PAIRING. biology professor!nishimura riki x student!reader.
SYN. an upcoming anatomy final leaves you teetering on the edge of exhaustion, buried under stress and self-doubt. but when professor nishimura offers a steady, guiding hand, the pressure starts to lift — and suddenly, the lines between mentorship and something more begin to blur.
AN. IT’S FINALLY FUCKING HERE OH MY GOD. firstly i want to say thank you to my gorgeous beautiful @d2iose for being my beta reader + hyping me up all the time n @dolllnini for being the biggest prof!riki fangirl. i would not have bothered to finish this hot mess if not for u guys.. i’ll send ass pics soon as a real thank you gift alright… ;)))) jk. maybe if u guys rlt want it. i genuinely feel indebted bc u had to listen to me crash out over this shit like at least 5 times over.. anyways it’s crazy cus i started this fic in like november and i’ve only now come around to finishing it. incredibly slow of me.. sorry. i hope it touches all ur souls and makes u wetter than anyrhing imaginable bc only the father, the son and Holy Spirit know how down bad professor nishimura got me feeling. i’m so sorry for the long ass word count too cus it was originally meant to be like 10k but i have terrible self control n i didn’t want to make everyone wait for like a Mehhh short fic. might as well lengthen it am i right???!!! okay. enjoy it u freaks!!!
CW. 18+ mdni, age gap (reader is in early 20s // riki is in his late 20s/early 30s), porn with some plot, power dynamics, angst, fluff, secret relationship, sexual fantasies >_<, college au, praise, degradation. piv, unprotected (pls don’t) creampie, breeding kink, spit kink (yes he spite on u), petnames (good girl, etc.) mentions of alcohol and drinking, skinship, riki is terrible w admitting his feelings, slowburn (?) fem!reader.
PLAYING. summer by brockhampton, blue eyes by illusion hills, beside you by 5sos, stateside by pinkpantheress, he gets me so high by beabadoobee, love me harder by ariana grande, slut me out by nle choppa, glory box by portishead, master of none by beach house, everybody here wants you by jeff buckley, pyramids by frank ocean.
WC. 29.5k (what the hell lol)
it is 5 in the morning.
birds are chirping and the sun is barely peeking over the buildings across from your modest apartment, kissing your skin in the most overstimulating way possible — your curtains have shifted slightly open due to the long night’s wind, and you are tired of hearing cars honk this early into dawn.
you’re clicking through the right arrows on your keyboard mindlessly, eyes barely processing the stream of images flashing across your macbook screen. the air in your lungs feels heavy, leaving your lips in slow, tired sighs — each one spelling out ‘why did i choose this major?’ in the shape of fading smoke.
two semesters worth of content to get down before your anatomy final. you’re angry, understandably: it’s less than a month back from your term break and you’re already slammed back to back with tests, projects, and tiny, worthless assignments you couldn’t be bothered to start.
“fucking ridiculous.”
microsoft word is minimized, a blank document laying dormant from 10 hours ago when you said you’d start on that small-scale literature review for your sociology elective.
spoiler: you have not, and you really don’t think you’ll have time to unless it’s a day before submission.
your first actually important hurdle was the anatomy final coming up. you’d done surprisingly decent so far — the warning words of your seniors had served you well up till now — but apparently, someone in the biology faculty decided to up the stakes and test all the majors on every single chapter instead of the usual, “too-easy” and “relaxing” ten.
you’d read the email two tuesdays ago, right leg folded over the left as you sat in a local coffee shop.
one moment you were sipping a rich, smooth caramel latte, enjoying your one blessed day of starting classes at noon — and the next, you were crying into your palms.
for a moment, professor riki nishimura’s face flashes in your mind. with a face like that, you had half a mind to tell him to fuck off and get a job in modelling instead.
he, presumably, was the one making things ten times harder for you. though, you couldn’t exactly point fingers at who decided on the sudden syllabus change, with a lack of proof and all that.
on the bright side, it’s nice to know that he had that much faith in you and your peers. bellcurve and whatever, if you’d just get those 500 cards down, you think you’ll outperform many of them. still, it doesn’t mean that the chronic sleep deprivation feels any more worth it.
You: dude i’m not getting anything done for anatomy 5:12 AM
Sooha: me neither 5:13 AM
Sooha: im telling u it was prof who added those fucking chapters 5:14 AM
You: literallt why does it matter im stillleft eith 250 fuckign cards 5:16 AM
Sooha: i emailed him this morning asking him to reconsider so it woudl be kinda embarrassing if it wasnt him 5:17 AM
You: fuck thats genius 5:17 AM
You: why r u even awake btw 5:17 AM
Sooha: creative writing assignment due at 8am lol 5:19 AM
genius indeed, sooha — perhaps one or two emails would help persuade your kind professor to reevaluate his expectations of class of 2025.
it wasn’t that you were incapable. it was just too little time, too many priorities; being twenty something and in university, in not to mention one of the most competitive education systems in the world, definitely takes it’s toll on you.
walk around campus and you’d see at least five people with sunken eyes and some kind of posture problem from bending over wooden desks for hours.
you wonder how people get through this with stellar gpa’s and a spotless attendance. you’re already down to 90% for some classes, and it feels like sand slipping between your fingers with how desperately you’re clinging onto the last bit of sanity college has left you with.
you lean back into your beanbag, nose tipping towards the ceiling as you exhale heavily. the air is freezing cold this time of year, and your fingers lay still on your keyboard, mind repeating sooha’s words. you’re stumped.
i wrote an email asking him to reconsider.
you sit up, shifting around, the sounds of plastic beads rustling inside of the fabric of the beanbag. your eyes glaze over the bright, fluorescent screen that lights up your entire living room with it’s glow.
the bookmark to outlook practically speaks to you in your sleep-deprived state, and you’re oh-so close to imagining eyes and a mouth growing from the icon.
so you click on it. press the notebook button with knit eyebrows and your teeth clenched, jaw twitching in a slowly brewing mix of anger, stress, and sadness.
To: NISHIMURA RIKI
prof im suffering so bad with these fucking chapters. 10 was already bad enough and u want us to do ALL OF THEM?????? are u crazy????? havent u been thru this before?? u have a phd??? do u not understand how students feel?????.?. this is incredibly inconsiderate actually. its either you help me get this A and maintain my gpa or i am not shwoing up for that damn test
strange. it sounded more formal in your head, still equally vulgar but with a little more tact. you’d written plenty of informal emails before; ever since college started, lecturers seemed more relaxed than the typical high school teacher. some you called by name, some you’d chat with over coffee in the cafeteria. you’d even met a few of their kids during school events, like that one campus-hosted marathon last year when you accidentally bumped into mrs. lee’s ten-year-old son.
still, nothing had ever felt this charged. your literature professor might’ve called it poetic — maybe even commendable — as if that would somehow justify the string of inappropriate words you were typing. but even in your half-awake state, you knew this was going to go sideways, upside down, and sideways again.
nevermind that, your mind whispers. it is tomorrow’s problem.
with that, your index finger slams down on the touchpad, the cursor darting across the screen until it hovers over the large X in the corner of your browser. another click and it’s gone, and it’s another second for your eyes to screw shut.
Email sent to NISHIMURA RIKI.
─────────────────────────
PROFESSOR NISHIMURA WAS A PHENOMENON AROUND CAMPUS.
young, rich, handsome, smart, disgustingly so. a man holding such traits was bound to be under the watchful eye of colleagues, lecturers and students under the same institution — highly revered and wildly desirable to all the girls in your year.
he was only a few years older. an impressive feat, agreed by many: the walls of his office were decorated in certificates, plaques with his name inscribed, all praising his research and contribution to the field of biology. his shelves were taken up mostly by books, or framed photos of him receiving awards, standing alone with a polite smile that barely showed how proud he really was of where he stood.
naturally, he was wanted everywhere he went — by universities, research labs, private companies who would’ve splurged to their last cent to have him under their belt.
but still, nothing compared to teaching something he loved — no amount of awards could ever give him the same satisfaction as seeing a student get a grade they worked so diligently for, under his guidance.
it was a selfless kind of addiction.
professor riki shows up to class in tight button-ups, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms as he leans against the lectern, laptop open to slides he knows no one will really care about. the real lesson begins when he picks up that thick black whiteboard marker, sketching every muscle, vein, and layer of skin from memory — movements so precise it feels like watching art unfold.
even the lowest-scoring student can’t help but stare, chin propped in their hand, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief at how effortlessly professor nishimura draws, how sure he seems of every line, every curve, every minute detail that other lecturers couldn’t replicate.
who the hell wouldn’t want a guy like that remembers what’s important and loves working with his hands. it’s pure fantasy sitting right in front of you.
in pure, uncensored, and shameless honesty, you’ve thought about it once or twice during his classes. thought about him.
it’s the way he looks at you when he leans over your desk, voice low, explaining something gently and meticulously, all the words clicking in your head as he mumbles on about pulmonary ventilation and respiratory pumps.
“mm. that’s right, smart girl. you don’t need my help after all.”
it doesn’t help that he calls you to his office after a few sloppy mock tests, isolating you from the rest of your class in that sleek, quiet office tucked into a far corner of the administrative building. you’re not there often, but every time you are, it feels unreal — because professor nishimura doesn’t seem entirely human.
“tell me what you want,” he would mutter, flipping through papers at his desk as you shift your weight nervously. “use your words, like a big girl. i can’t read your mind.”
he’s too composed, too annoyingly blunt, acting as if the words that roll off that sharp tongue don’t make you squirm, dizzy in the head while you remind yourself that this is professor talk, not hot-nerdy-tutor talk.
so why the hell is he still so sexy, then, despite the constant self-reminders?
it’s a pain in the ass. it’s not working. at all.
you catch yourself wondering if he has a wife, maybe children, or a secret past he left behind in japan. whether he ever regrets it — trading familiarity for this polished, lonely kind of brilliance in korea.
or maybe he was really just an oddly cold guy, by nature, who also happens to be really hot.
well — you couldn’t ask your professor that. not for as long as he was your professor, of course.
it goes without saying that if he were a classmate of yours, you’d have sunk your claws into that man centuries ago; stared at him like he was the sweetest eye candy you’ve ever had in all your years of schooling as he passed by you in the halls.
you’d ask him for help with homework, run your hand over his bicep when his jokes get a little too funny.
“riki, are you free tonight? help me with my assignments… please?”
you’d smile, bat your lashes, play innocent until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. he’d drag you into an empty classroom to take care of the problem in his pants, the one that emerges every single time you get too close — close enough to get a whiff of your perfume, or your sweat, or your hair.
or just you.
you’d unbuckle his belt, pull his pants down in one swift motion, wrap your lips around that stupidly thick tip of his. he’d fist your hair, guiding you up and down, drooling all over his cock where he knew you belonged.
then, the late night homework-slash-study sessions would lead to your hands palming his bulge through his sweats, your lips messily crashing against his — he’d moan your name as you sunk down on him, right on your desk chair, the lamp on your table shaking with every wet thwack of skin. he’d shove his fingers in your mouth, trying to shut you up before your roommates come barging in.
“o-oh fuckkk,” you imagine him panting, big hands holding your hips as he helps you bounce on his dick. “pussy s’fucking good—so perfect, [name], made for me.”
in another life, professor nishimura is not your professor, and he’s folding you in half in your dorm every friday night after your last class. his glasses thrown somewhere onto the floor, your shirt riding up your chest, his pants barely down his thighs cause he’s just so needy and impatient.
“this what you wanted?” he’d grunt, your knees folded against your chest, thighs slick with sweat and cum and every other fluid you can’t bother naming. “dumb slut. didn’t even do half of your work right—fuck—rubbing all up on me the entire fucking week. can’t wait for some dick? huh?”
“s-sorry, riki, i’m sorry—mmph—!”
saturday brunch plans with jiwon and sooha would be automatically cancelled. instead of cruel reality, where you’re just too sleep deprived to make it out of the building — in this fantasy, your legs just simply won’t let you get out of bed.
“good for nothing,” riki would tap your cheek with his fingers, your tongue lolling out for him to spit on. “just for me to fuck. waiting all damn week just to be filled—felt so empty without your riki inside of you—huh, baby?”
he’d rut into you, rough hands feeling your tits, your moans starting to amp up. he’d fuck you like he’s known you his entire life — like he knows your body better than you do — because in truth, he does.
“i just m-missed you so much, riki,” you’d whine, grinding your hips against him to meet his thrusts halfway, each hit making your toes curl behind his back. “o-oh fuuuck—right there!”
“yeah? show me how much you fucking missed me, then, dumb bitch.”
it’s that damn degree, those framed certificates, that impossible air of authority — standing between you two, spelling out the line you can’t cross. the one that divides student from mentor, fantasy from a painfully brutal reality.
“that’s all the time we have,” professor nishimura’s voice rolls through the lecture hall, low and smooth, the kind that sinks into your skin and lingers long after the sound fades. even through the mic, it carries that calm, deliberate rhythm that always makes you sit up a little straighter.
you’re half-asleep, six rows back, barely holding yourself upright after another night of terrible decisions and too little rest. still, you catch every word — because somehow, you always do when it comes to professor nishimura.
his back turns to the whiteboard, eyes scanning the room for the same few students who raise their hands to ask ridiculously specific questions. professor nishimura answers each one in turn, unhurried and precise, his tone steady, his explanations effortless. it’s unnerving how smooth it is, no pauses, no haste, just knowledge flowing out of him like it’s second nature. his mind seems like a library built from years of quiet obsession, and he speaks with the calm certainty of someone who’s never once needed to guess.
you wonder if he could memorise all 500 flashcards of yours in less than ten minutes. you’d bet $5 he could. it’s too bad you don’t have as much of an obsession with biology like your beloved professor does.
“i hope i don’t need to remind you all to study for your final. email me if you have any queries.”
his final words dissolve into the usual chaos — backpack zippers, chatter, the quite thudding of chairs against cheap carpet. you exhale, already feeling the weight of the next two hours pressing down. your next class isn’t until later, but the library fills up fast around this time.
you spot sooha near the door, standing on her tiptoes like a soldier ready to sprint, determined to claim one of the few coveted study spots before the lunchtime crowd floods in. for a moment, you just watch her go, too tired to follow, too comfortable basking in the faint echo of your professor’s voice still looping in your head.
“studied?” jiwon’s hand brushes over your slumped shoulders, your forehead kissing the surface of your desk. you look up to meet her gentle, concerned eyes. an angel all in all, before her expression morphs into one of genuine shock. “oh my god. what time did you sleep last night?”
those damn cards. again. you’ve still yet to finish them.
“don’t even ask me that,” you huff, index fingers rubbing your eyes, trying your best to get blood moving inside of your body. “you going for lunch?”
“i have class in twenty,” jiwon frowns. she looks genuinely crushed, and all it does is make you smile up at her. “we’ll eat tomorrow?”
“i can’t—too many things to do. next week?”
she nods at your words before turning back around, hugging her pink laptop to her chest as she walks off — her stride still as light and cheerful as the first day you met her at freshman orientation. it’s comforting, in a way, knowing that even when sooha’s busy spiraling over her chaotic study habits, jiwon’s calm, steady presence always balances it out. around them, the world feels a little softer, and for a fleeting moment, you believe there’s really nothing worth stressing about.
you slump over your desk once more, the quiet hum of air-conditioning lulling you to back to sweet, comforting sleep — until something begins to tap at the turn of your shoulder.
“miss [last name].”
you smack your lips together, hair falling over your face as you tilt your head up, meeting professor nishimura’s heavy, lingering gaze. his glasses sit slightly askew, a little too low to be comfortable, and you can’t help but notice the way his middle finger moves to push them back up the slope of his nose.
“yeah?”
from this distance, he doesn’t seem all that unattainable. realistically, he’s only… what, five, six years older than you? maximum seven, if you’re pushing your luck. not a wrinkle in sight, he must take care of his collagen levels.
still, standing this close, that tiny gap feels even smaller — like the space between student and teacher was never really there at all. he looks like any guy you might’ve shared a homeroom with back in high school, or a friend of a friend you’d spot shooting hoops during a study break. maybe even someone your age working part-time at the local café, trying to chip away at student debt before it piles up.
he looks ordinary. familiar. like someone you could know.
professor nishimura blinks slowly at you, slightly surprised by your casual tone — still, he wasn’t one of those teachers with a stick up his ass about authority, because he himself knew that he was not all that old with grey hairs.
“are you okay?” he asks.
you smile lazily at him. you don’t imagine you look cute right now, but you do it anyway. “i’m great, professor.”
his skin looks flawless. his hair is amazing. his lips look so moisturized, soft, pillowy. he speaks to you with the same gentleness and concern you never got used to, even after attending his classes for weeks.
“are you sure?”
he raises an eyebrow, expectant expression written all over. what the hell does he want you to say? no, i’ve been studying all night for your stupid exam and now i have to show up for your stupid classes 10 in the morning?
yes, professor, i am as jolly as a student can be! albeit i am running on four hours of sleep, two cups of black coffee, and dying airpods, everything’s going great—
“i’m sure, professor.” you grit your teeth in a pleasant smile. he hums in satisfaction at your reply, eyes squinting, as if he was quietly analysing every detail of your very fake grin. you’re worried he might catch the flicker of disdain in your eyes, but even if he does, he doesn’t poke at it.
smart guy.
“by the way, i answered your email.” professor nishimura says finally, clearing his throat as his voice slices cleanly through the heavy air. it feels tense, awkward even, though the feeling seems to exist only on your end. he remains composed, collected as ever, while under the sleek surface of his desk, your leg won’t stop bouncing.
“huh?”
if only for a second, something flickers across professor nishimura’s face — amusement. like he finds you funny, maybe a little entertaining. it’s strange, seeing that expression on him of all people.
no — most of all, it is terrifying.
this is the same professor nishimura who rarely entertains small talk outside his field, who wears no ring on his finger, who still has the default iphone lockscreen. the one whose phone occasionally buzzes mid-lecture with microsoft team messages — notifications he never bothers to mute, because in his world, work has always come before life.
“have you read it?”
there it is. that twitch in his lips, a short breath that comes out as a scoff, before he grins.
he finds you funny, in the way an old friend from high school might, with that same teasing edge in his expression, like he’s just waiting to see how you’ll react. there’s something disarming about it, familiar in a way that doesn’t fit the setting or the title he carries, yet it lingers between you all the same. now, he’s smiling down at you with an expectant grin, watching your brain scramble in real time for an answer.
only then you realise what he’s just said — your email. your half-asleep, drowsy, fuelled email that was keyboard mashed with furious fingers.
your throat goes dry. his hands slip into the pockets of his slacks, fingers fidgeting in the small space that seems too tight to hold anything of importance.
“hm?”
professor nishimura leans forward, just enough to cast a shadow over you — the harsh white lights of the lecture hall still blaze above, but beneath him, the room somehow feels dimmer than when you first walked in.
he reeks of cologne.
you’ve smelled it before: expensive, heady, the kind that lingers for days. you remember considering that same scent for your ex, the one a year above you, the one you met at a frat party back when you were still a freshman. but now, all that memory dissolves into this moment — into the scent that clings to him, to the way professor nishimura looks down at you with that smug, unreadable grin, like he’s studying something rare under the lens of a microscope.
“yeah! yeah, i have,” you force a smile, “but could… could you refresh my memory? i was reading it on the way to class, and i was just so incredibly busy—“
his jaw.
the smug bastard’s jaw.
it twitches.
under this lighting, you see it clear as day, the way he shifts his weight and tilts his head: as if he was amazed by this reaction he was managing to pull from you.
professor nishimura leans his frame closer. the air shifts completely: every thud of your ventricular walls squeezing blood echoes in your ears, your skin warming under the sudden proximity, your breath faltering as the sharp, unyielding man in front of you closes an already (inappropriately) small gap between you two.
your gaze drifts to the line of his neck, and — as if the universe insists on being cruel — a fresh wave of his cologne fills your senses. it’s strong enough to sting, to make your eyes prickle with heat. you can’t tell if it’s because of the way he’s looking down at you, heavy and deliberate, or because you’re genuinely fearing disciplinary action. either way, your stare darts to the wall behind him, anywhere but the place where his eyes are anchored on you.
“i’ll be more than willing to help you,” he speaks, clearly and smoothly, as if it was really nothing much that you harassed his inbox last night. “why didn’t you ask sooner, hm? i’m almost offended.”
just another tuesday for the likes of someone so brilliant. it makes you roll your eyes — he notices, tongue poking into his cheek as he does so.
“i thought you’d be busy with other matters, is all,” you smile up at him, pretty irises peeking through your lashes as you bat your eyes. “aren’t you, professor?”
fucking minx, he thinks.
“i’d always make time for you, you know that. you’re a smart girl,” professor nishimura says, the smirk now fully formed, carved into his face like it belongs there. “however…”
his hands brace against your desk as he leans further in, close enough that you can hear the faint rustle of his shirt when he breathes, the sharp inhale of air before he speaks. “if you need a little extra help, of course, i’ll do anything.”
it’s the way the words land and hang in the air. he isn’t talking about academics.
it’s an invitation with sharp teeth, slipped between the lines and delivered in a voice that knows exactly where the boundaries soften — where they blur just enough for you to start decoding.
it’s up to you to decipher him, and you do, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly as you meet his, reading him in a way he definitely meant for you to.
“i’ll take you up on that, then.”
a knowing smile is all you receive.
─────────────────────────
IT’S THE NEXT AFTERNOON and you find yourself sinking into a leather seat situated in front of a dark oak desk. your eyes trail the swirls in the material, glazing over the tiny details in this cold, relatively lifeless office — professor nishimura’s not much of a decorator, it seems.
he was late. completely unlike him, and much to your disfavour, especially since you had another appointment in an hour — his email had outlined what you’d be reviewing today, and a dozen questions started buzzing in your head as you reread it, eyes skimming over chapters you hadn’t even touched yet, blindsiding you entirely.
From: NISHIMURA RIKI
Hope 4pm is okay for you.
do you even have a fucking choice?
From: Y/N L/N
of course, 4pm’s great! thanks
that’s what you get for uploading the entire slide deck into some random ai flashcard generator instead of making them yourself. still, he’s worked his magic before, turning complete disasters into stellar students by their next quiz — and you weren’t that far gone, were you?
just then, the sharp click of dress shoes starts to echo down the desolate fifth-floor hallway, each step bouncing off the sterile walls of the administrative building.
you exhale slowly, index finger tapping a nervous rhythm against your thigh.
seconds later, the metallic rattle of a doorknob turning sounds through the office. your lungs expel a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding — it hitches again when professor nishimura finally pops into view, looking clean and sharp as ever, hair slicked back with what looked like gel.
a few loose strands fall over his forehead, just enough to show he’s been busy today — but the rest of him still looks irritatingly put-together.
his white button-up is tucked neatly into tailored slacks, the sleeves rolled just high enough to expose the veins running along his forearms. his glasses frame his face perfectly, catching the faint reflection of the overhead lights, and there’s a faint crease at the corner of his eyes that tells you he’s been squinting at his laptop for too long.
even his cologne arrives before he does, cold and expensive, settling into the room with the same quiet confidence he carries everywhere. and yet, despite looking like he walked straight out of a modelling gig, he’s here — giving up an hour of his afternoon to tutor you.
