Synopsis. 8010—DOKI-DOKI-GF: Are you a complete n’ utter nerd that just can’t seem to find a girlfriend? Have you lied to your family and told them that you’re seeing someone (when you really aren’t)? Do you need to save face at the next family dinner before your uncle makes fun of you until the end of time? Well, call our hotline NOW to access Tokyo’s #1 rent-a-girlfriend service!
Choso Kamo, unfortunately, is all of the above.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!rentaI girIfriend!reader, nerd!Choso Itadori family shenanigans, meeting the family, fake dating, UncIe Kuna is MEAN, they’re onto you…, getting kicked out of restaurants, Iove hotels, vírgin!Choso, first times (his), PÚSSYDRÚNK CHOSO, making him crawI, oraI (f + m), fíngering, spítting, bíting, p taIking, scientific taIk HAHA, commands (from you), créaming his pants, making him cúm earIy, multiple o’s (him), MAJOR overstím, pánty-sníffing, ríding, making him whímper, making him cry, somewhat gágging (him), teaching him, creampíes, sIight cùmfIation, implied marathon, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.0k
A/N. HEHEHEH-
“—I’m so happy you’ve found your person, Cho…” Itadori Jin coos- tearing up.
“P-papa, people are staring.” Choso huffs, spooning the syrupy-sweet cherries on his sundae over to Yuji’s.
“I know, I know.” Jin bats a hand, not-so-discreetly dabbing underneath his eyes using his sweater. “It’s just- your uncle and I were getting so worried, y’know?” He gestures at his younger twin brother next to him—looking comically buff in that pretty pink ice cream parlor seat. Jin had chosen this place. “And although we didn’t lose hope-”
“Who’s we?” Sukuna snorts.
“I uh…well.” Jin adjusts his glasses and looks over at Itadori Wasuke - currently scooping out his own cherries to flick into the neighboring table’s cups when they weren’t looking. “Father and I didn’t lose-”
“I did.” Wasuke looks squarely at his oldest grandson, “No offense, kid- but I bet ¥400 that you’d die alone.”
Sukuna nods seriously, “I bet ¥20,000.”
To which you’re finally…reaching over to intertwine your fingers with Choso’s.
…Choso drops his cherries.
And you’re letting out such a sweet, sweet giggle - even sweeter than the linger of cherries on his tongue - before you duck underneath the table to help him pick them up.
Choso was already on his knees crawling after those damn cherries- and all it takes is a single glance at your face oh-so-close to his, in such short proximity, for him to jolt—and bang his head against the underside of the table. So hard that the glasses clink against one another, and Wasuke groans as he misses in his valiant cherry canons.
So loud that half the parlor stares at your little table.
“Oh no.” You’re reaching out in concern as Choso rubs his achin’ head. “Honey, are you-”
“I-I’m fine—!” Choso turns his face away - and the only things you could make out were the frames of his chunky glasses…and the burning red on the tips of his ears. Blushing. Though you’re not convinced, and once you get a little closer- he’s waving you off more fervently than ever. “I promise, I promise! I can handle it…babe.”
You quirk a brow - “If you say so, sugarplum.”
He almost jolts once more- too much…?
However, before you’re thrusting yourself once more into the stratosphere of emotional fathers (at least, one of them) and glowering uncles, you inch yourself closer to the nerve-wracked man - as quick as a flash. And then you’re pressing your lips to his right cheek—just a graze, just a peck.
But it’s enough for Choso to yelp-
And bang his head against the table once again.
“Easy there, tiger.” You’re giggling at him, “I need you in one piece.”
“N-need me…” Choso whispers to himself- perhaps thinking that you won’t hear.
And it’s a small mercy that you’re handing to him - pretending that you didn’t hear that. Instead, you’re throwing yourself back into your seat, and presenting your most-practiced smile at Choso’s eavesdropping family members.
In little-to-no time, Choso’s popping back up and plopping all those floor cherries into Sukuna’s black coffee. The older man swears.
Jin covers the seven-year-old Yuji’s ears.
And then your boyfriend’s excusing himself hastily to the bathroom. Leaving you alone with them.
Unsure how to proceed, there’s a few minutes of silence before you’re speaking first. “Quite the lovely place, isn’t it?”
“Yes- yes.” Jin snaps out of his little reverie—he’d been watching over your interaction with such unabashed pride. Such loving nosiness. Out of all the fathers of clients that you’d happened to meet, you think he might just be your favorite…He beams. “I’m so glad you like it, dear. I mean- the first girl that Cho’s introducing us to-”
“The only one.” Sukuna coughs.
“-I just knew I had to impress. I picked this one specifically because it advertised itself as a place that’s both family-friendly and open to coup-”
“So you met the wimp…how again?” Sukuna interrupts. And he ignores the look that Jin throws at him.
“Six months ago at university.” Choso’s finally finished up at the bathroom, within earshot of the table. He takes his seat right next to you.
“I hope you washed your hands.” You whisper to him.
“Of course, I did.”
The two of you had already repeated this tried and true story at the very start of your introductions. And it was clear that Sukuna was fishing for something…more.
You make a show of reaching for Choso’s hand on top of the table—intertwining your fingers with his. They were fingers much longer and thicker than yours- that you might not have expected. The most sensual calluses from what you assume to be turning pages of books. The softest touch nevertheless.
You squeeze his hand and shoot him a simpering smile.
Itadori Jin just about faints.
Sukuna scoffs at his overdramatic older brother, “S’that so…?” He then crosses his tattooed arms, “You don’t seem like the type to like ah- biology and hemorrhages.”
“It’s biology and hematology, uncle Ryo.” Choso answers crossly, “And no- we met in the campus library.”
Then you’re the one to pipe up. “Cho here- oh, sorry, Choso-”
“Call him whatever you like—!” Jin cries.
As his brother attempts to wrangle him back into his seat, you smile appreciatively and continue. “Cho here was the one that helped me find a textbook I’d been searching for for weeks.” Just to add a little flare to it, you’re squeezing his hand once more and staring deeply into his big, beautiful brown eyes when you speak. “He knew even better than the librarian! And he was just so nervous- stuttering and- and did I tell you that he almost tripped over himself handing me that book?”
Jin, so very interested in your story, shakes his head aggressively.
Meanwhile Sukuna merely rolls his eyes- though you note that he and Wasuke don’t interrupt you for a second.
“Yeah…that was when I knew.” You conclude. Patting lovingly at his arm, “And of course, it did take a few weeks of being friends for Cho here to finally build up the courage. But he did manage to ask me out in the end—”
Sukuna raises one mean, coral-pink brow.
And you’re elbowing your boyfriend.
“-didn’t you, honey?”
It was rather difficult to convince your boyfriend’s family of the story of you two meeting- especially when your boyfriend himself looked as though this was his first time hearing it…Choso kept an expression of sweet euphoria—something soft. Like he was watching a romantic movie play out.
One that was starring in- and you needed him to say something…
“Huh? Yes?” Choso blinks- sense coming back to him. “O-oh, yes.”
And then he straightens up.
Possessively placing his hand on top of yours, “I saw her and I just…knew she had to be mine-”
“See now, that where yer lying.” Sukuna leans over the table with a devilish smile- pointedly ignoring his brother’s swatting. “There’s no world in which Kamo Ultimate Loser Choso—had his first kiss with a biology textbook, asked out the high school lab skeleton before any real person - would be the one asking you out.”
You’re stiffening as he points at you.
“Are you just someone he’s paying to lie? Because whatever he’s paying, it surely can’t be enough-”
You’re plastering on your smile, “If by ‘pay’ you mean love and cherish me then-”
“Then I know my nephew would no sooner woo a damn lab rat than a real person.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing his arms and falling back into his seat. “Especially one so pretty.”
Jin looked tense- and he’d forgone swatting at Sukuna underneath the table to now openly pinching his bicep. Still, the pain seems to do nothing to bate his suspicion.
“More sundaes, everyone? More sundaes?” Jin asks in a strangely high tone.
The only ones unaffected at the table was Yuji currently plucking at his sundae cherries, and Wasuke who stared at them with the internal debate as to whether or not he should fling those at the neighboring table, too. You almost wanted him to—anything to distract from the terseness that had suddenly taken over.
And to your surprise - it’s Choso who’s the first one to speak. “Why, uncle Ryo…” Those doe-like eyes of his narrow into an expression you’ve never seen made by the sweet, sweet boy thus far. “-jealous?”
Sukuna startles- “The hell did you s-”
“Dagnabbit I almost had it this time-” Wasuke gives up on considering and swipes one of Yuji’s overabundance of cherries to throw into their neighboring tables glass. It’s a hole in one.
“Grandma, do that again—!” Yuji squeals and claps his hands.
“Huh, where? I’m grandpa-”
“Everybody silence!” Jin’s voice raises above than the rest - and into every corner of the ice cream parlor. Echoing. He hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment, but he found himself standing as he stopped the chaos—and rushed to sit down after some apologetic bows at the wider population being subjected to the catastrophe that was…their family.
And his next apology is directed at you. “My dear, I cannot tell you how sorry I am-” Now instead of pinching Sukuna, he outright gives the man a brotherly smack upside the head. Unafraid of doing so; Jin makes it hard enough that even Ryomen Sukuna winces. Now you understand how he kept his title shining as older brother…“-that I am related to a bunch of buffoons, and Yuji.”
“Yuji has been quite the distinguished gentleman.” You’re nodding at Yuji and his ice-cream-covered grin. “But it’s alright, Mr. Itadori. Honestly- promise I wasn’t offended by anything said.”
Your hands have seemed to find a permanent home in Choso’s - at least for the time being - and you squeeze his.
“I understand that you’re just ah- cautious as the first girl to meet you like this but…I get it. Really.” Jin’s expression just seems to melt as you keep speaking. “Cho really is someone special to me. And I want to protect him, too.”
Next to you, you hear Choso suck in a shaky breath.
“Really? And you truly promise that it hasn’t been too much?” He probes with shining eyes. “Ryo here can get a little too mouthy-”
“Hey!” Sukuna starts—then immediately winces as Jin’s fingers twitch towards him again.
“Please do forgive him- it’s in his nature.”
“Absolutely promise. And I don’t hold anything against Mr. Sukuna, either.” You knew to hit juuuust where it mattered - and referring to Sukuna using such a title made the man straighten in his chair a little. “Choso did warn me that his family might be a little…excited. But to be honest with you, I always have had a soft spot for big, loud families.”
“Well…” Jin blushes happily, before reaching across the table and shaking your hand. “You may call me Jin, if you’d like. And I’d like to welcome you into our big, loud family.”
“I’m so honored- thank you.”
“The honor is all ours.”
“Oh no, it’s ours.”
Sukuna glances at Choso and scoffs. Underneath his breath, “That’s as long as that wimp has paid for-”
The table rattles as Jin kicks him underneath it. “The honor is all ours. Isn’t it…younger brother?”
“Ye-yes—” Sukuna wheezes. His large hand comes slamming down- merely something to hold onto his dear life for. “Welcome to the family, girl.”
You beam like it’s the happiest day of your life.
Head rested on Choso’s shoulder, and your head nodding at the flow of conversation. “This is cooler than the Turritopsis dohrnii.” He breathes.
Save for the brief hiccup earlier- you’d consider your first meeting with Choso’s family to have gone swimmingly. And sure, perhaps Sukuna held the faintest inkling of suspicion that what the two of you had was a ruse—but he’d been shot down almost immediately by Jin.
And thank goodness for that.
“Let’s celebrate by getting the double double heart-shaped cones- oh, I wonder how they get them into that shape?” Jin hums. “And then I want chocolate chips, dipped in the bubblegum drizzle and- oh, hello.”
He beams as their server nears the table.
“I would like-”
“Sir, we’ve been getting complaints of cherries being flung into people’s glasses and we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Oh.”
Because of course…Ryomen Sukuna had been completely correct.
As the group gets up to leave - perhaps to another diner downtown or so - you’re refusing to let Jin apologize. And you’re still holding onto Choso as though he was the dreamiest boyfriend in the whole wide world, and you were the luckiest girlfriend—as dreamy as he may be…you weren’t the girlfriend he’d been dating for the past five months.
In fact, you weren’t his girlfriend at all.
In fact, you’d only met two hours prior.
You were #1 Rental Girlfriend in all of Tokyo. And this time, you’d been hired to save face at a family get-together.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time that you’ve had to pretend your way through such a predicament - more people than one would think had less and less time for love. Especially not in this day and age. Especially not when work and responsibilities latched onto you like a starving tick, and though its blood supply might be modest at first, it only grows hungrier and hungrier—greedier, until you’re bone-dry. Bone-dry. Bone-dry. And it still feeds- what’s next? The bones and all?
And society still looks at you with the same standards—yes, the parasite’s gotten bigger, but why are you so frail?
And before you know it, you’re hiring a rental girlfriend to prove to your parents that yes- you can still be a functional and well-balanced adult still!
This was exactly why you continued being a rental girlfriend.
It’d started out as a side-job during your first year of university—your friends were all getting partners or throwing themselves into their studies. And you needed something fulfilling to pass the time.
Then, your best friend suggested getting a part-time job.
You’re sure she didn’t mean as a rental girlfriend.
But you couldn’t help it - it’d been the first advertisement for Hiring that’d popped up once you’d searched online!
And it was meant to be for a few weeks initially- really, you hadn’t planned on continuing this career for so long. Let alone making it a sort of career.
That morning, you’d opened up your approved application for Doki-Doki-Girlfriend and determinedly made your way to the interview section - promising yourself that you’d run at the first sign of anything off. The interview was being held at the Doki-Doki headquarters: this pretty pink-colored building in downtown Akihabara that had formerly been a host club. It’d been dimly-lit and draped in old perfume and even older sex.
Though you’d been nervous the first time you entered, you’d been quickly taken by the Doki-Doki owner—Tsukumo Yuki.
The first thing she asked you was what your type in men was.
And when you’d answered - through your shock - that it was the shy, stuttering type- she laughed that that was about 95% of their clientele. So you’d be lucky, perhaps.
Yuki, as she insisted you call her, explained to you the ins and outs of being a rental girlfriend. To smile. To simper. To be sweet but not overly so.
To never let them pressure you into anything. They weren’t the type of rental business that offered other sorts of services.
What people were searching for above all was a connection- for at least this brief moment in time. And the both of you would understand this transaction: it was the fantasy of a human bond that you were selling, and they were buying. It was your time. It was your emotional investment.
But later…you would come to genuinely connect with most of those you worked with.
After that interview—which you passed with flying colors, you spoke with some of the other girls working there and decided to continue with the job opportunity. Much to Yuki’s delight, who’d taken a liking to you almost immediately. After that was the training period - during which you accompanied some of the other rental girlfriends on their dates.
You were introduced to some as their friend—and as many guys as expected were actually flattered to be seen with two ‘girlfriends’ in public.
You took notes on conversation topics. You watched their behaviours.
You understood how they’d change their approaches according to the needs of their clients, and you absorbed it all.
After a few weeks of observation, you were finally added to the roster of rental girlfriends to go on your own dates.
You just didn’t expect to shoot to the top of the ranks.
#1 in Tokyo.
Perhaps one of the Top 5 in the entire country—only three years after starting, in your fourth year of university.
The clients adored you.
They draped you in gifts. They went on repeat dates - spending extra just for a minute of your time, though you often refused the additional amounts. Of course, there would be no funny business (and this was something you made quite clear within the first few minutes of meeting a new client). And excluding one or two unsavory clients that were quickly blacklisted from Doki Doki, you’d grown rather fond of your regulars.
There was the older woman who’d practice speaking to women through you- for when she planned on getting her first girlfriend. There was the excitable college student who tested out date spots with you. There was the pensioner who wished to take a monthly stroll through the park, simply talking about their day.
It was the feeling of belonging amongst strangers. Connecting with people you never could have imagined finding common ground with before.
And you believe, through this line of work, you began to understand humans better.
Humans were all just…really, really lonely.
Choso had been the same when he came to you.
It had been a working day like any other - you’d been called to the front desk of Doki Doki in order to be given a briefing of your next date. It was all standard processes, really.
Name: Kamo Choso
Age: 23
Occupation: Student
Prior appointments: None.
Prior love life: None.
Purpose: Client seeks a rental girlfriend to sit through a family dinner with his family, pretending to be his girlfriend. Prior backstory required to be able to maintain the conversation and create the illusion of a loving relationship (5 months). Flirting and mild physical affection.
Extra notes: Client says to please be wary of his extra ‘rowdy’ family.
And so, you’d accepted.
You met up with the aforementioned Choso—and found yourself a little taken aback at just how…cute he was.
Nerdy. Nervous.
Pushing his glasses up as he frantically introduced himself - that, too, messing his name up a few times before actually telling you.
Exactly your type. Yuki had been right.
He was your age, and went to - it turns out - the same university as you. Though the two of you hadn’t seen each other before, Choso confessed that that might be because he was cooped up in the library most of the time.
He bowed at least a dozen times through apologies for the trouble- even though you assured him that meeting a family wasn’t anything out of your way. And then he insisted on paying extra, on coming up with a code should you want to leave, on—you shook your head and grabbed his hand. “So, how did we meet, boyfriend?”
You always did enjoy the ones where big families were involved - sure, they might be more awkward in the long run…but those types of dates always did manage to make you feel so warm inside. Big families. Big emotions.
And the biggest, perhaps, of all had been meeting the Itadori family.
They’d been unlike any other family you’ve ever met.
And that was saying a lot.
Thus, you’re letting out a prolonged sigh the moment you’re stepping outside—it was some downtown diner that the six of you had ended up at after your less-than-ceremonious exit at the ice cream parlor. Sukuna had been craving something hearty after living through that introduction on just sweets and coffee - and Jin had suggested one of their favorite ramen places.
It was only after you’d sat down with them at one of the booths - the one they called their ‘usual’ - that Jin had revealed that when they referred to it as ‘their’ ramen place—they really meant the their.
In everything but ownership.
This was the first restaurant they’d gone to celebrate Choso’s first birthday, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Jin’s mother had passed, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Yuji was born and Jin was granted full custody.
And you couldn’t help but feel a strange sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach. What was that you said about family-oriented dates being the most awkward in the long term?
At least the ramen had been the best you’d ever tasted- and the conversation flowed freely. Even Sukuna seemed to forgo his initial suspicion to make some conversation with you on Akihabara’s best spots.
And in the end, you were walking out of that ramen restaurant with a full stomach and an even more full heart.
Waving to the retreating backs of Jin, Sukuna, Wasuke, and a sleeping Yuji—you’re turning to Choso once they were completely out of sight. “Your family is…”
“Abhorrent?” He pushes his glasses up with a crooked smile. Choso had eased up around you significantly compared to your initial meeting outside the Doki Doki building, stammering through an adequate backstory for your faux-relationship, though he still seemed to be the nerve-wracked type.
“No…” You pretend to think.
“Overbearing?”
“No.”
“Savages?”
“Certainly not.”
“The servers at that ice cream parlor would disagree.” Choso mutters, “How about aneurysm-causing?”
“No.” You’re shaking your head once again, before turning to him with a smile. “They’re loving.”
Choso says nothing, but the tips of his ears burn.
“They care about you a lot- even your uncle was making sure I wasn’t some stranger just taking your money.” Well…
The long-haired man pushes his glasses up with a sputter of confirmation- or at least something that sounds like it. “I-I suppose ah- in their own…ways they’re rather…” Choso swallows a few times, and you’re watching his face as he does so—the Sun was dipping past the horizon now, and cracking its golden yolk over the grooves of his worried face. Handsome. Choso Kamo was just so handsome.
With his lashes dark and draping over his cheekbones. With his lips pouty and bitten whenever he was thinking deeply about something. With his stature so tantalizingly tall—though he didn’t even seem to be aware of it, as he navigated the world like a newly-birthed fawn.
He was the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen - glasses and all.
“—caring.” Choso finally finishes his sentence.
You’re letting a smile stretch across your lips- and before you can think twice, you’re clasping Choso’s hand once more. You’d been doing it so often over the course of the date that it almost feels- natural now.
“You know…you paid for five hours of my time, Choso. Do you know how much more time we have left?”
“Two hours, fourteen minutes and—” He grows ever-redder as he stares down at you. Were you…leaning in? Pressing yourself against him? Fuck. “-f-fifteen seconds.”
“Mmmm, I do love a smart boy.” Beginning to tug him in another direction from the path to the Doki Doki building - though you leave enough leeway that he can stop should he want to. Choso follows you like a dog on a leash. “I don’t usually do this, but if you want to spend the rest of your time with me then…I know this ah- other place we can go to?”
“Like you want me to c-call my family back for another family dinner?” Choso asks, eyes bulging.
“Oh no, no.” You laugh. “This place isn’t family friendly at all.”
.
.
.
“A-a love hotel-”
“One room, please. Standard.” Interrupting Choso, you smile at the receptionist.
“Will that be for an allocated time or overnight?”
“Hmm…” You glance sidelong at the gawking Choso next to you- looking around the hotel lobby as though it was some sort of attraction. “Overnight, please.”
As the woman behind the desk continued tap-tap-tapping away at her keyboard, you take a moment to look at Choso - now adjusting his glasses to make sure that he was seeing right. That really was a bowl of condoms sitting on the front desk. As the heat rushes up the back of his neck, you’re wrapping your arms around one of his own—and pressing your body against his. “Everything alright, Cho?”
He’d been like this ever since you started heading him in the direction of the glitzy love establishment. Pink walls. Fluorescent lights. He’d agreed to going…elsewhere to continue your date- but he’d expected your apartment or something! Choso had been stunned but allowed you to lead him in front of the love hotel, and once outside you turned towards him once more. It was the first time you yourself was doing this with who was supposed to be a client. “And you’re really su-”
“Yes.”
And that was that.
The lobby was quiet…too quiet. In a way that made your spine tingle with anticipation.
“That’s a…a real bowl of condoms.” He exclaims- earning a look from the receptionist.
“That is. Is this your way of saying that we don’t need any?” You joke…mostly. Then the key gets slid over to you - Room 143 - and you’re nodding at the receptionist. “Thank you.”
The two of you make your way down the lust-pink corridor and take the elevator up to your room - jamming in the key to open up a space that looked as if a honeymoon threw up all over it. Rose petals on the floor. Faux candles flickerin’ on the beside cabinet. Rows upon rows of even more condoms lined on the middle of the queen-sized bed.
If you looked at it from the right angle, it formed a few hearts.
“I didn’t mean we shouldn’t use them…” Choso’s the first one to speak- and he visibly gulps as you close the door behind you two. “It’s just…I-I’ve never done this before.”
Your eyes widen—you’d been suspecting this ever since you entered. But to have it actually confirmed…“No fooling around before finals or anything? Nothing to de-stress?”
He shakes his head n’ bites his lower lip. “Nothing. I haven’t even had my first kiss, to be honest…” Choso looks up at you with those nervous eyes. “Is that okay?”
“Okay?” You smile. Walking over to twist your hands into his lapels- and tug him to you. “It’s perfect. And since you’ve shared a secret with me, I’m gonna share one with you, okay?”
He nods.
And so you’re leaning in so that your lips are grazing - just grazing - his pretty, blushing ears. “It turned me on more than it should’ve, seeing you on your knees in that parlor.”
Choso gasps-
And then your lips are on his.
Then you’re tucking his cute, shivering bottom lip into your mouth—and sucking softly. Choso lets out the most guttural groan at the act- and his hands tremble in mid-air not knowing what to do.
“Don’t be shy.” You’re cooing at him - reaching up and guiding one of his hands to be on the back of your neck—the other one on your ass. You lean into his surprisingly firm chest, “Although…I find it really cute when you’re shy.”
His involuntary whimper gets swallowed up by your own lips.
You’re the one that’s guiding him through the sensual motions of your mouth. Kissing and kissing him till he’s senseless.
Till those thick glasses of him have been knocked ever-so-slightly askew.
Till you’ve left him weak in the knees - literally.
Choso Kamo is melting into you—he’s letting his hands grasp your body as though a forgetting man holding onto his last memory, a drowning sailor holding onto a lifeboat. It doesn’t even feel real to him. And he can’t stop himself as his hands, his body, his knees buckle n’ he’s sliding doooooown the expanse of your body- lips breaking contact with yours with a pained grunt.
Before he knows it, his knees are hitting the floor.
And he’s peering up at you with a desperate expression; brows pinched, mouth kiss-bitten and trembling. Expression something of dazed awe. It makes your pussy clench at just how utterly pathetic he looks. “Everything alright, baby?”
“Ngh- yes.” You watch as one of his hands automatically shoots to cover his crotch - he was rock-fucking-hard already.
“You suuuuure?” Teasing. There’s a devilish twinkle in your eyes that’s reflected through his as utter indigence.
And without saying anything more, you step backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Bouncing a few times. You’re sitting yourself down on the plush bedsprings, crossing your legs- and watching him through half-lidded eyes. Not a single word comes out of you.
But it doesn’t take a single word for Choso to realize what you wanted with a jolt—
He crawls to you.
He crawls to you.
Choso’s letting his features twist into something akin to embarrassment - with the tips of his ears so red that they were practically radiating heat - as he edges closer. As he shifts on his knees. As he crawls just as he had been doing in the ice cream parlor—except this time, the only cherry he was searching for was that cute lil’ wet spot between your legs.
Your dress was short and already hiked up to reveal those pale pink panties.
Was that a little bow on top?
Though it seems like an age before he’s finally able to reach close enough to affirm that- yes, that was a little bow on top. Choso finally manages to without combusting, and looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes.
“Please…” He begs.
You’re softly caressing his cheek- almost lovingly. And Choso’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch in an almost feline manner.
Moving to his jawline. Moving to the back of his sweaty scalp.
And then you’re shoving his pretty face between your legs—and Choso’s letting himself gladly be shoved. Manhandled. His chin sticks against the foamy mess of your panties, so wet with all your leaking juices. His nose digs between the plushest parts of your swollen pussylips. And Choso lets out a hallowed breath as he gapes his mouth ever-so-slightly wider-
“Awww, why so shy, baby?” You’re cooing down at him.
With your hand clasped onto the back of his head- you’re guiding Choso’s mouth to better plaster against your pussy. For him to find his balance.
“S-s’like a second kiss.” Choso sputters out. And you’re grinning.
“Naughty, are we?” You had a feeling that this was going to be a loooooot of fun…
Choso’s mouth was parted. And his lips were rubbin’ incessantly up and down the outline of your cunt—up and down, up and down.
That flimsy fabric of your panties was just glued to your sopping wet pussy, and he’s able to slot his lips over your folds perfectly. Managing to string down a line of hot wet kisses where you needed him the most- “Mmmm…” You’re arching your back with a deep groan as his nose fits between your pussylips—the pointed tip pressing on your clit. “Just like that, Cho. You can go deeper if you like, y’know that?”
“H-how, baby?” He rasps. Those pleading eyes of his were just so cute- and Choso can’t last too long speaking without pressing a few more open-mouthed kisses on your cunt.
“You want me to teach you?” You’re asking him, to which he nods. “Mmm, well open your mouth a little wider- just a little wider-”
And he does- his cute canines snaggin’ against the top of your pussylips.
“You can just start off by kissing lightly, baby. Remember how we did all that kissing earlier?” Nodding once more. “Yeah- just try to replicate that.”
“M’gonna do my best, baby…” He’s starting off soft at first- slow. Almost timid in his movements as he properly slots his mouth over your pussy - over your panties - and kisses n’ sucks lightly.
“Fuck- you study biology, so you know where the good spots are, hm?”
“The glans clitoris a-and the…” Kitten kisses. “-the labia minora contain an immense number of nerve endings.” Chaste pecks—but every single droplet of your pussy’s juices splashed onto his tongue seems to leave Choso Kamo reeling.
Eyes drawing to the back of his head. Ragged pants emanating from the back of his throat.
And he’s pushing himself deeper, deeper, deeper - making out with your pussy so desperately, depravedly that his glasses were crushing against your pelvis—“Easy there, baby. Easy.” The only way to even get him to take a breath is to tug him back using his hair. “We have more than ‘nough time, okay?”
“Mhmmmm…” He nods through a pout- lips sucking off the juices seeped into your panties. “All night.”
“Eager boy. Next, I want you to use your tongue, okay?” His expression turns into something startled. “What? Not scared are you, Cho?”
Choso shakes his head furiously—as though he couldn’t stand the mere thought of it. “N-no.” He hisses, hot breath gluing to your leaking core - the way he was just so…greedy to lavish your pussy left you even wetter. And he was gladly allowing the excess residue to land all over his face and end up sliding off, “No no no- not at all. This pretty labia- Mmmpf—”
Whatever else was on the tip of his tongue gets muffled-
For then Choso’s flattening his tastebuds on top of your pussy. Those swollen pussylips. Movin’ his muscle siiiiiiide to the siiiiiide and then up and down the line of your slit.
You whine, “Oh- just fuck me with it.” Tugging on his locks, “Fuck me with your tongue- ngh, the way I know you’ve been wantin’ to since we met. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at me…”
“I was…” He pleads. He prays between your legs. Zig-zagging his tongue wildly.
And then after he’s sucked off your panties all clean - Choso reaches one of his hands upwards to try and take off those useless undergarments-
But you’re faster than him.
And you’re stopping him with a searing pull at his scalp. The nerdy man lets out a sudden yelp and looks at you with the prettiest doe-eyes. “Ah ah—” It almost ached your heart to act so mean to him, not giving him exactly what he wanted. But more than your heart- it was your pussy that was throbbing. “Now who said you’ve earned the right to take them off, hm?”
“B-but…” Choso’s peripherals widen - they were glazed-over with lust. “How can I reach the tunica mucosa if I don’t take off—”
“You don’t have to take it off, right?” You hum. “Eat me out through my panties-”
Just the mere sound of that sentence makes Choso moan.
“-and…” And you’re cocking your head to get a better look at where his hips were starting to rut. Against the rickety frame of the love hotel’s bed, he was grindin’ and crushing what seemed to be an aching erection. “-don’t touch yourself, either.”
Choso’s free hand immediately halts in its tracks.
He’s shooting you a pained look- but more than that, it was flooded with pure, unabashed need.
Something dark. Something primal.
Choso’s tipping his head back and letting you plough your pussy against his mouth- in rough, rapid grinds. You don’t wait a single moment for him to catch his breath—and that seems far from his main priority in the first place. He’s merely flopping his lengthy tongue out - so pinkish n’ pretty - and slithering it past your panties.
Riiiiiight underneath, after a few tries he manages to ease it past the rim of your puckered entrance.
You’re letting out a semi-shocked gasp once you feel your convulsing walls streeeeetching at the girth of him. He was thicker than you’d expected- with the ridges of his tastebuds melding to your inner channel. And without any experience, Choso doesn’t know how to ease into it - which works just as well for you as he’s expanding his thick tongue inside of you. And then thrashing n’ thrashing away. “Sh-shit, keep going, Cho.”
“What- hck! what do I have to do?” He manages to somehow ask between heavy gulps. And even that amount of time spent parted with your pussy means that he’s letting out loooong, luxurious licks inside your velvety walls to make up for it.
“H-huh?” You blink down at him through your bleary eyes. “Keep going, ngh- faster, baby.”
“No, I just meant…” Choso blinks those big, beautiful peripherals at you. He kept both hands on your thighs to press himself ever-deeper—he couldn’t get enough. “-what do I have to do t-to take off your panties? I wish to see all of you…that pretty vulva like a flower, the- ngh, prepuce…”
The mere thought has him ruttin’ away against the bed once more.
“How about you make me- haaaah, cum, baby? Hm?” You smile down at the desperate man, “And you have to do it before cumming yourself, m’kay?”
He can’t remove your panties.
He can’t touch himself.
He can’t cum before stuffin’ his face between your legs and making you cum first—
Choso was in heaven.
Even through the obscurement of his now-fogged glasses, Choso’s features twist into something primal- and he lets out a looooow whine before drag-drag-dragging his tongue into your clingy walls again. Thrusting in and out at a frenzied pace—the nerd was eating you out like a man starved.
Almost wolfish.
Choso was suckin’ and biting and snarling deep into your cunt. His glasses stick against your clit, and every single time he was forced to part with your pussy in order to breathe felt like fucking torture to him. “The clitoral nerve network consists of about 8000 to- ngh, over 10000 nerve endings-” Before you know it, he’s spitting. Letting it smear down your panties. Then dragging one of his calloused thumbs down that buttony nub. “-and baby, I need you to feel every single one.”
“Ohhhhh, fuck.” Your back arches deeper into him. Hands planting against the mattress in order to steady yourself, “A man that knows anatomy is dangerous.”
“And then the tunica mucosa…those spots there are also-” Such a priggish smile spreads across Choso’s mouth - one that you’re feeling on your cunt - as he swabs his tongue inside and stimulates some of those sweet nerve endings he was talking about. The hooked end of his muscle pushes apart your clingy walls, and somehow manages to find those sensitive areas so easily- “-effective…”
“Shut up and eat me out.” Pushing him deeper between your legs.
“A-and that’s not to mention—” But of course, you should’ve known that it isn’t easy to shut a STEM major up when it comes to their subject of interest. Choso most of all. And that nerdy man is babbling away whilst he’s slipping his tongue in and out, in and out, of you at a furious pace- until it was nothing but a pinkish blur squeezing away between your pussylips. “-the Gräfenberg spot-”
“You mean the g-spot?!” You’re wailing out.
“My favorite.” Choso nods, with your clit sucked into his mouth. Holding your panties to the side. He now alternates between rolling his tongue over your sensitive nub, and pushing it deep into your hole—stretchin’ you out juuuuust enough for his fingers to slip n’ squelch their way inside.
You’re letting out the shrillest keen as two of his fingers scissor apart your cunt’s walls, pushing up into their spongy surroundings to mold his sheer size into you. He’s softer on the tips of his digits, and rougher against the sides - “Easy there. Fuck, easy…” Choso’s sucking in a harrowed breath.
“I should be the one saying that to you.” You huff. Because Choso wasn’t dry-humping the foot of the bed whilst eating you out anymore - he was way past that.
Now solely keeping himself pushed- wedged in one place because just a little more friction and he’s bound to be cumming. “I-I’m alright, baby.” He tells you, “The Gräfenberg spot is located on the anterior wall, so right…up…”
Just a single press up into the roof of your cunt makes you buck - not having pressed on your sweetest spot just yet but-
“And then about two- three inches deeeeeep—” The loudest, sloppiest squelch! echoes across all four corners of the love hotel room as he eases inside. Roverin’ about inside your tight, wet channel for a few strokes before an explosion of pleasure runs right through you. “-right- there-”
“Fuuuuuuuck, oh.” You simper out. “There- right there- ngh.”
And then he’s thump-thumping his perfect fingers inside your cunt- accurately pinpointing that one spot inside you with his digits like a searchlight. Again and again. And don’t think that his mouth wasn’t working overtime—Choso kept his maw permanently gaped on top of your clit and had his lips hollowed with a constant suctioning motion.
Letting out broken moans off into your cunt all the while-
Choso manages to slip in a third finger- though those damn panties kept getting in the way. “Baby…” There’s a rasping, almost guttural tone to his words that you don’t recognize at first- you’re even raising onto your elbows to make sure that this was the same Choso Kamo.
But it sure was.
Glasses pressed up against your cunt—getting wetter by the second. “Baby, you’re experiencing vaginal contractions and tremors. Your pulse is faster. Your transudate is leaking even more- you’re getting wetter. And your clitoris is growing even, mmm-” He savors the feeling of your nub being pulled n’ dragged into his mouth. “-more swollen.”
“A-and that means…?” Though you already have an inkling of it.
“You’re going to orgasm, baby.” He never sounded more confident than when he was speaking science between your pussylips. “And I need you to cum aaaaaall over my mouth, okay?”
“Was planning to.” You whisper-
And it’s with a few more strokes, with a few more gashes of your pussy against his face, that the pressure that’d been building in your pelvic region finally explodes.
It thrums through your body faster than you can announce it—making every single vein, artery, and axiom within you vibrate until they’re sizzling at the sheer pressure. It felt as though your body was on fire. And the hottest it could get was at your sopping core- shoved against Choso’s pretty plush mouth and getting draaaagged through the violent peaks of your high.
The best you’ve ever had.
Choso manages to locate your g-spot right when the pleasure was hitting you the most - and you’re getting the faint suspicion that he was counting your throb-throb-throbs until he’d timed it just right. “One…two…”
Thrashing his fingers deepest.
Damn-near tearing your panties.
Shoving his erection against the bed.
And his tongue would move over your clit in an almost soothing motion- “Your vasocongestion m-means you’re sucking me up even- ngh, more. Fucking tight.” He spits. “Myotonia and contractions. Your orgasm’s strong, baby.”
“Didn’t need science to tell me that.” You comment.
Thrown through your orgasm.
It’s a crescendo then a plateau, and then when you’re finally done - Choso keeps jabbing his greedy fingers into you just for a few seconds longer. Fucking you through it. Fucking you past it.
You’re so sensitive by this point that you’re sobbing- pushing on his sweaty forehead. “Baby—oh, baby I’m done.”
“Done…?” He rasps. Eyes bleary as he raises them up, seeing you on your elbows. “Oh.”
“And you did as I wanted.” It takes much more effort than you expected to detach him from your quivering pussy - still a little sensitive from your previous orgasm. It was incredible. A part of you almost couldn’t believe that it’d been poor, inexperienced Choso Kamo that pulled that out of you.
He’s setting your cunt free with a whimper n’ a loooooud slurp!
Watching slack-jawed as you peel off your soaked-through panties and throw it right at him- it makes you gasp when Choso catches it with one hand…
Then brings that flimsy fabric riiiiight up to his face to sniff, to suck off the remnants of your syrupy sap. Not a speck of regret.
“Filthy.” You leer.
And then you’re tightening your hold on him—merely than sound was enough to wrench out a yearning croon from him. Preventing Choso from chasing after your cunt once more, “Now now…you don’t want to continue losing that virginity of yours, baby?”
“I-I do.” He eagerly nods.
“Good. Then get on the bed f’me.” You’re patting at the space beside you.
Soon enough, your positions are somewhat flipped - Choso finds himself lumbering onto the bed. Back against the mattress. Skin searing at the heat that your body had left behind.
He lies where you did- and you’re making quick work of discarding his graphic t-shirt (proudly claiming ‘I found this humerus’ next to a picture of a bone) and his trousers. The tent in his boxers was jaw-dropping—Choso stood proudly erect, thick and looking heavy between his legs, his bulbous tip kept trickling out more n’ more precum the longer you stared.
And had he just…
Taking off his boxers to make sure—you’re revealing his cock. Long and rock-hard.
It slaps against his soft core, and leaves a heart-shaped mark of sap. Just about seven or so inches in length- though the longer your gaze lingers on him…the longer he seems to look. Shit, was he about nine inches, maybe? And he wasn’t too thick - just flared enough at the tip that he’s sure to make your walls feel it.
But Choso had an abundance of pretty, long veins decorating down the shaft—underneath the tip, creating patterns down to his base. One which had a few sparse tufts of curly brown - almost black - hair.
Yet what you’re interested in the most was how Choso was so damn hard that his blushin’ red tip looked just about ready to fall off—
“I c-couldn’t help myself, baby.” Choso admits shyly. His hands reach downwards to try and cover his mess- but you’re waving him off. “Having you cum aaaaall over my mouth made me- ngh, want to cum as well.”
“I can see that.” You smirk.
“I didn’t mean to.” He insists, voice growing urgent as the silence stretches - fearing that you’d perhaps refuse to continue as he somewhat broke his promise. “P-promise, I didn’t mean to! It’s just that your tunica mucosa was squeezing me so tight- and your vaginal lubrication just tasted so sweet-”
“Choso?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Shush.”
“I- oh.”
Because, initially, you’d planned on riding the man senseless. But now you were leering yourself closer—almost sake-like in motion.
Staring deep into Choso’s widening eyes once you’re hovering yourself over his shivering legs. His long abdomen. And pressing a cute peck right on the top of his frothing tip—the splashes of his precum were syrupy-sweet. And they were combining with Choso’s cum from earlier to add a salty tint-
“So messy.” You’re whispering as you run your tongue ‘round and ‘round the top of his shaft. Cleaning him off until he was shining. “Are you gonna make a mess like this inside me too, hm?”
“D-don’t say something like that…s’gonna make me cum again.” Choso pleads.
And he really was serious - his words were on the verge of shattering.
You’re letting out a giggle- right into his aching hot cock. The vibrations sprint through his body and make him buck up into you—body before his mind, he doesn’t even realize until he’s doing so with a startled yelp. “My apologies-”
“Mmm, keep going. Get some practice in before the real deal.” You hum once more.
Choso seems as though he’s about to sob - this was too good for him - as he fucks his cock into your mouth a few more times. You relax your throat to take down most of him, and the parts that you can’t get milked with one hand.
Once. Twice. Thrice and quadruple before his flared tip starts twitchin’ wildly—draaaaagging up the soft insides of your throat, he leaves a salty aftertaste behind that makes you realize…
You’re pulling off of his cock with an emanating pop! “But you’ve got to save that up for inside, got it?”
He’s nodding so hard you idly wonder whether he might get whiplash. “Yes, baby. Anything for you, baby.”
“Mmm…” Climbing up the expanse of his body, you’re kissing Choso squarely with the same lips. “Just how I like it.”
And then your knees straddle Choso’s slender hips, your thighs press against his sweltering skin - you reach behind you to grab ahold of his cock’s base—and the sudden squeeze is enough to make him jolt. Bodily. He’s letting out a visceral shiver, “B-baby…”
You guide his ruddied tip to you—and just the barest, briefest smooch of your sweet pussy makes him jolt. Just feelin’ his hardness press up against your softness.
It makes him drive his hips off the mattress suddenly.
“Ah ah-” You warn. “Take it easy, baby. We have all night, don’t we?”
“But…” Choso’s eyes flicker between your face n’ where the two of you were about to connect. Something in him seems to almost break. So close. So close- “That’s so unfair. Your pussy feels like this and you’re expecting me to take it easy?”
A hand claws down your arched spine.
“Not even the textbooks could replicate how good it feels- m’not even inside you yet and I feel like I’m going insane.”
You swipe a thumb down his throbbing tip—catching a bead of white that was threatening to pour out. “I told you. As long as you keep it inside, Cho.”
And then you’re letting your hips lower - aiming to seat yourself down on that toned pelvis of his. “Ohhhh, fuck.” Your back bends, your head tips backwards as you’re taking in the inches of him. It’s a slow process - given that Choso was much larger than average - and you’re wrenching out primal moans as his thick length invades your core. A sweet prodding vein down the side of him was already massaging your insides—“You’re so big, baby. It’s always the quiet ones, huh?”
If he heard you, then he doesn’t make a show of it.
Choso’s handsome features scrunch up into something of pure ecstasy as he dives his cock deeper into you. Hands flying to your waist. Bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “Inside-” He whispers.
“Hmmm?”
“Inside- inside.” Choso gets out through heated pants. His mouth was moving a mile a minute- fuck, even his mind was. But he couldn’t possibly juggle any single coherent thought when his cock was sucked between your soft, soft pussylips and getting practically drained already. “A-am I really going inside? Or is this just a dream, baby?”
Without waiting around for an answer- he’s pinching his arm.
It leaves an angry red mark that proves to him that no…life really was this sweet.
“I am?” As though still in disbelief.
As though this in and of itself would be enough to make him cum and- oh, shit.
He really was cumming.
It seems to take the both of you by surprise, and Choso’s lunging his hips completely off the mattress - slamming his cockhead into the springy back of your cunt.
Bouncin’ off at the sheer force for a few seconds- it isn’t long before he’s then scouring deep into your walls and letting his bawling divot run free. Cumming in less than a single stroke inside you. “Oh- oh, shit.” Choso’s mouth waters, a single line of spittle running from the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry I…”
But he doesn’t have an answer.
He really, truly doesn’t.
“Pussy got your tongue?” You giggle.
This was his first time - and your pussy just felt that good all wrapped ‘round him and keeping him hostage.
His cum’s flooding you with a warmth, spreadin’ from the in-betweens of your legs and then right upwards. The satiny tresses of it rush uuuuup your walls n’ then right back down—those goopy layers then getting fucked back in by his desperate semi-thrusts.
Squelch after squelch as he accumulates the cum like frosting on top of his swirling tip. Shoving.
Choso scrunches his eyes shut and tears start to well up behind- now he was crying, too? Crying just by putting it in?! Buried like this, he feels like he’d do anything for you right now. He feels like he could lay his life on the line for you right now. He feels like—like—he could really truly ask you to become his real girlfriend now…
“Baby, I think I love you.” Choso blubbers up. “Do you want to marry me?”
“Let’s get dinner first.” You giggle, lovingly patting his cheek.
“Oh…”
If you could feel the way his ruddied tip twitches inside you (and you could) then you’re not teasing him for it…much. Simply a smirk before you’re veering your hips down until he’s bottomed-out.
Clit massaging against the scruff of his happy trail. Pussylips struggling to squeeze around his sheer size. “Fuck.” You’re groaning, starting up a lecherous pace that keeps Choso’s toes curled - his head thrown back into the pillows, his skin blushing. He was flustered.
But more than that- he wanted more.
And sending a silent word of gratitude to the chance of the universe and science itself, Choso slithers that same right hand of his between your sultry legs. Sheened with slick.
You were making such a mess fucking him whilst you’re still keeping his cum inside you—he scrapes his calloused thumb up, up, uuuup the few inches of his cock still left to fit inside. Collecting the slimy layers of slick up until the folds of your pussy. Reaching it up to his mouth-
“Now, now.” You tut. “Are we just going to waste that, hm?”
“Oh…you’re right.” With a quiver of his lips, he then plunges it back inside. Then repeats the motion again and again until you’re feeling stuffed to the brim—with both his cock n’ his sappy fluid. Like you said before, it all deserved to stay inside.
And you better keep it.
The rickety bedsprings creeeeeeak—! as he meets your pace.
Choso continues, “Not just cum.” His curvaceous thumb swipes your inner folds again, “But that bulbourethral fluid deserves to stay inside, too. How else m’I gonna fill you up, baby?”
“Oh, of course.” You coo, something sensual. “But don’t think that that’s going to be your last time cumming tonight, Cho.”
His eyes damn-near bulge out of their skull. “E-excuse me?”
“It’s not even your last time cumming in this hour.” Oblivious - or so you pretend to be - to his growing concern n’ his gaping mouth. You’re bowing your body into his—manoeuvring your hips in somewhat of a circular motion, the slightest figure-eights and curves, that drag his tunneling cock juuuuuust right against every nook and cranny of your walls. Every hidden spot. “You’re gonna cum for me at least twice more, right?”
“I-I—I don’t know if that’s even possible!” Choso sputters, pushing his glasses up with his free hand- it was glossy with the excess of your slick from earlier.
And without warning, you’re leaning down to lightly lick off a bit of that glittering sheen.
Choso moans n’ feels his overly-stimulated length jolting away inside of you. “Baby, just consider the refractory period. Has it even been a few minutes since I last…?”
“Just about.” You’re smile. “Should be enough, no?”
“Though it varies based on age and health- when I can cum next depends on the blood redistribution, and how long prolactin and serotonin lasts in the body.” Choso admits then, albeit a bit sheepishly. “And I’m still fuh-feeling so goooood, baby- fuck I can’t—”
“But my smart boy’s gonna find a way, right?” Even if he couldn’t cum again, however - it was just too cute to watch Choso squirm like this. “When I said I wanted it inside, I wanted it stuffed inside, Cho.”
“S-stuffed…” He breathes - almost hypnotized by your pussy.
You’re grinding and swervin’ and clenching around his vein-loaded length in ways he could’ve only ever dreamed about before…“Mhm. Need it pouring out of me.” You beg, putting your best pleading expression on. “Need it up until…”
Hands scouring up his front to press down on your stomach- almost up to your chest.
“-here.”
You pout.
“If m’not bloated with your cum, Cho, is there even a point?”
“No there isn’t.” Choso’s jaw drops—as though the epiphany had just dropped on him. And no sooner are the words leaving his worry-bitten lips, he finds himself pumping wispy ropes of cum deep past your entrance.
He doesn’t even know how he did it.
His body just seems to listen to you more than himself - and Choso jerks his pelvis up in synchronization with the faintish strings of cum that escape him. Thoroughly into your cunt. Thoroughly coating it on top of your womb.
You’re shivering as you feel the thin excess thwack! against your deepest innards. Such a lecherous feeling that cannot be replicated.
Every time he strikes your spongy cervix, Choso lets out a sudden whimper. He sobs. He groooans. He’s fighting to clamor onto your body in any possible way that he could - your waist, your legs, your tits. It doesn’t matter where, Choso just needed to grab ahold of you and perhaps try to get you to fucking slow down—
“Please.” Every single letter in that word is botched with a cry, “P-please. Baby, keep riding me like this and you’re going to make me cum again-”
“Isn’t that the point? Third time’s the charm?” You ask.
“Oh…” It’s then that he remembers that you’d said twice more- he has to cum twice more. Hiccuping, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Cocking your head with a smile, “And would you like to stop?”
“Not at all.”
Then you’re planting one hand in the middle of his defined chest for balance. Throwing your head back and ridin’ him silly.
Choso cries beneath you. Choso babbles. Torn between the pleasure of having those sweet, sopping lips wrapped ‘round him- and the insanity of his orgasm just barely bating before you’re attempting to hurtle him into another one. This was almost too much for his just recently-lost virginity, but Choso begs for more, more, more. “Please- please- that anterior wall of yours is so clo-”
With your other set of fingers then shoved into Choso’s pretty mouth- spit splashes from the sides of his lips. But he’s taking you so happily—“No no, keep going.” You tell him once his brows raise in surprise, “I just wanna watch my poor boyfriend struggle just a bit.”
“Mmmmpf- soooo good.” He lets out an agonized moan, muffled through the intrusion of your digits. You’re swirling them ‘round his mouth and watching him lightly choke on them. “I need to c-cum just once more, huh?”
Choso’s tears were enough to wash off the fog from his glasses lens.
And he blinks those teary eyes up at you - a few times before one of his hands slithers between your legs. Almost difficult, considering how the space between your two sweaty, crashing bodies was practically non-existant—but his long fingers find a way to thumb apart your puffy pussylips. Nearly swollen shut.
He runs the doughy tips of his digits across your clit, “Around it…just light kisses.” Choso murmurs to himself. “Juuust a little- ngh.”
A single squeeze of your fluttering walls leaves him reeling.
“And then the good spots-” Peering down at your glossy cunt through his glasses, his half-lidded eyes. “The primary erogenous zones are the clitoris and introitus. Then the periurethral surrounding the urethra is also…oh…” Alternating between bashin’ his swollen cocktip against your g-spot, and thoroughly massaging every good spot he’d memorized.
“Shit…” You suddenly clench around him. “Keep going.”
He was seeing stars at the mere action. “And then the- hngh, even the perineum…” Fingers dipping just a liiiittle downwards to roll over that spot. He was unabashed - not in the state to be as he usually would. “And then fucking- at least as much as I can…here…” Slack-jawed, gaze unfocused. “My favorite is the clitoris.” The nerd presses the crescent pad of his thumb down on that knob.
Your hips are stutterin’ at the sheer amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Choso has taken up stimulating your clit in constant circular motions now. “I th-thought you said your favorite was the g-spot?”
“Both.”
As if on cue, he’s banging his thick tip against that ooooone spot.
Choso was stimulating you almost too well. Leaving you the one speechless as he drills his hips into you at a relentless pace—almost painfully desperate.
“Good boy.” You whisper.
“Just need to make you- mmm, cum soon.” He states. “Because if you cum…then I’m sure to cum, too.”
Shoving a third finger in his mouth, he moans as he sucks. You hum, “And you’re sure you’re a virgin?”
“S’just everything you t-taught me.” He insists, mouth full yet listening to every word you said - if you expected an answer, then he was giving you an answer. “And sometimes…I’d search up…things online…”
“Online? Poor, innocent Choso Kamo watches porn?”
“Not that, I get too shy.” Choso responds. He blushes all the way down to the roots of his hair, “But using my textbooks, I’d- hah, read through them…study them…look at all the diagrams…”
You smirk. “Ever jerked off to a textbook, Choso?”
His jaw drops. “No…” Although you remain rather suspicious of the ever-deepening blush that seems to invade his cheeks—all the way down to his collarbones. “But I did jerk off just today.”
“Today?” One of your brows raise, “Don’t tell me this was- hah, before we met or…?”
He shakes his head. “After. After.” Big, bulbous tears make their way down his cheeks - and Choso tastes the salt on them as they splosh across his lips. You do too, as you kiss him. “S-snuck right into the bathroom at that ice cream parlor and- oh—”
“And what for? Saw a pretty someone at the neighboring table?”
Shaking his head even harder- “It was…you.”
“Me?”
“You said that thing- fuck, you said you needed me.” Choso’s dark chocolate-brown eyes glaze over as if he’s reminiscing the very moment. Living in it. “Under that table. And I couldn’t run to the bathroom faster to r-relieve myself.” Ah, this was that time then…
Your faux-boyfriend’s brows are then knitting.
His cock tunnels into you at an even more accelerated pace - one that leaves your head dizzy. Flinching at every run of his thumb down your pulsing clit.
Choso finishes, “But I only lasted two pumps- the thought of you, ngh—” Thrusting in so deep that it felt as though, if he could go past your gooey cervix, then he long since would have. Choso thumps against the back of your cervix and remains there, “-wrapped around my cock and usin’ me to make your anterior- pussy feel pleasure was just too good of a fantasy for me.”
It’s a lewd admission.
It’s almost startling to hear this from Choso above all.
And it’s exactly what’s making you cum—just in time that he is. Your orgasm is prolonged and has been building up ever since he tickled your g-spot for the first time- “C-cumming—!” Belatedly, the announcement leaves your lips.
But Choso already knows.
He can already feel the rhythmic clenches of your sopping wet walls - the soft thing he’s ever felt. They’re tightening around him and tuggin’ on his pistoning cock like you didn’t fucking want him to leave.
Toes curling. Back arching.
The bang after bang after bang right on that target of your g-spot meant that your orgasm was being intensified. Every peak left your thighs clenching around his waist, and you bounce your hips up n’ down furiously. Up n’ down. Up n’ down. “Yes- yes, yes, yes—and you’re c-cumming too, Cho.”
“I am?” Choso blinks his teary eyes down at your lower halves. The smacking of skin-against-skin was deafening, and Choso’s pelvis was rawly red due to the sheer friction.
But more than that…he was feeling his even redder tip twitch a few times. Once. Twice. Thrice- before the warmth of bliss takes over his body. It’s a wave of euphoria even stronger than the last few, and it makes the nerdy boy flinch his hips up into yours- agonizingly good. He was hammering into you so animalistically- jabbing short, sloppy semi-thrusts. “I am.” Choso gasps out. “I’m cumming-”
He’d predicted as much earlier, but it actually worked?!
“M’filling you up, aren’t I?” Choso blabbers, a crazed smile on his face. “This virgin…I was able to stuff this pussy full.”
Lovingly patting your cunt.
“So much so that- hah, look she’s even struggling to- ngh, take me. That cervix uteri is all flooded, huh? All drenched in me?” Through the waves of your high, you’re feeling your orgasm fizzle and pop as he rolls his thumb doooown your clit a few more times. “And these pretty labia of yours are all swollen- bloated with my cum, hm?”
“Mhm…” Before you blink a few times. “Oh- this one was shorter than the last though, wasn’t it? Maybe we need to go again- heh.”
“S’it already done? I…but I’m still…” Choso jabs out numerous more thrusts before he’s pulling out.
And whilst you’re interested in the squelch! and the feeling of hot, wet cum splashin’ out of you and onto his toned hips—Choso himself is more interested in the way his cock twitched n’ feels like he’s cumming…but nothing is actually coming out.
“Orgasmic anejaculation?” He states in shock. “Baby, you’ve made me cum dry—”
“Oh.” Lips parting, you look down to watch as his pretty reddened tip jolts about irritatedly as though he was in the throes of his orgasm - and he was. It’s just that nothing was coming out.
“I-it’s likely that this is due to the lack of semen replenishment. Thus, if there’s none left to-”
“So fourth time’s the charm, right?” You cock your head down at him with a smile.
Another time?!
His half-hard length twitches in interest.
“You really are going to be the death of me.”
Choso really, really needed to ask you out after this.
.
.
.
Ryomen Sukuna knew that the two of you weren’t dating.
He knew it.
He just had no way to prove it.
That is…until one day, just a week after that initial introduction to you, Jin had bothered Sukuna into visiting his nephew. He’d made some cookies—some of your favorites that you’d briefly mentioned at the ramen place, and Jin had immediately gotten to work scouring through his recipes. Flipping through some of grandma’s old cookbooks - he really did get his love for cooking and baking from her.
And then trialing batch after batch of cookies in order to make the perfect one.
And Sukuna hadn’t minded, of course - no one in the house had. They each got to scarf down the ones that Jin deemed as ‘failed’ and they turned out as great as ever. Sukuna honestly didn’t know what more perfection Jin was searching for—especially not for someone he knew Choso was surely paying you in some manner…
There was no conceivable world in which his nephew - as much as Sukuna respected him, for the sole reason that he was related to him (and anyone in some proximity to the great Ryomen Sukuna can’t be all that bad…) - would ever have enough courage to ask a real person out. Let alone someone as electric as you?
Let alone have you say yes?!
Something was up. And Sukuna was on the case.
At least after he finishes this mountain of cookies…
Either way, it took an entire week for Jin to perfect his cookies. And once completed, he’d thumped Sukuna over the head with a couch cushion and told him to go deliver them to Choso.
Unfortunately they hadn’t managed to catch your address or anything of the sort - and there was no telling when Choso would have enough time between his studies and library-haunting to visit. Thus, it’d be easier to just have Sukuna (who was far too busy doing a whole load of nothing) drop the cookies off at Choso’s apartment and let him give it to you.
Jin could trust Choso with handing them to you safe n’ sound.
He couldn’t trust Sukuna not to swallow them whole on the way, however…
So it was with a tonne of brotherly intimidation and threatening brandishes of that cushion that Jin waved Sukuna off—‘you better not eat those cookies, Ryo.’
But Sukuna promised. He promised.
He had other, more important, things on his mind - like cornering Choso into admitting that the two of you actually weren’t dating. Maybe if he didn’t relent so easily, he’d even look around the apartment to check for signs of you or anything you’d left behind—after five months of dating, surely, there’d be some evidence, wouldn’t there?
And then maybe he’d eat the cookies- hah!
The perfect plan.
Ryomen Sukuna what a genius you were, what a mastermind—who said that Jin was the smarter brother?! It was Sukuna that liked literature and poetry (wait, was nerdiness genetic?) No one should underestimate the sheer underappreciated brilliance of a prodigy like-
“Choso’s uncle?” He gapes as you answer the door- and you’re just as beautiful as he remembered you. And oh, alright—Sukuna admits you’re beautiful. Gorgeous, actually.
Which is also why he found it hard to believe that Choso could ever manage to bag you- sure, he wasn’t bad looking…but that’s only because Choso was related to him.
Then again, he wasn’t any Ryomen Sukuna.
A Ryomen Sukuna that was feeling rather…a lot…small as he looks at you.
Your eyes widen as you recognize who your visitor was, though your smile never falters.
“Oh, Cho should be right out. Please come in, have you eaten breakfast yet? You should join us!”
Opening the door even wider, though he stands as still as a statue.
“Is…everything alright.”
No movement once more. No answer, either.
“Ummm, maybe it’s more comfortable there then?” You’re awkwardly smiling at his lack of a response - this certainly wasn’t the Ryomen Sukuna that you’d met at the family dinner…And perhaps at the same time, you’re realizing why.
Because you weren’t just answering Choso’s apartment door—you were doing so in nothing but sleep shorts and a humerus-related t-shirt that was most definitely not yours. And above the hem of that ratty t-shirt were a series of bite marks, nail marks down your neck…such an obscene display that makes you immediately yelp and tug your neckline upwards.
Though Sukuna remains gawking. “I uh…”
“I am so sorry.” You’re blubbering away, and when your neckline fails to cover you adequately without showing off the similar marks on your midriff- you’re reaching your hands up instead. “We’d just been making breakfast, and I’d completely forgot-”
“No, that’s fine uh…” Goodness, when has the rough n’ tough Sukuna ever floundered like this? “It’s my fault for coming unannounced um…”
“What’s this?” Another voice sounds from inside the apartment.
Soon enough, Choso’s joining the two of you at the door—he’s in JBA sweatpants and pulling on a t-shirt as he walks. With whatever mercy that the universe had granted Sukuna, Choso sneaks up behind you, so he doesn’t see whatever similar markings might have been left on him as Choso finally wears his t-shirt properly.
There’s amusement in Choso’s tone as he adjusts his glasses and speaks, “I never thought I’d see the day that you apologize to anyone, uncle Ryo.”
Choso throws an arm over your shoulder - the intimacy was palpable. Something far more different than at the ice cream parlor, and yet…Sukuna should’ve recognized the same admiring glint in Choso’s eyes back then, too.
The apartment behind was messy in that domestic way. There were eggs frying on the stove.
“Sh-shut it.” Sukuna spits. “This is all your…girlfriend’s fault.”
Ah, you really were his girlfriend. The great Ryomen Sukuna has been wrong. How could this be? How could he fathom such a thing?
synopsis: after months of texting, playful teasing and dropping by the workshop with lunch or excuses to visit him, your crush finally calls you under the excuse of checking your suit after a mission. but there's a catch — you can't leave right after. katsuki has something else on his mind. something he can no longer ignore. something about the two of you.
about: fem!reader, supportcourse!katsuki, continuation (part 1 on tiktok), initial crush from reader, 'she fell first but he fell harder' trope, fluff, cursing.
word count: 2.2 k
"Took ya' long enough," Katsuki's lowered voice echoed inside the workshop.
Your eyes scanned the room — the lack of Mei's usual laughter, the absence of the other students taking the course, the rare but comforting privacy of having the space to yourselves.
In the middle of it all, Katsuki sat hunched over the table, his face lightly stained with dust. His red eyes were locked on the gadget in front of him, fingers carefully twisting a wrench to tighten a bolt.
"I came as soon as I could," you replied with a light-hearted smile, not even realizing how intently you were watching him. "A person can only run so fast after fighting villains all day," a sweet, tired chuckle left you.
Visiting Katsuki had become a routine for you: checking on your suit's progress, letting him take measurements for other projects, bouncing ideas off each other for useful gadgets, bringing him lunch to remind him there was a whole world outside these four walls. You'd grown used to seeing him often, yet your heart still fluttered and your stomach still twisted every time he glanced back at you.
"Plus, you piqued my interest with that last message," you added softly, sliding the workshop door shut behind you.
"Hm," was Katsuki's response. Short, but strangely charged in a way you'd never heard before.
His gaze stayed fixed on the device he was closely working on, seemingly unfazed by your arrival.
That was normal for him.
At least, that's what you told yourself.
"What are you working on?" you asked, reaching for one of the abandoned chairs nearby. You wiped the collected dust off the seat before sitting down.
The workshop was always a mess — leftover, unfinished gadgets in scattered pieces across the tables, scorch marks on the walls from Mei's experiments with fire-related gadgets or from Katsuki's explosion when someone got on his nerves. Yet his corner remained noticeably more organized than the rest.
Mei told you he only cleaned up when he knew you were coming. But you couldn't bring yourself to believe that.
"Some other nerd from the hero course asked for modifications on this gauntlet," he muttered, his voice rough and low, like speaking any louder might break his focus. "No matter how much I tweak it, the damn thing it's still shitty." he continued, eyes never lifting.
"I assume you didn't make it, then" you said with a small chuckle, admiring him far more than the gadget itself.
"Never in hell," he scoffed. "I couldn't fuck up a single gadget this bad even if I tried."
Katsuki let out a final sigh as he set his tools down on the metal table, the soft clink seemingly snapping him out of the concentration bubble he was trapped in. He ran his forearm across his forehead, wiping away sweat and leftover dust, before finally turning to look at you.
His ruby eyes — intense with focus mere moments ago — now carried something deeper, an indescribably different glow.
"How was the mission?" he asked suddenly, cutting through the tense rope that connected your gaze with his.
You blinked, lips parting as you tried to catch the breath he’d stolen before speaking. “A little rough, but nothing I can’t handle,” you replied with a cheeky smile, teasing him as you caught his subtle, but familiar worried expression.
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile — never quite — but something adjacent.
"Let’s see how much damage you did to my perfect suit," he said, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"It’s my suit," you corrected.
"But I made it," he shot back, glaring.
"Well yeah, but look— it has my hero logo right here—" You pointed at the small embroidered initials of your hero name, your eyes dropping to it as if to prove your point.
But before you could say more, Katsuki hooked his hand under your chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor as he brought you closer without much effort.
His arm flexed with the motion, veins standing out from the day’s work. "I see it, dumbass. I fucking made it," he said, completely unbothered by his own boldness.
Your eyes widened until your brows reached your hair, spine straightening like you’d been caught in fraganti. Heat flooded your face rapidly. "Well, yes— but—" you stammered, throat tightening, your mind too fuzzy to continue the banter.
"Can you not fight me on everything?" He narrowed his eyes and flicked your forehead. He watched as you rubbed the spot, a small pout on your lips, before muttering. "Tch. You're such a baby."
"Excuse me?" you exclaimed, offended.
"I said you're a baby," he repeated without a care, standing up and stepping closer to inspect the suit. "Let’s get this over with."
He circled behind you as he slid on his work gloves, carefully assessing the scuffs from battle that now painted your suit. His gloved hands traced the rough patterns, making your spine readjust to feel less of it. Or maybe more.
His touch wasn’t tender, exactly, but it was grounding. There was a quiet warmth in it — one that sometimes his voice lacked or his actions required, but that always seemed to surface when he assessed his work. When he assessed you. It made you feel secure in a way nothing nor no one else did.
His voice lingered behind, asking questions about the mission and offering small reprimands about the damaged fabric. But despite the closeness, his words felt distant. How could you focus when your chest was full of this warm, fluttering feeling?
"Am I speaking to a wall?" Katsuki’s voice cut through your thoughts like a lingering echo.
"Sorry. Can you repeat the question?"
"Tch. I’m not interviewing you. Just stay still. I know that’s impossible for you, but try this once."
You smiled reluctantly and nodded once, determined to help him get this done faster.
The assessment passed quickly. His fingers checked with precision any dent, any damage that your encounter with a certain flame-related villain may have caused. And yet, that didn't stop him from continuing with his inquiries about the mission. No matter how difficult people claimed talking to Katsuki was — and you knew that firsthand — it had grown easier with time. Sometimes you even thought he enjoyed these moments.
Though that could just be your hopeful, devoted heart.
"You’re lucky these are easy fixes," he grumbled, a small frown creasing his brow as he finished.
"I wouldn’t hear the end of it if they weren’t," you teased.
For a second, a half-smile tugged at his lips, but it looked forced. Your mind rushed to make assumptions, to worry about what could possibly be the topic he wanted to talk about. Was he purposefully rushing the check-up? Was he about to deliver bad news? If it was about the two of you… what implications did that have?
"So… check-up done?" you asked, forcing a bright tone as he set his tools aside.
"Hm," he grunted in agreement, dropping heavily into his chair. But he wouldn’t look at you.
“Katsuki?”
No answer.
Just the insistent tapping of his shoe against the cold tile. Sudden, rapid, anxious.
You swallowed hard. It was strange seeing him like this. Had you done something to make him switch up?
“Katsuki… you’re scaring me. Did I do something?”
That single question made him turn.
His head whipped around to face you fully, letting you see the disbelief scaterred across his features. But those sharp red eyes weren’t guarded like usual — they were frustrated. Frustrated you'd ask something like that. And almost nervous about something else...
