D2IOSE FARMS.. ORANGES ?
boosts immunity
promotes skin health
hydration
CHECK OUT... nrk smau & yjw series
d2iose do not copy or translate my works on other platforms
Xuebing Du
AnasAbdin
Monterey Bay Aquarium
I'd rather be in outer space đž

titsay
No title available

oozey mess

tannertan36
macklin celebrini has autism
Peter Solarz
Cosimo Galluzzi
dirt enthusiast

Love Begins
Stranger Things

Discoholic đȘ©
$LAYYYTER
Mike Driver
Keni
KIROKAZE
todays bird

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Philippines

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from T1
seen from Singapore
seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
@d2iose
D2IOSE FARMS.. ORANGES ?
boosts immunity
promotes skin health
hydration
CHECK OUT... nrk smau & yjw series
d2iose do not copy or translate my works on other platforms
i promise im still alove chat
MEIMINE!! how are you lovely?âĄ
hi my aera baby! im good n you??
HOW IS UR POST FROM 2006???!!!
hi anon! you can set the date of a post to any date you chose (i think this only works on desktop?)
so i set mine to 2006, since thats the year i was born!!
fucking dat real soon trust the process
YES, PROFESSOR â è„żæć
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 â and suddenly, the lines between mentorship and something more begin to blur.
AN. ITâS 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.. iâll 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 itâs crazy cus i started this fic in like november and iâve 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. iâm 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 didnât 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 donât) 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 â your curtains have shifted slightly open due to the long nightâs wind, and you are tired of hearing cars honk this early into dawn.
youâre 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 â each one spelling out âwhy did i choose this major?â in the shape of fading smoke.
two semesters worth of content to get down before your anatomy final. youâre angry, understandably: itâs less than a month back from your term break and youâre already slammed back to back with tests, projects, and tiny, worthless assignments you couldnât be bothered to start.
âfucking ridiculous.â
microsoft word is minimized, a blank document laying dormant from 10 hours ago when you said youâd start on that small-scale literature review for your sociology elective.
spoiler: you have not, and you really donât think youâll have time to unless itâs a day before submission.
your first actually important hurdle was the anatomy final coming up. youâd done surprisingly decent so far â the warning words of your seniors had served you well up till now â 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, âtoo-easyâ and ârelaxingâ ten.
youâd 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 â and the next, you were crying into your palms.
for a moment, professor riki nishimuraâs 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 couldnât exactly point fingers at who decided on the sudden syllabus change, with a lack of proof and all that.
on the bright side, itâs nice to know that he had that much faith in you and your peers. bellcurve and whatever, if youâd just get those 500 cards down, you think youâll outperform many of them. still, it doesnât mean that the chronic sleep deprivation feels any more worth it.
You: dude iâm 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 â perhaps one or two emails would help persuade your kind professor to reevaluate his expectations of class of 2025.
it wasnât 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 itâs toll on you.
walk around campus and youâd 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 gpaâs and a spotless attendance. youâre already down to 90% for some classes, and it feels like sand slipping between your fingers with how desperately youâre 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 soohaâs words. youâre 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 itâs glow.
the bookmark to outlook practically speaks to you in your sleep-deprived state, and youâre 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. youâd 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 youâd chat with over coffee in the cafeteria. youâd even met a few of their kids during school events, like that one campus-hosted marathon last year when you accidentally bumped into mrs. leeâs ten-year-old son.
still, nothing had ever felt this charged. your literature professor mightâve called it poetic â maybe even commendable â 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 tomorrowâs 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 itâs gone, and itâs another second for your eyes to screw shut.
Email sent to NISHIMURA RIKI.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
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 â 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 â by universities, research labs, private companies who wouldâve splurged to their last cent to have him under their belt.
but still, nothing compared to teaching something he loved â 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 â movements so precise it feels like watching art unfold.
even the lowest-scoring student canât 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 couldnât replicate.
who the hell wouldnât want a guy like that remembers whatâs important and loves working with his hands. itâs pure fantasy sitting right in front of you.
in pure, uncensored, and shameless honesty, youâve thought about it once or twice during his classes. thought about him.
itâs 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.
âmm. thatâs right, smart girl. you donât need my help after all.â
it doesnât 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. youâre not there often, but every time you are, it feels unreal â because professor nishimura doesnât seem entirely human.
âtell me what you want,â he would mutter, flipping through papers at his desk as you shift your weight nervously. âuse your words, like a big girl. i canât read your mind.â
heâs too composed, too annoyingly blunt, acting as if the words that roll off that sharp tongue donât 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?
itâs a pain in the ass. itâs 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 â 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 â you couldnât 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, youâd have sunk your claws into that man centuries ago; stared at him like he was the sweetest eye candy youâve ever had in all your years of schooling as he passed by you in the halls.
youâd ask him for help with homework, run your hand over his bicep when his jokes get a little too funny.
âriki, are you free tonight? help me with my assignments⊠please?â
youâd smile, bat your lashes, play innocent until he couldnât ignore it anymore. heâd 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 â close enough to get a whiff of your perfume, or your sweat, or your hair.
or just you.
youâd unbuckle his belt, pull his pants down in one swift motion, wrap your lips around that stupidly thick tip of his. heâd 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 â heâd 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. heâd shove his fingers in your mouth, trying to shut you up before your roommates come barging in.
âo-oh fuckkk,â you imagine him panting, big hands holding your hips as he helps you bounce on his dick. âpussy sâfucking goodâso perfect, [name], made for me.â
in another life, professor nishimura is not your professor, and heâs 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 heâs just so needy and impatient.
âthis what you wanted?â heâd grunt, your knees folded against your chest, thighs slick with sweat and cum and every other fluid you canât bother naming. âdumb slut. didnât even do half of your work rightâfuckârubbing all up on me the entire fucking week. canât wait for some dick? huh?â
âs-sorry, riki, iâm sorryâmmphâ!â
saturday brunch plans with jiwon and sooha would be automatically cancelled. instead of cruel reality, where youâre just too sleep deprived to make it out of the building â in this fantasy, your legs just simply wonât let you get out of bed.
âgood for nothing,â riki would tap your cheek with his fingers, your tongue lolling out for him to spit on. âjust for me to fuck. waiting all damn week just to be filledâfelt so empty without your riki inside of youâhuh, baby?â
heâd rut into you, rough hands feeling your tits, your moans starting to amp up. heâd fuck you like heâs known you his entire life â like he knows your body better than you do â because in truth, he does.
âi just m-missed you so much, riki,â youâd whine, grinding your hips against him to meet his thrusts halfway, each hit making your toes curl behind his back. âo-oh fuuuckâright there!â
âyeah? show me how much you fucking missed me, then, dumb bitch.â
itâs that damn degree, those framed certificates, that impossible air of authority â standing between you two, spelling out the line you canât cross. the one that divides student from mentor, fantasy from a painfully brutal reality.
âthatâs all the time we have,â professor nishimuraâs 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.
youâre half-asleep, six rows back, barely holding yourself upright after another night of terrible decisions and too little rest. still, you catch every word â 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. itâs unnerving how smooth it is, no pauses, no haste, just knowledge flowing out of him like itâs second nature. his mind seems like a library built from years of quiet obsession, and he speaks with the calm certainty of someone whoâs never once needed to guess.
you wonder if he could memorise all 500 flashcards of yours in less than ten minutes. youâd bet $5 he could. itâs too bad you donât have as much of an obsession with biology like your beloved professor does.
âi hope i donât need to remind you all to study for your final. email me if you have any queries.â
his final words dissolve into the usual chaos â 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 isnât 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 professorâs voice still looping in your head.
âstudied?â jiwonâs 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. âoh my god. what time did you sleep last night?â
those damn cards. again. youâve still yet to finish them.
âdonât even ask me that,â you huff, index fingers rubbing your eyes, trying your best to get blood moving inside of your body. âyou going for lunch?â
âi have class in twenty,â jiwon frowns. she looks genuinely crushed, and all it does is make you smile up at her. âweâll eat tomorrow?â
âi canâtâtoo many things to do. next week?â
she nods at your words before turning back around, hugging her pink laptop to her chest as she walks off â her stride still as light and cheerful as the first day you met her at freshman orientation. itâs comforting, in a way, knowing that even when soohaâs busy spiraling over her chaotic study habits, jiwonâs calm, steady presence always balances it out. around them, the world feels a little softer, and for a fleeting moment, you believe thereâs 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 â until something begins to tap at the turn of your shoulder.
âmiss [last name].â
you smack your lips together, hair falling over your face as you tilt your head up, meeting professor nishimuraâs heavy, lingering gaze. his glasses sit slightly askew, a little too low to be comfortable, and you canât help but notice the way his middle finger moves to push them back up the slope of his nose.
âyeah?â
from this distance, he doesnât seem all that unattainable. realistically, heâs only⊠what, five, six years older than you? maximum seven, if youâre 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 â like the space between student and teacher was never really there at all. he looks like any guy you mightâve shared a homeroom with back in high school, or a friend of a friend youâd spot shooting hoops during a study break. maybe even someone your age working part-time at the local cafĂ©, 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 â still, he wasnât 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.
âare you okay?â he asks.
you smile lazily at him. you donât imagine you look cute right now, but you do it anyway. âiâm great, professor.â
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.
âare you sure?â
he raises an eyebrow, expectant expression written all over. what the hell does he want you to say? no, iâve 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, everythingâs going greatâ
âiâm sure, professor.â 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. youâre worried he might catch the flicker of disdain in your eyes, but even if he does, he doesnât poke at it.
smart guy.
âby the way, i answered your email.â 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 wonât stop bouncing.
âhuh?â
if only for a second, something flickers across professor nishimuraâs face â amusement. like he finds you funny, maybe a little entertaining. itâs strange, seeing that expression on him of all people.
no â 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 â notifications he never bothers to mute, because in his world, work has always come before life.
âhave you read it?â
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 heâs just waiting to see how youâll react. thereâs something disarming about it, familiar in a way that doesnât fit the setting or the title he carries, yet it lingers between you all the same. now, heâs smiling down at you with an expectant grin, watching your brain scramble in real time for an answer.
only then you realise what heâs just said â 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.
âhm?â
professor nishimura leans forward, just enough to cast a shadow over you â 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.
youâve 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 â into the scent that clings to him, to the way professor nishimura looks down at you with that smug, unreadable grin, like heâs studying something rare under the lens of a microscope.
âyeah! yeah, i have,â you force a smile, âbut could⊠could you refresh my memory? i was reading it on the way to class, and i was just so incredibly busyââ
his jaw.
the smug bastardâs 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 â as if the universe insists on being cruel â a fresh wave of his cologne fills your senses. itâs strong enough to sting, to make your eyes prickle with heat. you canât tell if itâs because of the way heâs looking down at you, heavy and deliberate, or because youâre 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.
âiâll be more than willing to help you,â he speaks, clearly and smoothly, as if it was really nothing much that you harassed his inbox last night. âwhy didnât you ask sooner, hm? iâm almost offended.â
just another tuesday for the likes of someone so brilliant. it makes you roll your eyes â he notices, tongue poking into his cheek as he does so.
âi thought youâd be busy with other matters, is all,â you smile up at him, pretty irises peeking through your lashes as you bat your eyes. âarenât you, professor?â
fucking minx, he thinks.
âiâd always make time for you, you know that. youâre a smart girl,â professor nishimura says, the smirk now fully formed, carved into his face like it belongs there. âhoweverâŠâ
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. âif you need a little extra help, of course, iâll do anything.â
itâs the way the words land and hang in the air. he isnât talking about academics.
itâs an invitation with sharp teeth, slipped between the lines and delivered in a voice that knows exactly where the boundaries soften â where they blur just enough for you to start decoding.
itâs 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.
âiâll take you up on that, then.â
a knowing smile is all you receive.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
ITâS 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 â professor nishimuraâs 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 â his email had outlined what youâd be reviewing today, and a dozen questions started buzzing in your head as you reread it, eyes skimming over chapters you hadnât 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, 4pmâs great! thanks
thatâs what you get for uploading the entire slide deck into some random ai flashcard generator instead of making them yourself. still, heâs worked his magic before, turning complete disasters into stellar students by their next quiz â and you werenât 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 didnât even know you were holding â 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 heâs been busy today â 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 thereâs a faint crease at the corner of his eyes that tells you heâs 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, heâs here â giving up an hour of his afternoon to tutor you.
âhello, [name].â
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 â you stare at him from across, nose taking in all of him, smiling politely as he begins to pry open his laptop.
âso, uhâŠâ you mutter, fingernails scratching the back of your neck. âthis wonât take long, right?â
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.
âusually, students start with a âthank you for seeing me, professorâ,â professor nishimura deadpans, before turning back to the bright, white-lit screen in front of him. âbut youâre welcome.â
you swallow. âsorry.â
ânot an issue at all.â
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 weekâs lecture â 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 â his eyebrow lifts, just barely â but he says nothing, simply resumes clicking through the material with that same steady composure.
âyou see, right there,â he emphasises, other hand reaching from behind the screen to circle around a pair of arteries. âyou got it?â
you bite down on your bottom lip, eyebrows pinching together like youâre really, really trying.
the truth is, you have no idea what heâs talking about.
itâs 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 youâre 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.
âuhmâŠâ you mumble, eyes flicking up to meet his.
and for some strange, impossible-to-explain reason, your heartbeat spikes.
â[name],â professor nishimura says your name with a patient smile â the kind someone wears when they know they already gave you the answer, but you werenât paying attention. frustrated, but soft about it. âshow me. where are your carotid arteries?â
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.
âyou donât know?â
his voice lands like an accusation. of course you knew â you studied this. it wasnât new. maybe if he werenât here, itâd be easier to recall, but now that heâs sitting across from you â 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?
âuh,â you mutter in an annoyed voice, even though youâre the one who asked for this, for his help, for his guidance. âcould you showââ
professor nishimura doesnât 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 â fingers brushing warm against your neck, right beneath your earlobe, settling on the soft patch where your jaw tapers.