“hello, [name].”
you notice his shoulder bumping into the tall bookshelf next to you, just as he walks by to sit himself down on his office chair — you stare at him from across, nose taking in all of him, smiling politely as he begins to pry open his laptop.
“so, uh…” you mutter, fingernails scratching the back of your neck. “this won’t take long, right?”
the sounds of his keyboard echo through the office, your question hanging in the air for a few seconds before he turns his neck slightly to meet your gaze.
“usually, students start with a ‘thank you for seeing me, professor’,” professor nishimura deadpans, before turning back to the bright, white-lit screen in front of him. “but you’re welcome.”
you swallow. “sorry.”
“not an issue at all.”
it takes a while for him to get through everything. he angles his laptop toward you, finger resting over the right arrow key as he moves through each slide from last week’s lecture — nearly ninety of them, all crammed into a single chapter.
by the time he reaches slide forty-five, a dull ache creeps into your spine from sitting too straight for far too long. you start leaning forward, shifting in your chair once, then twice, the subtle scrape of fabric against wood too loud in the quiet room. professor nishimura notices — his eyebrow lifts, just barely — but he says nothing, simply resumes clicking through the material with that same steady composure.
“you see, right there,” he emphasises, other hand reaching from behind the screen to circle around a pair of arteries. “you got it?”
you bite down on your bottom lip, eyebrows pinching together like you’re really, really trying.
the truth is, you have no idea what he’s talking about.
it’s one of those cursed slides with a giant arrow pointing at nothing in particular; the next slide is supposed to reveal the answer, but for now you’re staring at ten different arteries in the upper body and every single one looks exactly the same.
yes, he did point it out… or circle it out. not very specific.
“uhm…” you mumble, eyes flicking up to meet his.
and for some strange, impossible-to-explain reason, your heartbeat spikes.
“[name],” professor nishimura says your name with a patient smile — the kind someone wears when they know they already gave you the answer, but you weren’t paying attention. frustrated, but soft about it. “show me. where are your carotid arteries?”
your stomach twists.
show him.
you lift your hand toward the screen, index finger uncurling from your fist, trembling just slightly as you reach forward.
“you don’t know?”
his voice lands like an accusation. of course you knew — you studied this. it wasn’t new. maybe if he weren’t here, it’d be easier to recall, but now that he’s sitting across from you — with that strict expression, slick hair, with sleeves rolled up so tight that his biceps are stretching the fabric… who the fuck would care about some arteries?
“uh,” you mutter in an annoyed voice, even though you’re the one who asked for this, for his help, for his guidance. “could you show—“
professor nishimura doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. his chair glides forward, wheels murmuring against the oak floor as he leans over the desk. his hand reaches for you — fingers brushing warm against your neck, right beneath your earlobe, settling on the soft patch where your jaw tapers.
“here, [name]. external carotid artery.”
he blinks slowly, watching you, like the frantic pulse thudding against his fingertips isn’t already giving you away.
your hair rustles against his hand as his fingers slide back an inch, tracing heat along your skin. “internal’s behind it. deeper.”
your throat bobs once, a small, involuntary motion against the steady press of his fingers. each beat beneath his touch gives you away, loud and frantic, betraying every ounce of composure you’re trying so hard to hold onto. the man looks as calm as ever — not a hint of suspicion, not even a gentle smile.
professor nishimura’s gaze flickers, just briefly, to the spot where his hand meets your skin — then back to your eyes, sharp and unreadable.
“feel it?” he asks quietly, tone softer now, almost coaxing. “that’s the point of reference. you can’t forget it once you know where to look.”
his fingertips linger only a moment longer before he withdraws, hand returning to the edge of his laptop as if nothing had happened at all. still, the ghost of his touch stays with you, warm and impossibly present, pulsing beneath your skin long after he’s pulled away.
“now,” he says, voice steady, “show me again.”
your pulse answers first, tripping over itself — and you’re sure he can feel it, even from where he sits.
you smack your lips awkwardly, searching for something to fill the silence, tension making your thighs press closer together, pulse thrumming in your ears as you continue to stare at him.
“like, on the screen?” you mutter, eyes fixed on the swirls and dots of his lecture material.
a soft snicker escapes professor nishimura, and it somehow eases the moment, making you giggle at the ridiculousness of your question.
“yes, on the screen, [name].”
the day passes on just like that — full of ridiculous questions, popping up in your head as the lesson goes on.
professor nishimura doesn’t scowl. doesn’t tilt his head with judgment. doesn’t squint his eyes as if he can’t quite believe how little you’ve retained — which is true, by the way — instead, he’s gentle. tentative. clear with every word, like he’s not rushing you; a quiet confidence that you’ll get it because that’s just who you are.
you lean over his desk, head resting on your forearm, ear pressed lightly against it as you watch the screen at a 90 degree angle. answers come easily, almost automatically, and you barely notice the hour slipping by or the exhaustion settling in. he remains upright, clicking through slides and offering study tips and mnemonics, a steady presence guiding you without hurry.
yes, the day passes just like this — calm, quiet, with professor nishimura, who seems to grow more handsome as the diffused evening sun bathes his skin.
are you sleep deprived?
“you need to remember your values,” he mumbles, “oxygen and carbon dioxide. partial pressures. they’re important, don’t for—“
the blonde strands in his hair catch the light, glowing golden. the room is warm, dust motes drifting lazily in the sunlight, bouncing off the sheer curtains that do little to soften it. and somehow, you find yourself grateful for that.
“professor,” you interrupt, softly. “i know. you’ve been saying that for the past ten minutes.”
he’s been focused on the screen all this time, but your words pull his gaze toward you. you notice the faint tug at the corner of his lips as he turns, his eyes meeting yours while you lounge against the desk.
“hm?”
one thing your professor would never admit: he, too, is thankful for the evening sun.
casting light over your hair, kissing the skin of your arms, making it impossible not to notice. though, all of it’s quite boring compared to the blush spreading over your cheeks, blooming all the way to your ears — you hide your face in your sleeve, a half assed attempt at covering up the flush.
he pretends not to care about that. he can’t care about that. “it must be getting late. i didn’t notice.”
you sigh, somewhat disappointed at the change if topic — as if professor nishimura would ever admit how gorgeous he thinks you are, right to your face. “me neither.”
the few moments of silence that follow feel like eternity. there’s you: smiling like you were seeing an old friend for the first time in forever, and there’s him: attempting to pretend like all the air in his lungs haven’t been lost to the atmosphere.
he must be sleep deprived too. you’ve robbed him of his evening coffee run, he realises.
“same time tomorrow,” he speaks, finally, voice low and hushed — as if it was a secret, something reserved for only you. “i’ll be waiting.”
“yes, professor.”
─────────────────────────
IT STARTED OFF AS A JOKE. sooha was stressing over creative writing, and you over sociology.
except that the joke = “i would fuck professor nishimura if he was the 3rd last guy on earth, because he’s probably better in bed than other two who were spared with him”
“you’re so fucking weird,” sooha’s kicking her feet up, right leg over the other as she swivels in your chair. “you’d actually fuck him?”
“judging me isn’t going to make him any less sexy,” you murmur between sounds of chips snapping between your jaws. it leaves a spicy burn on your tongue, quickly forcing you to reach for your water bottle on the nightstand. “and can you blame me?”
she looks up from her phone, right at you. the dim, blue light illuminates her face in the dark and gloomy atmosphere that is your dorm room, highlighting every disgusted curve on her face.
“you’re crazy.”
you shrug, tying the bag of chips up before throwing it at sooha. she catches it instinctively, eyebrows narrowing at your lack of an answer, hands reaching into the snack anyway.
“i don’t like him, by the way. he’s hot, but nah,” you click your tongue, eyes drifting over the popcorn ceilings of your cramped and poorly lit bedroom. “he’s probably engaged or something. doesn’t bring his ring to work because he thinks it’ll distract people from how stupidly big it is.”
“i’ve seen him drive around in his black porsche,” sooha giggles, licking her fingers clean of chip dust. “it’s something from a movie. this guy doesn’t know when to stop.”
“right?” you laugh a little too hard at the absurdity of it — the hot professor with tightly rolled sleeves, who owns a ridiculously expensive car, who probably lives alone in a three story minimalist house in the corner of an upper class neighbourhood. “i need to know if he’s married.”
she flicks an ant off her knee. “why the hell does it matter to you? are you actually going to—“
“well,” you smack your lips, thinking hard of an answer that wouldn’t sever your friendship, but knowing sooha — nothing you say could ever make her flinch. “not if he’s married.”
sooha snickers at your brutal honesty, chomping down on three chips stacked on one another, and for a moment you almost snort at how completely unfazed she is — how she really doesn’t care that you just admitted something like that.
“so… you’ll fuck, find out he’s married, and by then you’ve ruined a family. next thing you know, you’ll get hit by his wife’s car and have to go to graduation in a brace.”
“he’s literally only… like, twenty eight,” you argue, a playful tilt in your voice that makes sooha crack up, the chair she’s in starting to swirl around. her face is a mix of disbelief and pure entertainment. “he’s not a father. god, i’d hope not. i don’t want my grad pictures to be terrible.”
“nah…” she waves you off. “a husband, though? maybe. look both ways—“
“shut up!”
sooha shrugs, pulling her phone out from the deep pockets of her sweats. “you don’t even know how old he is?”
“i do,” you say quickly, defensive. too quick, because she raises a brow. “okay— not exactly, but i know the range.”
“so… you have no idea.”
you groan. “sooha, he teaches people our age. if he had kids he’d be shoving them into every conversation like those weird dads who think having a baby is a personality, and using his mediocre son as an example for every case study.”
“that’s called being proud, if you didn’t know,” she deadpans, unlocking her phone. “anyway, what’s his full name again?”
your stomach drops. “why?”
she gives you a look. “why do you think? i’m gonna look him up. if instagram’s no luck, i’ll check linkedin.”
it’s too late. her thumbs are already flying across the screen, furiously mashing in every combination of nishimura she can think of.
“pro… fessor… nishi… mura—”
“who the fuck calls themselves professor on instagram…” you groan, hands finding your face to cover the look of humiliation.
“oh. nishimura riki, was it? he’s right here—”
“sooha,” you warn. “if you request him on instagram, so god help me—”
“if he’s married,” she declares, louder than necessary and absolutely ignoring you, “he’ll have a wife pic somewhere. at least one. married men always post their partners—or a baby hand. blurry stroller. maybe a family photo where his hands are a little too tight on her waist.”
you don’t answer. the anxiety in your stomach prickles, rises, climbs up your ribs. sooha’s face is blank in the glow of her screen, eyes narrowed, scrolling with ruthless determination. her thumb leaves tiny streaks of chip-oil every time she flicks.
“stop scrolling like that,” you hiss, leaning forward. “you’re going to summon something.”
she doesn’t even blink. “i’m summoning the truth. hold on.”
you press your palms together in your lap, pulse beating way too fast for something this stupid. the soft, frantic swipes on her phone make the whole room feel tense.
“oh.”
your spine straightens. “oh?”
“dude,” she says, voice flat with shock, “i didn’t even need to request him. his shit’s public.”
your heart drops. “public as in… some posts public? or—“
she turns the screen to you, slow, dramatic, cruel with tension.
“public as in everything,” she says. “and he posts. a lot. this guy is so performative, it’s crazy.”
your breath catches for a second. you hadn’t expected that — not from him. not the man who seemed allergic to small talk and immune to anything remotely personal. professor nishimura seemed like the type to be composed of 60% work instead of 60% water.
“you’re lying.”
you crawl across the bed on all fours anyway, eyes squinting to take a closer look at sooha’s screen.
she swipes.
the first photo is him in a mirror, dress shirt half-tucked, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that make your stomach flutter. the caption’s in japanese — a short one — but the date stamp tells you it was posted only two weeks ago, at a café a few streets away from campus.
you blink. “recent?”
“mhmm,” sooha hums, already moving on.
the next photo is painfully cliché: books stacked on a windowsill, sunlight cutting across his living room. the one after that is him at another café, reading, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose.
then, a shot of a fountain pen with notes so neat it makes your head ache, talking about his love for academia in the caption.
you lean in closer. “no way. he uses instagram like a lifestyle blogger.”
“he totally does,” she snorts. “no father of four has time for this.”
she keeps scrolling, and you’re right beside her, holding your breath like your life depended on this — unintentionally, completely against your better judgment. half-dreading and half-hoping that this menace of a man was not unavailable. because if he was, you’d never hear the end of it.
sooha would ruin you. absolutely humiliate you for years to come. mention this in front of your own kids once you’re old and married:
“oh—your mom was such a rebel back in college, you know that? so crazy! we couldn’t take her anywhere, right?”
not to mention, once jiwon’s caught wind of it, she’d shake her head in that same way she always did when you made a questionable life choice — disappointed, amused, and a little too understanding for comfort. too angelic for you to ever get defensive about it. jiwon’s disappointment wasn’t the loud kind; it curled quietly in your gut, heavy and soft, the kind that made you hang your head low.
“could you please scroll slower? how the hell do you expect to see anything?”
sooha snorts. “scared, are you?”
she does as you ask, anyway. her thumb eases down the screen, inch by inch, slowly scanning the array of curated images professor nishimura’s chosen to publicize.
a photo of his desk. coffee. food. trips all over the world, in museums, restaurants, expensive wine that he savours alone, or with the occasional handsome friend that he tags in the caption. his circle seems larger than you expected — full of geniuses, much like him — and still, no wife. no ring. no girlfriend.
“he travels a lot.”
“apparently.” sooha mutters. “he’s kind of—”
“do not.”
sooha continues scrolling as you bite your nails. “i was going to say cool. he’s the complete opposite of your ex. speaking of that guy—don’t know what you were thinking, honestly.”
your face heats immediately. “wasn’t thinking. that was the problem.”
“yeah,” she laughs, tapping another photo to zoom in. “meanwhile, this guy posts his morning latte art like he’s running a lifestyle blog. i mean, look at this. he’s insane.”
“you’re so fucking annoying,” you whine, flopping back into your sheets. they rustle under your weight, and all you can do is tangle your hands in your hair trying to cool the blush that’s burning your face off. “you’re giving him too much credit. his ego’s still huge.”
and just then, sooha gasps loud enough for the sound to echo through the corridor outside.
“what? what?” you scramble to sit back up again, meeting your best friend’s eyes.
and there it is — wedged between other stories in his highlights, low exposure but unmistakably him. a mirror photo taken in a gym mirror. sweat dripping down the hollow of his throat. his shirt lifted enough to display a chiseled set of abs, defined enough to count. lighting low but warm, highlighting the curve of his waist, the slope of his shoulders, the insane spread of his back. his forearm flexes where he holds the phone. veins on display. chest (probably) heaving.
absolutely sinful. he looks like he’s been sculpted by someone with a personal vendetta against your sanity.
your jaw literally drops. your breath leaves you in a single, pitiful sound, almost reminiscent of a whimper. sooha scoffs.
that’s your professor.
god, if they used this as a model for your classes, you’d have passed your first test with stellar results. you, a few months ago, would be skipping home with that full credit score.
“he’s fucking ripped!” sooha cackles, and you can’t tell if it’s disbelief or sheer joy at your impending meltdown. it’s probably both, now that you see her lips beginning to curl into a sickeningly wide grin. “oh my god—”
you feel your soul exit your body. “this isn’t real. he’s ai.”
“you think ai could get the sweat bead rolling down those things?” her other finger points to his disgustingly well-developed chest, “dude. he’s gotta teach naked the next time we see him.”
“stop that!” you groan, grabbing a pillow to shove your face into. your hair’s a mess, your cheeks feel like they’re going to fall off and run away, and sooha’s enjoying every single second of it. “i’m going to die. it’s over. i can’t look at him the same after i’ve seen all this.”
“why? shouldn’t this motivate you?” your best friend turns her phone off, satisfied at the amount of info you two have dug up. two things were learnt today — one, your biology professor is sexy as fuck (confirmed) — and two, he is available. “he’s free game now, [name]. do not let this opportunity slip through those greedy fingers.”
“are you forgetting he is literally our teacher?” you speak, muffled by fabric. “i can’t fuck our teacher—and even if he wasn’t our teacher, his ego’s still huge, and i’m not trying to date a narcissist.”
somewhere, professor nishimura is probably drinking tea and highlighting articles, completely unaware that his students have just discovered he has the body of a greek god.
the pillow drops to your lap, exposing your flushed face. “how the fuck do i look at him in the eye now?”
“bet he’d like that, huh?” sooha cackles, and you know it then with the way your stomach does that backflip thing: you are beyond fucked.
─────────────────────────
IT’S FRIDAY.
“next question.”
you’re sitting next to him.
on the expensive leather couch across from his desk, you see papers sprawled over the glass coffee table, textbooks flipped open to colour-coded pages — and still, the only thing you can focus on is the dull warmth in your belly from brushing shoulders with your professor. an empty coffee-stained mug sits at the centre, surrounded by books.
“you don’t have any more questions about this topic?”
your knees brush once against each other. the heat radiating off his thighs and through his black, ironed slacks make you endlessly nervous.
“i’ve been… watching your lectures. they help,” you mutter, eyes trained on the drawings of arteries laid beneath your fingers. “i don’t know why i didn’t do it earlier.”
professor nishimura chuckles momentarily, his elbows resting on his thighs as he leans forward. the smell of his shampoo hits you, a crashing wave against your nostrils, and all it does is make your heart thump.
“no wonder you’ve been struggling,” he sighs, teasing you ever so slightly. “you haven’t been listening to me as often as you need to.”
“well, yeah.” you reply dryly, throat refusing to let anything but a squeak out. for some odd reason, being back here always makes you choke up. “i just… didn’t realise how helpful it’d be.”
“i don’t spend 2 hours recording useless videos, [name],” professor nishimura’s weight leaning back into the sofa causes the leather to creak.
you swallow, shifting your notes just to have something to anchor your hands. the sound of him settling behind you shouldn’t affect you, but it does — a low, warm reminder that he’s close enough for the air to feel different.
“i didn’t say they were useless,” you murmur, hoping your voice doesn’t tremor enough to show how tight your chest is. “i just haven’t had the time.”
“mm..” professor nishimura purrs lowly, deep voice rumbling through his chest. “most students don’t. they still do well.”
your jaw clenches. “well, i’m not like other students, am i?”
“that’s the first thing you’ve managed to answer right today,” professor nishimura murmurs, draping an arm across the leather backrest. “been sleeping at all? you’re slower than usual. you weren’t this lagged yesterday evening.”
“i’m doing fine, thanks,” you provide no excuses, straightforward with your responses — you sense the tension in his voice, and oddly enough, the care hiding behind the nagging. “i’ve had coffee.”
“you know that’s not good for you. coffee doesn’t replace sleep,” professor nishimura continues. “must i tell you that, too?”
you sigh, feeling his eyes burning through the back of your skull. you shift in your seat, conscious of every movement, knowing he’s leaned back to watch.
“i don’t need you nagging.”
the shift is immediate. his jaw tightens, his eyebrow raising as he repeats your words, “i’m just observing.”
“well, i’m old enough,” you mutter, flipping through your notes, ignoring how he’s leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees again. the room is painfully quiet, silence ringing in your ears, tension floating thick in the air like it wanted to taunt you. “i don’t need to be observed.”
“[name], you may talk to your friends this way, but you asked me for help.” his tone remains steady, reminding you that he isn’t getting as worked up as you are. for some reason, it makes you even more irritated. you freeze mid-page flip, feeling him watch you, every twitch of your fingers with the kind of attention that makes your heart bang against your ribcage. “so this is my help.”
“there’s a difference between helping and hovering,” you scoff, “you act like you’re so much older and wiser than me, it’s so fucking annoying—”
seeing professor nishimura every evening had it’s downsides. two days ago, you’d just discovered his influencer persona, and every night since then you’d been scrolling through his posts and watching his highlights silently, trying to uncover a mystery you didn’t know existed.
he’s not that much older than you, clearly. no wife, no kids, no mystery gap in his posts that indicate he’d left to go on a soul-searching experimental trip to gain wisdom. just pure, unfiltered genius that he’s been praised for ever since he was in his teens — no mistaking where his voluptuous ego came from.
“what on earth are you talking about?”
his expression shifts ever so slightly: those eyebrows, once relaxed and calm, now knit together in something similar to calculation, like he’s trying to guess what you’ll say before you even think of it. his lips part, then pressing together in a thin line once again. “you looked me up.”
“everyone does,” you say a llittle too quickly. “you’re literally public—”
silence hangs in the air, thick and impenetrable. his gaze doesn’t avert. it’s unreadable, and when he speaks, it’s low with a new kind of calm that eats away at you, making you feel guilty for ever snapping at him; “could you tell me how my age is relevant to this conversation?”
in this stillness, your throat refuses to open up, a giant ball forming where your voice is supposed to be. it’s painfully clear that you’ve crossed a line, and professor nishimura isn’t having any of it.
“you come in my office every day, unfocused and exhausted, drinking coffee like it solves anything at all. am i supposed to accept that?”
“accept what? i asked you for help, so just give it to me,” you scoff, throwing the paper onto the coffee table. you turn around partially, enough to catch the bewildered look on his face. “stop acting like—”
“like i don’t see how sloppy you’re getting? it’s your final, and you’re not taking care of yourself.”
the retort dies on your tongue, dissolving, and instead you’re left staring at the scattered papers on the table with a tight jaw. your pulse drums in your ears, blood thumping, and all you can think about is how he’s right — and how much you hate that he says it like he’s genuinely worried.
the room feels too small for this. for the both of you.
“i know.”
“then we’re done for tonight,” professor nishimura states, hands on his thighs, beginning to stand up. “go home and rest. it’s late. i have plans, too, so it’s better for the both of us.”
the sudden pull-back startles you. he doesn’t even tell you to get out — just says to go home, rest, like your health was a priority to him.
he begins to walk back to his desk, turning his back to you, taking a mug out from his drawer. you watch him, silent, as he brings the cup to his coffee machine, the same one you drank from earlier into the session. you scoff, beginning to gather your things, annoyed with the way he doesn’t even try to hide it — he doesn’t have plans. he just wants you to listen to him.
“i still have three chapters, you know.”
“you think you’ll retain any of it?” professor nishimura’s back is still turned to you, and your eyes train on the slow drip of espresso that falls into his mug. his shirt is tight on him, rustling as he tucks his hands into his pockets, still not looking back. “you won’t.”
