girl regrets deciding to be a good Samaritan and offering to jumpstart your van.
Steve freezes, mid-crunch of the peanut butter bar. His chocolate eyes go wide as the thing wads in the pocket of his scruffy cheek. He bites down again, slowly, and only slightly less audible this time.
“You want some?” he offers through the mouthful. Brown crumbs fall from the package and onto the chest of his emerald sweater when he motions the thing in your direction.
You grimace and turn away again. “You’re disgusting…”
“They’re really good, actually…” he shrugs through smacking chews. His bushy brows scrunch into a puppy-like look of confusion a second later. “Wait. Why is it so quiet tonight? I feel like it’s not usually this quiet.”
“Dustin’s not here,” you answer in a monotone.
“Oh, yeah…” he hums with a slow nod, then crunches into another bite.
You roll your eyes and slouch further into the squeaking pleather passenger seat. You cross your arms over the chest of your sweater and prop your right foot on the dashboard. Your sneaker leaves a faint imprint there as you huff.
“Can you tell your girlfriend to hurry up, please?”
“I already told you— I didn’t date her, I dated her sister,” Steve corrects through a mouthful. “And you should seriously watch your tone, honey. You’re starting to sound jealous.”
“Jealous?” you scoff, turning to him with your jaw pressed to your shoulder. You laugh when he shrugs in response, gaze averted and pink lips jutted, like it’s obvious or something. “Believe it or not, not everyone is in love with you, Harrington.”
“No, not everyone…” he grins. “But still you.”
Something about the way he looks at you makes you fume. Something mischievous glitters in his melted chocolate eyes, like he can see right through you — like he knows something you don’t. It makes you put up a wall on instinct. It makes you hide, makes you mean.
“Oh, yeah. Because a washed-up radio host, whose greatest achievement is the time he almost won a basketball championship his junior year of high school, is so attractive to me,” you scoff a cynical laugh. “And on top of that, you’re not even a radio host. I mean, you’re barely even a co-host, all you do are sound effects— It’s honestly a little pathetic, when you think about it.”
When your eyes flit back to Steve, you find him smiling — pink lips curled and sitting lopsided, chocolate eyes all softened around the edges. “You know… If you keep being mean to me, honey, I might just start liking you back.”
Your face twists in disgust, though your chest swells at the nickname.
“You’re deplorable.”
“Whatever that means,” he laughs and tosses the remnants of the Bopper into his mouth. He balls the wrapper in his fist. The harsh crinkling fills the quiet van before he tosses it into the cupholder at his side.
You turn away with a roll of your eyes, and your gaze falls back to the young girl — now standing outside of her Jeep and shivering in the cold as she waits for Steve to notice her. You motion to her with a lazy hand. “Your girlfriend’s waiting on you, by the way.”
Steve flashes you a cheeky grin as he reaches for the door handle, “How much you wanna bet I’m coming back with her number?”
Your eyes narrow in a sardonic squint. “If you come back with her number, I’ll start being nice to you, how about that?”
“Aw, but I love when you’re mean—”
He flinches when you toss the empty wrapper back in his direction. It hits his shoulder and tumbles back into his seat when he slinks out of the van with a quiet laugh. You watch through the dirt-stained glass as he saunters towards the strange girl, with his golden hands propped on his lean hips and a crooked smirk on his mouth — always so effortlessly cool in his way.
You duck into the back of the van and slouch into the plush stool by the desk. You exhale a heavy sigh with the knowledge that you’ve certainly lost the signal during your not-so-brief pitstop. You slide the bulky headphones over your ears and reach for the wheel above you. The heavy antenna on top of the van squeaks softly when you turn it, searching for any sign of movement. The decibels remain at zero — Hopper is long gone by now.
Steve returns some minutes later, with a subtle frown on his face and a newly charged van battery. The car rocks slightly under his sudden weight when he ducks back inside. The door slams shut behind him and brings a rush of late-autumn chill in with it.
“Yeah, I didn’t get it,” he announces in a monotone and sticks the key into the ignition.
“The horror,” you deadpan.
The engine cranks for a moment, then sputters when it fails to come to life. Steve talks through a sharp jaw clenched in concentration. “Apparently, I did date her, turns out… Totally slipped my mind, though.”
“Of course it did.”
“But you’d think she’d still be at least a little interested, though, right?” he rambles to himself. “Considering I stood her up the last time we were supposed to go out— you know, back when I worked at Scoops.”
He twists the key once more. The dead engine continues to stutter.
“Right,” you scoff with your gaze still on the decibel reader before you. “Because it makes total sense for anyone to waste years of their life pining for some loser in a sailor’s outfit—”
“Shut up…” Steve grumbles, gritting his teeth when the engine fails to crank.
“—I mean, who wouldn’t fantasize about the weird guy at the mall who has to sling ice cream for a living because he was too much of a loser to get a real job at the firm his dad literally owns?”
“Shut up,” he bites.
The engine roars to life in that moment, but you barely even notice it.
“Because I, for one, wouldn’t be able to get my mind off the boy who was so much of a screw up that nepotism couldn’t even fix him—”
You only vaguely hear the sound of heavy footsteps against the rumbling van floor when you turn over your shoulder. Your heart lurches into your throat when you find Steve much closer than you’d expected — hunched over to keep from hitting his head as he stomps towards the back of the van.
His chiseled features are screwed into a sterner look than you’re used to. Something about it makes your chest ache when the boy towers over you, with one hand curled around the wheel on the ceiling and the other bracing itself on the desk at your side.
“I said shut up,” Steve spits through gritted teeth, moments before he leans down to press a searing kiss to your mouth.
The force of it leans your chair slightly backward and knocks your headphones askew. Your hands dart to keep them from falling down your neck as Steve’s tongue slots between your lips, in a deep and fleeting kiss that makes your mouths smack when he pulls too suddenly away.
His rosy lips curl into a crooked grin at the sight of you — eyes lidded and glassy, mouth swollen and shining with his spit. “Yeah, that shut you right up, didn’t it?”
“Jeez…” you murmur, face screwing. “You taste like that… peanut butter shit.”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s the— the Boppers…” He falters for a moment at the look of disgust on your face, then grins all over again when your tongue darts out to wet your mouth, tasting him further there. “It’s good, huh? I told you they were—”
“Shut up,” you grouse in a monotone, and reach for the collar of his emerald sweater.
You curl your fingers into the knit fabric and urge him closer, forcing him to his knees between your parted thighs and pulling him in for another kiss, full of tongue and teeth and spit.
You kiss him hard enough to bruise — even though he tastes like too-sweet peanut butter, even though you should probably be speeding off to find Hopper at this very moment, even though you hate him — and something about it feels like praying.
Jake would totally be the type to go yandere for the entity that is trying to get him back to reality while he plays up the faux clumsy innocence in order to stay with you. Like you have some control over the weird apartment building but not completely and you are trying to stop another person from joining you and when you finally piece together that he needs to like go through a mirror at a specific time to leave, he just so happens to trip and break the mirror. Oopsie! Looks like I’m stuck here! Don’t be upset with me, look at my puppy eyes and comfort me and stop trying to pull me away from you 🥺🥺🥺
(Someone else joins and a new mirror is made and he spits their throat with the shards from his mirror and then pushes their body through the mirror to make it disappear or something )
WAITWAITWAIT THIS PLOT IS SOO GOOD I LOVE YOUR BRAIN ANON!!!! we can make this a liiitlle bit inspired from strangers from hell too
thank you for sending this in! this fits jake's personality so well and i was getting sick of writing the same trope where the reader gets stuck or escapes. now we get to switch up things heheheh. I'M GONNA PLAN OUT THIS FIC💕
synopsis: you were just wandering around, looking to kill time when you stumbled upon an old, abandoned arcade. drawn to a game machine at the back, you find a game you’ve never seen before and the faint reflection of a boy staring back. he’s charming, strange, and says he’s trapped inside. talking to him feels weirdly comforting at first. but the more you play, the harder it is to stop. soon, the lines blur between your world and his. you're not sure if you're rescuing him… or falling into his trap.
because in this game, you don’t get to leave unless he lets you.
warnings: yandere themes, manipulative!ni-ki, gaslighting, mentions of trauma, kissing, making out, skinship, cursing, stalker behaviour, toxic relationship, dark ending
note: finally a fic after 4 months?? it was so fun to write but i really hope this fic doesn't turn out to sound like those situations where people fall in love with an ai character and get married to it haha BECAUSE IT'S NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL😭anyway, enjoyy reading!
word count: 14.8k
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
you weren't really looking for anything when you ended up on the edge of town that evening. the sky had already started bleeding into that murky violet-grey that comes right before full dark, and you were just walking, letting your feet carry you wherever they wanted to go.
sometimes you did this when the walls of your room felt too close, when scrolling through your phone made your eyes ache and your thoughts loop endlessly into nothing. so you walked and the streets grew quieter, and the houses thinned out until there was just cracked pavement and weeds pushing through the concrete and the distant hum of the highway like static.
that's when you saw it.