âhere, [name]. external carotid artery.â
he blinks slowly, watching you, like the frantic pulse thudding against his fingertips isnât already giving you away.
your hair rustles against his hand as his fingers slide back an inch, tracing heat along your skin. âinternalâs behind it. deeper.â
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 youâre trying so hard to hold onto. the man looks as calm as ever â not a hint of suspicion, not even a gentle smile.
professor nishimuraâs gaze flickers, just briefly, to the spot where his hand meets your skin â then back to your eyes, sharp and unreadable.
âfeel it?â he asks quietly, tone softer now, almost coaxing. âthatâs the point of reference. you canât forget it once you know where to look.â
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 heâs pulled away.
ânow,â he says, voice steady, âshow me again.â
your pulse answers first, tripping over itself â and youâre 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.
âlike, on the screen?â 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.
âyes, on the screen, [name].â
the day passes on just like that â full of ridiculous questions, popping up in your head as the lesson goes on.
professor nishimura doesnât scowl. doesnât tilt his head with judgment. doesnât squint his eyes as if he canât quite believe how little youâve retained â which is true, by the way â instead, heâs gentle. tentative. clear with every word, like heâs not rushing you; a quiet confidence that youâll get it because thatâs 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 â calm, quiet, with professor nishimura, who seems to grow more handsome as the diffused evening sun bathes his skin.
are you sleep deprived?
âyou need to remember your values,â he mumbles, âoxygen and carbon dioxide. partial pressures. theyâre important, donât forââ
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.
âprofessor,â you interrupt, softly. âi know. youâve been saying that for the past ten minutes.â
heâs 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.
âhm?â
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 itâs quite boring compared to the blush spreading over your cheeks, blooming all the way to your ears â you hide your face in your sleeve, a half assed attempt at covering up the flush.
he pretends not to care about that. he canât care about that. âit must be getting late. i didnât notice.â
you sigh, somewhat disappointed at the change if topic â as if professor nishimura would ever admit how gorgeous he thinks you are, right to your face. âme neither.â
the few moments of silence that follow feel like eternity. thereâs you: smiling like you were seeing an old friend for the first time in forever, and thereâs him: attempting to pretend like all the air in his lungs havenât been lost to the atmosphere.
he must be sleep deprived too. youâve robbed him of his evening coffee run, he realises.
âsame time tomorrow,â he speaks, finally, voice low and hushed â as if it was a secret, something reserved for only you. âiâll be waiting.â
âyes, professor.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
IT STARTED OFF AS A JOKE. sooha was stressing over creative writing, and you over sociology.
except that the joke = âi would fuck professor nishimura if he was the 3rd last guy on earth, because heâs probably better in bed than other two who were spared with himâ
âyouâre so fucking weird,â soohaâs kicking her feet up, right leg over the other as she swivels in your chair. âyouâd actually fuck him?â
âjudging me isnât going to make him any less sexy,â 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. âand can you blame me?â
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.
âyouâre crazy.â
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.
âi donât like him, by the way. heâs hot, but nah,â you click your tongue, eyes drifting over the popcorn ceilings of your cramped and poorly lit bedroom. âheâs probably engaged or something. doesnât bring his ring to work because he thinks itâll distract people from how stupidly big it is.â
âiâve seen him drive around in his black porsche,â sooha giggles, licking her fingers clean of chip dust. âitâs something from a movie. this guy doesnât know when to stop.â
âright?â you laugh a little too hard at the absurdity of it â 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. âi need to know if heâs married.â
she flicks an ant off her knee. âwhy the hell does it matter to you? are you actually going toââ
âwell,â you smack your lips, thinking hard of an answer that wouldnât sever your friendship, but knowing sooha â nothing you say could ever make her flinch. ânot if heâs married.â
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 â how she really doesnât care that you just admitted something like that.
âso⊠youâll fuck, find out heâs married, and by then youâve ruined a family. next thing you know, youâll get hit by his wifeâs car and have to go to graduation in a brace.â
âheâs literally only⊠like, twenty eight,â you argue, a playful tilt in your voice that makes sooha crack up, the chair sheâs in starting to swirl around. her face is a mix of disbelief and pure entertainment. âheâs not a father. god, iâd hope not. i donât want my grad pictures to be terrible.â
ânahâŠâ she waves you off. âa husband, though? maybe. look both waysââ
âshut up!â
sooha shrugs, pulling her phone out from the deep pockets of her sweats. âyou donât even know how old he is?â
âi do,â you say quickly, defensive. too quick, because she raises a brow. âokayâ not exactly, but i know the range.â
âso⊠you have no idea.â
you groan. âsooha, he teaches people our age. if he had kids heâd 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.â
âthatâs called being proud, if you didnât know,â she deadpans, unlocking her phone. âanyway, whatâs his full name again?â
your stomach drops. âwhy?â
she gives you a look. âwhy do you think? iâm gonna look him up. if instagramâs no luck, iâll check linkedin.â
itâs too late. her thumbs are already flying across the screen, furiously mashing in every combination of nishimura she can think of.
âpro⊠fessor⊠nishi⊠muraââ
âwho the fuck calls themselves professor on instagramâŠâ you groan, hands finding your face to cover the look of humiliation.
âoh. nishimura riki, was it? heâs right hereââ
âsooha,â you warn. âif you request him on instagram, so god help meââ
âif heâs married,â she declares, louder than necessary and absolutely ignoring you, âheâll have a wife pic somewhere. at least one. married men always post their partnersâor a baby hand. blurry stroller. maybe a family photo where his hands are a little too tight on her waist.â
you donât answer. the anxiety in your stomach prickles, rises, climbs up your ribs. soohaâs 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.
âstop scrolling like that,â you hiss, leaning forward. âyouâre going to summon something.â
she doesnât even blink. âiâm summoning the truth. hold on.â
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.
âoh.â
your spine straightens. âoh?â
âdude,â she says, voice flat with shock, âi didnât even need to request him. his shitâs public.â
your heart drops. âpublic as in⊠some posts public? orââ
she turns the screen to you, slow, dramatic, cruel with tension.
âpublic as in everything,â she says. âand he posts. a lot. this guy is so performative, itâs crazy.â
your breath catches for a second. you hadnât expected that â 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.
âyouâre lying.â
you crawl across the bed on all fours anyway, eyes squinting to take a closer look at soohaâs 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 captionâs in japanese â a short one â but the date stamp tells you it was posted only two weeks ago, at a cafĂ© a few streets away from campus.
you blink. ârecent?â
âmhmm,â 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. âno way. he uses instagram like a lifestyle blogger.â
âhe totally does,â she snorts. âno father of four has time for this.â
she keeps scrolling, and youâre right beside her, holding your breath like your life depended on this â unintentionally, completely against your better judgment. half-dreading and half-hoping that this menace of a man was not unavailable. because if he was, youâd 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 youâre old and married:
âohâyour mom was such a rebel back in college, you know that? so crazy! we couldnât take her anywhere, right?â
not to mention, once jiwonâs caught wind of it, sheâd shake her head in that same way she always did when you made a questionable life choice â disappointed, amused, and a little too understanding for comfort. too angelic for you to ever get defensive about it. jiwonâs disappointment wasnât the loud kind; it curled quietly in your gut, heavy and soft, the kind that made you hang your head low.
âcould you please scroll slower? how the hell do you expect to see anything?â
sooha snorts. âscared, are you?â
she does as you ask, anyway. her thumb eases down the screen, inch by inch, slowly scanning the array of curated images professor nishimuraâs 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 â full of geniuses, much like him â and still, no wife. no ring. no girlfriend.
âhe travels a lot.â
âapparently.â sooha mutters. âheâs kind ofââ
âdo not.â
sooha continues scrolling as you bite your nails. âi was going to say cool. heâs the complete opposite of your ex. speaking of that guyâdonât know what you were thinking, honestly.â
your face heats immediately. âwasnât thinking. that was the problem.â
âyeah,â she laughs, tapping another photo to zoom in. âmeanwhile, this guy posts his morning latte art like heâs running a lifestyle blog. i mean, look at this. heâs insane.â
âyouâre so fucking annoying,â 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 thatâs burning your face off. âyouâre giving him too much credit. his egoâs still huge.â
and just then, sooha gasps loud enough for the sound to echo through the corridor outside.
âwhat? what?â you scramble to sit back up again, meeting your best friendâs eyes.
and there it is â 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 heâs 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.
thatâs your professor.
god, if they used this as a model for your classes, youâd have passed your first test with stellar results. you, a few months ago, would be skipping home with that full credit score.
âheâs fucking ripped!â sooha cackles, and you canât tell if itâs disbelief or sheer joy at your impending meltdown. itâs probably both, now that you see her lips beginning to curl into a sickeningly wide grin. âoh my godââ
you feel your soul exit your body. âthis isnât real. heâs ai.â
âyou think ai could get the sweat bead rolling down those things?â her other finger points to his disgustingly well-developed chest, âdude. heâs gotta teach naked the next time we see him.â
âstop that!â you groan, grabbing a pillow to shove your face into. your hairâs a mess, your cheeks feel like theyâre going to fall off and run away, and soohaâs enjoying every single second of it. âiâm going to die. itâs over. i canât look at him the same after iâve seen all this.â
âwhy? shouldnât this motivate you?â your best friend turns her phone off, satisfied at the amount of info you two have dug up. two things were learnt today â one, your biology professor is sexy as fuck (confirmed) â and two, he is available. âheâs free game now, [name]. do not let this opportunity slip through those greedy fingers.â
âare you forgetting he is literally our teacher?â you speak, muffled by fabric. âi canât fuck our teacherâand even if he wasnât our teacher, his egoâs still huge, and iâm not trying to date a narcissist.â
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. âhow the fuck do i look at him in the eye now?â
âbet heâd like that, huh?â sooha cackles, and you know it then with the way your stomach does that backflip thing: you are beyond fucked.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
ITâS FRIDAY.
ânext question.â
youâre 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 â 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.
âyou donât have any more questions about this topic?â
your knees brush once against each other. the heat radiating off his thighs and through his black, ironed slacks make you endlessly nervous.
âiâve been⊠watching your lectures. they help,â you mutter, eyes trained on the drawings of arteries laid beneath your fingers. âi donât know why i didnât do it earlier.â
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.
âno wonder youâve been struggling,â he sighs, teasing you ever so slightly. âyou havenât been listening to me as often as you need to.â
âwell, yeah.â you reply dryly, throat refusing to let anything but a squeak out. for some odd reason, being back here always makes you choke up. âi just⊠didnât realise how helpful itâd be.â
âi donât spend 2 hours recording useless videos, [name],â professor nishimuraâs 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 shouldnât affect you, but it does â a low, warm reminder that heâs close enough for the air to feel different.
âi didnât say they were useless,â you murmur, hoping your voice doesnât tremor enough to show how tight your chest is. âi just havenât had the time.â
âmm..â professor nishimura purrs lowly, deep voice rumbling through his chest. âmost students donât. they still do well.â
your jaw clenches. âwell, iâm not like other students, am i?â
âthatâs the first thing youâve managed to answer right today,â professor nishimura murmurs, draping an arm across the leather backrest. âbeen sleeping at all? youâre slower than usual. you werenât this lagged yesterday evening.â
âiâm doing fine, thanks,â you provide no excuses, straightforward with your responses â you sense the tension in his voice, and oddly enough, the care hiding behind the nagging. âiâve had coffee.â
âyou know thatâs not good for you. coffee doesnât replace sleep,â professor nishimura continues. âmust i tell you that, too?â
you sigh, feeling his eyes burning through the back of your skull. you shift in your seat, conscious of every movement, knowing heâs leaned back to watch.
âi donât need you nagging.â
the shift is immediate. his jaw tightens, his eyebrow raising as he repeats your words, âiâm just observing.â
âwell, iâm old enough,â you mutter, flipping through your notes, ignoring how heâs 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. âi donât need to be observed.â
â[name], you may talk to your friends this way, but you asked me for help.â his tone remains steady, reminding you that he isnât 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. âso this is my help.â
âthereâs a difference between helping and hovering,â you scoff, âyou act like youâre so much older and wiser than me, itâs so fucking annoyingââ
seeing professor nishimura every evening had itâs downsides. two days ago, youâd just discovered his influencer persona, and every night since then youâd been scrolling through his posts and watching his highlights silently, trying to uncover a mystery you didnât know existed.
heâs not that much older than you, clearly. no wife, no kids, no mystery gap in his posts that indicate heâd left to go on a soul-searching experimental trip to gain wisdom. just pure, unfiltered genius that heâs been praised for ever since he was in his teens â no mistaking where his voluptuous ego came from.
âwhat on earth are you talking about?â
his expression shifts ever so slightly: those eyebrows, once relaxed and calm, now knit together in something similar to calculation, like heâs trying to guess what youâll say before you even think of it. his lips part, then pressing together in a thin line once again. âyou looked me up.â
âeveryone does,â you say a llittle too quickly. âyouâre literally publicââ
silence hangs in the air, thick and impenetrable. his gaze doesnât avert. itâs unreadable, and when he speaks, itâs low with a new kind of calm that eats away at you, making you feel guilty for ever snapping at him; âcould you tell me how my age is relevant to this conversation?â
in this stillness, your throat refuses to open up, a giant ball forming where your voice is supposed to be. itâs painfully clear that youâve crossed a line, and professor nishimura isnât having any of it.
âyou come in my office every day, unfocused and exhausted, drinking coffee like it solves anything at all. am i supposed to accept that?â
âaccept what? i asked you for help, so just give it to me,â you scoff, throwing the paper onto the coffee table. you turn around partially, enough to catch the bewildered look on his face. âstop acting likeââ
âlike i donât see how sloppy youâre getting? itâs your final, and youâre not taking care of yourself.â
the retort dies on your tongue, dissolving, and instead youâre 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 heâs right â and how much you hate that he says it like heâs genuinely worried.
the room feels too small for this. for the both of you.