“that’s not your call—”
“you asked for my help. this is it,” he repeats again, and all it does is make you want to lunge at him and punch his stupidly pretty face. one of his hands reach for the mug, fingers looping around the handle, bringing it to his lips. “get home safe. come back when you’re able to stay awake for more than an hour.”
and when you step out of his office, books in hand, you realise the flush on your face is far too unprofessional for whatever that was; the warmth in your cheeks lingers, stubborn, betraying you each time you replay the way he looked at you like he was disappointed, worried.
perhaps what was even more terrifying was that you couldn’t name what you saw. he looked over his shoulder, face only three quarters visible, soft and glassy eyes with his eyebrows knit together. you tried to open your mouth, force yourself to snap back, or to thank him for today, but nothing comes out.
the small pit in your stomach is even worse — too familiar, too much like the quiet ache that follows a lover’s quarrel, that strange mixture of wanting to leave and wanting to turn back.
you walk down the hall anyway, pretending your pulse isn’t still skipping, pretending the air doesn’t still feel different around you, when even he can sense that it is.
two mornings later, on a sunday, you’re without coffee, eyes puffy from a long night’s rest.
you faintly remember stumbling into your apartment, eyes threatening to shut any moment — you were about to doze off on the short walk to your dorm hall, blinking slowly, feet dragging against the concrete, cold air biting your cheeks. you fell asleep on the couch, woke up at four, and crawled to bed.
right now, you’re back in this god forsaken building. it was part of professor nishimura’s study regimen: only one day of the weekend should be used to study, because then, your brain can do a ‘true reset’ before lessons begin on monday. no baggage from the previous week, kind of tricking your mind into thinking everything’s going to be fine and that the workload wasn’t actually all too bad.
no. it was still bad, because one) you were still pissed off at professor nishimura, and two) you don’t have a sugary caffeinated drink to keep you going.
it’s 10 am, and by now, you’d be on the way to get your usual order — that little trip always made you look forward to something, like a sick reward system for studying nine hours a day. your psych professor would’ve called it conditioning, but you still hate studying, coffee or no coffee.
your hand reaches for the metal door handle, teeth biting the inside of your cheek before you push it open. you wonder momentarily why you couldn’t just suggest a zoom meeting — you’re sure he must have had some stupid plans, cafe hopping and whatnot, with his stupid friends, drinking stupid coffee that he’d nagged at you for—
“[name],” professor nishimura’s voice is calm, like always. you don’t realise you’ve been staring at the floor until you look up, meeting his annoyingly gorgeous face. he isn’t wearing his glasses today. “you’re early.”
“i’m prepared today.” you mumble, but knowing him, he would’ve heard it loud and clear.
nevertheless, he doesn’t give you a response. just a raised eyebrow and slow blinks, like he understands why you’re upset, but not enough to apologise.
the usual routine follows: you put your bag down on the couch, sit yourself down into the leather cushions, unzip your bag and take your study materials out. professor nishimura doesn’t sit down immediately, instead heading for the small kitchenette in a corner of his office, where his coffee is; you wonder if he’ll make you a cup, or drink one just to taunt you.
your eyes follow his movements. you realise he’s dressed much more casually today — if you didn’t know him, you could’ve mistaken him for a student — wearing a hoodie and jeans that you know he planned for his instagram feed. it almost makes you giggle. he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, reaching for an electric kettle in the cupboard below.
of course the man drinks tea.
you try your best to shake the irritation off, instead redirecting your focus to the array of papers underneath you. the sounds of water filling the kettle almost make you doze off, and all you manage to think about is how you wish you had a big cup of warm coffee next to you, up until the point professor nishimura sets a mug down on the table, nudging it towards you.
you blink once. twice. look up, and he’s holding one too.
“don’t fight it,” he takes a slow sip, one hand in his hoodie’s pocket, another clasped around the mug handle. “it’s herbal. it’ll help your nerves.”
and just like that, he’s got you doing that stupid stomach-flipping thing.
“thank you,” you mutter quietly, delicate fingers wrapping around the mug like it was the finest china, careful not to let the tea tip over the rim. “professor.”
“it’s the weekend, and i’m off the clock,” he says, “riki is fine. i’m barely older than you, remember?”
you feel your face heat just at that. it’s lighthearted, not meant to judge you, but it still induces that feeling of wanting to crawl under a rock and die. you can practically hear the smugness in his voice, his smirk hiding behind that mug. “right. sorry about ye—”
“no,” he interrupts gently, lowering the mug from his lips. “you were stressed. i get it.”
it’s odd how easy your heart calms and how fast that pit in your stomach closes up, almost as fast as it opened two days ago. “still. i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
professor nishimura — or riki — shrugs, eyes lingering on you a milisecond too long. “i’m not going to give you a detention slip for being angry. you’re in not high school anymore, [name]. we’re both adults, and i’m telling you — i get it.”
you take another careful sip. it warms you up, letting the ice cold air from outside dissipate in your body, heat spreading all over. it tastes earthy, soothing in the way warm coffee never manages to be, and when your muscles start to loosen and your breathing gets slower, you know you’ll have to quit caffeine.
“you do this for all your students?” you ask, half-teasing, half-curious. “tea service included?”
riki chuckles, smiling at you from where he stands. “don’t get used to it.”
“i might,” you lean back into the leather cushions, one knee folding over the other. you watch as he leans onto his desk, working to finish his cup. “on a weekend, too. i must be important.”
“no one’s home to enjoy it anyway,” he shrugs. “keep all my tea here. helps me stay awake while grading.”
you hum softly, letting that settle. something about the way he says it — casual, unguarded — makes you glance around the office again. you’re reminded of the neatness. the lack of personal clutter. no framed photos turned face-down, no childish drawings taped to the walls. just books, papers, him. you wonder if his house is just as empty as this, or if he even cares that it is.
“not lonely?”
he raises an eyebrow at you before shaking his head. “no. too busy to feel it. did i give that impression?”
you put your mug down, eyebrows knitting and gears turning, really considering your words now. “i don’t know. you’ve got that tired look on your face, and you’re responsible. and you nag like crazy.”
“i told you i was observing—”
“it’s the same,” you smile lazily at him from across the room, and you watch how your professor’s lips twitch, almost breaking into a soft smile. “you give off married man.”
he chuckles, shaking his head again, and something about the moment feels softer now. a misconception quietly corrected without either of you making a big deal of it, and it makes you appreciate how calm of a man he is, all over again.
“well then, now that that’s been cleared up,” riki pushes himself off his desk and gestures toward your notes. “finish your tea. then we’ll start with the chapters you keep avoiding. page 232.”
“how—”
“i observe.”
it’s striking, the smile you see. unguarded, nothing like the polite curve he wears in lectures. it softens him, makes him look younger, less composed, less like a man built entirely out of credentials, and for once: you see someone you could know.
─────────────────────────
NISHIMURA RIKI REMEMBERS HIS FIRST LESSON, at the age of somewhere between ten to thirteen: how to be alone, and how to pretend like you’re good at doing so.
it wasn’t difficult. it’d been confusing, yes, especially when he’d seen his peers from middle school posting instagram stories of them at internet cafe’s — or on late night convenience store runs, or playing a game of basketball at three in the morning. in the beginning, there was an influx of questions in his mind: how, and why is my life so different?
he’d pick up his phone, tapping away at his screen, scanning the once familiar faces of friends he’d long let go of: after middle school, it just seemed like a good idea to be homeschooled, after numerous ‘complaints’ that he was far too advanced for his current grade.
at some point, a few weeks after he turned sixteen, he’d thrown every toy and video game away.
it was clear he was never like other children. it wasn’t like his parents moulded him into the studious genius he was: perhaps that was the most painful part, the fact that this was just him, and that he had no one else to pin this curse on. exceptionality became an excuse — from classrooms, friendships, normalcy.
don’t get him wrong, though. he wasn’t unhappy — there was, in his mind, nothing to complain about. riki had never known a life outside of this: outside of tightly packed schedules engineered for maximum efficiency, outside of a fixed circadian rhythm he followed with near-religious devotion. this structure was not a constraint to him; it was proof that things were working, that nothing was slipping through the cracks.
he guesses this is why he hasn’t shut you out yet. you show up every damn day, at the same time, asking the same questions to the same chapters he’d been studying for years: you are familiar, predictable, consistent in every sense of the word.
riki will tell himself it’s convenience. you fit nicely into his schedule, slotted between office hours, grading, meetings, between the balanced meals he eats at the same time, every day, every night. you don’t disrupt him, don’t demand change — except you do.
you do disrupt him.
you’re lingering by the door, fingers fidgeting with your bag strap as you ask one last question. riki answers without hesitation, even though there’s a meeting across campus he absolutely needs to get to. his explanation stretches longer than it should, his voice gentler than necessary, and he only realises the time once you finally nod, satisfied.
he tells himself it’s nothing — that this is what he’s meant to do. that answering questions thoroughly is part of the job, it’s what he was hired for, and it’s what all his students love about him.
still, he keeps two mugs out instead of one: not because it’s efficient, but because he knows you’ll be back. when the cashier at the cafeteria charges him double for a sandwich, he doesn’t correct them. he doesn’t think about it at all, actually, not until later; when the receipt is crumpled in his pocket and your laugh replays in his head, your teeth flashing in a way that makes him sick.
“yeah. keep going,” riki reassures you, laid back in his own chair as you sit further away, on his (or yours, because you refuse to sit on the tiny chair across his desk again) beloved leather couch — sunlight seeps in through the curtains, bathing the room in a familiarly golden warmth — he’s not sure if the tightening in his chest is because of the way the light lands on your hair, or the way your eyes get sparkly in the sun when you turn your head just right.
it’s tuesday again, and he’s exhausted. you’re ruining him.
“circle of willis…” you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. your arms hug them close, socks slipping off the smooth leather material. “base of the brain, ring of blood vessels. if one’s blocked—”
“rest is relatively unaffected, preventing ischemia,” riki interjects, calmly, eyes still trained on the pen he’s been spinning in between his fingers.
you blink once, twice. “i was going to say that.”
he doesn’t even realise he’s uttered your notes word for word, not until the silence stretches a second too long — his pen stops spinning, before his eyes drift towards your wide-eyed ones.
“sorry,” riki apologises, only after he’s scanned your face and realised that he was indeed not meant to do that. “go on.”
and you do — you finish the chapter, and he answers every remaining question lingering in your mind, being careful not to do whatever the fuck he just did again. you stretch your arms above your head, a quiet sigh leaving your lips and all nishimura riki can think about is how tired you look, or how your lips curve into that soft, gentle smile after you yawn, and how it makes him sick to the stomach that he can’t put his hand on your jaw and feel it first-hand on his lips.
“i’ll see you tomorrow,” you wave, and he hears the keychains on your bag jingle obnoxiously loud as you rush back to your dorm. riki wonders why you insist on staying so late when you know you have classes early the next morning, but he could ask himself the same thing, so he shoves the thought to the back of his mind and calls it a night.
he’ll do the same thing tomorrow. the day after. the week that follows. as long as he can predict you, there’s nothing to panic about.
─────────────────────────
“YOU LIKE HER?”
once those sacred words leave park sunghoon’s lips, nishimura riki knows he’s done for — because once someone else sees it, he knows he’s messed up, for real.
sunghoon holds a glass of red wine in his hand as he sits casually on the L-shaped sofa. a furry pillow lays on his lap, and his phone is somewhere in the kitchen; they’ve been drinking for a while, and things were getting a little more honest as the evening sun sank further into the ground.
“that’s inappropriate,” riki mutters, taking a slow sip of his own glass. he’s sitting on the other end of the couch, half-lidded eyes watching the screen of his phone, waiting for it to light up — an email from you. an impromptu text to meet at the cafeteria to share a decaf. or you’d tell him you aced the mini quiz he assigned you last week. “i don’t mix with students.”
“you don’t mix with anyone.” sunghoon snickers, head tilting, as if he was observing the way riki’s expression shifts just slightly at the mention of his feelings. “and i don’t see what’s so wrong with it. she’s not a high schooler.”
“her age isn’t the issue. we could’ve gone to school together — but still. i’m her mentor.”
sunghoon’s lips press into a thin line. “you know what jake would think of this?”
riki rolls his eyes, a grin still creeping on his face nonetheless. jake was an entirely different story. “i don’t want to know what that guy has to say about my love life.”
“love life?” sunghoon cackles, eyes narrowing in his triumph, almost spilling the expensive wine all over riki’s expensive furniture. he tenses up just watching. “so we’re talking love, now?”
“that’s obviously not what i meant.”
you see, the truth was that nishimura riki was discovering things about himself that he didn’t know how to… organise. it was difficult to name that stupid warmth blooming in his chest, or how lightheaded he felt when your soft hands would brush his whenever he sat next to you.
he never had time for those things. he’ll never be able to scribble your name next to his in blue ink, in a big lopsided heart, or to gift you a jelly ring because he thought your hair was cute that day. it feels juvenile, almost embarrassing — like the crushes his classmates once described, the ones he never had the time or patience for — something he’s late to experience.
and still, now, of all times, his mind keeps reaching for you: uninvited, persistent, and entirely out of order.
sunghoon watches him in silence, like he knows better than to rush a man who’s spent his whole life keeping his emotions in neat, labeled compartments. the wine sits untouched in riki’s hand, now forgotten, his thumb tracing slow circles against the glass stem as if familiar repetition might organize the thoughts crowding his head.
“you’re thinking too hard,” sunghoon says finally, voice softer than before. serious sunghoon usually meant a big deal.
riki lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “i don’t know how else to think.”
the confession earns a soft smile. “i know.”
the problem now wasn’t temptation. it was recognition, acknowledgement. accepting that the way riki’s body reacts to you is not something normal, or something passing. the way his focus fractures at the tiniest things — the crinkles in your face as you concentrate, the creases between your brows, or the way you hold his expensive mugs like it meant everything to you, when he couldn’t care less if you dropped them in pieces.
he’s kept his desires locked in a box for a while. ever since that first email, he should’ve deleted it and thrown the key into the nearest bin. now, he’s left to deal with them trying to pry their way out.
“i’ve felt this way for a bit,” riki admits. “hasn’t gone away.”
sunghoon hums. “holding yourself back? what a gentleman.”
riki scoffs, but there’s no real humor in it. he stares ahead, eyes unfocused, seeing not the apartment but the ghost of your presence — the way you lean forward when you’re engaged, the way your voice drops when you’re unsure. small, human details that shouldn’t matter this much to him, yet finds himself remembering. you’re haunting him
“i don’t want to be careless,” he says. “i can’t be careless.”
sunghoon nods slowly. “just don’t beat yourself up for nothing, riki.”
that lands somewhere deep, loosening something tight and knotted in his chest. riki has always been good at restraint. discipline, or just plain denial dressed up as professionalism — but he’s begun to crack, ever since that first evening together, when his fingertips laid against your pulse.
he felt you. the very thing that gave you life, he touched.
“i’m not reckless.”
sunghoon looks across the couch, despite knowing the statement wasn’t meant for him. that’s precisely the reason he doesn’t respond just yet, instead, reaching for the wine bottle on the marbled coffee table — pouring himself more wine.
riki watches the dark red settle, thinking about how carefully he’s always moved through the world — measured steps, clean lines, no wasted motion. recklessness implies impulse. chaos. things he’s trained himself out of, much faster than his peers.
and yet: he hasn’t trained himself not to care about you.
“i know you’re not, riki.”
this isn’t right. he knows he shouldn’t, and yet all he thinks of is how much he wants to. it’s been weeks of painful restraint, sitting by your side, taking in your scent, unintentionally registering every cute habit of yours, tucking them away in a quiet drawer of his mind that keeps all the important stuff — like deadlines. conferences. flights. dinners with people he can’t afford to displease.
you weren’t supposed to belong there.
“fuck… when did it get this bad?” sunghoon scoffs through his nose, the sound sharp, amused, and just a little exasperated. his eyes narrow at riki, who has picked up his phone only to lower it moments later, the blank screen a disappointment at the absence of your name. “last i checked, you were content staying single.”
two evenings ago.
you were holed up in his office, the night stretching around the harsh glow of his desk lamp. it was nearing midnight. he had dinner plans with jake and heeseung, a rare night off from meetings and other callings, but instead, he found himself lingering in the quiet space between his books and your scattered notes. he remembered stepping out around seven, phone in hand, muttering about ‘taking a call,’ though his thoughts had never really left the room.
heeseung said it was alright, but jake wouldn’t let it go. riki supposes he had a reason not to.
he noticed how your shoulders tensed when he returned. the way you shivered from december’s harsh, freezing nights — it seemed like your skin was much thinner than his, because he felt fine. perhaps it was the way you begged him to go harder on the revision; he warned you that you’d be overworked, but he promised he’d be there, nonetheless.
you tucked your arms around yourself, avoiding his worried gaze from across the room. his shoes tap against the floor as he makes his way towards you — quicker than he could admit himself.
“you’re cold,” he murmured, reaching for his jacket hanging on his office chair. he pulls it off in one swift motion, holding it to you.
“it’s okay,” but you didn’t fight him when he draped the fabric over your shoulders, anyway. riki watched you loosen up — almost melting into the warmth of his clothes, and it all seemed so mundane to him then — until he realised his heart wouldn’t stop doing that thudding thing, and his cheeks wouldn’t stop burning.
by the time the clock struck one in the morning, your eyelids had begun to droop, the tea hastening your descent into drowsiness. before long, your legs curled up against your chest, his jacket wrapped loosely around you, and your head found its way to a place it shouldn’t — resting gently on his shoulder.
he stayed frozen, most of the night. barely allowed himself to breathe. riki felt it all: the warmth, your weight, the prick of your hair at his neck that almost made him twitch. he fought hard not to wake you.
the night was outlined by the faint scent of winter and tea and uncapped highlighters lingering in your hair. gentle breaths that he swore sounded like his name. he felt like he was hallucinating. he was spiralling like a teenage boy all over again, even if he didn’t even really know what that meant himself.
your breath hitched a few times, and you stirred quite a bit in your sleep. riki found himself tripping over the tiniest things, about how you smack your lips even in your sleep, or how your fist balled into his shirt when he thought he could try to pull away.
the next morning, your head rested against his chest, and his heart thudded relentlessly in his ribcage. his back ached from the hard armrest and lack of pillows, but time seemed suspended, the soft rhythm of your breathing brushing his collarbone as if you were exactly where you were meant to be.
everything collapsed then — every wall, every boundary he had meticulously built over the years. he knew it was over when his hand traced your hair once, twice, then resting lightly on the small of your back. you woke a few hours later, around nine, still too drowsy to remember how you ended up there, or just how nicely nishimura riki fit beneath you.
“oh, i must’ve dozed off—shit, i’m so sorry,” you yawned, knuckles rubbing against your eyelids as riki simply watches you sit upright. “did you have plans today, professor? oh my god—”
the title made him twitch. you didn’t notice it, thankfully. he called off every study session after that. two days of what was meant to be productive revision — all because he can’t keep himself in check. you thought he was just sick.
nishimura riki’s fate was sealed. he was falling, and park sunghoon could see it: from the way he loosens at the mention of you, to how that genius persona of his starts to slip. for once, he doesn’t know any of the answers, and all of them at the same time.
“you got this handled, don’t you?” sunghoon mutters, voice low and hushed, as if he knew how heavily this was weighing on riki’s shoulders.
riki doesn’t respond immediately, instead reaching for another sip, now a practiced motion, a way to quiet his mind. his dark eyes lock on the floor, tracing the wood patterns with a tight jaw, and silence only stretches the distance between the two men.
sunghoon almost shivers.
“sure,” the blonde mutters in response, head slightly turning to ignore the way sunghoon’s line of sight. he hates how piercing it is — sunghoon always had that effect, like he knew riki’s thoughts before he could word them — but right now, he’s looking away, as if that’d hide anything important, or anything that sunghoon couldn’t already see.
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THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWS IS PAINFULLY MEDIOCRE.
when you step into his office for the first time in 3 days, it’s already warm, and there’s no tea waiting for you on the coffee table — he’s sitting at his desk, glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, fingers flipping through papers you haven’t seen before.
he doesn’t bother to look up, “[name].”
nothing’s wrong. this is how it was supposed to be. class, lunch, class, study — you leave before dinner, almost always at his discretion, and under the pretense of ‘meetings’ and ‘papers for other classes’ when you know he only teaches two. it feels like a lie that you can’t confront, because it’s not like you know the truth.
you didn’t know much at all, actually.
perhaps that’s why you settle into this — accepting it when he doesn’t comment on your posture, your tired eyes, or the can of coffee you throw into his office bin.
you do your work, and he does his. that’s how it’s been, and how it should’ve continued.
your knees still brush under the table. the warmth doesn’t make professor nishimura pull away — almost as if the desk hides his own hypocrisy from his eyes. sometimes, he’ll lean over your shoulder, the mixed scent of cologne and tea leaves making you ease into him, but he’d pull away before you ever brushed the fabric of his shirt.
you’d look up from your notes and catch him staring at you. pretty, brown irises that barely leave your tired figure — his arms are folded, voice flat and monotone instead of soft, curious, and everything you’d known him to be in the past few weeks.
you raise an eyebrow, because that’s all you can do.
“you’re getting better,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair as you ramble on about action potential initiation, sodium and potassium pumps, practically reciting word for word. “we’ll meet less often.”
he doesn’t even leave you room to negotiate.
it’s almost ridiculous how much you don’t care about this. you’re talking just to talk — just to feel like his eyes are on you, like before — it’s oddly humiliating, and the feeling claws at your chest uncomfortably; you tell yourself it’s just the weather getting chillier, or a bad start to the day that led to an even worse week, and that’s why you’re tripping over something as ridiculous as this: your professor, acting like your fucking professor.
“thank you,” your fingers twitch slightly. even if professor nishimura notices it, he doesn’t say a thing.
you brought coffee along in hopes of waking yourself up, but the lecture hall is still too quiet for your mind not to doze off.
professor nishimura is speaking into the microphone, his voice resonating through the large, brightly lit room. the lights above buzz, and there’s chatter all around: you can’t remember what he asked everyone to do, and at the same time, can’t be bothered enough to ask.
your head leans into your hand, chin propped up, the words of everyone around you starting to sound like a foreign language. everything’s priming you for a nap — slightly warm, sunlight slicing through the windows, catching dust in tiny specks. you’re seated in the sixth row, far enough for professor nishimura not to notice (you can only hope).
“so, uh,” you hear in your left ear, “[name], right?”
you blink slowly. you hadn’t bothered to learn the names of anyone in this class other than jiwon and sooha — for a minute, you wonder if it’s one of them trying to do one of their stupid frat guy impressions. so you turn, your neck muscles sore from a long night of staying up the night prior, grimacing when you feel the tension deep in your posture.
so much for taking care of yourself.
