click here for pt.1 — You're married to one of the biggest yakuza bosses. It seems perfect, it’s all luxury, loyalty and love. Until a violent night makes you wonder if living this life was the right choice to make…
🍸pairing: yakuzahusband!riki x yakuzawife!reader
contains: fluff violence (beating, gun use) weapons side character death blood hurt/comfort physical assault soft riki protective riki ⚔︎
🗯️ vaeh’s note: thank you all for the love on part one! forgive me for the cliffhanger in part one guys I had no choice but to split it up bc of tumblrs block limit💔 I hope u enjoy the second part aswell!
⊹
A gunshot fires.
It’s not Riki.
It’s one of Kaizen’s men firing.
The shot hits one of Riki’s men, he jerks back with a sharp shout, hand flying to his side as blood starts soaking through his shirt.
“Fuck—!”
That’s it. That’s the moment everything spikes.
The man who fired gets tackled immediately, slammed into the ground, gun skidding across the floor.
Riki stands in front of Kaizen. Still tied to the chair. Face wrecked. Breathing heavy. But still shaking his head.
“I told you,” Kaizen spits, voice rough, blood dripping from his mouth. “We don’t have it.”
Riki lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
“You’re still going with that?”
“I’m not lying—”
“Don’t,” Riki cuts him off sharply, stepping closer. “Don’t even try that shit with me.”
“You borrowed millions,” he continues, voice low but deadly. “You built everything in here with my money.”
Kaizen breathes hard. “I said I’ll pay you back—”
“When?!” Riki snaps.
Silence. Riki’s expression darkens instantly.
“When, Kaizen?”
“I need more time—”
“You don’t get more time. We had a deal, you broke it.”
“That’s not enough time for that amount—!”
Riki scoffs, dragging a hand over his face for a second before stepping even closer, right into Kaizen’s space.
“You think I care?” he says. “You think I gave you that money out of kindness?”
Kaizen’s jaw tightens.
“I told you I’ll pay you—”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Another crash behind them. The man who got shot is being dragged back, someone pressing hard against his wound to stop the bleeding.
“Stay with me, man— stay with me—”
“Fuck. I— I can't... breathe.”
Riki sees it and something in him snaps. He turns back to Kaizen slowly.
“You’re costing me people now.”
Kaizen swallows.
“I didn’t tell him to shoot—”
“You brought them here.”
Then Riki leans in slightly, speaking into Kaizens ear.
“If you don’t tell me where the money is,” he says quietly, “I’m going to kill you.”
“You think I won’t?” Riki adds.
Kaizen laughs weakly again, but there’s no confidence left in it.
“You kill me and you get nothing.”
Riki tilts his head.
“A life is worth more than money.”
Kaizen’s breathing picks up. “You don’t even believe that—”
“I believe in making examples.”
Riki’s voice drops even lower. “You’ve got two daughters in the next room.”
Kaizen’s eyes widen instantly.
“Don’t—”
“If you don’t start talking,” Riki continues, cutting him off, “they’re going to grow up without a father.”
“Fuck you!”
“You think I’m bluffing?”
“You wouldn’t—”
“I would. Tell me where the money is.”
Kaizen shakes his head again.
“I don’t have it— I swear Riki, I don’t have it—!”
Riki stares at him. Waiting. Nothing changes.
Riki exhales slowly, then reaches for his gun. He steps closer until the cold metal presses against Kaizen’s forehead.
Kaizen immediately starts shaking his head, panic taking over completely.
“Stop— stop, don’t—!” his voice cracks, breath uneven. “I told you— I don’t have it—!”
Riki doesn’t respond. His eyes are locked on him, but there’s something off now. The shouting around them fades into the background. The adrenaline and rage blurs every rational thought.
“Please—!” Kaizen chokes out. “I don’t have it, I swear—!”
“Then you’re useless,” Riki mutters.
Kaizen starts yelling now.
“PLEASE— MY DAUGHTERS RIKI! DON’T SHOOT!”
Then Kenji turns his head, sees Riki's gun pressed against Kaizen's forehead and his voice urgently cuts through everything.
Kaizen’s head drops forward. Blood starts spilling down, dripping onto the concrete beneath him.
No one moves. No one speaks. Just the ringing echo of the gunshot still hanging in the air. Riki stands there like even he didn’t fully process what he just did.
A few seconds pass. Then reality hits everyone else.
“Fuck—”
“We need to go— now—”
“That wasn’t the plan, boss?”
“Move—!”
Riki’s men snap back into motion all at once, dropping whatever they’re doing, grabbing weapons, dragging their injured with them.
It’s all panic and urgency. This wasn’t supposed to happen, killing him changes everything.
In the other room, you hear it too. The shot. It sounds through the walls like it’s right next to you. Your body goes still.
“…fuck,” you whisper under your breath.
The girls don’t wake. You move carefully, gently shifting the younger one off your shoulder, lowering her onto the couch without disturbing her.
Your heart is already racing. You stand up and alk to the door. You open it slowly and the moment you step out—
Kaizen. Limp in the chair. Blood running down.
Your stomach drops. For a second, you feel sick and your eyes sting immediately.
But then your gaze snaps to Riki and something in you flips. You start walking. Your heels hit the concrete loud, echoing through the garage.
You shove him hard.
“What the fuck did you do?!”
He stumbles back half a step, clearly not expecting it. Doesn’t even react properly. Just looks at you. Shakes his head slightly.
“I—”
You push him again. Harder.
“Are you fucking serious right now?!”
He lets you.
“I told you not to kill him!” you snap, voice breaking with anger. “I made you promise—!”
“I wasn’t—”
“Do you even realize what you just did?!” you cut him off.
Your voice is shaking.
“Those girls are in the next room!”
He flinches slightly at that.
“They’re going to wake up and their dad is just— what?!” you gesture wildly behind you. “Dead on a chair?!”
“Y/n—”
“No!” you snap, shoving him again when he tries to speak. “Don’t— don’t you dare—"
“He wouldn’t talk—”
“So you just shoot him?!” you fire back. “That’s your solution?!”
“I lost control—”
“Yeah, no shit!”
“You fucking promised me,” you say again. “You looked me in the face and promised me.”
He doesn’t have an answer for that, he just stands there. You shake your head, stepping back like you can’t even look at him the same.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter.
“Y/n—”
“No.”
Before it can escalate further, Kenji steps in quickly, placing himself between you.
“Enough,” he says firmly, grabbing your arm lightly. “We need to go.”
You try to pull back.
“Kenji—”
“Now,” he repeats, more urgent this time. “This isn’t safe anymore.”
Behind him, the rest of the men are already moving out, dragging bodies, clearing the space. You look around once. Then back at Riki.
And then, a small sound.
Riki’s head turns. Your head turns. Everyone’s attention shifts for just a second toward the hallway. The door is open and the little girls are standing there. Side by side holding hands. Just watching.
Your stomach drops. Riki’s expression changes instantly. Very annoyed.
“For fucks sake y/n,” he snaps, voice low but harsh. “Now you made them come out—”
You don’t even let him finish. You’re already moving. You rush toward them, your heels hitting the floor hard, but your voice softens the second you reach them.
“Hey— hey— it’s okay.”
You crouch down immediately, placing your hands gently on their arms, guiding them back.
“Come on, let’s go back inside, yeah?”
They follow you. Still looking at you like they don’t understand. You close the door behind you quickly. You drop down to your knees in front of them. Your hands rest lightly on their arms again. The younger one’s lip trembles slightly.
“I want daddy.”
It hits hard. You swallow. You force your hand up to her hair, brushing it back softly.
“He’ll come later,” you say gently.
“Right now, you guys just need to sleep, okay?”
They look at you confused.
“But—”
“Hey,” you interrupt softly, giving them a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay.”
You guide them back toward the couch.
“Come on. Lay down, it’s late.”
They listen. Slowly climbing back onto the couch, curling up under the blanket. You pull it up properly around them, tucking it in gently like it’s the most normal night in the world.
“Don’t come out of this room, okay?” you add quietly. “Just stay here until someone comes to get you.”
The older one watches you closely. Then nods. You sit down beside them again. One hand resting lightly on the younger one’s head. Your eyes sting. But you don’t let any tears fall.
The door suddenly opens again. You look up immediately.
Riki.
“Y/N, we need to—”
You lift your finger instantly to your lips.
“Shh.”
Your eyes flick toward the girls. His eyes follow and he freezes for a second. He sees them curled up on the couch and he swallows.
Your voice shifts completely again. Like none of this is happening.
“It’s okay,” you murmur to them. “You remember I told you about my husband?”
They look at the door. Riki just stands still, so you give him a look.
He then lifts his hand awkwardly.
“…hi.”
It feels wrong. Very wrong. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the younger one’s forehead. Then the older one’s.
“Goodnight,” you whisper. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
They nod sleepily. Trusting you.
You stand up, turn, and walk straight past Riki without looking at him. Your shoulder bumps into his on purpose.
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over his face, smearing some blood across his skin without even noticing. Then he turns and follows you out, closing the door.
You don’t look back. You walk straight past everyone, past the noise, past the mess straight out of the garage and into the cold night air.
The car is still there. You open the door yourself and slide into the backseat without a word, pulling your coat tighter around you like it might hold you together. The door shuts and you stare straight ahead.
Men move outside. Cleaning up. Dragging bodies and wiping blood like it's casual. You don’t look at any of it.
Riki joins you a minute later.
You don’t look at him. Instead, you move. Sliding further toward the window, creating distance.
He notices but he doesn’t say anything. He just leans back, staring ahead, accepting it.
The driver waits for someone to start talking. He glances at the rearview mirror. The tension is obvious and uncomfortable. He starts the engine anyway. The second car pulls in behind them as they begin to move.
Silence goes on for a while before the driver finally clears his throat slightly.
“Where to?”
Riki answers without hesitation.
“Just the office—”
“Home.” Your voice cuts in immediately.
Riki turns his head slightly. You don’t look at him.
“We’re going home,” you repeat.
“Y/N—”
“No.” You cut him off again. “We’re going home.”
The driver looks at Riki through the mirror waiting for approval. Riki holds your side profile in his gaze for a second, then exhales quietly.
“…home,” he confirms.
The driver nods and turns the wheel. And that’s it. No more words. The rest of the ride is dead silent.
You swallow once. Twice. But it doesn’t help, your vision starts to blur anyway and a tear slips down before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly more toward the window, trying to hide it. But your shaky breathing gives you away.
Riki hears it, and he hates hearing you cry knowing he caused it. But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t reach for you.
—
The car eventually slows as it turns onto the long driveway. Gravel crunches under the tires.
Your mansion comes into view, it’s massive, dark, almost intimidating in the way it stands there. Dim exterior lights cast soft shadows over the stone walls, two sleek black cars are parked at the front.
The car stops. Then Riki reaches forward, patting the driver’s shoulder once.
“Thanks.” His voice is low and tired.
“Thank you,” you murmur to the driver before closing the door behind you.
The cold hits you instantly. You pull your fur coat tighter around yourself, arms crossing over your chest as if that might keep the warmth in.
Riki notices and steps a little closer, lifting his arm to hold you on instinct. But before he can touch you, you move. Picking up your pace just enough to avoid him.
Clear. His arm drops and he exhales through his nose.
You walk up the wide stone stairs without looking back, stopping in front of the large front door and you wait for Riki. He reaches past you to unlock it. You walk in first.
The house is quiet. Dimly lit, just enough to see, soft lamps probably set up by the maid earlier. It smells clean. Everything feels calm. Too calm compared to what just happened.
You shrug your coat off the second you step into the kitchen area, tossing it carelessly onto the kitchen island and you’re already moving straight for the stairs.
“Y/N—”
Riki’s voice comes from behind you as he follows but you don't slow down.
“Talk to me.”
“What is there to talk about?”
Your voice is flat, like you couldn’t care less. That irritates him more than if you were yelling.
“You’re really going to act like this?” he asks, footsteps quick behind you as he catches up.
You reach the top of the stairs. Turn down the hallway.
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair as he follows anyway.
You push open the door to your walk-in closet. The lights flick on automatically, displaying rows of designer bags, heels, dresses. Everything perfectly organized.
You walk straight in. He’s right behind you. But you turn and shut the door in his face before he can step inside.
He knocks.
“Baby...”
Silence. Another knock.
“Come on.”
You don’t answer.
“I know you’re mad, but don’t shut me out like this.”
“Can you just— talk to me?”
You change clothes quickly. The silence is long enough for it to start getting to him.
You finally open the door. It swings inward, and he almost steps forward instinctively.
You’re standing there in a black silk robe, tying it around your waist as you walk out past him like he’s barely there.
He looks. Can’t help it. His eyes drag over you quickly before he catches himself. You don’t react, you already know.
You walk down the hallway, adjusting the robe on your shoulders. He turns, catching up behind you immediately again, like a baby duck following it’s mother.
“Are you going to follow me everywhere, Riki?”
You ask without looking back, tone with something mocking now. He scoffs lightly.
“If that’s what it takes to get you to stop acting like I don’t exist, then yeah.”
You shake your head slightly, continuing down the hall.
“You’re childish.”
“And you’re not?” he shoots back, frustration creeping in again. “You’re acting like I—”
You stop walking and turn to look at him.
“Like you what?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Because he knows exactly what you’re implying. You don’t even hesitate.
“Like you killed someone?” you say. “Because that’s exactly what you did.”
The words land heavy. You don’t wait for his reaction. You turn and walk down the stairs. He follows, again.
Your bare feet are quiet against the marble, the silk of your robe brushing softly against your legs as you head straight for the kitchen. You don’t look at him once.
You walk to the fridge, pulling one of the large doors open. You grab a bottle of white wine and pour yourself a glass. You take the glass, walk to the island, and sit down on one of the bar stools, crossing your legs slowly. And take a slow sip.
Riki stands on the other side of the island, both hands braced against it, watching you.
“You’re just going to sit there and drink right now?” he asks, frustration sounding through his voice.
You shrug. “What else is there to do.”
He lets out a sharp breath through his nose.
“Seriously?”
“Y/N.”
You finally glance at him.
“What.”
“You’re acting like I did something unforgivable.”
You let out a small, humorless laugh.
“You killed someone, Riki. A father, of two little girls.”
“And?” he shoots back.
That makes your head snap up.
“And?!” you repeat.
“You know what I do,” he says, voice hard. “You knew from the beginning.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“It makes it reality.”
You shake your head, disbelief all over your face.
“No, don’t do that— don’t try to normalize this like it’s just another day.”
“It is another day,” he snaps. “This is my life.”
“And I’m part of that life now,” you fire back, your voice rising now. “Which is exactly why you promised me you wouldn’t do it!”
He scoffs, looking away.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“There is always a choice!”
“Not when someone’s lying straight to my face, wasting my time, putting my people at risk—”
“You still promised me!”
Your voice cracks slightly. You hate that it does. He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
“You married me,” he says, colder now. “You chose this. You don’t get to pick and choose which parts you like.”
You blink at him.
“…wow.”
“I’m being real with you.”
“No, you’re being an asshole.”
Your eyes drop to his suit. Still stained.
You swallow. “There’s blood on you,” you say quietly.
“I can’t even look at you right now without seeing that.”
“Oh please y/n. Don’t start with that, you’ve seen blood before.”
“You wanted me to talk, so let me.” you stop, exhaling shakily. “I felt scared, Riki. I never feel scared but tonight I just--”
That makes him look at you again immediately.
"Scared of what?"
“Not of you,” you add quickly, shaking your head. “Just… everything. The situation. The way things can just go wrong like that.”
Your voice cracks again.
“And those girls…” you whisper.
“They’re in that room, probably asleep, and their dad is—” you stop, your breath hitching. “He’s dead. And they have no idea.”
You press your lips together, trying to hold it in.
“We should’ve done something,” you say, shaking your head. “We should’ve helped them. Taken them somewhere. Anything.”
“They’re not our responsibility—”
“They are now!” you snap, your voice breaking. “We did that!”
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” you admit, quieter now. “It’s stuck in my head.”
“And what about us?” you continue, your voice trembling again. “Our future.”
He frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”
You laugh weakly. “You know exactly what I mean.”
He doesn’t answer.
“I’ve always thought about having a baby with you,” you say, your voice getting smaller. “But now I don’t even know if that’s a good idea.”
“Y/N—”
“Would you even have time for that?” you cut in. “Would it even be safe? Do you even—”
Your voice cracks completely.
“Do you even want that?”
That’s what breaks you. Your elbows come down on the island, your face dropping into your hands as the tears finally spill over.
The glass of wine sits forgotten beside you.
“I’m just not sure anymore,” you whisper.
Riki finally moves. He walks around the island, grabs your stool, and turns you toward him without hesitation.
Then he pulls you into him. His arms wrapping around you, one hand pressing your head into his chest, holding you there.
“Baby— it’s alright…”
His voice is softer now. Completely different.
“I’ve got you.”
You don’t fight it. You just cry against him, your arms wrapped around his body.
“I didn’t mean for it to go like that,” he says, his chin resting on top of your head. “I swear.”
Your shoulders shake. His hand moves slowly through your hair, trying to calm you down.
“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” he adds quickly. “But I’m telling you the truth.”
“You should’ve told me you were scared,” he says quietly.
You sniff, still holding onto him.
“My job is to make you feel safe. Always.”
You shake your head slightly. “I didn’t want to sound weak…”
“You’re not weak,” he says immediately. “Not for that.”
“You tell me next time. I mean it.”
“And the girls…” he exhales softly. “I’ll handle it.”
You tilt your head slightly against his chest.
“How…”
“I’ll have someone take care of them,” he says. “One of the women from the office. Someone who knows how to deal with kids. They’ll be taken somewhere safe.”
You stay quiet.
“They won’t be alone,” he adds. “I won’t let that happen.”
You stay in his arms for a moment longer. But you don’t fully relax. You pull back first. Wiping under your eyes with the back of your hand, avoiding his gaze.
“I’m gonna… sit outside for a bit.”
He watches you for a second, like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t.
“…okay.”
You nod once, grabbing your glass of wine from the counter. Then you walk off. He stays where he is. Listening to your footsteps fade.
You walk into the conservatory, it’s quiet and softly lit. Glass walls reflecting the night outside and he faint glow of garden lights.
You sit down on the couch, pulling your legs up under you, the silk robe shifting around your thighs as you settle in. You stare out. Not really seeing anything, just thinking. Your fingers trace patterns along the glass.
It takes a few minutes before you hear footsteps again. Riki steps into the room quietly. Changed into loose black trousers and a robe hanging open over his bare chest.
He walks over and he sits down beside you and gently pulls you toward him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders, guiding you until you’re leaning fully against his body.
Your head rests against his chest. His arm stays around you. Holding you there.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice is quiet. You don’t look up yet.
“I shouldn’t have said those things,” he continues. “About you choosing this and just… dealing with it.”
His hand moves slowly over your arm.
“That wasn’t fair.”
“I messed up tonight,” he admits. “And I know that.”
His chin rests lightly against the top of your head.
“I broke my promise. And I don’t do that,” he says, softer. “You know I don’t.”
You finally shift a little, tilting your head just enough to look at him. His eyes meet yours.
“I’m a man of my word,” he adds quietly. “I made this mistake once. It won’t happen again.”
You study his face for a second. Then you exhale softly and let your head fall back against him.
“And what you said earlier…”
You hum quietly.
“About a family… I want that,” he says. “With you.”
“I just…” he exhales, looking up at the ceiling for a second. “I need to figure out how to do both. This life and that life.”
“But I will,” he continues. “I’ll make it work.”
His hand moves up to your head, gently brushing through your hair.
“I’d do anything for that.”
You tilt your head up a little, looking at him again.
“Anything?”
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Yeah.”
You narrow your eyes slightly, a hint of your usual tone slipping back in.
“Poopy diapers? Sleepless nights?”
He groans softly, dropping his head back. “Yeah yeah...”
“Imagine you with a baby,” you mumble, resting your head back on his chest. “You’d be so dramatic.”
“I would not.”
“You would,” you argue lightly. “The baby cries once and you’re calling ten people for help.”
“That’s called being prepared.”
“That’s called being extra.”
He scoffs quietly. “You’d be worse.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’d cry along with the baby.”
You lift your head again, lightly hitting his chest.
“I would not.”
He grins slightly. “You definitely would.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling now. He looks at you for a few seconds. Then he leans down and kisses on top of your head.
“I love you, baby.”
“I love you too.”
Your body relaxed on top of his, his hand resting on the back of your head, holding you there. You both go quiet again. Just listening to each other breathe.
Until you lift your head slightly, looking up at him.
“Riki… did you actually get the money?”
He pauses and looks at you. There’s a small, almost guilty smile tugging at his lips.
“…no.”
You blink at him. Then let out a disbelieving laugh.
“You’re kidding.”
He shrugs slightly. You grab a pillow and smack it against his head.
“Are you serious?!”
He laughs, trying to block you as you hit him again.
“All that for nothing?!”
“Yeah, I mean—”
“You killed the poor man and didn’t even get the money?!”
You hit him again, still half laughing now.
“You’re not real. Gosh, I can't believe this...”
He catches the pillow this time, pulling you back down against him.
“Relax,” he mutters, still smiling a little. “I’ll figure it out.”
You shake your head, still laughing softly as you settle back onto his chest. You roll your eyes, but smile anyway.
“You fucking idiot.”
“Mhm. I love you too.”
⊹
🗒️ vaeh’s note: tysm for the love on part one, I hope you all enjoyed part two!! It wasn't my intention for this story to become a series, but I had to split it up due to Tumblrs block limit. This part is basically just the end of the story, so my apologies if u were hoping for a super spectacular second part and it didn't meet your expectations.
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Click here for pt.2 — You're married to one of the biggest yakuza bosses. Your life is filled with luxury, loyalty, love and always being by his side. Everything feels perfect, until one night makes you realize what his world really means.
🗯️ vaeh’s note: this took me months to finish (literally) but yakuza Riki is finally here! im obsessed with this fic but it’s way longer than intented it to be... im so tired bru
⊹
You’re in the mall. Designer shopping bags hanging off your wrist, another in the crook of your elbow, the faint scent of luxury perfume still clinging to your skin from the testers you tried five minutes ago.
You pause in front of a mirror near one of the stores, adjusting your grip slightly, glancing at your reflection.
Heels, perfect. Hair, gorgeous. Dress, classy.
Your phone starts ringing. You look at it, Riki’s assistant.
You sigh. You let it ring, slipping your phone back into your purse like it’s nothing. Not right now.
You turn slightly, already heading toward the next store—
It rings again. You stop and stare straight ahead for a second. Then ignore it and keep walking.
Then immediately starts again.
You let out a quiet breath through your nose, shifting the bags in your arms before finally digging your phone out.
“What?” you answer, not even trying to sound polite.
“Mrs. Nishimura--” he starts, slightly out of breath, like he’s been trying to reach you for a while. “Riki needs you in his office. Now.”
You frown, slowing your steps.
“…Why?”
There’s a brief pause on the other end.
“He said no questions.”
Of course he said that. You close your eyes for a second, irritation flashing across your face.
“For fuck’s sake.”
You hang up before he can say anything else.
“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.
You turn on your heel immediately.
No more shopping. No more perfume. No more wasting time.
Your heels click against the marble floor as your pace quickens, jogging through the calm atmosphere of the mall. People glance at you running out the mall with your arms full of bags, but you don’t care.
The automatic doors slide open the second you approach, cool air hitting your face as you step outside.
Your car is already waiting. Black Jeep, tinted windows. It’s huge and it looks intimidating.
You walk straight toward it, not slowing down, the driver already stepping out to open the door for you. You slide in without a word, dropping your bags onto the seat beside you.
“Office,” you say simply.
The door shuts and the car drives away immediately.
--
You didn’t meet Riki in a normal way. Nothing about him was ever normal
It was years ago. Back when you were still working as a receptionist at the most expensive hotel in the city. It had polished floors, gold details, the kind of place where people whispered instead of spoke.
You were behind the front desk. Calm. Kind. Bored, if anything.
Then the doors slammed open fast and loud. Six men rushed in, guns already pulled and loaded.Everything shifted in seconds.
Screaming filled the lobby almost instantly. Guests dropping their bags, people ducking, others freezing completely as guns were pointed straight at them.
“Everybody down!” one of them yelled. “Everybody on the fucking floor now!”
Someone cried. Another tried to run and got shoved hard to the ground.
You didn’t move. You just watched. Hands resting calmly on the counter in front of you, eyes tracking the chaos like it was a fever dream.
They moved fast. One group toward the cash registers. Another toward the second floor.
Orders being barked, staff being dragged through doors, ordered to unlock safes for them. One man was pulled forward roughly, a gun pressed against his head as he struggled.
That’s when you noticed him.
Riki.
Standing behind a man, one arm locked around his shoulders, holding him in place with a gun placed steady against his temple.
“If you don’t cooperate,” he said, voice calm. “I’ll shoot.”
You watched him.
He noticed you.
A shift in his focus like something didn’t add up. Because while everyone else was panicking, you were just sitting there, looking straight at him. Unbothered.
His grip on the man loosened slightly.
Then he shoved him forward without warning, letting him stumble away as he stepped out from behind him, for one of Riki’s guys to push him to the ground and beat him up just because he can.
Meanwhile Riki’s attention shifted fully to you.
He walked toward the counter slowly. Your eyes followed him the entire way.
He stopped in front of you and placed the gun down on the counter. Right in front of you.
Your eyes dropped to it for a second, then lifted back up to his.
“Don’t worry,” he said, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “I don’t hurt women and children.”
You held his gaze for a moment. Then slowly you turned your head slightly. Your eyes flicked to the side.
A woman sat a few feet away on the floor, clutching her head, blood seeping through her fingers as she cried.
You looked at her. Then back at him. One eyebrow raised.
Riki followed your gaze for a second. Then scoffed lightly, shaking his head.
“That wasn’t me,” he said, like it actually mattered. “One of my guys got carried away.”
You didn’t react the way he expected.
You didn’t cry, didn’t call for help, you didn’t even break eye contact.
Tilting your head slightly, you glanced at him like you were trying to figure him out, not like he was standing in front of you with a gun in the middle of a robbery.
“Are you like… the big boss or something?” you asked, voice calm, with just a hint of attitude.
Riki let out a quiet chuckle at that.
“Do I look like I am?” he shot back, raising a brow.
You shrugged lightly, leaning your weight onto one arm against the counter.
“You act like it.”
There was something in your tone. Not fear. Not even respect. Just confidence, that made his smirk widen.
He studied you for a second longer before asking, “You’re not scared or something?”
You frowned a little, like the question itself didn’t make sense.
“Why would I be scared?”
He let out a short breath, glancing around the lobby like it should’ve been obvious.
“Maybe because six armed men are robbing the place,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “People screaming, blood, guns out, ringing any bells?”
You followed his gesture lazily with your eyes, taking in the chaos for half a second before looking back at him.
Then you shrugged.
“I hate this job anyway,” you said simply. “I’ve been waiting for something to happen so I could get compensation money and get the hell out of here.”
There was a pause.
Then Riki laughed.
“I like you,” he said, shaking his head slightly like he didn’t expect that answer.
You didn’t react much to that either.
Just leaned back in your chair a little, arms crossing loosely.
He watched you for another second.
“D’you like whiskey?”
That made you smile. You leaned back a bit more, crossing one leg over the other, eyes still locked on his.
“Depends…” you said. “Is that an invitation?”
It was.
You told yourself you wouldn’t get involved.
Not with him. Not with any of it.
He was trouble from the first second you saw him, you knew that.
And yet it didn’t stay at just that one conversation.
He came back for you.
At first, it was just small things. A conversation here. A drink there.
Then he introduced you to his assistant. Then you found yourself visiting his office more often than you should’ve. Then you started recognizing the faces around him, his people, his crew.
They started recognizing you too.
It happened so slowly you didn’t even notice when the line disappeared.
The first time you really crossed it was small.
Just slipping a packet of money into someone’s hand on the street, doing Riki a “favor.”
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.
But then there was another and another.
Then came the first time he put a gun in your hand. Standing behind you, guiding your grip, correcting your stance, his voice low in your ear as he taught you how to shoot.
After that there was no going back.
Now? You’re not just around him. You’re part of it.
You sit on his lap during meetings. While he discusses deals, threats, plans, your fingers play with his rings, your nails, anything within reach. Subtly sliding your foot up his leg underneath the table when you sit in front of him.
You distract enemies when needed. Wink at the right people. Talk when it benefits him.
Sometimes you’re the reason things work out smoothly.
Other times you’re standing right next to him while he’s beating information out of someone, arms crossed, completely unfazed, watching like it’s just another part of the day.
You don’t look away anymore.
And Riki… he’s completely gone for you. It’s obvious to everyone.
He doesn’t listen to anyone the way he listens to you.
One word from you, and he changes direction. One look, and he understands. You don’t even have to ask twice. If you tell him your feet hurt, he’s already picking you up before you finish the sentence, carrying you to the car like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
--
The car stops and the door is pulled open for you.
You step out, heels hitting the pavement as you look up at the building in front of you, tall, black, intimidating and expensive.
The glass doors open immediately.
His assistant is already there, like he’s been waiting.
“Mrs—”
You walk straight past him.
He falls into step beside you quickly, trying to keep up as you move through the lobby.
“He needs you—”
“I know, Kenji.” You cut him off smoothly, not even looking at him.
He opens his mouth again, then seems to think better of it, adjusting his pace instead.
“Let me take those, ma’am,” he offers, gesturing to the bags hanging off your arms.
You shake your head, barely sparing him a glance.
“I’ve got it.”
A small wave of your hand dismisses the offer completely.
You’re already heading for the elevator. He stops there. You step inside, pressing the button, your reflection staring back at you in the mirrored walls.
The moment the doors open again, you’re moving. Straight down the hallway.
You push the door open hard. It swings in.
You step inside, slightly out of breath from the rush, immediately dropping your bags onto the black couch near the door with a soft thud.
Riki is already standing hehind his desk with a glass of whiskey in his hand.
He sets it down a little harder than necessary.
“What took you so long?” he asks, his tone low, but edged.
You barely react, just shrug slightly, tilting your head toward the pile of bags behind you.
“I was shopping.”
He exhales through his nose, clearly not amused.
“When I say I need you,” he says, his voice tightening slightly, “you come. No delays.”
You walk toward him anyway, unbothered.
He sits back down in his chair, jaw still set.
“And don’t do that again,” he continues, already slipping into that tone he uses when he’s about to lecture you. “Walking around a place like that without anyone with you.”
You reach him, placing yourself casually on the armrest of his chair like you’ve done a hundred times before.
“I don’t want a bodyguard,” you say calmly.
Your fingers slide into his hair like it’s instinct, nails lightly dragging against his scalp as you start playing with it absentmindedly.
“You need one,” he argues, looking up at you now. “You’re involved in things you weren’t before. People talk. You don’t know who knows what.”
Your fingers keep moving. Slow and calming. You tilt your head slightly, looking down at him.
“Baby… I handled myself just fine before all of this,” you say softly. “Remember?”
He doesn’t respond immediately.
You lean down a little, your touch with more intention now.
“You walked into my hotel with a gun,” you remind him, your almost teasing. “And I didn’t even flinch.”
Your thumb brushes lightly along his temple. Your other hand is still in his hair.
“You really think I can’t handle a mall?”
He exhales again, but it’s different this time, less sharp. Your touch is working, italways does.
You lean in just a bit more, pressing a soft kiss near his temple, then another.
His shoulders relax slightly under your hands. You pull back to look at him again.
“So,” you murmur, voice smooth, like none of this was ever tense to begin with. “What did you need me here for?”
Riki watches you for a second after you ask, like he’s deciding how much to say first. e exhales and straightens slightly, his tone shifting back into business.
“We’re going out in a few hours,” he starts. “There’s a man, Kaizen Ito. Runs a garage on the south side. Big place. All money laundering.”
You hum softly, half-listening as you step away from him, crouching slightly by the couch to pull one of your shopping bags closer.
“He borrowed money a few months back,” Riki continues, eyes following you. “Large amount. Deadline was last month.”
You open the bag, pulling out a shoe box, inspecting it briefly.
“He didn’t pay,” Riki adds simply.
Of course, you think, do they ever pay?
You set the box aside and reach into another bag.
“We’re going there tonight. Me, Kenji, four of my men. We keep it clean. No unnecessary mess unless he makes it difficult.”
You nod faintly, but your attention is clearly split as you dig through your things.
Riki narrows his eyes slightly.
“I’ll handle him,” he goes on. “Kenji stays near the entrance. The others check the place, make sure there’s no surprises.”
You pull out a pair of heels, holding them up for a second like you’re debating something.
“And you—”
He pauses.
You’re not even looking at him. You’re fully focused on your bags.
Clap.
His hands make a sharp sound.
“Hey.”
You glance up.
“Come here,” he says, nodding toward himself. “And listen.”
You sigh softly but do as told, setting everything down and walking back over to him.
“Alright,” you mumble.
He watches you approach, making sure you’re actually paying attention this time before continuing.
“He’s got two daughters,” Riki says. “They’re usually in a separate room in the back of the garage.”
Your brows lift slightly.
“I don’t want them coming out,” he adds, voice firm. “Not while we’re there.”
You tilt your head a little, already understanding.
“So you’re going in there,” he continues, “keep them distracted. Talk to them, play with them, whatever you need to do. Just make sure they stay put.”
“Last thing I need is kids walking in while I’m fucking up their dad’s face.”
You nod slowly then lean in slightly, your gaze shifting to his face again, studying him.
“I can do that,” you say softly. “I’m good with children.”
He huffs out a quiet breath, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“Yeah?” he says, eyes dragging over your face. “Didn’t know that.”
You shrug lightly.
“Maybe you’ll find out one day.”
“You planning on being a good mother or something?” he echoes, stepping closer.
Your lips curve slightly.
“Maybe,” you murmur.
His hands are on you before you can say anything else. He grips your waist and lifts you effortlessly, turning you around and setting you down on the desk behind him.
You let out a small breath of surprise, hands instinctively landing on his shoulders to steady yourself.
He steps in between your legs immediately, his hands sliding up your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin.
“Careful what you say,” he mutters, leaning in, his lips brushing against your neck.
The kisses are messy and distracted. Like he’s thinking about too many things at once but still can’t help himself.
You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access without even thinking.
“Are you free right now?” you ask, voice quieter, a hint of teasing underneath.
He lets out a low chuckle against your skin.
“Not really,” he murmurs. “Got a meeting in fifteen.”
You hum, fingers sliding lightly into his hair.
“Fifteen’s enough.”
He pulls back just slightly, looking at you with a dangerous expression.
You tilt your head, a small smile playing on your lips.
“…Quickie?”
His grip on your waist gets even tighter, and his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. He lets out a low exhale, already moving a little closer.
“...Twenty seconds max.”
He whispers, and it sounds like a challenge. His words are hot against your mouth.
You chuckle softly, placing a soft kiss on his lips before speaking.
“You think we can finish in 20 seconds?”
He keeps his eyes focused on your lips. He can feel your breath on his own mouth.
“I’m fast.” He mumbles arrogantly, and his nose brushes against your cheek.
“…I’m not.” You say with a smile.
“You'll see.”
He finally closes the distance fully and kisses you deeply. He lets out a low sound when your mouth opens against his, and he slips his tongue inside, wasting no time. The kiss is messy, distracted and sloppy. Tongues are twisting, teeth are clashing, saliva is mixing.
His hand slides behind your neck to grip onto your hair as he kisses you. His other hand moves up to the hem your skirt, tugging it down slightly.
“Lift up for me”.
You place both hands beside your legs on the desk and push your hips up so he can slide your skirt down your legs. He blindly throws your skirt somewhere on the floor.
His hands go back to your inner thighs, his fingers trailing up to run over the fabric of your panties slowly.
He pulls your panties aside and starts moving his fingers over your clit for a while, before sliding two fingers inside.
He curls his fingers inside you just right. Your lips are still on his. Not much kissing, mostly just panting against his mouth.
He wants to hear you, though. He wants you to moan his name. So he picks up the pace, pumping his fingers in and out of you faster.
Your eyebrows furrow and you throw your head back out of pleasure.
“Ah f—” you pant.
"What was that?" He asks arrogantly, moving his lips to your neck. "C'mon let me hear you, baby."
His fingers are fast, sliding out of you to start working on your clit, then back inside again. He knows how to please you.
“Mmh fuck—” you moan.
Hearing your satisfied sounds makes him smile into your neck.
“Yeah? ‘S that good baby?”
“Y-yeah… fuck—” You moan out.
He slides two fingers back in to start pumping your insides and uses his thumb to rub your clit at the same time.
Your moans come faster and faster as you almost reach your climax.
“Shhit— Riki… i’m gonna come—”
He looks down at his own fingers creating a mess down there and he can’t help but smile.
“Yeahhh. Thaaat’s it, baby.”
Riki can’t take it anymore. He’s twitching and leaking in his pants at this point.
He lets you go and his hands work fast to undo his belt. Once he gets his pants off he quickly moves your underwear to the side again and presses the tip of his dick against your entrance and pushes into you. He groans loudly at the feeling of being inside you.
He moans into your neck, then he parts from it to get some air. He pushes his hips forward, his hands moving your thighs apart more so he can get in you more.
His hands move back to your waist and hold you up as he started to bounce you up and down on his dick.
He moans louder by your ear.
“Ahh— f-fuck.”
He shifts the angle slightly, hitting a spot inside you that makes you cry out. You place both your hands on his shoulders, keeping yourself steady. You can’t really form any words, it’s all just Riki. Riki. Riki. And some slurred curse words.
His hips stutter, he’s too deep into it to focus on holding and bouncing you on top of him right. So he puts you back on the edge the desk, spreads your legs and starts pushing his hips into yours.
He groans as he pressed his forehead onto yours.
“Shittt”
Ring.
The phone on his desk starts ringing. Nobody cares. You keep going.
Still grinding his hips into you while his lips find yours again.
The phone eventually stops.
Until it starts again.
Ring.
This time it snaps Niki out of his little pleasure bubble for a moment, he groans against your neck, stopping his movements.
“God damn it...”
You throw your head back and groan in annoyance.
Riki exhales loudly through his nose.
“Don’t move.”
He leans over and reaches for his phone, swiping to answer the call.
He clears his throat. "What do you want Kenji? I’m kind of busy right now."
He tries to catch his breath and gather himself as best as he can. His hand on your waist, squeezing it as a warning for you to keep still.
You try to listen to the little voice speaking through the phone. It sounds stressed.
“I know. Yes— I know Kenji. Give me two minutes.”
Riki says with a very annoyed tone before hanging up the phone and throwing it back on his desk.
“What is it—” you try to ask.
But before you could finish your sentence Riki was already kissing you again, clearly trying to finish what he started.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He says between kisses and pants. “Need to finish this first.”
His hands move to your ass, squeezing it as he starts thrusting up into you quicker, trying to finish faster. Then he moves his lips to your neck, biting and sucking on your skin while his hands slide up your shirt, squeezing at the soft flesh of your waist.
“Mm fuck— i‘m close, baby.” Riki moans into your neck.
He guides you down so you’re laying flat on his desk, legs in the air, wrapped around his waist. His body hovers over you as he kept thrusting. One hand braced on the desk beside your head while the other goes back to playing with your clit.
“F— fuck! Ri— Riki!”
Your second orgasm crashes over you, enough to make you moan a little too loud for the room you’re in right now. Your eyes roll back and your legs start shaking.
He feels your body shake under his as you come, the sight and sound of it pushes him over the edge. His hips start moving faster and harder on instinct, he comes inside you with a low, raspy groan.
“Ah s— shit.”
He lets his upper body fall on top of yours. You both catch your breath for a second. He breaths heavily, his face buried in your neck.
By the time you both pull yourselves together, he’s already too late.
Riki is standing near the side of his desk, fastening his belt with one hand while the other smooths down the front of his shirt. His hair is slightly messy, a few strands still out of place from your fingers being in it moments ago.
He notices in the reflection of the dark window and drags a hand through it quickly.
“Shit.”
You’re fixing yourself too, adjusting your skirt and straightening your top, checking your makeup in the black screen of your phone.
“You look fine,” you tell him casually.
“I know,” he mutters. “Still late.”
You smile a little.
He grabs his watch from the desk, sliding it back on, then reaches for his rings and slips them on one by one.
He looks like nothing happened. You, on the other hand, still feel a little warm of pleasure.
He notices you staring and walks over, tugging lightly at your sleeve.
“I have to go.”
“When are you done?” you ask.
He opens the office door halfway, already halfway into business mode again.
“Late.”
“How late?”
He glances back at you.
“Late late,” he says dryly. “We’ve got too much shit to discuss for tonight.”
You pout immediately.
“That long?”
“Yes.”
He leans in and kisses you once by the doorway, his hand sliding down to your butt to give it a nice squeeze.
“Get Kenji to drive you home.”
Your eyes roll instantly.
“I don’t wanna go home.”
He exhales through his nose, already expecting this.
“There’s nothing to do there,” you continue, following him out into the hallway. “I’ll be bored.”
“You’ll survive.”
“No.”
You grab his sleeve lightly.
“I’m coming with you.”
He keeps walking.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Riki.”
He stops walking and turns to look at you. You blink at him innocently.
“You’re acting like a toddler.”
“But am I coming?”
Then he sighs. “Yeah. Come on.”
You grin immediately and slip beside him, he can never actually say not to you.
He resumes walking, one arm sliding around your waist automatically, pulling you close as the two of you move down the long corridor together.
Your heels click sharply against the floor beside his heavier footsteps. Employees step aside the second they see you too coming. Nobody says a word.
His hand rests possessively on your hip the entire walk. You like it that way.
At the end of the hall, two guards open a set of big, dark wooden double doors. Inside is a massive conference room, with a long black table, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and around twelve men already seated.
All expensive suits, watches worth more than houses, expressions that range from bored to dangerous. Cigar smoke hangs faintly in the air.
You recognize maybe half of the men. The others are new faces, there are always new faces. Some fix their posture slightly when Riki enters. Others don’t care to move.
But what catches his eye is the table.
Weapons laid out openly.
Loaded magazines.
Loose bullets.
Half-burned cigars in golden ashtrays.
Photos of men spread across the wood surface.
Brown envelopes stuffed thick.
Maps.
Notes.
They already started discussing.
Riki stops walking. The room changes instantly.
His expression goes cold. “What is this?” he asks.
Nobody answers immediately.
One of the younger men clears his throat. “You were late.”
Riki turns his head slowly toward him.
“I don’t care how fucking late I am,” he says, each word controlled and sharp. “You do not start without me.”
Then he glances back at you and his entire tone changes like he wasn’t just about to kill someone with a look.
“C’mon, baby,” he says casually, pulling a chair out beside the head of the table. “Sit down.”
Several men avoid reacting. A few exchange glances.
You smile to yourself and walk over, taking the seat beside him like it belongs to you.
At first the meeting is interesting. You sit back in your chair beside Riki, one leg crossed over the other, quietly watching the room work. Men speak in turns, passing folders down the table, pointing at photos, listing locations and names.
Riki barely looks at the papers. He already knows everything.
He listens with one hand resting near you, fingers occasionally tapping the armrest while someone talks too long.
For the first twenty minutes, you pay attention.
You catch some pieces.
Routes.
Payments.
Someone stealing from one of Riki’s clubs.
A man who needs to “disappear.” Another who needs to be made an example of.
Then more money.
Then guns.
Then territory.
Then money again.
An hour in it all blends together.
You stare at the expensive watch on one man’s wrist for a full minute just to stay entertained.
How these men can talk about this for hours, you’ll never understand.
You almost yawn.
Riki doesn’t miss one thing.
He’s sharp the whole time. Impatient when someone wastes his time.
Twice now he’s slammed his fist against the table hard enough to make envelopes jump.
“Then listen when I’m talking.”
The room goes dead silent immediately.
Then not even two seconds later, he glances sideways at you.
“You okay, baby?”
The shift is absurd.
“I’m fine.”
“You want a drink?”
“No.”
He nods once and turns back to the room like nothing happened.
“Continue.”
Every time things start getting heated, you calm him without speaking.
Your hand settling on his thigh under the table.
Your fingers brushing over the back of his hand.
Sometimes lifting your arm up for a moment to lightly squeeze tension from his shoulder. It always works.
Even these dangerous men have noticed by now.
They glance at you sometimes like they can’t figure out how you do it.
Right now, another argument is building.
Two men are talking over each other about tonight’s confrontation. One wants extra men posted outside. Another says it’ll attract attention and cops.
Riki leans forward slowly and his eyes shift to someone further down the table.
A younger face.
New.
You noticed him earlier because he looked different from the others, face tattoos diamond earrings, gold teeth, trying hard to look tougher than he felt.
Riki points once.
“You.”
The room quiets.
The young man straightens immediately.
“What’s your name?”
“Kaito, sir.”
Riki studies him for a second.
Then reaches across the table, grabbing one of the pistols laid out there.
He slides it across the polished surface.
It stops right in front of the young man.
“Do you know how to use it?”
Kaito looks at the gun.
Then at Riki.
His throat moves.
“Yes, sir.”
You glance at Riki.
You know that look on his face. He already knows the answer is no.
Riki gives a single nod.
“Alright.”
He taps two fingers against the table.
“Show me how to load it.”
Every eye lands on the younger man.
He reaches for the gun too quickly, trying to look confident, but the second it’s in his hands it’s obvious he has no idea what he’s doing. He turns it awkwardly, presses at the magazine release twice before finding it, then fumbles with it like he’s never touched a gun before.
The young man reaches for a handful of bullets on the table.
Wrong bullets.
Riki leans back slowly in his chair.
“So you don’t know.”
His voice is dangerously low.
The young man starts stammering. “I—I do, sir, I just—”
“Shut up.”
Riki stands abruptly, palms flat on the table.
“Who brought this little kid here?”
No one answers.
His eyes flick across the room.
“I asked a fucking question.”
Still silence.
The younger man stares at you like you might save him.
Riki laughs once, humorless.
“Why are you here if you don’t know how to use it?”
No answer.
“Why did you lie? You thought you could just lie to me?”
Nothing.
Riki steps around his chair now, voice rising with every word.
“You look like some big fucking gangster with all that shit on your face and your teeth, but you can’t even load a pistol?”
“Unbelievable.”
Riki points toward the door.
“And since nobody wants to tell me who dragged you in here, get the fuck out.”
The kid stands so fast his chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
You can see the humiliation on his face. He’s young. Scared and trying too hard.
And Riki is stressed enough tonight to tear anyone apart, he drops back down into his chair.
Before the boy can move, your hand slides to the back of Riki’s neck.
Your fingers slip into his hair, scratching lightly.
You look past him to the young man.
“Sit back down,” you say calmly. “It’s okay. You can stay.”
The room watches in stunned silence.
The boy hesitates, then nods quickly and lowers himself back into the chair.
Riki slowly turns his head toward you.
He sighs, leaning closer.
“Baby…” he barely whispers. “What—”
“It’s okay,” you say, still scratching his scalp gently. “He’s young.”
Riki bends down and leans himself into you without shame, arms wrapping around your waist while his face presses into the side of your neck.
The most feared man in the room suddenly clinging to you like he’s exhausted.
He whispers against your skin.
“I’m so tired of these people.”
You smile faintly.
“I know.”
“They’re useless.”
“I know.”
“No one listens.”
“They do. You’re just strict.”
He huffs softly against your throat.
You smooth a hand through his hair.
“You’re doing fine.”
He kisses your neck once.
Then again. Then lifts his head just enough to kiss your lips, slow and careless, like the room full of armed men doesn’t exist.
When he finally straightens, half the table is very obviously pretending to study papers.
“Mind your business, men.”
Everyone immediately looks elsewhere.
He wipes a hand over his face, then points at the younger man again.
“This might be life or death for you tonight. So you better figure out how to use it before we leave.”
He taps the table once.
“Or you’re out.”
Another tap.
“No money.”
Another.
“Back to the streets.”
The young man nods quickly.
Riki narrows his eyes.
“You understand, Kaito?”
The boy swallows hard.
“Yes, sir.”
Riki leans back again, one arm draping behind your chair.
“Good.”
Then he looks at another man down the table.
“Now continue. And try not to waste my time again.”
--
Riki’s headquarters is far bigger than most people would expect. Twelve floors of offices, vault rooms, meeting spaces and hidden doors to drug labs.
You practically live here too, which is why you have your own room.
Not officially, of course. Officially, it’s still listed as an office.
But the moment Riki married you, one of his longtime members was told to pack his things and share space with another man by the end of the day.
No discussion. Your husband wanted you to have your own place in the building, and that’s it.
Now the room looks nothing like an office. It has a massive soft cream couch. A vanity. Fresh flowers that get replaced every week. A giant desk you’ve never once worked at. A TV. Trays filled with jewelry and perfumes Riki got you.
Your own safe. Your own keycode.
Everyone calls it your office anyway.
By the time night settles over the city, the atmosphere in the building feels different.
Outside your room, nobody is as chill as you currently are.
Men loading magazines with bullets in practiced silence.
Others wrapping their knuckles with tape, testing their fists against their palms.
Some are portioning little bags of drugs and weed at a side table, counting stacks and sealing them quickly.
Others still stand over maps and papers, arguing routes and positions.
A few useless ones wander around carrying random folders or talking into dead phones whenever Riki walks by, pretending to be productive.
Outside in the underground loading area, two large black cars stand there with engines running.
Their trunks are open.
Duffel bags are being loaded in. Weapons cases. Cash.
Everyone who’s coming is nearly ready.
And Riki is standing beside the first car, checking the time already irritated.
Then he glances around. You’re not there.
His eyes narrow.
“Kenji.”
His assistant appears instantly.
“Yes?”
“Where is y/n?”
Kenji looks around once, already nervous.
“I… don’t know, boss.”
Riki slowly turns his head.
“You don’t know.”
Kenji swallows.
“I thought she was with the women upstairs, or maybe in her office—”
Riki steps closer.
“What exactly are you useful for?”
Kenji lowers his gaze.
“Sorry, boss.”
Riki scoffs, furious now because they should already be leaving.
He yanks open the rear car door, slams it shut in anger, then turns toward the building.
“Wait.”
He walks inside himself. Straight to the private elevator.
The ride to the ninth floor is silent except for his impatient tapping against the floor.
The doors open he steps out and walks down the corridor toward your “office,” muttering under his breath about how nobody in this building can do anything right.
Then he reaches your door.
The door suddenly flies open hard enough to hit the stopper.
“Y/n.”
You’re stretched out on the long white couch in your office, lying flat on your back with one arm over your stomach, staring at the ceiling and trying not to fall asleep. Regretting every decision that led to you staying.
Your black leather high-heel boots are kicked off near the side of the couch. One leg hangs lazily over the edge.
You’ve been waiting for hours.
You jolt upright.
He stands in the doorway in his black coat, not looking too happy, one hand lifting his wrist to tap the face of his watch.
You blink at him once.
“Oh.”
Then you’re up immediately, scrambling off the couch and hurrying toward him in quick little steps, trying to balance while grabbing one boot, then the other.
He watches you with visible annoyance, but there’s something amused in his eyes too.
You hop once, forcing your foot into a boot. Then the other and rush right up to him.
“I’m ready.”
You’re almost through the doorway when his arm lifts suddenly, palm bracing against the frame in front of you and blocking your path.
He gives you a look.
“You’re forgetting something.”
You turn around.
Your eyes land on the desk.
Your gun lies there neatly beside the open half-empty heart shaped box of luxury chocolates he bought you last week.
“Oh.” You say.
You hurry back, grab the pistol, check if it’s loaded, then slide it carefully into the garter strapped high against your thigh on top of your jeans.
Riki nods once. “Now you’re ready.”
You walk back to him and he lets you pass.
The two of you head for the elevator together.
Inside Riki leans against the metal bar on the back wall, dragging one hand over his face before rubbing at his forehead still irritated.
You know that look.
He hates mistakes, when anything moves outside the plan he built in his head.
You glance up at him, then tilt your head slightly with a small smile, lashes fluttering.
“Sorry.” You say softly.
He looks at you and he sighs. “It’s not your fault, baby.”
You smile wider.
“Kenji should’ve done what he’s hired for,” he continues. “Get you downstairs on time.”
You bite back a laugh. Nothing is ever your fault in his eyes.
The elevator dings.
He reaches for your hand automatically, threading his fingers through yours as you both step out and head through the lobby toward the front entrance.
The giant glass doors are already opened by the time you reach them.
Cold night air sweeps in.
Kenji is waiting outside, holding your black fur coat carefully over his arms like it’s worth more than him. Which, to him, it probably is.
He steps forward quickly.
“Your coat ma’am.”
You let him place it over your shoulders.
Riki doesn’t even look at him. You hide another smile.
Then the two of you walk toward the waiting black car.
A guard opens the back door.
Riki gets in first, then holds a hand out for you.
You take it and slide inside beside him.
The door shuts.
Inside it smells like leather, cigar smoke, and his cologne.
Riki leans forward and taps the drives shoulder twice. “Let’s go.”
The car pulls away, the second car following it, city lights sliding across the tinted windows.
Riki leans back into the seat, one arm stretched along the backrest behind you, the other resting on his thigh. His expression is still tight, mind clearly already at Kaizen Ito’s garage.
You turn slightly toward him, pulling your coat closer around you.
“Why are we with so many tonight?”
He glances at you briefly, then back ahead.
“Because Ito isn’t some random junk. He runs his own operation,” Riki continues. “Smaller than ours, but it’s one of the bigger ones.”
“So he has people?”
“He has a lot of people.”
You nod slowly.
“If we walk into his place,” he adds, “He won’t surrender. His men will show up in no time. We’re not taking risks with that.”
You hum softly.
“That’s why everyone’s coming.”
“Yeah.”
You look out the window for a second, then back at him.
“Why are you so mad at him though?”
Riki scoffs under his breath.
“He borrowed a large amount,” he says, shaking his head, getting reheated over the situation. “Real fucking money.”
“For what?”
“Expansion.”
You tilt your head.
“He wanted to grow fast. More territory, more product, more connections. Came to me asking for back up.”
“And you gave it to him?”
“I did.”
“And now?”
“He used it,” Riki says flatly. “Built himself up, got real comfortable… and then decided he didn’t feel like paying it back.”
You wince slightly.
“Oh.”
“He thinks because he’s a ‘leader’ now, he can negotiate with me.”
“I asked politely once, then had somebody threaten him. Still no money.” He scoffs. “Fuck around and find out.”
The way he says it makes it very clear how that’s going to go.
You stay quiet for a second.
“…what about his daughters?”
Riki’s jaw tightens slightly.
“What about them?”
“How old are they?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
You frown a little.
“Have they seen you before?”
“No.”
“Do you know who the mother is?”
“No.”
“Do they know what their dad does?”
Riki exhales, already getting impatient. “No. I don’t care.”
You blink at him.
“And it doesn’t matter.”
You look at him for a moment longer, then shift a little closer.
“It matters to me.”
He doesn’t respond.
You reach over, lightly touching his sleeve.
“Riki.”
He glances down at your hand, then at you.
“What.”
“Promise me something.”
He already doesn’t like where this is going.
“Depends.”
“Promise me you won’t kill him.”
Silence. His eyes flick back to the road ahead.
He doesn’t answer. You feel his hesitation immediately.
Your expression changes.
“Riki.”
He exhales slowly. “Don’t start.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You sit up straighter now, your tone sharper.
“They have kids.”
And he made his choices.”
“And you can make yours.”
He looks at you again. You don’t back down.
“Promise me.”
He studies your face for a second.
You’re not asking, you’re telling him.
You almost snap.
“Riki—”
“Alright.”
He cuts you off quickly, voice firm.
“I promise.”
You hold his gaze for another second, making sure.
“…you’re not just saying that?”
“No, I said I promise.”
Then you lean back slightly, tension easing from your shoulders.
“Okay.”
Riki looks away again, sighing.
Because promises like that don’t always fit into plans like his.
The cars roll to a slow stop in front of the garage.
It’s bigger than you expected.
Not just a place to fix cars, that’s just the cover up for the trap house that it actually is, this is a full operation. Wide metal doors, security cameras angled at every corner, dim industrial lights buzzing overhead.
Engines shut off one by one.
Doors open and veryone steps out at the same time, like it’s rehearsed.
Men reach into the trunks, grabbing weapons, sliding pistols into waistbands, adjusting jackets to hide everything cleanly. The air feels heavier out here, colder, sharper.
You step out beside Riki, pulling your coat tighter around you as your heels hit the concrete.
Kenji moves quickly behind him, handing things off, checking positions.
Then Riki walks up to the large metal door.
There’s a small panel beside it.
He presses the doorbell. The sound echoes faintly inside.
You wait.
And wait.
Too long.
Riki’s jaw tightens.
“Where the fuck is he” he mutters under his breath.
Another second passes.
Then a small high-pitched voice crackles through the speaker.
“Hello?”
A child.
You blink.
Riki exhales sharply, already irritated, of course.
You step forward slightly before he can say anything.
“Hi, honey,” you say gently, voice completely different from the tension around you. “Can you open the door for us?”
Behind you, Riki turns his head toward Kenji, already annoyed.
“Why is a kid answering the door?” he mutters. “What kind of idiot lets that happen?”
Kenji stays quiet.
“Especially when you’re involved in this kind of shit,” Riki continues under his breath. “You don’t know who’s out there.”
Through the speaker, the girl answers again.
“I can’t reach the button.”
Your expression softens.
“That’s okay,” you say kindly. “Is there an adult nearby who can help you?”
“I’ll go get one.”
You step back slightly.
Riki crosses his arms, tapping his foot once against the ground, patience already gone.
A few seconds pass.
Then the speaker clicks again.
A different voice this time. Kaizen.
“What do you want?”
Riki steps forward immediately, reclaiming the space.
“I want to have a word with you.”
A quiet scoff comes from the speaker.
“Now?”
Riki’s eyes narrow.
“Yes. Now.”
Kaizen lets out a short laugh.
“You don’t just show up at my place like that—”
Riki cuts him off.
“Open the door.”
Silence, like he’s thinking about it.
“Or what?”
The air shifts.
You feel it instantly.
Riki tilts his head slightly, voice dropping.
“Or we shoot it open.”
“But I think you’d rather not make me do that,” he continues calmly. “I know how much this place cost.”
His gaze drags slowly over the building.
“My money, remember?”
No response.
Riki glances at the panel once more. Then leans in slightly.
“I’m giving you five seconds, Kaizen.”
He straightens and steps back.
Grabs your arm gently and pulls you a few steps to the side with him.
Behind you, his men move instantly. Guns are drawn. Aimed straight at the locks, hinges and weak points.
Riki doesn’t look at them.
He just starts counting.
“One.”
Nothing.
“Two.”
Still silence.
“Three.”
You hear someone inside mumble something.
“Four.”
Then—
A loud click.
The lock opens and the massive garage door begins to roll up slowly.
Riki doesn’t react.
Just watches it open exactly like he expected.
The garage door isn’t even halfway up before they move.
Two of Riki’s men duck under it first, fast and low, guns already raised. Kenji follows right behind them, scanning left, right, corners.
Three more slide in just after, but they stop near the entrance, half-turned outward, watching the street, waiting for anything that could mean Kaizen’s men are on their way.
Kaizen Ito stands in the middle of the garage, gun already in his hands, stance tense but trying to look controlled.
“Don’t come any closer,” he warns.
Riki doesn’t rush.
He steps inside slowly, like he owns the place, because he sort of does.
You walk in right beside him, matching his pace. Heel in front of heel, steady and confident. There’s a faint smirk on your lips as you chew your gum, completely unbothered by the guns pointed around you.
Kaizen’s eyes flick to you.
Then back to Riki.
“You brought your fucking wife?”
His tone turns mocking.
“Involving her in this?”
Kaizen scoffs, tightening his grip on his gun.
“You’re dumber than I thought,” he continues. “You know I can kill her easily, right?”
That’s when Riki stops walking.
“If you even think about pointing a gun at her,” Riki says quietly, “I’ll make sure you die a slow and very, very painful death.”
You keep chewing your gum.
Riki looks around the garage like he’s bored now.
Then nods slightly toward the side.
“Can you go get that chair for me.”
You follow his gaze, spot an old metal chair near a workbench, and walk over without a word. It scrapes lightly against the concrete as you drag it back, placing it directly behind Kaizen.
Riki gestures lazily.
“Sit.”
Kaizen hesitates.
His eyes flick behind riki toward the entrance.
Still no sign of his men.
Riki notices. “You can stand,” he says. “But it’s not going to help you.”
Then Kaizen slowly lowers himself into the chair.
“Place the gun down and kick it to me.” Riki says. Kaizen does.
You step behind Kaizen immediately.
You grab his arms and pull them back, tying them tight against the backrest with ease. He tenses under your hands, but doesn’t fight.
He knows better.
Riki crouches down in front of him, lowering himself onto one knee so they’re eye level.
“Where are your daughters?”
Kaizen’s entire body stiffens.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Kaizen shakes his head quickly.
“Why do you—”
“Where are they?”
Panic starts creeping into his expression now.
“Do not hurt my daugh—”
Riki lifts a hand slightly.
“Shh.”
The sound is soft but it shuts him up instantly.
“They’re not part of this,” Riki continues, voice quiet. “Which is why I need to know where they are.”
Kaizen laughs nervously.
“You expect me to just tell you that?”
Riki tilts his head. “My wife is going to sit with them,” he says simply. “Keep them safe.”
Kaizen doesn’t believe him. He shakes his head again.
“No. No, I’m not telling you anything.”
Riki exhales slowly.
Looks down for a second.
Then back up.
“Then I guess we’ll have to find them ourselves.”
Kaizen’s breathing picks up.
“And if we do,” Riki adds calmly, “I might have to hurt one of them just to make a point.”
“Riki.” Your voice cuts through the room instantly.
He hears it.
He glances back at you.
You’re already moving, stepping around the chair until you’re standing in front of Kaizen now.
Your expression is dangerous.
You tilt your head slightly, meeting Kaizen’s eyes.
“Nobody’s going to hurt your daughters,” you say. “Just tell me where they are.”
Kaizen hesitates.
Looks between you and Riki.
He knows he’s outnumbered right now. He knows he’s losing.
“…back room,” he finally mutters. “Through that door.”
He nods toward a hallway to the left.
“Second door.”
You hold his gaze for another second.
Then nod once.
Behind you, Riki reaches out and pats Kaizen’s cheek twice.
Not hard, but not friendly either.
“Good.”
You turn without another word and start walking toward the hallway, your heels echoing softly against the concrete as you head for the room where his daughters are waiting.
You stop in front of the door and listen, muffled voices.
You knock gently. Then you open the door slowly and step inside.
The room is dim, lit by a warm orange glow from a small lamp in the corner. It’s completely different from the cold garage outside.
A small TV sits on a low table, playing Barbie Princess Charm School.
On the carpet in front of it, two little girls sit cross-legged, surrounded by My Little Pony dolls. Each of them has a small bowl beside them with candies, marshmallows. And a mug of hot chocolate resting carefully near their knees.
Everything about it is… set up.
Like someone tried their best to keep them entertained, distracted and safe.
Your chest tightens slightly at the sight.
The girls both look up with big eyes when you enter.
“Hi,” you say gently, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind you. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
They keep staring.
You give them a small smile.
“My name is Y/N. I was just at the door. I’m just going to sit with you for a bit, okay?”
They glance at each other, then back at you.
“…okay.”
You carefully lower yourself onto the carpet with them.
You try to guess their ages, one maybe around five. The other a little older. You lean your elbows lightly on your knees, looking at their setup.
“What are you guys watching?”
“Barbie,” the younger one answers quickly.
You nod like that’s the most important thing in the world.
“Which one?”
She tells you the title perfectly.
You pretend to think about it. “I think that one’s my favorite.”
Her face lights up.
The older one eyes you more carefully, but she relaxes when you don’t ask anything strange.
You pick up one of the little pony dolls absentmindedly.
“And these?”
“My Little Ponies,” she says. “That one’s mine.”
You hand it back carefully.
“They’re cute.”
You gesture to the bowls.
“What are you eating?”
“Candy,” the younger one says again, like it’s obvious.
“And hot chocolate,” the other adds.
You nod approvingly.
“Good choice.”
You keep the conversation light. Asking about their ages. What their favorite barbie characters are. Which pony is the best.
They answer kindly, a little shy at first, then more open as the minutes pass.
You don’t give them a single reason to question why you’re here.
Then outside something crashes. Loud. The sound muffled through the walls. The older girl glances toward the door. Your eyes flick there too for half a second. Then back to them.
Another noise.
Shouting.
You clear your throat softly and reach for the remote without making it obvious. The volume on the TV goes up.
Barbie’s voice fills the room more loudly now.
“There,” you say lightly. “That’s better, right?”
The younger one nods, already turning her attention back to the screen.
The older one doesn’t fully relax.
You notice it when her attention drifts away from the TV, away from the dolls. Her eyes flick to the door, then back to you.
Observing everything. Smarter than she looks.
You keep your expression easy, reaching for one of the ponies again, but when you shift your leg slightly her gaze drops to your thigh.
To the gun strapped neatly against it.
Your stomach tightens for half a second.
You react instantly. Pulling your coat across your lap again, covering it completely.
You look back up like nothing happened.
But she saw it. You know she did.
And then—
“Why are you here?”
You meet her eyes, keeping your tone just as soft.
“Your dad and my husband have some work things to talk about.”
You tilt your head slightly, giving her a small smile.
“I’m just here to keep you company.”
Another noise echoes from outside.
The older girl flinches slightly.
“What’s that?” she asks.
You don’t even look toward the door.
“It’s probably about cars,” you say casually. “They’re in the garage, remember?”
You pick up a doll and begin to brush it’s hair.
“They’re always loud when they work on them.”
She watches you. Still not fully convinced. So you lean in just a little, your voice softer now.
“It’s boring stuff,” you add. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Everyone’s safe, okay?”
Her shoulders ease just a little.
“And I’m here with you,” you continue. “We’re just going to hang out and have fun.”
She finally nods. Just once. And turns her attention back to the TV. The tension fades slowly.
You play along with their little game, letting them hand you dolls, asking who’s who, pretending to follow their storyline. You laugh softly at the right moments, ask questions, keep it light.
They relax around you. The younger one starts talking more, giggling when you mix up the pony names on purpose.
At some point, you all settle back into watching the movie again.
Ken comes on screen. The younger one points immediately.
“He’s funny.”
You smile.
“He thinks he is.”
They both giggle.
Outside, another crash. You hear it but you don’t react.
Then the younger one turns to you again, curiosity back in her eyes.
“What’s your husband’s name?”
You look at her.
“Riki.”
She tilts her head.
“Is he funny and smart like my daddy?”
Your chest tightens slightly at that.
You keep your smile.
“He thinks he’s very funny, just like Ken,” you say lightly. “And he’s… smart in his own way.”
That seems to satisfy her.
“Do you have kids?”
You shake your head.
“No.”
She hums, thinking.
“When you have kids, they can be friends with us.”
Your fingers still for just a second.
“And our dads can be friends too, and you can be bff’s with our mom!” she adds brightly.
The innocence in her voice hits harder than anything else tonight.
For a moment, you can’t answer, because outside that door that’s the last thing that’s going to happen.
You swallow it down. Then you smile again. “I’m sure they’d like that.”
She grins, completely satisfied, already turning back to the movie.The older one glances at you once more like she knows enough.
You hold her gaze for a second. Then look back at the screen. Like nothing is wrong.
Even though you can still hear everything happening just on the other side of that door.
Back in the garage shouting overlaps with the sound of fists hitting bone, boots scraping concrete, metal tools clattering to the floor.
Bodies are everywhere. Half of them are already unconscious, some missing a few front teeth or a broken nose, groaning against the cold floor.
Two of Riki’s men have one of Kaizen’s guys pinned near a workbench, dragging him up by his collar just to slam him back down again.
“Where is it?!” one of them yells.
“I don’t— I don’t know—!” the man chokes, spitting blood.
A hard punch in his face cuts him off.
Another one follows immediately.
“You think we’re stupid?!” the other snaps, gripping his jaw to keep his head up. “We know you have the money. Where is it.”
Across the garage, another one of Kaizen’s men is struggling in a tight headlock, kicking weakly as Kenji tightens his grip.
“Stop fighting,” Kenji snaps at him. “You’re making it worse.”
Then—
A gunshot fires.
⊹
Click here for part two!
🗒️ vaeh’s note: It wasn't my intention to make it this long. I’ve written a whole movie by this point. Forgive me. Unfortunately, I had to split it into 2/3 parts due to Tumblr's fuckass word limit. !! I didn't proofread this bc it took me so so long to write, and then I got these Tumblr problems on top of that. A girl is tiredddd man.
─── Y/N and Ni-ki have been trapped in a casual arrangement since she said yes to his half-joking offer months ago. She fell for him the first time they met on their college rooftop, but he keeps her at arm's length — close enough for convenience, far enough to never call it anything real. Now she's caught between wanting more and pretending she doesn't, while he runs hot and cold in ways that feel less like indifference and more like fear.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : college AU, angst, friends with benefits, toxic situationship, smut (mdni), porn with plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : fuckboy!riki, swearing, smoking, mention of weed, alcohol, kissing (a lot during sex), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, fingering, mention of gun shooting, mention of drugs, ni-ki has a bad relationship with his parents, “when it’s good it’s really good, when it’s bad it’s really bad” type of relationship
𝐰𝐜 : 13.1k
𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ── (no specific order, i recommend listening to it while reading)
♪ DIE FOR ME - Chase Atlantic
♪ Issues - Julia Michaels
♪ THINGS AND SUCH - PARTYNEXTDOOR
♪ Boyfriend- Ariana Grande ft. Social House
♪ So High - Doja Cat
♪ Right My Wrongs - Bryson Tiller
♪ Come & See Me - PARTYNEXTDOOR ft. Drake
♪ N 2 Deep - Drake ft. Future
♪ I NEED U - BTS
♪ Casual - Doja Cat
♪ Resentment - PARTYNEXTDOOR
♪ Been Like This - Doja Cat
♪ TBH - PARTYNEXTDOOR
♪ Cinderella - Mac Miller ft. Ty Dolla $ign
note : I was inspired by one of my experiences with an ex of mine lol (i was the biggest bird of the flock, and yes i was exactly acting like Y/N) y’all are going to hate me, I can feel it. Enjoyyyy :)
You push through the door, laptop bag sliding off your shoulder, already mentally clocking out of the first lecture before it's even started.
You’re so focused on going to your lecture that you nearly collide with someone.
Ni-ki is always recognizable through his scent most of the time, always that faint coffee smell to hide whatever he smoked on the drive over. His hand shoots out to hold something up between your faces. A small black clip. You spent 10 minutes looking for it yesterday with the little crack in the plastic from when you dropped it in your shower not so long ago.
"You left this," he says flatly.
Two days ago. You remember exactly where you left it ; on his nightstand, next to the empty can of soda and your phone that he'd moved so it wouldn't fall off the edge. He kept it in his pocket like a psychopath until now.
You take it. Your fingers brush his.
"Thanks," you say, because what else is there.
He's already stepping around you, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, heading to the opposite direction of every single one of his classes. You watch the back of his hoodie disappear around the corner.
Jess is already in your usual seats, two rows from the back, her energy drink sweating onto her notebook. She clocks your face the second you sit down.
"God, you look terrified," she says. "What happened?"
You set the clip on the desk. "Ni-ki just returned my hair clip."
Jess's eyebrows go up. She knows, not everything, but enough to figure out your state. She knows you go over there and she knows you don't talk about it.
"And how was that exchange ?"
"Normal, I guess." You pull out your laptop, even though you know you're not going to take notes. "He said 'you left this' and walked away."
"Romantic."
"Right."
She's quiet for a bit, then leans closer, lowering her voice even though no one near you is paying attention. "Okay, real question. Are you, like... keeping track? I mean, number-wise."
You frown. "Like...body counts?"
"Yeah. Like, since this whole thing started. Are you even seeing other people? Are you counting repeats? Because I've been thinking about it and I genuinely don't know what the etiquette is."
"I don't think there is an etiquette for whatever this is." You tap your fingernail against the desk. "And no, I'm not counting anything."
"You should. For records, at least." She grins, but it fades when you don't mirror it. "Fine. Do you want to count him? Like, in a way that means something?"
The professor walks in and you watch the projector screen flicker to life.
"I don't know," you say. And that's the worst part, you don't know if you want him to mean something or if you just want to stop wanting it so badly. The line between the two has been blurred for months now.
Jess sighs. "Boys are so stupid, like actually brain-dead. I swear my ex thought the clit wasn’t a real thing."
That pulls a laugh out of you, tired and a little rough. "He wasn't that bad."
"Your bar is in hell as I can see."
The lecture starts. You zone out ten minutes in, thumb moving over the crack in your hair clip. He kept it in his pocket for two days. You don't know what that means and you're probably not supposed to know.
It's fine. You'll text him tonight. He'll reply with one word or nothing at all. And you'll go over anyway. Because that's what this is.
───
Break time hits and the courtyard is a mess. You find a spot at one of the picnic tables near the old oak tree, Jess refuses to sit at because she says it gives her anxiety. You don’t mind it. It’s farther from the main walkway, which means fewer people trying to make small talk.
Jess is already inside the cafeteria buying a pastry that she kept talking about during the whole lecture, so you’re alone for a minute, scrolling on your phone without really focusing on anything. The sun is too bright and the coffee you had earlier is making your hands feel jittery. You can’t stop thinking about the way Ni-ki held out that hair clip this morning like it was nothing.
You look up because something in your peripheral shifts, and there he is. Two tables over, diagonal across the courtyard, sitting with Jay and Jungwon and another guy you don’t recognize. He’s not paying attention to whatever Jay is saying ; his elbow is propped on the table, chin resting on his knuckles, and he’s looking directly at you.
You hold eye contact because looking away first feels like losing a battle you didn't even initiate.
He tilts his head slightly, lazy but intentional, and mouths something slowly so you catch every syllable: "My place. After classes?"
Sounds like it’s a statement dressed up like one.
You nod once, enough for him to catch it.
He smiles but not a big one, it's a twitch at the corner of his mouth, making it looks like he’s amused by the whole thing, you just confirmed something he already knew. Afterwards, he turns back to his friends like nothing happened, reaching over to steal Jay’s fries without looking at you again.
Oh you hate what you just felt at that exact moment.
Jess drops into the seat across from you a moment later, biting into a croissant that’s shedding crumbs everywhere. “Okay, so I have a chem lab at 2 and then I’m free,” she says, talking around the pastry. “You wanna grab food after? There's that new Thai place that opened and I’ve been thinking about their spring rolls for days.”
You blink at her, still half-focused on the back of Ni-ki’s hoodie across the courtyard.
“Damn, the wind must be really strong today.”
“Sorry. What?”
“Thai place after classes. You in or not?”
You hesitate for a beat too long and Jess’s eyes narrow.
“Oh Lord,” she says slowly, setting down her croissant. “You’re not free, are you?”
You pick at a splinter on the table. “Not tonight.”
“Let me guess.” She leans forward. “Tall and emotionally unavailable.”
“Is that how you see him?”
“Am I wrong?”
You don’t answer, and she groans into her hands.
“You’re actually killing me,” she says. “One day, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been in a situationship with a guy who communicates exclusively through neutral face expressions.”
“He talked to me this morning.”
“He returned your hair clip, that’s not talking. Girl, come on.”
You laugh despite yourself, kicking her foot under the table. “Just text me the menu and I’ll go with you next week.”
She sighs heavily as she picks her croissant back up. “Fine. But you owe me details. Not the weird ones, i don't want to know how he fucks. I just want to know...like his last name. I don’t even know his last name.”
You look back toward the other table. Ni-ki is laughing at something Jungwon said, head tipped back slightly, and for a second he looks younger than 21, less like the version of him that presses you against his mattress and more like the version that offered you a cigarette on a rooftop when you were both strangers.
You still don’t know his last name either.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Me neither.”
───
The last class of the day finally ends. By the time the professor dismisses you, the sun has already set down, letting the sky being painted in purple and orange shades.
You don't rush to the parking lot. Something about walking too fast feels like admitting out loud that seeing him was the only thing you were looking forward to the whole day. Which it was.
The lot is mostly empty now, most students cleared out ten minutes ago, desperate to escape. Your sneakers scrape against the concrete as you weave between rows of beat-up sedans and the occasional overcompensating truck. And you finally spot his car.
His black Camaro is parked in the far corner, the one closest to the exit, because of course he needs a quick getaway. The engine is already running ; you can tell by the faint exhaust curling from the back ; and through the windshield you can see him slouched in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the wheel.
His head is tilted down, probably at his phone, and for a second you think about turning around and walking away just to see how long it would take him to notice. But your feet keep moving because you're pathetic like that.
You pull open the passenger door and the warmth hits you immediately ; he always runs the heat even when it's not that cold outside. The leather seat creaks under you as you slide in, tossing your bag between your feet.
Ni-ki doesn't look up right away as he finishes typing something, locks his phone, and only then turns his head toward you.
"You took forever," he says.
"Class ran late."
He hums, unconvinced, but he doesn't push it. He reaches over and pulls your seatbelt across you, not because he's being sweet, but because he's watched you forget it three times now and he's tired of the car beeping.
His knuckles brush your collarbone.
He puts the car in reverse and backs out without checking his blind spot, which should terrify you but doesn't anymore. The parking lot exits onto a side street and then he's merging into traffic, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh to some imaginary song.
You watch his profile. The way his jaw is set, the tiny scar near his eyebrow he's never explained, the way his hoodie sleeve falls just right on his wrist.
"So," you say, because sitting in total silence for the whole drive feels like something a hostage would do. "You had a good day?"
He glances at you, and there's something almost amused in his expression. "You don't care about my day."
"Maybe I do."
"You don't." He says it simply, he obviously assumes that you don't actually care about his day because you're only here for one reason. And the worst part is he's not wrong, or maybe he is wrong and you just haven't figured out how to prove it yet.
You look out the window instead. The buildings blur past, a laundromat, a bodega with a faded sign, a bus stop with one tired-looking person waiting. Just normal things.
After a minute, Ni-ki's hand leaves the wheel and lands on your thigh, resting there.
The car keeps moving.
───
His house is too big for one person. That's the same thing you think every time you walk through the front door, and tonight is no different. The entryway alone could fit your entire apartment, and the ceilings are so high you get a little neck cramp looking up at the chandelier that probably costs more than your tuition.
Ni-ki doesn't bother with the lights. He hits a switch near the door and the living room floods with warm overhead light, revealing a space that looks like something out of a magazine ; leather couches, a marble coffee table that's definitely never seen a coffee ring, floor-to-ceiling windows that face a backyard you've only seen once in the dark. Everything is clean.
He kicks off his shoes by the door and you do the same, lining your sneakers up next to his like a silent compromise between his mess and yours.
You're still shrugging off your jacket when he drops onto the massive sectional couch, sprawling across it like a cat going for a nap. His hoodie rides up slightly and you look away because looking at him in that way would feel criminal.
"So," he says, drawing the word out, and there's something in his voice that makes you pause mid-fold of your jacket. "We've done the bed. We've done the floor. We've done the kitchen counter that one time." He tilts his head against the cushion, eyes tracking you across the room. "What about the couch?"
You freeze with your jacket still in your hands.
There's a crease at the corner of his eye that gives him away. He's enjoying this ; the way your shoulders go stiff, the way you suddenly can't look at him directly. The couch is huge and leather and objectively fine, but something about the suggestion makes your face heat anyway. Maybe because it's different, maybe because it feels less like falling into bed and more like something you'd have to think about.
"Don't get shy now," he says, and his voice is lower, teasing but soft underneath. "You literally said yes before I finished asking last time."
"That was something else."
"How?"
You want to answer, but it's embarrassing. You're not shy about him, not really, not anymore. But the couch feels too exposed, too close to the windows, too close to the part of the house where someone could theoretically walk in even though no one ever does. It feels less like a decision and more like a dare.
You drape your jacket over the back of an armchair, stalling. "I'm not shy."
Ni-ki shifts, propping himself up on his elbow. His hair falls over his forehead and he looks annoyingly handsome like this, all loose limbs and lazy confidence. "Yeah? Then come here."
Three words. And your feet move before your brain catches up. He doesn't even have to beg, when he just says things like they've already happened and waits for you to catch up, knowing you will eventually.
You stop at the edge of the couch, looking down at him. He looks back up at you, and his expression softens a little.
"Or we can go upstairs," he says, and it's not a concession.
You hate how easy it is for him to make you feel seen.
You sit down on the edge of the couch, close enough that your knee touches his thigh. "The couch is fine."
His eyebrow goes up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His hand finds your waist anyway, pulling you closer until you're half-draped across his chest, and the leather creaks beneath you both. His heart is steady under your palm but yours is not.
"Liar," he murmurs against your hair.
He's right. You are shy, and a really bad liar.
The walk up to his bedroom feels longer than it should, the anticipation is buzzing under your skin. You’re practically vibrating with nervous energy as Ni-ki unlocks the massive door and pushes it open. The room is dark and spacious, lit only by the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He immediately reaches for the hem of his oversized hoodie, yanking it over his head and tossing it carelessly onto the floor. The sight of his bare chest stops you in your tracks. You feel a sudden, overwhelming wave of shyness wash over you, your cheeks flushing hot as you avert your gaze, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.
"Why are you getting shy again?" Ni-ki asks, his voice low and amused as he steps closer, invading your personal space. He tilts his head, his eyes studying your face intently. "You’re not usually like this. What’s up?"
You look up at him, your voice barely a whisper. "Can we...go soft this time?" you ask, feeling vulnerable. He pauses, a glint of confusion crossing his face, but he nods slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"Okay," he says, his voice dropping an octave lower. "I'll be soft."
He pulls you in by the waist, his hands warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension building between you. He presses you gently against the doorframe, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. His hands wander down your back, his fingers digging into your flesh, but you don't want to rush. You want to feel every inch of him, dragging this out.
You kiss him back, your tongues tangling together, a slow and deep exploration. His hands slide up your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands move to the waistband of your pants, his fingers teasing the button and zipper. You shiver as he undoes them, letting them pool around your ankles, and you step out of them, kicking them aside.
He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, the mattress sinking beneath you. He climbs on top of you, his weight pressing you into the sheets. He kisses you again, his lips moving from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, his tongue flicking over your sensitive skin. You arch your back, giving him more access, his hands exploring your body, mapping out every curve and dip.
He moves lower, his lips trailing down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He pulls them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He parts your legs, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You gasp, your hips bucking slightly as he touches you there.
He leans down and spreads your legs wider, his fingers sliding into you. He begins to finger you, his movements slow and pleasant, his fingers curling inside you, searching for that sweet spot. You moan his name, your hands gripping a pillow beside you. He adds a second finger, stretching you, his thumb rubbing against your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around his fingers.
He pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the loss. He looks up at you before bringing his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. "Sweet, huh?" he says, smiling, before moving up to kiss you again.
He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locking onto yours. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. You gasp, his eyes rolling back slightly as he stretches you. He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, the friction building between you. "Tell me if it hurts."
"It's okay." You barely could answer.
He begins to move. He watches your face, wanting to see every reaction you have to him. He kisses you deeply, the kiss matching the pace of his hips. The feeling of him filling you up is overwhelming, the sensation of being so full and stretched is intense.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, encouraging him to go faster, but he holds back, his pace steady and controlled. He wants to make this last. He focuses on the sensations, the heat between your bodies.
He pulls out slightly, then pushes back in, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans down and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan his name, the sound echoing in the room. He smiles against your skin, a small, satisfied smile, knowing he’s making you feel good.
He picks up the pace just a little, his thrusts becoming a little more urgent, but still slow. He wants to be inside you for as long as possible. The friction is delicious, sending sparks flying through your body. He kisses you again, his tongue tangling with yours, the taste of you driving him wild.
You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him. You look up at him, your eyes glazed with pleasure. "Ni-ki," you breathe out, your voice breathless and ragged. "I'm going to come," you whisper.
He nods, his eyes locking onto yours, and he keeps thrusting, his pace remaining steady, but he focuses on the spot that makes you see stars. You cry out his name as you unravel, your body clamping down on him. He follows moments later, his hips bucking against yours as he releases inside you, filling you completely.
He stays inside you for a long time, the silence of the room broken only by your ragged breathing. He leans down and kisses your forehead, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. "Fuck...that was good," he says, his voice quiet and tired.
He reaches for the bedside table and pulls out a small baggie and a lighter. He packs a bowl, taking a long drag, and then offers it to you.
You take a hit, your lungs filling with the smoke, and you cough slightly. He laughs, his chest vibrating against your back. He leans over you, blowing the smoke directly on your face. He pulls back, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Come closer," he whispers, his voice husky. He blows another cloud of smoke into your mouth, sealing it with a kiss. You feel the smoke swirl in your mouth and then pass it back to him, the taste of weed and mint mixing on your tongues.
"Ayy, that was kinda cool," he says, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb.
"Was it?" you ask, a smile playing on your lips.
"Yeah," he says, his eyes darkening. "You should come over more often."
You just smile, content and relaxed, feeling the weight of the day melting away.
The bedroom is a mess of tangled blankets and discarded clothes by the time you both settle into the quiet evening. The floor lamp in the corner casts everything in a golden glow, just enough to see the shape of his arm resting above his head, the way his chest rises and falls.
You're on your back, staring at the ceiling, your shirt thrown somewhere near the night table.
Ni-ki hasn't moved to touch you. His hand is draped off the edge of the bed, fingers grazing the floor, and he's looking at the wall with that blank expression that could mean anything or nothing.
You don't know why you ask it and the words just fall out.
"Have you ever thought about getting a girlfriend?"
It sounds almost too casual. You keep your eyes on the ceiling so you don't have to see his reaction.
For a moment he doesn't answer. Then you feel him shift beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as he props himself up on one elbow. When you glance over, he's looking down at you with something unreadable on his face.
"What kind of question is that?" he says.
You shrug with one shoulder. "Just wondering."
He's quiet again, and you think maybe he's going to ignore it, change the subject or reach for his phone like he usually does. He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, and runs a hand through his hair.
"There's this girl," he says, and your stomach drops. "She keeps calling me, texts me like three times a week. She wants to come over and fuck again."
You keep your face neutral. "And ?"
"And I don't really want to. She's kind of annoying, to be honest." He pauses, tilting his head like he's considering something. "But I might consider it. It kinda gets boring doing the same thing all the time."
The same thing. You. He means you.
Your jaw tenses and you look back at the ceiling because if you look at him right now, he'll see it ; the glint of something stupid. Jealousy. Over a girl you don't even know, over a guy who isn't yours and has never pretended to be.
You swallow it down. "So do it then," you say, and your voice comes out steady. "Not like we're exclusive."
"Exactly." He says it so easily.
There's a beat of silence. He shifts again, and you feel his gaze on your profile.
"What about you," he says. "You ever want a relationship? Like, one day."
The question catches you off guard. He's never asked you anything personal before. The closest he's gotten was asking if you wanted water that one time, and even that felt like an accident.
You should say yes. I mean you do want one. Just not with someone else. Maybe with him. But that's not what he's asking and you know it.
"No," you say, and the lie tastes bitter. "That's too much work."
He stares at you for a second longer before he drops back onto the mattress, arm going over his eyes. "Yeah," he says, voice muffled. "Same."
You lie there in the darkening room, his body warm next to yours but not touching, and you listen to the silence stretch.
He reaches for his phone on the floor and you reach for your shirt.
That's how it goes.
───
Friday afternoon, the sky is gray and it looks like it might rain but probably won't. You find yourself climbing the stairs to the rooftop before you've fully decided to go there. The pack of cigarettes in your pocket feels like an excuse, but it's the only one you have.
The door creaks when you push it open, and the air hits you instantly, a little damp, carrying the distant sound of traffic from the main road. You step out onto the gravel, lighter already in your hand.
Ni-ki is already there, leaning against the railing at the edge of the roof, the same spot where you first met him 8 months ago. His back is to you, shoulders hunched, a thin curl of smoke rising from between his fingers. He doesn't turn around when the door closes behind you. Either he didn't hear or he doesn't care.
For a second you think about leaving, turning around and going back down the stairs, pretending you never came up here. But your feet don't move, and neither does he, so you walk over to the opposite side of the railing and lean against it a few feet away.
You pull out a cigarette, light it and take a drag. The smoke burns on the way down.
Neither of you speaks for a long minute. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair, and he finally glances sideways at you. His eyes look tired, you already know he hasn't been sleeping at all.
"You smoke too much," he says, not even greeting you.
"So do you."
He huffs something that might be a laugh but it's hollow. He turns back to look at the skyline, the cluster of buildings and trees and the far-off blur of the highway. His jaw is tight, you could see it.
You should leave it alone. That's the agreement ; you don't do feelings, you don't do problems, you just do each other's bodies and then go home. But something about how his shoulders are set like he's holding something heavy, makes the words come out anyway.
"You okay?"
He takes a long drag, holds it and exhales. The smoke gets carried away by the wind.
"My parents," he says finally, and his voice is flat. "They want to cut me off."
You wait. He doesn't elaborate so you push. "Cut you off from what?"
"Everything." He flicks ash onto the gravel. "Money. My car. My card. All of it." A pause. "They say I've been doing bad things with it. That I'm out of control."
You can guess ; the late nights, the people he knows, the way his eyes look red sometimes when he picks you up. You've never asked before,it never felt like your place.
"So what are you going to do?" you say.
He looks at you then and there's something sharp in his expression. "What am I supposed to do? Get a job that I don't even like? Work at a café like a normal person?" He says it like the words taste bad.
You take a drag, thinking. "Maybe you could talk to them. Explain that—"
"I'm not explaining anything." His voice is harder now. "They don't listen. They never have. They just throw money at problems and then get mad when the problems don't magically disappear."
"Okay, but if they take the car, how are you going to—"
"I don't know." He cuts you off, pushing off from the railing and turning to face you fully. His cigarette is burning down between his fingers.
You take another drag. "You could...I don't know, sell some stuff? Or try to— "
"You don't get it."
His voice cuts through yours sharper than you expected. You turn to look at him. He's still facing forward, but his shoulders are tense now, his hand gripping the edge of the railing.
"I'm not saying I get it," you say carefully. "I'm just trying to help."
"Help." He says the word like an offense. "You can't help. You don't know what it's like to have everything and then have it pulled away. To have people look at you like you're just a spoiled kid who fucks up and that's all you'll ever be." His eyes are darker than usual. "You don't come from that. You don't understand."
It stings. Not because he's wrong about your background, he's not, you've never hidden that you're on scholarships and financial aid but because he's shutting you out in that particular way he does, it makes you feel like you're on the other side of a wall you can't climb.
"I'm not trying to fix it," you say, quieter now. "I just care. That's all."
He stares at you for a long second. His expression flickers, something almost vulnerable, almost soft, and then it's totally gone.
"Care," he repeats. "We're not close, Y/N. We fuck and that's it. You don't have to pretend like there's more, you know?."
He pauses. "I know what you're trying to do." His voice drops. "But you can't. You don't have parents like mine. You don't have...you live in a normal apartment and you worry about normal things. I can't just 'talk to them.' I can't just 'figure it out.' It's not the same."
Your chest tightens, you want to argue, you want to tell him about the hair clip, about the hundred small things that felt like something when you knew it didn't at all.
But you don't. Because he's right, isn't he? That's what you agreed to.
He drops his cigarette, grinds it out under his shoe, and stands. He doesn't look at you again.
You open your mouth to say something but he's already stepping back, dropping his cigarette to the gravel and grinding it out with his shoe.
"Forget it," he says. "I shouldn't have said anything."
He walks past you. The rooftop door creaks open, then shut.
You're alone.
The cigarette in your hand has burned down to the filter. You drop it, watch the last wisp of smoke rise up into the gray sky, and you don't follow him.
That's not your role and it never was.
───
The sand is hot enough to burn your feet by the time you and Jess find a spot near the water. You spread your towels out, anchor them with bags and a half empty bottle of sunscreen, and Jess immediately starts complaining about the seagulls.
"It's fine," you say, pulling your shirt over your head. "They're not gonna attack you."
"You don't know that."
You're about to respond when a volleyball smacks into the sand a few feet away from your towel. Jess jumps in surprise and you look up.
Jay is jogging toward you, already laughing, hand raised in apology. Behind him, Jake is doubled over for some reason, Jungwon is heading towards the shores, and further back, near the water, Ni-ki is standing with his hands in his shorts pockets, watching the horizon.
"Sorry," Jay says, grabbing the ball. "Jake's aim is ass today."
"Jake's aim is always ass," Jess says with a smile. She's known Jay since high school, and some habits don't fade.
Jay waves toward the others. "You guys wanna hang out? We've got a net set up. Well, Jake found a net. We're not sure where it came from though."
You glance at Jess and she shrugs.
"Yeah, okay," you say.
Walking over feels like walking into something you're not prepared for. The sand is soft, slipping under your feet with every step. Jake waves when he sees you. Jungwon is already in the water up to his knees, ignoring everyone. And Ni-ki is standing slightly apart from the group, not looking at you, which is fine because you're not looking at him either.
You haven't talked since yesterday at the rooftop, since he left you there with your cigarette burning down to nothing.
So you don't look at him and he doesn't look at you.
"We should play," Jake says, grabbing the ball from Jay. "Let’s make teams. Y/N, you're with me."
"You're gonna lose," Jess says.
"Bold talk from someone who hasn't touched a volleyball since middle school."
Jess flips him off.
The game is messy, no one really knows the rules except Jay, who keeps trying to enforce them, and Jungwon who doesn't care. You're next to Jake, which means you're laughing more than you're playing because he keeps making stupid comments every time he misses the ball.
"That was on purpose," he says after a ball flies past his head.
"Sure it was."
"I was just testing your reflexes."
You roll your eyes and serve. The ball actually goes over the net, it feels like a miracle. Ni-ki is on the other side, you realize. He misses it and watches it land in the sand next to him.
Jake whoops. "Good job Y/N."
The game ends when someone (no one knows who) decides it's over. Jess is already walking toward the water, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. Jay follows her.
"Race you," Jake says, and he's already running before you can answer.
You run after him because you're competitive, and the water is cold when it hits your shin, colder when you fall forward trying to dodge a wave. Jake is laughing at you, so you push water at his face.
You two have a full on play fight right there in the shallows, splashing, shoving, Jake grabbing your wrist to spin you around. He's stronger than he looks, but he's also not holding that hard, so you manage to shove him back once, twice. His foot slips on a rock and he goes down, half sitting in the water, still laughing.
"Oh you're so dead," he says.
"You already are."
He lunges for your ankle and you stumble, catching yourself on his shoulder. For a second you're both just standing there, out of breath, water dripping down your faces.
Jake is still loosely holding your wrist.
"You fight dirty," he says.
"Just admit you're slow."
He laughs and lets go, wading deeper, already turning to find Jay.
You look toward the shore without meaning to. Ni-ki is standing at the edge of the water, watching the whole scene. His arms are crossed. His expression is blank.
You hold his gaze for a second but he looks away first.
Jess appears next to you, hair soaked and grinning. "Jake's gonna ask you out by the end of the summer. Watch it."
"He's not."
"Did you see the way he looked at you the whole time ?."
"It was a play fight."
Jess gives you a look. "Sure. And Ni-ki is definitely not standing over there looking like he wants to punch someone."
You glance back at the shore. Ni-ki is walking toward the towels, not toward the water. His steps are quick.
"Hey," Jay calls out. "You’re getting in or what?"
Ni-ki doesn't stop. "Got stuff to do."
"We’re at the beach. What stuff?"
He doesn't answer and grabs his shirt from his bag, shakes the sand off, and starts walking toward the parking lot.
Jake watches him go, frowning. "What's his deal?"
No one answers. Jay looks at you.
"I'm gonna go get some water," you say, because you don't know what else to say.
Jess grabs your arm before you can move. "Don't."
"What?"
"You're gonna chase after him. I can see it on your face. And he's just gonna say something shitty and you're gonna feel worse."
You pull your arm back. "I'm not going to chase after him."
"Okay."
"I'm not."
She holds her hands up. "Okay."
You stand in the water, salt drying on your skin, and watch the spot where his car was parked until the space is empty. Jess is right. You'd only feel worse, but it doesn’t matter since you already do.
───
The door to your apartment clicks shut behind you and you drop your beach bag on the floor, sand already spilling out onto the tiles. Your shoulders are pink from the sun, your hair still damp and tangled with salt, and all you want is a cold shower and an unhealthy amount of time of scrolling on your phone.
You plug your phone in first because it died somewhere between the volleyball game and the drive home. The screen lights up after a few seconds, and you blink at the notification.
13 missed calls.
All from the same number. It’s unknown.
Your first thought is spam. Your second thought is a wrong number. Your third thought, the one you don't want to acknowledge, is him.
You hesitate for a moment, thumb hovering over the call button, you press “call”.
The line rings four time before going to voicemail. A generic automated voice telling you to leave a message. You hang up without saying anything.
You're about to toss the phone onto your bed when it rings again. The same number. You answer. For a few seconds, no one speaks. There's just a slow and uneven breathing, and something in the background that sounds like a TV.
"Hello?" you say.
Still nothing, so you decide to assume that it’s him.
"I know it's you," you say. "You called me thirteen times. You can at least say something."
A pause and you hear his voice, low and slurred around the edges. "Hey."
Ni-ki.
You close your eyes and lean against your bedroom wall. "You okay?"
"Define okay."
"You're high."
"I guess so."
You can hear him exhale, long and slow, probably smoke. It’s definitely weed. His words are sticky, running into each other like he's thinking too hard about each one before it leaves his mouth.
"I didn't like it," he says suddenly. "Today. At the beach."
Your chest tightens. "Didn't like what?"
"You know what. The way you were with Jake. All close and laughing and..." He trails off, and you hear him take another drag. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I don't care. You do whatever you want."