âi know.â
âthen weâre done for tonight,â professor nishimura states, hands on his thighs, beginning to stand up. âgo home and rest. itâs late. i have plans, too, so itâs better for the both of us.â
the sudden pull-back startles you. he doesnât even tell you to get out â 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 doesnât even try to hide it â he doesnât have plans. he just wants you to listen to him.
âi still have three chapters, you know.â
âyou think youâll retain any of it?â professor nishimuraâs 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. âyou wonât.â
âthatâs not your callââ
âyou asked for my help. this is it,â 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. âget home safe. come back when youâre able to stay awake for more than an hour.â
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 couldnât 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 â too familiar, too much like the quiet ache that follows a loverâs quarrel, that strange mixture of wanting to leave and wanting to turn back.
you walk down the hall anyway, pretending your pulse isnât still skipping, pretending the air doesnât still feel different around you, when even he can sense that it is.
two mornings later, on a sunday, youâre without coffee, eyes puffy from a long nightâs rest.
you faintly remember stumbling into your apartment, eyes threatening to shut any moment â 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, youâre back in this god forsaken building. it was part of professor nishimuraâs study regimen: only one day of the weekend should be used to study, because then, your brain can do a âtrue resetâ before lessons begin on monday. no baggage from the previous week, kind of tricking your mind into thinking everythingâs going to be fine and that the workload wasnât actually all too bad.
no. it was still bad, because one) you were still pissed off at professor nishimura, and two) you donât have a sugary caffeinated drink to keep you going.
itâs 10 am, and by now, youâd be on the way to get your usual order â that little trip always made you look forward to something, like a sick reward system for studying nine hours a day. your psych professor wouldâve 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 couldnât just suggest a zoom meeting â youâre sure he must have had some stupid plans, cafe hopping and whatnot, with his stupid friends, drinking stupid coffee that heâd nagged at you forâ
â[name],â professor nishimuraâs voice is calm, like always. you donât realise youâve been staring at the floor until you look up, meeting his annoyingly gorgeous face. he isnât wearing his glasses today. âyouâre early.â
âiâm prepared today.â you mumble, but knowing him, he wouldâve heard it loud and clear.
nevertheless, he doesnât give you a response. just a raised eyebrow and slow blinks, like he understands why youâre 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 doesnât sit down immediately, instead heading for the small kitchenette in a corner of his office, where his coffee is; you wonder if heâll make you a cup, or drink one just to taunt you.
your eyes follow his movements. you realise heâs dressed much more casually today â if you didnât know him, you couldâve mistaken him for a student â 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 heâs holding one too.
âdonât fight it,â he takes a slow sip, one hand in his hoodieâs pocket, another clasped around the mug handle. âitâs herbal. itâll help your nerves.â
and just like that, heâs got you doing that stupid stomach-flipping thing.
âthank you,â 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. âprofessor.â
âitâs the weekend, and iâm off the clock,â he says, âriki is fine. iâm barely older than you, remember?â
you feel your face heat just at that. itâs 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. âright. sorry about yeââ
âno,â he interrupts gently, lowering the mug from his lips. âyou were stressed. i get it.â
itâs 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. âstill. i shouldnât have snapped at you.â
professor nishimura â or riki â shrugs, eyes lingering on you a milisecond too long. âiâm not going to give you a detention slip for being angry. youâre in not high school anymore, [name]. weâre both adults, and iâm telling you â i get it.â
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 youâll have to quit caffeine.
âyou do this for all your students?â you ask, half-teasing, half-curious. âtea service included?â
riki chuckles, smiling at you from where he stands. âdonât get used to it.â
âi might,â 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. âon a weekend, too. i must be important.â
âno oneâs home to enjoy it anyway,â he shrugs. âkeep all my tea here. helps me stay awake while grading.â
you hum softly, letting that settle. something about the way he says it â casual, unguarded â makes you glance around the office again. youâre 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.
ânot lonely?â
he raises an eyebrow at you before shaking his head. âno. too busy to feel it. did i give that impression?â
you put your mug down, eyebrows knitting and gears turning, really considering your words now. âi donât know. youâve got that tired look on your face, and youâre responsible. and you nag like crazy.â
âi told you i was observingââ
âitâs the same,â you smile lazily at him from across the room, and you watch how your professorâs lips twitch, almost breaking into a soft smile. âyou give off married man.â
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.
âwell then, now that thatâs been cleared up,â riki pushes himself off his desk and gestures toward your notes. âfinish your tea. then weâll start with the chapters you keep avoiding. page 232.â
âhowââ
âi observe.â
itâs 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.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
NISHIMURA RIKI REMEMBERS HIS FIRST LESSON, at the age of somewhere between ten to thirteen: how to be alone, and how to pretend like youâre good at doing so.
it wasnât difficult. itâd been confusing, yes, especially when heâd seen his peers from middle school posting instagram stories of them at internet cafeâs â 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?
heâd pick up his phone, tapping away at his screen, scanning the once familiar faces of friends heâd long let go of: after middle school, it just seemed like a good idea to be homeschooled, after numerous âcomplaintsâ that he was far too advanced for his current grade.
at some point, a few weeks after he turned sixteen, heâd thrown every toy and video game away.
it was clear he was never like other children. it wasnât 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 â from classrooms, friendships, normalcy.
donât get him wrong, though. he wasnât unhappy â 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 hasnât shut you out yet. you show up every damn day, at the same time, asking the same questions to the same chapters heâd been studying for years: you are familiar, predictable, consistent in every sense of the word.
riki will tell himself itâs 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 donât disrupt him, donât demand change â except you do.
you do disrupt him.
youâre lingering by the door, fingers fidgeting with your bag strap as you ask one last question. riki answers without hesitation, even though thereâs 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 itâs nothing â that this is what heâs meant to do. that answering questions thoroughly is part of the job, itâs what he was hired for, and itâs what all his students love about him.
still, he keeps two mugs out instead of one: not because itâs efficient, but because he knows youâll be back. when the cashier at the cafeteria charges him double for a sandwich, he doesnât correct them. he doesnât 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.
âyeah. keep going,â 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 â sunlight seeps in through the curtains, bathing the room in a familiarly golden warmth â heâs 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.
itâs tuesday again, and heâs exhausted. youâre ruining him.
âcircle of willisâŠâ you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. your arms hug them close, socks slipping off the smooth leather material. âbase of the brain, ring of blood vessels. if oneâs blockedââ
ârest is relatively unaffected, preventing ischemia,â riki interjects, calmly, eyes still trained on the pen heâs been spinning in between his fingers.
you blink once, twice. âi was going to say that.â
he doesnât even realise heâs uttered your notes word for word, not until the silence stretches a second too long â his pen stops spinning, before his eyes drift towards your wide-eyed ones.
âsorry,â riki apologises, only after heâs scanned your face and realised that he was indeed not meant to do that. âgo on.â
and you do â 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 canât put his hand on your jaw and feel it first-hand on his lips.
âiâll see you tomorrow,â 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.
heâll do the same thing tomorrow. the day after. the week that follows. as long as he can predict you, thereâs nothing to panic about.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
âYOU LIKE HER?â
once those sacred words leave park sunghoonâs lips, nishimura riki knows heâs done for â because once someone else sees it, he knows heâs 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; theyâve been drinking for a while, and things were getting a little more honest as the evening sun sank further into the ground.
âthatâs inappropriate,â riki mutters, taking a slow sip of his own glass. heâs sitting on the other end of the couch, half-lidded eyes watching the screen of his phone, waiting for it to light up â an email from you. an impromptu text to meet at the cafeteria to share a decaf. or youâd tell him you aced the mini quiz he assigned you last week. âi donât mix with students.â
âyou donât mix with anyone.â sunghoon snickers, head tilting, as if he was observing the way rikiâs expression shifts just slightly at the mention of his feelings. âand i donât see whatâs so wrong with it. sheâs not a high schooler.â
âher age isnât the issue. we couldâve gone to school together â but still. iâm her mentor.â
sunghoonâs lips press into a thin line. âyou know what jake would think of this?â
riki rolls his eyes, a grin still creeping on his face nonetheless. jake was an entirely different story. âi donât want to know what that guy has to say about my love life.â
âlove life?â sunghoon cackles, eyes narrowing in his triumph, almost spilling the expensive wine all over rikiâs expensive furniture. he tenses up just watching. âso weâre talking love, now?â
âthatâs obviously not what i meant.â
you see, the truth was that nishimura riki was discovering things about himself that he didnât 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. heâll 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 â like the crushes his classmates once described, the ones he never had the time or patience for â something heâs 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 whoâs spent his whole life keeping his emotions in neat, labeled compartments. the wine sits untouched in rikiâs hand, now forgotten, his thumb tracing slow circles against the glass stem as if familiar repetition might organize the thoughts crowding his head.
âyouâre thinking too hard,â sunghoon says finally, voice softer than before. serious sunghoon usually meant a big deal.
riki lets out a quiet breath through his nose. âi donât know how else to think.â
the confession earns a soft smile. âi know.â
the problem now wasnât temptation. it was recognition, acknowledgement. accepting that the way rikiâs body reacts to you is not something normal, or something passing. the way his focus fractures at the tiniest things â 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 couldnât care less if you dropped them in pieces.
heâs kept his desires locked in a box for a while. ever since that first email, he shouldâve deleted it and thrown the key into the nearest bin. now, heâs left to deal with them trying to pry their way out.
âiâve felt this way for a bit,â riki admits. âhasnât gone away.â
sunghoon hums. âholding yourself back? what a gentleman.â
riki scoffs, but thereâs no real humor in it. he stares ahead, eyes unfocused, seeing not the apartment but the ghost of your presence â the way you lean forward when youâre engaged, the way your voice drops when youâre unsure. small, human details that shouldnât matter this much to him, yet finds himself remembering. youâre haunting him
âi donât want to be careless,â he says. âi canât be careless.â
sunghoon nods slowly. âjust donât beat yourself up for nothing, riki.â
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 â but heâs 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.
âiâm not reckless.â
sunghoon looks across the couch, despite knowing the statement wasnât meant for him. thatâs precisely the reason he doesnât respond just yet, instead, reaching for the wine bottle on the marbled coffee table â pouring himself more wine.
riki watches the dark red settle, thinking about how carefully heâs always moved through the world â measured steps, clean lines, no wasted motion. recklessness implies impulse. chaos. things heâs trained himself out of, much faster than his peers.
and yet: he hasnât trained himself not to care about you.
âi know youâre not, riki.â
this isnât right. he knows he shouldnât, and yet all he thinks of is how much he wants to. itâs 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 â like deadlines. conferences. flights. dinners with people he canât afford to displease.
you werenât supposed to belong there.
âfuck⊠when did it get this bad?â 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. âlast i checked, you were content staying single.â
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 âtaking a call,â though his thoughts had never really left the room.
heeseung said it was alright, but jake wouldnât 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 decemberâs harsh, freezing nights â 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 youâd be overworked, but he promised heâd 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 â quicker than he could admit himself.
âyouâre cold,â he murmured, reaching for his jacket hanging on his office chair. he pulls it off in one swift motion, holding it to you.
âitâs okay,â but you didnât fight him when he draped the fabric over your shoulders, anyway. riki watched you loosen up â almost melting into the warmth of his clothes, and it all seemed so mundane to him then â until he realised his heart wouldnât stop doing that thudding thing, and his cheeks wouldnât 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 shouldnât â 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 didnât 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 â 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.
âoh, i mustâve dozed offâshit, iâm so sorry,â you yawned, knuckles rubbing against your eyelids as riki simply watches you sit upright. âdid you have plans today, professor? oh my godââ
the title made him twitch. you didnât notice it, thankfully. he called off every study session after that. two days of what was meant to be productive revision â all because he canât keep himself in check. you thought he was just sick.
nishimura rikiâs 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 doesnât know any of the answers, and all of them at the same time.
âyou got this handled, donât you?â sunghoon mutters, voice low and hushed, as if he knew how heavily this was weighing on rikiâs shoulders.
riki doesnât 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.
âsure,â the blonde mutters in response, head slightly turning to ignore the way sunghoonâs line of sight. he hates how piercing it is â sunghoon always had that effect, like he knew rikiâs thoughts before he could word them â but right now, heâs looking away, as if thatâd hide anything important, or anything that sunghoon couldnât already see.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWS IS PAINFULLY MEDIOCRE.
when you step into his office for the first time in 3 days, itâs already warm, and thereâs no tea waiting for you on the coffee table â heâs sitting at his desk, glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, fingers flipping through papers you havenât seen before.
he doesnât bother to look up, â[name].â
nothingâs wrong. this is how it was supposed to be. class, lunch, class, study â you leave before dinner, almost always at his discretion, and under the pretense of âmeetingsâ and âpapers for other classesâ when you know he only teaches two. it feels like a lie that you canât confront, because itâs not like you know the truth.
you didnât know much at all, actually.
perhaps thatâs why you settle into this â accepting it when he doesnât 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. thatâs how itâs been, and how it shouldâve continued.
your knees still brush under the table. the warmth doesnât make professor nishimura pull away â almost as if the desk hides his own hypocrisy from his eyes. sometimes, heâll lean over your shoulder, the mixed scent of cologne and tea leaves making you ease into him, but heâd pull away before you ever brushed the fabric of his shirt.
youâd look up from your notes and catch him staring at you. pretty, brown irises that barely leave your tired figure â his arms are folded, voice flat and monotone instead of soft, curious, and everything youâd known him to be in the past few weeks.
you raise an eyebrow, because thatâs all you can do.
âyouâre getting better,â he mutters, leaning back in his chair as you ramble on about action potential initiation, sodium and potassium pumps, practically reciting word for word. âweâll meet less often.â
he doesnât even leave you room to negotiate.
itâs almost ridiculous how much you donât care about this. youâre talking just to talk â just to feel like his eyes are on you, like before â itâs oddly humiliating, and the feeling claws at your chest uncomfortably; you tell yourself itâs just the weather getting chillier, or a bad start to the day that led to an even worse week, and thatâs why youâre tripping over something as ridiculous as this: your professor, acting like your fucking professor.