“yeah,” you say, but it almost comes out as a grumble. you don’t bother to apologise. you try not to tilt your head too far, eyes flicking towards the boy leaning in beside you — he’s grinning, a little too confident for a guy of his nature, hair messy from running his weirdly large hands through them. “were we supposed to do something?”
“i didn’t come yesterday, and i was just wondering if you could send me your lab notes,” he continues. “i had practice. super important.”
the words come out like a script, rehearsed in it’s tone, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed. not one bit.
“uhuh,” you nod, slowly and deliberately. “i’ll send them. your number?”
he freezes for a heartbeat, then gasps — a little too loud, a little too dramatic. you blink, genuinely caught off guard. then his smirk settles in, that ridiculous half-serious, half-playful expression you’ve seen on one too many guys before: “i thought you’d never ask.”
you laugh quietly at the absurdity, more out of habit than anything. he takes it as an invitation, of course, and before the end of class, right after you’ve sent him your notes, he slides a link to some random tiktok across your screen.
you glance at it, stare at the preview image for a moment, and promptly roll your eyes. you’re too tired, too uninterested, to bother reading the subtle flirtatious undertones in his posture, the way he leans in just a little too eagerly, or the smug satisfaction on his face when you glance back in his direction — like he was waiting for your approval, another laugh, another anything.
anything that you can’t give. not to him.
it’s not long before professor nishimura finishes his lecture, the chatter of closing notebooks and rustling papers filling the room. you shift in your seat, feeling your shoes press against the floor as you stretch your legs beneath the desk. sooha isn’t here today, you notice, and jiwon’s already packing up, hands moving faster than yours — she’s ready to leave long before the lecture actually ends.
you look around, and for a moment everything and everyone feels like a timelapse, and you’re the only one in slow motion. notebooks slam shut, pens click, laptops shoved into backpacks. you remain seated, letting everyone pass you, and it feels like reliving a memory. muffled voices of your classmates fill the room, underscoring the strange lag you feel.
your head rests against the table, ear to the wood. you see professor nishimura in your field of view, and somehow, even with his glasses low on his face and his fringe covering most of his expression, you can feel his eyes burning holes through you.
“so,” he mutters, walking up the carpeted stairs to your row. it’s just you two now. “you don’t need my help anymore, hm?”
his words make you sit up. “what?”
“exchanged numbers. studying together?” his voice is low but firm, not accusatory, as if he was begging you to prove him wrong, despite his neutral face. “with him?”
“it’s just notes,” you scoff, a tad bit more defensive than you intended it to be. “he missed the previous lab.”
“he was here.” he corrects. you can’t help but sigh. “you should watch who you’re studying with. he’s barely paid attention in class as it is—“
“still, was or wasn’t. i can manage myself. i don’t need your permission.”
professor nishimura straightens slightly, hands resting on the edge of the desk, gaze steady. “i’m not talking about permission,” he says evenly. “i’m pointing out that your focus matters. you want to keep progressing — i’ve guided you this far. that hasn’t changed.”
you frown, arms tightening across your chest, eyes tearing away from him to look at the chalkboard in front of the room. it’s half erased, perfect diagrams smeared in white. “so now…i have to justify every interaction to you?”
“no,” he replies. “i’m not policing you. but i will call out distractions when they matter. that’s part of my role. your attention isn’t something to waste — you know that.”
you turn to stare at him for a moment, searching for some trace of softness, some hint that he’s overstepping, only to find there isn’t one. just the steady weight of someone who expects attention, precision, and respect — nothing like the man you got to know, everything like the professor you’ve always seen.
“so you push me away, and now you want me to stay focused on you?”
professor nishimura doesn’t flinch. he meets your gaze evenly, calmly, unshaken despite his absurd words. “if i’m the only non-distraction, yes.”
you feel heat clawing up your neck, reaching all the way up to your ears. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, turning away once more. “what the hell is wrong with you? why do you think you can just act like this?”
“act like what?”
ironically enough, that’s the line that gets you. your head snaps back in his direction, and you’re quick to rise to your feet; you sling your bag over your shoulder, ready to leave, but he takes one step to the side to block your exit.
“i’m asking you a question.”
you scoff, sharp and breathless, the sound cutting through the quiet lecture hall. it comes out through your nose before you can stop it, bitter and disbelieving, and it hurts him more than he can show — his eyebrows knit together, glassy eyes staring into yours, searching for something.
“you don’t get to do this,” you say. your voice shakes despite your best effort, and it makes you want to crawl into a hole and never come out — but the reaction it gets from him is raw, his shoulders stiffening, fists clenched by his sides. “you don’t get to decide who i talk to, or what’s a distraction, or—”
you gesture vaguely between the two of you, anger clawing its way up your throat. you don’t manage to say anything more. he looks at you, still expecting.
you shove him out of the way, and riki doesn’t stumble backwards — before you’ve gone too far, he’s got his hands clasped around your wrist. his jaw tightens, muscles tensing underneath his skin, eyes low and zeroed on your fingers.
you brace yourself for anger, for reprimand, for the cold snap of authority sliding back into place. anything to prove that who you were talking to was someone you didn’t know.
it doesn’t happen.
his grip loosens almost immediately, like he’s realised what he’s doing a half-second too late. his thumb slips away first, then the rest of his fingers, hands dropping back to his sides as if they’ve burned him.
“don’t,” riki says, low. not a command. a warning — to himself, more than to you. “i don’t want you to get the idea that i want to control you.”
you shake his hands off. “then don’t fucking give me it.”
silence stretches between you, sharp and unforgiving. his jaw works, once, like he’s biting back something that would only make it worse. when he finally speaks again, his voice is steadier than it has any right to be, and all it does is make you want to scream.
you look up at him, glass-eyed, lashes wet — and something twists in nishimura riki’s chest. he assumes it’s his heart, even though the teacher in him knows better; it’s just anxiety, he tells himself, a physical response he’s long since learned to name and adapt to.
it’s definitely not his heart breaking at the thought of hurting you. definitely not. hearts don’t break.
no. he’d be dead, on the floor, if his heart really broke.
he’ll repeat this in his head for as long as it takes.
“you’re right,” riki mumbles. it unsettles you more than if he’d argued.
he steps back, deliberately, putting space between you like it costs him something (it does). his hands curl into fists at his sides, then relax again. “you can go,” he finally adds.
you hesitate — just for a second — and you hate yourself for it. he notices. of course he does. a man of his genius can’t help but see everything.
his eyes flicker, briefly, before he looks away, fixing his attention on the desk like it’s the safest thing in the room.
you leave without another word.
he doesn’t stop you.
─────────────────────────
WHEN YOU STEP INTO HIS OFFICE THE NEXT MORNING, expecting cruel, impatient silence, nishimura riki remains neutral.
his glasses sit on the edge of his nose bridge, and he’s grading while you study — a rare sight, considering he always manages his time well. it’s kind of funny how you’ve never seen him in the process of it, considering how much time you spend together.
it hits you, embarrassingly fast, that you’ve never actually seen him in the middle of anything other than teaching you despite how many hours you’ve spent here. the furrow of his brow, the way he taps the end of his pen against the paper when he’s annoyed, the quiet sighs he lets slip when something displeases him — it’s all strangely human.
nothing you haven’t known before. it’s just that with all the distance, you forgot.
you hover by the door for a second, unsure if you should sit, wondering if yesterday carved a line between you that you aren’t allowed to cross anymore. you’re sure he can see you awkwardly leaning against the doorframe, so you end up pushing yourself off of it, feet crossing the threshold of his office anyway.
“you’re late,” he says without looking up. “where were you?”
you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, taking your seat on the familiar couch flushed against the window. the silence that follows is different — soft around the edges, still thick with tension, with two people pretending they didn’t almost tear each other apart the day before.
minutes pass. his pen scratches against paper. you start unpacking your things just to fill the emptiness, and to give your hands something to do.
then, unexpectedly gentle, professor nishimura says, “did you get home alright?”
your head lifts a little. you blink. “mhhhm. just fine.”
the bite in your voice is testing him, and it earns the exact reaction you were looking for: a raised eyebrow, a shift in his weight. “you sure?”
it makes you shiver.
you nod, beginning to flip open your textbooks. even if he notices how anxious you are — he doesn’t say a thing.
before long, you’re hunched over the table, your sticky notes and highlighters all over the place.
you remember when you first decided to take a seat in this empty, cold office. it’s a completely different place, a different time, a different you — his awards and certificates still remain, though — but now there’s two mugs on the shelf, a pen in the cup on his desk that you’re certain he never uses because it’s the wrong weight, and before you can think too hard about how much his office (or him) has changed, professor nishimura’s voice jolts you out of your daydream.
“focus.” his stern voice travels from his desk, the sounds of his keyboard mashing underscoring it. “you’re zoning out.”
“sorry,” you tilt your head back down, hair falling in your face, eyes trying to scan for the word you stopped reading at.
you spend an awfully long time staring at one page, trying to make sense of what was printed. your mind’s still flooding with what-if’s from yesterday — whether that was really all that was meant to be said, if that was what everything boiled down to.
what if this was it?
your eyes move mindlessly, jumping from word to word, restarting paragraphs when a thought gets too loud — barely noticing a weight sinking into the empty space next to you.
your gaze drifts to the pair of shoes next to yours, shiny and professional and expensive in all it’s glory; but when you feel a finger tuck your hair behind your ear, gentle, as if you’d crack if just a little force was behind the motion, they trail upwards to the man next to you.
“you look like you just woke up.”
you snort, unintentionally, feeling the burn of your cheeks and the spinning in your head — this stupid professor of yours always seemed to have that effect.
“what are you doing?”
he mumbles in response, “nothing.”
and perhaps it really was nothing, because he slips back into his work without comment, typing quietly while you sink deeper into the sofa — the hours slide by unnoticed, evening tapping softly against the windows until the room grows too dim.
and perhaps it really was nothing, because he just returns to his work, fingers tapping steadily against the keys while you sink further into the couch — time blurs, the sky outside fading into that soft, late-evening orange, and he eventually has to rise to flick on the lamp by his desk, its warm light filling the room in a quiet sort of way.
when he sits back down, your head has already tipped against his shoulder, your notes slipping from your hands, and without thinking — or maybe thinking too much — he reaches for the thin blanket folded at the arm of the couch, draping it over you with a care so practiced and gentle it almost feels like he’s done it a hundred times before.
─────────────────────────
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!”
─────────────────────────
THIS PARTY WASN’T IN YOUR SCHEDULE.
it’s crowded, you’re brushing shoulders with every 1 in 2 people you pass, and it’s too fucking loud — the music is booming in your ears and the bass makes your legs shake, the lights are too dark, and your glass is empty. you feel out of place, out of body, out of everything.
“heeeelloooo,” sooha waves her hand in your face before you finally snap back into this plane of reality. once she finally has your attention, her fingers clasp around your wrist, dragging you into the huge living room that belonged to jiwon’s parents. “jiwon’s looking for you, and you’re zoning out under the stairs—come on!”
you bite on your bottom lip, stumbling on your feet as sooha moves too much, too fast through the sea of people. the music choice is truly horrible, you realise as you approach the huge speakers sitting on top of the marbled kitchen island.
you told jiwon to put this off until after finals. at least then, you wouldn’t have so much on your mind — but sooha cried out, said you needed a break from studying so much with that beloved professor of yours — and jiwon could only shrug and agree.
it wasn’t a secret, you and nishimura. there was nothing to be secretive about, and so you couldn’t blame anyone when sooha and jiwon begun to piece things together: the late night texts, leaving early in the morning only to come back in the ass crack of dawn. they figured you were just studying non-stop, cause if you were truly sleeping with your professor, they would’ve heard it first.
“fuck, it’s too loud in here—”
someone bumps into you from behind and mutters a slurred apology. it’s enough to make you flinch, and sooha finally releases your wrist once you’re standing in the middle of the living room: the air is thick with smoke and perfume and every cologne to ever exist, the lights dimmed with the occasional flash of purple and pink in uneven bursts. bodies are packed together on the couch, the one with faux fur pillows that are nowhere to be seen, and it reminds you how this place is too expensive to be hosting this many drunk college kids.
jiwon spots you two immediately from behind the kitchen island. she tilts her head, taking a good look at your already obviously irritated expression, and lifts her cup to point at you with one finger. “you okay? you look like you hate it here—”
“i do,” you admit, watching sooha step a feet or two away into the crowd, chatting with a guy you’d seen around the engineering block. you shake your head, unimpressed before anything else. “i told you. we should’ve waited till after finals.”
she hums, unconvinced. “you wouldn’t say this if you weren’t so busy studying.”
“with riki!” sooha snorts, and your head snaps in her direction. the guy with her looks momentarily lost, and you offer an apologetic smile. “oh, sweet, brilliant riki.”
when you shift your gaze back to sooha, she’s barely containing herself.
“what?” sooha still does so, anyway, unrepentant. “it’s not like we don’t all know. you disappear every night, come back half-dead in the mornings, and somehow you’re still calmer than i’ve ever seen you. it’s suspicious.”
jiwon raises her eyebrows in a moment of pleasant surprise. “so that’s why you’re not drinking.”
you look down at your empty glass, remnants of coke zero still sitting unsipped. somewhere between the terrible music and people brushing against your back, your mind is drifting to that familiar blonde head of hair, with eyes so pretty and brows so strict it makes your pulse falter. gentle, even if he looks everything opposite of.
you were wrong about him, and you found that out in the best way possible, but now, you’re in too deep and everyone’s starting to see it too.
“how else am i supposed to get that A?” you sigh, and you practically feel the way sooha and jiwon see right through you. “i can’t fail this. i really, really can’t.”
they accept the half-assed answer. you weren’t going to admit you were in love with your professor half way into a party full of judgy nepo babies; you were too smart for that.
the night stretches on without you, and at some point, sooha disappears entirely. you’d guess she’s busy making out with that guy from earlier, and even in your sour mood, you snicker at the thought. somewhere in the kitchen, you see jiwon chatting with a group of girls that you’ve never seen her hang with before.
you’re hovering at the edge of the living room, your back against the cold wall. your phone feels infinitely heavier in your hands, and the music choice hasn’t improved in the last hour. it’s aggressive, insistent, as if it’s trying to get you to come loose and forget about what’s supposed to be stressing you out.
you bring your phone to your face, the screen lighting up immediately, and you realise it’s too late to text him, and far too early to leave without everyone assuming you’re pissed off.
a guy with a lopsided middle parting stops in front of you. “heeey, pretty. i was gonna get a drink. you want one? saw your cup was empty—”
“no thanks.”
you drift towards the balcony for air instead, pushing past stumbling bodies until the glass door finally slides shut behind you. it’s barely snowing, but it’s obviously getting chilly, the air biting your cheeks and freezing your lungs. it’s relieving, compared to the humid warmth of other people inside.
you lean against the railing, breathing slowly, savouring every second before you anticipate sooha coming to drag you back inside. momentarily, you wonder if riki lived his college days like this — at parties, sitting at the sides, thinking of where else he could be.
just then, your phone buzzes in your hand.
you swallow, fingers tightening around your phone. the cold doesn’t feel as harsh anymore, replaced by an oddly familiar warmth blooming in your chest. you shove your phone into your purse, weight shifting between your feet, unsure of whether to stay or to leave. somewhere behind you, the door slides open and shut again, laughter spilling onto the balcony before being lost to the wind. you don’t turn around.
the glow of headlights cut through the dark, and the slow fall of snow reminds you of how warm it was a month ago, when you were still whining over that one sociology assignment, when you still hated seeing professor nishimura’s face.
and now, you can’t imagine yourself staying away.
you’re already thinking about how he’ll look when he gets here. dark brown coat hugging his broad, tall stature, snow falling on his head. his brows drawn together in that quiet, familiar concern that he knows never to overdo, because he trusts that you’re a smart girl, and the realization stabs you in the stomach then.
you want to see him.
why the hell do you want to see him?
─────────────────────────
SUNDAYS WERE RESERVED FOR YOU, but for some reason, you’re waiting for nishimura riki at twelve thirty in the morning, in freezing temperatures.
you lean against a lamppost, its warm glow spilling over you and carving soft shadows into your face. your scarf is gone, abandoned somewhere inside oh jiwon’s penthouse, probably slung over the back of a dining chair you’ll never be able to identify again. somehow, you’d still made it out here, rubbing at your nose in a futile attempt to keep the frost from biting too hard.
you sniffle, shoulders curling inward, arms wrapped tight around yourself. professor nishimura had been right — you were sensitive to the cold. you just hadn’t noticed how much, not when he’d always been there before, quietly closing windows, handing you his jacket without comment, turning the heater up a notch like it was second nature.
and then, an expensive looking car pulls up, the sound of snow crushing under the tires making your ears perk. you don’t look up immediately, but you know.
the engine cuts, and the door shuts closed — his footsteps crunch against the pavement lined with ice, unhurried but still purposeful, and something loosens in your chest before you can even say hello.
“you should’ve told me you didn’t have a scarf.”
when you look up, you see exactly what you’d envisioned, with an addition of a black scarf covering the lower half of professor nishimura’s face. his voice is slightly muffled due to the thick cotton — slightly edged with restrained concern slipping through the cracks. your notes are tucked under his arm, neatly stapled, unlike how you kept them, because you ran out of staples and forgot to refill them a few weeks back.
“i thought you’d nag,” you mumble, guilty.
“i would, and i am,” he says, strictly, to make his point. before you can protest, he’s already unravelling his scarf from his neck, and stepping closer to you. the fabric is still warm when he drapes it around you, careful in his movements, fingers brushing against your jaw as he fits it nicely for you.
his cologne lingers. it makes you dizzy, in a good way that party didn’t.
“you’re still so careless, [name].”
his head hovers just above yours, and you swore if he leaned in any closer that he’d be able to hear how hard your heart was beating. your eyes look at anything else but him — the trees in the distance. the passing cars. the one or two people taking a night stroll with their dogs. anything to avoid the way you can hear his breath in your ears, the warmth of his fingers brushing against your skin. anything.
he tucks the end of the scarf into your coat with careful precision, and you think your timing couldn’t be worse. when you dare to glance up, his eyes meet yours. they’re glassy, faintly red at the edges — exhaustion, probably from the nights you’ve kept him awake with your relentless studying — and despite everything, it makes you smile.
“you’re too careful.”
your eyes peek through your lashes, fluttering slowly, coaxing him into everything he’s taught himself to restrain. in the small space between you two, your breaths mingle, albeit yours just warm your face right back up — still, you watch his skin flush, lips trembling slightly at the proximity.
you’ve never seen him this close. he looks absolutely breathtaking. from the sharp turn of his jaw, the sparkle in his eyes as he looks into yours, to that impossible glow on his skin that you’ve never been able to make sense of.
nishimura riki’s heart is racing faster than humanly possible. this cannot be good. he remembers learning this in his first year of university: tachycardia was what they called it.
yes. he’s tachy. so very tachy.
and he also wants to kiss you. really, really bad.
there wasn’t anything in the textbooks for that.
riki swallows, his throat tightening, and his fingers still hold onto the scarf that he’s draped around you. for now, there’s only you, and the warmth of your face radiating so close to his — only the sound of your soft, gentle breath, the one he’s gotten so used to hearing.
his index and middle finger hook onto the fabric of his (now technically your) scarf, pulling it down slightly, enough to reveal your entire face.
“riki,” your voice is barely audible, a whisper against the cold wind, but it’s enough to make his pulse skip. he’s been holding his breath the entire time. “it’s late.”
he leans in, unintentional, just a fraction closer, enough for your hearts to echo in tandem. “i know,” he murmurs, voice low, quiet, restrained in words but not in feeling; he says it like he wants you to stay, despite.
“i should get inside,” you mumble, beginning to tilt your head up anyways.
on this chilly december night, nishimura riki tilts his head as well, inches apart, almost as if he’s analyzing the exact way to fit against you. his lips brush yours softly, a fleeting ghost of warmth, breath fanning over the plush of your lips.
“i know.”
you know this is wrong, and still, you meet him halfway.
suddenly, your body ignites with warmth, eyes fluttering shut as your arms instinctively loop around his neck. his hands find your waist without thought, drawing you close, steadying you as you rise onto your tiptoes. the cold air disappears, replaced entirely by this small, perfect cocoon of heat and closeness — it’s warm, comforting, like coming home to something you’ve been missing all year.
the scarf is tickling his chin. his annoying glasses are in the way. but you taste sweet, and he can smell your perfume — and your shampoo. just you, actually. everything he could ever possibly ask for is right here, in his hands, against his body. leaning into him like she needed him as much as he needed her.
your notes are somewhere on the floor. professor nishimura resolves to help you rewrite them later. hell, he’ll rewrite the whole textbook, as long as you let him have this.
“fuck,” he curses as he pulls away, his breath leaving him in the shape of warm smoke — you giggle, hearing him curse for the first time — and it’s almost ridiculous how fast his face flushes at the sound of your amusement. “you’re so pretty.”
his eyes leave yours, drifting down to your glossy, saliva-covered lips — they’re calling for him. so kissable, parted, breathless like he’d just stolen all the air from your lungs.
“riki—” you try to speak, but it’s pointless when professor nishimura’s lips crash against yours again. you feel like you’re on fire, your fingertips brushing against the nape of his neck once more; it sends shivers down his spine, and when his palm presses flat on the small of your back, you’re arching into his touch.
riki’s tongue swipes against your bottom lip, yours opening up for him like clockwork — it’s making your head spin, your nerves raw, legs weak trying to close the already minute gap between your bodies. he’s curious with you, clearly, with the way his hands roam up and down your waist, clingy, like he’s never going to have you again.
and if that ends up being true — he’ll make sure, just this once, it’ll be worth it.
you follow him, silent, as his hands find yours. the cold nips at your fingers before his calloused ones warm them up: the streets are emptying out, snow lining the asphalt, collecting on the roof of his car. he turns, pulling you with him, the crunch of snow breaking underneath both your feet.
he opens the passenger door for you, a gesture that makes your cheeks burn, and you slide in carefully. the leather seat is too comfortable, nice and warm, expensive before anything else. it reminds you of jiwon’s dad’s car, and the thought makes you snicker, just a little.
“hands,” he murmurs, and you instinctually tuck your arms in before he shuts the door. you watch him walk in front of the headlights — crossing over to the driver’s seat, and soon enough, his hands are on the wheel.
the engine roars to life and warmth floods the car, chasing away the bite of december air. your fingers are still entwined with his, resting lightly in your lap, and the contact is enough to send little jolts through your chest. the soft glow of the dashboard lights highlights his profile — jawline sharp, eyes focused on the road, yet you can feel the awareness behind them, the subtle glance he gives you through the rearview mirror.
your phone is buzzing in your coat pocket. you recognise the text tone — oh jiwon, park sooha. that little group chat you’ve been using since first year. it’s enough to remind you how wrong this is, but not enough to forget how right it feels — professor nishimura riki feels like fate.
the streets are quiet. snow glinting under the streetlights, the tires crunching softly over the thin white layers. the silence between you is comfortable, heavy with everything left unspoken: the kiss, the heat between your bodies, the lingering warmth of his scarf. everything that you’ve gone through in the past few weeks.
you blink slowly, trying to figure out if this was one of your fucked up dreams again — you’ve had quite a few of those ever since you started this… whatever this was.