"You just said you didn't like it."
"I said it doesn't matter."
The line goes quiet for a moment. You can picture him ; probably sprawled on that massive leather couch in his empty living room, the high ceilings and the chandelier that cost at least a kidney. One hand holding the phone, the other holding whatever he's smoking. His eyes half-closed, looking like a hot disaster.
"I really need you right now," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word.
Your heart does a flip.
"That's not fair," you say quietly.
"I’m sorry."
"You can't just call me when you're high and say stuff like that."
"I know."
Silence. The sound of the TV in the background on his end. You can hear your own breathing.
"Can you come over?" he asks, and he sounds smaller than you've ever heard him. Needy like he never lets himself be. "Please."
You could’ve say no, tell him to sleep it off and call you in the morning when he's sober and less likely to say things he'll pretend didn't happen. You have to protect yourself for once.
And here you are, already grabbing your keys.
───
The drive takes twenty minutes. His house is dark when you pull into the driveway, the only light coming from somewhere deeper inside. The front door is unlocked as it always is, and you let yourself in, kicking off your sandals by the entryway.
The living room is a mess. Everything is scattered. There’s a blanket on the floor, empty glasses on the coffee table and his hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. And there he is, slouched in the corner of the sectional, phone on the cushion beside him, a half smoked joint balanced on the edge of an ashtray.
His eyes are red and his hair is a mess. He looks up at you when you walk in and something in his expression changes. It’s relief, you might think.
"There’s no way you really came," he says like he's surprised.
"You called me thirteen times."
"Right."
You drop your bag by the door and walk over to him. The coffee table has a pitcher of water and some takeout containers from somewhere you don't recognize. You push them aside and sit on the edge of the couch, facing him.
"You're an asshole," you say.
"Yeah."
"Like, genuinely an asshole."
He's not arguing back so that's how you know he's really high.
You reach out and take the joint from the ashtray, stubbing it out even though there's still some left. He watches your hands, your fingers, the way you're sitting close enough that your knee almost touches his.
"When did you eat last?" you ask.
He blinks at you like the question requires calculus. "I don't know. Lunch?"
"It's almost ten."
"Oh."
You sigh and stand up, heading toward the kitchen. His kitchen is massive and spotless and useless because he barely uses it. You find bread, peanut butter, a banana that's not too brown. You make him a sandwich without asking if he wants one because he's not in a state to make good decisions. When you come back, he hasn't moved an inch. You hand him the plate and he stares at it for a second before taking it.
"Eat," you say.
"You're bossy when you're annoyed."
"I'm always annoyed. You just don't notice."
He takes a bite, chews and swallows. His eyes stay on you the whole time.
You sit back down, closer this time, and you watch him eat until half the sandwich is gone. You take the plate away and set it on the coffee table.
"Water," you say, pouring a glass from the pitcher. You hand it to him and he drinks. When he's done, he sets the glass down and leans his head back against the couch, eyes closed. His breathing is slower now.
"You didn't have to come, you know." he says.
"You asked me to."
"Yeah. But you didn't have to."
You look at him ; the dark circles, the dried salt on his skin from the beach he barely touched, the way his hands are trembling just slightly. He's a mess. He's always been a mess, yet he's sitting here, in this big empty house, and he called you. Amongst everyone he knew, he called you.
"Yeah, well," you say quietly. "I'm here anyway so..."
He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at you. His gaze is heavy and unfocused.
"You're gonna stay?" he asks. "For a bit?"
You have to go home, because you have class tomorrow. Your hair is still damp from the ocean and you're tired and you know that staying will only make things more complicated.
"Yeah," you say. "For a bit."
He shifts on the couch, making room, and you take the hint. You sit next to him, close enough that your shoulder presses against his arm, and he doesn't pull away. Neither do you.
After a few minutes, his head drops onto your shoulder. His breathing evens out. He's not asleep, heavy and warm against you.
You stare at the dark windows, the empty room, the ghost of smoke curling from the ashtray.
This isn't going to fix anything. You know that and he knows that. But for now, he's not pushing you away, so everything feels fine.
The high wears off slowly. You notice that his breathing changes, it’s less shallow and more present. His fingers stop trembling too. His head lifts from your shoulder and he blinks at the room like he's seeing it for the first time.
He's still loose, still soft around the edges, but he's coming back to himself. You can feel it.
"You okay?" you ask.
He nods, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Yeah. Starting to feel human again."
"Good."
A silence settles between you, he turns his head, looking at you with those half-lidded eyes, and his voice is quieter when he speaks. "Did you shower yet? After the beach?"
You glance down at yourself. Your skin still has salt residue, your hair is stiff with dried seawater. "No. I came straight here."
He's quiet for a moment. "We could take a bath."
You look at him. His expression isn't teasing like usual, and it’s almost soft.
"A bath ?" you repeat.
"Uh yeah. The tub's big enough." There’s a pause. "We don't have to do anything. I just—I don't want to be alone right now."
That's the most honest thing he's said all night.
You nod. "Okay."
───
Even if you were already used to every corner of his house, you’d never get over how huge his bathroom is. Marble floors, a tub that could fit three people, candles on the counter that he never lights. He runs the water while you sit on the edge of the sink, watching him test the temperature with his wrist.
He's still in his beach clothes ; shorts, a loose t-shirt and a silver chain with a cross that he never takes off. You're in your bikini top and the oversized button-up you threw on over it.
When the tub is full, he turns off the water and looks at you. "You first."
You slide off the sink and step toward the tub, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel even though you've done much more than this with him. You take off your button-up and step out of your shorts, leaving your bikini on the floor. He does the same ; he pulls his shirt over his head, kicks off his shorts and his boxers.
The water is warm, almost too warm, and you sink into it with a sigh. The salt washes off your skin immediately, and you can feel your muscles relaxing. He gets in behind you, settling against the end of the tub, his legs on either side of yours.
For a minute, neither of you speaks. The water ripples softly. A candle flickers, he must have lit it while you weren't looking. You can feel him shifting, moving closer, and his arms come around your waist from behind. He pulls you back against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.
You freeze for half a second. He's never done this before. The fact of having this kind of moment with him doesn’t even feel real to you. You two have been intimate in so many ways but never like this.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs, breath warm against your neck.
"Yeah," you whisper. "It's okay."
His arms tighten slightly, holding you a little closer. You lean your head back against his shoulder and close your eyes.
This is new and terrifying. This is everything you've wanted without letting yourself admit it, but you know that things like that don’t really last. So you have to accept it.
───
The water starts to cool after a while, his thumb is tracing shapes on your stomach, absent-minded.
You think about what brought you here and how he sounded so small when he said he needed you.
"Ni-ki," you say quietly.
"Mm?"
You hesitate. You don't want to ruin whatever this is. But it's been sitting in your chest since all the times you've watched him disappear into himself.
"Those friends of yours that you mentioned before," you say. "The ones who got you into this stuff."
His hand stops moving.
"I'm not trying to start a fight," you add quickly. "I’m just worrying about you. You said they owe you money…And they're always pushing you to do more."
He's quiet for a long moment.
"They're not in my life anymore," he says finally.
You turn your head slightly, trying to see his face. "What?"
"I cut them off, like, a few weeks ago." His voice is steady and clearer. "They weren't friends. They just wanted someone to pay for everything and someone to get high with. I got tired of it."
You don't know what to say. He's never told you this or anything.
"Why didn't you say something?" you ask.
He shrugs, the movement rippling the water. "Didn't seem important."
"Not important? Ni-ki, they were using you."
"I know but," He presses his cheek against your hair. "That's why I stopped answering their calls. They'll figure it out."
You turn in his arms so you're facing him, knees on either side of his hips, water sloshing against the edges of the tub. His face is inches from yours. You can see that his eyes are tired.
"And the money they owe you?" you ask.
"It's just money." He says it like it means nothing. Or maybe to him, it doesn't. "I'd rather lose that than keep pretending they gave a shit about me."
Your hands find his shoulders, thumbs brushing over his collarbones and he lets you touch him.
"You're not going to fall back into that?" you ask. "When things get hard again?"
He looks at you for a long time.
"No," he says. "You’re here anyway. Everything feels different."
Your heart cracks a little.
"You can't rely on me to fix you," you force yourself to say, because you have to say it, you've seen too many people drown trying to save someone else.
"Y/N," He cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I'm not asking you to fix me. I…I don't want to be alone anymore. It scares me more than you think."
The water is barely warm now. Your knees are starting to ache from the position.
"Okay," you whisper.
He smiles at you softly, and you nearly thought it meant something.
"We should get out," he says. "The water's cold."
"Yeah."
He pulls the plug and grabs a towel from the rack, wrapping it around your shoulders before his own. You step out of the tub together, dripping on the marble floor.
───
7:12 AM and your phone is rattling against the wood of your nighstand like it's trying to wake the dead. You grope for it blindly, eyes half-open and your brain still somewhere in a dream you can't even remember.
Ni-ki's name on the screen.
You answer. "Hello?"
"You sound like shit." His voice is rough like he hasn't slept either.
"Thanks. It's fucking seven in the morning."
"Well, no shit. Get dressed, I'm picking you up in twenty."
You sit up, rubbing your face. The memories from two nights ago flicker through your mind ; the bath, his arms around you. You brush it off as soon as the reality catches you.
You push it all down. "For what?"
"Does it matter?"
You're too tired to fight back. And a part of you, the stupid part, just wants to see his face.
"Fine," you say. "Twenty minutes."
He hangs up with no goodbye. Of course.
You throw on jeans and a sweater, brush your teeth. When you hear the engine outside, low and guttural, you grab your bag and head out. It's not the black Camaro. It's a Mustang GT ; sleek, black, newer than anything you've ever sat in. He's leaning against the driver's door, arms crossed, wearing a leather jacket and that same blank expression.
"New car?" you ask.
"Yeah, got bored of the old one." He opens the passenger door for you. "Get in."
The interior smells new and fresh. You buckle up as he slides into the driver's seat and pulls away from the curb without checking his blind spot. Some things never change. The city is waking up around you, coffee shops opening, joggers on the sidewalk.
You watch his profile, observing the sharp line of his jaw and his thumbs tap against the steering wheel like he usually does everytime he drives.
"You're staring," he says without looking at you.
" Am I not allowed ?"
He doesn't respond to that.
You take a breath. "Ni-ki."
"What."
"Why are you so cold sometimes?"
The question hangs in the air between you. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel before he relaxes.
"You think I'm cold?" he asks.
"Sometimes. You disappear, you push me away and...you say things you don't mean or you don't say anything at all." You're watching his face, looking for a crack. "I just want to know why."
He stays quiet for a long moment. The car slows at a red light and he finally glances at you. His eyes are tired again, that's how you know he smoked on the drive over.
Unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitches.
"You're cute when you're curious," he says.
"That's not an answer."
"Well," The light turns green, he accelerates. "I'll work on it."
───
The mall is mostly empty this early. A few senior citizens walking laps around the food court, some moms with strollers, employees unlocking gates. Ni-ki walks next to you, hands in his pockets. His presence is heavy but not uncomfortable. You wander past stores without really looking until one catches your eye ; a vintage thrift shop, the expensive kind with every luxury brands where clothes are curated and priced like art pieces.
You step inside more out of curiosity than intention. The racks are organized by color, the lighting warm, and there's a section in the back with dresses probably worn by celebrities considaring their prices.
Your fingers trail over the fabric ; silk, lace, velvet. One of them catches your eyes. A black dress, slip style but not cheap. It makes you think of old Hollywood movies and rooftop parties in the 60s. The price tag is tucked inside, and when you pull it out you actually laugh.
"300 dollars," you say, turning to Ni-ki. "For a thrifted dress."
He's standing a few feet away, watching you with a neutral expression. "Do you want it?"
"I want a lot of things I can't afford."
"That's not what I asked."
You look back at the dress, running your fingers over the fabric again. "It's gorgeous. But no. It's stupid to spend that much."
He pulls the dress off the rack and walks toward the counter without saying a word.
"Ni-ki. What are you doing?"
"Buying the dress."
"No. Ni-ki, come b─."
He ignores you, pulling out his wallet. The cashier, a girl with pink hair, looks between the two of you with mild amusement.
"Sir, would you like a bag?"
"Yes."
"Ni-ki, I'm serious." You grab his arm, but he doesn't stop. "You can't just buy me things like this."
He turns to look at you, and his face is softer than you expected. "Why not?"
"Because—" You don't even exactly know why. Maybe because it's too much or because it looks like it means something. He nods toward the rack, toward a deep red dress you didn't even realize you touched earlier. "You looked at that one first," he says. "I saw you run your fingers over it before you picked up the black one."
You blink. "You noticed that?"
"You touched it for like five seconds. I have to buy it now."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"Too bad then." He tells the cashier to add the red dress too. She does, wrapping both in tissue paper.
You stand there, mouth slightly open, watching him pay nearly six hundred dollars for two dresses you never asked for.
"Try them on," he says, handing you the bag. "If you don't like them, we'll return them."
You stare at him and he stares back.
"Fine," you mutter, grabbing the bag and heading toward the fitting room.
The room is small, with a full-length mirror and a velvet stool. You pull off your jeans and sweater and slide the black dress over your head. It falls perfectly, hitting just above the knee, hugging your waist, the fabric cool against your skin. You turn in the mirror, and for a second, you don't recognize yourself.
You step out of the fitting room.
Ni-ki is leaning against the wall across from the door, phone in hand. His eyes lift to you, and something shifts in his face. His jaw goes slack for just a moment.
"Well?" you ask, suddenly self conscious.
He looks at you ; up and down, slow, like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.
"You look," he starts then suddenly pauses. "It's fine."
"Just fine?"
He pushes off the wall and walks toward you, close enough that you have to tilt your head up to see his face.
"I should return it," he says, there's a teasing edge to his voice now.
"Why?"
"I don't really feel like fighting someone today."
Your face heats. "Shut up."
"I'm dead serious."
"Stop acting like that."
He almost smiles. "Keep the dress. Both of them."
───
The park is small, tucked between a residential street and a community garden. You're sitting on a bench near the pond, ice cream cones in hand ; his is chocolate, yours is strawberry. The sun is higher now, warm enough to make you take off your sweater.
He eats his ice cream in silence, staring at the water. You watch a duck paddle in circles.
"So," he says, not looking at you. "You and Jake seem close."
Your spoon pauses halfway to your mouth. "We're friends."
"Friends." He says lowly. "You were pretty cozy at the beach. I mean, sharing towels...wrestling in the water, all of that."
You narrow your eyes. "Are you jealous?"
He scoffs. "No."
"You're deflecting."
"I can't be observant ?" He casually takes a bite of his ice cream. "Just saying. He's around a lot."
"He's your friend too."
"Yeah, but he doesn't look at me the way he looks at you."
"Nothing's going on with Jake," you say finally.
He shrugs. "Doesn't matter. You do what you want."
There it is again ; that same line he always falls back on. He's always trying to make it sound normal but it comes out like a permission, you're always feeling like it's a test he's making you take.
"I don't want anything with Jake," you say. "I want—" You stop yourself.
He looks at you, waiting for you to continue.
You look away. "Never mind."
The ice cream drips onto your fingers.
"You have ice cream," he says.
"Where?"
He leans in.
His lips are cold from the chocolate, but his tongue is warm when it swipes across the corner of your mouth. You freeze, and you find him kissing you, deep and slow, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. It's not the kind of kiss you share in public, so obviously it surprises you.
When he pulls back, you're breathless. You can feel your face burning.
"What was that for?" you manage.
He shrugs, excluding the fact that his ears are pink. "You had ice cream on your mouth."
"That's not a fucking way to wipe off ice cream."
"It is now."
You stare at him and he stares back, expression carefully neutral, nethertheless you can see the cracks. His fingers are still resting on your neck and he's not pulling away.
"You're such a jerk," you whisper.
"Yeah," he says. "Might get strawberry next time."
You shove him in the chest in embarassement, which made him chuckle slightly.
All of this is not making you think about unanswered calls, the days where he decides to be insanely cold or whether he's going to push you away again. So you try to enjoy it as much as you can.
The sun has dropped behind the trees. The bench has gone from comfortable to uncomfortable about an hour ago. Your tailbone is starting to ache and you've shifted positions at least six times, each time less effective than the last.
"I'm bored," you announce.
Ni-ki glances at you from the other end of the bench, one arm stretched along the back, his ice cream cone long gone. "You're always bored."
"Come on, it's been an hour since we sat here."
He watches you with a half-lidded expression. You stand up and brush off the back of your jeans. "There's a playground over there. Let's go."
"A playground." He says flatly, unimpressed by your idea.
"Yeah. You know...swings, slides, kids stuff. Don't tell me you're too cool for swings."
He doesn't agree yet he stands up anyway.
The playground is maybe fifty meters from the bench, a small fenced area with wood chips instead of sand, a plastic slide that's seen better days, and a set of swings hanging from a metal frame. The chains squeak slightly when the wind blows.
You make a beeline for the swings, feet crunching on the wood chips, and plant yourself on the closest one. The rubber seat is cold through your jeans. You grip the chains and kick off just a little.
"Push me," you say, looking back at him.
He's standing at the edge of the wood chips, hands in his pockets, watching you like you from afar. "Push yourself, you're not a kid."
"That's not the point."
He sighs ; a theatrical and put-upon sound ; but he walks over anyway. He positions himself behind you, hands hovering near your lower back for a moment before he gives a firm shove. The swing arcs forward, the chains rattling, and you let out a small laugh. The air rushes past your face. Behind you, he pushes again, harder this time.
"You know," he says, voice carrying over the squeak of the chains, "I've seen this before. Like in a movie. A guy pushes a girl on the swing. Very romantic."
"It's not that romantic. Trust."
"Mm." There's another push. "In the movie, they usually end up doing it in the bushes after."
You kick your feet out, trying to go higher. "What ?"
"You heard it right."
"You're disgusting."
"You're the one who wanted to come here."
He pushes one more time before he steps back. The swing slows gradually, the arc shrinking until you're just swaying. He walks around and sits down on the swing beside you, the chains groaning under his weight. He's taller than you so his legs stretch out longer, boots dragging in the wood chips.
"Be careful," he says, watching you swing forward again. "You're gonna flip over the bar."
"I'm not even that high."
"You could be."
"You worry too much."
He shakes his head. "I just don't want you to stain my new car if you get yourself hurt."
You push off again, swinging higher this time, the chains straining. The wind whistles past your ears. For a second you feel like you could lift right off the seat and keep going.
"See?" you call out. "I'm fine."
"You're gonna eat shit."
"I don't care."
It's a challenge and he hears it. You see him tense from the corner of your eye. You can feel that he's off his swing, boots crunching toward you, and before you can swing back again, his hands are on your waist.
He catches you mid-arc, steadying you, slowing the momentum. His fingers press into your sides through your sweater. The swing creaks to a halt, your feet finding the wood chips, his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating through his leather jacket.
"I know you care," he says quietly. "You just pretend you don't."
You're looking up at him, your hands still on the chains and his on your waist. The sky is almost dark now and a single light on the playground flickers to life somewhere behind him.
"I don't know," you say. "Maybe I learned from the best."
His thumbs press into your waist, just slightly. Something in his face softens.
"Come on," he says, letting go and stepping back. "It's getting dark."
He doesn't wait for you, already walking toward the path, hands back in his pockets, back to his usual distance.
You watch him for a second, then push off the swing one last time, just to feel the air rush past.
He stops and looks back at you. "Are you coming or not?"
"Yeah," you say, hopping off the swing. "I'm coming."
───
One week after, and he disappeared again without a single text, like he always did, but this time it hurt more than usual. It would've hurt less if you haven't hang out with him like there was a title for what you were for each other. But here you are. The lecture hall is half-empty because it's Friday and no one wants to be here, including the professor. You're slouched in your seat while Jess doodles in the margin of her notebook. The guy in front of you is watching YouTube on his laptop with the brightness all the way down. No one seems to care today.
Your phone buzzes against the desk. You glance at the screen. ‘Ni-ki’
Ni-ki [10:22 AM]
going out of town for the weekend
you can fuck anyone u want
don’t wait for me.
You stare at it for a while. You don't know what to say because there's nothing to say. Why is he giving you permission for something you never asked permission for ?
Jess notices your face. "What?"
You turn the phone toward her. She reads it, and her expression shifts from curious to annoyed.
"That's weird," she says quietly.
"Yeah."
"He found another chick, maybe." She chuckled before going back to her doodles.
You lock the phone and set it face-down on the desk. The rest of the lecture drags and sit there, replaying the message in your head, trying to figure out what it actually means.
───
After class, you wait until you're outside, standing under the covered walkway where the smokers hang out. Jess lingers nearby, pretending to check her phone but definitely listening.
You call him.
It rings four times. You think he's going to ignore it, but then he picks up.
"Hey." His voice is flat, sounding like he’s distracted.
"Ni-ki." You grip your phone tighter. "What was that message?"
"What message."
"The one about me fucking whoever I want."
You hear him exhale ; he’s smoking a cigarette. "Just saying. You have options."
"I don't want options."
He's quiet for a second. "Why not?"
The question catches you off guard. You expected him to brush it off, to say it was nothing, to change the subject but not this.
"Because I don't," you say. "I'd rather not, with anyone else."
Another exhale, his voice lower now. "You make that sound like a bad thing."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." You already know it's not nothing. The tone he takes when he says it ; clipped and distant, it sounds like he’s already out of the conversation.
You lean against the brick wall, watching people stream past with their coffee cups and backpacks. Jess catches your eye and you shake your head slightly.
"Ni-ki," you say, " What's happening ? You've been distant again for a whole week without texting me once, even after you said that you would work on it. Are you fucking someone else ?"
He doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches, and you can hear the faint sound of traffic wherever he is, maybe already driving out of town.
"That's not it," he says finally.
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know." His voice cracks a little. "I’m—I don't know what this is…and I don't know why you keep showing up when I keep being an asshole."
You close your eyes. "Could be that I like assholes."
"You really shouldn't."
"Yeah but that's not your call."
He laughs in frustration. "See? That's the problem. You don't let me push you away. You just keep coming back and I don't know how to handle that."
Your chest aches. "So you're leaving for the weekend because you can't handle me staying?"
"I'm leaving for the weekend because my dad wants to have a conversation about my future and I need to get it over with." He pauses. "The text was...I don't know. A test."
"A test for what?"
"To see if you'd get mad."
"Did I pass?"
"You got mad. So yes." He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in it. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to not be that guy who sends impulsive texts and pushes people away."
You slide down the wall until you're sitting on the concrete, knees pulled up to your chest. Jess sits down next to you without saying anything, her shoulder warm against yours.
"Just go see your dad," you say. "Text me when you get back."
"You're not going to fuck anyone else?"
"Why do you keep asking me that?"
"Because I need to hear you say it."
You swallow. The words feel too heavy. You say them anyway.
"I don't want anyone else. Just you. Even when you're being an asshole."
Long silence. "Okay. Love you."
"Wait wha—"
He hangs up. And you sit there on the sidewalk with Jess, phone in your lap, trying to process what he just said. You know it’s going to hurt as he doesn’t want you to stay. He’s an asshole and you’re aware of it. But you can’t help but see the broken person he is, wanting to take care of him and give him everything he needs.
───
You've been staring at it for an hour now, counting the seconds between the creaks of the old building settling. The clock on your nightstand says 11:47 PM, then 11:58, then 12:03.
Sunday night. He was supposed to be back by now. He didn't say when exactly, but Thursday to Sunday felt like a window that's already closed.
You checked your phone maybe 40 times since Friday, but no messages nor calls. You're stuck on the same text thread sitting there, his last words about fucking whoever you want that you haven't responded.
Your eyes are heavy but your brain won't shut up. You turn onto your side, then onto your back, then onto your stomach. Everything is wrong.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand and you grab it before the second vibration.
Jake's name.
You don't talk to Jake often, maybe a few times in group chats. He's not the type to call you at midnight for no reason.
You answer. "Hello?"
"Hey, Y/N." His voice is different. "Sorry to call so late. You heard from Ni-ki?"
Your stomach drops. "No. Why?"
A pause on his end. You can hear him exhale. "He left Thursday, right? He said he was going to see his dad and was supposed to be back Saturday. It's Sunday now and no one's heard from him. Not me, not Jay, not even Jungwon. His phone's going straight to voicemail."
You sit up, your heart pounding. "Have you tried calling his house?"
"Yeah. No answer. I don't have the landline or whatever. I just have his cell."
You swing your legs over the side of the bed, already standing. "Okay. Let me try something."
"You think he's okay?"
"I don't know." You're pulling on a hoodie, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder. "I'll call you back."
"Alright. Be careful."
You hang up and immediately dial Ni-ki's number. It rings once, twice, three times. Then voicemail. You call again. It goes straight to voicemail this time. Not even a single ring.
You try one more time but nothing.
The clock says 12:15 now. You stare at your reflection in the dark window. Your own face looks back, pale and anxious.
You text him.
You [12:16 AM]
Hey
Jake said you're not back
Call me when you get this.
Then you lie back down, but you don't sleep.
───
It's Monday morning. You skipped your first class, you could afford to miss.
You take the bus. You don't know why you bother with the bus when he's not there to pick you up, but walking would take an hour and you don't have the patience for that
The house looks the same as always. Big and quiet. The gate is closed but not locked. You push it open and walk up the driveway, the gravel crunching under your sneakers.
You ring the doorbell. The door opens, but not by much. An older man stands there, maybe in his sixties, wearing a simple button-up shirt. You've seen him before, once, maybe twice, always in the background. The butler, you guess or the house manager, something like that.
"Can I help you?" His voice is polite but guarded.
"I'm looking for Ni-ki. His friends haven't heard from him since Thursday." You try to keep your voice steady. "Is he here?"
The butler hesitates. His eyes scan your face, probably deciding if you're worth talking to.
"Mr. Riki is not currently at the residence," he says.
"When will he be back?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
You feel frustration building in your chest. "Is he okay? Did something happen with his dad?"
The man's expression doesn't change. "I'm afraid I can't discuss the family's private matters."
"Please." Your voice cracks. "I'm not some random person. I'm his...I'm a friend. He's not answering his phone. We're all worried."
The butler looks at you in slience. He then glances over his shoulder, into the dark hallway behind him, before stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door mostly shut behind him.
"He left for his father's estate on Thursday afternoon," the man says quietly like he's not supposed to be telling you this. "There was a scheduled meeting regarding his future. Finances, education, that sort of thing." He pauses. "I have not seen him since. The family's driver returned alone on Saturday."
Your heart drops. "Alone? Where is he?"
"I don't know. I wasn't told." His voice softens slightly. "If you're a friend of his, I would suggest waiting. He tends to...disappear, when things get difficult."
That's totally the opposite reassuring.
"Can you at least tell him I came by?" you ask. "Y/N. He has my number."
The butler nods once. "I'll relay the message."
He steps back inside and closes the door. You stand on the porch for a minute, staring at the wood grain, your hands shaking. Afterwards you turn and walk back down the driveway, gravel biting through the soles of your shoes.
You call Jake on the way to the bus stop. He picks up immediately.
"Anything?" he asks.
"No. He's not there. The butler said the driver came back alone on Saturday." You swallow. "No one knows where he is."
Jake is quiet for a second. "That's not like him."
You want to say that you don't know what's like him anymore. That every time you think you understand, he does something else.
"Yeah," you say instead. "I know."
The bus pulls up. You get on, find a seat by the window, and watch the big house shrink behind you until it's just a smudge in the distance.
───
The best you could was getting to Jess's apartment. You've been sitting on her couch for twenty minutes, not really watching whatever Jake has on the TV, not really listening to Jay argue with him about something related to F1. Your phone is faced down on the coffee table. You stopped checking it an hour ago.
Jess is in the kitchen, the sound of running water and the clink of a mug against the counter. You can smell tea, something herbal.
"You good?" Jay asks from the armchair, not looking at you, because he's learned from Jess that direct eye contact when you're upset makes you clam up.
"No," you say. "But it's fine, I guess."
Jake glances over. "Still no word?"
You shake your head.
The TV is playing some local news channel. A middle-aged woman is talking about a road closure downtown. You tune it out.
Jess comes in with a tray of mugs, setting it on the coffee table. She hands you one without asking if you want it. The mug is warm against your palms.
"Thanks," you murmur.
She sits next to you. "Have you eaten?"
"Not really."
"I'll order something later."
You nod. The TV cuts to a breaking news graphic ; red and white, it seems urgent.
"We're receiving reports of a shooting in the industrial district," the anchor says, her voice steady but grave. "Details are limited, but we understand the altercation occurred around 2:00 this afternoon and involved individuals associated with drug dealing and money laundering operations in the area."
Jake whistles low. "Damn. That part of town is getting worse."
Jay shushes him.
"One person has been confirmed shot," the anchor continues. "According to sources close to the investigation, the victim is reportedly a tall male in his early twenties. He is believed to be the son of a prominent entrepreneur in the region. Authorities have not released a name pending family notification, but we have obtained a photo from witnesses who apparently recognized the victim during the scene."
The screen cuts to a photograph.
Your hand freezes around the mug.
It's him. Ni-ki. The photo is from some event ; he's in a dark jacket, looking off to the side, jaw set, eyes half-lidded.
"The victim's identity has not been officially confirmed," the anchor says as text scrolls across the bottom of the screen. "However, our sources indicate that the body has not yet been recovered from the scene. Police are continuing their investigation."
The mug slips from your fingers. It hits the coffee table and tea spills everywhere, soaking a magazine, dripping onto the carpet. You're staring at the screen, at his face, at the words scrolling past.
Body not recovered.
Jess grabs your arm. "Y/N. Y/N, breathe."
Jake is standing now, phone already in his hand, calling Jungwon. Jay is frozen, eyes wide, looking between you and the TV, still not believing what he saw. The anchor moves on to the next story and the graphic disappears. The screen fills with footage of a city council meeting.
You don't remember standing up but you're on your feet now, and the room is spinning, Jess is saying your name over and over, and all you can think is : His body hasn't been found.
Which means he could be alive, or he could be dead.
SUMMARY: the artsy guy in your class offers to paint you; who knew he meant in more ways than one? (10.7k)
PAIRING: artsy!riki x afab!reader
CONTAINS: praise +petnames! oral + unprotected sex, paint play, guided masturbation w/ a paintbrush, slight insecure reader, rik paints you w/ his....y'know, dark-haired ki w/ streak!! consent king ki :)
NOTE: based on colors by halsey! w/ a sexy twist :) my first smut writing so please feel free to provide any feedback
he tapped the end of the brush to his lip in thought, before dipping the bristles into the blues of his palette.
you wondered, in that moment, what it would be like to understand that feeling. taking merely seconds in thought instead of minutes before creating the next stroke. how effortless it seemed to him, the ideas that he'd spend those quiet moments pondering before bringing them to life on canvas. you'd been in the back of the class, staring at your own blank canvas for the last hour.
whoever said art class was an easy elective clearly didn't understand the concept of creative block, absent talent, and nishimura riki. though if you're truly feeling cynical, you could say that with time, a bit of guidance, maybe the first two could be helped. but not him, not riki.
he'd been the biggest distraction since day one.
it started with his paintings, of course. you'd look over during class only to be met with a canvas brilliantly decorated with deep and vibrant hues, bursts of color depending on the day. sometimes you'd see a sunset, with the soft shades of burnt oranges in a stark contrast against cloudy blues. other times you'd see a moonlit sky, with acrylics that made the stars shine so brightly you'd sworn they'd been plucked from the night. campfires, adorned with embers and surrounded by lush trees, detailed depictions of swans, beautiful, beautiful work that you never seemed to have the talent to achieve.
you swore it was just envy. plain and simple. you wanted to be like him, nothing else. that the only reason your eyes kept wandering over to his side of the classroom, had simply been for bits and pieces of inspiration.
but then you noticed it. not just his painting; him. the way he'd spend moments in between his strokes, looking at his art with such an intensity you'd wonder if the painting itself would break into a sweat. you'd watch as he created images with pursed lips and pinched brows. the way he'd bite his lower lip as he made intricate 'corrections' to such minuscule mistakes along his board. but above all, you would notice the level of reverence he'd seem to have for his creations, from start to end. how he never seemed to eye a blank canvas as a sign of failure, but a chance for a new story to tell. how he seemed to care for every aspect, shade, and 'accident' he'd make along the way.
you could learn from him in that regard. maybe even learn a couple more things from the class overall if you stopped staring at him so much, too.
from the stool upon which he sits, your eyes inevitably float back to your very own canvas, shining the same shade of snow it did as when you first began, without so much as a stroke. it's evident you won't be getting much done today, and the time on your wristwatch, confirming the soon approaching end of your class, aids in the thought. you began to pack your items up amidst the sea of chatter from other students, hoping to slip out earlier than the formal end of the lesson.
but it's as if your professor senses the end too, calling everyone to attention in a voice that almost instantly quiets the noise. her pale legs reveal themselves as she hobbles from around the desk, mentioning how quickly the time seemed to have passed without her noticing. you wondered what that was like, too, being able to get so deep and into art; instruction, or the doing, that you lost track of time. the class itself never claimed your attention that drastically, though riki had been a close second.
"class, before you all are dismissed-" professor jona begins, grabbing the thin-framed glasses from her desk and slipping them past her nose. "i'd like someone to share their piece, and the story behind it."
her green eyes search the room for a victim, and you don't bother stopping the packing up of your items. she'll pick riki; she always does. can't say you blame her, really. not when he's clearly one of the most skilled ones in the class. his painting always told a story, the same way his eyes, hands, and teeth-bitten lips did as he created them.
but it's your name instead, you hear ring out from the front of the classroom, freezing you in motion as heads from around the room turn toward the back.
"(y/n)!" professor jona speaks again, as if the state of shock you remained in, backpack suspended in mid-air, wasn't enough to indicate that you'd heard her the first time. "would you like to turn your easel around, tell us about your work today?"
no. not really, you think. especially considering the blank state it's remained in for the past hour, the only story you'd be able to tell is how you'd simply propped the canvas onto the wooden frame, not much else. unless they really want to hear about how you spent the entire class looking at riki's fingers rock back and forth along his own art.
"i um...." you began, throwing the bag over your shoulder with a low huff. maybe if you act as if you're still about to leave early, she'll ultimately end up choosing someone else. "i'd rather not, really."
"oh don't be so bashful!" professor jona persists, her wrinkled hands gesturing to your canvas again, with the pursuit of several eyes following the direction. "we'd all love to see what you have; you don't have to go too into depth."
if there was any depth at all, you would gladly have shared. but just like the stares from your peers and professor alike, the canvas was simply blank.
you wondered if this was your fault. the only reason why you'd gotten by in this class had been coasting on last-minute assignments, turning in poorly depicted attempts at abstract art, void of any true feeling or real emotion. simple lines and splashes of color thrown together in a manner that screamed you were acting out of time constraint, no real passion. your realistic art had always been an inadequate imitation of the theme you'd gone for, never truly able to capture the true 'essence' or feelings the others seemed to channel. something too tethered, controlled with little to no artistic tone or voice. nothing ever effortless, true, or deep. nothing like riki's.
maybe this was inevitable. only a matter of time before she'd stop picking him. after all, you were nearly halfway through the semester, and there had of course been plenty of students with their own, deep, abrasive, and abstract stories to tell. you just wish she hadn't started with you.
but as you held your backpack close to your side; you'd realize that she had no intention of giving up. so in a quick attempt to get the humiliation ritual over with, you picked up your easel and gave it a turn.
silence at first, then the soft attempts to stifle snickers, low mutterings from amongst the class that made you want to burrow into the ground beneath you and hide.
the red curls hanging along the side of your professor's head shook as she gave you a nod: as if both validating and trying to understand the vision herself. "oh, well that's just....."
"missing something." you hear a classmate murmur from beside the professor. upon a glance to your right, you see it's jake whose lips the words leave, followed by hushed chuckles among his surrounding group.
you resist the urge to roll your eyes, quickly flipping the stand back around in part annoyance, part embarrassment. it was bad enough that you seemed to have this massive block regarding creation on your own. but putting it on display, for everyone to see and judge, hadn't made it any easier.
there's a warmth that floods your cheeks upon the remembrance that riki is likely one of those doing the same. he didn't seem like the type to chuckle to himself or make jokes about your disposition, though the thought hadn't calmed you at all. ultimately it had been the principle; the guy you'd spent all the time watching in class had now probably been eyeing you back with an opinion of his own amongst many. artsy, effortless riki. you didn't even want to peer in his general direction to find out.
instead, you let out a quiet huff. "sorry, profesor jo, i just-" you pause, eyes flickering up to meet hers; and only hers for the sake of your dignity. "haven't been able to find much inspiration."
her head bobs faster now, serving as what she surely intends to be an empathic response, despite her already calling you out in front of the entire class. "and that's okay!" she says, a wrinkled smile forming upon her features. "we've all been there," she remarks, tilting her head down to meet eyes with you from above her frames.
she turns her attention back to the overall class, using your sorry canvas as an example of how not to deal with creative block. she mentions the importance of looking into the world around for inspiration and ideas for creation, taking moments of quiet to truly observe before painting.
what she doesn't understand, is that you've tried this before. spent more time than you can recall staring at your own works of art, quietly waiting and hoping to create something that felt real, true to you. any organic idea that you could transfer onto the canvas just as effortlessly as so many others seemed to do. that the whole 'just start painting' thing hadn't worked for you, often ending in a horrid mess of color, devoid of any true explanation or story. all she saw, ultimately, was your apparent lack of effort at all.
"....and i'd like to mention that there are so many wonderful artists in this class!" she drones on, aiding further in your embarrassment. "connecting with other artists helps, especially-" her eyes return to you as she says this.
"take riki for example!"
of course, you think, watching as she gestures over to his stool just next to the left side of her desk. "riki, you'd help out a classmate if asked, right?"
a groan that you manage to suppress, claws at your throat, the heat in your cheeks grows hotter with each second when you see it. riki, from the corner of your eye, giving a slight nod in return to the instructor who thought it wise to air you out.
he can hardly get his verbal response out before she interrupts him, noting once again how class is coming to a close. funny, she'd have more time for instruction had she cut the tangent about leaning on each other altogether. "well isn't that just splendid!" she drawls, turning back to you with a knowing smile. "i suggest you two get together right away!"
you wanted to melt into the floor.
"with all that being said," she clasps her hands together. "i'd still love to hear about someone's piece.....riki, if you will?"
unbelievable. there's just actually no way.
but when the streaked hair giant turns his canvas toward the majority of the class, you close your eyes in acceptance. listen to his annoyingly charming voice as he tells the story of his piece. it's a simple one, so far at least. incomplete, but still containing all the depth yours lacked. he says he'd just playing around with colors for a while, but when your eyes finally peel open to see it, you're amazed how structured it actually looks. how familiar the gently drawn out lines of the picture seem to look. you think it may be a shelf he's working on. whatever story may come of it, you'd inevitably hear about it when he got called on again.
the rest of the class has followed your lead, stuffing items into their respective bags as you pop up from your stool. your professor gives praise to riki (of course) and the last bit of instruction before you finally turn toward the door. you're finally about to leave when you hear it.
hurried footsteps making their way behind you, your name on his lips as he approaches.
you whip around faster than lightning. because there's no way he's actually trying to talk to you.
but when you look back, all six foot two of nishimura riki stands, looking back at you with an expression of gentle curiosity in his features.
he's handsome up close. with long lashes that flutter rapidly as a small smile forms upon his features; he extends his hand in an effort to grasp yours. "(y/n), yeah?" he grips the same hand you hadn't even realized had been drifting upward. "are you busy this weekend?"
you nearly let out a bitter laugh, realizing exactly what this is about. "i'm not, but," a swish of air sounds as you let your hand fall from his gentle grip. "you don't actually have to help me with painting, despite what professor jo says."
although as you eye him carefully, you can't say it wouldn't be nice. you imagine making time to spend with him outside of the classroom. the deep voice of his booming from behind you as he shows you how to make your way around a canvas, stroke by stroke.....
but alas, you know he's got more than enough on his plate. being the arts (to include dancing, singing, and rapping in other curricular areas), prodigy, and all. it was considerate that he'd said what he did upon being called on by professor jo, but truth be told, what else could he have said? can't help her these days, professor jo; i'm busy carrying the world? the comments he'd given were to be nothing more than a courtesy, not an obligation. "besides, i'm sure i'll find my inspo at some point."
"actually," he says, his smile seemingly growing softer in what you presume to be an element of quiet admiration. shyness perhaps? "it'd help me too, if anything." he says.
"i was hoping i could paint you, if you'd let me."
oh. you think. he wants to paint you?
your hand has seemingly drifted up again, because he lets out a low chuckle as your pointer finger finds your chest in confusion. "m-me?"
another low laugh leaves his lips, this time with a nod in confirmation. "yeah, you." he says, his dark orbs glistening with delight under the harsh blue light from overhead. "we'd be helping each other out, really."
then, his voice drops a tone as he tucks his hands into his side pockets. "you inspire me," he says, his eyes shifting gently along your face in a way that feels sincere. you almost miss the way your heart stutters at his words due to pure shock.
because....how did you inspire him? by staring at the back of his head every class? you aren't sure what kind of inspo he usually derives his creations from, but it's quite a shock to say that you've made the list. especially considering that glorious works of art he's decorated his pieces with. maybe he means your essence, truly. the way you'd sit quietly in the back of class, unassuming and clearly out of place.
maybe he needs help depicting a trainwreck.
brushing the thought off, you roll your shoulders, shifting your weight for a brief moment before responding. "oh, well," you clear your throat as the palms that clutch your canvas begin to moisten. "alright, then."
when you offer a smile of your own, he quickly pulls his phone from his back pocket, handing it over to you in a swift movement. you hope he doesn't notice the way your fingers tremble upon typing in your digits before handing the device back over to him in a matter of seconds.
he doesn't seem to, because upon receipt of your contact info, he offers nothing more than a bitten back smile before he sends you a message, confirmation that he's got the right number. "great," he says "how does....." his eyes roll upward as he ponders the thought. "saturday at noon sound?"
"perfect," you say, not giving yourself the chance to overthink the next words. "sounds good to me."
"saturday, then." he reiterates, pulling his hands from his pockets to retrieve his canvas as he makes his way to and out of the door. just before he crosses the threshold, it's as if he remembers to say something. because he pauses, turning back toward you with a slight amusement in his features. "it may not be much help and.....you've probably heard it before, but,"
he gestures to your blank board lazily, biting back another soft smile that threatens to reveal itself at any moment. "just.....try to paint what you feel."
and in a flash, he's gone. leaving you in a manner that far more in need of air than before.
when you finally do return home, it's as if the inspiration that you'd been waiting to hit you for weeks strikes you with a bat. the only thought on your mind is him, and when your fingers finally touch the canvas to adorn it with washed-out watercolors, the image forms underneath the low light of your apartment living room.
you picture his smile from earlier, the shy one before he asked to paint you and tucked his hands away. the stubborn part of your brain recalls the way the ends of his lips seemed to twitch as they formed the words. the recollection makes you feel excited, and a flash of bright orange appears in a flash, straight and long, across the canvas.
sprinkles and specs of purple appear next as you recall his voice, your heart refusing to let go of the way it stuttered when he'd called your name out at the end of class in a manner that made you feel thrilled. they line the edges of the once white board as your fingers move frantically, should they forget even for a split second what he sounds like.
red is next. it's the brightest one that glides effortlessly along the board as you imagine his plump lips, how he'd bitten them up as he spoke to you the same way he'd do so when creating a work of art of his own. you want to project yourself into the image itself, as if to surround yourself with the very color you'd associated with his lips. you wanted to be swarmed in it; and the feeling of warmth you'd imagine they'd give. you picture the lovely pair making their way up your chest, down your back, along your shoulders, before switching to blue.
even if his eyes were brown, it's the one color you feel captures the essence of them. the strength and unwavering gaze they'd seem to trap you in earlier, the same way they'd do with his own art. the color is light as you make broad strokes with your thumb, index, and pinky fingers. because in that sense, his eyes can be that way as well. gentle, soft, in a glint amidst them, like when he'd told you to paint what you felt, before he'd left you in the classroom for the day.
and so you did exactly that; looking at the abstract work now, with its bright blend and fusion of colors, is something you'd never thought you'd be able to do. the work that sits before you now is a highlight of this afternoon, every feeling you'd felt toward him encapsulated in those mere moments before you'd gone your separate ways. bright, intentional, beautiful, and anything but void of emotion.
--
saturday comes sooner than expected.
he offers you a water when you take a seat on the cushioned chair he has set out for you, to which you politely decline. it's sweet of him, truly, but being without a bottle leaves you less opportunity to fiddle with anything. "this is....a nice place."
and it is. the living room of his apartment was spacious, the walls lined with small portraits; some drawn, painted, or taken with a camera. the only spot that wasn't practically littered with images or depictions of art was the wall you sat in front of. instead, it had been lined with shelves of books, serving as the backpiece for the picture he'd soon create.
he offers a small smile as he pulls a stool in front of his easel. "thanks," he says, before setting up an array of various paints in front of his canvas. "make yourself comfortable, please."
you'd worn a dress for the occasion: flowy and floral. light and loose enough to feel comfortable. but it wasn't every day that you'd be offered the chance to be painted by an artist, specifically not from one as talented and handsome as he was. so despite his words, you found yourself shifting within the seat, trying to catch the low hum of bossa nova that played lowly in the background.
he looked comfortable, though. in his black top and grey sweats, you watch as he assembled his items with the same ease and carefree nature he'd always carried with regard to art. the sunlight that peered through the curtains captures the blonde streak of his hair and the delicate features in a manner that makes your chest stir. you wonder if he's ever created a self-portrait: ever tried bringing his own beauty to life on a canvas.
but you don't ask. because you're only slightly more curious about why it's you specifically who sits in the chair amid the backdrop of books. as he settles into a comfortable position on the stool, the words finally leave your lips. "so.....i have to ask," you start, tilting your head in inquiry. "why paint me?"
he pauses his set-up for a second, looking up at you with the same glimmer of amusement behind his eyes as that day in the classroom, as if the answer had been quite obvious. "i think you're pretty."
the words leave his lips so matter-of-factly, you almost feel foolish for asking. a new color that you hope won't last long enough to be captured in the portrait floods your cheeks as you blink in shock. "t-thank you,"
you aren't sure what else to say, really. you didn't think he ever noticed you, not really. from where you sit in the classroom, it was a semi-surprise to you that he had even known your name.
he simply murmurs a hum in acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the partially done canvas. "and a bit frustrating." he says with a sly smile.
that earns another tilt from you. the tone is light, playful, but the truth in his words still clear. "frustrating? how?"
he dips the thick-rimmed brush into the water that sits in the center of his palette, the same way you've watched him do countless times. "i've done countless portraits before; so many sketches," he says, bringing the bristles toward the browns for the background. "beautiful works, people would try to buy them off of me, y'know?"
"but this," he taps the bridge of his nose with the end of the brush, brings it to the space underneath his eyes, then his lips. "you," he says, dark eyes shadowed by even darker hair fall upon you. "i can never seem to get you right."
your heart hiccupped as the words left his lips. he's tried before to capture you, or your essence, by the way he's phrased it. he speaks of you as if you're the art itself, that he's only done his best to replicate it. you almost ask him again; why you? but the answer has been made clear. especially with how he looks now, as he moves his fingers along the whites of his page, etching it with color.
so you ask something else. "i....inspire you that much?"
he doesn't even pause again, nodding ever so slowly as his slim fingers clutch and control the brush. "of course," he says, with a smile "everything does." he continues; and the way the light captures his adam's apple as it bobs isn't lost on you. "the ducks by the pond on campus, the fog in the early mornings before classes,"
"the cherry blossoms by the park," the way his expression shifts as he eyes his painting lets you know something is coming together. "pretty girls that sit in the library," he says, with a gentle wink. "it's hard not to be inspired."
you'd let out a snort if the last remark didn't make you flustered. undoubtedly, there was beauty everywhere, especially the sakura trees and the formation of ducks by the pond. but to be so inspired by it to try to bring it to life was a completely different thing. and to be so inspired; to see it in you, had been something you hadn't even fathomed.
the piece, you begin to realize, is in fact a continuation. this was most certainly the one from class, with shelves arranged to form the image. it was only upon hearing his words that you understood they'd been proper bookshelves, like the ones you'd sit under in between courses. the same thing he'd tried to replicate somewhat in the living room of the apartment.
you suppose this really had been helpful for him. maybe in a matter of moments, he would be able to capture you the same way he does a bright sunset, or a vivid horizon upon a beach. "well," you say, eyes falling onto the way his hands drift. "glad i could help."
the room grows with a soft quiet as riki works. he watches you intently from across his stool before turning back to his piece to drag his hand across it. his brows furrow in that same familiar way they would in class, and he wears the unmistakable expression of concentration when creating something beautiful, something real. it's funny, being on this side of it. you'd never thought you'd be the focus of it when it came to his works.
but here you are, sitting as he moves with pinched brows and quiet precision. it's only the sound of bristles meeting cloth, accompanied by quiet jazz that fills the room, your lips hesitant to even so much as quiver. it's only when he lets out a sigh of frustration that they finally twitch.
"is...everything okay?"
he nods slowly, dark hair bouncing with the subtle shake. "yeah, i'm just..." he huffs, moistening the bristles. "a bit scared is all."
never in a million years did you think you'd hear those words leave his lips. riki, the class prodigy, who'd generated creations worthy of praise and even more....was scared? he, who the professor had looked to as an example to project, promote, and constantly acknowledge. the artist whose minimal 'mistakes' only aided in his works coming alive?
"scared?" you ask now, squinting. "for the....features, right?"
he nods lowly, biting at his lower lip. "i just don't want to mess it up, y'know?" he mutters, as a battle wages behind his eyes. "i don't want to ruin it."
funny, how all the times you'd spent looking at him in the classroom, this is the first time you truly see him. sitting now before you, in a pair of gray sweats and wearing an expression of worry, is when you finally feel as if you recognize him; the real him.
your classmate and peer, the boy who shows to the world the fruits of his labor, the beauty in his works, but deep down deals with the same challenges and worries as you. the boy who feels and experiences the same points of block when creating. the boy who feels stuck in his own work because of: you.
only the pressure for him was ten times worse. often looked at as the example, golden boy of the field, you realized he didn't get to have these rare moments of block, let alone show up and leave his class with a blank canvas the way you did.
maybe, you begin to wonder that you are both more alike than you realize.
he smiles a soft one before shifting back to work, but you've already seen it. the flicker of vulnerability in his features. the gentle frustration behind his eyes at himself for being unable to bring his vision to life. a feeling you know all too well.
before you realize it, you clear your throat. "i tried what you told me the other day," you say, returning the soft smile as you speak. "about just painting what i felt."
when his dark eyes meet yours, you hope the words provide him any kind of consolation, any help as you continue. "my piece was a little more abstract, but.....it worked."
it's true. his advice on a random afternoon had done more than a dozen art lessons, videos, and lectures from professor jona. you'd only hope that even if he hadn't been able to capture what he'd been going for, at the very least, the image could make him feel something other than frustration.
of course, it had helped that you had a very handsome, tall, and downright gorgeous muse in mind as you created it, but maybe: he needed a reminder of his own words to do exactly that. especially if in his eyes; you were as pretty as he said you were.
riki nods, his hands moving slower as he works, as his attention shifts to the words that leave your lips. "that's good," a genuine tone echoes through the room. "what'd you paint?"
"it was....a bit of everything," you say, thinking of the flurry of colors you'd produced mere nights ago in your living room. "but it's better than anything I've done in....a while."
you shock yourself with your own honesty. perhaps it's something in the air; the warm silence in which you two safeguarded within the four walls you sit in, up until this point. there's an ease the energy of the room has shifted into, the jazz being an excellent choice to aid in it.
in a moment's notice, he stops working completely to offer another sweet grin. though it's not unlike the smiles he's given you before, this one is most certainly softer; more authentic. "that's really awesome, actually," he says, a soft glimmer in his eye. "hoping i can do the same, hm?"
before he can even do so much as shift back into his perpetual 'flow-state' you quickly tell him that he can. "i took the advice you gave me a bit literally, but," you start. "whose to say you can't do the same?"
this question seems to intrigue him, because he places both the brush and palette down nearby, before raising a brow. "what do you mean?"
so you tell him. explain that even though the piece you worked had been shapeless, lifeless, it held thousands of words and feelings beyond it. that expression, in that moment, relied more on color, the feeling itself it'd drawn from you. not a series of shapes and angles aligned in a manner that could change at any moment.
"it's like this," you say, practically itching in your seat to tell him about it. "think about what you're feeling and... choose a color that best represents it."
he squints in thought, and you can practically see the art critic in him willing itself out of his body. "that does seem to better fit abstract art, though."
a scoff nearly leaves your lips upon hearing his words. it's as if another switch flips in your body because in that moment, you finally understand the persistent debates and arguments held within class. the snarky remarks jake and other classmates would make amongst each other from and across their sides of the classroom. the rebuttals against those who taught and thought of art as a clinical process, a study; something to be perfected and achieved.
those who thought of the field with deep intricacies and nuances as a craft to be improved upon. the very same people whose views contain such constraint that seep into your subconscious, blocking out any imperfect thought or paralyzing you as you stand before your own page. one to be graded, critiqued, and misunderstood by anyone who didn't quite 'get it' or feel what you felt.
and to be quite frank, it'd be a shock to see if he were one of those people. so you challenge the very thought.
"whose to say it does?" you ask, a newfound confidence rising within your voice and body as you squint back at him. "it may end up capturing more than you think."
and there it is. the flicker of worry, concern, and unease that brings his eyebrows together and purses his lips. the expression seems to rip the words out of you before you can register them.
"you won't mess it up, riki."
there's a sensitivity in your voice that manages to simultaneously ease him and you as it floods the room. professor jo would be in shambles upon seeing this. the class wreck, trying to ease the expert into something new? unfathomable.
but your professor hadn't been there. in the living room sat only two art students, sharing quiet thoughts and confessions in the shadows of their own vulnerabilities across the thin veil of paint and cloth. no prodigies nor washouts; only you and riki, and the gentle hum of jazz the record player provides.
the pause he takes is relieved momentarily, and as his eyes dance along the features of yours he'd so longingly tried to imitate. his eyes flicker back to the painting, then to you, as he purses his bottom lip as if to say why not?
"show me." he then says, though if there weren't so much humility in his voice, you'd think it a command; one you easily oblige to upon hearing it.
accompanying this feeling, is a quiet ache in your chest upon hearing his words that sticks with you. a subtle feeling of regret that sits in your core upon the realization of the truth; that no matter how it seemed, he'd only ever been just like you. intrigued, thoughtful, and curious about the true meaning and value of art. maybe you'd have realized it sooner if you'd spent time with him, rather than merely looking at him from the back of the class. or even at times judging how 'perfect' his presentation had always seemed.
a pang sits in your chest for all lost time, but the curiosity in his tone makes you want to make up for it. in a flash, you're on your feet, crossing the room to stand in front of him. he only watches with intrigued brown eyes as you pop the canvas from the easel, and set it on the floor. "join me?"
he nods quickly, picking up the paints and setting them next to the piece on the floor as you take a seat next to the work. to the record player he goes, to turn up the bossa nova before he returns to sit next to you on the floor. you're grateful, truly: you were beginning to wonder if he'd hear your stuttering heart over the low tone of music.
he sits along the carpet, shifting the paints along the hardwood portion of the floor to prevent any major messes. "so....a color for a feeling?"
"exactly," you respond, watching as he mixes a deep blue with a gentle red, before dropping the tool. "exactly like that."
"so like....red for anger? green for envy?"
"not quite," you say, wracking your brain for the words. "it's more so what something makes you feel."
the images from that night flash in your mind; the recollection you'd had of his smile, voice, and their coinciding colors. a hue of greens, purples, and oranges across the canvas as the emotion had been pulled out of you. "for instance....." you look at the partially done image and faceless depiction of you that lies before you both. "libraries make you feel....."
"warm." he says lowly, an ease in his voice that stirs a new feeling of it's own in your chest. "cozy."
you're just about to ask what color he associates with the feeling, but he's already reaching for the brush again to dip into a slightly dried brown on his palette. instinctively, your hand grips his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. you pull away almost instantly, as if you've burned yourself upon the realization of what you've done.
"sorry," you say quickly, gesturing back to the palette. "i just....i also only paint with my fingers."
a tip he didn't necessarily need to take, but one you'd felt important to mention. he'd been using watercolor this whole time, so you'd felt safe to mention it. had it been acrylic or oil, you'd have been hesitant. though the ease with which you'd be able to work with the material, to you, at least, had made you feel more connected to the creations in a way.
but he does take it, wetting his fingers in the muddled water before connecting them with the brown, drawing lines along the canvas. then, suddenly, "what was your inspo when you did it?" he asks, looking up at you as his fingers dot the blank portions. "any muses of your own?"
you almost don't register the question, looking at the way his pale fingers run themselves along the whites of the board. in a flash, though, it hits you, earning a low, ironic chuckle that flies from your lips.
under different circumstances, you'd have dodged the answer completely; insisted on giving a vague answer or simply telling him "a guy". but in the spirit of revelations about each other and the unguarded ease with which you two had slipped into moments ago, it felt right to tell him. after all, he'd been the one who'd opened that door. insisted on calling you 'pretty' and apparently, the inspiration for his own works.
so, looking up from the piece his hands shuffled across; you attempted to use the same matter-of-fact tone as he did earlier when answering your question. "i thought of....." you give the same genuine smile as he did. "you, riki."
you aren't sure what to expect when the words leave your lips. a flood of color tints his cheeks as he looks back at you, and he bites back a surprised smile. "oh," he says, amusement skirting his tone. "guess i should have known, hm? you are always staring at me in class."
the record player may as well have scratched, because in that moment, you feel your heart plummet.
this entire time, he had noticed.
"i-" for a brief moment, you wondered if this had been what it was like for your brain to actually short-circuit. "i-"
he lets out a soft, throaty chuckle at your perturbation before gripping your wrist in his hand. "relax, pretty," he says, gesturing to the work with stained fingers. "clearly i noticed you, too."
his eyes capture yours under the cast-in light the windows provide. they hold you with a reverence for a brief moment, and upon feeling your once-tense hand loosen a bit, he doesn't let go. not even when he turns back to work the page.
with one hand lining the canvas and the other holding yours, he dots the lines of the depiction of your hair with a mellow yellow. after a moment of watching him sprinkle the color along the edges, you ask what it means.
he looks up at you, before a look of awe unfolds upon his features. "hopeful." he says, running the color along the lines of the portrait.
he spreads the color amongst many along the features of the canvas, slowly making his way toward the portions he'd once been hesitant about. you're tempted to ask what each of them means, but let him move in silence for some time, leaning into the way he clutches your hand.
then, by surprise, you feel a cool sensation against the back of it as he reaches to press the same color of yellow along the smooth skin, streaking the tone in a stark contrast. your heart practically trips over itself upon the contact, and you glance up at him to clarify. "hopeful?"
he nods, and doesn't stop there. before you can ask why, he dips his index finger in a shade of orange before dragging it along your arm, avoiding your floral dress as he does. he mutters something quietly, personal, in a tone so intimate you could melt. the jazz nearly drowns it out, but you think he says the word; "happy."
the sensation of his fingers running along your arm is enough to make you twitch; something you're almost positive he catches as he works the paint along your skin.
but you don't pull away, try to stop him as he continues. you only turn toward him, allowing him to work the paint up toward your collarbone, earning a low gasp from you as he shifts and adjusts his palette.
"shy," he chuckles, gliding his fingers along the curve of your neck. his eyes glimmer with the exact emotion he claims to experience upon exposure to the specific feature, as shown in how his fingers start to tremble upon nearing your face.
it's a feat of your own, trying not to twitch or shudder as his fingers dance along the corners and curves of your body, as if marking you like a portrait itself.
as he dawns you in colors, you'd wonder how long he'd been connected to the feeling of them. how often had he grown shy upon seeing you in halter-tops on the way to and during class? how happy had it made him when you'd rolled up your sleeves to reach a book on the top shelf of a section in a library? did it always give him hope to see the ways in which you'd styled your hair on a specific day?
as the questions float in your mind, it seems as if he has one of his own. because after a moment, he pauses, then glides a swatch of blue along your chin as he lifts it up, as if you ask if the very movement is alright. as if to make sure no lines had been crossed.
it's only when you nod that he continues, muttering a soft "nervous." he wipes the blue along your cheek with his thumb, as he cups it before leaning in. "really nervous."
the words rip a gentle gasp from your throat, and you feel your breathing grow shaky as the gap between both of you begins to shrink. the feeling had been more than mutual, and by the way your hands fumble as they reach for the fabric of his clothes, it had been for some time.
finally, without taking his eyes off of you for even so much as a second, his nimble fingers manage to find the color red, but not before dipping into the water, and gliding the vibrant shade just beneath your lip, along the edges of your mouth. "desire," the words comes out closer to a groan as they tumble from his lips. "want."
you're leaning into his touch, eyes darting along his features, which solely concentrate on you. in that moment, it's as if you completely understand what it must feel like to be the subject of his art. he eyes you in the way he would a canvas, his dark brows drawn together and his plump lips pouting in veneration.
only, as his eyes circle yours, there's something softer behind the brown orbs, a gentleness in the way they glide along the colors of your cheek; and a new question. one that he chooses to now verbalize as he gazes into your eyes underneath the sunlight. "(y/n)," he breathes, blinking softly, as if he could etch the image of you behind his lids. "would you do me the honor of letting me paint you?"
and when you give a shaky nod, accompanied by a soft 'yes', he snaps into action.
the gap is closed with a gentle tug of your face towards his. the lips you'd long thought about feel softer than you could have ever imagined as they move against your own. there's a burst of your own red that seems to flood your chest, want spilling from you like a fountain as you nearly stumble over the painting in an attempt to lessen any further space.
he seems to understand this, because the strength you hadn't realized he had reveals itself as he pulls you into his lap. the flap of your dress rises slightly as he does, and his reaction isn't lost upon you as he steadies your thighs, shuddering lowly.
there's a reverence to his movements, a quiet restraint as he holds you as if you are something fragile, something delicate. his paint-stained fingers make their way up your exposed thigh, each finger tinting your skin a new shade. he stops upon reaching the waistband of your lace panties, before pulling his lips away to inspect your features.
you should feel silly when he does, the gentle features of your own colored in with washed shades of red, blue, and orange alike. admittedly, there's a low chuckle that he can't suppress as he eyes you, which welcomes a warm smile in return as you bring your hand up to wipe his own smudged cheek. but beneath it all is the clear and undeniable expression of sheer want.
so he presses forward, adjusting your body in his lap so that your back is against his chest. you lean into his warm embrace, tilting your head back to look at the delicate, unwavering features of his again.
you think he's going to take your lips between his again, when his arm reaches across the painting you both sit before, and he grabs the paintbrush. "riki..." you mutter, eyes following his fingers as they make their way back to you. "what-"
he silences your concern with a kiss, only breaking apart to whisper the gentle words that send tingles along your skin. "wanna try something first."
and then you feel it.
the drag of the thick-rimmed wooden brush along your skin, along the dips and line of your collarbone. a gasp leaves your lips as he continues moving it down the line between your breasts, the soft fabric of your dress sliding with it.
his other hand pops the clips of your bra mere seconds upon the dress making it's way down, the restraint in his actions growing thin. "riki..." you say again, although it's fathomed more out of a plea than simple concern.
a plea that he moves quickly to fulfill as your satin bra slides off your shoulders. "hm, pretty?" he says, bringing the end of the brush to your now exposed breasts, rubbing small circles along your nipples. then, lower, "feel good?"
you will the words to leave your throat, but they seem to be suspended there with each flick of the hardened material against the peaks of your chest. all you manage to get out is a low whimper as your back arched away from his chest to chase the contact of the brush.
but that doesn't seem to be enough. his lips find new spots along your neck to kiss and bite along as he lets out a low hum. "need to hear you say it, hun."
an unruly shiver emits itself from you as you feel his lips press themselves along your erogenous zones, marking them in a manner that will most certainly leave colors that can't so easily be washed away. the sensation of his bites paired with the lazy glide of the brush just past your areola almost proves too much to handle.
he seems to feel it too, his breathing growing heavy as he watches your lashes flutter every so often from the contact. his sweats don't help much, either; they easily give way to the shape of his hardening cock as it presses into your back while kissing you.
but it's only when you let out a weak. "yes, riki," between ragged breaths that he finally acts.
his nimble fingers move to spread your thighs apart, hiking up your dress as his other hand with the brush moves downward. the handle drifts along your chest, past your waist, then to your slick panties. shockwaves are sent through your body as he glides the wood across your clothed clit, bringing it up and down in an agonizingly slow pace.
your hips buck at the sensation, willing him to apply more pressure along your pussy with the brush, a low moan threatening to erupt from your throat as you grind.
"easy, baby." riki purrs, applying just enough contact to drive you insane if prolonged. "wanna take this slow."
but you don't. not with how much time you'd felt had been spent with inaction, watching and waiting from opposite sides of the classroom, but ultimately wanting the same thing. each other.
so you wrap your fingers around the base of the brush, keeping his touch there in alignment with yours in an attempt to bring it closer. "rik, please,"
his restraint seems to fray at your given nickname, and his grip on the handle eases at your touch. he pauses from neck kisses against your shoulder to peer over it instead, watching as you push the end of the brush closer towards your clit. he cracks only slightly as he watches you buck into the thick handle.
"fuucck," he hisses, adjusting his hand on the handle so that it clutches yours along the wood. "okay, baby....just....lemme guide you, hm?"
you nod fervently, loosening your own grip in submission as he changes the tempo and pace with the brush, flicking the tool from side to side in a way that makes your core ache. before you can stop them, whimpers are tumbling from your lips, soft, high-pitched squeals that grow with each movement along your panties. he lets you tilt the brush at a devastating angle to shallow along your lips now, your underwear sticking to the wet folds as you both move.
"shiitt, riki," you finally moan, your handle on the brush growing weak as you succumb to the pleasure that lights up every nerve in your body. "so....fucking good."
riki nods into your shoulder, the pounding of his heart thudding from behind your back as he grunts lowly. "i know, baby," his free hand drifts up to caress your exposed breasts, adorning them with specs of color; reds of course, deep hues and expressions of devastating want. "keep rubbing that pretty pussy for me, wanna see you do it in circles."
there's something about the low tone in which he speaks that makes you wish to obey. so in mere seconds, you switch to the circular motion he's told you to, mouth agape from the sheer pleasure it brings.
"oh," you moan at the contact, feeling his hand tighten around yours in an attempt to maintain the pressure. "oh my fucking god, riki,"
you won't last long. not with the way he picks up the tempo as your hands go slack with delight. the sounds of moisture sliding against the tool and material of the fabric rival with the heavy breaths between moans you let out. "i'm gonna fucking....mmgh.."
the dizzying spell of his hands against your chest leaves you breathless, and the struggle to find words pursues as he presses down harder, drawing out longer, deeper circles. "mm gonna what, pretty?"
the sudden jerk and twist of your body is the answer as you let out a drawn-out moan, clawing at his clothes for any semblance of grounding. your orgasm shoots through you, a sharp jolt that spreads from your pulsing clit along the nerves and veins of your empty walls, past your shaking thighs. the sensation is enough to make your skin along every exposed part of your body tingle as you squeak the words out. "mm....fuckin' coming,"
the sound that erupts from riki upon your undoing is nothing short of feral. he groans as he watches you twist in pleasure, only slowing down the pace of the brush when you push against his hand, whimpering as you ride out the sensation. "my fucking god, baby," he grunts into your ear. "you're so damn beautiful."
your hand is still clutching his clothes when he drops the brush and pulls away. in mere seconds, he slides the dress up and off of your figure, before guiding you out of his lap and onto the carpet. you watch intently as he hovers over you, pulling off his own shirt without doing so much as letting his eyes leave yours.
and boy, is he a work of art.
tattoos along his rib, you see dark letters that spell out 'ROSE' in a stark contrast against his skin. just above his waist, you see a bright red kiss mark, the vibrant in the same hue he'd painted his 'desire' toward you with. the same shade that stains your cheek, after he'd dragged his finger across it with watercolor.
instinctively, your finger comes up to palm it, circling the pair of lips in awe as he throws his shirt to the side. "so are you." you respond, a bit breathless from the high of the climax and the way he looks at you.
you don't miss the flood of pink in his own cheeks as he leans down to kiss you, peeling at your underwear with his fingers. when he gets them off, they are neglected just as easily as the thought of the jazz music that hums lowly in the back, drowned out by the noise of wet, sloppy kisses exchanged between you both.
the kisses grow messier, louder, as his lips move down toward your exposed cunt as he places several along your thighs, then a harsh lick along your clit.
a gasp leaves your throat, and you nearly squeeze your thighs shut as he suckles and rolls your sensitive parts around his tongue. the image is almost too much to bear; his head between your thighs, streaks of paint from his fingers that line them in an attempt to keep them open. your fingers make their way through his locs as you grip his hair, moans from your throat flying freely now.
"shiit, riki, i'm gonna-" your voice cracks at the devastating pulsing his tongue performs against your swollen clit. "m'gonna cum again, fuck." you manage to whimper out.
your eyes squeeze shut, though between flashes, you can see hues of yellow and blues have accumulated within the pale streak of his hair. whether it had been from the paint he'd coated your hand with from earlier, or the flecks from the tip of the paintbrush you'd both held, you weren't sure. but it all added to the image you'd never be able to forget; not now, not ever.
you come with a harsh shudder as he flicks his moist tongue through and around the folds of your pussy. "ngh!" you cry out, gripping the locs of his dark hair even harder as your thighs tremble.
he clutches them as you ride out your high, letting out a deep groan and bringing his head upwards to place another kiss along your cunt. "mhm, such a pretty girl,"
you can only twitch in response, growing weary as the second flood of pleasure washes over your senses. riki is already making his way back up your face with a line of kisses as he mutters sweet words into your skin.
he takes his time making his way up, running his fingers along the sides of your waist, the sticky sweat of it alone enough to activate a new blend of colors he spends on you.
the feeling of his hands along your skin is something you don't think you'll ever get used to. not with how every gentle stroke seems to set you on fire, sending you into a frenzy. the same, you begin to realize, can be said with regard to satiation. because as you lie, trying to recover from your last high, you practically ache to become close to him again. the once skin-tingling pleasure begins to shift to one of want when his lips find yours. "ki...." you mutter between kisses. "need you, please."
"i know, hun," he hums into your lips, the taste of yourself spilling onto your tongue as he kisses you. "gonna give you everything you need, promise."
but he's so agonizingly reverential. his hands move along your sides as if he'll break you should he grip too hard. he treats your body as if you were the painting from earlier, restraint of expression holding him back from painting you with all the brightest colors of his own.
you couldn't wait a second longer. not when you'd already waited for what felt like an eternity for a moment even remotely close to this; to him. so a slight push, you lift his weight from atop you, breaking the kiss.
"ki, i'm not like the painting, okay?" you say, running your hands along the base of the artwork that adorns his own body. "you're not gonna ruin me," you say, tugging at his sweatpants; which does a poor job at hiding his now leaking tip.
the darkness that falls upon his eyes is instant, and the once careful painter you'd known from earlier seems to fade away as the words leave your lips. it's as if he'd been waiting for you to say them all along, because his response is almost instant, his low voice practically dripping with need as he looks down at you. "what if i want to?"
this only makes you tug harder at his sweats, a low plea sliding off your tongue in desperation. "then do it, ki please do it." you gasp. "please ruin me."
and at your words, the last of his resolve crumbles. he practically rips his pants away, willing the space between you to ultimately disappear. "fuuckk, hun," is the only throaty, guttural warning you get before he lines himself up, and pushes into you.
the sensation is instant, hitting you as nearly as hard as the orgasm from mere moments ago, as the sheer width of his cock fills you with pleasure. you claw at his arms, pulling him down for any kind of support as he slams into you, a feeling that leaves you breathless.
a yelp emerges from your throat as you feel a sharp sting across your ass, accompanied by the echo of a slap. the sensation is so sharp you feel your eyes begin to well; that, just like his other markings, will leave a bright hue for you tomorrow, if it hasn't already.
the moans that erupt from him upon entry nearly send you over the edge again. it's as if you can feel the last of his restraint fray as he pounds into you mercilessly. he holds down your arms onto the carpet as he fucks you; as if you could go anywhere, anyway. as if you could do anything more than moan his name as he kissed, sucked, and nibbled at any exposed part of your body.
the moisture that spills between you sends the exchange of color down the valley of your breasts, and along his shoulders. it's a lovely shade of lilac that you've decided feels like passion, harmony, lust; all at once. and maybe one day, something more.
it's the same gorgeous shade you see when he breaks the kiss to look into your eyes. a gasp is evoked from you upon seeing the smudges materialize along his neck, a mix of the blue and red he'd given you.
you wonder how you look underneath him, smeared in the material with your mouth hanging open, willing your teary eyes to stay open as his cock drags in and out of you.
"beautiful," he says, as if reading your mind before picking up the pace. "long way from the back of the class, huh?"
you'd answer him if you could, but the only thing that seems to be able to leave your lips are the high-pitched moans that rival his low, deep groans as he speeds up.
his brows furrow as he presses his forehead to yours, his mouth parting in awe as he loses himself in the velvety warmth of your cunt. "i'm....not gonna last, baby." he mutters, biting his lip between grunts as the slap of his balls sounds throughout the living room. "i'm so close."
you felt yourself nearing the end, too, the coil in your stomach twisting and swelling with a sensation that threatens to spill over at any minute. the long lashes that riki peers through flutter every so often he watches you twitch beneath him. then, his brown eyes manage to stay open for just long enough to give a plea of their own, and a question, low, wrecked tumbles from his gasping lips.
"can i- fucckk, ngh," he starts, gripping your thighs with the tenacity of a man who longed for this just as deeply as you had. a man who took great pride in ruining you the way you insisted. "can i come on your belly, baby?"
you nod gently, whimpering out a soft "yes" as he tastes the salt along your skin with each sloppy kiss along your face. in a few quick, deep strokes, you're sent over the edge, gripping him with your walls as the nerves of your pussy flood with waves of euphoria. "sshiiittt, riki!" you hiss, the tears that formed from your pupils spilling over as he rams into you.
his eyes roll back after he sees you unravel beneath him. through visions of flashes of white you see his sharp jaw slacken as the heat of his breath glides along your cheek. "shit, (y/n) i'm gonna...."
the last of his resolve is used to pull out of your twitching cunt before your skin is pricked with liquid, hot and white, along the curve of your breasts, stomach, and facial features alike. "fucckkk" he groans, his chest heaving in delight. his lips find your face again, now adorned with streaks of his cum. "there she....fuckin' is." he croaks, as his eyes dart along the paint and cum littered portions of your figure.
he wills himself not to collapse on you, as if he'd ruin the very art he'd work so hard to create. but alas, he grows weak, succumbing to the fatigue as he eases himself onto your body, careful not to put all of his weight on you. there's a deep, low chuckle that sounds in your ear as he runs his hands through strands of your hair. "mhm, finally," he says, low, fucked-out. "got you right."
a swell of pride enters your chest, because his words, and the gentle expression of joy in his features as he kisses along your face, you know he's done it. finally brought to life the essence and emotion he'd been trying to for months; if not on canvas, he'd undoubtedly captured the image in his mind for many more months to come.
soft sighs and chuckles erupt from you two, and he takes his fingers to swirl the remaining color around your body gently. he does so the entire time eyeing you as if you'd truly been a mosaic, a mural, and the portrait all at once; as if you had been the real art this entire time. the once-forgotten bossa nova reemerges from the player, no longer drowned out by the sounds of bliss you'd created only seconds ago.
in a swift movement, he pushes off, and pulls you back into a gentle embrace, in no rush to clean either you or him, as if erasing the very proof that what had occurred would undo him completely, all over again.
so there you lay; breathless, weary, blissful, and content. the very words that described the body you claimed, and adorned in colors and the essence of love alike, his masterpiece.
Warnings: Power imbalance, possesiveness, very minor mention of blood, mentions of financial desperations, dubious consent, reader is said to have delicate feet, ownership themes, human auction (reader is sold in an auction), physical touch, fluff-?, usage of both Niki and Riki thought referring to the same person- Nishimura Riki, obsessive behaviour, kisses on feet-?
Synopsis: You were a ballerina—graceful, delicate, and broke. When your mentor whispered about a secret gala, you didn’t know you’d be sold. Bought for a hundred million dollars by a man who spoke little and watched too closely, you expected control, cruelty, maybe even a golden cage. But he gave you quiet hallways to walk barefoot, silk sheets to sleep in, and a world scrubbed clean for your comfort. He never asked you to love him. He only made sure you had no reason not to.
Wordcount: 11,1k
Ballet wasn’t just another hobby to you.
It was your life. A silent language your body spoke when words didn’t do justice.
You find solace in the way you move your muscles, the way you pad on your toes, the way you twirl gracefully with your arms stretched.
You love the beautiful symphonies your body makes mirroring the music that plays, it was as if you were one with the music- the art.
You remember the first time you stood on your tip toes- your calves aching, your ankles trembling to balance the weight of your body, but you didn’t mind the pain. You loved it.
The pain only meant one thing- you were reaching, striving.
In a world where everything was slipping through your fingers, ballet stayed.
The studios which mirrored your delicate form.
The pale pink ribbons that moved with you like it was another part of your body.
The aching swell in your chest when the music began- like your heart recognized a home it had never seen.
There was some kind of peace to it. The kind of peace when your thoughts melted away and your body moved through the air.
You didn’t need applause- you didn’t want it.
You didn’t dance because you wanted to satisfy your mentor, you didn’t dance because you wanted the cheers. No. You danced because it reminded you you were alive. And that you weren’t alone- that ballet was with you.
Your shoes which weren't yours padded against the red carpet which led to a theatre.
The dress you’re wearing wasn't yours either. Neither were the diamond earrings which adorned your ears and the glittering thin chain which brushed against your neck everytime you turned your head.
Even your name on the invitation which was printed in delicate gold foil didn’t feel like yours. It was like your name didn’t deserve to be written and printed with such care, such luxury and such extravagance.
But desperate people learn how to lean on to illusions which aren’t theirs.
You looked around the huge halls, the empty space filled with over-the-top pieces covered with diamonds, detailed art pieces and tall ceilings. The interior was lit with warm gold light, soft classical music humming faintly through the windows.
You didn’t eat a full meal in days. Your rent was overdue. And yet here you were- drawn in by whispers and rumors, all tracing back to one thing.
A private gala.
A mysterious host.
A ballet auction.
“Just smile,” your mentor had told you interrupting your thoughts.
“You’re not there to blend in- you’re there to be seen.”
And so, you walked up the marble steps.
You didn’t know that once you entered, you wouldn’t be leaving on your own terms.
You didn’t know his eyes were already on you- sharp, unreadable, and far too focused for someone you’d never met.
And that’s how you are here, on the huge stage.
The air heavy with perfume and money. Everyone’s sitting around the velvet curtained stage, wearing sharp suits. Eyes gleaming. Like wolves dressed in suits.
You’re barefoot, your feet feeling the expensive and polished wood beneath you. Dressed in the faintest ivory silk, hair pinned like you are made out of porcelain, not bone and flesh.
You don’t speak.
You don't need to.
The music begins. A single piano note continued by multiple.
And you dance.
You dance like the men there don’t exist. Your body remembers the movements though your brain doesn’t. You spin. Controlled. Graceful. Your body dances as if it’s one with the notes.
The room holds its breathe like it’s amazed by your performance- your art.
A voice is heard cutting the invisible amazement resting on the peoples’ faces,
“Starting bid, 5 million dollars.”
It rises quickly.
“Seven.”
“Eight million.”
“Ten”
“Twenty-two.”
You kept dancing as if you aren’t hearing the money proposed to win you.
“Thirty-five million!”
Another shout. Another flash of a raised card.
And then—
From the back of the room:
“One hundred million.”
Silence. His voice sharp and sudden like a blade.
Everyone turns.
A young man sits alone, legs crossed, completely relaxed. No paddle. No number. Just a glass of untouched wine in his hand and eyes fixed solely on you.
He doesn’t say it again.
He doesn’t need to.
The host swallows. “Sold.”
The music stops. But you don’t. You do a one last spin. One last breathe. Before everything disappears into velvet.
And he? He watches you. Like he didn’t just buy you. Like he just bought you freedom and like he’s been waiting his whole life just for you to exist.
The sleek black car pulls up infont of the mansion- a fortress of glass, cement, history and wealth. The gate opens with a mechanical hum, and you feel the car entering. No one speaks. The driver doesn’t dare to glance at you. The windows are tinted too dark, but you don’t care.
The car finally stops; the door opens.
You step out, barefoot, the cool stone pressing against the arches of your foot. The mansion stands before you, towering and gleaming in the moonlight as if it’s the mansion’s way of welcoming. Everything is quiet, too quiet.
You’ve never been here before. You’ve never seen anything like this before.
You enter the mansion, your feet touching the cold marble underneath it. You admire the beautiful interior. It wasn’t extravagant, wasn't filled with huge chandeliers and wasn't filled with unnecessary expensive house decors. But it was perfect, plain black walls which reflected him, high ceilings, few paintings, and most minimal but luxurious interior you’ve ever seen.
And then-
“Welcome home.”
You turn to the source to see him standing, the one who bought you.
Nishimura Riki.
His hands are folded, his eyes too calm for someone who just spent an amount of money that could buy entire kingdoms. He looks young. But there’s something behind those dark eyes. Something old. Too old for his face.
“You should have stayed inside the car,” he continues, eyes moving over your bare feet, your attire, the soft lines of your form. “You’ll catch a cold.”
You raise an eyebrow, unfazed.
“Do you worry about everyone who steps foot in your home?”
He watches you for a long moment. Just looks. As if studying your every move, your breath, your body.
“Not everyone,” he answers finally, his voice dropping an octave. “But you’re different.”
You tilt your head slightly. A challenge, though still wrapped in that quiet, ethereal calm.
“How am I different?” you ask.
He doesn’t smile, but there’s an edge to his gaze.
“You’ll know.”
A slow pause, and you step forward, moving with the same grace you showed at the auction. You don’t say anything, just step lightly, like your drawn to the mansion despite the icy feeling it gives you.
“Do you own this?” you ask, your eyes scanning the modern, polished interior of the mansion.
“I do,” he says.
You don’t respond immediately. The silence wraps around you both again, thick and heavy.
“How long are you planning to keep me here?” You ask, your voice finally laced with something less passive—just a soft curiosity.
His lips curl into a smirk, just a little. But there’s something behind it. Something dangerous. He steps closer, leaning slightly forward as he speaks.
“As long as I want. And as long as you don’t give me a reason to make you leave.”
You meet his gaze evenly. No fear. No hesitation.
“I don’t leave,” you say quietly, “unless I’m forced to.”
His smirk fades slightly, replaced by something else—something darker.
“Then I suppose we’ll have to get along,” he says, almost like a promise.
He turns, motioning toward the hallway.
“Come. I’ll show you to your room.”
Your eyes flicker to his back as he leads you deeper into the mansion. It’s huge, an endless series of hallways, high ceilings, stark walls. There’s a feeling that every step you take is watched by invisible eyes. And every step he takes is watched by your eyes.
You reach a door at the end of the hallway; he slides the door open.
“This is where you’ll stay.” he says softly and steps aside so you could enter first.
The door slides open into a room so large it feels like a wing of the mansion. Your eyes widen slightly as you take in the scale of it- the enormous canopy bed, the floor to ceiling glass windows draped with rich, dark curtains, the white marble absorbing the soft glow of the lights.
The room smells like fresh flowers and something else, something clean, like new silk.
The bed is enormous, draped in white silk sheets that shimmer under the low lighting. Pillows are stacked high, luxurious, inviting. There’s a sitting area to the left, complete with velvet chairs and a long marble coffee table. A bookshelf filled with books you know you’ll read. A dresser, a vanity, a full-length mirror.
And then there’s the view. Out of the windows, you can see the mansion’s sprawling gardens- lawns so well-kept they look like the perfect still-life paintings. Nothing out of place. Everything too perfect.
For a moment, you don’t speak. Don’t move.
Niki watches you from the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes intense. He knows you’re analyzing everything, but he doesn’t rush you.
“It’s a little…” he pauses as you step inside, your gaze still flickering around the room. “…larger than what you’re used to, I assume.”
You don’t respond at first. Instead, you run your fingers across the back of a velvet chair, then moves toward the bed. The silk sheets ripple slightly under your touch as you sit at the edge, your legs folded underneath you.
“It’s a little too much,” you say, almost under your breath. Your fingers graze the silk again, still hesitant.
You look up at him.
“What do you want from me?” you ask, your voice steady, but laced with something softer this time. There’s no edge to it, no rebellion—just a curious calm.
His gaze softens. Just a little. There’s something like admiration there, a flicker of understanding.
“For you to be comfortable,” he says quietly, his voice low, as if choosing his words carefully. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
You don’t know if you believe him.
You glance at him, assessing. His eyes are steady—calm. He doesn’t seem like the type who’d force anyone into something they didn’t want. But his silence speaks louder than his words.
“Comfortable,” you repeat, tasting the word. The weight of the room, the overwhelming luxury, feels foreign. But you don’t want to show him that. Not yet.
You stand up, the silk sheets pooling around your feet as you walk towards the window. You stare out at the garden for a long moment, taking in the moonlight, the cold air that filters in.
Riki stays at the door, watching you, but doesn’t speak yet.
“It’s still too much,” you say softly, almost like a confession.
“Everything I have,” he says after a pause, his voice a little more serious, “I have because I want it. If I wanted you to be just another piece of property, I would’ve given you a room just like any other. But I bought you for a reason. I want you to want this.”
You look back at him over your shoulder.
“You think I want any of this?” you ask, your words quiet, but sharp.
Riki doesn’t move, but his gaze doesn’t waver.
“You will,” he says simply.
You don’t answer. You can’t.
He nods, stepping back slowly, giving you space.
“If you need anything,” he says, his voice softer, “just call. The house is yours now. But only as long as you make it your own.”
With that, he turns, but not without one last look over his shoulder.
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
You stand there for a long moment, staring at the door long after he’s gone.
And though the room feels too large, too empty, you can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before it starts to feel like yours.
The dining table stretched long and polished, lined with plates and neatly folded napkins that look too delicate for how heavy the air felt.
A staff guides you to the dining room, your bare foot padding behind them against the marble floor.
You sat near the middle, fingers curling and uncurling in your lap. The silk dress they’d given you was too smooth, too perfect. You felt like a misplaced figurine — breakable in a place built for power.
And at the other end of the table…
He watched.
Riki.
He nodded once at the maid. A plate was set before you, silverware shining like it had never been used.
“You should eat,” he said, voice smooth — quiet, but final.
You glanced down at the food. Everything looked expensive. Fragile. Like if you touched it wrong, it would vanish or crack under the pressure of being touched by someone like you.
He noticed your hesitation.
“They asked what you liked,” he added, almost softer this time. “I told them to make a little bit of everything.”
Your gaze lifted slightly, brows tightening.
“You didn’t know what I liked.”
“I wanted to find out.”
Silence again. The kind that wrapped around your throat but didn’t choke.
He was eating too, now — unhurried, elegant in the way predators usually were. Not once did he look away. Not once did his focus shift.
You took a bite. Small. Careful.
He smiled.
“Do you like it?”
You gave the faintest nod. And something about that pleased him too much.
“From now on,” he said, sipping his wine, “you eat with me.”
It wasn’t a demand.
It wasn’t a suggestion either.
It was just something he had already decided.
And you?
You only picked up your fork again.
Because you could feel it — the way the walls of this place whispered his presence.
There was nowhere to hide.
But there was also… no reason to.
Not when he looked at you like you were a piece of art finally returned to its rightful collector.
After completing dinner, you left to your room to rest as Niki suggested. The staff guided your way back to the room, your feet as always, bare walking on the marble but now, it didn’t feel cold. You don’t know if it’s because you accepted it or because you started to like it.
A few days pass by. Niki showed you a ballroom filled with delicate and sheer white cloth surround few areas, art painted across the ceiling with an elegant chandelier in between, a gramophone which fills out the room when played in the corner of the room sitting on a table beside a box full of classical discs.
Riki told you few stories which were experienced by the people in the frames which sat on his wall in the office room. He told the meanings of every art piece you questioned the backstory of. He bought you drinks in the middle of the day when you were laying on the bed bored or just were simply watching the TV.
One thing Niki also did was he noticed every single thing about you.
Like how you like your drinks cool, how you always read in the evenings when it’s about to get dark outside, how your eyes don’t glow with delight when you eat food you don’t like, how you nod your head- just a little when you like the food, how you like to roam around the huge space and especially how you walk barefoot all the time.
You walk barefoot all the time. Right. He noticed it, ofcourse he did.
He didn’t tell you to wear slippers- hell, he didn't even ask you to wear socks. Because he thinks, you can do whatever you wish for. He didn’t want to restrict you, no. He didn’t buy you at the auction for that. He wanted you to be free. He wanted you to do whatever you want without any concerns. He wanted you to think of him as your safe place.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you- care about the floors which may not be truly clean because before you, no one walked around the mansion barefoot. The floors were cleaned once every morning due to the sake of it. But this shouldn’t continue because now? Now you’re here, in the mansion with your delicate foot pressing on the white marble.
And that’s the reason why he’s standing in the middle of the main hall, his dark eyes sweeping upon the numerous staff lined up before him. A cold silence hung between them—until he spoke.
“Now on, the floors will be cleaned three times a day,” he said, voice like a blade. “In the morning, during lunch and during dinner.”
A few of them blinked, confused. No one dared question him. Still, one hand lifted in hesitation.
“Sir, if I may—”
“You may not,” he cut, calmly.
“No shoes in the east wing. No carts. No buckets left out. Not a speck of dust. If her feet touch it, and I see a mark…”
He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Let’s just hope I never have to explain what happens next.”
The room went still.
“And one more thing,” he said, voice soft but full of threat. “Do not approach her. Do not speak to her. If she asks for something, inform me. If she wanders into your space, you disappear from it.”
His tone didn’t rise once. He didn’t have to. Every word was an order etched in stone.
“That girl walks barefoot in my house,” he murmured, almost to himself now, eyes distant. “So, the world she walks on will obey.”
Then he turned away and disappeared into the endless hallways, his staff watching him until he’s out of sight. No one understood why he’s like this, but no one dared to question too. With that, the staff disappeared with the new rules repeating in their mind like mantra.
The room feels like it’s closing itself again, the silence too thick, too still. You’ve been staring out the long windows for too long, your fingers brushing against the cool glass. The garden bellow calls to you in a way you can't ignore.
The huge transparent mirror is acting like a shield, protecting the freedom, the liveliness and the peace that comes from the garden. It’s the only thing that’s stopping you from going out and laying on the grass.
It looks alive, so alive compared the stillness inside your room right now. The trees sway gently in the night breeze and you can hear the soft hum of insects even through the thick glass windows. There's something about it, the life, the freedom of it all tugs at your chest.
You stand up abruptly, walking to the door, your silk gown brushing against your mid thighs and you slide the door open before you can second guess yourself. The house is quiet as always, but you aren't interested to keep up with the silence anymore.
You find him in the hallway, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed and a phone in his hand.
"I want to see the backyard." You say, the words slipping out. It's not a demand, but it's not a request either. It's a need, a soft yearning in your voice which surprises you more than it should.
He pauses and then turns his head, looking at you with that unreadable expression. His eyes flicker down to your bare legs and feet, the hard marble beneath, before meeting your gaze again.
"It's late." He replies, but the tone isn't dismissive. There's something about the way he speaks that feels more like a suggestion, but also more like permission. He's not stopping you, but he's not pushing either.
You hold his gaze for a beat longer before speaking again.
"I know, But I can see it from my room- I want to go, it seems so lively out there. I just want to feel it. The world out there feels different." You trail off, unsure of what exactly you're trying to say.
Niki doesn't respond immediately, and you almost thought he'll deny it-
"Alright," he says after a moment, he gets up, his voice soft but firm. "If you really want to."
You're happy, more than anything. It feels like there are no more chains which make you roam only in the insides, no restrictions- just freedom. Freedom of going out for the first time after coming here, taking in the fresh air. You don't waste any time. You step forward and he follows you as you move towards the exit- towards the freedom.
When you finally step outside, the cool and fresh air brushes over your skin and you breathe it in deeply, savoring it. The grass feels soft beneath your feet, like walking on a thick carpet, cool and welcoming.
You pause, letting the sensation sink it. The feel of nature beneath you is something you didn't even realize you craved until now. The quiet rustling of leaves and the happy sounds of birds are the only sounds that fill in the air.
You close your eyes for a moment, letting the moment stretch out, almost like you could forget where you were for just a brief instant. But the sound of footsteps approaching made your eyes open.
Riki’s in the garden with his back leaning against the garden side of your window. He doesn’t come any closer, but his presence is still felt.
“It’s peaceful out here,” you murmur, looking back at him.
“It is,” he agrees, his voice low, almost like a secret shared between them.
He watches you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. Not one of triumph, not one of ownership—just something soft, something real.
“You’ll get used to it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, the way the night air carries a promise.
“It’s nice,” you murmured, half to yourself.
“You can come here whenever you want,” he said, his voice lower now, softer. “I had it made for you. Just... don’t be out too late.”
You don’t answer. Instead, you look back down at the soft grass beneath your feet, your toes curling into it, grounding yourself.
And for a moment, it feels like home.
The door creaked open with barely a sound.
You didn’t flinch — you heard the footsteps long before. Measured, quiet, almost respectful. You didn’t need to look to know it was him.
Still, you kept your eyes on the book resting in your lap, the pages bathed in the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp. Your legs were tucked beneath the sheets, the silk brushing your skin, and the room smelled faintly of lavender and well, you.
“You’re not asleep,” he said, more observation than question.
You turned a page.
“Neither are you.”
There was a pause.
Then the soft click of the door shutting behind him.
You could feel the air shift, his presence taking up more space than his body ever did. He stepped closer, eyes flickering to the book in your hands.
“What are you reading?”
“Something old. Something quiet,” you replied.
He nodded once, slowly. And then, without asking, he moved to the armchair across from your bed and sat — legs crossed, one hand pressed to his lips as he simply watched.
“You could’ve slept in your own bed,” you murmured.
“Could’ve,” he echoed. “Didn’t want to.”
Your eyes met across the space. And for a moment, it was quiet. Deep, gentle quiet. The kind that doesn't demand answers, only stays.
Then he leaned back, voice barely above a whisper.
“Read to me.”
You blinked. “Now?”
“You’re already awake.”
A beat.
“And your voice makes things softer.”
You didn’t answer.
You just looked back down at the page, cleared your throat, and began.
And while your words filled the silence, Niki didn’t say anything more.
He just… watched.
Listened.
Stayed.
Your feet padded themselves to the ballroom without you knowing few days after that.
The ballroom was empty, but it never felt lonely. Because ballet and music accompanied you in this vast room.
You stood in the center — barefoot, breath steady, arms poised.
The early morning sun spilled through the grand windows, golden and soft, catching on the polished floors like liquid light. The air was quiet, save for the gentle creak of old gramophone and the faint rustle of your skirt as you moved.
This place — for all its grandeur, its intimidating size — felt oddly yours when you danced.
You moved slowly at first, like the music was inside you and still waking. A turn. A lift of your arm. A precise bend of your ankle. The marble kissed your feet like it knew their rhythm.
And then — freedom.
Your body spun into motion, fluid and deliberate. Every step, every gesture, a word unspoken. You danced like you were trying to remember who you were before the world asked too much of you. Before names and price tags. Before being sold, before belonging.
Now — you only belonged to the music.
You danced.
Not for anyone.
Not to impress.
Just because you could.
Just because the quiet felt softer when your body moved to fill it.
Your silhouette spun beneath the high ceilings, your nightgown fluttering like the petals of a lily, weightless with every turn. Every step glided, every pirouette melted back into stillness, like water finding its shape again.
Somewhere behind you, unseen but always felt, Niki leaned silently against the doorway.
He didn’t interrupt. He never did when you danced. He just watched.
His lips didn’t part.
His hands didn’t move.
But in the quiet corners of his soul, something stirred every time you danced.
As if you were a language only he could read.
As if you were never meant to be anything but his.
No matter how many times you ate multiple meals in the dining room you never got used the ridiculously long dining table.
You counted the chairs once — twenty-six, twelve on each side and two on each end. All of them carved from dark walnut, shining under the crystal chandelier that glowed like a silent star above the table.
You were seated at one end. He sat at the other.
And yet, the room didn’t feel empty.
"You're not going to move closer?" you asked, delicately spearing a piece of fruit on your fork.
Niki looked up from his plate — eyes steady, expression unreadable.
“No,” he said calmly. “I like seeing you like this. Lit up. Like you're part of the art in this room.”
You didn’t answer, though your brows lifted slightly. His gaze lingered, not on your plate, but on your fingers — the way they moved, how your foot tapped lightly against the marble beneath.
You chewed slowly. “It’s strange eating alone when someone else is here.”
He smiled faintly. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”
“Across twenty feet of table,” you murmured.
He didn’t deny it. Not when you were right and even if you weren’t he wouldn’t deny it then too.
Instead, he stood. You watched him silently as he walked — unhurried — around the table, the soft clink of his shoes echoing in the high-ceilinged hall.
And then, without a word, he pulled out the chair beside you.
He sat, poured you more water like he’d been doing it for years, and placed your napkin across your lap again when it had slipped.
“Better?” he asked.
You looked at him, quiet, your voice softer now.
“Why do you always wait until I ask?”
His gaze was steady.
“Because I like when you ask,” he said. “It means you want me close.”
You didn’t respond. Just lowered your eyes back to the plate and took another bite.