âthank you,â your fingers twitch slightly. even if professor nishimura notices it, he doesnât 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 thereâs chatter all around: you canât remember what he asked everyone to do, and at the same time, canât 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. everythingâs priming you for a nap â slightly warm, sunlight slicing through the windows, catching dust in tiny specks. youâre seated in the sixth row, far enough for professor nishimura not to notice (you can only hope).
âso, uh,â you hear in your left ear, â[name], right?â
you blink slowly. you hadnât bothered to learn the names of anyone in this class other than jiwon and sooha â for a minute, you wonder if itâs 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.
âyeah,â you say, but it almost comes out as a grumble. you donât bother to apologise. you try not to tilt your head too far, eyes flicking towards the boy leaning in beside you â heâs grinning, a little too confident for a guy of his nature, hair messy from running his weirdly large hands through them. âwere we supposed to do something?â
âi didnât come yesterday, and i was just wondering if you could send me your lab notes,â he continues. âi had practice. super important.â
the words come out like a script, rehearsed in itâs tone, but he doesnât seem embarrassed. not one bit.
âuhuh,â you nod, slowly and deliberately. âiâll send them. your number?â
he freezes for a heartbeat, then gasps â 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 youâve seen on one too many guys before: âi thought youâd never ask.â
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 youâve 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. youâre 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 â like he was waiting for your approval, another laugh, another anything.
anything that you canât give. not to him.
itâs 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 isnât here today, you notice, and jiwonâs already packing up, hands moving faster than yours â sheâs ready to leave long before the lecture actually ends.
you look around, and for a moment everything and everyone feels like a timelapse, and youâre 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.
âso,â he mutters, walking up the carpeted stairs to your row. itâs just you two now. âyou donât need my help anymore, hm?â
his words make you sit up. âwhat?â
âexchanged numbers. studying together?â his voice is low but firm, not accusatory, as if he was begging you to prove him wrong, despite his neutral face. âwith him?â
âitâs just notes,â you scoff, a tad bit more defensive than you intended it to be. âhe missed the previous lab.â
âhe was here.â he corrects. you canât help but sigh. âyou should watch who youâre studying with. heâs barely paid attention in class as it isââ
âstill, was or wasnât. i can manage myself. i donât need your permission.â
professor nishimura straightens slightly, hands resting on the edge of the desk, gaze steady. âiâm not talking about permission,â he says evenly. âiâm pointing out that your focus matters. you want to keep progressing â iâve guided you this far. that hasnât changed.â
you frown, arms tightening across your chest, eyes tearing away from him to look at the chalkboard in front of the room. itâs half erased, perfect diagrams smeared in white. âso nowâŠi have to justify every interaction to you?â
âno,â he replies. âiâm not policing you. but i will call out distractions when they matter. thatâs part of my role. your attention isnât something to waste â you know that.â
you turn to stare at him for a moment, searching for some trace of softness, some hint that heâs overstepping, only to find there isnât one. just the steady weight of someone who expects attention, precision, and respect â nothing like the man you got to know, everything like the professor youâve always seen.
âso you push me away, and now you want me to stay focused on you?â
professor nishimura doesnât flinch. he meets your gaze evenly, calmly, unshaken despite his absurd words. âif iâm the only non-distraction, yes.â
you feel heat clawing up your neck, reaching all the way up to your ears. you canât bring yourself to look at him, turning away once more. âwhat the hell is wrong with you? why do you think you can just act like this?â
âact like what?â
ironically enough, thatâs the line that gets you. your head snaps back in his direction, and youâre 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.
âiâm asking you a question.â
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 â his eyebrows knit together, glassy eyes staring into yours, searching for something.
âyou donât get to do this,â you say. your voice shakes despite your best effort, and it makes you want to crawl into a hole and never come out â but the reaction it gets from him is raw, his shoulders stiffening, fists clenched by his sides. âyou donât get to decide who i talk to, or whatâs a distraction, orââ
you gesture vaguely between the two of you, anger clawing its way up your throat. you donât manage to say anything more. he looks at you, still expecting.
you shove him out of the way, and riki doesnât stumble backwards â before youâve gone too far, heâs 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 didnât know.
it doesnât happen.
his grip loosens almost immediately, like heâs realised what heâs 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 theyâve burned him.
âdonât,â riki says, low. not a command. a warning â to himself, more than to you. âi donât want you to get the idea that i want to control you.â
you shake his hands off. âthen donât fucking give me it.â
silence stretches between you, sharp and unforgiving. his jaw works, once, like heâs 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 â and something twists in nishimura rikiâs chest. he assumes itâs his heart, even though the teacher in him knows better; itâs just anxiety, he tells himself, a physical response heâs long since learned to name and adapt to.
itâs definitely not his heart breaking at the thought of hurting you. definitely not. hearts donât break.
no. heâd be dead, on the floor, if his heart really broke.
heâll repeat this in his head for as long as it takes.
âyouâre right,â riki mumbles. it unsettles you more than if heâd 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. âyou can go,â he finally adds.
you hesitate â just for a second â and you hate yourself for it. he notices. of course he does. a man of his genius canât help but see everything.
his eyes flicker, briefly, before he looks away, fixing his attention on the desk like itâs the safest thing in the room.
you leave without another word.
he doesnât stop you.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
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 heâs grading while you study â a rare sight, considering he always manages his time well. itâs kind of funny how youâve never seen him in the process of it, considering how much time you spend together.
it hits you, embarrassingly fast, that youâve never actually seen him in the middle of anything other than teaching you despite how many hours youâve spent here. the furrow of his brow, the way he taps the end of his pen against the paper when heâs annoyed, the quiet sighs he lets slip when something displeases him â itâs all strangely human.
nothing you havenât known before. itâs 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 arenât allowed to cross anymore. youâre 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.
âyouâre late,â he says without looking up. âwhere were you?â
you let out a breath you didnât know you were holding, taking your seat on the familiar couch flushed against the window. the silence that follows is different â soft around the edges, still thick with tension, with two people pretending they didnât 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, âdid you get home alright?â
your head lifts a little. you blink. âmhhhm. just fine.â
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. âyou sure?â
it makes you shiver.
you nod, beginning to flip open your textbooks. even if he notices how anxious you are â he doesnât say a thing.
before long, youâre 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. itâs a completely different place, a different time, a different you â his awards and certificates still remain, though â but now thereâs two mugs on the shelf, a pen in the cup on his desk that youâre certain he never uses because itâs the wrong weight, and before you can think too hard about how much his office (or him) has changed, professor nishimuraâs voice jolts you out of your daydream.
âfocus.â his stern voice travels from his desk, the sounds of his keyboard mashing underscoring it. âyouâre zoning out.â
âsorry,â 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 mindâs still flooding with what-ifâs from yesterday â 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 â 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 itâs glory; but when you feel a finger tuck your hair behind your ear, gentle, as if youâd crack if just a little force was behind the motion, they trail upwards to the man next to you.
âyou look like you just woke up.â
you snort, unintentionally, feeling the burn of your cheeks and the spinning in your head â this stupid professor of yours always seemed to have that effect.
âwhat are you doing?â
he mumbles in response, ânothing.â
and perhaps it really was nothing, because he slips back into his work without comment, typing quietly while you sink deeper into the sofa â 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 â 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 â or maybe thinking too much â 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 heâs done it a hundred times before.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
EVERYBODY THINKS YOU JUST KNOW WHEN YOU MEET THE âRIGHT ONEâ. youâll ask for advice from friends, siblings, even your parents â but thereâs a big chance that theyâll tell you that youâll eventually know, and that thereâs no big sign over someoneâs 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 itâs good for you, it would be, and youâre sure that itâs true to some degree âbecause things did feel easier with nishimura riki. extremely easy.
studying wasnât a burden â sleeping wasnât 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.
youâre beyond fucked.
âjust say you like him,â sooha says, and her voice snaps your eyes open again. youâre staring at the popcorn ceiling of your dorm like it personally wronged you. of course youâre back here â sprawled on your bed, overthinking, while sooha lounges beside you like sheâs at a spa. âitâs pretty fucking obvious.â
âi just donât know if this is okay,â you groan, fingers running through your hair. âcan you imagine dating your fucking professor? i could get him in troubleââ
âplease,â sooha scoffs, not even looking up from her phone. the little snippets of music that keep changing every ten seconds â sheâs definitely deep into her edit rewatches again. âhe looks two seconds away from quitting his entire academic career for you.â
the sheets rustle under the weight of your head turning towards her.
âwhat? you think a fully grown man with a salary and a social lifeâwell, questionable social lifeâspends every free hour he has tutoring one student?â she side-eyes you, finally pausing her scrolling. âcome on. he doesnât do that because youâre struggling. youâre not that hopeless.â
you chew on your bottom lip. âbutââ
âyouâre so stupid,â she continues. âhe looks at you differently.â
your heart does something in your chest â itâs 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 doesnât have that sign on top of his head. he isnât a guarantee, or a âat first sightâ thing, or someone with a ton of pros and no cons. he isnât the easy, simple kind of right that everyone in your life insists youâd âjust know.â
heâs just riki â too confusing, too gentle, too quiet riki â and youâre 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.
âeverythingâs just a mess right now. weâre fine, but it doesnât even feel fine.â you groan, rolling onto your side so youâre facing sooha. your head settles against your bicep, hair spilling across your face like even it has given up. âi donât know whether to pretend the past few weeks havenât been eating me alive, or ask him what we are â because we arenât even anything. heâs my fucking teacher.â
âthis anatomy test is really fucking you up, dude.â sooha sighs, dropping her phone her lap with a soft thud. âlike, really bad.â
âiâm being serious,â you insist, voice flattening under the weight of all the thoughts you havenât said out loud. âevery time i see him, itâs likeâwhat the hell are we doing?â
âyou know what,â she leans her head back further into your chair. âworst case scenario, you can fuck him once, he gets fired and you never see him againââ
âoh my god.â
sooha looks at you like she genuinely doesnât know where she messed up. youâre holding a handful of your hair in your fist, ready to pull it out.
âi like him. i fucking like my fucking professor,â you grimace, your hands sliding down to your face. âjust put me in a fucking porno already.â
âi think you two would look great,â sooha offers, and all you manage to do is peek at her through your fingers with a look that makes her crack up.
âyouâre supposed to say thanks.â
âfuck off!â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
THIS PARTY WASNâT IN YOUR SCHEDULE.
itâs crowded, youâre brushing shoulders with every 1 in 2 people you pass, and itâs too fucking loud â 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.
âheeeelloooo,â 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 jiwonâs parents. âjiwonâs looking for you, and youâre zoning out under the stairsâcome on!â
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 wouldnât have so much on your mind â but sooha cried out, said you needed a break from studying so much with that beloved professor of yours â and jiwon could only shrug and agree.
it wasnât a secret, you and nishimura. there was nothing to be secretive about, and so you couldnât 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 wouldâve heard it first.
âfuck, itâs too loud in hereââ
someone bumps into you from behind and mutters a slurred apology. itâs enough to make you flinch, and sooha finally releases your wrist once youâre 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. âyou okay? you look like you hate it hereââ
âi do,â you admit, watching sooha step a feet or two away into the crowd, chatting with a guy youâd seen around the engineering block. you shake your head, unimpressed before anything else. âi told you. we shouldâve waited till after finals.â
she hums, unconvinced. âyou wouldnât say this if you werenât so busy studying.â
âwith riki!â sooha snorts, and your head snaps in her direction. the guy with her looks momentarily lost, and you offer an apologetic smile. âoh, sweet, brilliant riki.â
when you shift your gaze back to sooha, sheâs barely containing herself.
âwhat?â sooha still does so, anyway, unrepentant. âitâs not like we donât all know. you disappear every night, come back half-dead in the mornings, and somehow youâre still calmer than iâve ever seen you. itâs suspicious.â
jiwon raises her eyebrows in a moment of pleasant surprise. âso thatâs why youâre not drinking.â
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, youâre in too deep and everyoneâs starting to see it too.
âhow else am i supposed to get that A?â you sigh, and you practically feel the way sooha and jiwon see right through you. âi canât fail this. i really, really canât.â
they accept the half-assed answer. you werenât 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. youâd guess sheâs 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 youâve never seen her hang with before.
youâre 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 hasnât improved in the last hour. itâs aggressive, insistent, as if itâs trying to get you to come loose and forget about whatâs supposed to be stressing you out.
you bring your phone to your face, the screen lighting up immediately, and you realise itâs too late to text him, and far too early to leave without everyone assuming youâre pissed off.
a guy with a lopsided middle parting stops in front of you. âheeey, pretty. i was gonna get a drink. you want one? saw your cup was emptyââ
âno thanks.â
you drift towards the balcony for air instead, pushing past stumbling bodies until the glass door finally slides shut behind you. itâs barely snowing, but itâs obviously getting chilly, the air biting your cheeks and freezing your lungs. itâs 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 â 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 doesnât 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 donât 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 nishimuraâs face.
and now, you canât imagine yourself staying away.
youâre already thinking about how heâll 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 youâre 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?
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
SUNDAYS WERE RESERVED FOR YOU, but for some reason, youâre 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 jiwonâs penthouse, probably slung over the back of a dining chair youâll never be able to identify again. somehow, youâd 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 â you were sensitive to the cold. you just hadnât noticed how much, not when heâd 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 donât look up immediately, but you know.
the engine cuts, and the door shuts closed â 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.
âyou shouldâve told me you didnât have a scarf.â
when you look up, you see exactly what youâd envisioned, with an addition of a black scarf covering the lower half of professor nishimuraâs face. his voice is slightly muffled due to the thick cotton â 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.
âi thought youâd nag,â you mumble, guilty.