“you’re still cold,” riki says, eyes still trained on the road. you’re somewhere in gangnam, further away from jiwon’s neighbourhood, streets filled with locals and tourists. his fingers tighten around yours slightly when you don’t respond. “i’ll warm you up when we’re inside.”
you flush, head turning towards the window, not entirely sure of the meaning of his words.
what the hell does he mean by warm you up?
is he flirting with you?
“mm..” you hum, smiling anyway, thankful his scarf was there to save you. “i’d like that.”
─────────────────────────
IT’S ALMOST LIKE A MOVIE.
you’re stumbling into the entryway of his home, coat slipping off your shoulders, and riki’s trying to kick his dress shoes off. it’s the ones he just bought, the ones that cost more than he knew was necessary — it’s pathetic how hard you both are fighting to keep your lips together, heavy pants being the only thing you hear as your fingers find the buttons of riki’s top. you almost snap all of them off with how careless you undo them: you want to apologise, but riki’s smiling against your lips anyway, so you take it as a green light to be as reckless as you want.
almost like a movie — no, scratch that. it’s more like those sex dreams you’ve been having.
the ones you told sooha about, where she was oddly interested and claimed she had to try out with someone else. you smacked her in the shoulder after that. funnily enough, she did end up trying one out of the six positions you detailed greatly to her, and said nothing but “good stuff”.
still, right now, nothing’s funny. you feel heat pooling between your thighs, and riki’s fingers are too rough and needy for you to hold yourself back.
you don’t have time to register his furniture, or his paintings, or his strange plants. the lights aren’t even on. nishimura riki’s spent his early adulthood decorating his home to fit his lifestyle perfectly, and he’s a little hurt that you’re too horny to even appreciate it. he’ll have to give you a proper tour tomorrow morning, if you’re not too sore to deal with it.
“fuck,” he moans into your mouth, feeling your nails graze against his chest as you take off his shirt — he’s too sensitive when it comes to you. he can barely word anything right now with the way he refuses to leave your lips alone. “[name]—you’re sure?”
“so sure,” you pant, arms looping around his neck as his arms find your hips. soon, they tuck under your thighs and it’s almost like you’ve done this millions of times before: you rise to your toes, and he lifts you without much effort. you still squeal, feeling him smirk against your lips; in this moment, you remember just who he is, that ego still lingering behind his touch.
your salivas mix, tongues sopping wet as he settles you onto the cold kitchen island. nishimura riki’s head is spinning — you feel too damn perfect underneath him. he’s never had you like this, his rough hands grabbing and playing with the plush of your ass like it was always meant for him, your soft moans filling his ears like a new kind of music he’ll never stop replaying.
he’s addicted, and he hasn’t even had you fully, not yet. he wants to take his time.
he has to.
“riki,” you whimper, pulling away from the kiss. a string of saliva connects the two of you, breaking soon after, your heart skipping at the sight of him — messy hair, bare chest heaving, a thin veil of sweat coating his forehead and making streaks of hair stick. “please—”
everything is painfully quiet, aside from your heart thumping in your ears. you’re certain he can hear it, too.
his eyebrows knit, breathing trying to even itself out — your hands wander up his chest, not believing it’s the same one you and sooha drooled over a month back — it feels ridiculously firm, your nails tracing his skin, making the hair on his neck stand. it makes him shiver, every touch making his nerves fire up again and again.
you’re doing things to him. things he doesn’t have an explanation for. no textbook could encompass the low, simmering feeling in his abdomen, watching you like this.
riki’s impatient, crashing his lips against yours again — teeth clashing, moans mixing, and you arch your body into his chest once more. your arms loop around his neck as he pushes his body closer to yours, almost leaning over the counter, feeling your weight hold onto his body as he feels you closer.
“tell me you want me,” he groans in your ear, tongue pressing flat against the frantic pulse hidden underneath the skin of your neck. he licks one long, delicious stripe from the ball of your throat to the patch of skin underneath your earlobe, savouring the taste of your sweat, breathing in the raw smell of your fading perfume. “come on—don’t act all shy now.”
you whimper when he sucks, lips latching onto your neck, hard enough you’re sure it’ll leave memories of tonight. you’ll have to borrow sooha’s expensive concealer, you think, but for now — your eyes roll to the back of your skull, hips grinding against the tent in his pants, teasing him so painfully slow.
“mm..” you moan, “can’t you tell, professor?”
riki groans when you grind down harder, the title making his jaw go slack, your legs locking behind his back. he’s so achingly hard, he thinks he might cum in his pants like a pathetic teenager from your stupid antics.
professor. professor. professor.
he’s spent so long drilling that title out of you, and now, he’s hard just hearing it.
“stop fucking teasing, brat,” and he’s trailing down your neck, rough hands pulling the collar of your shirt down. his plush lips leave a trail of kisses along your collarbone, nose nudging the skin of your shoulder, and you feel him breathe you in. “it won’t get you what you want.”
his teeth graze against the round of your shoulder. “you’ll give me what i want, anyway.”
he tsks. you shudder when he bites down, just enough to leave a mark, but not to hurt. your thighs squeeze on instinct, pulling him closer, and you feel him exhale a short, knowing laugh — like he’s finally figured out exactly what gets you — and it makes your stomach twist.
“should we just fuck right here? huh?” riki whispers against your skin, his hands running along the side of your waist. “the way you’re acting—you deserve it. on the cold, hard floor, like the slut you are. sounds good?”
you bite down on your bottom lip, head tilting back as riki makes his way up again. his nose bumps against you, sending little shocks of electricity all the way down to your fingertips. your nose points to the ceiling, lips parted as you try to control every sound that riki’s earning from your pretty lips.
“should we drive back to my office? i’ll fuck you on the desk, on the sofa… against my shelves? i’ll let you pick.”
you feel him right where you need him. impossibly hard, aching, rubbing up against your panties through his slacks. he must’ve been somewhere important before meeting you. that expensive shirt’s tossed onto the floor, somewhere you can’t bother to remember. all of your mind is being taken up by the man in front of you, the one panting in your ear like a dog in heat, like he can’t wait any longer to bury himself inside of you until you’re fucked dumb — not the man of importance, of professionalism, the one that demands respect.
“answer me.”
scratch that. he’s still demanding respect.
you whimper in response — he chuckles, continuing to press gentle kisses to your jaw, up to your cheeks, then your lips. you meet them happily, too eager, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care for your ego when he’s got you chasing an impossible high.
“n-no, riki. want the bed, please—”
his left hand runs up your body, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “my baby wants to feel special?”
you nod frantically, eyes glossy as they stare into his — his pupils are blown. you swore if you looked a little closer, you’d see little hearts dancing around; the thought makes you dizzy.
you feel him twitch against you, just once. so impossibly thick and hefty, you drool at the vision of him stretching you out, holding your hand as you take him slowly, perfectly, sucking him in ‘till he has nothing left to give.
“mhm, please, riki,” you mutter, feeling your body heat in embarrassment. “don’t i deserve it?”
and then, he’s got your jaw in a firm grip, his own tense as he watches you squirm.
“address me properly.” riki tilts his head, smiling mockingly, memories of that class flooding your mind. it’s terrifying how fake it is — but the effect is the same. you’re leaning your cheek into his open palm, needing more, shameless in it all. “then i’ll think about it.”
you swallow, vision blurry from how impossibly needy you’re getting; it’s one of those times where you think you could die from how empty you are, you’d do just about anything to get some relief — grinding shamelessly, whimpering like a mutt against your professor’s pants, leaving a wet patch right where he’s thickest.
“please, professor.”
his lips don’t leave you, but your clothes do. he’s practically ripped your skirt off of you, your shirt is thrown somewhere below the stairs, and everything is a mess. your legs stay locked around his waist as he brings you up the stairs effortlessly, thighs tensing as he climbs each step, briefs stretching as his cock twitches harder by the second.
“tell me if you wanna stop,” he whispers into your ear, and all you do is nod. “i’ll stop.”
it’s a long walk to his bedroom, tucked away at the very end of the corridor — except you’re barely aware of it, because riki is carrying you. one arm is firm beneath your thighs, the other braced around your back, holding you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your weight doesn’t seem to faze him; if anything, his grip tightens with quiet intention as he moves.
modern abstract paintings blur past in your periphery, bold shapes and muted colors bleeding into one another as your focus narrows to the steady rhythm of his steps. a clock with no numbers hangs near the top of the stairs, its hands gliding forward soundlessly, time stripped of meaning. you don’t look at it for long. you’re too aware of the way his shoulder presses into your chest, the warmth of him bare against you.
his breath is heavy but controlled, brushing against your hair with each step. you curl instinctively closer, fingers clutching at his back, and he adjusts you without breaking stride — a subtle shift, careful, practiced, like he’s been doing this far longer than he has any right to.
by the time he reaches the door at the end of the corridor, the rest of the house feels impossibly far away. he pauses there, forehead dipping briefly toward yours, as if grounding himself before crossing whatever line comes next — before pushing the door open and carrying you inside.
he drops you onto the thick mattress, and a squeal escapes your throat. the sheets rustle under your weight. riki hovers above you, still for just a moment. you catch him admiring you: his eyes wandering, scanning your body, drinking it all in before his hands reach for the clasp of your bra.
“you’ll tell me if it’s too much,” he reminds you, and riki’s fingers are working to undress you fully, peeling your bra off you by the straps. “got it?”
you nod sheepishly, eyes darting to the ceiling, anything to avoid the hungry stare in his eyes. you’ve never seen such a look from him — it’s predatory, hungry, the kind of expression that would usually make your blood run cold, given professor nishimura’s already stoic personality — but all it does is make your thighs press closer together.
“what’d i say about using your words?”
you take one quick look at him, before your stomach flips itself inside out; he’s panting, chest heaving, hair disheveled from all the tugging you’ve done.
the warm light above casts shadows across his face, making his eyes seem deeper, darker, more insistent. his brows are drawn together, expectant, waiting for some kind of answer from you.
you’re not eager to see what happens if you don’t give him one.
“yes… yes, i got it,” you manage, words tumbling out too quickly, blending together like one frantic, made-up syllable.
somehow, you feel like you’ve fucked up on that, because his hands are off of you, and you’re whining like you’re going to die. soon enough, his knees are coming off of the mattress, and he’s sinking to the floor.
riki kisses his teeth, left eyebrow raised as he looks at you with a new found curiosity. he wonders where all the impatience came from — he swears you were willing to bend backwards if he asked you to, and now you’re acting like a spoiled brat that he has to set straight.
“careful,” his warm breath ghosts against your thigh, too close for you not to squirm. his palms are quick to press flat against the inner sides of them, prying you open, pinning you flat to the sheets with minimal strength. “be good and i’ll fuck you right. you can speak to your friends like that, but not me. watch the tone.”
“and if i don’t?” you sigh, already picturing it.
riki purrs lowly, sharp nose running against the inner side of your thigh, inching closer to where your clothed cunt practically calls his name. “then you’re gonna be empty all night. dripping for me, begging, and i won’t do anything about it.”
you bite down on your bottom lip so hard you can taste the metal in your mouth. you sit up slightly, resting on your elbows to get a better view of the blond between your legs — he’s breathing you in, nose flush against your soaked panties, and he swears he’s so hard that he could die right here and be satisfied his life has led to and concluded with this — you smell so good, so tempting, like sin wrapped in a pretty bow arriving at his doorstep.
you’re going to fucking kill him. cause of death: pussy too good for his cock to handle not being inside.
but still, he’s a gentleman, and despite your unsatisfactory tone and attitude, he’ll let you have this — he stands up again, fingers hooked on the band of your panties, sliding it off your thighs. the cold air hits your cunt uncomfortably, and your eyes gloss over the man shifting between your legs, dropping to his knees, never breaking the stare.
“need you to take all of me,” riki kisses up your inner thigh, while your legs hang off the bed. his biceps brush against your calf, arms looping around your lower thigh. “prettiest pussy ever. you’ll look so good around me, hm? bet you’re tight, too.”
you feel feverish. hair sticks to your forehead in clumps, nose flared and jaw slack as you try to even your lungs out.
“rikiiii…” you whine, “hurry. just fuck me already—“
“i’m doing this out of kindness,” and his voice drops even lower, like you were teetering on the edge of his patience. “don’t forget that. could very well fuck you right now, but i wouldn’t want you crying the whole time i split you in half.”
the words make something bubble deep inside of you, and you’re sure that even if he flipped you over and fucked you right now that you’d be just fine — arousal is pooling between your legs, almost dripping onto the sheets, enough to last you a lifetime of quickies with nishimura riki — something tells you that he’s doing this because of his own selfish hunger, despite the cocky words leaving his lips.
“who says you’ll make me cry?” you bite, and riki’s eyes flick up to yours momentarily. it’s crazy, laced with something wild, and it almost feels like you’ve caught him red-handed in a lie.
“you’re practically crying for me down here,” and he’s spat right on your clit, eyes narrowing on the way you’re glistening for him. you have no right to be demanding things from him, not when you’re spread open at his discretion. “can’t answer me during our sessions, and now you’re running your mouth? should’ve i guessed from the beginning that you were just a slut waiting for some dick?”
you clench around nothing, visibly flustered at the way he doesn’t even flinch at the remark. he watches your reaction, smirking, inching closer to heaven.
“can’t even wait a few minutes for something to fill you up. you’re filthy.”
he sticks his tongue out, pressing it flat against your folds, licking one slow stripe towards your clit. you shiver at the warmth — it makes your head spin, the feeling of his nose bumping into your clit, his lips plush lips sucking on your swollen bud.
“too bad you’re g’na have to wait. spread, wider.” his fingers tap at your thigh, and you find yourself doing exactly as he demands. “yeah, just like that—my smart girl. so obedient.”
you whine at the praise, hips wriggling in his grip as he eats you like a man possessed; tongue lapping away at everything your cunt has to offer, which now seemed like an endless stream of arousal — riki’s eyes narrow as he peeks up at you, and the chuckle rumbling through his chest vibrates through your body, and it’s almost reflex how your fingers fly to his locks to get a firm grip.
“fuck,” he hisses as your nails scratch his scalp. you grab by the roots, smiling lazily at him as he does nothing but let it happen. “greedy fuckin’ thing.”
your knees bend and lock behind his neck, the heel of your foot rubbing against his back, feeling every dip and rise of muscle — his tongue circles around your clit faster, the pressure now increasing by tenfold. he finds himself shoving his face into a space that doesn’t exist. riki simply can’t get enough as he rocks his hips against his dark oak bed frame (the one he spent too long picking out online), chasing a high he knows he won’t be satisfied with — pre stains his briefs as his cock stretches the spandex out, wet and sticky like homemade honey.
“y-yeah, riki—“ you moan, “oh my god, fuck,”
you don’t even realise that his face is pulled away until your orgasm barely slips from you.
“wrooong. again.” riki mumbles, lips glossy from your slick and his saliva mixed in something similar to alcohol — he was getting so pussy-drunk that he was starting to slur his words, more focused on how sweet, how perfect you taste on his tongue. he was beginning to strategise just how he’d be able to savour this every day for the rest of his life.
well… the only answer was to make you his, of course.
he lets saliva collect in the shallow well of his tongue, before spitting thickly onto your clit. his aim is comically good.
“my patience is running thin. address me properly.”
nishimura riki can’t possibly let anyone else enjoy this. he’ll fuck you so good, so right, that he’ll be the only man you think of for the rest of your life.
his middle and ring finger apply pressure to the throbbing cunt, and you practically scream with how sensitive you are. riki has that smug fucking look again,
“p-professor,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. the tip of his nose runs along your folds, up and down, and you’re practically riding his face now — he can only groan in response, your arousal dripping down his chin and running down his neck. “s-sorry, professor, i’m sorr—“
“i forgive you,” riki coos between sucks, “taught you sooo well. my most perfect girl. all fucking mine.”
it’s almost embarrassing how compliant you are when it comes to professor nishimura. he tells you to cum, and you do, coating his wet tongue with sweet fluid that makes his eyes roll back — he tells you to ride his face, squeeze his head between your thighs, cum again on his sharp nose this time — and you do. you bite back a moan when he tells you not to cum yet. you take his fingers in your mouth as he tells you to be quiet. you grind your hips even when they’re sore. you keep pushing because he tells you to.
the pained, pussy-drunk expression on his face is enough to make kt all worth it.
you think you have nothing left to give by the time you cum all over his mouth for the 3rd time, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks you up, lips bitten raw from making out with your pussy like it was his first meal in days.
“fuckfuckfuck—i’m gonna cum, riki—!” he lets the name slip, because he thinks you look beautiful when your lips are parted and screaming his birth name. how merciful, he thinks he earned a pat on the back for being so kind.
“then cum.”
how could you ever deny him?
“where’s the attitude gone?” riki grins, rough, large palms gripping at your hips as he comes off his knees. he towers over you again, a dark shadow cast over you from his large stature blocking the lamp’s golden bleed — he looks down at you, tongue running over his bottom lip, heart thumping hard in his ribcage. “fucked dumb already? haven’t even been inside.”
you feel heat crawl up your neck, face visibly flushing as riki fits himself snug between your thighs — your eyes can’t help but to travel down, eyeing the bulge in his slacks, so impossibly thick and long and everything you could ever possibly need for a lifetime of godly sex.
you’ve been with big guys. enough to say you know what’s big and what’s just average, but it was safe to say nishimura riki was big. thick, throbbing, twitching underneath the fabric as if it was trying to spell your name.
“you gotta do better than that, miss [name],” professor nishimura pouts, though his expression is nowhere near one of genuine sympathy. you see the red flush of his cheeks, that pussy-drunk face of his that you know you could definitely get used to, and the way his jaw slacks when he rubs his bulge against your bare pussy — strings of sticky arousal stretch like honey, and you whine at the raw friction of it all — his eyes constantly ping-pong between your face and the way your folds spread open to slot the tent between the slit.
“stop teasing, ki!” you blurt out, and his head tilts, as if lost in thought. he doesn’t look back up at you this time, his pupils instead locked on the mess you’re making down there.
you’re not going to fit him. he knows this, but he’ll make it work. brainstormer, he remembers his old mentors calling him, so he’ll find a way to have you stretched out ‘till his balls touch your ass, or he’ll just make you cum a few more times on his face, or fingers, anything it takes to let him have you fully.
“you’re so fucking wet,” riki smiles, “think you can take me?”
“yes, yesyesyes, please,” you babble, nodding frantically as riki stares on. it seems kind of unreal how desperately you need him — he wonders if he always had this effect on you, if you were always this pliant and good and absolutely breathtaking. if he’d known, he would’ve fucked you right then and there, in his office during that first study session. “want it—i want you, please, professor.”
you’re so fucking perfect, he feels like he’s dreaming.
he doesn’t waste any time unbuckling his belt, the metal clasp clinking loudly as his fingers work at the hook. he rolls his belt into his hand, and for a brief moment, riki wonders just how you’d react to a little leather spanking.
“oh?”
the corner of his lip tugs, and a familiar smirk only grows from there. the one that makes your skin crawl.
he didn’t need to think for long, after all.
he feels your pussy throb against him, your glassy eyes ogling the expensive belt looped around his left hand.
“like it, baby?”
you don’t even manage to respond.
“want me to use it on you?”
there’s a moment of hesitation from you — you’re not really sure why, because it’s just a fucking belt, but you’ve been rubbing up on him like a feral cat in heat. something about professor nishimura using his belt on you makes your mind go blank, as if every word you’ve learnt in your twenty something years of living has suddenly been rendered useless.
all you know is that you want it, so you nod, and pray that this is the meanest he can get.
“should i tie you up? spank you? tell me which you want, sweetheart,” and the corners of his lips are curving upwards, almost sinister in nature, as he unravels the belt so that it just hangs free from his grip. the slight change in tone when the word ‘spank’ slips makes your thighs twitch hard. “i’ll do it. anything to make my good girl happy, hm?”
you’re heaving, chest falling and rising at a rapid rate as you try to conjure the right words. who was going to tell you that it’d be damn near impossible to speak comprehensible english when your professor’s huge cock is twitching against you?
he waits for an answer, head tilted, eyebrows pulled together in this painfully expectant way — the kind of expression that drags you straight back to your case study presentations, where every slip-up had professor nishimura giving you that exact same look. same stupidly handsome face. same unfairly perfect eyebrows lifted like he was judging both your academic ability and your life choices at once.
“i-i—“ you mutter, “want.. i want—“
“clearly didn’t teach you well enough to use your words,” he scoffs, hands working to grab the other end of the belt. it forms a lop-sided circle, long enough to hurt, short enough not to make you bleed. “that’s fine—i’ll pick for you, mmkay?”
he isn’t asking for your permission.
in the next 10 seconds that follow, professor nishimura has you on your belly, ass bent over the edge of the bed. your thighs dangle off the mattress, twitching, as if you’ve just come down from your 5th orgasm (even though that was 10 minutes ago) — and all nishimura riki can do is stare at the perfect canvas laid beneath him, so blank, so ready for him to bruise.
you moan, loud, when his palm fondles your right ass cheek, pressing you further into the mattress.
“sorry, i’ll have to keep her waiting.”
his thumb spreads your empty cunt wide, watching how your glistening hole clenches around nothing, and it’s gross how fast his heart fills with pride. you’re so fucking easy it makes him want to take you right now, waste no time, fuck you all night until you’re both on the brink of exhaustion, but that little sick voice in his head tells him to test the waters with you — how far you’d go for him before your nails are drawing blood from his chest and begging him to slow down — because right now, you’re bending over backwards for him, and he finds it adorable.
“‘s okay,” you mumble, cheek pressed flush against the sheets. “hmph—please, just hurry.”
oh, so forgiving. with how kind you were being —he’d make sure to reward you tenfold.
smack. “ooookay, baby,” riki sing-songs, smiling down at your figure, your spine arched and your ass fully rounded out for him.
smack.
the sting follows immediately.
“fuck—!” you squeal, body writhing as the red outline of his belt blooms on your skin. riki’s jaw slacks watching the print form, a dreamy sigh leaving his lips — you’re still wriggling your ass for more, even as he sees the tear slip down your cheek.
“dirty girl,” riki tsks, working to bundle the belt around his palm again. “you get off to this? shameless.”
you don’t respond, anticipating the second smack that riki eventually ends up giving you.
“a-ah,“ your throat rasps, broken moan escaping, “professor—i’m sorry!”