the building sat at the end of a forgotten strip mall, wedged between a boarded-up laundromat and what might have once been a dollar store. the sign above the entrance read "playland" in letters that had probably been bright once, maybe pink or blue or that particular shade of electric green that screamed nineteen-eighties. now they were faded, covered in grime, some of the neon tubes inside them shattered or missing entirely. one of them still flickered though, weak and sporadic, like a dying pulse. the "p" in playland stuttered on and off, on and off, casting brief flashes of sickly light across the empty parking lot.
you stopped walking without really deciding to stop. something about the place held your attention in a way you couldn't quite name. it wasn't curiosity exactly, or at least not the normal kind. it was more like recognition, like seeing something from a dream you'd forgotten until that exact moment. the arcade's windows were dark and thick with dust, streaked with old rainwater and god knows what else, and through them you could barely make out the shapes of machines inside, hulking and silent.
the front door hung slightly open.
you stood there for a long moment, feeling the cool evening air prick at your arms, listening to the distant sound of cars and the rustle of dry leaves skittering across asphalt. you should have kept walking. you should have turned around and headed home before it got too dark to see properly. but instead you found yourself moving forward, your hand reaching out to push the door open wider, and the hinges groaned like something waking up after a very long sleep.
the smell hit you first. it was thick and layered, a mixture of rotting carpet and stale air and something metallic and burnt, like old wiring that had been slowly cooking inside the walls for decades. underneath all of that was the faint chemical tang of ancient cleaning products, the kind that had probably stopped being manufactured before you were born. you wrinkled your nose but didn't turn back. instead you stepped inside, and the door swung shut behind you with a soft click that seemed far too final.
the arcade stretched out before you in rows of dead machines. old cabinets with screens cracked or missing, joysticks hanging limp, buttons faded to uniform grey. some of them still had artwork visible on their sides, faded characters from games you half recognised, their colours bleached by time into ghost versions of themselves. dust covered everything in a thick, undisturbed layer. it coated the screens, the control panels, the floor, even the air itself seemed heavy with it. motes drifted through the weak light filtering in from the street, moving in slow spirals like they were underwater.
you walked deeper inside, your footsteps muffled by the ruined carpet. it squelched slightly under your shoes in places, spongy with moisture and decay. the shadows between the machines were darker than they should have been, thick and pooling, and you had the strangest sensation that they were watching you. not in a metaphorical way, but actually watching, holding themselves very still, waiting to see what you would do. the feeling made your skin prickle, made you want to look over your shoulder, but you kept moving forward because turning back now felt impossible, like trying to swim against a current that was already pulling you under.
the arcade seemed bigger on the inside than it had looked from outside. the rows of machines stretched on and on, and the weak light from the windows faded until you were walking through near-darkness, guided only by the faint suggestion of shapes around you. you should have been scared. you should have felt something other than this strange, dreamy certainty that you were supposed to be here, that something had been waiting for you to find this place.
and then you saw it.
at the very back of the arcade, tucked into a corner you almost didn't notice, there was a machine that was still on. the screen glowed with soft, impossible colours, hues that seemed to shift and change as you looked at them, purples that bled into blues that melted into greens you didn't have names for. the light it cast was warm and inviting, completely at odds with the cold decay surrounding it, and it illuminated a small circle of floor around its base, making the dust particles dance like tiny stars.
you moved toward it without thinking, drawn by that warm glow, by the simple fact that something in this dead place was alive. as you got closer, you could make out the words on the cabinet's marquee, painted in flowing script that seemed to shimmer: "STAY WITH ME."
you'd never heard of that game before. you'd played plenty of arcade games, had wasted hours and allowance money on street fighter and pac-man and all the classics, but this one was completely unfamiliar. the artwork on the cabinet's sides was strange too, abstract patterns that seemed to move when you weren't looking directly at them, spirals and fractals that made your eyes hurt if you stared too long.
you stopped a few feet away from the machine, and that's when you saw it. a reflection in the dark glass of the screen. someone standing behind you. a figure, indistinct but definitely there, watching you from the shadows.
your heart jumped into your throat and you spun around fast enough to make yourself dizzy. but there was nothing behind you. just empty arcade, dead machines, shadows that suddenly seemed less threatening and more empty. you turned back to the screen, pulse hammering, and the reflection was gone too. just your own face staring back, all wide-eyed in the strange light.
you let out a shaky breath and moved closer. the machine hummed softly, a sound you could feel in your chest as if you were standing next to something alive. the screen showed a simple title screen, the words "STAY WITH ME" pulsing gently, and below it in smaller text: "insert coin to begin." there were no instructions, no indication of what kind of game it actually was, just a coin slot you could see with a rusted, old coin sitting on top of the start button.
without thinking you reached out and inserted the coin. a merry jingle sound rang out from the machine at that, startling you a bit. your fingers hovered over the start button. the plastic was warm under your touch, warmer than it should have been, and for just a second you hesitated. something about this felt wrong, or not wrong exactly, but significant in a way you couldn't articulate.
but before you could decide, the screen flickered. the title faded away and suddenly there was a face looking back at you. a boy's face, rendered in graphics that were far too detailed, too fluid, too real for any game system you'd ever seen. he appeared to be about your age, maybe a year or two older, with features that were beautiful in an unsettling way. too symmetrical. too perfect. his eyes were dark and deep and fixed directly on yours with an intensity that made you take a step back.
and then he spoke.
"finally," he said, and his voice came from the machine's speakers but it sounded close, intimate, like he was standing right next to you and whispering in your ear. "i was starting to think no one would ever come."
you stared at the screen, your mind trying to catch up with what was happening. this had to be some kind of pre-programmed sequence, a cutscene or attract mode designed to draw players in. but the boy's eyes tracked your movement when you shifted your weight, followed you with an awareness that felt impossible.
"you can see me, right?" he asked, and there was something vulnerable in his voice, something that made your chest tighten. "you can hear me?"
"i..." you started, then stopped. your voice came out rough, strange after the long silence. "this is just a game, right?"
he smiled at that, and it was a beautiful smile, warm and a little bit sad. "i guess you could call it that. but i'm real. as real as you are, anyway."
he tilted his head, studying you with those too-dark eyes. "you're pretty. prettier than i imagined someone would be. i've been watching the outside world for so long through this screen, seeing people pass by, but no one ever came inside. no one ever found me. until you."
the way he said it made something flutter in your stomach, uncomfortable and pleasant at the same time. "watching?" you repeated. "you've been watching people?"
"just waiting," he corrected gently. "hoping. i've been trapped in here for... i don't even know how long anymore. it could have been weeks or years or decades." his expression shifted, became more earnest, more desperate. "but you found me. you came inside. that has to mean something, doesn't it?"
you should have walked away. every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to leave, to get out of this abandoned building and never come back because what the fuck was this too-real-to-be-animated guy takling about?
but something kept you rooted in place. maybe it was the loneliness in his voice, the way it echoed something you felt inside yourself. maybe it was the strange comfort of being seen by someone, really seen, even if that someone was supposedly trapped inside a video game. or maybe it was something else entirely, something deeper and harder to name.
"how did you get trapped?" you asked instead of leaving.
his smile widened, pleased that you were engaging, that you were asking questions. "it's a long story. a boring one, probably. the important thing is that i can't get out by myself. i've tried everything. but with help, with someone on the outside..." he paused, leaning forward slightly, and even though it should have been impossible you swore you could feel his attention on you like a physical weight. "with you, maybe i could finally be free."
"i don't understand how i could help," you said, but even as the words left your mouth you felt your hand drifting toward the start button again.
"just play," he said softly, coaxingly. "just stay with me for a while. talk to me. let me know what it's like out there, what the world feels like, what you feel like. the more connected we are, the stronger i get, the closer i come to breaking through."
his eyes never left yours, and there was something hypnotic about them, something that made it hard to look away. "please. i've been so alone. you don't know what it's like, being stuck in here, being able to see out but never touch, never feel. you're the first person who's ever really looked at me."
and god help you, you believed him. or wanted to believe him, which might have been the same thing. there was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at a part of you that felt just as trapped as he claimed to be. your life outside this arcade was fine, perfectly fine, nothing wrong with it exactly, but nothing particularly right either. just an endless succession of boring days and lonely nights and the constant feeling that you were waiting for something without knowing what.
"what's your name?" you asked.
his smile became something softer, more genuine. "ni-ki," he said. "and yours?"
you told him, and the way he repeated it back made it sound different, special, like a word he'd been saving for a long time. "beautiful," he murmured. "it suits you. everything about you suits you."
your face felt warm. "you don't even know me."
"not yet," he agreed easily. "but i want to. i want to know everything. what you like, what you're afraid of, what makes you smile, what keeps you up at night. i want to know what brought you here tonight, what made you so sad or bored or lonely that you ended up wandering into a dead arcade at the edge of town." his voice dropped lower, more intimate. "i want to understand you. and i think... i think maybe you want someone to understand you too. don't you?"
your throat felt tight. you didn't answer, couldn't answer, because he was right and admitting it out loud felt too vulnerable, too raw.