âi would, and i am,â he says, strictly, to make his point. before you can protest, heâs 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 didnât.
âyouâre still so careless, [name].â
his head hovers just above yours, and you swore if he leaned in any closer that heâd be able to hear how hard your heart was beating. your eyes look at anything else but him â 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 couldnât be worse. when you dare to glance up, his eyes meet yours. theyâre glassy, faintly red at the edges â exhaustion, probably from the nights youâve kept him awake with your relentless studying â and despite everything, it makes you smile.
âyouâre too careful.â
your eyes peek through your lashes, fluttering slowly, coaxing him into everything heâs taught himself to restrain. in the small space between you two, your breaths mingle, albeit yours just warm your face right back up â still, you watch his skin flush, lips trembling slightly at the proximity.
youâve 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 youâve never been able to make sense of.
nishimura rikiâs 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. heâs tachy. so very tachy.
and he also wants to kiss you. really, really bad.
there wasnât anything in the textbooks for that.
riki swallows, his throat tightening, and his fingers still hold onto the scarf that heâs draped around you. for now, thereâs only you, and the warmth of your face radiating so close to his â only the sound of your soft, gentle breath, the one heâs 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.
âriki,â your voice is barely audible, a whisper against the cold wind, but itâs enough to make his pulse skip. heâs been holding his breath the entire time. âitâs late.â
he leans in, unintentional, just a fraction closer, enough for your hearts to echo in tandem. âi know,â he murmurs, voice low, quiet, restrained in words but not in feeling; he says it like he wants you to stay, despite.
âi should get inside,â 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 heâs 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.
âi know.â
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 â itâs warm, comforting, like coming home to something youâve 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 â 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, heâll rewrite the whole textbook, as long as you let him have this.
âfuck,â he curses as he pulls away, his breath leaving him in the shape of warm smoke â you giggle, hearing him curse for the first time â and itâs almost ridiculous how fast his face flushes at the sound of your amusement. âyouâre so pretty.â
his eyes leave yours, drifting down to your glossy, saliva-covered lips â theyâre calling for him. so kissable, parted, breathless like heâd just stolen all the air from your lungs.
ârikiââ you try to speak, but itâs pointless when professor nishimuraâs lips crash against yours again. you feel like youâre 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, youâre arching into his touch.
rikiâs tongue swipes against your bottom lip, yours opening up for him like clockwork â itâs making your head spin, your nerves raw, legs weak trying to close the already minute gap between your bodies. heâs curious with you, clearly, with the way his hands roam up and down your waist, clingy, like heâs never going to have you again.
and if that ends up being true â heâll make sure, just this once, itâll 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 jiwonâs dadâs car, and the thought makes you snicker, just a little.
âhands,â he murmurs, and you instinctually tuck your arms in before he shuts the door. you watch him walk in front of the headlights â crossing over to the driverâs 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 â 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 â oh jiwon, park sooha. that little group chat youâve been using since first year. itâs enough to remind you how wrong this is, but not enough to forget how right it feels â 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 youâve gone through in the past few weeks.
you blink slowly, trying to figure out if this was one of your fucked up dreams again â youâve had quite a few of those ever since you started this⊠whatever this was.
âyouâre still cold,â riki says, eyes still trained on the road. youâre somewhere in gangnam, further away from jiwonâs neighbourhood, streets filled with locals and tourists. his fingers tighten around yours slightly when you donât respond. âiâll warm you up when weâre inside.â
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?
âmm..â you hum, smiling anyway, thankful his scarf was there to save you. âiâd like that.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
ITâS ALMOST LIKE A MOVIE.
youâre stumbling into the entryway of his home, coat slipping off your shoulders, and rikiâs trying to kick his dress shoes off. itâs the ones he just bought, the ones that cost more than he knew was necessary â itâs 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 rikiâs top. you almost snap all of them off with how careless you undo them: you want to apologise, but rikiâs smiling against your lips anyway, so you take it as a green light to be as reckless as you want.
almost like a movie â no, scratch that. itâs more like those sex dreams youâve 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 âgood stuffâ.
still, right now, nothingâs funny. you feel heat pooling between your thighs, and rikiâs fingers are too rough and needy for you to hold yourself back.
you donât have time to register his furniture, or his paintings, or his strange plants. the lights arenât even on. nishimura rikiâs spent his early adulthood decorating his home to fit his lifestyle perfectly, and heâs a little hurt that youâre too horny to even appreciate it. heâll have to give you a proper tour tomorrow morning, if youâre not too sore to deal with it.
âfuck,â he moans into your mouth, feeling your nails graze against his chest as you take off his shirt â heâs too sensitive when it comes to you. he can barely word anything right now with the way he refuses to leave your lips alone. â[name]âyouâre sure?â
âso sure,â you pant, arms looping around his neck as his arms find your hips. soon, they tuck under your thighs and itâs almost like youâve 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 rikiâs head is spinning â you feel too damn perfect underneath him. heâs 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 heâll never stop replaying.
heâs addicted, and he hasnât even had you fully, not yet. he wants to take his time.
he has to.
âriki,â 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 â messy hair, bare chest heaving, a thin veil of sweat coating his forehead and making streaks of hair stick. âpleaseââ
everything is painfully quiet, aside from your heart thumping in your ears. youâre certain he can hear it, too.
his eyebrows knit, breathing trying to even itself out â your hands wander up his chest, not believing itâs the same one you and sooha drooled over a month back â 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.
youâre doing things to him. things he doesnât have an explanation for. no textbook could encompass the low, simmering feeling in his abdomen, watching you like this.
rikiâs impatient, crashing his lips against yours again â 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.
âtell me you want me,â 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. âcome onâdonât act all shy now.â
you whimper when he sucks, lips latching onto your neck, hard enough youâre sure itâll leave memories of tonight. youâll have to borrow soohaâs expensive concealer, you think, but for now â your eyes roll to the back of your skull, hips grinding against the tent in his pants, teasing him so painfully slow.
âmm..â you moan, âcanât you tell, professor?â
riki groans when you grind down harder, the title making his jaw go slack, your legs locking behind his back. heâs so achingly hard, he thinks he might cum in his pants like a pathetic teenager from your stupid antics.
professor. professor. professor.
heâs spent so long drilling that title out of you, and now, heâs hard just hearing it.
âstop fucking teasing, brat,â and heâs 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. âit wonât get you what you want.â
his teeth graze against the round of your shoulder. âyouâll give me what i want, anyway.â
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 â like heâs finally figured out exactly what gets you â and it makes your stomach twist.
âshould we just fuck right here? huh?â riki whispers against your skin, his hands running along the side of your waist. âthe way youâre actingâyou deserve it. on the cold, hard floor, like the slut you are. sounds good?â
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 rikiâs earning from your pretty lips.
âshould we drive back to my office? iâll fuck you on the desk, on the sofa⊠against my shelves? iâll let you pick.â
you feel him right where you need him. impossibly hard, aching, rubbing up against your panties through his slacks. he mustâve been somewhere important before meeting you. that expensive shirtâs tossed onto the floor, somewhere you canât 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 canât wait any longer to bury himself inside of you until youâre fucked dumb â not the man of importance, of professionalism, the one that demands respect.
âanswer me.â
scratch that. heâs still demanding respect.
you whimper in response â 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 couldnât find it in yourself to care for your ego when heâs got you chasing an impossible high.
ân-no, riki. want the bed, pleaseââ
his left hand runs up your body, thumb grazing your bottom lip. âmy baby wants to feel special?â
you nod frantically, eyes glossy as they stare into his â his pupils are blown. you swore if you looked a little closer, youâd 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 âtill he has nothing left to give.
âmhm, please, riki,â you mutter, feeling your body heat in embarrassment. âdonât i deserve it?â
and then, heâs got your jaw in a firm grip, his own tense as he watches you squirm.
âaddress me properly.â riki tilts his head, smiling mockingly, memories of that class flooding your mind. itâs terrifying how fake it is â but the effect is the same. youâre leaning your cheek into his open palm, needing more, shameless in it all. âthen iâll think about it.â
you swallow, vision blurry from how impossibly needy youâre getting; itâs one of those times where you think you could die from how empty you are, youâd do just about anything to get some relief â grinding shamelessly, whimpering like a mutt against your professorâs pants, leaving a wet patch right where heâs thickest.
âplease, professor.â
his lips donât leave you, but your clothes do. heâs 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.
âtell me if you wanna stop,â he whispers into your ear, and all you do is nod. âiâll stop.â
itâs a long walk to his bedroom, tucked away at the very end of the corridor â except youâre 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 itâs the most natural thing in the world. your weight doesnât 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 donât look at it for long. youâre 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 â a subtle shift, careful, practiced, like heâs 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 â 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.
âyouâll tell me if itâs too much,â he reminds you, and rikiâs fingers are working to undress you fully, peeling your bra off you by the straps. âgot it?â
you nod sheepishly, eyes darting to the ceiling, anything to avoid the hungry stare in his eyes. youâve never seen such a look from him â itâs predatory, hungry, the kind of expression that would usually make your blood run cold, given professor nishimuraâs already stoic personality â but all it does is make your thighs press closer together.
âwhatâd i say about using your words?â
you take one quick look at him, before your stomach flips itself inside out; heâs panting, chest heaving, hair disheveled from all the tugging youâve 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.
youâre not eager to see what happens if you donât give him one.
âyes⊠yes, i got it,â you manage, words tumbling out too quickly, blending together like one frantic, made-up syllable.
somehow, you feel like youâve fucked up on that, because his hands are off of you, and youâre whining like youâre going to die. soon enough, his knees are coming off of the mattress, and heâs 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 â he swears you were willing to bend backwards if he asked you to, and now youâre acting like a spoiled brat that he has to set straight.
âcareful,â 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. âbe good and iâll fuck you right. you can speak to your friends like that, but not me. watch the tone.â
âand if i donât?â 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. âthen youâre gonna be empty all night. dripping for me, begging, and i wonât do anything about it.â
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 â heâs breathing you in, nose flush against your soaked panties, and he swears heâs so hard that he could die right here and be satisfied his life has led to and concluded with this â you smell so good, so tempting, like sin wrapped in a pretty bow arriving at his doorstep.
youâre going to fucking kill him. cause of death: pussy too good for his cock to handle not being inside.
but still, heâs a gentleman, and despite your unsatisfactory tone and attitude, heâll let you have this â 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.
âneed you to take all of me,â 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. âprettiest pussy ever. youâll look so good around me, hm? bet youâre tight, too.â
you feel feverish. hair sticks to your forehead in clumps, nose flared and jaw slack as you try to even your lungs out.
ârikiiiiâŠâ you whine, âhurry. just fuck me alreadyââ
âiâm doing this out of kindness,â and his voice drops even lower, like you were teetering on the edge of his patience. âdonât forget that. could very well fuck you right now, but i wouldnât want you crying the whole time i split you in half.â
the words make something bubble deep inside of you, and youâre sure that even if he flipped you over and fucked you right now that youâd be just fine â arousal is pooling between your legs, almost dripping onto the sheets, enough to last you a lifetime of quickies with nishimura riki â something tells you that heâs doing this because of his own selfish hunger, despite the cocky words leaving his lips.
âwho says youâll make me cry?â you bite, and rikiâs eyes flick up to yours momentarily. itâs crazy, laced with something wild, and it almost feels like youâve caught him red-handed in a lie.
âyouâre practically crying for me down here,â and heâs spat right on your clit, eyes narrowing on the way youâre glistening for him. you have no right to be demanding things from him, not when youâre spread open at his discretion. âcanât answer me during our sessions, and now youâre running your mouth? shouldâve i guessed from the beginning that you were just a slut waiting for some dick?â
you clench around nothing, visibly flustered at the way he doesnât even flinch at the remark. he watches your reaction, smirking, inching closer to heaven.
âcanât even wait a few minutes for something to fill you up. youâre filthy.â
he sticks his tongue out, pressing it flat against your folds, licking one slow stripe towards your clit. you shiver at the warmth â it makes your head spin, the feeling of his nose bumping into your clit, his lips plush lips sucking on your swollen bud.
âtoo bad youâre gâna have to wait. spread, wider.â his fingers tap at your thigh, and you find yourself doing exactly as he demands. âyeah, just like thatâmy smart girl. so obedient.â
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 â rikiâs eyes narrow as he peeks up at you, and the chuckle rumbling through his chest vibrates through your body, and itâs almost reflex how your fingers fly to his locks to get a firm grip.
âfuck,â 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. âgreedy fuckinâ thing.â
your knees bend and lock behind his neck, the heel of your foot rubbing against his back, feeling every dip and rise of muscle â his tongue circles around your clit faster, the pressure now increasing by tenfold. he finds himself shoving his face into a space that doesnât exist. riki simply canât 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 wonât be satisfied with â pre stains his briefs as his cock stretches the spandex out, wet and sticky like homemade honey.
ây-yeah, rikiââ you moan, âoh my god, fuck,â
you donât even realise that his face is pulled away until your orgasm barely slips from you.
âwrooong. again.â riki mumbles, lips glossy from your slick and his saliva mixed in something similar to alcohol â 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 heâd 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.
âmy patience is running thin. address me properly.â
nishimura riki canât possibly let anyone else enjoy this. heâll fuck you so good, so right, that heâll 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,
âp-professor,â you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. the tip of his nose runs along your folds, up and down, and youâre practically riding his face now â he can only groan in response, your arousal dripping down his chin and running down his neck. âs-sorry, professor, iâm sorrââ
âi forgive you,â riki coos between sucks, âtaught you sooo well. my most perfect girl. all fucking mine.â
itâs 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 â he tells you to ride his face, squeeze his head between your thighs, cum again on his sharp nose this time â 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 theyâre 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 adamâs apple bobbing as he drinks you up, lips bitten raw from making out with your pussy like it was his first meal in days.
âfuckfuckfuckâiâm gonna cum, rikiâ!â 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.