“oh,” smack. “i always knew. just a slut, aren’t you? probably thought about me doing this looong before today. didn’t you? thought about your professor setting you straight in front of everyone?”
you nod desperately, too many times than necessary, and a deep chuckle sounds through the dim room. “that’s my girl. so honest. so good. so obedient.”
“fuuuck,” you moan at the praise. riki watches your thighs squeeze, tensing up as you drip down, down, down. “w-want you to fuck me, please, professor, i can’t wait anymore—“
smack, smack, smack. your hole squeezes around nothing with every harsh hit.
“barely been five minutes,” riki taunts, and when you turn your head to look back at him, you swear there’s hearts in his eyes. “but okay. since you’ve been so good for me, i’ll indulge.”
and just like that, the sting on your skin is replaced by the cool bite of expensive linen sheets — you’re back here again, caged underneath his chest, eyes locked on the way his blonde locks stick to smooth skin. sweat rolls down his chest, down to his abs, your heart racing at the divine sight above you: his chest heaves, gaze hungry and dark with everything you’ve been too afraid to confront, fingers firm on the flesh of your waist as he pulls you closer.
“tell me if it hurts,” riki adds, his hands pulling back from your figure to slide his slacks off his legs. “but i know my girl can take it all, can’t she?”
“yesyesyes, i can take it, i can take it—please.”
oh, he feels his heart swelling. riki sees how your eyes never leave the imprint in his briefs, widening when his thumbs hook into the waistband to pull them down — and when he finally frees himself?
he replays the way your breath hitches again, and again, and again, only snapping out of it when your eyes dart back up to meet his.
he’s stupidly long. thick, heavy, swollen red and leaking pre-cum; it leaves a sticky layer on his tip, shining under the light, veins running down the side of his shaft — for a moment, you’re upset that he didn’t make you suck him off before this, give you a chance to run your tongue along the blood vessels. you’d trace and memorise them, eyes looking up as he’d throw his head back.
“you’re so fucking perfect,” he mumbles, head dropping low, jaw slack from how your cunt is essentially calling for him to fuck you full. “wanna fuck you ‘till you can’t forget me.”
he lines his cock up with your dripping entrance, already tempted to just slam his hips into yours. with how sticky and wet it is from both your fluids, riki’s sure there’d be no problem fitting all of him — but he’s a gentleman, and he doesn’t want you screaming and waking the entire neighbourhood up.
you whine when his hand grabs the base of his dick and taps his tip against your clit, his hips grinding forward just to slide his cock between your folds once or twice. fucking tease.
“you’re so annoying,” you drawl, teeth biting down on your lip as you feel just how thick he was compared to you. you find yourself out of air just thinking of how you’d be able to accommodate the girth.
“you love me,” riki smiles. “jus’ let me make you feel good, hm?” he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, biceps caging your head, chests pressed against the others. your head rests against his shoulder, heavy sighs leaving your lips right next to his ear, and all it does is make him even hungrier.
“i do love you,” you whisper. nishimura riki feels something shift inside of him at the words, oddly enough, despite the fact that you two have seen each other fully by this point: no, it makes everything real, despite the constant reassurance that it always has been, but now he knows that he can’t let you go.
“i love you too, [name].”
so when he finally lets himself sink into you, tip pushing past the folds of your heaven-sent pussy, riki fights every sinister voice that begs him to just bottom out and fuck you silly until you remember that he, the man who never loved, loves you.
“fuuuck,” he groans into your ear. he feels you squeeze him tighter, almost pushing him back out at the sound. “you gotta relax, baby. breathe. too fucking tight, it’s gonna kill me.”
“t-too fucking big,” you squeal, legs wrapping around his waist. you try to follow his advice, taking slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down. “i can’t, riki, i can’t—“
“you can,” riki corrects you. “you’ll take all of me, won’t you? can’t fuck you right with only a quarter of me.”
well, fuck… quarter?
he pulls his face away from your neck, forehead pressed against yours in something sweet. your eyes lock onto his blown pupils, laced with love and addiction, and you genuinely feel so full that your throat clogs up.
your walls stretch as he sinks further in, now half-way over. his jaw hangs open, heavy breaths mingling between the tiny space between you, and when he feels your heel dig into his lower back for that final push — he breaks.
so warm. so snug. so wet and perfectly moulded to fit his cock. it was divine, to say the least.
“fuuuck,” riki moans, eyes screwing shut, as if he couldn’t believe how warm and heavenly this felt. when he opens them, he sees your pretty face, lips parted with half-lidded eyes staring up at his. “god, i love you—you’re perfect everywhere.”
his hot mouth meets yours in a sloppy kiss, spit and saliva exchanging, smearing all over both your lips and dripping down your chin. riki feels your tongue run over his, your soft moans that go straight his throat and the way your hand tangles in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as his balls kiss your ass.
“rikiii…” you drag sweetly, lips curling into a familiarly maddening smile. “fuck me ‘till i can’t think, please, want it so bad. i can’t wait anymore—“
he exhales a shaky breath before pulling out, just barely leaving any of himself inside of you. “still so fucking impatient.”
riki slams his hips into you, and the stretch almost knocks you out cold. you’re still adjusting to him as his hips pull back before sinking back inside. the sounds of your pussy and his cock plunging deep into you sounds borderline pornographic: wet squelches and skin slapping against each other, along with the moans that he rips from you.
“fuck, s-so perfect, just like how i imagined.”
riki leans back just to get a better view, and your hands immediately fall to his wrists. your nails dig into his forearm, and riki almost cums on the spot watching your tits bounce and your face morph into one of obscene, shameless pleasure.
plap, plap, plap.
his tip kisses your cervix with every needy thrust, and you’re trying your best to not scream riki’s name every single time his pelvis flushes against yours. you brace yourself, feeling him all the way in your lungs, knocking the wind out of you with every wet slap of skin.
“r-rikiii…” you moan, about to go cross-eyed, “so good, so fucking good—oh my god—“
“yeah?” he mumbles, thumb pressing against your clit to rub frantic circles, and it’s ridiculous how fast your eyes roll to the back of your head. “my good girl, taking me so well—want me to fill you up, too? would my baby like that?”
nishimura riki thought he was the one in control here, but when you scream ‘yes’ and ‘please’ at least ten times over, he finds his pace quickening and his hips slamming into yours with newfound motivation. you’re a mess: a thin veil of sweat coats your skin, and you’re crying riki’s name like a desperate prayer.
“ngh—d’you get tighter thinking about me cumming inside this pussy? so fucking dirty.”
he doesn’t care if his neighbour comes knocking on his door. he’ll fuck you on the balcony if it meant everyone knew that he was the only man who has you like this.
riki’s hand runs over the bulge in your lower belly, applying delicious pressure as your mind slowly unravels underneath him. you can’t speak anymore, a cacophony of moans and cries being the only thing filling the room, and the man above you can only chuckle as he witnesses your descent into madness.
your hands find their way to your face, covering the fucked-out expression on it. riki doesn’t take to well to it, opting to grab at your wrists, pinning them over your head. “don’t get shy on me,” he mutters.
“my good little slut,” riki spits, and the way your hands fit right into his palm makes him go crazy. you’re thrashing against him, thighs twitching hard as you feel that familiar pressure build inside of you. your mind is turning to mush as his cock relentlessly slams into you, and you swear he gets bigger with every second that passes. “o-oh fuuuck, i love you—love this pussy so much—you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”
you’ve been wanting this for so long. ever since that night your hands slid underneath the band of your sweats, touching yourself to his gym pictures on instagram, and now he’s finally here: fucking into you like you’re all he’s been wanting, too.
“i w-want a kiss, riki, please,” you manage to blurt out. riki’s quick to fulfill your request, plump lips meeting yours in another heated kiss. the closeness lets his hips rut into you, slow and nice as they angle to brush against that sweet spot deep inside of you.
“mmngh—haa, shit—i’ve wanted you for so long, [name],” riki mumbles between kisses, “thought about fucking this perfect pussy… in my office. in class, in front of everyone. make you feel sooo good, you’ll never look at anyone else.”
your heart skips at the confession.
“tell me you’re all mine,” he moans into your mouth, kissing your lips raw. “all mine to fuck,” thrust. “kiss,” thrust. “to have like this—fuck, please, [name]—“
“i’m a-all yours, riki,” you smile lazily, feeling the drag of his cock in and out of you. “y-yes, all yours—oh fuck!”
you’re so sensitive to the point that his touch burns. riki feels hot against you, the weight of his body and the thick stretch of his dick convincing you that this might be your last night alive.
“h-harder, riki,” you cry, “want you harder—“
you drive the man crazy. absolutely feral.
he’s half sure that he’s running on pure horniness, because his thighs hurt and his back stings from all the scratches you’ve left. the pain feels secondary to this, to having you milking him for everything he has, that he refuses to slow down.
you want it harder? he’ll give you harder, no questions asked.
“needy fucking thing,” riki teases, and the flush on your face is almost immediately intensified. your nose scrunches at him, a scowl worn before it’s quickly washed away from how deep you feel him; every hit makes you dizzier, his words going into your right ear and out the left, nothing on your mind but the impending orgasm that’s about to wash over you.
riki kisses the tears on your cheek, cock twitching at the taste of salt and the look of your visibly flushed face. the admission triggers something in him, because now, he’s pistoning his dick like this was the last time he’ll ever have you — he can feel your walls pulsing, squeezing him tight, and it’s turning him into a fucking animal.
“that’s right, baby—all mine, all fucking mine.”
that does it for both of you. his thrusts become sloppy, haphazard, nothing that resembles careful.
you make him so, so messy. a part of him that he’s never bothered to awaken, like a flip of a switch at your hands.
“i’m gonna fucking cum, riki,” broken sobs rip through your body, and he feels himself lose every last bit of sanity he’s kept tucked away.
riki buries himself deep inside, to the hilt, working his hips to close any remaining distance between you two. he chases his high as you thrash violently underneath him with nothing but a cry of his name, walls clamping down on his cock like you’d die if he so much as moved a centimetre out of you — you coat him in your juices, warm and hot, and the guttural groan that rips from his throat only pushes you further over the edge.
“o-oh shit,” riki rasps, feeling you gush around him. “oh fuuuck, yeah, cum all over this dick baby. just like that.”
you can’t stop cumming. his hips begin to falter, his stamina draining as you milk him for everything that he has, but riki refuses to stop; he’s so achingly close to filling up that perfect pussy of yours, ‘till you’re leaking for hours and have to ask him to plug you closed.
oh, he can’t stop thinking about it now.
“fuuuck—” you scream, and riki’s lips are crashing into yours as he continues fucking into @ you, fast and hard. the sounds of his cock fucking you through your orgasm remind you of rain puddles: those wet and cold mondays on the way to his class, unsuspecting, innocent, still believing that he would never would see you this way.
“thaaat’s it, pretty girl,” riki’s praise lands right between your thighs. your ankles lock behind his back, the squelch of your cunt and his cock plunging deep inside making riki’s head spin. he could replay the sound for days. “s’cute when you’re gushing all over me, baby. so fucking hot.”
you whine, feeling shy at his words, hands coming close to hide your face from his dark gaze. “told you not to hide,” riki mutters, peeking at you through your fingers. “w-wanna see your adorable face when i cum inside—please?”
his voice gets all whiney, eyes softening, and you know he’s close when you feel his pace quickening, although sloppy and with a new rhythm, and his breath gets shaky as his jaw hangs open.
your hands move to grip at his forearms, as if to brace yourself from how hard he was fucking into you — like he wanted a family of six, excluding you both — the bed creaks with every wet slap of skin, his balls clapping against your ass, and you watch how his jaw tenses as he inches closer to his orgasm.
“mmngh—riki, too much—“ your head tilts back, spine arching off the mattress as you feel that sickening coil in your stomach start to tighten again — the way he notices this scares you. his thumb flies to your clit, pressing and circling, doing just about everything to make you cum all over him again.
“s-shit, gonna cum,” riki rasps, head dropping low to let his eyes admire the beautiful sight: you, dripping, and him, glistening.
his fingers interlace with yours, tight, as if you’d disappear if he let you go. riki’s unravelling, every muscle in his body tensing as you clench around him again — soft, sticky gummy walls welcoming him back in, and riki knows he has no choice but to give them what they deserve: his load, his cum, him.
don’t get him wrong. you’ve cum on his face, in his mouth and on his tongue. but this is different. this time, he’ll be able to give you a piece of him, too, after a long night of being on the receiving end — and it somehow makes everything seem ten times better.
“c-cum inside of me,” your head tilts into the sheets, eyes rolling back and splotches of white.
“can’t ever s-say no to you, mm?” he tsks, eyebrows knitting, knowing what’s to come. “you’re fucking killing me.”
professor nishimura has lost his sanity, officially, when you cum for the second time. your clit throbs against his shaft as he drives himself in and out, slower, because this is just fucking perfect — too perfect for him not to do anything about it — he cums, hard, for the first time in what seems like centuries (it’s only been 1.5 hours since you got out of his car, but he swears otherwise).
“o-oh fuck,” nishimura riki moans right into your ear, and it sounds like a snippet from a porno from how loud and absolutely lewd it is.
his cock pulses, throbbing hard inside of your weeping cunt. hot spurts of him make you squeal, and you thrash underneath him as you both come down together.
he collapses on top of you, still buried inside — because he’s genuinely convinced you’ll start leaking like a broken faucet if he doesn’t plug you up — a heavy, contented sigh leaves his lips, before he presses a gentle kiss to your bare shoulder.
you’re panting, he is too. riki’s fingers lace with yours again, and you hiss when you feel him still twitching inside of you. you feel hot inside and out, the warmth from his body making you feel ten times more tired. for a moment, you just lay, two naked bodies intertwined as you try to even your breaths and sync your heartbeats — his chest is flush against yours, and it almost feels as if you were one.
“are you alright?”
riki’s voice is quiet, gentle. familiarly sweet and caring, still sounding as mature as the first day you met in that bright lecture hall.
“mmm,” you hum. “just tired. and sore.”
the blonde pulls away from the skin of your neck, instead resting his forehead on top of yours. his eyes look impossibly beautiful, laced with love and everything that he’s been too scared to name, but you know this: he wants this, and he wants you.
“was i too rough?”
“you were perfect,” you tell him, and the smile that slowly tugs at his lips is worth every second of the chaos that led you here. “professor.”
he leans in, kissing you with a kind of lazy tenderness — slow, sweet, almost careful, like he’s afraid to break the moment. “saturday,” he murmurs against your mouth. “it’s riki to you.”
“riiight,” you breathe out in a giggle, your lips brushing his skin. your hands, suddenly useless and soft, come up to cradle his jaw. you pull him closer, and your mouths meet again, fitting together in a way that feels dangerously close to perfection — as if neither of you ever stood a chance against this fate. “riki.”
“miss [name],” he mumbles against your mouth, almost dazed. “my girl.”
“[name] after classes,” you correct softly, fingers still curled at his jaw, the words slipping out warmer than you intend. “no need for the formalities.”
“agreed fully,” riki chuckles, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your lips. “fuck, i’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
you can feel his smile against your skin before his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time — less careful, more certain, like he’s finally letting himself want you out loud.
the kiss ends only when you’re both out of air, foreheads pressed together, sharing the quiet that settles between you. his thumb sweeps once across your cheek, almost reverent.
“so,” he murmurs, voice low, “after classes… i get to keep you a little longer?”
you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you nod, and his answering grin is all boyish triumph and barely contained affection.
“good,” he whispers, kissing you once more, softer than the last. “i’m not ready to let you go yet.”
“you won’t have to.”
oh, yes. professor nishimura will have to hand in his letter of resignation tomorrow.
─────────────────────────
“DRINKS TONIGHT?”
sooha slings an arm around your neck, hanging off you like a very cheerful, very heavy scarf. you stumble forward a step trying to keep both of you upright, while jiwon watches from your right with that warm, amused smile she gets whenever sooha becomes your problem.
“i can’t,” you mumble, staring hard at the floor like it might save you. “i have plans.”
“finals are literally over,” sooha groans, squeezing your shoulders. “what do you mean you have plans?”
jiwon raises an eyebrow, interest sparking. “yeah. plans with who?”
you press your lips together, pursing into a thin line as your brain scrambles to invent some brilliant excuse — any excuse — to feed them this time. because, unfortunately, exams were over, and you could no longer dodge their house parties and drink invites with the trusty “i have to meet professor nishimura” line, for obvious reasons:
one: professor nishimura has left for better job prospects, in a university much less privileged and competitive than yours, and
two: he is no longer professor nishimura to you, much less on weekends.
your pulse jumps at the thought of admitting this to them, heat crawling up your neck. they’ve known of his resignation ever since he bid goodbye a month back, but it’s been surprisingly easy keeping your relationship under wraps.
sooha narrows her eyes, leaning closer. “why do you look like you’re hiding state secrets?”
“i’m not!” you hiss, which — if anything — makes you look way more suspicious.
and the conversation spirals exactly the way you feared: rapid-fire accusations, ridiculous theories, the two of them gleefully feeding off each other as you try to keep walking in a straight line.
“she’s pregnant,” sooha whispers to jiwon, directly across you. you almost want to drag them both by the ears and throw them into incoming traffic at the laugh that makes the entire hallway look in your direction.
you’re about to tell them to stop when you see him — leaning against his car, arms crossed, head tilted, wearing that unfairly composed expression that’s become dangerously familiar.
professor nishimura. riki, on weekends, or rather every single day now that he’s no longer working in this cursed institution.
his eyes lift when he spots you, and he pushes off the car with a small, easy wave.
“you ready?” he calls out, like your friends aren’t right there losing their minds. his keys jingle as he reaches for the passenger handle, completely unfazed.
you freeze, but somehow you still manage to look left and right, taking in the absolute horror plastered across both their faces. you mouth a tiny “sorry,” grip your bag like a lifeline, and dart across the road with so little caution that riki actually winces and shakes his head at you.
“so no drinks tonight?” sooha yells after you, loud enough that half the parking lot turns to stare. jiwon doesn’t move an inch — wide-eyed, stunned, still trying to connect every dot she didn’t even know existed. for a second, you almost forget she had no idea, all this time.
“tomorrow!” you shout back, breathless, already reaching for the open passenger door. riki smiles as you duck your head, hopping into the seat that’s already moulded with your figure.
the door shuts, and you watch riki cross over to his side of the vehicle.
when you turn to look out the window, sooha screams something unintelligible and jiwon finally exhales, before they both turn to each other and start laughing hysterically.
“how was it?” he asks once you’re both settled in the car, hands casually resting on the wheel, glancing at you without turning his head.
“how was what?” you reply, feigning innocence, tightening your grip on your bag like it’s a shield.
“the finals i prepped you for,” he says, voice light but teasing, like he’s expecting you to cave.
you snort, rolling your eyes. “you left a month ago,” leaning back in your seat, pretending nonchalance.
“and?” he challenges, eyebrows raised, daring you to give him credit.
“meaning it was practically all me,” you counter, smirking, because honestly, a little credit never hurts.
riki shoots you a look, one brow arching in that infuriatingly perfect way. “don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warns, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement.
“i’m serious,” you say, leaning slightly toward him, voice low, “zero guidance. pure, raw talent.”
“right,” he mutters, finally glancing at you, mock-skeptical. “that’s why you called me five times last night. asking me questions i’ve already touched on months before today.”
“four,” you correct immediately, raising a finger like you’re marking a point in a debate.
“five,” he insists, smug, turning the wheel with one hand, eyes flicking to you again. “you facetimed me to show me your new cereal.”
you groan, slumping back. “okay, maybe four and a half.”
riki hums, satisfied, hands gripping the wheel. he puts the car in gear, the engine purring beneath you both, and glances sideways just long enough to catch your eye. there’s a warmth in the look he gives you that makes your stomach flip, the same teasing edge still lingering, but softened now, like he’s letting you in on something only the two of you share.
“i’ll let you have that,” he murmurs, fingers drumming lightly on the wheel, “only cause you worked hard for today.”
you bite back a smile, shaking your head, but the tension in your shoulders eases just a little as the car rolls forward. “not because i’m your girlfriend and i’m always right?”
he snorts, laughing when you reach to pinch his thigh. it barely hurts, but he winces anyway.
nishimura riki shakes his head, still chuckling, and glances at you through the corner of his eye. “nah, that’s a bonus,” he says softly, voice low enough that it almost gets lost in the hum of the engine.
you let out a small laugh, leaning back in your seat, and for a second the world outside the car blurs into nothing — just the two of you, the soft rhythm of the road beneath, and the warmth lingering where your hands brushed.
riki reaches over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, and it’s gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he moves too fast. “don’t get used to it,” he murmurs, and you just shake your head, pretending like you don’t know how stupid you look smiling at him.
the sun bleeds through the windshield and into your hair, painting your skin bright and glowing, and riki feels his heart slow at the sight — so you, so beautiful, that he thinks he’s waited his whole life for this.
nishimura riki presses a soft kiss to your lips, warm and close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his pulse.
“i’m so proud of you,” he whispers.
“i know.” you respond.
he pulls away, head turning towards the front; the car rolls forward, smooth as it takes you closer to his place. you know exactly how this’ll end — curled up beneath his sheets, chest to chest, the steady rhythm of him keeping you anchored. riki had always joked about letting you sleep for a full day straight, even if he knew it was extremely unhealthy, a reward for surviving finals.
you think back to the last time it happened. it had been over a short call — him at his new office, grading papers with a quiet intensity, and you, slumped over a random table in the school library, eye bags sinking into your face with lips so chapped that you think you could grate cheese with them. the memory brings a small, fond smile to your face, but riki doesn’t catch it with how focused he is on the drive.
but after a few silent minutes, he speaks. “i’m off tomorrow. took a sick day.”
you gasp. “oh my. who even are you?”
riki glances at you, quickly, before his smirk softens into something warmer. “just thought it’d be nice to take care of you.”
that sounded utterly useless and unproductive, to be quite honest — and yet, somehow, completely necessary. you were an adult, perfectly capable of handling yourself. this wasn’t like him at all. a year ago, riki would be twitching at the edges of his schedule, itching to tick off every item on his never-ending to-do list.
but now… now his to-do list was almost frighteningly simple. it began and ended with you. everything else could wait, fade, or fall apart, and he wouldn’t care. the thought made your chest tighten in a way that was equal parts tender and dizzying.
oh, this is bad.
it happens just like this: nishimura riki, the guy with endless awards and certificates and letters of recommendations, wakes up an hour later than his usual alarm, your head still resting against his bare chest beneath the thick sheets. panic flashes across his face as he scrambles to hit ‘stop’ on the alarm, clearly afraid you’d grumble and jab his chest in protest.
and then he’s two hours late to breakfast because you’re still drooling all over him. next thing you know, he’s splitting leg day into mornings and nights just so he can stop by your apartment after work.
and why don’t his bank statements match up?
also, why the hell is he letting you use his toothbrush?