"The hell? No! I mean— yes," he rushed to answer, trying to wipe that saddened expression off your beautiful face, but the words came out rough, like they scraped his throat on the way up. He sighed as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough that his knuckles paled. "You did do something," he muttered lowly.
Your heart stuttered.
Guilt flooded your body.
He dragged a hand through his messy blond hair, making it even more disheveled. "Every damn time you walk in here with lunch, or stupid jokes, or that smile… I can’t focus. I haven’t been able to focus on anything but you for weeks... and it pisses me off."
The ends of your fingers trembled, stomach knotting painfully. "I… I could come by less if it bothers—"
"It’s not about bothering me!" The words exploded out of him, louder than he probably meant. He caught himself, jaw clenching so hard it looked like it hurt. Then, quieter — almost pained — he added, "It’s about you."
The workshop fell dead silent.
Katsuki stood up abruptly, chair scraping back. He took two steps back, stopped, and turned to face you again. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to grab something. The wrench. The table. You.
"I keep fixing this thing," he gestured vaguely at your suit, “keep telling you it needs adjusting, that you need different gadgets… because I can’t stand the thought of it failing you out there. Of you not coming back.” He let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh. "Me. Getting worked up over some idiot who can’t even stay still during a suit check."
You rose slowly from your chair, careful not to spook him. "Katsuki…"
"Don’t," he cut you off, but there was no bite in it. Just determination. "I’m not done."
He took a step closer.
Then another.
Until the scent of caramel, metal, and faint sweat filled your space. His eyes dropped to the small red mark he’d flicked onto your forehead earlier, then lower — to your lips — before snapping back up like he’d been burned.
"I’m not good at this shit," he muttered. "Feelings. Talking. Any of it. But I’m worse at pretending I don’t feel it anymore." His voice dropped, rough and low.
Your pulse thundered in your ears.
He reached out, hesitant for once, and his fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. His touch surprisingly gentle as his calloused thumb lingered against your cheek like he was memorizing the warmth of your skin.
"I hate it," he admitted, almost whispering. "I hate how much I care if you come back in one piece. How much I think about you when you’re not here. How badly I want to tell you to stop scaring the shit out of me every mission." His forehead nearly touched yours.
"But I’m done hating it."
He swallowed hard. The war in his eyes evident — an immense amount of pride fighting against something softer, something scared.
"So here it is, dumbass." His voice cracked just slightly on the last word. "I like you. A lot. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. And if you don’t feel the same, tell me now so I can blow up this whole workshop and never speak to you again."
You stared at him — really stared — at the faint dust still smudged on his cheek, the way his shoulders were tense like he was bracing for rejection. For you to mock him for feeling something so dumb.
But you didn't.
Instead, a slow, warm smile spread across your face.
"Took you long enough," you whispered, echoing his words from earlier.
Katsuki’s eyes widened. Then narrowed. "Wha—"
You didn’t let him finish. You rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss.
For half a second, he froze in place. Until his hand slid to the back of your neck, warm and calloused, pulling you in like he’d been waiting years for permission. The kiss deepened slowly — rough, but not harsh. Like every bottled-up frustration, every worried glance, every unspoken word was pouring out at once.
You pulled back for air and he rested his forehead against yours without a second thought, unwilling to let distance re-appear. Now that he'd been close, he didn't want to fathom not spending another second in your warmth, in your softness.
"The hell was that?" he muttered, voice hoarse. But his thumb was still stroking your cheek, gentle in a way that made your chest ache.
You laughed softly, a little breathless. "That was me telling you I like you too, idiot. A lot."
His shoulders sagged with visible relief. "Tch. Could’ve said it with words instead of jumping me, dumbass."
"I figured my actions would speak louder than any words," you teased, holding onto the front of his tank top.
Katsuki’s ears burned red. He looked away, jaw tight, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in that rare, reluctant smile you’d grown addicted to.
He pulled you in again, this time wrapping both arms around your waist and lifting you just enough that your feet barely touched the floor. The second kiss was slower, more deliberate. Less like an explosion and more like a controlled burn. One of his hands splayed across your lower back, pressing you closer to the solid heat of his body. You could feel his heart hammering against yours.
When he finally set you down, he didn’t let go. Just buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he needed the proof that this was real.
"You’re still a pain in the ass," he grumbled against your skin, voice muffled. "But… I’m not letting you go out there without knowing someone’s got your back. Properly."
You threaded your fingers through his messy blond hair, smiling so wide it hurt. "I’d be happy to have you as support, both in and out of hero work."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes softer around the edges. "I’d be happy too..." he whispered.
nilla's note: after much procrastination, here's the second and final part of this story, enjoy my wafers. i know it may be ooc, but i wanted to make him a bit of yearner.
Ok hear me out: Pro Hero Bakugo but he comes home to his partner in one of those cute but provocative costume/cosplays of HIS hero costume😭 idk i feel like it would be funny
COSTUMES ✶ FT. BAKUGOU KATSUKI
── ✶ before you read: 1k words ; fem reader ; established relationship ; raunchy fem clothing ; suggestive ending ; bakugou carries reader ; masterlist.
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ wait hang on lets let u cook bc u cooked. except i admit i didnt make it funny i made him hot n bothered bc i think thats excatly what he'd be skdjfh
Katsuki comes home from morning patrol tired. Dead tired.
His arms ache from his quirk. His head pounds from the sounds of his own explosions. His eyes are heavy from waking up so early, and fuck—he’s so tired. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, if he’s being honest, really. So Katsuki comes home tired, and he’s going to curl up with you in bed, and he’s going to take a nap first thing before anything else. That’s all he’s going to do.
Except he walks into your shared home and you don’t greet him. Weird. He walks over to your shared bedroom, and the door is locked. Even weirder.
Then he hears your giggle, and he sighs. “Baby, whatever shenanigans you got goin’ today, m’fuckin’ exhausted—do ‘em another day. Swear I won’t say nothin’ when you do, just let me—”
Your voice is muffled through the door as you interrupt him and sing, “Close your eyes.”
“Why?” He groans, resting his forehead against the door tiredly. “Am I gonna regret goin’ along with this?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t think so….you know what—just do it, Kats!”
“Fine, fuck,” he grumbles, “so bossy. My eyes are closed. Now what?”
“Do you promise they’re closed?”
“Yes,” he says wearily.
“Do you promise that you promise?”
“Baby,” he says exasperatedly, “are we really gonna do this? Yes—I promise that I promise that I promise. Now open the door and—”
You open the door, and he catches his balance from losing the stability of resting against the wood. His eyes remain closed as you let him in because if he dares open them and ruin whatever scheme you have going, he thinks hell will break loose. You’ve always had a flair for the dramatics, after all. And he’s not going to risk making the pounding in his head any worse than it already is, so he keeps those eyes carefully shut.
“Good,” you hum, satisfied. “They’re closed.”
“Callin’ me a liar?” He grumbles. “Now what’s this about, hah?”
“Okay,” you giggle, “I got something in the mail. I think you’ll like it,” you coo, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his jaw. He melts fractionally at the touch of your lips. “I think you’ll really like it. Maybe. I hope.”
“If this is a surprise, it doesn’t sound too promising,” he says under his breath. You smack his chest in response, and he practically sulks. “Just sayin’. You don’t sound too confident.”
“Well, you’re a tough crowd,” you huff, “so you never know.”
“Well, you—”
He’s cut off with his hands being taken into yours, being pulled over to your hips. He pauses, feeling bare skin under his palms. Well, some bare skin. There’s fabric there too, but…clearly not a lot. He’s starting to see where this is going, he thinks.
“S’that a new set?” His lips curl into a grin, eyes still obediently closed. “Fuck, princess—of course I’d love this surprise. Why wouldn’t I? Love anything on you.”
“Not exactly the sort of set you’re thinking of,” you hum. “But close.”
“Can I open my eyes now?”
“Say please.”
“Please. Happy, you little fuckin’ tease?”
“Okay, fine,” you pretend to sigh, caving. “You can open them.”
His eyes open, and Katsuki is…well, he’s speechless, that’s for sure. He has no brainpower for words. Only enough to keep his eyes trailing over your body as he takes in the sight—and fuck, is it a sight.
Most of the time, when kids wear costumes inspired by him, he thinks they’re little brats. Kind of cute brats that he’s admittedly a little fond of deep down, but brats all the same. This, on the other hand, is not a child’s costume with cheap fabric, nor is it anything of the sort that snot-nosed brats would wear.
No.
This rendition of his costume consists of the upper half of it being basically reduced to a bra—black fabric covered with lace that sits against your skin, while bright orange straps cross over your breasts in the unmistakable shape of his signature X emblazoned across his torso. The matching shorts (that are, by all means, very short) sit high on your hips, trimmed with orange embroidery and sheer black mesh. Dark green garter straps circle your thighs, mimicking the harnesses on his hero costume before disappearing into lace-topped stockings.
He blinks. Once. Then twice. Then again. And then his breath hitches terribly loud.
“Do you like it?” You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press a line of kisses along his jaw. He shivers under your touch. “Thought maybe we could match.”
“S’not gonna help you much in a fight bein’ dressed like this,” he croaks, voice shakier than he has the pride to admit.
“Well, I don’t know,” you grin cheekily, “maybe I’ll drop the villains dead by being the hottest hero around, even if I can’t be the most explosive.”
“No villains are seein' you like this,” he huffs, giving your hips a squeeze as he adds, “I'll kill 'em first.”
“So you admit my costume would make for a banger debut, huh?”
“Fuck, baby, you’re killin’ me here,” he groans, burying his head into your neck. He presses soft, lingering kisses to the skin as his hands trail from your hips to the small of your back, pulling you forward and flush against his body. “M’not even gonna ask where the fuck you bought this, or how you even found it in the first place. Fuckin' crazy is what you are.”
“Nice little website that got advertised to me. There was a Deku version, too—”
He picks you up, making a low, dissatisfied sound in the back of his throat as his fingers dig into your ass, carrying you to the bed. He drops you onto the mattress, hovering over you as he pins your hands over your head. His eyes are dark, glinting with arousal and desire and challenge all at once.
“Oh yeah? Well, good thing for you, sweetheart, you got the real deal right here to prove you bought the better costume.”
Katsuki is no longer all that tired. He has enough energy to make his day just a little longer.
he is going to get the lay of his life, and sleep very soundly so in the end, im sure he will get exactly what he wanted in the first place. all is well!
being a podcaster that constantly goes viral when people clip you getting passionate about something. going on a rant about how that basketball guy was a fucking idiot for cheating on your favourite rapper. another clip of you saying ingenium’s new suit just looks sooooo good on him. did anyone know he was that fine?
always talking about pop culture, the fun parts about hero news (usually just outfits and faces) and little tidbits about your life.
you end up on bakugou’s 10 minute instagram scroll. everything you said about that stupid loser basketball player is true. you cuss well, eloquent with it. he doesn’t agree with what you say about ingenium’s new suit. well, it’s only recently got better because he got in contact with bakugou’s suit designer. he thinks you’re cute when you go into detail about why the suits better. bakugou still disagrees though.
but what makes bakugou take a step further is when he gets a video of you, not crying but angry. you’re speaking into a mic from your bed, or maybe it’s a set? but a bed, nevertheless, white sheets pulled up under your chin with this low lamp lighting.
“also i think i’m swearing off dating. it was going perfect with one guy and then he breaks it off because he doesn’t want his business ending up on the podcast…. i haven’t even said anything about him!” you whine, “and now it just looks like i’m proving his point because i’m talking about it but i wouldn’t have if we were still dating.”
the text on the video screams, “YN SINGLE?!”
bakugou taps on your instagram. loads of clips from your podcast pops up. he finds the next video, the one after the last.
“well dms are open if any fine men are interested. when i say fine i mean fine. you also have to be able to keep up with me, handle a little joke,” you laugh.
and bakugou thinks about it for three days. watches more videos of you talking, your goofy opinions, your educated opinions, your real opinions. scrolls through your personal instagram too.
so he does it. he dms you on your instagram because he deems himself a fine man, he can handle a little joke and well, he likes you. a lot.
you’re funny and smart. articulate yourself well. very beautiful. hobbies on your instagram, full group of friends. well travelled and a homebody and social and he’s eager to know more.
@ dynamight: Are applications still open?
it’s fun, bakugou thinks. a good slide into your dms.
but you don’t reply for a week. he thinks he’s been completely ignored. clearly not interested in him and defo not your type. even though you’re both verified so you’ve definitely got the notification. bakugou takes it all on the chin. doesn’t mention it to anybody because it’s a little embarrassing. maybe it’s been buried from all the other dms you’ve received from men.
until he gets a video on his timeline. then the same video sent to him from three different friends.
the words are captioned loud and bold on the video. straight to the point and pure clickbait. well is it clickbait if it’s true? bakugou chokes on his spit, turning up the volume in his work bathroom.
“DYNAMIGHT IN THE DMS?”
“now guys… walk with me here. if you’re dynamight, thee bakugou katsuki, one of the sexiest men in the world, PLEASE don’t watch this clip. i can’t believe you’ve even seen clips of my pod. i swear this isn’t even me!” you ramble into your microphone, tucked up with your knees to your chest for a more casual episode. “okay guys, now that he’s gone, i’ve got to tell you… after last episode when i said can fine men send me dms, why the fuck did dynamight send me one? i was so shocked by it i still haven’t replied. i’ve avoided talking about him here because i do not want to be on that man’s radar. he’s way too gorgeous for me to comprehend.”
you giggle to yourself, “but he dmed me… something about are applications open? the boyfriend ones. now i can’t reply because ive just told everybody but there’s no way i pulled him.”
bakugou watches it leaning against the sink, three times. his smile gets bigger every second till he’s full on grinning at his phone.
you’re joking a little, entertainment for the podcast because you know you’re just as fine as him. though you don’t think your worlds would ever cross?
he decides to make another move.
@ dynamight: I think you’re gorgeous too
commented underneath the video.
an onslaught of likes and comments commence. mostly your fans giving a whole load of keyboard smashes and “yn is going to go insane”.
then he puts his phone down, washes up his hands and checks his appearance in the mirror. wipes his nose and what not.
but he gets lured to his phone again, picking it up and opening instagram to find you’ve replied to his comment.
@ ynpod: @ dynamight i swear i don’t share all my business online
@ dynamight : @ ynpod So applications are still open?
being the family loner was hard work. lonely work actually.
so when yuuji gets married, it's just another miserable but joyous day! the big change ⟡ ݁₊ .: comes when the pretty and fiesty wedding planner gives choso more attention than he bargained for.
⠀ ⠀ ༘⋆ con + warnings ⟡ ݁₊ .: loner!choso, dryhumping, mentions of cheating, oral sex (fem), itafushi mention (not shipping, thought it would be cute for the fic), light (?) angst, praise kink if u squint
"we're getting married!"
was the first thing yuuji yelled excitedly as megumi finally set the drinks down on the table.
choso and sukuna blinked as yuuji basically vibrated with energry in his seat. so much so that as megumi settled back down next to him, he almost immediately knocked his shoulder causing the lemonade to sloush over the rim a bit onto the quiet man.
"oh, sorry gumi!"
"so when did this happen?", choso murmured quietly, as he watched yuuji dab at megumi's shirt uselessly before he beamed at his brother again, "like a week ago!"
sukuna huffed as they watched, the patheic display, and megumi who nodded in agreement, "last saturday."
they were awestruck not at the idea that they were engaged, but more by the fact that yuuji was able to keep quiet about it for so long.
"is that why you were acting so weird?"
"weird?", yuuji whined, "i wasn't acting weird."
"you were", sukuna agreed.
yuuji spent the entire week, avoiding eye contact, then staring at them until they acknowledged him, only to continue staring wide-eyed before running off because he had nothing to say.
"so yea…weird."
"anywho!" yuuji waved his ahnds dramatically to change the topic," it was so nice."
he started on a rambling spree that was almost an hour long, maybe about ten minutes in reality but who knew for sure.
"and i turned at the fountain and there gumi was", he threw his hands up, "on one knee but i had the ring digging in my pocket so i also proposed!"
"congratulations."
"congrats."
"YAY," yuuji ignored the congrats entirely starting to fidget in his seat as megumi mouthed a quiet thank you, taking another sip from his cup.
"we are so excited and that's why we brought you here", yuuji continued as if he wasn't already talking for twenty minutes straight, "the wedding planner should be here soon."
"wedding planner?", sukuna tched, "when i'm here? i have plenty of expertise."
"in drawing…well thats more choso", megumi corrected, eyeing choso before looking at yuuji holding the cup up for him to his lips, "we want to incorporate that in our designs, and you only do tattoos."
"only do tattoos?", sukuna growled as he stood up so fast the couch defiently bounced, pointing at megumi, "i will show you only tattoo—"
choso couldn't even keep up with the conversation anymore, more stuck on the fact that megumi wanted his art at their wedding front and display for everyone and that he was even here for the preliminary wedding prep.
he didn't know why he felt that way, he just did. why this affected him so much.
it's yuuji. yuuji loves him and cherishes him.
but it didn't change the fact that he was different from his brothers. he had their mom's looks and they both looked identical, could pass for twins and he was like their distant relative that somehow wandered into photos.
they had explosive personalities, and he was just…bleh.
they loved him, he knew that but it still didn't stop the dull ache he felt when watched their interactions and how even his little brother's friends only drifted toward him when sukuna was too much.
but he couldn't dwell on it long, when a light knock and three doorbell rings interuppted the shpwdown sukuna was not willing to back down from.
"THAT MIGHT BE HER!"
the door swung open and sukuna saw…nothing?
until he looked down…down…down… and down some more, and there you were in your pink soft sweater, glasses and light smile, with a clipboard tucked underneath your arm.
"you're the wedding planner?"
"yes i am!, good afternoon."
"the fierce wedding planner?", sukuna continued again turning towards yuuji who waved you in from the living room as you brushed past.
"HIHIHI", yuuji squealed as he shook your arm diligently it might've been dislocated if megumi didn't step in, " i am so glad that you gave us a chance with your busy schedule."
"well actually you had been booked months in advance", you mused, rotating your already sore shoulder a bit before sitting in the onslot chair facing against the wall, "by mr fushiguro."
yuuji pursued his lips as he watched megumi look away, a light blush taking over before he tackled him in a hug, "oh meguuuumi!"
"well i should introduce myself," you started placing your board down and smoothing your hands down your pants, "i am—"
"the wedding planner."
you chuckled humorlessly, eyes cutting to sukuna with a smile, "well yes i am the wedding planner but i do have a name."
your eyes drifted to choso, who seemed to curl in with his arms crossed, observing the entire room, "hi, and you are?"
shocked he turned, feeling his cheeks flush with heat as he shook your hand, "ah—i'm choso."
"well lovely to meet…most of you."
"let's get started…unless there are anymore comments from the peanut gallery?"
sukuna tched as he crossed his arms and still looked at your devices you plopped out to start the meeting.
as much as yuuji was one for dramatics, he wasn't wrong about you.
you were amazing, you already had ideas lined up for the extravagant wedding he imagined and even dulling down some ideas when he went too far.
"i want jennifer lawernce at the wedding!"
"jennifer lawernce?" you looked up from where you were writing, "what is she going to do at the wedding?"
yuuji scrunched his brows from where he was pacing nodding along, "you're right! how about jennifer aniston?"
"what will jennifer aniston do?"
"right…right…"
"maybe jlo?" you concluded, turning your head at the man who gasped loudly, "you're right!"
"BOOK HER!"
"i highly doubt she would come through, so let's stick to something more in your range, okay?"
"oooo you're right!"
"she is good", sukuna finally concecded watching as you finally got yuuji to sit back down for the tenth time in the past hour, "she is giving me whiplash."
"well, she is the best on this side of the country.." megumi piped up from where he was crubbing dishes, "low budget weddings can look top dollar with her."
"well" you sighed already peeved from the last three hours you were deliberating with yuuji, "alrighty. that should be enough for now. i will get these designs looked over and have my assistant contact you."
you started to stack the papers, nodding at whatever babble yuuji was speeling at you now before he rushed off to tell megumi about your next appointment, leaving choso to see you off at the door.
"uh, have a good night." he murmured lightly.
you smiled at him softly, just as you passed throught the door, "thank you for having me."
he watched you descend a few steps before turning back around, "ah— that's reminds me i'd love to see your art!"
"m—my art?"
"yes! you were spoken very highly of! i'd love to see it at the next appointment…if you're there."
and of course, he was there.
even when he wasn't needed. if yuuji even mentioned that you would be stopping by, gracing the area with your soft smile and calming presence, choso had some excuse to make sure he was there.
whether it was floral arrangements he could careless about, discussing venues layouts or heloing choose the artwork for the reception haul, choso was there.
at first, he told himself it was becuase it's for yuuji. for his family. because he loved him.
then he convinced it was because he needed megumi's input to create beautiful, perfect pieces for their vision.
then he stopped trying to come up with excuses altogether.
because every time you smiled at him, every time you greeted him by name before anyone else, every time your eyes softened when you spoke to him, he found himself looking forward to the next meeting.
and maybe…maybe he thought you looked forward to them too.
though, there were three maybe four instances that, he really remembered that made him fall for you.
"wow…these are beautiful" you murmured your fingertips dusting lightly over the artwork that graced the table.
it was a simple charcoal drawing of intertwined flowers and vines that yuuji had immediately demanded be used somewhere in the wedding.
"you really made all of these?"
choso could feel his ears reddening, trying his hardest not to show you how effected he was, "yeah."
"amazing."
you took it upon yourself to flip through his portfolio, gasping lightly as you came across something else you admired, "the way you shade things makes them feel alive."
choso had his fabbers gasted. this wasn't unusual but usually unless they were looking for a specific piece of commission, people just overlooked his work for a few seconds with a 'that's pretty.'
but here you were, rocking his world again. making him feel seen for once outside of his family as you examined and asked him about each piece you observed.
you studied them like they mattered, as he mattered.
"so..." you continued, smiling lightly. "how much would you charge me if I wanted a portrait?"
"a potrait?"
"mhm of myself."
you stared at him and his growing blush for a secind before laughing softly, pushing off the table, " i'm just joking."
"for free."
you hummed looking back at him surpised, "huh?"
"i'd do it for free."
even at the dress fiittng for the suits weeks later, choso yearned for your presence that was like a calm belt in a hurricane.
it somehow ended up being more chaotic than every planning session combined. yuuji couldn't stad still and unfortunately kept getting pricked by the small pins they were landing for his suit extension, megumi was obviously overstimulated, and sukuna…was sukuna and argued with just about every tailor that came to help him. even aoi was giving issues because of how big he was.
but choso he quietly and quickly got his done, not needing much other than length to cover his long legs and the long stretch of his shoulders. as you looked at the finishing touches beign added to everyone, you stopped at choso ccontemplating.
"did you think of how you're going to do your hair?"
"ah—no not. ahem not yet."
"is your suit tight?"
"no, why?"
"looks like you're not breathing."
"ah—sorry."
"you don't have to apologize for everything" you stepped up on the platform lightly, close enough he got a beautiful whiff of your perfume.
he watched as your gaze landed on his hair, tossing you usual clipboard and binder on the couch as your hands reached up into his fluffy hair, "this okay?"
you continued after he nodded, pulling his hair ties free leaving his hair tumbling down over his face as you moved it around.
the room around his disappeared as he focused you the soft brush of your body on his front and the delicate way your hand smoved in his scalp.
and it felt so good.
and it stopped too soon when you oulled back fluffing the light strands you oulled down in front of his face, "just as i thought." your grinned, "so handsome."
then lastly by the time the rehearsal dinner came around, everyone was exhausted.
the wedding was impeding and the last minute details were being ironed over by you and yuuji who breathed down your neck.
well everyone but choso was stressed, he sat at the table in his ironically dimmer part as his pen sctrached against the napkin he had been toying with the entire dinner.
his eyes drifted again to where you just resided next to him, he's still seeing your soft pink sweater as he curved another line, a smile.
then the boxy frame of glasses, a familiar tilt of your head and that familiar clipboard.
you had just gotten up. he didn't realize he was drawing you until a ashaodw paused over his body and the napkin slipped up from under his pne.
"whatcha drawing?"
his entire body locked up as he turned watching your eyes drift around the napkin and soften completely, "oh wow."
the entire buzz of the resturant seemed to die down around the two of you as you blinked back at the man ," no one has ever drawn me before."
"it's just a sketch—"
"and it's beautiful."
hie eyes could only zero in on your smile, not your usual polite one but the big geninue one as you folded the napkin and placed it under your clip on the borad.
"thanks cho—"
"WE ARE GETTING MARRRRRRIED!!!!"
that seemed to snap everyone out of their daze as you turned to see a very drunk yuuji balancing on a chair as megumi tried and failed to get him to calm down.
"oh my god—yuuji no!"
and now, it's the big day. the wedding.
the last time choso will have a reasonable excuse to see you without making his feelings clear.
and honestly, he felt naked, his hair was down like you told him, his suit was blue instead of the usual black.
now he's at the front of the aisle waiting for both megumi and yuuji to walk down as everyone murmured in their seats.
"you should confess today" sukuna gruffed behind choso pulling at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.
"what?"
"confess to the damn planner." he tched, "i see how you look at her."
"and how she looked at you."
"how do i look?!?!"
"smitten."
"w—wait and what do you mean how she looked—"
"sukuna." your voice cut in, your eyebrows furrowed as the little mic attached from your ear dangled in front of your face."stop unbuttoning your damn shirt."
"this is not a strip club it's your brother's wedding."
"well i don't like this fucking tie—agh", he choked as you tightened the long tie back on his neck.
"now shut up and wait until your brother and his husband are down the island. or my foot is up your ass." you sighed watching the man pull at his neckline again.
"ah—choso!", you curled on his side looking at his bright red face, "oh my gosh! see i told cindy it was too hot in here." you fidgeted for your fan , dropping it in front of his face as you tried to fan him.
"are you alright oh gosh—you're getting redder!"
you pressed the button on your ear, "telling whoever on the other side to hurry up and get the temperature a bit cooler as your clipboard fanned at choso still.
"are you sure you're feeling okay, cho?"
cho? he might convulse on the spot.
"i think it's because so many beautiful women surrounding him", aoi chimed in from behind sukuna.
you nodded processing the information as you switched off the fan, handing it your assistant, “ooooh i’m probably putting a lot of pressure on you aren’t i?”
“the day doesn’t have to be perfect don’t worry,” you brushed off his suit, “just do your best to call down so you’re not a tomato’s in the pics, k!”
then you were off, quickly down the aisle as you still gestured to the air conditioning for the few guests that did look like they were starting to feel a bit hot.
that’s what choso loved about you. wait..love…yes! love
you cared for everyone and everything, you even helped a little girl to the chocolate fountain before any of the food was ready, you teared up at the end of the isle when megumi got walked down then yuuji.
you took your own personal pic of them to save from how much you put in this wedding and how much they meant to you.
you even slipped the groomsmen on each side little yogurt packets before the ceremony started…and the list goes on.
you were so perfect.
so extraordinary, art in a personified form that it was intimidating.
maybe that’s why when he approached you, choso could still taste the whiskey he drank down to calm his nerves.
and maybe that’s why he had the courage to drag you to the unoccupied bathroom, and just stare at your face.
“choso?”
he still didn’t say anything. just staring at your face, eyes locking on your lips before you finally grasped at his cheeks pulling him to look at you.
“cho..? whats going on? you’ve been hot since this morning…are you sick?”
he grabbed your hand off feeling his forehead as he crowded you further, your back hitting the sink.
“i—i like you.”
your eye widened as his arms gripped the edge of the sink surrounding your body, “cho…you’re drunk.”
“im not druuuunk”, he whined shaking his head having a few more strands of hair fall in his face, “m not drunk! not that much of a lightweight.”
“so why are you doing this?”
“cause i love like you.”
“and i can’t do this any longer.”
“do what—”
you got cut off when his hand landed on your hip, his body coming up to yours as he dropped down and landed a quick kiss on your lips.
he pulled back just as fast, eyeing your shocked face, only to descend again slowly when your hands drifted to his long locks at the end of his neck.
you pulled at his hair, feeling him gasp into your neck shoving your toungue in his warm waiting mouth as he whimpered, his body closing in over you like a shield that didn’t want to disappear.
his hands slid over your curves as if you were glass, his tongue trying to keep you before letting you win and savage his mouth like a prize and unconsciously his hips brushed against yours.
“mmm cho.”
he didn’t even realize it but in the time he pressed you up against the sink that he was fucking humping you.
“oh—”, he gasped and felt his ears burn even hotter than they did before. “i didn’t know—”
but he can’t stop. not when feeling his cock rub against your warm body between the layers and he’s so close. the button of your pantsuit right in front of where he wants needs you most was his biggest obstacle and pleasure.
it was rubbing against him just right, in the perfect spot that left him feel you and get that bump he just do desperately needed.
“it’s alright cho” you cooed at him, feeling his big hands try to drag you in closer even with your body flush against him, “feels good right?”
his mouth long since moved from yours, your connected saliva drooling down the side of his face, it that he cared much about it as he mouthed at your neck.
his body let out a rapid shiver feeling your knee press against his bulge and he was so so close.
“ooo you liked that, huh?”
“so good cho…you were wishing for this.”
“feels so good cum for me, my sweet boy.”
and he did, his strong hands gripped at the looseness coming out of your shirt as he shook and felt a wet spot take place in his slacks, his louth huffing against your neck while your warm hands rubbed at his back.
“better now?”
choso hummed in response, pulling his neck out to give you a quick peck before flushing seeing the mess he caused in his wake.
well good thing it was dark blue.
“you didn’t…”
you smiled at him, running your hand down his chest to cup his bulge, “ ‘m okay cho don’t worry about me, okay?”
“but i want to—”
“choso?” a female voice came with banging on the door taking your attention away from each other to the sound.
“CHOSO!”
“i know you’re in thereeee” she purred, “don’t tell me you’re cheating on me!”
cheating?
“cheating?” you repeated backing up from the man, “oh my god. oh my god. you are fucking drunk!” you hissed completely separating yourself from him.
“i don’t have a girlfriend!”
“well whatever the fuck she is” you pointed at the door whispering, “she’s looking for you and this was unprofessional!”
“but i—”
“go, choso.”
“and yuki came at the door after?”
choso nodded a pretty pout taking over his lips, tapping at table with his pen.
sukuna barked a hefty laugh, pounding his chest as another coughing fit took over him from his disbelief.
“this is like a telenovela” he shook his head, his sharp smile taking over his face, “i don’t know how you do it.”
“it’s wasn’t me” choso whined as he dropped his pen back on the notepad where he unconsciously started to draw you again.
“well, it’s a good thing i scheduled her for grandpa’s party!”
both men froze as they watched yuuji munch on a popsicle.
“you’ve let me mope about this for two months and you didn’t tell me that?”
“im in my honeymoon period! DUHHH”
this could work out! yes choso—well not really, fucked up his one chance to make you his one chance to make you his.
maybe even properly profess his love to you but this was a second chance he could—
“but she wants all our meetings to happen at her office. no extra guests.”
well shit.
“find something out so i can fix this.”
and as he was know for yuuji pried and pried, and he got his results.
“just do something that will show her you appreciate her.”
“that you love her.”
so choso did what he does best, hands covered in paint as he opened the door to his studio.
“ah—yuuji, where is the—”
“here me out, please.”
you sighed dropping the iconic clipboard silently as you, walked through the threshold as chido held the door open wider.
“wait here..right—no right here.”
“does this have anything to do with your grandfather? i don’t have time—”
“we’re making the time right now” choso murmured as he fixed his setup.
and now you stood next to the man as he beamed waiting for you to pull at the tarp covering what seemed to be a large canvas.
“choso, what is this?”
“just—just look at it? please?”
sighing you handed your board to the man, before taking the long painted covered clothing and pull to reveal a portrait.
of you.
but not just a single portrait it was multiple of you, adding together in the timeline of when you were with him.
“choso…”
“it’s all the things i love about you.”
he set the things down, wrapping around to point at the different tiny yous on the canvas, “this was the day we checked out the sunflower venue and the butterfly landed on your nose.”
“this was the dark marble one megumi loved that had the stray cat” he smiled at the memory, “ and you felt so bad you draped your sweater on the floor so it could snuggle.”
“this was at the rehearsal dinner where i drew you for the first time.”
“this was at the day you argued with sukuna about the cake flavor.”
“and this one—”
“i get it cho..” you lifted your hand to stop the man as you blocked at the beautiful colors swirling on the canvas, “but why..?”
“because yuki isn’t your girlfriend!”
“youre right yuki isnt my girlfriend.”
“wait” he dragged his hands down his face, “i meant she’s not my girlfriend.”
you giggled looking at the paint smeared over his cheeks, “ i get it…so at the wedding?”
“fluke! i promise i would never do that to you.”
he came to you slowly his big brown eyes pleading at you to believe him, “i would never lose you…especially over something so stupid.”
“okay cho” you shivered feeling his minty breath hit on your face, “i believe you.”
his hand still cold from the paint grasped at your cheek pulling you closing to him as he dipped down for you kiss, “oh thank fuck.”
and soon you couldn’t even feel the cold ting or strong stench of the fresh paint when his lips captured yours again.
you felt so light.
but the way choso was kissing, was anything but.
his lips were soft but his kiss was rough, hungry and desperate. as if he was scared that you’d slip through his finger again and he wouldn’t be able to stop you.
and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to him, the way you gravitated and when he pulled away you followed.
you let him lead you back to the tarp listening to his ‘sorry softest thing here, baby’ and watching his rough paint covered hands work at the buttons of your blouse.
his lips found yours again as he carefully pulled your bra down, kneading both of your breasts in earnest moaning into your mouth like he was the one being pawed at instead of doing the pawing.
“cho..”
he ignored your plea, pinning your hands down as they drifted down his body to give him more in return before he started to kiss at your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse as he continued to lick a line to your breasts.
“this ain’t about me baby…all you.”
his movements didn’t stop his brown eyes watching you as his hands…dipped in more paint? grasped at the fat of your boobs kneading as he sucked a nipple into his mouth before moving to the other neglected one.
the black paint followed his fingertips as he groaned against your breast as he pulled back to watch his hand that made it to the outline of your pants, “you don’t mind dirting this up, right?”
soon you were completely bare before the man, his hands grasping at every open area of skin he could read, stretching his hand to the side to dip into a new color as he mouthed at your inner thighs, just away from where you needed him most.
but you didn’t rush him, letting him continue his exploration, watching as if he was deprived of you in every way of the word as he finally sucked your clit into his mouth.
the gasp that ripped out of you was enough to bring his attention back to your messy paint covered face, “sorry baby hands are bit messy…just my mouth today.”
you didn’t even get enough time to respond, his mouth catching back on your mound as his teeth grazed your clit, arms wrapping around your legs as you arched up into his hold.
his tongue split through your folds expertly dipping into your gummy walls forcing a wanton moan put your mouth as you felt something cold in amongst his hot tongue.
“cho..do you have ice?” you asked breathlessly, gripping at his hair to hear him moaning out against your hot cunt.
his tongue lulled out at he watched you, the light glinting against his silver piercing.
“oh fuck.”
even with your hands slipped in between his buns, choso slipped back into position, snug between your thighs clenching at his head. giving your inner thigh a light kiss before descending back in.
it was probably the mix of the ac blasting up ahead, the coolness of the paint drying on your skin, how big choso was between your legs he basically forced you open, and the pressure he held on your stomach with painted hand with his tongue flicking that the other that made you come undone as fast as you did.
he didn’t even let up yet, still licking and sucking as you dropped and wrtithed against his mouth before finally coming up, mouth still wet from your essence.
his eyes darted all over your covered body as if to lock this into his memory of what he did to you.
summary: hockey star satoru gojo has an unhealthy obsession with his teammate toji's girlfriend and would do anything to make you his.
wc: 13.7k
18+ | gojo masterlist
late february
satoru gojo was having one of the worst days of his life. despite the fact that he just scored enough goals to get his team to the stanley cup playoffs and been promoted to team captain, he was fucking miserable.
his teammates were crowding around him, lifting him into the air as they (and the crowd) chanted: "gojo! gojo! gojo!" in all honesty, it should have been the best day of his life, all things considered. he had worked his ass off since he first stepped on the ice at five years old in order to get here. missed out on being a normal teenager as he dedicated his life to hockey, being the youngest in his generation to be drafted at only seventeen years and eight months old. earning a spot as of one of the greats at his age.
his first two years of college were spent playing for his uni's team to hone in on his skills and by his third year he had been able to graduate early and go straight into the nhl where he's been playing for four years now.
so yes, he should be happy. his jersey had a "c" for captain, his team was going to the fucking stanley cup playoffs and he had women willing to throw themselves at him in hopes that he would give them a sliver of attention.
his only problem was you. his teammates girlfriend that he was downright obsessed with.
you stood behind the glass, dressed in an oversized blue jersey that had his team's name and acted as a dress. you were wearing black tights underneath it, knee high leather boots rising up your legs that formed vile thoughts in his head. you were watching with excitement and hearts in your eyes. hands clapping as your friend whispered something in your ear. you weren't paying attention though, eyes locked on the man that skated his way off the ice and toward you.
fucking toji fushiguro.
satoru had been friends with him in high school but they grew apart when toji joined a frat in university. he was too busy with hockey to fuck around and the friendship slowly fizzled out before he graduated ahead of his class. then a year later toji graduated and got drafted onto the same team as satoru. the friendship was never what it was before, the men only seeing each other as teammates and nothing more.
satoru had never thought of himself as a jealous person. from elementary to college he had always been considered a "popular" guy, able to get any girl he wanted without putting in much effort and most men wanted to be him.
even now. he was a goddamn superstar, stupid fucking rich and living out his childhood dreams. he wanted for nothing except for the one thing he couldn't have: you.
it was a brutal reminder that you were someone else's when fushiguro picked you up and spun you around, lips locked against yours. the number 12 plastered in a big white font on the back of your jersey. toji's number.
satoru was annoyed but eventually found the strength to tear his eyes away from you, stomach twisted in knots at the fact that you weren't wearing his number. he allowed a smile to stretch across his face as his team huddled around him, his ego reminding him that he was satoru fucking gojo.
even though his heart screamed at him that it didn't matter if he couldn't have you.
later that night he was five shots deep in some shitty liquor, pretending to enjoy himself at some equally shitty party that was meant to celebrate the team qualifying for the playoffs.
he had a beautiful woman sitting next to him, her leg thrown over his lap as she kissed on his neck and whispered vulgar things in his ear, breath reeking of alcohol and mint gum. she had no shame that a few of his teammates sat at the same booth, deep in conversation about the days game and some other bullshit he didn't care about.
he was too busy trying to the hide the glare that was forming on his face, because sitting right across from him was you.. and toji. and you had the nerve to be dressed like that, tempting his restraint. questioning his morals.
toji's arm was thrown around your shoulder, your body slightly turned toward him. it gave satoru the perfect view of the dip in your waist as he tossed back his sixth shot, the bodysuit you wore doing nothing to hide the hips he often dreamed of digging his hands into.
what the fuck was his problem? he had a girl practically eating his face right now and all he could do was eye you like some virgin loser.
he moved to take another shot when you laughed at something toji said. your nose crinkled as you tried to control your laughter, hair falling into your face as you titled your head down. finding some joke toji said funnier than it probably was. his heart thumped loudly at the sound, the music bumping in the club drowning out over the noise of blood rushing in his ears.
he was convinced you were an angel and it only confused him even more that you were with someone like toji. sure, he's only known you for the five months you'd been dating his teammate and not on a personal level but he knew his former friend since they were teens and he had always been a jerk that toyed with girls like it was his favorite pastime.
not that he hadn't had his fair share of one night stands, but he wouldn't do that to you. never you.
what could you possibly find so interesting about him that you hardly looked at satoru when in the same vicinity as him? it frustrated him to no end. he knew that he could treat you better than toji could if only you would acknowledge him.
"want to get out of here?" the woman whispered in his ear. he didn't even remember her name and it annoyed him that it wasn't you asking him that question.
satoru checked himself when he found his hand moving to push her off of him. it wasn't her fault that she wasn't you, and he was in need of releasing some tension. especially when you showed up dressed like the goddess of seduction herself, making his dick rock hard and throbbing with lust the moment he laid eyes on you.
he was pathetic, really. you were toji's girlfriend.
he waited a few more minutes to see if you would look at him just once tonight. even a small glance would satisfy satoru at this point, but you didn't. you talked to everyone but him, flashing those glossy eyes at toji like he painted the fucking sky.
only when he stood, girl latched tight to his arm as if she were afraid he'd slip away, did you finally look at him. satoru almost dropped to his knees right there, head at your feet while he offered the world to you. thankfully his dignity was still intact and he didn't make a fool of himself, or his date that was begging to be fucked.
"hey! i didn't get the chance to tell you earlier but you did great out there today." you smiled at him, completely oblivious to the way your innocent words tugged at his heart.
satoru let his smirk cover up how fucking whipped you had him. how ready he was to say fuck it and pull you into his arms right in front of toji, daring his teammate to do something about it.
"yeah? 'preciate it beautiful." and the way your eyes widened at the pet name he decided at this very moment he would call you from now on, had him biting back a chuckle. you were so fucking cute, teasing him with your mere presence like he didn't know how to bite back.
clearly the name was far less amusing to toji, who shot him a glare and not so subtly pulled you closer to him. satoru fought the urge to roll his eyes, though he was satisfied he got under his skin. it filled his big head with the idea that toji's insecurity meant you would possibly give him a chance.
why else would the dark haired meathead act like satoru threatened his relationship with a nickname as simple as beautiful?
"fuck off, gojo." toji huffed, face scrunched in annoyance while satoru was cool as a cucumber, smirk widening as placed his hands in his pockets. he was beyond amused at toji's frazzled state. what an insecure dud.
"what? can't recognize a beautiful woman when i see one?" he continued with his taunting, his plan officially set in motion. satoru would just have to woo you until you realized toji was a brain-dead loser and he was much better for you.
didn't you know how good you two would look together? how good he could be to you?
"eat a dick, dude."
satoru only laughed and shot you a wink, savoring the way your eyes widened even further before he turned and pulled the woman out of the club.
while he was balls deep in his date that night, pounding his irritation away, he thought of you. how much tighter you likely were. how you were probably a huge freak underneath that shy act you put on in public. and when he finally pulled out, ripping the condom off his swollen cock as he stroked his load onto the stomach below him, he imagined he was still buried deep inside you. condom nonexistent as he filled you to the brim with his hot cum.
ㅤ
you were exhausted after your night out with toji, celebrating his teams recent big win until three in the morning. a choice you immediately regretted as you woke up in the same outfit you wore last night, one you had hoped would get your boyfriend's attention.
you made sure not to drink that night, desperately needing to get laid and not wanting toji to turn you away because you were too drunk. he had been stressed lately, with it being the middle of hockey season and all, and he hadn't fucked you in some weeks now. so to say you were disappointed when he only kissed you and wished you good luck on your finals tomorrow, would be severely understating it.
part of you wondered if he was seeing someone else. you'd only been dating five months now, so when he started dodging every hint you threw his way that you were in need of physical affection, red flags started flying.
you could understand and appreciate how busy he was. you were on your last year of law school, studying for the bar exam and getting ready for an internship at one of the most powerful firms in the country. you were busy yourself but you still found time for him, even if it would screw you over in the end.
you really shouldn't have gone out with toji last night, but he had begged and pleaded with you until you had no choice but to say yes so he could stop whimpering like a dog. you threw on your sexiest outfit, doused yourself in his favorite perfume and wore your new victoria's secret lingerie.
he had eyed you like you were candy, giving you a sloppy kiss and a smack on the ass before walking you to his car. you had been even more hopeful when toji became oddly possessive after gojo called you beautiful. the comment had left you flustered, cheeks burning from the sudden attention that you didn't know how to respond to.
gojo had stared at you like you were the only woman in the room and it had you dumbstruck. toji had never looked at you that intensely and it left you feeling shy and exposed. so when he finally pulled you closer, it gave you the false idea that your outfit would be ripped off you the second he took you back to his place.
only toji hadn't done either of those things. he had dropped you back at your apartment, kissed you goodnight after a silent car ride and pulled off before you could even close the door.
now you lay in bed still horny, head pounding from a lack of sleep and if the clock on your nightstand was correct, an hour away from one of the most important exams of your life. you sighed, pulling your phone off the charger as you checked your messages.
shoko (8:30am): hey babes, you up? wanna grab coffee before our exams?
shoko (8:50am): hellooo?
shoko (9:00am): boo, you whore. i just seen a pap picture of you with toji last night so you're either out cold rn after a long night of fucking or you're still getting your back blown out. 🤣
shoko (9:05am): i gtg, professor won't let me retake if i miss this test. love you, don't make choices i wouldn't!
dad (9:06am): hi honey. how's law school treating you? call your old man when you get the chance.
instagram 99+ new notifications
you wondered what shoko would think if you told her you did in fact not get your back blown out. instead you went to bed alone, doubting your relationship more than you already did. that the satoru gojo showed more interest in you than your own boyfriend did.
your stomach still tickled at the way he called you beautiful. such a simple name that left you feeling like a cat in heat. not that you'd ever admit that to anyone outside of yourself.
you were still unsure of how to feel about his nickname. on one hand you were in a relationship with his teammate and shouldn't entertain comments from other men. on the other, the crush you had on the hockey superstar still lingered somewhere deep in you.
when you first started dating your boyfriend, it had been with the intention of getting a little closer to the man with sharp blue eyes and white hair, that had been at the center of your dreams every fucking night. toji was hot but he wasn't really your type, so you were surprised when you found yourself actually falling for him two months into the relationship.
you met him at some party shoko dragged you to back in september, right before hockey season started. you hadn't really been checking for him, searching the room for gojo but he hadn't been there. so you cracked and gave him a chance after he kept "accidentally" bumping into you.
he made you feel like you were the hottest girl in the room that night, his hand on your lower back all night, whispering the crudest of comments in your ear until he took you back to his condo and fucked you into the mattress.
you hadn't been expecting him to ask you for your number before he dropped you back home, assuming this was a one night stand and nothing more. you weren't stupid. you knew the reputation most athletes had, especially toji fushiguro. but he clearly had an interest in you as he started texting you almost daily for hookups until two weeks later when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend right before his first game of the season.
now here you were, feeling more neglected than ever and you'd only been dating the man five months. this is why you'd been single for more than four years before meeting toji. men were complicated and more often than not, a waste of time. in the end it would always be you and your rose toy.
you opened up instagram next, scrolling through your friends stories before you stopped on gojo's which had a green circle around his icon. close friends? you quickly went to your notifications tab, hands shaking as your heart thumped. thumped. thumped! eyes bulging when you saw:
satorugojo followed you back (3 hrs ago). plus some of his 3.5 million followers that had followed you in response.
oh! you swallowed hard, clicking on his story and seeing he posted a picture of himself at the gym. athletic shorts riding low on his hips. grey boxers showing. white happy trail peeking from his black shirt that rose as he lifted one arm, showing off his ridiculous muscles. blue airpod max's snug on his head of wild white hair.
no days off 💪🏻 he captioned it. posted at 6:30am.
out of pure instinct you went to screenshot it before stopping yourself. this is your boyfriends teammate, what the fuck were you doing? you weren't some weird fan anymore, you were toji's girlfriend. snap out of it!
you forced yourself to close the app, texted your father that you would call him after your exam and quickly stripped and hopped in the shower. you spent twenty minutes reciting your mental notes on criminal law, civil law, etc.. you really shouldnt have went out last night.
after brushing your teeth and fixing your hair, you were out the door and thanking god that you lived close to campus or else you would have missed your exam. all because you were drooling over the fact that another man followed you on social media. get real!
you were grateful that shoko had been waiting for you the moment you stepped out of that too stuffy lecture room three hours later. the exam itself went fine. though you'd occasionally hear gojo's voice calling you beautiful, you had locked in and been the first one finished.
you were beyond drained and immediately dropped your head on her shoulder, mumbling about how you couldn't wait to graduate and you were never going to a party again. and something about fuck men.
"uh huh, it must suck getting fucked all night and almost missing your exams. poor (name)." she jokingly patted your back until you lifted your head to glare at her.
"i would find that funny if i'd actually gotten any."
"again?!"
twenty minutes later you sat in front of your best friend at a local cafe, wearing your heart on your sleeve as you ranted to her about your relationship issues.
"i just don't understand him, sho. i go out of my way to dress how i know he likes, wear perfumes that he says are his favorite and all i get is a smack on the ass. almost like i'm his dog begging for praise and he's patting my head and calling me a good girl."
shoko was empathic but had a look that said she didn't really know what to say. it was usually her in your position, while you never really had the patience for a relationship. it was the occasional one night stand for you, preferring to fixate on fictional men who would never disappoint you as real men often did.
toji was the perfect example of that. he'd been so hot and cold lately. kissing you at his games and acting like a loving boyfriend, to barely acknowledging you and leaving you aching for more.
"fuck one of his teammates."
you choked on your latte, looking around to make sure no one heard what she said as you attempted to regain your composure. when you finally calmed down enough you shot her a scowl, embarrassed at your little episode that had a few people staring like you'd pissed in their coffee.
"what? honestly i don't know why you went for him when suguru geto was right there but i'll try not to judge you too much." she had a shit eating grin on her face which only made you want to sink into the ground even more.
you had no plans to cheat on toji when you didn't even have proof that he was doing the same to you. but your mind still drifted to gojo. if you were going to sleep with any of them, it would be him for sure. or maybe you'd switch teams and go for that hot soccer player ryomen sukuna. but you weren't a cheater so you didn't allow that thought to simmer in your head.
though you were curious as to why he followed you, especially after he'd called you beautiful last night. why were you still stuck on that anyway? it was just a name he probably called twenty different women as everyone knew satoru gojo was a major flirt. but it was the first time he called you that.
"enough about me." you attempted to regain some control over the conversation. "how'd your exam go? you're almost done with med school! are you gonna stay in the city?"
"don't know." she shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. "thinking of working in a high school. if not, maybe moving a few cities over. enjoy some new scenery y'know?"
of course you did. you sometimes found yourself dreaming of starting somewhere fresh that wasn't your hometown but something had always kept you tethered here. maybe it was your irrational fear of change, or the stability you had here. family, friends, career. there hadn't really been a reason for you to leave.
just then your phone buzzed.
toji 💘: think you could stop by the rink? finishing up practice in 30 and wanted to see your pretty face.
✮
"why are you just standing there? move your feet!" satoru yelled at his team, tired from the early start to his day when he'd only gotten about four hours of actual rest. he wasn't usually this cranky, typically cracking jokes with the boys or giving them words of encouragement but he was still on edge from the fact that you'd actually spoken to him last night.
satoru didn't know what it was about you that left him so dizzy with obsession, when he'd never acted this way over a woman before. he had girlfriends sure, some he cared about but never anything too serious or long-term, preferring to focus on his future in the leagues and not wanting anything to distract him from that.
until you walked in the room. you'd been there to watch toji practice, dressed in low rise jeans that showed off your waist jewelry and straps to your pink lingerie. a matching long sleeve crop top and cardigan to protect your arms from the chill of the facility.
he thought he might propose to you right then and there. call it love at first sight. you were insanely hot and walked with a confidence that made every man and woman stop and stare at you. even coach stole a glance when he thought no one was looking.
he was hooked from that day forward. never missing a day of practice just in case you might show up, even if it bothered him that you were there to see toji and not him. he looked forward to seeing what outfit you'd wear or how you'd style your hair. he even noticed little things, like if you were in a good mood you'd be straight faced but if you were annoyed, you'd have a forced smile on your lips to keep up appearances.
on those days he wanted to yell at toji for not keeping you happy enough, though he knew that was unfair. plus you weren't his to worry about, even if he desperately wanted you to be. but for now he would settle for breathing the same air as you if that was all he could get.
"who the fuck are you talking to huh?! i dare you to say that shit again!" a yell broke through his thoughts. when he looked to the ice, toji was pushing suguru back with a mean shove. almost knocking satoru's friend on his ass and making him drop his stick.
"what, you gonna hit me fushiguro? i'm not one of the newbies, you don't scare me." suguru was calm as ever, amusement dancing in his eyes as he straightened himself. satoru was tempted to stand back and watch, getting some kind of sick enjoyment out of watching whatever suguru said make toji turn red with anger.
"actually, I think the next time i say it out loud it'll be to your pretty little girlfriend. oh there she is! what do you think fushiguro? she might want to know-" before suguru could finish, toji landed a punch right to the man's nose that sent him flying to the ground.
"are you two idiots done?" satoru yelled onto the rink, standing where coach usually does as he was filling in for him today. "fushiguro, you're out for the day. go home and blow off some steam. don't come back tomorrow if you still feel you need to attack your own teammate."
toji wasn't hearing it as he skated aggressively off the rink until he was behind the board and glaring at satoru as his cheeks flared red. "fuck you, you're not coach."
satoru lifted a brow, fighting the urge to give the man the same treatment he just gave suguru. "nah, but i am your captain and i said to fucking go home. or does the c on my jersey mean nothing anymore?"
if it were possible, you'd be able to see the steam shooting from toji's ears as he thought about what to say next before huffing and moving to sit on the bench, taking his skates off and pushing past satoru, storming to the locker room. satoru wondered what suguru had said to make the man so upset, watching as the doors that led to the backrooms closed behind him with a loud bang!
he didn't have much time to ponder on it before he noticed you standing at the entrance door, eyes wide as you watched the commotion. he wondered how much you saw, but really he was concerned with how much time he'd have to talk to you before toji came back and dragged you away.
he hadn't expected to see you again so soon but the surprise was more than welcomed.
he watched, eyes cloudy with desire as you walked further into the facility. hands holding a takeout bag, face set in confusion as you looked around, unsure of what to do after walking in on your boyfriend behaving like a psychopath.
satoru would never embarrass you like that.
when your eyes met his he raised his hand to wave you over, fighting back a smile as he watched you ponder over if it was a good idea or not after you'd just watched your boyfriend curse him out.
he finally felt like he could breathe again when you started walking toward him, dressed in a grey sweatsuit, faux fur jacket and a fitted cap. you were stunning and satoru almost choked on the drool that was forming at the sight of you.
when he turned to make sure geto was alright, he saw the man was already back up and finishing his drills with the others. satoru made a mental note to ask him what his mess with fushiguro had been about and why he mentioned you. for now, you would have his undivided attention.
"hi beautiful." his voice was raspy from yelling at the team for the past two hours, but he was satisfied to see the unintended effect it had on you. the slight widening of your eyes, pretty lips covered in gloss parting in surprise, the way you tightened your grip on the takeout bag.
"oh, i-" you bite your lip before relaxing your shoulders, releasing a breath and giving him a small smile that he knew he would be thinking about for the rest of the day. "hi."
satoru tried his best not to grin but you made it so hard. look at how cute you were, stuttering over being called beautiful when you were so much more than that. he would make sure he reminded of you that everyday when you were his, since toji was a clearly failing as a boyfriend.
"brought me lunch? how sweet. you didn't have to do that, princess."
princess? satoru had no idea where that one came from, he'd never called a woman that before but he could tell you liked it by the way your smile widened and your eyes softened. he would stick with that one then.
he felt like he was gonna melt with the way you had his body burning with a deep, scorching need that pulled in his stomach. a need that had him wondering how soft your lips were, what the gloss you wore tasted like, and what your skin felt like under his hands.
"i actually.. uhm- it's for toji. what happened with him and geto?"
satoru's mouth soured at the sound of his name taking up room in your conversation. he wanted to learn a little more about you before the beast came back and whisked you away.
but this was a good opportunity for him to get your number. yeah, he could work with this.
"not sure yet, princess. but if you want i can text ya after i talk with suguru, that way you get both sides of the story and not just whatever fushiguro tells you."
he watched as you swallowed, eyes tracing the movement of your lips and letting them fall to your exposed neck and the way your gold jewelry sat so perfectly across your skin. the captain of the number one hockey team in the world right now, was totally checking out his teammate's girlfriend and felt not even an ounce of shame about it.
embarrassment was never really satoru gojo's style. if he was one thing, it was confident. plus what was wrong with him letting you know he found you attractive? if your relationship with fuhsiguro was strong, then the man had nothing to worry about.
"you want my number? i don't know.. wouldn't that be inappropriate since-" you stop and lick your lips and satoru thinks he died and came back to life. "i'm dating your friend?"
mood fucking ruined.
"fushiguro isn't my friend. strictly teammates." the words came out harsher than he meant it and his heart sank at the way you shrunk back, the tension from earlier returning.
"i'm sorry, i didn't mean-"
"(name), what the fuck are you doing? we're leaving now!" toji's voice interrupted as soon as satoru reached out to touch your arm and you were gone in blink, spitting out a "s-sorry, sorry!" while chasing after your boyfriend who lacked the decency to even wait for you.
rage boiled inside of satoru, his fists clenched at his side, watching as you stopped the door front hitting you before disappearing behind it. toji was a fucking monster and you deserved better than him.
he had a new goal now. he would get you away from his teammate and then he would make you his. that started with finding out what suguru had against fushiguro that set him off and-
fuck! he didn't get your number.
✮
the car ride was awkward as fuck to say the least. toji was beyond pissed, one hand gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles turned white, the other placed on your thigh squeezing considerably softer, grip still possessive as he swerved through traffic.
you wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he had ignored you when you asked the first time, as you followed him out of the training facility. you took that as a sign that he didn't want to talk about it and stayed quiet. opting to scroll through your phone instead, not a clue in the world where he was taking you.
dad (1:03pm): how did the exam go? i just talked to nishimura and he says you're all good to start your internship after your grades are released. don't forget to call! love you honey.
you (1:30pm): it went great! thanks for getting me the internship dad, I really appreciate it. can I call in 20?
dad (1:30pm): 👍
just as you were going to put your phone away, an instagram notification came through that had your cheeks heating instantly.
satorugojo (just now): number, princess? forgot to get it before the big bad wolf stole you away.
oh my god! you had no idea what he was doing or why he was suddenly so interested in you but it put you on guard. the crush you harbored still lingering somewhere inside you. locked away out of respect for toji. and it would stay there. you had no plans to disrespect your relationship unless toji did first.
so you ignored the message and locked your phone with painstaking difficulty, giving the man next to you your attention. face still heated from gojo's message. the fangirl in you screaming at the fact that li ole' you managed to get the satoru gojo's attention.
"where are we going?" you asked your boyfriend, hoping he didn't notice your reaction to gojo's dm. you needed to get real. he was probably giving ten other women the same attention that he gave you. he was satoru gojo after all. number one hockey player on the rink, world's biggest flirt off the rink.
"taking ya home. i have some business i need to take care of." he kept his eyes on the road, jaw still tight with annoyance from his earlier interaction with geto and gojo.
you frowned, fingers tightening around the lunch you'd bought for toji. if you weren't annoyed before, you definitely were now. he's the one that asked to see you and now he was ditching you. again.
"what business?" your voice was low as you attempted to stop yourself from cursing him out. you didn't do relationships often but when you gave a man the time of the day, you never allowed them to treat you like this. toji fushiguro wasn't the exception.
his grip tightened around the steering wheel and you thought he might rip it off with the way the skin under his fingernails turned red.
"nothing you need to know." he removed his hand from your thigh, moving it to hold onto the gearshift.
how fucking dare he? "hey asshole, you asked to see me! i deserve to know why you're wasting my time and ditching me without even properly saying hello."
"are you deaf, woman? i just told you to drop it!" woman? you were seeing red.
"fine! maybe i'll ask geto what had you angry enough to punch him, since we're keeping secrets now."
toji slammed on the breaks at a red light, sending your body forward before your back hit the seat again. you dropped the food on the floor, whipping your head to stare at the man beside you who had clearly lost his mind.
"are you crazy?!"
toji was already staring at you, a death glare painting his face, veins protruding in his forehead, his hair half covering his eyes. he looked murderous but you weren't going to back down.
"i'll only tell you this once: stay the fuck away from him and gojo, (name). ya hear me?"
you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms as toji turned and started driving again, flipping off the person that honked for him to go. you didn't take your attention from him though.
"or what? i wouldn't have to go to other men to find out what's going on with my own boyfriend if you'd actually talk to me! for crying out loud, you punched your teammate then act like i'm in the wrong for wanting to know why."
you couldn't believe this is what your first argument with toji was about. not him neglecting your needs five months into your relationship, but him hitting someone and refusing to talk to you about it. it was pathetic really. even more so that you kept giving him the time of the day. his behavior was off and did nothing to help the growing suspicion that he was cheating on you or hiding something worse.
toji ran his free hand down his face but stayed silent, keeping his eyes locked on the road as if he suddenly cared about driving safe when he just slammed on the breaks, nearly giving you whiplash.
"let me out." you sighed. he was close enough to your apartment anyways and you'd rather walk then deal with his bullshit for another minute.
it shouldn't have surprised you when he only mumbled "fine" and pulled into a gas station. speeding off after you slammed the door shut. you were so fucking mad that your brain short circuited and before you could even process what you were doing, you opened instagram and went to the dm you got a few minutes ago, typed in your number and hit the send button.
when you made it back to your place, you sat at the desk in your living room and opened your laptop. that's where you sat for the next four hours, phone turned off, studying for the bar exam. not letting a man distract you from what was actually important.
not until the clock read 5:55pm and you were stretching your sore back as you made your way to the kitchen to get some food, turning your phone on to finally call your dad who answered on the first ring. your face frowned when you were bombarded with notifications but you ignored them for now.
"(name), thank god! are you alright, do you need me to come down there? i'll kill him if he hurt you-" your father rambled, a calm fury lacing his voice that he typically reserved for his opponents in the courtroom.
"i'm fine dad!" you cut him off, anxiety crawling up your spine as you neglected the meal you were going to make, putting him on speaker as you started going through your missed notifications. "i was only studying, i'm sorry it took me so long to call. what's going on?"
"i got a call from a friend who said he saw you a video of you on tmz arguing with that man i told you was no good for you! he could have hurt you driving like that, and then to leave you at a gas station in the middle of winter? i-"
you zoned out as you read all the notifications you missed, clicking on the first one from apple news titled " trouble in paradise already? hockey player toji fushiguro caught in a screaming match with girlfriend (full name)."
you felt like throwing up as you read the article, clicking on the video that was attached and credited to tmz. someone had captured almost the entire thing. from the moment toji stormed from the facility, you chasing shyly behind him, to him speeding off and the person in the car following. the video cuts to him recklessly swerving into the gas station, you slamming the door and him zooming off.
you wanted to shrivel up and die out of pure embarrassment. you had been too angry to think about the fact that your boyfriend is in fact, a well known hockey star and would more than likely be followed by paparazzi or fans. this wouldn't be toji's first time dealing with a scandal but you were far from famous and hated drawing negative attention to yourself.
you swiped down when your phone buzzed again with another notification from instagram. you ignored it and went to the nearly one hundred messages you missed.
shoko (4:00pm): ANSWER YOUR PHONE NOW
shoko (4:00pm): TMZ JUST POSTED YOU ARGUING WITH TOJI. CALL ME!!
shoko (4:01pm): OMG (NAME), WHY IS YOUR PHONE OFF. THIS IS SERIOUS
shoko (4:03pm): im coming over after my shift at the hospital! you better open or I'll kick the door down.
unknown number (3:25pm): hey princess.
unknown number (4:10pm): just saw the video. wanna talk about it? sorry your bf's a dick
toji 💘 (4:05pm): answer the phone now. i'm not fucking around.
toji 💘 (4:07pm): you're a fucking brat, feel better now that you embarrassed us?
and only one missed call from him out of the near one hundred you had gotten from your family and friends.
"i'll call you back dad, i have to go." you hung up before he could respond, saved the new number under "satoru 🏒" and called shoko.
✮
two weeks ago
satoru hadn't spoke to nor seen you since the video of fushiguro leaving you at a gas station was posted. you had missed the game today and satoru held a deep resentment toward his teammate for that. he wanted to see you before the next game tomorrow, which would be taking place in a different city. as would the next seven after that.
you never responded to his text which usually wouldn't bother satoru if it had been literally anyone else. he hadn't stopped thinking about what suguru told him two days ago, the secrets fushiguro was hiding from not just you but the public as well. he knew it wasn't his business.
he reminded himself again that you weren't his girlfriend but he still felt an odd sense of responsibility toward you. an urge to protect your heart from his teammate's bullshit. even if he didn't get you in the end, you didn't deserve what toji was doing behind your back.
that's what led to him grilling the man in the locker room after everyone else had left. he held him back under the guise that he needed to talk to him about his performance at the game today when that couldn't be further from the truth.
"make it quick cap. got some things i need to get done before we fly out." toji glared at him with his arms crossed.
satoru took his time removing his helmet, ruffing up his hair before setting it in his locker. his pads were next, followed by his shinguards and gloves. toji was clearly annoyed, sighing impatiently which only made satoru smirk and shoot him a wink.
"how's (name) holding up?"
toji was immediately defensive, standing straight and moving closer to intimidate satoru, though the captain was still slightly taller than him. "fuck do you care for, gojo? you fuckin her or something?"
"not yet." satoru could lie and say he didn't mean to say it, but where was the fun in that? he loved to see toji riled up and was dying for a reason to lay him out after how he publicly humiliated you.
"don't fuck with me. couldn't give a fuck if you're captain or not, don't disrespect my girl." toji all but hisses.
satoru let his laughter fill the room. loud and obnoxious, stomach squeezing as if what toji said was the funniest thing he'd heard all week. "no, that's just reserved for you right? i knew you were still the same scumbag from college but, a baby? that's a new low, even for you."
toji froze, his eyes doubling in size as all the color drained from his face. his mouth dropped open but he didn't say anything before slamming it shut again. satoru couldn't help but think how weak he looks right now. he hadn’t even mentioned the rumors of his gambling, the pregnancy accusation had been more than enough to leave the man stunned.
“what is she now? four months? and you’ve been dating (name) for five, which means you’re not only going to be a father but you’re a fucking cheater too.”
having had enough of being scolded like a child, toji locked eyes with his old friend, wondering where they went wrong. years ago he would do anything for him but right now, he never hated anyone more than satoru gojo and he could tell the captain fucking knew it by the way he smirked.
"so what? you gonna run and tell her, act like some kind of prince charming and fuck her while her walls are down. that your goal gojo? you might be as shitty as me."
"oh I'm not gonna say a word to her. you are."
it was toji's turn to laugh, equally as obnoxious. "like fuck i will."
satoru was past finding this entertaining, his face switching into a threatening look as the act dropped, his voice low and threatening as he leaned closer until he was next to toji's ear. "you'll do it, or else i'll be forced to report your illegal gambling to the higher ups. what was the punishment for betting on your own team again? that's it, you'd be kicked out of the league."