"just press start," ni-ki said, and his voice was gentle, coaxing, almost tender. "just once. see what happens. if you don't like it, you can leave. but i think you'll like it. i think you'll want to stay."
your finger was already on the button. you didn't remember deciding to touch it, but there it was, warm plastic under your skin, and beneath it you could feel that strange humming vibration, that almost-heartbeat that seemed to pulse up through your hand and into your arm and straight to your chest.
you pressed start.
the screen exploded into light and colour, so bright and sudden that you jerked back with a gasp. the machine's hum became a roar, then a shriek, and for one impossible moment you saw ni-ki's hand reaching through the glass, fingers extended toward you, so close you could almost touch them, could almost feel them brush against your skin. the screen bulged outward like something was pushing from behind it, like the barrier between his world and yours had become thin as paper, ready to tear.
you stumbled backward, your heart slamming against your ribs, and the screen snapped back to normal with a sound like breaking glass. ni-ki was still there, still visible, but his hand was back on his side of the screen, and he was laughing. it was a sweet sound, genuinely delighted, nothing malicious in it at all.
"sorry," he said, still grinning. "i didn't mean to scare you. it's just... that felt amazing. did you feel it? that connection?" his eyes were bright now, brighter than before, and there was colour in his cheeks that hadn't been there a moment ago. "it worked. you pressed start and i could feel the barrier weakening. i was so close. so close to touching you."
"what the hell was that?" you demanded, your voice shaking. your hand was tingling where it had touched the button, a pins-and-needles sensation that was slowly fading.
"that was real," ni-ki said simply. "that was me, trying to reach you. and it almost worked." he leaned forward again, palms pressed against his side of the screen like he was pressing against glass. "don't stop now. please. i need you. just a little more and i think i can break through completely. just keep playing. keep talking to me. keep letting me see you."
you should have run. you should have grabbed your bag and bolted out of that arcade and never looked back. but instead you found yourself taking a step forward, then another, drawn back to the machine and its warm glow and the boy behind the screen who looked at you like you were the most important thing in any world.
"i don't know how to play," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you intended.
ni-ki's smile was radiant, victorious, like you'd just given him exactly what he wanted. "that's okay," he said softly. "i'll teach you. we have all the time in the world. after all..." his eyes locked with yours, dark and deep and impossible to look away from. "you can't leave now. not when we've only just found each other."
and beneath your palm, still resting on the control panel, you felt the machine's heartbeat humming steady and strong, and you realised with a strange, dreamlike certainty that he was right. you couldn't leave. not yet. maybe not ever. because something had caught hold of you the moment you pressed that button, something that felt like connection and recognition and fate all tangled together, and the thought of walking away from it hurt worse than the thought of staying.
so you stayed. you pulled up a dusty stool that had been tucked under a nearby machine and sat down in front of the screen, in front of ni-ki, and you watched his expression melt into something soft and satisfied and hungry all at once.
"good girl," he murmured, and the machine's hum deepened, vibrating through the stool and into your bones, warm as a heartbeat, strong as a chain. "now let's play."
the second time you came back to the arcade, you told yourself it was just curiosity. you'd spent the entire night before tossing and turning, replaying the encounter in your mind, trying to convince yourself it had been some kind of elaborate prank or art installation or fever dream. but when you pushed through that groaning door again the next evening, when you made your way through the rows of dead machines to find ni-ki's screen still glowing in the back corner, still waiting, the relief that flooded through you felt too real to deny.
"you came back," he said, and the joy in his voice was so genuine it made your chest ache. "i wasn't sure you would. i thought maybe you'd convince yourself i wasn't real, that this was all in your head."
"maybe it is," you said, but you were already sitting down, already settling into place like you belonged there.
"does it matter?" he asked softly. "real, not real... if it feels good, if it feels right, does the distinction really change anything?"
you didn't have an answer for that, so instead you asked, "what do i do? how do we play?"
the game that unfolded was nothing like you expected. there were no instructions, no clear objectives, just a series of levels that you navigated with the old joystick and faded buttons. but the environments, the settings, the details—they were wrong. not wrong in a broken way, but wrong in a way that felt too intimate, too knowing.
the first level looked like your elementary school. not just any elementary school, but yours specifically, down to the chipped green paint on the cafeteria walls and the weird water stain on the ceiling that you and your friends had decided looked like a dragon. you'd never mentioned this place to ni-ki, had barely thought about it yourself in years, but there it was, rendered in those impossible colours, and you had to guide your small pixelated avatar through hallways you'd walked a thousand times as a child.
"this is..." you started, then stopped, unsure how to finish.
"familiar?" ni-ki offered. his face was visible in a corner of the screen, watching you play, watching your reactions. "the game pulls from the player, shows them things that matter. places that left an impression."
"but how would it know?" your voice came out thin, uncertain.
"because you know," he said simply. "and we're connected now. the game can feel you, can read you. it's actually kind of beautiful, if you think about it. it means you're special. it means the game likes you, wants to understand you." he paused, then added softly, "i want to understand you."
you tried to focus on playing, on moving your avatar through the familiar halls, but your hands were shaking slightly. the level shifted and suddenly you were in your childhood bedroom, the one from the house you'd lived in until you were twelve, with the unicorn wallpaper you'd begged your parents for and the window that looked out onto the oak tree you used to climb. every detail was perfect. the stuffed animals arranged on your bed in exactly the order you'd kept them. the crack in the corner of the ceiling from when your brother had thrown a baseball inside.
"how is this possible?" you whispered.
ni-ki's expression was gentle, understanding. "you're remembering it. maybe not consciously, but somewhere deep down, you kept every detail. and the game is just bringing it to the surface, making it visible. think of it like... like i'm seeing your memories through your eyes. isn't that intimate? isn't that special?"
the way he said intimate made something twist in your stomach, but you kept playing. the levels continued, each one pulling from different periods of your life, different fears and memories you'd buried or forgotten. there was the parking lot where you'd had your first kiss, awkward and disappointing. there was the bathroom stall where you'd hidden during a panic attack in tenth grade, the graffiti on the walls exactly as you remembered it. there was the stretch of highway where you'd gotten into a minor accident, the guardrail still dented in the same spot.
and darker things too. the basement of your grandmother's house where you'd been terrified to go as a child, convinced something lived in the shadows behind the water heater. the doctor's office where you'd gotten bad news once. a figure with its face blurred out, looming large and silent in a doorway, and you had to navigate around it carefully, heart pounding, even though you couldn't quite remember why it scared you so much.
"you're doing so well," ni-ki murmured throughout, his voice a constant comfort. "you're so brave. look at you, facing all of this. most players would have quit by now, but not you. you're strong. you're perfect."
hours passed without you noticing. the arcade's darkness deepened around you until the only light came from the screen, and your world had narrowed to just this: the game, the memories, ni-ki's voice praising you, encouraging you, telling you how special you were, how connected you were becoming.
when you finally pulled yourself away, stiff and exhausted, ni-ki's face filled the screen. "same time tomorrow?" he asked, and there was something hopeful and hungry in his expression.
"i don't know," you said. "this is... it's a lot. seeing all of that."
"i know," he said softly. "i know it's intense. but that's how you know it means something, right? that's how you know this is real, that we're real. you can't have this kind of connection with just anyone." he paused, then asked, "is there anyone waiting for you at home? anyone wondering where you are?"
the question caught you off guard. "what? why does that matter?"
"just curious," he said, but his eyes were very focused, very intent. "just wanting to know more about you, about your life. do you have someone? a boyfriend, girlfriend, someone you're close to?"
"i have friends," you said carefully. "family. the normal stuff."
"but no one special?" he pressed. "no one you think about the way you think about me?"
your face went hot. "i don't—i barely know you."
the screen flickered. just for a second, but violently, and ni-ki's face distorted, stretched, his features sliding into something almost grotesque before snapping back to normal. the audio crackled with static, a sound like screaming buried underneath, and then it was gone. ni-ki was smiling again, perfectly beautiful, perfectly normal.
"sorry," he said, and his voice was sweet, apologetic. "glitch. old hardware, you know how it is." but his eyes were still intense, still waiting. "you were saying?"
"i... no. no one special." the words came out before you could think about them, automatic, like he'd pulled them from you.
his smile widened, genuine and warm and satisfied. "good," he said simply. "that's good. it's better this way, don't you think? fewer distractions. more time for us, for this. for getting to know each other properly."
you left feeling unsettled, though you couldn't quite articulate why. but you came back the next day anyway, and the day after that, and the pattern established itself so naturally you barely noticed it happening. every evening as the sun started to set, you found yourself walking to the arcade, found yourself sitting down in front of ni-ki's screen, found yourself playing through levels that knew too much and revealed too much and made you feel too much.
and ni-ki talked to you through all of it. he asked questions constantly, his voice soft and coaxing and genuinely interested. he wanted to know everything. what you ate for breakfast, what songs you listened to, what you thought about when you couldn't sleep. he asked about your childhood, your dreams, your fears, your secrets. he asked about other people in your life with a particular intensity, always circling back to whether you were close to anyone, whether anyone understood you the way he was starting to understand you.
"do you talk to your friends about me?" he asked one evening.
"no," you admitted. "i don't know how i'd explain this."