But now, the table didn’t feel so large.
And neither did the space between you.
You both continued to eat while you talk about random stuff. Random stuff including you talking about the recent book, the trope, the characters, your opinion, your analysis most of the time and him nodding, replying and asking questions.
It was simple and you liked it like that.
Somehow, he didn’t make the empty mansion feel lonely, he made it homely even though it’s hard for you to accept it. Not because you hate him but because you never felt like this before. Never felt someone’s care, never felt someone’s love and never felt someone’s presence which was homely and comforting for once. And now that he’s giving all of it to you at once, you aren't sure if it's a dream or not.
Another thing which you never got used to no matter how many times you’ve wandered in these hallways and rooms are its vastness.
You were walking on your feet just like every day but this time you wandered too far.
The hallway you were in was quiet, long, and unfamiliar — no windows, only polished walls reflecting your silhouette and a dozen identical doors. The mansion was a maze made of marble and silence, and you’d made the mistake of thinking you’d remember your way back from the garden wing.
You turned a corner, paused.
And then — a voice behind you.
“Miss? Are you lost?”
You looked back. One of the newer staff, young, maybe a year or two older than you. He looked nervous, holding a tray of clean towels.
“A little,” you admitted. “The halls here feel endless.”
He gave a soft laugh and stepped forward, hesitant but kind.
“I can walk you back to your room— It’s easy to get turned around in the east wing.”
You nodded gratefully. Just as he was about to gesture toward the main corridor, he hesitated — then gently reached for your hand, fingers barely brushing your wrist to guide you.
“This way—”
And then he froze.
The air changed.
You turned your head just as a voice, low and sharp as cut glass, filled the space.
“Don’t touch her.”
Riki.
You hadn’t even heard his steps. But now he was there — at the end of the hallway, his figure calm, but his tone ice-cold. The staff member instantly pulled his hand back, eyes wide.
“S-sorry, sir— I just—”
“She knows how to walk on her own,” Ni-ki said, approaching slowly. “And she doesn’t like being touched by strangers.”
He was looking at you when he said it. Not the staff.
You watched the way his eyes flicked to your wrist — the one that had been touched — then back to your face. Not angry. Just… quietly displeased. Possessive, in a way that didn’t shout but made the whole hallway hold its breath.
“Go,” he said to the boy. The worker bowed quickly and disappeared down another hall.
Riki stepped close, his voice softer now.
“You should’ve waited for me.”
You tilted your head. “I didn’t realize I needed permission.”
His lips curved, ever so slightly.
“You don’t. But I like it when you wait anyway.”
Then he offered his hand — not demanding, not forceful — just there.
And this time, it was you who took it.
He didn’t speak much as he walked beside you.
Just the sound of your bare feet against the cool marble and his longer steps matching your pace. The mansion stretched behind you like a forgotten dream — and ahead of you, he guided, not pulling, just… gently leading.
When he finally stopped, it wasn’t your room. It was his.
Warm light filtered through sheer curtains, and the smell of something faintly familiar — cedar and rain — hung in the air. His room always felt lived-in, quiet, real.
You stood in the middle, not saying anything.
Then, slowly, Niki turned toward you.
His eyes dropped to your wrist.
The same one that had been touched earlier.
He didn’t ask. Didn’t comment.
But his fingers reached for it, careful and slow — like he was checking if the imprint of someone else still lingered there. His thumb brushed over the skin, once. Then again.
“Did it bother you?” he asked quietly, eyes not meeting yours.
You shrugged. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“I know,” he murmured. But he kept his hand there anyway. His touch was different — it never lingered where it wasn’t wanted, but when it did stay, it stayed with meaning.
You looked up at him, curious. “Then why do you look like it did?”
He didn’t answer.
Just kept his thumb moving across that same spot — soft, absent, like he was wiping away a fingerprint only he could see.
“Because it’s yours,” he finally said, voice low. “Your wrist. Your skin. But I’ve seen you dance enough to know every inch of it by heart. It doesn’t feel right when someone else touches it before me.”
Your heart ached, not in pain — but in the strange, quiet way someone’s protectiveness can settle deep inside you.
You didn’t stop him.
And he didn’t stop touching you.
He turned around, opening the door and moved aside so, you could enter first.
You enter without hesitation and let your eyes wander around his room.
You didn’t ask to stay.
But you didn’t have to.
You moved to sit on the edge of his bed — silk sheets pulled tight, a softness that held no weight. You touched the hem of your dress absently; your bare feet tucked beneath you. He said nothing. Just watched, still standing where he had been, as if waiting to see what you needed.
You looked up at him.
“Is it alright if I…?”
You trailed off. The words didn’t come easily — they never did when it came to him. Because no matter how gentle he was, Riki had a way of making everything feel fragile, sacred. Like one wrong move would crack the porcelain.
But he understood anyway.
“Stay?” he asked quietly, as if confirming something he already knew.
“Of course.”
He walked to the far side of the bed, slow and calm. Then without another word, he drew the curtains closed with a single tug. The night dimmed around you like a secret being kept from the world.
“You don’t have to be anywhere else,” he added, voice softer now. “Not tonight.”
You watched as he stepped away for a moment — returning with a folded blanket and placing it at the edge of the bed, like a silent offer. But then he sat beside you, careful not to crowd your space. His presence alone was warm.
Your wrist still tingled faintly where he had touched it.
“You always walk like you don’t want to leave footprints,” he murmured, not quite looking at you.
You blinked, smiling faintly. “I don’t like disturbing the world.”
He tilted his head. “Then I’ll make sure the world stays quiet when you move through it.”
There was no grand gesture. No reaching for you. Just stillness.
But you leaned back against the pillows anyway, letting the silence hold you.
And when he eventually laid down beside you, careful and slow, you didn’t flinch.
You stayed.
And so did he.
The next morning rolled by quickly, it was the same routine. You both had meals together, once in a while you’d bump into each other and then you’d talk but return to your own things quickly. And now, you were laying on your bed tossing and turning. It was late, you should be asleep by now but you aren't because whenever you close your eyes, yesterday’s incidents show up.
It was as if the insides of your eye lids were etched with the memory of you and him sleeping together in the same bed, same room and same atmosphere. You never slept so peacefully and carefree before yesterday. You felt comfortable and... protected.
But now that you are alone without Riki’s invisible shield of comfort, you feel weird and sleeps not coming to you at all. So, with a groan, you put your feet down and walk yourself to the bookshelf taking a book you found interesting.
You took that book and without a second thought, slid the door open and walked towards Niki’s room.
The silence of the mansion stretched endlessly, broken only by the distant sound of the wind brushing against the tall windows. Your bare feet padded softly along the cold marble floor, like a ghost searching for something familiar in a place too grand.
Eventually, your steps brought you to his bedroom.
Riki was already sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, long legs stretched out in front of him, his phone resting in his hand. The glow of the warm bedside lamp threw shadows across his face, making him look almost unreal—too still, too beautiful.
He looked up when you entered. His expression didn’t change, didn’t question. Just a quiet understanding in his eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice low and calm.
You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Can you... read to me?”
There was a pause, and then a small tilt of his head as he glanced at you and the book in your hands.
“Come here.”
You climbed onto the bed, not in the middle, but closer to his side—close enough that your shoulder lined up with his chest. You leaned gently back into him. He didn’t move away. In fact, he adjusted as he took the book, shifting the book slightly and pulling you into him more securely.
His right arm held the book, while his left, the one curled around you from behind, slid up and helped support the other edge of the book—like you were both reading together, but he held it for you.
His arm stayed firmly around your waist, your back against his chest, his chin at the side of your head. The book was stretched across in front of you both, resting against his arm and yours. His fingers gently flipped the pages as his voice began to fill the room, reading the story with a steady, soft rhythm.
You barely heard the words.
Because all you could focus on was this:
The warmth of him at your back.
The slow rise and fall of his chest against your spine.
The way his hand, the one around your waist, adjusted the book with care—not once letting go of you, not even to turn the page.
You were in his arms.
Not trapped. Not caged. Just… there. Held. Close. Safe.
Every time he spoke, the words hummed softly against your back. Every time he breathed, your body rose with him. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. In that moment, he wasn’t the man who bought you. He was just the man reading beside you—holding the book with you, like it was a shared secret.
And you let yourself sink into the comfort of it, slowly, silently, like a petal folding into the palm of his hand.
You weren’t even aware of when your eyes began to flutter shut.
His voice had that effect—low, steady, curling into your mind like warm smoke. The story blurred at the edges. Words became sounds. Sounds became nothing.
His chest rose and fell gently behind you, one arm still wrapped around your waist, the other steadily holding the book, though the words had started to slow, and then pause.
He felt it.
The shift in your body. The weight of your head relaxing back, your temple brushing against his collarbone. Your breathing evened out. Calm. Light. Deep.
He lowered the book slowly, carefully—not wanting to move too much.
His eyes shifted down to you. Your lashes rested softly on your cheeks, lips parted slightly. Your hand had curled lightly against his thigh, fingers resting there as if you had been reaching for something in your sleep and found him.
Riki didn’t move. Not for a long time.
He just watched you, the way you trusted him without saying a word. The way your body softened only in his arms. Like this enormous house, this lonely palace of glass and silence, only became real when you were inside it, barefoot and blinking at the world.
His thumb brushed the side of your arm, tracing slow circles through the fabric of your sleeve.
You sleep like you belong here, he thought.
And God help him—he wanted you to.
He reached over with his free hand, setting the book down gently on the bedside table. Then, with a slow breath, he shifted down, pulling the blankets over the two of you, careful not to wake you.
You didn’t stir.
So he stayed like that—your face tucked just beneath his chin, your breath warming the cotton of his shirt, your fingers lightly curled against his chest.
Niki pressed a kiss to the top of your head, light but firm.
“Sleep dove,” he whispered, the word only for you.
“You’re safe here.”
And for the first time in years, he slept too.
You woke to warmth.
Not the cold shine of chandeliers or the hush of marble floors. Not the distant echo of silence that usually greeted you. No — it was warmth that curled over you like sunlight and safety.
Your cheek was resting on something steady. Soft fabric. A heartbeat beneath it.
You blinked, slowly, and looked up.
He was already awake.
Niki’s gaze was already on you — sharp eyes calm, unreadable, but somehow... soft. His arm was still around you, firm but gentle, the weight of it like a promise you didn’t ask for.
“You slept through sunrise,” he murmured, voice low with sleep.
“That’s rare.”
You didn’t answer right away. Your voice hadn’t found you yet, and the weight of the moment held your tongue in place.
You shifted slightly — his hand tightened around your waist without thinking, pulling you back before you could move far.
“Stay,” he said, simply. Like a rule.
Your lips parted, brows raising just a little.
“I wasn’t leaving,” you whispered.
A silence passed. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.
“Good.”
His hand moved to your hair, brushing it back gently from your face, fingers warm against your cheek. He didn’t smile — Riki rarely did. But there was something else. Something deeper in the way he looked at you.
Like he could command the entire world to stop spinning — if you ever asked him to.
Like he already had.
And still, he didn’t ask you why you came to him last night. He didn’t ask what kept you awake. He never asked for more than you gave.
He simply reached behind you, pulled the blanket up again — and drew you back to his chest.
“Five more minutes dove,” he murmured into your hair.
“Then I’ll have breakfast brought up.”
You didn’t protest.
You didn’t want to.
You stayed.
You must’ve dozed off again, because the next time your eyes fluttered open, the sun had climbed higher — spilling golden light across the silk sheets, warm and almost surreal.
The space beside you was empty.
But you weren’t alone.
The faint sound of footsteps reached your ears first — steady, deliberate — followed by the soft click of the door opening.
“You’re awake,” Riki’s voice came, smooth and quiet.
You turned toward him — he was dressed now, though not fully formal. Still loose dark sleeves, still barefoot. Still impossibly composed, as though nothing ever touched him.
Except you.
He stepped aside, and in came the staff, heads bowed, silent. A tray was set down on the marble side table, covered in a fine white cloth.
“Leave it. I’ll handle it,” he ordered.
They left. Quickly. Quietly. Like shadows.
You sat up slowly, the blanket still drawn around you, hair falling gently over one shoulder. Niki’s eyes followed you with a look only he wore — the kind that studied and claimed at the same time.
“You didn’t have dinner last night,” he murmured, pulling the tray closer.
“Eat.”
He lifted the cover — steam curling into the morning air. Warm fruit pastries. Soft eggs. Toast. Fresh juice. Not too much. Just enough.
You blinked. “You didn’t have to bring it here.”
He didn’t respond at first. Just placed the napkin gently in your lap, then slid the tray over your legs.
Then his eyes met yours.
“I wanted to,” he said.
“Especially when it comes to you.”
You looked away.
But not for long.
His fingers reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear — slow, deliberate.
“Eat,” he said again.
“You can go back to not talking to me after.”
You let out the barest breath of a laugh. Not mocking. Just… small. Real.
And you took a bite.
His eyes stayed on you the entire time.
It was just another day, you were walking around the mansion, padding through different hallways and just enjoying the peace. The floor- like always is clean. No clutter. No forgotten dust. No stray things that could catch your toe or disturb your peace. Especially after you came here. Every surface, every hallway, every corner—immaculate.
But today, someone had made a mistake.
You were walking down the hallway again, your steps light and silent as usual, your thoughts elsewhere. Until—
Crack.
A sharp sting sliced through the underside of your foot.
You inhaled sharply, stumbling back with a soft gasp, your heel immediately lifting off the ground. You looked down. Red. It was already trickling across the white marble like a delicate thread of silk.
Your breath hitched—not in panic, not in pain. But in mild disbelief.
Your fingers gripped the wall for balance, the pain sharp and clean. You look at the cut brining your leg up and then the glass that shimmered in the light, a sliver of it still embedded which was on the floor.
That’s when you heard him.
“What happened?” came the voice—calm, deep, but already laced with something tight.
You didn’t have to look up. You knew that tone. He was always behind you. Always watching.
He was beside you in seconds.
His eyes dropped to your foot, and something changed in his expression. Softness cracked beneath steel. His jaw tensed as he crouched infront of you, fingers already reaching for your foot, surprisingly gentle.
He looked at the cut as if he’s processing something unacceptable.
You watched him as he cradled your foot in his hands, inspecting the wound with careful attention. He didn’t speak again—just moved. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it gently to stop the bleeding.
You whispered, barely audible. “I didn’t see—”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” he cut her off quietly, but not coldly.
Then he stood.
“Ji-woon!” His voice rang sharply down the hall. A name barked, cold and final. One of the workers came rushing in, face already pale. “I told you,” Riki said, voice low and dangerous, “this house stays perfect. No dust. No clutter. No risk. She walks barefoot.”
“S-sir, I—I thought—”
“You thought,” he interrupted. “She’s bleeding.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The worker was already shaking.
“Get out,” he said simply. “You're done, I'll deal with you later.”
Once the man disappeared, Niki was kneeling infront of you again, dabbing the blood off with his kerchief. He didn’t speak as he cleaned the wound carefully. His fingers were gentle. Reverent. As if hurting your foot was equivalent to failing as a man.
He was already moving again, lifting you up before you could protest. His arms were warm, strong, and you let your head rest lightly against his shoulder, feeling comfort in his presence.
“You walk on your feet too much.” He states as he walks with you in his arms.
You wrap your hands around his neck and hum, “I like to feel the world beneath me.”
“You shouldn’t have to bleed to feel the world,” he whispered.
And you didn’t know if he meant it as comfort or warning.
Later that night after he made a doctor treat your cut, he left while you stayed on your bed. Dinner was bought to you. There were constant maids checking up on you if you wanted anything. And more books bought into your room by one of the staff.
You were sitting on the bed with your back against the headboard and your thoughts floating in your brain.
You heard the door before you saw him. A soft click, so soft it could’ve been the wind. You didn’t lift your head — you knew who it was by the silence he always carried.
“You’re still awake,” Ni-ki said quietly, his voice brushing the room like velvet.
You kept your eyes on the book.
“I didn’t feel like sleeping.”
He moved closer, not bothering to ask permission, and sat at the edge of the bed. You glanced up briefly — his shirt sleeves were rolled up, veins visible on his forearms. His gaze wasn’t on your book. It was on your foot — the one wrapped neatly in a soft bandage.
“Still hurts?” he asked.
You shook your head once. “Not really.”
He didn’t answer, but his fingers ghosted over your ankle anyway — just barely. Checking, like he didn’t quite trust your words.
“Don’t worry” he said. “he’s fired.”
You blinked. “You fired him?”
“Of course I did.”
A pause. Then softer — “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
You stared at him then. Not because of what he said, but the way he said it. Like it offended him. Like your blood on the floor was a crime against something sacred.
“You should sleep,” he murmured after a beat.
“You should, too,” you replied.
He smiled faintly — almost like it surprised him. His hand left your foot, brushing the edge of the blanket instead.
“I will. Once I know you’re resting. Sleep early, dove”
You didn’t respond.
You just watched as he stood, walking back toward the door — slow, deliberate, never turning his back on you completely.
And as the door closed again with that same quiet click. You laid yourself completely on the bed and pulled the covers up- the silk rubbing against your legs as you reach your dreamland with full of thoughts- thoughts of him.
You were curled up on the oversized velvet couch, legs stretched out, your back resting comfortably against the armrest. A quiet film flickered on the screen in front of you. The room was dim and warm, the kind of stillness that made time feel slower.
Then, you heard the faint sound of footsteps — the kind that were so familiar by now you didn’t even have to turn to know it was him.
Niki.
He didn't say anything at first. Just walked in quietly, gaze drifting to you with that unreadable calm he always wore. You stayed as you were, unmoving, used to the way he never asked before doing things.
He reached the couch, and you felt his hands gently take hold of your ankles. You blinked, watching as he carefully lifted your legs — like you were something breakable — and sat down in the space where they had been. Then, without a word, he laid your legs back across his lap.
Your heel rested against his thigh, your toes brushing the edge of his coat. You watched him from the corner of your eye, something inside you oddly still. His hand found your foot, thumb stroking a slow, lazy circle against your heel.
It wasn’t ticklish. It wasn’t meant to be. It was grounding.
Comforting.
“You’re cold,” he said softly, mostly to himself. His other hand settled on your ankle, thumb brushing along your skin again. “You should’ve said something.”
You didn’t respond right away. Didn’t need to.
“I didn’t notice,” you murmured, half-focused on the way his thumb moved. " ‘s warm now."
His jaw ticked slightly, like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. He just kept rubbing soft, unhurried circles against your foot — the kind of gesture someone wouldn’t do unless they really cared.
You watched him in stillness — the way his fingers traced every curve, every line of your sole like it was scripture only he could read. His brows were slightly drawn; lips parted like he was whispering secrets to your skin without words.
Then his head dipped lower.
You felt his breath first — warm, feather-light against the delicate arch of your foot.
And then, he kissed you there.
Not rushed, not fleeting. A slow, deliberate press of his lips against the softest part of you. Like it was sacred. Like you were sacred.
His thumb brushed your ankle as he pulled back just an inch, but he didn’t look up. He stared at the place he kissed, then lowered his head again — this time to the side of your heel, then your toes, reverent, unhurried.
“You don’t even know,” he murmured, his voice quiet, a little rough. “How much I’d ruin the world just so you never have to walk on it.”
Your breath caught.
He finally looked up, eyes dark but soft, mouth still near your skin.
“I’d carry you everywhere, if you let me.”
You look away not knowing what to say, but your attention was on him.
And his on you.
You pressed your feet not hard- but light and firm against the palm of his hand.
Neither of you needed to speak. Not in moments like this.
Here, in this cocoon of quiet, he didn’t need to say what you already knew — that you were his, that he would always make space for you. Even if it meant rearranging the entire world just so you could lie comfortably on a couch.
With that you both continued watching the film in the comforting atmosphere which made both of yours hearts warm.
The door to his bedroom was open, just like always.
You stepped in quietly, the silk of your nightwear whispering against your skin as you padded barefoot across the polished floor. Niki was sitting against the headboard, laptop on his thighs, the pale light from the screen casting a soft glow across his sharp features.
You climbed onto the bed without a word, your movements slow and silent, as if not to disturb him — but Niki didn’t need you to be careful. He always knew when you were near.
You settled beside him, laying on your stomach, your face resting just beside his hip. The cool silk sheets felt soft against your skin, your legs curling slightly to the side. He was warm there beside you — not just in presence, but in something else, something steadying. Familiar.
Niki didn’t glance down right away, but you could feel the shift in his breath, the subtle stilling of his fingers on the keyboard. Then his hand, the one not working, moved gently — his knuckles brushing along your cheekbone, slow and absentminded an. His thumb swept just beneath your eye before sliding into your hair, fingers threading through it gently.
“You always end up right here,” he murmured, almost to himself.
You nuzzled closer without answering, your eyes fluttering shut, cheek resting against the softness of his hoodie where it draped across his hip, your chin on his thigh.
“Makes it hard to concentrate,” he added, but you could hear the smile under his breath. He didn’t ask you to move.
Instead, his hand settled at the back of your head, protective, his thumb occasionally stroking your temple while he kept working — one hand typing, the other gently cradling you like you were something fragile, sacred.
You watched him for a while, the soft glow of his laptop illuminating his focused expression, his fingers moving swiftly over the keys. The quiet buzz of the room, the soft rhythm of his typing — it all seemed to fall into the background as you settled more comfortably beside him, your face still near his hip.
Curiosity tugged at you. “What are you doing?” you asked softly, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a murmur.
Niki didn’t look at you right away. His gaze was still focused on the screen, but you could see the faint twitch of his lips. “Work,” he answered, his voice casual, but with a hint of amusement.
You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Work?” you repeated, shifting a little to look at him more directly. “I didn’t know you were working tonight.”
He finally glanced at you, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small, knowing smile. “There’s always something to handle,” he said, his voice low. But the smile didn’t last long — instead, it softened as he looked down at you again, the light from the screen catching the warmth in his gaze.
You tilted your head slightly, curiosity still lingering in your eyes. “You are working so late,” you murmured, a small frown tugging at your lips.
He hummed softly, shifting his position just slightly so he could lean closer. “I don’t mind,” he said quietly, the words filled with that same quiet intensity he always carried, “But I don’t want you to feel like you’re bothering me.”
A comfortable silence hung between you, but you didn’t break your gaze. Niki’s hand, still resting on the laptop, slowly moved away as if in response to the unspoken tension in the air.
“Do you need anything?” he asked after a pause, a softness creeping into his voice.
It was then that you let your curiosity spill into something more intimate. “Just you,” you whispered, shifting closer to him, ready to pull him from the world of his work.
And just like that, the click of the keyboard stopped, the weight of his attention shifted, and you felt his focus solely on you. His hand, the one that had been cradling your head, paused for a moment before gliding down your back in a long, quiet stroke. Then came the soft click of his laptop closing.
“You're done?” you murmured, barely above a whisper, eyes still closed.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low, almost lazy. “I’ve got better things to hold.”
You felt the laptop move off the bed, replaced by the warmth of his full attention. Niki shifted, slowly turning his body toward you. His hand found your waist and pulled you gently into him, tucking you into his side. Your face now rested against his abdomen, and one of his arms curled around your shoulders like a shield, holding you close, like you were his grounding point — not the work, not the empire, just you.
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, staying there for a moment longer than usual.
“This is better,” he whispered into your hair.
You smiled, eyes fluttering closed again.
And he just stayed like that, holding you, work forgotten on the nightstand.
The grand ballroom stretched out before you, its lavish details and golden accents reflecting the light from the crystal chandeliers above. The air was quiet, only the soft echo of your footsteps as you stood in the center, surrounded by the opulence of the room. Niki’s presence was steady beside you, his figure just as commanding as the room itself.
You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. The moment felt surreal, like a scene out of a dream, but you weren’t dreaming. His gaze was on you, steady and intense, and without thinking, you spoke.
“Niki,” you said, your voice barely a whisper but full of meaning. “Dance with me.”
He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes searching your face. There was a brief pause, but then his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours, his fingers curling around it with a soft but firm grip.
Without a word, he led you toward the center of the ballroom, his body moving effortlessly, guiding you as you followed his lead. Your feet glided across the floor, as though you’d been dancing together for years, the music between the two of you unspoken, but felt in every movement.
The rhythm of your bodies was fluid, as if you were both lost in the moment, and yet there was something more — an electricity that ran between you. His hand rested gently on the small of your back, pulling you closer. Your heart beat faster, not from nerves, but from the undeniable pull you felt toward him.
As the dance continued, his gaze never left you, his movements slow and deliberate. Your body pressed against his, and with each step, it felt like the world around you disappeared.
You tilted your head up toward him, the rhythm of the dance no longer enough to hold the tension between you. The space between your faces grew smaller until his lips were almost brushing yours.
“Riki…” you whispered again, your breath catching.
He didn’t need another prompt. With a small movement, he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Time seemed to stop as he deepened the kiss, his hand tightening around you, pulling you even closer. His lips were warm, familiar, and you melted into him, your arms winding around his neck, the world outside the ballroom fading into the background.
The kiss was everything — soft but filled with an intensity that left you breathless. The ballroom, the music, everything around you became a distant memory as you both lost yourselves in the moment, surrounded only by the feeling of each other’s presence.
When you finally pulled away, your faces still close, he looked down at you with a quiet intensity. “You’re mine,” he whispered, the words settling into your skin like a secret.
And as you rested your head against his chest, the world could have stopped, and you wouldn’t have cared. In that moment, it was just the two of you — dancing, kissing, and belonging to each other.
That night the moonlight spilled through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. The night was still, save for the sound of your breath mingling with his, a rhythm you both seemed to fall into effortlessly.
His hands roamed over your skin, gentle yet possessive, as if he were trying to imprint his touch into every inch of you. The tension between you had been building for what felt like forever, and tonight, the air was thick with desire.
His lips trailed down your neck, sending shivers through your body, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, your lips finding his once more. It was a kiss of urgency, like you both needed something more, something deeper.
In the heat of the moment, you pulled back just slightly, breathless, your fingers still tangled in his hair. The question escaped your lips before you could even stop it.
“Do you love me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability of the words making your heart skip a beat.
For a moment, Niki didn’t respond. His gaze locked with yours, and there was a brief flicker of something in his eyes — something unreadable, but intense. You could feel the weight of the silence between you, the gravity of the question hanging in the air.
His lips curled into a smirk, a dangerous, knowing smirk that only made your heart race faster. Slowly, deliberately, he moved his face closer to yours, his breath warm against your ear.
“Do you think I would be here, right now, with you... if I didn’t?” he murmured, his voice low, almost dangerous.
The words sent a thrill through you, but you needed to hear it. You needed him to say it.
He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, and in that moment, the world around you seemed to disappear. There was no pretense, no games. Just him, just you.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw and sincere, his hands gripping you tighter as though saying the words made it real. “I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, my dove.”
The words hit you like a rush of warmth, and you felt your heart swell in your chest. Before you could respond, he kissed you again, harder this time, as if he were sealing his confession with the heat of his touch. And in that kiss, you could feel everything — the love, the intensity, the raw, undeniable connection between you two.
A year passed like a dream draped in silk and quiet mornings. Days blurred into evenings filled with shared meals across candlelit tables, where words weren’t always needed and glances spoke more than conversation ever could.
You learned the shape of his presence — the way he liked his tea, the way his gaze always found you first in any room. Nights melted into warmth, into the comfort of shared blankets and whispered goodnights, into his arms around you and your breath against his chest.
The mansion no longer felt foreign. It breathed with you. It held your laughter in its walls, your footprints on its floors.
There were kisses pressed to your temple without warning, fingers laced absentmindedly under sun-drenched gardens, soft embraces that lingered longer than necessary. Somewhere between the silences and stolen glances, love settled — slow, certain, and deeply rooted.
Now, the night had quieted, the air in the room warm and still, lit only by the faint glow from the wall lamp near the bed.
You lay tangled in his arms, the sheets slipping low around your waists. His lips brushed lazily against yours, the kisses slow, unhurried — the kind you melt into without realizing. One hand rested on your waist, thumb tracing slow circles on your skin like he was memorizing you all over again.
You breathed against his mouth, murmuring something incoherent, and he chuckled quietly. “What?” you asked, voice a sleepy whisper.
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His gaze wasn’t teasing. Not soft. Not playful.
It was quiet. Steady. Unnervingly serious.
“Do you want to marry me?” he asked.
Your breath caught.
You blinked up at him, mind foggy from the warmth of his body and the softness of the moment. But his expression didn’t shift. He wasn’t joking.
His fingers grazed your jaw, gently tilting your face toward him.
“I want you here forever,” he said, voice low. “No more pretending this isn’t everything. No more wondering if you belong to me. You do.”
A pause.
“So let’s make it permanent.”
The silence in the room was louder than any answer.
But you didn’t pull away. You smile and nod.
And that — was all he needed.
His hand slid to the back of your head, pulling you into another kiss.
taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c (lmk if u wanna be added!)
A/N: HELLOOOO???!???!?! did y'all miss me? also the layout is inspired by the extraordinary author, (whom im lucky to call my friend hehehe) @elikajinnie !!!!!!! REBLOGS ND COMMENTS R VERY MUCH APPRECIATED, stay hydratedddd!
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~~With final exams right around the corner, it's important that you do your best in the last weeks leading up to your test. Unfortunately, when spring break rolls around, you let yourself slip into old habits, and Riki wasn't too pleased with your most recent grade.~~
wc: 11.3k (i was entirely too lost in the sauce)
content: vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, throat fucking, breath play, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, punishment, degradation, humiliation, edging, oral (m & f receiving), bondage, mind break, tears, MEAN DOM RIKI
guyssss this one is vacuum-packed with shit ehehehehe. get ready
Royally fucked. That was the only way of describing what you were feeling right now after what you just did, or didn’t do to be more accurate.
The end of the semester was fast approaching, meaning that finals was right around the corner, and that would be your last hope of getting out of this class with a passing grade. With Riki’s help, you’ve been able to do well so far, scoring higher on your quizzes and assignments than when you first started the class.
His teaching methods were a bit…unconventional to say the least. However, as unorthodox as they were, they got the job done. You hadn’t seen anything lower than a B in months. He was strict with the tutoring plan he established for you, having you come to his house at least twice a week, once in the middle of the week, and then again on the weekends, where he could drag out the lesson plan a little longer and take his time drilling the information into your skill, regardless of how demeaning it might be.
That was the usual routine, but when spring break rolled around that plan had to take a seat on the backburner. You notified him in advance that you would be out of town, and you promised that you would keep up with your studies while you were away. You would be gone the whole week, so study sessions wouldn’t be possible.
Your friends had been pissy as of late because you were flaking on a lot of parties and hangouts to focus on your grades, so without any classes interfering with your schedule, you promised them a whole week of fun and parties. It should be doable, at the start of the day, when all of the clubs are closed, you can focus on your studying, and when the night scene is alive, you can hit the streets with no problem. That was the plan.
Unfortunately, you were unable to follow through on both promises. Your first quiz after returning from the break reflected which promise took precedent.
79% - C+
It didn’t matter that it was one point from a B. That unacceptable considering your current grade streak. You were fucked.
And it wasn’t even like you could figure out some method to hide the grade. Riki grades everything, so as much as you would like to think of a way to keep him from finding out, you know that he already knows. You see it all over his face as he hands everyone’s papers back. His expression never shows much, remaining neutral throughout the entire lecture, but you can feel his eyes piercing into your skull.
When you came to his apartment that weekend, you were already expecting the worst.
“You wanna tell me why you’re on your knees?”
“Um.”
You had no words. There was no excuse for your grade. You couldn’t tell him your friends got you wasted every night. That you woke up every morning with raging hangovers that made even cracking your textbook too difficult. He wouldn’t wanna hear that. So you say nothing.
He sighs and tells you to come closer. Uncertain, you crawl to his feet, still keeping enough space to where you’re not touching him, but close enough that he could reach out and touch you. That is if he even planned on it after what you presented him with.
“We’re three weeks from exams. It only gets harder from here.”
“I know.”
He cocks a brow at you. “Oh, so you know the new material is harder?”
You hesitate and then nod.
“So then why did I have to see this the other day?” Riki switches his tabs before picking up the computer and bringing it down to your level. He’s holding it out for you, but you refuse to look up from your knees.
“Look at it,” he urges, but your head still doesn’t move, so he grabs your chin and forces you to look up and face your failure. He holds your face tight so you can’t look away.
It really wasn’t that bad, but with all the time and patience Riki had poured into you. That matched with your promise to stay on top of your studies while you were away, even though he told you. He told you multiple times when you were making your trip plans that the quiz coming back wasn’t going to be easy. He was giving you access to information no one else had to prepare you at least a little for what you might face upon return. But you didn’t heed his warning and fell right back into your old cycle. It really wasn’t that bad, but to him, it felt like a slap in the face.
You stare at the mediocre grade, knowing there was no way to make up for it. Your past quizzes before enlisting Riki’s help were way worse, so there was no dropping this grade, and this was the last quiz of the semester. The rest of the classes were just focused on drilling new material and exam prep.
“Arms up,” Riki orders, pulling you out of your thoughts. You wanted to ask why, but you knew better than to do that considering where you currently stand with him. Well…kneel.
You hold out your arms, confused but compliant. He holds them together with one hand before turning to grab something from his desk. He fiddles around in his drawer, searching for whatever with only one hand available, then pulls out a pair of shoe laces.
The cogs were quick to turn in your head, realizing what he was about to do. He can’t be serious. Not to mention they were worn and dingy. He couldn’t seriously be thinking about using that on you. But it seems he would be, because when you attempted to pull your wrists away, he grabbed them tighter and sent you a warning look. You had already pushed your luck enough with him. Don’t make this any harder for yourself.
He winds the laces around your wrists before knotting the ends with a bow and pushing your hands down to your lap. They fall unceremoniously, then you tug at your wrists, trying to test if there was any give to the frayed, braided material. There was no budge, though. Just discomfort as it rubbed against your wrists.
“Don’t move your hands too much, and it won’t hurt,” he tells you. He then knocks your chin up with his pointer finger to get your focus back on him. “Now, tell me what was more important than your grades?”
His voiced is leveled and he looks relatively calm, but you know better than to believe what you’re being shown. Hell, no one would believe that you’re currently on your knees right now shaking like a leaf and begging for forgiveness from some nerd. It was beneath you as far as anyone else knew, but that couldn’t have been any farther from the truth when it came to Riki.
He runs his thumb over your lips, still waiting for you to say something. It’s better not to keep him waiting long.
“I was hungover every morning. It was hard to focus, and every night we were out partying, so there was no chance for me to do it then.”
Riki hums and nods as if he understands, his thumb pushing between your lips and settling on your tongue. “How many mornings did it take you to realize it was hard to study after drinking?”
You try to look anywhere but his face as he presses his thumb down on your tongue, more saliva producing by the second. “One,” you mumble around his thumb.
“Mhm,” he pushes his thumb farther into your mouth, “so if you figured that out so easily, then why didn’t you stop?”
You knew you weren’t meant to answer that question when he pushed his thumb down on the back of your tongue, forcing your mouth wide open. Drool was collecting on his palm and rolling down his inner wrist. You wanted to pull away, the saliva on his wrist now falling onto your lap. He pushed his thumb around your mouth a little longer, feeling over your tongue and your inner cheek and your gums. He did this until he was satisfied with himself and your lips and chin were slick with your own spit.
When he pulled away, he retrieved a tissue from his desk and wiped his hand off, but he didn’t make an effort to clean you off. He just lounges back in his chair while staring at you with his fist propped under his chin.
He assesses you as if you’re under a microscope. “You must already know you’re really pretty, right? Like you’re insanely pretty.”
His words shouldn’t have had heat rushing to your cheeks because in no way was this a soft, sweet moment. He had you on your knees with your hands bound and your lower face covered in spit…but he called you pretty. Probably one of the first times you’ve ever heard him say something like that to you. Blushing, you nod in agreement with his statement.
“So what’s your goal, then? You just gonna use your pretty face to get you through the rest of your life?”
Of course it wasn’t a compliment. There was no reason for compliments in your current circumstances.
“No,” you mutter.
“Then, what are you gonna do?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.
He was confused. You wanted to be more than just a pretty face, but you didn’t act like it. You sat on your ass and waited for the world to hand shit to you. And while pretty privelege and popularity could get you far, it couldn’t get you everywhere.
You swallow down the nerves settling in your system and speak up. “I’m gonna listen to what you say and do better.”
Riki clicks his tongue at that statement. “We tried that already.”
“I mean it this time.” You shuffle your knees against the floor to scooch closer. “I really will do better. I’ve been improving so far. This was just one slip up.”
“Hm. One slip up.” Riki can see the determination in your eyes. He can tell you were trying--truly trying--but that was never what needed convincing. He needed to be sure you wouldn’t make another mistake like this again. No, that wasn’t the right word. Mistakes are come from carelessness, from misjudgement. You intentionally ignored what he said and trusted your own reasoning that you would be fine for the quiz.
You can’t be let off as easily. Not this time.
“Open your mouth.”
You expected as much. You were thankful you decided on jeans today seeing as you might be down here a while. Without wasting any time, you part your lips for him.
Riki has no grace when undoing his pants and pushing them down his legs. Once he’s freed himself from the constraints of his boxers, he lays his cock on your tongue. At first he just runs it back and forth, letting your saliva collect on the underside of his shaft. He does this for a little while, his eyes trained on you as you look up at him. Big, wide eyes watching him closely. When he nudges the back of your throat, he watches them flutter before he pulls back.
Putting his hand on the back of your head, he sighs out, “I’m gonna fuck your throat.” His tongue darts out, wetting his lips before he continues. “And you’re gonna take it.”
Slowly, Riki pushes you down to the base of his cock. He feels you lurch forward when he holds you there for too long, but he doesn’t let up. He groans and his head falls back momentarily.
“You can take it,” he grits when he feels your bound hands gripping at his ankle.
He holds you there a little longer and then pulls you off. You cough and gasp for air, tears already pricking the corners of your eyes. Your chests rises and falls quickly as you try to gather yourself before he pushes back into your mouth again. He lets you take a few seconds and then goes back in.
Once he’s got your lips wrapped around him, he sets his pace with a tight hold on your hair. You have to relax your throat and control your breathing to prevent gagging. It doesn’t help that he’s dead set on making you take all of him. You’re nothing more than a hole for him to use at this point. He guides you on his cock like a fleshlight, completely disregarding your occasional sputtering. More spit drips down your chin. Even more coats his cock, the wet mess making audible slicking sounds whenever he moves you.
The tears pricking your eyes are now rolling down your cheeks, leaving stains in their wake. Riki almost wipes at them, his hands subconsciously adjusting to grab the sides of your face. His fingers almost sweep under your eyes before he catches himself and pushes you down further. More tears begin to accumulate. Bit by bit, your eyeliner starts to run and your tear tracks are tinged with black. Even looking as wrecked as you do, you still look up at him with watery eyes, struggling to keep them open when he goes too deep.
When he allows you to pull back a bit, you have the freedom to move as you please. Your hands are restricted, but you can make do with your circumstances. Moving your lips, you form a suction around his tip to elicit a reaction from him, and it seems to work well enough if his subtle jerking was anything to go off of. You roll your tongue around him before sinking further down, now letting your tongue massage the underside of his cock.
He lets you have control for now, your desperation to do well shining through when you force yourself to take more. He can see it in the way your fingers bite into your jeans when you inch closer to his pubic bone. He can see it in the way you suppress your gags to prevent reeling back. No to mention, you’re fighting yourself not to touch him. Not to wrap your hand around him to make up for what you’re unable to fit in your mouth. It’s kind of pitiful how hard you’re trying. If you had put in even half of this effort over your little trip, maybe you could have secured a B. That’s all he can think about. As much as he wants to just settle in the pleasure and think of nothing else, his mind continues to wander there.
Riki sighs before pulling you off of him and onto your feet. There’s a confused look on your face before he pushes his chair back and walks you over to the wall.
“Back on your knees,” he orders quickly, “And put your hands above your head.”
You drop to the floor. Your back is against the wall and now Riki’s standing directly over you.
On the edge of frustration, Riki does his best to contain himself for a few short moments. He runs his thumb over the black streak on your cheek, smearing it a little. Then, he grabs your face with as much patience as he can muster because in a second, there won’t be much more of that.
“Keep your mouth open for me. That’s it. Don’t move.”
There was nowhere for you to go even if you wanted to. Your were backed into a wall. But you nodded anyways, allowing your mouth to fall open with your tongue out. He takes the invitation and slides himself in.
The first few seconds are nothing because as soon as he’s secured your bound hand and pressed them into the wall, his hips are thrusting forward. He’s fucking your mouth now, using you like he would if he were inside your pussy. He would have you on your back while he plowed into you. He would watch you moan and cry as he fed you his cock, almost similarly to your current situation. Instead it was your mouth and the noises you were releasing were closer to garbled whines than anything else. It was all you could manage with him filling up your mouth.
With your back at the wall, there was nowhere to move to escape his thrusts. He grunted when he pushed all the way in, your throat constricting around him as you spluttered. You whimpered as he rocked deep into your mouth, retreating only centimeters to come back again. There was no reprieve besides what you could breathe in through your nose. He kept to those small strokes, testing how much you could take before it was too much.
“Blink twice if you want me to stop,” he grunts when he pushes forward again. He watches for a few seconds, waiting for your response. You blink once, your eyes struggling to stay open when he’s touching the deepest parts of your throat, but nothing more than that. There’s no second blink.
So he keeps going. He watches you swallow his cock repeatedly. He watches you squeeze your eyes shut to handle the sheer capacity of it all, but you never let them flutter twice. You hold strong until his balls get tighter. Until the feeling of your throat gripping around him becomes too much and he knows it’s about to bring him to his end.
“Gonna cum in your mouth.” He gives no more warning than that and goes all in. He huffs and grunts before pushing his hips forward to keep the back of your head against the wall. He just needs to make sure you stay put for the next few seconds. With his grip steady on your wrists and face pressed to his pubic bone, Riki finishes in your mouth, but not before bringing his other hand down and pinching your nose shut.
He watches the instant panic that floods you when your only source of air has just been taken away. Your throat convulses and you release more awkward, weird sounds around his shaft, but you don’t signal him to stop. You’ve got tears rolling down your cheeks again and your hands are spazzing like a madman, but you don’t even blink once. Your body panics, but your eyes lock with his, letting him fuck your throat to finish until he finally pulls back.
An ugly sound rips free when your lungs are functioning once more. A long line of spit snaps between your lips and his cock. Your body bows forward and your head falls on his thigh as your hands grasp at him.
Fuck. You honestly thought you were gonna die a little. He looked so intimdating and hot when he was fucking your throat, but you never expected him to cut your air off. He’s insane. You knew that much already, but he seems to reach a new level everytime you encounter him.
Riki plants his hand on the back of your head, observing you closely. He scratches your scalp while keeping an eye on your breathing. Your back moves at a normal rhythm, so he doesn’t worry too much, but he knew that he definitely pushed you a bit. It was a mistake to start the study session off like this, but there was no going back now. You still had stuff to learn. He’ll just have to make sure you stay focused.
When you’ve finally gathered yourself enough to sit up, Riki unties your wrists and helps you to your feet. You’re still a little wobbly since you were down there so long, but nothing too bad.
“Did I do good?”
The question caught him off guard. He was expecting a slew of curse words from you if anything after that. There were none present, though. No hint of malice or resentment or underlying sarcasm. You were just staring at him with half bleary eyes and remnants of his climax on your lower face.
He wasn’t expecting such docility from you. He also wasn’t expecting his body to move of its own accord and send his lips surging forward to meet yours, but life has a funny way of working sometimes. He presses you into the wall, his lips finding yours before he can catch himself this time. No matter that he just came in your mouth and you’re looking extremely rough right now. His lips move with yours like a man starved of a woman who had been away for decades. He swallowed down your noises of shock and consumed all that was left of you to give. Those large gulps of oxygen you had inhaled earlier. He took those too. He took it all before pulling away with five steps back. He needed the space to register what he just did. You’re staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, and he’s sure he’s looking at you similarly.
“I’ll get you a water. Go wash your face and we can get started when you're done.” He doesn’t linger for a second more. He walks passed you, out of the room and down the hallway to the kitchen.
What the fuck. That’s all either of you could think in that suspended moment.
The last few tutoring sessions had been torturous to say the least. Riki was by no means over your little spring break slip up. He made that very apparent each time you went over to his apartment. And to make matters worse, exams were right around the corner, which meant he was more busy than usual, and definitely more stressed. He had to deal with you on top of other students, and while you had mellowed out a little after pissing him off, that didn’t mean you weren’t driving him up the walls at all.
Today, for instance, was one of those. You might not have thought much of it in the moment, but to Riki it felt like rubbing salt in a wound. Earlier that day, you posted the pictures and videos from your trip on your social media. Multiple bikini pics. Videos of you in the club. Pictures of you wrapped around random guys. Videos of your drunken fun. It was a spam of your trip and everything you did while you were out there. It shouldn’t have irritated him as much as it did, but there was no helping how he felt as he scrolled through all of it.
“Send me your address. We’re using your place today. Jake’s having company.”
That was a lie. Jake hadn’t brought anyone over in a while after Riki told him the truth about his Japanese skills and that he was only one night out away from repeating the class. He didn’t offer his services since he had enough on his plate already, but he referred him to a friend who could whip him into shape to possibly secure him a C if he put his mind to it. Regardless, the apartment was regularly vacant since Jake was huddled up in the language center.
You didn’t question him, though. You just let the plans roll as usual. Very similar to what you’ve been doing the last few study sessions. After that kiss, you didn’t ask anything about it. It was obvious he didn’t want to bring it up, and you weren’t sure you wanted to broach that subject either. He would teach you, torture you, and tease you, but nothing beyond that.
With the introduction of the new learning environment, you thought your mind might slip at least once or twice, more comfortable now since you were in your own space. However, you were surprisingly locked into the lesson, so much so that when your break rolled around, you hardly realized an hour has passed. It was Riki speaking up that made you notice the time.
He marked where you left off in the book with a piece of paper and turned in his chair. “Do you have those bathing suits from your trip?”
Confused by the random question, you nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything after that, so you had to assume he wanted to see them. Getting up from your chair, you went over to your drawer and pulled out the different bikinis you wore back then. You laid them out one by one on your bed, each one a different design or color. The only similarity they held was that they covered little to nothing, at least in his eyes. They were skimpy. Revealing. Unsavory.
“Put them on.”
You raised your brow, not understanding what exactly he was trying to get out of this. “Like right now?”
He doesn’t give a response. He just watches you, waiting for you to remove your clothes and try on the first one.
After assessing him a little longer and still drawing a blank, you pull your shirt over your head first, then follow up with your bottoms. You can see his eyes scanning your body with every article you drop. Heat creeps up your neck when he watches you remove your bra and underwear. He’s already seen you unclothed on multiple occasions, but the fact that he’s making you do it in such a manner and watching you with more intent than usual makes this feel way more humiliating. Like you’re his personal dress up doll.
You step into the first set and secure the strings before standing in front of him. You do a little spin like that will knock the nerves out of your system. It doesn’t.
Trying to build back some of your attitude that you can feel chipping away under his gaze, you pop your hand on your hip and ask, “Alright, what now?”
Nothing. He gives you literally nothing. Just silence and frustration. You huff before turning back to your bed to grab the next set. When you slip your bikini bottoms off to put the new ones on, you can feel his eyes watching your backside closely. You try to ignore his gaze piercing between your legs as you bend over and pull on the new set. That’s easier said than done, though.
You go on like this for who knows how long until you're down to the last one. It was your favorite one. The one you wore on the night of the big bonfire on the beach, where students from schools all around had gathered to get completely wasted and done in before boarding their flights and driving back to their schools the next morning. That was the best night by far.
“What about this one?”
You do a twirl in this set, more emboldened by the memories you made in it compared to the others. Still no response from him, but a subtle reaction. He might not have even been aware of it, to be honest. His nostrils flared and his jaw ticked for a second before he looked away.
Rolling your eyes, you walk closer to him. “What? Nothing?” You poke his shoulder, still not grasping what the point of this was if he wasn’t even gonna say anything. “Are you so cold that you can’t even give a pretty girl in a sexy bikini a compliment? Is your dick broken or something?”
His timer seems to speak for him. Your break is over, and all he did was stare at you for 10 minutes like a perverted creep with a dead boner. He could have at least let you suck him off. Beyond annoyed, you walk back to your bed.
“No.” That’s all he says when you reach for your shirt. Nothing more than that.
He opens the book where he left off at, not giving you even a second to change. He points to the chair next to him and you can’t control the scoff that results because of it.
He wasted your break on a fashion show, and now he wants you to study in a bikini for another hour? What an ass.
You almost reach for your shirt again, but Riki’s must have been wearing thin because you don’t even get to bend down to grab it before he’s grabbing your arm and yanking you back to your seat. You attempt to get up once. He grabs your thigh before your butt can leave the chair. He holds you still and cuts a look at you that tells you he’s not joking.
Why were you even joking in the first place? You have two more tutoring sessions before you’re meant to take your exam. You can’t afford to be impudent right now, especially not with him.
Not wanting to make more trouble for yourself, you concede.
It was mostly frustrating because he had been staring at you in scantily clad clothing for the past 10 minutes, and didn’t want to do anything after. He’s been picking and poking at you, teasing and tormenting you. Fucking torturing the shit out of you for the last few weeks as punishment because god forbid you wanna enjoy your fucking vacation. As much as you hated it, you were craving it now. Choking on his cock. Letting him toy with you. Humiliate you. Degrade you. If you tack on the fact that he hasn’t let cum even once since you got back, you were in hell.
Before your mind can stray any further, you feel his grip strengthen on your thigh. “Focus,” he mutters when he notices the far away look in your eyes.
It wasn’t easy, you would have to admit. Getting through the last hour while sitting in a bikini with Riki’s hand cemented on your thigh had completely shot your concentration. His touch was burning into your skin, imprinting itself between your legs. If any was able to perservere in these conditions you would commend them.
After the first half hour, matters only grew worse. Every now and then, you would feel his hand inch higher. It would be when you got something wrong or he could tell your mind straying. That didn’t help to get you back on track, but he never cared to make things easy for you.
By the end, his hand was barely millimeters from where you were aching to be touched. If you got up from this chair, there would no doubt be a wet spot left behind. Riki knew that much as well. Your subtle hip rocking and thigh squeezing wasn’t as undercover as you probably thought it was. He heard your breathing shudder whenever his hand would tense on your inner thigh. You weren’t fooling anyone. Not yourself and definitely not him.
Just as he was about to pull his hand away and pack up his things, you caught his wrist, and slowly, you drew his touch between your legs. Your parted thighs at a pace rivaling that of a snail. If you moved too fast he might draw back, so you let the moment drag out until his hand was cupping over the cloth of your bikini. He could feel your moisture leaking through and touching the pads of his fingers. There was a throbbing as well that he couldn’t pull away from even if he wanted to.
Maintaining eye contact with you, he applies pressure to the area, reveling in the way you shudder from finally being touched. You push your legs wider and let him see the damp spot that he formed. It was his fault. He should have to take care of it.
“Your dick still broken?” you puff out with heavy eyes.
“Shut up,” he cuts back before pressing down harder.
You moan. His index finger is pushing the material of your bathing suit right up against your clit. He’s never touched you like this. Never directly where you yearned to be satisfied. He still wasn’t fully there. He would have to move your bottoms away to fully give you what you want, but if you push for more, you surely won’t get it.
“Touch me.” Your order, cheeks aflame after having to ask for what you want. Anyone else would have given it already, but this high and mighty asshole is acting like he’s above it all.
“Why should I?” Riki sneers at you. As if you should be asking him for anything.
“You’ve been making my life a living hell for the past two weeks and I haven’t given you any crap about it.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fuck you. I deserve this,” you spit back while rolling your clit under his touch. He watches your eyelids flutter in pleasure as you take what you want for yourself for once.
“You don’t deserve shit.” He says that, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he shoves his hand in your bottoms and touches you directly. The gasp that leaves your lips at the sudden contact is heavy. You weren’t expecting him to do it, considering he’s cursing at you right now.
Your arousal is on his fingers now. Your dripping sex is pressed against his hand. He takes the opportunity to stand from his chair and tower over you. He plants his hand on the back of your chair and pushes two fingers into you with no warning.
“I put this stupid thing on for you and you didn’t even bat an eye. What’s up with that?” It takes some force for you to get your sentence out when he’s pistoning his fingers inside of you. They’re thick and long and hitting all the right spots.
“Not every guy is gonna pop a boner when you flash your tits in his face.”
“As if,” you scoff incredulously, “I bet you’re hard right now.”
He could put money on that and you would be the one to leave with a full wallet. He’s been hard since you first took your clothes off. It was borderline painful watching you peel off each bathing suit, your body on full display for him the entire time. He had to just sit there, blank-faced, while you presented your pussy to him every time you bent over. He might have fucked you by now if you were anyone else. You wouldn’t have even made it to the final bikini.
He crooks his fingers up and watches your features contort under his control. You then try to grab his wrist again when his hand moves too fast, but he slaps you away.
“You touch me, and I stop.”
Riki’s voice is tight, but his eyes are burning. They pierce into you with an immeasurable heat that makes you trap your hands at your sides. You have him right where you want him. You refuse to ruin this for yourself.
Before you can register anything, he pulls you out of the chair and over to your bed. He then bends you over the mattress and pushes his fingers inside you from behind. A third one introduces itself, stretching you open beautifully. You whine and turn your head to the side, craning over your shoulder to get a look at him.
His brow is furrowed and his teeth are digging into his bottom lip. He looks almost pained if anything.
“Have you ever tried to be humble for once in your life, or do you just always believe everyone’s in love with you?”
His fingers push deep when you don’t answer him right away. It seemed like a rhetorical question. One of the ones he would ask, but never really expected an answer from. But instead he worked his fingers deeper in your walls, expecting you to say something.
“No,” you moan when he scissors his fingers apart.
“No, what? No, you’ve never been humble, or no, you don’t believe everyone’s in love with you?”
You can’t think straight. Not when he’s touching you like this. You moan and let your face fall into the sheets.
Riki narrows his eyes before kicking your legs apart. With better access, he moves his fingers inside of you at an unmatched pace, nudging them places your body couldn’t handle that quickly. “I asked you a question.”
He was expecting an answer, but he was making it impossible to do so. Whimpering, you try to draw your legs closed, but he kicks them wider again.
“Do you want me to stop,” he grunts when your pussy squeezes his digits.
“No.” A long drawn out mewl pierces the air at the thought of him stopping now. If he stopped, you might actually fucking cry.
“Then answer me.”
You can’t even remember what he asked. You just know that you’re feeling really good at the moment, and you don’t want him to ruin this. Humiliation be damned. You’ll beg if it gets him to keep going.
“Please Riki. I can’t.” You can’t give him much more than that. He’s asking too much and you’re on the verge of falling apart at the will of his touch. But because you were at his will, he didn’t owe you anything.
Just as you were reaching the cusp, Riki pulls his fingers out. They’re slick with your juices, glistening under your bedroom lights. You don’t stop the aggravated sound that result from his refusal.
Your body felt like live wire. Your thighs were twitching and there was a heaving pulsing between your legs that made you wanna rip your pillow open with your teeth.
Just as you looked behind you to berate him for denying you an orgasm, you saw him pull out his cock. You paused when he wrapped his wet hand around his shaft and stroked himself. He fucked into his hand a few times before looking up to see you staring at him, desperation swimming in your gaze.
“Riki, please.” You dismiss the fire you were ready to spit at him and sub it out for something softer; more docile.
He raises a brow and laughs. “What? You want me to fuck you? Now why would I do that?”
He watches your expression crumble as he cocks his head at you. The heady look bleeds from you eyes when he moves closer, his erection nudging between your legs instead of pushing your bottoms to the side.
“You can’t even pass a simple fucking quiz. Why do you think you deserve to be fuck?” He grits out when he clamps your legs together and pushes his hips forward. The wetness of your bikini plus the friction of the material makes this feel way too good.
Riki ruts his cock between your thighs. Your throbbing cunt acts as the perfect massage whenever he thrusts. It knocks the air out of you and makes him almost wish he could feel the real thing. He can settle for this though.
Reaching around to grab your face, Riki forces you to look up at the mirror across from your bed. You see yourself, bikini hanging half off with your hair wild, and Riki standing behind with his cock between your legs. You watch your lips falls apart when his cock catches between your folds and nudges your clit.
“This girl,” he smirks behind you in the mirror, “decided fun was more important than her responsibilities. Do you think she’s deserving of my cock?”
Embarrassed, you shake your head and look down, but Riki’s not having that. He wraps his hand around your neck and makes you get a good look at yourself.
“No, you don’t get to look away just because you don’t like what you see,” he drags out teasingly, his hips punching forward and pushing your body into the mattress. You moan as you fall forward. He then moves both of his hands to your waist and pushes his cock against your swollen pussy again. He manuevers himself like he’s fucking you, but he never actually puts it in. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of getting to finish.
“If you want me to fuck you,” Riki starts, watching your hips shake when he ruts against you just right, “Bring me an A, and I’ll think about it.”
The sound you release after is so broken, so animalistic he wouldn’t have believed it was human if he didn’t watch you make it yourself. You grip the sheets as you finish, your face buried in the bedspread. You’re unable to look at yourself because you know what you’ll see in that mirror and you aren’t ready to confront it yet.
Still hard and only mildly frustrated now, Riki pulls back and fixes his pants before helping you onto the bed. As much as he would love to continue ruining you, watching you fall apart and beg for him, he thinks you’ve had enough for tonight.
Final exams had finished, and Riki was exhausted both mentally and physically, partially due to his own tests that he had to study for and the dozens that he had to grade, but also due to you. More, the lack of your presence, to be precise. After the last study session at your place, Riki hadn’t heard from you. You still had two more sessions before your exam, and you went silent on him. He already had doubts about how he ended things that night, but this only amplified those insecurities. There were no texts or calls, no indicators that you were busy or dealing with other things, so his thoughts were reinforced. He pushed you too hard.
His overall goal was to help you understand that you couldn’t continue with bad habits if you were chasing success, but in doing so, his punishments might have been too severe, and he may have caused more harm than help.
Riki returns to his apartment dog-tired that night. All of his energy had been allocated to arguing with students who were dissatisfied with grades. He sat through back-to-back appointments full of tears, screams, and overwhelming frustration. He couldn’t change the final results, and while he usually would have used a bit more venom and bite with students who came off too strongly, he just didn’t have the spirit for it this time. He only explained their grade and told them better luck next semester. Not the best thing for a young teaching assistant who’s supposed to be providing a bit more help and understanding compared to professors, but he didn’t have it in him.
Walking into his apartment, Riki drops his bag at the door and kicks off his shoes. He needed a drink. Maybe some takeout if he could convince Jake to split it with him, but he knew better than to assume the boy was in his room, considering the semester was over and there was no doubt in his mind Jay was hosting a party at his place.
When he flicked on the living room light, he almost jumped out of his skin, not expecting to find you kneeling in front of the couch in nothing but the bikini from last time.
Riki hated that bathing suit, to be honest. Not because it made you look like a complete knockout and haunted his dreams. Not because you wore it when you were out partying and should have been studying, but because there was one video on your page where you were dancing pressed between two guys, one with his hand on your hip and the other with his nose sweeping over your shoulder and neck. It was all in good fun, he knew, but he couldn’t help the things that surfaced in him when he saw you like that, so free with yourself and enjoying the company of two men who had no idea how you looked when you were riddled with ache and desire.
His lips pressed into a thin line before he moved his attention over to the coffee table. He walked closer, slowly registering the stapled packet of papers that sat there. He doesn’t need to pick it up to know what it is because he spent hours staring at it the other day, shocked how far you’ve come after struggling for so long.
105% - A+
Not only did you pass the test beyond his highest expectations for you, but you even got the bonus questions. You worked hard.
Riki takes those last steps past the coffee table to you and tucks his finger under your chin, raising your gaze from the floor to meet his. You looked tired, just as tired as him. The week of exams had beaten the shit out of both of you, in more ways than one, he could assume. He rubbed his thumb under your eyes, quick to notice that your concealer and heavy eyeliner could mask the dark circles but not the puffiness.
His hand smooths down your cheek, and your lids flutter at the touch, slightly pushing into his hand before he drags his hand lower and hooks his thumb in your mouth. You receive it graciously, sucking on it as if it’s second nature at this point. He squints, pulls his thumb out and swipes it over your lips, watching your lip gloss ruin like he’s done so many times before.
“Why are you here?”
He honestly didn’t care for the reason. He was just glad you were there, a sense of relief settling over him that you weren’t completely avoiding him. He only ever saw you in the back of the classroom on the days leading up to the exam, and he didn’t have the balls to approach you and ask why you were skipping your lessons, not when part of him was still stuck on how vulnerable you looked when he tucked you in your bed and left that night.
“Can I have my reward now?”
Of course. You always were a sucker for a reward. Riki should have known you wouldn’t be here for anything else.
You continue. “I know before you said this girl wasn’t deserving of you,” your eyes flicking down to your attire and then back up to him, “so I’m asking again.”
Truthfully, Riki didn’t have to grant you anything. You knew that. He told you he would think about it. There was never a planned reward or promise that he would fuck you after all of this was over. He could toss you aside and go on about his day, seeing as his job was done, not give any of the last few months another thought.
“Why,” he redirects the questioning back to you.
Your hands fist in your lap. “Cause- cause I really tried, and I’m not just saying it this time. I know I didn’t show up the last two times, but I was studying really hard on my own. I wanted to show you I could do it without your help.”
Riki’s jaw is tight as he looks down at you and guages the truth behind your words. “Stand up.”
He sees the imprints of the living room rug imbedded in your knees when you’re up on your feet.
“Turn around.”
Following his instruction closely, you spin on the balls of your feet and face the couch. You sense him moving closer before you feel him. He runs his fingers down your back, and your breathing stutters in response. Then he brings his hands around your waist, one settles on your hip while the other dips into your bottoms. He doesn’t hesitate when pushing his fingers between your folds, feeling the slippery mess that has accumulated from you kneeling on the floor for who knows how long, waiting for him to come in.
You gasp when two of those digits pierce your entrance, then retreat just as fast, not giving more than the subtlest hint of what you came here for. He feels your hole fluttering in desperation, your pussy kissing the tips of his fingers as he rest them outside you walls.
“Please,” you whine, spreading your legs wider and letting your weight fall back into Riki’s chest. He’s given you practically nothing, and you’ve already buckled to such a simple nudge. He pushes them up again and allows you to take the first knuckle. It wasn’t much, but you were so on edge that it felt like everything.
When he allows you to take them all the way, your hand shoots for his wrist instantly. He watches over your shoulder as your cunt onto his fingers as deep as they can go. You moan and whimper, holding him hostage in your walls to take what you think you deserve.
“Move your hand,” Riki says coldly.
Reluctant but compliant, you pull your hand away and give the control back to him. You’ve been waiting so long for this that it’s hard to keep yourself in check. He doesn’t make you struggle for too long, though, because soon enough, he’s curling his fingers inside of you. You moan and toss your head back, letting his fingers work you over better than you could have imagined. He curls them viciously and massages your inner walls until you’re on the verge of grasping onto him just to have something to hold onto, but you want to be good, and you’ve done way too much to get this damn far.
You restrict your hands to your sides for the time being. You let him take control, the wet sounds growing more apparent showing that he knows what he’s doing and just needs you to stay out of the way to get you where he wants you.
“Do you want me to fuck you,” Riki asks, his voice gritty and rough against your ear, like he was struggling to contain himself just as much as you were.
“Yes,” you nod sporadically and cry out a needy “Please.”
He could feel your pussy quivering around his fingers, your desperation to release increasing by the second.
“You want me to fuck you in this slutty bikini? Is that what you want?”
When his fingers slipped out, you almost cried, the empty, dreadful feeling that he might not fuck you settling quickly, if he wasn’t just shifting his focus to your clit. His wet digits slid up to your sensitive button and he pressed into it with maddening pressure, your body seizing up with a squeal at the sudden switch up.
“Yes. Fuck, please Riki.”
It was so deliciously high pitched as he rolled your clit, watching your thighs clench around his hand before shakily parting because you knew better than to block his touch.
He loved seeing you like this. So obedient and pliant in lieu of your sharp attitude. He enjoyed both sides, but it was fun to watch you fall apart for him.
He feels your weight buckle against him once he’s gotten you right there, completely giving up to let him take control, but he pulls back before you could reach the peak. His hands were gone in an instant, and with no support for your physical deterioration, you fell into the couch unceremoniously.
“No,” he says while observing your shudders, “I’m not gonna fuck you like this.”
All of the frustration from last time was flooding back in when he said that. You deserved this. You did what you were supposed to and he was still denying you.
“Riki-”
“Take it off.” He cuts your sentence, his eyes moving over your figure, catching on your slick inner thighs, then traveling up to your face. Tears were brimming in your eyes, on the verge of falling if Riki hadn’t redirected you so suddenly.
“What?”
“Take it off,” his head cocked to the side, “Or do you need me to do it for you?”
You shake your head. “No, I can do it.”
Still so desperate to please. He watches you untie your top first, your nipples erect, sensitive as well from what he could tell, your body shuddering when the air makes contact with your peaks. You could hold his stare when you dragged your bottoms down your legs. He saw the string of arousal that snapped, your pussy far more wet than the last time he got you like this.
“Now,” Riki starts with a deep breath, “Now I can fuck you.”
The trip to his room was anything but graceful as the two of you collided with everything along the way. He shoved you up against the wall and ground his clothed crotch against your ass, barely making it past the doorway if he wasn’t determined to get you on the bed. This was going to be a long night for both of you, and he needed to make sure he could fuck you properly without worrying about awkward positions and keeping you steady on your feet.
By the time you were able to clamber onto his bed, Riki removed his shirt and had set his glasses somewhere out of the way. There was little time in between him pushing your face into the sheets and lifting your hips off the bed to tongue your entrance. He should have punched the shit out of himself for missing out on this for so long. As soon as his tongue lapped at your dripping cunt, he knew there was no coming back from this. Not when you tasted like heaven in his mouth, and you were producing sounds he had never heard from you in all the times he’s made you a mess for him.
He pushed his tongue between your folds and lapped at your entrance, consuming your juices from the main source like a starved man. He drank you down with such vigor that you could barely hold yourself up, your hips twitching and falling whenever he slurped too egregiously. Ultimately, he had to stop for a few moments to prop a pillow underneath you so he could enjoy his meal with no issues. You let out a whiny cry when he introduced his fingers, spitting on your entrance and then pushing three fingers inside before you could even get used to his mouth. It sloshed and slicked down your inner thighs when he fingerfucked you like this.
Squealing and shaking, you tried to move away, but he delivered a harsh slap to your ass before you could manage to get a few inches away. A silent message to stay put. You wanted this. You’ve been literally begging for this. But as much as you did want it, you didn’t realize what you were asking for with Riki. He didn’t half-ass anything, and that extended to you. So he made you stay in place as he pushed you to come around his fingers, more juices leaking out of you and dribbling down his hand.
“Give me one more,” Riki urged.
“I can’t,” you moaned into the sheets when you felt his fingers curling inside you.
“Yes, you can.” He knew what you were capable of. You could push yourself to achieve an A+, so you could push yourself to come for him again.
You weren’t expecting this much from him. You just wanted him to fuck you already, but he wasn’t budging like you would have hoped. His cock was hard against your ass when he was fingering you in the living room. There was no doubt he was still hard now, but he didn’t seem to care much because right now he had you flipped on your back and your thighs resting on his shoulders.
“Riki, please.” Your moans were exhausted, and you were hypersensitive with his tongue prodding between your folds as he displayed his decadence. One more had turned to two more, and two more had turned to three more. If he kept going like this, you would be incapacitated before he got the chance to fuck you.
You gripped at his hair in an effort to pull him up, but he cuts his eyes at you, something dark clouding his orbs when he briefly releases his lips from your pussy.
“Move your hand,” Riki orders.
It’s extremely intimidating, the way he looks at you, but you would be lying if you said there wasn’t a sick feeling twisting in your gut whenever he scolded you like this.
“You that desperate for me to fuck you that you can’t enjoy what you’re already getting?” He fires his question with two eager fingers in your hole.
You keen off the bed when he presses his thumb down on your clit. “No,” you thrash.
“Then why are you begging so much? Is this not enough?” he asks with a jab at your g-spot.
“No,” you say again. It wasn’t enough because as far as you were concerned, it would never be enough until his cock was inside you. He may not like that answer, but it’s the truth.
You have to restrain yourself from locking your thighs around his head when he targets that spot repeatedly. “Then tell me why it’s not enough. Tell me what you need.” He leaves you off with that and returns to the task at hand, suckling your clit into his mouth. He didn’t care that he was making it difficult for you to think. He just knew that you looked far more pretty when you were wrecked, and he still doesn’t think he’s gotten you there yet. Not even close.
He sucks harshly on the bud and fights you to stay in place as he punches his fingers into your g-spot. Riki will make you come as many times as he can if it means he gets you to watch you writhe like your body is live wire. He tasted your release as it splashed into his mouth and wet his lower face. He lapped at your pussy as you came violently, your reactions making him want to torture you even more.
When he lifts your legs off his shoulders, you immediately snap your legs shut, unsure if you could handle anymore. He was gonna kill you. This was gonna be the way you died. Completely naked and twitching in a puddle of your own juices.
Riki hums playfully and pinches your outer thigh, “So you don’t want me to fuck you, then?” He puts on a coy look when you drag your eyes over to his stupid face.
You can’t think straight. You needed a second.
Still invigorated and in need of his own climax after holding off for so long, Riki climbs off the bed, discarding his pants and then his boxers. You use what little strength you have to survey his backside as he digs in his desk drawer, coming back with a box of condoms soon after. He huffs as he climbs back onto the bed, his cock standing at attention between his legs.
“I was gonna fuck you even if you got a B,” Riki says with a faux pout, “but it seems you can’t take anymore. Should we just call it a night?”
“No,” you plead. You needed this more than you could put into words. You need him to fuck you. You needed to revel in the fruits of your labor, and a good grade was just a piece of paper when you compared it to the thought of Riki finally giving you what had been aching for since you first met him. Even when you thought he was just a nerdy asshole with a handsome face, you still would have let him dick you down back then. No matter that it was a severe shot to your pride at the time.
Riki rolls on the first condom before pulling you down the bed, his cock resting against your tightly clenched thighs. He observes your throbbing, overworked pussy and runs his thumb over it, your hips jolting in response.
Looking down at you, Riki licks your arousal from the pad of his thumb, sucking it between his lips with intense eye contact. Heat blossoms in your cheeks when does this, shocked by how shameless he is while staring at you like a piece of meat.
When his thumb leaves his mouth, he runs his tongue over his lower lip and encroaches on your space. “Open your legs,” he mutters, his eyes blazing.
Overstimulated, but extremely turned on, you part your thighs for him, letting him fill the space between them as he slots his cock in your folds. He nudges your clit and revels in your tremors before pushing the tip in.
Fuck, you were gonna suck him in. Those were his initial thoughts upon the small intrusion, trying to keep his emotions in check when you squeezed your cunt around him in a bid to pull him deeper. You didn’t have to ask him twice. He might be running on little sleep and low steam, but he had a pack of condoms, and he wasn’t letting them go to waste when he purchased them exclusively for you months ago.
“Oh fuck,” Riki grunts when he sinks further in, “I’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy.”
Your expression morphed when he pushed to the base, his cock filling you to the max and rubbing your inner walls in a way his fingers never could. You gasped and raised your hips off the bed, but he chased your cunt with a sly smirk, knowing there was no way you were making it out of his room in one piece.
“Riki,” you moaned in a sharp breath when he snapped his hips forward.
“What,” he huffs as he continuously drives his cock into you, “You want me to stop?”
His tongue was tucked in his cheek and his hair was falling into his face. He looked way too hot right now.
“God, please no.” You latch onto his arm, but almost immediately let go when you catch yourself.
Sighing, he tuts in disapproval. “Ah, you’re always so handsy.” He secures your wrists and pushes them above your head, his distance to you decreasing as he holds your hands hostage. “We’ll have to work on that,” he breathes against your lips.
It feels a thousand times more intimate with him this close, and it’s messing with your head. You moan and try to shy away from the proximity, but there’s nowhere to go. His thrusts are pinning your hips to the bed. His chest is barely inches from yours. And if he gets any closer, he’s gonna fucking kiss you.
He drives his cock into you, pleasure coursing through his veins when you squeeze around him like a vice. He responds by feeding you more of him, letting you enjoy his cock to the fullest capacity until you’re spasming underneath him and he’s spilling inside of you. The warmth floods your walls momentarily before he retreats and ties off the first load of the night.
Riki rolls on the next one, then flips you back on your stomach. He doesn’t bother with the pillow this time, instead he plants both hands on your hips and pulls your lower half up. You let out a long moan once he fills you again, his harsh thrusts sending your face straight into the sheets. It feels like he’s even deeper than before, and you’re not entirely sure how you’ll be able to manage that thought.
You don’t have to think, though. You’ve done enough of that. The semester was over, so he didn’t mind if you went back to being dumb and clueless for a few weeks, as long as you were ready to get back to work once classes started up. He wasn’t gonna be your TA next semester. You could come to him for help, but you would have to do the majority of the heavy lifting on your own.
But for now, your brain could take a rest. All you had to do was be pretty and take Riki’s dick, and you were already excelling at that.
You fasten your grip on the sheets when he delivers a particularly hard thrust, his hips slapping against yours and driving you forward. The room was a cacophony of moans and grunts mixed with skin slapping. Your dripping pussy was elevating the noises to the extreme, reaching your own ears and making you want to hide away from them, your excitement to be fucked being far too blatant and audible.
He was loving it, though. The way you buried your head in the covers. The way your back bowed as you came around him for the umpteenth time that night. The way you quivered and shook when he kept going, still not reaching his own high yet. It was all far too enjoyable in the moment. There was nothing that could make this any better. He thought as much until you craned your head to look over your shoulder, and he got a front row to just how ruined you really were. Tears wet your cheeks, and your lips were all puffy from biting them. You looked completely wrecked as you cried below him, your body trembling as sobs slipped out, accompanied by soft hiccups. This was far beyond what he imagined.
“Why are you crying?” Riki prompted his question while grinding his hips into you, holding you at the base of his cock while he reached around and toyed with your clit.
You’re releasing huffy sounds as your pussy flutters under his touch. There was a hazy look in your eyes that told him you were completely gone, consumed by everything you were feeling right now. Even so, you were rolling your hips back, chasing his cock desperately.
He pinches your clit, trying to get you to focus enough to give him a response before he continues. “Tell me why you’re crying,” he orders this time.
He doesn’t miss the small whimper you release before you pipe up, your vocal cords frayed, but your words clear enough. “I never thought I would get to have you like this.”
Riki’s jaw twitches, his composure slipping. “Why not?”
You push your hips back again, but he stops you this time, holding you in place to get a proper answer first. “Didn’t think you would actually fuck me,” you sniff. “Thought you hated me,” you provide as a follow up.
“Never said that,” Riki clears up while nudging his hips forward, a pleased sigh emitting from your lips right after.
“You said that you hated me.” He punctuates his words with his cock, fucking those stupid thoughts out of your dumb, little head. “If I hated you, I wouldn’t be fucking you right now. No matter how pretty you look like this.” He tacks on the last bit before coming back to himself. He leans over your back and then presses your face into the comforter, not entirely sure how much his face was giving away right now, and not prepared for if you were close to catching on.
Keeping his weight over your back, Riki thrusts his cock deep into you. His chest was hot and sweaty against you, but you could feel him dragging inside of you so much deeper now. It didn’t matter that you were spent when your head was floating like this. Everything felt too good to run away from, and all you could do was push yourself back to meet his cock, hoping he wouldn’t stop anytime soon if you could prevent it. You mewled and arched under the press of his chest, too ruined for your own good.
Riki fucked into you until neither of you had anything left to give. Half of the condoms were used and the bed was completely soaked. He probably should have laid something down, but he had no hopes of you visiting tonight. You’ll just have to saddle up in Jake’s room for the night and finish off the rest of the box in the morning.
Besides, Jake still owed him from hooking him up with that tutor last minute.
You should do popular girl reader and then nerd riki but he's like a real mean Dom plspls your fics are really good and i love them!!
Beg For It - Nishimura Riki
Pt. 2: Give Me Something
Pt. 3: Not Enough
I genuinely was not expecting this story to be this long or take this long to finish. I was shooting for like 5k but got lost in the sauce and ended up with this
~~Your grades weren't looking so hot after midterms, so you decided to seek help from your course's teaching assistant, but Riki doesn't take kindly to those who don't take their academics seriously, particularly those with whom he's had adverse encounters before.~~
wc: 7.6k
content: masturbation, oral (m receiving), humping, degrading, humiliation, slight dehumanization, spit, MEAN DOM RIKI
Riki hated Jake. Not for any malicious reasons. More because the older guy sucked at keeping promises. Whether it was agreeing to a late-night gaming session or promising to pay when they go out, then “accidentally” leaving his wallet at home, Jake hardly ever followed through on his commitments. That carried over to the night when he randomly sprang a party on Riki the weekend after mid-term exams. Jake should have been putting in extra hours to study, because Riki heard the oral presentation he rehearsed for his Japanese class. There was no chance in hell he even got a C on that. He needed to double down now if he wanted any hope of securing a passing grade by the end of the semester.
Instead, he was throwing a party that Jay was originally supposed to be hosting. Their apartment didn’t have the capacity that Jay’s did, so it was imperative that it be held there. However, as fate would have it, a last minute dinner summoning from Jay’s parents left him out of the party and out of hosting duties. So Jake became the backup, even though he knew very well that their space would be packed to the brim with the hoard of people that were expected to show up.
It was promised that Jake would keep them away from Riki’s room. That he would keep the party under control and he would be watching closely for anyone who got too close to his hallway. Riki should have expected it, but that was a lie too. Otherwise, how would he be able to describe the drunk girl leaning on his door frame.
You had taken back a few too many shots tonight. As far as you were concerned, it wasn’t entirely your fault. Sunghoon’s brawny ass said he could outdrink you, and you weren’t letting that happen. You’d rather die than lose to that pretty boy. But now that left you as uncoordinated as a newborn lamb as you stumbled into this stranger’s room.
“Off limits. Get out.” Riki says and points you back to the hallway. He was sure he had locked the door.
“Fuck,” you huff, “this isn’t the bathroom.” Sweat beads your forehead as you stumble farther into the room.
“Bathroom’s the other direction.”
But you weren’t gonna be able to make it that far. Your flushed face should have told him enough, but he was more intent on getting you to leave than registering that you were seconds away from tossing cookies on his rug.
Heaving once, however, caught his attention. His head snapped up with a force that could have knocked it off his shoulders if it weren’t attached to his head. He watched your hand fly to your mouth in hopes of preventing the inevitable.
“No no, absolutely not.” Riki hops up from his desk, immediately grabbing his trash can from next to his desk. He dumps the empty bags of chips and balled up papers on the floor to place the can near your mouth.
“In here,” he urges just moments before you release the contents of your stomach. A slurry of cheap sweetened booze and stomach acid. Riki groans as he holds the can for you, entirely sure that if he left you to your own devices you would find some way to knock it over. You huff and heave until no more comes up, then take a few careful steps to his bed. He watches you teeter in your stilettos before tumbling forward on his sheets. You sink into the comforter like dead weight, a pleased sound rumbling from your throat upon contact.
“What the fuck.” Riki grimaces at the trash can, then at you.
Your skirt was already the size of a belt, so your impromptu flounce on his bed only pushed it up further, giving him a free show to your ass and g-string. Your heels looked uncomfortable, and you were covered in a glitter mist that was now getting all over his bed.
He takes the half-full can out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, which you literally had to bypass to get to him. You likely would have made it if you were sober enough to take proper directions.
After dumping the contents into the toilet and cleaning out his can, Riki slips back into his room, not wanting to spend a second longer in the bustling party atmosphere. Not to mention there is a passed girl on his bed and not everyone will act as responsibly as he will.
Upon walking into his room, he huffs at your current state. You seem to be quite comfortable now that you’ve kicked off your heels and folded his comforter halfway over your body. You’re knocked out in the midst of the chaotic music and screams seeping through the walls.
Realizing that you likely won’t be leaving anytime soon, Riki saddles up at his desk. He had stuff to do anyways.
Mid-terms are the worst. You couldn’t escape the screen of disappointing grades. They flashed on your computer like a taunting parent screaming at you to do better and not waste their money.
You were trying. At least by your standards you were. You put in the time to study a few days before the exams and told your friends you wouldn’t be able to make it out to the club with them, but somehow the results still turned out like this. These were important classes, and failing even one would set back your graduation plan another year.
You refuse to stay in this place longer than what is necessary, so you make the effort to email your teacher to figure out what to do to get yourself in a better academic standing. He told you the course was difficult, and there would be no way around that, but that you could at least contact his teaching assistant for some extra help.
So you reached out to the guy to meet up at the library. His communication was very cold and blunt. It made sense that he would be a hardass. Probably some grad student who’s pissy about his own future, so he projects it onto other students and makes them feel like shit about themselves. You had your image of him set in mind. A greasy dude with no sense of style and no hygiene routine.
Color your heels clicked to your meeting spot at the back of the library and the only person there was some hot guy in glasses and a hoodie. You looked around the area for any signs of lower lifeform, some loser with no signs of romantic prospects and little hope for a successful future.
He fucking stood you up. You could have been at the cafe across the street with your friends, but you split ways to go meet with some douchewad who couldn’t even bother to show up.
You scoff, “I can’t believe this,” and then spin on your heels, firing up a very hotheaded email to the TA since he decided to waste your time.
“Sit down.”
You come to a halt when you hear the voice behind you. You peak over your shoulder to see if someone else could have appeared. It was just the one guy.
Cocking your head to the side, you observe him closer. He was cute. His textbook next to his computer gave away that he was in your course. Maybe he could tutor you. It wouldn’t be too much to bare with that type of incentive. Plus, you could make it worth his while.
He looks up from his laptop, his eyes locking on yours. Heat tinges your cheeks from being caught.
“Sorry, I was waiting for someon-”
“Sit down. You’re 30 minutes late.” Turns out the hot guy is an asshole.
You blink, “Excuse me.”
“You emailed me to meet and you’re 30 minutes late. Most other TAs would have left by now, and you would have had to figure your problems out on your own.”
It should’ve clicked sooner that he was who you were meant to be meeting, but you weren’t exactly that fast on picking things up if your grades were any indicator.
“Are- are you Riki?”
He nods slowly, as if that will help it seep into your brain easier, but the condescension in his eyes tells he wasn’t trying to be nice.
“My meeting was at 4:30.”
“4:00-4:30. If you were going to show up at the last minute, either send an email or schedule a later appointment.”
Your face turns up at his coldness. “Sorry,” you scoff, mirroring his attitude.
It likely wasn’t the best course of action, his eyes cutting at you and his lips thinning out.
“Sit.”
Against your better judgement to tell him you don’t need this and for him to go fuck himself, you walk over to the empty seat next to him. You needed to pass this class, and his looks were quite persuading if nothing else.
Riki assesses you closely as you walk over to him. Your steps are no longer that of someone wearing two left shoes three sizes too big. Your attire still resembles that of someone who should be working a corner, but you’re not sloppy drunk anymore, so that might make this meeting a bit more bearable.
From what he can tell, you don’t recognize him. Eventhough, you made yourself comfortable on his bed less than a week prior. It took him three washes to get the body glitter out of his sheets. Well, it took Jake three washes since Riki was adamant on compensation for his failure to keep his room unexplored.
“Alright,” you scoot your chair closer, “how do I pass?”
He raises a brow. What kind of stupid question is that? “You study.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I’m not that good at it. Give me something else.” Fire leaps from your lips before you could catch you. You weren’t helping your chances of passing this class, much less getting in his pants.
“I have nothing to tell you. If you can’t study, then you need to take something else.”
He didn’t have time for this. He had another meeting in an hour, and he had assignments he wanted to get done before that. If you’re just gonna sit here and gripe about your grade in hopes of it magically getting better, you were barking up the wrong tree.
Was that what you were doing? Flouncing around in tiny clothes hoping it’ll get you out of doing the work and secure an easy A?
“The material doesn’t make sense. I’ve tried already.”
Your loose definition of trying in no way aligns with what Riki views as actual effort. He graded your test. For every multiple choice question you got correct, you got at least two open response questions wrong. The exam had 50 questions and you somehow managed to score poorly even with the curve your class got. He wasn’t going to give you his time if you weren’t truly going to put in the work.
He closes his computer and leans back in his chair. “How many hours do you study every week?”
You were eager to lie, your lips fixing to make up a number, but the look on his face read no bullshit. His arms were crossed over his chest and his legs sat wide open in a casual manner, but the expression he wore was laced with intimidation.
“30 minutes,” you mutter
He raises a brow. “You’re joking.”
But you very much are not. Each class might get about 30 minutes from you on a good week. If you had absolutely zero motivation, they would get none. There was no inbetween.
“How many nights do you go out in a week?”
“Usually 2 to 3 days.” Your cheeks burn at your answer.
You had no shame in your partying habits, but now, you were feeling highly humiliated by this guy who you just met. He doesn’t know you well enough to pass judgement on you, and yet he’s doing it so easily it’s laughable. Seriously. He’s laughing.
Riki runs his fingers through his hair as he lets out a dry laugh. He watches you fluster and drop your head at his clear befuddlement. He’s astonished by your determination to have a good time. That doesn’t even factor in the time it takes for you to put on your makeup, do your hair, and pick out your outfit. You’re wasting away hours that could have been spent getting a jump start on the classes you’re so desperately “trying” to pass.
You shrink further when his gaze sets on you once more, that condescending darkness rolling over into his tone. “You think if you took a few of those hours away from clubs and house parties, you could get your grades up?”
“Maybe.”
His strict discipline doesn’t have room for maybes. Only yes or no. Riki took pride in his role as a TA for the past two years. He wasn’t gonna muck up the dozens of successes he garnered by bringing students up from a D to an A. If you didn’t have the resolve, he had no business helping you.
“If you can’t turn that maybe into a yes, then just withdraw from the class. It’ll look ugly on your transcript, but I doubt that’s something you care about.”
Riki grabs his computer and slips it into his bag. He packs all of his things neatly before standing to leave. The shock on your face reads clearly when he pushes his chair in. He wasn’t just going to offer his assistance if you didn’t truly want it.
Your hand flies out to grab his before it leaves the back of the chair. “Wait. Please.”
You fussed your lip between your teeth as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to fail, but you also didn’t know what you were doing. It might sound like a poor excuse, but it was true. Starting was difficult when nothing made sense to begin with. You understood fun. Fun didn’t have set guidelines and answers.
“I really REALLY do wanna try,” you explain, “I’m not trying to be a pain. I just don’t understand any of it, so it’s hard to find the motivation to want to study. I promise if you help me I’ll do better.”
Riki stands over you, watching your pitiful display as you look up at him in desperation. He can see that you want to try. He can read it behind your glitter rimmed eyes. The want to do better amidst your desire to just take the easy route and give up.
And truthfully, Riki’s hero complex loves to save lost souls like you.
“Beg.”
Your grip loosens around his hand as you comprehend what he just said. “What?”
“Get on your knees and beg.”
His piercing command leaves a heavy flutter in your stomach. Like something clawing at your insides and making your heart beat faster.
You scoff. “You can’t be serious.”
He doesn’t speak. Just stares as he awaits your compliance. He grips the strap of his bookbag, the prospect of leaving becoming very apparent.
It was embarrassing you would have to admit. Darting your eyes around the empty back section of the library to ensure that you were truly alone before pushing your chair back and standing to your feet. Your shoes feel like they’re made of lead now, every step close to Riki feeling like the gravity setting has increased immensely. Then, once you’re toe to toe with him, you drop to your knees at his feet.
Something niggles at the back of your mind to stand up and not take this shit. You weren’t a damn dog. You could slap him for even insinuating such a thing and report him to your professor so he loses his position. Yet, somehow, you’re still on the floor. You crane your head up, a chill running down your spine and blossoming into a heartbeat between your legs. He was standing directly over you, his piercing gaze undressing your hard exterior to bare bones.
“Now beg.”
Your voice shook lightly as you muttered out the first “please.”
Riki would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the slightest twitch in his boxers. You were so bashful now, on your knees begging for him to help you.
“Louder,” he orders.
You whine like a petulant child, momentarily dropping your head. Someone could walk over any minute and see you on the floor below this hot maniac. You were trying to secure a good grade, and he was regarding you as if you were some lower lifeform. Ironic considering your initial assumptions of him.
“Please,” you force out with a little more volume this time. “Please help me. I promise I’ll do what you tell me to and listen properly.”
Fuck. Riki was gonna come in his pants if he didn’t leave now.
He purses his lips like he’s thinking, but he’s already up his mind. How fucking stupid would he have to be to turn down a pretty girl begging on her knees? There was no question about it.
Riki pulls a pen from his bookbag before holding his hand out. “Give me your arm.”
Confused, you cock your head to the side, but you hold up your arm for him. He grabs your wrist and pulls it close to him before writing on it.
“I have another appointment soon, so I have no time today. Call me in five minutes. Exactly five. If I don’t get a call, I’m not helping you.”
He allows no room for argument before turning and walking out of the isolated section, leaving you there on your knees with a number scrawled on your forearm.
In all honesty, he still had plenty of time to spare before he was meant to attend his next meeting. However, if he spent another minute standing in front of you while you kneeled at his feet, he would have you choking on his cock in the middle of the library.
Riki hopped in his car as soon as he unlocked the door. Within seconds, his pants were shoved down to his hips. His erection was begging for attention from the moment you started pleading for his help. He takes his cock into his hand and begins to stroke softly. He could imagine this is what your hand would feel like, soft and careful with him, unsure if he liked it and if your performance would garner you a passing grade. The vision of you on the floor between his legs giving him a handjob. Just the thought of it made him bite his inner cheek.
His breathing picks up when he watches you exit the library. He squeezes the base of his cock to stave off an early finish, a grunt following as he sees you walk over to the bench near the front entrance. From his spot at the back of the parking lot, he could see you clearly as you stared down at your arm, assessing the number once more, and then pulling out your phone to call him.
Riki pulls his phone from his hoodie pocket and swipes to answer your call.
“Hello?” Your voice feeds through the speaker directly into his ear. He grits his teeth when his cock jumps in his hand, begging for attention. He returns to stroking himself while watching you sit on the bench confused if you dialed the number properly.
“Hello. This is Riki, right?”
After a moment of pressing silence, he finally speaks up.
“Yeah, it’s me.” His breaths come out rough as he glides his hand from base to tip. “Since you came late, now I have to run to make it to my next meeting.”
Riki watches you roll your eyes, a sour expression crossing your face. He’d give you something worth rolling your eyes over if that's what you wanted.
“Sorry,” you mutter, but it hardly sounds sincere.
He watches you throw your weight back against the bench, tugging at your skirt to escape the cold bite of the metal. You’d think a temperature drop might be cause for you to alter your wardrobe, but that didn’t seem to be the case with you.
You pull uselessly at the small material once more, drawing Riki’s attention down to your legs, specifically your knees. There were marks from the rough texture of the carpet imprinted in your skin. If only a few minutes on your knees did that much damage, he could only imagine what it would be like having you choke on his cock. You would be sitting at his feet with tears running down your cheeks as you force yourself to take all of him, in hopes he’ll crumble and just let you pass without all the effort. Pathetic, he thinks.
He curses under his breath and picks up speed. “When are you available for tutoring?”
His gruff voice has you shifting around on the bench. You don’t know what it is, but he sounds really hot right now. You uncross and cross your legs, your thighs clenching with every harsh breath you hear from his side of the phone.
He speaks up again at your lack of response. “Am I talking to myself?”
Riki hears your breathing stutter before you apologize. He’s getting close. Your faltering attitude has him close to finishing. He was practically there in the library, but he can sense you’re losing your venom with his growing indifference towards you. You’re not getting to him as easily as you would like, and it’s making you doubt yourself.
“Hold on. Let me check my calendar,” you mumble more to yourself than him.
He watched the uncertainty paint your features as you scrolled through your phone. He focused on the tip while watching you tuck your lip between your teeth in thought.
“Does it usually take you this long to figure out when you’re free,” he grunts.
Your thighs squeeze again and you whimper into the phone. “I have classes until 3 everyday, but I also made other plans.”
Excuses. That was all you had to give him. But he didn’t care much to listen to what you had to say because your small slips of submission were getting him there. He had to mute the phone as he groaned out a lengthy string of explicits before coming into his hand. He stroked himself to completion while observing you trying to come up with a date quickly before he gave up on you. He didn’t plan on it, but it was fun seeing you fumble after your blatant attitude earlier. After cleaning himself off, he unmutes the phone.
“Forget it. I’ll send you the date, time, and location. If you want to pass, you’ll show up. I’m not adjusting my schedule to your plans. Show up or don’t. I don’t care.”
Without giving you a chance to respond, Riki hangs up. You should’ve expected as much from him. He was an impatient asshole. And yet, you were saving his name in your phone, awaiting whenever he might text you.
It was three days later when Riki finally contacted you with all of the information for your study session. He accompanied it with address and time with a text to “Wear pants.” It was a weird request. One you had no intentions of following considering he had already done enough damage to your ego the last time you saw him. He wasn’t getting the upper hand on you this time.
You were shocked when you knocked on the apartment door and Jake answered. You knew him loosely through acquaintances and a few parties, but you never thought he would live with someone like Riki. An uptight jerk living with a soft hearted party animal. The dynamics clashed.
Jake directed you down the seemingly familiar hallway to the door at the end. He wished you good luck, then beelined it out the front door with his keys and jacket in hand. That should have clued you in that you were in for hell, but you pushed forward, walking into Riki’s room. He sat at his desk with a stack of flash cards and a hefty packet in front of him.
“What’s that,” you pointed to the packet, but he doesn’t answer you.
He swivels in his chair to look at you, his eyes quickly falling to your legs. No emotions show on his face, but he turns back to his desk and writes something down on a sticky note.
“I told you to wear pants.”
“I know,” you say and take a seat on the edge of his bed. You remember what he told you, but what business did he have giving you orders? You were an adult. You could wear what you wanted. That includes the shorts you were currently rocking as a show of rebellion.
With the session beginning on the wrong foot, there was little hope that the two of you would be coming to a truce anytime soon. He would explain something to you, and you would almost always debate it, questioning why that was the rule and why it couldn’t be anything else. It pissed him off to no end, seeing as you hardly got anywhere after the first hour of him drilling facts into your skull.
“Can we take a break? I’m losing more braincells by the minute.”
“Five more,” he shuffles the flashcards in his hands before pulling out a new term, “Then you get 10 minutes.”
“10 minutes?!? You’re joking.”
You hop off the bed and walk over to his desk to grab your phone. You were taking a break whether he liked it or not. But Riki intercepts you before you can grab the device and shoves it into his pocket.
“Five more,” he repeats.
You were at your tipping point. He wasn’t even helping you. He was just ordering you around like a dog and barking information at you like that would make it any easier to receive.
“Give me back my phone.” Your tone is tight. Your hand is outstretched. And you’re standing over him with all the courage you can muster to get him to back down, but Riki doesn’t falter.
Taking off his glasses, he meets your heated stare with indifference. “How about this? I make you a deal. You get at least three out of the five correct, and I’ll let you curse me out and hit me.”
Tempting. “And if I lose?”
“You stop fighting my instructions and do what I tell you to do.”
“Deal.”
You should’ve realized in making that agreement that fate was never truly on your side. You were too busy cursing Riki out in your head for the past hour to grasp much of anything besides a few simple rules and terms. The first question you got correct. And then the second, but every question after that was downhill from there. They grew progressively harder that by the fifth question, you cursed him out anyways.
“Fuck this. It was a stupid deal anyways.” You knew you had no chance of getting a hit in, so better to just use your words since he can’t police your mouth. “You’re an asshole, I hope you know. If no one else had the balls to tell you, I sure will. You barely taught me shit and then you act like I’m the stupid one when you’re just a shitty teacher.”
You press your sharp acrylics into his chest to cement your point. Finally glad you got that off your chest, you let out a sigh of relief and extend your palm once more.
“I answered your questions. I want my break now.”
He raises a brow, the corner of his lip lifting with it. “You think I’m gonna give your phone back after that?”
Your face grows hot when he stands from his chair, the close proximity catching you off guard and forcing you to take two steps back. He walks around you, without a care, to sit on his bed. His legs were spread wide and his posture read unbothered. He couldn’t give two shits about what you were saying, much less that you were fed up with his nonchalance.
“We made a deal,” you point out, “I at least want my 10 minutes if you plan on torturing me for another hour.”
Riki tilts his head as he looks you over once more, his eyes trekking down your bare legs, then back up to your glossy, pouted lips. He wasn’t subtle at all with his staring, choosing to be bold instead seeing as your attitude wouldn’t be adjusted by a soft scolding.
“Get on your knees.”
“We’re not doing this again.” You had enough humiliation for a lifetime just from your last encounter.
“You said it yourself. We made a deal.” He pulls your phone out of his pocket and holds it in the air. “On your knees.”
Snatching the phone from him was an option, but that would rely on the element of surprise and innocent hope that he didn’t have enough strength to fight you back for it. You knew what your odds were in that situation. You would lose. Maybe you could wait him out and eventually he would hand it over. He has very little patience. Soon enough, he would give up and fork it over. That’s what you assume, until he checks the time.
“You’ve wasted a minute of your break.”
“Are you serious right now?!”
He’s waiting with your phone in his possession and he has no problem continuing your session for another hour. Which means you now have one of three options: drop to your knees and beg for your phone back, wait him out and lose your break, or tell him you’re not doing this anymore and leave. The last option will likely result in no more tutoring sessions going forward. As much as you can’t stand him, you need to pass this class.