✮
present (early march)
you hadn't seen or heard from toji since he left the city two weeks ago, traveling for some games away from home and you were surprisingly calm about it. you'd been knee deep in your studies for the bar exam coming up in july, and didn't have room on your schedule for relationship drama. you were pretty sure you were going to end things anyways but wanted to do it in person.
it turns out that dating famous people wasn't for you. you preferred a lowkey life, one that didn't include getting harassed by your boyfriends fans because: how dare you slam the door of toji fushiguro's car! you ended up making your account private and deleting comments until the hype died down and people moved onto the next big story.
it only took a week of nonstop harrassment, no big deal! then, after you posted a selfie with your account public again, the "she's such a diva!" "the (name) hate was so forced now y'all love her 😂" "that's a baddie right there 💅" comments started pouring in. though you could also thank gojo for that.
he reposted the picture on his story (which you liked) and only captioned it: 🤍
then he commented:
satorugojo: pretty girl (15,340 likes)
you didn't like it, not wanting to stir up any rumors more than he probably already did but it didn't bother you either. your actual reaction was to bite your lip, grinning like a teenage girl with a crush and pull out your rose toy. imagining a certain white haired, blue-eyed hockey player to help push you over the edge. it technically wasn't cheating, especially if your boyfriend ghosted you and you had plans to break up with him anyways.
you were just a girl.
a week after that, the boys were returning from their out of state games and shoko invited you to a party being thrown to celebrate them winning every game (eight in total!). it was a team effort of course, but you knew the real star was gojo. he was a beast on the ice, often being called the king of the rink by sports channels.
you watched a few games on tv, noticing how his teammates passed him the puck and he'd immediately shoot without thinking twice. he never froze, always confident in his ability to carry his team to a win. he was the sniper and captain for a reason, having insanely accurate aim and scoring from angles that seemed near impossible.
his post-game interview only proved how cocky he was.
interviewer: you made that look easy. what happened from your perspective?
gojo: their goalie gave me too much room. that’s on him.
and it was the hottest thing ever. his confidence, the way his white hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead, his dimple flashing whenever he smiled. it's what made you finally decide to text him. it was simple, just a quick "watched the game last night, you killed it! 🐐🏒"
to which he responded: "scored just for you, princess." and you didn't respond but hearted the message then screamed into your pillow.
now you were squeezing into a black dress that hugged your figure nicely and matching tights after telling yourself you were done with the public scene. unfortunately shoko was your best friend and you always had trouble telling her no.
you let your hair down tonight, spraying on your favorite japanese cherry blossom perfume as she walked into your bathroom.
she wore a dress similar to yours, only hers was purple and she slung a leather jack over her shoulders that had the teams logo and colors. the upper right patch sporting the number "2", which was geto's number. you didn't mention it but smirked to yourself.
"you look hot as fuck. think toji's gonna be jealous when his own team is drooling over you?"
you groaned as you applied your clear lip gloss, not wanting to hear his name. you still had to break up with him and weren't looking forward to it. you planned to pull him aside at the party where there would be plenty of people to thwart the explosive reaction you knew you would get in private.
"he should be." was all you said before she was pulling you out the door and into an uber. the party was more private and at geto's house, so you were glad there wouldn't be as much paparazzi as a nightclub might have.
you found yourself playing with your thumbs the entire twenty minute drive there, watching as the city lights faded into trees as you made your way into the hills. buildings turning into mansions, the stars in the sky becoming more visible with less light pollution.
you were nervous about breaking up with toji but more anxious about seeing gojo. especially after he reposted you on his story and called you pretty girl in your very much public comment section. his publicist probably scolded him for that one. as far as the public knew, you were still with toji.
"ready?" shoko grabbed onto you, stopping your fidgeting hands as the car slowed down in front of a surprisingly modest sized home, compared to the other ones in the neighborhood. your stomach twisted at the sound of loud music and at least fifty cars parked in the street and in front of geto's three garages.
you thanked the driver before stepping out of the car, heels clicking against the pavement as your friend pulled you toward the gates. there was one man waiting with a camera strapped across his neck, though he quickly lifted it when he spotted you.
multiple flashes started going off and you had to block your eyes as he started yelling. "(name)! you here to see toji or gojo?" "(name), what happened that day at the gas station? seemed heated!" you ignored every question while shoko told him to fuck off and pulled you through the gates after confirming her invitation with security.
you tried to blink the light spots away and not allow that creep to ruin your night. you didn't understand how stalking people just to get their photo wasn't illegal but that was a problem for another day because you were at the front door that had been left wide open. the bass from the song playing giving you a boost of confidence as you slid your jacket off and threw it on one of the racks at the front door.
you didn't know what to do with yourself so you let shoko pull you along, "geto said they'd be out back by the pool!"
oh. it was that kind of party. it's not that you didn't know how to swim, just that you needed a very good reason to do so plus it was cold as fuck. you weren't a fan. you didn't even think about the fact that shoko had geto's number as she kept dragging you through a sea of bodies.
couples were basically fucking as they danced to the music, men and women alike were throwing back shots like no tomorrow, someone was throwing up in the corner. it was only eleven and these kind of events lasted until three of four in the morning. not that you'd be staying any longer than needed to satisfy your friend.
the pool was big with checker style tiles at the bottom and matching black sun chairs on each side of it. most were being occupied by members of the team you recognized, a pretty girl or guy on their lap. some people splashing each other in the pool.
on the lawn kicking a ball back and forth was gojo, suguru and a few other men you'd never seen before. toji was there too, standing with his back against the fence, playful smirk on his face, dressed in a plain black shirt and jeans. you froze when he looked up and made eye contact with you.
"i think i'll wait inside, you go ahead!" you pulled away from your friend before she could stop you and bolted into the house, toji following while yelling your name.
you pretended you didn't hear him as you entered the music bumping house, in search of a drink and an escape. your nerves were getting the best of you. you'd never actually broken up with someone before, opting to just let them ghost you or you ghost them. this was different, toji was obviously not going to let that happen like you hoped he would.
what were you even supposed to say? "hey, I'm really sorry but i'm not feeling the spark between us anymore and I think we should break up. oh by the way, I have a fat crush on your captain." you guess that wasn't really bad as long as you left out the last part.
you beelined toward geto's kitchen, pushing past people and moving around the island to get to the fridge. pulling it open you sighed in relief that there was one last bottle of heineken, grabbing it greedily before cracking it open against the counter. you didn't really drink but knew you would need it in order to survive this conversation that loomed over you like a dark cloud.
your entire body tensed when you heard him enter the room, yelling your name and making you want to die of embarrassment as a few people stared. how did this become your life? this is exactly why you didn't date in the first place!
you took a few sips before setting it on the counter and turning. time to face the music.
he moved toward you with a frown, having the nerve to look confused at the fact that you might not want to talk to him. it was going to be a long night.
"what the fuck? why are you ignoring me?" he grabbed onto your arm but you were quick to snatch it away. scoffing in disgust when he started checking you out. "the fuck are you doing wearing that short ass dress out the house like you're not in a relationship?"
"ha! are we even together still? I haven't heard from you in two weeks dipshit." you put more space between the two of you, pressing your back against the counter as he moved closer. he reeked of alcohol and weed, the white of his eyes turning red, eyelids slightly droopy.
he bit his jaw, taking in a deep breath and looking around before speaking. "i've been focused on the games, y'know that. can we talk in private?"
"absolutely fucking not. whatever you need to say you can say it right here." you hardly had time to process what was happening before he yanked your arm and started pulling you to the front door. you were too stupefied to protest, letting him control your body until you were on the front lawn where only a few security guards were, paparazzi guy gone.
you yanked away from him again, giving him your best death glare as you stopped yourself from smacking his face off.
"speak and make it quick, i don't wanna spend all night arguing." you could tell toji was taken aback by your tone by the way he leaned away from you. you had never talked to him this way, acted so indifferent toward him.
"listen.. first i need you to know that i wasn't ignoring ya on purpose. i knew you were pissed and wanted to give you the space you need to cool off. you think we can actually talk now?"
"i'm still standing here aren't i?" you needed to keep your act up. seeming cold would make it easier to break up with him. he needed to understand that there was no saving this relationship and being sweet wouldn't help that.
"you're a fucking brat." he ran a hand down his face, suddenly interested in your heels. "don't kill me, doll. i need you to understand that i wasn't thinking straight when it happened. everything was moving too fast, i was drunk and didn't wear protection-"
you already knew where this was going, heart about to leap out of your chest as you squinted your eyes at him, humiliation crashing into you like a wave. all this time your suspicion had been valid, the red flags so obvious only a fool would ignore them. and boy were you the fucking fool.
honestly the entire thing was funny. here he was trying to find a way to tell you that he cheated on you, while you were trying to find a way to break up with him. kind of poetic how everything came together in the end.
but no protection? he either was about to tell you he'd gotten another woman pregnant or he contracted something from her.
"fuck are you laughing for? i didn't even finish-"
"oh you definitely did finish. god you're so pathetic. so which is it toji? do you have a baby on the way or do i need to get an std screening?" you had always worn condoms with him but you could never be too sure about anything. your hands started to tremble despite trying to hide it.
"the former." he grumbled. nice.
this was really fucking nice. you hit the goldmine when picking him over gojo huh? you regretted hiding your feelings all this time, forcing yourself to be with someone who wasn't even your type. who was originally only a door to get access to another man.
"wow. i have to hand it to you toji, you really embarrassed me in ways i didn't think possible. well, good luck with that." you moved to push past him, wanting to get back to your beer before you lost your shit. only the man grabbed your arm, holding you still as you tried to wiggle away from him. he wasn't letting up, squeezing hard enough to keep you still.
"that's it, really?" he looked hurt. he looked hurt. oh my god, if you got anymore mad than you already were you'd probably explode. literally.
"aww, was i supposed to cry? because honestly, i’m just embarrassed i stayed this long. you weren't even my first choice, won't be too hard moving on."
you moved to pull away again but toji was furious this time, pulling you back hard enough to make you stumble but he kept you upright, pulling close enough that you had to look up to face him. "the fuck are you talking about?"
his eyes were dark, set in an untamed fury but all you could do was grin. you were starting to get cold and needed this conversation to be over. "don't make me laugh toji. you didn't seriously think i was at that party looking for you? it's a shame gojo wasn't there that night or else i could have avoided wasting my time with this."
“hey you piece of fucking shit! let go of her before i break your wrists."
your heart sped up at the sound of gojo's voice coming from behind toji. you looked past him and there he was, wearing a tight black nike shirt that showed off all his muscles. with grey sweats that hung low on his hips and exposed the top of his boxers, but you were too busy staring at the huge dick print pressing against his pants.
holy shit. you were soaking your panties as another man had you yanked up and looked ready to kill you.
"mind your fucking business gojo." toji hissed but kept his eyes locked on you while you kept your eyes on the man behind him.
gojo looked pissed but winked at you before he started to move, making his way to the front lawn before stopping a few feet away from toji.
"i said let her go before i beat your fucking ass fushiguro."
toji huffed out a laugh, turning to look at his teammate. he wasn't stupid enough to think he could outright beat him in a fight. gojo was more on the lean side but that didn't equal weak, and toji knew that by having his fair share of fights with him when they were younger.
it didn't help that you were looking at the man like you were about to start drooling and clawing at him. he doesn't know why he didn't put it together before. the way your eyes would drift while he kissed you at games, the eagerness to join him at every party they had, the fact that you were following gojo on instagram but not him.
toji had never been checkmated like this and did the first thing that came to his intoxicated mind. he turned so he was facing gojo, moving his hand from your arm to the middle of your back and smirked. the feeling sending chills down your spine, eyes wide at the action.
"you want him so bad? there he is, whore." and he pushed you so hard that you gasped as you tripped and twisted your ankle. but before you could hit the grass, gojo caught you, his arms wrapping around your body and pulling you against him.
"are you fucking insane?! i'm gonna kill you fushiguro!" gojo roared at the man's retreating body moving to the front gates, starting up his motorcycle and speeding away.
gojo made to follow but you tightened your grip on his shirt, biting your lip as you stared at him. head titled back, hair falling from your heated face. "don't leave. it-it hurts to stand."
gojo looked conflicted before looking back at you. a rush of desire flooded you from the intense stare he gave you, fury and worry written across his face, his blue eyes glowing a little brighter under the moonlight. "shit, okay okay, uhm- let me just-"
and the world titled when he bent and picked you up, your arms immediately going to wrap around his neck. holding you bridal style as he walked back into the house and made his way toward the stairs. most people minded their business, though some stared and whispered to each other:
"what's she doing with him?
"isn't that toji's girl?"
"didn't you see the video? i think they broke up."
only shutting up when gojo shot them all a promising glare. you just tucked your head into his neck, inhaling the smell of his cologne, a mixture a vanilla and something spicy. you heart was thumping so hard that you felt it in your throat, the feeling of one of his arms under your legs while the other was dangerously close to your left boob.
you were on fire. body too busy buzzing with excitement to acknowledge the slight sting in your ankle.
he kept a firm grip, holding you close to his chest as he started moving up the stairs. he didn't say anything as he kept walking until he reached the first bedroom.
"get out." he told the couple that sounded like they were in the middle of making out. you didn't know as you kept your head hidden in gojo's neck, only feeling the wind they left behind as they rushed out and slammed the door behind them.
"i'm gonna sit you on the bed alright, princess?" his voice was loud against your ear as you refused to move your head, the vibrations from his throat sending butterflies to your dripping cunt. you could feel your juices coating your inner thighs and you weren't even embarrassed. you were sure gojo heard what you told toji and he was still here with you which meant there was a possibility he wanted you to.
you nuzzled your nose against the side of neck, inhaling deep to savor his smell. had he been drinking? you didn't smell any alcohol and for some reason that turned you on even more.
you heard him take in a sharp breath, his grip on you tightening and a small groan escaping his lips. "that's not fair darling. i gotta take a look at your ankle. can i do that first?"
"y-yes." but you still whined when he gently sat you on the edge of the bed, moving to his knees in front of you to inspect your injury.
you sighed in relief when he slipped your first heel off, his low raspy chuckle making your pussy contract against nothing. "hmm, not this foot then?"
you finally looked at him and your head spun with how hot he looked between your legs, staring up at you with those sharp blue eyes and a grin on his face. looking like he was made to be between your legs.
you wanted so badly to pull his hair and guide his face toward where you actually needed him to take care of you.
✮
satoru gojo realized that he was a very weak man when it came to you. no one had ever had him on his knees as he checked them for injuries, nor had they ever moaned so blatantly at an innocent touch. it made his entire body hum with need.
he fought every urge, every instinct to rip those stupid tights off your body and plunge his face between your legs. he wanted to lick you until you were squirting on his tongue and riding his face, calling out his name and his only. then he'd fuck you in that dress, make you cream all over his dick while he filled you until you begged for him to stop.
but he couldn't, remembering the conversation he had with toji in the locker room.
you were vulnerable right now whether you realized that or not. having a bombshell dropped on you, being manhandled by that ogre and then fucking you would be wrong. and that's how satoru knew he was fucked because had you been anyone else, he'd already be inside of you.
he was careful with your next foot, slowly removing the heel and freezing halfway when you hissed in pain. he was actually going to kill fushiguro, but he needed to take care of you first.
"let me know when to move, princess." and the way your body shivered had him feeling like he was the messiah himself. you nodded your head and bit your lip, never breaking eye contact with him. it made him feel..nervous? his friends would never fucking believe that. probably would tease him endless if they knew how much you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger.
he controlled himself, took your heel off all the way and stood. looking down at you while you were leaned back with your arms behind your body to keep you upright, staring at him like the sun rises and sets on him. satoru had overheard what you said to toji, that you had been looking for him the day you got with him. it made him feel a little less crazy for this obsession he's had with you, knowing you wanted him too.
you wanted him!
"stand for me. wanna make sure it's just hurting and not sprained or broken." satoru was no doctor but he had his fair share of injuries with being a hockey player.
when you stood, that skimpy dress of yours rose just a little and exposed the under curves of your hips before you pulled it down. yeah, you were trying to kill him and he would gladly let you. it was almost sad, honestly. if only satoru were able to easily feel shame.
"what's it feel like?"
"just stings a bit but i can put weight on it."
"good."
then it was silent. painfully so. you were fiddling with your fingers, looking everywhere but at him and he was fighting the urge to pull your body against him. it didn't have to be sexual, he just really wanted to touch you. make you feel special in all the ways toji had never done, to make you forget the hurt he watched you try to hide.
"look, i'm sure you heard what i told-"
"was it true?" and he responded so fast that it made you chuckle and step closer to him. warm cheeks was the closest he'd feel to embarrassment. like i said, the man rarely felt shame.
"yes."
and then he was reaching toward, placing both of his hands against your hips and pulling you tight against him, internally smiling at the way you gasped. he grabbed your chin and lifted your face to his, almost laughing at how blown out your eyes were. his pretty princess. seems he wasn't the only one whipped.
he leaned forward until his lips ghosted over yours. he could feel your breath clashing with his, an magnetic force buzzing between you, two opposites trying to latch together. "now's the time to tell me to stop."
and when you responded: "why would i do that?" he let his lips press against yours. it was slow, not rushed and messy like how he kissed his dates. you deserve more than that. he took his time, committing the way you felt to memory, trying not to cum in his pants.
the air around you both is charged, walls closing in on satoru as he lost himself to you. the floor shifting beneath him, music lowly thumping in the background as he tuned the world out and focused only on you and your very soft lips. then he teased them with his tongue, testing boundaries. so that's what your lipgloss tasted like.
stars burst behind his eyes when you connected your tongue with his. he groaned into your mouth as he deepened the kiss and your hands slowly crept up his chest, manicured nails lightly scratching his muscles.
he knew he should stop things here but his mind was gone and soon enough he was pushing you back to the bed, letting your body fall before he was back on you. he settled between the legs you so willingly spread for him, his throbbing cock pushing against your pussy. his lips locked against yours.
"satoru." you moaned when he started trailing kisses to your neck, hips grinding against his length as you gripped the sheets and the man was actually shaking.
that was the first time he heard you say his first name. most people opted to call him by his surname, which was normal in his culture but to hear the way it fell from your lips.. he thought he might be in love with you.
"fuck princess. you smell so good, got my dick leaking right now. y'know that?" then he was back above you before he got to the point of no return, reminding himself that he said he wouldn't take advantage of you. he typically wasn't a very patient man when it came to taking care of his needs, but for you he would try.
"i can't, i-i'm sorry" and satoru hadn't stuttered since he was child, but this was the man you had reduced him to. he quickly removed himself from you, sitting on the bed next to you as he placed his elbows on his bouncing legs, head in his hands as he attempted to regain some kind of control.
"what? why the fuck not?" you shot up, looking at the man beside you like he had an extra head. hurt in your voice that had him lifting his head to look at you. your eyes were glossy and it nearly broke his composure. his heart sunk at the thought that you might think he didn't want you.
"can't take advantage of you like that-"
"you're not! i want this just as much as you do, why are you doing this?" and if he knew how desperately you'd wanted been wanting him for the past two years, then maybe it would be a different story. but he didn't, so he stood his ground.
literally. he leaped up from the bed, dragging his hand through his hair as he paced the room.
"i won't take advantage of you like that. you just broke up with your boyfriend after finding out he cheated on you and then he-"
"i know what he did." and his heart cracked just a little at the glare you shot at him. he never wanted to be at the center of your ire, even if you looked fucking adorable with your lips set in a pout.
"then you understand why i can't fuck you right now, as much as i want to."
then you were standing and making your way to him, favoring your right leg and satoru started thinking of what weapon he would use to kill toji. he moved to help you, attempting to lead you back to the bed and mumbling about going to get you ice but you stopped him.
"satoru..i appreciate the concern, but i've been wanting this for a very long time."
he couldn't help the shit eating grin that spread across his face. he was still satoru gojo after all and your words did nothing to help his already large ego.
"yeah?" he whispered, running the back of his hand down your cheek, amused at the way you shivered against him. "tell me how long, beautiful. how many times did you touch yourself and imagine it was me instead?"
"two years."
oh.. his eyes darkened and in a flash his mouth was back on yours and your bodies were once again tangled together on the bed. your equally aroused moans filled the room, the party long forgotten as he gripped your hips and ground his aching cock into you. trying not to cum at the way you were squirming beneath him, begging him for more.
new plan: satoru was going to eat your pussy until you screamed his name and burst on his tongue.
✮
you were gone beneath gojo. your pussy was throbbing, head thrown back in pure ecstasy, heart trying to break free of your chest. he hiked your dress up your hips, taking care to caress them before he kissed his way down your body.
he was savoring you, his teeth lightly nipping at your inner things before he sat back on his legs and stared down at you like he were a god and you his worshipper. the room was dark save for the moonlight and it gave his eyes an unnatural glow. his white hair falling to his eyes before he pushed it back.
"lift your hips for me, princess."
your breath caught, face on fire and tingling as you obeyed the man above you. strong hands instantly grip the top of your black tights, slowly pulling them down your body along with your panties. your juices had escaped your underwear and stuck to your thighs and the sight had gojo ripping the tights of you, no longer as patient as he once seemed.
"gonna make you feel so good. make you forget all about that bastard. that okay, love?" the way he was eyeing your bare pussy as he settled his face between your thighs had your nipples hardening, your entire body hypersensitive to the man below you. he noses your thighs, kissing and biting like a man starved.
you couldn't tell if he was joking or not. you were practically a puddle beneath him and he still questioned if you wanted him. "yes! god, yes. please, i need you satoru."
he was immediately on you, licking a long stripe from your hole to your clit before sucking on it hard. you threw your hand back, hands moving to grab his hair as you started riding against his face. the way he ate you like you were his last meal would be the death of you. you couldn't take in full breaths, too busy moaning like a whore and fucking yourself against the man that plagued your thoughts for two fucking years.
"taste as good as you look." he mumbled against your pussy, the heat of his breath making you shake violently. he was quick to add two fingers, pushing them deep while your back arched off the bed.
your moans were pornographic when you looked down at him, his eyes locked solely on yours.
you would feel embarrassed by the sounds you were making so obviously telling him you hadn't been touched in a while, if he didn't look drunk on your pussy. his eyes rolling back as he curled his fingers inside of you and sucked harder. your squishy walls tightening around him.
"satoru! oh my god, ngghhh m'gonna cum- haaah!"
he pumped his fingers faster, his other hand gripping your hip and pulling you flat against his face. the feel of his nose nuzzling against you had you squirting against his mouth, your own dropped open in a silent scream as you tightened your thighs against his head.
he groaned and drunk up everything you gave him. gojo looked feral, like he would die if he missed even a drop. the feeling so intense that you were momentary blinded by the white pulsing pleasure rushing through your body from head to toe.
✮
two days later gojo texted you while you were doing some shopping with shoko. he had been doing that a lot since that night, texting and calling you when he wasn't practicing or doing whatever hockey players did when they weren't on the ice.
satoru 👅 (2:10pm): ever been ice skating?
you (2:10pm): no lol, i'd fall and break my neck 🤦♀️ no thank you.
that was how you found yourself standing rock solid in the rink of his practice facility. he assured you no one would be there today and he was careful to sneak you in the back to avoid paparazzi.
you tried to protest, really you did but he was annoyingly determined.
"i don't have skates."
"i'll buy you some"
"what if I fall?"
"i won't let you."
"i've never done this before."
"i'll teach you."
an hour and a half later here you were scowling at the man currently hovering over you, wearing those stupid white skates he got you, trying not to fall on your ass. you dressed yourself in blue jeans, a plain long sleeved white shirt and your faux fur jacket to keep you warm. your hair tied tight behind your head.
he was dressed in black sweatpants, black skates and a #1 blue jersey that he wore over a long sleeve shirt.
"don't look at me like that, princess. makes my dick hard."
he pulls you closer and you slide forward, almost falling because you were clueless as fuck and didn't think to move your legs. he smirked when you fell to his chest, his blue eyes sparkling at you.
he gripped your chin before placing a gentle kiss to your lips and moving to stand beside you. you were swooning, but made sure to hide that from the man who was obviously trying to humiliate you.
"relax your ankles. you look tense as fuck, that's only gonna make this harder."
you shot him a "keep talking, i dare you" look but listened to him anyways. trying your best to relax and remind yourself that satoru was a professional and wouldn't let anything happen to you.
"start by putting one foot in front of the other. we're just gonna glide, nothing crazy."
he waited for you to move first, his patience surprising you. satoru was the complete opposite during his games, a beast on the rink that earned him a spot amongst the greatest at his young age. and here he was, hand reaching to grab yours. letting you to make the first move. it gave you butterflies.
you sucked in a deep breath before grounding yourself. "ok, i'm ready."
satoru placed a kiss to the side of your head before skating in front of you so he could guide you. you had insisted on staying by the board, which you gripped like your life depended on it.
slowly you let your feet move you forward, marching more than actually gliding but you were moving and that was all that mattered. even if the man in front of you was obviously holding back a laugh while you were actively fighting for survival.
"you're doing great, now try to actually slide. you're not in a marching band."
it took you a while but when you started to get the hang of it, you were doing something close enough to skating to satisfy satoru. he praised you the entire time. telling you how hot you looked on his turf, how you were his real life ice princess, how he was going to eat your pussy real good if you stayed upright.
he was driving you up a wall. showing off when you finally found the courage to push off the wall, skating around you and stealing kisses that left you flustered. he started skating backwards effortlessly, arms crossed at his chest as he smiled at you with pride written across his face.
you personally had no idea how he did this for a living. while you were mostly doing ok now, you still struggled to stay up right, arms in front you just in case you fell. he always made it look so easy but you realized just how chaotic this sport could be.
after a little more showing off, he skated behind you with his hands on your hips and his mouth littering your neck with kisses. he squeezed you against him as he shifted weight and dug the blade into the ice, easing you both into a stop.
"you did great babe."
you let your head fall back on his chest, legs tucked between his as you came back down to earth. one of his hands left your hip, while the other rubbed circles against your exposed skin. you didn't even realize he was taking a picture until your phone was blowing up with notifications later that night.
satorugojo tagged you in a photo
satorugojo: future first overall pick
and the comments went crazy.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnote: i'm thirsting over the jjk men real bad right now and need gojo inside of me RAW! also sorry if anything is inaccurate, i crammed some hockey research in before and while writing this 😅 ps: i'm american so it might be diff in your country! did y'all catch that shatter me reference? 🤭
campus heartthrob and resident fuckboy GOJO SATORU shocks everyone by going exclusive with you
gojo satoru settling down was as unlikely as catching the hour hand of a clock moving.
notorious for being a lady's man , he had it all going for him. he was all bedroom eyes and cheesy smiles that can make anyone's knees go weak. he was full of loud laughter and nonchalant swagger.
like he didn't give a damn.
cigars for breakfast, skipping lunch to attend classes if he felt so, hard liquor with his frat boys and a different woman in his bed at night—for dinner of course.
he had the face, he had the body, he had the charisma. none could blame the poor souls who wanted a taste, even for just one night.
and satoru. oh. satoru was just a guy. who was he to turn away the beautiful ladies? he didn't chase after them, it was just his luck that they came to him first.
then he caught his first glimpse of you. at his party, looking so out of place that made his eyes zero in on you. not even a cup in your hands. looking so good that it made him want to do something bad.
so he slid up to your side with his usual confidence. started a conversation he could hardly care about. and ultimately, was shocked into silence when you hit him with a "sorry, that pea in your bed is going to bruise my back".
rejected him.
rejected him.
and thus began satoru's chase. the chase for your heart.
the local campus gossip forum ruminated , 'the heartthrob, gojo, has been caught getting rejected by unknown woman. the university has since, seen a rise in the number of women left unsatisfied as gojo's bedroom door has been closed for shocking reason. is a reform on the way? is exclusivity on the horizon? '
heads turned as the usually absent satoru was seen attending classes almost to the point of regularity.
gasps rang out when someone leaked a picture of him handing you flowers. red. roses.
so awfully cliche that you couldn't even blame your past self for the disgust on your face in the aforementioned leaked picture.
women raged when a video of him begging you while chasing after you on the sidewalk surfaced in the stories of satoru's frat bro's.
the man who was known for being as careless with his words as people are with their phones after a year, was suddenly mindful of his vocabulary.
when before, smirks and winks were handed out to the girls so easily—now they were reserved just for you it seemed.
and the crazy part of it all? you made him run. you made him grovel. you made him fix his failing grades. made him fix his fillipiant attitude.
and made him take 2 hiv tests.
made him give a damn.
but you couldn't change his cliché-ness. he was a sappy romantic. he snuck candy in your stationery, climbed up your window ledge and left flowers in your hair when you weren't paying attention to him.
he even started gifting you books which you had talked about in that first meeting. at the frat party. and that was when you caved in. not enough to let him in your bed. but enough to go out with him.
the frat boys tripped over themselves when they caught satoru in a white formal shirt and black slacks. a red rose in his pocket. the picture of a lover boy. the change was not sudden, he had been chasing after you for months . but it was shocking nonetheless.
and satoru. oh. satoru was in love. the goodness tasted way better on his tongue than cigar smoke. your perfume on his clothes smelled better than nightly sex.
and your hand in his made his heart race faster than any orgasm he had ever had.
he never imagined himself to be tamed by a woman. yet here he was. and he had no regrets.
not when people all around him gaped at your fingers scratching the hair at his nape.
not when his boys hollered at the tattoo of your name over his heart.
and certainly not when you finally let him in your bed.
he still had a long way to go though. to prove that he was there to stay. to prove that he was exclusive to you.
so as he lay stroking your back as you slept on his chest, he planned the perfect little outing to take you on the next day. (and ways to woo you so that you would invite him to your bed again)
for your entire life, it's been easy to disregard your father and his beliefs about the ocean and it's creatures. mermaids? ha! those have never existed. but as always, father knows best.
info. merfolk!yang jungwon x reader, cursing, drinking/drug use, vomiting, brief violence (jungwon scratches reader accidentally), like one suicide/drowing joke, SEX!!! (mermaid and human), cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, dubcon-ish (brief manipulation of readers mind), blood play, jungwon goes into heat because of the moon, reader has some pubic hair because she's grown, dry humping, lots of spit because it's me, both of them are sexy losers, diary of a wimpy kid mentioned, mostly edited (if you see a typo, mind your business).
length. 30.6k words.
reblogs appreciated! <3
When you were a little girl, hands still soft and eyes wide, your father told you stories of the sea. Its dangers. Its powers. Its beauty, and its mystery.
These were stories of gods and monsters who resided deep beneath the ocean waves. They were creatures responsible for great disasters and tremendous adventures. He warned you of the sea dragons, that were wise and mischievous—they ruled the sea and were not to be crossed. He warned you of Charybdis, who resided in deep waters and showed no mercy to its victims. However, none of these fascinated you, even at your young age. They were just myths. Stories. Legends. Small tales that helped make sense of a senseless world.
However, your father never let you speak that way about sirens.
He loathed them. He said that they were the biggest nuisance of the sea, always scheming and always intervening. Killing. Murdering. And all while singing their song.
He claims to have seen one once, but he can’t remember much about it. From the little he can recall, and a story you’ve heard maybe a million times before, he says that when he was a young man, he was stationed as a crew hand as many young men at that age are in your small coastal town. And late one night, when half of the crew was asleep and the other half stayed awake, drunk, blubbering on the deck, a piercing note glided through the air. He said it started like a whisper, a sweet lullaby. However, it grew. He still claims to remember how the song crescendoed into a primal lust, one that left him craving the taste of death and salt. When he woke up, the sun was barely cresting over the horizon, and his ears were bleeding.
He was one of the few spared that night.
Although your father has long since left the sea behind, retiring in a small house further inland, he still warns you to never walk along the shore at night. The sirens are beautiful, each and everyone. However, they are lethal. And beauty and death can never coexist peacefully.
But just like the sea dragons and Charybdis, sirens, too, faded into tales of a fictional childhood. You grew, and so did your mind. And just as your frilly socks and toy dolls changed into revealing clothes and drunken parties, your opinions on these stories shifted too. There was no such thing as sirens or merfolk. They were myths. Stories. Tales.
You would never see one for as long as you lived.
—
Puke. It smells like fucking puke.
You hold back Daniela’s hair with one hand, a steely grip on your red solo cup with the other, as she heaves into the sand. You warned her, you really did try.
“Daniela, you can never keep vodka down. We know this,” you say, but she doesn’t listen. She never fucking listens.
Every summer, the kids in your town throw a big beach party, starting at sunset and ending at sunrise. It’s always a big to-do, and you and your friends have been going ever since you were old enough. And like any party with young, drunk adults, something worthy of a good story has to happen.
One year, Jay ran the length of the party butt-ass naked, simply because his friend, Riki, said he wouldn’t. Another year, Jeongyeon and her boyfriend (at the time) had a very public break-up. This year, your friends planned on being the center of attention.
Your friends had made a bet early on, discussing the plan while you all were still at Yunjin’s house, patting glitter onto your eyelids and double-checking your manicures. The plan was to see who could pull the most people in one night, and whoever had the most points by the end of the night, was the winner. A kiss was five points, sex was twenty. Anything in between varied in amount depending on the circumstance and the length of which it occurred. An ambitious plan, however, a little flirtatious fun never hurt anybody. Just like always, Daniela was on a fucking roll.
However, zealous as she was with her bets, she could also be overly ambitious when it came to having a good time. And, well, that often ended like this: puking in the sand at the biggest summer party of the year.
So now you had only kissed three people, and Daniela had kissed four. God knows how many the rest have conquered by now, considering you and Daniela had lost them once you heard someone lugged a keg down to the beach. I mean, seriously. A fucking keg?
“Sorry,” Daniela slurred, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It’s okay,” you sighed, taking a sip of your drink in hopes it would relieve you from the smell, if even for just a second. “I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed, standing up straight. “Do you have a mint?”
You reached into your back pocket, grabbing a spare piece of gum you had stashed before leaving the house. “I only have two more left. Try not to puke anymore before the night’s over.”
She grumbled something that probably would rival an Etsy witch’s hex spell, before popping the mint gum in her mouth. You two stood there for a second, gathering yourselves before you spotted your next target.
Would it be Heeseung? No. He got a girlfriend three months ago and is—allegedly—very loyal to her. Would it be Jake? No. He would never let it go and blow up your DMs. Sunoo? Your dear friend who was always down for a little smooch, especially when he has had about two and a half hard seltzers? Bingo.
“I’ll be back in twenty. If I’m not back, call the Coast Guard,” you joke, not even bothering to look back as you saunter over to Sunoo.
He looks good tonight. Exceptionally good. Like really, really good. His shirt was the perfect amount of tight around the shoulders, and his hair was the perfect amount of styled but relaxed. He looks effortlessly handsome. And knowing how unresistant he is to compliments, you figure it would take you five minutes maximum to butter him up, and then, boom, lips locked, and he becomes lucky number four on your roster for tonight.
Maybe you could convince him to touch your boob—that would have to give you a couple of extra points, right?
However, before you could plant your cute shorty-short covered butt in front of him, Yunjin stumbles into your view. Her shirt is halfway off and her lipstick is smudged, but other than that, she’s fully intact.
“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell happened to you?!” you gasp, trying to tug the front of her shirt over her boob. Good thing she was wearing a bikini top underneath, but with the way she was fumbling around, a nip slip was bound to happen.
“Gimme eight points,” she demands. Gripping your shoulders like her life depends on it.
Your eyes grow comically wide, the only kind of wide that can be accomplished by drunken surprise. “Why would I do that?”
“I made out with some dude,” she explained, taking a deep breath to sober herself up. “And let him do some other things, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m gonna need a better explanation than that,”
“Whatever,” she groans, shoving you in the opposite direction of Sunoo. “Let’s go take shots and then go swimming. The water is supposed to be nice tonight.”
And soon, the thoughts of shoving your tongue down Sunoo’s throat were consumed by the taste of tequila chased by some slightly sandy lime wedges. It didn’t bother you, though. After your second shot and the warmth spreading across your cheeks, the sand was only a mere memory.
Upon knocking out your last shot, you and your friends began to strip yourselves of your clothes, leaving yourselves in your bathing suits. The water was freezing, but to your warm, sweaty bodies, it was the perfect way to cool down. The sea was tranquil, waves glittering under the stars and the moon. The moon was full, as if a god carved out a pale space in the inky sky, and it illuminated the night perfectly. If you were any more sober, you’d perhaps be a bit more curious as to why it was so bright. Too bad you weren’t, though.
Amongst the squeals and splashing, you found your mind growing very calm. Peaceful. Quiet. The salt breeze tickled your face, as your hair floated in the water around you. You dunk your face under the cold water, waking yourself up slightly. Upon resurfacing and blinking away the brine, you spot a rocky jetty. Has that always been there? Certainly, it must’ve been. A whole row of rocks doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.
However, amidst the confusion, it seems to be calling your name. It isn’t enticing you with liquor or extra points in your game like everything else has interested you tonight. Instead, it seems like it has a secret it wants to share with you. Only you.
“I wanna chicken fight,” Yunjin declares, grabbing someone to be her partner. “Do you wanna duel?” she asks you.
You shake your head, eyes remaining on the jetty that stands darker than the night sky. “No, you guys go ahead. I want to go check out that jetty real quick. I’ll join in on the next round.”
Yunjin shrugs, climbing on Daniela’s shoulders as she bellows some self-proclaimed war cry. You swim over to the jetty, the current guiding you. Wedging your foot on the flattest rock you could find, you hoist yourself onto the ledge, propelling yourself onto the jetty. Your bottom smacks against the wet rock, droplets of moon-filled water decorating your thighs as you stand and regain your footing. You begin to stagger slowly along the jetty, careful to watch your step in your inebriated state.
You may be drunk, but you certainly aren’t stupid.
The pale moon lights your path, warning you against stepping on jagged stones or sharp barnacles that could cut your feet, and highlighting flat rocks that weren’t too slippery from the salty sea. The cool air suddenly grows warmer, but you’re not sure when you begin to feel the change in temperature or if it could be blamed on anything other than the few shots of tequila coursing through your veins. After what feels like hours of wandering—which has probably, realistically, only been about five minutes—you sit back down on a ledge, shifting around to get yourself comfortable as you dip your feet into the water.
You look down, watching your feet against the deep darkness of the ocean, mesmerized by the little swirls that follow your toes. However, just as you’re captivated by the little currents you’re creating, you fail to recognize the other currents being created around you.
Head drooped low and eyes fixated, it isn’t until you hear a loud splash do you look up.
“Yunjin?” you call out.
The ocean is vast and empty; only the glittering waves keep you company. They’re so pretty, you think. They’re so pretty that you wish someone would write a song about them.
Then, another splash. You don’t just hear it this time, but you see it too. A small flicker of something shiny pierces through the water, before smacking down aggressively, foam and salt spraying in all directions. You’re not sure what it was. It was far enough away that you couldn’t make out any details, and the fact that your world is currently functioning at an aggressive tilt does not help by any means.
However, your mind rapidly comes up with the highest possible conclusion: shark.
You tug your feet out of the water, pleading to the gods that you won’t become the first dead girl in your rendition of Jaws. But yet, unlike any sane person, you remain seated. You know, just in case it actually is a shark and you can end the night by claiming that you saw one. Maybe you can lie and say that it tried to take a nibble out of you. That would certainly have to gain you some points, right? And if not by your friends, certainly other people attending this party would remember you as the girl who fought off a shark all by herself?
Not a bad way to be remembered—especially this early in your life.
However, it’s been two minutes. The water has stilled. There is no shark.
You’re still tense. Slightly afraid to move, and eyes transfixed on the glittering water. You kind of want to jump in again. You know you shouldn’t, of course. There could be a fucking shark just waiting for you to jump in so it can have you as a midnight snack. However, despite all of these red flags flashing through your mind, it seems as if the water is calling your name. It’s calling your name in a sweet, melodic voice. Almost like a little hum. A lullaby.
If you were in the right mind, you would be able to acknowledge that the this song you hear isn’t a figment of your imagination, but rather a voice. A note rings out, graceful and warm. And because it blends in with the low rumble of the ocean, and you’re currently battling with your alcohol induced brain, it’s easy to disregard the danger that harmonizes softly with the waves. Because at the end of the day, a measly shark fears this tune just as you should too.
But you’re drunk, and you’re naive. What could a human possibly know about the wonders of the deep blue?
Just as your eyes stay glued to the water, you feel something take a hold of your ankle.
This is it, you think. It’s the fucking shark.
You yelp and push yourself backwards, flinging yourself as far as you can. You don’t make it too far before realizing it’s just a hand. However, that hand hasn’t let go of your ankle, and keeps your foot in place with a strength that your mind is incapable of registering at this moment. All you know is that your foot and that stubborn grip remain.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you huff, wiping your hands down your face as you snap yourself out of whatever trance the water put you into. The song you’ve been hearing is cut into two, an eerie silence following. You think you might’ve just fallen asleep for a second there. “You scared the shit out of me.”
You giggle as you look down to see who has taken a hold of your ankle, half expecting it to be Daniela or maybe even Sunoo. However, a different pair of eyes stare back at you, and they are ones you wouldn’t say you’re very well acquainted with.
In fact, you’re not at all acquainted with these eyes. Actually, you don’t know who the fuck this is.
“Um, hello?”
The young man just stares, eyes wide and round and bewildered. He looks almost as surprised as you, if not more. He pushes away from the rock a bit, his fingers sliding down the top of your foot as he submerges his mouth into the water. It’s almost as if he’s embarrassed that he scared you.
Almost.
“Bro, you scared me so fucking bad. I almost shit myself,” you chuckle, finally letting yourself relax. “I thought you were one of my friends.”
He blinks, slow and curious like an animal. But then, he lifts his head to show two pink lips, pursed like he’s guarding a secret. “Sorry,” he says, in a voice so gentle and sweet you swear stars twinkle in response.
Suddenly feeling shy, you shrug and smile coyly. “It’s okay. It was kinda funny.”
“Funny?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. A strand of wet hair falls across his forehead, a dark streak against pale skin.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Like, you know, funny. Ha-ha.”
He nods slowly, mimicking your movement before he smiles softly. It seems like he was genuinely confused. “Yeah. Funny.”
He’s kind of shy, you decide. When you’re drunk, you’re as social as can be so this just cannot do. But lucky for him, and especially lucky for you, you can keep the ball rolling.
“Are you from here?” you inquire, scooting closer to the edge. “I haven’t seen you before.”
The young man swims closer, his hand finding your ankle again but you don’t seem to mind. His grip is gentle, comforting. Besides, he’s kinda hot.
“No.”
“Oh?” you hum, peering down at him. He brushes his thumb over the bone, and it almost lulls you to sleep. Whoever this guy is, you like him. “Where are you from?”
He sighs, light and serene like a morning sea breeze. “Not from here,” he replies, a voice so sweet even birds would stop to listen.
You roll your eyes, giggling a little. “Well, duh. But where-”
“Do you want to go swimming?”
Your brain freezes for a second, fog consuming your mind. A warmth fills your body, different from the buzzing warmth of the alcohol—this is sharp, arousing. And you can’t deny it, he’s attractive. You very well could just be turned on, but something whispering in the back of your mind tells you it’s not. It’s more primal, animalistic. Dangerous. Although a part of you is pleading you to not get into the water, reasoning with the fact that he’s a stranger, you can feel yourself burning up from the inside out.
The song starts once more.
He strokes your ankle again. “Please?” he says, voice softer than a lamb’s.
You feel yourself helplessly nodding, submerging your other foot in the water. He begins to help you in, before you remember what—you suspect—was in the water only a few feet behind him.
“Wait,” you stop. “I saw something earlier. It might’ve been a shark. You should come out.”
He looks at you, stunned. The song stops. You might as well have spoken a language no one has ever documented. His head cocks sidewise, like a dog hearing a high whistle.
“There is no shark,” he insists, ceasing any kind of movement.
You shake your head, feeling as if you’re rediscovering that there’s more around you than this mystery man. “No, I swear I saw something earlier. You didn’t see anything?”
He just stares at you, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Would he fucking pull it together?
“I’m not fucking joking, dude. You should get out,” you berate, panic beginning to creep under your skin.
But he just remains still, shock painting his face from top to bottom. His grip on your ankle stays, but that fuzzy warmth you once felt is ripped away and replaced with freezing sobriety. You’re still frantically searching the water, anticipating a sight of a gnarly fin or menacing jaws to pop out of the water at any second. And although you’d love to have a crazy story to tell, you’re not sure if witnessing ‘death by shark’ is a tale you want to relay. You don’t even know this guy’s name. What would you tell the coast guard? The police? But the water is dark, darker than before. All that stares back at you is a pit of tar, motionless and waiting. Have the stars always been this dim?
“It’s okay,” he eventually says, stroking your ankle in a tantalizing pattern. “It’s safe. I promise.”
“I’m not playing, bro. Get out of the-”
Now. You’re sure fireball and vodka don’t mix well, but you’re not too sure that it’s supposed to make you hallucinate. However, that’s the only way you can explain what you’re seeing right now. Just between your leg and the young man’s torso, you spot movement.
It’s not vicious or menancing—nothing like an animal about to attack. Instead, it’s relaxed. If anything, it moves a bit seductively. The movement is unified, nothing like legs. It’s unified like a tail. You follow the movement upwards, watching it blend into the young man’s hips and torso. It’s his.
You hope deeply that it’s not a part of him, but the voice of your father, blaringly loud in the back of your head, rings true. These so-called mythical creatures are true. It also just so happens that the man in front of you, with eyes as dark as midnight and lips as pink as a sunset, is no man at all.
He’s a fucking siren.
You scream bloody fucking murder, and he jumps.
“Wait-” he begins, but you’ll hear none of it.
Kicking and trashing, praying to whatever god that someone will hear you and come to your rescue, you try to fight him off. Water sprays in every direction, salt stinging your eyes and disrupting the once tranquil ocean. Somewhere in your trashing, you kick him square in the face. He lets go of your ankle, hands flying towards his eye, nails slicing through the skin of your calf somewhere in the process. However, you’re too focused on trying to get away to even realize that the scratch was an accident.
“Help! Fuck, he’s trying to eat me!” you yelp, stumbling to your feet.
You eventually stand upright, the young man groaning before submerging himself back into the water. However, you waste no time trying to decipher if he’s following you or trying to rally some more of his (supposed) little siren friends. Instead, you bolt.
Holding your tits steady in your bikini top, you scamper off of the jetty and towards the sandy beach. It’s a miracle you don’t slip on any of the wet rocks, that certainly would’ve been a prime moment for him to snatch you up and eat you. But you hold your own, feet landing onto the soft sand as you sprint over to the crowd.
You’ve never been more thankful to see another human being in your life.
Lungs burning and eyes watering, you spot Daniela, who emerges from the crowd like your knight in shining armor. Yunjin and Lara follow, as well as a few other of your friends. Hair still damp from playing in the water, but other than that, unscathed.
You collapse into Daniela’s arms, chest cramping from lack of oxygen. If you could catch your breath, you would cry. But after such a scare, you’re not sure if you can do anything other than heave.
“Where the fuck were you?!” Daniela damn near shrieks, cradling you close to her chest like a baby. “We looked everywhere for you.”
“I-I-I…” you stutter, trying to quiet your pounding heart. “I saw something in the water. I thought it was some guy…”
“What? Like a dead body?” Yunjin asks, concern furrowing her eyebrows.
You shake your head vehemently, finally being able to breathe. “Worse. He was talking to me and he was, like, really hot so I didn’t really think anything of it. But then I was getting all warm and he was trying to get me into the water. But then I looked down and he didn’t have any fucking legs. He had like—I don’t know—a tail? I couldn’t-”
Lara scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head slowly as she narrows her eyes at you. “You’re really drunk.”
You throw your hands down, petulant like a child bubbling with a tantrum. “I’m not lying, Lara!”
“Yo, what the fuck happened to your leg?” Sunoo inquires, pointing towards your calf as he stands near Heeseung.
Daniela spins your shoulders a bit, forcing you to show off the backside of your leg. Sure enough, five red gashes, varying in depth and vibrancy, slowly drip blood down your heel and into the sand. You don’t even remember it happening, memory blocked in a panic. However, maybe it’s the adrenaline or the cleanliness of the cuts, but you hardly even notice them safe for the warmth that dribbles down your shivering skin.
“Are you fucking serious?” Daniela curses, beginning to usher you through the crowd and towards, you presume, your house. “You disappear, without a word, and now you're saying shit about some random dude or whatever? Your dad is going to fucking kill me,”
Yunjin laughs, jogging to keep up with you and Daniela as she storms you across the beach. “I didn’t take you for a runner,” she snickers.
“I’m not a runner!” you argue. “I told you where I was going!”
Daniela stops, as do all of your friends, with an unimpressed look on their faces.
“No, one second you were in the water with us and the next you were gone. We didn’t even hear you leave,” Daniela says, the moon taunting you through the ringlets of her hair.
—
Safe to say, you’re a little scared to go back to the beach.
Daniela was quick to wrap up your little injury, and you were able to brush off your mom’s inquisitive looks during your weekly Sunday brunch with a simple lie. However, you can’t help but feel like something is still out there, waiting for you. Looking for you.
Nearly a week has passed, and every night, you see him. Dark hair, and even darker eyes shaped just like crescent moons that observed your every step. Sometimes, he pulls you into the water and tries to drown you. Sometimes, you two just have a lovely chat. Everytime, you wake up gasping, lungs feeling like they’ve been filled with water and calf tingling despite healing without complication. On one occasion, you woke up standing before your window, hands pressed against the glass like you were trying to wish it away. You asked if Lara could sleep over the next night.
But despite the pounding heart and paranoia, you still feel this pull. Every night, when the moon creeps through your curtains and touches your face, you remember his thumb against your ankle. You can hear the melodic lilt in his voice.
You don’t even know his name or, frankly, what he really is, but you feel drawn to him.
And maybe that’s stupid. Scratch that, it’s definitely stupid. Especially when you remember how you felt as if you had no control over your body at certain points in your conversation with him. But you were drunk! Surely, that wouldn’t ever happen again if you were sober… right?
It’s ridiculous to even be having these thoughts, and to be hoping to catch a glimpse of something splashing in the water as you watch the waves cresting from your porch. But you can’t help but wonder, despite trying your hardest to deprive yourself of that urge.
So in order to fully stick to your rules, you haven’t been going to the beach. In part because you’re afraid of getting attacked again or whatever, and mostly because you’re not sure of what you would do if you saw him again.
It’s embarrassing having to lie to your friends, dodging every attempt of theirs to drag you down to the beach. I picked up a shift at work; my dad wants me to come over for dinner; I forgot to turn in a paper despite the semester ending two weeks ago. They all see right through your lies, and you know it, but they don’t push.
They don’t really know what happened that night, and despite feeling like you remember every detail and explaining your side of the story a million times over, you’re not quite sure if you actually know what you’re talking about. Either way, they don’t push and hope that, eventually, you’ll come around.
Besides, it’s summer! You can’t stay cooped inside for forever!
And they're right, because by the fifth day, you’ve had enough.
You can only binge watch so many episodes of Love Island before the incessant drama begins to rot away your brain. All of the arguing and crying only forces you to think about your own current dilemma. Unable to ignore it any longer, you decide it’s time for you to face your fear.
You step outside, the air still slightly cool from the morning breeze. The sea is calm, glistening in the mid morning sun. The beach is fairly barren, only a few people taking their dogs on a morning stroll. The sun is high in the sky, and you can hear the waves crashing into the sand like a faint whisper from your balcony.
Today is the day. It’s nice out, the sun is shining. Nothing could go wrong.
You trudge down to the beach, walking towards the same jetty where you met that strange… whatever. You face the jetty, hands growing a bit clammy, but other than that, you’re killing this! A few deep breaths, and you have this totally under control! As a matter of fact, you have it so under control, that you decide that you can even walk out to the jetty.
And walk out you do!
The rocks are a little cool, not yet warmed by the afternoon sun. You carefully watch your step, not wanting to slip and fall into the ocean below. The water is calm, only lightly spraying your feet and ankles when a wave abruptly hits the side of the jetty. If you really think about it, the tickle of the seafoam on your legs is like the sea is apologizing for that night… in a way.
See, this isn’t too bad. Nothing to be afraid of.
Maybe you were making shit up—just like your friends suggested. You were pretty drunk, after all. Perhaps, you fell asleep on the jetty and conjured some crazy dream, in which you injured yourself while thrashing around. It certainly wouldn’t exactly explain why the cuts are the perfect size and distance of human—or human-like—fingers. Maybe they’re from teeth? You can’t really remember. But does it really matter?
You’re safe. The water is calm. It’s a nice day, and you’re only a few weeks into your summer break! You should be able to enjoy it.
Things are beginning to look up for you. The five angry lines down your calf are healing, and hopefully, walking out to the exact same spot where you saw this alleged siren-merman- whatever will help with the nightmares and sleepwalking. You’ll finally be able to feel like yourself, and enjoy your summer. Parties, beach trips, and getting drunk with your friends is in your imminent future.
At least until you realize that the same set of slender eyes that you nearly drowned in those days ago is staring back at you, curious and observant through a purple bruise that blooms across his left cheek.
Of course, you scream bloody murder.
It’s just like last time, really, except he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t try to grab you, nor does he try to eat you. Instead, he flinches and covers his ears and waits for you to stop. The worst he does is give you an annoyed glare, but that’s about it. On the other hand, you fall flat on your ass out of fear, flailing and praying to whatever god that might be listening to let you walk out of this alive.
Eventually, you get a grip and are able to quiet down. Chest heaving and hands trembling, you stare at him, the seat of your shorts soaked with sea water the longer you remain paralyzed on your ass. He continues to stare at you, the bottom half of his face submerges, leaving only his eyes remaining. They never leave yours, and you’ll be damned if yours leave his.
As it turns out, your screaming was pointless. No one comes running to save you, no one asks what’s wrong. You're not even sure if the world blinked at your unease. However, he did.
The young whatever-he-is slowly removes his hands from his ears, swimming a hair closer, hesitant, as he takes his face out of the water. He’s just as handsome as you remember, maybe even more, now that you can see him better in the morning light. Water drips from his chin and his lips are set in a small frown, displeased with your sudden outburst.
“You’re loud,” he mutters, eyes squinting.
Your heart is still pounding, and your toes curl reflexively as he moves closer. You’re not sure. You should’ve probably threatened him—told him you had a knife or something. Maybe even said you told the coast guard about him, and they were ready to come pick him up at any minute. Goodbye, Mister Mystery-Creature!
But, of course, you say no such thing.
“You fucking bit me!” you shriek, suddenly pulling down your bandage to reveal five angry lines, even and deep but healing nonetheless.
He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows quirking upwards. “I didn’t bite you. You kicked me,” he retorts.
“Because you bit me!”
“I scratched you,” he answers plainly, his hands coming into view as he places them on the jetty, mere inches away from your feet. He makes no move to grab at them and pull you under. “You kicked me, and I scratched you. It was an accident. I’m sorry.”
And this guy, whoever or whatever he is, says all of this like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Plain as day, pure as milk. He’s still looking at you, eyes wide and easy, still rich like a midnight sky but you can see the sun cresting in his irises, and you finally feel your heart calm.
His eyes begin to wander, sliding down your neck and chest, and eventually landing on your legs. He observes the scratch marks, certainly better than they were even just a few days ago, but still a bit irritated. But then his eyes just stay there, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and wonder as his eyes scan up and down the length of your legs. Legs, knees, ankles, feet, toes—and back up.
While he takes his time analyzing you, you look closer at him. He looks… normal. The face of someone about your age. His cheeks are smooth, cheekbones proud. Strands of his hair stick to his forehead, just like they did the night you met him, spelling out something maybe you’ll one day understand. His mouth is pursed in concentration, a whisper of a dimple showing itself next to his pink pout. His eyebrows are dark and straight, and his nose hooks slightly, although you can’t tell from the front. Overall, a very handsome man.
Moving from his face, you can’t really find anything abnormal from what you can see. Well, except for his hands.
His hands are normal, fingers slender and long like a human's, except for the damn near set of acrylics he has. Sharp and clean, just like claws, but also neutral and thinner like human nails. Seeing them in the daylight like this makes you understand why the damage you suffered was so great.
“Damn, dip and tip!” you exclaim, forgetting all about the nearly debilitating fear you felt a moment ago. Swinging your legs under you, you grab his hand in yours, observing his nails up close.
The young man squeaks, a floundering sound that bubbles up from his chest. His hands are even prettier up close, his nails a light shade of pearl as they file into a point, despite not being too long. He doesn’t try to pull away, nor does he try to pull you down under. He remains very still, like a dog waiting to see what you’ve plucked from their fur.
“They’re very sharp,” you say, stating the obvious.
“Yours are… not.”
You chuckle, letting go of his hand when you become seemingly aware of how strange that must’ve been. Not that this is really normal anyway. “What… are you… exactly?”
He tosses his head back, flicking any hair that was stuck to his forehead away from his face. “Same as you, but different,” he responds, resisting his cheek in his palm.
You shake your head incredulously. “You have a tail. We’re very different.”
He shrugs, moving positions so he can rest against a rock—a makeshift seat. You glimpse at his torso, collarbones glistening in the early morning light. You imagine that swimming in salt water all the time would dry out his skin, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact, his skin looks rather smooth. His tail, long and decorated in shades of silver and blue that glisten like a cresting wave when the sunlight hits, stretches out in front of him. It twitches under your stare.
“Depends on what story you hear. Some say sirens, some say merman,” he explains, eyes returning to your face after thoroughly inspecting your legs. “You can say whatever you prefer.”
“And which do you prefer?”
He thinks, long and hard, as his eyes flick upwards to search for the answer. “Jungwon.”
You blink. “The fuck is Jungwon?”
“My name,” he giggles, a sound sweet and friendly like a strawberry dipped in sugar. “Jungwon.”
—
As it turns out, Jungwon is very interesting.
You’re not sure when it became a regular thing for you to see him—it’s not something the two of you ever really discussed—but each day, without fail, you two meet up every morning. Sometimes you two just watch each other in peaceful silence, soaking in every difference and similarity. It’s not every day you run into a siren, and you can imagine Jungwon isn’t seeing humans on the regular either. Unless, he is. You’ll have to ask him.
But because he doesn’t know any humans, other than you—you think—he tends to have a lot of questions.
Jungwon has asked you if it’s hard to control your legs—you assume it’s because there’s two, instead of one like his tail; he’s also asked questions like what do humans eat, what do they do for fun, and why do they swim so weirdly. Of course, you answer to the best of your ability, but sometimes it’s hard to explain. So instead, you show him.
When you told him that humans eat mostly anything they want, he didn’t believe you. But when you brought a bag of goodies for him to try, you barely got a chance to eat the gummies you brought before he devoured them. You told him what you did for fun, and even let him play around with your phone after he dried his hands off. You would’ve entertained him with swimming, but you were still a bit weary of him. The cuts on your leg were still healing, after all.
But despite how eager you were to answer any and all of his questions, you were a bit shy to ask your own.
“What were you doing the night we met?” Jungwon asks, nibbling on a pineapple flavored gummy bear while you lazily scanned a book your father lent you on aquatic folklore. It was a bit difficult to explain your sudden interest to your father, especially after finding it trivial your whole life, but years of pretending to not be drunk in dire situations led you to be quite the actress.
“Excuse me?” you ask, thumbing the page.
Jungwon turns to fully face you, chin resting on his forearms. You wonder if they have hand-held weights wherever he lives—-his biceps are, well, nice.
“Why were you at the beach so late the night we met?” he asks again, lazily tracing the marbled grain of a rock.
You shrug, shoving the book in your bag. Hopefully he didn’t catch the title. “There’s a big party on the beach every summer. I go every year,” you explain, reaching out your palm in hopes that he’ll let you eat the snack that you brought.
“A party?”
You nod as he places a singular gummy bear in your hand. Stingy. “Yeah, like a gathering of people. Where you have fun,”
“I know what a party is,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I just forgot the word.”
“Oh,” you nod. You don’t know why it is surprising to you that he had a lapse of memory, but you sort of just assumed that Jungwon had always spoken and understood your language. “Do you speak something else at home?”
He averts his gaze towards the water, looking over the ripples of waves as the early morning light glints off their crests. Suddenly feeling like you had overstepped, you try to dismiss the question in a flurry of gestures and sour faces.
His eyes trace back towards you, amusement hidden beneath his deep eyes. “Yeah. I don’t talk like how I talk with you back home,” he answers plainly.
You absorb this new information, willing yourself to relax a bit. “What do you speak then?” you wonder.
Jungwon purses his lips, eyes roaming towards the sky as if the answer will be etched into the clouds. “I don’t really think there’s a human equivalent.”
“Why can you talk like me then?” you implore, mind flowing with questions you had been too shy to ask previously.
He smiles, finding your questions endearing. Jungwon wonders if this is how you feel when he asks you questions about humans—warm. Cute.
“I’ve read it on boats, heard it from sailors,” he responds, reaching for the bag of gummy bears. He pushes a green one between two pink lips. “Merfolk are good with sounds. It’s not too hard to learn.” He watches you nod thoughtfully, gears turning many miles a minute. He kind of wishes he could walk through your mind. At least for an hour. “Is it not the same for humans?”
You shake your head, giggling. “No, it takes humans a while to learn new languages,” you say, turning to lay on your side comfortably. “Some can learn in a few years though.”
This baffles Jungwon, that pinch at the top of his nose forming that you have begun to grow acquainted with. “Humans really are stupid.”
You shove his head under the water.
—
Ever since that day with Jungwon, your relationship has become a lot easier. Strange. But easier.
He waits for you like always, sunning himself on the rocks before retreating a little further into the water when you arrive as if he’s shy. Shy of what? You’re not sure. You’d rather him stay sunning himself—you rather enjoy the view. However, it doesn’t take long before he starts to cozy up against the jetty again once you two begin your early morning check ups.
You’ve actually learned a lot about Jungwon these past few days. Not only about him, but about merfolk. Merfolk travel in groups, like orcas or tuna. Usually it’s confined to family, according to Jungwon, but you’re allowed to interact with merfolk outside of your kin. Blushing, he admits that typically one only travels outside of the pack when finding a mate—which you teased him relentlessly about—but there’s no strict rules on not interacting with someone outside of a familial pod. Sort of like interacting with strangers on the street—it’s not that it’s not allowed, it just might be a little strange. That is, of course, unless you’re looking to date or exchange numbers or make out in the back of some dingy bar.
He also explains that it’s hard to know where to locate merfolk. There are some established colonies, but those are in places humans have yet to discover. You could go your whole life without seeing another pod, you suppose. However, many familial pods live further out at sea.
“Why were you so close to the shore that night then?” you ask, doodling on the corner of some magazine you brought to show Jungwon. He took only a slight interest, preferring to learn from you than some paper.
“Lost track of where I was, I guess.”
And that was that. But Jungwon says he has friends and family, and tells you that merfolk are definitely on the higher end of the food chain—so don’t get it twisted!—but he mainly tells you that after you expressed concern that he would get eaten by a shark and you would never see him again.
“Merfolk are smarter than sharks, I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, eyeing your legs like he’s done many times before. You’re not too sure why he hasn’t asked you about them yet. He’s asked you about nearly everything else, besides the obvious.
“But sharks are, like, really fast,” you explain, as if you know better than him. Mind you, the ocean is literally his home.
He eyes you for a second, a teasing glint in his eye surfacing slowly but surely. “Do you want to see me fight a shark?”
You flick him in the forehead, which he whines before he flicks you back. “Don’t be weird.”
Jungwon tells you that merfolk and humans aren’t really supposed to interact. Obviously, there’s been a history of encounters—there’s too many stories for them to be fictional like you once believed—but it’s still frowned upon. Many merfolk have been hurt or exploited, even killed in some instances by humans. You promised Jungwon that you would never do that to him. He believes you.
However, Jungwon never really addresses the elephant in the room. Of course, there are many cultural and behavioral differences. And don’t get it wrong, you enjoy learning about them. They’re fascinating! You would’ve never imagined a whole different world beyond the one you know. Hell, you didn’t even think a world like Jungwon’s existed before you met him! Even then you were in denial. But what you really want to know about are your physical differences.
To be fair, Jungwon is curious about them too. He eyes your legs and feet and toes every time he sees you. He watches your mouth carefully, inspecting the lack of fangs and the lack of webbing between your fingers. It baffles him, and it certainly baffles you. But you know Jungwon. He won’t be the one to ask—he gets shy about these things. So it’s going to have to be you.
Bite the bullet, jump off the cliff, and ask what the hell it’s like having a fish tail.
One morning, when the sun was still low and the sky not yet a bright orange, you decide to ask while Jungwon rests across a rock, lazing about as usual. He’s not really a morning person, something you learn the more and more you two see of each other. Perhaps the excitement has disappeared. Or perhaps, the comfortability has set in.
His tail, a brilliant silver and an even richer shade of cobalt, wades leisurely in the water behind him. You watch his back rise and fall, his eyes shut and mouth in a pink pout from being pressed against his arm. He looks peaceful. Calm. Cute. What better way to ruin it by asking an obnoxious question?
“Can I touch your tail?”
Jungwon’s back stills, his whole body going rigid to the point that you are reminded that he is part animal. He lifts his head slowly, a bright red circle imprinted on his cheek from laying on it for too long. You almost want to laugh, but the look he gives you—wild and confused—makes you think better of it. After the seventh second of straight silence, you decide to back track.
“Or your hands?” What. “Or your teeth?” Worse. “Or just anything that isn’t really human-like for that matter?” What the fuck is wrong with you.
Jungwon is so genuinely stunned that you’re not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. He shakes his head, tiny droplets of water falling from his hair that never seems to fully dry. Jungwon begins to think a crab crawled into his ear because he can not believe what he’s hearing.
“You want to touch my tail?”
He’s making you nervous. “Sorry, was that offensive to ask? I don’t really know how to go about this.”
He’s still quiet, something you’ve never known from Jungwon. Comfortable silence is one thing, and you two quite enjoy existing together in that way. However, once you say something, Jungwon always responds. Not now.
“I just…” you begin, slowing once you notice his gaze.
Jungwon’s eyes are sleek, narrow and lidded as if he’s stalking his next victim. And you’ve never seen Jungwon hunt—you don’t know if he’s good or bad at it—but you imagine this is what it must feel like to be his prey. Tense, shaken, maybe a little bit aroused—you don’t know! You don’t know if fish can feel that way. But you certainly do.
His eyes never leave your face, watching carefully for any abrupt changes. It feels alarming to have him look this intensely at you. Of course, he knows what you look like. He’s seen you plenty. However, you’ve never felt as observed as you do now. Even when he eyes your legs or listens to you blab on about something unimportant, you never felt watched. Except for now.
Suddenly feeling as if all the air in the outside world was sucked up and being sold for a billion dollars—which, of course, you can’t afford—you grow very still. You might as well never breathe again at this rate, especially if he keeps looking at you like that. You need to bring yourself back down to Earth, and hopefully bring him with you too.
“You just always look at my legs, and I know you’re probably curious, so… I don’t know. I thought it could be fun? That sounds stupid. Um, what I mean is that we’re obviously biologically different. And not ‘cause you’re a boy and I’m girl, but because I’m a human and you’re… not. So, I thought, what better way to understand each other more than to explore each other’s bodies?”
You definitely deserve to drown after that shit show.
Jungwon’s mouth parts, and you’re sure it’s to call you a slew of embarrassing names, but instead he says: “You can touch my tail.”
He makes no fuss, only maneuvering himself so he can lay himself on a rock, his tail and fins resting across the jetty. He’s mostly submerged in the water, but this is the closest you’ve been to his tail. It’s actually quite pretty.
“Can I touch you?” he asks, and in any other circumstance, the question would prompt you to joke that he’s some sort of pervert. But when he looks at you like that, eyes shiny and imploring, so gentle and sweet, you’re rendered silent. You almost wish you could take him home with you. You don’t almost wish, you do wish it, but that would be impossible.
“Hell yeah,” you say, beginning to rip off your shorts to reveal your bikini bottoms that you always wear in case you decide today is the day you swim around with Jungwon. Show him a little freestyle or breast stroke! Well, you guess today is the day.
You slide into the small wedge of space next to Jungwon, not quite sitting across from him, but hovering between his fins and torso. Your knee bumps against his waist, murmuring a quick sorry, as he helps guide you into the water. The water is cold, but that’s not why you have goosebumps.
He holds your elbow gently, only letting go once he’s sure you’re steady and comfortable. He looks at you, waiting and expecting, eyes drifting between your own and your hands that hold your legs close to your body.
Unbeknownst to you as to why, but you’re nervous. You’ve never been this close to Jungwon before, and you’ve certainly never seen his body this well.
Usually he keeps himself fairly submerged, the water distorting his tail and creating hypnotizing lines across his chest. If he’s not submerged, he’s laying with his back facing upwards, which, of course, you don’t mind. His back is nice. It’s broad. And very muscular. And defined. Some might even say sexy. But you're beginning to like the idea of seeing his torso too.