YOU SHOULD DO NI-KI TATTOO ARTIST AGAIN PLEASE PLEASE
pairing: tattoo artist! nishimura riki x fem! reader
warnings: unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of pregnancy (especially towards the end), breeding, foot fetish, toe sucking, slight cervix fucking, slut shaming
💭 I got you bb !!! saw the recent riki pics (above) and RUSHED to finish this ASAP, he looks so hot😩😩
after the first time, you just couldn't stay away. you were hooked, and so was riki.
it started with just a couple quick fucks in his studio, then he was dragging you out to his car on lunch breaks, then he was bringing you back to his apartment after work. what began as a brief fling with your tattoo artist quickly grew into more, until you couldn't tell where the lines of your relationship began, or when they had started to blur. hell, he didn't even charge you for tattoos or piercings anymore, not when your mouth felt so heavenly wrapped around his cock, not when he died and came back to life inside you, again and again.
it started seeping into every aspect of your conversations. one day you let him carve a tattoo into the skin just above your ass, hands meticulously working on the intricate tramp stamp before he's leaning over to murmur low in your ear: “gonna let me bend you over tonight so I can see my work while I ruin this pussy?”
and, like the fool you are, you did. as soon as you got in the door, he'd bent you over his dark leather couch, long, broad fingers pressing down into your back to keep you pinned down, all while he delivered delicious backshots.
he chucked behind you, something low and cocky while he pounded into you. each thrust only wedged his cock deeper into you, his hungry, twitching tip battering against your cervix, claiming your cunt as his.
“takin’ it so well,” he grunted against your skin, lean body bent over until his chest pressed against your back, surrounding you, owning you. he mouthed at the nape of your neck, filthy and slow, his tongue dragging a stripe up to your ear before nipping at the skin. “y'know you're mine right? you're not goin’ anywhere.”
you moaned, grinding back onto his cock in a way that made him smile proudly, delivering a slap to the supple flesh of your ass. “mhm. yours, ‘ki.”
“that's my fuckin’ girl,” he grunted, pumping his length harder into you, determined to carve a permanent spot inside your cunt, just like he had done to your skin─making sure you'd never be able to get rid of him.
he hit a particular spot inside you that made your thighs shake, a loud whimper tearing from your throat as your gummy walls clamp down around him, sucking him in like a vacuum. he groans lowly, eyes rolling back, fingers digging into the skin of your ass to pull you back onto his cock roughly. “fucckkk, just like that.”
it only takes a few more thrusts into your tight cunt before he's pulling out. he wraps his fingers around his length and tugs hard, dragging the skin over his tip again and again, until he cums with a load groan, ropes of hot, white cum shooting out onto your fresh tattoo.
he pants, slowly stroking himself through his orgasm as you melt into the couch beneath you. you don't get long to relax though, because he delivers another rough slap to your ass.
“go wait on the bed,” he commands. you're quick to jump up, rushing into his bedroom. he runs his hands over his sweaty face, into his freshly dyed black hair, and as he watches you disappear─cute ass on display and fresh ink carved into you─he decides one thing's for sure:
he's gonna ruin you for anyone else.
that's how you find yourself still hostage in his bed, face down as he pounds into you round after round. his hand grips the back of your head, pushing your nose down into the sheets. you can barely breathe, but that's all secondary─nothing more than a background thought as his cock drills into you over and over.
“fuckin’ addicted to this pussy,” he grunts, hips slapping against your skin loud in a way that rings throughout the entire room, your face flushing at the lewd sounds of your cunt squelching with each thrust.
you can hardly think, your brain fuzzy, melting into nothing more than a pile of mush, a toy for him to use. you arch your ass up subtly─barely any movement at all─but it's enough for him to notice it, enough for him to release your head in favor of pulling your hips closer.
“god, even after going for hours, you're still so desperate for dick, huh?” he mocks, shifting weight onto his feet and angling his hips so he can fuck down into you harshly, making you cry so deliciously for him. “what's it gonna take for you to be satisfied, huh? need me to knock you up?”
that thought has you clenching, hard. the thought of his seed filling your tummy, of his cock breeding you, makes you gasp, pushing back against him hard.
he lets out a sound unlike any before─deep and dark, direct from the back of his throat. a growl. he pulls out and flips you over, grabbing the nearest pillow and stuffing it under your hips. he manhandles you like you weigh nothing, gripping your leg with bruising force and tossing it over your shoulder before he's suddenly thrusting back in.
the angle is deep, all his weight placed on his feet as he fucks down into you, the bulbous head of his cock just barely pushing into your cervix with each thrust. you cry out, nails carving into his back as he pounds into you with punishing thrusts. “r-riki!! fuck, c-can’t-”
he turns his head, lips mouthing against your ankle as he chuckles against the skin. “yeah, you can.”
he licks a slow, filthy path up the heel of your foot, a low growl tumbling past his lips before he's sucking your toes into his mouth, making you gasp. the view is so filthy, so disgusting, but you can't help the way it makes your cunt quiver around him.
and he certainly doesn't let it do unnoticed, either. he smirks around the skin, looking right into your eyes as he pulls off, only to slide his tongue into the crevice between your two toes, making you whine.
“sexy body, sexy feet…” he murmurs as he pulls off, pressing a soft kiss to the ball of your foot. “gonna let me rub these when I get you nice ‘n pregnant f'me?”
you whimper, your wet hole fluttering around his thick length at the mention of being full with his baby, your body weak and desperate for his seed. you nod shakily, making him smirk against your skin.
“what will I tell our kid when they ask how we met, huh?” he smiles cockily, hips slapping harder against yours, “that you were just a slut, desperate for some dick?”
you whine, your cunt soaking, your wetness leaking down his balls and dripping down onto the sheets. “riki, please─fuck─stop talking, just─just give it to me.”
he smirks, his hand holding your leg in place, keeping it perched on his shoulder. “need me to shut up ‘n put a baby in you, huh?” he murmurs, cock twitching inside you. “fuck, princess, I'm almost there, don't you worry.”
his promise, spoken in that low, raspy voice of his, is enough to send you over the edge, legs shaking in his grip as you clamp down onto him, soaking his cock.
with a deep groan, he starts fucking you like a man possessed, eyes rolling back and hips twitching erratically before he goes completely still, burying himself deep as he pours out his load into your womb.
he buries his face in your neck, giving you soft, slow thrusts as he works through his orgasm, moaning quietly when he feels your fingers comb through his hair.
after a few moments, he lifts up, placing a warm kiss to your lips as he looks down at you in awe.
“fuckin’ incredible.”
bonus content:
when you do get knocked up with his baby, you watch him grow into something softer, nurturing. he does your next tattoo at home, keeping you perched on his lap while he carefully inks a new design onto your collarbones.
“does it hurt, baby?” he murmurs, looking up at you with a quiet tenderness. you smile down at him, running your fingers through the strands of his hair. “a little. it's okay, ‘ki.”
he smiles, going back to work. it's quiet, until you hear him barely murmur: “you're gonna be a beautiful mama.”
the words hit you like a truck, your chest growing tight. you look down at him, fighting off the urge to cry─that is, until the next words fall out of his mouth.
The sexual tension between user filmsbyun and the 'one-bed' trope is a phenomenon that clearly deserves serious study. Because of my borderline obsession with this delightfully silly trope, I’ve put together a series of five charming one-bed scenarios, each featuring a TXT member. Buckle up, pretties, because this winter is about to get very, very heated... probably. Sorry I'm not used to commentaries chat </3
RELEASE DATE: THROUGHOUT DECEMBER
Midnight Spirit || Choi Soobin
⤷ You visit a remote mountain village for a once-in-a-decade lantern festival, a week-long celebration of “paired spirits” where visitors are matched with local guides. Yours is a reserved man, content to walk beside you through the nights without intruding. As the final midnight approaches, tradition requires each pair to share a resting space until dawn to keep wandering spirits at bay. He assures you he won’t cross a line unless you choose otherwise.
Borrowed Walls || Choi Yeonjun
⤷ Your apartment’s being renovated, leaving you without a place to stay for the night. Your childhood friend says you can crash at his place and the catch is he shares it with a flatmate. You weren’t planning on saying yes but it’s the safest and the most reasonable option you have.
Snowbound Affairs || Choi Beomgyu
⤷ A blizzard strands your train in the middle of nowhere, and the only inn with a room left has one bed. You don’t hesitate to book it with the charming stranger who’s been keeping you company.
Corporate Misalignment || Kang Taehyun
⤷ You’ve spent months convinced your impossibly handsome coworker hates you by the way he talks to everyone but you. A “mix-up” by your friends forces you to share a room on a work trip to “fix the tension”. That’s when you find out he’s not cold; he’s hopelessly in love with you and has no idea how to act around you.
Late Session || Huening Kai
⤷ You meet him at an evening writing class where you’re both regular attendees, and what begins as polite formalities dissolves into a friendship so natural that by week four, your classmates assume you’re flirting; you’re not, but also you are. When a transit strike leaves you stranded after the late class across the city, he offers his apartment for the night.
The taglist for this series is OPEN until December. By requesting to be tagged, it’s assumed you’re willing to actively engage with my work - but if not, that’s completely fine; interaction is always appreciated! Please make sure your settings allow your blog to be tagged.
"she loves when my chain smacks her face when we fuck"
sunghoon x reader
summary: your sister had to leave the lake house trip early. good thing she trusted her boyfriend to take care of you.
contains: cheating, smut, oral sex (fem! receiving), freaky sunghoon, multi orgasms, squirting, creampie, handjob, masterbation, slight voyeurism.
extra notes: the way his chain has crap to do with this 😭. i just really love these pictures and the song with these lyrics was stuck in my head.
your sister had to leave urgently. something about her work. she left early in the morning while you were still sleeping. leaving sunghoon in charge.
he had already made the both of you breakfast and now you were getting ready for a swim in the lake.
y'all's history isn't the brightest so the fact your sister even left you with him was torture enough.
once he was at y'all's house for family night and everyone was watching a movie. he wouldn't keep his eyes off you, and his hand kept creeping to your thigh under the blanket. no matter how many times you moved it.
not to mention. your parents and your sister— his girlfriend. was there.
now to say he was attractive was an understatement. his jawline was without a doubt sculpted by God himself, his hair was soft, and luscious looking. his body was definitely earned by hours in the gym.
if you could be him for a day you'd walk around shirtless. in fewer words, he's a work of art
lusting after your sister's boyfriend wasn't on your to-do list. it just happened. you hated yourself for it, even felt guilty.
at some point you tried to force yourself to believe she takes him for granted—his looks, his kindness, and even his intelligence. to make yourself feel better.
that didn't make up for it, he was still hers. what you couldn't wrap your head around was why he wanted you so badly if he had a girlfriend.
was it to spite your sister, or to just mess with you?
it didn't matter, you were going to avoid him to the best of your ability. by swimming.
you walk downstairs, your towel wrapped around your body. aiming for one of the side doors that led to the dock.
sunghoon was still busy cleaning the mess from breakfast. allowing you to slip out the door without any questions.
the warm sun had hit you instantly, chilling your body. you were already getting hot just by standing there.
you take the towel off from around you, revealing your skimpy black bikini. you sit down on the planked wood to dip your feet in the water, testing how it felt.
it was refreshingly cold, allowing your whole body to sink into the water. you dunk your head underwater and come back up for air.
normally you'd play a game in the water, but you were by yourself and no game with sunghoon would ever be "normal"
so you would swim far out, hands scooping through the water, then come back when the house started looking smaller.
you did that a few times until your muscles tired out then you got back on the dock.
laying on the towel you had out from earlier.
as you bask in the sun, the water that clung to you helps you tan. that was before you feel a shadow loom over you, blocking the sun.
you prop yourself up on your elbows, your knees bending, and feet planted onto the wood beneath you. "move sunghoon."
"why? i wanna keep you company" he protested, sinking down to his knees, his palms pressed flat on the ground where your arms were propped up.
he was practically in between your legs, everything happened so fast, the words that were supposed to object to what he was doing died in your throat.
sunghoon's face is so close to yours you could feel his breath fanning against your cheek.
"when did you get this?" he questioned, his eyes scanning your barely covered body. "i got- uhh i already had this" you turn your head to the side so you weren't so close to his face but that only gave him access to your neck. he planted kisses along your jaw and down your neck.
you took your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress any sounds that even thought to slip out.
"you have a girlfriend" you scoot back some "and she's my sister" you reminded
he shrugged "never stopped me before" one of his hands cups your cheek, the kiss lands soft.
for a second you still. breaking away. this was wrong on so many levels.
his eyes pleaded, dark and shimmering with want. your hesitation burned away with the intensity.
now fully sitting up and wrapping your arms around his neck. the kiss—messy and desperate.
he laid you down, not for a second tearing away from your lips. he held his weight on one arm while the other snuck down to trace the outline of your bikini bottoms, your pulse jumped under his touch.
"you know—" he breaks away, his lips brushing against your neck sucking, and biting. "i think about you more than i should" he admitted.
his fingers move aside your bottoms, running up and down your core, finding your clit. once he did you bring your hand down to stop him. "please.. it's fucked up" you breathed. "it's mean. and she's my sister and we have to stop."
sunghoon shook his head, with a scoff " then let's be fucked up yeah?" your hand didn't have much affect. he circles your clit, messy, and uncoordinated
"everytime i fuck your sister i think of you. i think about how it would feel to be inside you instead." he explained, while trailing his fingers to a new spot. finding your entrance and pushing them in.
your breath caught in your throat. his eyes haven't left yours, not missing a single expression that your face makes. "gonna let me find out?" but you shrugged, all of a sudden becoming nonverbal.
"I'm not forcing you to do this." he moved his hand away from you. "you haven't told me to stop yet, since I've been out here." his tone was stern. reminding.
a reminder that you did— no, do want this.
something you've been waiting for. you wanted him to see you, not as his girlfriend's younger sister. but as you
he broke through your walls. like no one else could. what did you possibly have to lose now?
you pull him in by his shirt, the pressure of your lips on his—unyielding. you couldn't tear away his breath was like your oxygen.
his hand found its way back to your achingly, wet slit. "you're soaked-" he chuckled, the vibration being felt in your mouth.
his fingers had slipped between your legs again— bare, warm, and aching. he almost moaned.
from your glistening cunt practically swallowing his fingers. first one, now two.
he curls upwards til' he finds the spot that makes your breath hitch. your eyes screwed shut, the sensation overwhelming but not quite there yet.
"I can't wait to be inside this tight pussy" he groaned. thrusting his fingers deeper inside you. you moan his name, half regretting once he asked you to repeat it.
"say my name again" he demanded. but you couldn't respond, hips bucking to relieve more tension. "say it." he whispers in your ear. his fingers began curling with more purpose.
"sunghoon!" his name came out as a strangled yelp. "and don't forget it."
his focus unwavering as your body tensed and twitched beneath him. "mhm" you nod.
you tangle your hands in his hair, placing kisses to his face, but your jaw went slack "im close.." you whimpered.
you couldn't distract yourself much longer your only thoughts was how you could feel his thumb rubbing tender circles on your clit. and his fingers hit places that not even you can reach when touching yourself.
his fingers kept a relentless motion, you could feel his eyes watching you, memorizing every action. every sound.
"fuck, hoon-.." your words cut off as your body arched, the wave crashing over you. sunghoon didn't stop, his movements steady and sure, guiding you through it.
"there we go baby" he cooed under his breath. you came down panting and trembling. he placed a kiss on your forehead. fixing your bottoms, putting it in its respectable place.
"get cleaned up, i wanna make us dinner" is all he said before getting up and leaving like nothing happened.
you couldn't avoid him, not after that. you needed more, his touch was addicting, hypnotic almost and you were willing to be in that trance.
~~~~
you just got out of the shower, body clad in shorts and an oversized shirt.
you came in the kitchen to see what needed to be done. sunghoon caught your standing figure at the doorway.
there was nothing subtle about the way he looked at you, his gaze roamed, hungry but wordless.
he cleared his throat "come stir this" leaving the spoon in the pot filled with red sauce.
you take his place mixing everything around.
he goes into the pantry getting a pack of pasta noodles, tossing it aside onto the counter.
his hands find your waist, pressing your body against his firm one. "you look so good" he whispered into your neck. "i could take you right here"
the thought alone excited you, you had no room to feel guilty, your own satisfaction is what clouded your mind.
"then do it" you said confidently, looking over your shoulder to him already smiling. that's one thing you didn't have to say twice.
he reaches over you, cutting off the stove. he turns you around, and lifts you onto the counter. "i can't wait to be in you already" he groaned. roaming his hands all over your body not knowing where to start first. his mouth on yours in seconds.
the kiss was quick and feverish, all teeth and tounge. he pressed you impossibly closer to him. warm and erratic.
his hands skim over your thighs, separating them slightly. stepping between your legs, mouth grazing your jaw.
he palmed himself through his pants, "you're not ready for this"he grumbled, pulling down your pajama short. toying with the arousal that glazed your puffy folds, slimy and wet.
not breaking eye contact, he sucked it off his fingers. you whimpered.
without another word sunghoon pulls down his pants, and frees himself from his boxers. your brows raise at the sight. he was thick, his tip already leaking with precum.
he stroked himself, eyebrows knitting together. sunghoon pulls you at the edge of the counter lining himself with you.
pushing in. slow, stretching deep. your pussy clenched around him, trying to adjust—like he belonged there. (he did)
"fuck- hoon" you moan into his shoulder, using a nickname that you had recently adopted.
"you're so tight" he whispered, gripping onto your hips for leverage. "so much tighter than your sister"
"don't bring her up while inside me" you smack his shoulder. he huffed a chuckle "yes ma'am" his smile slowly fading.
both your hands dig into his shirt uselessly, he's nestled so deep inside you, you were all out of words letting a pathetic guttural noise exit your throat.
the length and thickness sinks through you, the drag of every thrust, spills a trembling sound from your lips. "you feel so good. it's too much" you cried.
"i know baby" he cooed "you can take it though" his pace quickens, you wrap your legs around his waist. he fucked you deep, not hard, but the angle he was at had your toes curling. sunghoon was too lost in his own pleasure without warning you were being filled by his warm semen.
"sorry" he whimpered. resting his head on your shoulder.
then he was moving again, semi-hard. "you don't have to" you try and protest against him overstimulating himself but he insisted.
rutting his hips into you, his frantic rhythm that was once steady, bringing you closer to the brink of your orgasm.
you couldn't even filter proper thoughts. in result you could only moan his name, and muttered curses.
you've never felt so full and stimulated in your life— something that was new for you.
before you could warn him you were cumming. you cried out, your fist tightening hopelessly at his shirt. your brain fogged, the warmth of pleasure hitting you in waves.
"making a mess pretty girl" referring to the creamy white liquid that was seeping out of where yall met, onto the counter.
there was also a white ring on the base of his cock.
you were too drained to care or to even be embarrassed— not in a bad way but more so in a sleepy way.
he pulled out, adjusting his pants back on himself. he goes over to the sink real quick to get the sink rag, and you could've slapped him right then and there.
"sunghoon. touch me with that thing and I'll kill you." you threatened him, your face remaining still. one wipe and you could have an immediate infection. is he stupid?
but with that threat he turned around, rag still in hand. he stared blankly for a second, before his features twisted, distress flickering in his eyes.
"but— this." he let out a defeated sigh. leaving the kitchen for a few minutes then coming back with a small damp towel, that was clearly ran under cold water. he was being petty.
the first initial contact made you hiss from the cold, but you just let him finish cleaning you up.
after he just tossed the towel in the sink and went back to cooking again.
once again like nothing happened. you didn't expect him to treat you like a queen. but he could at least tend to you afterwards.
he didn't even spare you a glance, focusing in on the boiling pasta noodles.
"why do you do that?" you question, "what might you be referring to?"
"you. you do something intimate with me and act like nothing happened. cause if that's what this is i wanna stop." your words were made to cut through to him. but he smiled as if he wasn't taking you seriously.
he reached his hand out for yours but you only took a step back. "im serious". you huffed.
"then don't be so serious next time" he shot back, almost like he was annoyed. what was going on? what the actual fuck.
his demeanor had changed so quickly you couldn't even comprehend when he got frustrated.
"whatever, this was nothing anyways. I'm not eating your shit food" you stormed out, but you couldn't help the tears pricking at your tear ducts.
you wanted him to take this as seriously as you. because not only are you ruining your relationship with your sister but you've also given away so much of yourself to him.
you slammed the door to your designated room. flopping down on the bed, putting yourself under the covers.
at first you just stared at the wall, like it would suddenly turn into a tv with your favorite show. but after a while of no movement you let the exhaustion take you over.
---
nothing had woke you up, not a sound or anything just the natural instinct. but when you tried sitting up you felt arms around you.
at first you just had to let out a small laugh and humor yourself because when you turned around it better not have been sunghoon.
but needless to say it was.
you groaned into your pillow, which unintentionally woke him up. "what?" he mumbled, his voice sounding a bit groggy.
"get off of me. that's what" you felt him shake his head against you.
"I'm not joking" you try prying his arms off you—ultimately failing to do so. "stop, i wanna be close to you." his voice still etched with sleep. pulling you flush against him.
you wanted to melt into his touch so bad, and enjoy this soft moment but you wanted to stand your ground first.
"do you even understand why I'm upset" you asked him. he shifted next to you, his arms leaving your waist. sitting up against your headboard.
"yes, i do know why you're upset. I don't have any clear answers for you. but I'll answer any questions as of right now."
"why aren't you affectionate after sex?"
"we've only done that once"
"sunghoon" you warned.
"because it'll make it more real to me— what I'm doing to your sister."
"do you take us serious?"
"for the most part" he admitted with a shrug.
that's what irritated you. "ugh im so stupid" you get off the bed adjusting your his shirt.
"could you please sit back down" he asked. "please" now begging. his eyes were doing that things again where he looked as though a pleading puppy that wanted treats.
the dawn coming in through the blinds only made his expression half visible.
"I just regret not finding you first. and im dating your sister and this is all a big mess." the more he talked, pulled you closer to the bed. now taking a seat.
"but so far i haven't regretted a single thing, It's like i lose control around you— I— fuck.. i dunno. i just really like what we have going. I'll deal with your sister."
his quick confession that sounded more like a ramble was enough for you to straddle his lap and bombard him with a hug and kisses.
you planted them simultaneously along his face. his nose crinkling whenever you brushed over his nose.
you broke away scanning his flushed face. damn. he was perfect. you moved a little more to get comfortable, then you started to feel him harden beneath you.
"seriously?" you complained, but only pretending to be annoyed. in reality you didn't mind.
his hands mindlessly flew to your hips, rolling it against his clothed erection. his swollen and constrained cock caught against your clit with every shift.
"m'so needy for you right now" he breathes into your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin.
you moan breathily, high and just as needy. your hands now bracing against his shoulders. your covered cunt rubbing down against him only made your arousal cause your panties to stick to you.
your eyes flutter shut at the contact, a soft sound slipping before you can stop it.
out of nowhere sunghoons phone begins to ring. "your phone" you told him as if he didn't have ears to hear it himself.