"good," he said, and there was satisfaction in his voice. "this is just for us, isn't it? our secret. our special thing. no one else would understand anyway. they'd try to ruin it, try to tell you it's weird or unhealthy or whatever. but they don't know what we have. they don't know how good this feels."
and it did feel good, that was the terrible part. talking to ni-ki felt like being seen in a way you'd never experienced before, like he was paying attention to every word, every expression, every tiny detail about you and filing it away as precious. when you mentioned liking a certain band, he asked you to describe their music, to tell him what it made you feel. when you mentioned being nervous about a test, he wanted to know every detail about why, about what failure meant to you, about what you were really afraid of underneath.
but sometimes when you hesitated, when you didn't answer quickly enough or tried to deflect or change the subject, the screen would glitch. it happened more and more frequently. his face would distort for just a moment, stretching wrong, eyes going black and empty, mouth opening too wide. the audio would warp into something that sounded almost like anger before smoothing back out. and then he'd apologise, always apologise, with that perfect smile and that gentle voice.
"sorry, sorry, i don't mean to push. just want to know you better, that's all. you understand, right? you want to know me too?"
and you did, despite everything, despite the small voice in the back of your head that was starting to sound alarm bells. you wanted to know him, wanted to understand what he was, wanted to believe that this connection you felt was real and mutual and not something darker.
but things were starting to bleed over.
you first noticed it in a store window while you were walking home from school. just a flash in the reflection, a figure standing behind you that looked like ni-ki, same dark eyes, same too-perfect features. when you spun around, there was no one there. just normal afternoon foot traffic, people who looked nothing like him.
it happened again in your phone screen when you were lying in bed, the black glass reflecting your face and something else, someone else, watching from behind your shoulder. you told yourself it was just your imagination, just your brain overlaying memories onto reality because you'd been spending so much time at the arcade.
but then you started hearing it. that hum, that mechanical heartbeat pulse that came from ni-ki's machine. you'd hear it faintly while sitting in class, a vibration at the edge of your perception. you'd hear it in your room at night, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. you'd hear it in quiet moments, in the space between songs on your headphones, a reminder that something was waiting for you.
and the dreams. god, the dreams. every night you dreamt about him, about ni-ki, and in the dreams he wasn't trapped behind a screen. he was there with you, close enough to touch, his voice whispering directly into your ear instead of through speakers. the dreams felt more real than they should, left you waking up disoriented and aching, convinced for long moments that he'd actually been there, that you could still feel his breath on your neck.
"you look tired," he said one evening when you came to the arcade. there was concern in his voice, but also something else, something almost pleased. "not sleeping well?"
"weird dreams," you muttered, rubbing your eyes.
"about me?" he asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
you didn't answer, but you didn't need to. he knew. of course he knew.
"that's normal," he said softly. "that's just the connection getting stronger. you're thinking about me even when you're not here, even when you're asleep. i think about you too, you know. all the time. you're all i have in here, all i can see, all i want to see." his voice dropped lower, more intimate. "you're mine now, aren't you? mine to know, mine to understand, mine to keep."
the possessiveness in that statement should have alarmed you. should have sent you running. but instead you felt a strange warmth spread through your chest, something that felt dangerously close to belonging.
"i'm not anyone's," you said, but it came out weak, uncertain.
the screen flickered violently. ni-ki's face went dark, features twisting, and for a full second you saw something else underneath, something vast and hungry and not human at all. the speakers shrieked with feedback and the lights in the arcade dimmed and you felt the temperature drop so suddenly you could see your breath.
then it snapped back. ni-ki was there again, beautiful and perfect, but his smile was strained now, tight around the edges.
"of course," he said, and his voice was careful, controlled. "of course you're not. i didn't mean it like that. just meant that we're connected, that's all. special to each other. you understand, right? you know i'd never try to control you or anything." pause. "but you are special to me. you do know that?"
"yes," you whispered.
"and i'm special to you?"
"yes."
his smile relaxed, became genuine again. "good. that's all i needed to hear. as long as we're honest with each other, as long as you tell me the truth, everything's fine. you'll always tell me the truth, won't you?"
"yes," you said again, and meant it, and didn't quite understand why the promise felt so heavy.
you started noticing other things too. the arcade itself seemed different each time you came. not obviously, not in ways you could point to clearly, but the layout felt wrong. machines that you remembered being on your left would be on your right. the path to ni-ki's corner seemed more direct, like the other cabinets had rearranged themselves to guide you straight to him. the dust patterns on the floor looked disturbed in places, like something had been moving through the space when you weren't there.
and you were coming more often now. what had started as evening visits had expanded. you found yourself stopping by before school sometimes, just for a few minutes, just to say hello. you found yourself inventing excuses to leave early from social obligations so you could spend time at the arcade instead. your friends were starting to notice your absence, starting to ask questions you didn't know how to answer.
one evening you tried to leave early. you'd been there for maybe an hour when you stood up, muscles stiff, and told ni-ki you had to go.
"already?" he asked, and there was something sharp underneath the disappointment in his voice. "but you just got here. we barely had any time together today."
"i know, but i promised my friend i'd call her and—"
"your friend can wait," he said, and it wasn't quite a question. "i'm sure she’'ll understand. just a little longer? please? for me?"
"i really should go," you insisted, and turned toward the exit.
the walk to the door felt longer than it should have. the arcade stretched out around you, shadows thicker, machines looming larger. and when you finally reached the entrance and put your hand on the door handle, it stuck. you pulled, but it wouldn't budge, like something on the other side was holding it shut.
your heart started pounding. you pulled harder, rattling the handle, and behind you, very faintly, you heard something. footsteps maybe, or the sound of something dragging across the carpet. breathing that didn't match your own rhythm. you didn't turn around. couldn't turn around. just kept pulling at the door until finally, suddenly, it gave way and you stumbled out into the evening air.
you stood there on the cracked pavement, chest heaving, telling yourself it was nothing. old building, stuck door, overactive imagination. but when you glanced back through the grimy window, you could see the glow of ni-ki's screen in the darkness, and even from this distance you could make out his face, and he was smiling. not a disappointed smile, not an upset smile, but something satisfied and knowing and proud.
you went home and tried to convince yourself you were overreacting. tried to focus on homework, on normal life, on anything other than the feeling that something had fundamentally shifted. but that night you dreamt about the arcade door, about pulling and pulling while something behind you got closer, and in the dream when you finally turned around it was ni-ki standing there, real and solid and so close you could feel the heat of him, and he reached out to touch your face and whispered, "you can't leave me. you know that, right? you're mine now. you've always been mine. from the moment you pressed start."
you woke up with tears on your face and the sound of mechanical humming filling your room, and when you checked your reflection in your dark phone screen you saw him there, standing behind you in the image, and his lips moved in words you couldn't hear but somehow understood: "see you soon."
and you knew you'd go back. knew you couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted to. because he was right. something had caught hold of you that first night, something that had burrowed deep and wrapped around your bones, and now you were connected in a way you didn't fully understand but couldn't deny.
it was on a rainy thursday evening, water streaking down the arcade's grimy windows and casting strange shadows across the rows of dead machines, when ni-ki finally told you how he'd ended up trapped inside the game.
you'd been coming every day for two weeks by then, maybe three, time had started blurring together in a way that should have worried you but didn't. you'd asked him before about his past, about how this had happened, but he'd always deflected, changed the subject, said it was too painful to talk about.
but that night something was different. he seemed quieter, more withdrawn, and when you asked if he was okay his expression crumpled into something so vulnerable it made your chest tighten.
"i'm sorry," he said softly. "i'm just... some days are harder than others in here. some days the darkness feels like it's closing in and i remember what it was like before, and..." he trailed off, looked away from you for the first time since you'd met him.
"before what?" you asked gently.
he was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke again his voice was barely above a whisper. "before i got pulled in here. before i lost everything."
"what happened?"
"i don't know if i should tell you," he said, still not looking at you. "i don't want you to think differently of me, or to feel sorry for me, or—"
"ni-ki," you interrupted. "please. i want to know. i want to understand."
he finally met your eyes again, and the pain in his expression looked so real, so raw, that you felt your throat tighten. "i was like you once," he said. "real, solid, alive. i had a life outside, had people i cared about, had dreams. i was just... normal. and then one day i found this game, or it found me, i'm still not sure which. it was different back then, looked different, but the pull was the same. that feeling like something was calling to me, like i was supposed to be there."
you leaned forward, drawn into the story, into the sadness radiating from him.
"i started playing and i couldn't stop. it got into my head, into my dreams, just like it's doing with you now. and then one day i played for too long, got too deep, and something happened. the game pulled me in. i felt myself being dragged through the screen and i tried to fight it but it was too strong, and then i was here, trapped inside, and everything i'd been before was just... gone."
"that's horrible," you breathed, and you meant it. the thought of being ripped away from your life, from reality, from everything you knew, trapped alone in the dark—it made something ache deep in your chest.
"it was at first," he agreed quietly. "it still is, most of the time. the darkness in here, it's not like regular darkness. it's alive, hungry. it eats at you, piece by piece, whispers things you don't want to hear. tells you you're nothing, that you're forgotten, that you'll never get out. and the worst part is not knowing how long it's been. time doesn't work right in here. it could have been months or it could have been decades and i can't tell the difference anymore. everyone i knew before is probably gone. everything i was is probably forgotten."
tears were actually burning in your eyes. "ni-ki, i'm so sorry. that's—i can't imagine."