You go for the first option, eager to get at least a moment of relaxation without looking at his face. Renounced, you kick off your heels and settle onto the hardwood floor.
Riki nods, pleased with your surrender. He sets the phone down next to him and says “Come get it.”
He isn’t expecting you to crawl, right? On the floor? Like an animal? You furrow your brows and hesitate for a moment, but he doesn’t budge, meaning you’re sure this is what he wants.
You scoff and start making slow movements forward. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you mutter. Your face is burning up, not only from humiliation but also something closer to fluster. As much as you hate crawling to the Riki, his ability to make you feel inferior flaring this hatred, you couldn’t help the tightness coiling in your stomach with every step you got closer to him.
When you were square in front of him, a smirk grows on his lips. You try to reach for your phone again, but he snatches it back. He was really starting to piss you off. You almost punched him in the balls, but then he drops the phone on the floor next to you.
Before you can look down to retrieve it, he grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him. There’s something dark swimming in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you sitting on your knees. He runs his thumb over your lips, smearing your gloss passed your lips to your cheeks. You don’t get to speak anymore, he concludes by pushing his thumb into your mouth and pressing it on your tongue.
You should be pushing him away by now, calling him a creep and threatening to report him to the professor for improper conduct with a student. But you were doing none of those things. Instead, you were wrapping your lips around his thumb, creating a suction as saliva pooled around his digit. Fuck it. He’s taken enough gambles today. He can surely take another.
“Unzip my pants,” he orders.
He can feel your mouth moving around his finger to speak, but he presses down again to silence you. You knew what he said. No point in asking him to repeat himself. Your eyes flick down to his lap, where unbeknownst to you, his cock has been stirring for the last thirty minutes.
His constant ridicule had done little to improve your academic understanding, but it provided great material for his mind to file away for later. How pissed you got any time he told you why you were wrong and why you were stupid for trying to change set rules.
Truth be told, you were confused, not stupid. It would take some getting used to before you could fully grasp the material, but that wasn’t the problem that needed to be dealt with the most. The biggest one was your behavior. You wouldn’t get anywhere if you were so stuck in being a hardheaded, frigid bitch.
Riki bit his inner cheek when you grasped him through his pants. You palmed his erection tentatively, as if any second now it was going to lunge out and bite you. He pushes his hips forward, urging you to get on with it, so you unzip the material before pulling it down his legs. When you’ve ridded him of his boxers as well there’s no hiding his arousal anymore, not like he was really trying before, but it may not have come across to you.
He was enjoying watching you make a fool of yourself. Whining whenever you got a question wrong. Dropping to your knees to win his favor. And now, stroking his cock with far more interest than he’s seen from you all day. You’re practically drooling as you run your finger over the prominent vein on the underside of his cock.
“You still wanna go home?” Riki already knows the answer to that question, but he enjoys the silent answer you give when you spit in your hand and wrap it around his cock again.
He chuckles to himself. Like a dog to a bone. You weren’t that hard to teach (train) when given the right motivation. In this case, it just so happened to be that you were very sexually motivated. It worked out for him and you.
When a bead of precum emerges from his tip, you don’t waste a second before wrapping your lips around the top portion of his cock and licking away the salty substance. He shudders when you continue to circle your tongue around the head in an effort to draw more from him. You stroke the majority of what isn’t in your mouth, your fist producing slicking sounds from your saliva. You let the drool escape your lips to make the slide easier. More messy.
You suckle on his head and he grunts while gripping the bed sheets. He watched the shimmery gloss transfer from your lips onto your hand and his cock. He appreciates that it isn’t on his bed this time, but he still rolls his eyes, your obsession with glitter always finding some way to imprint itself on him.
“Are you always this easy?” His question is more rhetorical than anything. He knew you were. He caught you eyeing him the second you walked into the back of the library that day.
“You wear slutty clothes and flash your body. Fuck-” He hisses when you suck harshly on his cock to shut him up. You then graze your teeth around his shaft as a warning, but he isn’t deterred.
“I bet you fuck all your TAs. Beg em for a good grade. It probably works too if your pussy is anything like your mouth.” He slaps your hand away and then grabs your hair. You yelp when he pulls you off his lap, forcing you to look him in the eyes while he treats you like a ragdoll.
“Am I wrong?”
You feel the heat rising in your bloodstream once more and before you know it, you’re sending a projectile of spit at him. It hardly hits him, though. The projectile misses his cheek by a hair and lands on his bed. You watch his expression fall as he looks at his sullied sheets.
“Fuck you,” you bark once more.
Obviously you want your speaking privileges revoked. Riki was being nice earlier. He opened his safe space to you when you were a drunken mess. He offered his tutoring services when you’re practically unteachable. He even gave you the privilege of sucking his cock. But it seems you’re ungrateful.
He grips your chin. “Open your mouth.”
When you’re slow to obey, he pushes his thumb into your mouth and forces your lips open, then returns what you attempted to sling at him. He spits in your mouth. You try to recoil, but his hand in your hair keeps you from pulling away.
“Swallow.”
Reluctantly, you do. You let his spit roll down your throat before opening your mouth again to show him it was gone.
He smirks maliciously and then pats your cheek. “Good girl,” he coos, but it holds no care, only disdain. Like you were a mutt eating up scraps. That was how you looked to him anyways.
Riki releases your hair and then stands from his bed to walk back over to his desk. You guffaw at his audacity to degrade you and then go back to studying like it was nothing.
He flips through the flashcards, but you’re still on the floor, unmoving. As much as you want to get up and walk out like this was nothing --like he didn’t just pull out parts of you that had yet to be discovered and just lay them out for you to sit with-- you can’t. You’ve never been treated like this. Disrespected and scorned.
“Is that it?” You find yourself asking that question while crawling over to his desk.
His eyes don’t find yours as he highlights certain terms for you to look over later. “Do you want that to be it?”
Lying does you no good anymore. Not when your body is begging for someone that will cast you away if he catches even the slightest whiff of dishonesty.
“No.”
“You know what to do, then.”
And almost immediately, your back between his legs. He’s got one hand fitted in your hair while the other is still busy at work, writing up a study plan for you. You draw him as far into your mouth as you can fit comfortably then begin bobbing your head. Your tongue lays flat against the underside of his cock, rubbing and coating him in saliva.
He scratches your scalp lightly, a reward since you’re being useful for once. In response to his silent reward, you hum around his cock and try to take him deeper. You push passed the limits set by your gag reflex and push yourself down to accommodate even more of him. This has his grip faltering around his pen, causing his writing’s legibility to be sacrificed as you pull back up and circle your tongue his head.
“Fuck,” he seethes and drops his pen when you give a harsh suck to the sensitive tip. “Open your mouth more.”
With your mouth parted wide and his hand secured in your hair, he pushes your head down. You convulse when his cock suddenly hits the back of your throat. Riki holds you in place, your lips now flush with the base of his cock.
His other hand finds your head before he slowly grinds into your mouth. His lip draws between his teeth when you squeeze your eyes shut, tears brimming at the corners.
He calls out your name to get you to open them again. He wanted you to look him in the eyes when he ruined you.
“I’m gonna fuck your pretty face and ruin your makeup.” That was the only warning you got before he was controlling you completely.
Riki dug his fingers through your hair, cemented his grip, and started fucking your mouth. His hips pulled back before thrusting forward, a harsh gag letting him know he had reached the back of your throat, then he set his pace. He reveled in the slick sounds bubbling from your lips as tears streamed down your cheeks, your mascara dripping and your lipgloss completely gone by this point. Spit rolled down your chin and dribbled down your chest, staining the fabric of your shirt.
One rough push had your body lurching forward and your hands flying out to push him away, but he didn’t give easily. He held you in place and forced you to take it.
“Relax your throat,” he grits out. He can feel your throat spasming around his cock in an attempt to seek relief. It only makes him hold you tighter, the sensation magnificent when concentrated on his tip.
He slaps your cheek to get you to concentrate. “Come on.” Riki holds you there, only pulling back in an inch at most before pushing forward again. You can take it. He knows you can.
A garbled noise resounds when you get the hang of it. You’ve never let anyone fuck your face before. Most guys would be lucky to get a handjob from you, meaning they would have to be blessed to get you to put your mouth on them. But Riki was neither blessed nor lucky. He was arrogant, egotistical, and highly ill-mannered. He would think he was a god if his feet weren’t touching the ground. You hated that. That he thought he was so much better than everyone. Better than you. But somehow, you allowed him to use your throat like a human fleshlight.
“Such a good girl,” he jokes again, slapping your cheek and sneering down at you.
You glared at him, but it held little power. It didn’t matter that you thought of him as a douchebag, when you were the one on your knees taking him so well. It only inflated his already big head. Such a pretty girl reduced to nothing before him.
He almost laughed when he caught you trying to shimmy a hand into your shorts. He was quick to pull you off of his cock, his expression darkening as he rips your head back and forces you to look at him.
“I didn’t say you could enjoy this.”
You whimper when his grip winds tighter. “Please.”
It seems there was no fight for your surrender this time. You were already ruined. There was no saving what little of your dignity was still intact. So he snickers and nudges his foot between your legs.
“Go on then.”
Riki can’t hold back his satisfaction when you push your hips down on his foot. Your hands latch onto his calf and your head drops onto his knee, a shameful sound of pleasure releasing from your lips. You tried to hold it in, not wanting him to know you were enjoying this, but you were giving it away too easily.
You were quick to shed your clothes at his instruction, now completely bare with your wet core dragging against his foot. Meanwhile, he was still relatively clothed and watching you writhe in pleasure.
“You’re like a useless mutt,” he chides when you fasten your hold and grind down harder, “You’ll hump anything to feel good.”
You look up at him, tears welling in your eyes as humiliation takes its toll. It's a beautiful sight. Riki strokes his cock while pushing two fingers past your lips for you to suck on. You accept them graciously, rolling your tongue around them as if they were his cock, your hips picking up speed as you find yourself growing close within moments. Your clit is bumping delicously against his foot and you’re dripping so much that you can hear your juices squelch everytime you move too vigorously, but you were bordering a realm of pleasure you’ve never known before. As dehumanizing as it was to have him talk about you with such disrespect, you couldn’t help enjoying it.
Your knees were aching against the hardwood floors, surely to be bruised later. Your hair was a mess and your makeup was even worse. You were drooling all over yourself, spit dripping down Riki’s wrist and onto your chest. You were a lost cause as much as you hated to admit it, but that’s what Riki was here for.
He looked down on you, watching the moment your body gave in to your carnal desires. You folded over yourself and squeezed your legs together, an orgasm ripping through you so fierce it almost toppled you over if Riki hadn’t grabbed your hair to keep you upright. You scalp stung, but your body was floating in a realm of bliss. He watched your body break for him before stroking himself to finish. He cursed and came into his fist, cum spilling over, some even spurting on his thigh.
When you’ve finally resurrected, he tugs your hair to get your attention. You don’t need his instruction to know what he’s telling you to do, his eyes flicking down to his lap and then back to you. With all your modesty discarded and your brain buzzing, you crawl closer and lick up the mess on his leg and hand, then suck off anything left behind on his cock. He shudders, still sensitive and catching his breath, but he keeps his eyes locked on you and the way you clean him up.
He hums to himself when you look at him, particularly intrigued with the way you are staring, completely gone and awaiting your next direction.
Maybe tutoring you won’t be so bad. After all, he could teach you a thing or two.
I was very locked in while writing this one. I always love these type of ideas where they're idols but still love to explore their desires. Like yessss give me horny, porn-watching, depraved Ni-ki.
~~Sometimes Ni-ki needs an outlet when life gets a bit overwhelming. When he finds the perfect candidate for his stress relief, he can think of nothing more than sex. Nothing more than fucking you.~~
wc: 7.1k
content: masturbation, sex toys, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, mind break, squirting
Just like anyone else in the world, Ni-ki needed a bit of stress relief every now and then. It differed depending on the occasion, his mood, or his energy level. Sometimes he was in need of a late night dance session. Other times he wanted to have a drink with a few of the guys. And then, there were the times when he just needed to let off some steam in the privacy of his own room.
It was one of those nights when Ni-ki stumbled upon your account. He was scrolling on X, searching for anything that was stimulating enough to invest his time in. He skimmed a dozen full length videos, none of them good enough to continue past the first 30 seconds.
Nothing was worth it, he quickly concluded after 15 minutes of searching and still coming up empty. He was about to exit the app and just jump in the shower when his feed refreshed. The pink LEDs caught his eye first, then he was enamored by the figure on the bed. Clicking on the post, Ni-ki enlarged the video to get a better view of the girl who had stolen his attention.
For five minutes, he watched you with uninterrupted focus. Ni-ki watched you spread your legs for the camera before pulling your underwear to the side and slipping two fingers between your folds. You gathered your arousal on your fingers before spreading them apart to show off to whoever was viewing. That just so happened to be Ni-ki. A clear slick linked your parted fingers together. A web of your arousal just waiting to ensare new viewers.
Ni-ki watched you suck those two fingers between your lips before dragging them back to your wet cunt. You used them to part your folds and show your aching entrance to the camera. Then, with no patience for stalling your pleasure any longer, you push them inside and fuck yourself beautifully. Your lids flutter when your palm slams against your clit and your thighs shake when you come for the viewers. It was such a simple act, and yet it looked so hypnotic watching you do it. The way your breathing slowly increased as your arousal built. The way your pussy clenched around your fingers when you curled them just right.
It was magnetic.
Ni-ki watched the video again from the beginning and was able to finish the second your fingers retreated from your cunt at the end of the video. That small web of arousal at the beginning was nothing compared to the glistening mess of release that coated them by the end. You rubbed it over your pussy and shuddered one final time for the camera before the video paused itself.
Extremely enraptured, Ni-ki hearted the video and then moved to your account to see what other videos you had. Sadly, there were very few that were full length like that one. Most of your others were just short videos providing previews to what they could get if they subscribed to your content.
Ni-ki wanted to believe he wasn’t a sucker for that type of stuff. Porn was easy to come across on the internet. He had no reason to pay for privated content when he could watch anything else in the world.
He liked to believe as much, but after endless nights of trying to find something that hit similar to what he felt the night he saw your video, he realized he was very wrong. So he scrolled through the mound of posts he had liked the past couple of days, and went back to your page, immediately subscribing and watching the most recent post you uploaded.
There was no going back at that point. He was addicted to your content within hardly a few weeks. He watched your livestreams. Your short videos. Your long ones. At a certain point, he even started putting in for personalized videos.
He couldn’t get enough of you. You always filmed alone, most of your videos being done in your dimly lit room. Soft cushions. Soft lights. Soft skin. You didn’t overstimulate him with fake, drawn out pornographic moans and facial expressions, but you also didn’t bore him with no reactions at all. Your body would shake, and whimpers and harsh breaths would rack your form before your toes curl, and a deep gasp would suck all the air in before you came. He got off at the sight of it every time.
At first, it was like a guessing game. He would watch you closely, trying to guage how close you were to finishing. He would assess the things that got you there the fastest. The things you were most sensitive to. Within weeks of endlessly rotting his brain at night with your content, he honestly felt like he knew your body better than you knew it -- as stupid as it was to think. He became so attuned to every off breath and shuddered moan, that he was able to finish with you every time. Your squirming would become more desperate by the second until you eventually lock up and shake like your body has a mind of its own.
His balls would grow tight when he fisted himself, watching you shove your toys deeper and clutch at your chest before your strength gave out and you melted into a puddle of your own orgasmic bliss.
Ni-ki was obsessed with your page, but he truly knew he was a goner when he started sending requests. He wasn’t dumb enough to believe you were in love with him, but he liked to think he could make you feel even better than you could while you moaned his name touching yourself.
The amount you charged for requests was hardly pocket change to him, so he had no problem asking for personal videos. He would ask for videos of you saying his name when you finished. He would order things from your wishlist for you to wear, or new toys for you to try out.
He almost felt insane at a certain point, requesting 20-minute personalized audios sent to his inbox. He played them on repeat more times than he could count. He refused to share his ear buds with Jake anymore because more often than not, there was no music being played.
The newest one came in right when he needed it.
It was a particularly stressful day at practice. Their comeback was only days away, and that meant he was giving 110% until they were meant to go home.
He was tired, and their schedule leading up to their showcase felt endless. Practice dragged on for hours. His muscles felt like noodles, and his clothes were drenched in sweat. When their performance director called for a break, he was quick to sling off his hoodie, his tank top still snug to his skin, but the relief of air conditioning making it a bit more bearable.
Taking large gulps from his water bottle, Ni-ki checks his phone, not looking for anything in particular, but just trying to separate his mind from the next three hours that they had ahead of them.As he’s scrolling through weverse, he receives a notification from his email.
You have mail! 1 new inbox from Vixxen
Ni-ki shot up against the mirror when your profile icon graced his screen. He sent his request weeks ago. Usually, you were quicker to get back to him, but this one had taken far too long to come in. He assumed your inbox must have been flooded and completely forgot he had sent one in.
Popping in one earbud, Ni-ki curled in on his phone to hide anything from the reflection behind him and anyone who might come over. Just a peak. That was all he needed for now. A short preview of what you sent that he would have to look forward to later on tonight. Something to get him through the day.
He opened his inbox after checking to make sure no one was watching him. Everyone was laid out in one way or another, so he was in the clear for now.
Not even a second into the video and you were calling his name.
“Ni-ki,” you cooed in a low voice as you backed away from the camera. Slowly, you came into full view, dressed in the outfit he bought from your wishlist. His imagination paled in comparison to how good it looked on you in the video.
Ni-ki’s legs drew closer to his chest as he felt the beginnings of an erection begin to surface. He couldn’t afford to chub up right now. Not when they would be starting in a few minutes, and he didn’t have the luxury of time to fully enjoy the video you sent him.
Cursing himself, Ni-ki closes out the tab and shuts off his phone before adjusting himself in his sweats. These next three hours were about to be hell if only 15 seconds had rendered him this fucked up.
By the time they were back to their dorms, it was pushing close to midnight, and all everyone wanted was food, a shower, and sleep. While the others were sluggishly pulling off their jackets and shoes, Ni-ki had already kicked his off and bounded down the hall to the bathroom. He didn’t have time for a stupid game to decide the shower order when that sexy video of you was sitting in his inbox untouched. He’ll heat up some leftovers once he’s done handling business. For now, getting clean and securing alone time were his top priorities.
With damp hair and a towel slung around his waist, Ni-ki clicked the lock of his bedroom door. He was as clean as a whistle and had more energy than he knew what to do with. His erection returned the second he started washing himself, and it still hadn’t gone away. His body was just as determined as his mind to watch that video.
Discarding his towel and climbing into his bed, Ni-ki opened his phone for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He completely ignored the messages from their group chat regarding tomorrow’s schedule, choosing to keep his eyes on the prize.
Red lights illuminated your form; a request on Ni-ki’s part. He wanted to see all the contours and shadows of your body in the sensual warmth of the LEDs. He watched your hands run over your body, toying with the flimsy material of the lingerie. His lip drew between his teeth when you snapped the strap of the bra against your skin. The tiny sheer skirt flounced with every step away from your camera and closer to your bed. He could see the thong peaking out underneath, teasing him, mocking him because he would never get to tear it off you. He could only ever watch you play with yourself, his words and requests guiding you to completion in ways he wished he could do in person.
Ni-ki changed his lights to reflect the scene of yours, bathing him in the mood and transporting him to your bedroom.
“I apologize for how long it took me to get this request to you. Your gifts took a while to arrive, and I had to prepare myself when I saw your second one.” The red glow prevents him from seeing the heat in your cheeks, but your demeanor gives away your fluster. His second gift must have been a shock when you received it. He smirked to himself, watching your thighs rub together where you sat on your bed.
You reached under your pillow to grab the item you had tucked there. A dildo. A skin-toned replica of Ni-ki’s dick to be accurate. You received the gift in a clone-a-willy packaging, so you knew what you were in for when you opened the box. What you weren’t prepared for was the size of the gift.
Ni-ki could read the astonishment on your face as you held the weighty piece of silicone in your hand. He was originally embarrassed to buy the item and mould it for you, but watching you now, fumbling with it as if you hadn’t seen it when it first came in your p.o. box, he couldn’t wait to see you use it.
Ni-ki dropped his towel when you pulled up your small skirt and tugged your panties to the side.
Batting your lashes, you drew three fingers between your folds to gather your wetness and spread it around your pussy. Your words became more breathy as your arousal bled into your voice.
“I prepared myself a bit off-camera since this is bigger than any of my other toys, but I still think I should do a bit more.” Three fingers pushed inside of you with ease, attesting to your earlier preparation, the sound of your slick entrance picking up on the high-quality mics.
“Mmh Ni-ki,” you moan softly while looking into the camera, “You always send me requests, but never anything like this.”
Your voice was like honey in his ears as you worked in a fourth finger and rolled your clit with your other hand. You were working so hard to stretch yourself to take his cock. Ni-ki could only imagine if he was the one between your legs. He imagined how his fingers might be so much thicker than yours. That he would only need three to prep you for his cock and that they could probably reach far deeper than yours could. He would make you come around his fingers until you were desperate for his cock.
The thought of it rendered him unable to hold back any longer. He wanted to wait until you used the toy to start touching himself, but that was impossible when you were lying there preparing yourself to take him. Silicone or not, he would be inside of you in ways no other subscriber was.
His tongue ran over his lips as you tossed your head back against your pillows, a soft whimper bubbling up. “I’m gonna come,” you remark tightly, “then unh- then I’m gonna have your cock inside me.”
That sounded so hot coming from your lips.
Breathing roughly, Ni-ki takes lotion into his palm and strokes himself. It’s slow and soft to hold off from finishing before the big finale, but it’s enough for now. Your shaking form fuels the blood pooling between his legs. Sharp gasps and soft moans feed his erection until you pull your fingers out, flashing your glistening fingers to the camera, strings of your arousal linking them together before you wrap that hand around the toy to lubricate it.
Your eyes are already blazing, but the red lights make you look scandalous as you run your hand up and down the phallus. Once it’s thoroughly coated, you guide it to your entrance, the tip already trying to push its way in.
Ni-ki has to squeeze his shaft when you moan around the initial intrusion, your body still struggling a bit after your preparation. The slide may have been easier than what it would have been, but it was still a lot by your toy standards.
“Oh fu-,” your curse dies off as you try to push more in, not wanting to give up when you spent so long fingering yourself to get to this point.
Ni-ki shifts his attention to the head of his cock, massaging the top portion as if it were your aching pussy. Your wet walls would be squeezing around him, like a vice but he knew one more push would get you there if you were underneath him. Unfortunately, you weren’t. You were by yourself, massaging your bundle of nerves as you force the rest in at a rapid pace to prevent chickening out. You had already put off filming this long enough. There was no going back when you were this close.
“Hnn,” a long, whiny sound vibrated your throat when it settled all the way in.
Ni-ki can only groan and appreciate your effort, his cock twitching in his hand while you pressed the base deep inside you, rolling your clit and pushing your legs wider to make the stretch easier.
“Ni-ki,” you huff, looking into the camera with something akin to shock and bliss. He doesn’t stop thumbing the head of his cock as he stares into your blown-out orbs, the sight of you attempting to take him far too erotic for him to handle.
He could imagine you gasping when he fucked into you, penetrating you at a rate that would make your head spin and your pussy spasm. You could barely handle it, but fuck was it hot watching you try.
“To be honest,” you bite your lip, “It’s really big.” You don’t mean to stroke your subscriber’s ego, having lied a high percentage of times for these requests. This wasn’t the case, though. This toy was far beyond your usual capacity, but it filled you up so nicely and rubbed every sweet spot inside you that it was more pleasure than discomfort.
You pull the toy out partially, and then push it back in, delighted by the wet sounds bouncing off your walls and into your mic.
Ni-ki’s hand tightens around his phone as his other hand fists his cock. You were fucking yourself with his cock. You were filling your sweet pussy with his dick, and he could hear the evidence of your gratification clearly.
He bucked up into his fist as you increased your speed. Your lids would flutter whenever you pushed in all the way. The base would stretch your walls and make each reaction even more intense. Not even five minutes later, you were clenching your thighs around the silicon, sucking it in as you came harshly.
“Fuck,” Ni-ki groans, spilling almost simultaneously. It was faster than he expected from you. Vibrators could get you off quickly, but dildos hardly get you there that fast. The red lights spilled over your shaking frame, highlighting your orgasmic tremors for what seemed like forever as your trapped hand ground the dildo into your walls.
It was so good that one time couldn’t possibly be enough.
Ni-ki was expecting the video to wrap up until you flung off your garments and straddled the toy, nude. His body told him this was no time for giving up as you propped the toy up on a pillow before balancing yourself over it with unstable legs. With a reinvigorated cock, Ni-ki watched you sink onto it once more and bounce on the pillow. You hummed when it filled you up, the stretch now providing nothing but hot flames to your guts, making every drag of the item against your walls addictive.
Ni-ki stroked his cock with his earlier spilled load, entranced by the way your body moved hypnotically. You ground down and bucked wildly against the appendage, leaning back to give the camera an unguarded view of your pussy lips enveloping the toy every time you came down on it.
Hardly minutes later, you’re close again. There’s a wet spot forming on the pillow, and you’re not bothered at all as you ride the toy vigorously. The friction with the cloth is heavenly on your clit. The dildo is touching places no toy has ever reached, and you could only imagine how much better it would feel being used by the random man attached to it. You wanted to hope this well-endowed stranger could fuck you in the way you envisioned; filling you up and using you until your legs are quaking and your pussy is sore.
It’s no surprise to Ni-ki when your grip on the pillow tightens and you stop breathing for a few seconds. Your body grinds down with desperation to memorize the shape of his cock as you come with Ni-ki’s name falling from your lips like a sacred mantra. It’s gasped and shaky, but has him groaning with a second load freshly glazing his fist.
He then watched your tired form slip the toy out before crawling to the edge of the bed, and delivering a swift goodbye and kiss to the camera. And then, right after, he sends you an extra $100 just because he enjoyed the video that much.
Ni-ki was surely seeing things right now. He must be fantasizing about you so much that right now he’s lucid dreaming, because what else can explain why he currently sees you sitting across from Heeseung getting an album signed. There is no logical explanation because this can’t be real.
Maybe he did watch your video 50 times too many in the last two weeks, but he didn’t think it was bad enough for him to be going insane. If this isn’t a hallucination, then you’re three seats away from him, arm wrestling Sunghoon and losing miserably.
He practically choked on his water when he saw you sitting three rows away from him in a venue of Engenes who he’s seen so often that he knows them by face and name. He knew you as well, but for entirely different reasons and by your username.
You were one seat away, talking to Jay when he heard your voice as clear as day and realized this was far from a dream. This was you, as real as ever. And now, wrapping up your conversation with Jay, you scoot down one last chair and you’re sitting in front of him.
Ni-ki needs to keep his composure. That’s what he tells himself when you send him a soft, bashful smile and hand over your album, but he quickly forgets everything when you say his name.
“Hi, Ni-ki.”
One milisecond is all it takes for Ni-ki to register that he’s hard and panicking. Not chubbed. Fully erect in his baggy jeans underneath this table. He’s actually fucked.
“Hey,” Ni-ki responds as casually as he can while ingraining your scent to the depths of his memory. He glances down at the sticky note on the album and reads your name aloud, watching closely as a blush blossoms on your cheeks .
Ni-ki is a lucky bastard he must say, because how many horny fucks can say they got the chance to hold hands with their favorite pornstar. Not many.
He plays with your fingers, and interlaces your hands with his as you ramble casually about him being your bias. He’s seen you fuck yourself with these very fingers. He’s watched you stretch yourself with these fingers preparing to take his cock.
Is it crazy to say he wants to put them in his mouth? He wants to pray there’s some sliver of your essence still coating them.
It takes an unprecedented amount of willpower for Ni-ki to pull himself away from those thoughts with so many eyes watching him closely. Instead, he settles for pressing your palms against his, comparing the size difference and imagining how you would squeeze his digits. How you would keen as he crooks them up and reaches deeper inside of you than your fingers ever could.
He prays his face doesn’t give away his unsavory thoughts as he compliments your outfit and flirts with you sweetly. He’s stiff as shit in his boxers, and as much as he is grateful to know that you favor him over the other members, he also can’t help the anxiety riddling him, wondering if you know that he is the one that has been sending you money all this time.
There are a million Ni-ki’s in the world. There’s no way you could know. Right?
If he would have seen at least one album or poster in the background of your videos, he would have logged off immediately or maybe chosen a different name for himself. But now, he was hooked, and as much as he knows it would be a good idea to forget about you before you figure out that it’s him and spill all of his degenerative requests to the rest of the world, he also knows he is too deep in to back out now and all he can think about is bending you over this table and fucking you until you come like all those times he’s watched you do.
He’s sure he could pull a few out of you with no problem, but is he really ready to risk everything to have your cunt wrapped around his cock?
Sadly, yes.
After talking to you for what didn’t feel like nearly enough time, he scribbles a quick message and autograph in your album and then hands it back to you with one last squeeze of your hand, and a sly, flirty compliment.
Once you’re back to your seat, you flip through your album to peak at all the signatures and messages you got. Giddy and eager to read what they wrote, you don’t give quite as much care when turning the pages as you should, skimming for the pages you marked for them to sign.
You smile looking through each message before you get to Ni-ki’s page, and almost immediately, your stomach does a nauseating flip upon seeing what he wrote.
I hope to meet you again -------. ~P.S. Love you, vixxen ;)
Reading it over a few times, you try to guage if your eyes were deceiving you, but there in bold black sharpie is your username. Looking up at Ni-ki, your heart skips a beat. Just in time, you catch him looking at you, a coy smile gracing his features before he greets the Engene now infront of him.
Ever since you got back to your hotel room, you’ve been pacing the floor. Your album sat carefully on your bed has been mocking you for the last ten minutes, and you’re unsure what to do with the information you’ve just gathered.
Ni-ki knows you. Not just as an Engene, but as a pornstar. He’s seen your videos. He’s seen you naked.
Your mind is quick to put two and two together, drawing conclusions based on the names you know from your subscribers. There was one ‘Ni-ki’ you received requests from regularly. He forked over large amounts of money as if it were nothing. It would make sense, but you didn’t want to believe it to be true. You want believe you’re just reading into things too much, and you didn’t just sit across from the man you send videos to all the time. Whose cock you’ve…fuck.
Your cheeks burn red as you remember how often you used that toy after you received it.
It felt weird using a toy you knew was molded to the anatomy of one of your subscribers. Part of you knew it was insanely weird. But you also knew that it felt too good to only use once. You used it more times than you could count. You stretched yourself on the toy and moaned the name of your subscriber, imagining him to be some finely built god of a man. With a name so similar, you would be lying if you said you didn’t imagine it to be Ni-ki a good percentage of the time. And to think it might actually be his…inconceivable.
You wanted to believe as much until you got a text in your inbox. You hoped it wasn’t him. You prayed it wasn’t him. But life has a way of giving you exactly what you don’t want.
Your palms are sweaty as you open your inbox. Your cheeks burn as you are quickly reminded of the last thing you sent to him all those weeks ago. That damned video that would now haunt you for the rest of eternity.
Seeing you once wasn’t enough.
Your breath shook as a second message rolled in accompanied with an address.
I can promise you the real thing is better. ;)
The smart thing to do would be to block this user and discontinue their subscription to your channel. That would have been the smart thing to do, but you didn’t feel like being smart right now. You left your toy at home and the prospect of sleeping with your favorite idol felt too tantalizing to pass up. So you sent over a quick text, slipped on your shoes, and left your hotel room with anxiety embedded in your limbs and lust pooling in your core.
It seems the anxiety won the battle in the end. While you may have been feuled by your carnal desires on the way over to the location, the second you were pulled into the apartment and quietly guided down the hallway into a red LED lit room that you had only ever seen in livestreams, you realized this was all getting way too real. The same can be said for him because he looks just as out of sorts as you. A similar look of want bleeds from his eyes, but he mirrors your hesitation when he clicks the door shut behind him and finally gets a good look at you. He doesn’t move away from the door to approach where you stand at the foot of his bed.
“Hi,” you start.
“Hey,” he ends.
How things progressed from there was a blur, but one minute, you’re having an extremely awkward conversation about admiring each other’s work, and the next, Ni-ki is towering over you with his fingers buried in your entrance.
Your back arches off the bed when a third finger is added to the equation. It’s a tight fit. Ni-ki knew it would be. He saw how long it took you just to accommodate your own fingers, so taking his were a whole new ballpark. His tongue rolled over lips before he dug his teeth in, suppressing himself from saying all the filthy things to you he’s only dreamed of.
He wanted to tell you how pretty you looked struggling to take his fingers. He wanted to comment on how wet you were and how badly he wanted you to soak his sheets. He wanted to say all those things, but it felt weird knowing what he knew about you now. The illusion of pure lust had dwindled a bit upon finding out you were an Engene. He didn’t want to spew such filthy words to someone who adored him with stars in their eyes.
You, however, were not so reserved. You rolled your hips to ride his fingers, low moans puffing from your lips when the pads of his digits massaged your walls.
“Ni-ki,” you panted, “need you to fuck me.”
Oh my god. His eyebrows shot up when you grabbed his wrist and pulled his fingers deeper. You weren’t even milking this. He wasn’t paying you for you to do any of this. You were genuinely enjoying yourself.
He curls them and watches your chest rise and fall with fast breaths.
“Need your cock,” you mutter with a loaded gaze.
Finally mustering up the courage, Ni-ki says something that he’s been thinking since he first saw you today. “Can I take you first?”
You shudder at the thought of his mouth locked on your cunt, but deny him with a firm head shake.
“Later,” you reply before the look rejection can settle on his face, “need you to fuck me first.”
He couldn’t understand why you were so set on having him inside you so quickly, but he also wasn’t going to deny you when he’s living every subscriber’s dream right now. He would record it if he weren’t worried someone might somehow get their hands on it.
Ni-ki didn’t even have his sweats off before you were rolling over and pushing your ass into the air. You were far beyond aroused at this point. Your wetness was coating your inner thighs, and you had a hand reaching between your legs, massaging your clit as you waited for Ni-ki to enter you.
“This type of sight shouldn’t be free,” Ni-ki groans. His words stumble out before he can hold them back, and he almost apologizes if it weren’t for the heady gaze you cast in his direction.
You hum as two fingers plunge into your cunt, trying to fill yourself up temporarily. “It’s not free. You’re gonna fuck me. You’re gonna feed me the real cock I’ve been thinking about since I got that one you sent me in the mail.”
You crane your head back to watch him roll the condom down. There’s a hungry look in your eyes. He’s only seen it a few dozen times in your videos, when you’re not acting and are enjoying yourself to the fullest extent. When you’re riding on a delicious high and just waiting on your next hit of dopamine. He saw it in your last video when you rode the toy long past the time you typically allotted for video requests.
How many times did you use the toy after that?
“Too many to count. It was too good to only use once,” you purr, plunging your fingers deeper.
Ni-ki hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but you seemed to have no filter when you were riding the waves of pleasure, so why should he. Ni-ki moves up the bed to position himself behind you. Slowly, he pulls your fingers from your cunt and brings them up to his lips, wanting just a taste of you before he’s submerged into a state of endless ecstasy.
Holding your gaze over your shoulder, Ni-ki pushes in inch by inch, his cock spearing your entrance while his lips wrap around your fingers. Your mouth parts in a wide O as you observe the pornographic display before you. He rolls his hips in tandem with the flick of his tongue around your digits. He tastes your slick like a divine dripping honey before extracting your fingers, running his hands up your thighs and then gripping your waist.
“Keep touching yourself,” Ni-ki says like he would if he were in a livestream watching you toy with yourself for hours.
Your eyes roll back when he pushes his cock in completely. There was no comparing this to silicone. It was warm and real and twitching in your cunt every time you squeezed around him.
Shuddering in bliss, you follow his request and go back to rolling your clit like a madman. It wasn’t necessary, but it catapulted you into your first orgasm faster than either of you were ready for.
He feels you lock up on his cock and has to hold you in place as you shake around him. Your free hand flies up to your mouth in a desperate attempt to silence your sudden climax.
“You came so fast,” Ni-ki grits out trying to stave off his own orgasm. He couldn’t finish in sync with you if he wanted this to last. As much as he would love to come every time you do, he plans on giving you a heapful before the morning rolls around and Jungwon comes to disturb his domain. If he wants to achieve that, he’s gotta keep himself in check at least until he’s made you come a few more times.
“Does it feel that good,” he asks through a smirk. Pushing forward, he’s delighted to watch your eyebrows pinch together.
Your walls flutter around him when his tip grinds deep inside of you. Every vein and ridge of his cock creates a delicious friction in your cunt. He slides in and out, observing the way your expressions crumble as he fucks into you. It’s different from when you’re doing it to yourself. There’s no control of the pace or the intensity. Ni-ki is an uncontrollable factor that has you gripping the sheets in utter elation.
He grips your waist and pulls you back to meet his cock, his thrusts vigorous and unrelenting. You can’t even touch yourself, fearing that you’ll finish fast again.
Ni-ki notices your hesitation immediately. “Don’t stop,” he pants, “You like my cock, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whine, rocking back to meet the slap of his hips.
“Then keep coming for me,” Ni-ki orders, biting his inner cheek when he feels you clamp tighter at his words. “If you love my cock so much, take full advantage of it. Use me until your pretty pussy is trained to come whenever I tell you.”
Ni-ki knows he sounds deluded, but he can’t help wanting it to be true. He wants your pussy to memorize every line and curve of his cock down to the base. He wants you to go live and come the second you see his username flash across your screen. He wants you to become a mess of yourself for him and him only. As crazy as it sounds, he wants it so desperately. He wants to ruin you for the rest of your subscribers so all you can do is think about him anytime you touch yourself.
You’ve already ruined him. He’s learned your body inside and out just from watching you online. He’s practically risking a scandal and his entire career just for a night’s worth of pleasure. It may seem like a temporary high, but he’s never felt heaven like this, and he would do it all over again in a heartbeat.
The shakes are quick to return when you start rolling your clit again, slower than before, but still more than what your body is able to handle with Ni-ki currently fucking you into the mattress.
“How many times have you fucked yourself in a day with it?”
You shake your head, unable to think of a proper number when you're in the throes of your second orgasm. He doesn’t let up though, instead fucking you with extra vigor until you can muster up enough strength to give him a response.
“Usually like two or three times. On the weekends, a few more. Sometimes I do it in the car,” you moan out, remembering the last time you made a mess on your seats after you just finished grocery shopping.
“Fuck,” Ni-ki groans, the image of you fucking yourself in your car going straight between his legs and feuling his energy. His cock twitches at the thought of you shoving the dildo deep in your cunt in such an open environment, no care for subtlety, only worrying about your own greedy pleasure.
You’re enjoying yourself to the fullest extent until you feel him stop. Whining, you look over your shoulder to get him to keep going.
He sees the look in your eyes and matches it with a blistering want blazing in his own eyes. “Show me,” he says.
Reading the confusion on your face, he elaborates. “Show me how you fuck yourself when you’re alone. Show me how you make yourself come on my cock.”
You feel a wave of arousal shoot straight between your legs at his words. You clench around him before gripping onto the sheets and rocking your hips back. Ni-ki keeps his hands on your waist as a support, but he does none of the work anymore. Instead, he watches your ass bounce against him as you fuck yourself on his cock.
Your mouth is stuck wide open as you slam down to the base, taking him into the depths of your cunt like you would if you had secured the toy to a wall or a mirror. You groan, dropping your face into the covers when you’ve built a good momentum for yourself and you feel his cock dragging against all the best spots.
Ni-ki can’t take his eyes off you. From your fingers clawing at his comforter to your back perfectly arched for your ass to ricochet off him then slam back every second. The red lights highlight the contours and shadows of your body. He feels like he’s in a porno. Like he’s some leading role actor getting to ruin his cock-hungry costar. But this was real. No fake orgasms or overdone reactions. You were a mess simply because you couldn’t get enough of Ni-ki, and he needed every drop of you.
It was a while before your body gave out and you had nothing else to give. Ni-ki watched you come a handful of times, just using him like a sex toy. He finished a few times as well, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to hold off forever. The night was still young, though.
There were a few more hours until his alarm would go off and he would have to sneak you back out before the others were up. Until then, he was going to drain himself to the last drop. He’ll sleep in the car and then chug a coffee.
Tying off and discarding his third condom for the night, Ni-ki flips you onto your back and drops himself between your legs. You almost close them, but Ni-ki was resolved to have your pussy in his mouth. He pulls your legs over his shoulders and dines on his gourmet, once in a lifetime meal.
It takes more effort to silence yourself now with your every nerve ending completely fried. Ni-ki takes advantage of this and slurps at your clit, watching your eyes roll into your head as you clamp your hand around your mouth. Your breathing is extremely labored. You’re jumping and shaking at the slightest roll of his tongue. It would be a lovely pleasure in any other circumstance, but when you’ve quite literally just gone through the ringer, it’s like being pulled from your body and ascending into the heavens.
You come with a harsh thrashing as Ni-ki cements his lips to your cunt. He presses his forearm over your lap to keep you still and then inserts two fingers inside of you mid-climax. You let out a sharp squeal before you can catch yourself, extremely overstimulated and unsure what else he is trying to gain when you are already rolling through mind numbing spasms.
He spams that spongey spot inside your cunt, pressing it with a resounding vigor that has your stomach caving in on itself.
“Give me one more, princess. One more.”
It comes as more of a command than a coaxing. He digs into your walls and forces your entire nervous system to collapse. Sweet, hot bliss was all that mattered as your body succumbed to him for the umpteenth time that night.
The dam breaks, and your juices present the largest mess Ni-ki’s seen since you did a marathon livestream.
He curses under his breath before attaching his lips to your cunt, catching some of the spillage as it coats his sheets. He fingerfucks you through your heavy gush, too elated to stop just yet. Wet slapping sounds bounce off the walls as Ni-ki churns out your squirt with a wicked resolve. He lets your body twist and bend and break until your release dwindles to a small trickle.
Licking his lips, Ni-ki tastes the evidence of your overzealous pleasure. He drops his head onto your inner thigh and looks up to where you lay, completely fucked out and quivering.
Ni-ki feels a little bad, but not because he's fried your brain.
He doesn’t think he can give you up after tonight. And if how rough you’re looking is any indicator, he doesn’t think you’ll be able to achieve anything like this ever again.
yes i won't leave you hanging. today i had a conversation with siren @si3rren (although she has since deactivated) and i've come to the conclusion that not only was she behind the enhablrconfessions and enhaexpose blogs, but she was inciting even more discourse around this drama with fake accounts she made. she, of course, denied this (until she couldn't anymore), but i wanted to let you all decide for yourselves what to believe
i don't like this blog being a place to let hatred brew in any form, but i find it very ridiculous that someone is allowed to get away with painting other writers on enhablr in a bad light and then play the victim, thus why i'm posting this. i've attached screenshots of the conversation and a video below
thank you to oomf for compiling this video !! but this basically shows the odd behavior of the speculated side blogs in question. the first clip (at around 30 seconds) shows one of the blogs deactivating in real time as it's being screen recorded
i do believe everything that went down this week were not isolated experiences but rather stemmed from this user. you are free to choose who to believe but i hope this at least offers some comfort in that the majority of enhablr writers aren't at each other's throats in the shadows. this was all definitely the work of one individual
additionally, here are readable versions of the screenshots from the dms + a gif of her ig as finsallure being searchable:
i want to reiterate that this is not something i like doing and that i usually deal with such matters privately, but i think an explanation is owed to the entire enhablr writing community because this has gotten way out of hand + i don't like seeing other people being blamed by the very person responsible
now i've been avoiding addressing this since it all started because i truly am a firm believer in "minding your business" and even when my name came up on the confessions blog which led to several anons coming into my ask box sending me baseless accusations over this whole thing, and when people in my community reached out to me about all of this, and i got asked "why im not speaking up" i remained silent because i was minding my own business.
something people clearly cannot do because they're too self absorbed to understand the consequences of their actions and how it affects everyone around them.
i personally dont give a shit what could be said about me because i know the truth and im firm on who i am as a person but seeing some of the people ive gotten the closest with on tumblr get absolutely dragged for no apparent was so frustrating because that blog was now not only created by someone who played the victim out of all of this despite receiving the least amount of hate from that blog specifically but also allowed for several people in this writing community to be spoken about negatively and then to turn around and point fingers at those same people and claim they are the ones behind this.
and now theres a considerable amount of evidence that shows that you shouldve been pointing at a mirror instead of other people.
its insanely insensitive, inconsiderate, vile, and disgusting that someone would come into this community and disrupt what little peace we had left and for what?
so many people deactivated in solidarity and now these people will have to come to terms that someone they considered their friend lied to their faces and practically dragged them down with it. its very disappointing that this is how you guys are acting at your ages let alone in communities where people want to write and read. THATS IT.
if you want attention and you want praise and you want someone to tell you that you did a good job then you might as well go back to kindergarten because that's where that behavior resides.
i havent spoken about this again because i mind my business but i wont say that it didn't leave a bitter taste in mouth seeing my friends and i receive an influx of messages accusing us of something we had nothing to do with, asking us "whats going on" and "why no one is speaking about this" which is ridiculous considering how many blogs were writing copy paste think pieces about this whole situation.
youve created something out of nothing and not in the type of way we praise miracles.
and to those people who came after writers as a result of this whole thing, you should be just as much ashamed of yourselves.
You thought this semester would be easy, just like the rest of them. But one particularly annoying student has decided that his favorite activity is getting under your skin any chance he gets.
Tags: Forbidden Relationship, enemies to lovers, denial, slight bullying, slow burn and then gets fast paced out of no where, prodigy!reader, older reader (2 years) burnout, lot of exhaustion and stressed induced crying, mutual yearning (down bad Riki) mentions of drinking and gambling, caffeine addiction, Riki’s kind of an asshole, reader isn’t much better, oblivious reader (misinterprets flirting as disrespect), Ria is back (ifkyk)
NSFW CW: Smut, p in v, fingering, oral sex (f receiving) , big dick!riki, slight dubcon, dumbification, risk of getting caught, belly bulge, experienced!riki inexperienced!reader, risk of getting caught, mentions of masterbation (m) size training, aftercare, petnames: pretty girl, baby, prof, nerd
A/N okay; idk how it became 26k I swear it was just supposed to be a Drabble but I kept adding and adding but at least it’s finished
- - -
“Honestly, I was worried about you kid, but you did it!” Your classmate Erin whispered, squeezing your hand gently. “Master’s at 19.”
“Yeah.” You gave a shakey exhale, nervously smoothing out your stole for the fiftieth time. “I did it.”
Every sleepless night, every worried phone call from your mother, every homesick tear that you shed, all led up to this moment. You were finally getting your Master’s Degree of Fine Arts in Literature, after spending all of your teen years in libraries and lecture halls, nose buried in old books decoding Shakespearean prose.
It’s about damn time. You thought to yourself as your name was called, followed by cheers of your classmates. I deserve this. You reminded yourself, walking the stage. And you did after spending your entire childhood, your entire life, studying to fulfill your goals. Now I have time to live life.
- - -
“So, Wonderkid, what’s next?” Erin slung her arm across your shoulders at the small after party as your mother sobbed and took pictures.
“You know I don’t like it when you call me that.” you laughed, swatting at her arm affectionately.
“Watch it, I’m still your senior!” She warned.
“We graduated in the same class.”
“And I’m 10 years older than you.” She glared playfully. “But seriously. What’s your big plan?”
“Honestly,” you heave a resigned sigh. “I want to become a professor.”
Her smile went slack. “Why? You just escaped! Live a little.”
“The pursuit of knowledge never stops! This is living!” you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Can you imagine the possibilities if I had access to all the ancient literature that’s only available here? I could completely transform the world’s understanding of Homer, Dostoyevsky, Cicero, Eliot! I could uncover the hidden depths in texts that have never been seen before—“
“Okay, okay, nerd, I get it,” she laughed, shaking her head. “So you spent your entire life researching just to… continue researching?”
“Well, kind of,” you shrugged. “I want to do it on my own terms, though. And who knows…” you added with a soft, wistful smile, “maybe a kid like me will come along, who will be just as scared as I was, who has it as hard as I did. Maybe I could be the one to guide them..” you trailed off, in thought.
It was so hard to get people to take you seriously. Nobody wanted to be responsible for the literal child in undergrad, and absolutely nobody gave a shit about the 16 year old master’s student. Despite the joking and the gawking of your way older peers, nothing could deter you from the pursuit of knowledge. And you’d be damned if you made anyone struggle the way you did.
“Yeah,” Erin’s eyes softened. “You did struggle, didn’t you?” You nodded, carefully tracing the designs of your cap in your hands, stroking the tassel. “You still handled the program like a champ, Wonderkid.”
“Thanks.” You rolled your eyes, taking a sip from your cup. It wasn’t alcohol, but honestly with your years of college behind you, you kinda wished it was.
- - -
The difficulties didn’t stop after you got your MFA, but they did lessen. You had weight behind your name now, you were featured in newspapers, your published works were cited by thousands for your revolutionary insight, your novels were becoming more known. Honestly you were pretty worried that you would still have to prove yourself to the university board, but they were surprisingly very happy to give the young prodigy professor a chance. You sat face to face with the dean of literature, trying to covertly wipe your sweating hands as he read over your references. Please. You prayed. Please I need this. Please.
“Professor Lee had a lot of good things to say about you.” The dean smiled broadly. “He said you were one of his brightest and most enthusiastic students. But are you sure you want to teach a class of your peers? Seems like a bit of an odd choice for someone your age.”
“I have seen more oddities at 20 years old than most professionals have seen in their entire tenure.” You replied, with a decisive nod. “I’m sure that I have something valuable to give. Please have faith in me.”
“Alright, I’ll give you a chance. However. If you run into issues, do not hesitate to come to me.” He held out his hand. “Alright?”
Relief flooded your head at those words. I’m in. You puffed out a breathy laugh. “Yes sir.” You grinned, clutching his hand with both of yours. “I won’t let you down.”
- - -
Two years later, the struggling prodigy transformed before the eyes of all the faculty into one of the most respectable professors of comparative literature on campus, garnering praise not only from faculty but from your own students. The start of the semester was here, and you smiled proudly at your reflection in the mirror as you curled your last lock of hair.
“Yes, yes, you’re professional and hot, we get it.” Ria, one of your only friends that is your age, joked setting a cold Red Bull on your vanity.
“Whatever!” You laughed, releasing the fresh curl from the wand, watching it bounce and recoil. “It’s the first day of the semester, I’m allowed to dress up a bit.”
“Right.” She replied, plopping down on your bed behind you. “Let me see what you’re wearing.”
“Oh, its right here.” You stood up, pulling out a hanger from your closet, a meticulously planned outfit carefully arranged on it. “What do you think?”
Ria examined the outfit closely. “The turtleneck’s cute.” She squinted. “The skirt’s gonna age you, the whole midi pencil thing isn’t working. Cardigan’s not great either.”
“Hey!” You furrowed your brow. “I spent good money on these pieces!”
“And they’re nice,” Ria held up her hands in defense. “Just not together. Wear the short tweed skirt you bought last week. And pair it with the grey jacket, and the Mary Jane heels.”
You thought for a moment, trying to visualize the outfit before giving an approving hum. “I guess your fashion degree is good for something after all.” You hummed, pulling the items from your closet.
Ria responded by throwing a pillow at you with unexplainable force. “If it wasn’t for me you’d look like Professor Umbridge. Be thankful.”
“Why do I even let you into my home?” You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Thanks for the help.”
“I need more thanks than that.” She raised her brow.
Is she serious? You gave her a dead stare, before taking a deep obnoxious bow. “Madam,” you began dramatically. “Your benevolence has descended upon my predicament like a shimmering beacon through a fog of existential uncertainty. To merely say 'thank you' would be a linguistic poverty; you have effectively re-aligned the very stars of my fortune."
That sent her into peals of laughter, almost falling off the edge of the bed. Very mature. “That’s more like it!” She wiped her eye. “But seriously, you owe me a drink.”
“I’ll do you one better.” You reply, turning your back to change out of your hoodie and shorts into the outfit Ria picked for you. “Next time, the entire round is on me.”
“This is why I love you.” She hopped up to her feet, helping you zip the skirt. “You look beautiful.” She said, smoothing the skirt down.
“If I hadn’t known better, I’d think you were in love with me.” You tease, twirling in front of the mirror.
“I take it back, you look like a thumb.” She glared, sending you into dumb giggles. “Go fix your hair, it’s cooled enough.”
You sat down back in front of your vanity, carefully brushing out the curls and arranging them into a soft wavy bun, letting a few pieces frame your face delicately. “How do I look?”
“Professorial.” Ria replied, sipping her coffee as you walked out of your bedroom together. “Anyways, I gotta go. The landlord wanted to talk to me about a noise complaint.”
You furrowed your brow. “What happened?”
She smirked. “It’s a long story that you don’t want to know, but- anyways. Good luck today.”
The nasty comment flew over your head. “Thanks!” You grab your book bag, slinging it across your shoulder as Ria bolted out of the door, the familiar roar of her motorcycle revving outside your door.
You breathe in the already cooling September air, fingers thrumming your textbook, your own published work, joyfully as you walk to your wing, cutting through the grass. The walk from your apartment to the college campus was only 20 minutes and you enjoyed that walk every morning. You usually use this time to plan, to daydream, to already mentally buy rare books, trying to piece together puzzles forgotten by time and-
“Oof!” Someone clipped your shoulder. Hard. Enough to knock your bag off of your shoulder, punching the air from your lungs. You whipped around dropping your book, nearly tripping as you came face to face with one of the most stunning men you’ve ever seen, save for the dumb skunk streak in his short black hair. His eyes widened but barely, as he reached out to catch you.
“Oh shit my bad!” The man murmured, pulling an earbud out, grabbing your waist before you fell, leaving you frozen in shock and indignation. “You should really watch where you’re going.” He said, holding you as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. You look up at him blankly. He stared back as if expecting something.
“I need to watch where I’m going?” You asked, your words slow as if you were tasting them for the first time, trying to keep voice level. I’m not going to let this ruin my day. I won’t allow it.
“Yeah.” He tilted his head with a little smirk. “Haven’t seen you around before. New transfer?” He asked, kneeling down to pick up your textbook off the ground, hand still on your waist.
“No.” You deadpan, trying to keep your composure as emotionless as possible as you reach down to grab your book. “Get your hand off of me, please.”
He stood, lifting his hand in mock surrender with a small smirk. “Alright, alright.” His eyes flitted to your textbook. “Oh, you’re in Comp Lit too?” He said, recognizing the cover. “Heard the professor’s a complete hard ass.”
You raised your brow, not offering him another glance as you shoved the book into your bag, but your curiosity was piqued. “Hard ass?”
“Yeah, my friend had her last year.” He continued conversationally. Your jaw tightened as you walked away. He followed, stepping in stride with you. Dammit.
He turned his head to look at you. His eyes trailed your face taking in your delicate features that were set firm in annoyance. Making you mad was going to be his favorite thing if you were this cute every time, that is if he ever ran into you again. “So you know. Fair warning.” He grinned.
You hummed out a small “I see.” just wanting the conversation to be over. You sped up, trying to lose him and make it to your office as quickly as possible. But damn it, he was faster.
“Woah we just met, you can’t be ditching me already.” He laughed, catching up. “Let’s grab a coffee or something. I’ll show you around.”
His insistence was doing more to piss you off than to convince you. You gripped your bag tighter, keeping your hands busy enough to not start swinging. “I don’t need a tour.” You muttered, sidestepping him. “I’ll see you in class.”
“C’mon.” He cut in front of you. “Let’s grab a drink. Trust me you won’t regret it.”
“I’m good.” You snapped. “Really. Now please leave me alone.”
“Alright.” He laughed, stopping in his tracks, letting you put distance between you two. “You’re cute when you’re mad. I’ll see you later.” He called, clearly smug in his success to annoy you.
You stormed into your office, slamming the door shut. The disrespect. The gall. The nerve! Your jaw clenched, opening up your laptop, scanning your notes one more time before collecting your materials. Class starts in an hour. You have prep to take care of, no use in fuming now.
- - -
Your alarm chimed loud shaking you out of your focus. You look up at your clock with a small sigh. First day jitters never get easier, despite already having 5 first days under your belt. You gathered your things, slipping out of your office into the main hall, the sound of your heeled Mary Jane’s echoing in a satisfying click as you made your way to your classroom. You nodded politely and gave friendly smiles to former students on the way, heaving an excited sigh as you neared the lecture hall. Then you see familiar face. A familiar skunk streak. He was leaning against the cool stone wall chatting up a girl who was giggling at whatever game he was spitting at her. His eyes found yours as if he was looking for you.
His lip curled into a shit eating smirk, eyes following you with a little eyebrow quirk. What’s his problem? You fought the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your face neutral as you passed, walking into the lecture hall to set up your material. Humming whatever song was in your headphones earlier, you connected your computer as students filled the hall with quiet chatter. You looked up from your computer as the last few students trickled in. Dead last was that annoying young man from earlier, surrounded by his friends, his white streak noticeable from a mile away. Seriously? I’m stuck with him all semester? You rubbed the bridge of your nose as he neared. His stupidly handsome face was pulled into that dumb smirk that made your blood boil on sight. Instead of taking a seat, he strolled up to your desk.
“Hey pretty. Playing teachers pet already?” He whispered leaning in, acting like you were friends. “Where’s Professor Hard-Ass? Don’t tell me she’s late.”
“Sit down.” You whispered, looking back down at your roster.
“Want me to save you a spot?” He smirked, tilting his head, his eyes lowly dragging down your figure. “Promise I won’t distract you too much. Unless you want me too.”
“I said sit down.” You repeated through gritted teeth.
He chuckled to himself, proud of how easily he got under your skin. He turned away wordlessly, finding a spot in the second row dead center, eyes not leaving yours as he patted the seat next to him with a silent smirk. The familiar chime of the university bell tower rang low and menacing through the campus. With a decisive sigh you stood up. You turned your back to the class, writing your name on the chalkboard in large thick strokes, visible enough for the back of the room.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” You said, turning around. “I’ll be your Comparative Literature professor this semester.” A confused shudder of noise rippled through the class. The young man’s smirk fell, as realization began to set in. You paused, waiting for the whispers to die down. You held back a smirk of satisfaction. This feeling never gets old.
“I understand I may not be what you anticipated, so allow me to provide some context about myself. I entered university at the age of 13, completed my Master’s degree by 19, and started my tenure at 20.” You slowly paced the front.
“My formative years were largely spent in libraries and archives, where I learned to read by the age of 4. I am currently the youngest faculty member at 22 years old. You might have heard of me; I am often referred to as the Wunderkind, the Prodigy Professor, or, as some might say,” You stopped directly in front of the guy who was leering at you just a few moments ago, face blank but eyes wide with panic. “Professor Hard-Ass.”
- - -
“Alright thank you everyone, class dismissed. Don’t forget to turn in your worksheets.” You called as students filed out. You sighed, collecting your things. You heard footsteps approach as you wiped the chalkboard clean. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to.
“Okay I get it.” The young man said, sauntering over to your desk. “We started off on the wrong foot. But you can’t blame me? I wasn’t expecting someone as cute as you.”
You could practically hear the flirt in his voice. “Is that so?” You hum disinterestedly, collecting your items. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know, some frump.” He shrugged, leaning against your desk. “Let me make it up to you.”
“I’m curious to see how you plan to make it up to your hard ass frump of a professor.” You muttered, voice soft but biting.
“Well, we can grab that drink for starters.” He tilted his head at you, ignoring your tone. “And then maybe-“
You raised your hand, cutting him off. “The best way you can make it up to me is by leaving me alone, Mr…” You glanced down at the paper in his hand. Nishimura Riki. “Nishimura.”
“Call me Ni-ki.” He said, setting the paper down. “All my friends do.”
“We’re not friends.” You deadpan.
He chuckled, leaning closer. “But we can be.”
You stared back at him. “You’re dismissed, Mr. Nishimura.”
“C’mon don’t be like that-“
“Dismissed, I said.” You cut him off, quietly, like sending a naughty child to their room.
His smirk faltered for just a second.
“Fine.” He murmured, standing up. He strolled out of your lecture hall, with only one thought in his mind. This is gonna be fun.
You grabbed your bookbag and coffee cup that was actually full of Red Bull with a huff locking the door of the hall as you walked back to your office. This is gonna be hell.
- - -
The next few weeks were pure annoyance wrapped up in one pretty package that was Nishimura Riki. Him doing the bare minimum to pass was one thing. But he was just so irritating! He would not let you have one peaceful lecture, cutting you off with stupidly personal questions or disrupting the class with a low whistle anytime you bent down to grab a dropped piece of chalk. But what angered you the most was the way he stared.
Riki made a point of never looking at his notes or at the screen as the lecture went on. His eyes stayed glued to you, not in focus but in spite. Anytime you would look up towards the class his eyes found yours, a small smirk tugging at his lips, or a quirk in his brow. Not to mention, every lecture he would come in always late, always tailed by loud friends.
Just like now.
“Nishimura you’re late.” You reprimanded him as he slung his bag down onto the floor next to the same desk every time.
“Sorry, prof.” He shrugged. “I was stuck in traffic.”
“It’s professor.” You replied coldly. “Get out your textbook, we’re on page 46.”
“Yes ma’am.” He plopped into his seat with his book, not even bothering to open it. And he just…stared. It was so unnerving it made your skin itch.
You shot him a tired look and continued with the lecture. “-as I was saying, while Mr. Darcy’s reluctance to love is based in self class preservation, Elizabeth’s reluctance is rooted in intellectual vanity-” You paused at the sound of a clicking pen. Not just once or twice. Repeated clicking. You turned around to see…of course.
Riki sat sprawled in his seat lazily, clicking his pen absentmindedly while watching your every move.You clenched the chalk in your hand, nearly snapping it. “Nishimura.”
“Yeah, prof?” He asked innocently.
“Do you mind?” You sneered.
“Sorry.” He chuckled, setting his pen down.
You shook your head, trying to focus. “-because to love Darcy is to admit she was a "fool". That brings us to the next point, the Hate-to-Love Paradox.” You continued, scribbling on the board. “Now who can tell me how the hate to love paradox correlates to Elizabeth? Mr. Kim.”
Sunoo, a bright young senior lowered his hand as he spoke. “She was the most obsessed with him when she claimed to hate him?”
“Correct.” You smiled at him. “That is exactly the paradox, hating someone to the point of obsession is a form of reluctant love.”
“That sounds kinda familiar.” Riki cut in, grinning. “Doesn’t it prof?”
You gave him a hard glare, before continuing on. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. You thought to yourself. You had to say something. “Nishimura, see me after the lecture please.”
His friends sitting around him gave him a look. “Of course.” He said, straightening in his seat. “Anything for you.” He winked. Cocky bastard.
- - -
“Class dismissed.”
As the students shuffled out, murmuring amongst themselves about the homework, you watched Riki chat up a group of girls, ready to leave with them. “Nishimura.”
He looked up from his conversation, whispering a quick, “I’ll see you later.” To the group before they bid him a giggling goodbye and left.
The lecture hall fell silent, the only sound in the room was you scribbling notes.
“You wanted to see me?” Riki broke the silence, leaning against your desk.
“Get off my desk.” You said not looking up. “And yes I did. Are you aware that you’re at a 72 percent in my class?”
“Yeah.” He said. “I’m just trying to finish.”
“Well, to pass my course you need a minimum of 70.” You continued. “So knowing that, you’re doing the bare minimum.”
“Basically. So what’s the issue?” He shrugged. “I’m still passing.”
“The issue is, you’re incredibly disruptive.” You said, looking up. Wow, he’s tall. You had never choice but to stare up at him while he towered over you. “You come in late every day with comments that nothing to the discussion and you’re distracting your peers.”
“Oh?” He tilted his head. “Am I distracting them or…you?”
You stared at him blankly, letting the comment dissolve between you. “…My point is, either get your grade up or stop disrupting my lecture. You’re already close to failing, and we’re only 4 weeks in.”
“Maybe I could do something for extra credit then?” He quirked his brow at you. “After hours?”
Ew. You grimaced. “I should fail and report you for that comment alone. Get out.”
He chuckled, walking out of the hall. “Offer still stands, pretty.”
- - -
“No Ria, he’s the worst.” You complained as she took your measurements. You owed her a favor like 5 years ago and she’s cashing in on it, forcing you to be her living mannequin any time she needed you. Apparently, the available models weren’t her aesthetic she needed “something with a bit more tit”. At least you got free clothes out of it.
“So why haven’t you reported him yet?” She asked, pulling the tape measure tight around your chest. “Arms up.”
“Because.” You huffed, lifting your arms. “All the shit he does, he does subtly enough that it’s not reportable. I can’t report him for staring at me, or ‘mhming’ too loud!”
“So you hate him because he stares?” She raised a brow at you, pulling your arm straight, lining up a measure.
You scoff. “He doesn’t just stare, he undermines my authority! He’s constantly giving me dumb nicknames, no matter how many times I’ve reminded him to stop, he never pays attention to the curriculum, I don’t even know why he comes to class! He hasn’t gotten anything better than a C minus on any assignment anyway.”
“So he’s doing the bare minimum but he has perfect attendance and won’t stop annoying you?” Ria said slowly, writing my measurements down. You nod. “Girl. He’s flirting with you.”
An odd pang settled through your stomach. Not quite pain, just a weird fluttery feeling. You grimaced. “Ew, no. No, he’s not Ria! What the hell?”
“I’m not saying you like him too,” Ria shrugged. “I’m just saying. You’re not the most emotionally intelligent person, let’s be honest. So you probably mistook his flirting for disrespect.”
“It is disrespectful!” You exclaimed exasperatedly. “I’m still his professor!”
“Yeah but you’re his age.”
“No, I’m older than him!”
“By two years.”
“So? Doesn’t give him the right to be nuisance!” You muttered.
“So if he’s as annoying as you say he is, just be annoying back.” Ria snapped her measuring tape shut.
“I can’t do that.” You shook your head.
She smirked. “Oh believe me yes you can. You’re annoying as fuck.”
You punched her in the shoulder with a laugh. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yet you love me.” She batted her eyes at you.
“Unfortunately.” You muttered, pulling your shirt back on. Ria was right. If he had the right to be insufferable, so do you.
- - -
The next lecture, was phase one of your evil plan. You were not planning on letting him get away with it, any annoying thing he was planning, you were gonna double it.
“Alright please turn your books to page 141.” You said, pacing the front. “Today, we’re looking at the two "titans" of 19th-century Russian literature: Fyodor Dostoevsky and Lev Tolstoy.”
The lecture was interrupted by Riki, late again as per usual. You didn’t even pause. “Hey prof.” He greeted you, taking his usual spot in the second row.
“-Dostoevsky isn’t interested in what you’re wearing; he’s interested in why you want to kill your father. Meanwhile, Tolstoy’s genius lies in his ability to make the physical world feel more real than the page it's written on.” You continued, scribbling a Venn diagram on the board.
“Now, we’ve talked about their fundamental differences, let’s talk about their similarities.” You paused to look at Riki. “Mr. Nishimura. What is the common factor in the writings of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky?”
He raised a brow at you, taken aback. You never called on him before. “..they’re both Russian?” Is he serious?
You rewarded him with a wry smile. “Bravo, Mr. Nishimura.” You clapped slowly. “Thank you for giving us absolutely nothing.” He glared at you in response. You gave him a sweet smile before looking out into the auditorium, where the students held back smiles. “They were both contemporaries who shared a deep reverence for the "Russian soul” and a rejection for pure western rationalism. You’d know that if you did the reading.” His glare turned into a small smirk, but he miraculously kept his mouth shut.
As the class quietly filled out questionnaires about the difference of patriotism and nationalism, you paced the stairs of the lecture hall, quietly helping students as you went. Riki seemed to be focused for once, writing ferociously. As you neared him, you realized he wasn’t writing in the questionnaire, but in his notebook. You didn’t even know he owned a notebook. Curiosity got the best of you.
You approached quietly, peaking over his shoulder, holding onto the hope that he listened to your warning and started actually trying. Your face dropped. In his notebook was one singular notebook was one singular sentence.
You’re cute when you’re mad.
He looked up as if he felt your presence, grinning at you as you passed. You rolled your eyes at his antics. Your stomach felt that odd pang, but you forced it down, replacing it with anger. I’ll show you cute, fucker. You reached over him, tearing the page clean out of his notebook, crumpling it into a ball in your fist. “Reminder.” You called out. “This questionnaire is your exit ticket. If you don’t finish by the end of class you can either stay until you do, or receive a zero.” Riki’s grin died, immediately turning to Sunoo, whispering a plea for help. “Copying will result in an automatic zero for both you and the person you copied from.” You added.
Sunoo, and everyone else around Riki immediately covered their papers, shielding them from Riki and the possibility of a fail. You smirked quirking a brow at him. He shot you a glare before hunkering down onto his paper, trying to piece whatever feeble argument he could on his page.
- - -
It became an odd rivalry between you two. Every lecture, he’d do anything he could to get your attention, you would respond by doing everything in your power to undermine him. But Riki was smarter than he looked, carefully keeping the perfect minimum grade, nothing below a 71. You needed him out. You needed to fail him. As unethical as it sounded, it became your mission to find a reason to give him a bad grade. It just had to be justifiable, just subtle enough to be real.
“You each have been assigned a character from classic literature.Your assignment is to write a thesis on the similarities between you and the character assigned.” You said one afternoon. You passed out the printed rubrics, each carefully chosen by you. You carefully placed a page on Riki’s desk.
He took it, skimming the title. “Dorian Grey.” He read out loud, with a teasing smirk. “Wasn’t he considered gorgeous? Is that why you assigned him to me, prof?”
You gave him a dead stare. “No, it’s because Dorian Grey was a narcissist who eventually got what was coming to him.”
His smirk didn’t even falter, placing a hand on his chest. “You wound me professor.” He then whispered low enough for only you to hear. “Keep doing it, I like it.”
Your jaw tightened, that weird fluttery pang settling in your stomach as you walked away feeling his gaze on your back. Please, I need him to fuck up on just one assignment. That’s all I need to get rid of him.
That week you were grading the due papers in a caffeine induced haze when your prayers were answered quicker than you expected. You scanned Riki’s paper on Dorian Grey with a satisfied smirk. Bingo.
- - -
“Class dismissed, thank you everyone.” You closed your laptop as your students filed out of the auditorium, scanning their returned papers with intense focus, not even talking to one another.
You sighed, stretching in a tired bliss as you made your way through the literature wing, your heels the only sound in the slowly emptying halls. You entered your office, keeping the door slightly ajar. You waited at your desk, almost giddy with excitement.
5..4..3..2..
The door of your office swung open. You didn’t flinch. Riki stood in your doorway, livid. His thesis was in his hand, corners slightly rumpled from where he clenched it in his hands.
“Mr. Nishimura.” You greeted him calmly, flipping through ungraded work. “What can I do for you?”
He stormed up to you, slamming his paper down on your desk. “What is this?” He seethed. On it was a fat red 0, one that you enjoyed writing a little too much. You looked up at him.
“Hm? Oh, that’s a zero.” You replied matter of factly.
“Why?” He demanded. “I gave you good work for once and you give me a zero?”
“I gave you the grade you deserve.” You replied coldly, folding your hands on your desk. “You’re right, though. It was fantastic work.”
“Then why would you fail it?” He raised his voice. “The work is good, you said it yourself just now! I could report you for this.”
“Oscar Wilde’s Take on the Human Condition.” You recalled, taking the paper in your hands. “That’s the article you plagiarized from, isn’t it?” He froze, threats dying in his throat. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yeah. Copy and pasted the entire Dorian Grey analysis section and tried to hand it off as your own.”
“What are you talking about, I didn’t-“
“The work was good because it’s mine.” You cut him off, speaking slow as if you savored the taste of the words with a grin.
“You plagiarized my article, you fucking moron.”
His jaw clenched as he place both hands on your desk, getting too close for comfort. You refused to be phased. You continued, glancing down at your work. “If anything I should be the one reporting you. But I’ll let it slide this once, so take the F graciously and go. Now if you could please leave, I have a meeting with the dean.”
He stormed out of your office, slamming the door. You chuckled, still giddy with a smug satisfaction as you collected your things. Maybe, just maybe it will light a fire under his ass.
- - -
It did. Just not in the way you hoped. Lectures with him became unbearable after that. You thought the failing grade would humble him, but no. It only made him vindictive and extra irritating. For the next few weeks it seemed like he put in more effort humiliate, invalidate, and belittle you than he did in his own work.
“Penelope and Odysseus’ passion is resilient because it is intentional. They both choose a "difficult" love over a "convenient" one. Homer suggests that the passion that lasts is the one where both partners prefer their shared history over the polished perfection of someone new.” You lectured, your focus interrupted by whispers.
“Give me a break.” Riki whispered to the student next to him. “As if she knows anything about love, you can’t learn that shit from books.”
You shot him a glare, before continuing, scribbling on the board. “In Ancient Greek, Homer uses the word homophrosyne to describe the ideal marriage. It doesn't mean just "getting along"; it means "thinking with one heart."
“Bullshit.” Riki snickered, now to his friend Jungwon, who looked more annoyed at him than convinced. “She has no idea what she’s talking about.”
“Nishimura.” You turn around. “Is there something you want to say?”
“Yeah I just had a question.” He raised his hand, almost mockingly. “You graduated high school as a kid, which means you probably didn’t get out much, right?”
That took you back. “I don’t see what that has to do with-“
“Everything. You’re teaching us about the meaning of life as if you’re qualified. Tell us, Professor. Are you?” He leaned in, his tone challenging, the look in his eyes cruel. “Have you even experienced life outside of a library?”
That hit a nerve. Not just because it was rude, but because he was right in a sense. Most of the things people experience in their teen years, early relationships, high school, drama, you’ve only read about or seen on TV. And once you graduated, you couldn’t really replicate it. You did often think about what life would be like if you were a normal kid. But nonetheless..
“That’s highly inappropriate and has nothing to do with you or this lesson, Nishimura.” You mustered, half angry half embarrassed. “Anyways let’s get back to it.” You turned back to the desk. “So while Homer’s story is best known for the monsters and battles, the underlying theme is the prevailing love when two people are ready to make it work despite-“
“She’s talking out of her ass at this point.” Riki began whispering again. “Honestly, she’s probably a DEI hire, just so the university could say they have a prodigy-“
You tried to ignore it. You really did. But unfortunately, your fingers found the felt eraser. And all self control went out the window. You turned around, hurling the eraser at him. The eraser hit his chest with a sickening thud, leaving a white dusty mark on his black hoodie. The silence in the class was deafening, the tension between you and Riki almost crackling.
“Nishimura.” You said quietly through gritted teeth. “Your comments are neither constructive nor relevant to the lecture.”
He smirked. “You’re a novelty to the university. The dean’s pet. Admit it.”
“Get out of my class.”
- - -
“I can’t fucking stand him!” You scream into your pillow, hand slapping your bed with pent up aggression. “I’m gonna kill him!”
“Geez, calm down!” Ria said leaning back her palms on your bed. “I’ve never seen you so worked up over a student.”
“You don’t get it, he’s the worst!” You lift you head from your pillow. “He’s been like this for the past 2 weeks! He had the nerve to question whether or not I had enough life experience and said that I was DEI! Never in my 2 years of-“
“You’ve always had students question you.” Ria cut you off. “You’re letting him get to you, girl.”
“I’m not..” you started, not even convincing yourself. Ria raised a brow at you. “He’s just…he pisses me off okay?”
“That’s because you’re too focused on him.” She said, decisively standing up, phone in hand. “C’mon get up, we’re leaving.”
“Where?”
“To get a drink, you need something to get your mind off all that.” She said, opening your closet. “C’mon the guys are already waiting for us.” She grinned, ruffling through your clothing. “They’ve been asking about you.”
You smiled at the mention. Jay, Jake, Sunghoon and Ria’s boyfriend Heeseung, are your friends by proxy. You don’t get to see them much, but when you do it’s always a great time so this was a welcome distraction.
“Alright, let’s go.” You hop up, helping Ria flip your entire wardrobe. You peeled off the blue dress and black tights you wore to class at record speed, changing into the black square neck leotard and oversized jeans that Ria threw at you.
You stared at yourself in the mirror, loving what you saw. A completely raw, relaxed version of you that you didn’t have to edit to be taken seriously. “How do I look?”
“You look your age.” Ria said, standing behind you, pulling your claw clip out of your hair, letting your locks fall naturally. “Like you’re 22.”
“C’mon I dress my age at work too!” You scoffed.
“Yeah but that’s more like a 22 year old geek.” Ria smirked. “Right now, you’re hot.”
You looked up from tying your Docs. “You’re saying I look hot just right now?”
“Girl, shut up, let’s go.” She rolled her eyes, dragging you out of your house and into the Uber waiting for you in front.
- - -
Your favorite bar, Dollhouse, was a little more full than usual with the Friday crowd. You and Ria strolled in arm in arm, chattering about weekend plans, deciding whether or not you were overdue for a weekend trip.
“Over here!” A familiar voice called.
You looked up, face lighting up. “Jay!” You exclaimed, running to give your friend a hug. “It’s been so long!” You mumbled into his shoulder, feeling the expensive sounding laugh rumble through his chest.
“I know, too long!” He pulled away grinning, hugging Ria. “C’mon we got some spots saved for you.”
Jay led you through a maze of people where Heeseung was already waiting, along with Sunghoon, who was busy staring off into space. You settled into the seat next to Sunghoon with a big smile. He immediately slid you a drink. “First one’s on me.” You took it with a quick grateful side hug.
“Hey baby.” Heeseung greeted Ria warmly with a kiss on the temple. “I missed you.”
“You saw me yesterday.” She giggled, lightly shoving him with her shoulder.
“I know.” He grinned.
“Get a room!” Jay rolled his eyes. “You guys are disgusting.”
“Don’t be mad at us because you don’t get hoes.” Heeseung laughed, slinging an arm around Ria’s waist.
She leaned back. “Are you calling me a hoe?”
“What?” Heeseung’s smile dropped. “Babe, no I would never! You know that I wouldn’t! That’s not what I meant!” he rambled as we all burst into peals of laughter.
“Where’s Jake?” You asked, sipping at your drink.
“He’ll be here in a bit, said he’s running a bit late.” Jay replied, plopping himself into the seat next to you. “So, how’s the semester going?”
You rolled your eyes, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t want to talk about work right now.”
“Did something happen?” Jay furrowed his brow.
“One of her students has a crush on her.” Ria grinned.
“He does not!” You snap. “He has it out for me!”
“Has what out for you?” Heeseung raised his brows.
You mocked back at him. “You’re disgusting, Hee.” But there was no malice behind it. You and Heeseung squabbled like siblings every chance you got until Ria hits one of you. Usually Heeseung, but you get your share too. In the midst of your friends and with alcohol in your system you finally let yourself relax, talking, laughing, making fun of Sunghoon.
“Wait so tell me, what did the dean want to talk to you about?” Ria turned to you. “What did you do this time?”
“I made him proud.” You grinned. “There’s a huge literary conference at Cambridge in a few months, he wants me to go as a rep on the panel.”
“Hey congratulations!” Jay clapped you on the shoulder. “That’s good right?”
“It’s very good. And it’s a big deal for nerds.” You laugh, finishing off your drink and turning to the bartender. “Can I get another vodka cranberry please? Double.”
“Girl, you better go slow.” Ria warned. “Remember last time when I had to drag you out by the ankles? New Years Eve?”
You rolled you eyes. “That was once.”
“Hey guys!” Jake suddenly appeared out of thin air. “Sorry I’m late. Hey prof!”
You turned to him. “Don’t call me that anymore, I told you!” You laughed, giving him a hug. “It’s about damn time, I missed you. Do you wanna go grab us a pool table?”
“I’ll come with.” Sunghoon hopped up, grabbing Jake by the shoulder. “I’m tired of getting bullied.”
Ria snorted, taking a sip from her glass. It was straight vodka. “Please, you missed half of it.”
The door of the bar opened, letting in more people, already talking and laughing. Riki walked in with his classmate Jungwon, arguing about who owed who drinks over a bet. His gaze fell on you before you could notice him and was completely mesmerized.
Riki had never seen you like this before. Hair down and messy from you running your hands through it, jeans hanging loose enough to show your bare hips peaking under your leotard. You looked relaxed, laughing along with your friends, drink in hand face slightly blushed, eyes shining. For once, you looked your age, you looked real. You looked…really pretty.
“There’s no way.” Your playful argument was interrupted by an annoyingly deep velvety voice.“Didn’t think that stick up your ass was detachable, prof.” Riki smirked, leaning against the empty seat next to you.
Your smile fell immediately. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. I’m not gonna let this prick ruin my night. I’m not. Ria looked ready to shut him up with a sharp look but you stopped her with a hand on her arm.
You look up with a lazy glare. “Nishimura, you really just have a way of sucking out all of the air in the room, don’t you?”
“What are you doing here?” He asked in mock concern. “What if the dean finds out his novelty hire is out drinking?”
“Could ask you the same thing, you’re 20.” You said, finishing off your drink, signaling the bartender to get you another. “So unless you want me to report you, I suggest you walk away.”
Riki scoffed. “Wow, you’re actually letting me go, officer?”
“Just go away before I change my mind.” You said, turning back to Jay. “I’m clocked out.” Ria stared between you, as if the dots finally connected. She raised a brow at you, a slow knowing smile forming on her lips.
“You know,” Riki took the seat Sunghoon left next to you. “If you looked like this every lecture, I’d be your best student.” He whispered, leaning in.
“If it were up to me you wouldn’t even be in my class.” You let out a tipsy giggle. “You don’t do shit anyways.”
He grinned, amused by your lack of decorum. Seeing you like this was refreshing, hilarious and annoyingly attractive. “So no truce tonight?”
“Not even tonight.” You said, sipping your drink. “Not ever.”
He laughed, ordering a drink for himself, holding it out to you. “To the rest of the semester?”
“I hope you fail.” You reply, toasting his drink with your own with a smile. “Genuinely.”
In the distance, Jake and Sunghoon were arguing over who plays pool better as they approached your section. “Oh shit, Ni-Ki you’re here!” Jake exclaimed, returning to the bar.
“Oh hey.” He smiled at your friend.
“You’re in my seat.” Sunghoon pointed out. Riki stood, deciding to lean over you interest
“You guys know each other?” Ria pointed between them.
“Yeah we played soccer together for a couple years now.” Jake nodded. “We’re pretty close.”
Well isn’t this just perfect? You grumbled to yourself. We got mutual friends. What’s next? You glared at him. “I hate you.” You mouthed.
He smirked, leaning in close just out of earshot tor the group. “Feeling’s mutual, princess.”
A shiver of pure unfiltered disgust ran down your spine at the pet name. “Ew.” You jerked back, nearly spilling your drink. “Don’t ever call me that, you’re my student.”
He tilted his head. “Not right now I’m not. We’re not in your classroom and this isn’t your lecture.”
“I’m still older than you.”
“Two years is nothing.”
“I’m leaving this conversation.” You huffed, just in time for Ria to swoop in.
“Let’s dance, hm?” She said, in a tone that was more of an order than a request. She led you to the dance floor, swaying to the beat of whatever pop song was playing. “Everything makes sense now!” She said over the music.
“What do you mean?” You yelled back.
“You’re letting him get into your head and piss you off because he’s hot.” She grinned. “You like him.”
You gasped indignantly. “Don’t even joke like that! I’d rather die!”
“You’d rather die than admit it?” She laughed.
“No, that’s not what I meant!” You yelled over the music, feeling your face burn red.
The entire night, you avoided Riki the best you could, but the longer the night, the more persistently irritating he got. But it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t tear his eyes off you. It wasn’t his fault that you were so irritatingly hot when you weren’t being a hard ass and were just..a 22 year old woman. I could get used to you like this. He thought with a small smile.
On the dance floor, he his eyes followed you unknowingly, drawn in by your excited laughter, like a moth drawn to a flame. You were dancing with Jay, laughing at whatever dumb joke he made. His arms hung loosely around your waist, hands resting just above the small triangles of skin that sat between your Leo and your pants, ever the gentleman. That, in Riki’s tipsy mind, drew a question. He wondered, how would your skin feel under his hands? Probably warm, pliant, really soft. Hazy ideas of a stupid giggly version of you, this version of you under him plagued Riki’s mind. Shit. The thought alone, was enough for heat to spread through him.
You suddenly turned your head, catching sight of Riki. Your expression immediately soured, as you whispered something to Jay and joined Ria instead. Riki laughed, finding your deliberate avoidance adorable. He followed, deciding this random game of cat and mouse way more fun than whatever was happening on the dance floor. You were laughing with Ria and Jake when you suddenly flinched at contact of cool skin on your bare hip.
“Avoiding me now?” Riki chuckled in your ear, pinching your hip hard enough to draw out a yelp. “How’s that working out?”
You spun around, fixing him with an irritated glare. “Dude leave me alone!” You barked, shoving him out of the way as Ria led you to the pool table.
“Can’t help it!” He laughed, following again, poking your side playfully as you swatted his hand away. “Annoying you is my favorite thing now.”
You answered with another shove. “Stop!” You tried to sound intimidating but it came as a drunken whine, like a college girl who didn’t get her way.
“Stop me then.” He chuckled, crowding you.
You glared at him, cheeks flushed with anger, alcohol and something sweeter, something flustered. You hit him with your shoulder and walked away with Ria, getting ready to watch her rob the entire bar blind with her bets. Ria knew how to work a pool table better than anyone you knew, so anyone would have to be crazy or stupid to bet against her. And apparently Riki was one of those.
“You’re really gonna go up against her?” Jake asked incredulously. “You have a death wish?”
Riki scoffed, grabbing the cue. “I’m not scared of the damn professor.”
“It’s not her you should be scared of.” Jake motioned with his head. “She’s partnered with Ria.”
“And?” Riki raised a brow. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“You know what? I’ll let you find out on your own.” Jake patted Riki’s shoulder and stepped back before Ria dragged him into another empty bank account. Riki approached the table, forcing Sunghoon to pair with him.
“You playing?” He asked, grabbing a cue off the wall. “Want a challenge?”
You turned away, a hair away from screaming. “Oh for fuck’s sake, go away-“
Ria stopped you with a slight shake of her head and a look that said I got this. She gave him with a lazy once over. “You betting? 100 dollar minimum.”
“Sure.” He shrugged, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the pool table.
Ria picked it up with a raised brow. “Alright. Let’s play.”
2 hours later, you were drunker and prouder than you expected. See, when it came to pool, you were decent. And so was Sunghoon. Usually it would be a fair game, but add Riki and Ria to the mix and the game gets deadly.
“One more round?” Ria smirked, snatching up the winnings.
“What the fuck..” Riki mumbled. It wasn’t even the money loss that hurt him. Just the ego bruise. “Nah I’m good.”
Jake clapped him on the shoulder. “I told you, man.”
Riki sighed raising his hands in defeat, looking at you once again. You laughed at him as you held his gaze and his cash in your hand. “You’re enjoying seeing me fail, huh?” He smirked.
“More than you know.” You batted your eyes. “Which is why I’m gonna love flunking you.” You sped off with Ria to buy the next round at Riki’s expense.
Riki had other things to worry about than losing a few hundred bucks. That was pocket change to him. What concerned him was how you looked up at him through your eyes when you jeered. That triumphant look in your eyes the lazy devious smirk as you giggled, waving your winnings in his face on tiptoes. He stepped out. I’m drunk. I just need air. He rubbed his eyes. But he couldn’t get that image out of head. The way you giggled, eyes glassy, face flushed pink, just the perfect amount of messy that, in his drunk mind, made you completely irresistible.
To his absolute drunken joy you walked out with your group of friends, still laughing, still clutching his cash in your hand.
“Bye!” He called out grinning. “See you Monday!”
You looked up at him. “I hope not. Get sick or something.”
Before he could say anything, someone yelled your name across the parking lot.
“C’mon let’s go!” Ria yelled, carrying a very drunk Heeseung with her. Poor guy was just, kinda…slung over her shoulders, mumbling about his head hurting, his lost wallet and his undying love for Ria.
Jake, faring no better, was trying to help but was only getting in the way. Sunghoon and Jay were watching the struggle in amusement. You pushed past him, turning around giving him a smile and the finger as a parting gift before following Ria to the Uber.
“Ni-Ki!” Jungwon stepped out of the bar. “Where did you disappear to?”
“Oh I was just..” he trailed off, eyes still locked on the fleeting car. “I just had to talk to someone for a second.”
“Well, we’re short one for pool, c’mon.”
Jungwon dragged Riki back into the bar, but Riki’s mind was elsewhere face stuck in an absentminded little smile. The night went on, he drank, he danced, played pool, made out with some random girl from psych, yet he couldn’t focus on anything. You were all he could think about.
Even when he went home, he went home alone. He laid in his bed staring at his ceiling still fuzzy from the drinks. He kept thinking about how sexy you were, all sloppy smiles, tits bouncing with every giggle, hips swaying to the beat of whatever was playing. Acting like you didn’t know how addicting you looked. It didn’t make sense.
He hated you. He hated how confused you made him feel. He hated how much of a prim hardass you were in class, and he hated how cutely you let go in the bar. He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted to ruin your entire semester. But he also wanted to put you through a mattress.
“For fuck’s sake.” He sighed, rubbing his face. His hand trailed down, settling on the uncomfortable bulge in his sweats. A soft chuckle left his lips at the irony. All you did was laugh with some friends and he’s rock hard. He slipped his hand under the waist line, wrapping his fingers around the base of his painfully hard cock. Something about seeing that drunk, raw version of you, made him unable to see you any differently. And it left him completely and utterly obsessed. He wanted to see more of you. More of you.
- - -
You woke up the next morning with a raging hangover and Ria in your bed. You opened your eyes to see her fully awake, head propped up on her hand with a grin.
“You didn’t even sleep over.” You croaked out.
“I didn’t.” She agreed. “But I need answers.”
“About what.”
“What’s going on between you and Ni-Ki?”
“Who?”
“Nishimura.”
“Ugh.” You groaned in disgust turning away. “Fuck that guy.”
“You can lie to yourself all you want.” Ria shrugged. “Maybe he just needs a second chance.”
“You’re the one that told me to get back at him!” You glared at her, wincing at your headache. “Why are you changing your mind now?”
“Because.” She smirked. “You didn’t tell me he was hot.”
“What does him being hot have to do with anything?”
“So you agree he’s hot?” Ria sat up as if she just caught you.
“What?” You groan. “No! Well-I don’t know- I mean…I hate him but I’m not blind! He’s…conventionally attractive.”
Ria leaned back down, satisfied. “Knew it. I knew it!”
“Don’t you have a hungover boyfriend to nurse back to health?” You grumbled, weakly trying to push her off your bed.
“I also have a stupid best friend to nurse back to health. He’s grown, he can handle himself.” She stood from your bed and went to your kitchen.
You laid there, deep in thought. No, he’s just attractive. That’s it. He’s still awful. His looks don’t outweigh his personality. That was you trying to convince yourself.
Ria came back with a tray of tea, soup, and- “you’re not making me drink that.” You sat up, covering your mouth in defense.
“Pickle juice is the number one hangover cure, c’mon.” She pushed the glass into my hand.
“I’m not drinking that.” You pushed it back at her.
She shrugged, “Alright. I’m sure one of your first editions in your collection will enjoy it.” She took the glass and making her way to your bookshelf.
“Don’t you dare!” You shrieked, jumping out of bed and bounding after her, snatching the glass out of her hand. You glared at her, chugging down the juice in one go. “You’re a monster.” You coughed.
She smirked in response, brushing her long auburn locks out of the way. “And yet you love me.”
“Whatever.” You roll your eyes. “I have to work on my conference paper, so I’m gonna go.”
“To the university?” Ria asked. You nodded. “C’mon.” She hopped up, grabbing her keys. “I’ll take you.”
“You don’t have to-“
“I’m not letting you go otherwise.” She cut me off.
You folded your arms. “You just wanna show off your bike.”
She grinned. “Exactly, now let’s go.”
You sighed, clutching your still aching head. “At least let me get dressed first.”
Ria dropped you off right at the front door of the university literature hall. You hopped off her bike, handing her the helmet as you stared in awe at the looming ancient library before you. You could never get enough of it.
“You know..” you murmured to Ria. “Cutting through the grass like that is so illegal.”
“Girl just shut up and go to your precious archives.” She rolled her eyes, giving you a friendly shove before roaring off.
You entered the library, keycard in hand as you passed coded doors and signed into restricted departments. With almost worshipful care, you began pulling rare priceless books off of the archives’ shelves.
Oblomov, Epinician Odes, My Childhood.
Arming yourself with a few Greek and Russian dictionaries, you made your way to your office. Mind reeling with ideas and questions, you carefully opened the books and poured your heart and soul into your conference paper, the 3 Red Bulls hidden in your bag as your only support system.
The days came and went, as you researched, studying, writing, rewriting until your hands shook with exhaustion and your head swam. You spent your whole weekend pent up in the literature wing, only stopping to get a few hours of feeble sleep on your office couch that you kept for times like this.
“That’s enough for now.” You muttered to yourself, catching yourself nodding off again.
You checked your phone. It was 9 pm on a Sunday, you still have a lecture tomorrow. Clumsily gathering your things, you trudged towards the exit, pepper spray in hand. Just in case. The 20 minute walk home that you usually enjoy felt like a 2 hour trek through the mountains. Your spent mind couldn’t concentrate on anything but walking, counting your steps. When you finally got home, your eyes shut before your head hit the pillow. As much as I love my job, you thought to yourself as you drifted to sleep. This conference will kill me at this rate.
- - -
The next day, lecturing felt impossible, but you knew you had no choice but to power through. Armed with a Redbull, you strode into the lecture hall teeming with fake confidence. Head pounding, you sat down, nodding politely at a few students walking in. You stared down at your laptop, trying to come up with a way to lecture as little as possible. You stood up, scribbling questions on your blackboard.
A shadow covered the board. “You look awful.” Riki smirked. “Still hungover?”
“Sit down, Nishimura.” You closed your eyes, not bothering to turn to him. “Not today.”
“You know.” He whispered, leaning in close, letting his breath ghost over your ear. “If I knew you could be as sexy as the way you were on Friday, I would have been way nicer to you.”
Your stupid stomach immediately fluttered with heat. The embarrassment and anger from his words tore through you. Finally, you turned your head to glare at him, faltering when you realized how close he was. “Sit down.” You repeated.
He quirked his eyebrow at you. It wasn’t friendly, it wasn’t flirty, it was malicious.
The bell tower rang and you turned to the class.
“Good afternoon everyone. Please pull out a sheet of paper and a pen, we are having a pop quiz on last week’s reading.” You said, trying to sound awake and aware.
The students complied, some with rolled eyes, some with nervous swallows. Riki just continued staring with that unnerving smirk. You tore away from his gaze with an uncomfortable shiver. He chuckled, leaning to whisper something to Sunoo. You shot him a warning glare, and he finally complied, pulling a paper from his bag.
You turned your attention back to the class. “There are 5 questions. Each question has 2 short answer parts, and the final question is a long answer. You need at least 2 paragraphs. You may begin.”
You sat back down at your desk, fingers itching to continue typing your research paper. In the silence of the classroom, your headache finally began to dull. For just a moment. Someone’s whispering.
Your eyes shot up, scanning the auditorium for the culprit, and why are you even surprised. Riki is whispering to Sunoo again, his eyes flicking over to you every so often with that little smirk. Of course.
“Everyone, let’s remember that testing is in session, so let’s be quiet to not disturb our classmates.” You called out loud enough for everyone to hear. But your eyes were glued to Riki. He slowly turned his head to you, and leaned back in his chair, writing on his paper lazily. A white hot anger seared through you, but you forced it down, clenching your jaw.
You looked down at your computer, opening file after file of saved work and research, old papers and articles of yours, seeing if you can reuse any information. Then it hit you. Literally.
A crumpled paper ball hit your shoulder, falling onto your desk. Your eyes shot up to the already obvious culprit. Riki made a show of looking everywhere but at you, whistling along. This bastard thinks he’s funny. You sighed, clenching your jaw to keep yourself from snapping.
“Nishimura let’s remember that we are adults and we don’t throw things like kids.” You said through gritted teeth.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t me.”
Just let it go. You closed you eyes, not wanting more confrontation. Just let it go.
The whispering started again, and the giggling. Now Riki was chatting up the girl in front of him as Sunoo frantically shushed him. I’m not letting it go.
“Nishimura.” You snapped standing up. “Get out.”
His eyes shot to you, playfulness in them gone, confusion and indignation only remaining. “Professor I’m not done yet.”
“Yes you are, go.” You replied, stepping away and pointing to the door.
He protested. “But I’m not finished-“
“I don’t care!” You snapped, a little louder than you wanted. “You’re distracting other students. I don’t need that in my class. Get out.”
“But-“
“Get out!” You all but shouted, pointing to the door.
He clenched his jaw, now looking as indignant as you felt, as if you’re the one who wronged him. “Fine.” He muttered grabbing his bag. “If that makes you feel all big and powerful.”
He walked out of the classroom head held high, going out of his way to shoulder check you. You stumbled, steadying yourself as you watched him exit your auditorium, slamming the door harshly. You forced a small smirk. You won. But it didn’t really feel as satisfying as you thought. The white hot searing anger didn’t subside. You shook off the feeling, turning back to your desk, taking a shakey seat, you heart hammering from the burst of emotion. Was I too harsh? You thought to yourself before setting your jaw. No. Not harsh enough.
- - -
The next lecture was one you looked forward to. Because you really didn’t have to do much, but you had a trick up your sleeve. A gift for Riki.
“Alright everyone, as we reach the midpoint of our semester, I’m happy to announce your final project.” You smiled, handing out rubrics to the class, ignoring the glaring eyes that followed your every move from the center seat of the second row.