âthen cum.â
how could you ever deny him?
âwhereâs the attitude gone?â 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 lampâs golden bleed â he looks down at you, tongue running over his bottom lip, heart thumping hard in his ribcage. âfucked dumb already? havenât even been inside.â
you feel heat crawl up your neck, face visibly flushing as riki fits himself snug between your thighs â your eyes canât 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.
youâve been with big guys. enough to say you know whatâs big and whatâs 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.
âyou gotta do better than that, miss [name],â 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 â strings of sticky arousal stretch like honey, and you whine at the raw friction of it all â his eyes constantly ping-pong between your face and the way your folds spread open to slot the tent between the slit.
âstop teasing, ki!â you blurt out, and his head tilts, as if lost in thought. he doesnât look back up at you this time, his pupils instead locked on the mess youâre making down there.
youâre not going to fit him. he knows this, but heâll make it work. brainstormer, he remembers his old mentors calling him, so heâll find a way to have you stretched out âtill his balls touch your ass, or heâll just make you cum a few more times on his face, or fingers, anything it takes to let him have you fully.
âyouâre so fucking wet,â riki smiles, âthink you can take me?â
âyes, yesyesyes, please,â you babble, nodding frantically as riki stares on. it seems kind of unreal how desperately you need him â he wonders if he always had this effect on you, if you were always this pliant and good and absolutely breathtaking. if heâd known, he wouldâve fucked you right then and there, in his office during that first study session. âwant itâi want you, please, professor.â
youâre so fucking perfect, he feels like heâs dreaming.
he doesnât 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 youâd react to a little leather spanking.
âoh?â
the corner of his lip tugs, and a familiar smirk only grows from there. the one that makes your skin crawl.
he didnât 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.
âlike it, baby?â
you donât even manage to respond.
âwant me to use it on you?â
thereâs a moment of hesitation from you â youâre not really sure why, because itâs just a fucking belt, but youâve 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 youâve 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.
âshould i tie you up? spank you? tell me which you want, sweetheart,â 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 âspankâ slips makes your thighs twitch hard. âiâll do it. anything to make my good girl happy, hm?â
youâre heaving, chest falling and rising at a rapid rate as you try to conjure the right words. who was going to tell you that itâd be damn near impossible to speak comprehensible english when your professorâs huge cock is twitching against you?
he waits for an answer, head tilted, eyebrows pulled together in this painfully expectant way â 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.
âi-iââ you mutter, âwant.. i wantââ
âclearly didnât teach you well enough to use your words,â 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. âthatâs fineâiâll pick for you, mmkay?â
he isnât 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 youâve just come down from your 5th orgasm (even though that was 10 minutes ago) â 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.
âsorry, iâll have to keep her waiting.â
his thumb spreads your empty cunt wide, watching how your glistening hole clenches around nothing, and itâs gross how fast his heart fills with pride. youâre so fucking easy it makes him want to take you right now, waste no time, fuck you all night until youâre both on the brink of exhaustion, but that little sick voice in his head tells him to test the waters with you â how far youâd go for him before your nails are drawing blood from his chest and begging him to slow down â because right now, youâre bending over backwards for him, and he finds it adorable.
ââs okay,â you mumble, cheek pressed flush against the sheets. âhmphâplease, just hurry.â
oh, so forgiving. with how kind you were being âheâd make sure to reward you tenfold.
smack. âooookay, baby,â riki sing-songs, smiling down at your figure, your spine arched and your ass fully rounded out for him.
smack.
the sting follows immediately.
âfuckâ!â you squeal, body writhing as the red outline of his belt blooms on your skin. rikiâs jaw slacks watching the print form, a dreamy sigh leaving his lips â youâre still wriggling your ass for more, even as he sees the tear slip down your cheek.
âdirty girl,â riki tsks, working to bundle the belt around his palm again. âyou get off to this? shameless.â
you donât respond, anticipating the second smack that riki eventually ends up giving you.
âa-ah,â your throat rasps, broken moan escaping, âprofessorâiâm sorry!â
âoh,â smack. âi always knew. just a slut, arenât you? probably thought about me doing this looong before today. didnât you? thought about your professor setting you straight in front of everyone?â
you nod desperately, too many times than necessary, and a deep chuckle sounds through the dim room. âthatâs my girl. so honest. so good. so obedient.â
âfuuuck,â you moan at the praise. riki watches your thighs squeeze, tensing up as you drip down, down, down. âw-want you to fuck me, please, professor, i canât wait anymoreââ
smack, smack, smack. your hole squeezes around nothing with every harsh hit.
âbarely been five minutes,â riki taunts, and when you turn your head to look back at him, you swear thereâs hearts in his eyes. âbut okay. since youâve been so good for me, iâll indulge.â
and just like that, the sting on your skin is replaced by the cool bite of expensive linen sheets â youâre 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 youâve been too afraid to confront, fingers firm on the flesh of your waist as he pulls you closer.
âtell me if it hurts,â riki adds, his hands pulling back from your figure to slide his slacks off his legs. âbut i know my girl can take it all, canât she?â
âyesyesyes, i can take it, i can take itâplease.â
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 â 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.
heâs 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 â for a moment, youâre upset that he didnât make you suck him off before this, give you a chance to run your tongue along the blood vessels. youâd trace and memorise them, eyes looking up as heâd throw his head back.
âyouâre so fucking perfect,â he mumbles, head dropping low, jaw slack from how your cunt is essentially calling for him to fuck you full. âwanna fuck you âtill you canât forget me.â
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, rikiâs sure thereâd be no problem fitting all of him â but heâs a gentleman, and he doesnât 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.
âyouâre so annoying,â 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 youâd be able to accommodate the girth.
âyou love me,â riki smiles. âjusâ let me make you feel good, hm?â 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.
âi do love you,â 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 canât let you go.
âi love you too, [name].â
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.
âfuuuck,â he groans into your ear. he feels you squeeze him tighter, almost pushing him back out at the sound. âyou gotta relax, baby. breathe. too fucking tight, itâs gonna kill me.â
ât-too fucking big,â you squeal, legs wrapping around his waist. you try to follow his advice, taking slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down. âi canât, riki, i canâtââ
âyou can,â riki corrects you. âyouâll take all of me, wonât you? canât fuck you right with only a quarter of me.â
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 â he breaks.
so warm. so snug. so wet and perfectly moulded to fit his cock. it was divine, to say the least.
âfuuuck,â riki moans, eyes screwing shut, as if he couldnât 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. âgod, i love youâyouâre perfect everywhere.â
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.
ârikiiiâŠâ you drag sweetly, lips curling into a familiarly maddening smile. âfuck me âtill i canât think, please, want it so bad. i canât wait anymoreââ
he exhales a shaky breath before pulling out, just barely leaving any of himself inside of you. âstill so fucking impatient.â
riki slams his hips into you, and the stretch almost knocks you out cold. youâre 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.
âfuck, s-so perfect, just like how i imagined.â
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 youâre trying your best to not scream rikiâs 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.
âr-rikiiiâŠâ you moan, about to go cross-eyed, âso good, so fucking goodâoh my godââ
âyeah?â he mumbles, thumb pressing against your clit to rub frantic circles, and itâs ridiculous how fast your eyes roll to the back of your head. âmy good girl, taking me so wellâwant me to fill you up, too? would my baby like that?â
nishimura riki thought he was the one in control here, but when you scream âyesâ and âpleaseâ at least ten times over, he finds his pace quickening and his hips slamming into yours with newfound motivation. youâre a mess: a thin veil of sweat coats your skin, and youâre crying rikiâs name like a desperate prayer.
ânghâdâyou get tighter thinking about me cumming inside this pussy? so fucking dirty.â
he doesnât care if his neighbour comes knocking on his door. heâll fuck you on the balcony if it meant everyone knew that he was the only man who has you like this.
rikiâs hand runs over the bulge in your lower belly, applying delicious pressure as your mind slowly unravels underneath him. you canât 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 doesnât take to well to it, opting to grab at your wrists, pinning them over your head. âdonât get shy on me,â he mutters.
âmy good little slut,â riki spits, and the way your hands fit right into his palm makes him go crazy. youâre 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. âo-oh fuuuck, i love youâlove this pussy so muchâyouâre taking me so good, sweetheart.â
youâve 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 heâs finally here: fucking into you like youâre all heâs been wanting, too.
âi w-want a kiss, riki, please,â you manage to blurt out. rikiâs 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.
âmmnghâhaa, shitâiâve wanted you for so long, [name],â riki mumbles between kisses, âthought about fucking this perfect pussy⊠in my office. in class, in front of everyone. make you feel sooo good, youâll never look at anyone else.â
your heart skips at the confession.
âtell me youâre all mine,â he moans into your mouth, kissing your lips raw. âall mine to fuck,â thrust. âkiss,â thrust. âto have like thisâfuck, please, [name]ââ
âiâm a-all yours, riki,â you smile lazily, feeling the drag of his cock in and out of you. ây-yes, all yoursâoh fuck!â
youâre 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.
âh-harder, riki,â you cry, âwant you harderââ
you drive the man crazy. absolutely feral.
heâs half sure that heâs running on pure horniness, because his thighs hurt and his back stings from all the scratches youâve 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? heâll give you harder, no questions asked.
âneedy fucking thing,â riki teases, and the flush on your face is almost immediately intensified. your nose scrunches at him, a scowl worn before itâs 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 thatâs 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, heâs pistoning his dick like this was the last time heâll ever have you â he can feel your walls pulsing, squeezing him tight, and itâs turning him into a fucking animal.
âthatâs right, babyâall mine, all fucking mine.â
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 heâs never bothered to awaken, like a flip of a switch at your hands.
âiâm gonna fucking cum, riki,â broken sobs rip through your body, and he feels himself lose every last bit of sanity heâs 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 youâd die if he so much as moved a centimetre out of you â 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.
âo-oh shit,â riki rasps, feeling you gush around him. âoh fuuuck, yeah, cum all over this dick baby. just like that.â
you canât stop cumming. his hips begin to falter, his stamina draining as you milk him for everything that he has, but riki refuses to stop; heâs so achingly close to filling up that perfect pussy of yours, âtill youâre leaking for hours and have to ask him to plug you closed.
oh, he canât stop thinking about it now.
âfuuuckââ you scream, and rikiâs 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.
âthaaatâs it, pretty girl,â rikiâs praise lands right between your thighs. your ankles lock behind his back, the squelch of your cunt and his cock plunging deep inside making rikiâs head spin. he could replay the sound for days. âsâcute when youâre gushing all over me, baby. so fucking hot.â
you whine, feeling shy at his words, hands coming close to hide your face from his dark gaze. âtold you not to hide,â riki mutters, peeking at you through your fingers. âw-wanna see your adorable face when i cum insideâplease?â
his voice gets all whiney, eyes softening, and you know heâs 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 â like he wanted a family of six, excluding you both â 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.
âmmnghâriki, too muchââ your head tilts back, spine arching off the mattress as you feel that sickening coil in your stomach start to tighten again â 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.
âs-shit, gonna cum,â 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 youâd disappear if he let you go. rikiâs unravelling, every muscle in his body tensing as you clench around him again â 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.
donât get him wrong. youâve cum on his face, in his mouth and on his tongue. but this is different. this time, heâll be able to give you a piece of him, too, after a long night of being on the receiving end â and it somehow makes everything seem ten times better.
âc-cum inside of me,â your head tilts into the sheets, eyes rolling back and splotches of white.
âcanât ever s-say no to you, mm?â he tsks, eyebrows knitting, knowing whatâs to come. âyouâre fucking killing me.â
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 â too perfect for him not to do anything about it â he cums, hard, for the first time in what seems like centuries (itâs only been 1.5 hours since you got out of his car, but he swears otherwise).
âo-oh fuck,â 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 â because heâs genuinely convinced youâll start leaking like a broken faucet if he doesnât plug you up â a heavy, contented sigh leaves his lips, before he presses a gentle kiss to your bare shoulder.
youâre panting, he is too. rikiâs 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 â his chest is flush against yours, and it almost feels as if you were one.
âare you alright?â
rikiâs voice is quiet, gentle. familiarly sweet and caring, still sounding as mature as the first day you met in that bright lecture hall.
âmmm,â you hum. âjust tired. and sore.â
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 heâs been too scared to name, but you know this: he wants this, and he wants you.
âwas i too rough?â
âyou were perfect,â you tell him, and the smile that slowly tugs at his lips is worth every second of the chaos that led you here. âprofessor.â
he leans in, kissing you with a kind of lazy tenderness â slow, sweet, almost careful, like heâs afraid to break the moment. âsaturday,â he murmurs against your mouth. âitâs riki to you.â
âriiight,â 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 â as if neither of you ever stood a chance against this fate. âriki.â
âmiss [name],â he mumbles against your mouth, almost dazed. âmy girl.â
â[name] after classes,â you correct softly, fingers still curled at his jaw, the words slipping out warmer than you intend. âno need for the formalities.â
âagreed fully,â riki chuckles, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your lips. âfuck, iâve been waiting to hear you say that.â
you can feel his smile against your skin before his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time â less careful, more certain, like heâs finally letting himself want you out loud.
the kiss ends only when youâre both out of air, foreheads pressed together, sharing the quiet that settles between you. his thumb sweeps once across your cheek, almost reverent.
âso,â he murmurs, voice low, âafter classes⊠i get to keep you a little longer?â
you donât trust yourself to speak, so you nod, and his answering grin is all boyish triumph and barely contained affection.
âgood,â he whispers, kissing you once more, softer than the last. âiâm not ready to let you go yet.â
âyou wonât have to.â
oh, yes. professor nishimura will have to hand in his letter of resignation tomorrow.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
âDRINKS TONIGHT?â
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.