He keeps one hand resting on his stomach, the other resting on a rock near your shoulder. He’s really good looking. Really good looking, like, go-to-war-for-that-face good looking. To make matters worse, he’s still looking at your complexion, watching your every move, reassuring himself that you’re not uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to…” he whispers, chuckling slightly. He’s not sure why he whispers, but he feels that if he should speak any louder, this moment between you would be broken. And Jungwon definitely wants to preserve this moment for as long as he can.
“I want to, just,” you sigh, eyes drifting from his tail to his face. He looks at you with such interest that you almost begin to thank the sea for giving you your very own pearl. “I’m shy.”
He giggles, leaning a bit closer to you. “You're shy?”
You nod. “I’m shy.”
He hums again, a sound so melodic you finally understand why you almost dove into the water for him that first night. His smile is sweet and soft as he taps your shoulder mercifully. “Come here,” he says, taking your smaller hand in his. “I’ll do it with you.”
He pulls your hand under the cool water, directing it towards the top of his tail. It’s nothing like you imagined. You pictured it to be a bit rougher—sort of like when you run your hands along those color changing sequin pillows; it’s nothing like that. It’s smoother than you expected, only a small ridge felt whenever you glide your hand upwards along the scales. He stays very still, almost not breathing for the sake of not scaring you off.
Your hand creeps a bit higher, towards his hips and his abs instinctively flex. He hopes you don’t notice, but of course you do. Thank god you’re already in the water or else another kind of wetness would be quite noticeable.
You decide to leave him alone, noticing the curl of his lips that he only gets when he’s a little embarrassed and agree to focus your attention on the fin that rests next to your torso. It’s quite large, certainly larger than your head. The blue becomes lighter, more of a sky blue than the royal blue that stripes along his side, as it fans along the length of his fin. The tips of his fin curl gently inwards, more like a dolphin than the pet goldfish you had growing up. It’s cute.
“You can relax, you know,” you huff a giggle, catching his eyes as he watches your every movement.
Jungwon releases whatever breath he was holding, a nervous laugh following soon after. His hands finding your calf, the same one he scratched weeks ago. He traces the faint scar with his nail, a whisper of a touch that you’re no longer intimidated by.
“Is this okay?” he asks. Of course, you nod.
You two stay like that for awile: in the silence, feeling along each other. His hands glide over your skin, and yours slide along his scales. A new exploration that you’re sure millions would die to experience, and not even because he’s a creature of myths but because he’s so undeniably handsome it kind of makes you wonder if he’s even real.
A slight tug on your pinky toe pulls you out of your admiration, squirming a bit as he tickles your foot unintentionally. “What does this even do?” he says, bringing your foot right in front of his face. “It’s so small.”
“It’s supposed to help with balance or something,” you chuckle. He rotates your ankle in all the ways it can go, mesmerized by the flexibility of a singular joint.
“How? It’s so tiny.”
You fail to suppress a giggle as his finger runs along the sole of your foot, causing your leg to kick out a nearly hit him in the face. He narrowly escapes—another—black eye, wrestling your leg back into the water and pressing it between his ribs and arm, as if it were a sea snake trying to attack him.
“What?”
“It tickles.”
He snorts, eyes carving into sweet crescent moons that shine even under the bright sun. “You don’t see me complaining," he says, a slight snobiness in his voice. Certainly you couldn’t have taught him that.
“I’m sorry,” you reply, insincerely. “Am I hurting you?” you question, a bit more genuine than your previous statement as you readjust the strength with which you were touching his tail.
Jungwon shakes his head, beginning to run his hand up and down your knee, clearly captivated by the jut of bone that protrudes when it bends. “You could never hurt me,” he reassures softly.
“I literally kicked you in the face that one time,” you scoff.
He smiles cutely, his dimples putting on a pretty show just for you. “Better than being slapped with a fin,” he replies, making a face to show you that he’s definitely been slapped by a fin before and it definitely hurt.
The more you know Jungwon, the better his speech becomes. But because Jungwon sometimes doesn’t recognize certain words that you say, you suspect that this is the first time he’s had to learn another language; only to discover that he’s fluent in several languages, some human and some not. Apparently, there are nearly a thousand different merfolk dialects, all of which are easy to pick up for other merfolk.
“Wait, I want to try.”
“You’re not going to be able to understand,” Jungwon says plainly, peeking one eye open as he rests his head on his arms. You guess he also gets sleepy in the morning.
“Try me.”
Jungwon sits up, making room for your legs as you scooch forward and dip your feet into the water. He narrows his eyes at you, their pretty, round shape becoming taunting slits as he contemplates if this is a secret he wants to let you in on.
“Fine,” he sighs, ignoring it when your ankle bumps against his hip, instead wrapping his fingers around it as if to anchor himself.
“I’m actually really smart, Jungwon. I don’t know why you don’t believe me,” you scoff.
He giggles, the sun bouncing off of his eyes and warming them to a thrilling degree. “Maybe because you said swordfish and barracuda’s are basically the same thing,” he explains.
“Key word: basically,” you groan, flicking water at him with your foot. He barely flinches. “C’mon! I want to learn.”
Jungwon sighs, splashing a little bit of water against your leg since he can never let you win before he speaks. Whatever the hell he says, you can’t even begin to guess. It’s a series of clicks, whistles, and purrs—a language so fluid and ancient that it's pointless to try to follow. It pours from his mouth just like a quiet stream, a sound so wise and inviting. It’s a short sentence, whatever it is that he says, and he looks at you expectantly, his eyes wide and shiny just like the early morning waves. He almost looks shy.
You’re breathless.
“Does that mean ‘I want more gummy bears’ or something?” you guess, which causes Jungwon to laugh so loudly you’re afraid your secret might be shared. “Seriously, what does that mean?”
He hums, and you almost think it’s another phrase in his mother tongue before he sends you that cheeky smile. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand,” he smiles.
You want to wipe that dimple off his face. Or better yet, steal it and put it in your pocket. “I hate you,” you groan, wiping your hands down your face in frustration. “Can’t you just tell me?”
He hums again. “I'll tell you when you’re ready.”
—
After a while, the morning schedule grew to be a bit too demanding. You and Jungwon kept falling asleep, often waking up covered in brine and suntanned limbs that weren’t always yours, but welcome nonetheless. However, because of your unexpected slumber, you began to miss the time you spent talking with him. Turns out, Jungwon did too, as he’s the one to suggest that you two meet up later in the day, when the beach goers return home for dinner. You couldn’t have come up with a better plan yourself.
After spending the day in the blazing sun with your friends, shopping in an outdoor mall and spending all of the weekly budget you set aside for yourself, you’re more than happy to jump into the water for a swim in your new bikini.
Jungwon watches you as you leisurely paddle about, ignoring as his eyes burn your skin despite the refreshing water. He pushes off the jetty and glides over to you, his tail trailing behind him much more gracefully than your flailing legs. And it’s not even that you’re a bad swimmer—you’re actually pretty decent—but next to Jungwon, you might as well be a piece of plastic floating next to a sweet little jellyfish.
“Let me help,” he says, reaching for your hands as he begins to notice you growing tired of treading water.
You push him with no real force, trying to swim away playfully as if your muscles aren’t begging for some reprieve. “I can swim fine, thank you,” you insist, kicking water up in hopes of annoying him.
But Jungwon, ever the most patient, doesn’t give in. “I know you can swim fine,” he reassures. “But still, let me help you.”
He doesn’t wait for your response before tugging you towards him by your ankle. You flip on your back, floating helplessly in the water as he holds your foot to his chest. He’s warm, unlike most sea creatures—at least, you assume—letting you feel the steady drum of his heart under the sole of your foot. It picks up slightly when you flash him a breathless smile, but you choose to ignore it for his sake. He can get quite bashful, you’ve begun to learn after the countless times you've caught him staring.
“You caught me,” you sigh, deciding to relax and let him take over. This is his domain after all.
He lightly pulls you towards him, letting go of your foot and instead hooking his arms around your waist. You drape your arms over his broad shoulders, trying your hardest not to think about how sturdy he feels under your palms. The flex of his shoulder muscle was definitely tempting—dare you say delicious—but alas, one must persist!
“I caught you,” he smiles, so close that your noses almost brush. However, it only lasts a brief second before he blushes and turns away, pretending there is something far more interesting on the left of you. You’re sure that the seagull that has been floating a few yards away for the last five minutes is not more captivating than you—if his glances are anything to go by—but you’ll ignore it. For now. “Relax. I got you.”
And relax, you do. Your arms and legs are spent from swimming around. So much for cooling off! Resting your head on Jungwon’s shoulder, you let the water decorating his skin cool the heat bubbling in your face. You hope he’s too absorbed in whatever it is he’s staring at to notice.
It doesn’t matter if he does notice anyway, you think. It’s not like anything would come of it. Seriously, he’s a whole different creature. There’s no world in which that could possibly fly. But for now, you’ll enjoy what you have and make the most of it.
“Is this okay?” you ask, more worried that he’s now holding up your entire bodyweight rather than your proximity to one another.
He nods, tucking his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. You’re sure you smell like the sea, but you’re also sure that he doesn’t mind. He literally lives in the ocean. “I like being close to you,” he says, as if it isn’t the most devastating thing for you to hear. But before you can even open your mouth to ask what he means, he swerves towards a different conversation. “What do you do when you’re not here with me?”
You lean back, now met with those same pair of eyes that consistently sweep you off your feet—literally. Jungwon leans away from you too, eyes flickering back and forth like he can’t decide where he would prefer to focus. It’s cute.
“Depends,” you reply, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead. He attempts to swat your hand away but fails. It’s not like he was really trying either way. “Sometimes I work, sometimes I go to my parents’ house. Most of the time, I’m with my friends if I’m not with you.”
“What are your parents like?”
“My mom’s cool,” you answer. You like when he asks you questions like this. It makes you feel like you can bring a piece of him with you when you leave the beach—almost as if he’s a regular human man and you’re a regular woman, just hanging out with her friend. Friend? Situationship? No. That sounds stupid. “My dad is kind of weird, though. I don’t know if you two would get along.”
Jungwon cocks his head to the side, confused. “Why not?”
You shrug, trying to think of the least creepy way to confess that your dad is very obsessed with sea creatures. “He just is.”
That’ll have to do. Jungwon nods, although he seems unsatisfied.
“What about your parents?”
Jungwon sighs, his fingers tracing swirls along the small of your back. It tickles, but you don’t mind. A funny look crosses his face, as if he’s hiding something from you, but you won’t pry. You like watching him think. Whenever Jungwon is deep in thought, he tends to purse his lips in a perfectly kissable way and look up towards the sky, as if the clouds will sketch out the answer for him. It never works, and he always ends up having to use his brain power instead. It’s still endearing nonetheless.
“My mom and dad are a little afraid of humans,” he admits. “They wouldn’t understand why I like spending time with you so much.”
“Oh,” you nod slowly, digesting this new information. Afraid of humans. “Why?”
“I don’t know how to put it,” he confesses, tugging you a little closer like he’s worried you’ll back away if he says the wrong thing. You begin to draw the same pattern on his shoulder, and that seems to calm him a little if the swish of his tail is anything to go by. “I guess it’s just unfamiliarity. The only times they interact are typically on a full moon, and that’s usually a dangerous time for both of us. I guess I’m lucky that you’re the only human I know.”
You shoot him a bewildered look, one that stops him cold. “Why is it dangerous?”
The swirls on your back stop, and Jungwon’s spine grows rigid, every bit the animal side of him you’re very well aware of whenever he asserts his strength over you or you catch sight of the gills on his side. “Let’s talk about something else.”
You nod, looking away from his suddenly stoic expression. Dangerous? You can understand why humans and merfolk don’t interact much for a series of reasons—fishing, poaching, oil spills… Besides, you’re not too sure humans would be all too kind to merfolk if they were to spot one in broad daylight. However, during the full moon? Why hadn’t he mentioned that to you before? It has been nearly a month since you’ve known Jungwon, and you’ve seen him nearly every day since that fateful night—safe for maybe twice when you caught a bizarre summer flu. Would he have told you if it weren’t for this conversation?
“What do you like to do with your friends?” he asks, trying to catch your eyes.
You flinch, suddenly scaring yourself with all of the possibilities of what his previous statement might mean. But when you look into his eyes, deeper than twilight, you know that he would never hurt you. Sure, he’s stronger. He’s faster. His nails are kind of sharp, and some of his teeth file into a point. However, he’s always been gentle with you. Soft spoken and kind. The sweetest out of anyone or anything you’ve ever met. And suddenly, you feel like crying for ever doubting Jungwon’s care for you. He always remembers everything you say, and asks questions the best he can, even if he doesn’t understand. He listens like it’s his lifeline, his duty, and watches you closely to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or aren’t growing tired of spending time with him. You think he might be the nicest person you’ve ever met, despite giving you that scar on your calf. But it’s something to remember him by; it’s a piece of him you can take with you. You know him, and he sure as hell knows you.
Reaching upwards, you delicately trace the underside of his jaw. His eyes widen slightly, shocked by your bold movement, but he melts into it as if he can’t help it. You wish you could watch him melt over and over again. He leans into your hand, chasing the touch and sighs, an airy sound that you would totally make fun of him for if you weren’t also completely invested in this moment.
“Talk. Just like we do,” you answer simply, poking the small freckle on the side of his chin.
He smiles softly, holding you even tighter if possible. “I hope you don’t talk with them exactly like how we talk,” he huffs, pouting.
God, you could kiss it off. Focus!
“Not exactly,” you reassure, allowing your eyes to wander to his mouth for a split second. You hope the triangle method hasn’t also infected the seven seas, and that the merfolk when Jungwon comes from are unaware of what it could mean. “We go out to eat, go to parties… sleepovers,” you sigh. “I like spending time with you more, though.”
Jungwon hopes you can’t notice, but he thinks his heart just skipped a beat before slamming against his ribcage. “Really?” he wonders.
You nod shyly, entranced by every small curve and line of his face. Jungwon follows your lead, examining every detail that makes you whole, and pretending as if he hasn’t been discreetly doing that the entire time.
One thing about you is that you’re usually always very composed. Very focused. He never watches your eyes wander, whereas he can’t seem to stop looking at you. He loves watching the way your lips form when you talk, when you smile, and he loves watching you think and nap and swim—despite it looking kind of funny to him—and how you breathe. Nothing you could do would be boring to him. You’re always interesting. He wonders how you do it.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks abruptly, as if he doesn’t see you every day.
You look at him, almost solemn. Tracing his jaw again, you allow yourself to relish in the comfort of him before you burst this little bubble you two have created for yourselves.
“I’m out all day, and then the girls are coming over to mine,” you groan, almost annoyed at the fact that you do have a life outside of swimming and lazing around with Jungwon. “Yunjin’s cousin Chaewon broke up with her partner finally, and we’re going to get drunk to celebrate her leaving that awful man.”
“Drunk?”
“That funny way I was acting when we first met,” you explain, now gliding your finger tips across his collarbone. It’s so dainty. You wonder how someone that strong could also seem so delicate. “It happens when you drink something called alcohol.”
He nods slowly, downtrodden. You can tell he’s upset that he won’t be able to see you tomorrow, and he knows that you can tell too. It’s not often that you two skip a day from seeing each other.
You hug him closer, tucking yourself into the crook of his neck. Jungwon hugs you back, his arm wrapping around your waist as his other arm cradles your head against him. You could so easily kiss his neck if you wanted. It’s right there, and your lips are practically pressed against it. But you can’t, and you won’t.
Pulling away, you point to your house—white with the porch and baby blue shutters—that sits in a row of houses that look down on the beach from their cliffside perch. He follows your finger, nearly pressing his cheek to yours to make sure he’s following the correct eyeline.
“That’s my house. Just look over there if you ever miss me, okay?” you tell him. He stares at your house for a good while, memorizing its shape and the houses neighboring yours.
“Okay,” he nods, looking to you once he feels it’s been sufficiently ingrained in his mind. “Maybe I’ll show up for this ‘break-up’ celebration.”
You snort. “As if.”
—
You hate to admit it, but you’re kind of having fun right now.
Everyone’s on their second glass of wine, snacks and candy thrown across your coffee table to fuel the gossip of tonight’s gathering. Your friends are all screaming and giggling, cozily lounging about in their pajamas. And you hate to admit it, you really do, but you’re having a blast.
Of course, you missed seeing Jungwon today. You had a comically horrible shift at your job today that you would’ve loved to tell him about, but there’s always tomorrow! Maybe you have grown a little too attached to him. Although you’ve seen your friends heaps of times over this summer, your mind has always been somewhere else—somewhere where Jungwon is present.
But now, as Chaewon explains how she found her ex’s Tinder profile and how she confronted him, you’re okay with Jungwon taking a back seat for now. You have your girls. They have you. All is well.
“And then, when I confronted him about it, this motherfucker had the audacity to blame it on me!” Chaewon all but shrieks as she slams her hands down on your coffee table, rattling the array of wine glasses you snagged from the back of your cupboard. All of you gasp, shoveling popcorn and sour gummies into your mouths as you lean in, fully invested. “He tried to tell me that if I listened to him more whenever he talked about his dumb fucking video games, then he wouldn’t have cheated. Bitch, if you had given me better head, maybe I would’ve been more inclined to listen!”
Lara howls with laughter, as Yunjin and Daniela run a lap around your living room to calm themselves down. You damn near choke on your wine, letting the rosé warm your cheeks. You’re happy.
But you’re even happier to hear the doorbell ring for pizza.
“Fucking finally!” Yunjin exclaims, reclaiming her spot on your couch next to her cousin. “I’m starving.”
“Thank fuck—they got here early,” you say, not even bothering to check the Uber Eats status on your phone. You hop up from your spot on the rug, shuffling down the hallway towards your front door. Peaking into the bathroom, stationed right next to the door, you check to make sure you don’t look too flustered—just in case this is someone you remember from high school and want to impress for some reason. After deciding your hair looks voluminous and your tits sit great in your tank top, you decide you’re certainly presentable enough to face this pizza delivery man.
However, upon opening the door, you realize that there is no pizza delivery man. In fact, there isn’t even a pizza.
You recognize his eyes first. Hell, you’d recognize those eyes out of a billion. You could’ve been blinded by the sun, scorched by acid, and hit by a car before you wouldn’t be able to recognize them. However, caught off guard by being face to face with a pair of eyes you’re familiar with, it takes your brain a few seconds to register one very crucial factor: you’ve never seen these eyes other than at the beach.
You aren’t at the beach. You’re at your house.
Not only are you at your house, but your house is up a hill. One needs legs to walk up a hill, or anything for that matter. So why would these pair of eyes, one that you’re both very elated and very confused to see, be at your front door step? Oh, only for one reason of course!
Jungwon has sprung fucking legs.
“Hi,” he smiles shyly.
A bodily reaction that one could only describe as both becoming a human rocket and rigor mortis occurs within you all at once. Your body shakes so violently that you’ve gone still. You’re practically frozen. Mouth opening and closing rather quickly, you struggle to find the words you need to be able to articulate how you feel in this very moment. Jungwon seems pleased. He even has the nerve to giggle a little bit as he watches your brain work over time.
Part of you wants to think you were roofied. Why would you have been roofied? You don’t know, not that there is ever a justifiable reason to be roofied. But maybe your friends slipped something to you that you didn’t second guess enough—maybe an edible? Yes. It has to be an edible. Why else would you be picturing Jungwon on your front step with fucking legs? Did you seriously miss him that bad? How pathetic!
But when Yunjin shouts for you to hurry up with the pizza, you realize this is no bad trip and this is no hallucination. Jungwon is here—at your front door—with legs. And he’s fucking naked.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” you scream, all of the neurons in your brain suddenly firing all at once.
Jungwon yelps as you tug him inside, stumbling over his feet—feet that you’re not entirely sure he knows how to work yet—as you shove him into your bathroom. Slamming the door shut behind him, you run to your bedroom, ignoring the concerned looks of your friends as you nearly wipe out while turning the corner.
Shuffling through your drawers and closet, you eventually find a pair of sweatpants that you snagged from an ex-boyfriend and a top that you’re sure your dad gave to you as a sleep shirt if the sheer enormity of it is enough to go by. Hopefully, it’ll fit Jungwon. Although, it seems that he has absolutely no problem with being in the fucking nude.
Wait. He was naked.
You were so surprised to see him that you barely had a chance to recognize the severity of the situation. Not only could your neighbors have seen some random man—although not random to you—standing on your front porch, but they might have seen him butt-fucking-naked. Thankfully, he had the decency to not fully expose himself. At least, you think.
You rush back to the front bathroom before any of your friends can catch onto the problem at hand. You fling the door open, Jungwon practically plastered against the wall as he looks at you and the clothes in your hands. Glancing towards the ceiling in hopes of giving him some privacy, you offer him the clothes.
“I don’t really have anything else for you to wear, and you can’t be fucking naked in front of me,” you say.
Jungwon just stares at the clothes, confused. You shake your hands aggressively, and he eventually takes it, trying his best to figure out how to put the clothes on.
Jungwon tries to stick his foot through one of the holes, but he ends up losing his balance and nearly crashing to the floor. You manage to catch his arm and tug him up straight, but not before he knocks over a soap bottle and a couple of decorative items on the bathroom sink.
“Shh!” you hush, accidentally glancing down in attempts to see if he had hurt himself at all. But upon catching a glimpse of the skin on his thigh, your eyes shoot straight back upwards. “My friends will hear you.”
Eventually, he does okay with the pants, only stumbling a few times. He finds his balance by gripping the sink counter and is able to get his feet through the sweatpants, wriggling them up over his new legs. Finally looking away from the ceiling, you come face to face with a flustered and bashful Jungwon. Fuck, maybe you did miss him.
“Hi. Sorry,” he whispers, smiling like the situation is funny. And to him, it is. He hasn’t seen you lose your cool this bad since the first time he met you, and he couldn’t even register how out of character that was because he didn’t know you then. Now he knows you. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, handing the shirt back to you.
“Oh,” you blink, taking the cotton fabric in your hands. You bunch the fabric up towards the neck, standing on your toes so you can tug it over his head. His face pops right out, giving you a sheepish grin. For the first time since he’s stepped foot on your property, you return the favor. You guide his arms through the sleeves, the t-shirt sitting quite comfortably on his broad frame. The pants are a little long, sweeping the floor a bit whenever he shuffles about, but it’ll do. For anyone else, they’ll think it’s a fashion choice. “Do… Do these feel okay? Are you comfortable?”
He looks down towards the clothes he’s managed to put on, gaze returning to your face as quickly as it left. “I think so,” he nods. “I don’t really know what they’re supposed to feel like.”
“Right,” you say, because, really, what else is there to say?
You finally take a good look at Jungwon, now that he’s dressed and you feel like you have permission to ogle a bit. He’s dry, for starters. No matter how long he suns himself, it seems like his hair is always wet. Now it’s… well… dry. It doesn’t seem to be damaged from the copious amounts of salt water that have touched it over the years; it seems quite soft and much longer than you originally thought as he blows a strand away from his forehead. He’s taller than you, and you’re not sure why that surprises you. His tail was quite long. But that was a tail. Not legs. His shoulders are broad, that of which you already knew, but seeing them hidden by the silly shirt draping his frame is sort of driving you crazy. You miss them. “How… what…?”
He sighs and takes a shaky step towards you. Instinctively, you reach your arms out to prevent him from falling but he just wraps his arms around you, simple and plain. His heart raps wildly against his chest, and it’s probably due to the excitement of the day but you selfishly hope it’s for you.
“Jungwon, how the fuck did you get here?” you mumble into the t-shirt, not quite ready to let go just yet. You hate to admit it, but perhaps your heart is also pumping a bit faster than usual. And perhaps it’s because of him.
“My friend told me a story,” he starts, pulling away from you so he can look into your eyes. He’s beaming. “That some merfolk can turn into humans. So I tried it, and it works!” he grins, shaking your shoulders in excitement. “Not everyone can do it, apparently. But I can!”
You look down at his legs. “I can’t believe you’re a fucking human.”
“I’m a fucking human!” he shouts, nearly toppling over from sheer excitement. “Now I can see you all the time.” His eyes are so sincere and your heart nearly bursts.
“Yeah,” you nod, smiling ear to ear. “You can.”
Just then, a knock sounds from the door behind you and Jungwon practically jumps out of his skin.
“Who the fuck is in the bathroom with you?!” Yunjin shrieks.
Riiight, my friends are here, you think. Shit.
—
Explaining Jungwon to the girls was a lot easier than you thought it was going to be. Of course, you didn’t tell the truth. That wouldn’t go over well. But what they won’t know, won’t kill them. After successfully explaining to them that Jungwon was a friend from school who surprised you by coming into town, they were more than accepting of his presence. After all, a cute boy showing up on your door step for an impromptu visit? They’re just happy you’re back in the dating game—or so they think.
It’s funny seeing Jungwon sit amongst your friends, the stillness in a sea of tipsy giggles. Jungwon stays quiet most of the time, eagerly listening to all of their stories, but mostly enthralled by the amount of human snacks he now easily has at his disposal.
When everyone leaves, and you’re all alone with him, you’re not quite sure of what to do. Considering you’ve been alone with him many times before, it’s almost comical. But now he’s in your house. He’s human. Both are facts that you never thought would actually be true.
You stay up with him for a long time after your friends leave. Still shocked as you watch the young man curled up in the corner of your couch, fascinated by the way his toes wiggle and scrunch. He quickly learns the art of footsies, as he can’t help but touch you, even as the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch. And although you’re not exactly a fan of feet, you don’t mind entertaining a game of footsies as long as it’s with Jungwon.
He’s amazed by the TV, eyes reflecting purple and red and all kinds of neon as he does his best to absorb the new information he’s receiving. It’s like a speed course on human behavior. Eventually, you have to turn off the television so he’ll pay attention to you, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll just have to watch more of this another time if you let him.
Upon intense questioning, Jungwon reiterates what he told you earlier but in greater detail. His friend, Sunghoon, had told him of a long forgotten, and seemingly taboo, tale of how some merfolk could walk on land. He said it was a trend centuries ago, before the oceans had been polluted by human behavior. It was seen as a form of entertainment. Sometimes it was done for pleasure. However, once humans began to destroy the sea with their many devices, merfolk stopped trying to blend in with and learn from humans. It was too hazardous.
Jungwon shares that he tried to gather more information, asking his elders if it was possible for merfolk to become human but the conversation was always shut down. It wasn’t until his grandmother indulged in a secret that her grandmother used to be a land walker. That she would bathe herself in light and join the humans at her leisure. She warned that that was ages ago; times have changed. However, this meant that he also had the ability to do the same.
He followed his grandmother's instructions, finding a quiet and safe place to bathe in the sun. According to him, it took awhile. But once the sun was set, he had begun to sprung legs.
“Was it painful?” you asked, rubbing your foot along his calf.
Jungwon shakes his head slowly, watching the movement of your leg. “It was sort of uncomfortable. But it's not painful.”
He shares how he practiced walking, deciding to disguise himself in the dark of night to prevent anyone from seeing him. Just in case, he said. He said it was hard, and how he’s not sure how humans are able to do it so easily. Or how they’re able to run! That’s a whole new challenge, but he’s willing to learn.
“I remember you pointed to where your house was, and I just tried my best to walk there,” he said, now moving to be closer to you. He’s still trying to understand that his legs get in the way, so after his knee digs into your leg uncomfortably, he shifts to tuck his legs beneath himself. “I was really tired but when I saw you, I couldn’t feel it anymore,” he smiles, slightly taller than you from the way he’s perched. “I was so happy to see you.”
“I was so surprised,” you confess, covering your cheeks out of exasperation. Your face heats under his grin.
“You looked kind of silly,” he laughs. Jungwon drops his jaw and widens his eyes cartoonishly, making fun of your reaction.
You shove him over, causing him to fall onto his back and kick his feet up in the air. He narrowly misses you, but you don’t mind. You’re too happy to have him with you.
In the middle of your conversation, Jungwon passes out, sprawled across your couch in a way you’ve never seen a human body positioned before. It’s his first day as a human, so you decide to cut him some slack. Wrapping him in a blanket, as well as leaving an extra—in case he gets cold—you trudge to your bedroom and miss him despite him existing in the next room.
Early the next morning, while Jungwon is still asleep, you rush out to the store to pick up a few things. As handsome as he is, he cannot live in those ratty sweatpants forever. Guessing what his size might be, you pick up a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts that you think he might like. You try to stick to softer material, not wanting to irritate his skin. You’ve also never had to buy underwear for a man before, but hopefully you did a good job. Nobody has ever gone wrong with Calvin Klein. Besides, the idea of seeing the waistband of his underwear poking of the top of his pants kind of makes your nipples—
Jungwon is wide awake when you get home. Hair still mussed from sleep, but he figured out how to get the television working—it’s set to some old movie that you’re not sure you’ve seen. However, he seems transfixed. He rises from his spot, walking much more steadily than yesterday as he greets you with a hug. He smells like the breeze and sleep and something you want to have by your side forever.
He watches you cook breakfast, clinging to your side like he’s afraid you might leave again. It’s cute, despite how warm he is. You two eat breakfast on your porch, discussing your plans for the day and asking if he’d like to join. Of course, Jungwon would be insane to say no.
After breakfast, you show him his clothes and force him to do a fashion show for you. He doesn’t quite understand why you're so excited, but he’d do anything to make you smile.
“Do you like it?” you ask, sitting on the edge of your bed as he struts about your room.
He looks down at the shirt and jeans he has on, shrugging absentmindedly. He thinks they’re fine. It’s not like he knows what would look good. He feels like he’s kind of dressed like the guy he saw on your TV not too long ago, and he thought he was cool. But besides that, he doesn’t really know what would look good on him. What he does know is that you look good.
You sit on the edge of your bed, biting down a smile as your eyes rake over his frame three times over. He likes the way you clasp your hands on your lap, doing your best to be polite and patient although he knows you are fighting demons to not shout out your opinion. He also quite likes the crinkle that forms in the corner of your eyes as you try your best not to giggle. He very much likes that he can see the curve of your tits over the hem of your top as you clasp your hands even tighter. He’s not sure if he can tell you that though. He’ll have to watch more television to see if that’s something that is okay to say to a girl.
“It’s nice,” is what Jungwon settles on telling you, and you smile even brighter than he thought possible. He could get used to this.
You decide to take him around town for the day, deciding fresh air and social interaction is just what Jungwon needs in order to understand human behavior. He is more than thrilled to be involved. You can practically hear your father nagging you for housing merfolk, especially after his near death experience. But Jungwon would never do that to you.
He had no idea that there were so many places—stores, you call them—where humans could buy things. He’s entranced by the grocery store, amazed by the selection of gummies that he now has access to. The concept of not touching everything he sees is a bit new to him, and you have to inform him that people tend to find it quite rude if you touch every single fruit in the produce section. However, always the avid listener, he follows your instructions until they become second nature.
Jungwon is shocked by your ability to stay focused in such lively places. There’s so much noise—much different from the quiet roar of the sea. He’s surprised to hear you talk about how quiet your town is, and how there are even busier areas where humans live called the city. He’s not sure if he could survive living in a place like that.
There are also so many formalities. Saying please and thank you and no, you go ahead to every small interaction. He’s fascinated with your ability to memorize all these small things. Maybe, one day, he’ll be a master of them too.
You take him out to eat, just at some small diner not too far from your house. He lets you pick something for him to eat, since he’s still not all that familiar with human food. The waitress is nice, but he thinks you’re nicer—laughing at all his jokes and smiling softly while he rambles about what his favorite part of the day was so far. You hate to say it, but you’re completely enamoured by him.
You enjoy how he purses his lips when he finds something you say amusing, but doesn’t quite want to announce it. He likes how you play with your earlobe when you get shy. Small things. He barely even realizes how hungry he is until the food arrives, he’s too preoccupied with you. But he thinks maybe his second favorite thing—you being first—is human food. The burger you ordered him seems to be quite a hit. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a person eat that fast, not even half of your meal finished before he cleans the entirety of his plate. Jungwon isn’t very picky, it seems.
The days pass by like this, quietly but comfortably. Jungwon slowly learns more and more about what it means to be human, the behaviors and the mentality. You see him grow more comfortable out in the open, no longer adhered to your side, and more willing to try things on his own.
Despite his growing independence, the two of you grow closer than before, if that’s even possible. He helps you cook and clean, entertaining you with silly stories or questions that you can’t help but answer. It’s domestic. You even bring him into work one day, letting him sit in the back with a movie on your laptop while you bore yourself to death. Jungwon never seems to mind. He never complains. If anything, he’s just happy to be with you.
Jungwon only lasts one more night on your couch. By the third night, he comes shuffling into your room, lightly rapping against the door right as you’re about to fall asleep. Flinching awake, you turn on your lamp as you squint at the young man standing in your doorway. He stands there awkwardly, scratching his neck in embarrassment.
“What’s wrong, Jungwon? Are you okay?” you mumble, drowsiness laced in your voice.
He nods quickly, not wanting to worry you. “I”m okay. I’m okay. I just-” he huffs, shifting his weight repeatedly. You can tell he’s searching for the words, whether he has them or not, you’re not sure. Sometimes you wish you could speak his language, maybe it would make it easier for you to understand him. “I don’t want to sleep on the couch.”
This stuns you. This might be the first time you’ve heard him complain.
“Why? Is it uncomfortable?” you ask, sitting up. The neck of your sleep shirt slides down one shoulder and Jungwon’s eyes follow the movement. “I can give you some extra pillows if you want.”
“No, it’s not uncomfortable,” he replies, shaking his head once again. You can see him grow more hesitant by the second, playing with his fingers as he tries to decipher what would be the most appropriate phrasing. He’s not sure how to communicate what he wants from you. None of the movies he’s studied over the past few days have shown him how to do this.
“What’s up, Jungwon?” you ask once again, your eyes softening.
Jungwon grows weak, melting into the warmth of your gaze. He feels a heat stir in his lower stomach that he’s still trying to navigate with his new body. Finally, after rationalizing that you’ve never seriously berated him for any of his thoughts or questions, he decides to bite the bullet. “Can I sleep in your bed?”
“Oh!” you gasp, shocked by his forwardness. “Like… you want to swap?”
He shakes his head at your misunderstanding. “No!” he damn near shouts. “I was thinking we could share?”
His suggestion makes your toes curl and a giggle bubbles up from your stomach. Feeling like a school girl again, you nod slowly, lifting the covers for him to join you. He quickly shuffles over, a shy smile spreading across his pink lips like frosting. You wish you could kiss it and have it stain your mouth. He slides under your covers, pulling them right up to his chin. It was hard for him to imagine something as comfortable as this, having only slept on the couch for the last few nights. Now he knows.
“Why’d you want to sleep in here?” you ask, shutting the light off as you lie back down. “You can be honest and tell me that the couch was uncomfortable. I got it second hand.”
You can hear the pillow case rustle underneath his head as he denies your comment. “Just missed you is all,” he admits.
Suddenly, it’s as if all the air is sucked out of the room and you’re left pleading for oxygen. “But I’m only one room away,” you chuckle breathlessly, knowing that you subconsciously—or consciously—have been missing him in your sleep as well.
“I know,” he says, moving closer to you. He can feel your body heat interacting with his, absorbing and morphing into something new entirely. “Still missed you, though.”
Jungwon sleeps with you every night after that. And every night, you rest easier and more deeply than you ever have.
You show him all kinds of things. Your favorite TV shows, the mall, and even the gym. However, you had to leave as soon as some man approached you and asked for your number. Jungwon didn’t seem to take much pleasure in the idea of other men approaching you.
“I was literally right there,” he pouted as he sat in the front seat of your car. “I don’t get why he would even approach you when I was there.”
You smile fondly, reaching over to rub his shoulder. He seems to calm down at your touch. “Maybe he thought you were just a friend.”
Jungwon whips his head to the side. If it were biologically possible, you would believe that his eyes grew ten shades darker. Apparently, you need to make a mental note to never say something so supposedly ludicrous to Jungwon ever again. “I’m yours,” he says.
Whatever that means.
To make up for the fiasco that happened at the gym, you decide to take Jungwon to a place you figured he’d really like: the carnival.
Lara has been bugging you all week, blowing up your phone incessantly and asking if you’d join her and some of your friends at the carnival this weekend. Usually, you’d try to ditch. The carnival has occurred every summer since you were little, and you’re sure it started way before that. With overpriced tickets, overpriced food, and overpriced games, you typically try to avoid the carnival altogether and save your wallet from the damage you will inevitably suffer. However, after seeing Jungwon’s eyes light up at the thought, you decided—after very little contemplation—that attending said overpriced carnival wouldn’t be awful.
Your friends are surprised to see Jungwon, considering they thought he was only supposed to stay with you for a few days, but are happy nonetheless. They drag him every which way, encouraging him to throw darts at balloons and make the tiny tea cup he manages to squeeze into spin as fast as he can. Surprisingly, he does very well with being tossed and spun around—it must do with his exposure to relentless sea currents. However, after experiencing a severe case of vertigo, you manage to convince your friends to take it easy on the rides and sit down for a while.
“Having fun?” you ask Jungwon, sipping on a lemonade. It’s more water than lemon and sugar, but it’s cool and helps bring you back down to earth.
“Mhm,” he hums, nodding around a bite of fried dough. The powdered sugar clings to the side of his lips and you wipe it away with your thumb. Consequently, your friends giggle from their corner of the picnic table. You can’t tell if it’s the vibrant lights of the carnival, but Jungwon’s cheeks grow a soft shade of rose. “Are you?”
“Yeah,” you reply, snagging a piece of his snack. “I don’t usually have fun at these kinds of things, but I’m having fun with you.”
“You don’t like carnival rides?” he asks, stealing a sip of your lemonade. He doesn’t bother to wipe the straw before or after.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “No, I like them. These ones are just kind of lame. There’s much bigger ones at other places.”
“Like in Diary of a Wimpy Kid?”
“Exactly.”
Jungwon nods slowly, flexing his fingers before he clasps his hands in his lap. He looks upward towards the sky, amazed at the fact that he can still see the stars through all this light. Tracing them with his eyes, he finds your silhouette in the stars. Why his family would ever want to keep him from finding and staying with you is beyond his comprehension.
“I’d like to ride one of those rollercoasters someday,” he shares after being quiet for sometime. He’s still gazing upwards, eyes sparkling like fireworks. You stare at the dainty mole on his chin, wishing that you could press a kiss to it. If you could, you would give him the world.
“You will,” you say, reaching for his hands. He looks at you, the sparkle in his eyes never dimming. “We’ll go.”
Yunjin coughs obnoxiously, the rest of your friends snickering evilly. You’re going to kill them. You turn your head ever so slowly, wishing the horrific music that was playing in your head would play aloud for once so it could add to this intimidating vibe you are going for. But alas, it doesn’t, and you have to agree to shoot daggers at them with your eyes instead.
“We’re going to go ride the ferris wheel,” she announces, standing up from the picnic bench. The other girls follow suit. “Do you want to come or are you guys going to keep acting like freaks and hold hands?”
You roll your eyes, but when Jungwon doesn’t make a move to let go of your hand, you don’t either. Besides, your hands were getting quite cold from holding your lemonade, so really he’s just helping you out. Right? Right.
“We’ll go, we’re just gonna clean up first. We’ll meet you there.”
After you and Jungwon clean up the rest of the mess left on the table, you join the girls only to be yelled at by a couple for trying to cut in line. Trying your hardest to show the best side of your humanity, you drag Jungwon to the back of the line. Normally, you would have no problem cussing the girl and her unfortunate looking boyfriend out, but again, you want Jungwon to see your good side. He’s already seen you damn near belligerent and screaming for help, you might as well try to preserve what little remains of your dignity. Besides, you don’t mind being separated from your friends. It just means more one-on-one time with Jungwon. (Not like you haven’t had plenty of that over the last few days.) You’ll meet up with them once the ride is over.
The carnival barker gestures to your car, buckling the two of you in. Jungwon rapidly pounds his feet up and down in excitement, a habit you’re not sure when he developed but you’ve grown to be affectionate towards. Your knees touch, and neither of you pull away, Jungwon enamoured with the idea of riding the ferris wheel, and you, enamoured with him.
The ride jolts with a start, shocking Jungwon. As he flinches, he reaches for your hand, a welcomed surprise.
He babbles mindlessly, about how he’s never imagined being up this high in the air before, and how he hopes the ride doesn’t fail. He tells you how he can’t tell if he’s jittery because of the height or because of all of the sugar he just consumed, and you just laugh, squeezing his hand tighter. When your palms start to grow sweaty, neither of you mind because it’s the two of you and whatever you give, he’ll take.
“I’m so happy right now,” he admits, smiling so wide that his eyes turn into crescent moons. You grin too, flashing him a smile as bright as the moon.
“Me too,” you agree, squeezing his hand tighter.
“This is so cool!” he damn near shrieks, rocking the cart a bit. You reach for the bar instinctively, eyes growing wide in a way that makes him cackle. You whack his leg, and despite the sting in his thigh, he doesn’t move away. “You can see everything up here.”
“You think that’s our jetty?” you ask, pointing to a collection of rocks that are faintly carved out above the sea line.
Jungwon squints, trying his best to follow your line of view. “No,” he shakes his head, knocking his shoulder with yours. “Ours would be farther that way,” he says, gesturing in some direction.
“How do you know?” you question, squinting at the young man.
“Because I know the ocean better than you do,” he mutters, in a voice so matter of fact you’re certain he had to pick it up from someone else because no way in hell you would teach him to speak to you like that. “Besides, I…”
You watch Jungwon, observing how his eyes shift elsewhere, the smile in his face slipping into more of a confused gape. You call his name, wondering what has caught his attention so abruptly. Following his eyeline, you spot a car ahead of you. A couple—perhaps the one from earlier, you’re not sure—are sitting closely together, wrapped in each other's arms. Despite being multiple feet in front of you, it’s clear what they are doing, and it seems like Jungwon has also caught on. They kiss each other slowly, a passion you would hope they’d save for the privacy of their own home rather than the public eye. But as always, there has to be that couple.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, growing confused by his sudden reaction. “Do you not know what kissing is?”
Jungwon tears his gaze from them, looking both scandaled and offended by your comment. “Of course I know what kissing is. I’m not stupid,” he scoffs, that crinkle between his brow appearing.
“Just checking!” you shrug, not sure of what to say. You haven’t seen him this amazed by something since he first turned on the television. “I wasn’t sure if merfolk kissed or not.”
“Of course we fucking kiss!” he yelps, a slight edge to his tone that you find somewhat comical. “I’ve just… I’ve just never seen people kiss like that before,” he confesses, squeezing your palm.
His eyes drift back to the couple, curious and imploring. You never quite thought of how merfolk kiss until now. Is it softer? Harder? Does it mean something else to them, as it means to humans?
“I think I’d like to try though.”
What?
Now, if you aren’t mistaken, you recall having some knowledge of kissing under your belt. And by some, you mean a sufficient amount. You’re not one to dilly dally, and after years of drunk parties and dares, you’ve kissed enough people to probably last a lifetime. To put it plainly, you get around. However, when Jungwon looks at you like that, with his eyes all wide and shiny, you feel like you’re twelve again. You’re not sure of what to do or what to say. He would only say that if he wanted to kiss you, right? No way he meant someone else, he doesn’t even know other girls besides your friends and he only really talks to them when it comes to you. Unless he likes men?
Jungwon calls your name, the warmth of his palm on your thigh is sudden but welcomed. He’s closer than you remember him being, but you can’t find it within yourself to back away. You can see the way his eyes crinkle slightly with a soft smile, and the way his lips curl upwards. The dimple on his cheek calls your name in a tone so sweet you feel light-headed, and you’re certain that the small giggle that slips past his lips—were they always that pretty?—is the most glorious thing you’ve ever heard. You know you’re supposed to hear the ocean if you find a conch shell and press it to your ear, but you wish you could hear his voice.
He calls your name again and you shake your head, clearing the fog that plagues your mind. “What?” you blurt, eyes wide and glossy. Jungwon thinks you’re so pretty.
“I want to kiss you,” he says, slow and steady but the twitch of his fingers reveal his excitement. “Is that okay?”
You want to tell him a hundred things. You want to tell him how lucky you are to have nearly been destroyed by him that night, and if you knew then what you know now, you’re positive that you would’ve let him although you’re certain he would never hurt you. You want to tell him that you think he’s the hottest man you’ve ever seen on planet Earth, and that it sucks that he’s not entirely the same species as you, and vice versa. You want to tell him that he’s your best friend, and that you truly, sincerely hope that you’re his. But all you manage to say, with severe effort, is: “Um, sure. Yeah.”
Jungwon has kissed people. This much is true. It’s common amongst merfolk—to kiss—as they are sexual and romantic beings. He’s kissed dozens of beings, human and merfolk. He’s kissed to survive, just as he kisses to kill. However, he never knew that kissing could feel like this.
He leans in slowly, feeling you practically melt against him the second his lips touch yours. The first thing he realizes is how soft you are, and the second is how good you taste. Your palm presses to his chest and his heart instantly warms. The kiss is short and soft, but once he pulls away, he falls right back into it. At this point, he doesn’t even notice if the ferris wheel is moving or if it has stopped, because he feels like he’s floating on top of the world. He can still taste the powdered sugar on your lips, and when he slips his hands around the base of your neck, your mouth opens and he can taste the remnants of lemonade on your tongue.
You hum against his lips, gripping his shirt so fiercely in your trembling fingers you worry for a fraction of a second that you might rip a hole in it. But when Jungwon presses closer, a small sound, light and airy, slips from his mouth as he moves his lips against yours, and all worries you have are left for dead.
One of Jungwon’s hands slips away from your jaw, an action you hardly notice as he nips your bottom lip as a distraction. He scoops your leg onto his lap, fingers brushing over the bare skin of your knee. If it weren’t for being on a damn ferris wheel, you’re certain Jungwon would have you straddling his lap by now. But you are on a ferris wheel, and you are in public. And if the bulge pressing against your leg and the ache between your thighs are to mean anything, they mean that you need to stop or else you might just end up letting him fuck you right here, twenty feet in the air.
“Jungwon,” you murmur breathlessly against his lips. You move to backaway, but he just follows you, eyes closed and a blissful look blanketed across his face. You giggle and he giggles back, squeezing your thigh and sucking on your bottom lip. “Jungwon,” you repeat, a little more firmly this time. He lets you push him away, eyes trained on your lips as he licks his own. It’s official, he’s decided. He’s obsessed with your taste. “We’re in public.”
He begrudgingly tears his eyes from your mouth, kiss-bitten and swollen, to look around. After reminding himself of where you two are, together, he nods slowly. Turning back to you, he moves to fix your hair, and despite it not staying in its respective place, he still looks at you like you hung the moon and stars.
“I forgot,” is all he says, before he leans in one last time to kiss you.
The ride home is filled with gentle touches and even fonder looks. Jungwon follows you into your house, just as he always does. He watches you as you brush your teeth, smiling around his own toothbrush as the foam from the toothpaste forms small bubbles on the corners of his mouth. He observes you as you do your skin care, sitting on the toilet lid as he plays with the hem of your pajama shorts. It doesn’t suggest anything other than him wanting to be close to you, and you’re not sure if you’re frustrated by the lack of underlying meaning or content with his patience.
Jungwon snuggles next to you once you finally go to bed, nose pressed to your neck and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. He kind of makes you hot and bothered when he speaks in a voice so low you’re certain you hear waves crash in his tone.
“Good day?” you ask, still able to see his eyes shine in the light of the growing and glowing moon.
He nods, brushing his lips over yours. “Very good day,” he says, sealing the deal with a kiss that makes your heart swell so large you fear it might break a rib.
He’s warm against your side and real, and the rise and fall of his chest lulls you to sleep. You dream of his touch, cradled in his arms, excited for tomorrow.
When you wake the next morning, he’s gone.
—
It’s been a week since you last saw Jungwon.
When you woke up without his warmth, you were almost in denial. But after checking your living room, kitchen, bathrooms, and balcony about three times, you were certain it could be no mistake. He can’t drive, so there’s no way he could’ve gone far. But when you ran around town, checking all of the places he would’ve known and been drawn to, pajama shorts still on and hair half styled, you began to lose hope. He was not at your house, not at any stores, and not at the beach. And once a few hours have passed, you realize he’s gone. Jungwon is not coming back.
You tried to be the slightest bit hopeful. Once the sun had set, you walked along the shoreline, calling his name. You prayed that no one would be around to hear your calls. If someone were to ask who you were looking for, you might think you could lie and say your dog, but Jungwon isn’t a suitable name for a dog. It’s only suitable for him. But after hours of searching, and sitting against the cool rock of your special jetty, do you finally relent to the cold, hard truth.
Your friends chalk up your behavior as you missing your friend. They don’t get much information from you, only a quick comment of how he went home, but they can tell you’re upset. So after your third day of wallowing, they grow desperate to see you smile.
It’s only after a series of shopping trips and movie nights do you start to feel better. When you’re alone, it’s easy to think of Jungwon and wonder why he left; with your friends, your mind stays busy. They make you laugh at stupid jokes and gasp at juicy gossip. Daniela fills you in on this new guy she’s started talking to, and you only have to push down your jealousy slightly before genuine joy for her bubbles over.
By the end of the week, you’re beginning to see a future where you feel normal again. It’s not now, but it will be someday. Eventually, Jungwon will be a memory just like your kindergarten crush, and the thought of him won’t sting as much as it does presently. Besides, when you stop to think about it, it’s probably for the best. He’s literally from the ocean. He’s a completely different species, not entirely human. It’s not like you could’ve dated. Your dad wouldn’t have really liked him anyway.
By the time the weekend rolls around, Lara mentions that there’s been a rumor about another party at the beach floating about. The second you hear about it, you’re in. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten shitfaced with your friends, and without having to worry about waking up at the asscrack of dawn to see Jungwon, you’re more than willing to drink some cheap liquor and face the consequences the next day.
Yunjin brings the alcohol and Lara brings the mixers, and eventually, you’re all pleasantly buzzed. Trodding down to the beach in your cute outfits and bikinis, you feel normal. There was a life before Jungwon, just as there will be a life after him. You will not let the absence of a man be what ruins your good time. Your P.J. (Post-Jungwon) life starts right now!
You mingle and flirt, and even let some random guy feel you up. And although his touch doesn’t feel as good as Jungwon’s, it’s good to know that you still got it. But the more and more that you try to convince yourself that you don’t miss him, you begin to realize that it isn’t true. You do miss him. A lot. It’s borderline humiliating.
Maybe it’s the drinks and a couple of hits from some joint your friends passed around, or maybe it’s because you’re overstimulated from the sand that you can’t seem to brush off your legs, but you’re starting to feel like you’re going to cry.
“I’m gonna go pee,” you slur to Daniela, who just nods before returning to talk to some girl you vaguely remember from high school.
You stumble your way through the crowd, sure that you may have gotten the odd glance here or there but who cares? You’re beginning to feel dizzy, your legs feel heavy and your body feels tingly and suddenly you come to recognize just how drunk you are. Mission accomplished, but at what cost?
“Shit,” you grumble, leaning against a rock for support as you catch your breath. You look up, hoping that focusing on the stars would help you sober up.
Your body keeps drifting away from you, a baby rocked to sleep, but your mind stays still on Jungwon. Why did he leave? Did he get what he wanted? A kiss? That’s a stupid thing to want from someone. If he was going to be that selfish, he might as well have fucked you and then dipped. But a kiss and dip? No one in the history of the world has ever heard of something as lame as that. However, you’re beginning to believe that you’re patient zero.
The stars spin, but once you spot the full moon, your body becomes yours again. It’s brighter than you’ve ever seen it, an iridescent light beaming across the water. The ripples in the waves illuminate your path in hughes of white, blue, and green; a perfect spotlight for your evening walk. You swore it would clear your mind and reestablish your footing, but still, you somehow always end up here: the jetty.
Sitting down at your usual spot, you dip your toes into the water and swirl them around. Your feet drag through the water slowly, your scar catching the light briefly. The moon is pale and bright and big, and you wish Jungwon was here to see it with you. He is, but he’s not worried about the moon.
Despite not being in the right state of mind, the hair on your arms pricks up, a danger sensed before your mind is even aware of it. Your skin tingles as it circles the water, hypnotized by the patterns it creates in the foam. You feel a pair of eyes.
As you look up, you spot only a silhouette, but you know exactly who it belongs to. You always have and you always will. Although you’re certain you hear a song so beautiful that it makes you want to tear your skin off, suddenly your ears fill with wax and your emotions overtake the melody, creating a harsh dissonance.
“You have some fucking nerve,” you spit, pulling your legs out of the water and crouching on your knees. He doesn’t move. “Kissing all up on me, touching me, sleeping in my house!”
You can see him cock his head to the side, but with the way the moon is positioned in the sky, you can’t observe his face. Sincerely, you hope he’s hurt. Maybe not crying—you’re a little afraid you might fold if he is—but hurt.
“I should slap the shit out of you for leaving like that,” you spit, clawing at the rock beneath you like a life line.
Jungwon straightens at that and abruptly sinks under the water. For a second, it startles you. Maybe you scared him off? A part of you wishes that that is the case—that way you have the last laugh. But deep down, you know a slap from you would hurt him more emotionally than physically. He wouldn’t fear your hand. And at this moment, you’re not sure which you prefer. After you begin to doubt that you scared him, and move on to your next theory—shark bite—Jungwon emerges from the pitch black sea.
Sometimes you forget that he’s not entirely human, but in this moment, he makes sure to remind you. Jungwon leaps from the water, propelling all of his body weight onto his arms and hands which suspends his body halfway out of the water and onto the jetty. You shriek, falling flat on your butt as he stares at you, only a few inches from your face.
You take a good look at him, and for a second, you’re not sure you’re talking to Jungwon. His eyes are wild, not the bright-eyed wideness that you know. Instead they’re slender, frantic, and threatening. His mouth hangs open, and you spot the edge of a fang indenting his lower lip, his tongue quickly smoothing over the skin. Despite the water being cool, you feel the fever radiating off of him and his cheeks flush a brilliant shade of pink. You take a deep breath in, studying his face. Before you can begin to check out his body—a habit you’re not all too proud of not being able to shake—he lowers himself back into the water.
He doesn’t submerge, and he doesn’t talk either. His lips stay wired shut, rose-red mouth relaxed but stern. His hands stay on the rock, bracketing your legs that makes you weary of moving too quickly. His fingers look as if they’re straining against something, but you’re not sure what. Do you want to find out?
After more than thirty seconds of just staring at each other, you realize he’s not going to speak.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you wonder, no longer feeling threatened by him. “Why are you getting all up in my face like I was the one who left? You’re the one who kissed and ditched, remember?”
It sounds even more pathetic saying it out loud.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Jungwon says, eyes transfixed on your face. For a moment, you see him melt. His eyes become wide again, but still hungry for something. His brow furrows, and he shakes his head, huffing a sigh through his nose like an animal clearing its senses of a particular scent.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Did you not hear what I just said?”
His eyes trail down your body, and you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch. You see his nails dig into the rock desperately, and you’re beginning to grow concerned. A look of discomfort crosses his face, and he shakes his head once more, water spraying against your calves. Sitting up and extending your legs back into the water, you notice how he learns forward subconsciously, seeking your touch. What the fuck is going on?
“Jungwon, are you okay?” you ask, reaching for him. You reach out to touch his hand, and before you can even register the heat of his palm, Jungwon keens forward, an airy sound escaping his mouth unwillingly. His forehead rests against your knees, and his breath is warm against your legs as you begin to second guess everything you thought you knew.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, chest heaving. In a panic, you begin to look for injuries. You can’t begin to fathom what would make him act like this. He’s usually calm, the eye of the storm in any and all cases. He plays with your hair when you’re rambling and rubs your back when you’re upset, and now you're the one doing it all for him.
You’re so confused, and as wracking breaths continue to knock against his ribs, fingers damn near creating claw marks in the rock, you’re desperate for answers. “Why wouldn’t I be here, Jungwon? It’s a beach.”
“The moon,” is all he says as he looks up at you. His eyes are nothing you’ve ever seen before. It’s like they melt the second he looks at you, eyebrows furrowed and irises so dark you believe that if you were to sink in them, you’d never find the bottom. You look up to the sky, moon brilliant and bright.
“I don’t get it,” you confess, laying a hand on his cheek. Should you be worried? He’s burning up. Do you offer to get him some medicine? An ambulance? A veterinarian?
Just as you begin to search for your own solutions, Jungwon—without much ability to control himself—proposes his own. With the palm on his cheek being his final straw, he presses his face against your leg once again, harsher than before. You feel his nose indent your thigh, and before you can begin to register the sudden change in proximity, Jungwon licks your leg and moans.
Your body responds before your mind, and if you were standing, you’re certain your knees would buckle. You clench around nothing, a rush of wetness pooling in your bikini bottoms. Without meaning to, you rock your hips gently against the rock. It doesn’t provide any comfort for the sudden ache, but Jungwon has you acting in irrational ways.
And once your mind is able to catch up with your body, the words that fly out of your mouth aren’t much more rational than your bodily response to his tongue. “Yooo, what are you doing?” you hiss, no real threat posed behind your voice.
“You smell so good,” he whines, kissing up your thigh. His arms hook under your thighs, dragging you closer and closer towards the edge. The water is up to your knees now as you cradle Jungwon’s head to your thigh. He nips and licks and kisses, and all you can do is watch. You feel his biceps flex under your legs, and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, desperate to keep you attached to his mouth.
You're not entirely sure of what is going on or what’s come over him, but you do know that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been in your whole life. His fangs graze your upper thigh, sharp and menacing. Before you can begin to complain about the sting, and, without a doubt, the blood that bubbles in its wake, Jungwon licks over the wound like his spit is some sort of salve. The sting is immediately gone, and replaced with a tingle that leaves you wanting more. He creeps higher and higher, breathing heavily. Your thighs are slick with spit, bruised by kisses. You tug at Jungwon’s hair, the wet strands wrapping around your fingers to keep you tethered to him. Jungwon moans again, shoving his nose into your crotch and inhaling deeply.
You burn furiously, embarrassed that he’s smelling you but also incredibly turned on by the fact that he seems to like it. A hand leaves your thigh and inches upward, lithe fingers tucking into the waistband as he attempts to yank your shorts down hungrily.
“The button,” you instruct breathlessly, your hands meeting as you both frantically go to undo the button of your shorts. Once you manage to pop it open for him, he rips them down your legs, soaking them with sea water accidentally before throwing them next to you haphazardly. His mouth is back on you instantly, and you urge him towards your core, fingers tracing his jawline. “Jungwon…” you whisper, yearning to kiss him but aching at the thought of his attention being redirected.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs around your skin, sucking another blossom into your thigh. You will be tender to the touch come tomorrow. “I can’t help it.”
“It’s okay,” you soothe, and he looks up at you, mouth spit-slicked and raw. “I want you too.”
You don’t have to tell him twice.
Jungwon dives back in, licking the flimsy material of your bikini bottoms. You can feel his tongue press against your clit through the fabric, and both of you moan. He sucks the material into his mouth, searching for your taste before he can indulge in you fully. He knows he should stop, he’s not in the right mind. But with the way he’s aching for you, a desire so fierce he can feel it burn him from the inside out, he’s not sure if he can will himself to stop. When he glances up and sees the look you’re giving him, eyes glowing and jaw dropped in amazed pleasure, he’s certain that he won’t stop.
Snatching the fabric between his teeth, Jungwon pulls your bottoms down your legs, tossing it alongside your shorts. He looks at you briefly, slick and glistening under the pale moonlight. Prior to this moment, Jungwon was certain he'd seen plenty of beautiful things. However, he is now positive that this view is the prettiest of them all.
He leans in voraciously, kissing the skin above your pretty cunt, the short hair tickling his lips and chin. Jungwon isn’t used to it, as you’re his first human girl and—if he has it his way—his last. But he likes it a lot more than he assumes is probably normal. He kisses you there one more time, feeling the muscles of your thighs twitch and tense.
“Please, Jungwon,” you whimper, hips leaning forward in search of his mouth. “I need you.”
Who is he to deny you?
Jungwon licks your folds tentatively, gauging how sensitive you are. A small sigh releases from your chest, a hum so gentle he does his best to replicate it through his tongue. You grow more restless the more he does this, searching for something more. It feels good. Really good. Using his hands to push your thighs further apart, Jungwon's tail thrashes wildly in the water at how pliant you are under his guidance.
“You taste so good,” he says, sucking your clit into his mouth greedily. You moan loudly, leaning backwards as your hips move forward. Jungwon looks up, watching as you prop yourself on one elbow, your other hand still stuck in his hair. You’re breathless, a warm ache slowly building within your core. “You like that?”
You nod fervently, biting your lip. As if it’s a challenge, Jungwon begins to suck and lick more harshly than he did before, pulling more and more sounds out of you. A hand of his creeps upward, shoving its way under the cup of your bikini top. He pinches a nipple, a high pitched whine releasing from your mouth. His tongue travels lower, prodding at your hole curiously. You clench around him and he groans, pressing his tongue into you as far as he can. You grind forward, clit bumping his nose and he inhales deeply. In his professional opinion, you taste better than any candy he’s ever had.
You twitch around his tongue, continuing to grind along his face. He squeezes your tit harshly, earning a gasp from you that makes him chuckle thickly, slick coating his mouth. You giggle too, delirious on the ecstasy Jungwon provides you. But your giggles quickly turn into endless moans as he sucks your clit back into his mouth, tongue swirling around the swollen bud.
Growing dizzier by the second, and this time, you’re certain it’s not because of the alcohol, you become more and more desperate for a release. Jungwon is moaning against you, convinced that your cunt is the best thing to have ever graced this Earth.
“You’re so pretty,” he whines, kitten-licking your clit before sucking it harshly once more. “I want to keep you all to myself.”
“I’m all yours,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You can feel your slick and his spit pooling on the rock beneath you and spreading along your thighs. A heat brighter that the sun builds within you, yearning for more.
He groans deeply, his teeth grazing against your clit in a way that makes you flinch. “Don’t say that,” he pants, dragging his tongue along every inch of you that he can find. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he whimpers.
“Please,” you beg, finding his eyes in the moonlight. His eyes still replicate every bit of the beast that he is, his grip bruising. You clench around his tongue and he laps it up, feeding him in a way that you could never fully understand. The desire he feels is much deeper than what you’re capable of experiencing, and he knows that. But you’d be damned if you weren’t willing to try. “Please make me yours.”
Jungwon releases an inhumane sound, a cross between a purr and a moan, something that vibrates from his chest and releases from his mouth without control. He grips your thigh, eyeing you quickly. It’s faint, but you catch the slight downturn of his lips and the furrow in his brow, as if he’s saying sorry. However, before you can question him, he bares his fangs and bites down on your thigh, piercing the skin.
You yelp in pain, tugging at his hair but he doesn’t budge. He just groans against your skin, the pinch in your leg growing more and more aggressive the deeper his teeth sink into your flesh. But as quickly as the pain comes, a sudden overbearing warmth washes over you. You tilt your head back, grip on his hair weakening. Jungwon grabs your hand and rests it against his face, lapping at the blood that drips from you and sealing the wound. He looks at the new mark he’s created—a mark that confirms and reassures that you are his, and that he is yours.
The ecstasy you’re experiencing from his love bite must be potent, because you’re practically leaking all over yourself. He coos as your cunt clenches around nothing, a new wave of your scent, even more syrupy, fills his nose. He watches you, your body arching into the open air for something, anything that could provide you with relief. Awe is an understatement.
Reminding yourself that he is there, you snap your head up and open your eyes. You rub his cheek, watching him nestle into your palm. Maintaining eye contact, Jungwon lowers near where he expects you to want him, lips grazing your folds without any real pressure. You buck and squirm, but just before you find relief, he pulls away, suddenly every bit the tease and no longer the desperate, lust-crazed creature.
Well, it’s not like you’re above begging. “Fuck me,” you groan, your voice not sounding like your own to your ears. Jungwon melts all the same.
Sticking out his tongue, he licks from your taint to your clit, a relief that has you whining at a pitch you’re sure has never been reached. Practically making out with your cunt, Jungwon sucks your labia into his mouth, his own moans vibrating within you from the inside out. The bridge of his nose glides against your folds once again, rubbing against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars.You’re growing desperate, your hips unable to stay still as you rock and pull against him like a restless tide.
You’re hot, sweating despite the coolness of the water. Whatever that bite did to you—whether it poisoned or drugged you—you’re not sure. What you do know is that Jungwon is licking your clit just the way you need him to and you don’t think you’ve been so eager to cum in your whole life.
Your cunt pulses feverishly, yearning to suck anything he’ll give you further and further in. You want to watch him, and you try your best to, but when the pressure on your clit is just right, it’s hard to keep your eyes open and your head upright.
He can not only feel you getting closer, but he can taste you getting there as well. Your stomach contracts, the clench around his tongue getting stronger by the second. Your thighs shake, and the heat within you is so intense you feel like you could burst into a supernova. The sounds you are releasing are sounds that a pornstar could only dream of making, and Jungwon doesn’t even have it in him to wonder if this is how all human girls sound because he too enamoured with how his girl sounds. His girl. Shit, he might cum.
“I wanna cum,” you announced, vision blurred with tears.
He moans, loud and clear. “Please,” he begs, watching your back arch in the moonlight. “I want to feel it, pretty. Please.”
He continues to suck and kiss and lick in all the ways you’ve wished a man would without you having to ask. He categorizes every twitch, tunes into every moan, and memorizes every plea. If he’s serious about keeping you, you might have to take him up on his offer.
Once the heat in your body becomes too much, and your back arches against the uncomfortableness against the rock, the band within your lower body snaps. Your orgasm washes over you like the sudden tide, unrelenting and powerful. Jungwon moans with you, licking every surface of you that he can reach as you buck and squirm against his face. Growing sensitive, you lightly pull his head away from your cunt, his mouth and chin glistening with your release.
He looks at you, his eyes still hungry but in a way that reminds you of your normal Jungwon. Jungwon smiles softly, the soft pearls of his teeth beaming up at you as if he didn’t just give you the orgasm of a lifetime. You climb into the water, Jungwon grabbing your hips and steadying you the second he sees you waver.
He lets you loop your arms around his neck as he continues smiling, completely in awe of all that you are. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, eyes unable to decide if they want to focus on your lips or your eyes. He tucks a hair behind your ear, the one that never stays, and you’re ashamed to admit it really turns you on.
“So you’ve said,” you tease breathlessly, wiping some of your slick off his chin before you lean in to kiss him.
Jungwon grips your hips, one hand wandering downwards to your ass. You reach behind you, encouraging him to squeeze, a pretty little moan slipping past his lips and down your throat once he does. You can still feel the feverish warmth emanating from his body, even in the water. Whatever fog was plaguing him seems to have broken just a bit, his eyes and face resembling the man you know and love. However, you can feel his lust press against your stomach, hard and thick. It’s definitely bigger than anything human, but you’re determined to make it work.
You kiss down his jaw, his sighs and moans filling your ear as he cradles you against him. You grind forward, the head of his cock catching on your clit. You’re still sensitive, but you know it will pass. Jungwon groans loudly, pressing you against the jetty. His arm braces beside your head, bicep deliciously flexed. You’re not sure what comes over you, but you lean towards the muscle and bite it, licking over the indent of your teeth just as he did before. He watches you in awe, bucking against your heat once again.
You moan softly tracing his cupid's bow before you stick a finger in his mouth. You trace his teeth, mesmerized by their subtle sharpness. You would’ve never expected how threatening they truly were until they were pressed against you. He sucks on the pad of your finger, eyes slipping shut briefly as he soaks in the bliss. Jungwon examines your face as he grinds against you again, regretting that he couldn’t see you before as well as he can now. He’ll just have to make you cum again.
He’s endeared by the furrow of your brow, and the twitch of the corner of your lip. He grabs your wrist, pulling your finger from his mouth just so he can kiss you. He licks into your open mouth, doing his best to shield his fangs from your curious tongue. However, when you grind against him a little too hard, he bites down, nicking the side of your tongue.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pulling away. You pull him right back, not bothered by the sting.