“You will be tasked with a 9 page research paper on a writer of your choice. Poet, Rapper, comedian, I don’t care. But you are to read between the lines and find a common message with a classical writer that we have discussed in class. You are to analyze both and prove that their message is as valid today as it was in the times of both writers.” You returned to the front of the room, pacing slowly. “It is worth 30 percent of your grade, guys. So this is a big deal. Because of how lengthy this assignment is, you will be working in pairs. However, we are at an odd number, so..” You stopped directly in front of the bane of your existence. “Nishimura has volunteered to work alone.”
“What?”His eyes snapped wide open. “When did I do that?” He sputtered.
“Just now, thank you for stepping up.” You grinned before turning your attention back to the class. “Now, you may pair up and use the rest of class time to begin your analysis.”
You sat at your desk, focusing on finalizing your lesson plan for the next lecture as the class buzzed quietly with discussions. You felt a presence above you, as an unmarked rubric fluttered down on to your desk. You looked up.
“Mr. Nishimura. Can I help you?” You smiled politely.
“Yeah.” He scowled. His voice came out as a deep, hateful growl, quiet enough to not disturb the class, quiet enough to be menacing. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You’re setting me up to fail?”
“I’m simply protecting other students.” You looked back down at your computer.
“How?” He scoffed.
“Well, if I learned anything about you this semester, you’d most likely partner up with Mr. Yang or Mr. Kim and let them carry you through this project without actually doing any work am I correct?” You raised your brow.
“No, you’re not correct. You’re thinking the worst of me.” He placed his hands on your desk, leaning just enough to tower over you, a silent attempt at intimidation. And it almost worked. Almost. You stared back in a tense silent showdown.
You leaned in. “Then prove me wrong.” You whispered before snapping back. “Go back to your seat.”
He gave you a look somewhere between exasperation and despair, and snatched the paper back on his way back to his desk. You smirked. I finally broke you, you bastard.
3 days later - - -
Silence. Silence was a luxury you could rarely afford nowadays. There wasn’t a better feeling than an empty office hour. You breathed a tired sigh of contentment, cracking open a fresh Redbull as you carefully opened a first generation copy of My Childhood. You poured into every detail before soft knock interrupted your concentration. Damn.
“Come in.” You called out, not tearing your eyes from the book.
Your door creaked open to reveal Riki. He looked different somehow. Smaller. Even though he still towered over you, he looked exhausted, almost helpless, clutching a notebook in his hands. It was pathetic. It was glorious. You raised your brow.
“Nishimura. What can I do for you?” you asked coldly.
He took a hesitant step forward, as if one wrong move could send him sprinting out of your office. “Listen.” He said quietly. “I’m not here to fight. I just…I don’t know I’m doing the best I can with the research but it’s just not-.” His eyes shamefully darted around my desk. “Long story short, I need help.” His pathetic state had you feel the tiniest twinge of pity. Maybe it was because he was cute when he’s stressed. But will you ever admit it to yourself? Of course not.
“Have you tried the study center?” You asked folding your arms. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Professor..” he muttered again. “I tried the Study Center, they didn’t give me anything useful. I really need to do well this time and I’m willing to put in the work. You’re the only one who knows enough to help me.”
The admission made your stomach flip with a satisfied excitement. Finally he’s taking it seriously. But oddly enough, the subtle praise also made your chest warm. “So?” You asked, masking your joy.
“So..” He shuffled uncomfortably in front of your desk. “Could you please help me with my paper? I swear I’ll stop messing around in class.”
You heaved a sigh of fake reluctance reaching out your hand. “Let me see.”
He hurriedly opened his notebook, flipping through pages of drawings and notes before handing you the book.
You flipped through the pages filled margin to margin with messy writing, theories and analysis. “You’re writing your paper on Michael Jackson?”
“Yeah.” He replied. “You said we could choose anyone.”
“I did.” You said, eyes still scanning.
“Go ahead.” He muttered sheepishly. “You can tell me it’s horrible.”
“It’s actually not bad.” You looked up. “But it’s half baked.”
“Wait really?” His eyes flickered with a bit of hope. “It’s not?”
“No.” You looked back down at his notes. “This is a great start but it’s gonna need a lot more work.”
“I know.” He stared into the hardwood floor. “So what do I do?”
You paused, still reading through the scribbled lyrics and their analysis. “You found a theme and wrote a pretty good analysis, but there isn’t enough substance behind it. You need something more convincing.” You look up again. “You still haven’t found a classical author to compare him to?”
“No.” He answered quietly. “Couldn’t think of any.”
You looked at the bookshelf behind him deep in thought. “Turn around.” Confused, he complied. “Grab the red book, left on third shelf, and the black book, top shelf 4 books down.”
He brought the books and set them gingerly on the desk next to you. You motioned to the chair in front of him. “Have a seat and get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while.”
Together you dissected the works of Victor Hugo and William Blake, finding common ideas of social justice and stolen innocence with the king of pop.
You peeked up at your own research, watching Riki’s face slightly scrunch with concentration as he silently mouthed the words he was reading. You stifled a smile. He finally looked like a student that cared. He was pretty cute when he’s focused.
Catching yourself on the thought you forced your face to stay neutral and focused on Orlov, feeling around your desk for your your can of Red Bull. You heard it slide and felt it press into your hand. You looked up confused. Riki pushed the can into your searching hand, not breaking his eyes from the book even for a second. You blinked, a slight warmth spreading down your neck. It was such a simple gesture, just a simple act of kindness. So why did it fluster you? With a stuttering grip, you cracked it open and took a sip, setting it back down, hearing it slide away from you. You looked up again, bewildered and ready to be annoyed.
“That book looks expensive.” Riki murmured, pushing the bottle further away, “figured you wouldn’t want to risk a spill.”
“That’s…” You cleared your throat, still frazzled. “Considerate.” You did not like your reaction to that.
You worked together in a quiet tandem, silence broken up every so often with quiet discussion and direction. Your private office hours lasted well into the night.
“You should try to find-“ you looked up to see Riki leaned over your desk, face buried into his arms fast asleep. Annoyed, you were about to wake him up when you noticed the time. Damn. 3AM.
You looked down at the sleeping young man and decided to let him be, focusing on your studies when you heard a quiet rumbling sound. Your eyes shot up, looking for the source of the noise. It was Riki. He purrs in his sleep. You stifled a scoff that sounded more like a giggle, but that’s something you’d never admit.
- - -
Riki woke up with a start, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings, neck twanging with pain from his uncomfortable position.
“You’re finally awake.” His eyes shifted to the sound of your voice. He turned his neck to look at you.
You sat with another book in the same position he remembered you in, looking as composed as ever. The only indication of your impromptu all-nighter were the dark circles under your eyes and your hair, slightly mussed from running your fingers through it. “You were snoring.” You lied, not looking up.
“‘M sorry Professor.” He mumbled, leaning up onto his elbows. Your eye twitched at the low rumble of morning voice. “What time is it?”
“It’s 6 am.” You replied, turning a page.
He finally sat up, scanning your office again. At the corner of your desk, closest to him sat a muffin and a cup of coffee, steam curling off invitingly. He looked up with a small confused smile.
“Is that for me?” He asked quietly, almost shy from the consideration. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Shut up and eat.” You muttered, ears dusting pink. “And then get out.”
You didn’t have to tell him twice. He took a bite of the muffin, eyes shut in bliss. The flavor was odd, citrusy with chocolate chips but it worked so well. “This is really good.” He said quietly, taking a sip of coffee. He peaked at your book in curiosity, trying to read along. Hieroglyphics. How could he even decipher all that? “Is that Cyrillic?” He asked.
“Yes.” Your reply was void of emotion, curt and quiet.
His eyebrows raised. “You speak Russian?”
You nodded. “Learned young.”
He looked at you, studying your posture. You kept your face composed, back perfectly straight, the perfect picture of academic success. You blinked slow, eyes red.
“Did…did you get any sleep at all?” He asked quietly, a slight hint of concern in his voice.
You shook your head. “I had things to do.”
He scanned your face again, and that’s when he saw it. Your blinks were slow and frequent, breathing was barely audible and your hands shook with each note you took. You were completely exhausted, and bad at hiding it. Riki felt an odd mix of guilt and protectiveness. “Professor, you alright?”
“Y…Yeah.” You breathed out, slowly losing function. “You should probably go.” You dropped your pen. With annoyed huff, you reached under your desks to grab it. You flinched, hitting your head on the edge as you got up. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel like the heavy wooden edge that has given you a head splitting headache many times. You looked up, confused as to why you weren’t in pain. You stared in shock. Riki was holding the desk, protecting you from its edge with his hand, watching you intently as if worried you’ll fall apart. Your cheeks flared red. You scrambled back, regaining your cold composure.
“You’ll be late for class.” You mumbled, gathering your things. “You should go.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Riki pressed.
“Yes, please leave before faculty starts asking me unnecessary questions.” You said, turning away to pretend to reorganize your desk space.
Riki stood, gathering his things hesitantly. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m gonna be honest.” You said, not turning around. “I appreciate your concern, but you being nice is kinda freaking me out.”
You heard him chuckle, that familiar teasing chuckle, one that was so annoying before, was now oddly calming compared to his weird concern. “Alright.” You heard the door open.
“Nishimura.” You called turning around. He stopped in his tracks. “Tuesdays and Thursdays, my office 5 pm. You’re going to finish that paper one way or another.”
He smiled a knowing smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
You offered him a tight lipped smile as the door shut. As soon as it did you flopped onto your chair heavily, pressing your hands to your burning face. Genuinely what is wrong with me? Your reaction to Riki’s actions genuinely troubled you. It was a simple act of kindness, nothing else. I must be overtired.
- - -
And so for the next few weeks a tense awkward truce formed between you two. Well, at least on your part. Riki seemed like nothing was wrong between you too, only making things worse. During lectures he still teased, albeit much tamer. And your tutoring sessions always started with snacks and his easygoing smiles that unnerved you to your core. But at least the paper was coming along nicely.
A familiar knock sounded against your door. “Come in.” You called.
The door creaked open. “Wow, Prof you really need to get these hinges greased.” Riki huffed, coming in with a box and a drink carrier, bag hanging haphazardly from his shoulder.
“You’re late.” You deadpanned.
“By three minutes.” He deadpanned back.
“Time is money.” You continued.
“Yet you’re tutoring me out of the goodness of your heart.” He grinned.
You sighed. “Nishimura, we tolerate each other now, but we aren’t friends. I’m still your professor.”
“I know.” He shrugged, placing the box and drink carrier on the desk before taking a seat. He pulled out his computer and promptly got to work. “You never let me forget it.”
You peered at the box. “What’s all this?”
“Donuts.” He replied matter of factly, pulling 2 cups out of the carrier and setting them down. “And coffee.”
You pursed your lips. “You know I don’t tolerate-“
“-don’t tolerate bribery.” He finished for you. “Yeah I know. It’s not bribery.”
“Then what is it?”
“Coffee.” He replied, sliding a steaming cup toward you. “I just wanted some coffee and donuts, there is no bribery here. This is for me.”
You eyed the cup suspiciously. “Then why did you get two?”
“Well I’m not an asshole.” He said, opening up the book you lent him. “I’m not gonna come in here with food and not have enough to share.”
“I see.” You nodded, taking a tentative sip. The coffee tasted warm, familiar, from the campus cafe. Reminded you of your student days. “Since when have you been nice?”
He smirked. “Always have been.”
You held back a smile, covering it up with an eye roll. “Just get to work.”
You again worked together in a comfortable silence, reaching for a donut every once in a while. He turned his laptop to you, and you scanned the paragraph.
“Rewrite it.” You said finally, looking back at your computer.
“What?” His brow furrowed. “Why?”
“It sounds awkward.” You replied.
He looked annoyed and open his mouth to say something but you cut him off. “I’m not punishing you. Rewriting is the best skill you can have for papers, helps you retain information and write clearer. Also added bonus, you’ll write twice as fast.”
He heaved a small sigh but complied. You peeked up at him, studying his focused face. He typed away at his laptop, eyes locked in, plump lips pursed ever so slightly. Huh. It caused you to wonder. If he had been like this since the beginning of the semester, would lectures be harder or easier for you?
He looked up, suddenly. You immediately pretended to be immersed in your notes.
He leaned on his elbow. “Professor.” He asked quietly, as if scared to ruin the silence. “What are you working on?”
“A discussion paper for the Oxford literature conference.” You said flatly.
“About?” He pressed.
“The Burdens of Puer Senex.” You replied. “How the idea of forced adultification through means of expectation affected children through the eyes of many classic and modern writers.”
He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Hits close to home?”
You looked up at him to shoot him a glare, of seeing a shit eating smirk like you expected, he gazed at you with curiosity and something that looked like sympathy. Your stomach flipped.
“Y-yeah.” You coughed. His behavior recently has been really creeping you out. “Something like that.”
He nodded, focusing back, only looking up at you to offer you the last donut. You declined with a shake of your head. He left it for you anyway, saying you need sustenance more than he did. You allowed yourself a sarcastic chuckle before pointing out holes in his argument. The air in the office became comfortable, feeling more like two classmates rather than a teacher and her student, as Niki filled the space with genuine questions spaced out in between dumb sarcastic jokes and showing you dance videos from his studio on his phone. You had to admit, the guy can move. Once 7 pm hit, he began packing his things.
“Alright prof, I’m gonna head out.” He said, approaching your door.
“Come on time Thursday.” You said, not looking up.
“Please make sure to get home on time.” He said, voice lace with worry. “You scared me last time.”
“Don’t concern yourself with my well being.” You said, not allowing yourself to look up. Your face burned. “Focus on your work.”
He stood in your doorway as if waiting for you to say something before giving up and leaving. As soon as the door shut, you buried your face in your hands, closing your eyes to relief the burn from the computer screen. Why was he acting like a saint all of a sudden? And why was your stomach flipping and why were you sweating and why are you tingling? I’m just a little too tired. You convinced yourself. I just need a nap.
- - -
Riki left your office deep in thought. He couldn’t get the image of you nearly passing out from exhaustion a few weeks ago out of his head. And your refusal to acknowledge it only confused him further. He suddenly got a text from Jake.
Doll house tonight?
Riki typed an agreement, heading to his car. Yet as he drove to the bar he still thought of you, more with curiosity than anything else. Why were you the way that you were? You seemed like an academic frump, yes, you acted like it for sure, and yet you dressed well, you looked pretty, you smelled good, and in the rare moments when you let the facade slip he really liked what he saw. So why did you feel the need to be so pretentious?
Jake was already saving Riki a spot at the bar as he walk in, a vodka soda already waiting for him.
“What’s up?” Riki asked, sliding into the seat next to Jake.
He shrugged. “Nothing, just haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yeah, well the Comp Lit professor has me busting my ass on this assignment, I’ve been kinda busy.” Riki chuckled taking a sip. “How did you become friends with her in the first place?”
Jake smiled fondly. “I met her through Ria, Heeseung’s girl, they’re best friends. She’s really cool when you get to know her, always happy to help. Damn good cook too.”
“Then why’d you say she was a hard ass?” Riki asked, remembering the day he asked Jake about the prodigy professor.
Jake furrowed his brows. “I never said that.”
Riki stared at him over his drink. “Yes you did.” He deadpanned. “I asked you about the class and you told me ‘the professor’s a fucking hard ass.’”
Jake shook his head. “You must have been hearing things.” He replied. “I never said she was a fucking hard ass, I said she was hot as fuck.”
Riki let out a quiet “oh” as realization set in. “Fuck..” he buried his face in his hands. “This is your fault. You and your damn accent.”
“What do you mean, I-oh.” Jake slowly smirked. “Let me guess, you treated her like a hard ass and now she’s a hard ass to you?”
Riki nodded. “Exactly that.”
“You’re fucked.” Jake laughed. “She’s cool but she can hold a damn grudge.”
“Shit.” Riki groaned. “I’m fucked.”
“Dude just be nice to her.” Jake said, taking a sip. “She’s quick to forgive.”
“I guess.” Riki sighed. “But she’s been tutoring me for the past two weeks, and she’s a tough one to crack.”
Jake cocked a brow. “She’s tutoring you?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, she definitely doesn’t hate you.” Jake grinned. “She never tutors, she doesn’t have time for it.”
Riki raised his head. “Really?”
Jake nodded. “Unless she really wants you out of her class.”
Riki chuckled, punching his friend in the arm. The evening came to an end, and Riki bid Jake a goodbye before heading to his car. The ground was slick with fresh November rain, the smell of petrichor cutting through the boozy air of the bar. Riki had been careful to not drink enough to still be able to drive home. As he drove, rain droplets hit his windshield, slow and heavy. The rain was calming, yet his mind was busy reeling with thoughts of you. The way you looked today in your little green dress that could have been modest by anybody else’s standards, but by his made your legs look a little too good in those sheer black tights. He thought of the way your office smelled, coffee, old books and your perfume. Were you really tutoring him to get rid of him quicker? Or out of the goodness of your heart? Or…something else?
As he quietly made it down the emptying streets, his car began jerking oddly. Eyes widening, he quickly, pulled over onto a residential street right before his car died on him. Shit. With an annoyed sigh, he stepped out of his car, pacing in front of it. He looked under the hood, trying to find the issue. One of the battery cells was absolutely fried. He dialed Jake. No response. He tried Jungwon, Sunoo. Nothing.
“Dammit.” He muttered, rubbing his nose bridge. With a resigned sigh he dialed a towing company. They could only get to him in 2 hours.
“What do you expect me to do at that time?” He barked.
“Sorry sir, that’s the best we can do right now.”
He huffed before muttering an alright and hanging up. As if a cruel joke, the rain pounded down heavier. Because of course it would. He sighed, turning to open his car door.
“What the hell, Nishimura?”
His head whipped around, eyes wide. You stood behind him, clutching an umbrella in one hand, a stack of mail in the other. You dressed casually in a soft looking boatneck sweater and sweatpants. Your hair was down from its bun, a few strands sticking to your neck from the rain. This view was better than any little green dress. You looked unexplainably adorable. And pissed. That somehow made you even cuter.
Riki shook out of his stupor and opened his mouth to speak. “Professor-“
“You’re following me home now?” You snapped, clutching the umbrella tighter. “You better have a damn good explanation coming out of your mouth before I call the police and report you to the university.”
“Wait, I do!” Riki finally was able to get his words out, holding his hands out like he was approaching a bristling animal. “My car battery’s damaged, I’m stuck here.”
Your anger dimmed just slightly. “Then call a tow truck.”
“I did.” He huffed. “But it’s gonna take them two hours to get here.”
You bit your cheek, trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He didn’t look like he was joking he looked honestly distraught and more pathetic by the second as the rain slowly soaked him through.
“Just go inside, I’ll wait in my car. Don’t worry I won’t bother you.” He said, opening his car door.
“No that’s ridiculous.” You shook your head. “You’re going to catch a cold and miss more classes.”
He gave a bitter chuckle. “I don’t really have any other choice.”
You thought for a moment. Not of what to do. More of, am I really going to do this? You decided against your better judgement. “Come with me, you’ll wait in my house.”
His eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“I’m not taking responsibility for you getting sick in front if my house and falling behind. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
“Okay, okay.” He quickly locked up his car, grabbing his bag before walking to your side and taking your umbrella out of your hands, brushing your knuckles ever so slightly. He held it up high enough to house both of you.
“I could have held it myself.” You muttered, cheeks burning.
He gave you a look that said ‘over my dead body.’ “I got it. Plus, you’re holding all that mail.”
He followed you up the street past a few closely sandwiched houses before coming to a quaint cream colored townhouse. Honestly, he was giddy was anticipation. Would your house be creepily clinical and sterile? Or would it be like your office, an explosion of literature covered in bookshelves and tables with more books and documents stacked on them?
You led him up the steps, unlocking the door before turning around. “Shoes off. And don’t touch anything. You leave as soon as the tow truck comes.”
Riki nodded. “Got it.”
You turned around to give him one more warning glare before opening the door. The two of you stepped in. Riki looked around. Your house was both exactly what he expected and didn’t expect at all. A small neat living room greeted him, giant bookshelf of course, but besides that, a tastefully decorated vintage living space, complete with cream colored leather couches, artisanal rugs, potted plants and vased bouquets that sat on every table.
“Have a seat, I’ll be right back.” You said, disappearing into one of the rooms.
Instead of sitting, he browsed your walls. Framed diplomas, degrees, photos of a movie much younger you in awful clothing shaking hands with notable people. Newspaper clippings too. He scanned the writing. You were nominated for a Nobel prize?! It was all really impressive. But he did notice. Every smile in every photo looked a little forced. It reminded him of what you said about your paper. Puer Senex. As he walked down the line of forced smiles and frumpy clothes he came to a photo of you that was completely different. You were around 18 years old, smiling genuinely, wearing an outfit that was the weirdest, most confusing yet beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You were laughing, posing next to Ria in a pair of assless chaps and a tight corset. Must have been one of Ria’s fashion shows. With a smile he scanned the photos, watching as the awkward frumpy teen slowly transformed into a well dressed beautiful, confident young woman, with the same forced smile. He stopped at the final frame on the wall. It was an article.
The Literary Prodigy That Silenced a Debate Panel Within 5 Minutes: An Introduction to The Newest and Youngest Addition to the DNU University Faculty.
Directly under the title was your picture at the debate where you argued your thesis at 20 years old. You sat in a smart deep green suit with a loose bun, young, hawk-eyed, ready to kill. A perfect image of intimidation. To Riki unfortunately, it was also the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.
“Here.” You said, appearing behind him with a soft towel. “Dry off. I’ll make some tea.”
The duality was insane to Riki. There he was, looking at a picture of you, this imposing icon of academics and now seeing a real, soft, domestic looking you. He muttered a quiet thanks, taking the towel and drying his hair and neck. The hem of his hoodie peeked up ever so slightly, showing a bit of skin, enough to let you know just how toned he was under there. You assumed. Maybe. Because you definitely weren’t looking. Not at all. With burning ears, you scuttered away into the kitchen, getting yourself busy with making tea.
“Excuse the mess.” You called over your shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
Riki looked around. Your house was pristine. The only thing out of place was a singular book and a knit blanket slung on the arm on the couch. He gave an astonished chuckle, grabbing the book. It looked boring by his standards, but obviously you liked it because it was thumbed through and dog eared multiple times.
He searched for the empty spot on your bookshelf. As he scanned, his eyes felt on an unexpected section. Sticking out like it was out of place, a shelf of multicolored spines, not boring, not leather bound, not books. Kpop albums.
“No fuckin’ way.” He whispered, almost in awe.
He stroked his hand down the spines of familiar names and groups, pulling out a Taemin solo album. He opened it, examining the photo cards and CD still in its packaging. To his gleeful surprise it was signed.
You are an inspiration, keep working hard!
Taemin
You walked in with a tray, seeing him absorbed in your album with a smile. Shit.
You carefully set the tray down on a nearby table and walked over with a wordless huff, snatching the album out of his hands. You turned around, carefully placing it back in its place. He didn’t even flinch, grinning as if he knew a secret about you that he wasn’t supposed to know.
“I thought I told you not to touch anything.” You muttered, keeping your voice detached behind a slight twinge of embarrassment. “The contents of this bookcase are worth more than your entire tuition and then some. You shouldn’t even be breathing on it.”
“You’re a kpop fan.” He said, almost as if he had to say it out loud to believe it.
“Yeah, and?” You said, refusing to look at him, staring hard into your bookshelf of expensive first edition European and American literature, and the random shelf of albums. “You’re gonna make fun of me?”
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that.” His smile softened into something less teasing and more familiar. “I’m a fan too. Just didn’t expect it from you.”
“Oh.” You mumbled, stroking the spine of the album affectionately. “Well, I’m a young woman. I’m allowed to have young woman interests.” You turned to him. “When I said don’t touch anything I meant it. This stuff is too extreme expensive for you to ruin.”
He gave an amused chuckle. “C’mon it’s just an album.”
“I’d rather you go mess up something else instead of my signed exclusives with those nasty hands of yours.” You said, herding him back to the couch where the tray of tea sat.
His brow furrowed, as he stared at his hands. “Nasty?”
“Yeah, every time I see you on campus you’re with a different girl, so who knows where your hands have been?” You say conversationally, pouring tea into the heated mugs, taking a seat with your cup.
“Ouch.” He scowled, grabbing the mug nearest to him. “You can be really mean sometimes, you know that?”
You shrug, carefully blowing steam off your mug. The deep scent of the tea wafted through the living room. It reminded Riki of you, sharp and bitter, yet delicate and floral.
“So.” You looked up, setting your cup down. “Enlighten me. You decided to take my class but you didn’t give a shit about it since the beginning. Why take it in the first place?”
“It’s a writing intensive.” He replied, warming his hands against the tea. “I need it for my general requirements.”
“My course is advanced, you couldn’t pick something simpler?”
He shrugged. “It was the only one that worked with my schedule.”
You hummed in response, taking another sip of tea. “So you‘re not even a literature major?”
“Me?” He made a face. “Hell no. Sorry, I know you’re like a literature genius but I’d rather die than read another classical book.” He finished with a sheepish smile.
You chuckled, setting your mug down. “So what major are you?”
“Performing arts.” He replied proudly. “I’m a dancer.”
You raised a brow. “And what career are you planning on pursuing with that?”
“I don’t need to pursue anything, I’m already a pretty successful choreographer.” Riki smiled, taking a sip of tea. “Have my own studio and everything. Just need a degree in anything to placate my dad. He says without a degree, you’re nobody.”
“Trust fund kid?”
“Yep.”
“Figured.”
He gave a soft scoff. “So?”
“What?”
“You picked me apart, let me ask you some questions.”
You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Ask away.”
Riki was a little taken aback, expecting you to refuse, or at least push back. “So like..” he pondered for a second. “Why..books?”
You raised a brow. “Do you realize how stupid you sound?”
“No, I mean, you’re this world renowned wonderkid genius, why was literature your focus?” He asked, no hint of teasing in his voice, eyes full of curiosity.
“Hm..” you muttered, thrumming your fingers against you folded arm. You knew the answer, you didn’t have to think. You just weren’t sure. Should you really allow yourself to be vulnerable with your most problematic student? Whatever. “Well, I never got to live like a normal kid. I was always busy in gifted programs, never really got to experience the regular things in life. You know, like sleepovers, sneaking out with friends, talking about boys all that stuff. But I still wanted that experience that I was robbed of. So I found it in literature.”
“So you’re trying to relive your childhood you could’ve had through books?” Riki furrowed his brow. The storm outside got worse as if to punctuate his question.
You nodded. “Basically.”
“Well…” his brow stayed furrowed, like he couldn’t rap his head around you. “What about friends? Boyfriends? Did you not have any?”
A pang settled in your chest and you gave him a sad smile. “I met Ria when I was sixteen. She was my only friend, and just kinda…adopted me into her friend group, you know, Jake, Jay, Sunghoon. And boyfriends?” You stifled a bitter chuckle. “Are a waste of time.”
Those words settled oddly in Riki’s chest, like they didn’t fit. “What makes you say that?”
Memories came flooding back. The boy you dated, who gave 2 fumbling painful minutes of your loss of virginity and left. You tried everything you could to salvage that, but he didn’t see you as his girlfriend. Like everyone else he treated you like a novelty, an experience. And you would never let yourself be treated like that again.
You made a face. “I dated a guy once, for like 3 months when I was 18. A nerd like me, I couldn’t really relate to guys my age and dating people within my intellectual area was downright wrong, so I didn’t really have much option. He…treated our relationship like everything else in our lives, nothing more than a study. It wasn’t fulfilling. It only set me back. Romance is nothing like it is in books. So I’d rather have the books.”
You looked up and were met with Riki’s intense eyes that made you squirm under his gaze, his expression unreadable. “What?” You asked, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be.
“You haven’t experienced life at all, have you?” He asked quietly.
You immediately bristled, remembering him saying those exact words to jeer and question you in class. “I have experienced more at 9 than you ever-“
“I’m not saying it to be mean.” He cut you off. “You experienced a lot, but you didn’t experience a normal life. You consider love a waste of time because you u didn’t experience love the normal way. The right way.” His voice was soft but his eyes were intense.
“I guess not.” You threw you hands up in mild exasperation. “God forbid a girl spend her time making acquaintance with Nobel prize winners at galas instead of dumb guys under bleachers.”
He gave you sad smile. “Wow.”
“What now?”
“I’m not gonna deny that you’re book smart. But you’re really life stupid.” He said softly, like it wasn’t an insult.
“How dare you?” You glared at him, your words sharp and cutting. “I didn’t invite you into my home to be attacked.”
“I’m not attacking you.” He scooted closer, the gesture oddly comforting. “It just makes me sad that someone as brilliant as yourself had to grow up so quick. You know, the whole Pyro Syntax thing.”
“Puer Senex.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He leaned in closer, placing his elbows on his knees. “My point is, someone like you should be spending your time living life to the fullest with people you love, not with some old farts in a dusty gala hall. You can do both, you know? Didn’t Voltaire, and Hemingway live life to the fullest?”
Your cheeks flushed and eyes shone at the intensity of his odd concern for your life. “Well, I guess you did learn something from my lectures.” You joked awkwardly, staring into the coffee table, avoiding eye contact with the man you were trying so hard to remember as your annoying student and not someone who’s trying to take your life in a whole new direction. “But I can’t bring back the past. The way I lived my life is how I lived it.”
“You don’t have to bring back the past.” He leaned closer. “Just…pick up where you left off.”
As if on instinct you leaned away. “I-I guess.” You muttered, face flaming.
“I could show you what normal life is.” He said quietly, as if trying not to disturb the delicate silence. He gazed right into you, as if trying to plant the offer into your soul. “If you want.”
You couldn’t help but peek at him, high cheek bones, his plump lips that twitched with many things unsaid, at his deep eyes that both plead and demanded. Your stomach flipped. You looked away, heart racing, hands shaking. What is wrong with you?
Riki took a look at you, at your state. He knew what this was. Your avoiding gaze, blushing
face, stutter, he’s seen all of it plenty of times. But he also knew that you didn’t know what was going on with you. So he didn’t press the issue, a quiet mercy you’d never realize. He just smiled softly, doing the same thing as you, ignoring how his heart beat just a little faster when he looked at you.
The quiet moment was ruined by the loud jingling of keys in your door handle. Both of your eyes shot to the door as it slammed open. Ria came in, shaking rain off her leather jacket.
“Hey girl, it’s insane out there. I’m just gonna wait till the rain stops, I parked my bike under your awning. Heeseung’s been blowing up my phone, freaking out about me riding in the rain, said he’ll come get me himself but your place was closer.” She announced, facing away from me as she hung up her jacket on a hook before turning to me. “But anyway, I brought a bottle and some sketches I wanted to show you for that Cambridge thing you were telling me about and I-what the fuck?”
“Oh…hi Ria!” You smiled nervously, as if you were caught doing something nefarious.
Riki smirked. “Hey.”
Ria raised her brow. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No!” You stood up a little too quickly. “I-I mean we-“
“-my car broke down near her house so I asked her to let crash until the tow truck comes.” Riki cut off you ramble with ease, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. As if on cue, his phone rang, the screen displaying the towing company’s name. After quietly answering amidst our stares he hung up and stood, gathering his things. “Tow truck’s here.” He smiled at you softly, his gaze telling you the conversation is far from over. “Thanks, Professor.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You closed your eyes, rubbing your temple. “Be safe.” You were about to get an earful from Ria and you knew it.
Once the door shut behind him, Ria descended. “What the hell was that about?” Her tone accusing but her eyes gleaming with excitement.
“He just told you.” You muttered, folding your arms. “I just let him stay until the tow truck came.”
“Right, okay.” Ria scoffs. “And that’s why you were staring into each other’s eyes lovingly when I walked in, right?”
“We were not!”
“Girl, when are you gonna stop lying to yourself?” Ria demanded, plopping herself onto your couch.
“What are you talking about?” You demanded back.
“Oh my God, you so stupid!” she groaned. “You like him!”
“Absolutely not.” You spat defensively, crossing your arms. “I’d rather die than want him, and plus he’s my student, I couldn’t do anything even if I wanted to.”
“Girl.”
“No, I may have helped him out but he’s still the bane of my existence!” You exclaimed.
“Girl.” Ria stood back up.
“And plus, he’s a student, that’s literally illegal and I don’t even like younger guys like that!” You rambled on in your defense.
“Oh my God, LISTEN TO ME FOR ONE SECOND.” Ria shouted, grabbing your shoulders. “You’re tutoring him. You let him go instead of reporting him at the bar. You let him into your house.”
“And?”
“You’d never do those things to any student. Hell, you didn’t even do it for Jake when he was in your class and he’s your friend.” Ria said, still holding on to your shoulders. “So when are you going to stop lying to yourself and admit you like the guy?”
“I…” you mumbled, mind racing. “I don’t!”
Ria gave a resigned sigh. “If you say so..I’m just saying. You don’t have to act on it but you do have to be honest to yourself.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” You said, trying to quickly change the subject. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Ria sighed, as if she gave up trying to make you look truth in the eyes. “Alright look.” Ria began pulling a sketchbook out of her bag. “I was thinking, tweed is old fashioned and boring. What if we do all suede, but in a fall color, maybe a carmine or an old mauve?”
You stare at her blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”
She rubbed her temple. “Oh my God..”
- - -
After a very confusing night of feeble sleep, you forced yourself to go to the lecture you had to teach. The click of your pumps resonated through the expansive halls of the literature building hurting your exhausted brain, mimicking confidence but your mind hazily floated elsewhere. The way Riki looked at you last night, an odd mix of accusing intensity and tender concern. Your own shaken state during the conversation. Ria’s demands of you to be honest with yourself. You couldn’t be. You wouldn’t be.
You ran face first into the door.
“Shit!” You hissed in pain rubbing the sore spot on your forehead. You looked around frantically, hoping nobody saw what just happened, before clumsily unlocking the door and slipping inside.
With the deadline fast approaching, you saw no point in a lecture, letting the students instead work on their papers during class time. Riki of course was slacking as per usual, goofing off with Jungwon, flirting with a pair of girls next to him but it looked forced, as if he was trying to keep up a facade. You fixed him with a pointed stare.
Your eyes went back down to your laptop, typing up section for your paper from your scribbled notes. The class was pretty quiet when you heard it. A gasp for air. Then another. Fast breathing followed by a strangled sob. Your head shot back up, looking for the source of the noise.
“What’s going on?” You demanded.
The class descended into a chorus of concerned whispers.
Someone from the back called out. “It’s Annie.”
Someone else called out, “she’s freaking out.”
Your eyes found your student. She was a little younger than the rest, 19, clutching her laptop and book on Jane Austen looking like she was about to collapse.
“Annie talk to me.” You demanded, standing up, making your way to her. “What’s going on?”
“I-I don’t know what’s happening-I deleted everything-“ she hiccuped, barely holding it together. “I just-I’m just really- I’m gonna fail-“
You slammed your hands against her desk. She jolted, staring at you, still sniffling.
“What’s 24 plus 13?”
“What?” She squeaked.
“Just answer the question.” You demanded, loud yet level.
“Thirty…thirty seven.” She meekly replied.
“18 minus 15?”
“Three.” She answered, a little more calm.
“25 plus 48?”
“Uhhh..” she quieted, doing the math in her head. “Carry the 1..73?”
You nodded. “96-48?”
“48.” She answered more confidently.
“Is your logical brain back on?” You asked her. She nodded. “What are your next steps?”
“Check if it autosaved, then call IT if I can’t retrieve it.” She said, already opening to the necessary pages.
You nodded back. “Good. Keep working.”
You straightened up and made your way back to your desk in the front of the hall. The students stared at you in impressed silence. “Please continue working on your projects.” You said, sitting down, fixing onto your own work.
Riki quickly got up from his desk, approaching yours. You looked up at him, blankly, expectantly.
“Mr. Nishimura?” You asked. “Can I help you with something?”
“How did you do that?” He whispered, leaning over your desk, eyes shining with awe. “You calmed her down with math?!”
“I didn’t calm her down.” You murmured, restocking a stack of papers, trying to ignore the close proximity. “I just gave her a quick reset, so she gets her mind off feelings and onto logic. Please go back to your seat.”
Riki complied, eyes still shining with wonder as he took his seat. Your chest warmed, swelled with a weird sense of accomplishment as you fought a smile. A satisfied pride that you got his respect for something.
- - -
There was a week and a half left from the project due date. Riki was nearly done. You invited him back to your office to work under your guidance as per usual.
“I am going to be a bit busy, and I’ll be staying longer than 7 today.” You warned as he took a seat. “So I won’t be of much help.”
“That’s okay.” He nodded. “I think I can handle it from here.”
“Then why bother coming?” You asked, opening My Childhood and placing it gently on your bookstand.
He shrugged. “I like it here.”
You nodded, cheeks dusting pink. Did he like spending time with you? Nah, that can’t be it. You peeked up at him. He caught your eye with a soft smile. You kept your face emotionless as the weird flutter in your stomach came back.
9 pm hit. Hours stretched long, Riki was making really good progress. He was almost done. You on the other hand? You felt like you were back at square one.
All the writing you’ve done to this point, all the notes, all the reading, it just stopped making sense. It was like you completely forgot how to read. Cyrillic letters seemed to have lost their meaning. And along with them, so did your thesis. You had to start from scratch, the whole idea tanked, it was bullshit. My Childhood, The Epinician Odes, all of it, it was bullshit. Fuck, you were so tired. Your vision blurred.
Drip.
Drip.
Riki looked up in confusion at the weird patter of noise.
Drip.
Drip.
His eyes drifted to you. “Oh Shit!” He muttered in horror.
Your face, although devoid of emotion, was streaked with frustrated tears. Another tear rolled down your cheek, hanging on the edge of your jaw, threatening to ruin the precious book in front of you. He knew how much you cared about the rare first edition. Riki’s hand shot out, acting on instinct, catching your tear in his palm before it landed the book. It dripped into his hand with a small splash, cold and unforgiving.
“Professor?” He asked tensely, voice dipping with worry. “Hey, hey, hey, wait- Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” You whispered hoarsely, still staring into the book, absentmindedly wiping your tears with the heel of your hand. “I’m okay. Just…give me a second.”
“No, you’re not okay.” He pressed, keeping his hand hovering under your chin to catch any stray drops.
“I got it.” You muttered, pushing his hand away. You began whispering to yourself. “15-9 is 6. 28 + 31 is 59-“
“Hey, stop.” Riki demanded, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “Look at me.”
“What’s wrong with me?” You looked up at him, voice choked and quiet. Your widened eyes filled with panic and tears looked up at him in an expression that was heart wrenchingly innocent and pained. You looked your age again. No, you looked younger. Like a scared child, that doesn’t understand why she feels bad. “Why did I stop understanding?”
He looked back at you, jaw set with panicked tension. “Hey. Talk to me, what’s going on?” He asked softly, heart pounding in his ears.
“I…I can’t figure it out.” Your lip trembled. “I lost my train of thought, the paper’s fucked, I’m so stupid!”
“You’re not, professor-“ he pleaded with you.
“I just..I need a reset, you should probably go, it late. Get some sleep.” You said shakily, wiping your eyes, turning away. “I’ll just-“
“I’m not going anywhere.” He said, grabbing your shoulder, voice coming out hard. Hard enough to bring you back to the present. His eyes bore into yours, insistent. “I’m not leaving you in this state.”
A bitter sob tore through your chest as you covered your face with shaking hands. “I can’t think! If I can’t think I’m a failure. And if I’m a failure then what’s the point of all this!” You cried into your hands. “I’m broken!”
Riki’s heart broke seeing you like this. Suddenly, all boundaries between student and teacher went out the window. He didn’t care anymore. All that was on his mind was a severe urge to protect you, to comfort you, to take care of you. He reached out and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin, wrapping an arm around you securely.
“Shhh. You’re not broken. You hear me?” He murmured stroking your hair. “You’re tired. You’re allowed to be tired. It’s okay, you’re safe.”
You sobbed into his chest, forgetting or simply not caring about professor student conduct. He was right. You were exhausted, you were worn down too thin. You needed comfort and he was providing it. It felt wrong. But it felt safe. You buried your face into his hoodie, soaking it with your tears. He held you through your breakdown, his heartbeat thundering against your ear, grounding you. His thumb stroked comforting circles into your back as you cried into his chest until your heaving shoulders relaxed and your choked sobs turned into sniffling hiccups.
Finally coming to, you carefully tapped on his elbow. He unwillingly let you go. You straightened up, sniffling.
“I apologize.” You said, your voice still thick with tears. “That was very unprofessional of me. You should probably go, it getting late. I’ll get going too.” You looked up at him, your expression calm and devoid of emotion but the red splotchiness of your skin gave you away.
“Are you kidding?” His brow furrowed, anger rising in his chest. Anger at you, for ignoring your own needs, anger at the dean for pushing this project on you, anger at himself for making this semester harder for you than it needed to be. “No, I’m not leaving you like this.”
“Nishimura-“
“No.” He gently gripped your wrist. “You need to clear your head.”
“I Don’t think-“
“Good. Don’t think.” He said, ushering you up from your seat. “It’s okay not to think. C’mon.”
“Where are we going?” You croaked out, allowing yourself be led out of your office.
“We’re going on a drive.” He said, taking your hand as you walked down the already dark halls. “And then I’ll take you home. Okay?”
“Okay.” You nodded, letting him lead (drag) you out of the literature building.
- - -
The drive was quiet in that tired muggy way post crying always is. You leaned against the cool head rest, letting the sweet scent of fresh car leather and the clean smell of Riki’s cologne lull you into a sense of calm as he zipped down emptying roads. He drove fast, but careful as if scared to jostle you too much. You didn’t look at him, instead preferring to look at the lights of the city blinking past you. Reminded you of childhood, before you ever decided to become a professor, when you were 5 or 6.
“I want to live in a skyscraper!” You’d tell people with childish excitement. “And work in another skyscraper!”
You smiled at the memory, feeling worn down. The sound of your name called pulled you out of your tired stupor. You turned your head toward Riki, who was looking at the road but glanced over at you every few seconds.
“How you feeling?” He asked softly.
“You shouldn’t be calling me by my first name like that.” You said, but your quiet voice had no edge, like you didn’t really mean it. “I’m your professor.”
He chuckled. “Not right now you’re not. You’re just…” he thought for a moment before shrugging. “A girl.”
“Wow.” You rolled your eyes. “7 years of college to just be ‘some girl’.”
“Hey don’t put words in my mouth.” He laughed. “I didn’t say you were ‘some girl.’ I said you’re a girl. You know, more than your degree. You’re a person.”
You looked at him, his words settling over you like a blanket. It filled you with a warm sense of being seen as something more than your forced smiles and accolades. “I guess you’re right. I’m a person.” You repeated, throat tight. You reached into your bag pulling out a Red Bull.
“Absolutely not.” Riki snatched it from you, tossing it into his back seat. He reached behind you, pulling out a water bottle instead. “Here.”
You took the bottle from his hand, opening it with a satisfying crack. “Fuck you.” You closed your eyes to soothe the burn.
“Hearing you cuss feels weird.” He chided jokingly, amused by your exhausted childish brattiness.
“Why? I’ve cussed at you before.”
“I know,” Riki grinned. “But that was when I hated you so it didn’t matter as much.”
“You hate me?” You offered a lazy smirk.
“I did when you failed me.” He took another turn. “The Dorian Grey thing.”
“You deserved it.”
“I know.” He said sheepishly. A comfortable silence filled the car, only the sounds of the highway pierced through the air in a monotone hum. He broke it. “I don’t hate you.” He murmured. “Not anymore at least.”
“Yeah?” You mumbled.
“Yeah.” He stopped at a red light, turning to gaze at you. “If anything, I have a lot of respect for you. It takes a lot of balls, I know you’re a woman, but it takes a lot of balls to do what you do. When I said that you’re brilliant I meant it.”
“Thanks.” You smiled, the familiar burn in your cheeks dimming to a sweet warmth. “I’m glad you see me as brilliant.”
“But that’s not all you are, you know?” Riki murmured. The hum of the car almost lulled you to sleep. “You’re kind, you’re helpful, you’re beautiful..” he trailed off, parking in front of your townhouse with a sigh. “I Don’t know. Maybe I’m weirding you out. It just makes me sad that your only relationship was shitty enough for you to give up on love. It’s fucked up. You deserve better.” His voice was soft, yet tight with a sort of indignation. “You deserved normalcy. You deserved time to be a teenager.”
You felt…seen. Appreciated. Vindicated. Your eyes stung again, but you were not going to cry in front of him. Not again. Your hands shook as the a watery smile fought its way onto your face. “Thanks Riki.” You whispered as you looked at him. “Means a lot.”
His eyes looked different. It wasn’t the annoying stare you grew to hate, or the intensity that intimidated you. His eyes felt warm, steady, but dark, like he was drinking you in. The familiar fluttery pang returned to your stomach.
“My name sounds better when you say it.” He said quietly, softly despite how rough his voice sounded.
“R-really?” You mumbled, face burning more at his gaze than his words. “I guess I should start using it more often.”
“Maybe you should.” He murmured, his voice somewhere between a purr and a whisper.
For a moment, you two just watched each other, counting each blink, feeling the heat coming off you without even needing to touch. It was intimate. It was a lot. Your heart thumped erratically as your eyes trailed his face, settling on his perfectly supple lips. You cleared your throat.
“Thanks for the ride, Riki.” You murmured, slowly leaning away as if trying to preserve the feeling of his eyes carving into you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t answer, he just watched you with those dark eyes, deep in thought. You gave him an awkward wave before reaching to open the door. He called your name, grabbing your arm. “Wait.” He pleaded quietly. “Don’t leave yet.”
You turned back to him, stomach churning with that weird fluttery feeling. “What?”
He pulled you into him. You fell into his hands with a gasp, nothing between you and him other than the center console that pressed into your hip. “Riki what are you doing?” You whispered, looking up at him wide eyed, heart hammering in your chest.
He was unreal up close. His free hand caressed your jaw in reverence, his thumb stroking hesitantly across your bottom lip.
“I don’t know.” He murmured breathily. “I just…come here.”
He closed the small gap that was between you, capturing your lips with his. They were.. soft. The kiss was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize your taste. He held you tight, fingers splaying across the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, one hand cradling your jaw with such tenderness it made your heart flutter. His lips were fervent, plush, telling you everything he couldn’t put into words.
This is wrong. The logical part of your brain screamed. This is improper conduct! But you didn’t care to think right now, only feel. Fuck being proper. Your eyes fluttered shut as you responded, kissing him back, following his lead. He smiled against your lips, deepening the kiss. His hand traveled up your neck tangling in your hair, angling you where he wanted you. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders as you held on tight.
You haven’t had much experience with guys, your only kiss was quick, rough, and dehumanizing. But with Riki, it was completely different. You’ve never felt so cherished, so wanted. You could stay here forever, tangled in Riki’s embrace, getting lost in him. You wanted this, needed this as much as he did. But the logical side of your brain won out.
You pulled away from Riki, and he followed, chasing your lips. You stopped him with a palm on his chest. He looked down at you confused, panting lightly. He was flushed, his cheeks tinged a soft pink, pupils blown, lips swollen. He whispered your name in a question, plead for more.
“I…” You mumbled, hands shaking, heart hammering. “I have to go.”
You let yourself out of Riki’s car, practically scrambling out and sprinting up the steps of your town house flinging the door open. You ran upstairs to your bedroom, throwing yourself on the bed. You peaked out behind the blinds, watching as his car slowly pulls away. You curled into a ball, exhausted. Yet the adrenaline of what just happened wouldn’t let you sleep for a long time, your mind reeling with many confusing emotions.
How were you going to look Riki in the eye tomorrow and pretend you weren’t ready to ruin your entire career in that moment?
“What have I done?” You whispered, burying your face in a pillow, a phantom memory of Riki resting on your lips. This can never happen again.
- - -
With just 2 weeks left in the semester, you couldn’t look at him without the memory of that night flooding back. Anytime you heard even the mention Riki, your heart quivered, your face flushed hot, your lips remembered him. No matter how many times you reminded yourself of who he is and who you are, you couldn’t stop yourself from craving his touch. You craved the way he made you feel beautiful, desirable. You had no choice but to admit to yourself.
You want him.
So you did the only logical thing you can think of. You avoided him like the plague for 3 days straight. You cancelled his tutoring sessions, sending a cold detached email about your schedule not allowing it anymore. You sidestepped him in the halls, ignored his raised hands, deleted his emails. And your avoidance did not go unnoticed.
You were busy explaining the grading process of the assignment during a lecture, trying to avoid a pair of eyes in the second row. Riki’s eyes tracked your every movement, with a deep look of realization. A look that said “I know you. I see through it.”
“Now remember, you had 4 weeks to work on it now, so I don’t want to hear any requests for extensions unless you have a real emergency.” You said, writing down the new date on the board. “I expect a typed physical copy from each partner. You will receive your graded papers the final day of the semester.” You turned around, and suddenly faltered.
Riki gazed into you, no hint of teasing in his eyes or even anger. Just a deep knowing concentration, like he was learning you. It felt like a threat and a promise of the inevitable at once. “And uh…” you muttered, squirming under his watchful eye. “And I-I’ll release the grades to you online that same afternoon. Class dismissed.”
As the class emptied, one student remained. You couldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t. You walked briskly out of the auditorium, locking it under his watch.
Then he spoke. “Professor.” His voice was low enough for only you to hear, rough enough for only you to understand. You ignored him, walking with big strides back to your office away from the confrontation that you knew was coming no matter what.
“Professor!” He called after you, his voice demanding as he followed.
You walked faster, but he was relentless in his pursuit, now calling your name instead of your title. You threw open your office door, ready to shut it in his face. But his hand shot out, catching the door before you could close it. He stepped inside, locking the door behind him. You flinched back, turning away from him, staring into the window instead. His presence was loud in the silence of your office.
You spoke, your voice calm and cold despite your trembling state. “Office hours were cancelled today.”
“I saw.” He replied. His voice was cold. Rough.“I’m not here for office hours.”
You approached your desk, placing your hands on it to mask the tremor in them. “Then, Nishimura, I don’t see a reason-“
“Oh?” He scoffed, grabbing your arm, turning you to face him. “I’m just Nishimura now?Really?” His eyes flamed with a mixture of anger and hurt.
You set your jaw, wrenching your arm out of his grasp, stepping behind your desk, keeping a barrier between you two, a reminder of your roles. “Just tell me what you came here for.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He muttered, is tone low, accusatory. Yet his eyes didn’t match they were full of hurt, and something that looked like longing.
You shook your head, not meeting his eyes. “I’m not-“
“You are.” He cut you off, stepping closer. “And I’m done letting you pretend that that kiss never happened.”
You still refused to meet his gaze, turning your back to your desk. “What happened was a mistake.” You said, forcing yourself to sound professional. “It was a lapse in judgement in both of our parts due to mental exhaustion, nothing else. I apologize for my part in it, it was inappropriate. I would appreciate it if we could move past it and not speak of it again-“
He stepped around your desk, into your place. “Stop.” His voice cut close to your ear, low and broken. You froze, your body listened. You could feel him now, standing so close you could hear him breathe.
You turned to him, eyes hard. “What the hell do you want from me?” You whispered, voice cracking with fear.
“You.” He said, eyes burning into yours, challenging. Demanding. “I know what I felt that night. And I’m not gonna stand here and let you act like it was just a mistake. It wasn’t to me.”
You couldn’t answer, fused to the edge of your desk. So he continued, voice choked with indignant desperation. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night. Hell, since the day I ran into you. And I know you think of me too, you feel something for me too, I see it.” He pleaded. “Tell me I’m right. Tell me I’m not crazy.”
You felt a cold rush of nerves flutter through you as you finally found your words. “There’s no point.” You whisper, shaking. “I’m a professor. You’re my student. It’s misconduct.”
He gave a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “Is that what’s holding you back? Conduct?” He stepped closer, caging you against the desk with his hands. “I’m not stupid. I’m not confused about what I feel for you. The real world doesn’t play by the rules, they can’t forbid me from falling in love with you.”
Those words jolted through you like lightning. In love with you. They rang through your mind, burning into your brain. You’ve had people praise you for your contributions, look up to you as a mentor, yet you’ve never heard anyone say they were in love with you. It felt warm. It felt…so freaking scary.
“We can’t..” you shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “Even if I do have feelings for you, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong.” You look up to finally meet his eyes. “It’s unethical, no matter how much I want it, Riki.”
His eyes softened. Although you didn’t quite say it he got his answer. He wasn’t being delusional after all.
“We can make it work.” He promised. “Fuck what the faculty says, fuck what society says, I still want you. And I don’t care what I have to do to have you.”
“I’m so scared.” You admitted, heart thundering, tears finally streaking down your face. “I haven’t thought-“
“Don’t think then.” He towered over you, so close you could feel his breath fan across your face. He lifted a hand to cup your jaw, his palm cool and dry against your burning skin. “Tell me to stop.” he whispered. “Tell me to go away and I’ll never bother you again. Just say no.”
You looked up at him with those devastatingly innocent eyes. The word was right there. He’s giving you an out. Yet you stayed silent, your own heart betraying logic. You didn’t want him to go.
His eyes darkened and he could’t wait a second longer. His grasp on your jaw tightened as he crashed his lips into yours. This wasn’t the same tentative kiss from 3 days ago. This was desperate, angry, like he was trying to kiss all of his frustration into you. Your eyes screwed shut, hands tangling in his hair. He groaned softly, his fingers slipping under the hem your top. You let out a strangled whimper, almost reaching out to stop him, but his hands were not roaming, not groping. They just…rested against the small of your back. It was like all he needed was to feel the warmth of your skin. Your resolve crashed hard as you melted into him. Your lips parted, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting you like he was relearning you. You let yourself feel without thinking, unguarded as heat spread through you.
He felt it. Your complete surrender into him made his heart race. He pulled you in tighter, if that was even possible. You shuddered, hands grabbing on tight, as you felt him flush against your body, growing firm against your core. Then his hands went anywhere they pleased and you didn’t stop him.
His hands stroked down your back, lower squeezing your ass fervently over your skirt before traveling down your thighs, worshipping them with soft touches and caresses, drawing more needy whimpers from you.
You pulled back, pressing your hands against his chest, gasping for hair. He panted as he loomed over you, taking you in from your swollen lips to your tear brimmed eyes with a dark quiet affection. You rested your forehead against his.
“One week.” You murmured shakily, panting against him. “The semester ends in one week.”
He pulled back, lifting your chin to look at you, his face stern. “One week.” He murmured, wiping your lips with his thumb. “One week and then you’re mine.”
- - -
The final week of the semester was complete torture of the best kind. Riki went out of his way to make you fluster, if he couldn’t with his words, he would with his eyes. Every moment was a reminder. 4 days. 2 days. And it had you clawing the walls.
“While I’m grading your papers, I will give you some extra credit opportunities.” You said, strolling the front. “So today will be easy. Watch the film, please fill out these questionnaires based on the video, turn it in, have a great day. Simple enough?”
The class nodded in quiet affirmation, the energy in the class finally relaxed for once, like everyone felt the absence of the tension. Except for you. The tension didn’t disappear it was just..different.
You approached your desk, pulling a stack of questionnaires out of a folder. “Can someone help me pass these out?”
“Yeah I got it.” You tensed, hearing Riki get up from his seat. You turned back to him, clutching the papers in your hand, heart thumping louder the closer he approached.
You cleared you throat, snapping back into your professorial mode. “Thank you, Mr. Nishimura.” You handed him the paper without so much of a glance, turning your attention to the video set up. Then you felt it.
Cool fingers brushed your ankle, just a ghost of a touch, trailing up the back of your knee, up your thigh. You gasped, whipping around to grab his hand. In class? Is he insane?
“What are you doing?” You whispered, tense and aware.
“Hm?” He looked at you blankly. “You had a post it stuck to your leg.” He held out an actual post it note. You snatched it from his hands.
“Just…just pass out the papers.” You muttered, cheeks burning, you skin practically buzzing with electricity where he touched you. He stood for a moment, just looking at you, his gaze heavy with intention before walking away to pass out the papers. You stared at the note crumpled in your hands.
Tomorrow.
You looked up at him, heart pounding with anticipation. He glanced back at you, as if confirming. It all felt too real now.
“Alright everyone. Thank you so much for taking my class, I really hope that you learned something valuable. As soon as you receive your graded papers you may go.” You smiled on the last day of the semester. Your arms were full of hours of blood sweat and tears that your students put into their work. You passed out the papers, exchanging thank yous with students.
“You were fantastic this semester, professor.” Jungwon grinned brightly, taking the offered paper from your hands. “Thank you.”
“It was a pleasure working with you.” You smiled back. “You have a real talent for writing, you know that?”
As you traded pleasantries with Jungwon you could feel a pair of eyes boring into you, watching your every move like a hawk. You looked over at Riki, the paper you worked on together slightly bending in your hand.
“You’re smarter than I thought, Mr. Nishimura.” You straightened your back, keeping up the appearance of the hard ass professor, despite your trembling hands. “Looks like I won’t have to deal with you again next year.”
He didn’t smile, didn’t snap back. He didn’t even say anything as he took the paper from your hands, fingers deliberately brushing yours. You weren’t sure if it was to comfort you or to remind you.
“One week. And then you’re mine.”
Your stomach tensed with anticipation, practically aching to touch him, to kiss him again, but also fear. Fear of the unknown.
Riki looked at his paper, not even knowing what to expect. His eyes widened.
96 %. Exceptional Work.
Your insight on the loss of childhood through the eyes of Jackson and Blake are truly eye opening.
His head shot back up, eyes finding your back. You didn’t get to see his eyes shine with gratitude, adoration and pure need. If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have passed, he knew that. And he was ready to prove just how grateful he was.
- - -
The halls were quiet, nearly empty as many students already left the university for winter vacation. You sighed, carrying your now empty binder and fully marked up textbook into your office, ready to submit the final online grades and get home. But you knew deep down, that wasn’t going to be a simple close out. As you were finishing up entering grades into your laptop, you got an email. It was a calendar invite.
Nishimura Riki booked a meeting:
Office Hour Meeting
All available slots
Your breath hitched. He was making sure your office hour was empty just for him. With surprisingly steady hands, you accepted the invite, staring at the door with bated breath.
Minutes felt like hours until your door finally creaked open to reveal Riki. You peered at him over your screen, shutting your laptop and shoving it away.
“Nishimura.” You straightened up as you greeted him, as calmly as you could.
“Hi Professor.” He replied quietly, voice rough. “Still haven’t greased the hinges?” He asked, locking the door behind him.
“I prefer hearing when someone walks in.” You offer a nervous simper, fingers lacing up in your lap. “So that nobody can sneak up on me.”
He sauntered over to your desk, plopping into the seat that was basically his now. He leaned back in the leather chair, crossing his arms, just watching you sweat under his gaze. He stared at you like you were art, with a possessive yet tender need.
“So..” you looked down at the now empty desk in front of you.
“So.” He parroted. “I wanted to talk about my grade.”
“Are you not happy with it?” You joked but your voice came out timid.
“No that’s not it.” He leaned against your desk. “I wanted to thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I’m your professor.” You replied. “It’s my job.”
“Not anymore.” He whispered.
“Hm?” You looked up.
He whispered your name like it was something sacred. “The semester’s over.” He reached out, cupping your jaw with both hands, fingers twitching with restraint.
“Y-yeah.” You gulped, heart pounding.
“And I’m done waiting.”
He pulled you forward, crashing his lips into yours. It was like time stopped. Nothing existed in that moment except for you and Riki. You responded immediately, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as you kissed back hungrily. He groaned in approval, angling his head to deepen the kiss, heating up fast. His hand travelled from your jaw down your waist, gripping so tightly you know he’ll leave bruises as his tongue slid against yours. He slid his hands under your thighs lifting you up onto your desk effortlessly, stepping between them.
“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He panted against your mouth, his lips traveling down your jaw, pressing hot kisses on the tender spot on your neck. “Wanted you. Couldn’t get you out of my head. ” His hands roamed up your body, grabbing your tits over your top.
“Riki!” You whimpered, your hands tangling in his hair, egging him on as he worshipped, claimed every inch of your body with his hands. He felt your pulse quicken against his lips.
“Please.” He groaned, teeth grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. “Need you. Now.” You nodded wordlessly, head already swimming with delirium.
He gripped your thighs, pulling your legs apart. His hands slipped under your skirt, cupping your mound that was hidden behind a pair of sheer black tights. With an impatient growl he snatched the thin nylon, tearing it open with a loud rip.
“Fuck.” He rasped, stroking a finger over your clothed slit. You gasped at the sensation, hips bucking into his hand as he teased you with his fingers, a dark spot forming in your panties. The wet fabric clung to you like a second skin.
“You’re soaked.” He marveled in awe. “All this for me?”
You looked away, cheeks flushed with shame. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Hey.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, an endeared smirk playing at his lips. “Don’t be embarrassed. Okay?”
You nodded shyly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, already missing his touch. His eyes darkened, as he captured your lips again, kissing you hard, all tongue and teeth.
“You’re so fucking cute.” He rasped against your mouth, yanking your panties to the side, pressing his thumb down hard onto your clit.
You gasped into his mouth when he pushed a finger into your entrance, sending a jolt of pleasure pain through your body.
“Fuck, Riki!” You whimpered, clutching onto him for dear life as he rubbed his thumb in slow agonizing circles, fingers curling cruelly inside of you. “Please!”
He let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re so fucking needy. Love you like this.”
You buried your face into his shoulder as his fingers worked you open. Suddenly pulled his hand away and dropped to his knees between your legs. He wrapped his arms around your hips, yanking you to the edge of the desk. He spread your thighs even further, leaving you vulnerable, embarrassed and completely soaked.
“Riki?” You whined, bewildered. “What are you-“
“So perfect…” he whispered, voice thick with lust. “Such a pretty fucking pussy..”
He gripped your thighs tighter and buried his face between your legs, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit.
“Fuck, Riki!” You gasped, clamping your thighs around his head.
He held them open with a light warning smack against your thigh. “Hold still for me, pretty girl.” He purred, before diving back in, parting your folds with his tongue.
Riki ate you out like he was starving, licking deep into your entrance, groaning with satisfaction every time he felt you pulse around his tongue. “So perfect for me.” He moaned into you, swirling his tongue around your clit before giving it a hard suck. “You taste so fucking good.”
You pressed your hands against your mouth to muffle your moans, grinding your hips into his mouth. He placed a large hand on your stomach, pressing you back down onto the desk. “I’m not done.” He growled, his low voice vibrating against you.
“Riki, -slow down-fuck!” You babbled, barely coherent, tears pricking your eyes, completely at the mercy of his tongue. “I-I can’t.”
“You can.” He said, alternating between soft languid licks to harsh sucks, savoring you. “You will.”
You looked down at the lewd sight below, at Riki’s mouth working between your thighs, tongue fucking into you, his eyes glazed over in a pussy drunk haze.
A hot coil of pleasure tightened tighter and tighter in your stomach as you watched him devour you, thighs shaking with built up tension. “Riki!” You whimpered, clutching his hair, spurring him on more. “Riki, I think I’m gonna-“
“Do it.” He commanded roughly. “Come for me.”
The coil snapped and you came crashing hard, screaming Riki’s name into your hand, legs shaking. He slowed, never stopping, greedily lapping up everything your body gave him. He pulled back, lips shining with your arousal, admiring how swollen and puffy your pussy lips got for him. He gave your clit a gentle kiss as if thanking it, making you jolt at the overstimulation. He slowly rose, coming face to face with you.
“Fuck, that was beautiful.” He whispered, kissing you slowly. “You okay?”
You nodded frantically, still shaking with aftershocks, clutching onto him for balance. He tilted head at you, just watching you recover before muttering, “good.” He caught your lips in another deep kiss, laying you down against the polished wood of your desk.
He straightened out, undoing his belt and shoving his jeans down just past his hips. His cock spring out, flushed and throbbing, precum leaking from his tip. You froze, staring at it wide eyed as your throat went dry.
“That’s..that’s too big..” you whispered timidly. “Riki, that won’t fit.”
“It’ll fit, pretty girl.” He whispered, kissing your temple, gently spreading your legs back open. “You can take it.”
He gave himself a few strokes before guiding his tip toward your entrance. He kissed your lips softly to distract you as he pushed in, the stretch immediately feeling like he was splitting you open.
You threw your head back eyes screwed shut, a pained sob tore out from your throat at the burn. “Shhhh.” Riki pressed his forehead to yours, peppering you lips and cheeks with kisses to distract you. “You’re doing so good, baby breathe. I know it hurts. Relax.”
His hand reached between you, finding your clit, rubbing slow precise circles. You let out a slow shakey breath, relaxing under his touch as he breached you slowly, face contorting in pleasure. “Fuck…you’re-you’re really fucking tight.” He let out a breathy overwhelmed laugh. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
You shook your head, still holding onto him for dear life. He clenched his jaw, using all of his willpower to not slam into your pulsing cunt, pushing in another inch. “C’mon pretty, almost there. Take all of me.” He groaned out, his voice tight with restraint. “You can do that for me, right?”
You nodded frantically, clawing at his shoulders. He finally bottomed out with a groan. You let out a strangled moan at the feeling of being impossibly full, breathing through the pain as it faded into pure pleasure. Riki stilled, letting you get used to his size. “You did it.” He panted, eyes dark with pride. “My perfect girl.”
“Riki.” You whimpered. “I need you to move. Now.”
“Still so greedy.” He cooed, slowly rocking his hips into you. “Look at me.” He ordered quietly. You forced your eyes open, looking at him through your lashes, completely fucked out already.
“Shit.” He moaned, “you’re fucking stunning like this.” He pulled out slowly before slamming into you, his patience snapping.
You screamed, body arching with pleasure as you clawed at his back, his shoulders, desperate to grab onto something. He set a punishing pace, fucking you like he hated you, gripping your hips tight, dragging you back onto his cock, every time you bucked away overwhelmed.
“Stop running. You’re mine now.” He growled in your ear, hips snapping into you. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”
“Yours!” You whined out, the breath knocked out of you with every thrust. “I’m yours, Riki!”
“Yeah you are.” He muttered in satisfaction, grabbing onto your top yanking it up along with your bra, letting your tits spill out with a bounce, harshly grabbing them. “No one gets to see you like this.” He panted. “Only me, yeah?”
“No one,” you sobbed, head completely empty save for the ecstasy Riki was giving you. “Only you!”
“Fuck, look at you.” He groaned, gripping your tits, kneading them roughly. “Sucking me in like you were made for me. You love being stuffed full of my cock like a stupid little sleeve, don’t you? Say it.”
“I love it!” You babbled out, mind hazy. “I’m gonna-“
“No you’re not.” He snarled, hips snapping sharp against your ass. “Not until I say you can.”
You grit your teeth, doing your best to hold back, tears falling freely as you chanted his name over and over again.
“Ran your smart little mouth all semester.” He muttered cruelly, thrusting deep enough to hit your cervix. “And look at you now. Didn’t think I’d be the one to fuck you stupid did you?”
You shook your head, unable to speak, embarrassingly loud moans pouring out of you. Riki’s eyes raked down your body, eyes darkening when he saw a faint swell in your belly. “Oh, fuck.”His palm slid down your torso, pressing firm on your belly. You gasped, feeling every inch of his cock dragging against your walls.
“Feel that, pretty?” He rasped. “That’s me. Feel how deep I am?” You nodded, sobbing, trembling around him. “Nobody gets to fuck you like this. You hear me? Only me.” He muttered, hips stuttering.
“I can’t-“ you hiccuped. “I can’t hold it anymore!”
“Cum then.” He ordered. “Now!”
And you came, screaming his name as you clenched around him, seeing white, ears ringing. Riki fucked you through it, not even giving you a chance to breath.
“Riki?” You gasped, lip trembling. “Slow down-ah! Too much!”
“Don’t care.” He muttered, grabbing your hips with both hands, lifting them clean off of the desk, leaving you helpless as he fucked you half suspended. “You’re gonna fucking take it. And you’re gonna cum again.”
The overstimulation bordered on pain as you screamed out, legs shaking, gushing around him. His eyes widened thrusting into you sloppily, without any rhythm. You felt him twitch inside of you. Without much thought, you wrapped your legs tight around him, pulling him in tighter.
He came after you, shouting your name, spilling hot white streams into you. He fell onto you, burying his face into your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath, holding you through your tremors. You closed your eyes, shaking, feeling deeply exhausted, thoroughly used, and unmistakably wanted. You never thought sex could be anything but painful and humiliating. But not with Riki. Fresh tears pooled in your eyes.
Finally, he pulled out and lifted himself off of you, supporting himself on his arms. His eyes softened immediately, seeing your tears. “Hey baby.” He whispered, wiping your cheek. “You okay?”
You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t form words. So you held up a thumbs up. He smiled, kissing your nose. “Didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”
You shook your head, trying to push yourself up. An immediate soreness hit your body. Your arms gave out underneath you.
He chuckled, reaching over you into his bag, fishing out a water bottle, cracking it open and holding your head up to drink. You took a few small sips but he shook his head.
“Drink more.” He murmured. “You screamed a lot.”You let out a soft, embarrassed laugh.
He stared at you, like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And you were. Laying under him fucked stupid, giggling and breathless. Exactly the version of you that plagued his mind since that night at the bar. “There she is.” He whispered, in pure awe. “Fuck I’ve been dying to see you all messy for me like this.”
“Hm?” You looked up at him confused.
“C’mon.” He murmured, gently pulling you up, careful not to jostle you too much. He fixed your top carefully, grabbing your coat and wrapping you in it. “You’re coming home with me tonight.”
You bit your lip, not wanting to be a burden. “No, it’s okay you don’t have to-“
“Don’t fight me on this.”
Too exhausted to argue, you let him carry you out of your office, down the halls out of the building to his car. The drive to his flat was long, even in the emptying wet roads. He kept his hand on you the entire time, gently stroking your thighs over the tattered tights. When you got his apartment, he carried you into the bathroom.
“You know you don’t have to carry me everywhere.” You mumbled into his chest.
“Of course I do.” He carefully placed you on the toilet seat. “You’re precious.” He shrugged like it was the most normal most obvious thing in the world. Yet it made your heart flutter.
With painstaking care he pulled off your body, piece by piece. “You ripped my tights.” You pouted as he pulled the mangled nylon down your legs.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll buy you more.” He kissed your cheek. “As many as you want.” After undressing himself he helped you into the shower. He gently washed away every ache and kissing every bruise as an apology.
Once you both were clean, he carried you into bed, not bothering with clothes. He covered both you with the thick duvet and pulled you into his chest, with a content sigh.
You laid there skin to skin, listening to his heart beat a deep exhaustion washing over you. But questions plagued your mind. Now what? Is this it? Are you guys friends now? If you tell him that you still have feelings for him will he be weirded out? Would he kick you out?
“Hey.” He whispered, looking down at you. “Look at me.”
“Hm?”
“I hope you know that I meant what I said.” He said, keeping his face completely serious.
“About what?” You mumbled.
“Everything. About being in love with you.” He replied, his voice calm, but his heart beat faster against your cheek. You felt his hold on you tighten. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I want you to be mine.”
Your chest swelled with relief, with joy, anxiety. But..the good kind.
Love. That is such a strong word. One which in all your 18 fast paced years of studying you never fully understood the meaning of. But in this moment, it’s the only one that fits. In this quiet bedroom, enveloping the two of you wasn’t lust, or fear, it was love. Or at least, it’s feeble beginnings.
You craned your neck, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “Okay.” You whispered, voice too thick with emotion. “I’m yours. Let’s try.”
He pulled you closer, kissing you slow and deep. You could feel him smile against your lips, letting out a soft, relieved sigh. “Go to sleep. I got you, pretty girl.”
You knew he did. The irony didn’t fail to make you giggle softly. You’re tangled up in bed, in the arms of your worst former student. You drifted to sleep feeling utterly safe, cherished and loved.
Epilogue
“Okay.” You hummed thoughtfully, thumbing through the pages of a textbook. “Okay found it, look. The Moon Shot is a literalized metaphor. George Melies took the saying ‘eye of the observer’ literally and actually but the rocket in the moon’s-Are you even listening?” You looked up at Riki with an exasperated sigh.
He was sprawled out on his bed chin in hand, eyes shining adoration. “Hm?”
“Riki!” You sighed. “You’re not gonna pass Film History at this rate.”
“It’s not my fault my tutor’s too pretty.” He mumbled. “It’s distracting.”
“Ew.” You rolled your eyes, barely containing a smile. “But seriously, you have one semester left. How are you planning on passing if you’re not even doing the reading?”
He grinned. “Same way I did last time. Seduce the professor.”
“Dr. Cabret is a very handsome man.” You turned to the next page. “And he like’s them a little stupid.”
Riki sat up, raising his brow. “Telling me to get with a man and calling me stupid in one breath is wild.” He scoffed, highly offended. “In my shirt, nonetheless.”
“It’s my shirt now, since you tore mine from seam to seam.” You said calmly, reading through the section, absentmindedly fixing the hem to cover your bare legs. “So are you going to listen or not?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he quickly moved to sit text to you, looking at the book over your shoulder. “Sorry.”
“Anyways, so Melies is using a visual gag as a jab toward the Victorian Elite by-“ you felt a pair of arms snake around your waist and a chin rest on your shoulder. “Riki.” You gave a warning, trying hard not to smile at his antics.
“I’m listening, go ahead.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss against your jaw, your neck, then your cheek.
You took a deep breath, trying to keep your resolve. “-by showing how we ‘hurt’ the moon with the rocket-hey!” You squealed as Riki fell back, pulling you down with him.
He trapped you in his arms, peppering your face in kisses. You broke into delighted giggles. “Stop that tickles!” You didn’t make any attempt to stop him, your studious resolve breaking, leaving only affection in its place.
“Studying can wait.” He murmured against your cheek pressing another loud kiss to it. “I can’t.”
“Fine.” You grinned, melting into his embrace. “But we have to finish tonight.”
“Oh we will.” He smirked against your skin.
“You’re disgusting.” You laughed, hiding your burning face in his shoulder. 4 months together officially and he still makes you fluster like a kid.
“Yeah but you still love me.”
You rolled your eyes. “I do. Unfortunately.”
He chuckled, finally calming against your temple. “I love when you’re like this. All soft and warm.” He murmured softly.
“Oh but you don’t like me when I’m on your ass about your homework?” You teased.
“No I do. Even then.” He pulled you tighter.
You laid there in a comfortable quiet, kissing, talking and enjoying each other in Riki’s apartment. He was sharing stories of difficult artists from his dance studio, you were gossiping about faculty, together you discussed Ria’s incoming fashion showcase in which she is forcing both of you to walk because your body types ‘match her aesthetic.’ As you were both coming down a laugh, Riki pulled you in tighter.
“Baby.” He murmured. “Are you happy?”
You pulled away to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean with me.” He said, his voice quiet, like he needed a confirmation. Seeing him like that made you ready to do anything for him.
“Yes I am.” You buried your face in his chest. “Completely, perfectly and incandescently happy.”
He smiled, relaxing against you as he pressed his lips against yours in a slow sweet kiss. Suddenly he pulled away, eyebrow raised. “Wait, did you just quote Pride and Prejudice at me?”
You broke into a laugh. “See? You did learn something.”
He shook his head with a smirk. “You’re a fucking nerd you know that?”
You pressed a lazy kiss to his jaw as he pulled the covers over you. “I know. And you love it.”
He pulled you in tighter, hands slipping under the shirt just to rest on the small of you back, to feel the warmth of your skin. “Obviously. That’s the version of you I fell in love with.”
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Of course he didn’t get a reaction, typical. “Miyu.” He said more sternly.
The little one responded with a giggle. Her steps echoed through the green room.
With a grunt, he stood up from his chair. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop running here, young lady?”
He heard a squeaky giggle as she vanished into the dressing section of the room. His eyes narrowed, frustrated that his precious girl wasn’t listening to him: “hey! No! You can’t go there!” He quickly paced his steps, worry taking over as he couldn’t see her anymore.
Tuck.
A shrill cry followed.
Niki sighed, “Miyu… Why don’t you ever listen to your papa?” He stepped inside the racks of clothes searching for his daughter hiding somewhere in between the mess of clothes and boxes.
There she laid on the floor, tangled in clothes and disturbing the whole room with her wails.
Niki picked up his two and a half year old toddler, adjusting her in one of his strong arms as he carefully stepped out of the dressing section.
Her cries got louder and louder. She wiggled and screamed right into his ear.
And Niki was losing his mind.
He was so tired and exhausted. He couldn’t sleep well since a couple of nights, as he had been comforting and taking care of his sick wife. Oh, and then there was this thing called world tour which had him pretty occupied and exhausted.
He set his daughter on the ground, crouching in front of her as he ignored her ear-piercing screams. “Miyu.” He said firmly. “You have to listen to o-tousan. If you don’t do what I tell you, you will hurt yourself.” He really tried to take the gentle route. But his daughter wanted to test his limits today.
Her soft eyebrows scrunched in fury, droplets of tears hanging by her eyelashes, nose and lips rosy and snotty as she hiccuped and hiccuped.
Suddenly, with a precipitate outburst of anger, she hit him. Slap. Right in his face.
Niki’s eyes widened in shock. “Touchan mean. Hate touchan.”
His eyebrows furrowed in anger, mirroring his daughter’s expression but with way more intensity.
“Miyu. No. This is bad behaviour. Very, very bad. You don’t hit your father.”
Then her tiny hands started to slap him repeatedly.
Hit. Hit. Hit.
Her loud screams filled the room once again.
His large, tough hands grasped his daughter’s frail wrists, stopping her from hitting him.
“Miyu!”
His daughter twitched mid-scream at his deep, loud voice. Her startled, round and teary eyes looked at him, lips wobbling in fear.
The staff members glanced towards him, curious about his unusual loud tone towards his daughter.
But Niki didn’t care that people were watching. He was just too exhausted. He had enough.
“That’s enough! You’re in time-out.” He stood up and pointed to the couch in the corner of the room.
To his surprise, she obeyed him and sat on the couch with her tiny arms crossed stubbornly, face scrunched in a frown like the spoiled princess she was.
Through a heavy sigh, Niki sat back on his chair, rubbing his face. Various staff approached him hesitantly to get some work done, and just like that his attention turned to his work instead of his daughter.
Quick eyes darted to his sulking baby, who was sitting on the couch and swinging her legs with a pout in her face. Maybe I was too harsh, he thought as the staff talked to him about his ending ment.
No. I can’t let her think that hitting is okey. Especially not her own father.
Gosh, in that moment, he was missing you so much. He needed you right now. But he knew he had to be strong and handle this on his own.
Miyu had been like this the whole day. Throwing stuff on the ground, screaming at her father whenever he tried to talk with her, having meltdowns, refusing to eat proper meals, running away even though he told her not to, and now even hitting him. He knew that the staff was not delighted to have a toddler zipping around in the venue with all of the various equipments lying around.
As much as he felt bad about the situation, he didn’t have any choice.
You and Miyu had joined him recently on the tour, but unfortunately, you had caught a really bad flu. Travelling so much—especially with a child—also didn’t help you to rest and recover, which is why you were given the order (by Niki) to rest in the hotel room without worrying about Miyu.
“I hate touchan.” Miyu mumbled, her pouty frown and crossed arms stayed put.
He peeked through the styling mirror at her and caught her glaring at him. Niki ignored her comment, knowing her snarky attitude all too well whenever she was mad.
Noticing that her daddy was not reacting, but still giving her attention by looking at her, she started to scream again: “I hate touchan!! I hate touchan!!!”
Niki sighed under his breath as he turned to his manager again, ignoring her whines.
Just as she was about to get louder, someone entered the room.
“Miyu-piyu!!” Jake squealed joyfully.
The little girl’s whole demeanour switched up. Smiling brightly, her arms shot up: “Chakey-Chakey!”
Just before he could get to her to pick her up, Niki warned her in a low-tone, “Miyu.”
“Hmff!” Miyu snarled, eyebrows knitting, irritated, as she crossed her arms stubbornly again.
Jake questioned the tense atmosphere with curious, raised eyebrows. Niki just shook his head, indicating wordlessly that he shouldn’t talk to her. Suddenly, his phone rang. He excused himself and was about to leave the room, not noticing his little one watching him with big doey eyes.
“Touchan!!!” She screamed furiously. When he didn’t look at her, she screeched again. She was scared that her daddy might leave her but didn’t know how to express it. Then she rolled onto the ground, legs kicking in the air, arms flailing as she shrieked.
Jake winced at the ear-deafening noise, the staffs scrunched their faces. One even rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. Of course Niki saw it, and that’s all it took for him to lash out.
“Nishimura Miyu!!!”
She flinched.
With firm steps, he went to her and grabbed her by her arms to place her on the couch: “If I hear you scream one more time, I will send you back to Korea!! Do you understand??!!”
Instant guilt kicked in.
What am I doing? Threatening my baby?
But his scolding worked. Miyu quietened down and sniffled with angry eyes. She definitely inherited the stubbornness from him.
His phone started to ring again. “You’re still in time-out.” He muttered, as he left the room with a heavy heart.
With an exhausted sigh, he answered the call, “Baby?”
“Hi, baby. How’s everything going?” You sounded strained, exhaustion and sickness evident in your voice. Niki felt a lump forming in his throat. “Everything’s fine here.” He lied a little white lie.
How could he tell his sick wife that everything is a mess without her? That their child is being really difficult right now? That he only slept for two hours each night for the last whole week and just wanted to rest? That he just screamed at his toddler?
What kind of father does that?
He felt horrible.
“You don’t sound fine.” You observed. Niki chuckled lowly, a hand rubbing his face, “yeah, I’m not.”
“Is she being difficult? You know you can send her to me if it’s too much.”
Niki panicked slightly, “no! I got this, baby. You have to rest and recover quickly.”
“Because it’s difficult to handle everything without me?” You added teasingly.
“Well, yeah. You’re my rock, remember?” He flirted with a soft tone, honesty speaking through the teasing.
You rolled your eyes lovingly, “yeah, yeah. I won’t forget your vows.”
Niki laughed lightly, “I get lost without you, baby. I need you in order to think and breathe. I just yelled at Miyu and I feel horrible.”
“You’re exhausted, Niki. A parent can’t be perfect all the time.”
Niki’s heart tugged.
“She’s been screaming a lot again, hm?”
“Yeah, I think the tour is too much for her. She doesn’t have any routine and is also exhausted. And she’s missing you a lot. She’s probably overwhelmed which is why she’s screaming and having meltdowns.”
“My baby…” you pouted. “I wanted to talk to her, but I think that would make her miss me more.”
“Yeah, she’ll have another meltdown.”
Niki heard you cough through the speaker. “We should hang up so you can rest, hm?”
You said your goodbye, before adding: “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Remember you’re also exhausted and lacking sleep. Just try to breathe whenever you feel like your head is about to explode when she’s having her tantrums, that’s what I do.”
Niki smiled softly, “alright, I will try. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Niki closed his eyes and rolled his head, preparing for the worst as he entered the room again. Only to be met with the cutest sight ever.
There she was, cuddled up with her uncle Jake on the couch as he showed her something on his phone. He had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, tugging her to his side.
“And this is baby Jaein when she was born.”
“Baby Chen?”
“Yes, you were also once this small. A tiny baby.” He booped her nose to which she giggled.
“Baby Miyu?” She pointed at the photo of Jake’s baby. “No, Miyu. This is baby Jaein. Not Miyu.”
“Baby Miyu?” She blinked at him as she still hadn’t notice her dad watching her from behind. Jake’s eyes squinted slightly, “I don’t understand, Miyu.”
She gasped as if she was tired of Jake and repeated: “Baby Miyu?”
“She wants to see pictures of herself as a baby.” Niki translated in a low tone.
“Hmm,” Jake hummed as he scrolled through his phone, the baby photos of Miyu were buried somewhere in his gallery from two and a half years ago.
“Do you know who this is?” He showed her a picture of Niki. “Touchan!” She exclaimed excitedly as she recognised her father immediately.
“And this?”
“Mama!”
“Oh, and who’s this?” As he showed her a recent picture of herself.
“Miyu!”
“Yes!” He ruffled her hair as he scrolled further to show her a picture of herself when she was a newborn, “and this is Miyu when she was a baby.”
“Miyu no baby.” She pouted with furrowed eyebrows, irked.
“Sorry, sorry. Of course not. You’re a big girl.”
“Baby Chen?”
Jake’s eyes glistened at the mention of his baby-girl. “Baby Jaein is a baby. A little tiny baby.” He put his phone in his lap to show her both of his palms, “she’s this tiny.”
“Baby!” Miyu nodded.
Jake laughed, amused, “yeah, she’s still a baby.”
“Baby Chen?”
Jake raised his eyebrows, not understanding her, he tilted his head slightly.
“Baby Chen?” She blinked at him with sparkling eyes. Jake just stared at her. “Baby Chen!” She whined slightly.
“She wants to play with Jaein.” Niki added.
“Oh! You wanna play with Baby Jaein?”
Miyu nodded with her big round eyes. “I’m sorry, Miyu. She’s at her home.”
“Why?”
Jake pouted sadly, “She’s with her mama. She’s not here.”
“Why?”
Jake chuckled at the repeated question: “She’s too little to come with her appa.”
“Miyu appa?” She questioned as she pointed at Jake. Niki felt his heart squeeze uncomfortably.
Jake grinned as he showed her his lock screen of his newborn, shaking his head, “no, I’m appa of baby Jaein.” Then he pointed at Niki, who had been leaning against the doorframe behind Miyu, “he is Miyu’s appa.”
Miyu shook her head furiously, arms crossed like a lady as she scrunched her face into a frown, “no touchan. Hate touchan. Touchan bad.”
“Niki?” The staff called, snapping Niki out of his focus on his stubborn yet precious daughter.
Hearing her father’s name, Miyu quickly turned to the sound, her sparkling eyes turning into scared ones as she was afraid that he was going to leave her again.
Jake glanced at her with an amused look, wondering if his little one will turn like her one day. “He’s not leaving you, Miyu.” He whispered as he observed how she looked at her father with her big doey eyes.
Then he rubbed her back reassuringly, “hm? Your daddy loves you very much.” He tried his best to soothe her tiny-human anger.
“Hate touchan.” She pouted as she turned back to her uncle.
Jake glanced at Niki who was busy talking to the staff.
“No, my little Miyu-Piyu. You don’t hate your appa, alright?” His soothing tone calmed her temper down. He kissed the top of her head, “go apologize to your daddy, hm?”
And just like magic, the little Miyu-Piyu stood up and went to her father who didn’t notice her yet.
Suddenly, he felt two tiny arms wrapping around his leg. Instinctively, he reached his hand out to pat her head, continuing his conversation with his manager.
“Touchaaaaan!” The little one whined when she didn’t receive his attention.
Niki excused himself, “I’m sorry, I have to listen to her. Just give me sec, hyung.” He told his manager. The manger stepped aside, giving them their space.
He knelt down to her level, “what’s wrong, princess?” She hastily hugged his neck and belted against his skin: “I’m sowwy, touchaaaaan.”
He melted on the spot.
His strong arms wrapped around his daughter and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry too, baby.” He kissed the side of her head, “I should’ve been the one who apologised first, I’m so sorry.” He tightened his embrace.
“No! I first apology!” She mumbled into the crook of his neck. He chuckled in response, “alright, alright. You’re the best.” He gave in as he didn’t want her to get mad again.
Though in his heart, he made a promise to always be the one who apologises first. He knew that some days are tougher in parenthood, but he will never allow his ego to build a wall between himself and his daughter.
“But can you promise me one thing, my princess?” He leaned back to look at her properly. She nodded eagerly in her two and a half year old spirit.
He took hold of her tiny hands, which got lost in his large ones. Still kneeling in front of her, he looked at her with concerned eyes. “You know I love you so much, right? You’re my whole world.”
“I vove you!”
A soft smile spread across his face, “and you know how touchan and mama will get extremely sad if something bad happens to you, right?”
“Touchan cwy?”
He nodded earnestly, “yes. If something happens to my little Miyu, I will never forgive myself.” He spoke to her honestly, as if she would understand the heaviness behind his words, “so can my princess just for today be close to me? Don’t go anywhere without your o-tousan or your uncles, okey? Here-“ he gestured vaguely at their surroundings, “it’s very dangerous. Many things lie on the ground and many things are here that can injure you,” he glanced at the hot curling iron laying on the dressing table without any supervisor, “and this building is very, very big, you can get lost. And tousan doesn’t want to lose you. Then I will be very, very sad.” She nodded determinedly as if she understood every single word.
“Later, there will come many, many people here, and when I have to work, you will stay with tousan’s friend, alright?”
“Touchan vok?” She asked with a tiny lisp, lips pursed into a curious little pout.
“Yes, later, baby, I have to work.” He brushed her soft hair behind her little ear.
“Uncwle vok?”
“Yes, they also have work.”
“But for now you will stay by my side, okey? No running around, stay with tousan only. Please?”
She nodded cutely to which he kissed her squishy cheek, earning a giggle from her: “I love you so much, my little princess. And I’m so sorry for yelling at you.” In response, she gave him another tight hug.
Niki sighed into the hug, relieved that his cherished daughter wasn’t mad at him.
And that’s how Niki made sure that Miyu stayed glued by his side.
He was eating lunch? She was tucked under his arm as he fed her some kimbap.
He was getting his hair and make up done for the show later? She was perched securely on his lap, occupied with make-up brushes, pretending to put on make-up on herself.
He needed to go to the toilet? He made sure Jake had her in his embrace before he left her.
They needed to rehearse on the big stage? He had picked her up and wrapped her so tightly in his embrace, she had to tell him that his ‘awm ow ow’.
There was no chance that he would risk his daughter getting hurt.
“Ehh!” She wriggled in his embrace as he was talking to the dancers, bored at the grown-ups talking. “No, Miyu.” He murmured lowly, but she continued to wiggle and whine.
He put her down, only to tightly hold her hand.
“Touchan, pway!” She swung his arm with both of her hands, one hand wrapped around his pinky and ring finger, the other around his thumb.
“I can’t right now, baby.” He rubbed the knuckles of his other hand against her soft cheek, affectionately.
She then reached for her Barbie-doll in that said, other hand, “baby!” She exclaimed as she struggled to distinguish between the words ‘Barbie’ and ‘baby’. But Niki understood her nonetheless.
“Okey, play with Barbie, but you have to stay here where o-tousan is, alright?”
Excitedly, she ripped the doll out of his grip and sat on the ground as she started to talk and babble with the Barbie. He looked at her worriedly, but after he made sure she was safe and was not leaving her spot, he got a little relaxed.
“Yo, Niki, check this out.” Heeseung called him over to where they were gathered in front of the monitor.
“Miyu, come.” Niki called her as he began to walk to his team-mates. When he didn’t hear her squeaky shoes following him, he turned back to her.
“Miyu.” He tried again. But she was too occupied playing with her doll.
“Niki!” Sunghoon gestured to him to hurry up.
After one last glance to his daughter, he jogged to the members, joining them to discuss the final details. As they were exchanging their ideas, Niki made sure to check on his toddler from afar.
It was just a short moment. A short moment where he was focused on the monitor and didn’t have his eyes on his daughter.
He squinted his eyes as he leaned a little closer toward the monitor. Just as he was about to share his thoughts about his observation, he heard people shouting.
“No!” “Oh my god! The baby!” “Someone get the child!”
Niki furrowed his eyebrows as he looked up, confused what the commotion was about and why people were running.
And then his heart dropped into his stomach.
Miyu was running from the big stage to the smaller ending, trying to catch a butterfly and not noticing anything else. She was already reaching the very end of the stage.
“Miyu! No!” He roared as he sprinted to his toddler.
People screamed at her. The members sprinted just as fast as Niki.
But it was too late.
Her tiny arms flailed wildly before she tipped over the edge, disappearing from their view as she crashed on the ground.
Wham!
“MIYU!!” Niki shrieked his daughter name. His voice wavered, panic shredding in a strangled, uneven cry.
Her screams hollered through the arena. “Baby!” Niki called out, still running und sprinting to the edge.
At the end of the stage, he hastily knelt down, eyes widened in panic as he saw Miyu lying on the ground, screaming and crying for her dad. “Touchan!”
“I’m coming!” His shout came out in a rasp, heart pounding up to his ears, adrenaline flowing down his veins.
He jumped down the stage. “I’m here, I’m here!”
Her sobs were shredding his heart apart into million tiny pieces.
He quickly stumbled to his daughter, kneeling beside her. “Shh, it’s okey. It’s okey. I’m here.” He tried his best to soothe her. With shaky hands, he scooped her tiny body into his arms. He didn’t notice that he was crying. He didn’t notice that the members and the staff watched them worriedly and that they had called an ambulance. His sole focus was on his hurt daughter.
“I’m here. Touchan is here, hm?” He kissed her forehead as he hugged her, tight enough to ground her yet loose enough to make sure he wasn’t hurting any injuries. Her cries were shrill and painful.
“Shh, I’m here. I’m here.” He gently rocked her in his embrace. After a short while of rocking her gently, he kissed her wet cheek, “where does it hurt, baby?” He rubbed her small back as he had settled her on his lap.
With a pained cry, she stretched out her tiny arm. Only then did Niki see the bruised skin. “It’s okey, it’s okey. It will get better soon.” With upmost tenderness, he scooped her arm in his warm, big hand, his other arm still wrapped around her body, holding her against him in a protective manner.
He softly blew on her arm, blinking his teary eyes, “it will get better soon.” He repeated to calm down his shocked daughter—and maybe himself too.
“She sprained her wrist.” Niki informed Jay through the phone, “luckily, she didn’t break any bones. The doctor said she was lucky that she doesn’t have any other injuries… he said she could’ve hurt her head really bad…” his voice cracked towards the end as he blinked the tears forming in his eyes away.
His hand tightened ever so slightly around Miyu’s uninjured hand.
“Hey…” Jay murmured softly, “it’s okey. She’s fine.”
A broken sob escaped the younger boy’s mouth, his head in bow, ashamed of himself. Jay’s heart squeezed painfully at the sound.
“It’s not your fault, Niki.”
Niki didn’t want to argue against it, he just wanted to watch his sleeping baby and continue caressing her hand.
He knew it was his fault. There was no point in denying it. And no matter who told him it wasn’t was lying to him. That’s what he had made up in his mind.
“They gave her some sedatives. She was so afraid and shocked. Was screaming and crying the entire ride to the hospital and didn’t stop until they gave her the sedatives.” Niki bit his lip as the lump in his throat grew bigger. “My poor little baby-girl.”
“Don’t worry, Niki. She will be running around in two days. Watch. She’s a fighter.”
Niki let out a dry, sarcastic chuckle, “she’s not allowed to run for the next 20 years.”
Jay smiled sadly in response, realising that no matter what he said his younger brother will not cheer up anytime soon.
Niki heard sniffles from the background on the other side of the call and recognised Sunoo immediately. “Ask him about y/n. Does she know?” He heard his faint, teary voice.
“And y/n? Does she know?” Jay echoed.
“I called her but only told her Miyu’s not feeling well and that we took her to the hospital. Otherwise she would’ve had panicked all alone and sick at the hotel room. Jungwon hyung and manager-nim are picking her up right now, they will tell her what happened when they get her.” Jay hummed in response, understanding the sensitivity of the situation. “It’s gonna be alright,” he murmured again, not finding the right words.
At the same moment, Miyu whined softly in her sleep, “touchan…”
Niki straightened up immediately, “yes, baby. I’m here. Touchan is here.” He whispered as he kissed the back of her hand tenderly, shuffling closer to her on his chair.
“I gotta hang up, they’re calling for sound check.” Jay informed. Right, Niki remembered, the concert. He had totally forgotten about it. Yet, no matter how much he regretted not to be able to perform for his fans who came to see him, he would rather die than leave his baby at this moment. And he was not being dramatic.
When he hung up, he settled his head beside Miyu’s on the pillow, watching over her with regretful, teary eyes. Tenderly, he kissed her closed eyelids one by one, then her soft eyebrows, followed by her plump cheeks, and lastly her tiny nose. “I’m sorry, my baby.” He whispered, his tears wetted the pillow, both of his hands held her uninjured hand and his thumbs never stopped their circling motions on it.
“Touchan…” she mumbled in her sleep. “Hm?” He replied softly, kissing her warm, soft forehead. “Touchan, sing…” she whispered half-consciously.
One hand reached up to stroke her rosy, chubby cheek. He gave her another kiss on her forehead before he started to hum a little melody which soon turned into whispers of a lullaby she loved.
Instinctively, she shuffled towards the soothing, familiar melodies, her face buried into the crook of her daddy’s warm neck. She sighed softly into it, feeling protected and loved even in her sleep.
His thumb rubbed her cheek for a while and then wandered to pat her hair rhythmically.
“You’re not mad at your touchan, are you?” He croaked quietly, “you must be mad that I failed to protect you, hm?” He kissed the top of her head as he tugged her face further into his neck. His tears flowed down his temple as he continued to pat her hair and hold her hand. “I’m sorry, baby. Please forgive your touchan.” He whispered into her ear, lingering a kiss on the spot as regret and pain overtook his heart.
“I love you so much, my little baby.”
And just before Niki’s eyes followed suit, he heard his baby-girl talking in her sleep:
“I vove touchan.”
His eyes fluttered open.
That’s when Niki realised that his little one was the only person on this earth who could soothe his doubts and worries.
She was the only one who could make him believe that he was doing just fine as a father and that everything was going to be alright.
That’s how you found your family: one slumbering peacefully, feeling safe and taken care of, the other drowsily murmuring between whispers of affection and soothing lullabies, eyes misty with both sorrow and love.
PAIRING. biology professor!nishimura riki x student!reader.
