#loser

You never planned on falling this hard for someone like Ni-ki.

He was the guy who sat three rows behind you in Advanced Calculus, always doodling mech designs in the margins of his notes, earphones in, hood up even indoors. The kind of boy people called “cute in a pathetic way” when they thought he couldn’t hear. You were the one everyone noticed — confident, sharp tongue, the kind of pretty that made people stare a second too long.

Yet here you were, three months into whatever this was, heart doing stupid flips every time he pushed his glasses up and gave you that small, crooked smile like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

Tonight started innocently enough.

You’d dragged him back to your dorm after he spent the entire study session quietly losing his mind because you kept brushing your leg against his under the library table (accidentally¿)but he wasn't having any of that. The second the door clicked shut he was on you — not rough, never rough with you — but desperate. Hands trembling as they slid under your shirt, mouth clumsy and hot against your neck fondling and squeezing the squishy fat of ur breasts through the thin materialof your top.

“Fuck… I thought about this all day,” he mumbled, voice already hoarse trailing hot kisses from neck to ur shoulders.“You in that skirt… sitting there like you weren’t trying to kill me.”

You laughed softly, tugging his hoodie off. “You’re such a loser, Riki.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, pushing you gently onto the bed, “but I’m your loser.”

Clothes came off in a messy trail. His long fingers — the same ones that could code for eight hours straight without breaking — traced every inch of you like he was memorizing a new map. When he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep, both of you let out shaky sounds that didn’t even sound human.

He bottomed out and stilled, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“God… you feel— you always feel so fucking perfect,” he whispered. His voice cracked a little. “Like… like you were made exactly for me. I don’t deserve this. I don’t —”

“Riki,” you cut him off gently, cupping his face. His glasses were slightly fogged. “Shut up and move.”

He let out a broken laugh, moving painfully slow.The first few thrusts were careful, almost reverent. Then something shifted. His hips snapped harder, the shy nerd melting away as he found that spot that made your back arch clean off the bed.

“You’re so tight… every time, fuck” he groaned, voice dropping lower. “It’s like you’re trying to keep me inside forever. Physics doesn’t even explain this— how you can feel this good. I swear I could stay here for hours.”

You moaned his name, nails digging into his shoulders. He was big — unfairly so for someone who looked like he’d never seen a gym — and he knew exactly how to use every inch once he stopped overthinking.

He hooked one of your legs higher, angling deeper, and suddenly the rambling started for real.

“Remember that scene in Neon Genesis where— fuck— where Shinji finally stops running? That’s how I feel when I’m inside you. Like everything else disappears and it’s just… this. Just us.” His thrusts grew messier, more urgent. “I love you. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. Like what if you wake up one day and realize you could do so much better than some dork who builds Gundam models at 3 a.m.?”

Tears pricked your eyes — not from the overwhelming pleasure (though that was definitely part of it), but from the raw honesty in his voice. He always got like this when he was close: vulnerable and filthy at the same time.

“Riki… baby, stop saying nonsense and look at me.”

He did, dark eyes glassy behind his crooked glasses, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“I chose you,” you gasped between moans. “I want you. The nerd who explains orbital mechanics during foreplay. The one who blushes when I call him pretty boy . All of you.”

That seemed to snap something in him.

His pace turned punishing in the best way, one hand sliding between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit while he drove into you. The wet sounds filled the small room, mixed with his low, broken whimpers and your desperate cries.

“You’re gonna cum for me, right?” he panted, voice wrecked. “Please— I need to feel it. Need to feel you squeezing me while I’m still inside you. I want to fill you up so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow when you’re sitting in lecture pretending you’re not thinking about this.”

You came hard, vision whiting out, thighs shaking around his waist. He followed right after with a choked moan of your name, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, hot and endless.

But he didn’t pull out.

Instead he collapsed carefully on top of you, still buried to the hilt, arms wrapping around your waist like you might disappear if he let go. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, breathing ragged.

You could feel him twitching inside you, oversensitive and spent, yet he stayed there, cockwarming you through the aftershocks.

“Stay like this… just a little longer,” he whispered, voice small again. “I like feeling close. Like I’m still part of you.”

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

He let out a quiet, shy laugh against your skin, then mumbled, “You know… if we calculate the average time it takes for my heart rate to return to normal after you wreck me like that, it’s statistically impossible because it never really does. Not when it’s you.”

You smiled, heart so full it almost hurt.

“Shut up, Riki.”

“Make me.”

So you kissed him again — slow, deep, full of everything neither of you could quite say out loud yet.

And in the quiet glow of your desk lamp, with his long body draped over yours and his heartbeat steady against your chest, the rest of the world and all its confusion about how you two fit together faded away.

He was yours.

Loser glasses, rambling mouth, and all.