“Just kiss me,” you beg, palms cradling his cheeks. His saliva mixes with yours, thick and warm, and it’s as if he never hurt you. Not that he ever could.
You rock forward once more, the head of his cock slipping lower and pressing against your hole. He can feel you clench slightly, and he’s filled with panic. He’s definitely too big for you, and both of you know it. Obviously, you wouldn’t mind trying but he’s not going to be the reason you get seriously hurt just because he couldn’t control himself.
He pulls away, stilling your hips with a palm pressed against your womb. “We… we shouldn’t. It’ll hurt,” he says, unable to tear his gaze away from your pretty mouth. He’s really going to have to work on controlling himself if he wants to be around you longer.
“It’s okay. I want to try,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his.
He stops you once again, using all of his strength to contain his hunger. “No,” he huffs, eyes dropping to your chest and you can’t help but notice the way he twitches against your clit. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m really fucking turned on right now and I don’t know if I can control myself-”
“Where did you learn that word?” you gasp, an evil grin spreading across your face like butter.
He cocks his head to the side, every bit your sweet Jungwon. “What word?”
“Turned on.”
“I heard it in a movie,” he explains, completely caught off guard while your hand trails down and pinches at his nipple. His hand flies forward, capturing your hand against his chest. You just look at him, eyes sugar sweet and a smile even more sickening. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
His decision sounds definitive, and as much as you’re willing to try, you won’t push it. He nearly flops forward, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he huffs. Smoothing your hand down and up his back, you can feel his heart rate and temperature drop back down to a normal pace. He’s still rock hard, as he’s certain he will be for the rest of the night.
“We could try other things…?” you suggest, gaze imploring.
A confused look crosses his face, understanding replacing it as he notices your nails trace down his chest, lower and lower. You grab the base of him, thick and heavy in your palm. An airy sigh floats from his mouth, nosing along the column of your throat as if he’s suddenly grown shy.
It’s still too dark to be able to see him in all his glory, but your sense of touch provides you with enough information to know that he’s huge. He’s shaped just like the regular human male, but much larger and heavier. The idea makes you salivate, thirsting for the day he finally lets you indulge in your silly fantasies. A series of ridges line the underside of his cock, and he seems to whimper whenever you add extra pressure to the area.
“Just want you to feel good too,” you say, pumping slowly.
The water ripples above your movement, moonlight bouncing off of every wave and swell. Jungwon kisses along your neck once again, sucking bruises into the skin that you sure will be tender to the touch come tomorrow morning. Though, the funny thing is, you never cared.
“I’m already feeling good,” he moans, bucking into your hand. “You feeling good makes me feel good.”
“Aww,” you coo. “You’re so cute.”
You feel him heat against you, nuzzling closer if even possible. “Shut up,” he whimpers.
You laugh, placing a kiss along his hairline. Your pace increases, groans and whimpers growing in intensity. Teasing his slit, Jungwon grows harder by the second. A series of clicks and whistles, a similar tune and rhythm to the foreign words he spoke to you weeks ago, are spoken into your neck.
“Are you finally gonna tell me what that means?” you whisper, clenching around nothing when he licks the shell of your ear.
“Means you’re mine,” he pants, pulling away from his hiding spot in the crook of your neck. “Forever.”
Oh, you’re sooo going to make him cum harder than he ever has.
Luckily for you, it doesn’t take much effort. With a few more flicks of your wrist, Jungwon twitches and finishes across your stomach, the ocean waves washing it away before you can scoop it into your mouth and show him how disgusting you can truly be.
He kisses you deeply, tongue tasting the bitterness of the alcohol and sweetness of the juice you drank what feels like forever ago. You let him ride out his high, hand coming to a still once you’re certain you’ve milked him of all he has.
Once he’s certain he can look into your eyes without being possessed by some lust-crazed animal for the second time that night, he pulls away from you, mesmerized by the shine of your eyes. Stealing the breath from his lungs, you giggle in such a lovesick way even Cupid would puke. You brush his hair away from his forehead, and he smiles softly.
And under the starlit night, the waves rocking the two of you gently, he kisses you so gently that you hear the moon sing.
—
When you wake up the next morning, you’re not entirely sure you can move. Your thighs are sore, your joints ache, and, worst of all, your heart misses Jungwon. The ceiling keeps you entertained for about twenty minutes, before your need to pee overweighs your desire to stay in bed, rotting. You contemplate crawling around on the floor for the rest of the day, but somehow, the thought of that sounds even worse than walking.
After a scalding hot shower and a thorough examination of the hickeys and bruises left on your body, you feel clean and refreshed, despite still longing for Jungwon. If you could move any faster, you’d be down at the beach right now, looking for him. Hopefully, he misses you just as much too.
However, despite the hours you spent with Jungwon last night, even as he guided you back to shore and kissed you goodbye, he never mentioned why he left. And as you brush your teeth and style your hair, you can’t help but let your mind run wild. Was it because of his attraction to you? You’ve never seen him behave like that, even during the brief moments, before your interaction last night, where you were aware of his arousal. He was always calm, despite proudly displaying his affection towards you. But last night was different.
Lust nearly consumed him, and although you're certain he would never seriously hurt you, the ache in your muscles establishes a firm reminder for just how strong he actually is. You vividly remember how his fangs gleamed under the moonlight, and just how sharp they were to the touch. And although you can practically feel them scraping against you now, no evidence of their touch remains. The only residual mark on your body, besides the numerous hickeys and bruises, is the mark of his bite.
It’s not sore like you’d expect a bite to be, although you do feel tender whenever you trace its pattern. Every time you touch it, or so much as graze it, it’s like the memories of last night resurface ten times more explicitly than before. It sets a fire within you, a furnace that burns to a more subtle degree, but glows nonetheless. The more you ignore it, the brighter it glows.
But before you address it, you need answers. And you need them from him.
Just as you peel yourself off your couch—slowly, of course—to go change and march down to the beach, a soft knock is heard from your front door. It’s still midmorning, and aware that all of your friends are late risers, you’re not expecting any of them to drop by unannounced.
Shuffling to the door, ignoring the ongoing pain in your hips, you pull the door open. And there, bathed in sunlight, stands Jungwon in the same pair of pajamas that you last saw him wear, albeit, much sandier. He’s beaming at you, every bit a ray of light that heals all the aches in your body and replaces it with a different kind of ache. What was it you said about needing answers? Yeah. Those could wait.
“Hi,” he says softly, smiling like he didn’t have you seeing the creation of the universe last night.
“Get in here,” you mutter, yanking him by his shirt. You kick the door shut behind him, pressing him against the wood surface. His eyes widen but his grin stays, hands instinctively falling to your hips.
“Did you miss me?” he asks, eyes melting you into a syrupy mess.
“No.”
Lies.
As you fiddle with the neckline of his shirt, he observes as your gaze slowly glides down to his lips, sighing the minute he sticks his tongue out to wet them. “You sure?” he questions, leaning in closer. You can’t help but mimic his action. “Because I missed you.”
You groan, taking the tiniest step forward. Your nose bumps his, and he nuzzles against it affectionately as if you’re not soaking wet right now. If you weren’t so entranced by his mouth, you would try to take a peak downward at his dick. Is he hard? He better be.
“Fine. I missed you,” you admit.
Jungwon’s lips pucker subconsciously the minute he feels your lower lip graze against his. The grip he has on your waist tightens, his grip still strong but not nearly as demanding as last night. Whatever came over him last night surely isn’t taunting him anymore, but something else certainly is.
The Jungwon standing in front of you now is your Jungwon. Not the Jungwon who belongs to the sea or is controlled by the moon or influenced by the tides. This Jungwon belongs to you and only you.
“Can I show you how much I missed you?” you ask, slipping a hand around his neck and tickling the little strands of hair at the base of his skull.
He inhales shakily, nodding without much of a spoken word despite saying so much through his eyes. He practically falls forward onto your lips, catching you by surprise. You steady him with a hand on his chest, but allow yourself to stumble backward. Afterall, that’s where you were planning on heading anyway.
The kiss is much more gentle than the ones you’ve shared, despite the ferocity in which he initiated it. It’s not like you mind. You’ve never been one to complain about a man who yearns and lets it be known.
You guide him to your couch, the layout of your living room memorized like the back of your hand. Jungwon still manages to bump into your coffee table, hissing in pain against your lips but quickly laughs it off when he sees how flustered you’ve become. Besides, he has much more important things to do than worry about his potentially bruised calf.
With a hand on his chest, Jungwon allows you to push him back onto your sofa, sitting down on the cushions he has spent plenty of time with, especially with you by his side. But this time, instead of watching a movie or talking aimlessly into the night, he has you sprawled across his lap, thighs caging his hips.
He’s amused by your impatience, letting you tug his pajama shirt over his head, indifferent to the sand that might have been dusted off of it. Slack jawed, you trace his pecks, fingers tracing along his nipples. It’s amazing being able to see him like this in the early morning light, his body not shielded from your view by water or your own shyness. No, now you’re eager.
Jungwon arches into your hand when you pinch his nipple, a soft whine slipping from his pink lips. Grabbing the back of his neck, you guide him towards you, licking into his mouth. Your tongues tangle together, sucking and kissing any inch of flesh you both can find. He massages your ass, much gentler and more timid than he was last night. A little nagging voice in the back of your mind reminds you to take things slow, but between last night and the questions you still have left unanswered, any caution about tempo is thrown out the window.
“I want to touch you,” you state, pushing away from him abruptly. Jungwon shakes his head, trying his best to clear the fog clouding his brain. You said it so matter of factly, like you were reporting the weather, that he’s unsure if he heard you correctly the first time. It isn’t until you start tugging his pajama pants down his thighs, the weight of his hips preventing you from tugging them very far, that he realizes there is no problem with his comprehension of the human language. “I want to touch you,” you repeat, pressing quick kisses to his jaw to bring his attention back to you.
Jungwon nods eagerly, lifting his hips and covering your hands with his own as he helps you pull his pants down his defined thighs. Typically, you’re not one to send heart eyes to someone’s dick, but you nearly swoon at the sight.
His tip is flushed red, hard and heavy from only a little kissing and shoving each other around. Jungwon breathes heavily, eyes darting between you and his cock in anticipation. He’s never used it before—the human form, that is—not unless you would count when he got curious one night after waking up to an uncomfortable tightness and experimenting in the bathroom. Other than that brief moment, he doesn’t quite know what to expect. He knows his human form is more sensitive, more receptive to your touch and not as durable as his true form. Just from you looking at him, gaze hungry, has him twitching and leaking against his stomach.
Finally gaining control of yourself, licking over your lips, you look at Jungwon. His chest rises and falls, small puffs of air drifting from his lips. The swell of his cheeks heat pink under your scrutiny, eyes unwavering when usually you like to play coy. But now you just look at him, eyes dripping honey and pulling him in so deep he thinks he might drown, of all people.
You lean forward and kiss him, simple and sweet, but as he chases after you, you wrap your hand around his cock, sliding upward and squeezing around the head. His mouth falls slack against your own, his breath hitting your lips as he struggles to regain his composure. He’s not too sure he wants to find it anyways.
You tug his length, fascinated by the extra inch he grows despite thinking he was already at full capacity. He’s heavy in your hand, spitting into your palm to aid the glide of his cock. Tossing his head back and closing his eyes, Jungwon nearly sinks into your couch, jaw still slack and hands now laying limp around your waist. It must feel good, because the way his hips twitch, trying their best to stay patient and exhibit some restraint, has you clenching around nothing.
“Feel good?” you ask, kissing his relaxed lips.
“Uh huh,” he moans, nodding slightly as he tries to kiss you back belatedly. He does better the second time around, hands now gripping your shirt with a fervor that has memories of last night surging to the forefront of your mind yet again.
Thank god for having sex with Jungwon again—hopefully the sexual flashbacks will be less intense, although you doubt it.
Tracing his slit, a breathy whine escapes his mouth only to be swallowed up by your tongue. He’s leaking all over your fingers, the pearlescent substance coating you in a sticky sheen. Finally able to crack his eyes open, Jungwon quickly falls in love with how concerned with his pleasure you’ve become, focus bouncing between his dick and his face.
His breath hitches as he catches sight of your fingers covered in his precum, and you don’t miss the way his abs clench underneath the palm you splay across his stomach. Bucking upwards, less restrained than the past few times, you indulge him by matching his pace.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he whimpers, licking your neck and feeling your pulse jump under his tongue. You rake your fingers through his hair, tugging him back to where you can see him. He relents, brow pinching slightly at the pain but melting the minute you begin to scratch lightly at his scalp. If your hand wasn’t working him to completion, he thinks he could fall asleep with your hand in his hair. However, a particularly harsh tug of his cock has him seeing stars, lids growing heavy once more.
You release him for a second, watching his manhood slap against his stomach with a satisfied hum. The slight wince from him doesn’t deter you, fascinated by his sensitivity and lack of filter as you bring your slick-covered hand up to your mouth, licking his pre off your fingers before grabbing him once more.
Jungwon groans, suddenly consumed by his own attraction towards you. What the hell has he been doing this whole time? Letting you touch all up on him, not bothering to do the same to you?! Ashamed doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Off,” he mumbles, not even bothering to wait for your cooperation as he yanks your top over your head. The newly disheveled state of your hair would typically make Jungwon chuckle, but his preoccupied state only has him carelessly tossing your shirt aside and pulling you closer. “My pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath fanning across your nipples as he plants soft kisses along your breasts.
Sucking a nipple into his mouth, your pace on his cock slows as he rolls the nub between his teeth. Although you’re certain he doesn’t mean to distract you, the tingly sensation that the suction around your tit provides has you nearly forgetting about his length all together.
“Mmph- Wonie,” you moan quietly, nails scraping along his scalp. He hums around your breast, using his other hand to fondle and pinch at your previously unstimulated nipple. “Feels so good.”
“Yeah?” he huffs, a soft pop sounding from his lips. “Love seeing you like this. My pretty, pretty girl.”
Diving back into your tits, where he feels safe and sound—as well as incredibly aroused—you resume your mission of pleasing him by your hand. Jungwon’s jaw drops slowly, recognizing the warmth and pressure that begins to build in him once more. His teeth graze the underside of your boob, creating small indents as he loses sense of control and begins to suck your skin into his mouth, bruises and hickeys left in their wake.
He redirects his hand away from your tit, trailing it down over the plane of your stomach, pinching the skin in fascination. However, that only makes you squeeze his dick tighter, a shocked moan spilling from his lips as he attempts to regain his composure.
Jungwon has learned a lot of things about himself because of you. For example, he’s learned that he enjoys sweets more than savory foods, he enjoys busy days just as much as he likes lazy ones, and that he doesn’t like to be pleased if you are not also experiencing some sort of pleasure. And when his fingers trail just low enough to graze your pussy over your panties, dripping with your own arousal, he can acknowledge that his touch on your skin is plenty to satisfy you in some ways.
But he remembers how wet you got for him last night. He’s certain he can do better than he’s doing now.
He traces your hole over the fabric of your panties, the tip of his middle finger just about nearly breaching the tight ring of muscle before he pulls back, only to do it again. And again. And again.
You whine, tugging him by his dark locks so you can kiss him. In a clash of teeth and tongues, he decides to provide you some relief as he slips his fingers underneath the soaked fabric and sinks into your aching hole, the squelch of your slick damn near pornographic. You moan as he licks hungrily into your mouth, desperate to be as close to you as possible.
The heel of his palm presses deliciously against your clit, causing your hips to squirm. The grip you have on him makes Jungwon see stars, a sheet of white flashing beneath his eye lids every time he closes his eyes.
“Fuck,” he groans lowly after a particularly harsh tug of your hand. He feels you clench around him at the sound, adding another finger. “You make me feel so good.”
“God, Jungwon,” you whine, unsure if you want to focus all of your attention on his cock or his fingers inside of you.
You’re not certain if you’re so worked up because of the sounds he’s making or the memory of last night taunting you before he arrived at your front door or just because he’s that damn good at pleasing you. Either way, you can feel the thread within you growing thinner, the band tighter and you can tell he feels it too.
“So wet,” he whispers in awe, pulling away from your lips to glance down at your eager pussy. You’re practically sucking him in.
“Yeah? You like that?” a newfound confidence washing over you. You swivel your palm across the head of his cock, teasing his frenulum with your thumb. “Seems like you like this too,” you tease, observing the way he bucks up into your hand.
“Yeah. Oh- fuuuuck,” he moans, a groan of your name following soon after. He tries his best to curl his fingers inwards, searching for that spot that makes you see supernovas. Just as you clench tightly around his fingers, that furrow between your brows forming, he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.
You grow more frantic in your movements, rapidly pumping your hand against his spit and pre-covered length. Jungwon twitches against your palm, his vision growing blurry as he continues to assault that sensitive spot in you. He can feel you getting there much quicker than last night, but it’s not like he minds. He’s not going to be able to hold off much longer.
“Want you to cum,” you whimper, eyes tearing with desperation. “Wonie, please cum for me. I want it so bad.”
He groans, scissoring his fingers open inside of you that has your vision blurring both from tears and with pleasure. You can feel yourself teetering over that edge, the deepest part of you burning for release. With a roll of your hips and the friction of his palm against your clit, your walls spasm around his fingers, the clench providing much for Jungwon’s imagination. He ruts upwards, your hand still held tight around the head of his cock as he twitches against your fingers, cum leaking down his shaft and across your stomach.
As he opens eyes, mesmerized by the sudden relief that washes over your features, he pulls you into him, flopping sideways so the two of you can rest and catch your breath.
As the rise and fall of his chest slows, and your walls stop pulsing intermittently, you are able to remember what you wanted to discuss with Jungwon in the first place. Although you’re not necessarily upset by his ability to redirect your focus, you are always a woman with a goal that will get accomplished, distractions or not.
Sitting up slightly, you brace a hand on his chest, the faint beat of his heart knocking against your palm. He watches you, eyes warm and sleepy. A contented grin spreads across his face, warm as melting butter, but it quickly drops when he sees the frown deepening at the corner of your mouth.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, worried. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, I’m still new to this. I’ve never been with-”
“No, no. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me, I’m fine,” you reassure, placating the crease between his brow.
He follows your guidance, refocusing his concern on the problem that seems to be occupying your brain. “What’s wrong then?”
“Why’d you leave?” you ask, not bothering to beat around the bush. “I thought you liked what we had going on. Why did you leave?”
Now it’s his turn to frown, a small pout confirming his confusion. “I didn’t leave. I was going to come back.”
Bro. Looks like men are stupid no matter the species.
“I woke up and you were gone, Jungwon. You didn’t tell me where you were going, you didn’t leave anything for me to assume that you would return,” you list, cheeks burning hot under his gaze. “I didn’t take you for that kind of guy, but it’s hard to not assume the worst when you literally dipped with no explanation. I was worried.”
He sits up fully, slipping a hand around your waist as you follow suit. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, eyes sincere. “I didn’t know it would scare you, it’s sort of hard to explain.”
“I don’t care, explain it.” you urge patience wearing thin although you don’t mean for it to. “And you were weird as fuck last night too.”
“You thought I was weird?” he asks, growing defensive. “You were literally wet.”
“Two things can be true at once,” you say, growing shy. Usually you’re the one who can stump him with your words, but the better he gets at your tongue, the better he gets at leaving you rendered speechless. “I did think you were hot, but it wasn’t… I don’t know… you’ve never been that way before. I was a little surprised.”
You both stare each other down, fairly aware of your back pedaling but willing to accept it for the sake of having this conversation. He adjusts your legs, throwing one over his lap, partially because he wants you closer and also because seeing your pussy still shiny from your release is making it hard for him to pay attention to the subject at hand. It only helps slightly, a full view of your cunt now hindered by your thigh.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” he explains, choosing his words slowly and carefully. “I missed the water so I went for a swim. I was going to just be gone for a few minutes, maybe find some shells for you ‘cause I know you like them. But then I realized the state of the moon, and what it does… I just thought it would be safer if I stayed away.”
You shake your head, not quite following. “I don’t get it,” you announce, a petulant lilt in your voice that makes him laugh.
“The moon sometimes messes with my head and makes me… you know…” he trails off, avoiding eye contact. The blush that blooms on the tip of his ears is cute. “But I’m okay now. Sometimes it has no effect, sometimes it does. I could feel it coming on though, and it can be difficult to control so I decided to stay away until it passed.”
You nod, digesting all this new information. You faintly recall a story you heard ages ago of how merfolk are closely guided by the moon, and although they may not be as influenced as Jungwon suggests, part of it still rings true. He’s avoiding your eyes, fascinated by the small red light on your cable box. It’s hard to believe that there will be a day where he’s not amazed by your television.
Desperate to regain his attention, you pinch his sides. When that fails, his blush glowing a deeper shade of crimson, you decide on something that will certainly get him worked up.
“Is that the only reason you wanted to touch me like that? Because of the moon?”
He whips his head around so fast you’re scared he broke his neck. Jungwon almost looks mad, scandaled that you would even dare to ask such a question.
“No!” he nearly shouts, grip tightening around your waist. You watch the way your flesh pillows under his fingers, a vein running down the front of his hand and down to his slender fingers. “I-I’ve always wanted to do that with you. The second I met you I wanted to, but-”
“The second you met me? Really?” you smile, drawing a faint pattern on his pec that has goosebumps raising along his skin.
“Yeah,” he nods, voice weakened by your touch. “I’ve always wanted you.”
“Hmm,” you hum, tossing your leg across his hip to straddle him once more. “How did you want me?”
“I-”
“Did you want to taste me the way you did last night? Or just stick your fingers in me?”
Jungwon’s blush creeps from his ears, across his face, and down his neck, a bright shade of rose painting his tanned skin. You giggle sweetly, pressing a kiss to his cheek that he accepts gratefully. You grind down on his hardening length, still sticky from his release.
A moan floats from Jungwon’s mouth, a welcomed sound. “I wanted to do all those things,” he agrees, rutting up against the warmth of your pretty pussy. “‘Want to do more, too.”
“More? You want more?”
“Mhm,” he whines, his bangs drooping into his eyes. You brush them back, eager to see his lids grow heavy with lust. “I really want to fuck you.”
Alright.
“Bedroom.”
He follows closely behind you, sloppily kissing your shoulder as you tug him towards your room. You’re royally fucked, your legs already shaking the minute you lay down on your bed, Jungwon climbing over you the second your back hits the mattress.
“You’re so pretty,” he says, kissing up your neck and jaw.
You giggle, tangling your fingers in his hair, softer than a morning breeze. You could hear him say that same compliment a hundred times more, and it would still leave you warm and fuzzy.
“You’re pretty, too,” you comment, kissing his nose.
He giggles against your lips, chaste kisses scattered across your mouth and face. The warm feeling of your words spreads in his chest and throughout his whole body, heating him from the inside out. Lazily dragging a finger down to your willing cunt, he gently circles your clit to prep you.
You’re aware that he’s smaller than what he presented you with last evening, but he’s still plenty big. His length rests in the crux of your thigh, long and thick. Your mouth falls open, soft moans slipping from your lips as he wastes no time licking into your mouth. Jungwon subtly begins to grind against your leg, intoxicated by your touch, no matter the medium.
You, however, are growing desperate.
“I need you to fuck me, Jungwon,” you plead, digging your nails into his shoulders. His eyes grow heavy, tracing every line and edge of your face. “Please, baby. Fuck me.”
He would give you the world if you asked.
Ever the most efficient, Jungwon leans back slightly, placing his cock between your folds and watching as your hole clenches at the proximity. He thrusts against you a few times, coating himself with your slick and savoring the moan you release when he nudges your clit. The mark of his teeth on your thigh stares back at him, still tender and fresh. He traces the crescents, heart thundering against his ribcage so loudly he’s almost positive you can hear it.
“Wait, fuck,” you gasp, stopping him with a hand on his hip. “We need a condom.”
“W-What? What’s that?”
You lean towards the small table next to your bed, pulling the drawer open before you reveal a small foil square. Tearing it open with your teeth—a sight that Jungwon could’ve never predicted would make his dick twitch—you reveal a delicate latex circle. He sits back on his haunches when you guide him away from the inside of your thighs, upset by the distance, but pleased when you wrap your hand around the base of him. You slip the latex over his head and down his shaft, quick and effortless like you’ve done this before. He doesn’t want to think about it.
“It’s so I don’t get pregnant,” you inform, laying back down against your no-longer pristine sheets.
Jungwon thinks he just came a little bit at the thought.
“Right,” he coughs, looming over you once again. “Wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Are you blushing?” you tease, pinching his ruby-red cheek between your thumb and forefinger.
He swats you away, tucking his head against the curve of your neck in embarrassment. “Shut up,” he mumbles.
Jungwon sighs the second he ruts against you, soft and breathy. You indulge him for a moment, whining with every glide against your clit. However, after a couple minutes of humping against each other like animals, the heat boiling within you grows too unbearable to ignore.
“Alright,” you huff, reaching between you two to line him up against your hole. “‘Need to feel you inside me now.”
He nods, lifting his head from your neck so he can watch himself slowly sink into you. You’re tighter than he could’ve imagined, a loud moan escaping him without his control. You lift your hips, chasing the feeling of him filling you up. Maybe you’ve always been able to get this wet—you’re not sure—but you know you’ve never been this wet for anyone other than Jungwon.
“Fuck, Wonie,” you whine, clawing at his back. Once he reaches the hilt, he collapses forward, nosing along your jaw as he whimpers with every adjusting clench around his cock.
Thrusting forward, neither of you know what to focus on. Hands groping and fondling everything they can reach, you’re certain red lines litter Jungwon’s back and he’s sure finger-print shaped bruises will be printed across your thigh, accompanying his bite mark.
“You feel so good, pretty,” he moans, grinding against your clit before pulling out half-way and thrusting forward.
Jungwon prides himself in his strength, he’s always been quick and able to fight back without worry. But at this moment, you’ve rendered him weak. All of his energy is directed to pleasing you, resting between your folds, hot and heavy. The head of his cock grazes against the spongy spot inside you, and it has you pressing your tits against his chest and moaning into his ear. He thinks that might be his new favorite feeling, but then you have him experiencing a feeling so new and unique that he realizes that having a favorite is impossible when it comes to you.
You have to damn near yank Jungwon away from you, neck damp and warm from his panting against your skin. Jungwon moans against your tongue the second you kiss him, lips bit-ridden and plush.
“Mmph, baby,” you moan, unable to kiss back after a particularly harsh thrust against your walls. Stars decorate your vision, hyperfixating on the mole on his jaw before becoming enamored by the small smirk on his lips. “You’re so good to me.”
Completely blissed out, Jungwon isn’t even aware of his smile, but you love it all the same. “Yeah? Makin’ you feel good, pretty?” he groans, speeding up his pace just a fraction. “Need more? Want to feel you come again, is that okay?”
You nod frantically, unable to control yourself as your hips don’t know whether to run away or lean into the pleasure he’s providing you. “Need it,” you whine, overwhelmed by the pressure building within you.
“Mmph- anything you want, beautiful,” he whimpers, pressing a kiss to your lips before pushing your knee closer to chest and resting it along the curve of his waist.
He sets a brutal pace, sounds of your pussy squelching around him and your moans filling the room. You can feel yourself dripping down his shaft and onto your sheets, a mess you’ll most definitely need to clean up later but can’t be bothered to worry about at this moment. Not while he’s fucking you so well.
Your tits jump with every harsh thrust, his hips smacking against your own. He’s entranced by how mindless you’ve become, growing needier with every sigh and whine that escapes you. There has never been a prettier sight than you.
“Ohh,” you gasp, hips jolting when you feel his fingers begin to rub your clit. “Fuck, keep doing that, baby. I’m so close,” you urge, vision colored with lust.
“I got you,” he whispers against your ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth before releasing it with a pop. “Just let go, pretty.”
He rubs your clit one more time, your eyes slipping shut before you cum for the second time in the past hour. Your head presses into the pillow beneath you, back arching as your hips rut against him as you chase the remainder of your release.
You grow impossibly tighter around him, the slick that spills from you aiding the glide of his cock inside you. Rendered breathless, all words leave your mind. You can only moan to let him know how good he’s making you feel. Jungwon continues to buck wildly against you, eager to taste his own pleasure.
“Never gonna leave you again,” he groans, kissing and sucking your lips into his mouth. “Never wanna be without you.”
Boneless and weak, you use the last of your strength to card your fingers through his hair one last time, meeting his eyes with a fond look. His dick throbs, aching and heavy, and your gaze is not helping stave off his impending release. He curses his gods and yours for trying to separate the two of you, eternally grateful that you defied the odds by coming together as his stomach and balls tighten.
Jungwon doesn’t want it to end. It all feels too fast. But the look you give him reassures that you will have many more opportunities to come. Opportunities for him to lazily rock against you in the mornings, moments to fuck you into oblivion, and moments to make proper love. He can't wait to hear more sounds from you and to whisper filthier words into your ear, and to feel you melt around him time and time again.
The syrupy sounds you release fill him up, and as his voice jumps the octave in a breathy moan, he releases into the condom. His dick twitches relentlessly against your walls, overstimulating you beyond the point where you could care. He rocks against you unceremoniously, jerky and without rhythm before slowing to a gentle end.
Jungwon presses his forehead to yours, allowing you to cradle his face in your palms as you press sweet kisses into his skin. As the two of you slow, stilling into a quiet calm, your breaths sync and your hands continue to explore in a hushed wonder.
For the first time in your life, you don’t mind basking in the silence of the morning, consenting to his gaze under the broad daylight, despite being certain you look like a sweaty, fucked-out mess. But Jungwon doesn’t care, you’re his girl all the same.
The two of you finally come to, giggly kisses keeping you occupied until you grow hungry, stumbling out of bed to clean yourselves. And as you sit on the floor of your living room, beside Jungwon, handing him a grilled cheese—too tired to fix anything else—you realize that your father has been right about many things, but he could not possibly be more wrong than he was about your boyfriend and his character. He is the sea and the sky and the Earth, all wrapped into one.
When Jungwon knocks his knee against your bare thigh, dressed only in his underwear with buttered crumbs stuck to his lips as he sends you a love-sick smile, you feel certain that you did the right thing by returning to the beach that day. With the moon etched into his eyes and the sun kissing your skin, your infatuation has transcended worlds.
Pairing: bf!heeseung x loser!fem!reader
Genre: established!relationship, smut MDNI, fluff
Synopsis: It's the last day of the trip and Heeseung wants to make it memorable now that you are together (iykyk)
Warnings: protected!sex (yes I can have a conscience sometime), swearing, handjob (both!rec)
WC: 6.2k
Note: This is officially the end for WGFT!!!! What a journey...I think I will focus on my requests (I have a few in my drafts that I need to finish) and the ff of Jay, Speechless, stay tuned!!!! (for those who've send me requests don't worry I saw them and I'm working on it, I'm sorry for those who've send them a long time ago I really didn't have time to finish them but I will definitely I promise!!!)
🎧 I like me better - LAUV now playing
The last day of the trip arrives with a sky so clear and blue it looks like it's been painted there just for you.
You wake to sunlight streaming through the window and the distant sound of someone's Bluetooth speaker playing an acoustic cover of a song you vaguely recognize. The mountains outside are dusted with fresh snow from an overnight flurry, and the whole world looks like it's been dipped in sugar.
You roll over and check your phone.
Heeseung: good morning! i have a whole day planned for us. wear something warm. and comfortable. and prepare to be romanced.
Heeseung: that sounded less intense in my head
Heeseung: i'm not trying to be intense. i'm trying to be romantic. there's a difference.
Heeseung: okay now i'm overthinking. just meet me in the lobby at 10.
Heeseung: please.
You stare at the string of messages, a smile spreading across your face despite the early hour. There's something deeply endearing about watching Heeseung, the same Heeseung who shouted his feelings from a mountaintop in front of hundreds of people second-guess his word choice in a text message.
You: i'll be there. try not to spiral before 10.
Heeseung: no promises.
You get dressed slowly, savoring the morning. Yunjin is already awake, sitting cross-legged on her bed with a cup of tea and her laptop open. She looks up when you emerge from the bathroom and lets out a low whistle.
"Someone's glowing," she says.
"I'm not glowing. I'm just… well rested."
"You're glowing. It's disgusting. I love it." She takes a sip of her tea. "Big plans today?"
"Heeseung says he has a whole program. He's being very mysterious about it."
"A whole program. That's ambitious."
"You know how he is. Once he commits to something, he goes all in."
Yunjin nods thoughtfully. "That's true. The mountaintop confession definitely proved that." She pauses, then adds, "Have you talked to Jungwon yet?"
The question lands in your stomach like a small stone. You've been avoiding it, if you're honest with yourself. The past few days have been a whirlwind of Heeseung and snowboarding and confessions, and somewhere in all of that chaos, you've managed to push the Jungwon situation to the back of your mind.
"I haven't," you admit. "I've been… busy."
"Busy making out with your hot engineer boyfriend?"
"He's not my-" You stop. "Actually, I think he might be my boyfriend? We haven't technically defined it, but he did shout about wanting to be with me from a mountaintop, and I shouted back, and there were witnesses, so I think it's legally binding at this point."
"It's definitely legally binding. Mountaintop declarations are admissible in court."
"I should talk to Jungwon, though. Before we leave. I owe him that much."
Yunjin's expression softens. "I think that's a good idea. Clear the air. Get some closure. Then you can fully enjoy whatever aggressively romantic program Heeseung has planned without any lingering guilt."
"Closure," you repeat, testing the word. "That's a scary word."
"The scariest words usually lead to the best things."
You check the time on your phone. 9:15 AM. Heeseung isn't expecting you until 10. That gives you forty-five minutes to find Jungwon and have what promises to be one of the most emotionally complicated conversations of your life.
No pressure.
You find Jungwon exactly where you expect to find him: in the lodge's quiet reading nook, tucked into an armchair by a window that overlooks the mountains. He has a book open in his lap and a mug of steaming tea on the small table beside him. The morning light catches the angles of his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.
Your heart does a small, familiar flutter, the ghost of an old feeling, a muscle memory of affection. But it's different now. Softer. Less like a bruise and more like a scar that's healed.
"Hey," you say, your voice coming out quieter than you intend.
Jungwon looks up, and when he sees you, his expression shifts through several emotions in quick succession, surprise, then something that looks almost like nervousness, then a gentle, accepting warmth.
"Hey," he replies, marking his page and setting the book aside. "I was wondering if you'd come find me before we leave."
"You knew I would?"
"I hoped." He gestures to the armchair across from him. "Sit. Please."
You sit. The armchair is plush and comfortable, the kind of chair that swallows you whole and makes you want to stay there forever. Outside the window, a group of skiers are making their way down the intermediate slope, their laughter carrying faintly through the glass.
"I want to talk to you," you say. "About everything."
"I figured." Jungwon wraps his hands around his mug, his expression thoughtful. "I heard about the mountaintop thing. Well, everyone heard about the mountaintop thing. It's kind of the talk of the trip."
Your cheeks heat. "It was very public."
"Very public. Very loud. Very Heeseung." He smiles, but there's something wistful in it. "It suits him. The grand gesture. He's always been like that, once he decides something matters to him, he goes all in. No holding back."
"Jungwon-"
"Before you say anything," he interrupts gently, "I want you to know that I'm okay. Really. I meant what I said in the library. I'm glad it's him."
You swallow hard, the guilt that's been lurking in the back of your mind rising to the surface. "The letter I gave him… it was meant for you. The whole time. I'd been planning to confess to you for weeks, and I wrote that letter, and I walked into the PC room thinking you were there, but it was Heeseung instead, and I was too embarrassed to correct it, and then everything spiraled, and-"
"I know," Jungwon says quietly.
"You know?"
"Heeseung told me. Last night, actually. He came to my room and explained everything." Jungwon's smile turns rueful. "He was very apologetic. Kept saying he hadn't meant to steal my crush. It was the most flustered I've ever seen him."
Your brain struggles to process this information. "He told you?"
"He wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings. That's Heeseung for you, he can't stand the thought of hurting anyone, even accidentally. He probably would have stepped aside if I'd asked him to." Jungwon pauses, his gaze steady on your face. "But I didn't ask him to. Because I saw the way he looked when he talked about you. And I saw the way you looked at him yesterday, after the mountaintop thing. That's not something I could compete with. That's not something I'd want to compete with."
Your eyes are stinging. "Jungwon…"
"I meant what I said in the library," he continues, his voice gentle but firm. "Liking you was not a waste of time. It was nice. You're the first person who made me want to be brave enough to actually say something. And even though it didn't work out the way I imagined, I don't regret any of it. The gummy bears, the philosophy lectures, the study sessions in the library. It was all worth it."
"Even the part where I accidentally confessed to your best friend instead of you?"
"Especially that part." Jungwon laughs, and it's his real laugh, bright and warm, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "How many people can say their crush story involved a wrong-letter plot twist and a mountaintop confession? We're basically in a romance novel. We just ended up in different chapters."
You laugh too, and it comes out wet and wobbly. "You're taking this really well."
"I've had time to process. And honestly? I think things worked out the way they were supposed to." He leans forward, his expression earnest. "You and me? We're too similar. We're both dreamers, both overthinkers. We would have been comfortable together, but I don't know if we would have pushed each other to grow."
"And Heeseung?"
"Heeseung is everything you're scared of. He's bold and direct and he puts his feelings out there without a safety net. He challenges you to be brave in ways you never thought you could be." Jungwon smiles, and this time there's no sadness in it, just genuine warmth. "You shouted your feelings from a mountaintop, Y/N. You did that. And that's because of him, but it's also because of you. He just helped you find the courage that was already there."
A tear slips down your cheek, and you wipe it away quickly. "You're too nice. You should be bitter and dramatic. You should be writing angsty poetry about how I broke your heart."
"Who says I'm not?" Jungwon pulls a small notebook from beside his book and waves it teasingly. "There might be some very angsty poetry in here. You'll never know."
"Can I read it?"
"Absolutely not. It's terrible. I'm not a poet."
You laugh again, and the sound mingles with his, filling the quiet reading nook with something that feels like healing. Like closure. Like the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
"Friends?" you ask, holding out your hand.
Jungwon looks at your hand for a moment, then reaches out and gently pokes your cheek instead.
"Boop," he says softly. "Friends."
And that's it. The final boop. The last poke. A gesture that once made your heart soar with hope now feels like a fond farewell, a bookmark placed at the end of a story that's been beautiful, even if it didn't end the way you expected.
By the time you make it to the lobby at 10 AM, your heart feels lighter than it has in weeks. The conversation with Jungwon was a door closing, gently, without slamming, and behind you, a new door is opening. A door that leads to a lobby where a tall informatics engineering student is waiting for you with a thermos of hot chocolate and an expression of barely contained excitement.
"You're early," Heeseung says, his face lighting up when he sees you.
"You're earlier."
"I wanted to make sure everything was perfect." He hands you the thermos, and your fingers brush against his. Even that small contact sends a flutter through your chest. "Hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows. I remembered you said you liked marshmallows."
"You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you say. It's a problem. My brain is approximately sixty percent coding knowledge and forty percent Y/N trivia."
"That's a very specific ratio."
"I'm a very specific person."
You take a sip of the hot chocolate. It's perfect, rich and sweet, with exactly the right amount of marshmallows. "So what's on the agenda? You said you had a whole program."
"I do." Heeseung pulls a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket with a flourish. "Behold. The itinerary."
You take the paper and unfold it. It's handwritten in his slightly messy script, complete with bullet points and little doodles in the margins. There's a snowman with a top hat. There's a mountain with a smiley face. There's what appears to be a very enthusiastic stick figure waving its arms.
LEE HEESEUNG'S OFFICIAL LAST-DAY-OF-SKI-TRIP PROGRAM FOR Y/N L/N
10:00 AM – Meet in lobby. Hot chocolate delivery. (CHECK! ✓)
10:30 AM – Souvenir shop visit. Find the most ridiculous thing possible.
11:30 AM – Snowman building competition. (I will win. Fair warning.)
12:30 PM – Lunch. There's a crepe place I found. It's supposed to be amazing.
2:00 PM – Snow angels. Because you can't go to a ski station and not make snow angels.
3:00 PM – Free time/rest/warming up by the fire.
4:30 PM – Sunset walk to the overlook point. I packed snacks.
7:00 PM – Dinner. I made a reservation. Yes, a reservation. At a ski lodge. I don't know how I did it either.
"This is…" you start, staring at the paper. "This is incredibly detailed."
"I told you. I want to make the day memorable."
"Memorable like a mountaintop confession?"
"Memorable like a day that's just for us. No misunderstandings, no drama, no crying on benches." He pauses. "Unless the crying is happy crying. Happy crying is allowed."
You look up from the itinerary, and Heeseung is watching you with an expression that's almost nervous, his brow slightly furrowed, his fingers drumming against his thigh. It's such a contrast to the confident boy who shouted his feelings from a slope in front of hundreds of people that it makes your heart squeeze.
"This is amazing," you say. "Really. No one's ever planned a whole day for me before."
"Really?"
"Really. I'm usually the one doing the planning. In my head, at least. I have a lot of elaborate daydreams that never actually happen."
Heeseung's expression softens. "Well, today, one of them is happening. If you want it to. We can skip anything you don't want to do. The itinerary is a suggestion, not a contract."
"I want to do all of it. Especially the part where you lose the snowman competition."
"I will not lose."
"You will definitely lose. I've been building snowmen since I was five. I have techniques."
"I have engineering knowledge. Physics is on my side."
"Physics doesn't apply to snowmen. Snowmen are art."
"Snowmen are architecture. Temporary architecture, but architecture nonetheless."
You're still arguing about the fundamental nature of snowmen when you arrive at the souvenir shop. The shop is packed with the kind of merchandise that only exists in ski lodges, t-shirts with puns about snow, mugs shaped like mountains, keychains featuring the slightly deranged-looking mascot.
"Okay," Heeseung says, rubbing his hands together. "The goal is to find the most ridiculous thing in this store. Winner gets bragging rights for the rest of the day."
"Define ridiculous."
"Subjective. That's what makes it fun."
You split up, browsing the aisles with the intensity of detectives searching for clues. Heeseung gravitates toward a shelf of snow globes that play tinny music when you wind them up. You find yourself in front of a rack of socks with increasingly bizarre patterns, socks with llamas wearing scarves, socks with penguins doing yoga, socks with a pattern that appears to be just… cheese.
"I found it," Heeseung announces, appearing at your elbow with a triumphant expression. He's holding a stuffed animal that looks like a cross between a bear and a snowball, with googly eyes that are slightly misaligned and a scarf that's definitely too long for its body. "It's a snow-bear. Or a bear-snow. The tag just says Fluffy. No further explanation."
"That's terrifying."
"That's what makes it perfect."
You hold up your own find: a pair of socks depicting a very angry-looking reindeer with the words "SLEIGH ALL DAY" written beneath it. "I think I win. This reindeer has seen things."
"That reindeer has trauma." Heeseung examines the socks with a critical eye. "Okay, you win. The reindeer is more ridiculous than Fluffy."
"I told you. Snowman-building champion and souvenir-hunting champion. I'm undefeated."
"We haven't done the snowman competition yet."
"But I already know I'm going to win."
"We'll see about that."
He buys Fluffy anyway, tucking the stuffed animal under his arm with the casual affection of someone who's already formed an emotional attachment to a googly-eyed snow-bear. You buy the reindeer socks, because they're ridiculous and because they'll make Yunjin laugh when you show her later.
The snowman competition takes place in a quiet clearing near the beginner slope. You roll the first snowball with the practiced efficiency of someone who has, as claimed, been building snowmen since childhood. Heeseung approaches his own snowball with the analytical precision of an engineering student, measuring angles and testing snow density and muttering things about structural integrity.
"You're overthinking it," you call over. "It's a snowman, not a bridge."
"Art is engineering," he calls back. "Michelangelo understood physics."
"Michelangelo wasn't building snowmen."
"That we know of."
Your snowman comes together quickly, a classic three-tier design with a carrot nose (procured from the lodge kitchen), button eyes (borrowed from your spare coat), and a scarf (the colorful one Yunjin lent you, which you've temporarily sacrificed for the cause). Heeseung's snowman is taller and more elaborate, with what appears to be an attempt at snow-arms and a snow-hat that keeps collapsing.
"He needs a face," you say, standing back to admire your work. "He looks like a ghost."
"I'm working on the face. The face is the hardest part."
"The face is the easiest part. You just stick things in the snow."
"That's the problem. I want him to have dimension. Bone structure. A jawline."
"You're giving a snowman a jawline."
"All snowmen deserve jawlines. A jawline as defined as Jay's."
In the end, Heeseung's snowman has a face that's slightly lopsided and arms that are definitely too long, but there's something endearing about it. Something earnest. Something that makes you look at it and think he really tried.
"You know what," you say, stepping back to compare the two snowmen. "I'm calling it a tie. Your snowman has more ambition, but mine has better execution."
"Ambition versus execution. The eternal struggle."
"Story of my life, honestly."
You high-five, your mittened hands meeting in the cold air with a soft thump, and then you both stand there admiring your creations until the cold starts seeping through your layers and you decide it's time for lunch.
The crepe place is everything Heeseung promised, warm and cozy, with red-checkered tablecloths and the smell of melted chocolate and fresh strawberries hanging in the air. You order a crepe with Nutella, and Heeseung orders one with ham and cheese, and you both agree to share so you can try both.
"This is the best crepe I've ever had," you say, your mouth full of Nutella.
"You say that about everything."
"Because everything today has been the best. The hot chocolate was the best. The souvenir shop was the best. The snowman competition was the best. The crepe is the best."
"I'm detecting a pattern."
"The pattern is that you planned a really good day."
Heeseung ducks his head, and you could swear his cheeks go slightly pink. "It's not over yet. We still have snow angels and the sunset walk and dinner."
"You're spoiling me."
"Good. You deserve to be spoiled."
There's something in his voice when he says it, something earnest and almost vulnerable, that makes your heart flip. You reach across the table and take his hand, and his fingers interlace with yours automatically, like they've been doing it for years instead of days.
"I talked to Jungwon," you say. "This morning."
Heeseung's expression flickers. "Oh?"
"It was good. Really good, actually. He told me you'd already talked to him. Explained everything."
"I wanted to clear the air. I didn't want things to be weird between us, between any of us." He pauses, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "Was that okay? I probably should have asked you first."
"It was more than okay. It was…" You search for the right word. "It was very you. Taking care of everyone's feelings even when you didn't have to."
"People-pleasing is a hard habit to break."
"I don't think you need to break it. I think you just need to make sure you're included in the people you're pleasing." You squeeze his hand. "Are you okay? With everything?"
"Me?" He seems genuinely surprised by the question. "I'm more than okay. I'm-" He stops, his brow furrowing slightly. "I'm really happy. Like, almost suspiciously happy. I keep waiting for something to go wrong."
"That's the anxiety talking."
"I know. But it's hard to turn off." He smiles, but it's a smaller smile than usual. A more vulnerable one. "I'm used to being the one who manages everyone's expectations. The one who makes sure everyone else is comfortable. Being on the other side of that, being the one who gets to be happy feels unfamiliar."
The words settle into your chest, heavy with meaning. Heeseung, the people-pleaser who can't say no, the boy with the reputation that doesn't reflect who he actually is, he doesn't know how to let himself be happy. He's spent so long managing everyone else's feelings that he's forgotten how to prioritize his own.
"We're going to work on that," you say. "The letting-yourself-be-happy thing."
"That sounds like a long-term project."
"Well I'm planning to be a long-term project so you should get used to it."
The afternoon continues in a blur of snow and laughter. You make snow angels in a pristine patch of snow behind the lodge, your arms and legs sweeping arcs into the powder, your breath fogging in the cold air. Heeseung's snow angel is noticeably larger than yours, and he insists on taking a picture of them side by side "for documentation purposes," he says, but you know it's because he wants to remember this moment.
Then comes the free time, which you spend huddled by the massive stone fireplace in the lodge, sipping more hot chocolate and watching the flames dance. Heeseung sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders touch, and you talk about everything and nothing, his brother's upcoming birthday, your plans for next semester, the League of Legends patch that just dropped and even more.
But somewhere in the back of your mind, a small, nagging thought starts to take root.
Heeseung is acting… different.
Not bad different. Not distant or cold or any of the things you might have feared. But there's something slightly off about him, a hesitancy in his movements, a carefulness in his words. When he hands you your hot chocolate, he almost fumbles the mug, catching it at the last second with an awkward laugh. When you suggest going for the sunset walk early, he trips over the leg of the coffee table and nearly sends a lamp crashing to the floor. When you ask him what he wants to do after dinner, he freezes for a full three seconds before answering, like he's running through a mental checklist and can't find the right response.
It's subtle. So subtle that you might not have noticed if you hadn't spent the past few weeks paying very close attention to Lee Heeseung's every move. But you have. And you notice.
Is he okay? you wonder, watching him fidget with the zipper of his jacket. Did I do something wrong? Is he having second thoughts about the mountaintop thing? About me?
The overthinking spirals, as it always does. By the time you set out for the sunset walk, your brain has cycled through seventeen different worst-case scenarios, ranging from he's realized he doesn't actually like me to he's secretly been in love with someone else this whole time to he's actually a spy and this whole relationship was a cover for his mission.
That last one is unlikely. But your anxiety doesn't care about likelihood.
The overlook point is a short hike from the main lodge, a wooden platform built into the side of the mountain that offers a panoramic view of the valley below. The sun is just beginning to sink toward the peaks, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose and soft lavender. The snow-covered mountains stretch out in every direction, and the silence is so complete that you can hear the faint whisper of the wind through the pine trees.
Heeseung has packed snacks, as promised, a thermos of tea, a small bag of cookies from the lodge bakery, and a blanket that he spreads out on the wooden platform so you can sit without freezing.
"It's beautiful," you say, your voice hushed.
"It is," Heeseung agrees. But when you glance at him, he's not looking at the sunset. He's looking at you.
"Smooth," you say, trying to keep your tone light.
"I'm not trying to be smooth. I'm just stating facts." He pulls the blanket tighter around both of your shoulders, his arm brushing against yours. "The sunset is beautiful. You're beautiful. Both facts can coexist."
There it is again, that slight hesitation in his movements, that flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He's sitting close to you, but his posture is rigid, like he's holding himself back from something. Like he's afraid of making a wrong move.
The overthinking spiral tightens its grip on your chest.
"Heeseung," you say, turning to face him fully. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course." But his voice is a little too quick, a little too eager. "Anything."
"You've been… different today. Not bad different," you add quickly, seeing the flash of alarm in his eyes. "Just… different. Like you're nervous. Or walking on eggshells. And I've been trying to figure out if I did something wrong, or if you're having second thoughts, or if there's something you're not telling me, and my brain has gone to some very unlikely places, including a scenario where you're secretly a spy, which I know is ridiculous but-"
"Wait." Heeseung holds up a hand, his expression shifting from alarm to something that looks almost like relief. "You think I'm nervous?"
"I think you've been acting like someone who's afraid of breaking something. And I'm worried that the something is… us. Or me."
Heeseung is quiet for a moment. Then he lets out a breath, a long, slow exhale that seems to release tension from his entire body.
"I'm not having second thoughts," he says. "And I'm not a spy. Although that would be a pretty good cover story."
"Then what is it?"
He looks down at his hands, which are clasped in his lap. "I'm nervous."
"About what?"
"About… this." He gestures vaguely at the sunset, the blanket, the snacks. "The whole day. The itinerary. Making it perfect. I wanted today to be memorable for you. Something you'd look back on and smile. And I think I got so focused on making everything right that I forgot to just… be myself."
Your heart, which has been clenched with anxiety all afternoon, begins to loosen. "You were nervous about impressing me?"
"I know it's stupid. We've already done the mountaintop confession. We've already…" He trails off, his ears turning pink. "We've already done a lot of things. But this felt different. This felt like our first real day as… whatever we are. And I wanted it to be perfect."
"Whatever we are," you repeat.
"I didn't want to assume. I know we haven't exactly defined things, and I didn't want to push, and-"
"Heeseung."
He stops, looking at you with those dark, earnest eyes.
"You shouted your feelings from a mountaintop in front of hundreds of people. You planned an entire day with a handwritten itinerary and a crepe place and a souvenir snow-bear named Fluffy. You poured coffee on your head so I wouldn't feel alone. You held me while I cried. You waited weeks for me to tell you the truth because you didn't want to pressure me." You reach out and take his face in your hands, your mittens soft against his cheeks. "You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to impress me. You just have to be you."
"But what if just me isn't enough?"
The question is so quiet, so vulnerable, that it cracks something open in your chest. This is the real Heeseung, the one beneath the charming smile and the confident exterior. The one who has spent his whole life trying to please everyone, trying to be what people expected him to be, trying so hard to never disappoint anyone that he's forgotten he's allowed to just exist.
"It's more than enough," you say. "It's everything."
His eyes search yours, looking for something, reassurance, maybe, or proof that you mean what you say. Whatever he finds must satisfy him, because his shoulders relax, and his hands come up to cover yours, and the smile that spreads across his face is the realest one you've seen all day.
"I've been so focused on being the confident one," he says. "The one who has it all figured out. The one who sweeps you off your feet. But the truth is, I'm terrified. I've never felt like this about anyone before, and I don't know what I'm doing, and I keep worrying that I'm going to mess it up."
You lean forward and press your forehead against his. "We're both terrified. We're both disasters. That's kind of our thing."
"Disaster twins."
"Disaster twins," you confirm. "And the thing about disasters is that they're not supposed to be perfect. They're supposed to be real."
Heeseung lets out a shaky laugh. "When did you get so wise about relationships?"
"I've been watching you be a disaster for weeks. I've picked up a few things."
"Did you just quote your best friend at me?"
"Plagiarism is the sincerest form of flattery."
The sunset is still blazing behind you, painting the mountains in shades of gold and crimson and violet. The air is cold and clean and quiet. And sitting there on that wooden platform, wrapped in a shared blanket, forehead to forehead with the boy who has turned your life upside down, you feel something shift inside you.
"I love this," you say quietly.
"The sunset?"
"No. Well, yes, the sunset too. But I meant…" You pause, searching for the right words. "I love this side of you. The nervous side. The side that second-guesses himself and overthinks things and worries about being enough. Because that's my side too. That's who I've been this whole time, the girl who was too scared to say what she felt, who hid behind letters and misunderstandings. And seeing you be the same way… it makes me feel less alone."
Heeseung pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression soft and wondering. "You're never alone. Not anymore."
"Neither are you."
He kisses you then, soft and sweet, his lips cold from the mountain air but warm underneath. It isn't a dramatic kiss or a passionate kiss. It's just a kiss, a quiet, perfect, real kiss, shared on a wooden platform overlooking a mountain sunset, with a bag of cookies forgotten beside you and a snow-bear named Fluffy tucked into Heeseung's jacket pocket.
When you pull apart, the first stars are starting to appear overhead.
"So," Heeseung says, his voice lighter now, the nervous edge finally gone. "About dinner. The reservation is at that fancy restaurant on the top floor of the lodge. I've heard they have a three-course meal and a dessert menu that's supposed to be life-changing."
"Sounds perfect."
"But before that, we should probably go back and change. You have snow in your hair."
You reach up and touch your hair, which is indeed full of snow from the snow angels. "So do you."
"We match."
"We always match."
Heeseung smirks. "Actually...I have something else in mind that we can do before dinner..."
"Is that...what I think it is?"
"I just really can't hold back anymore."
You quickly pack up the blanket and the snacks and the thermos of tea, and you walk back down the mountain path hand in hand.
The cold mountain air bites at your exposed skin as you and Heeseung rush toward the small ski lodge, your boots crunching through the fresh snow.
As soon as the heavy wooden door closes behind you, sealing out the cold, Heeseung's hands are on you, pulling you close. His lips claim yours in a hungry kiss.
"I'm sorry I just can't hold back anymore," Heeseung murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming down your back to cup your ass through your pants. "It made me so hard when you said those sweet things to me. I couldn't wait to get you alone."
Heeseung managed to get the keys of the assistant professor who was supervising the trip before organising his little program (just in case). The lodge is cozy, with a roaring fireplace in the main room and the promise of a warm bed upstairs. But Heeseung seems unwilling to wait that long. He pushes you against the wall at the bottom of the wooden staircase, his body pressing against yours as his kiss deepens.
"Here?" you gasp between kisses, your heart racing with excitement and a hint of nervousness.
"Can't wait," he growls in response, his hands already working to unfasten your snow pants. "I waited all day."
You help him, your fingers fumbling with the zipper in your coat. Soon, your pants are pooled around your ankles along with your underwear, exposing you to the cool air of the lodge. Heeseung's fingers find your folds immediately, discovering how wet you already are.
"You've been wanting this too, haven't you?" he asks with a knowing smirk, circling your clit with his thumb.
You can only nod, your breath catching as he slides one finger inside you, then two. His movements are practiced now, knowing exactly how to touch you to make you writhe with pleasure.
Your hands, meanwhile, work to free him from the confines of his own pants. When you finally wrap your fingers around his hard length, he groans against your neck.
"God, your hands feel so good," he murmurs, thrusting into your grip. "So much better than my own."
You stroke him in time with the movements of his fingers inside you, both of you building toward a climax that you know won't be satisfied here like this. The tension between you is palpable, a live wire of need and desire that demands release.
Before you can reach your peak, Heeseung pulls away, leaving you breathless and wanting. "Not like this," he says, his voice husky with arousal. "I want to be inside you when you come."
He fumbles in his pocket for a moment before producing a foil packet. With practiced efficiency, he rolls the condom onto his length, then lifts you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he positions himself at your entrance.
"Okay?" he asks, his eyes dark with desire.
You nod, unable to form words as he slowly lowers you onto him. The feeling of him filling you completely takes your breath away. There's still that initial stretch, that moment of adjustment before pleasure takes over.
Heeseung begins to move, his thrusts deep and measured. His mouth finds yours in a passionate kiss as he sets a rhythm that quickly has you seeing stars.
"You feel so incredible," he groans against your lips. "So tight, so warm around me."
Your hands tangle in his hair as you meet his movements, your body responding instinctively to his. The build toward orgasm is swift and intense, a coiling tension in your stomach that demands release.
"Heeseung," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm close."
"Me too," he grunts, his movements becoming more erratic. "Come with me. Let go."
With a few more deep thrusts, you shatter, crying out his name as waves of pleasure wash over you. Heeseung follows moments later, burying his face in your neck with a guttural moan as he finds his own release.
For a moment, you stay connected, catching your breath as the aftermath washes over you. Then Heeseung carefully sets you down, disposing of the condom before helping you redress.
"I'm exhausted..." you begin, but words fail you.
"I know you are," he says with a grin, pulling you into a soft kiss. "But it's not enough."
You look at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he says, his hands roaming your body again, "that you're finally my girlfriend and I promised you that next time we have sex it will be better than in a jacuzzi. In a bed, where we can take our time, where I can explore every inch of you."
He takes your hand and leads you up the stairs, his urgency palpable. The lodge room is small but cozy, with a large bed taking up most of the space. As soon as the door closes behind you, clothes are flying in every direction.
This time, there's no rush, no urgency driven by fear of being caught. Instead, there's a slow, deliberate exploration of each other's bodies. Heeseung lays you down on the bed, his lips and hands mapping every curve, every hollow, every sensitive spot.
"I could spend hours just touching you," he murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "Learning what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you clench tighter."
He demonstrates, finding all the spots that make you arch your back with pleasure. His mouth follows his hands, tasting and teasing until you're writhing with need.
"Heeseung, please," you beg, your hands tangling in his hair as he hovers over your core.
"Please what?" he asks with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," you gasp. "Inside me. Now."
Heeseung grins, reaching for another condom. "As you wish."
He enters you slowly, savoring the moment of connection. This time, the rhythm is different, slower, more intimate, but no less passionate. His hips move in a deep, steady rhythm that drives you wild, hitting all the right spots with each thrust.
"You clenching so hard," he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. "I'll never get tired of this feeling."
The afternoon passes in a blur of passion and pleasure. He takes you in various positions. Each time you reach your peak, Heeseung brings you down gently before building you up again.
Time passes, you're both exhausted but satisfied, lying tangled in the sheets of the bed. Heeseung reaches for the box of condoms he'd brought, only to find it empty.
"Looks like we're out," he says with a sheepish grin. "I didn't expect to need so many."
You laugh, pulling him close for a kiss. "I guess it's our cue to get ready for the restaurant."
Heeseung's expression turns serious. "We will continue later," he promises, his hand cupping your cheek. "I love you."
Pairing: senior!heeseung x loser!fem!reader
Genre: slowburn, college!au, smut MDNI, comedy, fluff, socially challenged fem!reader, misunderstanding, he fell first he fell harder
Synopsis: The hopeless romantic you are decided to confess and give a heartfelt letter to your all time crush but fate decided otherwise and made you confess to the wrong person...the so-called womanizer of campus, Lee Heeseung. Maybe you should have just keep your feelings to yourself...or maybe it was a sign from the universe.
Warnings: footjob, swearing, oral (fem!rec), fingering
WC: 17k
Note: This one is a long one guys (just so you know), I really wanted to try putting more efforts in my writing and do something longer than I usually do, I don't know if people tend to read the shorter or longer fics but well... I'm really proud of myself for writing more detailed and polished fics, especially knowing that I'm a lazy person who usually do the bare minimum.
"You're a disaster...but God help me if I don't want to be a disaster with you for the rest of my life"
You’re staring at your own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the girl staring back looks like she’s about to either throw up or ascend to another dimension. Maybe both. In that order.
The letter is clutched so tightly in your hand that the pale lavender envelope is starting to crease, and you force yourself to loosen your grip before you ruin the one thing you’ve spent three weeks perfecting. Three weeks. That’s twenty-one days of drafting, crossing out, rewriting, Googling “how to write a love letter without sounding like a desperate loser,” and then rewriting again. You’ve used up an entire pack of stationery. You’ve watched so many calligraphy tutorials that the YouTube algorithm thinks you’re training to become a medieval scribe. All for this one moment. This one letter. This one massive, terrifying, possibly life-ruining leap of faith.
You are a hopeless romantic. Hopeless being the operative word.
It’s not that you don’t believe in love. You do. Desperately, overwhelmingly, with every fiber of your first-year STEM student soul. You believe in meet-cutes and slow burns and the exact moment when two people look at each other and the entire world goes soft around the edges. You’ve read about it a hundred times. You’ve watched it play out on every screen you own. You’ve composed entire daydreams about it during particularly boring chemistry lectures. Love is your favorite subject, the one you’ve studied with more dedication than calculus or physics combined. There’s just one tiny, inconvenient, absolutely infuriating problem.
You’re terrified of it.
Not the idea of it. The idea is lovely. The idea is safe. The idea lives in your head where everything unfolds exactly the way you want it to, where you always say the right thing, where you never trip over your own feet or laugh too loud at the wrong moment or stand frozen in a doorway like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. But real love? The kind that requires vulnerability and eye contact and actually speaking words out loud with your mouth? That kind of love makes your palms sweat and your heart race in a decidedly unromantic, fight-or-flight kind of way. You are, and this is the most embarrassing part, a coward. A romantic coward. You dream of grand gestures but can barely manage a coherent sentence when an attractive person so much as glances in your direction.
Which brings you back to the letter.
The letter is your loophole. Your workaround. Your way of confessing your feelings without actually having to say them, because writing them down felt manageable in a way that speaking never has. You can be eloquent on paper. On paper, you can say things like “the first time I saw your smile, it felt like someone had turned on all the lights in a room I didn’t even realize was dark” without immediately wanting to crawl into the nearest hole and live out the rest of your days an hermit. On paper, you’re brave. On paper, you’re the kind of person who goes after what she wants.
In reality, you’ve been hiding in this bathroom for fifteen minutes, and your hands are shaking so badly that a passing person would think you are having an epileptic seizure.
“Okay,” you whisper to your reflection. “Okay. You can do this. You are a woman on a mission. You are a warrior. You are-”
A toilet flushes in one of the stalls behind you, and you nearly launch yourself through the ceiling.
A girl you vaguely recognize from your introductory programming class emerges, gives you an odd look as she washes her hands, and leaves without saying anything. You wait until the door swings shut, then press your forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and contemplate every life choice that has led you to this moment.
His name is Jungwon.
Yang Jungwon. Second year. Undeclared major but leaning toward something in the humanities, which you know because you may have done a bit of light, respectful, completely non-creepy research. He has a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and a laugh that sounds like sunshine if sunshine could make noise, and he holds doors open for people even when they’re still like ten feet away, which creates that awkward situation where the person has to speed-walk to not seem rude, but he never seems to mind. You first noticed him at the campus library during midterms when he quietly slid a pack of gummy bears across the table toward you at 2 AM, muttering something about glucose being good for brain function, and then went back to his book like he hadn’t just fundamentally altered the trajectory of your entire emotional existence.
That was four months ago. You’ve been pining ever since. Pining, yearning, longing, you’ve run through the entire lexicon of unrequited affection, and you’re exhausted. Today, you’ve decided, is the day it ends. One way or another.
You push yourself off the mirror, square your shoulders, and march out of the bathroom with the determination of someone going to war. The envelope is slightly damp from your grip, but it’s still intact, and the words inside are still true, and somewhere on this campus, Yang Jungwon is about to receive the most heartfelt confession letter ever written by a first-year student who has consumed an unhealthy amount of romance media.
Now you just have to find him.
—————
The hallway is bustling with students, the usual midday chaos of people rushing to classes or huddling in groups to complain about assignments. You scan the crowd, looking for a familiar face that might point you in the right direction, and your eyes land on a guy leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone with the dead-eyed expression of someone who has just finished a three-hour lab.
“Excuse me,” you say, and your voice comes out about an octave higher than normal. You clear your throat. “Sorry, um, do you know where I can find Yang Jungwon? Second year?”
The guy looks up, blinks slowly, deciding whether or not to acknowledge your presence, and then shrugs. “PC room, I think. Saw him heading there like twenty minutes ago.”
The PC room. Of course. It’s in the engineering and informatics building, a place you’ve rarely ever been to. But you know where it is, roughly, and you thank the guy with what you hope is a normal smile and not the rictus grin of someone rushing toward emotional catastrophe.
The walk across campus takes approximately seven minutes, and you spend every single one of them rehearsing what you’re going to say. You’ve already written the letter, so technically you don’t have to say anything, you can just hand it over and flee but you want to say something. Something cool. Something memorable.
“Hey, Jungwon, this is for you.” Simple. Direct. Good.
“I wrote you something. No pressure, just read it when you have time.” Casual. Low-stakes. Excellent.
“Hi, I’ve been emotionally compromised by your existence for several months, please accept this paper rectangle of feelings.” Okay, maybe not that one.
The engineering building looms in front of you before you’re ready. You push through the main doors and immediately feel out of place. The students here move with a different energy, less frantic, more focused, the kind of people who probably know what a server is and have opinions about programming languages you’ve never heard of.
You follow the signs toward the PC room, your footsteps echoing in the corridor, and with every step, your heart climbs higher up your throat. This is it. This is the moment. You’re going to walk in there, find Jungwon, hand him the letter, and then whatever happens happens. At least you’ll have tried. At least you’ll have been brave, even if it’s only for thirty seconds.
The door to the PC room is slightly ajar, and you can hear voices inside, multiple voices, which gives you pause. You assumed he’d be alone. Or with maybe one other person.
You hesitate. Your hand hovers over the door handle. Every instinct is screaming at you to turn around, go back to your dorm, and spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been. And maybe you would, if not for the small, stubborn voice in the back of your mind that says: You’ve already come this far. Don’t you want to know? Don’t you want to be the kind of person who actually does the thing instead of just dreaming about it?
Yes. Yes, you do.
You squeeze your eyes shut, take a breath so deep it makes you lightheaded, and push the door open with more force than strictly necessary. It slams against the wall with a bang that makes approximately twelve heads swivel in your direction, and for one horrifying moment, you are the center of attention in a room full of strangers.