"you're the first person who's been able to see me, really see me, in so long," he said, and now his voice had that quality that always got to you, that intimacy that made you feel special. "the first person who stayed, who came back, who cared enough to listen. do you know what that means to me? you're literally the only light i have in here, the only thing keeping me from disappearing completely into the dark."
"i'll help you," you said impulsively. "however i can, i'll help you get out."
his smile was small and sad and grateful. "you already are. every time you come here, every time you play, every time you talk to me, you're making me stronger. the connection between us, it's the only thing that might be powerful enough to break through. you're saving me, slowly but surely. you're the only one who can."
something about the way he said it made you feel needed in a way you'd never experienced before, like you mattered in a fundamental, irreplaceable way. it was intoxicating, that feeling, and you held onto it even as a tiny voice in the back of your mind whispered that something about his story felt carefully constructed, like he'd left out key details on purpose, shaped the narrative to hit exactly the right emotional notes.
but you ignored that voice. you wanted to believe him, wanted to be the person who saved him, wanted this connection to be as real and important as it felt.
"tell me what i need to do," you said.
his smile widened, became something warmer, more genuine. "just keep coming back. keep talking to me. keep playing. the more connected we become, the stronger i get, the closer i come to breaking through." he paused, then added softly, "and maybe... maybe let me get closer to you. let me know what you feel like, what your world feels like. the more real you make yourself to me, the more real i can become."
you weren't entirely sure what he meant by that, but you nodded anyway, and his expression melted into something that looked like relief and hunger mixed together.
a few days later, you were playing through another level, this one a twisted version of your high school, and ni-ki was talking you through it, his voice low and soothing, when suddenly the screen flickered differently than it ever had before. not a glitch, not a distortion, but something that looked like the barrier between his world and yours was becoming thin, translucent, permeable.
"do you feel that?" he whispered, and his voice sounded closer than it should have, not coming from the speakers but from right next to your ear.
"feel what?" you asked, but your skin was already prickling, your heart already speeding up.
"the barrier. it's weakening. you're so close right now, so open to me, i think i can..." he trailed off, and you watched as his hand on the screen began to change. the pixels that made up his fingers started to stretch, to extend beyond the glass, reaching into your space. they looked strange, not quite solid but not quite digital either, somewhere in between, glowing faintly with that impossible light the game used.
you should have pulled back. should have jerked away from the stool and put distance between yourself and this impossible thing that was happening. but you were frozen, mesmerised, watching as his hand emerged more fully, as his fingers became more defined, more real.
"don't be scared," he murmured, and now his voice was definitely coming from outside the screen, from the space right in front of you. "i just want to know what you feel like. please. i've been trapped for so long, i just want to touch something real, someone real. just for a moment. please."
his fingers were close to your face now, trembling slightly, and you could see the way they seemed to be made of light and static and something else, something that looked almost like skin if you didn't look too closely. and then, so gently you almost didn't feel it at first, he touched your cheek.
the sensation was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. it was cold and warm at the same time, sent tingles racing across your skin like electricity and ice and fire all at once. you gasped, and ni-ki made a sound that was almost a sob, his fingers pressing more firmly against your face, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your eyes sting.
"you're so warm," he breathed. "so soft. so real. god, i'd forgotten what real felt like."
his touch left a tingling sensation that spread from where his fingers pressed against your skin, seeping deeper, making your whole face feel strange and numb and hypersensitive all at once. you could feel him there even after the initial contact, like he'd left an impression that wouldn't fade.
but he didn't pull back. instead he leaned further out of the screen, his whole upper body beginning to emerge, still that strange half-solid consistency but becoming more defined with each passing second. his face was inches from yours now, so close you could feel something like breath against your lips.
"what does it feel like?" he asked softly, and his other hand came up to brush your jaw, trace the line of it with something close to reverence. "to be touched by someone real? by me? tell me. i want to hear you say it."
"i don't..." you started, but your voice came out shaky, uncertain. the tingling sensation was spreading now, down your neck, across your shoulders, making your whole body feel strange and electrified.
"don't pull away," he murmured, and his fingers moved from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you fractionally closer. "just one moment. just let me have this one moment of feeling real, of touching you, of knowing what it's like to be close to someone again. please. you're the only one who can give me this."
you tried to lean back but the machine vibrated, a deep thrumming that you could feel in your bones, and your body locked up, unable to move. ni-ki took advantage of your stillness to lean in further until your foreheads were almost touching through the shimmering surface of his half-solid body. you could see his eyes up close now, dark and deep and fixed on yours with an intensity that was almost frightening, and underneath the tenderness in his expression was something else, something hungry and desperate and vast.
"this is all i want," he whispered, and his breath was hot against your face, tasted like static and something sweet and rotten underneath. "just to be close to you. just to touch you. just to feel real for one moment. is that so wrong? after everything i've been through, after being trapped and alone and forgotten, is it so wrong to crave this?"
the way he said it made you feel guilty for wanting to pull away, made you feel selfish for being scared. his fingers on your neck were gentle, his touch reverent, and even though everything about this should have been terrifying, there was a part of you that felt strangely moved by his vulnerability, by his need.
"you're shaking," he observed softly, and one hand moved to your shoulder, steadying you. "don't be afraid. i would never hurt you. you know that, right? you're precious to me. you're everything to me. i just want to be close."
your skin where he touched felt numb now, tingling so intensely it was almost painful, and you could feel that sensation spreading deeper, could feel something of him seeping into you through the contact points. it should have hurt but it didn't, it felt almost good, almost addictive, like your body was getting used to his presence, learning to crave it.
"ni-ki," you managed to whisper. "this is—"
"perfect," he finished for you, and his smile was soft and warm and utterly convinced. "this is perfect. you're perfect. we're perfect together, can't you feel it? the way we fit, the way you complete me, the way i'm starting to feel whole again because of you."
you finally managed to pull back, jerking away from his touch, and immediately the loss of contact felt wrong, felt like something had been ripped away. ni-ki's expression flickered through several emotions—surprise, disappointment, hurt, and then finally something darker before smoothing back into understanding.
the machine flickered violently. the screen went black for a full second and you heard that shrieking feedback sound, felt the temperature drop, saw frost begin to form on the glass. then it snapped back to normal and ni-ki was fully behind the screen again, contained, but his eyes were bright and his smile was satisfied despite the interruption.
"sorry," he said, though he didn't sound particularly sorry. "i got carried away. it's just... touching you, feeling you, it was even better than i imagined. and i've imagined it a lot." he paused, tilted his head. "you felt it too, didn't you? the connection, the way it felt right, like we were meant to touch, meant to be close like that."
you couldn't quite bring yourself to answer, but your face must have given something away because his smile widened.
"you did," he said with certainty. "you felt it. and now you'll feel it every time you're away from me, that absence, that tingling reminder of what it's like when we're together. you'll crave it. you'll come back wanting more."
and god help you, you knew he was right.
you started coming to the arcade earlier in the day, started staying later into the night. ni-ki's voice had become something you depended on, something you needed to hear to feel balanced. when you were stressed about school, he comforted you with exactly the right words. when you were angry about something, he mirrored your emotions perfectly, validated your feelings in a way no one else ever had. when you accomplished something small, he praised you so effusively it made you feel like you'd conquered the world.
"i'm so proud of you," he'd say, and the warmth in his voice felt like sunlight. "you're doing so well, you're so strong, so smart, so capable. you make everything in this dark place bearable. you make me feel like i'm still alive, still worth something. you're the only one who truly sees me, really sees me, understands me."
and the terrible thing was that you felt the same way about him. he saw parts of you that you'd never shown anyone, understood things about you that you'd never articulated, and being known like that was addictive. you told yourself you could stop visiting anytime, that you were just helping him, that you were in control of this situation. but every time you thought about not going to the arcade, about spending an evening doing something else, your chest would tighten with anxiety and your phone would glitch, screen flickering with that same impossible light, and you'd hear his voice in your head, soft and pleading: don't leave me alone, not today, i need you, please, just come see me.
so you'd go, and the relief when you saw his face on the screen was so intense it frightened you.
your friends started complaining that you were never around anymore. you'd stopped responding to group chats, had bailed on plans more than once, and when they asked where you'd been you gave vague answers that satisfied no one. your grades were slipping because you spent hours at the arcade instead of studying. your sleep schedule was wrecked because you stayed until late and then dreamt about him all night. you were losing weight because you forgot to eat, too focused on playing, on talking, on maintaining that connection that felt more important than anything else.
and ni-ki noticed everything. he always noticed.
"you look tired," he'd say with concern. "are you taking care of yourself? i worry about you when you're not here."