âi canât,â you mumble, staring hard at the floor like it might save you. âi have plans.â
âfinals are literally over,â sooha groans, squeezing your shoulders. âwhat do you mean you have plans?â
jiwon raises an eyebrow, interest sparking. âyeah. plans with who?â
you press your lips together, pursing into a thin line as your brain scrambles to invent some brilliant excuse â any excuse â 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 âi have to meet professor nishimuraâ 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. theyâve known of his resignation ever since he bid goodbye a month back, but itâs been surprisingly easy keeping your relationship under wraps.
sooha narrows her eyes, leaning closer. âwhy do you look like youâre hiding state secrets?â
âiâm not!â you hiss, which â if anything â 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.
âsheâs pregnant,â 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.
youâre about to tell them to stop when you see him â leaning against his car, arms crossed, head tilted, wearing that unfairly composed expression thatâs become dangerously familiar.
professor nishimura. riki, on weekends, or rather every single day now that heâs 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.
âyou ready?â he calls out, like your friends arenât 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 âsorry,â 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.
âso no drinks tonight?â sooha yells after you, loud enough that half the parking lot turns to stare. jiwon doesnât move an inch â wide-eyed, stunned, still trying to connect every dot she didnât even know existed. for a second, you almost forget she had no idea, all this time.
âtomorrow!â you shout back, breathless, already reaching for the open passenger door. riki smiles as you duck your head, hopping into the seat thatâs 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.
âhow was it?â he asks once youâre both settled in the car, hands casually resting on the wheel, glancing at you without turning his head.
âhow was what?â you reply, feigning innocence, tightening your grip on your bag like itâs a shield.
âthe finals i prepped you for,â he says, voice light but teasing, like heâs expecting you to cave.
you snort, rolling your eyes. âyou left a month ago,â leaning back in your seat, pretending nonchalance.
âand?â he challenges, eyebrows raised, daring you to give him credit.
âmeaning it was practically all me,â you counter, smirking, because honestly, a little credit never hurts.
riki shoots you a look, one brow arching in that infuriatingly perfect way. âdonât get ahead of yourself,â he warns, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement.
âiâm serious,â you say, leaning slightly toward him, voice low, âzero guidance. pure, raw talent.â
âright,â he mutters, finally glancing at you, mock-skeptical. âthatâs why you called me five times last night. asking me questions iâve already touched on months before today.â
âfour,â you correct immediately, raising a finger like youâre marking a point in a debate.
âfive,â he insists, smug, turning the wheel with one hand, eyes flicking to you again. âyou facetimed me to show me your new cereal.â
you groan, slumping back. âokay, maybe four and a half.â
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. thereâs a warmth in the look he gives you that makes your stomach flip, the same teasing edge still lingering, but softened now, like heâs letting you in on something only the two of you share.
âiâll let you have that,â he murmurs, fingers drumming lightly on the wheel, âonly cause you worked hard for today.â
you bite back a smile, shaking your head, but the tension in your shoulders eases just a little as the car rolls forward. ânot because iâm your girlfriend and iâm always right?â
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. ânah, thatâs a bonus,â 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 â 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 itâs gentle, careful, like heâs afraid you might vanish if he moves too fast. âdonât get used to it,â he murmurs, and you just shake your head, pretending like you donât 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 â so you, so beautiful, that he thinks heâs 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.
âiâm so proud of you,â he whispers.
âi know.â 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 thisâll end â 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 â 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 doesnât catch it with how focused he is on the drive.
but after a few silent minutes, he speaks. âiâm off tomorrow. took a sick day.â
you gasp. âoh my. who even are you?â
riki glances at you, quickly, before his smirk softens into something warmer. âjust thought itâd be nice to take care of you.â
that sounded utterly useless and unproductive, to be quite honest â and yet, somehow, completely necessary. you were an adult, perfectly capable of handling yourself. this wasnât 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 wouldnât 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 âstopâ on the alarm, clearly afraid youâd grumble and jab his chest in protest.
and then heâs two hours late to breakfast because youâre still drooling all over him. next thing you know, heâs splitting leg day into mornings and nights just so he can stop by your apartment after work.
and why donât his bank statements match up?
also, why the hell is he letting you use his toothbrush?
shit. this is really, really, really bad.
taglist! @snowysunoo @seerpentsk1rt @somieverse @dolllnini @angelhyuka @eilishlamour @wooyoungluvrr @astronomicalastro-blog1 @tinastar13 @nishirikiluvr @sweethoons @hoonsocks @saeivra @rikiteeth @nishikio @kienhawon @junieeluv @primroselover @sunooblitz @teenagecheesecakereview @taesnumber1 @mariadia @yunkizzz @imheretoread @beaepa @11sophiq @ni-k1ttie @ddiore
Ceo!jay who...
pairings: ceo!jay x fem!reader
warnings: smut under the cut (MDNI), semi-harddom!jay, heâs a softy lowk, manhandles reader, choking!!!! ass slapping!!!! , lowk free-useâŠ, let me know if i miss something
SFW!
Ceo!jay who comes home after a long and tiring day, loosening his tie as soon as he steps into his penthouse.
Ceo!jay who immediately relaxes when he smells your cooking from the door way, leaving his shoes at the door and rushing to the kitchen.
Ceo!jay who canât help but smile seeing you in his kitchen â moving so effortlessly, like you own the place.
Ceo!jay who feels his heart race when you make eye contact with him and smile.
Ceo!jay who is so grateful when he sees the bowl of food waiting for him on the dining table, walking to your side to give you a kiss on your forehead before sitting down to eat.
Ceo!jay who hums in content when he feels you wrap your arms around him from behind as he eats.
Ceo!jay who melts when you kiss his cheek and temple.
Ceo!jay who kisses you deeply after eating, his way of saying thank you.
Ceo!jay who cleans his bowl after eating, making his way to your shared room where he finds you already laying there.
Ceo!jay who feels less tense after his shower, immediately climbing into bed besides you and resting his head on your chest.
Ceo!jay who falls asleep the moment your start to run your fingers through his hair.
Ceo!jay who can't help but feel so content in your embrace that he immediately forgets all his work problems.
NSFW!
Ceo!jay who comes home super angry after his secretary had the audacity to flirt with him knowing heâs married.
Ceo!jay who slams the door, already signally you that heâs in a bad mood.
Ceo!jay who immediately makes his way to you, giving you a bruising kiss.
Ceo!jay who takes you to your shared room and is already undressing you, not wasting a second.
Ceo!jay who man-handles you into doggy, slapping your ass a few times.
Ceo!jay who thrusts in, not letting you adjust to his size.
Ceo!jay who switches between sharp, hard thrusts and slowly dragging his dick out until the tip is left inside before thrusting in harshly.
âThought about fucking you in my office this whole day.â He groans, hands gripping your hips tightly â the cresents indents from his finger tips present on your hips. His hips slowed down, pulling out just enough to leave his tip in before slamming into you again, earning a loud muffled moan into the pillow. âFuckkkk.. would bend you over my desk just so my secretary could hear how much you love meâ he feels you clenching around his length at his words. âBaby âm not gonna last if you do thatâ he groans, head slightly dropping. Heâs panting slightly as he speaks âJust wanna fuck you in front of her, so she knows who this dick belongs toâ âmphh! Yes-â you moan gripping the grey sheets underneath you.
Ceo!jay who continuously smacks your ass to get rid of all the pent up irritation, switching time-to-time to choke you.
Ceo!jay who goes for 2 rounds before he has released all his tension.
Ceo!jay who becomes an absolute softy with aftercare.
Ceo!jay who softly kisses you everywhere, cleaning you both up before pulling you into his embrace.
Ceo!jay who canât help but thank you and praise you for letting him use you.
YâALL DONâT LOOK RIGHT (y.d.l.r) â yang jungwon series
!!!! SYPNOSiS its been a year since your break up with yang jungwon, so why canât he stand seeing you with someone else
PAiRiNG: ex!jungwon x fem!reader ft. gunwook
GENRE: exes to ??? to strangers to ???
WARNiNGS: PLEASE do not take this seriously, by all means the ârelationshipâ portrayed in this isnt healthy at all. swearing, lowk toxic!jungwon, they are each otherâs first bf/gf, suggestive (implied sex..ect), eventual SMUT (MDNI) some fluff ofc.
CHARACTERS FEATURED: manon from katseye, kamden from ampers&one, gunwook and matthew from zerobaseone, enhypen members.
STATUS: coming soon!
MEiâS NOTES: đsurprise babies!
and this is just the intro (flashback)
01. observations
02. kiss my ass jungwon
03. tit for tat
taglist â @.enhypenlvrsstuff @.foreveronez @.mrsbyun-baek @.laylasbunbunny @.pockyyasii @.twoloathe @.sailorinthesie @.saeivra @.ewstain @.inkhoee @.kitteaasstuff @.nishimurae @.hoonsocks @.jungw0nluvrr @.maki45sblog
announcement!
i will be redoing this taglist and i see many of you do not have age indicators anywhere on your blog! please make sure be of age as this work will contain mature scenesâ
YâALL DONâT LOOK RIGHT (y.d.l.r) â yang jungwon series
!!!! SYPNOSiS its been a year since your break up with yang jungwon, so why canât he stand seeing you with someone else
PAiRiNG: ex!jungwon x fem!reader ft. gunwook
GENRE: exes to ??? to strangers to ???
WARNiNGS: PLEASE do not take this seriously, by all means the ârelationshipâ portrayed in this isnt healthy at all. swearing, lowk toxic!jungwon, they are each otherâs first bf/gf, suggestive (implied sex..ect), eventual SMUT (MDNI) some fluff ofc.
CHARACTERS FEATURED: manon from katseye, kamden from ampers&one, gunwook and matthew from zerobaseone, enhypen members.
STATUS: coming soon!
MEiâS NOTES: đsurprise babies!
and this is just the intro (flashback)
01. observations
02. kiss my ass jungwon
03. tit for tat
taglist â @.enhypenlvrsstuff @.foreveronez @.mrsbyun-baek @.laylasbunbunny @.pockyyasii @.twoloathe @.sailorinthesie @.saeivra @.ewstain @.inkhoee @.kitteaasstuff @.nishimurae
âENHAAWARDSâ
HOW TO NOMINATE/VOTE FOR MAIN CATEGORIES?
-> send an ask in our inbox for these main categories, the ask format will is:
{ for favourite social media au of 2025, I nominate _____ (the author you wish to vote for) } đł
-> one person is allowed to vote one time for each of these separate categories, and messages and anonymous asks are not allowed as of now because our messages have been facing problems.
-> firstly, any author who wishes not to participate please let us know in our inbox and we will kindly remove your name and your votes. secondly, authors please reblog this on your own accounts to reach the traction of your lovely readers.
-> most of these authors write smut and reblog smut.
-> based PURELY on reader votes please do not take this as more than something for appreciation, we are just an anonymous account for bringing the writers the appreciation and recognition they deserve.
VOTE FOR OTHER CATEGORIES!
FAVOURITE SOCIAL MEDIA AU OF 2025 | nomination list :-
@hoonsocks back to brisbane (sim jaeyun)
@bambiens like a tattoo (lee heeseung)
@hoonieyun the girl is mine (park sunghoon and lee heeseung)
@heeseung64 groupchat (ot7)
@leaderwon hate that (sim jaeyun)
@heejamas nicest guy (sim jaeyun and park sunghoon)
@d2iose nobody gets me! (nishimura riki)
@jayflrt vacancy below (lee heeseung)
@aernx make you mine (sim jaeyun)
@flrtwoo /rbadparking (yang jungwon)
-> congratulations for the authors that have come on the list! đ
-> for the authors who haven't made the list these are just through multiple nominations, please do not let this define your work and your talent. we love and appreciate every single one of the authors for this fandom and we look forward to your votesđ€
the winner for the best social media au of 2025 is.....
-> đ @hoonieyun đ [the girl is mine] !!
-> other participants came a very close win ! please treat it like a fic recs list or rather a social media au recs list rather than anything else.
->congratulations to the nominees as well, and if your social media au did not come on the list please do not let it define your work or value as a writer.
->congratulations to the winner!!đ€đ
winner and noms:-
@hoonieyun @heejamas @hoonsocks @d2iose @leaderwon @aernx @flrtwoo @heeseung64 @bambiens ty for participating!
aww congratulations to everyone!! i think it was so fun and cute to be apart of this :)) love you all so so much hehehe
RIKIS NEW HAIR BRO ITS SO FUCKING GOOD I CANT EXPLAINNNN
so so fine
MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS TO US
d2iose when will you write Tojivu x reader fluff slowburn? the fans are waiting.
releasing it if this post gets 10 notes
âENHAAWARDSâ
HOW TO NOMINATE/VOTE FOR MAIN CATEGORIES?
-> send an ask in our inbox for these main categories, the ask format will is:
{ for favourite writer of 2025, I nominate _____ (the author you wish to vote for) } đł
-> one person is allowed to vote one time for each of these separate categories, and messages and anonymous asks are not allowed as of now because our messages have been facing problems.
-> firstly, any author who wishes not to participate please let us know in our inbox and we will kindly remove your name and your votes. secondly, authors please reblog this on your own accounts to reach the traction of your lovely readers.
-> most of these authors write smut and reblog smut.
-> based PURELY on reader votes please do not take this as more than something for appreciation, we are just an anonymous account for bringing the writers the appreciation and recognition they deserve.
VOTE HERE!
FAVOURITE SOCIAL MEDIA AU OF 2025 | nomination list :-
@hoonsocks back to brisbane (sim jaeyun)
@bambiens like a tattoo (lee heeseung)
@hoonieyun the girl is mine (park sunghoon and lee heeseung)
@heeseung64 groupchat (ot7)
@leaderwon hate that (park jjongseong)
@heejamas nicest guy (sim jaeyun and park sunghoon)
@d2iose nobody gets me! (nishimura riki)
@jayflrt vacancy below (lee heeseung)
@aernx make you mine (sim jaeyun)
@flrtwoo /rbadparking (yang jungwon)
-> congratulations for the authors that have come on the list! đ
-> for the authors who haven't made the list these are just through multiple nominations, please do not let this define your work and your talent. we love and appreciate every single one of the authors for this fandom and we look forward to your votesđ€
noms.