But you don’t see any of them. You only see the figure sitting at the computer closest to the door, his back half-turned to you, hair falling over his forehead, the exact silhouette you’ve been looking for. Or at least, the exact silhouette you think you’ve been looking for.
You don’t stop to confirm. You don’t let yourself think. You just march forward, thrust the letter out in front of you like a shield, and launch into the speech you’ve been rehearsing for three weeks.
“This is for you. I’m sorry if this is weird or sudden but I’ve liked you for a really long time and I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You don’t have to respond right away. You don’t have to respond ever, actually. I just wanted you to know that someone out there thinks you’re wonderful and I wrote it all down because I’m better at writing than talking and honestly I might pass out if I keep standing here so please just take this and I’ll go-”
You finally look up.
And the face staring back at you is absolutely, categorically, one hundred percent not Jungwon.
The boy in front of you is taller than Jungwon. Broader shoulders. Sharper jawline. Different eyes, darker, deeper, currently widened in a mixture of surprise and something you can’t quite read. His lips are parted slightly, as if he was about to say something before you launched into your emotional word-vomit, and he’s holding a half-eaten protein bar that’s now frozen halfway to his mouth.
The room has gone completely, utterly silent.
You can feel the stares of every single person boring into the back of your head. Someone coughs. Someone else whispers something that sounds suspiciously like “did she just-” before being shushed by their neighbor.
And then the boy, the very handsome, very wrong boy, sets down his protein bar, takes the letter gently from your trembling hand, and says in a voice that’s low and smooth and completely unfamiliar: “Wow. Okay. What’s your name?”
This is the worst moment of your entire life. You are going to die right here, in this PC room, surrounded by computer monitors and half-empty energy drink cans and a dozen witnesses who will spread this story to every corner of the university within the next three hours. Your obituary will read: here lies Y/N, the loser who can’t even recognize her ultimate crush.
“Y/N,” you croak, because your mouth is apparently still functioning even though every other part of you has shut down. “L/N Y/N. First year. STEM.”
You don’t know why you said STEM. He didn’t ask for your department. You’re offering information nobody requested. This is a disaster.
But the boy, he’s looking at you with an expression you can’t decipher, his head tilted slightly to the side like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. He’s wearing a dark hoodie with the informatics department logo on it, and there’s a pair of expensive-looking headphones draped around his neck, and his hair is slightly mussed in a way that suggests he’s been running his fingers through it while concentrating. He’s absurdly good-looking, the kind of good-looking that makes you simultaneously want to stare and look away, and you’re only now noticing the way several girls in the room have been watching him since you entered, not just because of your blunder, but because they’ve been watching him.
“I’m Heeseung,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Lee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.”
Lee Heeseung. The name registers somewhere in the back of your panic-addled brain. It’s familiar in the way that campus gossip is familiar, attached to words like hot and player and don’t get your hopes up because he’ll charm you and then move on. You’ve heard girls in your dorm talking about him in hushed, giggling tones, trading stories about brief encounters and misinterpreted invitations. And you, in your infinite wisdom, have just handed a love letter meant for someone else directly into his notorious hands.
You have to fix this. You have to tell him it was a mistake. You have to-
“I’m flattered,” Heeseung says, and his smile widens slightly, not quite a smirk but definitely approaching smirk territory. “Really. This is... I mean, no one’s ever confessed to me with an actual letter before. It’s kind of old school.” He turns the envelope over in his hands, examining it with what seems like genuine curiosity. “The handwriting is really pretty. Did you do the calligraphy yourself?”
“Yes,” you say, because you are physically incapable of lying when put on the spot, and also because your brain has apparently decided that the best course of action is to just answer whatever questions he asks like this is a normal conversation and not the emotional equivalent of a tornado.
“Impressive.” He looks at you, really looks at you, and something shifts in his expression. The teasing edge softens just a fraction. “A confession is a lot, though. I mean, I’m honored, but we don’t even know each other.”
This is your opening. This is the moment where you say “actually, that’s because this letter wasn’t meant for you, there’s been a terrible misunderstanding, I’m so sorry, please forget this ever happened.” The words are right there, lined up on your tongue, ready to go.
But the room is still watching. A dozen pairs of eyes. The whispers have stopped, but the staring hasn’t, and you can feel every single gaze like a physical weight pressing down on you. If you correct him now, in front of everyone, you’ll have to explain. You’ll have to admit that you walked into a crowded room and confessed to the wrong person like an absolute buffoon. You’ll become a campus legend for all the wrong reasons: the girl who was too stupid to even identify her own crush. The story will follow you for the rest of your university career. You’ll never live it down.
But if you just... let him believe it... if you just nod and agree and leave as quickly as possible... you can fix this later. Privately. Without an audience. You can find him tomorrow, or send him a message, or do literally anything other than humiliate yourself further in front of all these people.
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“I know,” you hear yourself say. “It’s a lot. I know.”
Heeseung nods thoughtfully, like you’ve said something profound. “But I’m not against it. Starting slow, I mean. If you want.”
What.
“What,” you say, but it comes out more like a statement than a question.
“I’m okay with starting slow,” he repeats, and now the smile is definitely back, a little crooked, a little curious. “You’re cute. And clearly brave. I like that. So if you want to, I don’t know, get coffee sometime and see where this goes... I’m open to it.”
Someone in the room lets out a low whistle. Someone else says “Heeseung, are you serious right now?” in a tone of utter disbelief. But Heeseung doesn’t look away from you. He’s waiting for your answer, his gaze steady and warm, and you are standing in the epicenter of a complete and total catastrophe with absolutely no idea how to get out.
Say no. Say it was a mistake. Say the truth.
“Okay,” you whisper.
Okay?! Okay?!
“Okay,” he echoes, and the smile breaks fully across his face, transforming him from handsome to devastating. “Good. I’ll find you. Y/N, first year, STEM, right?”
You nod mutely.
“Cool.” He tucks your letter carefully into the pocket of his hoodie, like it’s something precious, like he’s planning to read it later, and the gesture makes your stomach twist with guilt so intense you think you might actually be sick. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”
You don’t remember leaving the room. You don’t remember the walk back across campus or the elevator ride to your floor or the moment you collapsed face-first onto your dorm bed. All you know is that one moment you were standing in the PC room, and the next you are here, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single agonizing second on an endless loop.
You confessed to the wrong person.
You confessed to the wrong person.
And for some reason that you absolutely cannot comprehend, he said yes.
Across campus, in a PC room that has finally returned to its normal hum of activity, Lee Heeseung pulls a slightly crumpled lavender envelope out of his hoodie pocket and stares at it for a long moment.
“Dude,” says his friend Jay from the next computer over, not bothering to hide his grin. “What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” Heeseung says honestly. And he doesn’t. He’s used to attention, he knows how to handle it, how to smile and nod and gently redirect without hurting anyone’s feelings. It’s a skill he’s developed over the years, the only way he knows to deal with the unfortunate side effect of his people-pleasing tendencies. He’s nice to someone, he helps them with an assignment, he holds a door open or offers a pen, and suddenly they’re looking at him with stars in their eyes, and he doesn’t know how to tell them that he was just trying to be polite without sounding like an arrogant jerk. So he lets them down easy, or he avoids the situation entirely, and his reputation grows in ways that don’t reflect the truth at all.
But this, this is new. A letter. An actual, physical, handwritten letter, with swooping calligraphy and a lavender envelope and a girl who looked so terrified that he thought she might actually pass out right there on the linoleum floor.
She looked at him like he was a natural disaster. Like she was watching a building collapse in slow motion and couldn’t do anything to stop it.
And then she said okay anyway.
“She’s interesting,” Heeseung murmurs, more to himself than to Jay, and carefully opens the envelope.
“Interesting how?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy reading, his eyes moving slowly across the carefully penned words, the ink slightly smudged in places where the writer’s hand might have trembled. It’s beautiful. It’s earnest. It’s the kind of letter that someone writes when they mean every single word, when they’ve poured their entire heart onto the page without holding anything back.
He’s never received anything like it before.
And he wants to know more about the girl who wrote it, the girl who burst into his afternoon like a hurricane of nerves and feelings.
“Jay,” he says, still staring at the letter, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I think something interesting just walked into my life.”
He doesn’t notice the way his friend shakes his head and mutters something about “here we go again.”
He’s too busy wondering when he’ll see Y/N next.
—————
The following forty-eight hours of your life can be accurately described as a masterclass in strategic avoidance and tactical regret.
You skip two classes. Not on purpose, exactly, you just can’t bring yourself to leave your dorm room when every shadow in the hallway might be Lee Heeseung coming to collect on that coffee date you apparently agreed to in a moment of temporary insanity. You survive on instant noodles and the protein bars your friend left on her desk with a sticky note that said “FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY,” which this absolutely qualifies as. You watch three entire seasons of Bridgerton without retaining a single moment because your brain is too busy replaying the PC room incident on a continuous, merciless loop.
“I’m Lee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.”
“I’m okay with starting slow.”
“You’re cute.”
You bury your face in your pillow and scream, but it comes out muffled and pathetic, like a small animal giving up on life.
By day three, you’ve developed a system. You only leave your room during off-peak hours, skittering through campus, your head on a constant swivel. You’ve memorized the locations of every vending machine in buildings Heeseung is unlikely to frequent. You’ve started taking the long way to your remaining classes, cutting through the art department and the greenhouse and once, memorably, a service corridor that smelled strongly of bleach and soap. You’ve become a ghost. A phantom. A creature of the shadows who survives on granola bars and instant noddles.
But the problem with running away from your problems is that your problems don’t actually go anywhere. They just wait. And think about you. And eventually, when you least expect it, they catch up.
It happens on a Thursday.
You’re crouched behind a potted plant near the science building, scanning the courtyard for any sign of tall, attractive informatics students, when your phone buzzes with a text from your best friend, Yunjin.
Yunjin: heard you’ve been living like a sewer rat. want me to bring you real food?
You: can’t. i’m in the middle of a crisis
Yunjin: You’re executing what we talked about yet?
You: it’s in process
Yunjin: at the end of the day, you will have to tell him
You stare at the message for a long moment. It’s such a simple solution. So elegant. So reasonable. And yet, every time you imagine yourself walking up to Heeseung and saying “actually, I meant to give that letter to someone else,” your entire body physically recoils like you’ve touched a hot stove. The humiliation would be astronomical. The look on his face, surprise, then confusion, then that horrible moment of realization that he was never supposed to be the recipient would haunt you for the rest of your natural life. And you’d still have to explain the Jungwon part. And Jungwon would find out. And then you’d be the weird girl who couldn’t even confess to the right person, and Heeseung would be the guy who got accidentally confessed to, and everyone would laugh about it for weeks, and-
Your phone buzzes again.
Yunjin: i can hear you overthinking from across campus. just rip off the bandaid. what’s the worst that could happen
You type back a single message: he could tell everyone and i’d have to transfer schools and change my name and become a farmer in New Zeland
Yunjin: dramatic. but valid. good luck with your plant hiding
You shove your phone back into your pocket and peek around the potted plant again. The courtyard is clear. This is your window. You take a deep breath, steel your nerves, and scuttle out from behind the foliage.
The plan for today is simple: find Heeseung, explain the misunderstanding, and disappear forever. You’ve spent the entire morning psyching yourself up for this. You’ve practiced the speech in the mirror seventeen times. You’ve even written a script on your phone that you can refer to in case of emergency. It’s thorough, it’s clear, it leaves absolutely no room for misinterpretation, and it ends with a sincere apology and a polite request that you both pretend this never happened. It’s perfect. It’s foolproof. All you have to do is locate the target.
Easier said than done. You’ve been looking for him since yesterday, not to talk to, but to observe from a safe distance so you could plan your approach and the universe, in its infinite comedic wisdom, has made him completely unfindable. It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth the moment you actually wanted to see him. Three days ago, you couldn’t walk three feet without catching a glimpse of him, but now? Now he’s a ghost. A myth. A concept rather than a physical entity.
You’re going to have to ask for help.
This is, objectively, a terrible idea. Asking for help means talking to people, and talking to people about Heeseung means potentially revealing that you’re looking for him, which means potentially revealing why you’re looking for him, which means the whole campus could know about the letter situation by lunchtime. But you’re running out of options, and you’re running out of granola bars, and you can’t live behind potted plants forever.
You find your informant near the engineering building, a girl with neon green headphones and a laptop covered in stickers, sitting on a bench and typing furiously at something that looks like code. She seems approachable. She seems like she won’t ask too many questions. You approach with what you hope is casual confidence and not the desperate energy of someone who has been living on protein bars.
“Excuse me,” you say, and your voice comes out surprisingly normal. Points for you. “Do you know where I can find Lee Heeseung? Third year, informatics?”
The girl looks up, her eyes flicking over you with mild curiosity. She doesn’t ask why you’re looking for him, which makes you want to hug her. “Heeseung? Yeah, I think I saw him heading to the quad about ten minutes ago. Something about meeting up with some people before his next class.”
The quad. Of course. The most open, public, exposed location on the entire campus. The place where literally everyone congregates. The absolute last place you want to have a conversation about accidental love confessions.
“Great,” you say, and your voice is definitely an octave higher now. “Great. Thank you. Thanks. So much.”
The girl gives you a weird look, shrugs, and goes back to her coding.
You’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the quad before your brain can catch up and talk you out of it. This is fine. This is progress. You’ll find him, you’ll pull him aside, you’ll give him the speech, and then you’ll be free. You’ll be a normal person again. You’ll be able to walk through campus without checking every corner for a tall informatics student who thinks you’re cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date.
The quad is bustling when you arrive, clusters of students sprawled across the grass and gathered around the stone benches near the fountain. The afternoon sun is bright and warm, the kind of weather that makes everyone want to be outside, which is lovely and picturesque and deeply inconvenient for your purposes. You squint against the glare, scanning the crowd for a familiar dark-haired figure.
No Heeseung.
You circle the perimeter, weaving between groups of friends and dodging a frisbee that comes sailing dangerously close to your head. You check near the fountain, near the big oak tree, near the cluster of food trucks that’s set up along the east edge. Still no Heeseung. Your informant said ten minutes ago, he should be here. Unless he already left. Unless you missed him. Unless this is a sign from the universe that you should give up and commit to the farmer life plan after all.
You’re so focused on your search that you don’t notice someone approaching until a shadow falls across your path, and a voice, warm, familiar, the exact voice you’ve been daydreaming about for four months, says:
“Y/N? Hey, it is you!”
You look up.
Yang Jungwon is standing right in front of you, smiling like the sun just came out from behind a cloud, and every single coherent thought in your brain immediately evaporates.
He’s wearing a soft-looking cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his dark hair is slightly windswept, and there’s a tiny mole near his chin that you’ve never noticed before but is now seared into your memory forever. He’s holding a book, something with a cracked spine and a title in a language you don’t recognize and he’s looking at you with genuine, undiluted pleasure, like running into you is the best thing that’s happened to him all day.
“It’s me,” you say, because you are a conversational genius. “I mean. Yes. Hi. Hello.”
Smooth. Flawless execution. Ten out of ten.
Jungwon doesn’t seem to notice your complete lack of verbal grace. His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes in exactly the way you’ve catalogued in your mental Jungwon database. “I thought I recognized you. You’re in my philosophy elective, right? Front row, near the window?”
He knows where you sit. He knows where you sit. This is both the best and worst information you’ve ever received, because on one hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, but on the other hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, and now you have to be a normal human being and not the disaster you currently are.
“Front row near the window,” you confirm, nodding a little too vigorously. “That’s me. I like the natural light. For... note-taking purposes.”
“Makes sense.” He shifts his weight, tucking the book under his arm. “You take really detailed notes, by the way. I sat behind you once, and I was honestly impressed. Your color-coding system is no joke.”
Jungwon has looked at your notes. Jungwon has been impressed by your notes. Your brain is short-circuiting at approximately the speed of light, and you have to physically resist the urge to fist-pump in the middle of the quad.
“Thank you,” you manage. “I have a lot of highlighters. Maybe too many. Is there such a thing as too many highlighters? I don’t think so, but I’ve been told my stationery collection is concerning.”
Oh no. Why are you talking about stationery? You need to say something charming. Something witty. Something that will make him see you as more than the girl with the aggressive color-coding system.
“I don’t think it’s concerning,” Jungwon says, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that makes your knees go weak. “Passionate, maybe. Dedicated. I respect it.”
“Passionate and dedicated,” you repeat faintly. “That’s... yeah. That’s my brand.”
He laughs, and it’s exactly like you remember, bright and warm, the kind of laugh that makes you want to do whatever you just did again and again just to hear it on repeat. “I like it. Passion is underrated.” He tilts his head, studying you with an expression you can’t quite read. “So what brings you to the quad? You usually eat lunch in the science building courtyard, don’t you?”
Your heart stutters. He knows where you eat lunch. He’s observed your habits. This is either a sign of mutual interest or you’ve accidentally become the subject of a sociological case study, and at this point you’re willing to accept either outcome.
“I’m, um, looking for someone,” you say, and the confession letter debacle comes crashing back into your consciousness like a wrecking ball through a glass window. Right. You’re supposed to be finding Heeseung. You’re supposed to be fixing the misunderstanding. That’s why you’re here. Not to bask in the radiant warmth of Jungwon’s attention like a lizard on a sunny rock.
“Anyone I know?” Jungwon asks, and there’s something in his tone, curiosity, maybe.
“Probably not,” you say quickly. “Just a... just a person. A random person. Not important.”
Jungwon raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but before he can press further, a new voice cuts through the afternoon air like a knife through butter.
“There you are.”
You freeze. Your blood turns to ice. Every cell in your body screams in unison: run.
Lee Heeseung is walking toward you across the quad, his headphones hanging around his neck and his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket. He looks exactly as devastatingly attractive as he did three days ago, which is deeply unfair. His expression is a mixture of curiosity and amusement, and when his eyes meet yours, that slight smile, the one that’s not quite a smirk but definitely is a smirk’s second cousin, curves across his lips.
“I heard you’ve been looking for me,” he says, coming to a stop beside Jungwon like this is the most natural gathering in the world. “You know, if you wanted to see me, you could have just messaged. I would have given you my number at the PC room.”
Jungwon looks between you and Heeseung with visible confusion, his earlier smile fading into something more guarded. “Wait. You two know each other?”
This is it. This is the moment the universe has been building toward. Every terrible decision, every act of cowardice, every misguided attempt to avoid embarrassment, it’s all led here, to this exact spot on the quad, with the wrong guy standing next to the right guy and your entire romantic future hanging in the balance.
“I wouldn’t say know,” you begin, but Heeseung is already talking over you, apparently immune to the desperate telepathic signals you’re trying to beam directly into his brain.
“She confessed to me two days ago,” Heeseung says, and his tone is so casual, so conversational, like he’s discussing the weather or what he had for lunch. “Walked right into the PC room, handed me a letter, told me she’d liked me for a long time. It was very romantic. Very old-school. I was impressed.”
Silence. Jungwon stares at Heeseung. Then at you. Then back at Heeseung.
“She... confessed to you,” Jungwon repeats slowly, and his voice has gone flat in a way that makes your heart splinter into approximately seven thousand pieces.
“Full confession,” Heeseung confirms, still smiling. “I’m thinking we’ll start with coffee. Keep it simple, you know? She’s shy. I don’t want to overwhelm her.”
This is a nightmare. This is a waking, breathing, actively-unfolding nightmare, and you are trapped in it like a fly in amber, unable to move or speak or do anything except watch as every possible future with Jungwon crumbles to dust before your eyes.
Because here’s the thing you realize in that horrible, crystal-clear moment: you can’t correct Heeseung now. Not in front of Jungwon. Not when Jungwon has just been told, in no uncertain terms, that you confessed to someone else. If you explain the truth, that the letter was actually meant for Jungwon, that the whole thing was a catastrophic mistake, then what? Jungwon would know you’d been planning to confess to him, but he’d also know that you somehow managed to mess it up so spectacularly that you confessed to his friend instead. You’d look incompetent at best and completely unhinged at worst. And Heeseung would be humiliated, and Jungwon would be awkward, and you’d be the epicenter of a social catastrophe so immense that all three of you would have to avoid each other for the rest of your academic careers.
You are trapped. Completely, utterly, irreversibly trapped.
“Interesting,” Jungwon says, and the word is so neutral that it cuts deeper than any insult ever could. “I didn’t realize you two ran in the same circles.”
“We don’t,” you croak. “We really, really don’t.”
“We’re just getting started,” Heeseung says cheerfully, and he has the audacity to wink at you. Like this is some kind of adorable inside joke instead of the emotional apocalypse it actually is.
You have to get out of here. You have to escape before the sob building in your chest forces its way out and makes everything infinitely worse. You can feel it pressing against your ribs, hot and insistent, and if you don’t leave right now, you’re going to burst into tears in the middle of the quad in front of both of them, and then the disaster will be complete.
“I have to go,” you blurt out, and you’re already backing away, your feet moving before your brain can issue any kind of warning. “I have… a thing. A class. A lab. A lab class. It’s very important. I can’t miss it. I have to go.”
Heeseung’s brow furrows slightly. “Wait, I thought you wanted to talk to-”
“Nope! No talking! We’re good! Everything’s fine! Bye!”
You spin around and power-walk toward the nearest exit, which happens to be in the direction of the fountain, which you only realize when your foot catches on the low stone ledge and you go sprawling forward with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.
Your knee hits the ground. Your dignity hits the ground approximately three feet to the left. Several people turn to look.
“Y/N!” That’s Jungwon’s voice, concerned and moving closer, and you absolutely cannot handle that right now.
“I’m fine!” you shriek, scrambling to your feet with adrenaline-fueled desperation. “Totally fine! Happens all the time! I’m very clumsy! It’s part of my charm!”
You don’t look back. You can’t look back. If you look back, you’ll see Jungwon’s worried expression and Heeseung’s confused one, and you’ll have to confront the full magnitude of what just happened, and your fragile emotional state simply cannot withstand that kind of pressure. So you run. Not jog, not power-walk…run. Across the quad, past the food trucks, through a gap between two buildings, and out onto the main campus pathway like the hounds of hell are snapping at your heels.
You don’t stop until you reach the arts building, and you don’t start breathing normally until you’ve locked yourself in a practice room on the third floor, surrounded by soundproof walls and a piano that’s seen better days. You slide down against the door, pull your knees up to your chest, and let out a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a wail.
Everything is ruined. Everything. You had one chance, one single, solitary chance to fix the misunderstanding and salvage your dignity and maybe, just maybe, preserve the possibility of something with Jungwon somewhere down the line. And instead, you let your hopeless romantic heart get distracted by a five-minute conversation about philosophy notes and highlighters, and now you’re the girl who confessed to Lee Heeseung, and Jungwon thinks you’re interested in someone else, and there is no conceivable way to untangle this mess without making everything exponentially worse.
You’re going to have to transfer schools. You’re going to have to move to another country. You’re going to have to fake your own death and start a new identity as a goat farmer in New Zeland.
The door handle jiggles behind you. “Occupied!” you yell, your voice cracking.
“Y/N? Is that you?”
Your best friend Yunjin’s voice filters through the door, muffled but unmistakable, and the sound of it is enough to crack the dam you’ve been desperately trying to hold together. You scramble to your feet, fumble with the lock, and yank the door open to reveal Yunjin standing in the hallway with a cup of bubble tea in each hand and an expression of profound concern on her face.
“I saw you running,” she says, her eyes scanning your disheveled appearance. “Like, truly running. I’ve never seen you run before. You once told me running was for people who don’t appreciate the journey.”
“Yunjin,” you crumble, and your voice is so pitiful that she immediately sets down both drinks and pulls you into a hug.
“Okay,” she says, steering you back into the practice room and closing the door behind her. “Okay. Sit down. Tell me everything. What happened? Did you talk to Heeseung? Did you fix it?”
You laugh, but it comes out wrong, high and wobbly, on the edge of hysteria. “Fix it? Fix it? Yunjin, I made it so much worse. I made it so much worse that I think I actually created new dimensions of worse. Scientists are going to have to invent new words to describe how badly I messed this up.”
She settles onto the piano bench, and you collapse onto the floor in front of her, crossing your legs and burying your face in your hands. The story spills out of you in a torrent, the quad, the search for Heeseung, the unexpected appearance of Jungwon, the conversation that made your heart soar, and then the moment Heeseung appeared like a harbinger of doom and casually announced your confession to the one person you never wanted to know about it.
“And then I fell,” you finish miserably. “In front of both of them. And I ran away. And now Jungwon thinks I like Heeseung, and Heeseung thinks I like Heeseung, and I can’t correct either of them without making everything even weirder, and my life is a romantic comedy written by a petty incel.”
Yunjin is quiet for a moment. Then she lets out a long, slow breath. “Okay. That’s... that’s a lot.”
“I know.”
“And you’re telling me you couldn’t just say, hey Heeseung, sorry for the mix-up, the letter wasn’t for you, my bad?”
You look up at her, your eyes rimmed with red. “In front of Jungwon? After Heeseung already told him I confessed? What would Jungwon think of me?”
Yunjin considers this. “That you’re a disaster, probably.”
“Exactly!”
“But a lovable disaster,” she adds. “Disasters can be endearing.”
“Yunjin, please focus.”
She holds up her hands in surrender, but there’s a glint in her eye that you recognize, the one that means she’s about to drop some wisdom on you whether you’re ready for it or not. Yunjin has been your best friend since orientation week, when you both accidentally joined the wrong club meeting and ended up spending two hours in a competitive gardening seminar before realizing your mistake. She’s practical where you’re dreamy, decisive where you’re hesitant, and she’s talked you down from approximately four hundred anxiety spirals since the semester started. If anyone can find a way out of this mess, it’s her.
“Okay,” she says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Let me present you with an alternative perspective.”
“I’m listening.”
“Lee Heeseung,” she says, ticking off points on her fingers, “has a reputation. A big one. Everyone knows it. He’s the guy who’s super nice to everyone, especially girls, and then they fall for him and he gets all surprised when they expect something more, and then things fizzle out because he wasn’t looking for anything serious.” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “Sound familiar?”
You blink. “I mean... I’ve heard things. But he didn’t seem like-”
“That’s his whole thing,” Yunjin interrupts. “He doesn’t seem like it. That’s why it works. He likes when everyone is after him. But nice doesn’t equal interested, so girls get the wrong idea and then they get hurt. It’s a cycle.” She pops a tapioca pearl into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “My point is, you don’t need to do anything. You don’t need to fix this. You just need to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For him to get bored.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Think about it. You’re not actually interested in him, right? You’re not going to fall all over yourself trying to get his attention. You’re not going to be waiting outside his classes or accidentally showing up wherever he hangs out. You’re not going to be like every other girl who’s chased after him.”
You frown. “So... what, I just... do nothing?”
“No, you do the opposite of chasing.” Yunjin grins, and it’s slightly wicked. “You make yourself as uninteresting to him as possible. You’re awkward, you’re weird, you’re clearly not trying to impress him. You don’t dress up when you know you might see him. You talk about boring things. You mention, I don’t know, your extensive collection of vintage stamps or whatever nerdy hobby you can think of. You make yourself boring.”
“I don’t have a stamp collection.”
“Then make one up! The point is, Heeseung is used to girls who want him. If you clearly don’t want him, his interest is going to fizzle out faster than a cheap sparkler. He’ll move on to the next girl who bats her eyelashes at him, and you’ll be free. No confrontation necessary.”
You turn this over in your mind. It’s... not the worst idea you’ve ever heard. In fact, compared to your current strategy of blind panic and tactical fleeing, it’s practically genius. If you can’t correct the misunderstanding without making everything worse, maybe you can just... let it die on its own. Let Heeseung’s fabled short attention span work in your favor. Become so aggressively unappealing that he loses interest within a week and never thinks about you again.
And once he’s out of the picture, once enough time has passed, maybe you can try again with Jungwon. Properly. With better aim.
“You’re a genius,” you tell Yunjin, the hope creeping back into your voice. “An absolute genius. I could kiss you.”
“Please don’t, you’re covered in grass stains.” She nudges one of the bubble teas toward you with her foot. “Drink your tea. Hydrate. And then we’re going to brainstorm all the ways you can make yourself seem as unappealing as possible to a hot third-year informatics student.”
You grab the drink and take a long sip, the sweetness settling something in your chest. For the first time in three days, you feel something other than panic. You feel strategic. You feel determined. Lee Heeseung might think you’re cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date, but he hasn’t met the version of you that’s about to emerge, a version so bland, so uninteresting, so aggressively mediocre that he’ll run in the opposite direction before the week is out.
“Okay,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Okay. Let’s do this. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested starts now.”
Yunjin raises her bubble tea in a toast. “To being boring.”
You clink your cup against hers. “To being boring.”
Somewhere across campus Heeseung is still standing in the quad with a confused expression on his face and a lavender envelope in his pocket, wondering why the girl who supposedly has a crush on him just sprinted away like she was being chased by bears.
He’s not used to this. He’s not used to any of this.
And that, he realizes with a small, bemused shake of his head, is exactly what makes it so interesting.
—————
Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested lasted exactly four days before it encountered its first major obstacle.
That obstacle is approximately six feet tall, has flowing hair that falls perfectly across his forehead, and is currently walking directly toward your table in the cafeteria with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face that suggests he has absolutely no idea he's supposed to be losing interest in you.
You spot him approximately 2.3 seconds too late. By the time your brain registers the approaching danger, you are already mid-bite into a sad cafeteria sandwich, your mouth full of bread and lettuce and the dawning realization that you are trapped. There is no escape route. Your table is in the corner, surrounded on three sides by walls and on the fourth side by Heeseung's rapidly approaching form. You are a cornered animal. A very stupid, very panicked cornered animal with mayonnaise on her chin.
"Y/N!" Heeseung says your name like it's his favorite word, bright and warm and entirely too enthusiastic for someone who's supposed to be a notorious womanizer with a short attention span. "I was hoping I'd run into you. Mind if I sit?"
Mind if he sits? Of course you mind. You mind immensely. You mind with every fiber of your being. Sitting with Heeseung is the exact opposite of what Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is supposed to accomplish. Sitting with Heeseung means talking to Heeseung, and talking to Heeseung means opportunities to accidentally charm him, and charming him is categorically Not The Goal.
But Heeseung is already pulling out the chair across from you, and his smile is so genuine, and there's a tiny bit of what looks like grease on his cheekbone that suggests he's just come from some kind of engineering lab, and you are weak. You are so, so weak.
"Go ahead," you hear yourself say, and then immediately want to punch yourself in the face.
Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested, Day Four, 12:34 PM: catastrophic failure already in progress.
Heeseung settles into the chair with an easy grace, setting his tray down and immediately stealing one of your fries like you're old friends who share food on a regular basis. You watch the fry disappear into his mouth and feel a small part of your soul leave your body.
"So," he says, leaning back and studying you with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You ran away from me pretty fast the other day. Should I be worried? Do I have something on my face?"
He doesn't. He absolutely doesn't. He has the kind of face that belongs on a billboard, all sharp angles and soft edges and that one little mole on his forehead that you are definitely not noticing because noticing things about Heeseung's face is counterproductive to the mission.
"No," you say quickly. "No, you're fine. Your face is fine. I mean, you don't have anything on your face. I just remembered I had somewhere to be. Very suddenly. It was urgent."
"An urgent… lab class?" Heeseung's lips twitch. "That's what you said, right? An urgent lab class on a Thursday afternoon?"
Your face heats. "Yes. Exactly. Lab class. Very urgent. Science doesn't wait."
"Mmm." He pops another one of your fries into his mouth. "Well, the good news is, you don't look like you're in a hurry right now. So we can actually talk. You know, like normal people who are supposedly getting to know each other?"
Right. Getting to know each other. Because you confessed to him. Because he thinks you like him. Because you're living in an elaborate lie of your own making.
This is your chance, though. This is the perfect opportunity to implement Phase One of the Make Him Uninterested plan: Be Weird and Off-Putting. You just have to be the most boring, strange, unappealing version of yourself that you can possibly imagine. How hard can it be?
Pretty hard, as it turns out, because your brain chooses this exact moment to go completely blank.
"So," Heeseung says, apparently unbothered by your silence, "tell me about yourself. What do you like to do for fun? Besides writing beautiful love letters and then running away from the recipient?"
You choke on your own saliva. Just… straight up choke on nothing, like a cartoon character. "I don't…that wasn't…I do normal things. Normal fun things. Like… watching paint dry. And counting ceiling tiles. Very relaxing. You should try it."
"There are forty-seven in this cafeteria," you say, doubling down with the desperate energy of someone who has already committed to the bit. "Forty-eight if you count the one that's partially covered by that vent over there. But some people don't count partial tiles. It's a philosophical debate, really."
"Fascinating," Heeseung says, and the worst part is that he sounds like he actually means it. "What else?"
What else? What else can you say that will make you sound completely unappealing? You cast around for inspiration, your eyes landing on your sandwich. Okay. Fine. If words can't do the job, maybe actions can.
You pick up your sandwich with both hands and take the weirdest bite you can physically manage, mouth open slightly too wide, chewing with exaggerated jaw movements, making an unfortunate amount of noise in the process. You feel like a cow. You look like a cow. You are embodying the spirit of a cow, and surely, surely, this is enough to make any self-respecting hot informatics student run for the hills.
Heeseung watches you chew. His expression doesn't change.
"Good sandwich?" he asks mildly.
"Mmf," you say, still chewing, still being a cow. "Very good. I love-"
And then the lettuce hits the back of your throat.
You don't know how it happens. One moment you're chewing normally, well, abnormally, but in a controlled way and the next moment a piece of lettuce stages a rebellion and lodges itself directly in your windpipe. Your eyes go wide. Your hand flies to your throat. You make a sound that is somewhere between a wheeze and a honk.
"Y/N?" Heeseung's amused expression shifts to concern. "Are you okay?"
You are not okay. You are choking. You are choking on lettuce in front of Lee Heeseung in the middle of the cafeteria, and this is how you're going to die.
Heeseung is on his feet now, moving around the table with surprising speed. "Hey, hey, can you breathe? Do you need me to-"
You shake your head frantically, still making dying cow noises, and grab your water bottle with shaking hands. The first gulp does nothing. The second gulp, by some miracle, dislodges the lettuce just enough for you to cough it up into a napkin with all the grace and dignity of a cat hacking up a hairball.
Silence.
The entire cafeteria, you're convinced, is staring at you. In reality, probably only a few nearby tables have noticed, but it feels apocalyptic. You sit there, red-faced and teary-eyed, clutching a napkin full of your own near-death experience, and want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
Heeseung kneels beside your chair, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he isn't sure if touching you would be welcome. "Hey. You're okay. You're okay, right? Do you need me to get you anything? More water? A doctor? A new sandwich without lettuce?"
His voice is gentle. Genuinely gentle. Not the smooth, charming tone you expect from someone with his reputation, but something softer, something that sounds almost like real concern.
"I'm fine," you croak, your voice ravaged. "I'm fine. That happens. All the time. I'm very bad at eating. It's one of my traits."
"One of your traits," Heeseung repeats, and the corner of his mouth twitches despite his obvious worry. "Being bad at eating?"
"It's a lifestyle choice."
He laughs. Not a polite chuckle or a mocking snicker, but a real laugh, surprised and bright and completely unguarded. He sits back down in his chair, shaking his head, and looks at you with something that is definitely not boredom or disinterest.
"You're really something else, you know that?"
You don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. You just sit there, still clutching your napkin of shame, and wonder how Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has somehow resulted in him laughing at your jokes and looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's encountered all week.
"So," Heeseung says, propping his chin on his hand, "I've been wondering. What made you decide to confess to me? Was there a specific moment? Something I did?"
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
This is the worst possible question he could ask. You can't tell him the truth…I didn't mean to confess to you, I meant to confess to your friend, you just happened to be sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time, please don't hate me…but you also can't just… not answer. He's looking at you expectantly, his dark eyes curious and open, and you have approximately three seconds to come up with a convincing lie before the silence becomes too awkward to recover from.
"Your… kindness," you say, grasping at straws. "You're very… kind. To everyone. I noticed."
Heeseung tilts his head. "My kindness?"
"Very kind," you repeat, nodding vigorously. "So kind. The kindest. I saw you… hold a door open for someone once. It was… inspiring."
"I held a door open."
"A door. Yes. It was a very heavy door. And you held it. For a long time. Multiple people went through. It was very impressive."
Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and you stare back, your face burning, your soul evacuating your body. This is it. This is the moment he realizes you are completely unhinged and decides to never speak to you again. This is the victory of Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested.
"That's…" Heeseung starts, and then pauses. "That's the first time anyone's ever confessed to me because I held a door open. Usually I get compliments about my face. Or my voice. One girl told me I had a nose made to be sat on, which I still don't fully understand."
"Your node is… fine," you say weakly. "I didn't notice your nose. Or your face at all. Just the door. The door was the important part."
"A door," Heeseung says, and that smile is spreading across his face again, the one that makes him look less like a notorious player and more like someone who has just found a particularly entertaining puzzle. "You wrote me a three-page love letter because I held a door open."
"The calligraphy alone took a week," you say, and immediately regret it.
Heeseung laughs again, and this time it's softer, almost wondering. "You're not what I expected," he says. "At all."
"Is that… good or bad?"
"I haven't decided yet." But he's still smiling, and his eyes are still fixed on you with that curious intensity, and you're starting to get the sinking feeling that everything you do, no matter how strange or off-putting you try to be, is having the exact opposite effect of what you intend.
You need a new strategy. Something foolproof. Something so aggressively unappealing that even the most determined people-pleaser can't pretend to be interested.
And then, like a gift from the gods of social awkwardness, the topic of video games comes up.
Heeseung mentions something about blowing off steam after a tough assignment by playing a few rounds of something, and the question slips out before you can stop it: "Wait, do you play League of Legends?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes. You?"
And that's it. That's the moment the dam breaks.
You don't mean to start geeking out. It just happens. One moment you're thinking be boring, be uninteresting, be bland, and the next moment you're fifteen minutes deep into an impassioned monologue about the current meta, the problems with the jungle role, and why Riot Games needs to nerf a specific champion into the ground before she single-handedly destroys the competitive scene.
"-and don't even get me started on the new items, because the balance team clearly doesn't play their own game, which is fine, whatever, it's not like I have strong opinions about it except I absolutely do, and I wrote an entire essay about it on the subreddit that got like two thousand upvotes, so clearly I'm not the only one who thinks the armor penetration scaling is completely broken-"
You stop.
You stop because you have just realized, with dawning horror, that you have been talking for an incredibly long time without letting Heeseung get a single word in. You have been gesticulating. You have been making sound effects. At one point, you're pretty sure you drew a diagram on a napkin to illustrate the optimal jungle pathing route.
This is it. This is definitely, absolutely it. There is no way a hot third-year informatics student wants to listen to a first-year STEM girl rant about video game balance for fifteen straight minutes. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has just achieved its first genuine success.
You brace yourself for the polite excuse, the awkward glance at his phone, the slow backing away.
Instead, Heeseung leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and says: "Okay, but hear me out, what if the armor penetration scaling isn't the problem, and it's actually the base damage values that need to be adjusted? Because if you look at the win rate data across different elos, the issue isn't consistent at all levels of play."
You blink.
"I main ADC," he adds, as if this is a perfectly normal confession. "So trust me, I feel your pain about the jungle situation. Do you know how many times I've been left to solo dragon because my jungler was AFK farming? Too many. Too many times."
"You… main ADC?"
"Vayne and Kai'Sa mostly. Sometimes Jhin if I'm feeling dramatic."
You have no response to this. Your brain has short-circuited somewhere around the phrase "win rate data across different elos," and it's still rebooting.
"Your essay on the subreddit," Heeseung continues, pulling out his phone. "What was the title? I want to read it. I love seeing well-reasoned arguments about game balance, and honestly, most of what gets posted is just people complaining without any actual data to back it up."
"It was… it was called The Current State of Armor Penetration: A Statistical Analysis and Why I'm Losing My Mind," you say faintly.
Heeseung types something into his phone, scrolls for a moment, and then his face lights up. "Found it. Two thousand three hundred upvotes and fourteen awards? That's impressive. Wait, you made graphs? You made graphs?"
"I was very passionate about the subject."
"Passionate," Heeseung repeats, looking up from his phone with an expression you can't quite read. "Yeah. I'm starting to get that about you."
He tucks his phone away and smiles at you, and it isn't the smooth, practiced smile you expect from the campus womanizer. It's something smaller. Something realer. Something that makes your stomach do a weird, traitorous flip that you immediately try to suppress.
"You know," he says, tilting his head as he studies you, "you remind me of a mouse."
Your brain screeches to a halt. "A… mouse?"
"Yeah. A little field mouse. The way your nose scrunches up when you're thinking, and how you get all twitchy and skittish when you're nervous. It's cute. It's really cute."
Cute. He calls you cute. He compares you to a rodent and somehow makes it sound like a compliment, and worst of all, worst of all, you can feel a traitorous blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire.
"I'm not…I don't…mice are not cute. Mice are pests. They carry diseases. I'm basically a health hazard."
Heeseung laughs, and it's the same genuine laugh from before, and he's looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's seen in years. "A health hazard. Right. Well, consider me warned."
He stands up, gathering his tray, and for one beautiful, hopeful moment, you think the ordeal is over. But then he pauses, looking down at you with that unreadable expression, and says the words that haunt you for the rest of the day:
"I was interested before, but now?" He shakes his head, still smiling. "Now I'm really interested. See you around, little mouse."
And then he walks away, leaving you alone at your corner table with a half-eaten sandwich, a napkin full of regurgitated lettuce, and the sinking realization that Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is not only failing, it's backfiring spectacularly.
You try to be weird, and he calls you cute.
You try to be boring, and he engages with your niche gaming opinions.
You try to choke to death in front of him, and he kneels beside your chair with genuine concern in his eyes.
You bang your forehead against the cafeteria table once, twice, three times, not caring who sees. This is a disaster. This is an unmitigated, unprecedented, absolutely catastrophic disaster. Hana's plan was supposed to work. Heeseung was supposed to get bored. He was supposed to move on. He was not supposed to look at you like you're a puzzle he wants to solve, or call you a mouse in a tone of voice that makes your heart do gymnastics, or read your League of Legends essay and compliment your graphs.
You need to regroup. You need to call an emergency meeting with Yunjin. You need to figure out a new strategy before this situation spirals even further out of control.
But first, you need to go to the library and return the books that are due today before you accrue another fine, because no matter how catastrophic your love life becomes, the university library shows no mercy.
—————
The library is your sanctuary. It always has been, a quiet, climate-controlled haven where the smell of old paper and the soft hum of fluorescent lights can soothe even the most tensed of nerves. After the cafeteria incident, you need sanctuary more than ever. You slip through the main doors with your stack of books clutched to your chest, inhaling the familiar scent of knowledge and dust, and feel some of the tension begin to ease from your shoulders.
Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine. You return your books, you find Yunjin, you regroup, and you figure out a way to-
"Y/N?"
The voice comes from somewhere to your left, and you know that voice. You know it the way a flower knows the sun, the way a compass knows north, the way a hopeless romantic knows the exact cadence of her crush's greeting.
Jungwon is sitting at a table near the history section, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and loose papers. He's wearing glasses…glasses…and his hair is slightly mussed from what you assume is hours of intense studying, and he's looking at you with that smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your entire nervous system short-circuit.
"Hey," he says, waving you over. "What are you doing here?"
Existing in the same space as you, you think. Breathing the same air. Trying not to spontaneously combust.
"Returning books," you say, holding up your stack as evidence. "I have some overdue ones. The library fines are no joke."
"Tell me about it. I had to pay fifteen thousand won last semester because I forgot about a book I'd checked out for a research paper." Jungwon winces at the memory. "My wallet still hasn't recovered."
"That's brutal."
"The library giveth, and the library taketh away."
You laugh, and it comes out surprisingly normal, not too loud, not too high-pitched, just a regular human laugh from a regular human person who is definitely not having an internal meltdown about how good Jungwon looks in glasses.
"Hey," Jungwon says, glancing at the empty chair across from him, "if you're not in a hurry, do you want to study together? I've been here for three hours and my brain is starting to melt. It would be nice to have some company."
Your heart stops.
Yang Jungwon, the Yang Jungwon, the owner of the smile and the laugh and the gummy bears at 2 AM is asking you to study with him. This is the kind of moment you've daydreamed about for months. This is a meet-cute in progress. This is the universe throwing you a lifeline after the cafeteria disaster, a chance to actually spend time with the boy you've been pining over since midterms.
"Yes," you say, before your brain can remind you of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. "Yes, I'd…I'd love to. Let me just return these first."
You practically skip to the returns desk, your heart doing a full backflip in your chest. By the time you make it back to Jungwon's table, your philosophy textbook and notebook spread out in front of you, you've convinced yourself that this is exactly what you need. Some time with Jungwon. Some time to remember why you wrote that letter in the first place. Some time to reconnect with the feelings that got buried under the chaos of the Heeseung situation.
The only problem is that you can't focus on studying at all.
You try. You really, genuinely try. You open your textbook to the assigned chapter. You uncap your highlighter. You fix your eyes on the page and attempt to absorb information about ethical frameworks and moral philosophy. But your eyes keep drifting up, against your will, over the top of your book, to the boy sitting across from you.
Jungwon is studying. Actually studying, not fake studying, not pretending to study while secretly watching you the way you're watching him. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his pen moving steadily across his notebook as he takes notes. Every so often, he pauses, taps the end of his pen against his chin, and then resumes writing with renewed focus. The late afternoon light slants through the window behind him, catching the highlights in his dark hair and making him look like he's stepped out of a painting.
He is beautiful. He's so beautiful that it makes your chest ache, a soft, sweet ache that you've been carrying around since the moment you first saw him in this very library. You watch the way his fingers curl around his pen, the way he bites his lower lip when he's thinking, the way his glasses slide down his nose and he pushes them back up with an absent gesture.
"I can feel you looking at me," Jungwon says, not glancing up from his notebook.
Your entire body jolts like you've been electrocuted. "I wasn't…I was just…there's a clock behind you. I was checking the time."
Jungwon looks up then, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your stomach do a slow, somersaulting flip. "The clock is to your right, Y/N. Not behind me."
You look to your right. Sure enough, there's the clock, hanging on the wall in plain view, which you would have noticed if you'd spent even one second actually looking for it instead of gazing at Jungwon's face like a Renaissance painter studying their muse.
"I'm… directionally challenged," you say weakly.
"Uh-huh." Jungwon sets down his pen, and the smile playing at the corners of his mouth is soft and teasing and absolutely devastating. "Come here for a second."
"What?"
"Just come here. Lean forward a little."
Your body obeys before your brain can intervene. You lean across the table, your heart hammering so loudly you're certain the entire library can hear it. Jungwon leans forward too, closing the distance between you, and you catch a faint whiff of something clean and subtle, laundry detergent, maybe, or the kind of fragrance that just smells like him.
His hand reaches out, and before you can process what's happening, his index finger gently pokes your cheek.
"Boop," he says.
You make a sound. You don't know what the sound is supposed to be. Maybe a laugh, maybe a question, maybe a plea for mercy. What comes out is something closer to a squeak, a small, strangled, completely undignified squeak that would be embarrassing if you had any brain cells left to feel embarrassment.
Jungwon's smile widens, and his finger lingers on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary. "You had an eyelash," he says. "Right there. But also, you just looked really cute staring at me like that. I couldn't resist."
Cute. He calls you cute. That's twice in one day that a devastatingly attractive boy has called you cute, and your hopeless romantic heart doesn't know whether to celebrate or go into cardiac arrest.
"I wasn't staring," you whisper, but it comes out completely unconvincing.
"You were absolutely staring." Jungwon withdraws his hand, but his smile stays, warm and fond and knowing. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's kind of nice, actually. Being looked at like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something worth looking at."
The words settle into your chest like a stone dropping into still water, sending ripples through your entire body. He thinks it's nice. He thinks you're nice or at least your staring is nice and he pokes your cheek and calls you cute and now he's going back to his studying like he hasn't just fundamentally altered your brain chemistry.
You try to return to your textbook. The words swim in front of your eyes, meaningless and blurry. You highlight a sentence at random, realize you have no idea what it says, and highlight it again for good measure. The page is now approximately forty percent highlighter ink.
"You're going to run out of highlighter at that rate," Jungwon observes, not looking up.
"I have backups," you say. "I always have backups."
"Of course you do."
The studying session continues for another hour, and you absorb approximately zero information about ethical frameworks. What you do absorb is a comprehensive catalogue of Jungwon's study habits: the way he organizes his notes with color-coded tabs, the way he mutters to himself when he's working through a difficult concept, the way he absentmindedly drums his fingers against the table when he's thinking. Every detail is another entry in your mental Jungwon database, another thread in the tapestry of your affection.
By the time you pack up your things and say goodbye, "See you in philosophy," Jungwon says, and you respond with something that might be words or might be a series of enthusiastic nods, you are floating. You are literally, physically floating, your feet barely touching the ground as you drift out of the library and across campus toward your dorm.
Jungwon pokes your cheek. Jungwon calls you cute. Jungwon says he likes being looked at by you.
You are winning. Despite the Heeseung disaster, despite the cafeteria catastrophe, despite everything, you are winning.
By the time you reach your dorm room, you are a mess of giddy energy with nowhere to go. You close the door behind you, throw your backpack onto your desk chair, and then proceed to wriggle across your bed like an ecstatic worm, kicking your feet and muffling your squeals into your pillow.
"He called me cute," you whisper to your empty room, your voice muffled by fabric. "He poked my cheek. He did the boop thing. The boop thing, you guys. Who does the boop thing? Adorable people, that's who. Perfect people. People with beautiful smiles and kind eyes and-"
You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a dreamy expression. The ceiling has forty-three tiles in your room. You counted them on your first night in the dorm. But right now, all you can see is Jungwon's face, the way he looked at you across the library table, the way his finger felt against your cheek, the way his voice went soft when he said like I'm something worth looking at.
You are going to marry him. You are going to marry Yang Jungwon and have a beautiful wedding with string lights and wildflowers and a three-tier cake, and you will tell the story of how you stared at him in the library and he poked your cheek and-
You stop wriggling.
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
You can't marry Jungwon. You can't even confess to Jungwon, because Jungwon thinks you confessed to Heeseung. Jungwon thinks you're interested in someone else. Jungwon was sweet and friendly and maybe a little bit flirty, but that's just his personality. He's nice to everyone. He gives you gummy bears at 2 AM; he probably gives gummy bears to everyone who looks tired. You aren't special. You are just… there.
The giddiness begins to drain out of you, replaced by the familiar weight of reality. You are still trapped in the Heeseung situation. You are still the girl who confessed to the wrong person. And no matter how many times Jungwon pokes your cheek, that fundamental fact isn't going to change.
With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself through your evening routine: shower, skincare, the episode of the baking show you're halfway through and finally crawl into bed around midnight, your emotions a tangled knot of hope and despair.
Sleep comes slowly, a gradual descent into darkness, and then-
—————
You are in the PC room again.
But this time it's different. The lights are dimmer, the computers all dark, the chairs empty. It's just you, and the door is swinging shut behind you, and there's someone waiting at the computer closest to the door.
Heeseung.
He's sitting in the chair, facing away from you, his headphones around his neck and his shoulders relaxed. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, and his expression isn't surprised or amused or curious. It's something else entirely. Something darker. Something that makes your breath catch in your throat.
"You're here," he says, and his voice is lower than you've ever heard it, a rumble that vibrates through your bones. "I've been waiting for you, little mouse."
"I'm not-" you start, but he's already standing, already moving toward you, and you can't seem to make your feet work. You're rooted to the spot, watching him approach with a mixture of fear and something else, something you don't want to name.
He stops inches away from you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that you can see the individual strands of his hair and the curve of his lips and the way his eyes, God, his eyes are fixed on your mouth.
"You know what I've been thinking about?" he murmurs, and one of his hands comes up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your temple. "I've been thinking about that letter. The way you said you only had eyes for me. The way you said you couldn't stop thinking about me."
"That wasn't-" you try, but your voice comes out as barely a whisper, and Heeseung's thumb is tracing along your jawline now, feather-light and devastating.
"I can't stop thinking about you either," he says, and his face is getting closer, closer, and you can feel his breath against your lips. "Do you want to know what I think about?"
Your heart is hammering. Your skin is on fire. You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except stare up at him with wide eyes as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and solid and pulling you closer.
"I think about this," he whispers, and then his mouth is on yours.
The kiss is…it's…
It's intense. It's consuming. It's the kind of kiss that erases every rational thought from your brain and replaces it with pure, unfiltered sensation. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a confidence that makes your knees weak. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you make a sound against his mouth, something small and breathless and completely involuntary.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his voice is rough. "You’re what I’ve been looking for my whole life, Y/N. You’re my miracle."
And then his lips are on your neck, trailing fire down to your collarbone, and your head falls back, and his name escapes your mouth in a way you've never said it before-
He kneels before you, his movements fluid and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours as he unzips his jeans, freeing his already hard cock. It stands proud and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He takes your foot in his warm hand, bringing it to his shaft.
"Look what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. He wraps your foot around his length, his thumb pressing against your arch as he begins to move your foot up and down his cock. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a low groan escaping his lips.
The sensation of his hot skin against your sole sends shivers through your body. You watch, mesmerized, as he uses your foot to pleasure himself, his hips thrusting in rhythm with the movements of your foot. His other hand moves to your ankle, his grip firm but gentle, his fingers stroking your sensitive skin.
His eyes open, locking with yours again, and the intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "You're so beautiful," he breathes, his movements becoming faster, more urgent. "You’re perfect the way you are."
His breathing grows ragged, his muscles tensing. With a guttural moan, he comes, his hot release spilling over your foot and his hand. He leans forward, his tongue darting out to taste his own cum from your skin, his movements slow and sensual. He licks your foot clean, his tongue tracing patterns on your arch, between your toes, sending waves of pleasure through your body.
Then he shifts, positioning himself between your legs. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I need to taste you," he says, his voice rough with need.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He tosses them aside, then leans in, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh.
His tongue flicks out, teasing your clit, and you gasp, your hands flying to his hair. He chuckles, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you. "Patience, little mouse," he murmurs against your skin.
His tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, building your pleasure gradually. He alternates between broad, flat strokes and quick, precise flicks of his tongue against your clit. His fingers join in, one, then two, sliding inside you, curling to hit that spot that makes you cry.
Your hips buck against his face, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Heeseung," you moan, your fingers tightening in his hair.
He responds with increased enthusiasm, his tongue working faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you. The pressure builds inside you, a coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it snaps.
You come with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. But Heeseung doesn't stop. He continues his assault on your senses, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to bring you to the edge again.
And then you are squirting, your release flooding his mouth and chin as he drinks you in, his movements never faltering. He looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he laps up every drop.
When he finally pulls away, his face glistening with your juices, he crawls up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and the intimacy of it sends another wave of desire through you.
"Tell me you’re only thinking of me," he whispers against your lips, his hands roaming your body. "and not Jungwon."
You wake up.
You wake up in your dorm room, in your bed, at 7:43 AM on a Tuesday morning, with your heart pounding and your skin flushed, your panties soaked and your sheets twisted around your legs like they've been through a battle.
For a long moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe.
Did you just… did you just dream about… did Lee Heeseung, the guy you're supposed to be making uninterested in you, the guy you've been trying to avoid and ignore and repel, just star in what can only be described as an extremely obscene dream? The virgin you are just cringed at the memory.
You press your hands to your burning cheeks and let out a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a scream.
"No," you whisper to the empty room. "No, no, no. This isn't, this can't…I don't even like him. I like Jungwon. Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon for four months. I wrote a letter to Jungwon. I have a color-coded mental database of Jungwon's habits. I want to marry Jungwon and have a three-tier wedding cake with wildflowers!"
But your brain, traitorous and unhelpful, keeps replaying fragments of the dream, the way Heeseung's eyes go dark, the way his voice rumbles against your ear, the way his hand feels on your waist, the way his tongue is warm and-
You grab your pillow and press it over your face, screaming into it with all the force your lungs can muster.
This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. You are a Jungwon girl. You've always been a Jungwon girl. You don't think about Heeseung like that. You don't think about Heeseung like anything. Heeseung is an obstacle. Heeseung is a problem to be solved. Heeseung is the guy you're actively trying to repel, not the guy who shows up in your subconscious and does things that make you blush in the privacy of your own bed.
"I'm a psychopath," you say to your pillow. "I'm a complete and utter psychopath. Who dreams about this with a guy they're supposed to be making uninterested? A psychopath, that's who. A deranged lunatic. A person with a broken brain."
Your pillow, predictably, does not respond.
You drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. You don't want to look at yourself. You don't want to see the evidence of the dream still lingering in your flushed cheeks…and between your legs.
This is a problem. This is a Major Problem with capital letters and possibly a warning siren. You can't afford to be having dreams about Lee Heeseung. You can't afford to be thinking about Lee Heeseung at all. Your entire strategy, Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested depends on you being able to keep a clear head and a steady heart, and neither of those things is going to be possible if your subconscious keeps ambushing you with extremely vivid, extremely inappropriate content.
You need to talk to Yunjin. Immediately. Before your brain can conjure up any more unauthorized imagery.
But as you grab your phone and type out a frantic message, EMERGENCY MEETING REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY CODE RED REPEAT CODE RED, you can't quite shake the lingering sensation from the dream.
The way Heeseung's thumb traces along your jawline.
The way he calls you little mouse in that low, rumbling voice.
The way he says you were perfect the way you were like he means it, like it's true, like he's been into you his whole life and hasn't even known it.
You shake your head violently, flinging droplets of water across the bathroom mirror.
"Nope," you say out loud. "Nope, nope, nope. We're not doing this. We're not thinking about this. We're going to go to class and eat lunch and avoid all tall informatics students, and we're going to get our brain back on the Jungwon track where it belongs."
But even as you say it, even as you try to mean it, a small, treacherous part of you wonders if maybe, just maybe, the Jungwon track isn't the only track worth following anymore.
You shove that thought into a mental box, lock it, and throw away the key.
You have a plan. You have a strategy. You are going to make Heeseung uninterested, and you are going to figure out a way to untangle the misunderstanding, and you are going to end up with Jungwon like you were always supposed to.
The dream is just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. It can't mean anything.
You refuse to let it mean anything.
(But when you catch yourself glancing toward the informatics building on your way to class, you walk a little faster, and you definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent do not wonder what Lee Heeseung is doing right now.)
—————
The dream haunts you for three days.
Not in a supernatural, ghost-in-the-corner kind of way. More in an I-can't-make-eye-contact-with-my-own-reflection kind of way. Every time you close your eyes, fragments of it flicker behind your eyelids like a movie you hadn't asked to watch. The dark PC room. The way Heeseung's voice drops to a rumble. The phantom sensation of his tongue on your clit, his hand on your ankle, his look-
You physically convulse every time the memory resurfaces, which is approximately every forty-five minutes. Your philosophy notes become a graveyard of distracted doodles, half of which look suspiciously like the curve of someone's jaw. You have to throw away an entire page because you accidentally write "little mouse" in the margin instead of "moral relativism."
Yunjin is no help whatsoever.
"So you had a wet dream about the hot guy who you’re supposedly getting bored of," she says over bubble tea the day after the incident, her expression thoroughly unimpressed. "This is a problem because…?"
"Because I don't like him, Yunjin! I like Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon since midterms! Jungwon is the goal! Jungwon is the three-tier wedding cake!"
"And Heeseung is…?"
"A temporary obstacle! A misunderstanding with legs! A very tall, very inconvenient plot twist!"
Yunjin sucks on her tapioca pearls with the air of a therapist who has heard it all before and is no longer surprised by anything. "You know what they say about protesting too much."
"I am not protesting too much. I am protesting exactly the right amount. I am protesting a perfectly calibrated quantity."
"Sure." She pats your hand with condescending sympathy. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Oh wait-"
You throw a tapioca pearl at her face. It sticks to her cheek for a solid three seconds before falling off, and the look of absolute betrayal on her face is the only bright spot in your otherwise nightmare-plagued week.
But now it's Thursday. Thursday, 2:15 PM. You're stationed in the science building's main hallway, crouched behind a bulletin board that is absolutely not wide enough to hide your entire body, waiting for the coast to clear so you can sprint to your next class without encountering any tall informatics students.
Your system has evolved since the early days of the crisis. You now have a color-coded schedule of Heeseung's known movements, courtesy of some light reconnaissance work that Yunjin calls "stalking" and you call "strategic intelligence gathering." You know his class schedule. You know his preferred study spots. You know that he tends to grab coffee from the campus café at exactly 3 PM on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which means the science building hallway should, theoretically, be a Heeseung-free zone at 2:15.
Theoretically.
You're just about to make your move, a quick dash to the stairwell, then up two flights, then a straight shot to classroom 307, when you hear it.
"Hey, is Y/N L/N in there?"
Your blood freezes. Your muscles lock. Your soul briefly departs your body and then slams back into it with force.
That's Heeseung's voice. That's unmistakably, undeniably, catastrophically Lee Heeseung's voice, and it's coming from approximately ten feet to your left, where the door to your department's main office stands open.
You press yourself harder against the bulletin board, praying for invisibility, praying for a sudden power outage, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you into its merciful embrace. None of these things happen. Instead, you hear the department secretary respond with cheerful obliviousness.
"Y/N L/N? First year, STEM? I think I saw her in the hallway just a minute ago. Let me check, oh, there she is! Y/N! You have a visitor!"
The secretary is pointing directly at your bulletin board. Your bulletin board that is not hiding you at all. Your bulletin board that is, in fact, leaving approximately seventy percent of your body completely visible to anyone who happens to look in that direction.
Heeseung turns.
Your eyes meet.
Time stops.
There are moments in life that feel like they stretch into eternity, moments so profoundly awkward, so cosmically embarrassing, that the universe itself seems to pause and take notice. This is one of those moments. You are frozen in a half-crouch behind a bulletin board, your backpack dangling from one shoulder, your hair escaping from the ponytail you threw it into this morning, your expression one of pure, unfiltered terror. Heeseung is standing in the doorway of the department office, looking unfairly attractive in a simple black hoodie and jeans, his eyebrows rising slowly toward his hairline.
A small crowd of students has paused in the hallway to watch. You can feel their eyes on you like a physical weight. Someone whispers something to their friend. Someone else pulls out their phone.
You are going to die. You are going to perish right here in the science building hallway, and your ghost will be doomed to haunt this bulletin board for all eternity.
"Y/N?" Heeseung's voice is a mixture of confusion and amusement. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively take a step back, which results in you bumping directly into the bulletin board and causing several flyers to flutter dramatically to the ground. "Were you… hiding behind that?"
"No," you say, too quickly. "No, I was…I dropped something. A contact lens. I was looking for my contact lens."
"You don't wear contacts."
"I might! You don't know my life!"
"Your glasses are literally on your face right now."
You reach up and touch your glasses, which are indeed sitting on your nose, clearly visible, doing their job of correcting your vision. You have no response to this. There is no response to this. You have been caught in a lie so transparent it's essentially a window.
Heeseung's lips twitch. "You know, most people who have a crush on me don't run away and hide behind furniture. This is very confusing for my ego."
The crowd is still watching. Why is the crowd still watching? Don't they have classes to go to? Midterms to study for? Lives to live that don't involve spectating your public humiliation?
"I wasn't hiding from you specifically," you say, because apparently your mouth has decided to operate independently from your brain. "I was hiding from… the sun. It's very bright in here. I'm photosensitive."
"You're a STEM student hiding from the sun in a basement hallway with no windows," Heeseung says slowly. "That's… a new one."
"It's a medical condition. It's very serious. My doctor says I need to avoid direct fluorescent lighting."
"The fluorescent lighting is what's getting you."
"Absolutely. It's my greatest enemy. Well, second greatest. After-" You stop yourself before you can say after incredibly hot informatics students who keep appearing in my life like a recurring nightmare.
Heeseung waits. When you don't finish the sentence, that smile, the one that's definitely a smirk's second cousin, maybe even its first cousin at this point, spreads across his face.
"Well," he says, "now that I've found you and dragged you out of the shadows, literally, I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee. With me. Right now."
Every single person in the hallway is looking at you. The secretary is looking at you from the office doorway, her expression one of grandmotherly delight at what she clearly perceives as a romantic overture. The students who stopped to watch are exchanging glances and whispers. One girl gives you an encouraging thumbs up.
You are trapped. You are cornered. You are a mouse being offered coffee by a very tall, very persistent cat.
And just like every other time Heeseung has put you on the spot, you open your mouth and the wrong words come out.
"I love coffee," you say. "Coffee is my favorite liquid. After water. And possibly juice. But it's definitely in the top three."
PAIRING. biology professor!nishimura riki x student!reader.
SYN. an upcoming anatomy final leaves you teetering on the edge of exhaustion, buried under stress and self-doubt. but when professor nishimura offers a steady, guiding hand, the pressure starts to lift — and suddenly, the lines between mentorship and something more begin to blur.
WC. 29.5k (what the hell lol)
CW. 18+ mdni, age gap (reader is in early 20s // riki is in his late 20s/early 30s), porn with some plot, power dynamics, angst, fluff, secret relationship, sexual fantasies >_<, college au, praise, degradation. piv, unprotected (pls don’t) creampie, breeding kink, spit kink (yes he spits.. on u), petnames (good girl, etc.) mentions of alcohol and drinking, skinship, riki is terrible w admitting his feelings, slowburn (?) fem!reader, spanking, dumbification oral sex (f!rec)
AN. IT’S FINALLY FUCKING HERE OH MY GOD. firstly i want to say thank you to my gorgeous beautiful @d2iose for being my beta reader + hyping me up all the time n @dolllnini for being the biggest prof!riki fangirl. i would not have bothered to finish this hot mess if not for u guys.. i’ll send ass pics soon as a real thank you gift alright… ;)))) jk. maybe if u guys rlt want it. i genuinely feel indebted bc u had to listen to me crash out over this shit like at least 5 times over.. anyways it’s crazy cus i started this fic in like november and i’ve only now come around to finishing it. incredibly slow of me.. sorry. i hope it touches all ur souls and makes u wetter than anyrhing imaginable bc only the father, the son and Holy Spirit know how down bad professor nishimura got me feeling. i’m so sorry for the long ass word count too cus it was originally meant to be like 10k but i have terrible self control n i didn’t want to make everyone wait for like a Mehhh short fic. might as well lengthen it am i right???!!! okay. enjoy it u freaks!!!
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.
IT IS 5 IN THE MORNING.
birds are chirping and the sun is barely peeking over the buildings across from your modest apartment, kissing your skin in the most overstimulating way possible — your curtains have shifted slightly open due to the long night’s wind, and you are tired of hearing cars honk this early into dawn.
you’re clicking through the right arrows on your keyboard mindlessly, eyes barely processing the stream of images flashing across your macbook screen. the air in your lungs feels heavy, leaving your lips in slow, tired sighs — each one spelling out ‘why did i choose this major?’ in the shape of fading smoke.
two semesters worth of content to get down before your anatomy final. you’re angry, understandably: it’s less than a month back from your term break and you’re already slammed back to back with tests, projects, and tiny, worthless assignments you couldn’t be bothered to start.
“fucking ridiculous.”
microsoft word is minimized, a blank document laying dormant from 10 hours ago when you said you’d start on that small-scale literature review for your sociology elective.
spoiler: you have not, and you really don’t think you’ll have time to unless it’s a day before submission.
your first actually important hurdle was the anatomy final coming up. you’d done surprisingly decent so far — the warning words of your seniors had served you well up till now — but apparently, someone in the biology faculty decided to up the stakes and test all the majors on every single chapter instead of the usual, “too-easy” and “relaxing” ten.
you’d read the email two tuesdays ago, right leg folded over the left as you sat in a local coffee shop.
one moment you were sipping a rich, smooth caramel latte, enjoying your one blessed day of starting classes at noon — and the next, you were crying into your palms.
for a moment, professor riki nishimura’s face flashes in your mind. with a face like that, you had half a mind to tell him to fuck off and get a job in modelling instead.
he, presumably, was the one making things ten times harder for you. though, you couldn’t exactly point fingers at who decided on the sudden syllabus change, with a lack of proof and all that.
on the bright side, it’s nice to know that he had that much faith in you and your peers. bellcurve and whatever, if you’d just get those 500 cards down, you think you’ll outperform many of them. still, it doesn’t mean that the chronic sleep deprivation feels any more worth it.