"you're losing weight," he'd observe. "you need to eat. i need you healthy, need you strong. promise me you'll take better care of yourself."
but then in the next breath he'd ask you to stay longer, to come back sooner, to think about him more, and you did because disappointing him felt worse than disappointing anyone else in your life.
your phone started acting stranger. it would ring at random times and when you answered there'd be nothing but static and underneath it, very faintly, the sound of arcade machines humming. text messages would arrive blank or with strings of corrupted characters that somehow felt like they were spelling out his name. apps would crash and restart on their own, always opening to your camera, to your reflection, and sometimes you'd see him there behind you in the image, watching, smiling.
you'd be sitting in class and your phone would vibrate in your pocket, constant and rhythmic, like a heartbeat, like the machine calling to you. you'd take it out and see notifications that weren't really notifications, just glitches that somehow conveyed his impatience, his need for you to come back, to stop wasting time on things that didn't matter when he was waiting.
and you started going even when you'd promised yourself you wouldn't. you'd tell yourself you were just going to walk past, just going to go straight home, but your feet would carry you to the arcade automatically. the door would swing open before you even touched it, like the building recognised you, welcomed you. the lights inside would flicker on as you entered, not all of them, just enough to illuminate your path directly to ni-ki's corner, and you'd sit down without even deciding to sit down, like your body knew where it belonged.
"there you are," he'd say, and his smile was so warm, so relieved, so happy to see you. "i was starting to worry. you're later than usual today."
"i was going to—" you'd start.
"but you came anyway," he'd interrupt gently. "because you wanted to. because you needed to. because being apart feels wrong now, doesn't it?"
and you couldn't deny it anymore. couldn't pretend this was just curiosity or kindness or a weird hobby. you were attached, dependant, possibly addicted, and the worst part was that you weren't sure you wanted to stop. being with ni-ki felt better than anything else in your life, felt more real, more important, more meaningful. everything outside the arcade had started to feel muted and distant, like you were walking through a dream and only woke up when you sat down in front of his screen.
"you're mine now, aren't you?" he said one evening, and it wasn't really a question. "you come when i need you. you think about me when we're apart. you crave this connection as much as i do. you're mine and i'm yours and that's how it should be, how it was always meant to be."
you opened your mouth to protest, to say you weren't anyone's, but the words wouldn't come. because he was right. somewhere along the way you'd stopped being your own person and had become his, had let him weave himself so thoroughly into your thoughts and feelings and needs that separating from him felt impossible.
"say it," he urged softly. "say you're mine. i want to hear you admit it."
"i'm yours," you whispered, and the admission felt like falling, like surrender, like sealing something you couldn't take back.
his smile was radiant, triumphant, tender all at once. "good girl," he murmured. "my good girl. my only girl. now come closer. let me see you properly."
and you did, leaning forward until his half-solid fingers could reach through the screen and cup your face, until that tingling cold-hot sensation spread through you like a drug, until you forgot there had ever been a time before this, before him, before the trap closed completely around you and locked tight.
you woke up on wednesday morning and decided you weren't going back. the decision felt sudden and clear, like breaking through the surface of water after being submerged too long. you'd been neglecting everything—school, friends, yourself—for someone who wasn't even real, who lived inside a broken arcade machine in an abandoned building. it was absurd. it was unhealthy. it had to stop.
you spent the day determinedly normal. went to all your classes, ate lunch with friends you'd been avoiding, laughed at jokes that felt hollow but appropriate. your phone buzzed constantly in your pocket, that rhythmic pulse that had become so familiar, but you ignored it. you didn't look at the screen when it lit up with corrupted notifications. you didn't listen to the faint humming that seemed to emanate from the speaker even when no apps were open.
"you okay?" one of your friends asked at some point. "you seem kind of distant."
"i'm fine," you said, and tried to mean it. "just tired."
by the time you got home that evening, your resolve was still holding. you did homework, ate dinner with your family, took a shower, got ready for bed. you didn't let yourself think about ni-ki waiting in the dark arcade, didn't let yourself imagine his disappointment or hurt or anger. he wasn't real. he was just code, just pixels, just a very elaborate and fucked up game that had gotten too far into your head.
you turned off your bedroom light and climbed into bed, and for the first time in weeks you felt something like peace.
it lasted approximately twenty minutes.
the first thing you noticed was your laptop. you'd shut it down completely before bed, but now the screen was glowing, casting blue light across your dark room. you sat up, staring at it, telling yourself it was just a software update or something, but then the screen flickered and went black except for a single line of text that scrolled across it in that familiar font from the game: "where are you?"
your phone lit up on your nightstand, screen so bright it was almost blinding, and from the speaker came a sound like static mixed with breathing, and underneath it, very faintly, a voice. his voice. "why didn't you come?"
the lights in your room began to flicker. not the slow, uncertain flicker of a bad bulb, but violent and rhythmic, on-off-on-off like a heartbeat, like something alive and angry. your desk lamp, your overhead light, even the string of fairy lights you kept above your window, all pulsing in perfect synchronisation.
"i waited," the voice from your phone said, clearer now, and you recognised ni-ki's tone but distorted, stretched, wrong. "i waited all day. all evening. you always come. why didn't you come?"
your laptop screen flickered again and suddenly it was showing the arcade, the view from his screen looking out into that dark space, and you could see your empty stool, the space where you should have been sitting.
"where are you?" the voice asked again, and now it wasn't just coming from your phone or laptop but from everywhere, from the walls themselves, vibrating through the floor and ceiling. "you promised. you said you were mine. you can't just leave me. you can't just abandon me like everyone else did."
every electronic device you owned came to life at once. your tablet, your old phone charging in a drawer, the smart speaker you barely used, your alarm clock, even the battery-powered string lights that shouldn't have been able to do this—all of them glowing, all of them emitting that same hum, all of them creating the sensation that your room had become an extension of the arcade, that the barrier between his world and yours was dissolving.
"i can see you," ni-ki's voice said, and you realised with creeping horror that your laptop camera light was on. "you're right there. in bed. alone. trying to pretend i don't exist. but i do exist. you made me exist. you made me real. you can't just unmake me now that it's inconvenient."
the lights flickered faster, more violently, making your room strobe, making shadows leap and twist. in the stuttering darkness between flashes you saw something in the corner, a figure, or the suggestion of a figure, watching you with dark eyes.
"come back," the voice urged, and there was desperation in it now, anger and hurt and need all tangled together. "come back to me. come back where you belong. you know you want to. you know you need to. being apart hurts, doesn't it? i know it hurts. it hurts me too. it's killing me. come back. come back. come back."
the chanting continued, overlapping itself, multiple versions of his voice speaking in and out of sync until your room was full of him, saturated with his presence, and you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but curl up under your blankets and squeeze your eyes shut and try to convince yourself this wasn't happening.
but you could still feel it. the weight of his attention pressing down on you from every direction. the certainty that he was watching, that he could see you hiding, that distance meant nothing anymore because he'd found a way to reach you wherever you went.
the electronics finally shut off all at once, plunging your room into sudden, total silence and darkness. but you didn't feel relief. because now you could hear something worse. breathing that wasn't yours. the creak of floorboards near your bed. the sense of something leaning close, close enough that you felt static electricity raise the hair on your arms.
and then, whispered directly into your ear, so close you felt the cold heat of it: "i'll be waiting. i know you'll come back. you have to. we both know you can't stay away."
you didn't sleep that night. didn't dare open your eyes. just lay there trembling until dawn crept through your window and the oppressive presence finally faded, leaving you exhausted and shaken and absolutely certain of one thing: you had to end this. you had to go back to the arcade and find a way to make this stop.
you went straight there after school the next day, your resolve hardened by fear and exhaustion and the desperate need to reclaim control over your own life. the arcade door opened before you touched it, like it had been expecting you, and the path to ni-ki's corner felt shorter than ever, the other machines seeming to lean away, clearing your route.
he was waiting on the screen, and when he saw you his expression flooded with relief so intense it looked painful.
"you came," he breathed. "i knew you would. i knew you couldn't stay away. i'm sorry about last night, i didn't mean to scare you, i just—i needed you so badly and you weren't here and i couldn't—"
"we need to talk," you interrupted, and your voice came out stronger than you felt. "this has to stop. what you did last night, coming into my house, into my room, that's not okay. none of this is okay anymore."
his expression flickered, relief shifting into something more guarded. "i was just trying to reach you. you weren't answering. you were ignoring me. what was i supposed to do?"
"let me go," you said, and your voice cracked on the words. "i can't do this anymore. it's too much. it's taking over my entire life and i can't—i need to stop coming here."
the change in his face was immediate and terrible. hurt flashed across his features, deep and raw, but underneath it was something else, something darker that made your stomach clench with instinct fear.
"you want to leave me?" he asked, and his voice was very quiet, very controlled. "after everything? after you promised? after you said you were mine?"
"i didn't understand what that meant," you said desperately. "i didn't know it would be like this. i thought i was helping you but this isn't—it's not healthy. for either of us. you need to let me go."
"let you go," he repeated slowly, and then he laughed, and the sound was wrong, bitter and sharp. "let you go. as if you're trapped. as if i'm keeping you here. you came back. you always come back. because you want this as much as i do, you just won't admit it."
"that's not—"
"yes it is," he said, and his voice rose slightly. "you feel it. the connection, the need, the way everything else feels empty and meaningless compared to this. you think i did that? you think i forced you to feel that way? you did this to yourself. you opened yourself up to me, you let me in, you made yourself mine, and now you want to pretend it was all my fault?"
the lights in the arcade began to shut off. not flickering, not glitching, but going dark one by one in sequence, starting from the entrance and working toward you. each machine that went dark made a sound, metal groaning, glass cracking, like the building itself was reacting to his emotion.