SYN. an upcoming anatomy final leaves you teetering on the edge of exhaustion, buried under stress and self-doubt. but when professor nishimura offers a steady, guiding hand, the pressure starts to lift — and suddenly, the lines between mentorship and something more begin to blur.
AN. IT’S FINALLY FUCKING HERE OH MY GOD. firstly i want to say thank you to my gorgeous beautiful @d2iose for being my beta reader + hyping me up all the time n @dolllnini for being the biggest prof!riki fangirl. i would not have bothered to finish this hot mess if not for u guys.. i’ll send ass pics soon as a real thank you gift alright… ;)))) jk. maybe if u guys rlt want it. i genuinely feel indebted bc u had to listen to me crash out over this shit like at least 5 times over.. anyways it’s crazy cus i started this fic in like november and i’ve only now come around to finishing it. incredibly slow of me.. sorry. i hope it touches all ur souls and makes u wetter than anyrhing imaginable bc only the father, the son and Holy Spirit know how down bad professor nishimura got me feeling. i’m so sorry for the long ass word count too cus it was originally meant to be like 10k but i have terrible self control n i didn’t want to make everyone wait for like a Mehhh short fic. might as well lengthen it am i right???!!! okay. enjoy it u freaks!!!
CW. 18+ mdni, age gap (reader is in early 20s // riki is in his late 20s/early 30s), porn with some plot, power dynamics, angst, fluff, secret relationship, sexual fantasies >_<, college au, praise, degradation. piv, unprotected (pls don’t) creampie, breeding kink, spit kink (yes he spite on u), petnames (good girl, etc.) mentions of alcohol and drinking, skinship, riki is terrible w admitting his feelings, slowburn (?) fem!reader.
PLAYING. summer by brockhampton, blue eyes by illusion hills, beside you by 5sos, stateside by pinkpantheress, he gets me so high by beabadoobee, love me harder by ariana grande, slut me out by nle choppa, glory box by portishead, master of none by beach house, everybody here wants you by jeff buckley, pyramids by frank ocean.
WC. 29.5k (what the hell lol)
it is 5 in the morning.
birds are chirping and the sun is barely peeking over the buildings across from your modest apartment, kissing your skin in the most overstimulating way possible — your curtains have shifted slightly open due to the long night’s wind, and you are tired of hearing cars honk this early into dawn.
you’re clicking through the right arrows on your keyboard mindlessly, eyes barely processing the stream of images flashing across your macbook screen. the air in your lungs feels heavy, leaving your lips in slow, tired sighs — each one spelling out ‘why did i choose this major?’ in the shape of fading smoke.
two semesters worth of content to get down before your anatomy final. you’re angry, understandably: it’s less than a month back from your term break and you’re already slammed back to back with tests, projects, and tiny, worthless assignments you couldn’t be bothered to start.
“fucking ridiculous.”
microsoft word is minimized, a blank document laying dormant from 10 hours ago when you said you’d start on that small-scale literature review for your sociology elective.
spoiler: you have not, and you really don’t think you’ll have time to unless it’s a day before submission.
your first actually important hurdle was the anatomy final coming up. you’d done surprisingly decent so far — the warning words of your seniors had served you well up till now — but apparently, someone in the biology faculty decided to up the stakes and test all the majors on every single chapter instead of the usual, “too-easy” and “relaxing” ten.
you’d read the email two tuesdays ago, right leg folded over the left as you sat in a local coffee shop.
one moment you were sipping a rich, smooth caramel latte, enjoying your one blessed day of starting classes at noon — and the next, you were crying into your palms.
for a moment, professor riki nishimura’s face flashes in your mind. with a face like that, you had half a mind to tell him to fuck off and get a job in modelling instead.
he, presumably, was the one making things ten times harder for you. though, you couldn’t exactly point fingers at who decided on the sudden syllabus change, with a lack of proof and all that.
on the bright side, it’s nice to know that he had that much faith in you and your peers. bellcurve and whatever, if you’d just get those 500 cards down, you think you’ll outperform many of them. still, it doesn’t mean that the chronic sleep deprivation feels any more worth it.
You: dude i’m not getting anything done for anatomy 5:12 AM
Sooha: me neither 5:13 AM
Sooha: im telling u it was prof who added those fucking chapters 5:14 AM
You: literallt why does it matter im stillleft eith 250 fuckign cards 5:16 AM
Sooha: i emailed him this morning asking him to reconsider so it woudl be kinda embarrassing if it wasnt him 5:17 AM
You: fuck thats genius 5:17 AM
You: why r u even awake btw 5:17 AM
Sooha: creative writing assignment due at 8am lol 5:19 AM
genius indeed, sooha — perhaps one or two emails would help persuade your kind professor to reevaluate his expectations of class of 2025.
it wasn’t that you were incapable. it was just too little time, too many priorities; being twenty something and in university, in not to mention one of the most competitive education systems in the world, definitely takes it’s toll on you.
walk around campus and you’d see at least five people with sunken eyes and some kind of posture problem from bending over wooden desks for hours.
you wonder how people get through this with stellar gpa’s and a spotless attendance. you’re already down to 90% for some classes, and it feels like sand slipping between your fingers with how desperately you’re clinging onto the last bit of sanity college has left you with.
you lean back into your beanbag, nose tipping towards the ceiling as you exhale heavily. the air is freezing cold this time of year, and your fingers lay still on your keyboard, mind repeating sooha’s words. you’re stumped.
i wrote an email asking him to reconsider.
you sit up, shifting around, the sounds of plastic beads rustling inside of the fabric of the beanbag. your eyes glaze over the bright, fluorescent screen that lights up your entire living room with it’s glow.
the bookmark to outlook practically speaks to you in your sleep-deprived state, and you’re oh-so close to imagining eyes and a mouth growing from the icon.
so you click on it. press the notebook button with knit eyebrows and your teeth clenched, jaw twitching in a slowly brewing mix of anger, stress, and sadness.
To: NISHIMURA RIKI
prof im suffering so bad with these fucking chapters. 10 was already bad enough and u want us to do ALL OF THEM?????? are u crazy????? havent u been thru this before?? u have a phd??? do u not understand how students feel?????.?. this is incredibly inconsiderate actually. its either you help me get this A and maintain my gpa or i am not shwoing up for that damn test
strange. it sounded more formal in your head, still equally vulgar but with a little more tact. you’d written plenty of informal emails before; ever since college started, lecturers seemed more relaxed than the typical high school teacher. some you called by name, some you’d chat with over coffee in the cafeteria. you’d even met a few of their kids during school events, like that one campus-hosted marathon last year when you accidentally bumped into mrs. lee’s ten-year-old son.
still, nothing had ever felt this charged. your literature professor might’ve called it poetic — maybe even commendable — as if that would somehow justify the string of inappropriate words you were typing. but even in your half-awake state, you knew this was going to go sideways, upside down, and sideways again.
nevermind that, your mind whispers. it is tomorrow’s problem.
with that, your index finger slams down on the touchpad, the cursor darting across the screen until it hovers over the large X in the corner of your browser. another click and it’s gone, and it’s another second for your eyes to screw shut.
Email sent to NISHIMURA RIKI.
─────────────────────────
PROFESSOR NISHIMURA WAS A PHENOMENON AROUND CAMPUS.
young, rich, handsome, smart, disgustingly so. a man holding such traits was bound to be under the watchful eye of colleagues, lecturers and students under the same institution — highly revered and wildly desirable to all the girls in your year.
he was only a few years older. an impressive feat, agreed by many: the walls of his office were decorated in certificates, plaques with his name inscribed, all praising his research and contribution to the field of biology. his shelves were taken up mostly by books, or framed photos of him receiving awards, standing alone with a polite smile that barely showed how proud he really was of where he stood.
naturally, he was wanted everywhere he went — by universities, research labs, private companies who would’ve splurged to their last cent to have him under their belt.
but still, nothing compared to teaching something he loved — no amount of awards could ever give him the same satisfaction as seeing a student get a grade they worked so diligently for, under his guidance.
it was a selfless kind of addiction.
professor riki shows up to class in tight button-ups, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms as he leans against the lectern, laptop open to slides he knows no one will really care about. the real lesson begins when he picks up that thick black whiteboard marker, sketching every muscle, vein, and layer of skin from memory — movements so precise it feels like watching art unfold.
even the lowest-scoring student can’t help but stare, chin propped in their hand, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief at how effortlessly professor nishimura draws, how sure he seems of every line, every curve, every minute detail that other lecturers couldn’t replicate.
who the hell wouldn’t want a guy like that remembers what’s important and loves working with his hands. it’s pure fantasy sitting right in front of you.
in pure, uncensored, and shameless honesty, you’ve thought about it once or twice during his classes. thought about him.
it’s the way he looks at you when he leans over your desk, voice low, explaining something gently and meticulously, all the words clicking in your head as he mumbles on about pulmonary ventilation and respiratory pumps.
“mm. that’s right, smart girl. you don’t need my help after all.”
it doesn’t help that he calls you to his office after a few sloppy mock tests, isolating you from the rest of your class in that sleek, quiet office tucked into a far corner of the administrative building. you’re not there often, but every time you are, it feels unreal — because professor nishimura doesn’t seem entirely human.
“tell me what you want,” he would mutter, flipping through papers at his desk as you shift your weight nervously. “use your words, like a big girl. i can’t read your mind.”
he’s too composed, too annoyingly blunt, acting as if the words that roll off that sharp tongue don’t make you squirm, dizzy in the head while you remind yourself that this is professor talk, not hot-nerdy-tutor talk.
so why the hell is he still so sexy, then, despite the constant self-reminders?
it’s a pain in the ass. it’s not working. at all.
you catch yourself wondering if he has a wife, maybe children, or a secret past he left behind in japan. whether he ever regrets it — trading familiarity for this polished, lonely kind of brilliance in korea.
or maybe he was really just an oddly cold guy, by nature, who also happens to be really hot.
well — you couldn’t ask your professor that. not for as long as he was your professor, of course.
it goes without saying that if he were a classmate of yours, you’d have sunk your claws into that man centuries ago; stared at him like he was the sweetest eye candy you’ve ever had in all your years of schooling as he passed by you in the halls.
you’d ask him for help with homework, run your hand over his bicep when his jokes get a little too funny.
“riki, are you free tonight? help me with my assignments… please?”
you’d smile, bat your lashes, play innocent until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. he’d drag you into an empty classroom to take care of the problem in his pants, the one that emerges every single time you get too close — close enough to get a whiff of your perfume, or your sweat, or your hair.
or just you.
you’d unbuckle his belt, pull his pants down in one swift motion, wrap your lips around that stupidly thick tip of his. he’d fist your hair, guiding you up and down, drooling all over his cock where he knew you belonged.
then, the late night homework-slash-study sessions would lead to your hands palming his bulge through his sweats, your lips messily crashing against his — he’d moan your name as you sunk down on him, right on your desk chair, the lamp on your table shaking with every wet thwack of skin. he’d shove his fingers in your mouth, trying to shut you up before your roommates come barging in.
“o-oh fuckkk,” you imagine him panting, big hands holding your hips as he helps you bounce on his dick. “pussy s’fucking good—so perfect, [name], made for me.”
in another life, professor nishimura is not your professor, and he’s folding you in half in your dorm every friday night after your last class. his glasses thrown somewhere onto the floor, your shirt riding up your chest, his pants barely down his thighs cause he’s just so needy and impatient.
“this what you wanted?” he’d grunt, your knees folded against your chest, thighs slick with sweat and cum and every other fluid you can’t bother naming. “dumb slut. didn’t even do half of your work right—fuck—rubbing all up on me the entire fucking week. can’t wait for some dick? huh?”
“s-sorry, riki, i’m sorry—mmph—!”
saturday brunch plans with jiwon and sooha would be automatically cancelled. instead of cruel reality, where you’re just too sleep deprived to make it out of the building — in this fantasy, your legs just simply won’t let you get out of bed.
“good for nothing,” riki would tap your cheek with his fingers, your tongue lolling out for him to spit on. “just for me to fuck. waiting all damn week just to be filled—felt so empty without your riki inside of you—huh, baby?”
he’d rut into you, rough hands feeling your tits, your moans starting to amp up. he’d fuck you like he’s known you his entire life — like he knows your body better than you do — because in truth, he does.
“i just m-missed you so much, riki,” you’d whine, grinding your hips against him to meet his thrusts halfway, each hit making your toes curl behind his back. “o-oh fuuuck—right there!”
“yeah? show me how much you fucking missed me, then, dumb bitch.”
it’s that damn degree, those framed certificates, that impossible air of authority — standing between you two, spelling out the line you can’t cross. the one that divides student from mentor, fantasy from a painfully brutal reality.
“that’s all the time we have,” professor nishimura’s voice rolls through the lecture hall, low and smooth, the kind that sinks into your skin and lingers long after the sound fades. even through the mic, it carries that calm, deliberate rhythm that always makes you sit up a little straighter.
you’re half-asleep, six rows back, barely holding yourself upright after another night of terrible decisions and too little rest. still, you catch every word — because somehow, you always do when it comes to professor nishimura.
his back turns to the whiteboard, eyes scanning the room for the same few students who raise their hands to ask ridiculously specific questions. professor nishimura answers each one in turn, unhurried and precise, his tone steady, his explanations effortless. it’s unnerving how smooth it is, no pauses, no haste, just knowledge flowing out of him like it’s second nature. his mind seems like a library built from years of quiet obsession, and he speaks with the calm certainty of someone who’s never once needed to guess.
you wonder if he could memorise all 500 flashcards of yours in less than ten minutes. you’d bet $5 he could. it’s too bad you don’t have as much of an obsession with biology like your beloved professor does.
“i hope i don’t need to remind you all to study for your final. email me if you have any queries.”
his final words dissolve into the usual chaos — backpack zippers, chatter, the quite thudding of chairs against cheap carpet. you exhale, already feeling the weight of the next two hours pressing down. your next class isn’t until later, but the library fills up fast around this time.
you spot sooha near the door, standing on her tiptoes like a soldier ready to sprint, determined to claim one of the few coveted study spots before the lunchtime crowd floods in. for a moment, you just watch her go, too tired to follow, too comfortable basking in the faint echo of your professor’s voice still looping in your head.
“studied?” jiwon’s hand brushes over your slumped shoulders, your forehead kissing the surface of your desk. you look up to meet her gentle, concerned eyes. an angel all in all, before her expression morphs into one of genuine shock. “oh my god. what time did you sleep last night?”
those damn cards. again. you’ve still yet to finish them.
“don’t even ask me that,” you huff, index fingers rubbing your eyes, trying your best to get blood moving inside of your body. “you going for lunch?”
“i have class in twenty,” jiwon frowns. she looks genuinely crushed, and all it does is make you smile up at her. “we’ll eat tomorrow?”
“i can’t—too many things to do. next week?”
she nods at your words before turning back around, hugging her pink laptop to her chest as she walks off — her stride still as light and cheerful as the first day you met her at freshman orientation. it’s comforting, in a way, knowing that even when sooha’s busy spiraling over her chaotic study habits, jiwon’s calm, steady presence always balances it out. around them, the world feels a little softer, and for a fleeting moment, you believe there’s really nothing worth stressing about.
you slump over your desk once more, the quiet hum of air-conditioning lulling you to back to sweet, comforting sleep — until something begins to tap at the turn of your shoulder.
“miss [last name].”
you smack your lips together, hair falling over your face as you tilt your head up, meeting professor nishimura’s heavy, lingering gaze. his glasses sit slightly askew, a little too low to be comfortable, and you can’t help but notice the way his middle finger moves to push them back up the slope of his nose.
“yeah?”
from this distance, he doesn’t seem all that unattainable. realistically, he’s only… what, five, six years older than you? maximum seven, if you’re pushing your luck. not a wrinkle in sight, he must take care of his collagen levels.
still, standing this close, that tiny gap feels even smaller — like the space between student and teacher was never really there at all. he looks like any guy you might’ve shared a homeroom with back in high school, or a friend of a friend you’d spot shooting hoops during a study break. maybe even someone your age working part-time at the local café, trying to chip away at student debt before it piles up.
he looks ordinary. familiar. like someone you could know.
professor nishimura blinks slowly at you, slightly surprised by your casual tone — still, he wasn’t one of those teachers with a stick up his ass about authority, because he himself knew that he was not all that old with grey hairs.
“are you okay?” he asks.
you smile lazily at him. you don’t imagine you look cute right now, but you do it anyway. “i’m great, professor.”
his skin looks flawless. his hair is amazing. his lips look so moisturized, soft, pillowy. he speaks to you with the same gentleness and concern you never got used to, even after attending his classes for weeks.
“are you sure?”
he raises an eyebrow, expectant expression written all over. what the hell does he want you to say? no, i’ve been studying all night for your stupid exam and now i have to show up for your stupid classes 10 in the morning?
yes, professor, i am as jolly as a student can be! albeit i am running on four hours of sleep, two cups of black coffee, and dying airpods, everything’s going great—
“i’m sure, professor.” you grit your teeth in a pleasant smile. he hums in satisfaction at your reply, eyes squinting, as if he was quietly analysing every detail of your very fake grin. you’re worried he might catch the flicker of disdain in your eyes, but even if he does, he doesn’t poke at it.
smart guy.
“by the way, i answered your email.” professor nishimura says finally, clearing his throat as his voice slices cleanly through the heavy air. it feels tense, awkward even, though the feeling seems to exist only on your end. he remains composed, collected as ever, while under the sleek surface of his desk, your leg won’t stop bouncing.
“huh?”
if only for a second, something flickers across professor nishimura’s face — amusement. like he finds you funny, maybe a little entertaining. it’s strange, seeing that expression on him of all people.
no — most of all, it is terrifying.
this is the same professor nishimura who rarely entertains small talk outside his field, who wears no ring on his finger, who still has the default iphone lockscreen. the one whose phone occasionally buzzes mid-lecture with microsoft team messages — notifications he never bothers to mute, because in his world, work has always come before life.
“have you read it?”
there it is. that twitch in his lips, a short breath that comes out as a scoff, before he grins.
he finds you funny, in the way an old friend from high school might, with that same teasing edge in his expression, like he’s just waiting to see how you’ll react. there’s something disarming about it, familiar in a way that doesn’t fit the setting or the title he carries, yet it lingers between you all the same. now, he’s smiling down at you with an expectant grin, watching your brain scramble in real time for an answer.
only then you realise what he’s just said — your email. your half-asleep, drowsy, fuelled email that was keyboard mashed with furious fingers.
your throat goes dry. his hands slip into the pockets of his slacks, fingers fidgeting in the small space that seems too tight to hold anything of importance.
“hm?”
professor nishimura leans forward, just enough to cast a shadow over you — the harsh white lights of the lecture hall still blaze above, but beneath him, the room somehow feels dimmer than when you first walked in.
he reeks of cologne.
you’ve smelled it before: expensive, heady, the kind that lingers for days. you remember considering that same scent for your ex, the one a year above you, the one you met at a frat party back when you were still a freshman. but now, all that memory dissolves into this moment — into the scent that clings to him, to the way professor nishimura looks down at you with that smug, unreadable grin, like he’s studying something rare under the lens of a microscope.
“yeah! yeah, i have,” you force a smile, “but could… could you refresh my memory? i was reading it on the way to class, and i was just so incredibly busy—“
his jaw.
the smug bastard’s jaw.
it twitches.
under this lighting, you see it clear as day, the way he shifts his weight and tilts his head: as if he was amazed by this reaction he was managing to pull from you.
professor nishimura leans his frame closer. the air shifts completely: every thud of your ventricular walls squeezing blood echoes in your ears, your skin warming under the sudden proximity, your breath faltering as the sharp, unyielding man in front of you closes an already (inappropriately) small gap between you two.
your gaze drifts to the line of his neck, and — as if the universe insists on being cruel — a fresh wave of his cologne fills your senses. it’s strong enough to sting, to make your eyes prickle with heat. you can’t tell if it’s because of the way he’s looking down at you, heavy and deliberate, or because you’re genuinely fearing disciplinary action. either way, your stare darts to the wall behind him, anywhere but the place where his eyes are anchored on you.
“i’ll be more than willing to help you,” he speaks, clearly and smoothly, as if it was really nothing much that you harassed his inbox last night. “why didn’t you ask sooner, hm? i’m almost offended.”
just another tuesday for the likes of someone so brilliant. it makes you roll your eyes — he notices, tongue poking into his cheek as he does so.
“i thought you’d be busy with other matters, is all,” you smile up at him, pretty irises peeking through your lashes as you bat your eyes. “aren’t you, professor?”
fucking minx, he thinks.
“i’d always make time for you, you know that. you’re a smart girl,” professor nishimura says, the smirk now fully formed, carved into his face like it belongs there. “however…”
his hands brace against your desk as he leans further in, close enough that you can hear the faint rustle of his shirt when he breathes, the sharp inhale of air before he speaks. “if you need a little extra help, of course, i’ll do anything.”
it’s the way the words land and hang in the air. he isn’t talking about academics.
it’s an invitation with sharp teeth, slipped between the lines and delivered in a voice that knows exactly where the boundaries soften — where they blur just enough for you to start decoding.
it’s up to you to decipher him, and you do, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly as you meet his, reading him in a way he definitely meant for you to.
“i’ll take you up on that, then.”
a knowing smile is all you receive.
─────────────────────────
IT’S THE NEXT AFTERNOON and you find yourself sinking into a leather seat situated in front of a dark oak desk. your eyes trail the swirls in the material, glazing over the tiny details in this cold, relatively lifeless office — professor nishimura’s not much of a decorator, it seems.
he was late. completely unlike him, and much to your disfavour, especially since you had another appointment in an hour — his email had outlined what you’d be reviewing today, and a dozen questions started buzzing in your head as you reread it, eyes skimming over chapters you hadn’t even touched yet, blindsiding you entirely.
From: NISHIMURA RIKI
Hope 4pm is okay for you.
do you even have a fucking choice?
From: Y/N L/N
of course, 4pm’s great! thanks
that’s what you get for uploading the entire slide deck into some random ai flashcard generator instead of making them yourself. still, he’s worked his magic before, turning complete disasters into stellar students by their next quiz — and you weren’t that far gone, were you?
just then, the sharp click of dress shoes starts to echo down the desolate fifth-floor hallway, each step bouncing off the sterile walls of the administrative building.
you exhale slowly, index finger tapping a nervous rhythm against your thigh.
seconds later, the metallic rattle of a doorknob turning sounds through the office. your lungs expel a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding — it hitches again when professor nishimura finally pops into view, looking clean and sharp as ever, hair slicked back with what looked like gel.
a few loose strands fall over his forehead, just enough to show he’s been busy today — but the rest of him still looks irritatingly put-together.
his white button-up is tucked neatly into tailored slacks, the sleeves rolled just high enough to expose the veins running along his forearms. his glasses frame his face perfectly, catching the faint reflection of the overhead lights, and there’s a faint crease at the corner of his eyes that tells you he’s been squinting at his laptop for too long.
even his cologne arrives before he does, cold and expensive, settling into the room with the same quiet confidence he carries everywhere. and yet, despite looking like he walked straight out of a modelling gig, he’s here — giving up an hour of his afternoon to tutor you.
“hello, [name].”
you notice his shoulder bumping into the tall bookshelf next to you, just as he walks by to sit himself down on his office chair — you stare at him from across, nose taking in all of him, smiling politely as he begins to pry open his laptop.
“so, uh…” you mutter, fingernails scratching the back of your neck. “this won’t take long, right?”
the sounds of his keyboard echo through the office, your question hanging in the air for a few seconds before he turns his neck slightly to meet your gaze.
“usually, students start with a ‘thank you for seeing me, professor’,” professor nishimura deadpans, before turning back to the bright, white-lit screen in front of him. “but you’re welcome.”
you swallow. “sorry.”
“not an issue at all.”
it takes a while for him to get through everything. he angles his laptop toward you, finger resting over the right arrow key as he moves through each slide from last week’s lecture — nearly ninety of them, all crammed into a single chapter.
by the time he reaches slide forty-five, a dull ache creeps into your spine from sitting too straight for far too long. you start leaning forward, shifting in your chair once, then twice, the subtle scrape of fabric against wood too loud in the quiet room. professor nishimura notices — his eyebrow lifts, just barely — but he says nothing, simply resumes clicking through the material with that same steady composure.
“you see, right there,” he emphasises, other hand reaching from behind the screen to circle around a pair of arteries. “you got it?”
you bite down on your bottom lip, eyebrows pinching together like you’re really, really trying.
the truth is, you have no idea what he’s talking about.
it’s one of those cursed slides with a giant arrow pointing at nothing in particular; the next slide is supposed to reveal the answer, but for now you’re staring at ten different arteries in the upper body and every single one looks exactly the same.
yes, he did point it out… or circle it out. not very specific.
“uhm…” you mumble, eyes flicking up to meet his.
and for some strange, impossible-to-explain reason, your heartbeat spikes.
“[name],” professor nishimura says your name with a patient smile — the kind someone wears when they know they already gave you the answer, but you weren’t paying attention. frustrated, but soft about it. “show me. where are your carotid arteries?”
your stomach twists.
show him.
you lift your hand toward the screen, index finger uncurling from your fist, trembling just slightly as you reach forward.
“you don’t know?”
his voice lands like an accusation. of course you knew — you studied this. it wasn’t new. maybe if he weren’t here, it’d be easier to recall, but now that he’s sitting across from you — with that strict expression, slick hair, with sleeves rolled up so tight that his biceps are stretching the fabric… who the fuck would care about some arteries?
“uh,” you mutter in an annoyed voice, even though you’re the one who asked for this, for his help, for his guidance. “could you show—“
professor nishimura doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. his chair glides forward, wheels murmuring against the oak floor as he leans over the desk. his hand reaches for you — fingers brushing warm against your neck, right beneath your earlobe, settling on the soft patch where your jaw tapers.
“here, [name]. external carotid artery.”
he blinks slowly, watching you, like the frantic pulse thudding against his fingertips isn’t already giving you away.
your hair rustles against his hand as his fingers slide back an inch, tracing heat along your skin. “internal’s behind it. deeper.”
your throat bobs once, a small, involuntary motion against the steady press of his fingers. each beat beneath his touch gives you away, loud and frantic, betraying every ounce of composure you’re trying so hard to hold onto. the man looks as calm as ever — not a hint of suspicion, not even a gentle smile.
professor nishimura’s gaze flickers, just briefly, to the spot where his hand meets your skin — then back to your eyes, sharp and unreadable.
“feel it?” he asks quietly, tone softer now, almost coaxing. “that’s the point of reference. you can’t forget it once you know where to look.”
his fingertips linger only a moment longer before he withdraws, hand returning to the edge of his laptop as if nothing had happened at all. still, the ghost of his touch stays with you, warm and impossibly present, pulsing beneath your skin long after he’s pulled away.
“now,” he says, voice steady, “show me again.”
your pulse answers first, tripping over itself — and you’re sure he can feel it, even from where he sits.
you smack your lips awkwardly, searching for something to fill the silence, tension making your thighs press closer together, pulse thrumming in your ears as you continue to stare at him.
“like, on the screen?” you mutter, eyes fixed on the swirls and dots of his lecture material.
a soft snicker escapes professor nishimura, and it somehow eases the moment, making you giggle at the ridiculousness of your question.
“yes, on the screen, [name].”
the day passes on just like that — full of ridiculous questions, popping up in your head as the lesson goes on.
professor nishimura doesn’t scowl. doesn’t tilt his head with judgment. doesn’t squint his eyes as if he can’t quite believe how little you’ve retained — which is true, by the way — instead, he’s gentle. tentative. clear with every word, like he’s not rushing you; a quiet confidence that you’ll get it because that’s just who you are.
you lean over his desk, head resting on your forearm, ear pressed lightly against it as you watch the screen at a 90 degree angle. answers come easily, almost automatically, and you barely notice the hour slipping by or the exhaustion settling in. he remains upright, clicking through slides and offering study tips and mnemonics, a steady presence guiding you without hurry.
yes, the day passes just like this — calm, quiet, with professor nishimura, who seems to grow more handsome as the diffused evening sun bathes his skin.
are you sleep deprived?
“you need to remember your values,” he mumbles, “oxygen and carbon dioxide. partial pressures. they’re important, don’t for—“
the blonde strands in his hair catch the light, glowing golden. the room is warm, dust motes drifting lazily in the sunlight, bouncing off the sheer curtains that do little to soften it. and somehow, you find yourself grateful for that.
“professor,” you interrupt, softly. “i know. you’ve been saying that for the past ten minutes.”
he’s been focused on the screen all this time, but your words pull his gaze toward you. you notice the faint tug at the corner of his lips as he turns, his eyes meeting yours while you lounge against the desk.
“hm?”
one thing your professor would never admit: he, too, is thankful for the evening sun.
casting light over your hair, kissing the skin of your arms, making it impossible not to notice. though, all of it’s quite boring compared to the blush spreading over your cheeks, blooming all the way to your ears — you hide your face in your sleeve, a half assed attempt at covering up the flush.
he pretends not to care about that. he can’t care about that. “it must be getting late. i didn’t notice.”
you sigh, somewhat disappointed at the change if topic — as if professor nishimura would ever admit how gorgeous he thinks you are, right to your face. “me neither.”
the few moments of silence that follow feel like eternity. there’s you: smiling like you were seeing an old friend for the first time in forever, and there’s him: attempting to pretend like all the air in his lungs haven’t been lost to the atmosphere.
he must be sleep deprived too. you’ve robbed him of his evening coffee run, he realises.
“same time tomorrow,” he speaks, finally, voice low and hushed — as if it was a secret, something reserved for only you. “i’ll be waiting.”
“yes, professor.”
─────────────────────────
IT STARTED OFF AS A JOKE. sooha was stressing over creative writing, and you over sociology.
except that the joke = “i would fuck professor nishimura if he was the 3rd last guy on earth, because he’s probably better in bed than other two who were spared with him”
“you’re so fucking weird,” sooha’s kicking her feet up, right leg over the other as she swivels in your chair. “you’d actually fuck him?”
“judging me isn’t going to make him any less sexy,” you murmur between sounds of chips snapping between your jaws. it leaves a spicy burn on your tongue, quickly forcing you to reach for your water bottle on the nightstand. “and can you blame me?”
she looks up from her phone, right at you. the dim, blue light illuminates her face in the dark and gloomy atmosphere that is your dorm room, highlighting every disgusted curve on her face.
“you’re crazy.”
you shrug, tying the bag of chips up before throwing it at sooha. she catches it instinctively, eyebrows narrowing at your lack of an answer, hands reaching into the snack anyway.
“i don’t like him, by the way. he’s hot, but nah,” you click your tongue, eyes drifting over the popcorn ceilings of your cramped and poorly lit bedroom. “he’s probably engaged or something. doesn’t bring his ring to work because he thinks it’ll distract people from how stupidly big it is.”
“i’ve seen him drive around in his black porsche,” sooha giggles, licking her fingers clean of chip dust. “it’s something from a movie. this guy doesn’t know when to stop.”
“right?” you laugh a little too hard at the absurdity of it — the hot professor with tightly rolled sleeves, who owns a ridiculously expensive car, who probably lives alone in a three story minimalist house in the corner of an upper class neighbourhood. “i need to know if he’s married.”
she flicks an ant off her knee. “why the hell does it matter to you? are you actually going to—“
“well,” you smack your lips, thinking hard of an answer that wouldn’t sever your friendship, but knowing sooha — nothing you say could ever make her flinch. “not if he’s married.”
sooha snickers at your brutal honesty, chomping down on three chips stacked on one another, and for a moment you almost snort at how completely unfazed she is — how she really doesn’t care that you just admitted something like that.
“so… you’ll fuck, find out he’s married, and by then you’ve ruined a family. next thing you know, you’ll get hit by his wife’s car and have to go to graduation in a brace.”
“he’s literally only… like, twenty eight,” you argue, a playful tilt in your voice that makes sooha crack up, the chair she’s in starting to swirl around. her face is a mix of disbelief and pure entertainment. “he’s not a father. god, i’d hope not. i don’t want my grad pictures to be terrible.”
“nah…” she waves you off. “a husband, though? maybe. look both ways—“
“shut up!”
sooha shrugs, pulling her phone out from the deep pockets of her sweats. “you don’t even know how old he is?”
“i do,” you say quickly, defensive. too quick, because she raises a brow. “okay— not exactly, but i know the range.”
“so… you have no idea.”
you groan. “sooha, he teaches people our age. if he had kids he’d be shoving them into every conversation like those weird dads who think having a baby is a personality, and using his mediocre son as an example for every case study.”
“that’s called being proud, if you didn’t know,” she deadpans, unlocking her phone. “anyway, what’s his full name again?”
your stomach drops. “why?”
she gives you a look. “why do you think? i’m gonna look him up. if instagram’s no luck, i’ll check linkedin.”
it’s too late. her thumbs are already flying across the screen, furiously mashing in every combination of nishimura she can think of.
“pro… fessor… nishi… mura—”
“who the fuck calls themselves professor on instagram…” you groan, hands finding your face to cover the look of humiliation.
“oh. nishimura riki, was it? he’s right here—”
“sooha,” you warn. “if you request him on instagram, so god help me—”
“if he’s married,” she declares, louder than necessary and absolutely ignoring you, “he’ll have a wife pic somewhere. at least one. married men always post their partners—or a baby hand. blurry stroller. maybe a family photo where his hands are a little too tight on her waist.”
you don’t answer. the anxiety in your stomach prickles, rises, climbs up your ribs. sooha’s face is blank in the glow of her screen, eyes narrowed, scrolling with ruthless determination. her thumb leaves tiny streaks of chip-oil every time she flicks.
“stop scrolling like that,” you hiss, leaning forward. “you’re going to summon something.”
she doesn’t even blink. “i’m summoning the truth. hold on.”
you press your palms together in your lap, pulse beating way too fast for something this stupid. the soft, frantic swipes on her phone make the whole room feel tense.
“oh.”
your spine straightens. “oh?”
“dude,” she says, voice flat with shock, “i didn’t even need to request him. his shit’s public.”
your heart drops. “public as in… some posts public? or—“
she turns the screen to you, slow, dramatic, cruel with tension.
“public as in everything,” she says. “and he posts. a lot. this guy is so performative, it’s crazy.”
your breath catches for a second. you hadn’t expected that — not from him. not the man who seemed allergic to small talk and immune to anything remotely personal. professor nishimura seemed like the type to be composed of 60% work instead of 60% water.
“you’re lying.”
you crawl across the bed on all fours anyway, eyes squinting to take a closer look at sooha’s screen.
she swipes.
the first photo is him in a mirror, dress shirt half-tucked, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that make your stomach flutter. the caption’s in japanese — a short one — but the date stamp tells you it was posted only two weeks ago, at a café a few streets away from campus.
you blink. “recent?”
“mhmm,” sooha hums, already moving on.
the next photo is painfully cliché: books stacked on a windowsill, sunlight cutting across his living room. the one after that is him at another café, reading, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose.
then, a shot of a fountain pen with notes so neat it makes your head ache, talking about his love for academia in the caption.
you lean in closer. “no way. he uses instagram like a lifestyle blogger.”
“he totally does,” she snorts. “no father of four has time for this.”
she keeps scrolling, and you’re right beside her, holding your breath like your life depended on this — unintentionally, completely against your better judgment. half-dreading and half-hoping that this menace of a man was not unavailable. because if he was, you’d never hear the end of it.
sooha would ruin you. absolutely humiliate you for years to come. mention this in front of your own kids once you’re old and married:
“oh—your mom was such a rebel back in college, you know that? so crazy! we couldn’t take her anywhere, right?”
not to mention, once jiwon’s caught wind of it, she’d shake her head in that same way she always did when you made a questionable life choice — disappointed, amused, and a little too understanding for comfort. too angelic for you to ever get defensive about it. jiwon’s disappointment wasn’t the loud kind; it curled quietly in your gut, heavy and soft, the kind that made you hang your head low.
“could you please scroll slower? how the hell do you expect to see anything?”
sooha snorts. “scared, are you?”
she does as you ask, anyway. her thumb eases down the screen, inch by inch, slowly scanning the array of curated images professor nishimura’s chosen to publicize.
a photo of his desk. coffee. food. trips all over the world, in museums, restaurants, expensive wine that he savours alone, or with the occasional handsome friend that he tags in the caption. his circle seems larger than you expected — full of geniuses, much like him — and still, no wife. no ring. no girlfriend.
“he travels a lot.”
“apparently.” sooha mutters. “he’s kind of—”
“do not.”
sooha continues scrolling as you bite your nails. “i was going to say cool. he’s the complete opposite of your ex. speaking of that guy—don’t know what you were thinking, honestly.”
your face heats immediately. “wasn’t thinking. that was the problem.”
“yeah,” she laughs, tapping another photo to zoom in. “meanwhile, this guy posts his morning latte art like he’s running a lifestyle blog. i mean, look at this. he’s insane.”
“you’re so fucking annoying,” you whine, flopping back into your sheets. they rustle under your weight, and all you can do is tangle your hands in your hair trying to cool the blush that’s burning your face off. “you’re giving him too much credit. his ego’s still huge.”
and just then, sooha gasps loud enough for the sound to echo through the corridor outside.
“what? what?” you scramble to sit back up again, meeting your best friend’s eyes.
and there it is — wedged between other stories in his highlights, low exposure but unmistakably him. a mirror photo taken in a gym mirror. sweat dripping down the hollow of his throat. his shirt lifted enough to display a chiseled set of abs, defined enough to count. lighting low but warm, highlighting the curve of his waist, the slope of his shoulders, the insane spread of his back. his forearm flexes where he holds the phone. veins on display. chest (probably) heaving.
absolutely sinful. he looks like he’s been sculpted by someone with a personal vendetta against your sanity.
your jaw literally drops. your breath leaves you in a single, pitiful sound, almost reminiscent of a whimper. sooha scoffs.
that’s your professor.
god, if they used this as a model for your classes, you’d have passed your first test with stellar results. you, a few months ago, would be skipping home with that full credit score.
“he’s fucking ripped!” sooha cackles, and you can’t tell if it’s disbelief or sheer joy at your impending meltdown. it’s probably both, now that you see her lips beginning to curl into a sickeningly wide grin. “oh my god—”
you feel your soul exit your body. “this isn’t real. he’s ai.”
“you think ai could get the sweat bead rolling down those things?” her other finger points to his disgustingly well-developed chest, “dude. he’s gotta teach naked the next time we see him.”
“stop that!” you groan, grabbing a pillow to shove your face into. your hair’s a mess, your cheeks feel like they’re going to fall off and run away, and sooha’s enjoying every single second of it. “i’m going to die. it’s over. i can’t look at him the same after i’ve seen all this.”
“why? shouldn’t this motivate you?” your best friend turns her phone off, satisfied at the amount of info you two have dug up. two things were learnt today — one, your biology professor is sexy as fuck (confirmed) — and two, he is available. “he’s free game now, [name]. do not let this opportunity slip through those greedy fingers.”
“are you forgetting he is literally our teacher?” you speak, muffled by fabric. “i can’t fuck our teacher—and even if he wasn’t our teacher, his ego’s still huge, and i’m not trying to date a narcissist.”
somewhere, professor nishimura is probably drinking tea and highlighting articles, completely unaware that his students have just discovered he has the body of a greek god.
the pillow drops to your lap, exposing your flushed face. “how the fuck do i look at him in the eye now?”
“bet he’d like that, huh?” sooha cackles, and you know it then with the way your stomach does that backflip thing: you are beyond fucked.
─────────────────────────
IT’S FRIDAY.
“next question.”
you’re sitting next to him.
on the expensive leather couch across from his desk, you see papers sprawled over the glass coffee table, textbooks flipped open to colour-coded pages — and still, the only thing you can focus on is the dull warmth in your belly from brushing shoulders with your professor. an empty coffee-stained mug sits at the centre, surrounded by books.
“you don’t have any more questions about this topic?”
your knees brush once against each other. the heat radiating off his thighs and through his black, ironed slacks make you endlessly nervous.
“i’ve been… watching your lectures. they help,” you mutter, eyes trained on the drawings of arteries laid beneath your fingers. “i don’t know why i didn’t do it earlier.”
professor nishimura chuckles momentarily, his elbows resting on his thighs as he leans forward. the smell of his shampoo hits you, a crashing wave against your nostrils, and all it does is make your heart thump.
“no wonder you’ve been struggling,” he sighs, teasing you ever so slightly. “you haven’t been listening to me as often as you need to.”
“well, yeah.” you reply dryly, throat refusing to let anything but a squeak out. for some odd reason, being back here always makes you choke up. “i just… didn’t realise how helpful it’d be.”
“i don’t spend 2 hours recording useless videos, [name],” professor nishimura’s weight leaning back into the sofa causes the leather to creak.
you swallow, shifting your notes just to have something to anchor your hands. the sound of him settling behind you shouldn’t affect you, but it does — a low, warm reminder that he’s close enough for the air to feel different.
“i didn’t say they were useless,” you murmur, hoping your voice doesn’t tremor enough to show how tight your chest is. “i just haven’t had the time.”
“mm..” professor nishimura purrs lowly, deep voice rumbling through his chest. “most students don’t. they still do well.”
your jaw clenches. “well, i’m not like other students, am i?”
“that’s the first thing you’ve managed to answer right today,” professor nishimura murmurs, draping an arm across the leather backrest. “been sleeping at all? you’re slower than usual. you weren’t this lagged yesterday evening.”
“i’m doing fine, thanks,” you provide no excuses, straightforward with your responses — you sense the tension in his voice, and oddly enough, the care hiding behind the nagging. “i’ve had coffee.”
“you know that’s not good for you. coffee doesn’t replace sleep,” professor nishimura continues. “must i tell you that, too?”
you sigh, feeling his eyes burning through the back of your skull. you shift in your seat, conscious of every movement, knowing he’s leaned back to watch.
“i don’t need you nagging.”
the shift is immediate. his jaw tightens, his eyebrow raising as he repeats your words, “i’m just observing.”
“well, i’m old enough,” you mutter, flipping through your notes, ignoring how he’s leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees again. the room is painfully quiet, silence ringing in your ears, tension floating thick in the air like it wanted to taunt you. “i don’t need to be observed.”
“[name], you may talk to your friends this way, but you asked me for help.” his tone remains steady, reminding you that he isn’t getting as worked up as you are. for some reason, it makes you even more irritated. you freeze mid-page flip, feeling him watch you, every twitch of your fingers with the kind of attention that makes your heart bang against your ribcage. “so this is my help.”
“there’s a difference between helping and hovering,” you scoff, “you act like you’re so much older and wiser than me, it’s so fucking annoying—”
seeing professor nishimura every evening had it’s downsides. two days ago, you’d just discovered his influencer persona, and every night since then you’d been scrolling through his posts and watching his highlights silently, trying to uncover a mystery you didn’t know existed.
he’s not that much older than you, clearly. no wife, no kids, no mystery gap in his posts that indicate he’d left to go on a soul-searching experimental trip to gain wisdom. just pure, unfiltered genius that he’s been praised for ever since he was in his teens — no mistaking where his voluptuous ego came from.
“what on earth are you talking about?”
his expression shifts ever so slightly: those eyebrows, once relaxed and calm, now knit together in something similar to calculation, like he’s trying to guess what you’ll say before you even think of it. his lips part, then pressing together in a thin line once again. “you looked me up.”
“everyone does,” you say a llittle too quickly. “you’re literally public—”
silence hangs in the air, thick and impenetrable. his gaze doesn’t avert. it’s unreadable, and when he speaks, it’s low with a new kind of calm that eats away at you, making you feel guilty for ever snapping at him; “could you tell me how my age is relevant to this conversation?”
in this stillness, your throat refuses to open up, a giant ball forming where your voice is supposed to be. it’s painfully clear that you’ve crossed a line, and professor nishimura isn’t having any of it.
“you come in my office every day, unfocused and exhausted, drinking coffee like it solves anything at all. am i supposed to accept that?”
“accept what? i asked you for help, so just give it to me,” you scoff, throwing the paper onto the coffee table. you turn around partially, enough to catch the bewildered look on his face. “stop acting like—”
“like i don’t see how sloppy you’re getting? it’s your final, and you’re not taking care of yourself.”
the retort dies on your tongue, dissolving, and instead you’re left staring at the scattered papers on the table with a tight jaw. your pulse drums in your ears, blood thumping, and all you can think about is how he’s right — and how much you hate that he says it like he’s genuinely worried.
the room feels too small for this. for the both of you.
“i know.”
“then we’re done for tonight,” professor nishimura states, hands on his thighs, beginning to stand up. “go home and rest. it’s late. i have plans, too, so it’s better for the both of us.”
the sudden pull-back startles you. he doesn’t even tell you to get out — just says to go home, rest, like your health was a priority to him.
he begins to walk back to his desk, turning his back to you, taking a mug out from his drawer. you watch him, silent, as he brings the cup to his coffee machine, the same one you drank from earlier into the session. you scoff, beginning to gather your things, annoyed with the way he doesn’t even try to hide it — he doesn’t have plans. he just wants you to listen to him.
“i still have three chapters, you know.”
“you think you’ll retain any of it?” professor nishimura’s back is still turned to you, and your eyes train on the slow drip of espresso that falls into his mug. his shirt is tight on him, rustling as he tucks his hands into his pockets, still not looking back. “you won’t.”
“that’s not your call—”
“you asked for my help. this is it,” he repeats again, and all it does is make you want to lunge at him and punch his stupidly pretty face. one of his hands reach for the mug, fingers looping around the handle, bringing it to his lips. “get home safe. come back when you’re able to stay awake for more than an hour.”
and when you step out of his office, books in hand, you realise the flush on your face is far too unprofessional for whatever that was; the warmth in your cheeks lingers, stubborn, betraying you each time you replay the way he looked at you like he was disappointed, worried.
perhaps what was even more terrifying was that you couldn’t name what you saw. he looked over his shoulder, face only three quarters visible, soft and glassy eyes with his eyebrows knit together. you tried to open your mouth, force yourself to snap back, or to thank him for today, but nothing comes out.
the small pit in your stomach is even worse — too familiar, too much like the quiet ache that follows a lover’s quarrel, that strange mixture of wanting to leave and wanting to turn back.
you walk down the hall anyway, pretending your pulse isn’t still skipping, pretending the air doesn’t still feel different around you, when even he can sense that it is.
two mornings later, on a sunday, you’re without coffee, eyes puffy from a long night’s rest.
you faintly remember stumbling into your apartment, eyes threatening to shut any moment — you were about to doze off on the short walk to your dorm hall, blinking slowly, feet dragging against the concrete, cold air biting your cheeks. you fell asleep on the couch, woke up at four, and crawled to bed.
right now, you’re back in this god forsaken building. it was part of professor nishimura’s study regimen: only one day of the weekend should be used to study, because then, your brain can do a ‘true reset’ before lessons begin on monday. no baggage from the previous week, kind of tricking your mind into thinking everything’s going to be fine and that the workload wasn’t actually all too bad.
no. it was still bad, because one) you were still pissed off at professor nishimura, and two) you don’t have a sugary caffeinated drink to keep you going.
it’s 10 am, and by now, you’d be on the way to get your usual order — that little trip always made you look forward to something, like a sick reward system for studying nine hours a day. your psych professor would’ve called it conditioning, but you still hate studying, coffee or no coffee.
your hand reaches for the metal door handle, teeth biting the inside of your cheek before you push it open. you wonder momentarily why you couldn’t just suggest a zoom meeting — you’re sure he must have had some stupid plans, cafe hopping and whatnot, with his stupid friends, drinking stupid coffee that he’d nagged at you for—
“[name],” professor nishimura’s voice is calm, like always. you don’t realise you’ve been staring at the floor until you look up, meeting his annoyingly gorgeous face. he isn’t wearing his glasses today. “you’re early.”
“i’m prepared today.” you mumble, but knowing him, he would’ve heard it loud and clear.
nevertheless, he doesn’t give you a response. just a raised eyebrow and slow blinks, like he understands why you’re upset, but not enough to apologise.
the usual routine follows: you put your bag down on the couch, sit yourself down into the leather cushions, unzip your bag and take your study materials out. professor nishimura doesn’t sit down immediately, instead heading for the small kitchenette in a corner of his office, where his coffee is; you wonder if he’ll make you a cup, or drink one just to taunt you.
your eyes follow his movements. you realise he’s dressed much more casually today — if you didn’t know him, you could’ve mistaken him for a student — wearing a hoodie and jeans that you know he planned for his instagram feed. it almost makes you giggle. he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, reaching for an electric kettle in the cupboard below.
of course the man drinks tea.
you try your best to shake the irritation off, instead redirecting your focus to the array of papers underneath you. the sounds of water filling the kettle almost make you doze off, and all you manage to think about is how you wish you had a big cup of warm coffee next to you, up until the point professor nishimura sets a mug down on the table, nudging it towards you.
you blink once. twice. look up, and he’s holding one too.
“don’t fight it,” he takes a slow sip, one hand in his hoodie’s pocket, another clasped around the mug handle. “it’s herbal. it’ll help your nerves.”
and just like that, he’s got you doing that stupid stomach-flipping thing.
“thank you,” you mutter quietly, delicate fingers wrapping around the mug like it was the finest china, careful not to let the tea tip over the rim. “professor.”
“it’s the weekend, and i’m off the clock,” he says, “riki is fine. i’m barely older than you, remember?”
you feel your face heat just at that. it’s lighthearted, not meant to judge you, but it still induces that feeling of wanting to crawl under a rock and die. you can practically hear the smugness in his voice, his smirk hiding behind that mug. “right. sorry about ye—”
“no,” he interrupts gently, lowering the mug from his lips. “you were stressed. i get it.”
it’s odd how easy your heart calms and how fast that pit in your stomach closes up, almost as fast as it opened two days ago. “still. i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
professor nishimura — or riki — shrugs, eyes lingering on you a milisecond too long. “i’m not going to give you a detention slip for being angry. you’re in not high school anymore, [name]. we’re both adults, and i’m telling you — i get it.”
you take another careful sip. it warms you up, letting the ice cold air from outside dissipate in your body, heat spreading all over. it tastes earthy, soothing in the way warm coffee never manages to be, and when your muscles start to loosen and your breathing gets slower, you know you’ll have to quit caffeine.
“you do this for all your students?” you ask, half-teasing, half-curious. “tea service included?”
riki chuckles, smiling at you from where he stands. “don’t get used to it.”
“i might,” you lean back into the leather cushions, one knee folding over the other. you watch as he leans onto his desk, working to finish his cup. “on a weekend, too. i must be important.”
“no one’s home to enjoy it anyway,” he shrugs. “keep all my tea here. helps me stay awake while grading.”
you hum softly, letting that settle. something about the way he says it — casual, unguarded — makes you glance around the office again. you’re reminded of the neatness. the lack of personal clutter. no framed photos turned face-down, no childish drawings taped to the walls. just books, papers, him. you wonder if his house is just as empty as this, or if he even cares that it is.
“not lonely?”
he raises an eyebrow at you before shaking his head. “no. too busy to feel it. did i give that impression?”
you put your mug down, eyebrows knitting and gears turning, really considering your words now. “i don’t know. you’ve got that tired look on your face, and you’re responsible. and you nag like crazy.”
“i told you i was observing—”
“it’s the same,” you smile lazily at him from across the room, and you watch how your professor’s lips twitch, almost breaking into a soft smile. “you give off married man.”
he chuckles, shaking his head again, and something about the moment feels softer now. a misconception quietly corrected without either of you making a big deal of it, and it makes you appreciate how calm of a man he is, all over again.
“well then, now that that’s been cleared up,” riki pushes himself off his desk and gestures toward your notes. “finish your tea. then we’ll start with the chapters you keep avoiding. page 232.”
“how—”
“i observe.”
it’s striking, the smile you see. unguarded, nothing like the polite curve he wears in lectures. it softens him, makes him look younger, less composed, less like a man built entirely out of credentials, and for once: you see someone you could know.
─────────────────────────
NISHIMURA RIKI REMEMBERS HIS FIRST LESSON, at the age of somewhere between ten to thirteen: how to be alone, and how to pretend like you’re good at doing so.
it wasn’t difficult. it’d been confusing, yes, especially when he’d seen his peers from middle school posting instagram stories of them at internet cafe’s — or on late night convenience store runs, or playing a game of basketball at three in the morning. in the beginning, there was an influx of questions in his mind: how, and why is my life so different?
he’d pick up his phone, tapping away at his screen, scanning the once familiar faces of friends he’d long let go of: after middle school, it just seemed like a good idea to be homeschooled, after numerous ‘complaints’ that he was far too advanced for his current grade.
at some point, a few weeks after he turned sixteen, he’d thrown every toy and video game away.
it was clear he was never like other children. it wasn’t like his parents moulded him into the studious genius he was: perhaps that was the most painful part, the fact that this was just him, and that he had no one else to pin this curse on. exceptionality became an excuse — from classrooms, friendships, normalcy.
don’t get him wrong, though. he wasn’t unhappy — there was, in his mind, nothing to complain about. riki had never known a life outside of this: outside of tightly packed schedules engineered for maximum efficiency, outside of a fixed circadian rhythm he followed with near-religious devotion. this structure was not a constraint to him; it was proof that things were working, that nothing was slipping through the cracks.
he guesses this is why he hasn’t shut you out yet. you show up every damn day, at the same time, asking the same questions to the same chapters he’d been studying for years: you are familiar, predictable, consistent in every sense of the word.
riki will tell himself it’s convenience. you fit nicely into his schedule, slotted between office hours, grading, meetings, between the balanced meals he eats at the same time, every day, every night. you don’t disrupt him, don’t demand change — except you do.
you do disrupt him.
you’re lingering by the door, fingers fidgeting with your bag strap as you ask one last question. riki answers without hesitation, even though there’s a meeting across campus he absolutely needs to get to. his explanation stretches longer than it should, his voice gentler than necessary, and he only realises the time once you finally nod, satisfied.
he tells himself it’s nothing — that this is what he’s meant to do. that answering questions thoroughly is part of the job, it’s what he was hired for, and it’s what all his students love about him.
still, he keeps two mugs out instead of one: not because it’s efficient, but because he knows you’ll be back. when the cashier at the cafeteria charges him double for a sandwich, he doesn’t correct them. he doesn’t think about it at all, actually, not until later; when the receipt is crumpled in his pocket and your laugh replays in his head, your teeth flashing in a way that makes him sick.
“yeah. keep going,” riki reassures you, laid back in his own chair as you sit further away, on his (or yours, because you refuse to sit on the tiny chair across his desk again) beloved leather couch — sunlight seeps in through the curtains, bathing the room in a familiarly golden warmth — he’s not sure if the tightening in his chest is because of the way the light lands on your hair, or the way your eyes get sparkly in the sun when you turn your head just right.
it’s tuesday again, and he’s exhausted. you’re ruining him.
“circle of willis…” you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. your arms hug them close, socks slipping off the smooth leather material. “base of the brain, ring of blood vessels. if one’s blocked—”
“rest is relatively unaffected, preventing ischemia,” riki interjects, calmly, eyes still trained on the pen he’s been spinning in between his fingers.
you blink once, twice. “i was going to say that.”
he doesn’t even realise he’s uttered your notes word for word, not until the silence stretches a second too long — his pen stops spinning, before his eyes drift towards your wide-eyed ones.
“sorry,” riki apologises, only after he’s scanned your face and realised that he was indeed not meant to do that. “go on.”
and you do — you finish the chapter, and he answers every remaining question lingering in your mind, being careful not to do whatever the fuck he just did again. you stretch your arms above your head, a quiet sigh leaving your lips and all nishimura riki can think about is how tired you look, or how your lips curve into that soft, gentle smile after you yawn, and how it makes him sick to the stomach that he can’t put his hand on your jaw and feel it first-hand on his lips.
“i’ll see you tomorrow,” you wave, and he hears the keychains on your bag jingle obnoxiously loud as you rush back to your dorm. riki wonders why you insist on staying so late when you know you have classes early the next morning, but he could ask himself the same thing, so he shoves the thought to the back of his mind and calls it a night.
he’ll do the same thing tomorrow. the day after. the week that follows. as long as he can predict you, there’s nothing to panic about.
─────────────────────────
“YOU LIKE HER?”
once those sacred words leave park sunghoon’s lips, nishimura riki knows he’s done for — because once someone else sees it, he knows he’s messed up, for real.
sunghoon holds a glass of red wine in his hand as he sits casually on the L-shaped sofa. a furry pillow lays on his lap, and his phone is somewhere in the kitchen; they’ve been drinking for a while, and things were getting a little more honest as the evening sun sank further into the ground.
“that’s inappropriate,” riki mutters, taking a slow sip of his own glass. he’s sitting on the other end of the couch, half-lidded eyes watching the screen of his phone, waiting for it to light up — an email from you. an impromptu text to meet at the cafeteria to share a decaf. or you’d tell him you aced the mini quiz he assigned you last week. “i don’t mix with students.”
“you don’t mix with anyone.” sunghoon snickers, head tilting, as if he was observing the way riki’s expression shifts just slightly at the mention of his feelings. “and i don’t see what’s so wrong with it. she’s not a high schooler.”
“her age isn’t the issue. we could’ve gone to school together — but still. i’m her mentor.”
sunghoon’s lips press into a thin line. “you know what jake would think of this?”
riki rolls his eyes, a grin still creeping on his face nonetheless. jake was an entirely different story. “i don’t want to know what that guy has to say about my love life.”
“love life?” sunghoon cackles, eyes narrowing in his triumph, almost spilling the expensive wine all over riki’s expensive furniture. he tenses up just watching. “so we’re talking love, now?”
“that’s obviously not what i meant.”
you see, the truth was that nishimura riki was discovering things about himself that he didn’t know how to… organise. it was difficult to name that stupid warmth blooming in his chest, or how lightheaded he felt when your soft hands would brush his whenever he sat next to you.
he never had time for those things. he’ll never be able to scribble your name next to his in blue ink, in a big lopsided heart, or to gift you a jelly ring because he thought your hair was cute that day. it feels juvenile, almost embarrassing — like the crushes his classmates once described, the ones he never had the time or patience for — something he’s late to experience.
and still, now, of all times, his mind keeps reaching for you: uninvited, persistent, and entirely out of order.
sunghoon watches him in silence, like he knows better than to rush a man who’s spent his whole life keeping his emotions in neat, labeled compartments. the wine sits untouched in riki’s hand, now forgotten, his thumb tracing slow circles against the glass stem as if familiar repetition might organize the thoughts crowding his head.
“you’re thinking too hard,” sunghoon says finally, voice softer than before. serious sunghoon usually meant a big deal.
riki lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “i don’t know how else to think.”
the confession earns a soft smile. “i know.”
the problem now wasn’t temptation. it was recognition, acknowledgement. accepting that the way riki’s body reacts to you is not something normal, or something passing. the way his focus fractures at the tiniest things — the crinkles in your face as you concentrate, the creases between your brows, or the way you hold his expensive mugs like it meant everything to you, when he couldn’t care less if you dropped them in pieces.
he’s kept his desires locked in a box for a while. ever since that first email, he should’ve deleted it and thrown the key into the nearest bin. now, he’s left to deal with them trying to pry their way out.
“i’ve felt this way for a bit,” riki admits. “hasn’t gone away.”
sunghoon hums. “holding yourself back? what a gentleman.”
riki scoffs, but there’s no real humor in it. he stares ahead, eyes unfocused, seeing not the apartment but the ghost of your presence — the way you lean forward when you’re engaged, the way your voice drops when you’re unsure. small, human details that shouldn’t matter this much to him, yet finds himself remembering. you’re haunting him
“i don’t want to be careless,” he says. “i can’t be careless.”
sunghoon nods slowly. “just don’t beat yourself up for nothing, riki.”
that lands somewhere deep, loosening something tight and knotted in his chest. riki has always been good at restraint. discipline, or just plain denial dressed up as professionalism — but he’s begun to crack, ever since that first evening together, when his fingertips laid against your pulse.
he felt you. the very thing that gave you life, he touched.
“i’m not reckless.”
sunghoon looks across the couch, despite knowing the statement wasn’t meant for him. that’s precisely the reason he doesn’t respond just yet, instead, reaching for the wine bottle on the marbled coffee table — pouring himself more wine.
riki watches the dark red settle, thinking about how carefully he’s always moved through the world — measured steps, clean lines, no wasted motion. recklessness implies impulse. chaos. things he’s trained himself out of, much faster than his peers.
and yet: he hasn’t trained himself not to care about you.
“i know you’re not, riki.”
this isn’t right. he knows he shouldn’t, and yet all he thinks of is how much he wants to. it’s been weeks of painful restraint, sitting by your side, taking in your scent, unintentionally registering every cute habit of yours, tucking them away in a quiet drawer of his mind that keeps all the important stuff — like deadlines. conferences. flights. dinners with people he can’t afford to displease.
you weren’t supposed to belong there.
“fuck… when did it get this bad?” sunghoon scoffs through his nose, the sound sharp, amused, and just a little exasperated. his eyes narrow at riki, who has picked up his phone only to lower it moments later, the blank screen a disappointment at the absence of your name. “last i checked, you were content staying single.”
two evenings ago.
you were holed up in his office, the night stretching around the harsh glow of his desk lamp. it was nearing midnight. he had dinner plans with jake and heeseung, a rare night off from meetings and other callings, but instead, he found himself lingering in the quiet space between his books and your scattered notes. he remembered stepping out around seven, phone in hand, muttering about ‘taking a call,’ though his thoughts had never really left the room.
heeseung said it was alright, but jake wouldn’t let it go. riki supposes he had a reason not to.
he noticed how your shoulders tensed when he returned. the way you shivered from december’s harsh, freezing nights — it seemed like your skin was much thinner than his, because he felt fine. perhaps it was the way you begged him to go harder on the revision; he warned you that you’d be overworked, but he promised he’d be there, nonetheless.
you tucked your arms around yourself, avoiding his worried gaze from across the room. his shoes tap against the floor as he makes his way towards you — quicker than he could admit himself.
“you’re cold,” he murmured, reaching for his jacket hanging on his office chair. he pulls it off in one swift motion, holding it to you.
“it’s okay,” but you didn’t fight him when he draped the fabric over your shoulders, anyway. riki watched you loosen up — almost melting into the warmth of his clothes, and it all seemed so mundane to him then — until he realised his heart wouldn’t stop doing that thudding thing, and his cheeks wouldn’t stop burning.
by the time the clock struck one in the morning, your eyelids had begun to droop, the tea hastening your descent into drowsiness. before long, your legs curled up against your chest, his jacket wrapped loosely around you, and your head found its way to a place it shouldn’t — resting gently on his shoulder.
he stayed frozen, most of the night. barely allowed himself to breathe. riki felt it all: the warmth, your weight, the prick of your hair at his neck that almost made him twitch. he fought hard not to wake you.
the night was outlined by the faint scent of winter and tea and uncapped highlighters lingering in your hair. gentle breaths that he swore sounded like his name. he felt like he was hallucinating. he was spiralling like a teenage boy all over again, even if he didn’t even really know what that meant himself.
your breath hitched a few times, and you stirred quite a bit in your sleep. riki found himself tripping over the tiniest things, about how you smack your lips even in your sleep, or how your fist balled into his shirt when he thought he could try to pull away.
the next morning, your head rested against his chest, and his heart thudded relentlessly in his ribcage. his back ached from the hard armrest and lack of pillows, but time seemed suspended, the soft rhythm of your breathing brushing his collarbone as if you were exactly where you were meant to be.
everything collapsed then — every wall, every boundary he had meticulously built over the years. he knew it was over when his hand traced your hair once, twice, then resting lightly on the small of your back. you woke a few hours later, around nine, still too drowsy to remember how you ended up there, or just how nicely nishimura riki fit beneath you.
“oh, i must’ve dozed off—shit, i’m so sorry,” you yawned, knuckles rubbing against your eyelids as riki simply watches you sit upright. “did you have plans today, professor? oh my god—”
the title made him twitch. you didn’t notice it, thankfully. he called off every study session after that. two days of what was meant to be productive revision — all because he can’t keep himself in check. you thought he was just sick.
nishimura riki’s fate was sealed. he was falling, and park sunghoon could see it: from the way he loosens at the mention of you, to how that genius persona of his starts to slip. for once, he doesn’t know any of the answers, and all of them at the same time.
“you got this handled, don’t you?” sunghoon mutters, voice low and hushed, as if he knew how heavily this was weighing on riki’s shoulders.
riki doesn’t respond immediately, instead reaching for another sip, now a practiced motion, a way to quiet his mind. his dark eyes lock on the floor, tracing the wood patterns with a tight jaw, and silence only stretches the distance between the two men.
sunghoon almost shivers.
“sure,” the blonde mutters in response, head slightly turning to ignore the way sunghoon’s line of sight. he hates how piercing it is — sunghoon always had that effect, like he knew riki’s thoughts before he could word them — but right now, he’s looking away, as if that’d hide anything important, or anything that sunghoon couldn’t already see.
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THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWS IS PAINFULLY MEDIOCRE.
when you step into his office for the first time in 3 days, it’s already warm, and there’s no tea waiting for you on the coffee table — he’s sitting at his desk, glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, fingers flipping through papers you haven’t seen before.
he doesn’t bother to look up, “[name].”
nothing’s wrong. this is how it was supposed to be. class, lunch, class, study — you leave before dinner, almost always at his discretion, and under the pretense of ‘meetings’ and ‘papers for other classes’ when you know he only teaches two. it feels like a lie that you can’t confront, because it’s not like you know the truth.
you didn’t know much at all, actually.
perhaps that’s why you settle into this — accepting it when he doesn’t comment on your posture, your tired eyes, or the can of coffee you throw into his office bin.
you do your work, and he does his. that’s how it’s been, and how it should’ve continued.
your knees still brush under the table. the warmth doesn’t make professor nishimura pull away — almost as if the desk hides his own hypocrisy from his eyes. sometimes, he’ll lean over your shoulder, the mixed scent of cologne and tea leaves making you ease into him, but he’d pull away before you ever brushed the fabric of his shirt.
you’d look up from your notes and catch him staring at you. pretty, brown irises that barely leave your tired figure — his arms are folded, voice flat and monotone instead of soft, curious, and everything you’d known him to be in the past few weeks.
you raise an eyebrow, because that’s all you can do.
“you’re getting better,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair as you ramble on about action potential initiation, sodium and potassium pumps, practically reciting word for word. “we’ll meet less often.”
he doesn’t even leave you room to negotiate.
it’s almost ridiculous how much you don’t care about this. you’re talking just to talk — just to feel like his eyes are on you, like before — it’s oddly humiliating, and the feeling claws at your chest uncomfortably; you tell yourself it’s just the weather getting chillier, or a bad start to the day that led to an even worse week, and that’s why you’re tripping over something as ridiculous as this: your professor, acting like your fucking professor.
“thank you,” your fingers twitch slightly. even if professor nishimura notices it, he doesn’t say a thing.
you brought coffee along in hopes of waking yourself up, but the lecture hall is still too quiet for your mind not to doze off.
professor nishimura is speaking into the microphone, his voice resonating through the large, brightly lit room. the lights above buzz, and there’s chatter all around: you can’t remember what he asked everyone to do, and at the same time, can’t be bothered enough to ask.
your head leans into your hand, chin propped up, the words of everyone around you starting to sound like a foreign language. everything’s priming you for a nap — slightly warm, sunlight slicing through the windows, catching dust in tiny specks. you’re seated in the sixth row, far enough for professor nishimura not to notice (you can only hope).
“so, uh,” you hear in your left ear, “[name], right?”
you blink slowly. you hadn’t bothered to learn the names of anyone in this class other than jiwon and sooha — for a minute, you wonder if it’s one of them trying to do one of their stupid frat guy impressions. so you turn, your neck muscles sore from a long night of staying up the night prior, grimacing when you feel the tension deep in your posture.
so much for taking care of yourself.
“yeah,” you say, but it almost comes out as a grumble. you don’t bother to apologise. you try not to tilt your head too far, eyes flicking towards the boy leaning in beside you — he’s grinning, a little too confident for a guy of his nature, hair messy from running his weirdly large hands through them. “were we supposed to do something?”
“i didn’t come yesterday, and i was just wondering if you could send me your lab notes,” he continues. “i had practice. super important.”
the words come out like a script, rehearsed in it’s tone, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed. not one bit.
“uhuh,” you nod, slowly and deliberately. “i’ll send them. your number?”
he freezes for a heartbeat, then gasps — a little too loud, a little too dramatic. you blink, genuinely caught off guard. then his smirk settles in, that ridiculous half-serious, half-playful expression you’ve seen on one too many guys before: “i thought you’d never ask.”
you laugh quietly at the absurdity, more out of habit than anything. he takes it as an invitation, of course, and before the end of class, right after you’ve sent him your notes, he slides a link to some random tiktok across your screen.
you glance at it, stare at the preview image for a moment, and promptly roll your eyes. you’re too tired, too uninterested, to bother reading the subtle flirtatious undertones in his posture, the way he leans in just a little too eagerly, or the smug satisfaction on his face when you glance back in his direction — like he was waiting for your approval, another laugh, another anything.
anything that you can’t give. not to him.
it’s not long before professor nishimura finishes his lecture, the chatter of closing notebooks and rustling papers filling the room. you shift in your seat, feeling your shoes press against the floor as you stretch your legs beneath the desk. sooha isn’t here today, you notice, and jiwon’s already packing up, hands moving faster than yours — she’s ready to leave long before the lecture actually ends.
you look around, and for a moment everything and everyone feels like a timelapse, and you’re the only one in slow motion. notebooks slam shut, pens click, laptops shoved into backpacks. you remain seated, letting everyone pass you, and it feels like reliving a memory. muffled voices of your classmates fill the room, underscoring the strange lag you feel.
your head rests against the table, ear to the wood. you see professor nishimura in your field of view, and somehow, even with his glasses low on his face and his fringe covering most of his expression, you can feel his eyes burning holes through you.
“so,” he mutters, walking up the carpeted stairs to your row. it’s just you two now. “you don’t need my help anymore, hm?”
his words make you sit up. “what?”
“exchanged numbers. studying together?” his voice is low but firm, not accusatory, as if he was begging you to prove him wrong, despite his neutral face. “with him?”
“it’s just notes,” you scoff, a tad bit more defensive than you intended it to be. “he missed the previous lab.”
“he was here.” he corrects. you can’t help but sigh. “you should watch who you’re studying with. he’s barely paid attention in class as it is—“
“still, was or wasn’t. i can manage myself. i don’t need your permission.”
professor nishimura straightens slightly, hands resting on the edge of the desk, gaze steady. “i’m not talking about permission,” he says evenly. “i’m pointing out that your focus matters. you want to keep progressing — i’ve guided you this far. that hasn’t changed.”
you frown, arms tightening across your chest, eyes tearing away from him to look at the chalkboard in front of the room. it’s half erased, perfect diagrams smeared in white. “so now…i have to justify every interaction to you?”
“no,” he replies. “i’m not policing you. but i will call out distractions when they matter. that’s part of my role. your attention isn’t something to waste — you know that.”
you turn to stare at him for a moment, searching for some trace of softness, some hint that he’s overstepping, only to find there isn’t one. just the steady weight of someone who expects attention, precision, and respect — nothing like the man you got to know, everything like the professor you’ve always seen.
“so you push me away, and now you want me to stay focused on you?”
professor nishimura doesn’t flinch. he meets your gaze evenly, calmly, unshaken despite his absurd words. “if i’m the only non-distraction, yes.”
you feel heat clawing up your neck, reaching all the way up to your ears. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, turning away once more. “what the hell is wrong with you? why do you think you can just act like this?”
“act like what?”
ironically enough, that’s the line that gets you. your head snaps back in his direction, and you’re quick to rise to your feet; you sling your bag over your shoulder, ready to leave, but he takes one step to the side to block your exit.
“i’m asking you a question.”
you scoff, sharp and breathless, the sound cutting through the quiet lecture hall. it comes out through your nose before you can stop it, bitter and disbelieving, and it hurts him more than he can show — his eyebrows knit together, glassy eyes staring into yours, searching for something.
“you don’t get to do this,” you say. your voice shakes despite your best effort, and it makes you want to crawl into a hole and never come out — but the reaction it gets from him is raw, his shoulders stiffening, fists clenched by his sides. “you don’t get to decide who i talk to, or what’s a distraction, or—”
you gesture vaguely between the two of you, anger clawing its way up your throat. you don’t manage to say anything more. he looks at you, still expecting.
you shove him out of the way, and riki doesn’t stumble backwards — before you’ve gone too far, he’s got his hands clasped around your wrist. his jaw tightens, muscles tensing underneath his skin, eyes low and zeroed on your fingers.
you brace yourself for anger, for reprimand, for the cold snap of authority sliding back into place. anything to prove that who you were talking to was someone you didn’t know.
it doesn’t happen.
his grip loosens almost immediately, like he’s realised what he’s doing a half-second too late. his thumb slips away first, then the rest of his fingers, hands dropping back to his sides as if they’ve burned him.
“don’t,” riki says, low. not a command. a warning — to himself, more than to you. “i don’t want you to get the idea that i want to control you.”
you shake his hands off. “then don’t fucking give me it.”
silence stretches between you, sharp and unforgiving. his jaw works, once, like he’s biting back something that would only make it worse. when he finally speaks again, his voice is steadier than it has any right to be, and all it does is make you want to scream.
you look up at him, glass-eyed, lashes wet — and something twists in nishimura riki’s chest. he assumes it’s his heart, even though the teacher in him knows better; it’s just anxiety, he tells himself, a physical response he’s long since learned to name and adapt to.
it’s definitely not his heart breaking at the thought of hurting you. definitely not. hearts don’t break.
no. he’d be dead, on the floor, if his heart really broke.
he’ll repeat this in his head for as long as it takes.
“you’re right,” riki mumbles. it unsettles you more than if he’d argued.
he steps back, deliberately, putting space between you like it costs him something (it does). his hands curl into fists at his sides, then relax again. “you can go,” he finally adds.
you hesitate — just for a second — and you hate yourself for it. he notices. of course he does. a man of his genius can’t help but see everything.
his eyes flicker, briefly, before he looks away, fixing his attention on the desk like it’s the safest thing in the room.
you leave without another word.
he doesn’t stop you.
─────────────────────────
WHEN YOU STEP INTO HIS OFFICE THE NEXT MORNING, expecting cruel, impatient silence, nishimura riki remains neutral.
his glasses sit on the edge of his nose bridge, and he’s grading while you study — a rare sight, considering he always manages his time well. it’s kind of funny how you’ve never seen him in the process of it, considering how much time you spend together.
it hits you, embarrassingly fast, that you’ve never actually seen him in the middle of anything other than teaching you despite how many hours you’ve spent here. the furrow of his brow, the way he taps the end of his pen against the paper when he’s annoyed, the quiet sighs he lets slip when something displeases him — it’s all strangely human.
nothing you haven’t known before. it’s just that with all the distance, you forgot.
you hover by the door for a second, unsure if you should sit, wondering if yesterday carved a line between you that you aren’t allowed to cross anymore. you’re sure he can see you awkwardly leaning against the doorframe, so you end up pushing yourself off of it, feet crossing the threshold of his office anyway.
“you’re late,” he says without looking up. “where were you?”
you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, taking your seat on the familiar couch flushed against the window. the silence that follows is different — soft around the edges, still thick with tension, with two people pretending they didn’t almost tear each other apart the day before.
minutes pass. his pen scratches against paper. you start unpacking your things just to fill the emptiness, and to give your hands something to do.
then, unexpectedly gentle, professor nishimura says, “did you get home alright?”
your head lifts a little. you blink. “mhhhm. just fine.”
the bite in your voice is testing him, and it earns the exact reaction you were looking for: a raised eyebrow, a shift in his weight. “you sure?”
it makes you shiver.
you nod, beginning to flip open your textbooks. even if he notices how anxious you are — he doesn’t say a thing.
before long, you’re hunched over the table, your sticky notes and highlighters all over the place.
you remember when you first decided to take a seat in this empty, cold office. it’s a completely different place, a different time, a different you — his awards and certificates still remain, though — but now there’s two mugs on the shelf, a pen in the cup on his desk that you’re certain he never uses because it’s the wrong weight, and before you can think too hard about how much his office (or him) has changed, professor nishimura’s voice jolts you out of your daydream.
“focus.” his stern voice travels from his desk, the sounds of his keyboard mashing underscoring it. “you’re zoning out.”
“sorry,” you tilt your head back down, hair falling in your face, eyes trying to scan for the word you stopped reading at.
you spend an awfully long time staring at one page, trying to make sense of what was printed. your mind’s still flooding with what-if’s from yesterday — whether that was really all that was meant to be said, if that was what everything boiled down to.
what if this was it?
your eyes move mindlessly, jumping from word to word, restarting paragraphs when a thought gets too loud — barely noticing a weight sinking into the empty space next to you.
your gaze drifts to the pair of shoes next to yours, shiny and professional and expensive in all it’s glory; but when you feel a finger tuck your hair behind your ear, gentle, as if you’d crack if just a little force was behind the motion, they trail upwards to the man next to you.
“you look like you just woke up.”
you snort, unintentionally, feeling the burn of your cheeks and the spinning in your head — this stupid professor of yours always seemed to have that effect.
“what are you doing?”
he mumbles in response, “nothing.”
and perhaps it really was nothing, because he slips back into his work without comment, typing quietly while you sink deeper into the sofa — the hours slide by unnoticed, evening tapping softly against the windows until the room grows too dim.
and perhaps it really was nothing, because he just returns to his work, fingers tapping steadily against the keys while you sink further into the couch — time blurs, the sky outside fading into that soft, late-evening orange, and he eventually has to rise to flick on the lamp by his desk, its warm light filling the room in a quiet sort of way.
when he sits back down, your head has already tipped against his shoulder, your notes slipping from your hands, and without thinking — or maybe thinking too much — he reaches for the thin blanket folded at the arm of the couch, draping it over you with a care so practiced and gentle it almost feels like he’s done it a hundred times before.
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EVERYBODY THINKS YOU JUST KNOW WHEN YOU MEET THE ‘RIGHT ONE’. you’ll ask for advice from friends, siblings, even your parents — but there’s a big chance that they’ll tell you that you’ll eventually know, and that there’s no big sign over someone’s head stating that yes, this is the one for you, come get me!
if only.
you hoped falling in love would be easy. people say that if it’s good for you, it would be, and you’re sure that it’s true to some degree —because things did feel easier with nishimura riki. extremely easy.
studying wasn’t a burden — sleeping wasn’t a chore, nor did it feel like a waste of time or a reason to feel guilty. but now, things were starting to get difficult.
you’re beyond fucked.
“just say you like him,” sooha says, and her voice snaps your eyes open again. you’re staring at the popcorn ceiling of your dorm like it personally wronged you. of course you’re back here — sprawled on your bed, overthinking, while sooha lounges beside you like she’s at a spa. “it’s pretty fucking obvious.”
“i just don’t know if this is okay,” you groan, fingers running through your hair. “can you imagine dating your fucking professor? i could get him in trouble—“
“please,” sooha scoffs, not even looking up from her phone. the little snippets of music that keep changing every ten seconds — she’s definitely deep into her edit rewatches again. “he looks two seconds away from quitting his entire academic career for you.”
the sheets rustle under the weight of your head turning towards her.
“what? you think a fully grown man with a salary and a social life—well, questionable social life—spends every free hour he has tutoring one student?” she side-eyes you, finally pausing her scrolling. “come on. he doesn’t do that because you’re struggling. you’re not that hopeless.”
you chew on your bottom lip. “but—“
“you’re so stupid,” she continues. “he looks at you differently.”
your heart does something in your chest — it’s that familiar warmth nishimura riki always managed to trigger, with his soft hands and low voice, like he was personally crafted to make you fall to your knees.
he doesn’t have that sign on top of his head. he isn’t a guarantee, or a ‘at first sight’ thing, or someone with a ton of pros and no cons. he isn’t the easy, simple kind of right that everyone in your life insists you’d “just know.”
he’s just riki — too confusing, too gentle, too quiet riki — and you’re stuck somewhere between wanting him and being terrified that even thinking of him is the biggest mistake you could make, for both yourself and him.
“everything’s just a mess right now. we’re fine, but it doesn’t even feel fine.” you groan, rolling onto your side so you’re facing sooha. your head settles against your bicep, hair spilling across your face like even it has given up. “i don’t know whether to pretend the past few weeks haven’t been eating me alive, or ask him what we are — because we aren’t even anything. he’s my fucking teacher.”
“this anatomy test is really fucking you up, dude.” sooha sighs, dropping her phone her lap with a soft thud. “like, really bad.”
“i’m being serious,” you insist, voice flattening under the weight of all the thoughts you haven’t said out loud. “every time i see him, it’s like—what the hell are we doing?”
“you know what,” she leans her head back further into your chair. “worst case scenario, you can fuck him once, he gets fired and you never see him again—“
“oh my god.”
sooha looks at you like she genuinely doesn’t know where she messed up. you’re holding a handful of your hair in your fist, ready to pull it out.
“i like him. i fucking like my fucking professor,” you grimace, your hands sliding down to your face. “just put me in a fucking porno already.”
“i think you two would look great,” sooha offers, and all you manage to do is peek at her through your fingers with a look that makes her crack up.
“you’re supposed to say thanks.”
“fuck off!”
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THIS PARTY WASN’T IN YOUR SCHEDULE.
it’s crowded, you’re brushing shoulders with every 1 in 2 people you pass, and it’s too fucking loud — the music is booming in your ears and the bass makes your legs shake, the lights are too dark, and your glass is empty. you feel out of place, out of body, out of everything.
“heeeelloooo,” sooha waves her hand in your face before you finally snap back into this plane of reality. once she finally has your attention, her fingers clasp around your wrist, dragging you into the huge living room that belonged to jiwon’s parents. “jiwon’s looking for you, and you’re zoning out under the stairs—come on!”
you bite on your bottom lip, stumbling on your feet as sooha moves too much, too fast through the sea of people. the music choice is truly horrible, you realise as you approach the huge speakers sitting on top of the marbled kitchen island.
you told jiwon to put this off until after finals. at least then, you wouldn’t have so much on your mind — but sooha cried out, said you needed a break from studying so much with that beloved professor of yours — and jiwon could only shrug and agree.
it wasn’t a secret, you and nishimura. there was nothing to be secretive about, and so you couldn’t blame anyone when sooha and jiwon begun to piece things together: the late night texts, leaving early in the morning only to come back in the ass crack of dawn. they figured you were just studying non-stop, cause if you were truly sleeping with your professor, they would’ve heard it first.
“fuck, it’s too loud in here—”
someone bumps into you from behind and mutters a slurred apology. it’s enough to make you flinch, and sooha finally releases your wrist once you’re standing in the middle of the living room: the air is thick with smoke and perfume and every cologne to ever exist, the lights dimmed with the occasional flash of purple and pink in uneven bursts. bodies are packed together on the couch, the one with faux fur pillows that are nowhere to be seen, and it reminds you how this place is too expensive to be hosting this many drunk college kids.
jiwon spots you two immediately from behind the kitchen island. she tilts her head, taking a good look at your already obviously irritated expression, and lifts her cup to point at you with one finger. “you okay? you look like you hate it here—”
“i do,” you admit, watching sooha step a feet or two away into the crowd, chatting with a guy you’d seen around the engineering block. you shake your head, unimpressed before anything else. “i told you. we should’ve waited till after finals.”
she hums, unconvinced. “you wouldn’t say this if you weren’t so busy studying.”
“with riki!” sooha snorts, and your head snaps in her direction. the guy with her looks momentarily lost, and you offer an apologetic smile. “oh, sweet, brilliant riki.”
when you shift your gaze back to sooha, she’s barely containing herself.
“what?” sooha still does so, anyway, unrepentant. “it’s not like we don’t all know. you disappear every night, come back half-dead in the mornings, and somehow you’re still calmer than i’ve ever seen you. it’s suspicious.”
jiwon raises her eyebrows in a moment of pleasant surprise. “so that’s why you’re not drinking.”
you look down at your empty glass, remnants of coke zero still sitting unsipped. somewhere between the terrible music and people brushing against your back, your mind is drifting to that familiar blonde head of hair, with eyes so pretty and brows so strict it makes your pulse falter. gentle, even if he looks everything opposite of.
you were wrong about him, and you found that out in the best way possible, but now, you’re in too deep and everyone’s starting to see it too.
“how else am i supposed to get that A?” you sigh, and you practically feel the way sooha and jiwon see right through you. “i can’t fail this. i really, really can’t.”
they accept the half-assed answer. you weren’t going to admit you were in love with your professor half way into a party full of judgy nepo babies; you were too smart for that.
the night stretches on without you, and at some point, sooha disappears entirely. you’d guess she’s busy making out with that guy from earlier, and even in your sour mood, you snicker at the thought. somewhere in the kitchen, you see jiwon chatting with a group of girls that you’ve never seen her hang with before.
you’re hovering at the edge of the living room, your back against the cold wall. your phone feels infinitely heavier in your hands, and the music choice hasn’t improved in the last hour. it’s aggressive, insistent, as if it’s trying to get you to come loose and forget about what’s supposed to be stressing you out.
you bring your phone to your face, the screen lighting up immediately, and you realise it’s too late to text him, and far too early to leave without everyone assuming you’re pissed off.
a guy with a lopsided middle parting stops in front of you. “heeey, pretty. i was gonna get a drink. you want one? saw your cup was empty—”
“no thanks.”
you drift towards the balcony for air instead, pushing past stumbling bodies until the glass door finally slides shut behind you. it’s barely snowing, but it’s obviously getting chilly, the air biting your cheeks and freezing your lungs. it’s relieving, compared to the humid warmth of other people inside.
you lean against the railing, breathing slowly, savouring every second before you anticipate sooha coming to drag you back inside. momentarily, you wonder if riki lived his college days like this — at parties, sitting at the sides, thinking of where else he could be.
just then, your phone buzzes in your hand.
you swallow, fingers tightening around your phone. the cold doesn’t feel as harsh anymore, replaced by an oddly familiar warmth blooming in your chest. you shove your phone into your purse, weight shifting between your feet, unsure of whether to stay or to leave. somewhere behind you, the door slides open and shut again, laughter spilling onto the balcony before being lost to the wind. you don’t turn around.
the glow of headlights cut through the dark, and the slow fall of snow reminds you of how warm it was a month ago, when you were still whining over that one sociology assignment, when you still hated seeing professor nishimura’s face.
and now, you can’t imagine yourself staying away.
you’re already thinking about how he’ll look when he gets here. dark brown coat hugging his broad, tall stature, snow falling on his head. his brows drawn together in that quiet, familiar concern that he knows never to overdo, because he trusts that you’re a smart girl, and the realization stabs you in the stomach then.
you want to see him.
why the hell do you want to see him?
─────────────────────────
SUNDAYS WERE RESERVED FOR YOU, but for some reason, you’re waiting for nishimura riki at twelve thirty in the morning, in freezing temperatures.
you lean against a lamppost, its warm glow spilling over you and carving soft shadows into your face. your scarf is gone, abandoned somewhere inside oh jiwon’s penthouse, probably slung over the back of a dining chair you’ll never be able to identify again. somehow, you’d still made it out here, rubbing at your nose in a futile attempt to keep the frost from biting too hard.
you sniffle, shoulders curling inward, arms wrapped tight around yourself. professor nishimura had been right — you were sensitive to the cold. you just hadn’t noticed how much, not when he’d always been there before, quietly closing windows, handing you his jacket without comment, turning the heater up a notch like it was second nature.
and then, an expensive looking car pulls up, the sound of snow crushing under the tires making your ears perk. you don’t look up immediately, but you know.
the engine cuts, and the door shuts closed — his footsteps crunch against the pavement lined with ice, unhurried but still purposeful, and something loosens in your chest before you can even say hello.
“you should’ve told me you didn’t have a scarf.”
when you look up, you see exactly what you’d envisioned, with an addition of a black scarf covering the lower half of professor nishimura’s face. his voice is slightly muffled due to the thick cotton — slightly edged with restrained concern slipping through the cracks. your notes are tucked under his arm, neatly stapled, unlike how you kept them, because you ran out of staples and forgot to refill them a few weeks back.
“i thought you’d nag,” you mumble, guilty.
“i would, and i am,” he says, strictly, to make his point. before you can protest, he’s already unravelling his scarf from his neck, and stepping closer to you. the fabric is still warm when he drapes it around you, careful in his movements, fingers brushing against your jaw as he fits it nicely for you.
his cologne lingers. it makes you dizzy, in a good way that party didn’t.
“you’re still so careless, [name].”
his head hovers just above yours, and you swore if he leaned in any closer that he’d be able to hear how hard your heart was beating. your eyes look at anything else but him — the trees in the distance. the passing cars. the one or two people taking a night stroll with their dogs. anything to avoid the way you can hear his breath in your ears, the warmth of his fingers brushing against your skin. anything.
he tucks the end of the scarf into your coat with careful precision, and you think your timing couldn’t be worse. when you dare to glance up, his eyes meet yours. they’re glassy, faintly red at the edges — exhaustion, probably from the nights you’ve kept him awake with your relentless studying — and despite everything, it makes you smile.
“you’re too careful.”
your eyes peek through your lashes, fluttering slowly, coaxing him into everything he’s taught himself to restrain. in the small space between you two, your breaths mingle, albeit yours just warm your face right back up — still, you watch his skin flush, lips trembling slightly at the proximity.
you’ve never seen him this close. he looks absolutely breathtaking. from the sharp turn of his jaw, the sparkle in his eyes as he looks into yours, to that impossible glow on his skin that you’ve never been able to make sense of.
nishimura riki’s heart is racing faster than humanly possible. this cannot be good. he remembers learning this in his first year of university: tachycardia was what they called it.
yes. he’s tachy. so very tachy.
and he also wants to kiss you. really, really bad.
there wasn’t anything in the textbooks for that.
riki swallows, his throat tightening, and his fingers still hold onto the scarf that he’s draped around you. for now, there’s only you, and the warmth of your face radiating so close to his — only the sound of your soft, gentle breath, the one he’s gotten so used to hearing.
his index and middle finger hook onto the fabric of his (now technically your) scarf, pulling it down slightly, enough to reveal your entire face.
“riki,” your voice is barely audible, a whisper against the cold wind, but it’s enough to make his pulse skip. he’s been holding his breath the entire time. “it’s late.”
he leans in, unintentional, just a fraction closer, enough for your hearts to echo in tandem. “i know,” he murmurs, voice low, quiet, restrained in words but not in feeling; he says it like he wants you to stay, despite.
“i should get inside,” you mumble, beginning to tilt your head up anyways.
on this chilly december night, nishimura riki tilts his head as well, inches apart, almost as if he’s analyzing the exact way to fit against you. his lips brush yours softly, a fleeting ghost of warmth, breath fanning over the plush of your lips.
“i know.”
you know this is wrong, and still, you meet him halfway.
suddenly, your body ignites with warmth, eyes fluttering shut as your arms instinctively loop around his neck. his hands find your waist without thought, drawing you close, steadying you as you rise onto your tiptoes. the cold air disappears, replaced entirely by this small, perfect cocoon of heat and closeness — it’s warm, comforting, like coming home to something you’ve been missing all year.
the scarf is tickling his chin. his annoying glasses are in the way. but you taste sweet, and he can smell your perfume — and your shampoo. just you, actually. everything he could ever possibly ask for is right here, in his hands, against his body. leaning into him like she needed him as much as he needed her.
your notes are somewhere on the floor. professor nishimura resolves to help you rewrite them later. hell, he’ll rewrite the whole textbook, as long as you let him have this.
“fuck,” he curses as he pulls away, his breath leaving him in the shape of warm smoke — you giggle, hearing him curse for the first time — and it’s almost ridiculous how fast his face flushes at the sound of your amusement. “you’re so pretty.”
his eyes leave yours, drifting down to your glossy, saliva-covered lips — they’re calling for him. so kissable, parted, breathless like he’d just stolen all the air from your lungs.
“riki—” you try to speak, but it’s pointless when professor nishimura’s lips crash against yours again. you feel like you’re on fire, your fingertips brushing against the nape of his neck once more; it sends shivers down his spine, and when his palm presses flat on the small of your back, you’re arching into his touch.
riki’s tongue swipes against your bottom lip, yours opening up for him like clockwork — it’s making your head spin, your nerves raw, legs weak trying to close the already minute gap between your bodies. he’s curious with you, clearly, with the way his hands roam up and down your waist, clingy, like he’s never going to have you again.
and if that ends up being true — he’ll make sure, just this once, it’ll be worth it.
you follow him, silent, as his hands find yours. the cold nips at your fingers before his calloused ones warm them up: the streets are emptying out, snow lining the asphalt, collecting on the roof of his car. he turns, pulling you with him, the crunch of snow breaking underneath both your feet.
he opens the passenger door for you, a gesture that makes your cheeks burn, and you slide in carefully. the leather seat is too comfortable, nice and warm, expensive before anything else. it reminds you of jiwon’s dad’s car, and the thought makes you snicker, just a little.
“hands,” he murmurs, and you instinctually tuck your arms in before he shuts the door. you watch him walk in front of the headlights — crossing over to the driver’s seat, and soon enough, his hands are on the wheel.
the engine roars to life and warmth floods the car, chasing away the bite of december air. your fingers are still entwined with his, resting lightly in your lap, and the contact is enough to send little jolts through your chest. the soft glow of the dashboard lights highlights his profile — jawline sharp, eyes focused on the road, yet you can feel the awareness behind them, the subtle glance he gives you through the rearview mirror.
your phone is buzzing in your coat pocket. you recognise the text tone — oh jiwon, park sooha. that little group chat you’ve been using since first year. it’s enough to remind you how wrong this is, but not enough to forget how right it feels — professor nishimura riki feels like fate.
the streets are quiet. snow glinting under the streetlights, the tires crunching softly over the thin white layers. the silence between you is comfortable, heavy with everything left unspoken: the kiss, the heat between your bodies, the lingering warmth of his scarf. everything that you’ve gone through in the past few weeks.
you blink slowly, trying to figure out if this was one of your fucked up dreams again — you’ve had quite a few of those ever since you started this… whatever this was.
“you’re still cold,” riki says, eyes still trained on the road. you’re somewhere in gangnam, further away from jiwon’s neighbourhood, streets filled with locals and tourists. his fingers tighten around yours slightly when you don’t respond. “i’ll warm you up when we’re inside.”
you flush, head turning towards the window, not entirely sure of the meaning of his words.
what the hell does he mean by warm you up?
is he flirting with you?
“mm..” you hum, smiling anyway, thankful his scarf was there to save you. “i’d like that.”
─────────────────────────
IT’S ALMOST LIKE A MOVIE.
you’re stumbling into the entryway of his home, coat slipping off your shoulders, and riki’s trying to kick his dress shoes off. it’s the ones he just bought, the ones that cost more than he knew was necessary — it’s pathetic how hard you both are fighting to keep your lips together, heavy pants being the only thing you hear as your fingers find the buttons of riki’s top. you almost snap all of them off with how careless you undo them: you want to apologise, but riki’s smiling against your lips anyway, so you take it as a green light to be as reckless as you want.
almost like a movie — no, scratch that. it’s more like those sex dreams you’ve been having.
the ones you told sooha about, where she was oddly interested and claimed she had to try out with someone else. you smacked her in the shoulder after that. funnily enough, she did end up trying one out of the six positions you detailed greatly to her, and said nothing but “good stuff”.
still, right now, nothing’s funny. you feel heat pooling between your thighs, and riki’s fingers are too rough and needy for you to hold yourself back.
you don’t have time to register his furniture, or his paintings, or his strange plants. the lights aren’t even on. nishimura riki’s spent his early adulthood decorating his home to fit his lifestyle perfectly, and he’s a little hurt that you’re too horny to even appreciate it. he’ll have to give you a proper tour tomorrow morning, if you’re not too sore to deal with it.
“fuck,” he moans into your mouth, feeling your nails graze against his chest as you take off his shirt — he’s too sensitive when it comes to you. he can barely word anything right now with the way he refuses to leave your lips alone. “[name]—you’re sure?”
“so sure,” you pant, arms looping around his neck as his arms find your hips. soon, they tuck under your thighs and it’s almost like you’ve done this millions of times before: you rise to your toes, and he lifts you without much effort. you still squeal, feeling him smirk against your lips; in this moment, you remember just who he is, that ego still lingering behind his touch.
your salivas mix, tongues sopping wet as he settles you onto the cold kitchen island. nishimura riki’s head is spinning — you feel too damn perfect underneath him. he’s never had you like this, his rough hands grabbing and playing with the plush of your ass like it was always meant for him, your soft moans filling his ears like a new kind of music he’ll never stop replaying.
he’s addicted, and he hasn’t even had you fully, not yet. he wants to take his time.
he has to.
“riki,” you whimper, pulling away from the kiss. a string of saliva connects the two of you, breaking soon after, your heart skipping at the sight of him — messy hair, bare chest heaving, a thin veil of sweat coating his forehead and making streaks of hair stick. “please—”
everything is painfully quiet, aside from your heart thumping in your ears. you’re certain he can hear it, too.
his eyebrows knit, breathing trying to even itself out — your hands wander up his chest, not believing it’s the same one you and sooha drooled over a month back — it feels ridiculously firm, your nails tracing his skin, making the hair on his neck stand. it makes him shiver, every touch making his nerves fire up again and again.
you’re doing things to him. things he doesn’t have an explanation for. no textbook could encompass the low, simmering feeling in his abdomen, watching you like this.
riki’s impatient, crashing his lips against yours again — teeth clashing, moans mixing, and you arch your body into his chest once more. your arms loop around his neck as he pushes his body closer to yours, almost leaning over the counter, feeling your weight hold onto his body as he feels you closer.