You: dude i’m not getting anything done for anatomy 5:12 AM
Sooha: me neither 5:13 AM
Sooha: im telling u it was prof who added those fucking chapters 5:14 AM
You: literallt why does it matter im stillleft eith 250 fuckign cards 5:16 AM
Sooha: i emailed him this morning asking him to reconsider so it woudl be kinda embarrassing if it wasnt him 5:17 AM
You: fuck thats genius 5:17 AM
You: why r u even awake btw 5:17 AM
Sooha: creative writing assignment due at 8am lol 5:19 AM
genius indeed, sooha — perhaps one or two emails would help persuade your kind professor to reevaluate his expectations of class of 2025.
it wasn’t that you were incapable. it was just too little time, too many priorities; being twenty something and in university, in not to mention one of the most competitive education systems in the world, definitely takes it’s toll on you.
walk around campus and you’d see at least five people with sunken eyes and some kind of posture problem from bending over wooden desks for hours.
you wonder how people get through this with stellar gpa’s and a spotless attendance. you’re already down to 90% for some classes, and it feels like sand slipping between your fingers with how desperately you’re clinging onto the last bit of sanity college has left you with.
you lean back into your beanbag, nose tipping towards the ceiling as you exhale heavily. the air is freezing cold this time of year, and your fingers lay still on your keyboard, mind repeating sooha’s words. you’re stumped.
i wrote an email asking him to reconsider.
you sit up, shifting around, the sounds of plastic beads rustling inside of the fabric of the beanbag. your eyes glaze over the bright, fluorescent screen that lights up your entire living room with it’s glow.
the bookmark to outlook practically speaks to you in your sleep-deprived state, and you’re oh-so close to imagining eyes and a mouth growing from the icon.
so you click on it. press the notebook button with knit eyebrows and your teeth clenched, jaw twitching in a slowly brewing mix of anger, stress, and sadness.
To: NISHIMURA RIKI
prof im suffering so bad with these fucking chapters. 10 was already bad enough and u want us to do ALL OF THEM?????? are u crazy????? havent u been thru this before?? u have a phd??? do u not understand how students feel?????.?. this is incredibly inconsiderate actually. its either you help me get this A and maintain my gpa or i am not shwoing up for that damn test
strange. it sounded more formal in your head, still equally vulgar but with a little more tact. you’d written plenty of informal emails before; ever since college started, lecturers seemed more relaxed than the typical high school teacher. some you called by name, some you’d chat with over coffee in the cafeteria. you’d even met a few of their kids during school events, like that one campus-hosted marathon last year when you accidentally bumped into mrs. lee’s ten-year-old son.
still, nothing had ever felt this charged. your literature professor might’ve called it poetic — maybe even commendable — as if that would somehow justify the string of inappropriate words you were typing. but even in your half-awake state, you knew this was going to go sideways, upside down, and sideways again.
nevermind that, your mind whispers. it is tomorrow’s problem.
with that, your index finger slams down on the touchpad, the cursor darting across the screen until it hovers over the large X in the corner of your browser. another click and it’s gone, and it’s another second for your eyes to screw shut.
Email sent to NISHIMURA RIKI.
─────────────────────────
PROFESSOR NISHIMURA WAS A PHENOMENON AROUND CAMPUS.
young, rich, handsome, smart, disgustingly so. a man holding such traits was bound to be under the watchful eye of colleagues, lecturers and students under the same institution — highly revered and wildly desirable to all the girls in your year.
he was only a few years older. an impressive feat, agreed by many: the walls of his office were decorated in certificates, plaques with his name inscribed, all praising his research and contribution to the field of biology. his shelves were taken up mostly by books, or framed photos of him receiving awards, standing alone with a polite smile that barely showed how proud he really was of where he stood.
naturally, he was wanted everywhere he went — by universities, research labs, private companies who would’ve splurged to their last cent to have him under their belt.
but still, nothing compared to teaching something he loved — no amount of awards could ever give him the same satisfaction as seeing a student get a grade they worked so diligently for, under his guidance.
it was a selfless kind of addiction.
professor riki shows up to class in tight button-ups, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms as he leans against the lectern, laptop open to slides he knows no one will really care about. the real lesson begins when he picks up that thick black whiteboard marker, sketching every muscle, vein, and layer of skin from memory — movements so precise it feels like watching art unfold.
even the lowest-scoring student can’t help but stare, chin propped in their hand, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief at how effortlessly professor nishimura draws, how sure he seems of every line, every curve, every minute detail that other lecturers couldn’t replicate.
who the hell wouldn’t want a guy like that? remembers what’s important and loves working with his hands. it’s pure fantasy sitting right in front of you.
in pure, uncensored, and shameless honesty, you’ve thought about it once or twice during his classes. thought about him.
it’s the way he looks at you when he leans over your desk, voice low, explaining something gently and meticulously, all the words clicking in your head as he mumbles on about pulmonary ventilation and respiratory pumps.
“mm. that’s right, smart girl. you don’t need my help after all.”
it doesn’t help that he calls you to his office after a few sloppy mock tests, isolating you from the rest of your class in that sleek, quiet office tucked into a far corner of the administrative building. you’re not there often, but every time you are, it feels unreal — because professor nishimura doesn’t seem entirely human.
“tell me what you want,” he would mutter, flipping through papers at his desk as you shift your weight nervously. “use your words, like a big girl. i can’t read your mind.”
he’s too composed, too annoyingly blunt, acting as if the words that roll off that sharp tongue don’t make you squirm, dizzy in the head while you remind yourself that this is professor talk, not hot-nerdy-tutor talk.
so why the hell is he still so sexy, then, despite the constant self-reminders?
it’s a pain in the ass. it’s not working. at all.
you catch yourself wondering if he has a wife, maybe children, or a secret past he left behind in japan. whether he ever regrets it — trading familiarity for this polished, lonely kind of brilliance in korea.
or maybe he was really just an oddly cold guy, by nature, who also happens to be really hot.
well — you couldn’t ask your professor that. not for as long as he was your professor, of course.
it goes without saying that if he were a classmate of yours, you’d have sunk your claws into that man centuries ago; stared at him like he was the sweetest eye candy you’ve ever had in all your years of schooling as he passed by you in the halls.
you’d ask him for help with homework, run your hand over his bicep when his jokes get a little too funny.
“riki, are you free tonight? help me with my assignments… please?”
you’d smile, bat your lashes, play innocent until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. he’d drag you into an empty classroom to take care of the problem in his pants, the one that emerges every single time you get too close — close enough to get a whiff of your perfume, or your sweat, or your hair.
or just you.
you’d unbuckle his belt, pull his pants down in one swift motion, wrap your lips around that stupidly thick tip of his. he’d fist your hair, guiding you up and down, drooling all over his cock where he knew you belonged.
then, the late night homework-slash-study sessions would lead to your hands palming his bulge through his sweats, your lips messily crashing against his — he’d moan your name as you sunk down on him, right on your desk chair, the lamp on your table shaking with every wet thwack of skin. he’d shove his fingers in your mouth, trying to shut you up before your roommates come barging in.
“o-oh fuckkk,” you imagine him panting, big hands holding your hips as he helps you bounce on his dick. “pussy s’fucking good—so perfect, [name], made for me.”
in another life, professor nishimura is not your professor, and he’s folding you in half in your dorm every friday night after your last class. his glasses thrown somewhere onto the floor, your shirt riding up your chest, his pants barely down his thighs cause he’s just so needy and impatient.
“this what you wanted?” he’d grunt, your knees folded against your chest, thighs slick with sweat and cum and every other fluid you can’t bother naming. “dumb slut. didn’t even do half of your work right—fuck—rubbing all up on me the entire fucking week. can’t wait for some dick? huh?”
“s-sorry, riki, i’m sorry—mmph—!”
saturday brunch plans with jiwon and sooha would be automatically cancelled. instead of cruel reality, where you’re just too sleep deprived to make it out of the building — in this fantasy, your legs just simply won’t let you get out of bed.
“good for nothing,” riki would tap your cheek with his fingers, your tongue lolling out for him to spit on. “just for me to fuck. waiting all damn week just to be filled—felt so empty without your riki inside of you—huh, baby?”
he’d rut into you, rough hands feeling your tits, your moans starting to amp up. he’d fuck you like he’s known you his entire life — like he knows your body better than you do — because in truth, he does.
“i just m-missed you so much, riki,” you’d whine, grinding your hips against him to meet his thrusts halfway, each hit making your toes curl behind his back. “o-oh fuuuck—right there!”
“yeah? show me how much you fucking missed me, then, dumb bitch.”
it’s that damn degree, those framed certificates, that impossible air of authority — standing between you two, spelling out the line you can’t cross. the one that divides student from mentor, fantasy from a painfully brutal reality.
“that’s all the time we have,” professor nishimura’s voice rolls through the lecture hall, low and smooth, the kind that sinks into your skin and lingers long after the sound fades. even through the mic, it carries that calm, deliberate rhythm that always makes you sit up a little straighter.
you’re half-asleep, six rows back, barely holding yourself upright after another night of terrible decisions and too little rest. still, you catch every word — because somehow, you always do when it comes to professor nishimura.
his back turns to the whiteboard, eyes scanning the room for the same few students who raise their hands to ask ridiculously specific questions. professor nishimura answers each one in turn, unhurried and precise, his tone steady, his explanations effortless. it’s unnerving how smooth it is, no pauses, no haste, just knowledge flowing out of him like it’s second nature. his mind seems like a library built from years of quiet obsession, and he speaks with the calm certainty of someone who’s never once needed to guess.
you wonder if he could memorise all 500 flashcards of yours in less than ten minutes. you’d bet $5 he could. it’s too bad you don’t have as much of an obsession with biology like your beloved professor does.
“i hope i don’t need to remind you all to study for your final. email me if you have any queries.”
his final words dissolve into the usual chaos — backpack zippers, chatter, the quite thudding of chairs against cheap carpet. you exhale, already feeling the weight of the next two hours pressing down. your next class isn’t until later, but the library fills up fast around this time.
you spot sooha near the door, standing on her tiptoes like a soldier ready to sprint, determined to claim one of the few coveted study spots before the lunchtime crowd floods in. for a moment, you just watch her go, too tired to follow, too comfortable basking in the faint echo of your professor’s voice still looping in your head.
“studied?” jiwon’s hand brushes over your slumped shoulders, your forehead kissing the surface of your desk. you look up to meet her gentle, concerned eyes. an angel all in all, before her expression morphs into one of genuine shock. “oh my god. what time did you sleep last night?”
those damn cards. again. you’ve still yet to finish them.
“don’t even ask me that,” you huff, index fingers rubbing your eyes, trying your best to get blood moving inside of your body. “you going for lunch?”
“i have class in twenty,” jiwon frowns. she looks genuinely crushed, and all it does is make you smile up at her. “we’ll eat tomorrow?”
“i can’t—too many things to do. next week?”
she nods at your words before turning back around, hugging her pink laptop to her chest as she walks off — her stride still as light and cheerful as the first day you met her at freshman orientation. it’s comforting, in a way, knowing that even when sooha’s busy spiraling over her chaotic study habits, jiwon’s calm, steady presence always balances it out. around them, the world feels a little softer, and for a fleeting moment, you believe there’s really nothing worth stressing about.
you slump over your desk once more, the quiet hum of air-conditioning lulling you to back to sweet, comforting sleep — until something begins to tap at the turn of your shoulder.
“miss [last name].”
you smack your lips together, hair falling over your face as you tilt your head up, meeting professor nishimura’s heavy, lingering gaze. his glasses sit slightly askew, a little too low to be comfortable, and you can’t help but notice the way his middle finger moves to push them back up the slope of his nose.
“yeah?”
from this distance, he doesn’t seem all that unattainable. realistically, he’s only… what, five, six years older than you? maximum seven, if you’re pushing your luck. not a wrinkle in sight, he must take care of his collagen levels.
still, standing this close, that tiny gap feels even smaller — like the space between student and teacher was never really there at all. he looks like any guy you might’ve shared a homeroom with back in high school, or a friend of a friend you’d spot shooting hoops during a study break. maybe even someone your age working part-time at the local café, trying to chip away at student debt before it piles up.
he looks ordinary. familiar. like someone you could know.
professor nishimura blinks slowly at you, slightly surprised by your casual tone — still, he wasn’t one of those teachers with a stick up his ass about authority, because he himself knew that he was not all that old with grey hairs.
“are you okay?” he asks.
you smile lazily at him. you don’t imagine you look cute right now, but you do it anyway. “i’m great, professor.”
his skin looks flawless. his hair is amazing. his lips look so moisturized, soft, pillowy. he speaks to you with the same gentleness and concern you never got used to, even after attending his classes for weeks.
“are you sure?”
he raises an eyebrow, expectant expression written all over. what the hell does he want you to say? no, i’ve been studying all night for your stupid exam and now i have to show up for your stupid classes 10 in the morning?
yes, professor, i am as jolly as a student can be! albeit i am running on four hours of sleep, two cups of black coffee, and dying airpods, everything’s going great—
“i’m sure, professor.” you grit your teeth in a pleasant smile. he hums in satisfaction at your reply, eyes squinting, as if he was quietly analysing every detail of your very fake grin. you’re worried he might catch the flicker of disdain in your eyes, but even if he does, he doesn’t poke at it.
smart guy.
“by the way, i answered your email.” professor nishimura says finally, clearing his throat as his voice slices cleanly through the heavy air. it feels tense, awkward even, though the feeling seems to exist only on your end. he remains composed, collected as ever, while under the sleek surface of his desk, your leg won’t stop bouncing.
“huh?”
if only for a second, something flickers across professor nishimura’s face — amusement. like he finds you funny, maybe a little entertaining. it’s strange, seeing that expression on him of all people.
no — most of all, it is terrifying.
this is the same professor nishimura who rarely entertains small talk outside his field, who wears no ring on his finger, who still has the default iphone lockscreen. the one whose phone occasionally buzzes mid-lecture with microsoft team messages — notifications he never bothers to mute, because in his world, work has always come before life.
“have you read it?”
there it is. that twitch in his lips, a short breath that comes out as a scoff, before he grins.
he finds you funny, in the way an old friend from high school might, with that same teasing edge in his expression, like he’s just waiting to see how you’ll react. there’s something disarming about it, familiar in a way that doesn’t fit the setting or the title he carries, yet it lingers between you all the same. now, he’s smiling down at you with an expectant grin, watching your brain scramble in real time for an answer.
only then you realise what he’s just said — your email. your half-asleep, drowsy, fuelled email that was keyboard mashed with furious fingers.
your throat goes dry. his hands slip into the pockets of his slacks, fingers fidgeting in the small space that seems too tight to hold anything of importance.
“hm?”
professor nishimura leans forward, just enough to cast a shadow over you — the harsh white lights of the lecture hall still blaze above, but beneath him, the room somehow feels dimmer than when you first walked in.
he reeks of cologne.
you’ve smelled it before: expensive, heady, the kind that lingers for days. you remember considering that same scent for your ex, the one a year above you, the one you met at a frat party back when you were still a freshman. but now, all that memory dissolves into this moment — into the scent that clings to him, to the way professor nishimura looks down at you with that smug, unreadable grin, like he’s studying something rare under the lens of a microscope.
“yeah! yeah, i have,” you force a smile, “but could… could you refresh my memory? i was reading it on the way to class, and i was just so incredibly busy—“
his jaw.
the smug bastard’s jaw.
it twitches.
under this lighting, you see it clear as day, the way he shifts his weight and tilts his head: as if he was amazed by this reaction he was managing to pull from you.
professor nishimura leans his frame closer. the air shifts completely: every thud of your ventricular walls squeezing blood echoes in your ears, your skin warming under the sudden proximity, your breath faltering as the sharp, unyielding man in front of you closes an already (inappropriately) small gap between you two.
your gaze drifts to the line of his neck, and — as if the universe insists on being cruel — a fresh wave of his cologne fills your senses. it’s strong enough to sting, to make your eyes prickle with heat. you can’t tell if it’s because of the way he’s looking down at you, heavy and deliberate, or because you’re genuinely fearing disciplinary action. either way, your stare darts to the wall behind him, anywhere but the place where his eyes are anchored on you.
“i’ll be more than willing to help you,” he speaks, clearly and smoothly, as if it was really nothing much that you harassed his inbox last night. “why didn’t you ask sooner, hm? i’m almost offended.”
just another tuesday for the likes of someone so brilliant. it makes you roll your eyes — he notices, tongue poking into his cheek as he does so.
“i thought you’d be busy with other matters, is all,” you smile up at him, pretty irises peeking through your lashes as you bat your eyes. “aren’t you, professor?”
fucking minx, he thinks.
“i’d always make time for you, you know that. you’re a smart girl,” professor nishimura says, the smirk now fully formed, carved into his face like it belongs there. “however…”
his hands brace against your desk as he leans further in, close enough that you can hear the faint rustle of his shirt when he breathes, the sharp inhale of air before he speaks. “if you need a little extra help, of course, i’ll do anything.”
it’s the way the words land and hang in the air. he isn’t talking about academics.
it’s an invitation with sharp teeth, slipped between the lines and delivered in a voice that knows exactly where the boundaries soften — where they blur just enough for you to start decoding.
it’s up to you to decipher him, and you do, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly as you meet his, reading him in a way he definitely meant for you to.
“i’ll take you up on that, then.”
a knowing smile is all you receive.
─────────────────────────
IT’S THE NEXT AFTERNOON and you find yourself sinking into a leather seat situated in front of a dark oak desk. your eyes trail the swirls in the material, glazing over the tiny details in this cold, relatively lifeless office — professor nishimura’s not much of a decorator, it seems.
he was late. completely unlike him, and much to your disfavour, especially since you had another appointment in an hour — his email had outlined what you’d be reviewing today, and a dozen questions started buzzing in your head as you reread it, eyes skimming over chapters you hadn’t even touched yet, blindsiding you entirely.
From: NISHIMURA RIKI
Hope 4pm is okay for you.
do you even have a fucking choice?
From: Y/N L/N
of course, 4pm’s great! thanks
that’s what you get for uploading the entire slide deck into some random ai flashcard generator instead of making them yourself. still, he’s worked his magic before, turning complete disasters into stellar students by their next quiz — and you weren’t that far gone, were you?
just then, the sharp click of dress shoes starts to echo down the desolate fifth-floor hallway, each step bouncing off the sterile walls of the administrative building.
you exhale slowly, index finger tapping a nervous rhythm against your thigh.
seconds later, the metallic rattle of a doorknob turning sounds through the office. your lungs expel a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding — it hitches again when professor nishimura finally pops into view, looking clean and sharp as ever, hair slicked back with what looked like gel.
a few loose strands fall over his forehead, just enough to show he’s been busy today — but the rest of him still looks irritatingly put-together.
his white button-up is tucked neatly into tailored slacks, the sleeves rolled just high enough to expose the veins running along his forearms. his glasses frame his face perfectly, catching the faint reflection of the overhead lights, and there’s a faint crease at the corner of his eyes that tells you he’s been squinting at his laptop for too long.
even his cologne arrives before he does, cold and expensive, settling into the room with the same quiet confidence he carries everywhere. and yet, despite looking like he walked straight out of a modelling gig, he’s here — giving up an hour of his afternoon to tutor you.
“hello, [name].”
you notice his shoulder bumping into the tall bookshelf next to you, just as he walks by to sit himself down on his office chair — you stare at him from across, nose taking in all of him, smiling politely as he begins to pry open his laptop.
“so, uh…” you mutter, fingernails scratching the back of your neck. “this won’t take long, right?”
the sounds of his keyboard echo through the office, your question hanging in the air for a few seconds before he turns his neck slightly to meet your gaze.
“usually, students start with a ‘thank you for seeing me, professor’,” professor nishimura deadpans, before turning back to the bright, white-lit screen in front of him. “but you’re welcome.”
you swallow. “sorry.”
“not an issue at all.”
it takes a while for him to get through everything. he angles his laptop toward you, finger resting over the right arrow key as he moves through each slide from last week’s lecture — nearly ninety of them, all crammed into a single chapter.
by the time he reaches slide forty-five, a dull ache creeps into your spine from sitting too straight for far too long. you start leaning forward, shifting in your chair once, then twice, the subtle scrape of fabric against wood too loud in the quiet room. professor nishimura notices — his eyebrow lifts, just barely — but he says nothing, simply resumes clicking through the material with that same steady composure.
“you see, right there,” he emphasises, other hand reaching from behind the screen to circle around a pair of arteries. “you got it?”
you bite down on your bottom lip, eyebrows pinching together like you’re really, really trying.
the truth is, you have no idea what he’s talking about.
it’s one of those cursed slides with a giant arrow pointing at nothing in particular; the next slide is supposed to reveal the answer, but for now you’re staring at ten different arteries in the upper body and every single one looks exactly the same.
yes, he did point it out… or circle it out. not very specific.
“uhm…” you mumble, eyes flicking up to meet his.
and for some strange, impossible-to-explain reason, your heartbeat spikes.
“[name],” professor nishimura says your name with a patient smile — the kind someone wears when they know they already gave you the answer, but you weren’t paying attention. frustrated, but soft about it. “show me. where are your carotid arteries?”
your stomach twists.
show him.
you lift your hand toward the screen, index finger uncurling from your fist, trembling just slightly as you reach forward.
“you don’t know?”
his voice lands like an accusation. of course you knew — you studied this. it wasn’t new. maybe if he weren’t here, it’d be easier to recall, but now that he’s sitting across from you — with that strict expression, slick hair, with sleeves rolled up so tight that his biceps are stretching the fabric… who the fuck would care about some arteries?
“uh,” you mutter in an annoyed voice, even though you’re the one who asked for this, for his help, for his guidance. “could you show—“
professor nishimura doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. his chair glides forward, wheels murmuring against the oak floor as he leans over the desk. his hand reaches for you — fingers brushing warm against your neck, right beneath your earlobe, settling on the soft patch where your jaw tapers.
“here, [name]. external carotid artery.”
he blinks slowly, watching you, like the frantic pulse thudding against his fingertips isn’t already giving you away.
your hair rustles against his hand as his fingers slide back an inch, tracing heat along your skin. “internal’s behind it. deeper.”
your throat bobs once, a small, involuntary motion against the steady press of his fingers. each beat beneath his touch gives you away, loud and frantic, betraying every ounce of composure you’re trying so hard to hold onto. the man looks as calm as ever — not a hint of suspicion, not even a gentle smile.
professor nishimura’s gaze flickers, just briefly, to the spot where his hand meets your skin — then back to your eyes, sharp and unreadable.
“feel it?” he asks quietly, tone softer now, almost coaxing. “that’s the point of reference. you can’t forget it once you know where to look.”
his fingertips linger only a moment longer before he withdraws, hand returning to the edge of his laptop as if nothing had happened at all. still, the ghost of his touch stays with you, warm and impossibly present, pulsing beneath your skin long after he’s pulled away.
“now,” he says, voice steady, “show me again.”
your pulse answers first, tripping over itself — and you’re sure he can feel it, even from where he sits.
you smack your lips awkwardly, searching for something to fill the silence, tension making your thighs press closer together, pulse thrumming in your ears as you continue to stare at him.
“like, on the screen?” you mutter, eyes fixed on the swirls and dots of his lecture material.
a soft snicker escapes professor nishimura, and it somehow eases the moment, making you giggle at the ridiculousness of your question.
“yes, on the screen, [name].”
the day passes on just like that — full of ridiculous questions, popping up in your head as the lesson goes on.
professor nishimura doesn’t scowl. doesn’t tilt his head with judgment. doesn’t squint his eyes as if he can’t quite believe how little you’ve retained — which is true, by the way — instead, he’s gentle. tentative. clear with every word, like he’s not rushing you; a quiet confidence that you’ll get it because that’s just who you are.
you lean over his desk, head resting on your forearm, ear pressed lightly against it as you watch the screen at a 90 degree angle. answers come easily, almost automatically, and you barely notice the hour slipping by or the exhaustion settling in. he remains upright, clicking through slides and offering study tips and mnemonics, a steady presence guiding you without hurry.
yes, the day passes just like this — calm, quiet, with professor nishimura, who seems to grow more handsome as the diffused evening sun bathes his skin.
are you sleep deprived?
“you need to remember your values,” he mumbles, “oxygen and carbon dioxide. partial pressures. they’re important, don’t for—“
the blonde strands in his hair catch the light, glowing golden. the room is warm, dust motes drifting lazily in the sunlight, bouncing off the sheer curtains that do little to soften it. and somehow, you find yourself grateful for that.
“professor,” you interrupt, softly. “i know. you’ve been saying that for the past ten minutes.”
he’s been focused on the screen all this time, but your words pull his gaze toward you. you notice the faint tug at the corner of his lips as he turns, his eyes meeting yours while you lounge against the desk.
“hm?”
one thing your professor would never admit: he, too, is thankful for the evening sun.
casting light over your hair, kissing the skin of your arms, making it impossible not to notice. though, all of it’s quite boring compared to the blush spreading over your cheeks, blooming all the way to your ears — you hide your face in your sleeve, a half assed attempt at covering up the flush.
he pretends not to care about that. he can’t care about that. “it must be getting late. i didn’t notice.”
you sigh, somewhat disappointed at the change if topic — as if professor nishimura would ever admit how gorgeous he thinks you are, right to your face. “me neither.”
the few moments of silence that follow feel like eternity. there’s you: smiling like you were seeing an old friend for the first time in forever, and there’s him: attempting to pretend like all the air in his lungs haven’t been lost to the atmosphere.
he must be sleep deprived too. you’ve robbed him of his evening coffee run, he realises.
“same time tomorrow,” he speaks, finally, voice low and hushed — as if it was a secret, something reserved for only you. “i’ll be waiting.”
“yes, professor.”
─────────────────────────
IT STARTED OFF AS A JOKE. sooha was stressing over creative writing, and you over sociology.
except that the joke = “i would fuck professor nishimura if he was the 3rd last guy on earth, because he’s probably better in bed than other two who were spared with him”
“you’re so fucking weird,” sooha’s kicking her feet up, right leg over the other as she swivels in your chair. “you’d actually fuck him?”
“judging me isn’t going to make him any less sexy,” you murmur between sounds of chips snapping between your jaws. it leaves a spicy burn on your tongue, quickly forcing you to reach for your water bottle on the nightstand. “and can you blame me?”
she looks up from her phone, right at you. the dim, blue light illuminates her face in the dark and gloomy atmosphere that is your dorm room, highlighting every disgusted curve on her face.
“you’re crazy.”
you shrug, tying the bag of chips up before throwing it at sooha. she catches it instinctively, eyebrows narrowing at your lack of an answer, hands reaching into the snack anyway.
“i don’t like him, by the way. he’s hot, but nah,” you click your tongue, eyes drifting over the popcorn ceilings of your cramped and poorly lit bedroom. “he’s probably engaged or something. doesn’t bring his ring to work because he thinks it’ll distract people from how stupidly big it is.”
“i’ve seen him drive around in his black porsche,” sooha giggles, licking her fingers clean of chip dust. “it’s something from a movie. this guy doesn’t know when to stop.”
“right?” you laugh a little too hard at the absurdity of it — the hot professor with tightly rolled sleeves, who owns a ridiculously expensive car, who probably lives alone in a three story minimalist house in the corner of an upper class neighbourhood. “i need to know if he’s married.”
she flicks an ant off her knee. “why the hell does it matter to you? are you actually going to—“
“well,” you smack your lips, thinking hard of an answer that wouldn’t sever your friendship, but knowing sooha — nothing you say could ever make her flinch. “not if he’s married.”
sooha snickers at your brutal honesty, chomping down on three chips stacked on one another, and for a moment you almost snort at how completely unfazed she is — how she really doesn’t care that you just admitted something like that.
“so… you’ll fuck, find out he’s married, and by then you’ve ruined a family. next thing you know, you’ll get hit by his wife’s car and have to go to graduation in a brace.”
“he’s literally only… like, twenty eight,” you argue, a playful tilt in your voice that makes sooha crack up, the chair she’s in starting to swirl around. her face is a mix of disbelief and pure entertainment. “he’s not a father. god, i’d hope not. i don’t want my grad pictures to be terrible.”
“nah…” she waves you off. “a husband, though? maybe. look both ways—“
“shut up!”
sooha shrugs, pulling her phone out from the deep pockets of her sweats. “you don’t even know how old he is?”
“i do,” you say quickly, defensive. too quick, because she raises a brow. “okay— not exactly, but i know the range.”
“so… you have no idea.”
you groan. “sooha, he teaches people our age. if he had kids he’d be shoving them into every conversation like those weird dads who think having a baby is a personality, and using his mediocre son as an example for every case study.”
“that’s called being proud, if you didn’t know,” she deadpans, unlocking her phone. “anyway, what’s his full name again?”
your stomach drops. “why?”
she gives you a look. “why do you think? i’m gonna look him up. if instagram’s no luck, i’ll check linkedin.”
it’s too late. her thumbs are already flying across the screen, furiously mashing in every combination of nishimura she can think of.
“pro… fessor… nishi… mura—”
“who the fuck calls themselves professor on instagram…” you groan, hands finding your face to cover the look of humiliation.
“oh. nishimura riki, was it? he’s right here—”
“sooha,” you warn. “if you request him on instagram, so god help me—”
“if he’s married,” she declares, louder than necessary and absolutely ignoring you, “he’ll have a wife pic somewhere. at least one. married men always post their partners—or a baby hand. blurry stroller. maybe a family photo where his hands are a little too tight on her waist.”
you don’t answer. the anxiety in your stomach prickles, rises, climbs up your ribs. sooha’s face is blank in the glow of her screen, eyes narrowed, scrolling with ruthless determination. her thumb leaves tiny streaks of chip-oil every time she flicks.
“stop scrolling like that,” you hiss, leaning forward. “you’re going to summon something.”
she doesn’t even blink. “i’m summoning the truth. hold on.”
you press your palms together in your lap, pulse beating way too fast for something this stupid. the soft, frantic swipes on her phone make the whole room feel tense.
“oh.”
your spine straightens. “oh?”
“dude,” she says, voice flat with shock, “i didn’t even need to request him. his shit’s public.”
your heart drops. “public as in… some posts public? or—“
she turns the screen to you, slow, dramatic, cruel with tension.
“public as in everything,” she says. “and he posts. a lot. this guy is so performative, it’s crazy.”
your breath catches for a second. you hadn’t expected that — not from him. not the man who seemed allergic to small talk and immune to anything remotely personal. professor nishimura seemed like the type to be composed of 60% work instead of 60% water.
“you’re lying.”
you crawl across the bed on all fours anyway, eyes squinting to take a closer look at sooha’s screen.
she swipes.
the first photo is him in a mirror, dress shirt half-tucked, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that make your stomach flutter. the caption’s in japanese — a short one — but the date stamp tells you it was posted only two weeks ago, at a café a few streets away from campus.
you blink. “recent?”
“mhmm,” sooha hums, already moving on.
the next photo is painfully cliché: books stacked on a windowsill, sunlight cutting across his living room. the one after that is him at another café, reading, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose.
then, a shot of a fountain pen with notes so neat it makes your head ache, talking about his love for academia in the caption.
you lean in closer. “no way. he uses instagram like a lifestyle blogger.”
“he totally does,” she snorts. “no father of four has time for this.”
she keeps scrolling, and you’re right beside her, holding your breath like your life depended on this — unintentionally, completely against your better judgment. half-dreading and half-hoping that this menace of a man was not unavailable. because if he was, you’d never hear the end of it.
sooha would ruin you. absolutely humiliate you for years to come. mention this in front of your own kids once you’re old and married:
“oh—your mom was such a rebel back in college, you know that? so crazy! we couldn’t take her anywhere, right?”
not to mention, once jiwon’s caught wind of it, she’d shake her head in that same way she always did when you made a questionable life choice — disappointed, amused, and a little too understanding for comfort. too angelic for you to ever get defensive about it. jiwon’s disappointment wasn’t the loud kind; it curled quietly in your gut, heavy and soft, the kind that made you hang your head low.
“could you please scroll slower? how the hell do you expect to see anything?”
sooha snorts. “scared, are you?”
she does as you ask, anyway. her thumb eases down the screen, inch by inch, slowly scanning the array of curated images professor nishimura’s chosen to publicize.
a photo of his desk. coffee. food. trips all over the world, in museums, restaurants, expensive wine that he savours alone, or with the occasional handsome friend that he tags in the caption. his circle seems larger than you expected — full of geniuses, much like him — and still, no wife. no ring. no girlfriend.
“he travels a lot.”
“apparently.” sooha mutters. “he’s kind of—”
“do not.”
sooha continues scrolling as you bite your nails. “i was going to say cool. he’s the complete opposite of your ex. speaking of that guy—don’t know what you were thinking, honestly.”
your face heats immediately. “wasn’t thinking. that was the problem.”
“yeah,” she laughs, tapping another photo to zoom in. “meanwhile, this guy posts his morning latte art like he’s running a lifestyle blog. i mean, look at this. he’s insane.”
“you’re so fucking annoying,” you whine, flopping back into your sheets. they rustle under your weight, and all you can do is tangle your hands in your hair trying to cool the blush that’s burning your face off. “you’re giving him too much credit. his ego’s still huge.”
and just then, sooha gasps loud enough for the sound to echo through the corridor outside.
“what? what?” you scramble to sit back up again, meeting your best friend’s eyes.
and there it is — wedged between other stories in his highlights, low exposure but unmistakably him. a mirror photo taken in a gym mirror. sweat dripping down the hollow of his throat. his shirt lifted enough to display a chiseled set of abs, defined enough to count. lighting low but warm, highlighting the curve of his waist, the slope of his shoulders, the insane spread of his back. his forearm flexes where he holds the phone. veins on display. chest (probably) heaving.
absolutely sinful. he looks like he’s been sculpted by someone with a personal vendetta against your sanity.
your jaw literally drops. your breath leaves you in a single, pitiful sound, almost reminiscent of a whimper. sooha scoffs.
that’s your professor.
god, if they used this as a model for your classes, you’d have passed your first test with stellar results. you, a few months ago, would be skipping home with that full credit score.
“he’s fucking ripped!” sooha cackles, and you can’t tell if it’s disbelief or sheer joy at your impending meltdown. it’s probably both, now that you see her lips beginning to curl into a sickeningly wide grin. “oh my god—”
you feel your soul exit your body. “this isn’t real. he’s ai.”
“you think ai could get the sweat bead rolling down those things?” her other finger points to his disgustingly well-developed chest, “dude. he’s gotta teach naked the next time we see him.”
“stop that!” you groan, grabbing a pillow to shove your face into. your hair’s a mess, your cheeks feel like they’re going to fall off and run away, and sooha’s enjoying every single second of it. “i’m going to die. it’s over. i can’t look at him the same after i’ve seen all this.”
“why? shouldn’t this motivate you?” your best friend turns her phone off, satisfied at the amount of info you two have dug up. two things were learnt today — one, your biology professor is sexy as fuck (confirmed) — and two, he is available. “he’s free game now, [name]. do not let this opportunity slip through those greedy fingers.”
“are you forgetting he is literally our teacher?” you speak, muffled by fabric. “i can’t fuck our teacher—and even if he wasn’t our teacher, his ego’s still huge, and i’m not trying to date a narcissist.”
somewhere, professor nishimura is probably drinking tea and highlighting articles, completely unaware that his students have just discovered he has the body of a greek god.
the pillow drops to your lap, exposing your flushed face. “how the fuck do i look at him in the eye now?”
“bet he’d like that, huh?” sooha cackles, and you know it then with the way your stomach does that backflip thing: you are beyond fucked.
─────────────────────────
IT’S FRIDAY.
“next question.”
you’re sitting next to him.
on the expensive leather couch across from his desk, you see papers sprawled over the glass coffee table, textbooks flipped open to colour-coded pages — and still, the only thing you can focus on is the dull warmth in your belly from brushing shoulders with your professor. an empty coffee-stained mug sits at the centre, surrounded by books.
“you don’t have any more questions about this topic?”
your knees brush once against each other. the heat radiating off his thighs and through his black, ironed slacks make you endlessly nervous.
“i’ve been… watching your lectures. they help,” you mutter, eyes trained on the drawings of arteries laid beneath your fingers. “i don’t know why i didn’t do it earlier.”
professor nishimura chuckles momentarily, his elbows resting on his thighs as he leans forward. the smell of his shampoo hits you, a crashing wave against your nostrils, and all it does is make your heart thump.
“no wonder you’ve been struggling,” he sighs, teasing you ever so slightly. “you haven’t been listening to me as often as you need to.”
“well, yeah.” you reply dryly, throat refusing to let anything but a squeak out. for some odd reason, being back here always makes you choke up. “i just… didn’t realise how helpful it’d be.”
“i don’t spend 2 hours recording useless videos, [name],” professor nishimura’s weight leaning back into the sofa causes the leather to creak.
you swallow, shifting your notes just to have something to anchor your hands. the sound of him settling behind you shouldn’t affect you, but it does — a low, warm reminder that he’s close enough for the air to feel different.
“i didn’t say they were useless,” you murmur, hoping your voice doesn’t tremor enough to show how tight your chest is. “i just haven’t had the time.”
“mm..” professor nishimura purrs lowly, deep voice rumbling through his chest. “most students don’t. they still do well.”
your jaw clenches. “well, i’m not like other students, am i?”
“that’s the first thing you’ve managed to answer right today,” professor nishimura murmurs, draping an arm across the leather backrest. “been sleeping at all? you’re slower than usual. you weren’t this lagged yesterday evening.”
“i’m doing fine, thanks,” you provide no excuses, straightforward with your responses — you sense the tension in his voice, and oddly enough, the care hiding behind the nagging. “i’ve had coffee.”
“you know that’s not good for you. coffee doesn’t replace sleep,” professor nishimura continues. “must i tell you that, too?”
you sigh, feeling his eyes burning through the back of your skull. you shift in your seat, conscious of every movement, knowing he’s leaned back to watch.
“i don’t need you nagging.”
the shift is immediate. his jaw tightens, his eyebrow raising as he repeats your words, “i’m just observing.”
“well, i’m old enough,” you mutter, flipping through your notes, ignoring how he’s leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees again. the room is painfully quiet, silence ringing in your ears, tension floating thick in the air like it wanted to taunt you. “i don’t need to be observed.”
“[name], you may talk to your friends this way, but you asked me for help.” his tone remains steady, reminding you that he isn’t getting as worked up as you are. for some reason, it makes you even more irritated. you freeze mid-page flip, feeling him watch you, every twitch of your fingers with the kind of attention that makes your heart bang against your ribcage. “so this is my help.”
“there’s a difference between helping and hovering,” you scoff, “you act like you’re so much older and wiser than me, it’s so fucking annoying—”
seeing professor nishimura every evening had it’s downsides. two days ago, you’d just discovered his influencer persona, and every night since then you’d been scrolling through his posts and watching his highlights silently, trying to uncover a mystery you didn’t know existed.
he’s not that much older than you, clearly. no wife, no kids, no mystery gap in his posts that indicate he’d left to go on a soul-searching experimental trip to gain wisdom. just pure, unfiltered genius that he’s been praised for ever since he was in his teens — no mistaking where his voluptuous ego came from.
“what on earth are you talking about?”
his expression shifts ever so slightly: those eyebrows, once relaxed and calm, now knit together in something similar to calculation, like he’s trying to guess what you’ll say before you even think of it. his lips part, then pressing together in a thin line once again. “you looked me up.”
“everyone does,” you say a llittle too quickly. “you’re literally public—”
silence hangs in the air, thick and impenetrable. his gaze doesn’t avert. it’s unreadable, and when he speaks, it’s low with a new kind of calm that eats away at you, making you feel guilty for ever snapping at him; “could you tell me how my age is relevant to this conversation?”
in this stillness, your throat refuses to open up, a giant ball forming where your voice is supposed to be. it’s painfully clear that you’ve crossed a line, and professor nishimura isn’t having any of it.
“you come in my office every day, unfocused and exhausted, drinking coffee like it solves anything at all. am i supposed to accept that?”
“accept what? i asked you for help, so just give it to me,” you scoff, throwing the paper onto the coffee table. you turn around partially, enough to catch the bewildered look on his face. “stop acting like—”
“like i don’t see how sloppy you’re getting? it’s your final, and you’re not taking care of yourself.”
the retort dies on your tongue, dissolving, and instead you’re left staring at the scattered papers on the table with a tight jaw. your pulse drums in your ears, blood thumping, and all you can think about is how he’s right — and how much you hate that he says it like he’s genuinely worried.
the room feels too small for this. for the both of you.
“i know.”
“then we’re done for tonight,” professor nishimura states, hands on his thighs, beginning to stand up. “go home and rest. it’s late. i have plans, too, so it’s better for the both of us.”
the sudden pull-back startles you. he doesn’t even tell you to get out — just says to go home, rest, like your health was a priority to him.
he begins to walk back to his desk, turning his back to you, taking a mug out from his drawer. you watch him, silent, as he brings the cup to his coffee machine, the same one you drank from earlier into the session. you scoff, beginning to gather your things, annoyed with the way he doesn’t even try to hide it — he doesn’t have plans. he just wants you to listen to him.
“i still have three chapters, you know.”
“you think you’ll retain any of it?” professor nishimura’s back is still turned to you, and your eyes train on the slow drip of espresso that falls into his mug. his shirt is tight on him, rustling as he tucks his hands into his pockets, still not looking back. “you won’t.”
“that’s not your call—”
“you asked for my help. this is it,” he repeats again, and all it does is make you want to lunge at him and punch his stupidly pretty face. one of his hands reach for the mug, fingers looping around the handle, bringing it to his lips. “get home safe. come back when you’re able to stay awake for more than an hour.”
and when you step out of his office, books in hand, you realise the flush on your face is far too unprofessional for whatever that was; the warmth in your cheeks lingers, stubborn, betraying you each time you replay the way he looked at you like he was disappointed, worried.
perhaps what was even more terrifying was that you couldn’t name what you saw. he looked over his shoulder, face only three quarters visible, soft and glassy eyes with his eyebrows knit together. you tried to open your mouth, force yourself to snap back, or to thank him for today, but nothing comes out.
the small pit in your stomach is even worse — too familiar, too much like the quiet ache that follows a lover’s quarrel, that strange mixture of wanting to leave and wanting to turn back.
you walk down the hall anyway, pretending your pulse isn’t still skipping, pretending the air doesn’t still feel different around you, when even he can sense that it is.
─────────────────────────
TWO MORNINGS LATER, ON A SUNDAY, you’re without coffee, eyes puffy from a long night’s rest.
you faintly remember stumbling into your apartment, eyes threatening to shut any moment — you were about to doze off on the short walk to your dorm hall, blinking slowly, feet dragging against the concrete, cold air biting your cheeks. you fell asleep on the couch, woke up at four, and crawled to bed.
right now, you’re back in this god forsaken building. it was part of professor nishimura’s study regimen: only one day of the weekend should be used to study, because then, your brain can do a ‘true reset’ before lessons begin on monday. no baggage from the previous week, kind of tricking your mind into thinking everything’s going to be fine and that the workload wasn’t actually all too bad.
no. it was still bad, because one) you were still pissed off at professor nishimura, and two) you don’t have a sugary caffeinated drink to keep you going.
it’s 10 am, and by now, you’d be on the way to get your usual order — that little trip always made you look forward to something, like a sick reward system for studying nine hours a day. your psych professor would’ve called it conditioning, but you still hate studying, coffee or no coffee.
your hand reaches for the metal door handle, teeth biting the inside of your cheek before you push it open. you wonder momentarily why you couldn’t just suggest a zoom meeting — you’re sure he must have had some stupid plans, cafe hopping and whatnot, with his stupid friends, drinking stupid coffee that he’d nagged at you for—
“[name],” professor nishimura’s voice is calm, like always. you don’t realise you’ve been staring at the floor until you look up, meeting his annoyingly gorgeous face. he isn’t wearing his glasses today. “you’re early.”
“i’m prepared today.” you mumble, but knowing him, he would’ve heard it loud and clear.
nevertheless, he doesn’t give you a response. just a raised eyebrow and slow blinks, like he understands why you’re upset, but not enough to apologise.
the usual routine follows: you put your bag down on the couch, sit yourself down into the leather cushions, unzip your bag and take your study materials out. professor nishimura doesn’t sit down immediately, instead heading for the small kitchenette in a corner of his office, where his coffee is; you wonder if he’ll make you a cup, or drink one just to taunt you.
your eyes follow his movements. you realise he’s dressed much more casually today — if you didn’t know him, you could’ve mistaken him for a student — wearing a hoodie and jeans that you know he planned for his instagram feed. it almost makes you giggle. he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, reaching for an electric kettle in the cupboard below.
of course the man drinks tea.
you try your best to shake the irritation off, instead redirecting your focus to the array of papers underneath you. the sounds of water filling the kettle almost make you doze off, and all you manage to think about is how you wish you had a big cup of warm coffee next to you, up until the point professor nishimura sets a mug down on the table, nudging it towards you.
you blink once. twice. look up, and he’s holding one too.
“don’t fight it,” he takes a slow sip, one hand in his hoodie’s pocket, another clasped around the mug handle. “it’s herbal. it’ll help your nerves.”
and just like that, he’s got you doing that stupid stomach-flipping thing.
“thank you,” you mutter quietly, delicate fingers wrapping around the mug like it was the finest china, careful not to let the tea tip over the rim. “professor.”
“it’s the weekend, and i’m off the clock,” he says, “riki is fine. i’m barely older than you, remember?”
you feel your face heat just at that. it’s lighthearted, not meant to judge you, but it still induces that feeling of wanting to crawl under a rock and die. you can practically hear the smugness in his voice, his smirk hiding behind that mug. “right. sorry about ye—”
“no,” he interrupts gently, lowering the mug from his lips. “you were stressed. i get it.”
it’s odd how easy your heart calms and how fast that pit in your stomach closes up, almost as fast as it opened two days ago. “still. i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
professor nishimura — or riki — shrugs, eyes lingering on you a milisecond too long. “i’m not going to give you a detention slip for being angry. you’re in not high school anymore, [name]. we’re both adults, and i’m telling you — i get it.”
you take another careful sip. it warms you up, letting the ice cold air from outside dissipate in your body, heat spreading all over. it tastes earthy, soothing in the way warm coffee never manages to be, and when your muscles start to loosen and your breathing gets slower, you know you’ll have to quit caffeine.
“you do this for all your students?” you ask, half-teasing, half-curious. “tea service included?”
riki chuckles, smiling at you from where he stands. “don’t get used to it.”
“i might,” you lean back into the leather cushions, one knee folding over the other. you watch as he leans onto his desk, working to finish his cup. “on a weekend, too. i must be important.”
“no one’s home to enjoy it anyway,” he shrugs. “keep all my tea here. helps me stay awake while grading.”
you hum softly, letting that settle. something about the way he says it — casual, unguarded — makes you glance around the office again. you’re reminded of the neatness. the lack of personal clutter. no framed photos turned face-down, no childish drawings taped to the walls. just books, papers, him. you wonder if his house is just as empty as this, or if he even cares that it is.
“not lonely?”
he raises an eyebrow at you before shaking his head. “no. too busy to feel it. did i give that impression?”
you put your mug down, eyebrows knitting and gears turning, really considering your words now. “i don’t know. you’ve got that tired look on your face, and you’re responsible. and you nag like crazy.”
“i told you i was observing—”
“it’s the same,” you smile lazily at him from across the room, and you watch how your professor’s lips twitch, almost breaking into a soft smile. “you give off married man.”
he chuckles, shaking his head again, and something about the moment feels softer now. a misconception quietly corrected without either of you making a big deal of it, and it makes you appreciate how calm of a man he is, all over again.
“well then, now that that’s been cleared up,” riki pushes himself off his desk and gestures toward your notes. “finish your tea. then we’ll start with the chapters you keep avoiding. page 232.”
“how—”
“i observe.”
it’s striking, the smile you see. unguarded, nothing like the polite curve he wears in lectures. it softens him, makes him look younger, less composed, less like a man built entirely out of credentials, and for once: you see someone you could know.
─────────────────────────
NISHIMURA RIKI REMEMBERS HIS FIRST LESSON, at the age of somewhere between ten to thirteen: how to be alone, and how to pretend like you’re good at doing so.
it wasn’t difficult. it’d been confusing, yes, especially when he’d seen his peers from middle school posting instagram stories of them at internet cafe’s — or on late night convenience store runs, or playing a game of basketball at three in the morning. in the beginning, there was an influx of questions in his mind: how, and why is my life so different?
he’d pick up his phone, tapping away at his screen, scanning the once familiar faces of friends he’d long let go of: after middle school, it just seemed like a good idea to be homeschooled, after numerous ‘complaints’ that he was far too advanced for his current grade.
at some point, a few weeks after he turned sixteen, he’d thrown every toy and video game away.
it was clear he was never like other children. it wasn’t like his parents moulded him into the studious genius he was: perhaps that was the most painful part, the fact that this was just him, and that he had no one else to pin this curse on. exceptionality became an excuse — from classrooms, friendships, normalcy.
don’t get him wrong, though. he wasn’t unhappy — there was, in his mind, nothing to complain about. riki had never known a life outside of this: outside of tightly packed schedules engineered for maximum efficiency, outside of a fixed circadian rhythm he followed with near-religious devotion. this structure was not a constraint to him; it was proof that things were working, that nothing was slipping through the cracks.
he guesses this is why he hasn’t shut you out yet. you show up every damn day, at the same time, asking the same questions to the same chapters he’d been studying for years: you are familiar, predictable, consistent in every sense of the word.
riki will tell himself it’s convenience. you fit nicely into his schedule, slotted between office hours, grading, meetings, between the balanced meals he eats at the same time, every day, every night. you don’t disrupt him, don’t demand change — except you do.
you do disrupt him.
you’re lingering by the door, fingers fidgeting with your bag strap as you ask one last question. riki answers without hesitation, even though there’s a meeting across campus he absolutely needs to get to. his explanation stretches longer than it should, his voice gentler than necessary, and he only realises the time once you finally nod, satisfied.
he tells himself it’s nothing — that this is what he’s meant to do. that answering questions thoroughly is part of the job, it’s what he was hired for, and it’s what all his students love about him.
still, he keeps two mugs out instead of one: not because it’s efficient, but because he knows you’ll be back. when the cashier at the cafeteria charges him double for a sandwich, he doesn’t correct them. he doesn’t think about it at all, actually, not until later; when the receipt is crumpled in his pocket and your laugh replays in his head, your teeth flashing in a way that makes him sick.
“yeah. keep going,” riki reassures you, laid back in his own chair as you sit further away, on his (or yours, because you refuse to sit on the tiny chair across his desk again) beloved leather couch — sunlight seeps in through the curtains, bathing the room in a familiarly golden warmth — he’s not sure if the tightening in his chest is because of the way the light lands on your hair, or the way your eyes get sparkly in the sun when you turn your head just right.
it’s tuesday again, and he’s exhausted. you’re ruining him.
“circle of willis…” you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. your arms hug them close, socks slipping off the smooth leather material. “base of the brain, ring of blood vessels. if one’s blocked—”
“rest is relatively unaffected, preventing ischemia,” riki interjects, calmly, eyes still trained on the pen he’s been spinning in between his fingers.
you blink once, twice. “i was going to say that.”
he doesn’t even realise he’s uttered your notes word for word, not until the silence stretches a second too long — his pen stops spinning, before his eyes drift towards your wide-eyed ones.
“sorry,” riki apologises, only after he’s scanned your face and realised that he was indeed not meant to do that. “go on.”
and you do — you finish the chapter, and he answers every remaining question lingering in your mind, being careful not to do whatever the fuck he just did again. you stretch your arms above your head, a quiet sigh leaving your lips and all nishimura riki can think about is how tired you look, or how your lips curve into that soft, gentle smile after you yawn, and how it makes him sick to the stomach that he can’t put his hand on your jaw and feel it first-hand on his lips.
“i’ll see you tomorrow,” you wave, and he hears the keychains on your bag jingle obnoxiously loud as you rush back to your dorm. riki wonders why you insist on staying so late when you know you have classes early the next morning, but he could ask himself the same thing, so he shoves the thought to the back of his mind and calls it a night.
he’ll do the same thing tomorrow. the day after. the week that follows. as long as he can predict you, there’s nothing to panic about.
─────────────────────────
“YOU LIKE HER?”
once those sacred words leave park sunghoon’s lips, nishimura riki knows he’s done for — because once someone else sees it, he knows he’s messed up, for real.
sunghoon holds a glass of red wine in his hand as he sits casually on the L-shaped sofa. a furry pillow lays on his lap, and his phone is somewhere in the kitchen; they’ve been drinking for a while, and things were getting a little more honest as the evening sun sank further into the ground.
“that’s inappropriate,” riki mutters, taking a slow sip of his own glass. he’s sitting on the other end of the couch, half-lidded eyes watching the screen of his phone, waiting for it to light up — an email from you. an impromptu text to meet at the cafeteria to share a decaf. or you’d tell him you aced the mini quiz he assigned you last week. “i don’t mix with students.”
“you don’t mix with anyone.” sunghoon snickers, head tilting, as if he was observing the way riki’s expression shifts just slightly at the mention of his feelings. “and i don’t see what’s so wrong with it. she’s not a high schooler.”
“her age isn’t the issue. we could’ve gone to school together — but still. i’m her mentor.”
sunghoon’s lips press into a thin line. “you know what jake would think of this?”
riki rolls his eyes, a grin still creeping on his face nonetheless. jake was an entirely different story. “i don’t want to know what that guy has to say about my love life.”
“love life?” sunghoon cackles, eyes narrowing in his triumph, almost spilling the expensive wine all over riki’s expensive furniture. he tenses up just watching. “so we’re talking love, now?”
“that’s obviously not what i meant.”
you see, the truth was that nishimura riki was discovering things about himself that he didn’t know how to… organise. it was difficult to name that stupid warmth blooming in his chest, or how lightheaded he felt when your soft hands would brush his whenever he sat next to you.
he never had time for those things. he’ll never be able to scribble your name next to his in blue ink, in a big lopsided heart, or to gift you a jelly ring because he thought your hair was cute that day. it feels juvenile, almost embarrassing — like the crushes his classmates once described, the ones he never had the time or patience for — something he’s late to experience.
and still, now, of all times, his mind keeps reaching for you: uninvited, persistent, and entirely out of order.
sunghoon watches him in silence, like he knows better than to rush a man who’s spent his whole life keeping his emotions in neat, labeled compartments. the wine sits untouched in riki’s hand, now forgotten, his thumb tracing slow circles against the glass stem as if familiar repetition might organize the thoughts crowding his head.
“you’re thinking too hard,” sunghoon says finally, voice softer than before. serious sunghoon usually meant a big deal.
riki lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “i don’t know how else to think.”
the confession earns a soft smile. “i know.”
the problem now wasn’t temptation. it was recognition, acknowledgement. accepting that the way riki’s body reacts to you is not something normal, or something passing. the way his focus fractures at the tiniest things — the crinkles in your face as you concentrate, the creases between your brows, or the way you hold his expensive mugs like it meant everything to you, when he couldn’t care less if you dropped them in pieces.
he’s kept his desires locked in a box for a while. ever since that first email, he should’ve deleted it and thrown the key into the nearest bin. now, he’s left to deal with them trying to pry their way out.
“i’ve felt this way for a bit,” riki admits. “hasn’t gone away.”
sunghoon hums. “holding yourself back? what a gentleman.”
riki scoffs, but there’s no real humor in it. he stares ahead, eyes unfocused, seeing not the apartment but the ghost of your presence — the way you lean forward when you’re engaged, the way your voice drops when you’re unsure. small, human details that shouldn’t matter this much to him, yet finds himself remembering.
“i don’t want to be careless,” he says. “i can’t be careless.”
sunghoon nods slowly. “just don’t beat yourself up for nothing, riki.”
that lands somewhere deep, loosening something tight and knotted in his chest. riki has always been good at restraint. discipline, or just plain denial dressed up as professionalism — but he’s begun to crack, ever since that first evening together, when his fingertips laid against your pulse.
he felt you. the very thing that gave you life, he touched.
“i’m not reckless.”
sunghoon looks across the couch, despite knowing the statement wasn’t meant for him. that’s precisely the reason he doesn’t respond just yet, instead, reaching for the wine bottle on the marbled coffee table — pouring himself more wine.
riki watches the dark red settle, thinking about how carefully he’s always moved through the world — measured steps, clean lines, no wasted motion. recklessness implies impulse. chaos. things he’s trained himself out of, much faster than his peers.
and yet: he hasn’t trained himself not to care about you.
“i know you’re not, riki.”
this isn’t right. he knows he shouldn’t, and yet all he thinks of is how much he wants to. it’s been weeks of painful restraint, sitting by your side, taking in your scent, unintentionally registering every cute habit of yours, tucking them away in a quiet drawer of his mind that keeps all the important stuff — like deadlines. conferences. flights. dinners with people he can’t afford to displease.
you weren’t supposed to belong there.
“fuck… when did it get this bad?” sunghoon scoffs through his nose, the sound sharp, amused, and just a little exasperated. his eyes narrow at riki, who has picked up his phone only to lower it moments later, the blank screen a disappointment at the absence of your name. “last i checked, you were content staying single.”
two evenings ago.
you were holed up in his office, the night stretching around the harsh glow of his desk lamp. it was nearing midnight. he had dinner plans with jake and heeseung, a rare night off from meetings and other callings, but instead, he found himself lingering in the quiet space between his books and your scattered notes. he remembered stepping out around seven, phone in hand, muttering about ‘taking a call,’ though his thoughts had never really left the room.
heeseung said it was alright, but jake wouldn’t let it go. riki supposes he had a reason not to.
he noticed how your shoulders tensed when he returned. the way you shivered from december’s harsh, freezing nights — it seemed like your skin was much thinner than his, because he felt fine. perhaps it was the way you begged him to go harder on the revision; he warned you that you’d be overworked, but he promised he’d be there, nonetheless.
you tucked your arms around yourself, avoiding his worried gaze from across the room. his shoes tap against the floor as he makes his way towards you — quicker than he could admit himself.
“you’re cold,” he murmured, reaching for his jacket hanging on his office chair. he pulls it off in one swift motion, holding it to you.
“it’s okay,” but you didn’t fight him when he draped the fabric over your shoulders, anyway. riki watched you loosen up — almost melting into the warmth of his clothes, and it all seemed so mundane to him then — until he realised his heart wouldn’t stop doing that thudding thing, and his cheeks wouldn’t stop burning.
by the time the clock struck one in the morning, your eyelids had begun to droop, the tea hastening your descent into drowsiness. before long, your legs curled up against your chest, his jacket wrapped loosely around you, and your head found its way to a place it shouldn’t — resting gently on his shoulder.
he stayed frozen, most of the night. barely allowed himself to breathe. riki felt it all: the warmth, your weight, the prick of your hair at his neck that almost made him twitch. he fought hard not to wake you.
the night was outlined by the faint scent of winter and tea and uncapped highlighters lingering in your hair. gentle breaths that he swore sounded like his name. he felt like he was hallucinating. he was spiralling like a teenage boy all over again, even if he didn’t even really know what that meant himself.
your breath hitched a few times, and you stirred quite a bit in your sleep. riki found himself tripping over the tiniest things, about how you smack your lips even in your sleep, or how your fist balled into his shirt when he thought he could try to pull away.
the next morning, your head rested against his chest, and his heart thudded relentlessly in his ribcage. his back ached from the hard armrest and lack of pillows, but time seemed suspended, the soft rhythm of your breathing brushing his collarbone as if you were exactly where you were meant to be.
everything collapsed then — every wall, every boundary he had meticulously built over the years. he knew it was over when his hand traced your hair once, twice, then resting lightly on the small of your back. you woke a few hours later, around nine, still too drowsy to remember how you ended up there, or just how nicely nishimura riki fit beneath you.
“oh, i must’ve dozed off—shit, i’m so sorry,” you yawned, knuckles rubbing against your eyelids as riki simply watches you sit upright. “did you have plans today, professor? oh my god—”
the title made him twitch. you didn’t notice it, thankfully. he called off every study session after that. two days of what was meant to be productive revision — all because he can’t keep himself in check. you thought he was just sick.
nishimura riki’s fate was sealed. he was falling, and park sunghoon could see it: from the way he loosens at the mention of you, to how that genius persona of his starts to slip. for once, he doesn’t know any of the answers, and all of them at the same time.
“you got this handled, don’t you?” sunghoon mutters, voice low and hushed, as if he knew how heavily this was weighing on riki’s shoulders.
riki doesn’t respond immediately, instead reaching for another sip, now a practiced motion, a way to quiet his mind. his dark eyes lock on the floor, tracing the wood patterns with a tight jaw, and silence only stretches the distance between the two men.
sunghoon almost shivers.
“sure,” the blonde mutters in response, head slightly turning to ignore the way sunghoon’s line of sight. he hates how piercing it is — sunghoon always had that effect, like he knew riki’s thoughts before he could word them — but right now, he’s looking away, as if that’d hide anything important, or anything that sunghoon couldn’t already see.
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THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWS IS PAINFULLY MEDIOCRE.
when you step into his office for the first time in 3 days, it’s already warm, and there’s no tea waiting for you on the coffee table — he’s sitting at his desk, glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, fingers flipping through papers you haven’t seen before.
he doesn’t bother to look up, “[name].”
nothing’s wrong. this is how it was supposed to be. class, lunch, class, study — you leave before dinner, almost always at his discretion, and under the pretense of ‘meetings’ and ‘papers for other classes’ when you know he only teaches two. it feels like a lie that you can’t confront, because it’s not like you know the truth.
you didn’t know much at all, actually.
perhaps that’s why you settle into this — accepting it when he doesn’t comment on your posture, your tired eyes, or the can of coffee you throw into his office bin.
you do your work, and he does his. that’s how it’s been, and how it should’ve continued.
your knees still brush under the table. the warmth doesn’t make professor nishimura pull away — almost as if the desk hides his own hypocrisy from his eyes. sometimes, he’ll lean over your shoulder, the mixed scent of cologne and tea leaves making you ease into him, but he’d pull away before you ever brushed the fabric of his shirt.
you’d look up from your notes and catch him staring at you. pretty, brown irises that barely leave your tired figure — his arms are folded, voice flat and monotone instead of soft, curious, and everything you’d known him to be in the past few weeks.
you raise an eyebrow, because that’s all you can do.
“you’re getting better,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair as you ramble on about action potential initiation, sodium and potassium pumps, practically reciting word for word. “we’ll meet less often.”
he doesn’t even leave you room to negotiate.
it’s almost ridiculous how much you don’t care about this. you’re talking just to talk — just to feel like his eyes are on you, like before — it’s oddly humiliating, and the feeling claws at your chest uncomfortably; you tell yourself it’s just the weather getting chillier, or a bad start to the day that led to an even worse week, and that’s why you’re tripping over something as ridiculous as this: your professor, acting like your fucking professor.
“thank you,” your fingers twitch slightly. even if professor nishimura notices it, he doesn’t say a thing.
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YOU BROUGHT COFFEE ALONG in hopes of waking yourself up, but the lecture hall is still too quiet for your mind not to doze off.
professor nishimura is speaking into the microphone, his voice resonating through the large, brightly lit room. the lights above buzz, and there’s chatter all around: you can’t remember what he asked everyone to do, and at the same time, can’t be bothered enough to ask.
your head leans into your hand, chin propped up, the words of everyone around you starting to sound like a foreign language. everything’s priming you for a nap — slightly warm, sunlight slicing through the windows, catching dust in tiny specks. you’re seated in the sixth row, far enough for professor nishimura not to notice (you can only hope).
“so, uh,” you hear in your left ear, “[name], right?”
you blink slowly. you hadn’t bothered to learn the names of anyone in this class other than jiwon and sooha — for a minute, you wonder if it’s one of them trying to do one of their stupid frat guy impressions. so you turn, your neck muscles sore from a long night of staying up the night prior, grimacing when you feel the tension deep in your posture.
so much for taking care of yourself.
“yeah,” you say, but it almost comes out as a grumble. you don’t bother to apologise. you try not to tilt your head too far, eyes flicking towards the boy leaning in beside you — he’s grinning, a little too confident for a guy of his nature, hair messy from running his weirdly large hands through them. “were we supposed to do something?”
“i didn’t come yesterday, and i was just wondering if you could send me your lab notes,” he continues. “i had practice. super important.”
the words come out like a script, rehearsed in it’s tone, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed. not one bit.
“uhuh,” you nod, slowly and deliberately. “i’ll send them. your number?”
he freezes for a heartbeat, then gasps — a little too loud, a little too dramatic. you blink, genuinely caught off guard. then his smirk settles in, that ridiculous half-serious, half-playful expression you’ve seen on one too many guys before: “i thought you’d never ask.”
you laugh quietly at the absurdity, more out of habit than anything. he takes it as an invitation, of course, and before the end of class, right after you’ve sent him your notes, he slides a link to some random tiktok across your screen.
you glance at it, stare at the preview image for a moment, and promptly roll your eyes. you’re too tired, too uninterested, to bother reading the subtle flirtatious undertones in his posture, the way he leans in just a little too eagerly, or the smug satisfaction on his face when you glance back in his direction — like he was waiting for your approval, another laugh, another anything.
anything that you can’t give. not to him.
it’s not long before professor nishimura finishes his lecture, the chatter of closing notebooks and rustling papers filling the room. you shift in your seat, feeling your shoes press against the floor as you stretch your legs beneath the desk. sooha isn’t here today, you notice, and jiwon’s already packing up, hands moving faster than yours — she’s ready to leave long before the lecture actually ends.
you look around, and for a moment everything and everyone feels like a timelapse, and you’re the only one in slow motion. notebooks slam shut, pens click, laptops shoved into backpacks. you remain seated, letting everyone pass you, and it feels like reliving a memory. muffled voices of your classmates fill the room, underscoring the strange lag you feel.
your head rests against the table, ear to the wood. you see professor nishimura in your field of view, and somehow, even with his glasses low on his face and his fringe covering most of his expression, you can feel his eyes burning holes through you.
“so,” he mutters, walking up the carpeted stairs to your row. it’s just you two now. “you don’t need my help anymore, hm?”
his words make you sit up. “what?”
“exchanged numbers. studying together?” his voice is low but firm, not accusatory, as if he was begging you to prove him wrong, despite his neutral face. “with him?”
“it’s just notes,” you scoff, a tad bit more defensive than you intended it to be. “he missed the previous lab.”
“he was here.” he corrects. you can’t help but sigh. “you should watch who you’re studying with. he’s barely paid attention in class as it is—“
“still, was or wasn’t. i can manage myself. i don’t need your permission.”
professor nishimura straightens slightly, hands resting on the edge of the desk, gaze steady. “i’m not talking about permission,” he says evenly. “i’m pointing out that your focus matters. you want to keep progressing — i’ve guided you this far. that hasn’t changed.”
you frown, arms tightening across your chest, eyes tearing away from him to look at the chalkboard in front of the room. it’s half erased, perfect diagrams smeared in white. “so now…i have to justify every interaction to you?”
“no,” he replies. “i’m not policing you. but i will call out distractions when they matter. that’s part of my role. your attention isn’t something to waste — you know that.”
you turn to stare at him for a moment, searching for some trace of softness, some hint that he’s overstepping, only to find there isn’t one. just the steady weight of someone who expects attention, precision, and respect — nothing like the man you got to know, everything like the professor you’ve always seen.