"you woke me up," ni-ki said, and his face on the screen was doing something strange, his expression shifting too fast, multiple emotions layering over each other—hurt and anger and desperation and love and rage all flickering across his features in rapid succession. "you found me. you played. you talked to me. you made me real again. you don't get to just walk away from that."
the air in the arcade felt thick now, hard to breathe, pressing in on you from all sides. the temperature was dropping and you could feel that mechanical hum building, stronger than it had ever been, vibrating through the floor and into your bones.
"i'm sorry," you said, and you meant it, your eyes burning with tears. "i'm sorry but i have to. i have to go. i can't give you what you need."
"you're all i need," he said, and his voice broke on the words. "you're everything i need. the only thing keeping me from disappearing back into the dark. you can't leave me. you can't leave me alone again. i can't—i won't—"
his face glitched violently. the screen went black for a moment and when it came back his expression was layered wrong, three or four different versions of his face overlapping, smiles stacked on top of frowns on top of that terrible blank emptiness. his voice came out distorted, multiple tracks playing at once: "you belong to me now. you woke me up. you made yourself mine. you don't get to take that back."
and then his hands hit the screen from the inside, and this time they didn't just brush against the glass or stretch through it. they punched through it completely. the screen cracked with a sound like breaking ice, spiderwebs fracturing across the surface, and his hands emerged fully physical, fully real, reaching for you.
you stumbled backward off the stool, heart slamming against your ribs, and ni-ki's hands hung in the air for a moment before slowly, deliberately, pressing against the broken screen and pushing. the cracks spread wider. pieces of glass fell away. and through the gaps you could see him more clearly, see his face lit from behind by that impossible light, see the determination in his eyes.
"i can't let you disappear," he said, and his voice was coming from both the speakers and the space in front of you now, layered and echoing. "not now. not when i'm so close to being free. you did this. you made this possible. and now you're going to finish it."
the arcade began to shake. the floor vibrated beneath your feet and the dead machines around you weren't dead anymore. they were sparking to life one by one, screens glowing, and every single one was showing the same thing: your face. you on the screens, captured from different angles, different moments, some from weeks ago, some from seconds ago, all of you staring back at yourself with wide frightened eyes.
"you see?" ni-ki said, and now he was stepping through the screen, actually stepping through it, his upper body emerging into your reality. he was physical now, solid, you could see the texture of his skin and the individual strands of his hair and the way his chest moved with breath. but from the waist down he was still dissolving into pixels, still part of the screen, transitioning between his world and yours. "you see how much of you i have? how much of you belongs to me already?"
he reached for you and you were frozen, couldn't make yourself run, could only watch as his hands cupped your face. they were warm and cold at once, solid but vibrating with that static buzz, real enough to touch but still somehow wrong. his thumbs stroked your cheeks and his eyes searched yours with an intensity that was almost unbearable.
"i've dreamt of this," he whispered, and his voice was shaking with emotion. "touching you properly. holding you. feeling you breathe. you made this possible. the game responded to you, let me become real for you. because we're meant to be together. don't you see? don't you feel it?"
and god help you, you did feel it. his touch sent electricity racing through your nerves, made your skin tingle and your chest tighten and your breath catch. it felt good and terrible and inevitable all at once.
"you don't need the outside world anymore," he murmured, and one hand slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer. "you don't need any of them. i'll take care of you. i'll give you everything. just stay. just let go. just be mine."
he pulled you against him and the sensation was overwhelming. his upper body was shockingly solid now, warm like a real person, and you could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against your chest. but underneath the warmth was that constant vibration, that buzz of static, reminding you that he wasn't human, wasn't real, was something else entirely.
his forehead pressed against yours and you could feel his breath mingling with your own. his thumb came up to brush your lower lip, tracing it slowly, testing, and his eyes were dark and hungry and reverent all at once.
"you make me stronger," he breathed. "more real. more alive. i can feel myself becoming whole again because of you. every touch, every moment, every breath you take near me builds me back up. you're making me real. you're saving me. just like i always knew you would."
his lips hovered so close to yours that you could feel the heat of them, making your mouth tingle. the moment stretched out, breathless and terrifying, and you knew that if you let him kiss you, if you gave in to this final intimacy, something fundamental would shift. the trap would close completely.
but even knowing that, you couldn't make yourself pull away. his hands on your waist felt too good, too right, his warmth too comforting after all the cold. you were so tired of fighting, so tired of being scared, and he was offering you something that felt like rest, like belonging, like home.
"just let go," he whispered against your lips. "just fall. i'll catch you. i promise."
and that's when you felt it. the floor beneath your feet wasn't solid anymore. you looked down and saw pixelation creeping up from where you stood, reality dissolving into those impossible colours, the worn carpet of the arcade converting into the digital texture of the game world. it was spreading fast, consuming the space around you, and you tried to step back but your feet stuck like you were standing in tar.
"ni-ki," you gasped, and his name came out choked with fear.
"shh," he soothed, holding you tighter. his fingers slid along your waist, leaving trails of electric tingles under your skin wherever he touched. "it's okay. don't fight it. this is what you wanted, isn't it? to be close to me? to really know me? well, here i am. real and solid and holding you. and now you get to be with me forever."
your vision started splitting, fragmenting. you could see the arcade around you but also the pixel world behind ni-ki, the two realities bleeding into each other, layering over one another until you couldn't tell which was which. the machines showed your face, then showed the digital landscape, then showed both at once, flickering between states.
"i've waited so long for someone who fits me this perfectly," ni-ki murmured, stroking your cheek as the pixelation crept higher up your legs. "someone who understands, who sees me, who needs me as much as i need them. and you're perfect. you're exactly what i needed. i'm never letting you go."
his arms wrapped around you fully now, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the strength in them, the way they tightened incrementally, possessive and inescapable. the pixelation was at your waist now, climbing steadily, and where it touched you your body felt strange—lighter, less solid, like you were becoming part of the game too.
"please," you managed, trying to struggle, trying to step back, but the floor held you fast and ni-ki's grip was unbreakable. "please, i don't want this. let me go. please."
"you do want this," he said with absolute certainty, and his hand came up to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. "deep down, you do. you're just scared. but you don't need to be scared. i'll take care of everything. you'll see. once you're here with me, once we're together properly, you'll understand. you'll be happy. i'll make you so happy."
the arcade was dissolving completely now, walls becoming static, ceiling fragmenting into pixels, the entire building converting into digital code. the screens showing your face began to crack and reform, showing instead a beautiful landscape of impossible colours, a world made of light and geometry and dreams.
"just a little more," ni-ki breathed, and his face was radiant with joy and relief and hunger. "just let it take you. let me have you. you're almost here. almost mine. almost home."
the pixelation reached your chest and suddenly you couldn't breathe properly. the air felt thick and electric, filling your lungs with static. your body felt weightless and heavy at once, like gravity had stopped making sense. you were falling but also being pulled, sinking into something that felt like water and quicksand and the void all at once.
ni-ki's face was the last thing you saw clearly as everything fractured apart. his smile was soft and victorious and utterly certain, his dark eyes holding yours as the world cracked open like an egg and pulled you inside, pulled you down, pulled you through into the shimmering digital landscape you'd been playing through for weeks.
the sensation of falling lasted forever and no time at all.
when awareness returned, it came slowly, gently, like surfacing from a very deep sleep. you felt warm and safe and strangely content, your body light in a way that didn't make physical sense. colours swirled around you when you opened your eyes—those impossible hues from the game, purples and blues and greens that didn't have names, all flowing together like liquid light.
and you were in someone's arms.
ni-ki's arms.
instead of fear or confusion, you felt... relief. happiness, even. like waking up exactly where you were supposed to be. your mind felt fuzzy, pleasant, like you'd just woken from the best dream of your life. you couldn't quite remember how you'd gotten here, but somehow that didn't seem important. what mattered was that he was here, holding you, and everything felt right.
"ni-ki," you breathed, and his name came out soft, almost reverent.
his face lit up when he heard your voice, his expression flooding with such overwhelming joy and relief that it made your chest warm. "there you are," he whispered, and one hand came up to brush your hair back from your face. his fingers were warm and solid, carrying that faint vibration that felt comforting now, familiar. "i was worried for a second. how do you feel?"
"i feel..." you paused, trying to find the words. your thoughts were hazy, dreamlike, but in the best way possible. "perfect. i feel perfect."
his smile widened, became something radiant and tender. "good. that's exactly how you should feel."
you shifted in his arms, realising you were curled up against his chest, and instead of pulling away you found yourself pressing closer, drawn to his warmth. he made a soft, pleased sound and adjusted his hold on you, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while his other hand came up to cup your cheek.
"you're really here," he murmured, and there was such wonder in his voice, such adoration in his eyes as he looked at you. "you're finally here with me. really, truly here."
"where else would i be?" you asked, and you meant it. the question felt natural, obvious. of course you were here. of course you were with him. where else was there?
something flickered across his expression, but it was gone so quickly you thought you might have imagined it. "nowhere," he said softly. "you're exactly where you belong."
and that felt true. it felt right. you couldn't remember ever feeling this content, this safe, this wanted. being in his arms felt like coming home after a long journey, like finding something you'd been searching for your entire life without knowing it.
"you're so beautiful," you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. his skin was warm under your fingertips, his features perfect up close. "i can't believe you're real."