@hoonsocks @bambiens @hoonieyun @heeseung64 @leaderwon @heejamas @d2iose @jayflrt @aernx @flrtwoo
could we please get a fic of ni-ki and reader MC-ing an event together, and everyone shipping them bcs they're opposites of each other and have a height difference, without knowing that they're already secret dating, and...sough rex with size kink ? please ?? any other member from the hyung line is fine as well, riks was just the first person to come to my mind after "height" lmao
no cause he's a literal giant andâ
warnings: reader is said to be bubbly and cutesy, height/size difference, a lot of dirty talk, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (don't.), breeding, manhandling, slight hair pulling, use of petnames, praise, size kink (duh), rough sex.
the lights of the venue pulse with energy as riki and you step onto the stage, microphones in hand. he's towering beside you, his dark hair falling just right over his sharp eyes, dressed in a sleek black suit that accentuates his nonchalant vibe. you, on the other hand, bounce lightly on your toes in a cute pastel dress, your bubbly energy radiating like sunshine. the crowd cheers, and you wave enthusiastically while riki offers a cool nod, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
as the event kicks off, you handle the introductions with your usual flair, laughing at small mishaps and engaging the audience with bright questions. riki chimes in with his dry humor, his deep voice cutting through the air smoothly. he doesn't say much, but when he does, it's precise, drawing laughs that contrast your animated stories. you glance up at him often â way up, given the height difference â and he meets your eyes with that knowing glint, one only you understand.
whispers ripple through the crowd. fans exchange glances, murmuring about how perfectly you two balance each other. the tall, brooding idol next to the short, effervescent mc â it's like a visual from a comedy. social media buzzes in real-time; clips of you tugging at his sleeve to get his attention go viral, paired with heart emojis and subtle ship names. no one shouts it outright, but the energy is there, fans holding signs that read "opposites attract" without specifying who. you catch a few phones pointed your way, capturing the moment he leans down to whisper something in your ear, making you giggle.
the event flows seamlessly. you announce performers with enthusiasm, clapping wildly as they take the stage, while riki stands back, arms crossed, offering occasional commentary that grounds your hype. during a break, he hands you a water bottle without a word, his fingers brushing yours. the audience awws softly, and you feel heat creep up your cheeks, but you play it off with a playful thank you. he just shrugs, that nonchalant mask intact.
by the end, as you both bow and wave goodbye, the cheers are louder than before. backstage, staff pat you on the back, one mentioning how great your chemistry is â how you complement each other. you smile politely, stealing a glance at riki, who's already loosening his tie, his eyes on you with a promise of later.
the drive to his dorm is quiet, tension building like a storm. you've been secretly dating for months now, keeping it hidden, but moments like tonight make it hard. as the manager drives, riki has his hand resting on your thigh, his touch possessive. you chat about the event lightly, but his responses are short, his mind clearly elsewhere.
when you arrive, he unlocks the door swiftly, pulling you inside before it even clicks shut. his dorm is dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner, and he wastes no time. his hands find your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. you're so much smaller than him â it hits you every time, the way he looms over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light.
"you were so cute up there," he murmurs, voice low and rough, his lips brushing your ear. "bouncing around like that, making everyone love you." his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. you wrap your legs around him, but even then, you feel tiny, engulfed by his size.
he kisses you hard, not the gentle kind from hidden dates, but rough, claiming. his tongue invades your mouth, and you moan softly, fingers tangling in his hair. he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with want. "look at you," he says, voice gravelly. "so fucking tiny next to me. i could break you if i wanted."
your breath hitches, heat pooling between your legs. he loves this â the size difference, how he dwarfs you in every way. his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you feel his hardness pressing through his pants. "riki," you whisper, but he silences you with another kiss, his teeth grazing your lip.
he lifts you again, carrying you to his bed like you weigh nothing. he drops you onto the mattress, and you bounce slightly, watching as he strips off his shirt, revealing toned muscles that make your mouth water. he's so much bigger, his frame dominating the space. you sit up, reaching for his belt, but he pushes you back down, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.
"stay still," he orders, his free hand trailing down your body, slipping under your dress to find your panties. he tugs them off roughly, tossing them aside. "you're so small, baby. how do you even take me?"
you whimper as his fingers tease your entrance, dipping in just enough to make you arch. he's right â you always feel the stretch, the way he fills you completely. he adds another finger, scissoring them, preparing you, but it's never enough to dull the initial burn.
"please," you beg, squirming under his hold. he releases your wrists, but only to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up. your face presses into the pillow, ass in the air. he groans at the sight, palming himself through his pants before freeing his cock.
you glance back, seeing how thick and long he is, and a shiver runs through you. "riki, go slowâ"
he chuckles darkly, positioning himself at your entrance. "slow? you know i can't with you looking like this." he pushes in, inch by inch, and you cry out, the stretch bordering on pain but tipping into pleasure. he's so big, filling you to the brim, and you clench around him instinctively.
"fuck, you're tight," he grits out, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "so tiny, taking my cock like a good girl." he starts moving, thrusts rough and deep, each one jolting you forward. you bury your face in the pillow, muffling your moans, but he pulls your hair back, forcing your head up.
"let me hear you," he demands, pounding harder. the bed creaks under the force, and you feel every inch of him, stretching you wide. "look how small you are under me. i could cover you completely."
his words send sparks through you, the size kink hitting hard. you're dwarfed by him, his body caging yours, and it makes everything more intense. he reaches around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in circles that make you see stars. "come on, baby. cum for me. show me how good i make this pussy feel."
you shatter, orgasm crashing over you in waves, clenching around him so tight he hisses. he doesn't stop, thrusting through it, chasing his own release. "that's it," he growls. "milk me, just like that."
with a final deep thrust, he spills inside you. he collapses over you, careful not to crush you entirely, but his weight presses you into the mattress. you're both panting, sweat-slicked, and he kisses your shoulder softly, a contrast to the roughness.
"you okay?" he asks, voice softer now, pulling out gently. you nod, rolling over to face him, feeling small and sated in his arms. he pulls you close, his tall frame enveloping you, and you smile, tracing patterns on his chest as he starts to doze off, face hidden in the crook of your neck.
the world outside might ship you two as opposites, but here, in secret, you're perfectly matched. and as you drift off, tangled together, you know no one else could understand it like this.
© jongst4r, 2025
taglist: @solonenova, @neabrownn, @drowsypanther, @redessertired, @pinkdazed, @enhypenlvrsstuff, @strwberrylhs, @imsignificantlillady, @vanillakirstein, @jaeynslutt
18+ nishimura riki is cursed cw college au, alcohol, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, fem!reader overstim mentions of birth control pills
nishimura riki doesnât know when to stop.
this applies to many things: one, when heâs at dance practice and he refuses to go home âtill heâs perfected a choreo, and two, when heâs bickering with his frat brothers on who gets the last bowl of cereal â and later on, who has to run out and get some more.
riki almost always ends up winning the last bowl, and jungwon is the one who reluctantly takes up the responsibility of cereal shopping after rikiâs relentless bargaining.
and third: when youâre bent over someoneâs bathroom sink in front of a foggy mirror and canât see the mascara running down your cheeks â you keep cumming all over him, and he has no idea how to make you stop.
scratch that â itâs not that he doesnât know when to stop, itâs more like he has no idea how.
itâs not his fault his cock is amazing, nor is it his fault that he doesnât know how to stop making you cum.
riki calls it a curse, and when sunghoon first heard about this âissueâ (in air quotes), he couldnât help but cover his own ears and tell him to stop âtalking a lot of shitâ. heeseung walked out of the room with his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, and sunoo couldnât help but to stare from across the room with something close to bewilderment in his face.
âf-fuckfuckfuckââ riki groans, almost animalistic in nature. the sounds of wet skin slapping echo and ring in your ears, and you wholly believe youâre going to go blind with how your vision is going white. âpussyâs so fucking tightâmmhâgonna cum again? already?â and his rough fingers are prodding at your lower belly, âoh shit, baby. can feel it riiight here.â
âr-riki, i canât, i canâtââ your screams are muffled by your hand, palm now covered in saliva, teeth marks decorating your skin. âi canât take anymoreââ
ân-no, you can baby,â he responds almost too quick, body leaning forward to press gentle kisses onto your shoulders. his teeth graze your skin once, and you shudder at the contact. by this point, youâre sure heâs left at least five hickeys that you canât see. âjust take what i give you, mm?â
take what he gives you.
thatâs the problem with him. youâre always taking. taking, taking, taking. orgasm after orgasm. position after position. youâre starting to think he has an addiction.
âwhere the hell are [name] and riki? are they upstairs?â your ears catch a familiar voice behind the door, fading quickly, as if heâd been running around the place. âoh my god, not the sheetsââ
sweet, innocent jake. laundry duty wonât be too bad tomorrow. heâll have to bow down to you, and then riki, for being too filthy to take the walk of shame upstairs.
the party outside goes on without you â for a brief moment, youâre reminded of where you are. itâs heeseungâs 8th house party this year, which probably meant this was 8th time nishimura riki has dragged you inside of an inconspicuous area of the frat house to fuck like his life would end the following morning.
the music doesnât reach you here like how it does outside â the floor doesnât shake with every bass drop, nor are you bumping into random strangers every step you take. you suppose you could count your blessings this way. youâll do just about anything to take your mind off the way nishimura rikiâs making you see those pearly white gates.
âsqueezing me so fuckinâ tight,â he lands one harsh slap to your right ass cheek, the sting immediately following before going numb. you squeal, head dropping low. âyou cum so fast, babyâsâfucking cute.â
you almost roll your eyes at the remark. riki makes you sound like youâre easy to please â but itâs only cause youâve never had sex like this, not with anyone like nishimura riki, and youâre sure you never will.
youâd never tell him that, though.
âhaaâshut the fuck up, riki,â you moan, hands gripping the sides of the sink counter as you try to stabilise yourself. his hips are snapping into you with intention, like he wants to make a family of five, and it terrifies you in what may be the sexiest way possible. âfuuuck, iâm closeâgonna cum!â
âyouâre sooo mean to me,â riki mocks, âshouldâve just ended with the 4th. ungrateful girl.â
he doesnât actually mean that.
you know it because heâs still pushing himself deeper in, angling himself just right so heâs kissing your cervix with every single snap of his hips. youâre shaking all over, still leaning into rikiâs touch despite the sheer overstimulation his body is managing to give you.
âtoo much, too fucking muchââ
your hair is sticking to all sides of your face, and if not for the impossibly good dick stretching you out, youâre confident this would be the last circle of hell â youâre sticky, hot, and your makeup is ruined.
âyouâll take it,â riki declares, eyebrows knit with his eyes zeroed on the fat of your ass â red and bruised from him â he stares a long while before glancing up at the mirror, watching your teary-eyed face scream his name.
your legs are giving out, knees turning to jelly as your back arches into rikiâs chest. heâs drinking all of it up, and you see it on that smug, punchable face of his through the foggy glass.
another reason why his dick is such a curse: he canât get you to stop creaming all over his stupidly pretty cock. sunghoon will have to hear about this.
after your 5th orgasm, heâs quick to flip you around; legs wrapped around his waist, locked behind his back, as he pushes his flushed head past that tight ring of muscle, greeting your perfect cunt again.
âf-fuck, one moreââ riki pleads with you, knowing damn well your self control is no better than his. you do nothing but wrap your arms around him, head dipping into the crook of his neck, sucking at the flushed skin.
he almost fucking whimpers. âs-shit, donât do thatââ
riki doesnât mean that either.
youâre still leaking from the previous round (approximately 1 minute prior, if his mind serves him correctly), and all it does is make the slip inside easier â though it spills and makes a mess onto the floor and makes his strokes a million times more sloppy, riki finds his mind blanking when he sees the mix of his and your cum flowing down your pretty thighs.
âshit, youâre so fucking hot,â his chin tilts up, letting you have easier access to his neck. your tongue presses flat against his throat, feeling the frantic pulse underneath his skin, and itâs telling you heâs enjoying every single moment of this. âwanna make you cum again, pleaseââ
and when youâve both come undone for the⊠6th? 7th? 8th? time, nishimura riki almost always finds himself watching for the mix of cum that spills out from your pussy.
oh. he thinks he might have solved this curse.
âwe need to start using condoms,â he mumbles under his breath as he helps you slide your panties back on. youâre panting, and heâs wiping your tears away. âlike, seriously.â
it feels oddly romantic coming from a guy whoâd just ruined your ability to walk for the next week.
âwhy?â your head tilts slightly, genuinely perplexed. âiâm on the pill. periodâs coming. shouldnât be a big deaââ
âjust trust me.â riki sighs, feeling his heart shatter into ten million pieces (important: he stresses this to park sunghoon the next morning). what the hell do they call this? a necessary evil?
âoookay,â you shrug, hopping off the counter. you wobble a little, but rikiâs arms are quick to support you.
so, when heâs hungover the following morning and finishes the last bowl of fruit loops, he insists on being the one to run to the store.
âwhy the hell are there condoms on the receipt?â jungwon asks aloud, voice echoing from the kitchen, and the rush of blood that goes to rikiâs face is priceless â sunghoon can only snicker, while sunoo has that look again.
some fucking curse.
tl @toxicpia @ggreadcghyeeas @miyakoa @angelhyuka @coolerthanjungkooksglassofmilk @antxvlol @fictionalpeoplelover @jellyluv4eva @rikigoonette @aarriiaa1 @hallowmingi @sociallyawkward18 @limo-shi @jun2ki @eater4riki @seerpentsk1rt @mrloverboy3000 @d2iose @dolllnini
Who was ur favorite in dreamsmp its a safe space here
SORRY FOR THE LATE RESPONSE!
personally, quackity đđđfor me he was effortlessly funny, i enjoyed his streams and videos the most iwlâŠ. wbu??