“so you push me away, and now you want me to stay focused on you?”
professor nishimura doesn’t flinch. he meets your gaze evenly, calmly, unshaken despite his absurd words. “if i’m the only non-distraction, yes.”
you feel heat clawing up your neck, reaching all the way up to your ears. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, turning away once more. “what the hell is wrong with you? why do you think you can just act like this?”
“act like what?”
ironically enough, that’s the line that gets you. your head snaps back in his direction, and you’re quick to rise to your feet; you sling your bag over your shoulder, ready to leave, but he takes one step to the side to block your exit.
“i’m asking you a question.”
you scoff, sharp and breathless, the sound cutting through the quiet lecture hall. it comes out through your nose before you can stop it, bitter and disbelieving, and it hurts him more than he can show — his eyebrows knit together, glassy eyes staring into yours, searching for something.
“you don’t get to do this,” you say. your voice shakes despite your best effort, and it makes you want to crawl into a hole and never come out — but the reaction it gets from him is raw, his shoulders stiffening, fists clenched by his sides. “you don’t get to decide who i talk to, or what’s a distraction, or—”
you gesture vaguely between the two of you, anger clawing its way up your throat. you don’t manage to say anything more. he looks at you, still expecting.
you shove him out of the way, and riki doesn’t stumble backwards — before you’ve gone too far, he’s got his hands clasped around your wrist. his jaw tightens, muscles tensing underneath his skin, eyes low and zeroed on your fingers.
you brace yourself for anger, for reprimand, for the cold snap of authority sliding back into place. anything to prove that who you were talking to was someone you didn’t know.
it doesn’t happen.
his grip loosens almost immediately, like he’s realised what he’s doing a half-second too late. his thumb slips away first, then the rest of his fingers, hands dropping back to his sides as if they’ve burned him.
“don’t,” riki says, low. not a command. a warning — to himself, more than to you. “i don’t want you to get the idea that i want to control you.”
you shake his hands off. “then don’t fucking give me it.”
silence stretches between you, sharp and unforgiving. his jaw works, once, like he’s biting back something that would only make it worse. when he finally speaks again, his voice is steadier than it has any right to be, and all it does is make you want to scream.
you look up at him, glass-eyed, lashes wet — and something twists in nishimura riki’s chest. he assumes it’s his heart, even though the teacher in him knows better; it’s just anxiety, he tells himself, a physical response he’s long since learned to name and adapt to.
it’s definitely not his heart breaking at the thought of hurting you. definitely not. hearts don’t break.
no. he’d be dead, on the floor, if his heart really broke.
he’ll repeat this in his head for as long as it takes.
“you’re right,” riki mumbles. it unsettles you more than if he’d argued.
he steps back, deliberately, putting space between you like it costs him something (it does). his hands curl into fists at his sides, then relax again. “you can go,” he finally adds.
you hesitate — just for a second — and you hate yourself for it. he notices. of course he does. a man of his genius can’t help but see everything.
his eyes flicker, briefly, before he looks away, fixing his attention on the desk like it’s the safest thing in the room.
you leave without another word.
he doesn’t stop you.
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WHEN YOU STEP INTO HIS OFFICE THE NEXT MORNING, expecting cruel, impatient silence, nishimura riki remains neutral.
his glasses sit on the edge of his nose bridge, and he’s grading while you study — a rare sight, considering he always manages his time well. it’s kind of funny how you’ve never seen him in the process of it, considering how much time you spend together.
it hits you, embarrassingly fast, that you’ve never actually seen him in the middle of anything other than teaching you despite how many hours you’ve spent here. the furrow of his brow, the way he taps the end of his pen against the paper when he’s annoyed, the quiet sighs he lets slip when something displeases him — it’s all strangely human.
nothing you haven’t known before. it’s just that with all the distance, you forgot.
you hover by the door for a second, unsure if you should sit, wondering if yesterday carved a line between you that you aren’t allowed to cross anymore. you’re sure he can see you awkwardly leaning against the doorframe, so you end up pushing yourself off of it, feet crossing the threshold of his office anyway.
“you’re late,” he says without looking up. “where were you?”
you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, taking your seat on the familiar couch flushed against the window. the silence that follows is different — soft around the edges, still thick with tension, with two people pretending they didn’t almost tear each other apart the day before.
minutes pass. his pen scratches against paper. you start unpacking your things just to fill the emptiness, and to give your hands something to do.
then, unexpectedly gentle, professor nishimura says, “did you get home alright?”
your head lifts a little. you blink. “mhhhm. just fine.”
the bite in your voice is testing him, and it earns the exact reaction you were looking for: a raised eyebrow, a shift in his weight. “you sure?”
it makes you shiver.
you nod, beginning to flip open your textbooks. even if he notices how anxious you are — he doesn’t say a thing.
before long, you’re hunched over the table, your sticky notes and highlighters all over the place.
you remember when you first decided to take a seat in this empty, cold office. it’s a completely different place, a different time, a different you — his awards and certificates still remain, though — but now there’s two mugs on the shelf, a pen in the cup on his desk that you’re certain he never uses because it’s the wrong weight, and before you can think too hard about how much his office (or him) has changed, professor nishimura’s voice jolts you out of your daydream.
“focus.” his stern voice travels from his desk, the sounds of his keyboard mashing underscoring it. “you’re zoning out.”
“sorry,” you tilt your head back down, hair falling in your face, eyes trying to scan for the word you stopped reading at.
you spend an awfully long time staring at one page, trying to make sense of what was printed. your mind’s still flooding with what-if’s from yesterday — whether that was really all that was meant to be said, if that was what everything boiled down to.
what if this was it?
your eyes move mindlessly, jumping from word to word, restarting paragraphs when a thought gets too loud — barely noticing a weight sinking into the empty space next to you.
your gaze drifts to the pair of shoes next to yours, shiny and professional and expensive in all it’s glory; but when you feel a finger tuck your hair behind your ear, gentle, as if you’d crack if just a little force was behind the motion, they trail upwards to the man next to you.
“you look like you just woke up.”
you snort, unintentionally, feeling the burn of your cheeks and the spinning in your head — this stupid professor of yours always seemed to have that effect.
“what are you doing?”
he mumbles in response, “nothing.”
and perhaps it really was nothing, because he slips back into his work without comment, typing quietly while you sink deeper into the sofa — the hours slide by unnoticed, evening tapping softly against the windows until the room grows too dim.
when he sits back down, your head has already tipped against his shoulder, your notes slipping from your hands, and without thinking — or maybe thinking too much — he reaches for the thin blanket folded at the arm of the couch, draping it over you with a care so practiced and gentle it almost feels like he’s done it a hundred times before.
─────────────────────────
EVERYBODY THINKS YOU JUST KNOW WHEN YOU MEET THE ‘RIGHT ONE’. you’ll ask for advice from friends, siblings, even your parents — but there’s a big chance that they’ll tell you that you’ll eventually know, and that there’s no big sign over someone’s head stating that yes, this is the one for you, come get me!
if only.
you hoped falling in love would be easy. people say that if it’s good for you, it would be, and you’re sure that it’s true to some degree —because things did feel easier with nishimura riki. extremely easy.
studying wasn’t a burden — sleeping wasn’t a chore, nor did it feel like a waste of time or a reason to feel guilty. but now, things were starting to get difficult.
you’re beyond fucked.
“just say you like him,” sooha says, and her voice snaps your eyes open again. you’re staring at the popcorn ceiling of your dorm like it personally wronged you. of course you’re back here — sprawled on your bed, overthinking, while sooha lounges beside you like she’s at a spa. “it’s pretty fucking obvious.”
“i just don’t know if this is okay,” you groan, fingers running through your hair. “can you imagine dating your fucking professor? i could get him in trouble—“
“please,” sooha scoffs, not even looking up from her phone. the little snippets of music that keep changing every ten seconds — she’s definitely deep into her edit rewatches again. “he looks two seconds away from quitting his entire academic career for you.”
the sheets rustle under the weight of your head turning towards her.
“what? you think a fully grown man with a salary and a social life—well, questionable social life—spends every free hour he has tutoring one student?” she side-eyes you, finally pausing her scrolling. “come on. he doesn’t do that because you’re struggling. you’re not that hopeless.”
you chew on your bottom lip. “but—“
“you’re so stupid,” she continues. “he looks at you differently.”
your heart does something in your chest — it’s that familiar warmth nishimura riki always managed to trigger, with his soft hands and low voice, like he was personally crafted to make you fall to your knees.
he doesn’t have that sign on top of his head. he isn’t a guarantee, or a ‘at first sight’ thing, or someone with a ton of pros and no cons. he isn’t the easy, simple kind of right that everyone in your life insists you’d “just know.”
he’s just riki — too confusing, too gentle, too quiet riki — and you’re stuck somewhere between wanting him and being terrified that even thinking of him is the biggest mistake you could make, for both yourself and him.
“everything’s just a mess right now. we’re fine, but it doesn’t even feel fine.” you groan, rolling onto your side so you’re facing sooha. your head settles against your bicep, hair spilling across your face like even it has given up. “i don’t know whether to pretend the past few weeks haven’t been eating me alive, or ask him what we are — because we aren’t even anything. he’s my fucking teacher.”
“this anatomy test is really fucking you up, dude.” sooha sighs, dropping her phone her lap with a soft thud. “like, really bad.”
“i’m being serious,” you insist, voice flattening under the weight of all the thoughts you haven’t said out loud. “every time i see him, it’s like—what the hell are we doing?”
“you know what,” she leans her head back further into your chair. “worst case scenario, you can fuck him once, he gets fired and you never see him again—“
“oh my god.”
sooha looks at you like she genuinely doesn’t know where she messed up. you’re holding a handful of your hair in your fist, ready to pull it out.
“i like him. i fucking like my fucking professor,” you grimace, your hands sliding down to your face. “just put me in a fucking porno already.”
“i think you two would look great,” sooha offers, and all you manage to do is peek at her through your fingers with a look that makes her crack up.
“you’re supposed to say thanks.”
“fuck off!”
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THIS PARTY WASN’T IN YOUR SCHEDULE.
it’s crowded, you’re brushing shoulders with every 1 in 2 people you pass, and it’s too fucking loud — the music is booming in your ears and the bass makes your legs shake, the lights are too dark, and your glass is empty. you feel out of place, out of body, out of everything.
“heeeelloooo,” sooha waves her hand in your face before you finally snap back into this plane of reality. once she finally has your attention, her fingers clasp around your wrist, dragging you into the huge living room that belonged to jiwon’s parents. “jiwon’s looking for you, and you’re zoning out under the stairs—come on!”
you bite on your bottom lip, stumbling on your feet as sooha moves too much, too fast through the sea of people. the music choice is truly horrible, you realise as you approach the huge speakers sitting on top of the marbled kitchen island.
you told jiwon to put this off until after finals. at least then, you wouldn’t have so much on your mind — but sooha cried out, said you needed a break from studying so much with that beloved professor of yours — and jiwon could only shrug and agree.
it wasn’t a secret, you and nishimura. there was nothing to be secretive about, and so you couldn’t blame anyone when sooha and jiwon begun to piece things together: the late night texts, leaving early in the morning only to come back in the ass crack of dawn. they figured you were just studying non-stop, cause if you were truly sleeping with your professor, they would’ve heard it first.
“fuck, it’s too loud in here—”
someone bumps into you from behind and mutters a slurred apology. it’s enough to make you flinch, and sooha finally releases your wrist once you’re standing in the middle of the living room: the air is thick with smoke and perfume and every cologne to ever exist, the lights dimmed with the occasional flash of purple and pink in uneven bursts. bodies are packed together on the couch, the one with faux fur pillows that are nowhere to be seen, and it reminds you how this place is too expensive to be hosting this many drunk college kids.
jiwon spots you two immediately from behind the kitchen island. she tilts her head, taking a good look at your already obviously irritated expression, and lifts her cup to point at you with one finger. “you okay? you look like you hate it here—”
“i do,” you admit, watching sooha step a feet or two away into the crowd, chatting with a guy you’d seen around the engineering block. you shake your head, unimpressed before anything else. “i told you. we should’ve waited till after finals.”
she hums, unconvinced. “you wouldn’t say this if you weren’t so busy studying.”
“with riki!” sooha snorts, and your head snaps in her direction. the guy with her looks momentarily lost, and you offer an apologetic smile. “oh, sweet, brilliant riki.”
when you shift your gaze back to sooha, she’s barely containing herself.
“what?” sooha still does so, anyway, unrepentant. “it’s not like we don’t all know. you disappear every night, come back half-dead in the mornings, and somehow you’re still calmer than i’ve ever seen you. it’s suspicious.”
jiwon raises her eyebrows in a moment of pleasant surprise. “so that’s why you’re not drinking.”
you look down at your empty glass, remnants of coke zero still sitting unsipped. somewhere between the terrible music and people brushing against your back, your mind is drifting to that familiar blonde head of hair, with eyes so pretty and brows so strict it makes your pulse falter. gentle, even if he looks everything opposite of.
you were wrong about him, and you found that out in the best way possible, but now, you’re in too deep and everyone’s starting to see it too.
“how else am i supposed to get that A?” you sigh, and you practically feel the way sooha and jiwon see right through you. “i can’t fail this. i really, really can’t.”
they accept the half-assed answer. you weren’t going to admit you were in love with your professor half way into a party full of judgy nepo babies; you were too smart for that.
the night stretches on without you, and at some point, sooha disappears entirely. you’d guess she’s busy making out with that guy from earlier, and even in your sour mood, you snicker at the thought. somewhere in the kitchen, you see jiwon chatting with a group of girls that you’ve never seen her hang with before.
you’re hovering at the edge of the living room, your back against the cold wall. your phone feels infinitely heavier in your hands, and the music choice hasn’t improved in the last hour. it’s aggressive, insistent, as if it’s trying to get you to come loose and forget about what’s supposed to be stressing you out.
you bring your phone to your face, the screen lighting up immediately, and you realise it’s too late to text him, and far too early to leave without everyone assuming you’re pissed off.
a guy with a lopsided middle parting stops in front of you. “heeey, pretty. i was gonna get a drink. you want one? saw your cup was empty—”
“no thanks.”
you drift towards the balcony for air instead, pushing past stumbling bodies until the glass door finally slides shut behind you. it’s barely snowing, but it’s obviously getting chilly, the air biting your cheeks and freezing your lungs. it’s relieving, compared to the humid warmth of other people inside.
you lean against the railing, breathing slowly, savouring every second before you anticipate sooha coming to drag you back inside. momentarily, you wonder if riki lived his college days like this — at parties, sitting at the sides, thinking of where else he could be.
just then, your phone buzzes in your hand.
you swallow, fingers tightening around your phone. the cold doesn’t feel as harsh anymore, replaced by an oddly familiar warmth blooming in your chest. you shove your phone into your purse, weight shifting between your feet, unsure of whether to stay or to leave. somewhere behind you, the door slides open and shut again, laughter spilling onto the balcony before being lost to the wind. you don’t turn around.
the glow of headlights cut through the dark, and the slow fall of snow reminds you of how warm it was a month ago, when you were still whining over that one sociology assignment, when you still hated seeing professor nishimura’s face.
and now, you can’t imagine yourself staying away.
you’re already thinking about how he’ll look when he gets here. dark brown coat hugging his broad, tall stature, snow falling on his head. his brows drawn together in that quiet, familiar concern that he knows never to overdo, because he trusts that you’re a smart girl, and the realization stabs you in the stomach then.
you want to see him.
why the hell do you want to see him?
─────────────────────────
SUNDAYS WERE RESERVED FOR YOU, but for some reason, you’re waiting for nishimura riki at twelve thirty in the morning, in freezing temperatures.
you lean against a lamppost, its warm glow spilling over you and carving soft shadows into your face. your scarf is gone, abandoned somewhere inside oh jiwon’s penthouse, probably slung over the back of a dining chair you’ll never be able to identify again. somehow, you’d still made it out here, rubbing at your nose in a futile attempt to keep the frost from biting too hard.
you sniffle, shoulders curling inward, arms wrapped tight around yourself. professor nishimura had been right — you were sensitive to the cold. you just hadn’t noticed how much, not when he’d always been there before, quietly closing windows, handing you his jacket without comment, turning the heater up a notch like it was second nature.
and then, an expensive looking car pulls up, the sound of snow crushing under the tires making your ears perk. you don’t look up immediately, but you know.
the engine cuts, and the door shuts closed — his footsteps crunch against the pavement lined with ice, unhurried but still purposeful, and something loosens in your chest before you can even say hello.
“you should’ve told me you didn’t have a scarf.”
when you look up, you see exactly what you’d envisioned, with an addition of a black scarf covering the lower half of professor nishimura’s face. his voice is slightly muffled due to the thick cotton — slightly edged with restrained concern slipping through the cracks. your notes are tucked under his arm, neatly stapled, unlike how you kept them, because you ran out of staples and forgot to refill them a few weeks back.
“i thought you’d nag,” you mumble, guilty.
“i would, and i am,” he says, strictly, to make his point. before you can protest, he’s already unravelling his scarf from his neck, and stepping closer to you. the fabric is still warm when he drapes it around you, careful in his movements, fingers brushing against your jaw as he fits it nicely for you.
his cologne lingers. it makes you dizzy, in a good way that party didn’t.
“you’re still so careless, [name].”
his head hovers just above yours, and you swore if he leaned in any closer that he’d be able to hear how hard your heart was beating. your eyes look at anything else but him — the trees in the distance. the passing cars. the one or two people taking a night stroll with their dogs. anything to avoid the way you can hear his breath in your ears, the warmth of his fingers brushing against your skin. anything.
he tucks the end of the scarf into your coat with careful precision, and you think your timing couldn’t be worse. when you dare to glance up, his eyes meet yours. they’re glassy, faintly red at the edges — exhaustion, probably from the nights you’ve kept him awake with your relentless studying — and despite everything, it makes you smile.
“you’re too careful.”
your eyes peek through your lashes, fluttering slowly, coaxing him into everything he’s taught himself to restrain. in the small space between you two, your breaths mingle, albeit yours just warm your face right back up — still, you watch his skin flush, lips trembling slightly at the proximity.
you’ve never seen him this close. he looks absolutely breathtaking. from the sharp turn of his jaw, the sparkle in his eyes as he looks into yours, to that impossible glow on his skin that you’ve never been able to make sense of.
nishimura riki’s heart is racing faster than humanly possible. this cannot be good. he remembers learning this in his first year of university: tachycardia was what they called it.
yes. he’s tachy. so very tachy.
and he also wants to kiss you. really, really bad.
there wasn’t anything in the textbooks for that.
riki swallows, his throat tightening, and his fingers still hold onto the scarf that he’s draped around you. for now, there’s only you, and the warmth of your face radiating so close to his — only the sound of your soft, gentle breath, the one he’s gotten so used to hearing.
his index and middle finger hook onto the fabric of his (now technically your) scarf, pulling it down slightly, enough to reveal your entire face.
“riki,” your voice is barely audible, a whisper against the cold wind, but it’s enough to make his pulse skip. he’s been holding his breath the entire time. “it’s late.”
he leans in, unintentional, just a fraction closer, enough for your hearts to echo in tandem. “i know,” he murmurs, voice low, quiet, restrained in words but not in feeling; he says it like he wants you to stay, despite.
“i should get inside,” you mumble, beginning to tilt your head up anyways.
on this chilly december night, nishimura riki tilts his head as well, inches apart, almost as if he’s analyzing the exact way to fit against you. his lips brush yours softly, a fleeting ghost of warmth, breath fanning over the plush of your lips.
“i know.”
you know this is wrong, and still, you meet him halfway.
suddenly, your body ignites with warmth, eyes fluttering shut as your arms instinctively loop around his neck. his hands find your waist without thought, drawing you close, steadying you as you rise onto your tiptoes. the cold air disappears, replaced entirely by this small, perfect cocoon of heat and closeness — it’s warm, comforting, like coming home to something you’ve been missing all year.
the scarf is tickling his chin. his annoying glasses are in the way. but you taste sweet, and he can smell your perfume — and your shampoo. just you, actually. everything he could ever possibly ask for is right here, in his hands, against his body. leaning into him like she needed him as much as he needed her.
your notes are somewhere on the floor. professor nishimura resolves to help you rewrite them later. hell, he’ll rewrite the whole textbook, as long as you let him have this.
“fuck,” he curses as he pulls away, his breath leaving him in the shape of warm smoke — you giggle, hearing him curse for the first time — and it’s almost ridiculous how fast his face flushes at the sound of your amusement. “you’re so pretty.”
his eyes leave yours, drifting down to your glossy, saliva-covered lips — they’re calling for him. so kissable, parted, breathless like he’d just stolen all the air from your lungs.
“riki—” you try to speak, but it’s pointless when professor nishimura’s lips crash against yours again. you feel like you’re on fire, your fingertips brushing against the nape of his neck once more; it sends shivers down his spine, and when his palm presses flat on the small of your back, you’re arching into his touch.
riki’s tongue swipes against your bottom lip, yours opening up for him like clockwork — it’s making your head spin, your nerves raw, legs weak trying to close the already minute gap between your bodies. he’s curious with you, clearly, with the way his hands roam up and down your waist, clingy, like he’s never going to have you again.
and if that ends up being true — he’ll make sure, just this once, it’ll be worth it.
you follow him, silent, as his hands find yours. the cold nips at your fingers before his calloused ones warm them up: the streets are emptying out, snow lining the asphalt, collecting on the roof of his car. he turns, pulling you with him, the crunch of snow breaking underneath both your feet.
he opens the passenger door for you, a gesture that makes your cheeks burn, and you slide in carefully. the leather seat is too comfortable, nice and warm, expensive before anything else. it reminds you of jiwon’s dad’s car, and the thought makes you snicker, just a little.
“hands,” he murmurs, and you instinctually tuck your arms in before he shuts the door. you watch him walk in front of the headlights — crossing over to the driver’s seat, and soon enough, his hands are on the wheel.
the engine roars to life and warmth floods the car, chasing away the bite of december air. your fingers are still entwined with his, resting lightly in your lap, and the contact is enough to send little jolts through your chest. the soft glow of the dashboard lights highlights his profile — jawline sharp, eyes focused on the road, yet you can feel the awareness behind them, the subtle glance he gives you through the rearview mirror.
your phone is buzzing in your coat pocket. you recognise the text tone — oh jiwon, park sooha. that little group chat you’ve been using since first year. it’s enough to remind you how wrong this is, but not enough to forget how right it feels — professor nishimura riki feels like fate.
the streets are quiet. snow glinting under the streetlights, the tires crunching softly over the thin white layers. the silence between you is comfortable, heavy with everything left unspoken: the kiss, the heat between your bodies, the lingering warmth of his scarf. everything that you’ve gone through in the past few weeks.
you blink slowly, trying to figure out if this was one of your fucked up dreams again — you’ve had quite a few of those ever since you started this… whatever this was.
“you’re still cold,” riki says, eyes still trained on the road. you’re somewhere in gangnam, further away from jiwon’s neighbourhood, streets filled with locals and tourists. his fingers tighten around yours slightly when you don’t respond. “i’ll warm you up when we’re inside.”
you flush, head turning towards the window, not entirely sure of the meaning of his words.
what the hell does he mean by warm you up?
is he flirting with you?
“mm..” you hum, smiling anyway, thankful his scarf was there to save you. “i’d like that.”
─────────────────────────
IT’S ALMOST LIKE A MOVIE.
you’re stumbling into the entryway of his home, coat slipping off your shoulders, and riki’s trying to kick his dress shoes off. it’s the ones he just bought, the ones that cost more than he knew was necessary — it’s pathetic how hard you both are fighting to keep your lips together, heavy pants being the only thing you hear as your fingers find the buttons of riki’s top. you almost snap all of them off with how careless you undo them: you want to apologise, but riki’s smiling against your lips anyway, so you take it as a green light to be as reckless as you want.
almost like a movie — no, scratch that. it’s more like those sex dreams you’ve been having.
the ones you told sooha about, where she was oddly interested and claimed she had to try out with someone else. you smacked her in the shoulder after that. funnily enough, she did end up trying one out of the six positions you detailed greatly to her, and said nothing but “good stuff”.
still, right now, nothing’s funny. you feel heat pooling between your thighs, and riki’s fingers are too rough and needy for you to hold yourself back.
you don’t have time to register his furniture, or his paintings, or his strange plants. the lights aren’t even on. nishimura riki’s spent his early adulthood decorating his home to fit his lifestyle perfectly, and he’s a little hurt that you’re too horny to even appreciate it. he’ll have to give you a proper tour tomorrow morning, if you’re not too sore to deal with it.
“fuck,” he moans into your mouth, feeling your nails graze against his chest as you take off his shirt — he’s too sensitive when it comes to you. he can barely word anything right now with the way he refuses to leave your lips alone. “[name]—you’re sure?”
“so sure,” you pant, arms looping around his neck as his arms find your hips. soon, they tuck under your thighs and it’s almost like you’ve done this millions of times before: you rise to your toes, and he lifts you without much effort. you still squeal, feeling him smirk against your lips; in this moment, you remember just who he is, that ego still lingering behind his touch.
your salivas mix, tongues sopping wet as he settles you onto the cold kitchen island. nishimura riki’s head is spinning — you feel too damn perfect underneath him. he’s never had you like this, his rough hands grabbing and playing with the plush of your ass like it was always meant for him, your soft moans filling his ears like a new kind of music he’ll never stop replaying.
he’s addicted, and he hasn’t even had you fully, not yet. he wants to take his time.
he has to.
“riki,” you whimper, pulling away from the kiss. a string of saliva connects the two of you, breaking soon after, your heart skipping at the sight of him — messy hair, bare chest heaving, a thin veil of sweat coating his forehead and making streaks of hair stick. “please—”
everything is painfully quiet, aside from your heart thumping in your ears. you’re certain he can hear it, too.
his eyebrows knit, breathing trying to even itself out — your hands wander up his chest, not believing it’s the same one you and sooha drooled over a month back — it feels ridiculously firm, your nails tracing his skin, making the hair on his neck stand. it makes him shiver, every touch making his nerves fire up again and again.
you’re doing things to him. things he doesn’t have an explanation for. no textbook could encompass the low, simmering feeling in his abdomen, watching you like this.
riki’s impatient, crashing his lips against yours again — teeth clashing, moans mixing, and you arch your body into his chest once more. your arms loop around his neck as he pushes his body closer to yours, almost leaning over the counter, feeling your weight hold onto his body as he feels you closer.
“tell me you want me,” he groans in your ear, tongue pressing flat against the frantic pulse hidden underneath the skin of your neck. he licks one long, delicious stripe from the ball of your throat to the patch of skin underneath your earlobe, savouring the taste of your sweat, breathing in the raw smell of your fading perfume. “come on—don’t act all shy now.”
you whimper when he sucks, lips latching onto your neck, hard enough you’re sure it’ll leave memories of tonight. you’ll have to borrow sooha’s expensive concealer, you think, but for now — your eyes roll to the back of your skull, hips grinding against the tent in his pants, teasing him so painfully slow.
“mm..” you moan, “can’t you tell, professor?”
riki groans when you grind down harder, the title making his jaw go slack, your legs locking behind his back. he’s so achingly hard, he thinks he might cum in his pants like a pathetic teenager from your stupid antics.
professor. professor. professor.
he’s spent so long drilling that title out of you, and now, he’s hard just hearing it.
“stop fucking teasing, brat,” and he’s trailing down your neck, rough hands pulling the collar of your shirt down. his plush lips leave a trail of kisses along your collarbone, nose nudging the skin of your shoulder, and you feel him breathe you in. “it won’t get you what you want.”
his teeth graze against the round of your shoulder. “you’ll give me what i want, anyway.”
he tsks. you shudder when he bites down, just enough to leave a mark, but not to hurt. your thighs squeeze on instinct, pulling him closer, and you feel him exhale a short, knowing laugh — like he’s finally figured out exactly what gets you — and it makes your stomach twist.
“should we just fuck right here? huh?” riki whispers against your skin, his hands running along the side of your waist. “the way you’re acting—you deserve it. on the cold, hard floor, like the slut you are. sounds good?”
you bite down on your bottom lip, head tilting back as riki makes his way up again. his nose bumps against you, sending little shocks of electricity all the way down to your fingertips. your nose points to the ceiling, lips parted as you try to control every sound that riki’s earning from your pretty lips.
“should we drive back to my office? i’ll fuck you on the desk, on the sofa… against my shelves? i’ll let you pick.”
you feel him right where you need him. impossibly hard, aching, rubbing up against your panties through his slacks. he must’ve been somewhere important before meeting you. that expensive shirt’s tossed onto the floor, somewhere you can’t bother to remember. all of your mind is being taken up by the man in front of you, the one panting in your ear like a dog in heat, like he can’t wait any longer to bury himself inside of you until you’re fucked dumb — not the man of importance, of professionalism, the one that demands respect.
“answer me.”
scratch that. he’s still demanding respect.
you whimper in response — he chuckles, continuing to press gentle kisses to your jaw, up to your cheeks, then your lips. you meet them happily, too eager, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care for your ego when he’s got you chasing an impossible high.
“n-no, riki. want the bed, please—”
his left hand runs up your body, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “my baby wants to feel special?”
you nod frantically, eyes glossy as they stare into his — his pupils are blown. you swore if you looked a little closer, you’d see little hearts dancing around; the thought makes you dizzy.
you feel him twitch against you, just once. so impossibly thick and hefty, you drool at the vision of him stretching you out, holding your hand as you take him slowly, perfectly, sucking him in ‘till he has nothing left to give.
“mhm, please, riki,” you mutter, feeling your body heat in embarrassment. “don’t i deserve it?”
and then, he’s got your jaw in a firm grip, his own tense as he watches you squirm.
“address me properly.” riki tilts his head, smiling mockingly, memories of that class flooding your mind. it’s terrifying how fake it is — but the effect is the same. you’re leaning your cheek into his open palm, needing more, shameless in it all. “then i’ll think about it.”
you swallow, vision blurry from how impossibly needy you’re getting; it’s one of those times where you think you could die from how empty you are, you’d do just about anything to get some relief — grinding shamelessly, whimpering like a mutt against your professor’s pants, leaving a wet patch right where he’s thickest.
“please, professor.”
his lips don’t leave you, but your clothes do. he’s practically ripped your skirt off of you, your shirt is thrown somewhere below the stairs, and everything is a mess. your legs stay locked around his waist as he brings you up the stairs effortlessly, thighs tensing as he climbs each step, briefs stretching as his cock twitches harder by the second.
“tell me if you wanna stop,” he whispers into your ear, and all you do is nod. “i’ll stop.”
it’s a long walk to his bedroom, tucked away at the very end of the corridor — except you’re barely aware of it, because riki is carrying you. one arm is firm beneath your thighs, the other braced around your back, holding you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your weight doesn’t seem to faze him; if anything, his grip tightens with quiet intention as he moves.
modern abstract paintings blur past in your periphery, bold shapes and muted colors bleeding into one another as your focus narrows to the steady rhythm of his steps. a clock with no numbers hangs near the top of the stairs, its hands gliding forward soundlessly, time stripped of meaning. you don’t look at it for long. you’re too aware of the way his shoulder presses into your chest, the warmth of him bare against you.
his breath is heavy but controlled, brushing against your hair with each step. you curl instinctively closer, fingers clutching at his back, and he adjusts you without breaking stride — a subtle shift, careful, practiced, like he’s been doing this far longer than he has any right to.
by the time he reaches the door at the end of the corridor, the rest of the house feels impossibly far away. he pauses there, forehead dipping briefly toward yours, as if grounding himself before crossing whatever line comes next — before pushing the door open and carrying you inside.
he drops you onto the thick mattress, and a squeal escapes your throat. the sheets rustle under your weight. riki hovers above you, still for just a moment. you catch him admiring you: his eyes wandering, scanning your body, drinking it all in before his hands reach for the clasp of your bra.
“you’ll tell me if it’s too much,” he reminds you, and riki’s fingers are working to undress you fully, peeling your bra off you by the straps. “got it?”
you nod sheepishly, eyes darting to the ceiling, anything to avoid the hungry stare in his eyes. you’ve never seen such a look from him — it’s predatory, hungry, the kind of expression that would usually make your blood run cold, given professor nishimura’s already stoic personality — but all it does is make your thighs press closer together.
“what’d i say about using your words?”
you take one quick look at him, before your stomach flips itself inside out; he’s panting, chest heaving, hair disheveled from all the tugging you’ve done.
the warm light above casts shadows across his face, making his eyes seem deeper, darker, more insistent. his brows are drawn together, expectant, waiting for some kind of answer from you.
you’re not eager to see what happens if you don’t give him one.
“yes… yes, i got it,” you manage, words tumbling out too quickly, blending together like one frantic, made-up syllable.
somehow, you feel like you’ve fucked up on that, because his hands are off of you, and you’re whining like you’re going to die. soon enough, his knees are coming off of the mattress, and he’s sinking to the floor.
riki kisses his teeth, left eyebrow raised as he looks at you with a new found curiosity. he wonders where all the impatience came from — he swears you were willing to bend backwards if he asked you to, and now you’re acting like a spoiled brat that he has to set straight.
“careful,” his warm breath ghosts against your thigh, too close for you not to squirm. his palms are quick to press flat against the inner sides of them, prying you open, pinning you flat to the sheets with minimal strength. “be good and i’ll fuck you right. you can speak to your friends like that, but not me. watch the tone.”
“and if i don’t?” you sigh, already picturing it.
riki purrs lowly, sharp nose running against the inner side of your thigh, inching closer to where your clothed cunt practically calls his name. “then you’re gonna be empty all night. dripping for me, begging, and i won’t do anything about it.”
you bite down on your bottom lip so hard you can taste the metal in your mouth. you sit up slightly, resting on your elbows to get a better view of the blond between your legs — he’s breathing you in, nose flush against your soaked panties, and he swears he’s so hard that he could die right here and be satisfied his life has led to and concluded with this — you smell so good, so tempting, like sin wrapped in a pretty bow arriving at his doorstep.
you’re going to fucking kill him. cause of death: pussy too good for his cock to handle not being inside.
but still, he’s a gentleman, and despite your unsatisfactory tone and attitude, he’ll let you have this — he stands up again, fingers hooked on the band of your panties, sliding it off your thighs. the cold air hits your cunt uncomfortably, and your eyes gloss over the man shifting between your legs, dropping to his knees, never breaking the stare.
“need you to take all of me,” riki kisses up your inner thigh, while your legs hang off the bed. his biceps brush against your calf, arms looping around your lower thigh. “prettiest pussy ever. you’ll look so good around me, hm? bet you’re tight, too.”
you feel feverish. hair sticks to your forehead in clumps, nose flared and jaw slack as you try to even your lungs out.
“rikiiii…” you whine, “hurry. just fuck me already—“
“i’m doing this out of kindness,” and his voice drops even lower, like you were teetering on the edge of his patience. “don’t forget that. could very well fuck you right now, but i wouldn’t want you crying the whole time i split you in half.”
the words make something bubble deep inside of you, and you’re sure that even if he flipped you over and fucked you right now that you’d be just fine — arousal is pooling between your legs, almost dripping onto the sheets, enough to last you a lifetime of quickies with nishimura riki — something tells you that he’s doing this because of his own selfish hunger, despite the cocky words leaving his lips.
“who says you’ll make me cry?” you bite, and riki’s eyes flick up to yours momentarily. it’s crazy, laced with something wild, and it almost feels like you’ve caught him red-handed in a lie.
“you’re practically crying for me down here,” and he’s spat right on your clit, eyes narrowing on the way you’re glistening for him. you have no right to be demanding things from him, not when you’re spread open at his discretion. “can’t answer me during our sessions, and now you’re running your mouth? should’ve i guessed from the beginning that you were just a slut waiting for some dick?”
you clench around nothing, visibly flustered at the way he doesn’t even flinch at the remark. he watches your reaction, smirking, inching closer to heaven.
“can’t even wait a few minutes for something to fill you up. you’re filthy.”
he sticks his tongue out, pressing it flat against your folds, licking one slow stripe towards your clit. you shiver at the warmth — it makes your head spin, the feeling of his nose bumping into your clit, his lips plush lips sucking on your swollen bud.
“too bad you’re g’na have to wait. spread, wider.” his fingers tap at your thigh, and you find yourself doing exactly as he demands. “yeah, just like that—my smart girl. so obedient.”
you whine at the praise, hips wriggling in his grip as he eats you like a man possessed; tongue lapping away at everything your cunt has to offer, which now seemed like an endless stream of arousal — riki’s eyes narrow as he peeks up at you, and the chuckle rumbling through his chest vibrates through your body, and it’s almost reflex how your fingers fly to his locks to get a firm grip.
“fuck,” he hisses as your nails scratch his scalp. you grab by the roots, smiling lazily at him as he does nothing but let it happen. “greedy fuckin’ thing.”
your knees bend and lock behind his neck, the heel of your foot rubbing against his back, feeling every dip and rise of muscle — his tongue circles around your clit faster, the pressure now increasing by tenfold. he finds himself shoving his face into a space that doesn’t exist. riki simply can’t get enough as he rocks his hips against his dark oak bed frame (the one he spent too long picking out online), chasing a high he knows he won’t be satisfied with — pre stains his briefs as his cock stretches the spandex out, wet and sticky like homemade honey.
“y-yeah, riki—“ you moan, “oh my god, fuck,”
you don’t even realise that his face is pulled away until your orgasm barely slips from you.
“wrooong. again.” riki mumbles, lips glossy from your slick and his saliva mixed in something similar to alcohol — he was getting so pussy-drunk that he was starting to slur his words, more focused on how sweet, how perfect you taste on his tongue. he was beginning to strategise just how he’d be able to savour this every day for the rest of his life.
well… the only answer was to make you his, of course.
he lets saliva collect in the shallow well of his tongue, before spitting thickly onto your clit. his aim is comically good.
“my patience is running thin. address me properly.”
nishimura riki can’t possibly let anyone else enjoy this. he’ll fuck you so good, so right, that he’ll be the only man you think of for the rest of your life.
his middle and ring finger apply pressure to the throbbing cunt, and you practically scream with how sensitive you are. riki has that smug fucking look again,
“p-professor,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. the tip of his nose runs along your folds, up and down, and you’re practically riding his face now — he can only groan in response, your arousal dripping down his chin and running down his neck. “s-sorry, professor, i’m sorr—“
“i forgive you,” riki coos between sucks, “taught you sooo well. my most perfect girl. all fucking mine.”
it’s almost embarrassing how compliant you are when it comes to professor nishimura. he tells you to cum, and you do, coating his wet tongue with sweet fluid that makes his eyes roll back — he tells you to ride his face, squeeze his head between your thighs, cum again on his sharp nose this time — and you do. you bite back a moan when he tells you not to cum yet. you take his fingers in your mouth as he tells you to be quiet. you grind your hips even when they’re sore. you keep pushing because he tells you to.
the pained, pussy-drunk expression on his face is enough to make it all worth it.
you think you have nothing left to give by the time you cum all over his mouth for the 3rd time, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks you up, lips bitten raw from making out with your pussy like it was his first meal in days.
“fuckfuckfuck—i’m gonna cum, riki—!” he lets the name slip, because he thinks you look beautiful when your lips are parted and screaming his birth name. how merciful, he thinks he earned a pat on the back for being so kind.
“then cum.”
how could you ever deny him?
“where’s the attitude gone?” riki grins, rough, large palms gripping at your hips as he comes off his knees. he towers over you again, a dark shadow cast over you from his large stature blocking the lamp’s golden bleed — he looks down at you, tongue running over his bottom lip, heart thumping hard in his ribcage. “fucked dumb already? haven’t even been inside.”
you feel heat crawl up your neck, face visibly flushing as riki fits himself snug between your thighs — your eyes can’t help but to travel down, eyeing the bulge in his slacks, so impossibly thick and long and everything you could ever possibly need for a lifetime of godly sex.
you’ve been with big guys. enough to say you know what’s big and what’s just average, but it was safe to say nishimura riki was big. thick, throbbing, twitching underneath the fabric as if it was trying to spell your name.
“you gotta do better than that, miss [name],” professor nishimura pouts, though his expression is nowhere near one of genuine sympathy. you see the red flush of his cheeks, that pussy-drunk face of his that you know you could definitely get used to, and the way his jaw slacks when he rubs his bulge against your bare pussy — strings of sticky arousal stretch like honey, and you whine at the raw friction of it all — his eyes constantly ping-pong between your face and the way your folds spread open to slot the tent between the slit.
“stop teasing, ki!” you blurt out, and his head tilts, as if lost in thought. he doesn’t look back up at you this time, his pupils instead locked on the mess you’re making down there.
you’re not going to fit him. he knows this, but he’ll make it work. brainstormer, he remembers his old mentors calling him, so he’ll find a way to have you stretched out ‘till his balls touch your ass, or he’ll just make you cum a few more times on his face, or fingers, anything it takes to let him have you fully.
“you’re so fucking wet,” riki smiles, “think you can take me?”
“yes, yesyesyes, please,” you babble, nodding frantically as riki stares on. it seems kind of unreal how desperately you need him — he wonders if he always had this effect on you, if you were always this pliant and good and absolutely breathtaking. if he’d known, he would’ve fucked you right then and there, in his office during that first study session. “want it—i want you, please, professor.”
you’re so fucking perfect, he feels like he’s dreaming.
he doesn’t waste any time unbuckling his belt, the metal clasp clinking loudly as his fingers work at the hook. he rolls his belt into his hand, and for a brief moment, riki wonders just how you’d react to a little leather spanking.
“oh?”
the corner of his lip tugs, and a familiar smirk only grows from there. the one that makes your skin crawl.
he didn’t need to think for long, after all.
he feels your pussy throb against him, your glassy eyes ogling the expensive belt looped around his left hand.
“like it, baby?”
you don’t even manage to respond.
“want me to use it on you?”
there’s a moment of hesitation from you — you’re not really sure why, because it’s just a fucking belt, but you’ve been rubbing up on him like a feral cat in heat. something about professor nishimura using his belt on you makes your mind go blank, as if every word you’ve learnt in your twenty something years of living has suddenly been rendered useless.
all you know is that you want it, so you nod, and pray that this is the meanest he can get.
“should i tie you up? spank you? tell me which you want, sweetheart,” and the corners of his lips are curving upwards, almost sinister in nature, as he unravels the belt so that it just hangs free from his grip. the slight change in tone when the word ‘spank’ slips makes your thighs twitch hard. “i’ll do it. anything to make my good girl happy, hm?”
you’re heaving, chest falling and rising at a rapid rate as you try to conjure the right words. who was going to tell you that it’d be damn near impossible to speak comprehensible english when your professor’s huge cock is twitching against you?
he waits for an answer, head tilted, eyebrows pulled together in this painfully expectant way — the kind of expression that drags you straight back to your case study presentations, where every slip-up had professor nishimura giving you that exact same look. same stupidly handsome face. same unfairly perfect eyebrows lifted like he was judging both your academic ability and your life choices at once.
“i-i—“ you mutter, “want.. i want—“
“clearly didn’t teach you well enough to use your words,” he scoffs, hands working to grab the other end of the belt. it forms a lop-sided circle, long enough to hurt, short enough not to make you bleed. “that’s fine—i’ll pick for you, mmkay?”
he isn’t asking for your permission.
in the next 10 seconds that follow, professor nishimura has you on your belly, ass bent over the edge of the bed. your thighs dangle off the mattress, twitching, as if you’ve just come down from your 5th orgasm (even though that was 10 minutes ago) — and all nishimura riki can do is stare at the perfect canvas laid beneath him, so blank, so ready for him to bruise.
you moan, loud, when his palm fondles your right ass cheek, pressing you further into the mattress.
“sorry, i’ll have to keep her waiting.”
his thumb spreads your empty cunt wide, watching how your glistening hole clenches around nothing, and it’s gross how fast his heart fills with pride. you’re so fucking easy it makes him want to take you right now, waste no time, fuck you all night until you’re both on the brink of exhaustion, but that little sick voice in his head tells him to test the waters with you — how far you’d go for him before your nails are drawing blood from his chest and begging him to slow down — because right now, you’re bending over backwards for him, and he finds it adorable.
“‘s okay,” you mumble, cheek pressed flush against the sheets. “hmph—please, just hurry.”
oh, so forgiving. with how kind you were being —he’d make sure to reward you tenfold.
smack. “ooookay, baby,” riki sing-songs, smiling down at your figure, your spine arched and your ass fully rounded out for him.
smack.
the sting follows immediately.
“fuck—!” you squeal, body writhing as the red outline of his belt blooms on your skin. riki’s jaw slacks watching the print form, a dreamy sigh leaving his lips — you’re still wriggling your ass for more, even as he sees the tear slip down your cheek.
“dirty girl,” riki tsks, working to bundle the belt around his palm again. “you get off to this? shameless.”
you don’t respond, anticipating the second smack that riki eventually ends up giving you.
“a-ah,“ your throat rasps, broken moan escaping, “professor—i’m sorry!”
“oh,” smack. “i always knew. just a slut, aren’t you? probably thought about me doing this looong before today. didn’t you? thought about your professor setting you straight in front of everyone?”
you nod desperately, too many times than necessary, and a deep chuckle sounds through the dim room. “that’s my girl. so honest. so good. so obedient.”
“fuuuck,” you moan at the praise. riki watches your thighs squeeze, tensing up as you drip down, down, down. “w-want you to fuck me, please, professor, i can’t wait anymore—“
smack, smack, smack. your hole squeezes around nothing with every harsh hit.
“barely been five minutes,” riki taunts, and when you turn your head to look back at him, you swear there’s hearts in his eyes. “but okay. since you’ve been so good for me, i’ll indulge.”
and just like that, the sting on your skin is replaced by the cool bite of expensive linen sheets — you’re back here again, caged underneath his chest, eyes locked on the way his blonde locks stick to smooth skin. sweat rolls down his chest, down to his abs, your heart racing at the divine sight above you: his chest heaves, gaze hungry and dark with everything you’ve been too afraid to confront, fingers firm on the flesh of your waist as he pulls you closer.
“tell me if it hurts,” riki adds, his hands pulling back from your figure to slide his slacks off his legs. “but i know my girl can take it all, can’t she?”
“yesyesyes, i can take it, i can take it—please.”
oh, he feels his heart swelling. riki sees how your eyes never leave the imprint in his briefs, widening when his thumbs hook into the waistband to pull them down — and when he finally frees himself?
he replays the way your breath hitches again, and again, and again, only snapping out of it when your eyes dart back up to meet his.
he’s stupidly long. thick, heavy, swollen red and leaking pre-cum; it leaves a sticky layer on his tip, shining under the light, veins running down the side of his shaft — for a moment, you’re upset that he didn’t make you suck him off before this, give you a chance to run your tongue along the blood vessels. you’d trace and memorise them, eyes looking up as he’d throw his head back.
“you’re so fucking perfect,” he mumbles, head dropping low, jaw slack from how your cunt is essentially calling for him to fuck you full. “wanna fuck you ‘till you can’t forget me.”
he lines his cock up with your dripping entrance, already tempted to just slam his hips into yours. with how sticky and wet it is from both your fluids, riki’s sure there’d be no problem fitting all of him — but he’s a gentleman, and he doesn’t want you screaming and waking the entire neighbourhood up.
you whine when his hand grabs the base of his dick and taps his tip against your clit, his hips grinding forward just to slide his cock between your folds once or twice. fucking tease.
“you’re so annoying,” you drawl, teeth biting down on your lip as you feel just how thick he was compared to you. you find yourself out of air just thinking of how you’d be able to accommodate the girth.
“you love me,” riki smiles. “jus’ let me make you feel good, hm?” he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, biceps caging your head, chests pressed against the others. your head rests against his shoulder, heavy sighs leaving your lips right next to his ear, and all it does is make him even hungrier.
“i do love you,” you whisper. nishimura riki feels something shift inside of him at the words, oddly enough, despite the fact that you two have seen each other fully by this point: no, it makes everything real, despite the constant reassurance that it always has been, but now he knows that he can’t let you go.
“i love you too, [name].”
so when he finally lets himself sink into you, tip pushing past the folds of your heaven-sent pussy, riki fights every sinister voice that begs him to just bottom out and fuck you silly until you remember that he, the man who never loved, loves you.
“fuuuck,” he groans into your ear. he feels you squeeze him tighter, almost pushing him back out at the sound. “you gotta relax, baby. breathe. too fucking tight, it’s gonna kill me.”
“t-too fucking big,” you squeal, legs wrapping around his waist. you try to follow his advice, taking slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down. “i can’t, riki, i can’t—“
“you can,” riki corrects you. “you’ll take all of me, won’t you? can’t fuck you right with only a quarter of me.”
well, fuck… quarter?
he pulls his face away from your neck, forehead pressed against yours in something sweet. your eyes lock onto his blown pupils, laced with love and addiction, and you genuinely feel so full that your throat clogs up.
your walls stretch as he sinks further in, now half-way over. his jaw hangs open, heavy breaths mingling between the tiny space between you, and when he feels your heel dig into his lower back for that final push — he breaks.
so warm. so snug. so wet and perfectly moulded to fit his cock. it was divine, to say the least.
“fuuuck,” riki moans, eyes screwing shut, as if he couldn’t believe how warm and heavenly this felt. when he opens them, he sees your pretty face, lips parted with half-lidded eyes staring up at his. “god, i love you—you’re perfect everywhere.”
his hot mouth meets yours in a sloppy kiss, spit and saliva exchanging, smearing all over both your lips and dripping down your chin. riki feels your tongue run over his, your soft moans that go straight his throat and the way your hand tangles in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as his balls kiss your ass.
“rikiii…” you drag sweetly, lips curling into a familiarly maddening smile. “fuck me ‘till i can’t think, please, want it so bad. i can’t wait anymore—“
he exhales a shaky breath before pulling out, just barely leaving any of himself inside of you. “still so fucking impatient.”
riki slams his hips into you, and the stretch almost knocks you out cold. you’re still adjusting to him as his hips pull back before sinking back inside. the sounds of your pussy and his cock plunging deep into you sounds borderline pornographic: wet squelches and skin slapping against each other, along with the moans that he rips from you.
“fuck, s-so perfect, just like how i imagined.”
riki leans back just to get a better view, and your hands immediately fall to his wrists. your nails dig into his forearm, and riki almost cums on the spot watching your tits bounce and your face morph into one of obscene, shameless pleasure.
plap, plap, plap.
his tip kisses your cervix with every needy thrust, and you’re trying your best to not scream riki’s name every single time his pelvis flushes against yours. you brace yourself, feeling him all the way in your lungs, knocking the wind out of you with every wet slap of skin.
“r-rikiii…” you moan, about to go cross-eyed, “so good, so fucking good—oh my god—“
“yeah?” he mumbles, thumb pressing against your clit to rub frantic circles, and it’s ridiculous how fast your eyes roll to the back of your head. “my good girl, taking me so well—want me to fill you up, too? would my baby like that?”
nishimura riki thought he was the one in control here, but when you scream ‘yes’ and ‘please’ at least ten times over, he finds his pace quickening and his hips slamming into yours with newfound motivation. you’re a mess: a thin veil of sweat coats your skin, and you’re crying riki’s name like a desperate prayer.
“ngh—d’you get tighter thinking about me cumming inside this pussy? so fucking dirty.”
he doesn’t care if his neighbour comes knocking on his door. he’ll fuck you on the balcony if it meant everyone knew that he was the only man who has you like this.
riki’s hand runs over the bulge in your lower belly, applying delicious pressure as your mind slowly unravels underneath him. you can’t speak anymore, a cacophony of moans and cries being the only thing filling the room, and the man above you can only chuckle as he witnesses your descent into madness.
your hands find their way to your face, covering the fucked-out expression on it. riki doesn’t take to well to it, opting to grab at your wrists, pinning them over your head. “don’t get shy on me.” he mutters.
“my good little slut,” riki spits, and the way your hands fit right into his palm makes him go crazy. you’re thrashing against him, thighs twitching hard as you feel that familiar pressure build inside of you. your mind is turning to mush as his cock relentlessly slams into you, and you swear he gets bigger with every second that passes. “o-oh fuuuck, i love you—love this pussy so much—you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”
you’ve been wanting this for so long. ever since that night your hands slid underneath the band of your sweats, touching yourself to his gym pictures on instagram, and now he’s finally here: fucking into you like you’re all he’s been wanting, too.
“i w-want a kiss, riki, please,” you manage to blurt out. riki’s quick to fulfill your request, plump lips meeting yours in another heated kiss. the closeness lets his hips rut into you, slow and nice as they angle to brush against that sweet spot deep inside of you.
“mmngh—haa, shit—i’ve wanted you for so long, [name],” riki mumbles between kisses, “thought about fucking this perfect pussy… in my office. in class, in front of everyone. make you feel sooo good, you’ll never look at anyone else.”
your heart skips at the confession.
“tell me you’re all mine,” he moans into your mouth, kissing your lips raw. “all mine to fuck,” thrust. “kiss,” thrust. “to have like this—fuck, please, [name]—“
“i’m a-all yours, riki,” you smile lazily, feeling the drag of his cock in and out of you. “y-yes, all yours—oh fuck!”
you’re so sensitive to the point that his touch burns. riki feels hot against you, the weight of his body and the thick stretch of his dick convincing you that this might be your last night alive.
“h-harder, riki,” you cry, “want you harder—“
you drive the man crazy. absolutely feral.
he’s half sure that he’s running on pure horniness, because his thighs hurt and his back stings from all the scratches you’ve left. the pain feels secondary to this, to having you milking him for everything he has, that he refuses to slow down.
you want it harder? he’ll give you harder, no questions asked.
“needy fucking thing,” riki teases, and the flush on your face is almost immediately intensified. your nose scrunches at him, a scowl worn before it’s quickly washed away from how deep you feel him; every hit makes you dizzier, his words going into your right ear and out the left, nothing on your mind but the impending orgasm that’s about to wash over you.
riki kisses the tears on your cheek, cock twitching at the taste of salt and the look of your visibly flushed face. the admission triggers something in him, because now, he’s pistoning his dick like this was the last time he’ll ever have you — he can feel your walls pulsing, squeezing him tight, and it’s turning him into a fucking animal.
“that’s right, baby—all mine, all fucking mine.”
that does it for both of you. his thrusts become sloppy, haphazard, nothing that resembles careful.
you make him so, so messy. a part of him that he’s never bothered to awaken, like a flip of a switch at your hands.
“i’m gonna fucking cum, riki,” broken sobs rip through your body, and he feels himself lose every last bit of sanity he’s kept tucked away.
riki buries himself deep inside, to the hilt, working his hips to close any remaining distance between you two. he chases his high as you thrash violently underneath him with nothing but a cry of his name, walls clamping down on his cock like you’d die if he so much as moved a centimetre out of you — you coat him in your juices, warm and hot, and the guttural groan that rips from his throat only pushes you further over the edge.
“o-oh shit,” riki rasps, feeling you gush around him. “oh fuuuck, yeah, cum all over this dick baby. just like that.”
you can’t stop cumming. his hips begin to falter, his stamina draining as you milk him for everything that he has, but riki refuses to stop; he’s so achingly close to filling up that perfect pussy of yours, ‘till you’re leaking for hours and have to ask him to plug you closed.
oh, he can’t stop thinking about it now.
“fuuuck—” you scream, and riki’s lips are crashing into yours as he continues fucking into you, fast and hard. the sounds of his cock fucking you through your orgasm remind you of rain puddles: those wet and cold mondays on the way to his class, unsuspecting, innocent, still believing that he would never would see you this way.
“thaaat’s it, pretty girl,” riki’s praise lands right between your thighs. your ankles lock behind his back, the squelch of your cunt and his cock plunging deep inside making riki’s head spin. he could replay the sound for days. “s’cute when you’re gushing all over me, baby. so fucking hot.”
you whine, feeling shy at his words, hands coming close to hide your face from his dark gaze. “told you not to hide,” riki mutters, peeking at you through your fingers. “w-wanna see your adorable face when i cum inside—please?”
his voice gets all whiney, eyes softening, and you know he’s close when you feel his pace quickening, although sloppy and with a new rhythm, and his breath gets shaky as his jaw hangs open.
your hands move to grip at his forearms, as if to brace yourself from how hard he was fucking into you — like he wanted a family of six, excluding you both — the bed creaks with every wet slap of skin, his balls clapping against your ass, and you watch how his jaw tenses as he inches closer to his orgasm.
“mmngh—riki, too much—“ your head tilts back, spine arching off the mattress as you feel that sickening coil in your stomach start to tighten again — the way he notices this scares you. his thumb flies to your clit, pressing and circling, doing just about everything to make you cum all over him again.
“s-shit, gonna cum,” riki rasps, head dropping low to let his eyes admire the beautiful sight: you, dripping, and him, glistening.
his fingers interlace with yours, tight, as if you’d disappear if he let you go. riki’s unravelling, every muscle in his body tensing as you clench around him again — soft, sticky gummy walls welcoming him back in, and riki knows he has no choice but to give them what they deserve: his load, his cum, just him.
don’t get him wrong. you’ve cum on his face, in his mouth and on his tongue. but this is different. this time, he’ll be able to give you a piece of him, too, after a long night of being on the receiving end — and it somehow makes everything seem ten times better.
“c-cum inside of me,” your head tilts into the sheets, eyes rolling back and splotches of white.
“can’t ever s-say no to you, mm?” he tsks, eyebrows knitting, knowing what’s to come. “you’re fucking killing me.”
professor nishimura has lost his sanity, officially, when you cum for the second time. your clit throbs against his shaft as he drives himself in and out, slower, because this is just fucking perfect — too perfect for him not to do anything about it — he cums, hard, for the first time in what seems like centuries (it’s only been 1.5 hours since you got out of his car, but he swears otherwise).
“o-oh fuck,” nishimura riki moans right into your ear, and it sounds like a snippet from a porno from how loud and absolutely lewd it is.
his cock pulses, throbbing hard inside of your weeping cunt. hot spurts of him make you squeal, and you thrash underneath him as you both come down together.
he collapses on top of you, still buried inside — because he’s genuinely convinced you’ll start leaking like a broken faucet if he doesn’t plug you up — a heavy, contented sigh leaves his lips, before he presses a gentle kiss to your bare shoulder.
you’re panting, he is too. riki’s fingers lace with yours again, and you hiss when you feel him still twitching inside of you. you feel hot inside and out, the warmth from his body making you feel ten times more tired. for a moment, you just lay, two naked bodies intertwined as you try to even your breaths and sync your heartbeats — his chest is flush against yours, and it almost feels as if you were one.
“are you alright?”
riki’s voice is quiet, gentle. familiarly sweet and caring, still sounding as mature as the first day you met in that bright lecture hall.
“mmm,” you hum. “just tired. and sore.”
the blonde pulls away from the skin of your neck, instead resting his forehead on top of yours. his eyes look impossibly beautiful, laced with love and everything that he’s been too scared to name, but you know this: he wants this, and he wants you.
“was i too rough?”
“you were perfect,” you tell him, and the smile that slowly tugs at his lips is worth every second of the chaos that led you here. “professor.”
he leans in, kissing you with a kind of lazy tenderness — slow, sweet, almost careful, like he’s afraid to break the moment. “saturday,” he murmurs against your mouth. “it’s riki to you.”
“riiight,” you breathe out in a giggle, your lips brushing his skin. your hands, suddenly useless and soft, come up to cradle his jaw. you pull him closer, and your mouths meet again, fitting together in a way that feels dangerously close to perfection — as if neither of you ever stood a chance against this fate. “riki.”
“miss [name],” he mumbles against your mouth, almost dazed. “my girl.”
“[name] after classes,” you correct softly, fingers still curled at his jaw, the words slipping out warmer than you intend. “no need for the formalities.”
“agreed fully,” riki chuckles, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your lips. “fuck, i’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
you can feel his smile against your skin before his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time — less careful, more certain, like he’s finally letting himself want you out loud.
the kiss ends only when you’re both out of air, foreheads pressed together, sharing the quiet that settles between you. his thumb sweeps once across your cheek, almost reverent.
“so,” he murmurs, voice low, “after classes… i get to keep you a little longer?”
you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you nod, and his answering grin is all boyish triumph and barely contained affection.
“good,” he whispers, kissing you once more, softer than the last. “i’m not ready to let you go yet.”
“you won’t have to.”
oh, yes. professor nishimura will have to hand in his letter of resignation tomorrow.
─────────────────────────
“DRINKS TONIGHT?”
sooha slings an arm around your neck, hanging off you like a very cheerful, very heavy scarf. you stumble forward a step trying to keep both of you upright, while jiwon watches from your right with that warm, amused smile she gets whenever sooha becomes your problem.
“i can’t,” you mumble, staring hard at the floor like it might save you. “i have plans.”
“finals are literally over,” sooha groans, squeezing your shoulders. “what do you mean you have plans?”
jiwon raises an eyebrow, interest sparking. “yeah. plans with who?”
you press your lips together, pursing into a thin line as your brain scrambles to invent some brilliant excuse — any excuse — to feed them this time. because, unfortunately, exams were over, and you could no longer dodge their house parties and drink invites with the trusty “i have to meet professor nishimura” line, for obvious reasons:
one: professor nishimura has left for better job prospects, in a university much less privileged and competitive than yours, and
two: he is no longer professor nishimura to you, much less on weekends.
your pulse jumps at the thought of admitting this to them, heat crawling up your neck. they’ve known of his resignation ever since he bid goodbye a month back, but it’s been surprisingly easy keeping your relationship under wraps.
sooha narrows her eyes, leaning closer. “why do you look like you’re hiding state secrets?”
“i’m not!” you hiss, which — if anything — makes you look way more suspicious.
and the conversation spirals exactly the way you feared: rapid-fire accusations, ridiculous theories, the two of them gleefully feeding off each other as you try to keep walking in a straight line.
“she’s pregnant,” sooha whispers to jiwon, directly across you. you almost want to drag them both by the ears and throw them into incoming traffic at the laugh that makes the entire hallway look in your direction.
you’re about to tell them to stop when you see him — leaning against his car, arms crossed, head tilted, wearing that unfairly composed expression that’s become dangerously familiar.
professor nishimura. riki, on weekends, or rather every single day now that he’s no longer working in this cursed institution.
his eyes lift when he spots you, and he pushes off the car with a small, easy wave.
“you ready?” he calls out, like your friends aren’t right there losing their minds. his keys jingle as he reaches for the passenger handle, completely unfazed.
you freeze, but somehow you still manage to look left and right, taking in the absolute horror plastered across both their faces. you mouth a tiny “sorry,” grip your bag like a lifeline, and dart across the road with so little caution that riki actually winces and shakes his head at you.
“so no drinks tonight?” sooha yells after you, loud enough that half the parking lot turns to stare. jiwon doesn’t move an inch — wide-eyed, stunned, still trying to connect every dot she didn’t even know existed. for a second, you almost forget she had no idea, all this time.
“tomorrow!” you shout back, breathless, already reaching for the open passenger door. riki smiles as you duck your head, hopping into the seat that’s already moulded with your figure.
the door shuts, and you watch riki cross over to his side of the vehicle.
when you turn to look out the window, sooha screams something unintelligible and jiwon finally exhales, before they both turn to each other and start laughing hysterically.
“how was it?” he asks once you’re both settled in the car, hands casually resting on the wheel, glancing at you without turning his head.
“how was what?” you reply, feigning innocence, tightening your grip on your bag like it’s a shield.
“the finals i prepped you for,” he says, voice light but teasing, like he’s expecting you to cave.
you snort, rolling your eyes. “you left a month ago,” leaning back in your seat, pretending nonchalance.
“and?” he challenges, eyebrows raised, daring you to give him credit.
“meaning it was practically all me,” you counter, smirking, because honestly, a little credit never hurts.
riki shoots you a look, one brow arching in that infuriatingly perfect way. “don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warns, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement.
“i’m serious,” you say, leaning slightly toward him, voice low, “zero guidance. pure, raw talent.”
“right,” he mutters, finally glancing at you, mock-skeptical. “that’s why you called me five times last night. asking me questions i’ve already touched on months before today.”
“four,” you correct immediately, raising a finger like you’re marking a point in a debate.
“five,” he insists, smug, turning the wheel with one hand, eyes flicking to you again. “you facetimed me to show me your new cereal.”
you groan, slumping back. “okay, maybe four and a half.”
riki hums, satisfied, hands gripping the wheel. he puts the car in gear, the engine purring beneath you both, and glances sideways just long enough to catch your eye. there’s a warmth in the look he gives you that makes your stomach flip, the same teasing edge still lingering, but softened now, like he’s letting you in on something only the two of you share.
“i’ll let you have that,” he murmurs, fingers drumming lightly on the wheel, “only cause you worked hard for today.”
you bite back a smile, shaking your head, but the tension in your shoulders eases just a little as the car rolls forward. “not because i’m your girlfriend and i’m always right?”
he snorts, laughing when you reach to pinch his thigh. it barely hurts, but he winces anyway.
nishimura riki shakes his head, still chuckling, and glances at you through the corner of his eye. “nah, that’s a bonus,” he says softly, voice low enough that it almost gets lost in the hum of the engine.
you let out a small laugh, leaning back in your seat, and for a second the world outside the car blurs into nothing — just the two of you, the soft rhythm of the road beneath, and the warmth lingering where your hands brushed.
riki reaches over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, and it’s gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he moves too fast. “don’t get used to it,” he murmurs, and you just shake your head, pretending like you don’t know how stupid you look smiling at him.
the sun bleeds through the windshield and into your hair, painting your skin bright and glowing, and riki feels his heart slow at the sight — so you, so beautiful, that he thinks he’s waited his whole life for this.
nishimura riki presses a soft kiss to your lips, warm and close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his pulse.
“i’m so proud of you,” he whispers.
“i know.” you respond.
he pulls away, head turning towards the front; the car rolls forward, smooth as it takes you closer to his place. you know exactly how this’ll end — curled up beneath his sheets, chest to chest, the steady rhythm of him keeping you anchored. riki had always joked about letting you sleep for a full day straight, even if he knew it was extremely unhealthy, a reward for surviving finals.
you think back to the last time it happened. it had been over a short call — him at his new office, grading papers with a quiet intensity, and you, slumped over a random table in the school library, eye bags sinking into your face with lips so chapped that you think you could grate cheese with them. the memory brings a small, fond smile to your face, but riki doesn’t catch it with how focused he is on the drive.
but after a few silent minutes, he speaks. “i’m off tomorrow. took a sick day.”
you gasp. “oh my. who even are you?”
riki glances at you, quickly, before his smirk softens into something warmer. “just thought it’d be nice to take care of you.”
that sounded utterly useless and unproductive, to be quite honest — and yet, somehow, completely necessary. you were an adult, perfectly capable of handling yourself. this wasn’t like him at all. a year ago, riki would be twitching at the edges of his schedule, itching to tick off every item on his never-ending to-do list.
but now… now his to-do list was almost frighteningly simple. it began and ended with you. everything else could wait, fade, or fall apart, and he wouldn’t care. the thought made your chest tighten in a way that was equal parts tender and dizzying.
oh, this is bad.
it happens just like this: nishimura riki, the guy with endless awards and certificates and letters of recommendations, wakes up an hour later than his usual alarm, your head still resting against his bare chest beneath the thick sheets. panic flashes across his face as he scrambles to hit ‘stop’ on the alarm, clearly afraid you’d grumble and jab his chest in protest.
and then he’s two hours late to breakfast because you’re still drooling all over him. next thing you know, he’s splitting leg day into mornings and nights just so he can stop by your apartment after work.
and why don’t his bank statements match up?
also, why the hell is he letting you use his toothbrush?
shit. this is really, really, really bad.
thank you so much for reading once again <3 if you’ve made it this far n liked it, please reblog! it helps me more than u think :) mwamwa until next time :3
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