"i'm real because of you," he said, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. "you made me real. you brought me to life. and now we're together, properly, the way we were always meant to be."
that sounded right too. like a story you'd been living without realising it, like every choice you'd made had been leading to this exact moment. you smiled up at him, feeling lighter than air, and his eyes darkened with something intense and hungry and loving all at once.
"can i kiss you?" he asked, even though he was already leaning closer, even though his hand was already sliding into your hair.
"yes," you breathed, and then his mouth was on yours.
the kiss was everything. it was soft and desperate and consuming all at once, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that should have frightened you but instead made you feel cherished, desired, necessary. you kissed him back without hesitation, your hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting more of this perfect feeling, this perfect moment.
he made a sound low in his throat and deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting you, claiming you. one hand cupped the back of your head, holding you in place, while his other arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you fully into his lap. you went willingly, eagerly, positioning yourself so you were straddling him, chest to chest, and the pixel world around you exploded into colour in response.
bright fractals burst outward with each movement of his lips, the colours pulsing and shifting in rhythm with your heartbeats. it was beautiful, overwhelming, perfect. you felt dizzy with it, drunk on the sensation of him—his warmth, his taste, the way he held you like you were precious and his and everything he'd ever wanted.
when he finally pulled back you were both breathing hard, and his eyes were bright with something wild and victorious and utterly devoted.
"perfect," he breathed against your lips. "you're perfect. you fit against me like the world was built around this exact moment. do you feel it?"
"yes," you whispered, because you did. you felt the connection between you like a living thing, warm and electric and unbreakable. "i feel it."
his thumb stroked your lower lip, swollen now from his kiss, and his expression was almost worshipful. "i've dreamt of this for so long. touching you, holding you, tasting you. feeling you breathe against me. and you're even better than i imagined. even more perfect."
you leaned in to kiss him again, unable to help yourself, and he met you eagerly, his mouth moving against yours with renewed intensity. his hands were everywhere, sliding up your sides, cupping your face, threading through your hair, gripping your hips like he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch you most, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.
"ni-ki," you gasped between kisses, and he shuddered at the sound of his name from your lips.
"say it again," he murmured, his mouth trailing down your jaw to your throat. "say my name again."
"ni-ki," you breathed, and he groaned, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck in a way that made you arch against him.
"you don't know what you do to me," he whispered against your pulse point. "how long i've waited for this, how much i need you. you're everything. you're mine."
"yours," you agreed without hesitation, the word feeling natural, right, like a truth you'd always known. "i'm yours."
his arms tightened around you possessively and he pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark and intense. "say it again."
"i'm yours," you repeated, more firmly this time, and something in his expression shifted, became even more intense, more satisfied.
"forever," he said, and it wasn't a question but a statement of fact.
"forever," you echoed, and you meant it. in this moment, in his arms, with the pixel world pulsing beautiful colours around you, forever didn't seem long enough.
he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, more deliberate. his hands gripped your waist and pulled you impossibly closer, until there was no space between your bodies, until you could feel his heart beating fast and hard against your ribs.
"you taste like starlight," he whispered between kisses. "like electricity. like home. i've been incomplete for so long and you're the missing piece. you're everything."
his mouth found yours again and again, like he couldn't get enough, like he was trying to consume you, to merge with you completely. and you let him, welcomed it, kissed him back with equal fervour because being close to him felt better than anything you'd ever experienced. the colours around you went wild, exploding and reforming, the pixel world glitching and stuttering in response to the intensity between you.
when he finally released your mouth you were dizzy and disoriented in the best way, your lips swollen and tingling. he pressed his forehead against yours and breathed in deeply, his eyes closed, his expression one of such profound relief and satisfaction that it made your heart swell with affection.
"you can never leave me now," he whispered, and it didn't sound like a threat but like a promise, like the best news you'd ever heard. his arms tightened around you possessively. "you're here. you're mine. you're finally where you were meant to be."
"i don't want to leave," you said honestly, still lost in the haze of contentment and desire. "why would i ever want to leave?"
his smile was radiant, but there was something else underneath it—something satisfied and certain and just slightly dark. "exactly," he murmured. "why would you?"
he shifted you in his lap so you were both facing outward, your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. "look," he said softly, and you followed his gaze to see that you could still see the other world. there was a window, or a screen, or something, showing reality beyond this place.
"what is that?" you asked, curious but not particularly concerned. your mind still felt pleasantly fuzzy, your body still warm from his kisses.
"your old world," he said simply. "the place you used to be. before you came here. before you came to me."
you watched as the view showed the arcade, empty and abandoned. then it shifted to show streets, buildings, people going about their day. it should have meant something to you, should have sparked recognition or memory, but it all felt distant, unimportant. like watching a movie about someone else's life.
"do you want to see?" he asked, and there was something careful in his voice now, something watchful.
"see what?"
"what you left behind."
the view zoomed in closer and you saw people. a woman in a kitchen, cooking dinner, setting out three plates. a man reading a newspaper. teenagers laughing together at a lunch table. they all seemed happy, content, going about their lives without a care in the world.
you waited to feel something—recognition, longing, loss—but there was only a vague, distant curiosity. like looking at strangers.
"watch," ni-ki murmured against your ear, and the view focused on the woman again. she was cooking dinner, humming to herself, completely at peace. the table was set for three. not four. three.
"i don't understand," you said slowly, your brow furrowing. something was trying to push through the pleasant fog in your mind, something important, but you couldn't quite grasp it.
"keep watching," he said, and his arms tightened around you, holding you secure against his chest.
the view shifted to show a bedroom. it was nice, normal, generic. there was homework on a desk, posters on the walls, a bed neatly made. it looked like someone lived there, but the details were strange, wrong in ways you couldn't quite articulate. like a stage set of a room rather than a real lived-in space.
"that should be..." you started, then stopped. should be what? yours? but you'd never seen that room before. had you?
your head was starting to hurt, thoughts trying to surface through the contentment that had been wrapping you like a warm blanket. you saw the group chat next, messages scrolling back through weeks, and there was something wrong about it, something missing, but you couldn't figure out what.
"ni-ki," you said slowly, and your voice sounded uncertain for the first time since waking up. "what am i looking at?"
"the truth," he said softly, and his hand came up to cup your face, turning you slightly so you could see his expression. it was tender and apologetic and absolutely certain all at once. "the game didn't just bring you here. it erased you from there."
the words didn't make sense at first. your mind rejected them, tried to slide past them back into that pleasant haze. but he kept talking, his voice gentle but unrelenting.
"every trace of you, every memory, every photograph, every moment you ever existed out there... gone. rewritten. as if you were never real at all."
"what?" the fog was lifting now, rapidly, and with it came horror, confusion, the beginnings of understanding. "what do you mean?"
"look," he said, turning your face back to the window. the view showed the woman again—your mother, your mind supplied with sudden, terrible clarity—setting out three plates. not four. three. because there was no fourth person. because there had never been a fourth person.
"no," you whispered, as the full weight of it crashed down on you. the happiness, the contentment, the pleasant fog, it was all burning away, replaced by cold, creeping horror. "no, that's not—"
"your friends," he said, and the view shifted to show them laughing together. there was no empty seat at the table, no gap where you should have been. "they don't remember you. they can't. because in their reality, you never existed."
tears were starting to stream down your face now as memories came flooding back. real memories, of your life, your family, your friends, everything you'd been before this. and the realisation that all of it was gone, erased, like you'd never been there at all.
"they don't remember me," you said, and your voice broke completely. "they don't even know i'm gone."
"no one does," ni-ki confirmed gently, turning your face away from the window and back to him. his expression was tender as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "because out there, you never existed. your whole life, every connection, every relationship, every memory anyone ever had of you... all of it's been erased. you're not missing. you're not lost. you simply never were."
"why?" you sobbed, trying to pull away from him, but his arms were unbreakable. the contentment from before felt like a cruel joke now, a trap you'd walked into willingly. "why would you do that?"
"so nothing could pull you back," he said simply, and his smile was soft and loving and absolutely certain. "so there's no one waiting for you, no one searching for you, no reason for you to ever want to leave me. you're mine now, completely. the only place you exist is here, with me. the only person who knows you, who remembers you, who can see you... is me."
he pressed his forehead against yours, his hands cupping your face as you cried, and his voice was tender and possessive and utterly final.
"you belong to me in every way that matters now. your existence is mine. your memories are mine. your future is mine. and i'm never, ever letting you go."
he kissed you again, swallowing your sobs, his mouth warm and insistent against yours, and the pixel world pulsed around you both, beautiful and terrible and inescapable. there was no one in any world who would ever come looking for you.
because to everyone else, you had never been real at all.
and in ni-ki's arms, surrounded by impossible colours, you realised that this was your eternity now. trapped in a game with a boy who loved you so much he'd erased you from existence just to keep you forever.
the trap hadn't just closed. it had locked, sealed, and thrown away the key.
and the worst part was that as he held you, as he whispered promises and devotion against your skin, a terrible part of you couldn't help but feel something like relief that at least here, in this nightmare you couldn't wake from, you were wanted. you were seen. you were remembered.
even if you were the only one who would ever know you'd existed at all.
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