“tell me you want me,” he groans in your ear, tongue pressing flat against the frantic pulse hidden underneath the skin of your neck. he licks one long, delicious stripe from the ball of your throat to the patch of skin underneath your earlobe, savouring the taste of your sweat, breathing in the raw smell of your fading perfume. “come on—don’t act all shy now.”
you whimper when he sucks, lips latching onto your neck, hard enough you’re sure it’ll leave memories of tonight. you’ll have to borrow sooha’s expensive concealer, you think, but for now — your eyes roll to the back of your skull, hips grinding against the tent in his pants, teasing him so painfully slow.
“mm..” you moan, “can’t you tell, professor?”
riki groans when you grind down harder, the title making his jaw go slack, your legs locking behind his back. he’s so achingly hard, he thinks he might cum in his pants like a pathetic teenager from your stupid antics.
professor. professor. professor.
he’s spent so long drilling that title out of you, and now, he’s hard just hearing it.
“stop fucking teasing, brat,” and he’s trailing down your neck, rough hands pulling the collar of your shirt down. his plush lips leave a trail of kisses along your collarbone, nose nudging the skin of your shoulder, and you feel him breathe you in. “it won’t get you what you want.”
his teeth graze against the round of your shoulder. “you’ll give me what i want, anyway.”
he tsks. you shudder when he bites down, just enough to leave a mark, but not to hurt. your thighs squeeze on instinct, pulling him closer, and you feel him exhale a short, knowing laugh — like he’s finally figured out exactly what gets you — and it makes your stomach twist.
“should we just fuck right here? huh?” riki whispers against your skin, his hands running along the side of your waist. “the way you’re acting—you deserve it. on the cold, hard floor, like the slut you are. sounds good?”
you bite down on your bottom lip, head tilting back as riki makes his way up again. his nose bumps against you, sending little shocks of electricity all the way down to your fingertips. your nose points to the ceiling, lips parted as you try to control every sound that riki’s earning from your pretty lips.
“should we drive back to my office? i’ll fuck you on the desk, on the sofa… against my shelves? i’ll let you pick.”
you feel him right where you need him. impossibly hard, aching, rubbing up against your panties through his slacks. he must’ve been somewhere important before meeting you. that expensive shirt’s tossed onto the floor, somewhere you can’t bother to remember. all of your mind is being taken up by the man in front of you, the one panting in your ear like a dog in heat, like he can’t wait any longer to bury himself inside of you until you’re fucked dumb — not the man of importance, of professionalism, the one that demands respect.
“answer me.”
scratch that. he’s still demanding respect.
you whimper in response — he chuckles, continuing to press gentle kisses to your jaw, up to your cheeks, then your lips. you meet them happily, too eager, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care for your ego when he’s got you chasing an impossible high.
“n-no, riki. want the bed, please—”
his left hand runs up your body, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “my baby wants to feel special?”
you nod frantically, eyes glossy as they stare into his — his pupils are blown. you swore if you looked a little closer, you’d see little hearts dancing around; the thought makes you dizzy.
you feel him twitch against you, just once. so impossibly thick and hefty, you drool at the vision of him stretching you out, holding your hand as you take him slowly, perfectly, sucking him in ‘till he has nothing left to give.
“mhm, please, riki,” you mutter, feeling your body heat in embarrassment. “don’t i deserve it?”
and then, he’s got your jaw in a firm grip, his own tense as he watches you squirm.
“address me properly.” riki tilts his head, smiling mockingly, memories of that class flooding your mind. it’s terrifying how fake it is — but the effect is the same. you’re leaning your cheek into his open palm, needing more, shameless in it all. “then i’ll think about it.”
you swallow, vision blurry from how impossibly needy you’re getting; it’s one of those times where you think you could die from how empty you are, you’d do just about anything to get some relief — grinding shamelessly, whimpering like a mutt against your professor’s pants, leaving a wet patch right where he’s thickest.
“please, professor.”
his lips don’t leave you, but your clothes do. he’s practically ripped your skirt off of you, your shirt is thrown somewhere below the stairs, and everything is a mess. your legs stay locked around his waist as he brings you up the stairs effortlessly, thighs tensing as he climbs each step, briefs stretching as his cock twitches harder by the second.
“tell me if you wanna stop,” he whispers into your ear, and all you do is nod. “i’ll stop.”
it’s a long walk to his bedroom, tucked away at the very end of the corridor — except you’re barely aware of it, because riki is carrying you. one arm is firm beneath your thighs, the other braced around your back, holding you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your weight doesn’t seem to faze him; if anything, his grip tightens with quiet intention as he moves.
modern abstract paintings blur past in your periphery, bold shapes and muted colors bleeding into one another as your focus narrows to the steady rhythm of his steps. a clock with no numbers hangs near the top of the stairs, its hands gliding forward soundlessly, time stripped of meaning. you don’t look at it for long. you’re too aware of the way his shoulder presses into your chest, the warmth of him bare against you.
his breath is heavy but controlled, brushing against your hair with each step. you curl instinctively closer, fingers clutching at his back, and he adjusts you without breaking stride — a subtle shift, careful, practiced, like he’s been doing this far longer than he has any right to.
by the time he reaches the door at the end of the corridor, the rest of the house feels impossibly far away. he pauses there, forehead dipping briefly toward yours, as if grounding himself before crossing whatever line comes next — before pushing the door open and carrying you inside.
he drops you onto the thick mattress, and a squeal escapes your throat. the sheets rustle under your weight. riki hovers above you, still for just a moment. you catch him admiring you: his eyes wandering, scanning your body, drinking it all in before his hands reach for the clasp of your bra.
“you’ll tell me if it’s too much,” he reminds you, and riki’s fingers are working to undress you fully, peeling your bra off you by the straps. “got it?”
you nod sheepishly, eyes darting to the ceiling, anything to avoid the hungry stare in his eyes. you’ve never seen such a look from him — it’s predatory, hungry, the kind of expression that would usually make your blood run cold, given professor nishimura’s already stoic personality — but all it does is make your thighs press closer together.
“what’d i say about using your words?”
you take one quick look at him, before your stomach flips itself inside out; he’s panting, chest heaving, hair disheveled from all the tugging you’ve done.
the warm light above casts shadows across his face, making his eyes seem deeper, darker, more insistent. his brows are drawn together, expectant, waiting for some kind of answer from you.
you’re not eager to see what happens if you don’t give him one.
“yes… yes, i got it,” you manage, words tumbling out too quickly, blending together like one frantic, made-up syllable.
somehow, you feel like you’ve fucked up on that, because his hands are off of you, and you’re whining like you’re going to die. soon enough, his knees are coming off of the mattress, and he’s sinking to the floor.
riki kisses his teeth, left eyebrow raised as he looks at you with a new found curiosity. he wonders where all the impatience came from — he swears you were willing to bend backwards if he asked you to, and now you’re acting like a spoiled brat that he has to set straight.
“careful,” his warm breath ghosts against your thigh, too close for you not to squirm. his palms are quick to press flat against the inner sides of them, prying you open, pinning you flat to the sheets with minimal strength. “be good and i’ll fuck you right. you can speak to your friends like that, but not me. watch the tone.”
“and if i don’t?” you sigh, already picturing it.
riki purrs lowly, sharp nose running against the inner side of your thigh, inching closer to where your clothed cunt practically calls his name. “then you’re gonna be empty all night. dripping for me, begging, and i won’t do anything about it.”
you bite down on your bottom lip so hard you can taste the metal in your mouth. you sit up slightly, resting on your elbows to get a better view of the blond between your legs — he’s breathing you in, nose flush against your soaked panties, and he swears he’s so hard that he could die right here and be satisfied his life has led to and concluded with this — you smell so good, so tempting, like sin wrapped in a pretty bow arriving at his doorstep.
you’re going to fucking kill him. cause of death: pussy too good for his cock to handle not being inside.
but still, he’s a gentleman, and despite your unsatisfactory tone and attitude, he’ll let you have this — he stands up again, fingers hooked on the band of your panties, sliding it off your thighs. the cold air hits your cunt uncomfortably, and your eyes gloss over the man shifting between your legs, dropping to his knees, never breaking the stare.
“need you to take all of me,” riki kisses up your inner thigh, while your legs hang off the bed. his biceps brush against your calf, arms looping around your lower thigh. “prettiest pussy ever. you’ll look so good around me, hm? bet you’re tight, too.”
you feel feverish. hair sticks to your forehead in clumps, nose flared and jaw slack as you try to even your lungs out.
“rikiiii…” you whine, “hurry. just fuck me already—“
“i’m doing this out of kindness,” and his voice drops even lower, like you were teetering on the edge of his patience. “don’t forget that. could very well fuck you right now, but i wouldn’t want you crying the whole time i split you in half.”
the words make something bubble deep inside of you, and you’re sure that even if he flipped you over and fucked you right now that you’d be just fine — arousal is pooling between your legs, almost dripping onto the sheets, enough to last you a lifetime of quickies with nishimura riki — something tells you that he’s doing this because of his own selfish hunger, despite the cocky words leaving his lips.
“who says you’ll make me cry?” you bite, and riki’s eyes flick up to yours momentarily. it’s crazy, laced with something wild, and it almost feels like you’ve caught him red-handed in a lie.
“you’re practically crying for me down here,” and he’s spat right on your clit, eyes narrowing on the way you’re glistening for him. you have no right to be demanding things from him, not when you’re spread open at his discretion. “can’t answer me during our sessions, and now you’re running your mouth? should’ve i guessed from the beginning that you were just a slut waiting for some dick?”
you clench around nothing, visibly flustered at the way he doesn’t even flinch at the remark. he watches your reaction, smirking, inching closer to heaven.
“can’t even wait a few minutes for something to fill you up. you’re filthy.”
he sticks his tongue out, pressing it flat against your folds, licking one slow stripe towards your clit. you shiver at the warmth — it makes your head spin, the feeling of his nose bumping into your clit, his lips plush lips sucking on your swollen bud.
“too bad you’re g’na have to wait. spread, wider.” his fingers tap at your thigh, and you find yourself doing exactly as he demands. “yeah, just like that—my smart girl. so obedient.”
you whine at the praise, hips wriggling in his grip as he eats you like a man possessed; tongue lapping away at everything your cunt has to offer, which now seemed like an endless stream of arousal — riki’s eyes narrow as he peeks up at you, and the chuckle rumbling through his chest vibrates through your body, and it’s almost reflex how your fingers fly to his locks to get a firm grip.
“fuck,” he hisses as your nails scratch his scalp. you grab by the roots, smiling lazily at him as he does nothing but let it happen. “greedy fuckin’ thing.”
your knees bend and lock behind his neck, the heel of your foot rubbing against his back, feeling every dip and rise of muscle — his tongue circles around your clit faster, the pressure now increasing by tenfold. he finds himself shoving his face into a space that doesn’t exist. riki simply can’t get enough as he rocks his hips against his dark oak bed frame (the one he spent too long picking out online), chasing a high he knows he won’t be satisfied with — pre stains his briefs as his cock stretches the spandex out, wet and sticky like homemade honey.
“y-yeah, riki—“ you moan, “oh my god, fuck,”
you don’t even realise that his face is pulled away until your orgasm barely slips from you.
“wrooong. again.” riki mumbles, lips glossy from your slick and his saliva mixed in something similar to alcohol — he was getting so pussy-drunk that he was starting to slur his words, more focused on how sweet, how perfect you taste on his tongue. he was beginning to strategise just how he’d be able to savour this every day for the rest of his life.
well… the only answer was to make you his, of course.
he lets saliva collect in the shallow well of his tongue, before spitting thickly onto your clit. his aim is comically good.
“my patience is running thin. address me properly.”
nishimura riki can’t possibly let anyone else enjoy this. he’ll fuck you so good, so right, that he’ll be the only man you think of for the rest of your life.
his middle and ring finger apply pressure to the throbbing cunt, and you practically scream with how sensitive you are. riki has that smug fucking look again,
“p-professor,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. the tip of his nose runs along your folds, up and down, and you’re practically riding his face now — he can only groan in response, your arousal dripping down his chin and running down his neck. “s-sorry, professor, i’m sorr—“
“i forgive you,” riki coos between sucks, “taught you sooo well. my most perfect girl. all fucking mine.”
it’s almost embarrassing how compliant you are when it comes to professor nishimura. he tells you to cum, and you do, coating his wet tongue with sweet fluid that makes his eyes roll back — he tells you to ride his face, squeeze his head between your thighs, cum again on his sharp nose this time — and you do. you bite back a moan when he tells you not to cum yet. you take his fingers in your mouth as he tells you to be quiet. you grind your hips even when they’re sore. you keep pushing because he tells you to.
the pained, pussy-drunk expression on his face is enough to make kt all worth it.
you think you have nothing left to give by the time you cum all over his mouth for the 3rd time, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks you up, lips bitten raw from making out with your pussy like it was his first meal in days.
“fuckfuckfuck—i’m gonna cum, riki—!” he lets the name slip, because he thinks you look beautiful when your lips are parted and screaming his birth name. how merciful, he thinks he earned a pat on the back for being so kind.
“then cum.”
how could you ever deny him?
“where’s the attitude gone?” riki grins, rough, large palms gripping at your hips as he comes off his knees. he towers over you again, a dark shadow cast over you from his large stature blocking the lamp’s golden bleed — he looks down at you, tongue running over his bottom lip, heart thumping hard in his ribcage. “fucked dumb already? haven’t even been inside.”
you feel heat crawl up your neck, face visibly flushing as riki fits himself snug between your thighs — your eyes can’t help but to travel down, eyeing the bulge in his slacks, so impossibly thick and long and everything you could ever possibly need for a lifetime of godly sex.
you’ve been with big guys. enough to say you know what’s big and what’s just average, but it was safe to say nishimura riki was big. thick, throbbing, twitching underneath the fabric as if it was trying to spell your name.
“you gotta do better than that, miss [name],” professor nishimura pouts, though his expression is nowhere near one of genuine sympathy. you see the red flush of his cheeks, that pussy-drunk face of his that you know you could definitely get used to, and the way his jaw slacks when he rubs his bulge against your bare pussy — strings of sticky arousal stretch like honey, and you whine at the raw friction of it all — his eyes constantly ping-pong between your face and the way your folds spread open to slot the tent between the slit.
“stop teasing, ki!” you blurt out, and his head tilts, as if lost in thought. he doesn’t look back up at you this time, his pupils instead locked on the mess you’re making down there.
you’re not going to fit him. he knows this, but he’ll make it work. brainstormer, he remembers his old mentors calling him, so he’ll find a way to have you stretched out ‘till his balls touch your ass, or he’ll just make you cum a few more times on his face, or fingers, anything it takes to let him have you fully.
“you’re so fucking wet,” riki smiles, “think you can take me?”
“yes, yesyesyes, please,” you babble, nodding frantically as riki stares on. it seems kind of unreal how desperately you need him — he wonders if he always had this effect on you, if you were always this pliant and good and absolutely breathtaking. if he’d known, he would’ve fucked you right then and there, in his office during that first study session. “want it—i want you, please, professor.”
you’re so fucking perfect, he feels like he’s dreaming.
he doesn’t waste any time unbuckling his belt, the metal clasp clinking loudly as his fingers work at the hook. he rolls his belt into his hand, and for a brief moment, riki wonders just how you’d react to a little leather spanking.
“oh?”
the corner of his lip tugs, and a familiar smirk only grows from there. the one that makes your skin crawl.
he didn’t need to think for long, after all.
he feels your pussy throb against him, your glassy eyes ogling the expensive belt looped around his left hand.
“like it, baby?”
you don’t even manage to respond.
“want me to use it on you?”
there’s a moment of hesitation from you — you’re not really sure why, because it’s just a fucking belt, but you’ve been rubbing up on him like a feral cat in heat. something about professor nishimura using his belt on you makes your mind go blank, as if every word you’ve learnt in your twenty something years of living has suddenly been rendered useless.
all you know is that you want it, so you nod, and pray that this is the meanest he can get.
“should i tie you up? spank you? tell me which you want, sweetheart,” and the corners of his lips are curving upwards, almost sinister in nature, as he unravels the belt so that it just hangs free from his grip. the slight change in tone when the word ‘spank’ slips makes your thighs twitch hard. “i’ll do it. anything to make my good girl happy, hm?”
you’re heaving, chest falling and rising at a rapid rate as you try to conjure the right words. who was going to tell you that it’d be damn near impossible to speak comprehensible english when your professor’s huge cock is twitching against you?
he waits for an answer, head tilted, eyebrows pulled together in this painfully expectant way — the kind of expression that drags you straight back to your case study presentations, where every slip-up had professor nishimura giving you that exact same look. same stupidly handsome face. same unfairly perfect eyebrows lifted like he was judging both your academic ability and your life choices at once.
“i-i—“ you mutter, “want.. i want—“
“clearly didn’t teach you well enough to use your words,” he scoffs, hands working to grab the other end of the belt. it forms a lop-sided circle, long enough to hurt, short enough not to make you bleed. “that’s fine—i’ll pick for you, mmkay?”
he isn’t asking for your permission.
in the next 10 seconds that follow, professor nishimura has you on your belly, ass bent over the edge of the bed. your thighs dangle off the mattress, twitching, as if you’ve just come down from your 5th orgasm (even though that was 10 minutes ago) — and all nishimura riki can do is stare at the perfect canvas laid beneath him, so blank, so ready for him to bruise.
you moan, loud, when his palm fondles your right ass cheek, pressing you further into the mattress.
“sorry, i’ll have to keep her waiting.”
his thumb spreads your empty cunt wide, watching how your glistening hole clenches around nothing, and it’s gross how fast his heart fills with pride. you’re so fucking easy it makes him want to take you right now, waste no time, fuck you all night until you’re both on the brink of exhaustion, but that little sick voice in his head tells him to test the waters with you — how far you’d go for him before your nails are drawing blood from his chest and begging him to slow down — because right now, you’re bending over backwards for him, and he finds it adorable.
“‘s okay,” you mumble, cheek pressed flush against the sheets. “hmph—please, just hurry.”
oh, so forgiving. with how kind you were being —he’d make sure to reward you tenfold.
smack. “ooookay, baby,” riki sing-songs, smiling down at your figure, your spine arched and your ass fully rounded out for him.
smack.
the sting follows immediately.
“fuck—!” you squeal, body writhing as the red outline of his belt blooms on your skin. riki’s jaw slacks watching the print form, a dreamy sigh leaving his lips — you’re still wriggling your ass for more, even as he sees the tear slip down your cheek.
“dirty girl,” riki tsks, working to bundle the belt around his palm again. “you get off to this? shameless.”
you don’t respond, anticipating the second smack that riki eventually ends up giving you.
“a-ah,“ your throat rasps, broken moan escaping, “professor—i’m sorry!”
“oh,” smack. “i always knew. just a slut, aren’t you? probably thought about me doing this looong before today. didn’t you? thought about your professor setting you straight in front of everyone?”
you nod desperately, too many times than necessary, and a deep chuckle sounds through the dim room. “that’s my girl. so honest. so good. so obedient.”
“fuuuck,” you moan at the praise. riki watches your thighs squeeze, tensing up as you drip down, down, down. “w-want you to fuck me, please, professor, i can’t wait anymore—“
smack, smack, smack. your hole squeezes around nothing with every harsh hit.
“barely been five minutes,” riki taunts, and when you turn your head to look back at him, you swear there’s hearts in his eyes. “but okay. since you’ve been so good for me, i’ll indulge.”
and just like that, the sting on your skin is replaced by the cool bite of expensive linen sheets — you’re back here again, caged underneath his chest, eyes locked on the way his blonde locks stick to smooth skin. sweat rolls down his chest, down to his abs, your heart racing at the divine sight above you: his chest heaves, gaze hungry and dark with everything you’ve been too afraid to confront, fingers firm on the flesh of your waist as he pulls you closer.
“tell me if it hurts,” riki adds, his hands pulling back from your figure to slide his slacks off his legs. “but i know my girl can take it all, can’t she?”
“yesyesyes, i can take it, i can take it—please.”
oh, he feels his heart swelling. riki sees how your eyes never leave the imprint in his briefs, widening when his thumbs hook into the waistband to pull them down — and when he finally frees himself?
he replays the way your breath hitches again, and again, and again, only snapping out of it when your eyes dart back up to meet his.
he’s stupidly long. thick, heavy, swollen red and leaking pre-cum; it leaves a sticky layer on his tip, shining under the light, veins running down the side of his shaft — for a moment, you’re upset that he didn’t make you suck him off before this, give you a chance to run your tongue along the blood vessels. you’d trace and memorise them, eyes looking up as he’d throw his head back.
“you’re so fucking perfect,” he mumbles, head dropping low, jaw slack from how your cunt is essentially calling for him to fuck you full. “wanna fuck you ‘till you can’t forget me.”
he lines his cock up with your dripping entrance, already tempted to just slam his hips into yours. with how sticky and wet it is from both your fluids, riki’s sure there’d be no problem fitting all of him — but he’s a gentleman, and he doesn’t want you screaming and waking the entire neighbourhood up.
you whine when his hand grabs the base of his dick and taps his tip against your clit, his hips grinding forward just to slide his cock between your folds once or twice. fucking tease.
“you’re so annoying,” you drawl, teeth biting down on your lip as you feel just how thick he was compared to you. you find yourself out of air just thinking of how you’d be able to accommodate the girth.
“you love me,” riki smiles. “jus’ let me make you feel good, hm?” he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, biceps caging your head, chests pressed against the others. your head rests against his shoulder, heavy sighs leaving your lips right next to his ear, and all it does is make him even hungrier.
“i do love you,” you whisper. nishimura riki feels something shift inside of him at the words, oddly enough, despite the fact that you two have seen each other fully by this point: no, it makes everything real, despite the constant reassurance that it always has been, but now he knows that he can’t let you go.
“i love you too, [name].”
so when he finally lets himself sink into you, tip pushing past the folds of your heaven-sent pussy, riki fights every sinister voice that begs him to just bottom out and fuck you silly until you remember that he, the man who never loved, loves you.
“fuuuck,” he groans into your ear. he feels you squeeze him tighter, almost pushing him back out at the sound. “you gotta relax, baby. breathe. too fucking tight, it’s gonna kill me.”
“t-too fucking big,” you squeal, legs wrapping around his waist. you try to follow his advice, taking slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down. “i can’t, riki, i can’t—“
“you can,” riki corrects you. “you’ll take all of me, won’t you? can’t fuck you right with only a quarter of me.”
well, fuck… quarter?
he pulls his face away from your neck, forehead pressed against yours in something sweet. your eyes lock onto his blown pupils, laced with love and addiction, and you genuinely feel so full that your throat clogs up.
your walls stretch as he sinks further in, now half-way over. his jaw hangs open, heavy breaths mingling between the tiny space between you, and when he feels your heel dig into his lower back for that final push — he breaks.
so warm. so snug. so wet and perfectly moulded to fit his cock. it was divine, to say the least.
“fuuuck,” riki moans, eyes screwing shut, as if he couldn’t believe how warm and heavenly this felt. when he opens them, he sees your pretty face, lips parted with half-lidded eyes staring up at his. “god, i love you—you’re perfect everywhere.”
his hot mouth meets yours in a sloppy kiss, spit and saliva exchanging, smearing all over both your lips and dripping down your chin. riki feels your tongue run over his, your soft moans that go straight his throat and the way your hand tangles in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as his balls kiss your ass.
“rikiii…” you drag sweetly, lips curling into a familiarly maddening smile. “fuck me ‘till i can’t think, please, want it so bad. i can’t wait anymore—“
he exhales a shaky breath before pulling out, just barely leaving any of himself inside of you. “still so fucking impatient.”
riki slams his hips into you, and the stretch almost knocks you out cold. you’re still adjusting to him as his hips pull back before sinking back inside. the sounds of your pussy and his cock plunging deep into you sounds borderline pornographic: wet squelches and skin slapping against each other, along with the moans that he rips from you.
“fuck, s-so perfect, just like how i imagined.”
riki leans back just to get a better view, and your hands immediately fall to his wrists. your nails dig into his forearm, and riki almost cums on the spot watching your tits bounce and your face morph into one of obscene, shameless pleasure.
plap, plap, plap.
his tip kisses your cervix with every needy thrust, and you’re trying your best to not scream riki’s name every single time his pelvis flushes against yours. you brace yourself, feeling him all the way in your lungs, knocking the wind out of you with every wet slap of skin.
“r-rikiii…” you moan, about to go cross-eyed, “so good, so fucking good—oh my god—“
“yeah?” he mumbles, thumb pressing against your clit to rub frantic circles, and it’s ridiculous how fast your eyes roll to the back of your head. “my good girl, taking me so well—want me to fill you up, too? would my baby like that?”
nishimura riki thought he was the one in control here, but when you scream ‘yes’ and ‘please’ at least ten times over, he finds his pace quickening and his hips slamming into yours with newfound motivation. you’re a mess: a thin veil of sweat coats your skin, and you’re crying riki’s name like a desperate prayer.
“ngh—d’you get tighter thinking about me cumming inside this pussy? so fucking dirty.”
he doesn’t care if his neighbour comes knocking on his door. he’ll fuck you on the balcony if it meant everyone knew that he was the only man who has you like this.
riki’s hand runs over the bulge in your lower belly, applying delicious pressure as your mind slowly unravels underneath him. you can’t speak anymore, a cacophony of moans and cries being the only thing filling the room, and the man above you can only chuckle as he witnesses your descent into madness.
your hands find their way to your face, covering the fucked-out expression on it. riki doesn’t take to well to it, opting to grab at your wrists, pinning them over your head. “don’t get shy on me,” he mutters.
“my good little slut,” riki spits, and the way your hands fit right into his palm makes him go crazy. you’re thrashing against him, thighs twitching hard as you feel that familiar pressure build inside of you. your mind is turning to mush as his cock relentlessly slams into you, and you swear he gets bigger with every second that passes. “o-oh fuuuck, i love you—love this pussy so much—you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”
you’ve been wanting this for so long. ever since that night your hands slid underneath the band of your sweats, touching yourself to his gym pictures on instagram, and now he’s finally here: fucking into you like you’re all he’s been wanting, too.
“i w-want a kiss, riki, please,” you manage to blurt out. riki’s quick to fulfill your request, plump lips meeting yours in another heated kiss. the closeness lets his hips rut into you, slow and nice as they angle to brush against that sweet spot deep inside of you.
“mmngh—haa, shit—i’ve wanted you for so long, [name],” riki mumbles between kisses, “thought about fucking this perfect pussy… in my office. in class, in front of everyone. make you feel sooo good, you’ll never look at anyone else.”
your heart skips at the confession.
“tell me you’re all mine,” he moans into your mouth, kissing your lips raw. “all mine to fuck,” thrust. “kiss,” thrust. “to have like this—fuck, please, [name]—“
“i’m a-all yours, riki,” you smile lazily, feeling the drag of his cock in and out of you. “y-yes, all yours—oh fuck!”
you’re so sensitive to the point that his touch burns. riki feels hot against you, the weight of his body and the thick stretch of his dick convincing you that this might be your last night alive.
“h-harder, riki,” you cry, “want you harder—“
you drive the man crazy. absolutely feral.
he’s half sure that he’s running on pure horniness, because his thighs hurt and his back stings from all the scratches you’ve left. the pain feels secondary to this, to having you milking him for everything he has, that he refuses to slow down.
you want it harder? he’ll give you harder, no questions asked.
“needy fucking thing,” riki teases, and the flush on your face is almost immediately intensified. your nose scrunches at him, a scowl worn before it’s quickly washed away from how deep you feel him; every hit makes you dizzier, his words going into your right ear and out the left, nothing on your mind but the impending orgasm that’s about to wash over you.
riki kisses the tears on your cheek, cock twitching at the taste of salt and the look of your visibly flushed face. the admission triggers something in him, because now, he’s pistoning his dick like this was the last time he’ll ever have you — he can feel your walls pulsing, squeezing him tight, and it’s turning him into a fucking animal.
“that’s right, baby—all mine, all fucking mine.”
that does it for both of you. his thrusts become sloppy, haphazard, nothing that resembles careful.
you make him so, so messy. a part of him that he’s never bothered to awaken, like a flip of a switch at your hands.
“i’m gonna fucking cum, riki,” broken sobs rip through your body, and he feels himself lose every last bit of sanity he’s kept tucked away.
riki buries himself deep inside, to the hilt, working his hips to close any remaining distance between you two. he chases his high as you thrash violently underneath him with nothing but a cry of his name, walls clamping down on his cock like you’d die if he so much as moved a centimetre out of you — you coat him in your juices, warm and hot, and the guttural groan that rips from his throat only pushes you further over the edge.
“o-oh shit,” riki rasps, feeling you gush around him. “oh fuuuck, yeah, cum all over this dick baby. just like that.”
you can’t stop cumming. his hips begin to falter, his stamina draining as you milk him for everything that he has, but riki refuses to stop; he’s so achingly close to filling up that perfect pussy of yours, ‘till you’re leaking for hours and have to ask him to plug you closed.
oh, he can’t stop thinking about it now.
“fuuuck—” you scream, and riki’s lips are crashing into yours as he continues fucking into @ you, fast and hard. the sounds of his cock fucking you through your orgasm remind you of rain puddles: those wet and cold mondays on the way to his class, unsuspecting, innocent, still believing that he would never would see you this way.
“thaaat’s it, pretty girl,” riki’s praise lands right between your thighs. your ankles lock behind his back, the squelch of your cunt and his cock plunging deep inside making riki’s head spin. he could replay the sound for days. “s’cute when you’re gushing all over me, baby. so fucking hot.”
you whine, feeling shy at his words, hands coming close to hide your face from his dark gaze. “told you not to hide,” riki mutters, peeking at you through your fingers. “w-wanna see your adorable face when i cum inside—please?”
his voice gets all whiney, eyes softening, and you know he’s close when you feel his pace quickening, although sloppy and with a new rhythm, and his breath gets shaky as his jaw hangs open.
your hands move to grip at his forearms, as if to brace yourself from how hard he was fucking into you — like he wanted a family of six, excluding you both — the bed creaks with every wet slap of skin, his balls clapping against your ass, and you watch how his jaw tenses as he inches closer to his orgasm.
“mmngh—riki, too much—“ your head tilts back, spine arching off the mattress as you feel that sickening coil in your stomach start to tighten again — the way he notices this scares you. his thumb flies to your clit, pressing and circling, doing just about everything to make you cum all over him again.
“s-shit, gonna cum,” riki rasps, head dropping low to let his eyes admire the beautiful sight: you, dripping, and him, glistening.
his fingers interlace with yours, tight, as if you’d disappear if he let you go. riki’s unravelling, every muscle in his body tensing as you clench around him again — soft, sticky gummy walls welcoming him back in, and riki knows he has no choice but to give them what they deserve: his load, his cum, him.
don’t get him wrong. you’ve cum on his face, in his mouth and on his tongue. but this is different. this time, he’ll be able to give you a piece of him, too, after a long night of being on the receiving end — and it somehow makes everything seem ten times better.
“c-cum inside of me,” your head tilts into the sheets, eyes rolling back and splotches of white.
“can’t ever s-say no to you, mm?” he tsks, eyebrows knitting, knowing what’s to come. “you’re fucking killing me.”
professor nishimura has lost his sanity, officially, when you cum for the second time. your clit throbs against his shaft as he drives himself in and out, slower, because this is just fucking perfect — too perfect for him not to do anything about it — he cums, hard, for the first time in what seems like centuries (it’s only been 1.5 hours since you got out of his car, but he swears otherwise).
“o-oh fuck,” nishimura riki moans right into your ear, and it sounds like a snippet from a porno from how loud and absolutely lewd it is.
his cock pulses, throbbing hard inside of your weeping cunt. hot spurts of him make you squeal, and you thrash underneath him as you both come down together.
he collapses on top of you, still buried inside — because he’s genuinely convinced you’ll start leaking like a broken faucet if he doesn’t plug you up — a heavy, contented sigh leaves his lips, before he presses a gentle kiss to your bare shoulder.
you’re panting, he is too. riki’s fingers lace with yours again, and you hiss when you feel him still twitching inside of you. you feel hot inside and out, the warmth from his body making you feel ten times more tired. for a moment, you just lay, two naked bodies intertwined as you try to even your breaths and sync your heartbeats — his chest is flush against yours, and it almost feels as if you were one.
“are you alright?”
riki’s voice is quiet, gentle. familiarly sweet and caring, still sounding as mature as the first day you met in that bright lecture hall.
“mmm,” you hum. “just tired. and sore.”
the blonde pulls away from the skin of your neck, instead resting his forehead on top of yours. his eyes look impossibly beautiful, laced with love and everything that he’s been too scared to name, but you know this: he wants this, and he wants you.
“was i too rough?”
“you were perfect,” you tell him, and the smile that slowly tugs at his lips is worth every second of the chaos that led you here. “professor.”
he leans in, kissing you with a kind of lazy tenderness — slow, sweet, almost careful, like he’s afraid to break the moment. “saturday,” he murmurs against your mouth. “it’s riki to you.”
“riiight,” you breathe out in a giggle, your lips brushing his skin. your hands, suddenly useless and soft, come up to cradle his jaw. you pull him closer, and your mouths meet again, fitting together in a way that feels dangerously close to perfection — as if neither of you ever stood a chance against this fate. “riki.”
“miss [name],” he mumbles against your mouth, almost dazed. “my girl.”
“[name] after classes,” you correct softly, fingers still curled at his jaw, the words slipping out warmer than you intend. “no need for the formalities.”
“agreed fully,” riki chuckles, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your lips. “fuck, i’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
you can feel his smile against your skin before his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time — less careful, more certain, like he’s finally letting himself want you out loud.
the kiss ends only when you’re both out of air, foreheads pressed together, sharing the quiet that settles between you. his thumb sweeps once across your cheek, almost reverent.
“so,” he murmurs, voice low, “after classes… i get to keep you a little longer?”
you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you nod, and his answering grin is all boyish triumph and barely contained affection.
“good,” he whispers, kissing you once more, softer than the last. “i’m not ready to let you go yet.”
“you won’t have to.”
oh, yes. professor nishimura will have to hand in his letter of resignation tomorrow.
─────────────────────────
“DRINKS TONIGHT?”
sooha slings an arm around your neck, hanging off you like a very cheerful, very heavy scarf. you stumble forward a step trying to keep both of you upright, while jiwon watches from your right with that warm, amused smile she gets whenever sooha becomes your problem.
“i can’t,” you mumble, staring hard at the floor like it might save you. “i have plans.”
“finals are literally over,” sooha groans, squeezing your shoulders. “what do you mean you have plans?”
jiwon raises an eyebrow, interest sparking. “yeah. plans with who?”
you press your lips together, pursing into a thin line as your brain scrambles to invent some brilliant excuse — any excuse — to feed them this time. because, unfortunately, exams were over, and you could no longer dodge their house parties and drink invites with the trusty “i have to meet professor nishimura” line, for obvious reasons:
one: professor nishimura has left for better job prospects, in a university much less privileged and competitive than yours, and
two: he is no longer professor nishimura to you, much less on weekends.
your pulse jumps at the thought of admitting this to them, heat crawling up your neck. they’ve known of his resignation ever since he bid goodbye a month back, but it’s been surprisingly easy keeping your relationship under wraps.
sooha narrows her eyes, leaning closer. “why do you look like you’re hiding state secrets?”
“i’m not!” you hiss, which — if anything — makes you look way more suspicious.
and the conversation spirals exactly the way you feared: rapid-fire accusations, ridiculous theories, the two of them gleefully feeding off each other as you try to keep walking in a straight line.
“she’s pregnant,” sooha whispers to jiwon, directly across you. you almost want to drag them both by the ears and throw them into incoming traffic at the laugh that makes the entire hallway look in your direction.
you’re about to tell them to stop when you see him — leaning against his car, arms crossed, head tilted, wearing that unfairly composed expression that’s become dangerously familiar.
professor nishimura. riki, on weekends, or rather every single day now that he’s no longer working in this cursed institution.
his eyes lift when he spots you, and he pushes off the car with a small, easy wave.
“you ready?” he calls out, like your friends aren’t right there losing their minds. his keys jingle as he reaches for the passenger handle, completely unfazed.
you freeze, but somehow you still manage to look left and right, taking in the absolute horror plastered across both their faces. you mouth a tiny “sorry,” grip your bag like a lifeline, and dart across the road with so little caution that riki actually winces and shakes his head at you.
“so no drinks tonight?” sooha yells after you, loud enough that half the parking lot turns to stare. jiwon doesn’t move an inch — wide-eyed, stunned, still trying to connect every dot she didn’t even know existed. for a second, you almost forget she had no idea, all this time.
“tomorrow!” you shout back, breathless, already reaching for the open passenger door. riki smiles as you duck your head, hopping into the seat that’s already moulded with your figure.
the door shuts, and you watch riki cross over to his side of the vehicle.
when you turn to look out the window, sooha screams something unintelligible and jiwon finally exhales, before they both turn to each other and start laughing hysterically.
“how was it?” he asks once you’re both settled in the car, hands casually resting on the wheel, glancing at you without turning his head.
“how was what?” you reply, feigning innocence, tightening your grip on your bag like it’s a shield.
“the finals i prepped you for,” he says, voice light but teasing, like he’s expecting you to cave.
you snort, rolling your eyes. “you left a month ago,” leaning back in your seat, pretending nonchalance.
“and?” he challenges, eyebrows raised, daring you to give him credit.
“meaning it was practically all me,” you counter, smirking, because honestly, a little credit never hurts.
riki shoots you a look, one brow arching in that infuriatingly perfect way. “don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warns, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement.
“i’m serious,” you say, leaning slightly toward him, voice low, “zero guidance. pure, raw talent.”
“right,” he mutters, finally glancing at you, mock-skeptical. “that’s why you called me five times last night. asking me questions i’ve already touched on months before today.”
“four,” you correct immediately, raising a finger like you’re marking a point in a debate.
“five,” he insists, smug, turning the wheel with one hand, eyes flicking to you again. “you facetimed me to show me your new cereal.”
you groan, slumping back. “okay, maybe four and a half.”
riki hums, satisfied, hands gripping the wheel. he puts the car in gear, the engine purring beneath you both, and glances sideways just long enough to catch your eye. there’s a warmth in the look he gives you that makes your stomach flip, the same teasing edge still lingering, but softened now, like he’s letting you in on something only the two of you share.
“i’ll let you have that,” he murmurs, fingers drumming lightly on the wheel, “only cause you worked hard for today.”
you bite back a smile, shaking your head, but the tension in your shoulders eases just a little as the car rolls forward. “not because i’m your girlfriend and i’m always right?”
he snorts, laughing when you reach to pinch his thigh. it barely hurts, but he winces anyway.
nishimura riki shakes his head, still chuckling, and glances at you through the corner of his eye. “nah, that’s a bonus,” he says softly, voice low enough that it almost gets lost in the hum of the engine.
you let out a small laugh, leaning back in your seat, and for a second the world outside the car blurs into nothing — just the two of you, the soft rhythm of the road beneath, and the warmth lingering where your hands brushed.
riki reaches over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, and it’s gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he moves too fast. “don’t get used to it,” he murmurs, and you just shake your head, pretending like you don’t know how stupid you look smiling at him.
the sun bleeds through the windshield and into your hair, painting your skin bright and glowing, and riki feels his heart slow at the sight — so you, so beautiful, that he thinks he’s waited his whole life for this.
nishimura riki presses a soft kiss to your lips, warm and close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his pulse.
“i’m so proud of you,” he whispers.
“i know.” you respond.
he pulls away, head turning towards the front; the car rolls forward, smooth as it takes you closer to his place. you know exactly how this’ll end — curled up beneath his sheets, chest to chest, the steady rhythm of him keeping you anchored. riki had always joked about letting you sleep for a full day straight, even if he knew it was extremely unhealthy, a reward for surviving finals.
you think back to the last time it happened. it had been over a short call — him at his new office, grading papers with a quiet intensity, and you, slumped over a random table in the school library, eye bags sinking into your face with lips so chapped that you think you could grate cheese with them. the memory brings a small, fond smile to your face, but riki doesn’t catch it with how focused he is on the drive.
but after a few silent minutes, he speaks. “i’m off tomorrow. took a sick day.”
you gasp. “oh my. who even are you?”
riki glances at you, quickly, before his smirk softens into something warmer. “just thought it’d be nice to take care of you.”
that sounded utterly useless and unproductive, to be quite honest — and yet, somehow, completely necessary. you were an adult, perfectly capable of handling yourself. this wasn’t like him at all. a year ago, riki would be twitching at the edges of his schedule, itching to tick off every item on his never-ending to-do list.
but now… now his to-do list was almost frighteningly simple. it began and ended with you. everything else could wait, fade, or fall apart, and he wouldn’t care. the thought made your chest tighten in a way that was equal parts tender and dizzying.
oh, this is bad.
it happens just like this: nishimura riki, the guy with endless awards and certificates and letters of recommendations, wakes up an hour later than his usual alarm, your head still resting against his bare chest beneath the thick sheets. panic flashes across his face as he scrambles to hit ‘stop’ on the alarm, clearly afraid you’d grumble and jab his chest in protest.
and then he’s two hours late to breakfast because you’re still drooling all over him. next thing you know, he’s splitting leg day into mornings and nights just so he can stop by your apartment after work.
and why don’t his bank statements match up?
also, why the hell is he letting you use his toothbrush?
summary: it has been a while since you moved into your new apartment, your life was doing amazingly... a little too monotonous maybe. Or at least it was until the little black cat owned by your neighbour jumps on your balcony for the first time bringing a spark of joy during your nighttime. Little did you know, your neighbour thought the same think
Warning: just the fact that this is my first fic lol and that english is not my first language so i'm afraid this might actually suck (please feel free to correct any mistake!)
enjoy!
Another day, the same exact one you already lived yesterday, that was exactly like the day before... wake up, work, come back home, sleep. The same old routine. It is not like you didn't enjoy your life, you had the job of your dreams, a quite big apartment for the city you were living in and even lucky enough to have a small balcony! That's a flex for sure.
But one day while you were looking at the city underneath you, you suddenly heard a small meow. On the balcony railing right on your left a small black cat was seated, looking at you with its little head tilted.
"Well, hello little one" you said to the cat who seemed to answer with another meow. You moved your hand to pet it as the cat starts to purr, stealing a smile from your lips. "what are you doing here?" you asks laughing. And then it clicked. Right next door lived a guy, you've met him a few times in the hallway but just shared quiet glances at each other and nothing more, he seemed a bit shy and you didn't complain much, is not like you could have talked first with such a hot guy to begin with. The man was tall as hell, you could tell simply by the quick glances to his body that he was also probably very fit underneath and boy if he knew how to dress.
You held the cat between your arms and walked up to the end of your balcony just to check if the guy was in his, you had to tell the guy about his cat. But the light of his apartment wasn't on and just an ajar of the window door was open, so you figured he left it open for his cat to wander around. You locked eyes with the cat between your arms who was looking at you as well "i guess it's just us!" you laughed playing with the cat until you were so tired and went to sleep.
You kept rethinking that day quite a lot, so much that you almost thought about getting your own cat. Those little monsters can definitely keep company! Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden meow that could only mean one thing. Happy and with a big smile on your lips, you rushed on your balcony.
"Hello ther-oh!" you start noticing that the guy next door was holding the cat between his arms and looking into your balcony. His arms were flexing a little and were perfectly visible, since he was just wearing a dark tank top and some sweatpants.
"Hi" he says with a deep voice, a little bit of shyness mixed to surprise in his word "i was just checking, you can jump on my balcony again" he explained
"Sorry? I don't have a cat." your answer confused "i thought he was yours!" he looked at you confused "Wait what? No! I don't have a cat either... he isn't yours?" he asked and looked at you even more confused as you shook your head. The two of you make eye contact for a bit before bursting into laughter.
"What the hell!" he laughs as you walk up to him and stretch out your hand to pet the cat "so, whose cat is this?" you ask "I have no idea" he answers with his eyes looking down, you were too focused on the little guy in between his arms to notice he was looking at you.
"I'm ni-ki, by the way" he adds after a few moments of silence "we have been neighbours for a while but i don't think we ever introduced each other" he continues "Oh god you are right" you agree introducing yourself, with a little of blush on your cheeks, you don't miss the way he rubs his lips together without breaking eye contact.
"What do we know?" you ask "shall we look for the cat's owner?" Ni-ki knew that you said the most logical thing and probably the right one as well, but he was finally talking with the girl he has been crushing on for months now and if the occasion for it to happen was a cat he will keep it "What if this is his thing?" he answers back "You know, maybe the owner knows the cat will come back no matter what and let's him free... we might ruin the all thing or give him to the wrong person if we tried" Ni-ki adds. Did that make sense? He really hopes his speech seems honest enough and not a desperate attempt to keep you around... well, actually, talking to you. You were just a door far from him.
"I guess you are right" you answered after a while and Ni-ki smiled "so.. do we take care of him when he comes around?" you ask "Yeah!" The guy answered, a bit too quickly "i mean- yeah, it seems right" he says trying to play it cool.
The chat goes on, the little guy now sleeping, still in Ni-ki's arms. He finds out you work as an editor for a magazine, you discover he's a dancer in a nearby studio and that he teaches children on the weekends. The thing he doesn't tell you is that he finds his life being monotonous as much as you do, he was desperately waiting for something to change that. He would have never guessed it would have been the pretty girl next door. The flow of the conversation goes smoothly, like the practice of a dance NI-ki knows by heart, as yours beats a bit faster and you find yourself smiling, flashing him the same smile you only use when looking at the now perfect article ready to be published.
Which means only one thing, NI-ki must shoot his shot "Your boyfriend won't cause any trouble if I speak to you at night?" he asks
"I don't have a boyfriend" you answer in a beautiful smile
"I can change that"
Guess none of the two will say life is boring now.
pairing ୭ bad boy! ni-ki x student council president! reader.
word count: 9162 ; mentions of ni-ki and the others smoking cigarettes, fluff, college au!
THE STUDENT COUNCIL OFFICE WAS unnaturally still save for the swish of the papers as you flipped through another round of proposals for the festival. All the ideas had been swimming around in everyone's heads since the fall festival only a month away; some of them were truly imaginative and some just downright stupid.
You let out a tired sigh as you stamped "Approved" on a handful of ideas that might actually have a chance: a food fair, with international dishes made by students, a photobooth with a vintage train design, and a long horror escape house that jumped off the page. You had to admit it was smart. If executed well, they could get interest from other nearby schools and also be a plus on the academy's record. That was worth approving.
You finished up the last file and then you heard it; that knock. You had become used to it. Annoyingly familiar like a ringtone you had grown too tired to change.
You groaned. "Ni-ki... what now."
When you opened the door you saw the same sight: Nishimura Riki with a crumpled piece of paper in hand and an annoyingly smug smile like he had already won.
"I know the deadline's over, but come on—just take a look at it," he said, holding out the paper with those stupid puppy eyes he always used when trying to get his way.
You crossed your arms. "No. A deadline's a deadline. I'm not making exceptions for some dumb festival stunt of yours."
You were closing the door when he stuck his foot in like his mother owned the place, and let out an exaggerated sigh. Rolling your eyes, you back at your desk, regretting not locking the damn thing.
He strolled in with bravado. "Come on, baby. Just this once."
You gave him a glare, your heart beating just a bit faster with that term of endearment, which only annoyed you more."I'm not your baby. And you can stop calling me that. This isn't one of your little games."
But you took the paper out of his hand anyway. Because, of course, you always ended up hearing him out, no matter how much you told yourself not to.
You quickly scanned the proposal. A foam party.A real foam party. It sounded absurd and almost genius.You cocked an eyebrow. "And who exactly ae you doing this with?"
He leaned on the edge of your desk with ease. "My bros. We've been talking about it for a while."
You sigh quietly and gave the paper back. "I'll think about it. But don't get your hopes up."
He laughed, clearly enjoying the moment, and began stepping away from you to head to the door. "I won't. but you are going to approve it, I know you can't resist a good-looking guy with an agenda."
You dismissed him, "Go away."
He walked away, but not before catching the way your eyes lingered a second too long on his outfit. He has seen it, he knew it. You never stared outright—but with guys who know how to dress, he knew he could expect your attention, whether you liked it or not.
The next morning, the wind was light as you walked up the few stairs of the school, the white sundress flowing around your knees. You wore your bag slung over one shoulder, your glasses slipping down your nose as your eyes tried to focus on the paper in your hand. You were mentally reviewing your schedule for the day, already dreading the backlog of reports you'd have to approve.
You'd seen Ni-ki earlier, surrounded by a couple of girls leaning against a tree, wearing that obnoxious smile that surely belonged on the cover of a magazine. You ignored him, as you always did.
But of course, he had to announce his presence. He deliberately collided with you, and before you had a chance to do anything, he had snagged your glasses off your face, holding them above him like a smug toddler with a toy.
"Ni-ki!" You shifted your arms to reach for them, annoyed. "Give them back!"
He just grinned like he was in on the joke, and held them a little higher. "Nope. Not until you say please."
You stood on your tiptoes again to reach, and one hand instinctively gripped his arm for balance. Standing that close, he could see everything. The soft curve to your lashes, the blush on your cheeks, the way your eyes appeared so much clearer and prettier and more... you without the frames.
"You know," he leaned in and teased, "you look so much better without these."
Without warning, his other hand slipped around your waist, steadying you when you almost lost your balance. You jolted, realizing it was him, and stepped back instantly. "You're such a nuisance," you muttered, snatching your glasses from his hand and hurrying off toward the student council office, vision still slightly blurred.
Behind you, a few boys turned to look to take a good look at you.
And Ni-ki noticed.
Oh, they were definitely going to be a problem.
As the girls from earlier tried to distract him, laughing too loudly and clinging to his arm, Ni-ki wasn't paying attention. His eyes were still on you.
You had just rubbed your eyes tiredly, while waving small hellos to your fellow student council members. Your dress was hugging you beautifully perfect—elegant while also feeling effortlessly comfortable.
Your hair was down with soft waves and a small white bunny pin on the side, held back just enough. Your bangs framed your face gently, loose and natural. He thought you looked way too cute for someone who claimed to be tired.
His eyes dropped down to your lips. You had put a light gloss on your lips—subtle and pretty but also dangerous. He wondered what type of lipstick it was. Actually, maybe he didn't care. Maybe he would just wipe it off with his lips if given the chance. Those girls would for sure be jealous.
But they didn't matter.
He had long stopped being a playboy, the moment he actually laid eyes on you for the first time. It all started weeks ago in the infirmary. He was only there to skip class, claiming to be sick when in reality he just wanted air conditioning and a decent bed. He was about to fall asleep himself—until he noticed you.
You were all curled up on one of the beds, face slightly to the window so that warm sunlight hit your cheeks. You looked peaceful at first, and then your brows furrowed as the discomfort woke you. A heat pack pressed to your stomach, and you were hugging a pillow tightly. He wasn't expecting that.
The cold, powerful student council president fitted into the bed, looking so small, like a girl who just wanted to survive painful cramps in peace. That was the moment he realized there was more to you than just a sharp tongue and standing straight. When you did wake up, he was there, watching you.
"Can I help you?" you asked flatly, your eyes still narrowed as if you just woke up.
"Yeah," he said, already smirking. "Do you mind giving me a little kiss?"
You grimaced. "Are we deadass right now..."
You then stood up and walked away without second thought. And yet, you still lingered in his thoughts.
The very next day, you caught him smoking behind the school building with Jake and a few others. He figured he was done for—but Jake gave you those ridiculous puppy eyes and, surprisingly, you let them off with a warning. Strict, but not cruel.
He remembered how close you stood when you handed out the warning. Your cherry-sweet perfume hit him all at once. You avoided his gaze when he looked straight at you. He saw the way your fingers fidgeted at your side. Even then, he could tell: you weren't as cold as you pretended to be.
Later, his friends told him you were actually younger—by a full year. The first and youngest student council president their school had ever had. You earned that title by merit, not by a favor—organization, leadership, and grace under pressure.
The resentment that came from the assistant president—also one of Ni-ki's exes, the one that lasted all of one month—was inevitable. Actually, almost every relationship he ever had lasted a month. If not, even less time.
But it all stopped once he started seeing you from a distance. And realized something even worse—
You might be unattainable.
If someone good—really good—were to notice you, they could take your heart before he got the chance to do it. Someone with no bad boy reputation; who had no gossip flying around like second skin. A clean-cut man who liked cold girls with secret warmth who would treat you right. And never make you cry. Someone worthy of you.
But he also knew... you weren't cold. Not really. And he certainly was not going to let anyone else be the first to warm you up.Not without a fight.
('−ㅿ−')
It was already the evening, the softly lit glow of the sunset streaming through the windows as students hurried about with flyers, costumes, posters, decorations—the whole deal. Some students were juiced and rehearsing on the quad lawn. Others were in deeper planning meetings, but you had just ended yours with the council. Your arms were filled with files and event charts—everything neatly color-coded.
That was when it happened.
Yunah. Again.
She plowed into you on purpose right outside the council room, her shoulder hitting your shoulder harder than it needed to have . You twisted your heel a bit, and your knee smashed into the cold, hard, and rough concrete floor, scraping it hard against the tiles.
"Oop-sorry," she said with her make-believe sweet voice as she never even turned her head as she took off down the hallway.
You took a deep breath, moving your hair back and squeezing the files harder to your chest. "It's fine," you murmured to yourself, hoping to sound more convincingly steady than you felt.
You stood up, brushing the dust from your skirt, and limped forward—unaware of the thin trail of blood running down your knee. You had a job to do. The gym was the final stop on your daily rounds. After this, you could go back to your dorm, shower, and maybe nap before the late council online meeting tonight.
You pushed the gym doors open.
The air carried that rubber flooring odor mixed with sweat, pierced with metallic clinks of weight and the sounds of boys' voices. You had your clipboard in one hand, scanning the space quickly and efficiently. Everything in order. Equipment in appropriate locations. Towels where towels belong. Floors clear. Good.
And then you saw him. Ni-ki.
He was rocking a black tank and pants, hair slightly wet against his forehead. He was seated at a weights machine, forearms pumping with veins as he effortlessly lifted. You could see his biceps flex every time he pulled the weights, and your breath caught in your throat before you reignited and glanced away in a panic.
Stay focused, damn it.
You took a shaky step back, still limping without realizing you did, and flipped your clipboard to the gym report—
"Hey."
You blinked up in surprise. Ni-ki was suddenly standing before you, holding a towel against his neck, brow furrowed as he looked you over.
"What happened?" his voice now a lower pitch.
"What?" You looked up in confusion for a moment, before following his gaze. He wasn't looking at your face. He was looking at your knee.
Where blood was trailing slowly down your skin, now obvious against the pale background of your socks. You flinched slightly as he dropped to one knee, his hand resting gently on your injured one. The touch was light, but you still shuddered.
"Oh... it's nothing," you mumbled. "Someone just... bumped into me."
"Uh huh." His voice was dry, clearly unconvinced. He looked up at you for a second, something unreadable in his eyes. And then—without another word—he stood and called over his shoulder to the other boys, "I'm heading out. Later."
"Where are you—"
"Sit."
He motioned to the bench nearby. You blinked, unsure if you were even supposed to obey—but your legs were tired, and honestly, your knee stung.
So you sat.
You watched him silently, as he cleaned up the wound, and then unwrap the bandage with just as much caution as he used to dab away your blood, pressing it to your knee just right, running his thumb over the bandage to make sure that it was secure. He didn't say anything again until he stood back up, wiped his hands, then jogged over to the vending machine.
He was back in a moment, and dropped a cold chocolate milk into your hands.
"What's this for?"
"Sugar," he said, now sitting beside you, again not too close, but close enough that your knees nearly brushed.
"You looked like you could use it."
"I'm not a child," you countered, though you were already uncapping it.
"I know," he said, looking sideways to you. "You're the president. Cold, nonchalant and untouchable."
You raised your brow at him, but he wasn't finished.
"But you limp like a normal person," he added, biting back a smile.
You exhaled a short laugh despite yourself and took a sip.
Ni-ki leaned forward, arms resting on his knees as he looked ahead. He leaned back, elbow resting casually behind you on the bench, eyes glancing sideways as you sipped quietly on the chocolate milk he got you.
"Who pushed you?" he asked, voice steady, but there was a weight there, layered underneath. He didn't look at you—just stared at the gym wall across from him like your answer didn't matter.
You didn't say anything.You kept your eyes down on the page you held in your lap, fingers messing with the edge of it, pretending that the milk tasted more interesting than the buzzing tension between the two of you.
He made a small, humorless laugh. "Figured."
You glanced at him, brows drawing slightly together. "Yunah has always been looking at you like that," he said plainly, like it was something that he had noticed a million times before and filed away. "Especially when I'm around. Like this morning."
You blinked. "This morning?"
"Yeah, when I took your glasses and I held your waist."
You immediately looked away, the heat rushing up your neck as you let the memory wash over you—how close he had been, how your heart jumped and you pulled away very quickly and blushed.
"She saw the whole thing," he added, not sounding particularly concerned. "She didn't say anything though."
You paused, then mumbled, "Could've just been someone else who pushed me. Maybe it was a stranger."
Ni-ki shrugged, like he had already thought of it and shot it down. "Maybe. But I don't usually guess wrong. And Yunah... she's petty enough to push someone over less."
You took the last sip of your milk, and held the empty bottle in your lap for just a second, until Ni-ki took it from you, just brushing his fingers against yours as he did so. He stood up, walked to the bin, and tossed it without saying a word.
You stood up too, dusted off your dress and grabbed your clipboard, and walked off without saying goodbye.
You turned on your heel, and his voice came behind you, teasing."Not even a bye, prez?"
You didn't turn back, didn't answer.But he caught the way your hand went up for just a moment to scratch the back of your neck—anxious, a bit flustered—as you walked down the hallway and turned around the corner toward your office.
૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა
The library was quiet, the soft hum of the built-in café mingling with the distant sound of pages turning. Instead of locked in your student council office like usual, you chose to be on this rare break in a different spot—curled up by the corner window seat of the library, nursing a cold latte, and flipping through your notes for the upcoming autumn festival.
Honestly, you were juggling more than you should be. Between your responsibilities in student council and being part of a baking club—which let's be honest, insisted on running a full baking competition booth—you hardly had time to breathe.
It was a fun idea: visitors could taste different pastries and vote on the best one, provided the participants knew what they were doing. This wasn't a bake-off for beginner bakers. You already wrote of the safety list three times.
But for now, you just wanted your highlighters. You rifled through your bag, trying to dig out the familiar pack when your fingers stopped, heart sinking ever so slightly.
One of your plush keychains was gone.The little bunny with the dark red ribbon. Missing.
You paused for a moment, scanned your open bag again just in case, and then exhaled softly through your nose, disappointment creeping over your expression.
Your fingers clenched around the only charm that still hung from the zipper, and your teeth grazed your lip as your face dipped from its normally neutral expression.
It was subtle, but still—anyone who truly knew you would see it. You didn't show much in public. Stoic, organized, composed—always. But right now, you were unguarded in a way you rarely allowed.
Meanwhile, on the rear path near the library's back entrance, Ni-ki had been taking a quiet smoke break. The wind ruffled his black hoodie a little, and he was leaning against the railing with half-lidded eyes, letting his mind wander. That was when he noticed something odd in the grass.
A little, dirty, plush bunny, facedown.
He stared for a second, then bent down and flicked the ash from his fingers, and carefully lifted the bunny by the ribbon.
He recognized it right away.
Of course he did.
He'd seen it enough times hanging off your bag—cute, a little worn, something he figured you probably had for years. His lips twitched in a tiny smile, just barely there, as he tucked the bunny into his pocket and stubbed out his cigarette.
You had just come out of the library, clutching on to the last charm on your butchered bag, distractedly gazing at your feet.
You were perhaps hoping the bunny had dropped somewhere close and that no one had stepped on it or thrown it somewhere completely different. And then you heard it—the sound you had grown unfamiliar too. The sound of jangly chain jewelry.
You almost choked, eyes instinctively shifting without even turning. You knew who it was before you had turned.
Ni-ki, walking up the path toward you, the chrome hearts keychain on his belt swinging and clinking as it bumped against the metal chain clip on his pants. A few charms were hanging loose, glistening as they swayed in the briefest of sunlight exposure.
His heavy silver earrings twinkled from their usual spot, and the fake lip ring—one of the things that always made your stomach twist for reasons you refused to acknowledge—sat crooked against his lip and stuck out like a sore thumb.
His messy black hair fell over his eyes, bangs as low as always and unkempt around his forehead, as if he had just rolled out of bed without a thought. He never made it look intentional, and yet it was so infuriatingly good on him.
Your hand curled instinctively around your bag's strap, trying to act unaffected as he slowed to a stop in front of you.
He didn't say anything at first. Just held something out.
You blinked.
And there it was—your plush bunny, a little dirty now but still intact, dangling from his fingers by its dark red ribbon.
"You dropped this," he said, voice low, casual.
"Oh... thank you," you said, your fingers brushing against his as you got the stuffed bunny back. You couldn't even look at him—either too awkward or maybe just too closed off—before quickly re-attaching the charm onto the zipper of your backpack and sort of twisting away. You stood there for a second, awkward, not knowing what to do, and then made the choice to do what you always did when things felt strange.
You walked away.
The faint smell of smoke was still with him, curling around you along with the warm wisp of that familiar cologne of his, something sharp and clean, something spicy underneath. It wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it felt... familiar. Even comforting. You didn't recoil from that smell. Not the way most people did.
You grew up with it. Your parents smoked when you were little, and the smell was forever tied to memories of home, of quiet evenings, and cold winter nights. It didn't disgust you. It never had. He noticed. He caught the tiny change in your face, the nuance of bringing the smell into your body with no negative reaction. He didn't say anything. Just stood silently and watched, as he always did, as you walked away.
૮ – ﻌ–ა
It wasn't the last time he "coincidentally" ran into you.
You had your doubts about how accidental it really was.
Especially when it kept happening like this—in places you definitely wouldn't expect him. Like, for instance, the baking club room. Today was extra busy, obviously. You and your clubmates were trying out different cake flavors as you attempted to work your way through which flavor would be used at the festival's opening ceremony. The whole campus was abuzz about the festival, especially with some higher-profile guests likely to show up.
The club wasn't really that big, but was really close-knit. You weren't the leader—there was enough responsibility on your plate being student council president already—but you still pulled your weight, always listening to the instructions and never acting like you were above it. You liked it this way. Less pressure, more time to focus on the fun.
And today was fun.
You were dressed casually, in low-hanging sweatpants and a slightly oversized jersey top, one side slipping off your shoulder, the black strap of your bra visible in a way that was clearly intentional—it matched the design, and you liked the look. Your hair was pulled into two loose pigtails, bangs falling messily across your forehead, and your apron was already a little dusted with flour and sugar.
You stood at one of the mixing stations, wooden spoon in hand, stirring the thick, creamy mixture, wildly. Quickly, checking around to see if anyone was paying close attention - you dipped your finger in and popped it in your mouth—soft vanilla with a warm cinnamon background.
Your lips turned into a small smile, briefly so, it could've gone unnoticed. You quickly released it when you realized. You weren't alone. You added a pinch of cinnamon sugar anyway—quietly hoping—wishing, that your cake will receive more votes. That people would like it. And even if you didn't show it, you love when people like the thing you bake.
You spent time, figuring that flavour out, layering it warmth with some little surprise at the end. It mattered to you, more than anyone cared to know. You turned to help a clubmate ice another test batch, apron tied tight behind you.
And just outside the door, lingering just out of sight—was Ni-ki, with Jake and a few of their friends, having been roped into delivering something artwork nearby. But he'd stopped when he passed the glass window and caught a glimpse of you.
His gaze lingered.
The way you smiled to yourself—a real one, so rare it almost felt like a secret. The way your top slipped down slightly to give me a glimpse of that black strap. The way you licked the batter off your finger like you didn't even know that was distracting.The look on his face changed ever so slightly.Jake caught it right away.
"Bro," Jake grinned, shoving him with his elbow. "You're down so bad."
Ni-ki didn't say anything. He looked away with a blank expression and ignored the teasing as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked ahead like he hadn't been caught.
After Ni-ki left the baking club hallway, he meandered through the main building with his usual lazy charm, side by side with his group of friends, and a handful of the girls from his class following closely behind him, still asking him questions about the course they were in—but let's be real, half of them were just using the questions to try and keep his attention for another second.
He hardly looked interested. Answering with some short, amused comments. His hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, chain jewelry chiming softly as he walked, their silver glimmers reflecting from the hallway lights. After the end of class, he stepped outside to breathe, leaning a little and then stopping suddenly.
You were there.
Right on the edge of the main path with your clubmates. You were holding out your tray of neatly portioned cake samples to passing students. You were focused and professional—smiling only slightly, your usual guarded expression locked back on your face. Still, you had a rhythm. Offer a piece, introduce the flavor, remind them to vote at the club.
Jake stepped out of class and you caught him first, carefully holding the tray out toward him, quietly saying: "Try this one."
He took a bite, eyebrows raising. "Oh—yo, this is actually fire."
That was when Ni-ki walked up, that telltale sound of his pants chain dragging against metal making your ears twitch slightly before your gaze flicked in his direction. You immediately recognized the grey hoodie—sleeves bunched at his elbows, zipper half undone, showing a glimpse of his collarbone and toned chest.
Fuck.
He didn't even try to look good. He just was.
You swallowed hard, lips twitching with annoyance, and turned to leave when—
"You're just going to ignore me after giving Jake cake, huh? Damn," he called out behind you, his tone casual but still hinting at that smirk. "What a president you are."
You froze for a second, rolled your eyes slowly, then turned back and deadpanned. "Do you want to try it or not?"
He raised an eyebrow, stepping in a little closer. He still had his hands in his pockets. "Have you even tried your own cake?"
You gave him a confused look. "No. Except for the batter."
He smirked, that lazy smug smirk of his. "Try it, baby."
You exhaled sharply. "I told you to stop calling me that."
Jake snorted. "You two sound married."
Before you could snap back, Ni-ki moved casually and took the small plastic fork out from your hand and shoved a bite of your own cake in your mouth before you could stop him. "Mmh!" You choked, in shock, at how fast he'd gotten the fork around your lips.
He smirked wider. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned in and dragged the same fork through the cream on the remaining cake sample and licked it clean with a hum of approval. "Damn. That's actually so good."
You were still flustered, wiping your lips when his eyes locked onto your mouth. There was whipped cream clinging to the corner. He didn't say anything for a few more seconds, and before you could wipe it away yourself, he discreetly used his thumb—almost teasingly—to brush it off gently.
"Sweet," he muttered quietly before licking off his own thumb with a satisfied expression on his face.
Your brain literally flat-lined for a second.Then you heard it—a voice that could ruin any moment.
"Ugh. Didn't think she was the one who baked it. Looks like someone's using her position for pity points," a girl's voice sneered from behind. She was clearly talking to her friend, but her eyes were on you.
One of Ni-ki's exes—not Yunah. Another one. Pick-me energy, rude smile, and only trying not to conceal the blame dripping off her every feature.
Ni-ki's whole face changed right away, jaw tensing—but he was still not reacting outwardly. Just standing there, silent. Like the calm before the storm. Pretending like neither of you heard it, still clear as day.
You muttered to yourself more than you were talking to him, "Why do you date such weird girls?"
His gaze darted back to you, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just a little as he tilted his head. "Aren't you a weirdo one, too?"
You scoffed, "Well, we're not dating. And we'll never date."
That amusement, sharp look returned to his face—one brow raised, his eyes seeming to dip for one impossibly small moment to your bare shoulder. The little curve of your collarbone showed under your loose jersey top. It wasn't scandalous, if anything it was trending. A lot of girls wore it. But you saw where his eyes traveled and the way they paused made your heart skip.
"Mhm," he said with a hint of a smirk, and his voice low. "Whatever you say, princess."
The word dripped off his tongue, a bit of tease and a bit of dare. Jake, still chewing on his second sample, muttered "This is better than Jungwon's K-dramas."
You rolled your eyes, spun around, and whipped away in a whirlwind—muttering curses under your breath—but not before hearing Ni-ki chuckle behind you.
Then the votes were tallied and the results posted on the club board.
You saw your name first again. You blinked at it for a second until the club members screamed and brought you in for a mini group hug. You had won. That cake would be served to our guests for tonight's festival.
A smile immediately stretched across your face as your club began preparing to haul the cake to the display area. The cake, embellished with whipped cream, fruit slices and nice touches, looked beautiful. You just gave them a few quick instructions about not tilting the tray or turning the garnishes around. It had to be perfect as it sat there until tonight.
By the time everything was settled and the club booth was set up, the grounds were starting to fill with energy. Students were dragging props out, hanging decorations, testing lights and microphone systems. Music faintly played in the background, greetings were being shouted from all over the campus, and the buzz was everywhere.
It was only 10 a.m. but the ambience was already wild— and it wouldn't be until 7 p.m. tonight before the real thing began.
Still, after baking the entire morning and walking in and out of the sun making sure every tiny thing was in place, you were parched.
You held your printed speech in one hand, eyes scanning it while your throat started to feel dry and rough. You glanced around the campus yard, seeing booths still half-open—no one seemed to be selling drinks yet.
Then, without warning, a warm hand pressed gently onto your shoulder.
You turned around.
Ni-ki stood there clad in a black tank top, silver chain at his collarbone, and hair still damp from the heat. His fingers were cold from touching your shoulder, but in his hand was a small chilled yogurt drink pack, the same kind you used to drink with breakfast while still trying to rush out the door.
He just held it out to you, saying nothing, eyes soft but unreadable.
You blinked at it then at him. "You looked like you were about to pass out," he said as simply as ever. "Take it. It's good for you in the morning. Probiotics and all that."
"...Thanks," you mumbled as you took it. The cold plastic felt so nice in your hand, and you didn't realize how badly you needed it until now.
You poked the straw in and sipped as he stood beside you, like it was totally normal. "You ditched your booth?" you asked, side-eyeing him.
"They'll survive without me," he said. "Besides, they're doing the foam thing right now. I'm not trying to get soap in my eyes this early."
"You mean you ditched your bros to stalk me?"
"I'm accompanying you," he corrected, pretending to sound offended. "Very different."
You shot him a look, but he only smiled and walked alongside you as you did your rounds. He didn't try to take over, didn't interrupt, just followed along—his hands in his pockets, his eyes darting between the booths and your checklist.
The assigned students was setting up a horror escape room, and someone from the art department was hanging huge photo booth banners and string lights. It actually looked kind of... magical. The warm colors, everything for fall. The music floating by.
You felt the excitement growing in your chest, but that familiar emptiness was also there—a quiet reminder that you didn't really have anyone to enjoy this with. Not really. Not like that. Most people didn't get too close to you. Some people were intimidated. Other people didn't bother.
You learned to manage. Ni-ki didn't seem to mind though. He wasn't talking much, but he matched your pace, sometimes handing his bottle of water to you without asking when he saw you squint from the sun. His presence was annoyingly... soothing. You hated how comfortable you were getting with it.
At one point, he tilted his head toward the large LED board being wheeled toward the main stage. "You nervous for the speech?"
You shrugged. "It's just a welcome speech. I've done worse."
"You practicing earlier was kinda cute."
You turned your head sharply. "What?"
He lazily shrugged again, pretending he was too invested in some balloon arch being taped together across the walkway. "Just saying. You get all serious and focused when you take charge. It's adorable."
You stared at him.
He blinked at you like what?
You turned away quickly, sipping the rest of your yogurt drink. "You're annoying."
He grinned at the way your ears turned a little red."Can't be that annoying. You didn't brush me off this time."
After making sure every booth was set and all details were arranged, you quickly ran back to your dorm around 5 p.m., like the rest of your group. The buzzing sensation in your chest was starting to get harder to ignore. You took a quick shower to wash the day away and let the steam take away some tension from your tight muscles.
The shower also allowed you to take time with your skincare routine. You brushed out your hair, curling just the ends, incorporating your straight bangs to fall just right across your forehead. You picked out the little dress you had been planning since the day you decided to host this festival. It was cute, not too much. And it was enough that you would be noticed faster than the guys with their decorated crops.
You sprayed perfume gently behind your ears, the floral scent subtle but sweet. A few pieces of jewelry shimmered softly on your neck and wrists. One last look in the mirror... and you nodded to yourself.
By 6:30 p.m., you were back on the festival grounds.
Everything looked different under the setting sky. Lights had turned on—golden, pink, soft blue—casting a warm glow on students from both your campus and others who were already lining up at the entrance. The atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation.
You inhaled deeply and checked in with each of the club presidents over your phone and some brief verbal check—in rounds to make sure everyone was settled. You held the speech card with shaky fingers although you had said that speech hundreds of times. You weren't afraid of the crowd, you simply didn't want to screw this up. Not after all that work.
Then the clock hit 7. The festival officially started.
From the stage, you saw faces—so many faces—and just off to the side you could see Ni-ki in the crowd wearing a loose dark jacket and black tee, slightly damp from the foam, laughing at something Jake said as they finished adjusting the drink booth setup.
You swallowed your nerves and stepped up.
Your voice warmed through the field, steady but bright. You welcomed the guests, thanked everyone for coming, and opened the festival. You even got a cheer. When the MC mentioned the winning cake, your name was said—along with the tray. Students actually clapped when they tasted it. You stood at the side, cheeks warm, heart full, pretending not to look for a certain someone's reaction.
Later, you returned to your stand beaming as students were now piling up for pastries and treats. You handed out cake slices and mini croissants, complemented peoples costumes and hair in passing, softly chuckling when someone recognized the fruit tart from your submission. You carefully packed one into a box, waved goodbye to your club members now arriving to take the next shift, and just let your feet go where they always went these days.
Ni-ki's booth.
You noticed Jake first, then Jungwon, both were busy pouring drinks or were busy chatting it up with the students that slipped in and out of the foam pit. There was laughter and chaos, but it was a fun chaos, the type that endears you to the moment, making you feel and think this was something you would want to remember.
You avoided the foam, walking up to the drink section instead, and delicately placed the box of tarts on the counter. "My treat," you said softly, smiling.
Jake blinked. "Wait—really?"
"Seriously?" Sunghoon ventured as he looked over his shoulder. "Are you actually treating us now?"
"Just shut up and take it," you said lightly again, your eyes darting Ni-ki, who seemed to pause mid shake with the drink blender.
They all exclaimed, "Thank you!" as they opened the box and saw the tart; their eyes widened as they cut into it with plastic forks and started to compete for the strawberries.
Ni-ki backed away from the counter and wiped his hands with a towel, heading straight for you and sliding into your space like it belonged to him. "Didn't think you'd actually come by," he said, his voice lower now, only meant for you.
"I said I'd roam freely," you said, "I just happened to look in here."
He raised an eyebrow. "While holding a box of fruit tart?"
You rolled your eyes, but a smile peeked through as you lightly leaned against the counter. He looked at you for a second—really looked. From your curled hair to the light shimmer on your cheekbones to the little details in your jewelry.
"You look..."he paused. Then leaned just a little closer. "Dangerously good."
You scoffed. "Are you working, or are you flirting?"
"Multitasking," he said plainly, giving you that infuriating soft smirk. "Wanna try one of our drinks? I'll make it special."
You raised an eyebrow. "Do you say this to every girl?"
"Is it bold of you to assume I have other girls?"
"Uh huh," you scoffed. "Wanna look at the line of girls behind me? I'm practically cutting the queue."
"Yeah, but they're obviously here to see the other guys," he chuckled as he nodded towards his friends.
You narrowed your eyes. You're not sure about that, as you caught sight of a girl by the foam pit sheepishly pointing to Ni-ki, and absolutely squealing to her friend. "I see one already squealing looking at you."
He just laughed, a low laugh, the kind of laugh that made something flutter in your chest—and walked away to grab you a drink. He didn't ask what you wanted. He just knew. A little sweet, a little refreshing—something cold and creamy to balance out the summer night heat.
He handed it to you with a grin before casually slipping his arm around your shoulder like it was second nature. His fingers played with the end of your curled hair, making your stomach twist in ways you hated admitting. The guys behind the booth were already yelling things like "Whipped!" and "Get a room!" as Ni-ki waved them off, dragging you gently away from the foam party.
"Why are you leaving your friends?" you asked, sipping the drink—and wow, it was good.
He shrugged, leading you into the crowd. "The student council president needed some time to enjoy with a hot guy like me."
You glared at him. "Your ego is insufferable."
"You still haven't denied it," he teased, his thumb briefly brushing your shoulder as he adjusted his arm around you again.
You really tried not to get flustered. But the way his cologne wrapped around you like a second skin, woody and warm, and the way he just effortlessly steered you through the crowd like he belonged beside you, it was too much.
He led you right to the food district. The lights here were golden and warm, and the stalls were bursting with colors and scents. You let him lead you to a takoyaki stall, and you could see that his eyes were sparkling with excitement.
"Alright, this one is non-negotiable," he said. "You have to try this."
"Why?" you asked, letting him handle the ordering.
"Because I'm Japanese," he said with pride, "and I'm making it my mission to teach you all the things that are tasty."
You blinked, your lip curling. "So you're essentially flexing your culture onto me?"
"Damn right," he smirked. "You need to know what actual good food is."
You and him moved from booth to booth trying mochi, karaage, yakisoba—him explaining each dish with that stupid twinkle in his eye, the way he seemed to be sharing part of himself with you, and you paying way too much attention for someone who swore to not fall into his trap.
People noticed—of course they did. Your usual cold expression had softened, and Ni-ki, the boy known for charming every girl that breathed near him, hadn't flirted with anyone else the entire month. Not once. Just talked politely when someone approached, but his attention always snapped right back to you. Boys who usually tried to talk to you looked away, realizing they didn't stand a chance when Ni-ki was practically glued to your side.
You pretended not to care.
But your fingers brushed his when he handed you another skewer, and your heart jumped. Just a little.
Then, he turned to you again with a glint in his eye.
"Wanna try the horror escape room next?"
You froze. "Like... right now?"
His smirk widened. "You're not scared, are you?"
"No," you lied immediately.
You couldn't understand why you agreed to it—perhaps it was how his eyes lit up with mischief, or how smug he looked when he said, "Scared? You?"
But here you stood, at the door of a horror escape room, regretting your whole life. Ni-ki handed the entrance tickets to the usher in one hand, and took your hand with the other—and just like that, he was pulling you inside. His jacket was draped loosely over your shoulders—warm, slightly big, the sleeves covering your hands because the moment you'd shivered earlier, he had taken it off without a word, and draped it around you, and now you were holding onto it like it was a lifeline.
As the door creaked shut behind you, darkness covered the room and creepy music began to play, like a reverberating echo. You shrunk your pace, stepping cautiously. Ni-ki turned around and grasped your hand like it was something he was used to.
"Come on," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I'll lead."
And lead he did. You mostly let him guide you, letting your body follow his—walking just behind him, peeking out from his side, your fingers now clutching his bare arm since the jacket had already claimed you. His skin was warm, and the muscle beneath was hard, flexing slightly each time he moved.
You almost jumped out of your skin when the first actor hopped out, wailing. You screamed. Very loudly. And you immediately threw yourself to Ni-ki's side, clutching his arm with both hands in a tight grip.
"You okay there?" he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. You nodded quickly, releasing him a little, but not much.
When there was finally a moment to breathe, he pointed with one of his long fingers to a dim hallway. "We should separate for the first part that's reasoned-"
"No." You started to shake your head so quickly you reminded him of a panicked puppy eyes wide, as if defiant to abandon him even the slightest.
He burst into quiet laughter, "You're like a scared little puppy." He chuckled, clearly enjoying his laughter at your expense. "Kinda cute though."
You scowled at him defiantly, but it probably looked like you were not even close to ready to cause any bodily harm to him being practically glued to his arm. He merely ruffled your hair with a smirk, and continued walking while you pressed against him the entire time.
Eventually, when you escaped, blinking into the hallway lights as you exited the room, you shoved him softly with your hand heel. "I am never doing that again. Ever."
He laughed, full-bodied and proud. "You were clinging to me like I was your boyfriend."
You rolled your eyes. "Shut up," you muttered.
But the extra warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. You barely got a second to breathe before he pulled at your wrist, tugging you along. "C'mon."
"To where?"
"The photobooth," he said, smiling. "Duh."
The tiny booth was only about big enough for the two of you—warm and faded with the weight of the last couple, barely lit by peeking neon hearts that flickered with the camera sensor. As soon as you crossed the threshold, Ni-ki plopped down onto the seat and pulled you into his lap like you barely weighed anything.
You squealed in surprise. "Ni-ki!"
He laughed loudly and freely and it really sounded like he loved the sound of it. His hands barely rested on your waist steadying you. "Relax, it's just a chair, and you're sitting on me. I'm fine with that."
Not able to connect with any words, you huffed but stayed put. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, and the slight breeze of his breath on your neck from how close he was. And his hand had moved a little to play with the hem of the jacket he had draped over you.
The camera blinked.
First photo: He reached up and squished your cheeks together, pulling the most dramatic heart-eyes face while your expression was frozen mid-annoyed-pout, lips squished and eyes wide in disbelief.
Second photo: He nudged you. "Flex your arms. C'mon."
"I don't have muscles," you muttered, but did a small awkward pose anyway.
Ni-ki laughed and put his arm behind you, flexing. The camera caught the ridiculous contrast between his sharp, defined muscle and your soft arm and the look of pure betrayal on your face.
"Wow," you muttered. "Thanks for embarrassing me in high def."
Third photo: you gave up and finally decided to just throw a peace sign with your lips twisted up into the faintest of smiles. Ni-ki did some random sign that didn't even look like anything—something between a thumbs up and finger guns—all while grinning like an idiot.
Fourth photo: You weren't prepared. You weren't even looking at the camera when you felt it—soft and sudden, a warm press of lips to your cheek. You turned your head sharply just as the flash went off, catching the exact moment that your eyes bulged open and mouth dropped in shock, a single hand reaching gingerly to your cheek in disbelief.
"You—! That's cheating!" you groaned, lightly slapping his chest.
He tilted his head, "You didn't say no."
After the photobooth, you were still in recovery mode from being surprised by that last photo—the press of his lips against your cheek, your heart still thumping. And as if all of that wasn't enough, Ni-ki went even a step further.
He pulled out his phone, and instantly inserted the strip of photos into the plastic case on the back, smoothing it down in pride. "There," he said proudly, holding it out towards you. "Now you do it."
You blinked. "No way."
"How come?" he smiled as he was reaching for your phone. "C'mon. Let's be matching."
"Ni-ki, it won't even—" you said, but he was already messing with your phone case. And even though it was clear that the case was not made for photos, he somehow manhandled the photo in there, bent in half and slightly crushed, until it was behind your phone just like his.
You looked at it trying to look annoyed. "You just ruined my aesthetic."
"I am your aesthetic," he smirked.
That was that, and together you walked back to the foam party.
The scene had changed drastically—the field was alive with glowing lights, music thumping through the air, and foam cascading from the machines like snowy clouds. There were students everywhere now, splashing around, slipping and sliding like kids at a water park.
As soon as you entered the suds, Ni-ki didn't waste any time—he scooped a handful of bubbles and threw it directly at you.
You shrieked, stumbling back. "Ni-ki!"
Of course, your hands retaliated, flinging a palm of foam into his chest. It splattered across his shirt and him only laughed, shaking his head like a wet puppy, sending suds flying.
He leaned in close and used a finger to dab just a bit of foam to your nose. "Boop."
You wiped it off with a glare and then used your hand to pointlessly run it through his hair, making it appear he just survived a soap hurricane. His friends were somewhere to the side losing it over the two of you—hollering half-teasing comments like
"Get a room!" and "We totally lost him to the council president!" as you both rolled around on the ground, chucked, and begged bubbles to go his way.
You were laughing so hard, you didn't even notice he was standing over you, still grinning, with foam sticking to his shirt. His chest was puffing a little bit as if he couldn't manage keeping up with his own grin, and then...
He leaned down.
Before you could react, Ni-ki took your face in his warm, slightly damp hands from all the foam. He leaned forward and kissed you before you even got the chance to blink.It wasn't rushed. It wasn't sloppy. But it was slow and deliberate, almost instinctual—like he couldn't help himself anymore.
Then, the ghost of his tongue ran across your bottom lip asking for entry, waiting. You froze. And then you let him in. The world melted away. The music, the foam, the teasing voices, all of it blurred until it was nothing and your lips moved against his. His hands stayed put, just holding you, almost afraid to let you go like you would disappear when he did.
He tasted like fruit punch and something sweet that you didn't know. Maybe it was just him.
Oh god, Ni-ki thought, heart racing as he kissed you deeper, the shy ones are always the boldest. He didn't even see the people watching or the foam that was still being thrown in the background. All that mattered was just you.
But then you pulled away.
Not because you wanted to—but because reality struck you like a cold gust of wind. Your eyes were looking around. Public. You were in public. Your heart dropped. Your reputation.
What if you were just another girl? What if you were just a girl that he was messing around with like they said—like all the rumors suggested? You pulled back quickly, a shaky breath leaving your body, Ni-ki looked at you blinking, his expression changing—then reaching out and brushed your cheek for the foam residue.
You swallowed. Because maybe you weren't sure if you were just another girl. Or maybe you were starting to hope that you weren't.
"Are you okay?" Ni-ki asked, voice softer than usual and assessingly scanning your face for any sign of sickness.
You slowly nodded yes, even though your heart was still pounding, and your lips still tingled from the kiss. The foam clung to your body like snowflakes, soaking into your clothes, coating your arms and bare legs.
You stood awkwardly, trying to brush it off when Jake tossed you a towel from the sidelines with a cheeky grin. "Here. You might wanna clean up before someone thinks you got into a war with a bubble machine."
You gave him a half-laugh before Ni-ki stepped closer, towel in hand, brushing the soap gently off your arms and shoulders. Then he crouched down, hands ghosting over your legs. "Sit," he said, glancing up at you with a small smile. "You'll slip."
You paused considerably, but finally sat on the wooden ledge of the booth, he looked so earnest, and you didn't want to disappoint. His fingers were soft as they wiped away the foam from your shins, just the tender kind of attention you would never have expected to come from a self-proclaimed playboy. His hoodie still draped your shoulders, still warm and slightly damp from you earlier, and your mind was racing.
And then he left—telling you he'd be right back. Just disappeared into the crowd.
You stared at the foam affect that covered the ground and your mind was racing. That kiss. Those eyes. His hands on your cheeks. His arms wrapped around you like you were some kind of trophy.
Sunghoon sat down beside you a moment later with Jake behind him and, then, Jungwon and Jay following. They were all smiling—like they'd just witnessed a rom-com scene play out in real time.
"What's with the serious face?" Sunghoon nudged your arm.
You hesitated. "...What if I'm just another girl to him?"
You could see their instant reactions. Jake snorted, "Oh please. You're the only girl on his mind right now."
"Yeah." Jungwon nodded. "You think he goes around making out with every girl in front of all of us?"
"He's been different. He barely smokes anymore, he keeps leaving parties early because you're not there... he doesn't even flirt around like he used to. It's weird." Jay leaned in, shaking his head with a grin.
"Weirdly wholesome," Jake chimed in.
Before you could respond, Ni-ki reappeared—holding two cones of ice cream, one already melting a little. Tucked into one of them was a folded piece of paper and a small flower, slightly crumpled but clearly picked with intention.
He walked straight over to you, holding it out with a sheepish grin. "It's not fancy or anything. But..."
You took the paper cone and opened the note.
Will you be my girlfriend?
Straight to the point. Direct. Just like him.
Your breath caught in your throat. "Ni-ki..."
Jake leaned over next to you, speaking in a whisper like it was some deep secret, "When he goes after something he wants, he makes a move before anyone else does."
You smiled then—your heart flipped, your pulse racing—and looked up at Ni-ki. "Yes," you breathed.
The minute the word left your mouth, his hands were right back on your cheeks, thumbs moving across your skin like he didn't even think about it and he kissed you again. It was a softer kiss this time, but no less full of meaning. God, this was the first time you had ever been with someone like this—someone so openly affectionate, someone who made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. Like you weren't being seen, but rather... chosen.
He pulled back, smirking at you with eyes full of mischief. "You're in for a long ride, princess."
Then, without warning, his lips pressed against the corner of your jaw, trailing lower to the curve of your neck. Your breath hitched—completely caught off guard by how intimate he was being, especially with everyone watching.
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⤷ a/n — hi my loves ! sorry this one took so long but here it is !! this inspiration actually has two different and separate derivations—this is the first one, and the other one will be a bit more on the intense side. had to pull from my series just to write this piece since i couldn’t resist. hope you enjoy 🤍
⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), idol au, idol!ni-ki, non-idol!reader, boyfriend!ni-ki, girlfriend!reader, established relationship, ni-ki gets a secret-not-so-secret tattoo, marking/bruising (hickies everywhere), fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), praise kink, possessive!ni-ki, overstimulation (brief), hand-holding during sex, dirty talk, bath aftercare, playful teasing, engene camera interaction, protective boyfriend vibes, ni-ki’s secret tattoo reveal, clingy!ni-ki, domestic intimacy, fluff
✩ˎˊ˗ summary — nishimura riki was known to be secretive—smiles that never gave too much away, glances that kept people guessing. but secrets never stayed hidden forever. one night, your lips leave marks that makeup can barely cover, and your eyes catch the tattoo he thought you’d never see—a kiss mark inked just below his abdomen, dangerously close to where only you should know. or where bruises, secrets, and late-night tenderness remind you that loving ni-ki means uncovering the things he tries so hard to keep tucked away.
It had only been a few weeks back, one of those nights where the city outside seemed too quiet, when the clock read a little past three in the morning.
Sleepiness finally crept over you, weighing down your lashes as you burrowed deeper into the comforter.
The fabric brushed warm against your cheek, coaxing you into that hazy state between wakefulness and dreams.
The foot of the bed dipped, pulling you back, and your gaze fluttered downward to find Ni-ki.
He was leaning over you, soft blonde hair falling into his eyes, his hands resting gently on your legs as he smiled at you.
You were staying over at their dorm again—or more like, your boyfriend had flat out refused to sleep without you.
It didn’t matter that he ran back to you backstage after every performance, sweat still dripping, adrenaline still high. It never seemed enough for him.
“Done already?” you murmured sleepily, your voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, shoulders sinking. “Yeah. Turned it off.” His nose scrunched, the way it always did when he got annoyed. “Kept losing. It pissed me off.”
A laugh slipped from your lips, groggy but genuine.
With a small sigh, you lifted the covers in invitation. He didn’t hesitate—climbing in behind you, sliding an arm around your waist like he’d been waiting all day just to do that.
The weight of his chin settled in the crook of your shoulder, and instinctively, your hand found its way to his hair, threading through soft strands of blonde.
“I really miss your black hair,” you muttered, your voice muffled by the pillow.
Ni-ki’s chuckle rumbled low against your back, his breath warm on your skin. “Mmhm. I bet you do, baby.”
You turned in his arms, cheek pressing against his chest, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulled you further. His hands slid to cover yours, fingers lacing together loosely.
“I really do, Riki,” you said quietly, tipping your head back just enough to catch the smirk tugging at his lips.
He looked down at you, eyes glinting in the dim light as the corner of his mouth tugged upward.
“Maybe one day,” he murmured, voice low and playful. “I’ll be sure to tell my manager first.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at the mention of Yuki—the long-haired man who was more like Ni-ki’s shadow, constantly reminding you, ‘Look after him, please. He forgets.’
“Okay,” you whispered, grin tugging at your lips.
Ni-ki pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead, the warmth of it making your eyes droop even more.
“I’m so sleepy, Iki,” you mumbled into his chest, the nickname slipping past your lips without thought.
He chuckled, a sound that shook through his body and into yours. That name was yours alone—only spoken when it was just the two of you, safe in the quiet.
He shifted down further, pulling you tighter against him as his long arm reached to tug the blanket over the both of you.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he whispered against your hair. “We’ve got a full schedule tomorrow.”
You rolled your eyes even through your drowsiness, tilting your head to look up at him. “Can’t we just postpone the tour? I mean, I get it—you’re an idol, but you need to rest too.”
He laughed softly at your pout, the sound carrying a kind of fondness that always melted you.
You reached up, brushing his bangs away from his face with gentle fingers. He caught your hand mid-motion, bringing it down to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles.
“I know, baby. I wish I could too.” His words were tender, weighted with exhaustion. “But we’ll get our break after they’re done, okay?”
You huffed, brows furrowing, not quite ready to surrender to sleep. As your hand rested against his chest again, your eyes caught the glimpse of black ink peeking out from under the cuff of his hoodie sleeve.
The fabric had slipped down with the movement, revealing the sharp lines of the tattoo etched into his wrist—an ace of spades, the bold A sitting neatly above the spade, stacked together like a secret meant only for him.
Your breath softened as your fingers instinctively reached for it, tracing the lines with featherlight care.
His skin was warm beneath your touch, the contrast of soft against inked permanence making your heart thrum.
“I really like this,” you hummed, still brushing your fingertip against the design.
Ni-ki’s lips curved into a small, gentle smile as he shifted his arm even closer, letting you explore the tattoo like it was yours to trace.
His gaze softened, lingering on the way you looked so focused even through your drowsiness.
“I know,” he murmured with a quiet chuckle, the sound barely breaking the stillness of the room. “You’ve told me that a hundred times before.”
You grinned, your cheek brushing against the fabric of his hoodie as you inched closer to his chest.
“Well… it just shows you’re such an ace in dancing,” you teased, tapping the spade once with your finger before dragging it lightly down his wrist.
“An ace, huh?” he whispered, leaning down just enough for his breath to tickle the shell of your ear. “Then what does that make you?”
You blinked up at him through heavy lashes, lips curving. “The lucky one who gets to keep you.”
His laugh came out low. Even in the dim light spilling in from the streetlamp outside, you could see the faintest pink tint dusting his cheeks.
You couldn’t resist leaning up a little, pressing the softest kiss to that warmth, your lips brushing against his skin.
His breath hitched almost imperceptibly before you settled back down, cheek to his chest, your ear catching the steady rhythm of his heart.
“I love you, Iki,” you whispered, the words carrying that hazy sincerity only the quietest hours of the night could hold. “Good night.”
For a moment, silence blanketed the room again, broken only by the faint hum of the heater and your breaths syncing together.
Then Ni-ki lowered his head, his lips brushing your hairline as he pressed a tender kiss there.
“I love you too, (Y/N),” he whispered, the sound so soft it almost blended with the darkness around you. “Good night.”
You smiled against his chest, your hand tightening around his hoodie as he pulled you even closer, as if he wanted to mold you into his very being.
The warmth of his body, the comfort of his scent, and the safety of his arms all tangled together, wrapping you in something far deeper than words.
It was barely seven in the morning when you found yourself perched on the leather couch in Ni-ki’s room, legs curled up as you leaned closer to the small mirror propped against the black wooden coffee table.
The faint light spilling through the blinds made the gloss on your lips gleam as you carefully swiped another layer on, pressing them together before giving yourself a proud little nod.
Even at this hour, you had to admit—you didn’t look half bad.
The door swung open with a loud creak, nearly startling you. Ni-ki barged in, hair still messy from sleep, a sleeveless shirt clinging to his frame.
A shit-eating grin stretched across his face, and before you could ask what he was up to, Jungwon’s voice carried through the now closed door.
“Nishimura, I swear—stop hiding (Y/N)! I need her help with the agenda!”
You shook your head with a small laugh, setting your gloss aside as you stood. He was practically glowing with mischief, shoulders bouncing with stifled laughter at his leader’s frustration.
You crossed the room, smoothing your pants down as you reached him, fingers hooking onto the hem of his sleeveless shirt.
“Stop chasing Jungwon around,” you scolded, clicking your tongue as you tugged him closer. “And get changed.”
Ni-ki pouted instantly, eyes widening as if he could charm you into letting him off. “But—”
You gave him a look, the one that always made him cave.
He sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping. “Fine.”
You grinned victoriously, retreating to the edge of the bed while he rifled through his still-open suitcase. He grabbed a gray hoodie, tugging his sleeveless shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion.
You hadn’t meant to stare—really, you hadn’t.
But despite growing up alongside him, despite being there from the very beginning, your eyes couldn’t help trailing over the lean lines of his frame.
He wasn’t the same boy you’d met during debut; time and relentless training had carved him into something sharper, stronger.
Every muscle, every dip of his skin seemed highlighted by the ink that stretched over his ribs, black against pale skin, impossible not to notice.
You were so caught up in the sight that you nearly missed his voice.
“Baby, are you bringing any of the plushies I gave you?” His tone was casual, distracted as he tugged the hoodie halfway on, still facing away from you.
When no answer came, he frowned, brows pulling together. “…Baby?”
He turned, hoodie dangling in his hands, only to catch you frozen, eyes locked on him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward as realization struck.
You blinked rapidly, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Huh?”
Ni-ki’s smirk only widened, boyish but dangerous, like he’d caught you red-handed.
He removed his hoodie from his hands, not bothering to slip it on properly—just tossing it lazily over one shoulder like some careless model. One hand shoved deep into the pocket of his sweats as he strolled toward you, his voice low and amused.
“Were you staring?”
Your throat bobbed, panic blooming as you cleared it and quickly tore your eyes away.
“I—oh, um, yeah… I need to pack my stuff too, sorry.”
You turned in a rush, making a beeline for your open suitcase near the curtains. The neat rows of folded clothes suddenly looked like the most interesting thing in the world.
Fingers fumbled with the zipper, the excuse flimsy even to your own ears, but it was the only escape you had.
Behind you, you could feel his gaze—heavy, knowing. His smirk lingered in the silence, stretching out just enough to make you burn.
“Don’t forget your makeup bag, baby.”
“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, spinning around as the memory hit you. Of course—you’d left it on the coffee table.
Ni-ki still shirtless, the hoodie hanging off his broad shoulder, holding the sleek black leather pouch. The Chrome Hearts one he’d gifted you a few months back. Your stomach dipped.
You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a guilty smile, recalling how you once ranted about your Prada one being too small for your growing collection—most of which he’d impulsively bought for you.
Ten lip glosses in one week, handed to you like candy, because “they reminded me of you.” Overboard, yes. But undeniably him.
The pouch gleamed under the dim morning light, supple leather shifting softly in his hand as he took his time walking closer, closing the distance inch by inch.
“Here.” His voice was gentle now, almost careful, as he held it out.
You swallowed and took it, nodding faintly, your eyes glued stubbornly to the floor as if it might swallow you whole.
But Ni-ki only chuckled.
“Hey.” His tone dropped to something softer, teasing laced with warmth.
He stepped closer, his fingers brushing yours again as he casually took the pouch from your hands and set it aside on the bed.
Then, without hesitation, his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you against him.
“What’s this, huh?” he murmured, tilting his head down so his breath tickled your temple. “Caught you staring and now you’re getting all shy on me?”
Your breath hitched, cheeks flaming as your palms landed flat on his chest, solid and warm. “I wasn’t—!”
He laughed quietly, the sound rich and unhurried, his lips curving against your hair. “Mmhm, you were.”
One of his hands slid up your back, holding you flush against him, while the other stayed at your waist like he had no intention of letting go.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, voice playfully conspiratorial as he leaned close enough for you to feel his smirk against your ear. “I like when you stare.”
Your knees nearly buckled at the words, your heart racing so hard you swore he could feel it.
You sighed shakily, burying your face into Ni-ki’s bare chest, the warmth of his skin calming you even as your cheeks burned.
“Not fair, Riki,” you mumbled against him, voice muffled.
He laughed lowly, arms tightening around your waist until you felt completely enveloped. “Nothing’s fair, baby.”
Groaning, you shoved lightly at his chest, slipping out of his grasp just enough to stand on your toes. Despite the stretch, he still had to dip down a little for you to reach.
You pressed a kiss to his cheek—quick—and leaned back with a grin when the glossy red print of your lipstick shone against his skin.
You hummed in appreciation of your own handiwork, smirking up at him while his brows lifted knowingly.
“Pack up, blondie,” you teased, tone playful as you poked at his chest. “I need to help Jungwon with the schedule for the London tour next week.”
He sighed, dragging it out dramatically, before finally nodding. “How many heels are you bringing for that?”
You tilted your head, pretending to think. “At least three.”
He nodded as if he were making mental notes, already dragging one of your empty suitcases toward him. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he reached down and picked up one of your heels from the floor, spinning it lightly in his hand.
“Oh,” you added with a smug little smirk, pointing at his cheek as you reached for the door. “And you might wanna clean that up.”
Before he could reply, you slipped out the door, shutting it quickly behind you.
For a moment, Ni-ki just sat there, blinking.
Then, curiosity getting the best of him, he fished his phone out of his pocket and flipped open the camera app. His reflection filled the screen, and sure enough, the bold print of your lipstick stood out proudly against his pale skin.
He chuckled to himself, scrunching his nose at the sight.
“Very cheeky, (Y/N),” he muttered, shaking his head, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.
He stared at the mark for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. Then, with a sudden smirk, he closed the camera app and pulled up his chats.
Scrolling quickly, he landed on a familiar name—his tattoo artist.
ni-ki [7:15 AM]: yo, are you awake?
It took barely a few seconds before the typing bubbles popped up.
ink man [7:15 AM]: What’s up man?
Ni-ki’s grin widened.
ni-ki [7:15 AM]: i need a rush piece. can you do it tomorrow?
ink man [7:15 AM]: Yeah sure, just drop by. Send me the inspo.
Ni-ki wasted no time, snapping a quick photo of his cheek, the kiss mark bold and clear, before sending it.
The response came almost instantly.
ink man [7:16 AM]: Did (Y/N) give you that? That’s sick, man.
Ni-ki bit back a laugh, thumbs flying across the keyboard.
ni-ki [7:16 AM]: obviously. need it somewhere hidden though.
ink man [7:16 AM]: I got you, man.
He was about to type out a reply when your voice carried faintly from down the hallway.
“Riki! Come here, quick meeting!”
He swiped the chat away immediately, only sending a quick thumbs-up emoji before shoving his phone back in his pocket.
Standing, he tugged his hoodie properly over his head at last, combing his fingers through his hair as he padded over to the door.
“Coming!”
The moment he pushed the door open, the noise of the dorm rushed in. His members were scattered across the floor of the living room, papers, pens, and laptops everywhere.
Their manager, Yuki, sat cross-legged, pinching the bridge of his nose as though dealing with children instead of grown idols.
“This kid—really—you only listen to (Y/N),” Yuki muttered, gesturing toward Ni-ki with exasperation.
Ni-ki blinked, tilting his head innocently, blonde strands swaying slightly in his face without their usual gel. He moved toward the empty spot beside you, dropping onto the floor easily.
“What do you mean?”
Heeseung shot him a look, unimpressed. “We’ve been calling your name for the last two minutes.”
Ni-ki’s lips curled into a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “Oops.”
You only rolled your eyes, nudging him with your knee. “Focus, Riki.”
Ni-ki smirked to himself, but obediently leaned closer, pulling the schedule papers toward him as if he hadn’t just planned something wildly impulsive behind everyone’s back.
It had been a few days since Ni-ki sent that impulsive text to his tattoo artist, and for some reason, he’d been acting off.
Nothing big, nothing dramatic—but just enough for you to notice.
It was early, the dorm alive with a quiet kind of chaos. Members darted between their rooms with bags slung over their shoulders, voices muffled but firm as reminders echoed down the hall.
“London. Early. Start packing. Don’t forget your passports.”
You hummed to yourself, standing in front of the full-length mirror on Ni-ki’s closet door. The curlers had done their job—your hair fell in soft waves that framed your face perfectly.
You set the curler down carefully, running your fingers through to fluff the strands, nodding in satisfaction.
The door creaked open, and Ni-ki walked in with a handful of papers, his brow furrowed, lips pursed.
He looked like a grown man carrying the weight of the world—except he was still barefoot, hair messy, and his hoodie looked two sizes too big.
“Is our schedule really this packed?” he groaned, holding the papers up like they were some cursed prophecy.
You glanced at the page, recognizing both your name and Yuki’s scribbled at the bottom—signatures confirming the tour agenda you both spent hours organizing.
Smiling apologetically, you slipped the papers from his hands and set them on the bedside table before reaching up to wrap your arms around him.
“Come here, you big baby.”
Almost instantly, his arms wrapped back around you—but something about the way his hand darted down to move yours from his lower waist up to his middle didn’t go unnoticed.
You frowned for a split second, but let it slide, hugging him tighter.
His chin rested easily on top of your head, and for a moment, it felt like the stress of schedules, suitcases, and planes melted away.
Still, you winced, your neck straining at the angle. “Riki… are you forgetting you’re literally a whole foot and some inches taller than me?”
He chuckled quietly but didn’t let go.
Instead, he pulled back just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice dropping lower as though whispering a secret only for you.
“When this world tour’s over, we’re going on vacation. Just the two of us.”
Your chest warmed, lips tugging up into a smile. “Let’s go back to Japan. I miss our families.”
Ni-ki’s face lit up at the suggestion, eyes glinting. “Mhmm. I miss Bisco.”
You burst into laughter at the mention of his dog. “Really? Not even your sisters?”
His nose scrunched adorably, making you grin harder.
“Hey—you can’t blame me. Those two won’t give me a break.” He shuddered dramatically, and you smacked his arm lightly.
Rolling your eyes with affection, you bent to grab the papers again. But as you shifted your weight, your other hand instinctively went low for balance.
Ni-ki moved faster than you expected, grabbing your wrist mid-motion, keeping your touch far from his side as he steadied you with his other arm.
You blinked up at him, brows furrowing. “Riki… are you okay?”
He forced a smile, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yeah, just—really bad muscle ache on my side. From practice.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You should get that checked—”
“Nah, I’m good.” He waved you off quickly with his free hand, a little too quickly.
You gave him a look—the one you always did when you could tell he wasn’t being fully honest.
He exhaled in defeat, muttering under his breath, “Women…”
Your eyes narrowed immediately. “What was that?”
He plastered on a sheepish smile, leaning down until his nose brushed yours. “Nothing, baby. I love you so much.”
Your irritation cracked under the weight of his grin, and when his lips pressed against yours, soft and slow, you couldn’t help but smile back into the kiss.
When he pulled away, you tapped his chest, nodding toward the half-open suitcase by the bed.
“You ready?”
His gaze flicked toward the empty luggage and he grimaced.
“…No.”
You smacked his chest lightly again, rolling your eyes. “Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.”
The stadium was quiet compared to what it would be tomorrow—no fans, no flashing lights, just the faint hum of equipment and the echo of the boys’ voices bouncing off the walls as they rehearsed Sweet Venom for what felt like the hundredth time.
You sat slouched in one of the VIP front row seats, clipboard balanced on your lap, pen tapping against the paper.
Your eyes drifted from the detailed setlist you’d been rereading for the past ten minutes to the stage, where Ni-ki was moving with muscle memory, his every step sharp despite how visibly drained he looked.
A low sigh left your lips just as the seat beside you shifted.
“You alright, kiddo?”
You turned your head to see Yuki settling down beside you, one brow raised, his ever-present lanyard bouncing against his chest.
“Why?” you asked automatically, blinking at him before your eyes flicked back to the stage.
Ni-ki had just brushed his damp bangs out of his eyes, sweat clinging to his skin under the harsh stage lights. Your chest tugged a little, but you quickly looked back down at your clipboard.
Yuki chuckled, shaking his head. “Because you’ve done more than enough for the team tonight. You look ready to collapse yourself.”
A smile pulled at your lips despite the exhaustion weighing on your shoulders. “You know… I should thank you for still letting me in the makeup team.”
That got a laugh out of him. He leaned back in the seat, arms crossed as his eyes followed the boys on stage.
“Yeah, but you spend more time with the stage team than your own crew these days.”
Your grin only widened. “Still. Really, thank you, Yuki. I owe you a lot.”
He turned to look at you, and for a second his expression softened, almost fatherly.
“You don’t owe me anything, (Y/N). If anything, I owe you. The higher-ups love you. Say you act like a mother to the boys.”
You scrunched your nose at that, shaking your head in disbelief. “I’m literally the same age as Riki.”
That made Yuki burst out laughing, his voice echoing louder than the boys’ background vocals.
“Maybe so, but at least they listen to you. Who would’ve thought the youngest member’s girlfriend could make the rest of them actually shake?”
This time, it was you laughing, biting your lip as you tried to keep quiet. “That’s a little too extreme, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” Yuki admitted, lips quirking.
He glanced at the stage where Ni-ki was spinning into place before his eyes flicked back to you, his voice gentler now. “Still, thank you. For being with them when I can’t. For being with him when I can’t.”
You followed his gaze toward Ni-ki, then looked back at Yuki with a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips. “Young love really does wonders, huh?”
Yuki’s smile deepened. “Mhmm. Childhood friends to lovers—you two are the definition of it. Suck it up.”
Heat bloomed in your cheeks and you swatted at him with your clipboard, but he just stood, ruffling your hair before you could dodge.
“I’m telling you, you are,” he said with a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, I need to head backstage. Check on the equipment.”
“What’s next after this?” you asked, flipping your clipboard around and scanning the highlighted notes.
“Dunno. You tell me.”
You traced a line down the list before finding your answer. “One more run of ‘No Doubt’ and they’re done for the night.”
He nodded in satisfaction. “Well, knock yourself out. But not too much, alright? You’re practically like a daughter to me.”
You raised a brow at him, unimpressed. “You mean you just need me for crowd control tomorrow.”
Yuki’s grin widened as he pointed at you like you’d caught him. “Yes.”
Rolling your eyes, you waved him off. “Yes, yes, I get it. Goodbye, Yuki.”
“Bye, (Y/N),” he called as he walked away, laughing at the exasperation in your voice.
You couldn’t help but smile a little, your gaze automatically lifting to the stage just as the final notes of ‘Sweet Venom’ echoed out across the empty stadium.
The boys were panting, sweat-soaked, and drained—but still moving with precision. As the music faded, you noticed Ni-ki moving fast, skipping steps as he jogged down the side stairs.
The others caught his eagerness, and it didn’t go unnoticed.
Sunghoon leaned lazily into his mic, his lips curling into a smirk. “Such a baby.”
Ni-ki paused mid-step and whipped around to glare at the older, eyes narrowed, shoulders rising with every breath.
Sunghoon immediately lifted his hands in mock defeat, lips twitching in amusement. “Okay, okay.”
Still glaring, Ni-ki turned back and broke into a jog again—straight toward you.
You hurriedly dropped your clipboard onto the empty chair beside you and spread your arms open just as he practically launched himself at you.
“Oof, Riki—” you muttered, stumbling back a little under his weight. “You’re heavy!”
He only slumped further against you, unbothered, as if proving a point.
Your arms circled around him instinctively, and you rubbed your hands up and down his damp back, smiling when you caught the camera in the corner filming the two of you.
“You good?” you murmured softly.
He nodded against your neck, voice muffled. “I missed you.”
A laugh bubbled out of you as you stroked the back of his hair. “I’ve been sitting here for the past three hours.”
“Still,” he grumbled, refusing to move.
You sighed, tugging gently at his shirt. “Come on, you need to finish. You still have one more song to go over.”
“Don’t wanna,” he mumbled stubbornly, his arms tightening around you like a child.
You giggled, shaking your head at him, when suddenly a buzz from your pocket pulled your attention away. Patting his back, you coaxed, “Let go, Riki.”
He reluctantly pulled back, lips in a pout, before flopping onto the chair next to you like he owned the place.
You fished out your phone and saw Yuki’s name flash on the screen, a new message. Smiling, you set your phone on your lap and looked at Ni-ki, his hand still wrapped around the mic he’d been holding all evening.
“May I?” you asked, pointing at it.
He immediately let go and handed it over, eyes still sulking but lips twitching like he wanted to smile.
You stood, cleared your throat, and brought the mic up. “Everybody,”
The staff froze in place, turning toward you, and the boys on stage all blinked and shuffled closer, curiosity painted on their tired faces. Even the tech crew looked up from their equipment.
Flipping your phone around, you read aloud, trying to keep your tone professional: “According to Yuki, we can all leave after the boys get enough rest—staff included—once we finish one more stage check.”
The collective sigh of relief was instant. Shoulders relaxed, heads nodded, a few quiet “thank gods” echoing through the space. But you weren’t done.
A smile tugged at your lips as you scrolled to the next part of his message.
“Also,” you added, clearing your throat dramatically. “Yuki says—and I quote—‘I’ve heard No Doubt way too many times tonight. Have a good rest, everyone.’”
The staff erupted with laughter, some even shouting “Thank you, Yuki!” despite him being backstage.
Jungwon immediately punched the air and collapsed dramatically onto the stage floor. Jake doubled over, laughing, while Sunghoon leaned against him, groaning from exhaustion.
“Finally,” you muttered under your breath, lowering the mic and letting the boys and crew revel in the good news.
You turned back to Ni-ki, only to catch him wincing slightly as his hand pressed against his side. Your smile dropped into a frown.
“Haven’t I told you to get that checked?” you asked quietly.
He glanced at you sheepishly, caught, before giving you a small nod. “Yeah, you did.”
“And?” you pressed, already crossing your arms.
He grinned, victorious like a child who finally did his homework. “I did.”
Suspicious, you raised a brow and snatched your clipboard from the chair, holding it like a weapon. “And what’s the verdict?”
“Really bad muscle strain,” he admitted, tone casual, though you didn’t miss the slight tension in his voice.
You grimaced. “Riki…”
Standing at the same time you did, he swung an arm casually around your shoulders, tugging you close as if nothing was wrong.
“Are you sure you don’t have to go to a hospital?” you asked, brows furrowed as you let him guide you toward the side exit.
“Baby, you’re overthinking it.” He waved his free hand dismissively.
You shot him a sharp look, making him laugh. “What was that look for?”
“I’m serious!” you scolded, narrowing your eyes. “You push yourself too hard.”
He leaned down, pinching your cheek with his free hand. “Riki, I swear—”
“I know, I know,” he cut in quickly, grin soft but teasing as he let your cheek go. “So… thank you.”
You exhaled, torn between smacking him and hugging him tighter, your lips twitching despite yourself.
Behind you, the rest of the boys were filing down from the stage, loud as ever.
“I want chicken,” Jake groaned, stretching his arms overhead.
“I want pizza,” Sunoo countered instantly.
“No, chicken!”
“Well, I want pizza!”
“Both,” Jay sighed in defeat, dragging a hand down his face. “We’ll just get both.”
Ni-ki chuckled, glancing over his shoulder. “I want sushi.”
Then he looked back at you, eyes gleaming as he pulled you closer against his side, whispering just for you, “And plus, I’m not dying. It’s just a strain.”
Your chest softened, but you still sighed, leaning into him. “I know… but I worry about you.”
His lips curved upward, his voice low and teasing but warm. “I know.”
Things only got weirder with the way Ni-ki was acting that night. The two of you shuffled across your shared hotel room, walking through the mess of used plates and scattered cups that littered the carpet.
You sighed, tossing another paper cup into the trash bag as you muttered, “I feel like I’m a mother of seven.”
Ni-ki laughed, balancing two greasy chicken boxes in one hand. “Saying that at nineteen is wild.”
You shot him a flat look, but the corner of your mouth tugged up anyway.
When you walked past him to grab the stack of napkins someone left crumpled on the table, he caught your wrist and tugged you into his chest, his chin dipping to rest on top of your head.
“Tired?” he asked, voice low, soft.
You nodded against him, muffled. “So much. I don’t know how you guys manage to do all that singing and dancing for hours.”
His grin widened, and he pressed a lazy kiss into your hair. “Don’t bring yourself down like that. You do so much for us.”
You looked up at him then, smiling gently before you pressed a kiss against his jaw. “Well, I’m going to take a shower. Tell Jungwon I’ll help him with the morning schedule later, okay?”
He hummed, nodding, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead like he couldn’t help himself.
You were already walking toward the bathroom when you called back, teasing, “Are you gonna join me?”
Ni-ki chuckled under his breath, pulling his hoodie over his head and tossing it onto the loveseat. Clad now only in a white shirt, he shook his head with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, baby. I can’t.”
You frowned, hand already on the sliding door. “Are you sure?”
His smile tilted guilty. “Heeseung needs help with something. But I swear I’ll make it up to you next week.”
You blinked. “Next week?”
“Mmhm,” he confirmed, grin boyish but nervous.
You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Okay, Nishimura. I’ll hold you to that.” And with that, you slid the bathroom door open and disappeared inside.
The second the door shut, Ni-ki let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. His hand lifted, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up.
The dim light washed over his skin, tracing down the sharp lines of his abdomen until it caught on the angry red ink just beside his V-line—an outline of lips. Your lips.
His own lips tugged upward despite himself, tracing the tender skin gently with his fingers before pulling the shirt back down.
“Since when do I ever refuse a shower invite?” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head at himself as he flopped onto the bed.
Reaching for his phone, he tapped Heeseung’s name. The older picked up within two rings.
“What did you do this time?” Heeseung’s voice was immediately suspicious, already teasing.
“What the hell do you mean ‘this time’?” Ni-ki huffed, shifting the phone between his shoulder and ear.
“Oh, I don’t know—did (Y/N) make you sleep on the hotel couch again?”
Ni-ki groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “That was one time!”
Heeseung’s laugh echoed faintly through the line. “Yeah, when you lost her Dior lipstick during filming. I still remember that meltdown.”
“I bought her five more to make up for it, didn’t I?” Ni-ki retorted, flopping onto his back and fixing his gaze on the ceiling.
“Mmhm,” Heeseung drawled, the sound of rustling and then a ramen lid peeling back audible through the speaker. “Okay, loverboy. Why are you calling me? We’re literally two floors apart.”
Ni-ki bit his lip, hesitating. “…How do I tell (Y/N) I have a new tattoo?”
There was a pause. Then Heeseung’s voice rose in pitch. “When the fuck did you get a new tattoo?”
“A few days ago,” Ni-ki admitted, scratching the back of his neck.
Heeseung made a low hum. “So why don’t you tell her? You’ve never had a problem before.”
“Because…” Ni-ki sighed, sitting up to ruffle his hair. “It’s about her.”
That earned a snicker. “What, did you get her face inked on your back or something?”
“No!” Ni-ki snapped, then exhaled. His voice softened. “I got her kiss mark… right below my abdomen. A womb tattoo.”
There was silence—then Heeseung burst out laughing, nearly choking on his ramen. “Oh my god. You are so down bad.”
Ni-ki rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched with a proud grin.
“Well, I grew up with her. We went to the same school, she flew to South Korea with me during I-LAND, she never broke up with me even when things got insane. I asked her to be my girlfriend when we debuted, and we somehow kept it under wraps until last year. So yes, I am down bad. Thank you very much.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Heeseung muttered between slurps of noodles. “You’ve got a future wife, damn.”
The grin stretched wider across Ni-ki’s face at that.
“So what are you scared of?” Heeseung pressed.
Ni-ki leaned back against the headboard, his hand unconsciously brushing against his side where the tattoo lay hidden. “She might have my head for getting one without her consent.”
Heeseung chuckled. “That, I can’t help with. But…” His tone shifted mischievous. “I do have an idea.”
Ni-ki groaned immediately, narrowing his eyes at the ceiling. “This is not a good start. A ‘Heeseung idea’ usually means problems.”
“Do you want my help or not?”
Ni-ki let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “…Go on.”
The crowd for soundcheck was as loud as it could get, the screams ricocheting off the stadium walls like thunder.
You stood beside Yuki just below the stage, hands crossed on your chest, eyes darting across the moving lights and the boys bounding from one end of the stage to the other as they sang ‘Go Big or Go Home.’
They were grinning wide, waving, showing off for the hundred cameras capturing their every move.
“Are we absolutely sure there’s no misplaced—” you gestured vaguely at the stage, “—lights, cables, or anything for them to trip over? You know, a falling spotlight waiting to kill somebody?”
Yuki barely blinked, arms crossed as he tracked the members’ blocking. “No. I triple-checked with the technical team last night. Everything’s secure.”
You nodded slowly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. The moment you did, Yuki’s eyes flicked down, catching the shine of your 4-inch platform boots. His grimace said enough.
“Are you sure you’re going to survive the whole night in those?” he asked dryly.
You glanced down at your shoes, rocking them side to side with a sheepish grin. “Yes… why?”
Yuki gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. Two hours into our wedding and my wife nearly threw her heels at me because her feet were hurting.”
You laughed at the image, tipping your head toward him. “Oh, I will tell her that. I miss her.”
“Mmhm, sure. She misses you too,” Yuki replied, lips quirking.
You turned your head then, scanning the pit just behind you—and nearly snorted out loud. A crowd of ENGENEs were pressed up against the barrier, their phones all pointed directly at you, not the stage.
Some were giggling, others waving their banners, and a few even mouthed “(Y/N), look here!”
“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, dragging a hand down your face.
Thanking Heeseung and Jake in your head for every English lesson they drilled into you, you called out, voice raised just enough:
“Why are you guys filming me? The boys are right there!” You pointed up at the stage, where Sunghoon was in the middle of his part, waving at the crowd.
The fans screamed even louder, and one particularly bold voice near the front shrieked, “We love you more, (Y/N)!”
You laughed, hand flying to cover your mouth before lowering it again, your smile wide. Turning back to Yuki, your eyes silently asked the question—‘Can I?’
Yuki raised a brow but eventually sighed, shaking his head in fond defeat. “Go ahead,” he said, a small smile tugging his lips.
That was all the permission you needed. You turned back around and walked closer to the barrier, the cheers rising with every step.
Immediately, the bodyguards stationed nearby moved like shadows, one of them already lifting his hand to step with you.
You quickly raised your own hand, halting them. “No need,” you said firmly, turning your head just enough to meet their eyes.
“But Ms. (Y/N)—” one of them started, tone cautious.
But you were quicker. “I trust them enough, okay?”
The bodyguard hesitated, but backed off with a reluctant nod, his gaze sweeping over the fans just in case.
You reached the barrier now, folding your arms loosely on top of it as fans nearly exploded into screams and chants.
Someone held up a poster with your name scribbled in glitter letters, another waved a plushie of a baby chick, and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.
“You guys are too much,” you teased, your grin widening as you pointed up at the stage. “Jake is right there!”
Sure enough, Jake was only a few feet away, mid-song, tugging playfully at Jungwon’s sleeve.
When he noticed you pointing at him, he waved dramatically, sending the fans into another fit of screams. You turned back to the barrier with a laugh.
“And you’re filming me, really?” you asked, mock incredulity painting your tone.
In response, a fan lifted their phone, the screen showing a paused frame from an EN-O’CLOCK episode—where the staff had accidentally left in a close-up of you making the ugliest face mid-laugh.
You burst into laughter, clapping a hand over your mouth.
“Oh, come on!” you groaned, still laughing.
“But you’re so pretty!” the fan shouted back, and the crowd around her echoed in agreement.
You felt your cheeks heat, ducking your head before lifting it again with a soft, “Thank you.”
Another voice piped up eagerly, “(Y/N)! Share your makeup secrets!”
You gasped playfully. “My makeup secrets? Okay, one day I’ll crash one of Ni-ki’s lives, alright?”
The cheers were deafening, and you couldn’t help but shake your head with a smile.
Even after all these years, using your boyfriend’s stage name in front of others still felt strange on your tongue. To you, he was just Riki.
“But,” you continued, tapping your lips, “right now I’m using Dior.”
Gasps, screams, and waving lightsticks followed instantly.
“The lipstick or the gloss?!” someone shouted.
You grinned, holding a finger up as if about to make a huge reveal. “Both.”
That got the loudest cheer yet, and you laughed, covering your ears dramatically as if they were too loud. Fans kept their phones up, catching every second, some yelling your name, others just screaming out of sheer excitement.
“How are you and Ni-ki?” a fan suddenly shouted above the noise.
You blinked but smiled warmly, leaning closer so they could hear you. “We’re very happy. Thank you.”
The crowd smiled. Some squealed, others cooed, a few even fanned their faces as if they couldn’t handle it.
The moment felt lighter now, so you started posing for their cameras—peace signs, exaggerated winks, blowing kisses that made the whole section of fans go feral.
You laughed as one screamed, “(Y/N), we’re only here for you!”
“Don’t say that!” you scolded playfully, pointing toward the stage.
But then another voice rang out, bolder, cheekier: “Does Ni-ki have a new tattoo?”
Your laughter faltered just slightly, though your smile didn’t drop. Shaking your head, you answered honestly, “That’s not my story to tell.”
The fans collectively pouted, some even whining, but you noticed most of them nodding in understanding.
Before you could add anything else, a voice boomed through the mic above you.
“Hey!”
Your head snapped up to see Jay walking toward your side of the stage, mic in hand, his expression halfway between amusement and mock-accusation. “(Y/N), are you stealing our fans?”
The crowd erupted again, and you shook your head furiously, laughing. “No!”
Jake quickly joined him, dragging Ni-ki along by the wrist. Jake’s grin was mischievous, his voice carrying clearly through the speakers. “Engenes, what is this?”
Behind you, the pit exploded into chants: “We love (Y/N)!”
You laughed, hiding your face in your hands. Jake bent over laughing too, but it was Ni-ki who took a step forward, pulling his mic to his lips.
“That’s my girl,” he said smoothly, in perfect English.
You froze, eyes widening, before your face flushed pink all the way to your ears. The crowd screamed so loud, every single phone now pointed at Ni-ki—or at you, who was covering your face in disbelief.
And of course, one brave fan screamed back, “She’s my girl, not yours!”
The boys on stage lost it. Jake keeled over laughing, Jay’s jaw dropped in fake scandal, and Ni-ki leaned forward, brow furrowed as he replied into the mic, “What? No.”
That only made the fans scream louder.
You couldn’t stop laughing, shaking your head as you raised your hands like you were calling a ceasefire.
“Okay, okay—let’s all calm down!” you said, gesturing toward the boys on stage, then to the staff behind you.
The crew by the wings gave you nods, already signaling to the sound team to get ready for the next track.
Ni-ki still had a mischievous grin tugging at his lips, Jake was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, and Jay was muttering something about “unbelievable betrayal.”
The concert had ended in fireworks, confetti, but now the halls of the hotel were hushed, lined with tired staff and members already retreating to their rooms.
You and Ni-ki lingered behind, waving the others off with soft goodbyes.
His hand rested at the small of your back protectively, while his other arm carried your discarded boots—the heels dangling by their straps as you padded along in just your socks, exhaustion written in every step.
Swiping the keycard, you pushed the door open with a sigh that was almost dramatic.
“My feet are so tired, Iki…” you mumbled, leaning heavier into him.
The way his lips curved at the nickname made your chest warm, but he only shook his head in fond amusement as he nudged you inside. Setting your heels down neatly by the door, he closed it behind you.
“Only your feet, really?” he teased, his tone light but his eyes soft.
You nodded solemnly, flopping against his side as he guided you deeper into the room. “I could still run a mile, I swear. But my feet? They’re killing me.”
He chuckled, leaning down just enough to brush his lips against your cheek before steering you toward the bed. “You’re stubborn,” he muttered, easing you down onto the mattress.
Kneeling in front of you, he gently tugged at your ankles, placing your socked feet in his lap before working his thumbs into the sore arches.
The sound that left you was an unfiltered sigh of relief. “That feels so good…”
“I told you to wear your more comfortable ones,” Ni-ki hummed knowingly, his long fingers tracing slow, careful circles into your skin. “But did you listen? No.”
Your nose scrunched up, the tiniest pout forming as you leaned back against your palms. “Okay, now you sound like Yuki.”
That made him laugh, a soft, boyish sound that filled the quiet room. He let go of your feet eventually, sliding up onto the bed beside you instead.
Without a word, he reached for the zipper of your cropped jacket, shrugging it off your shoulders with an ease that made your heart squeeze.
“Thank you, Iki,” you whispered, resting your head against his shoulder.
“Anytime, baby. I got you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into your temple.
You lingered there a moment, letting the quiet sink in—the dim hotel lights, the muffled sounds of the city outside, the way his warmth was already seeping into you.
Finally, you tilted your face up to him with a tiny smile. “Well… I don’t know about you, but I need to take a shower. I’ll be back, okay?”
Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss against his lips, the kind that was meant to be quick—but his hands were quicker, sliding instinctively around your waist to hold you in place.
You couldn’t help but smile against his mouth, your palm flattening over his chest. “Iki… I feel so icky. Like, actually.”
Pulling back just slightly, he gave you that smug little grin of his. “Nice wordplay.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you stood up, tugging off your socks and tossing them aside with a sigh of relief.
Grabbing your phone from the nightstand, you were already scrolling to your shower playlist when you glanced back at him.
“Feel free to join me, okay?” you teased lightly, raising a brow.
His answer was a simple hum, his gaze following you as he leaned back on his palms. “Mhmm. Go ahead.”
You caught the way his eyes lingered as you padded toward the bathroom, and even after you closed the door, you could still feel his grin hanging in the air.
Humming softly, you continued scrolling through your shower playlist, the familiar beat of your favorite song spilling faintly from the phone speakers.
But instead of hitting play, your thumb slid to another app out of habit—Twitter.
The screen lit up instantly, a flood of notifications stacking on top of each other. Mentions. Retweets. Tags. All saying the same thing:
“Ni-ki’s tattoo!”
“Womb kiss mark tattoo??”
“Has (Y/N) saw it?”
Your brows furrowed. “Huh?” you mumbled, adjusting your grip on the phone. “Must be his ace of spades on his wrist again…”
You tilted your head thoughtfully, scrolling faster. “Or maybe his rib tattoo? Or… maybe the fans just want him to get a new one.”
But then one post caught your eye. A shaky, zoomed-in video from earlier tonight.
You tapped it.
The clip was grainy, but clear enough: Ni-ki’s hoodie riding up during soundcheck, the hem flashing just enough skin for a split second. The caption screamed in all caps:
“NI-KI’S WOMB TATTOO IS A KISS MARK?”
Your breath stilled, the faintest gasp escaping before you even realized. The red outline was unmistakable—lips, right below his abdomen, just at the sharp dip of his v-line.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, heart thumping against your ribs. “It’s real.”
Your shower playlist forgotten, you shoved the phone aside and bolted out of the bathroom, bare feet smacking against the carpet despite the ache in them.
“Riki!”
He was just tugging his hoodie over his head, hair mussed, tank top clinging to him in the dim hotel lighting. He startled at the urgency in your voice, spinning around.
“Baby, what—?”
“Let me see.” Your words came out sharp, desperate, as you crossed the room in quick strides.
His brows pulled together. “See what?”
“The tattoo.”
For a split second, he froze. And then—he winced, almost guiltily. “…What tattoo?”
Your jaw dropped. “Don’t play with me right now, Nishimura Riki. Let me see.”
The sound of his full name in your tone must’ve cracked something in him, because he sighed, defeated. Tossing his hoodie carelessly to the floor, he grabbed the hem of his tank top, pulling it over his head in one swift motion.
Your eyes flickered over his bare chest, the sculpted lines of his shoulders, but you didn’t have time for that distraction.
His hand went to his waistband, tugging the elastic of his joggers down just slightly—enough to reveal it.
The semi-fresh tattoo sat stark against his pale skin, the red ink almost glowing in the lamplight. The outline of lips was sharp and bold, delicate in its detailing but impossible to mistake.
It curved right at the dip below his abdomen, dangerously intimate, the placement both daring and tender. The skin around it was still slightly raised, faintly irritated, but the design itself looked striking, almost beautiful.
You couldn’t stop the way your lips parted, breath catching.
Slowly, almost reverently, you raised your hand, hovering just above it. You traced the air around the mark, careful not to touch the healing skin, your fingertips trembling.
“Riki…” Your voice cracked slightly, your brows furrowing. “Are you… cheating on me?”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, barely a whisper, but the weight of them hung between you like lead.
His head snapped up instantly, eyes wide. “Baby—what? No!” His voice was firm, urgent.
He reached for your wrist gently, “That’s—” He stopped, swallowing hard, his chest rising and falling. Then, quieter, he said, “That’s yours.”
You blinked, confusion flickering across your face as your lips parted, waiting.
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, then nodded toward the tattoo, his voice raw. “Your lips. Always yours.”
You furrowed your brows, confusion tightening your face. “What? You didn’t even ask me for any references this past week…”
Your voice trailed off as your mind replayed the countless times he had bugged you before about his other tattoos—showing you sketches, asking which angle looked better, begging for your approval.
But this one? Nothing.
Ni-ki exhaled, his big hands slipping from yours as he sat back on the edge of the bed. His fingers tapped lightly against his thigh, wordless but insistent. An invitation.
You swallowed, then obeyed, stepping forward and settling across his lap, straddling him carefully.
Your arms looped around his bare shoulders, instinctively avoiding the fresh ink just below his abdomen. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
His gaze softened, though his tone carried a heavy seriousness. “You need to promise me something first.”
Your brows knitted. “What?”
“That you’ll never, ever think I could cheat on you. Ever.” His words were firm, unwavering, the kind that left no room for doubt.
You hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay…”
“Good girl,” he said, his chest rising against yours with relief. “Because I’d rather kill myself than do that.”
Your palm shot up to swat at his chest, a sharp “Riki!” escaping your lips.
He chuckled, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, but his eyes stayed earnest. “I’m serious, baby. I really just can’t. And I never will, okay? So don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”
His lips brushed your cheek in a soft kiss before he tugged you closer, his chin grazing your temple. The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten.
“I got it almost three to four days ago,” he admitted quietly.
Your head tilted at that, confusion mixing with something else. “But… you never asked me to come with you.”
His mouth curved into a softer smile.
He leaned forward just enough to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, his voice lowering into something gentle. “Because I wanted it to be a surprise, silly.”
He sighed, shaking his head with a hint of playful frustration. “But the fans got to you first, huh?”
You nodded slowly, pouting. “Yeah… I saw it on Twitter.”
He let out a small laugh, ruffling his hair with one hand before wrapping it back around your waist. “Well. There goes my plan.”
You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him. “But whose kiss mark is that, really?”
Ni-ki laughed outright this time, his gaze flicking downward to the fresh ink. Your own eyes followed instinctively, catching on the way the tattoo curved dangerously close to his v-line.
One of his hands stayed firm on your waist, but the other tilted your chin up until your eyes locked with his.
His voice dropped, steady but soft. “I told you. That’s yours.”
You blinked at him, furrows deepening, and he leaned closer, almost conspiratorial. “Remember when you kissed me a few days ago before we left Korea?”
Your lips parted, a faint memory resurfacing—your lipstick, smudged on his cheek after a kiss. You nodded slowly. “Yeah…”
His grin turned sly, almost boyish, but his eyes burned with intent. “You laughed because your lipstick stayed behind. But I loved how it looked. So I took a photo… and sent it to my artist.”
Your mouth fell open incredulously. “And you couldn’t just let me kiss a napkin or something? So you’d have a proper stencil?”
He laughed again, tugging you in until your noses nearly brushed. “I told you, it was supposed to be a surprise. I thought you’d hate me after using you like that.”
You huffed, your chest tightening with warmth, then peppered kisses across his face—his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth—each one soft but urgent.
“Iki, that’s the hottest tattoo I’ve ever seen.”
He chuckled, eyes crinkling, brushing his thumb across your waist. “You said that about my rib tattoo.”
You pulled back just enough to press a quick peck to his lips, your smile curving against his mouth. “Well, this tops it off. And it’s even better that it came from me.”
His laugh rumbled low in his chest, and before you could take another breath, Ni-ki’s arm tightened around your waist, the other sliding up behind your head.
He tugged you flush against him, tilting your face just so, lips colliding with yours again—harder this time, hungrier.
Your fingers instinctively found the back of his neck, threading through his hair, tugging lightly at the soft strands as the kiss deepened.
He groaned into your mouth, a sound that sent heat rushing straight to your stomach. His bare chest pressed against you, firm and warm, and you melted further into him.
The kiss broke only for a second, both of you panting, lips still brushing as you whispered, “Your blonde hair is starting to grow on me…”
Ni-ki smirked, his breath fanning across your lips as he murmured, “I told you before, didn’t I?”
Then, before you could reply, he caught your mouth again, harder this time, the hand on your hip gripping and pulling you impossibly closer.
A gasp slipped from you, muffled into his mouth, as you felt him rub against you, hips pressing forward with a teasing grind. The movement dragged a needy little moan from your throat, which only seemed to spur him on.
You tilted your head, letting him nip at your lower lip, tugging it gently before his tongue slid against the seam of your mouth, asking for more.
Without hesitation, you parted your lips, letting him in, and the kiss turned messy—tongues tangling, breathless whines spilling as his hand slid lower on your hip, guiding you right where he wanted you.
The friction between you made your head spin, your nails grazing along his nape as you clung to him.
Ni-ki groaned again, hips rolling against yours in a slow grind that had your knees going weak.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice low and rough, “you drive me insane.”
Your fingers tugged on his hair, earning a low groan from him that vibrated right into your mouth.
Ni-ki’s hand on your hip guided you down against him, grinding you into the hard planes of his bare chest and the growing heat between his legs.
The sound that left your throat was muffled against his lips, a needy whimper that only spurred him on.
“Fuck—” he breathed against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours for a second before he kissed you again, rougher this time.
His other arm slid lower, cupping the back of your thigh to pull you even tighter to him. “You feel so fucking good.”
Your head tilted back slightly, giving him more access as his lips trailed down your jaw, hot and wet against your skin until they reached the curve of your neck.
His teeth grazed your pulse point, biting just enough to make you gasp, your hips instinctively rolling against him.
“Riki—” you moaned, your voice shaky, broken by the friction that only grew more intense with every movement.
He chuckled against your skin, lips curling into a smirk before sucking lightly at the spot he’d just bitten. “I love it when you say my name like that.”
His breath was hot, his voice dark and low. “Say it again.”
Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body rocking in sync with the way he guided your hips, grinding harder, deeper, until your head was spinning.
His mouth found yours again, swallowing every moan as his thumb traced circles into your waist, slow and deliberate.
The kiss broke just long enough for you to pant against his lips, your words barely a whisper.
“Riki, please…”
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating against your throat as his mouth dipped down.
“So needy…” he mumbled into your skin, the words melting into a groan as his teeth sank lightly into the side of your neck.
You gasped, fingers instinctively fisting his hair as his other hand gathered your dress higher and higher, the material bunching at your waist.
His palm slid beneath it, warm against your stomach, fingertips tracing the faint lines and curves there as if he were memorizing them.
Your breath hitched when his hand moved higher, cupping your breast over the thin lace of your bra. The gentle pressure made your back arch, your chest pressing into his palm, silently begging for more.
“Riki—” Your voice cracked halfway, turning into a soft whimper as his skilled fingers found the clasp behind you, undoing it with practiced ease.
The bra slackened and fell away, caught in the fabric of your dress, and his lips returned to your throat, painting trails of kisses and open-mouthed bites across your collarbone.
Each mark stung, then throbbed, leaving warmth that made you grin helplessly against him.
That grin made him groan, the sound raw, rumbling from his chest as if your reaction drove him insane.
Without warning, he stood, his arms locked around your waist, lifting you with an effortless strength that made you squeak in surprise.
“Riki!” you gasped, arms clutching his shoulders, legs curling around him instinctively.
“Relax,” he smirked against your ear, carrying you as though you weighed nothing, before lowering you onto the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath you, and before you could catch your breath, he was hovering above, his body caging yours in completely.
His lips were everywhere—your throat, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder—leaving a constellation of bruised, red marks in his wake.
Each press, each bite, drew moans you couldn’t hold back no matter how hard you tried.
“Sound so sweet,” he muttered against your skin, his voice husky, “all of this just for me.”
Your reply melted into a moan as his hands slid back to the hem of your bunched-up dress. He paused, dark eyes flicking to yours, and you already knew what he wanted.
Wordlessly, you reached down, helping tug the fabric up and over your head, your bra slipping off with it.
The cool air met your bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his gaze—hungry, reverent.
“Fuck…” he breathed, his tone so raw it made your stomach flip.
His hand came up, tracing the curve of your chest before cupping it fully, his thumb brushing across your sensitive nipple.
You arched into his touch, a desperate sound breaking from your throat. “Riki—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice low and rough as he leaned down to capture your lips again.
His fingers toyed with your nipples, alternating between sharp pinches and soft circles that had you gasping into his mouth.
His kisses trailed lower, warm and wet, until his lips wrapped around one peak, tongue flicking while his hand teased the other.
Your whimpers spilled freely, echoing against his skin as he marked his way down, sucking hickeys into the softness of your chest.
He pulled away just briefly, smirking at the sight of the blooming bruises scattered across your skin.
“Perfect,” he muttered, admiring his work as his fingers gave another squeeze, sending you squirming. “All mine.”
Heat surged through you when his hands slid lower, careful but deliberate, brushing down until he hooked his fingers under the lacy material of your underwear. He tugged gently, grinning when your thighs tensed.
“Wearing the pair I bought you?” His tone was mocking, dripping with satisfaction. “Really, baby? Just tell me you need me.”
The embarrassment hit you all at once—cheeks burning, chest heaving—and your hands flew up to cover your face. “Riki…” you whined, muffled behind your palms.
He clicked his tongue in disapproval, leaning forward until his forehead rested against yours. “Don’t give me that shy bullshit,” he said, voice sharper this time.
His thumb dragged across your lower lip until you had no choice but to peek at him through your lashes. “I want to see you.”
Slowly, hesitantly, you lowered your hands. His eyes darkened instantly, a satisfied hum leaving his throat as he slipped the lace completely off you, tossing it aside carelessly.
The air was thick with tension as he settled between your legs, spreading you with a hunger that had you panting.
He pressed a single kiss to your inner thigh before giving your core a slow, teasing lick that sent shivers all the way up your spine.
“Riki—” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. “No teasing.”
He pulled back just enough to grin up at you, mouth glistening. “You don’t call the shots, sweetheart.”
His thumb swiped over your slick folds, deliberately slow, as his lips brushed the inside of your thigh again. “But since you asked so pretty…”
Ni-ki didn’t give you a chance to whine before his mouth was back on you, tongue dragging up your slit in one long stroke that made your back arch.
He hooked his arms under your thighs and tugged them higher, resting them snug over his shoulders so he could bury himself even deeper.
The wet sounds of his mouth on you echoed in the quiet room, his tongue teasing your clit with feather-light flicks before dipping lower, pushing inside your entrance with playful thrusts.
The sensation made your finger instinctively bury themselves in his hair, pulling at the blonde strands until he groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
“Ni-ki—” your voice cracked into a whimper, your hips twitching, desperate for more friction.
You tried to buck up against his mouth, chasing his tongue, but his grip on your thighs was firm, pinning you down with ease.
He pulled back just slightly, lips glistening as his dark eyes met yours from between your legs.
“Mhmm, too eager,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth curling as he brought two fingers up, rubbing lazily over your folds. “Need to prep you, baby.”
You pouted, breath shaky. “But—”
“I know,” he cut in, kissing the inside of your thigh again, his voice calm but laced with amusement.
“You’ve taken me too many times to count, huh?” His fingers pressed teasing circles around your entrance without slipping in.
Your lips parted, frustration bubbling up. “Yeah, so—”
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head like you were being stubborn on purpose. “The last time I skipped prep, you couldn’t stop complaining about how sore you were. Remember that?”
Before you could spit out another retort, he pushed one finger in, slow and deliberate, watching the way your face twister in relief.
He smirked knowingly, “See? Feels better when I take my time.”
Your breath hitched, your nails scratching at his scalp. “Feels… f-feels good either way,” you mumbled, already melting under his touch.
“Mhmm, maybe,” he said, curling his finger inside you before adding a second. His tongue flicked at your clit again, making you squeak.
“But I like it when you fall apart for me,” Ni-ki murmured against you, voice low, warm breath fanning your skin as his fingers began to pump in and out at a steady rhythm.
Your back arched instantly, your hands clutching at the sheets. “F-feels so nice, Iki…” you moaned, the nickname slipping out in a broken whisper.
He smirked up at you—sharp, proud. “There it is again.” His tone was almost mocking, but the way his fingers twisted deeper inside you made it clear he was eating it up.
“You weren’t even trying to hold back that time.”
You shook your head, whining as his thumb flicked your clit in time with his strokes. “N-not my fault—”
“So sensitive,” he teased, dragging his fingers out slowly just to thrust them back harder, making you gasp.
“Love your fingers so much,” you whimpered, squeezing your thighs together around his head.
“I know.” His answer was cocky but the curl of his fingers inside you was devastating, brushing against the exact spot that made your vision blur.
He pushed them deeper, stretching you further as he tilted his wrist. “You love how long they are, huh?”
Your moan cracked, the sound tumbling out shamelessly. He chuckled under his breath, the vibration against your clit making you spasm.
His pace quickened, slick sounds filling the room, his knuckles nudging against you as he drove his fingers in deep.
You tried to close your thighs tighter, overwhelmed, but his free hand pressed firmly against the inside of your thigh, keeping you spread for him.
He only growled low at the resistance, biting at the soft flesh of your thigh just to remind you who was in control.
“You’re already close,” he said knowingly, his lips brushing your skin as his tongue flicked over your clit again, slower now, dragging out your desperation.
“Yes,” you breathed, almost too quiet to hear, your chest rising and falling with sharp gasps. “So close, Iki—”
“I know you are,” he hummed, curling his fingers once, twice, perfectly timed with the way his tongue circled you.
His pace built higher, sharper, the rhythm relentless. “Cum for me, baby.”
That snapped through your body—your hips jolted, thighs trembling as your climax hit hard, spilling out of you in shuddering waves.
Ni-ki didn’t slow, licking you through it, swallowing every sound you made like it was his favorite song.
“Good girl,” he said softly when your body finally sagged against the bed, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
His chin was glistening, fingers still buried inside you as he gave one last curl just to make you twitch. “So messy for me already… and I haven’t even started.”
You whined at the overstimulation, trying to shift your hips away, but Ni-ki caught your thighs with his other hand. His gaze burned as he slowly withdrew his fingers, coated with your slick, and lifted them to your lips.
“Don’t waste it,” he murmured.
You whined at the overstimulation, trying to shift your hips away, but Ni-ki caught your thighs with his other hand, holding you steady.
His gaze burned as he slowly withdrew his fingers, glistening with your slick.He raised them to his lips.
His tongue flicked out first, tasting you with a low hum of satisfaction before he drew his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean one by one.
The sound of it sent heat rushing to your cheeks. His eyes never left yours as he savored it, thumb dragging across his bottom lip as if he couldn’t get enough.
“Sweet,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower, “So sweet… I could live off this.”
The hand on your thigh stroked lazily, his thumb drawing circles as if to soothe.
He straightened slowly, towering over you now, the corner of his mouth lifting in that teasing, dangerous grin of his.
“Too tired, baby?” he whispered, voice rough, as though the words were meant only for your ears.
You shook your head quickly, breathless but desperate. “No,” you panted, tugging gently at his arm as if he might actually leave you there.
“I just need… to breathe. Just a second.”
Something in his expression softened at that—his grin easing into the faintest, fond smile. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another, feather-light.
Soon, he was dotting kisses across your face—your temple, the bridge of your nose, your jaw—each press lingering just a little longer, just enough to make your chest flutter.
“Riki,” you whispered, voice soft but laced with something deeper.
He hummed in response, not stopping his trail of affection, until you looped your arms around his neck and tugged him flush against your bare body.
His chuckle rumbled warmly between you, low and amused. “Yes, baby?”
“Lay down for me.”
That made him pause, his brow raising as his lips quirked. “Are you sure?”
You nodded eagerly, sealing your answer with a few quick kisses of your own, peppering his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, even the tip of his nose.
This time, it was him who froze, smiling as though he was soaking in every ounce of your affection.
“I need to make you feel good too,” you murmured with a small pout, your bottom lip jutting out.
Ni-ki laughed, shaking his head. “Baby, you’re saying that while looking like an angry bunny. That doesn’t make you look very—”
You gasped, cutting him off with wide eyes. “You don’t think I look seductive?”
He smirked at your dramatics, leaning closer. “Depends.”
“Really, Riki?” you pulled him even closer by the neck, pressing your forehead against his. “After making me cum, you’re saying that?”
He chuckled again, his breath warm against your lips. “Baby, I’m just teasing. You know I find you very seductive.”
Your protest melted into a soft sigh when he dipped down to kiss along your collarbone, leaving heat in his wake.
Fingers threaded through the strands of his soft blonde hair that had fallen into his face, brushing them back tenderly.
“Come on,” you whispered, your thumb brushing his temple. “I wanna make you feel good too.”
Ni-ki hummed in approval, pressing one last kiss against your skin before pulling away. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, sitting back carefully against the headboard.
You slid off the sheets, standing for a moment just to catch your breath. His eyes immediately swept over you, lingering on the marks he’d already left. A smirk tugged at his lips.
“Stop acting like you weren’t the cause of these,” you teased, gesturing to the constellation of hickeys scattered across your thighs.
His chuckle was low, unbothered, almost proud. “Can’t help it if you look better with my marks.”
You rolled your eyes at him, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. Fixing yourself with just enough confidence, you moved between his spread legs, kneeling onto the mattress.
Slowly, you lowered yourself even more, cheeks flushing lightly under the heavy stare of your boyfriend—but you didn’t shy away.
Instead, your fingers tapped gently against the front of his gray sweatpants, voice quiet. “Can you… um, remove these, please? Iki?”
He didn’t say a word—just gave a small nod before lifting his hips. In one smooth motion, he shoved the sweats down, discarding them carelessly to the side of the bed, leaving him in nothing but black boxers that clung to his frame.
You stayed settled between his legs, eyes flickering down before they caught on the fresh ink etched into his skin.
You pulled up just enough to press a gentle kiss to his lips, lingering before you pulled away. Not far, though—just enough that your noses still touched, your breath mingling with his.
“Does it still hurt?” you asked softly.
Ni-ki shook his head faintly, gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes. “No… only when I move too much during practice or performances.”
You nodded, eyes warm as you tilted your head and pulled him into another kiss. Your palms pressed to the solid expanse of his bare chest, sliding upward as his arms wound tighter around your waist, pulling you flush to him.
His tongue slid past your lips with ease, swirling against yours in lazy, intoxicating strokes that made your head spin.
A small moan escaped your throat, muffled against his mouth. You pulled away only when breath forced you to, panting softly as you let your lips trail downward—kisses dotting his chin, then the column of his throat.
Ni-ki groaned low as you bit into his neck, the sound rough and unrestrained, his head tilting back automatically to give you more access.
“Fuck, that feels nice,” he mumbled, his voice dropping, thick with pleasure.
Grinning against his skin, you continued your work, tongue soothing over each sharp bite before marking him again, your lips dragging down to his collarbone.
The bloom of bruises followed wherever your mouth traveled, each one deliberate, each one a brand of your own.
You didn’t stop there—your mouth moved down, slow and teasing, pressing open-mouthed kisses across the planes of his chest, down the ridges of his toned stomach, until you reached the waistband of his boxers.
“Baby,” he rasped, voice almost warning, though his fingers inched down toward your hair, threading through it lightly.
You hummed softly, a low sound vibrating in your throat as you let him gather your hair into his hand, careful to keep it from falling into your face.
Your lips trailed lower, peppering kisses and sharp little bites along his v-line. The way his muscles flexed under your mouth made you grin against his skin.
“Baby…” Ni-ki groaned again, but it came out rougher this time, more like a plea than a warning.
You blinked up at him, wide eyes slightly glossy from the intimacy and the lingering buzz of your own pleasure, making his jaw tighten.
He hissed softly through his teeth, visibly restraining himself as he let you do what you wanted, his knuckles whitening where they clutched at your hair.
Your lips found the skin near his new tattoo, the small red marks you left near it earlier now blooming darker.
Each kiss, each bruise you pressed there only seemed to make the ink stand out more—your work contrasting beautifully against the art etched into him.
Ni-ki had to physically stop himself from flipping you onto your back and burying himself in you right then.
His abdomen tensed beneath your kisses, a frustrated groan catching in his throat as you pulled away, fingertips skimming lightly over the sensitive skin around his tattoo instead.
“You love me that much, huh?” you whispered, teasing, your nails tracing his skin delicately.
He smirked down at you, but there was heat simmering in his gaze. “Only if you knew, (Y/N).”
The rare sound of your name falling from his lips made your stomach flip. He almost never said it unless he was serious—or getting impatient.
That alone made you smile, biting your lip before lowering your hand. Your palm pressed against the hard outline in his boxers.
His hips jerked just slightly at the touch, a low groan vibrating in his chest as his hold on your hair tightened—not painfully, but enough to remind you just how close to his breaking point he was.
You licked your lips at the darkened patch of fabric where his precum had seeped through, your mouth practically watering at the sight.
With careful slowness, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. He lifted his hips obligingly, helping you peel them off and discard them carelessly to the side.
Your eyes widened at the sight of him—hard, flushed, the tip red and leaking.
Your hand instinctively wrapped around his base, the heat of him burning against your palm as you gave an experimental squeeze.
“Fuck,” Ni-ki muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on you as if the act of watching you alone was satisfaction enough.
You dipped your head, giving a kitten lick to the bead of precum gathered at the tip.
His head tipped back with a hiss, his adam’s apple bobbing as he groaned, the sound guttural.
Not breaking eye contact, you slowly wrapped your lips around the swollen head, hollowing your cheeks just enough to make him twitch in your grip.
“Good girl,” he praised, voice low and rough, making your thighs squeeze together at the sound.
A muffled moan slipped from you around him, the vibration making him buck his hips lightly into your mouth. His breath hitched, the hand in your hair tightening as his knuckles brushed your scalp.
“Just like that,” Ni-ki groaned, chest rising and falling faster as he tried to control himself, his gaze burning holes into you.
“Fuck, you look so pretty with your mouth on me…”
Your head traveled lower, lips stretching slowly as you took more of him in, careful not to let your teeth graze his sensitive skin.
The weight of him sat heavy on your tongue, making your mouth water as you wrapped your hand around the base, stroking the parts you couldn’t reach.
Your tongue worked messy circles around his shaft, and the salty taste of precum only urged you on.
“Baby…” he breathed, voice strained. His hand tightened in your hair, gathering it into a messy ponytail that kept your face clear so he could watch every second.
The sight alone had his jaw clenching. “You’re doing so good for me. So, so good.”
His praise sent a spark of heat right down your spine. You bobbed your head faster, letting him brush against the back of your throat. The sensation made you moan around him, the vibration traveling up his length.
He chuckled breathlessly, the sound broken. “Don’t force yourself, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
But you only moaned again in response, the sound so needy it pulled another groan from him.
Your hand tightened its grip, pumping him in rhythm with your mouth. He hissed sharply, his hips twitching.
“Fuck—” he cursed under his breath as his other hand drifted down, tapping your cheek lightly in a way that made you shiver. “Look at you. Taking me so well.”
His control faltered when you swirled your tongue around the head again, his hips pressing forward just enough to nudge deeper.
Not enough to choke you, but enough to make your throat ache deliciously. The feeling of him stretching your mouth, filling every bit of it, had you whimpering.
“God, I need to cum in you,” Ni-ki rasped, voice breaking low and rough.
That had you pulling off him with a wet pop, licking your lips to catch the slick that trailed down your chin.
Your eyes flicked up to him, pupils blown wide, and you whispered, “Then do it.”
He didn’t give you a chance to tease him further. His big hands gripped your waist and in one smooth motion flipped you onto your back.
You squeaked out his name, “Riki!”, but it came out more like a whine than a protest.
He only hummed, low and firm. “I know.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks as he hovered over you, the switch in his demeanor dizzying. Just seconds ago he was groaning under your touch, and now he had you caged beneath his body like he hadn’t been falling apart at all.
His forearm pressed into the mattress beside your head as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss so soft it almost didn’t match the urgency radiating off him.
His other hand laced with yours, fingers intertwining as he pressed your arm down beside your head.
With his free hand, he guided himself against your entrance, rubbing teasingly along your folds. The heavy drag of his cock against your clit made you whimper.
“Stop teasing, I need you,” you begged, hips twitching toward him.
He clicked his tongue, amused. “So impatient…”
But he gave in anyway, pressing forward slowly. The stretch burned in the best way, your walls straining to take him.
No matter how many times, he was always too much—too long, too thick, splitting you open inch by inch.
Your breath caught, a whimper escaping before you could swallow it down. He immediately brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing gentle circles to ease the sting, his lips brushing your temple.
“Relax for me, baby,” Ni-ki murmured, voice softer than before. His kisses moved down to your lips, pressing one after another, distracting you from the ache.
“Breathe. I’ve got you.”
By the time he bottomed out, your back arched and a moan spilled from your mouth right into his. He swallowed it eagerly, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.
He stilled, chest rising and falling fast, letting you adjust. His hand slowly untangled from yours, brushing over your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“Tell me when to move, okay?” he murmured, gaze locked on your face.
You nodded, still shaky, trying to breathe through the stretch. The fullness had your body buzzing, your walls fluttering helplessly around him.
He kissed your cheek, then the corner of your lips, whispering, “Take your time, baby.”
A few breaths later, you whispered, “You can move.”
His eyes searched yours, worried even in his desperation. “Are you sure?”
You nodded again, pressing a kiss to his jaw, your voice trembling. “Yes.”
Relief washed over his features as he laced your fingers together again, squeezing gently before pulling his hips back slowly, then pushing back in.
The drag made you whine instantly, your thighs tightening around his waist.
Ni-ki kissed you again, this time rougher, swallowing your moans. His tongue tangled with yours, wet and hot, until you were gasping into his mouth.
When you pulled back just enough to breathe, you whimpered, “F-faster, please…”
He didn’t hesitate. His thrusts picked up pace, sharper, more deliberate. Your hands clutched at his back, nails dragging down his skin as your head tipped back against the pillows.
“Feel so good,” you gasped, voice breaking into moans.
He groaned low in his throat, pressing his forehead against yours. “Like that?”
You could only nod, words lost as he angled his hips just a fraction deeper. The new angle had you squeaking, eyes going wide.
“There it is,” Ni-ki rasped, his pace steady as his cock drove into that spot again and again.
Your eyes rolled back, the world around you blurring. “Oh my god—Riki—”
“That’s it,” he grunted, his grip on your hand tightening.
His other hand slid down to your waist, pinning you in place as he fucked into you harder, faster, hitting that spot over and over until you were crying out with every thrust.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised through ragged breaths, his voice breaking from how tightly you clenched around him.
“Taking me so well. So perfect.”
The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with your broken moans. He reached down suddenly, thumb circling your clit in quick, tight motions.
The added stimulation had you writhing under him, back arching as your thighs trembled.
“‘M close,” you gasped, your body twitching with every roll of his hips.
“Not yet,” he growled softly, rubbing faster, relentless. “Hold it for me, baby. Just a little more.”
You whined, eyes glossing over with tears from the sheer intensity.
He leaned down, kissing them away one by one. “So pretty when you cry for me.”
Your walls clenched around him tighter and tighter until he hissed. “Together, baby. With me.”
You nodded weakly, moaning his name. “Riki, please—”
Both his hands went to your waist, holding you flush against him as his thrusts grew harsher, his groans spilling hot against your neck.
“Cum for me.”
The command tipped you over, your body convulsing as you clenched around him. Your nails raked down his back, scratching red marks as you cried out his name.
He groaned, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, hot and heavy, filling you with thick ropes of cum.
“Fuck—” his voice broke as he buried himself to the hilt, holding you tight through his release.
He pressed kisses down your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin as bruises bloomed in his wake. You panted beneath him, eyes half-lidded, trembling from the aftershocks.
When he finally lifted his head, sweaty bangs falling into his eyes, you reached up weakly, fingers brushing them away.
His gaze softened, lips curving into the faintest smile before he kissed you—deep, consuming, like he wanted to melt into you completely.
He kept fucking you through the tail end of your highs, slow now, drawing out every last shiver until you whimpered from sensitivity.
Only then did he pull out with a hiss, his cock glistening, the sight alone making your cheeks burn.
Carefully, he lowered himself over you, chest pressing against yours, his weight comforting as he buried his face in your neck. His arms wrapped around you, keeping you caged under him as if letting go wasn’t an option.
When he finally looked up at you, his eyes were soft—so different from the intense, heavy gaze he’d given you earlier. They were glossy now, gentle, almost boyish.
“I love you so much,” he whispered, voice low but steady.
You smiled, heart swelling, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you, Riki. More than you know.”
His lips curved into a tender smile as he pressed a quick peck where your kiss had landed. “How did I get so lucky?”
You scrunched your nose at him playfully. “Well… considering you pulled my hair during elementary school just to say you liked me…”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, shaking his head. “Mhmm. Wouldn’t have you right here now if I didn’t, huh?”
You laughed softly, letting him slowly guide you up until you were sitting. He slipped off the bed, then leaned back down, his large hand reaching for yours.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said gently.
Before you could protest, he scooped you up into his arms with ease, carrying you toward the bathroom.
The door slid open with a soft sound, and he set you carefully on the edge of the tub before moving to turn the heater on.
The steady rush of water filled the space as he reached for bath oils and a handful of bath bombs, the lavender scent quickly filling the room until your shoulders slumped in relief.
He dipped his hand into the water to test it, then looked back at you with a teasing little smile. “Come on, baby. I know you love your water scalding.”
You huffed, patting his chest lightly. “And you say it like I’m dramatic.”
His chuckle was soft as he helped you step in. The warmth of the water licked at your skin, relaxing your sore muscles instantly.
You sank in with a content sigh as he slid in behind you, his long arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back against his chest.
“Now this,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you leaned your head on his shoulder. “This is nice.”
Ni-ki hummed, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you. I really do.”
You tilted your face up to press a kiss against his jaw, smiling faintly. “How many times are you going to say ‘I love you’ tonight?”
He grinned, leaning down so his lips brushed your temple. “Not just tonight. I’d say it every day—even if one day you ended up hating me.”
Your eyes snapped open as you grimaced, turning in his arms to frown at him. “Riki, you know that would never happen.”
He only shrugged, reaching over to grab the shampoo bottle from the little shelf. “Just making sure.”
You only shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you leaned further into him, cheek brushing against his damp chest.
The soft quiet wrapped around you both, broken only by the faint drip of water against porcelain and the gentle rustle of his fingers twisting through your hair.
Everybody’s spirits were high—it was only a few hours before the first night of the show.
The boys, fresh from their showers at the hotel, were now gathered comfortably in the backstage dressing rooms.
The air was thick with the faint scent of hairspray, hair products, and the lingering trail of expensive perfume spritzed by staff.
Chatter and laughter filled the space, the kind of buzzing energy that always came before a performance.
You, however, were standing directly behind Ni-ki, flushed to your ears as you stared at the sheer amount of bruises along his neck and collarbone, clear as day under the harsh vanity lights.
They stood out even more against the plain white button-up shirt the stylists had given them to wear for the meantime.
Ni-ki clearly wasn’t ashamed—he grinned like a cat, leaning back in the chair with his long legs stretched out casually. He caught your wide-eyed stare through the mirror and raised his brows smugly.
“Looks nice,” he mused, running a hand through his freshly dried blonde hair, his smirk deepening. “Should I… point to them when I sing my part in XO?”
“Riki!” you swatted at his shoulder in mortification, earning a bark of laughter from him.
From a few seats away, Sunoo—currently getting his hair styled—caught the commotion. His sharp eyes flickered to Ni-ki’s exposed neck, his lips twitching before he spoke up.
“Nice job, (Y/N),” Sunoo teased, a knowing smile tugging on his lips. “At least we know the makeup artists are doing their job later.”
The room erupted in small snickers, and the two women standing beside you—the makeup artist and hairstylist assigned to Ni-ki—exchanged amused glances.
The makeup artist shook her head with a grin, reaching for her concealer.
“That’s true,” she chimed in, her tone dripping with playful mischief.
The hairstylist nodded eagerly in agreement, her voice sly as she leaned closer, nudging your arm with her elbow. “It’s always the innocent-looking girlfriends…”
Heat flooded your face instantly. You buried your face in your hands, muffling a groan. “Please, stop…” you muttered, voice small.
Ni-ki’s laugh rumbled out, boyish and teasing, as the stylist next tohim snorted under her breath.
“Ah, come on, don’t hide,” he teased, reaching behind him to pry your hands away from your face. He caught them easily, his long fingers wrapping around your wrists as he held your palms gently against his.
His eyes met yours through the mirror, playful but firm. “Come on, be proud of it. You’re an artist—like your boyfriend.”
Your ears burned hotter at his words.
The stylist chuckled, shaking her head as she dabbed primer along Ni-ki’s jawline. “He’s right, you know. Young love—it’s really sweet to watch.”
Ni-ki squeezed your hand, grinning wide. “See? Even she agrees with me.”
You groaned again, face warming more, making both Ni-ki and the stylist laugh together. The sound was light, easy, filling the room like sunlight.
Just then, a voice called from the doorframe. “(Y/N).”
You glanced back, spotting Yuki leaning against the door with a clipboard tucked under his arm. He arched a brow. “Can I steal you for a minute?”
You looked down at Ni-ki, who gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go. His grin softened into something gentler as he murmured, “Go, baby.”
The stylist hummed, not missing a beat as she brushed along Ni-ki’s cheekbones. “Ah, young love,” she repeated, voice fond.
You laughed, nudging her lightly. “Come on, you’re only twenty-seven.”
She huffed, though her lips twitched. “My husband finds joy in annoying me every day, so watching you two makes me soft, alright? Don’t ruin this for me.”
Ni-ki leaned back, smirking, catching your reflection in the mirror. “I mean, I find joy in annoying (Y/N) too. So maybe it’s fate.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically, but before you could retort, you noticed the camera crew had slid in beside you, catching the whole interaction.
With a sigh, you turned toward the lens, eyes narrowing as you pointed accusingly at Ni-ki. “Engenes, are you seeing this? Do you see how Nishimura Riki treats his girlfriend?”
Ni-ki barked out a laugh, tilting his head toward the camera. “Engenes in relationships, back me up, yeah?”
The stylist, trying her best to keep her brush steady, muttered, “Stop moving, Ni-ki—” only for you to lean down suddenly, pressing a bright, glossy kiss to his cheek.
The smudge of red lipstick stood out against his skin, and Ni-ki erupted into louder, boyish laughter, smacking his thigh in amusement.
The stylist sighed, tossing you a half-hearted glare as she reached for a makeup wipe. “(Y/N)… what am I going to do with you?”
You blinked innocently, batting your lashes. “Be glad you think we’re cute?”
She huffed again, though you caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
Meanwhile, Ni-ki sat up straighter in his chair, sweeping his bangs aside with a flourish as if he were showing off a medal.
He pointed proudly at the lipstick mark. “(Y/N) has an attachment to our Romance: Untold album, as you can see.”
You couldn’t help but grin, leaning down to press a softer kiss to the crown of his head. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
He tilted his head back against the chair, gazing up at you with an easy smile. “Mhmm. Go, Yuki needs you.”
You gave his cheek a light pat. “Stop moving, you big baby.”
Ni-ki only shook his head, laughing as he looked back at himself in the mirror.
Leaving him behind, you crossed the room to Yuki, who was waiting with his clipboard. “Took you long enough, kid,” he muttered, handing it over.
You grinned. “Really, old man?”
He rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Yeah, yeah. We need you by the tech booth—the staff wants your opinion on the stage lighting later.”
He paused, giving you a look. “Also… because you speak English better than me.”
You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “There it is.”
“Come on, time’s ticking.” He turned, walking ahead.
Before following, you glanced back toward the dressing room. Through the vanity mirror, you caught Ni-ki already watching you, his eyes soft and unguarded as he mouthed, ‘I love you.’
Your chest tightened, warmth blooming all over. You mouthed back, ‘I love you too.’
Ni-ki raised a closed fist, like he was sending you luck from across the room. You nodded, lips curving into a smile before finally turning to follow Yuki out.
As you trailed behind him, clipboard clutched against your chest, you couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that slipped past your lips.
You shook your head at yourself, muttering under your breath, “I really need to thank that fan who managed to see his tattoo…”
Yuki glanced sideways, brow arched. “What was that?”
You blinked, caught, and quickly waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing, nothing. Just… a thought.”
He hummed, clearly unconvinced but too busy skimming through the papers in his hand to pry.
Still, your thoughts lingered on Ni-ki—the way he’d smiled at you through the mirror, the lipstick mark still smeared proudly on his cheek, the way his fist had lifted in silent encouragement.
It tugged at something warm inside you, a feeling that refused to fade no matter how far down the hallway you went.
Because if it weren’t for that fan’s sharp eyes catching the ink on his skin, maybe you wouldn’t be here now, walking away from him only to feel his love following you like a shadow—loud, boyish, and impossibly bright.
Pairing: Obsessed serial killer!riki x Detective!fem!reader
Synopsis: You, a detective who has always solved her cases with ease — until he appeared. A string of murders, all more twisted and challenging than the last, draws you deeper into a deadly game crafted just for you. As the lines blur between hunter and hunted, you realizes you're not just chasing a killer — you're the prize he’s been chasing all along. In a city full of noise, he made sure only you heard him.
Warnings: Killing, blood, knives, jealousy, obsession, kidnapping, violence, mentions of murder, dark themes, etc (let me know if i missed any!)
Word Count: 5,453
| Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |
Some sins are never confessed, only carefully hidden behind love’s quiet smile.
Jun-ha was walking down the street, returning from the CVS after having his dessert there.
It was late—2 AM, to be exact.
He moved through a narrow path, surrounded by darkness and flickering streetlights.
He wasn’t scared. I mean, why would he be? It was just another one of those late-night walks. He felt calm. He found peace in the silence—thinking about the case, the work he had to hand over to the juniors, and... you.
Along with the usual sounds, the wind and rustling trees, he heard something else.
Footsteps. Slow. Unguarded.
He quickly dismissed the thought. He wasn’t the only one who’d be craving something at 2 AM.
He walked faster, pulling his coat tighter as the air grew colder.
But oddly, whoever was behind him sped up too.
His brows furrowed. This wasn’t right.
He slowed down. So did the footsteps.
He sped up. The footsteps did too.
No matter what he did—
They followed.
Without a second thought, he ran-no he sprinted.
Didnt look back, didn't scream just made a go for it.
After what felt like forever, he finally stopped—bent forward, hands on his knees, gasping for air.
He looked behind him.
No one.
Just the stillness of the night.
Relief.
Just for a second.
“Oi, Senior!”
His head snapped toward the voice.
There he was.
Nishimura Riki.
Smiling. With a baseball bat in his hand which he twirled.
his smile thought wasn't the sweet kind.
The sinister kind—
The kind that made your gut twist.
Jun-ha’s eyes widened. “W-Wh—”
But his voice caught in his throat.
“Missed me, Jun-ha?” Riki said, stepping closer.
Jun-ha stumbled back, his mind reeling.
Wasn’t he in jail?
How is he here?
Why hasn’t this been reported?
What’s he going to do now?
“Wondering how I got out of prison?” Riki tilted his head, smile not leaving his face.
Jun-ha stayed silent, frozen.
Riki chuckled. “You think I’m that weak? Sure, I wasn’t planning on getting caught so soon but that doesn’t mean I didn’t plan anything.”
Jun-ha’s voice trembled, “What… what are you saying?”
“Relax, Jun. We’ve got all night. You really think I slipped through the cracks all these years just because I’m clever?”
The smile dropped.
“I have my ways Jun-ha. I could’ve walked out that day. But I didn’t. I sat in that room, cuffed, waiting... for her- my Y/N. I wanted to talk to my y/n. so, I did what I had to, I played dumb and made sure that she thought about me. I didn't want to put too much pressure on her- God no. So I played along"
He paused for a second and scoffed, "Pathetic people, got scared and threatened by my men and released me like they always do, like they should do."
Jun-ha questions, "S-so you got released today?"
Riki threw his head back and laughed, like Jun-ha had just told the world’s best joke.
“No, silly. I got released the same day I was taken into custody.”
Riki took small, deliberate steps towards Jun-ha, the baseball bat still twirling lazily in his hand.
“You know, Jun-ha…”
He tilted his head again.
“I’ve been watching. Watching every moment. You were always hovering around her, weren’t you?”
Jun-ha tensed, saying nothing.
“She looked so vulnerable that night, didn’t she?”
Riki’s voice was soft now, mockingly sympathetic.
“All teary-eyed, trembling… And you—always the good guy—sat beside her, offered your embrace, told her she wasn’t alone.”
Jun-ha was shaking his head scared.
Riki’s jaw clenched, his voice twisting with something darker.
“She was alone. That pain, that fear, that vulnerability…
it was mine to see.
Mine to hold.
Mine to fix.”
He took a step closer.
“And you— you took that moment from me.”
Jun-ha tried to step back again, but hit a wall—figuratively and literally.
“And what was that again?”
Riki looked up as if he was pondering.
“She has you?”
He looked at Jun-ha again gave a cruel smile.
“Now she won’t.”
Before Jun-ha could process what his words meant, the bat stopped spinning.
Riki gripped it tight—
And swung.
The sharp crack echoed through the narrow path, louder than the wind, louder than the flickering lights.
Jun-ha fell to the ground.
No scream.
No second chance.
Just silence.
Riki stood over him, chest heaving ever so slightly, eyes cold and blank.
He crouched beside the motionless body, pushing Jun-ha's face with the tip of the bat.
“She was always meant to be mine. And I don’t like people getting close or touching what’s mine.’”
And with that, he stood up blending back into the shadows like he was never there at all.
It had been few months since Jun-ha's death.
The pain hadn’t left. It simply grew heavier, quieter- like a heavy rock in your chest that wouldn’t budge.
Rain whispered against the windows again tonight. You stood at the stove, stirring soup with mechanical movements, your mind drifting in and out.
The kitchen light flickered once from the storm outside. You barely noticed.
Sometimes you swore you could hear footsteps, you swore someone was watching.
But every time you looked, nothing was there.
Just you. Just the house. Just the silence that Jun-ha used to fill.
You’re being paranoid, you told yourself, over and over, but it didn’t help.
The feeling stayed.
You turned off the stove with a sigh and rubbed your eyes. Maybe you needed rest. Maybe you needed—
A knock at the door.
A knock at the door.
Soft. Gentle. Two taps.
You froze.
No one should be here.
Your heart thudded as you wiped your hands on a towel, forcing your feet to move. Step by step.
When you reached the door, you hesitated. Every instinct screamed at you to leave it closed. To walk away.
But you opened it anyway.
And there he was.
Standing in the rain like he had all the time in the world.
Ni-ki.
His hair was damp, dark strands clinging to his forehead. His clothes were soaked, but he looked completely unaffected. His gaze softened the moment it found yours — so gentle, so heartbreakingly familiar, like you were something he’d been waiting for his whole life.
"Y/N," he murmured, voice barely louder than the rain.
"I missed you."
You stumbled back a step instinctively, confusion flashing through you, but Riki only smiled — a real smile. Soft. Loving.
"I’m sorry I took so long," he whispered. "But I’m here now. You don’t have to be alone anymore."
"How—how are you here?" you managed to breathe out, throat tight.
You should’ve been scared.
You were scared.
But a strange warmth curled through the fear, clouding it.
He stepped inside before you could close the door. The rain clung to him, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes never left yours.
"You looked so tired," he said, voice velvet smooth.
"I couldn't stay away anymore. I needed to bring you home."
You backed away, but he followed you slowly — not rushing, not threatening. Like a man approaching something fragile, something precious.
"I don't—Riki, you can’t—"
Your words faltered when he cupped your cheek so gently you almost didn't feel it.
"You've been strong for too long," he said.
"Let me be strong for you now."
The scent of rain and something sweet, almost floral, filled your nose before you noticed the cloth he pressed softly against your mouth.
You gasped, tried to pull away, but his arms wrapped around you — tender, steady — holding you like you were something precious about to break.
"Shhh," he whispered against your hair. "It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ll take care of everything."
The world tilted around you, the soft sweetness turning dizzying.
Your knees gave out, and he caught you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.
Through the haze, you heard him one last time — a soft promise, whispered into your ear like a lover’s vow.
"I’ll love you better than anyone ever could."
And then the darkness swallowed you whole.
Your eyelids felt heavy, like they were glued shut. The soft, cold press of something silky brushed against your skin as you stirred.
Where were you?
You blinked slowly, your vision blurry. The room was dimly lit—moonlight filtering through sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across unfamiliar walls. The air was still. Too still.
Then you sat up—and it hit you.
This wasn’t your room.
This wasn’t any place you recognized.
And you weren’t alone.
“Easy, love.”
That voice.
Your body stiffened as your head snapped toward it. He was there—sitting on the edge of the bed casually with his hands to his side on the mattress as if this was just another normal night.
Ni-ki.
He smiled at you. Not with malice. Not even excitement. Just… calm.
“I was waiting for you to wake up.” he said, his tone light.
You clutched the blanket tighter, heart pounding.
“Where—what the hell—” you choked on your words, realization settling in like a stone in your chest.
“You were tired,” Riki said simply. “You’ve been through a lot. Crying over Jun-ha, skipping meals, looking all pale… didn’t like seeing you like that.”
He stood slowly, walking toward you—but not too close. He crouched a few feet away, tilting his head.
“You always looked tired around him. Always pretending to be strong. But now,” he said, voice softening again, “you can just… be. I’ll take care of you.”
Your breath hitched as your eyes darted to the door—locked. Of course.
“I’m not staying here,” you whispered.
His smile returned.
“You already are.”
Just hours after your disappearance, a formal leave of absence form was submitted under your name.
It was clean, believable. It stated that you needed time off following Jun-ha’s death and wanted space away from work to process everything. Your signature looked authentic. The wording even sounded like yours. There was no reason to doubt it.
The higher-ups accepted it immediately.
Detectives and officers who worked with you were informed you were on a short mental health break, and out of respect, no one pushed for more details.
People grieved differently. And after losing someone you clearly cared about, no one questioned your silence.
But what they didn’t know was that you never signed that form.
It was Riki’s doing. His connections inside the system ran deeper than most would imagine. A forged signature, a quiet bribe, a veiled threat—it was all it took to make the department believe you had simply stepped away for a while.
It’s been a few days since that. You were locked in the huge room with all the things you need- a comfy large bed, expensive silk sheets, a closet, bathroom, a huge TV to keep yourself entertained and a glass window which you can’t open.
Though with all these things there was something missing.
Freedom.
You were locked up. Caged. Even if it was in a luxirous room or house.
And Riki... well you want to hate him, you really do.
But you can’t help but not hate him when all he does is be a gentlemen towards you.
Bringing you breakfast, letting you out from you room and roam around the house when he’s at home, cooking all three meals for you, buying you clothes, snacks and informing you when he’s headed to work.
And soon you find yourself adjusting to this weird lifestyle.
The smell of warm pancakes and chocolate syrup wakes you up in the morning.
The warm scent of pancakes drifted through the room before your eyes even fluttered open.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” a soft voice murmured.
You squinted into the morning light as you sit up your back against the huge headboard.
And there you see Riki, wearing a black shirt with grey sweatpants and an apron with a cartoon duck printed on it which you hate to admit but looked exactly like him.
Along with a small tray in his hands.
“Breakfast’s ready,” he said, setting the tray gently on your lap. “As always, nothing’s poisoned. Just pancakes, strawberries, and syrup... the smiley face was optional.”
You looked down. He had shaped the food into a smiley — two strawberries for eyes, syrup curved into a grin. Your lips twitched despite yourself.
“You didn’t have to,” you murmured.
“I wanted to,” Riki said, pulling a chair next to your bed. “You’ve had it rough lately. Let me do this for you.”
You picked up the fork, still unsure of how to react. “You’re acting like we’re—”
“Married?” he finished, raising a brow. “Well... not yet.”
“Riki.”
He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Eat up, pretty. You deserve mornings like this every day.”
And for a moment, the strange comfort of the warm food and his soft tone made you forget the cage you were in.
The living room was dark except for the flicker of the screen and the soft glow of fairy lights Riki had strung up. You sat on one end of the couch, blanket wrapped tightly around you.
This has become a routine now, every Wednesday you and Riki meet in the living room to watch a movie, each of you taking turn to pick which movie you guys should watch that day.
Riki, as he liked to call it “The WedMed night” As he says, wed means the day we were watching the movie and how watching movie is like a medicine- it just makes everything better, hence the Med.
Riki walked in with a bowl of popcorn, plopping beside you — close, but not touching.
“What’re we watching?” you asked, trying not to sound nervous.
“You get to pick today,” he said, handing you the remote. “But if you choose horror, don’t blame me when you scream and grab onto me.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m not that weak.”
Halfway through the rom-com you settled on, you laughed — genuinely — for the first time in days. Riki looked over at you with an unreadable expression.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “That laugh. I missed it.”
You turned toward him. “You’ve only known me for—”
“I’ve watched you for a long time,” he said, cutting in quickly and gently. “Long enough to know every sound you make. Your real laugh... it’s rare.”
You looked away, suddenly self-conscious.
He handed you the popcorn bowl. “Don’t worry. I won’t ruin the mood. Just... I like seeing you like this.”
And you watched the rest of the movie in silence, his arm eventually finding its way behind you, not forcing — just resting.
The sun was setting, casting a warm gold over the carefully trimmed hedges. You walked slowly along the garden path, the scent of jasmine in the air.
You were out- out of your room, the house.
But only with Riki’s company.
That’s what he does.
Whenever you felt too suffocated and too locked up that you tell him you need fresh air, he lets you- lets you go out but only under his surveillance.
Riki was beside you, his steps relaxed. Behind you, two silent men in black suits kept a distance — always watching.
“This is... nice,” you said softly, glancing at the flowers.
“You said you needed fresh air,” Riki replied. “And I feel like you need it too, being locked in isn’t good for someone like you.”
“Then why lock me in?”
He sighed. “Because I have to. Not because I want to.”
You stopped walking. “That doesn’t make it better.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I’m trying to make it bearable. For now.”
You stood in silence, the sound of the silence growing louder in the background. Riki picked a small white flower and held it out to you.
“Reminds me of you.”
You took it slowly, twisting the flower gently with it’s tender stem. “Because it’s stuck where it can’t escape?”
He chuckled. “No. Because it’s the only thing in this garden I don’t want anyone else to touch.”
You looked at him then, and for the first time, saw a crack of something real beneath the obsession.
You stirred awake, coughing faintly. Your throat felt dry, your body heavy.
You were sick that day and Riki made sure to stay by your side the whole day even choosing to not go for work.
The last thing you remember was him telling you something random to make you sleep.
The room was dim, and before you could sit up, a cold hand gently pressed your shoulder back down.
“Shhh,” Riki whispered, crouched beside your bed. “It’s okay. Do you want water?”
You blinked at him. His hair was messy, face pale with worry. A damp cloth was in his hand.
“You... stayed?” You asked ignoring his question.
“I didn’t leave your side,” he murmured. “I even tried making porridge, but I think I ruined it.”
You weakly smiled. “You still don’t know how to cook properly?”
“I know how to care,” he replied, dabbing your forehead. “I’m learning the rest.”
You watched him quietly as he moved to grab the medicine from the bedside. “Why are you doing all this?”
His eyes locked onto yours, calm but burning with something deeper. “Because I need you to be okay. Because I ruined everything else in my life... except you. And I won’t let this go wrong.”
You were too tired to respond. He helped you drink the medicine, then tucked the blanket around you.
“I’ll stay here tonight,” he whispered. “Just sleep.”
And as he sat there, watching over you, you weren’t sure what frightened you more — being in his care, or growing used to it.
It was a random Tuesday, you were sitting on the ground in the balcony wrapped in a cardigan, legs tucked under you, staring at the city skyline beyond the high walls that surrounded the estate.
Riki walked over, two mugs in hand. “Your tea,” he said softly.
You took it without looking at him. “Thanks.”
He sat behind you, silent for a moment before asking, “Can I?”
You turned. “Can you what?”
He lifted a comb and a hair tie. “Your hair’s messy.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Since when do you braid?”
“Since YouTube tutorials happened,” he said with a light smile. “Come on. Trust me.”
You hesitated — but eventually nodded.
He moved behind you, fingers surprisingly gentle as he brushed through the tangles.
“No one's done this for me since I was a kid,” you admitted.
“I know,” he murmured.
“How?” you asked, tense.
“I just... observed. You carry everything on your own.”
The braid was neat by the time he finished. He tied the end carefully, fingers brushing your neck just once.
“There. Princess braids,” he said with a small grin.
You didn’t respond — but your shoulders weren’t as stiff as they used to be anymore.
It was late afternoon when Riki dragged you into the kitchen.
“You're helping me this time,” he said, handing you an apron.
“I thought you liked spoiling me.”
"I do," he said, tying the strings at your back. “But now I wanna do things with you.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this clingy?”
“Only for you.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled faintly. He handed you chopped vegetables, and you both moved around the kitchen with a strange rhythm — bumping elbows, arguing about seasoning, laughing when he accidentally set off the smoke alarm.
You tasted the final dish — creamy pasta with mushrooms and garlic.
"It's... not bad." you said.
Riki grinned. “That’s high praise coming from you.”
You shook your head. “You’re weird.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “But you stayed.”
This particular day, you were moving around your bed unable to sleep. So, you were walking around the room and reached door — and froze.
The door was open. Not just unlocked, but wide open. For the first time.
You stepped outside looking around. You saw Riki, who was sitting in the hall.
“You forgot to lock it,” you said cautiously.
“No,” he replied. “I didn’t forget.”
You frowned. “Then why—”
“Because I want you to know... I’m not keeping you here anymore.”
Your heartbeat raced. “You’re letting me go?”
“No,” he said quickly.
“Not that. You can walk around. Sleep with the door open. Come and go from this house’s rooms as you please.”
Your lips parted. “You trust me?”
“I want you to trust me.”
You stared at him, stunned. There was no threat in his tone. No cold calculation.
Just quiet vulnerability.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, and turned to walk away.
That night, the door stayed open.
You didn’t run.
You were sick again, probably cause you were out in the open garden dancing while it was raining and when Riki was out for work.
But you wouldn’t tell him that or he’ll scold you again and makes sure you won't be out when it’s raining.
You didn’t even tell him. But the next morning, there was soup on your nightstand.
Hot. Perfectly salted. Just how you liked it.
“Is this chicken stock?” you murmured, taking another spoonful.
“Used the one you keep staring at in the pantry but never touch,” Riki said, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, trying not to smile.
You looked at him. “You cooked this?”
“Of course I did,” he replied, almost offended. “Who else here is qualified to take care of you?”
You didn’t answer. But your chest tightened just a little.
One evening, you tripped on a step by the hallway. A stupid mistake, but you scraped your knee bad.
You tried to laugh it off. “Guess I still don’t know my way around.”
But Riki didn’t laugh. He crouched down, carefully wiping the blood away with trembling hands.
“You okay?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” you replied. “Just a scratch.”
He didn’t let go of your leg. Just looked up at you.
“I don’t want you hurt. Even if it’s your fault.”
For the first time, the protectiveness didn’t feel suffocating. It felt warm.
And just like that the days went on, him always helping and staying by you.
You stopped worrying if he would harm you or if he would take advantage of the situation- he never did, he never would.
You stood at the threshold of the house one afternoon, ready to go out alone.
No guards. No locks. No conditions.
“You're really letting me go alone?”
Riki stood behind you, arms crossed.
“I trust you,” he said simply.
You looked at him, searching for the manipulation in his tone. But there was none.
Just quiet trust.
You stepped forward.
You reached out slowly, one of your hand holding his hand and the other cupping his cheek. “I’ll be back,” you said softly.
Riki smiled and kissed your palm which cupped his cheek, eyes dark but honest. “I know.”
It has been a month and a half. Sure, you loved getting taken care by him, loved the way he treated you, loved his cooking but somewhere along this- you couldn’t help but feel dependent.
You weren’t like this, you were independent- you always have been.
But lately with him doing everything without you asking or lifting a finger you felt different.
So with your mind made up, you went out of your room searching for him.
He was outside that morning.
He was trimming one of the garden plants — poorly, with one hand, the other in his pocket — completely unaware he was butchering the poor thing.
You stepped out quietly, hair still damp from your shower, the hem of your cardigan brushing your knees. He didn’t look up.
“Riki,” you said softly.
He didn’t answer.
You took a few steps forward and crouched down beside him. “That plant didn’t do anything to you.”
He smirked a little. “It’s ugly.”
You stared at him.
He finally glanced sideways. “What?”
You took a breath. “I want to go back to work.”
The smirk vanished.
Silence fell so heavy, even the birds quieted. He set the scissors down slowly.
“No.”
“Riki—”
“I said no.”
You sighed, sitting down properly in the grass, facing him. “I’m not asking to leave you. I’m not running away. I just… miss doing what I love.”
He didn’t meet your eyes.
“I became a detective because it made me feel useful,” you said gently. “Because I wanted to protect people. Because I liked the rush. The solving. The justice.”
“You have justice here,” he muttered.
You tilted your head. “Do I?”
That made him glance at you again. His jaw was tight.
“Riki,” you continued, voice calm, “I’m not scared of you anymore.”
That made his eyes flicker.
“I trust you. I’ve gotten to know you—not just the side the world warned me about. But the Riki who brings me tea without asking, who watches bad romcoms because I like them, who played piano for me even though he pretends he didn’t want to.”
He stayed quiet.
“I’ll come home every night. I won’t tell anyone anything I’m not supposed to. But I can’t just sit in this house and forget who I am.”
He ran his hand through his hair, “Y/N, I’ve killed people.”
“I know.”
“I’ve done awful things.”
“I know.”
“And you still… want to be around me?”
You looked him in the eye. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
His throat worked hard as he swallowed.
You reached for his hand. “Let me have this piece of me back, Riki. You took a lot from me… but maybe now’s the time to give something too.”
There was a long pause. He turned his face toward the sun, jaw clenched and then looked back at you.
Finally, he nodded — once.
“Fine,” he said. “But you check in with me. You don’t go anywhere dangerous without letting me know. And if something feels off, you leave. Understood?”
You grinned, nodding quickly.
“Yes, sir.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”
You quickly stood, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tip toed and pecked his cheek.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t say anything. But his fingers curled around yours, tightly — like he was letting go and holding on at the same time.
It was raining heavily.
You were standing across the room — eyes red, hands shaking, a file clutched to your chest. It was Jun-ha’s file. The real one. The one with the truth.
Your voice cracked when you asked, “You killed him, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
You took a step back.
“Tell me I’m wrong, Riki. Tell me it wasn’t you.”
He opened his mouth — but no words came out. The silence was louder than a confession.
You let out a soft, choked sound. Like your heart breaking.
It definitely broke his.
Your knees gave out. You stumbled back into the wall like the truth had hit you harder than gravity ever could.
He stepped toward you.
You flinched. “Don’t.”
“Y/N—” His voice was hoarse. “Please, I can explain.”
“Explain how you killed him?” You yelled, tears falling down your cheek.
You shoved the file into his arms. “You killed him. You murdered Jun-ha — for what? Because he cared about me? Because he was there for me when you weren’t?”
“No—no, I did it because—” he stepped closer.
"Because you are sick" You didn’t scream. You whispered it.
And somehow, that made it worse.
“I don’t know who you are anymore. I dont think I ever did."
And you turned away.
He reached out to grab your wrist, desperate—
But you slipped through his fingers like smoke.
He shouted your name.
You didn’t stop.
You never looked back.
He ran after you, begging, pleading, but the hallway never ended. The walls stretched. Your silhouette grew smaller. And then—
Silence.
Riki gasped awake with a strangled cry. It was a dream.
His chest heaved. Sweat clung to his skin. His hand clutched the sheets — empty. Cold.
Tears gathered in his lashes as he sat up, disoriented, heart cracking open.
“Y/N…?”
He stumbled out of bed, the panic in his throat choking him. Every door he passed — a blur. Every shadow — her silhouette leaving.
Until—
He heard a soft clink. The fridge closing.
He turned the corner, and there you were. Alive. Real. Standing in the kitchen in one of his shirts, drinking water, humming faintly.
You blinked when you saw him. “Riki? What’s wrong?”
He didn’t speak. Just ran up to you like you’d disappear if he blinked.
“Did you have a bad dream?” you asked, voice soft, confused by his pale face.
He nodded. “Yeah. The worst one.”
You tilted your head. “Come here.”
He quickly stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You hugged him back without question.
“You’re okay,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”
He moves and looks down at you as you lean in and kiss him.
He held you tighter as he kisses you back.
In his mind, the dream replayed in flickers — your broken voice, your retreating footsteps, the way you looked at him like he was a monster.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
He couldn’t.
Later that night, after you fell asleep beside him again, curled up under his arm, breathing steady — Riki stayed awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
One arm around you, one hand clutching the edge of the blanket.
He whispered into the dark, so quiet only the night could hear:
“You can never know.”
He turned to look at you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.
“I’ll burn every file. Erase every trace. I’ll do anything. Anything… just don’t leave.”
His eyes stayed open until morning.
And by then, the decision was made.
Whatever it took, your world would never touch Jun-ha’s truth again.
Not if it meant losing you.
It has been 5 months since you got transferred, new city, new house, new neighborhood, new work place, new coworkers, new cases yet still the love and care that Riki had over you stayed.
The office buzzed quietly under warm morning light.
Stacks of case files were arranged neatly on your desk, coffee in hand, a soft smile tugging at your lips.
You had your job back.
No more questioning. No more begging.
After everything — the fear, the confusion, the grief — you were finally back in your element. Solving cases. Leading investigations. Bringing justice to people who needed it.
But this time, you weren’t alone.
Riki waited in the car outside.
He leaned back in the driver’s seat, sunglasses on, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he watched you through the glass lobby.
To the world, he was your charming, protective boyfriend — a little intense maybe, a little quiet — but harmless.
They didn’t know what he truly was.
They didn’t know what he’d done for you.
What he would still do.
Later That Night
You kicked off your heels at the door, tossing your blazer onto the couch. “God, I missed doing this.”
Riki looked up from where he was cooking dinner — steak, perfectly seared, just how you liked it. “Another solved case?”
“Mmhmm.” You walked over and stole a bite off the cutting board. “You’re getting good at this.”
“At cooking?” he smirked. “Or being yours?”
You grinned and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Both.”
He kissed your forehead gently. You leaned into it without hesitation.
You trusted him completely now. It had been months since you’d moved in together. And not once had he given you a reason to doubt him.
You still didn’t know what happened to Jun-ha.
And you never would.
Because the moment someone started snooping into the cold case again — the old chief, one of Jun-ha’s friends, even a nosy journalist —
They vanished.
Quietly. Silently.
Some were found dead. Some were never found at all.
But no connection ever led back to Riki.
Not one trace.
And certainly, never to you.
You were protected. Sheltered. Loved.
And in your own way, you’d begun to love the peace.
One lazy Sunday morning, you sat curled up on the couch with your laptop, typing up a new case report.
Riki brought you tea and kissed your temple. “Don’t overwork.”
“I’m almost done,” you murmured, smiling at him.
He sat beside you, watching you type with his chin on your shoulder.
You didn’t know that just last week, he’d followed someone who had started questioning Jun-ha’s disappearance. You didn’t know how quickly he’d handled it.
You didn’t need to.
Your world stayed perfect.
Because Riki made sure it was.
He bent down and kissed your hand as your fingers stilled over the keys. “I love you,” he said.
You smiled, unaware of the storm he continued to fight behind the scenes.
“I love you too.”
And you meant it.
Even if you’d never truly know how far he went… just to hear those words.....
A/n: Soooooooo yea, it was a ride! sorry for delaying but i procrastinates soooooo much i almost hit writer's block! but dw! now tht im completed with this, i can start working on other works! Requests are open so feel free! This series will hold a very special place in my heart! Thank you for showing so much love y'all!