"it's your sister" he simply said. as if that was enough explanation and it was. so you ignored it like he did until it stopped.
one thing you couldn't deny is the way your heart beat quickened. knocking against your ribs.
then it rang again. your sister's name flashing on his screen. you had to answer it. you weren't even grinding against him anymore. it didn't even feel right.
he just holds you there, still rock hard under you but not forcing you to relieve the aching he had felt.
you reach for his phone, hands slightly shaky, sliding up to unlock his phone and answer the call.
"hello..?" you sounded almost unsure as you and sunghoon exchanged glances. yours slightly more panicked than his.
"umm why do you have sunghoon's phone? where is he?"
you shoot sunghoon a look, he was too occupied with you— admiring your face.
"he's here just— he, y'know sleep" you chuckle nervously. your answer not sounding sure.
"figures" she sighed, annoyed.
"yea i saw your name pop up, and he was asleep so i just thought 'hey why not answer' "
"mhm" she hummed "well it was nothing important just wanted to check in. he hasn't been really answering my text.."
she continued explaining how complicated it began to be but you weren't listening, focused on sunghoons lips on your body.
he mouthed to you "lay down" completely unbothered about your phone call.
you comply, sliding off his lap and laying on your back.
"—hello? you still there?" her voice cut through. "umm yeah? whats up?"
"i said what did you have for dinner?" she repeated. "i haven't actually eaten."
"and why's that" you were just about to answer then he began pulling off your panties. your breath hitching.
"i dunno" you lied wanting the call to end. you couldn't even keep your composure enough to answer her properly.
sunghoon dipped his head between your legs, nipping at your inner thigh then smoothing it over with a kiss.
the teasing action only filled you with more anticipation. the mere thought of his tongue against you made you 10× more drenched.
"well eat please. to clear my conscience. also make sure to lock all the doors because you know what happened last time..."
then like last time you began tuning her out, too focused on the way his tongue flattened against you. dragging a slow, messy lick up your folds. you rewarded him with a breathy moan.
"dude what the fuck?" she questioned, disgusted she sounded so offended. "I just—"
"what're you doing?" you couldn't even bring yourself to answer. just hanging up and dropping the phone beside you.
"you did such a good job." he praised, with a laugh.
after that. there were no words. no breath. just his mouth on you. licking like he'll die if he doesn't get every drop.
your hands are tangled in his hair, thighs wide open. whole body arching into his mouth. you could feel the knot in your stomach, slightly you became more dizzy, more needy.
you couldn't get enough, suffocating in your own lust. his tongue lapped around your clit, sucking at it. the world blurs into a heat steam.
"I'm cumming—" you come with a shaky, muffled cry. he works you through it, your thighs left trembling when he pulls away.
he watches as your pussy clenches around nothing, sneering at the sight. "practically calling my name."
he pulls down his sweats with anticipation, tossing his shirt off as well "gotta be inside you again pretty girl"
"please" you begged.
he was gonna fuck you regardless but that just gave him the instant green light. with one swift movement, penetrating you once again.
no mercy this time, you practically screamed with the impact. with one quick thrust he immediately bottomed out. "gonna show you that you're mine now" he groaned.
he held onto your hips for leverage while slamming into you. "oh my— fuck" you moaned. loud and raw. sounds of moans and skin slapping was all that could be heard.
your juices were gushing around his cock, a sight that you couldn't even admire for long before throwing your head back— eyes shutting.
"this is what you been missing out on baby" he teased. taking his bottom lip between his teeth. watching as you white knuckled the sheets, your eyebrows knitting together, eyes shut with your jaw slack.
"you're about to come aren't you?" he cooed, not seeming to be up to any good. when you nod in response he pulls out with a grunt.
"noo!" you cry out, "please don't stop" you whine, clamping down on emptiness, where he was no longer filled.
"don't stop?" he asked like he was genuinely confused. ugh. you wanted to hit him. "yes, yes, please."
"remember, this is what you asked for" he stuck himself back into you, finding his rhythm again. you lifted your hips once his pelvis met yours, grinding shallow, trying to get closer to your release.
but holy shit when it took you over, you yelped, not really able to bask in your high before being turned over and faced down into the pillow.
"don't want me to stop right?" not asking, but being more rhetorical to remind you of what you said. "mhm" you agreed.
his cock swerves into you, like he was trying to brand the feeling inside your pussy, sliding a wet stripe of precum down your cervix.
"fuck" he grunts, his finger prints digging into your skin. which were gonna leave definite bruises.
sloppily he dragged his vein covered dick inside your cunt—bullying your walls. this all quickly started to become too much for you, hardly being able to breath with sunghoon's hand shoving your face into the pillow.
"imma fill you up" he mewled, giving you a heads up.
"mmm— cumming" yeah for like the 4th time today you thought to yourself. body going limp, blinking back tears. like electricity zapped through you, stemming from your core.
you felt him fill you to the brim, then pulling out. it began leaking out your hole. who was he to waste that? he took notice, shoving it back in. "take it all pretty"
then settling down beside you. sunghoon wasn't done with you just yet though. not possible for him. he's waited for a moment to have you to himself. he wasn't gonna waste that either.
no matter how many times he came, he was painfully erect. nothing his hand could take care of. only you could.
"i need more" he said, nothing above a whisper. "I don't think i can" you whined.
"just one more" this time more convincing, like his words that sounded like begging were more compelling.
you sat up, glaring down at him. all needy and distraught.
as he was laid flat on his back, his erected cock resting against his stomach, drooling with a mix of both of y'all's juices.
you grab ahold of his length, the glide lets a broken, pathetic purr sound from him. with soft squelches echoing you continue, faster.
he bucked into your hand. it was rare that he whimpered so you were hearing gutteral groans and grunting.
your palm meets his pelvis every time you pump down to the base. "fuck yes, keep going" you hear him whine. the sound of your strokes quickening, was what now filled the room.
"oh fuck—" he groans, spurts of cum came shooting from his cock shortly after his low sounds.
his dick pulsed in your hold, his eyelids fluttering back open as he came down from his orgasm.
your hands had his sperm all over it. you held it up so he could see. it's like as soon as you did that a light bulb went off.
"now use it to touch yourself" his voice low. not stern. but something you couldn't bargain with.
"I'm still so sensitive though" you informed him to maybe get some sympathy but he didn't care.
to get a better view, he sat up. facing you. you open your legs slightly, you reach down for your slit, avoiding eye contact because of the immense shame you felt. even though he asked you to do this.
you began rubbing circles, using his sperm as lubricant which was pointless from how wet you already were.
your fingers moved in experienced circles, you stimulated your clit to orgasm, you've never actually put your fingers inside yourself.
sunghoon's gaze digested every movement as if he were a judge watching a performance on stage. he was in a complete trance state.
your own pleasure began to take over, hips moving into your own hand to chase your high. your digits moved erratically. sometimes fast then randomly slowing.
his hand flew to yours, when your face scrunched in a way he was used to by now. you were about to come right there but he stopped you — ultimately edging you once again.
"i got it from here baby" he spoke tenderly. laying you back again, taking your his shirt off. his hand kneading one of your breasts, the other being taken into his mouth, you arched off the mattress with a moan as he swirled his tounge around your nipple, then doing the same for the other one.
"just fuck me already.." you whined breathlessly. he chuckled with a shake of the head. "whatever you say sweet girl."
yall were going at this for half the day, you both were filled with each other all day. and even with the same relentless thrust you weren't able to get used to it.
he was humping you deliciously into the mattress, clawing at the crinkled sheets beneath you. "I can't—" you were almost embarrassed to admit this to him but you felt like you were going to pee yourself.
so you didn't say anything but as soon as his hands flew to your puffy nub massaging it, you began squirting liquid. your face warmed, as the sheets beneath you soaked.
you were quick to cover your face with both your hands. his movements slowing to a stop
"holy shit— you're fucking perfect" sunghoon was at awe at what just happened and you wanted to die of embarrassment. you didn't even know how that happened.
"don't cover your face sweetheart" he moved your hands pinning them above your head. "nothing to be embarrassed about" reassuring you before moving inside you again.
the wet slapping sounds were obscene, louder with every thrust. the chain he continued to toss behind him fell in your face, his lips curved into a grin. "m'sorry baby"
with one pull he yanked it off, throwing it across the room somewhere.
"c'mon i want you coming again pretty girl" his voice crack, hips grinding down slow, making you squeal.
the grip he had on your pinned wrist was gonna leave another bruise. the pain felt like pleasure somehow so you didn't mind
"ngh— mm'fuck" your voice high pitched, broken into sobs as another orgasm slammed into you. "ENOUGH" you protested. but he kept going just enough to finish inside you.
you were panting, chest heaving as you breathe to collect yourself. he flopped down beside you and pulled your limp body into him.
you need time to recover, so much has happened to the point you couldn't even tell if it was your release dripping out of you or his.
not to mention the complete mess yall made of the room. you didn't wanna think about that so you didn't. you stayed in the moment.
your head resting against sunghoon's bare chest. hands running up and down his sculpted abs. yall laid that way, without any words just basking in the silence until your stomach growled.
to that he snickered, "guess you wouldn't mind having some of my 'shit food' " he directly quoted from you, even trying to mock the way you said it.
"guess not" you giggled along.
---
sunghoon had cleaned you up in a bath, putting you before himself and once you were done taking a shower himself.
you had wanted to bathe with him or have even taken a shower with him, but him cleaning you was enough.
you are both sat on the couch. exhausted? yes that's why you've both settled on watching a movie.
you were eating the pasta he had made earlier, enjoying every bite, it was actually good but knowing him it was probably just because you were hungry.
you look up to see him on his phone, texting. "who you texting"
"your sister" he replied without looking up. "she's losing her shit" he cut off his phone.
"wait why?" your heart sank, stomach feeling queasy. "don't worry it's not about you. she thinks im ignoring her, but she does think you lied about me being sleep. but she thinks i made you lie about it."
the more he talked the more waves of relief washed over you.
"let's just watch the movie" he mumbled, running a hand down his face. you felt bad for how stressed he looked.
you take it upon yourself to scoot into his side and wrap your arms around him. "you've come so far. don't get stressed now"
"I'm not stressed" he denied. putting his arm around you too. giving the top of your head.
"sure you aren't" you scoff with a shake of your head. nestling into him more. now thinking about this morning you did a terrible job at avoiding him.
----
took so long bro. i had this idea for at least 2 weeks now and i finally finished it. and it's currently 5 am bro. fuck my life
i also looked over this so much that i can't even give an opinion on my own writing so if yall actually enjoy this just know i will love you endlessly
the boyz reaction when you’re angry & ignoring them
(ps : im inlove with ur works btw pls dont die)
the boyz when you’re angry & ignoring them
[☀︎] — sangyeon. he hated when you gave him the silent treatment. he only experienced that a couple of times. but every time he did, it made him angry as well if you stopped talking to him in the middle of your fight. he’ll leave you alone to cool down and wait for you to find him after you’ve realized how childish you were being. once you’re “back to your normal self” you’d both resolve the problem.
[☀︎] — jacob. you two never seemed to be angry at one another, but when it happened, it was bad. it would take a while for the both of you to get out of your agreeable and pleasant sense of mind, but once it happened, you were both stuck. it would be a mutual thing when you were angry at each other, but on the rare occasion he did something to upset you, he would just be his happy self, and you would eventually get out of it.
[☀︎] — younghoon. he really hated when you got angry and ignored him. the whole thing just screams miscommunication and bad ending to him. if the both of you were having problems, he would want to be mature about it and sort them out. tentatively tries to readjust and avoid doing whatever it was that made you upset.
[☀︎] — hyunjae. sorry to say but if you’re angry over something serious then so is he. two can play at this game, he’ll ignore you too. but if it’s over something small, he’s going to be annoying about it; and he’s going to giggle and poke you, “oh someone is upset!” anything to get you to speak to him. you love him but in times like this you can’t stand him. he likes to get under your skin but he loves you very much.
[☀︎] — juyeon. would immediately apologize even if he doesn’t know what he’s done, and that’s what makes you so upset most of the time. he knows exactly when to apologize but just not why he’s doing it so it kinda makes the apology seem insincere. he is a quick thinker however, so after a little while he’ll realize his mistakes and beg for forgiveness. but as someone who gets upset easily, he understands and tries not to mind that much. he’ll give you time to cool down, you'll talk to him when you're ready.
[☀︎] — kevin. he hated fighting with you but he preferred that over the cold shoulder you gave him occasionally when you were beyond done with fighting. he just simply didn’t know what to do when you ignored him and he tried everything. he apologized and begged you to talk to him again, but in the end, he just left you alone, hoping that once you calmed down, you’d start talking again. however, the more time passed, if you were still silent, the more anxious he’ll become.
[☀︎] — new (chanhee). has no patience for your silent treatment. as soon as he notices you aren't talking to him at all, he wants to sort it out. now that doesn't mean that he's free from fault, if he did something to upset you and didn't catch it, he wants to acknowledge it and apologize asap. he just doesn't like sleeping on problems unsettled especially if it's hurting you, he's already stressed as is.
[☀︎] — q (changmin). whenever changmin got angry and ignored you, it was always best to just stay out of his way, so he would let you get on with it too. he knew he’d upset you but he’d apologize when you decided that you wanted to hear it. he’d stay out of your way for the majority of the day, just going about whatever he needed to do. he was patient and he could wait all day if he needed to.
[☀︎] — juhaknyeon. still manages to give you a smile and becomes extremely affectionate too. back hugs and tending to you, even though you were trying your best to ignore him. he would apologize to you in his sweetest and most gentle voice, followed by his big and loving smile. would also offer to treat you to a meal after that, and insists on buying you gifts because he feels bad.
[☀︎] — sunwoo. he will call you out immediately. he’s not having it at all and he’s not about to get ignored by you. he’ll probably be annoyed and find you ignoring him immature, but he will be very vocal about anything that upsets him no matter how big or small, and he expects you to do the same to him.
[☀︎] — eric. he’s following you around the whole day, and becomes 10x more clingy. he knows what he’s done wrong and he apologizes throughout the day but will not leave you alone for a good 2 days after you’ve ignored him. says it’s to make up for the lost time.
✨ After the Bombs Fell Silent… We’re Trying to Hear Life Again
They say the war has ended…
But in our hearts, the echoes of explosions still remain.
In every corner of our home lies a story left unfinished.
Our doors, once opened to the light of morning,
are now charred wood telling the silence of long, sleepless nights.
We thought returning to life would be simple…
But when we came back to what was left of our house,
we realized the destruction wasn’t only in the walls—
it was in our dreams that fell with them.
Beneath the rubble, we found my little daughter’s toys,
and clothes waiting for a tomorrow that never came.
Today, we’re trying to start again from nothing.
Trying to build warmth from ashes,
a home from broken stones,
and hope from the remains of pain.
We’re not asking for the impossible—
only for a chance to live with dignity,
to rebuild our home, to protect our children from the cold,
and to tell the world: we are still here, despite everything.
Every contribution, no matter how small,
is a brick in the wall of our new home,
and a heartbeat in a heart trying to live again.
Help us turn these ruins into warmth and hope.
My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.
💬 A final word:
We are not looking for pity, but for a chance —
a chance to rebuild what was lost with trembling hands that still hold onto hope.
Together, we can turn this destruction into a new beginning. 🕊️
kinktober drabbles – praising & cockwarming with jake
୨୧ words: 1205 | cw: established relationship au, setting is a halloween party & they’re mentioned to be college students, jake is very whiny and persistent and chronically hard™️, jake is also lowkey a loser (loser!jake nation we rise), he touches reader while friends are in the room but they’re discreet!, unprotected “sex” but it’s basically just cockwarming, a lot of praise and 'good girl's ୨୧
requested here ><
mature content, mdni!
“baby, please,” jake’s whiny voice rings in your ears as he hugs you from behind, his bulge shamelessly pressing against your back. he tries to lean over your shoulder for a kiss, but only reaches your jaw when you turn your head away.
“just one kiss at least,” he pouts sweetly, though the way his hands slowly travel lower on your body is anything but. honestly, it takes a whole lot of strength not to turn around, run your fingers through his pretty blond hair, and finally pull him down for a kiss. but not only are you still upset about the way he so easily ditched you for midterms and projects – it is also quite entertaining having your boyfriend begging for practically anything at this point.
he, however, doesn’t agree with that in the slightest. he’s almost sure the only reason you agreed on going to a halloween party in the first place was to be able to dress like this and, quite literally, give him a hard time. is it pathetic? maybe a bit. but honestly, you just look way too good in that corset that hugs your waist perfectly and those knee-high boots that make your legs look so long.
“you do this on purpose,” he continues to pout, arms slinging around you a little tighter and lips brushing against your neck before he leaves some soft kisses there. “i know you’re mad but–” he gently sucks on your skin, “i really need you now,” one soft bite on your neck, “please, what can i do to make up for it?”
goosebumps begin to cover your skin, your thighs pressing together involuntarily – and jake notices, sucks on your neck a little harder, sure you’ll break any moment. but instead, you push his arms off your waist and take a step away from him. “nothing,” you smile sweetly, “your little issue is your fault, so go deal with it alone.”
and with that, you hand him a cup filled with whatever liquor, and make your way back to where your friends are gathering in the living room, leaving jake in the kitchen with a painful hard-on in his pants and an offended “not little at all.”
but he tries, really. he spends embarrassingly long in the bathroom, attempting to get off to the thought of you, but somehow it just gets worse. he corners you against a wall, kissing you breathless, impatient hands running all over your body, leaving you all hot and your cunt all sticky. but you still don’t give in. not when he tells you how pretty you look, how much he missed you, or how good he knows you’d make him feel. not when he almost manages to sneak his hand under your skirt, before you push him off of you.
and even as the guests slowly begin to leave, when just you two and your closest friends are left to watch a horror movie in honor of ending the night the right way, and you’re sitting on his lap, dampened underwear pressing against his clothed length – not even then do you seem to acknowledge your boyfriend’s agony.
you lean your back against his chest, well aware of the way his hands are touching and squeezing your thighs under the blanket. his breath is hot against your neck, that alone enough to run another shiver down your spine, and the occasional kiss he quickly presses on the sensitive spot right under your ear doesn’t help with that either.
“baby,” jake whispers right in your ear, “just the tip? please?”
one of his hand finally slides under your skirt, fingertips grazing the soaked piece of clothing, which makes you both hiss. “jake, we’re not alone,” you whisper back, but he ignores your words.
“fuck, but you’re so wet,” he says so longingly that even as a whisper it sounds almost like a whine. “always so wet and perfect for me, i bet you’d feel so good. always taking me like a good girl.”
the movie is loud enough to drown out both his whispers and the quiet squelching sound of your slick as he boldly shoves your underwear to the side just enough to slip two fingers under the fabric and through your sticky folds.
“mhm, look at you dripping on my fingers already,” his lips brush against your ear as he speaks, “so pretty sitting on my lap in your little costume and letting me touch you, even with our friends here,” one finger gently moves to trace circles over your clit, “good fucking girl.”
and though you’re already dazed, his touch just feeling too good, you manage to press your hand against his to make him stop. “you’re ruining my costume, jake.”
but when the movie is over, your friends slowly leave, and you’re offered to just sleep on the sofa instead of going home, your resolve crumbles. you turn around on his lap and crash your lips against his. “fuck you,” you mumble in between kisses, “you’re so persistent.”
“your fault for not letting me ruin you when i asked kindly,” he grins back before planting kisses all over your neck, hands landing on your ass to push you forward. practically feeling him throb through the clothes, you clench around nothing.
“jakey,” you whisper softly, “want you inside.”
your boyfriend almost loses it. he doesn’t know which gods to thank that you finally, finally let him, but he wastes no time, pushing you away just enough to free his aching cock. his hands are quick to find your waist again, lifting you just over him before he slowly helps you to sink down on his length. eyes rolling back at how easily you take all of him at once, he gently squeezes your waist.
“there you go, baby,” he groans, “doing so good for me, taking me so nicely, hm? that’s my good girl.” the praise makes your walls flutter around him, drawing another quiet moan from him. “you feel like heaven.”
you sling your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder, and just relish how nicely he fills you up, no attempt to move whatsoever. so jake does, thrusting up into you, the feeling ripping a choked moan from you, but you press down on him harder to signal him to stop.
“you don’t get to move,” you explain, head still lying lazily on his shoulder, “i’m still mad at you, you either take this or i’ll get up and go to sleep.”
“but,” jake throws his head back dramatically, “but i’ve been hard all night, y/n. so hard it hurts!” he whines. “and– fuck, now you feel so warm and wet, and you’re squeezing me so good, and i just want to cum. i’m sorry for not making time for you the past two weeks, but,” his hands knead your ass as if that could make you move again, “please.”
“no, jakey,” you finally lift your head and sit up to look at him, and the tiny bit of friction is enough to make jake moan. “this is all you’re getting now. but if you really missed me this much, it’ll be enough, no? bet you can cum just like this.”
✦ synopsis: jake swore he’d never blur the line between work and whatever-this-is. one rule, easy enough. but then you showed up, turning coffee breaks into sharp little dares, late nights into the kind of conversations that feel a little too charged to be harmless. he keeps telling himself it’s work, strictly work, but every glance, every brush past, makes that excuse thinner by the second.
» pairing: coworker!jake x fem!reader // » genre: coworkers to lovers; smut (mdni!); romcom // #nowplaying: tears - sabrina carpenter | self control - frank ocean | diet pepsi - addison rae | unconditional - jaehyun | nonsense - sabrina carpenter // » word count: 13K
#WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), alcohol consumption, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, squirting, daddy kink, degradation / dirty talk, light rough sex (hair pulling, spanking), soft dom jake, bratty!reader
✦ this fic is part of the man's best friend collab ✦
JAKE SIM HAD A NUMBER ONE RULE: DO NOT SLEEP WITH PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH. not because he was some kind of saint or anything, just because he'd watched enough office drama unfold to know that nothing made monday mornings worse than having to pretend your weekend hookup didn't happen. it wasn’t a moral thing, it was just practical. and jake sim was a practical guy.
he wasn’t clueless, though. he wasn't walking around pretending he didn't know what he looked like. sometimes his friends made jokes about how he was wasting his looks by being the responsible one. they told him he could be getting laid every weekend if he wanted to, and maybe he could've been, if that's what he wanted. but the thing was, jake had tried the whole casual thing once before. with a coworker, actually. and it turned out that once he started caring about someone, he wasn't exactly built for pretending he didn't. so that ended about as messily as you'd expect, and jake decided right then that work was work and everything else was everything else.
so yeah, one rule: no coworkers, no exceptions. but then you showed up.
you weren’t doing anything particularly memorable that first week. you were a transfer from another branch, brought in to manage the team, which already put you in a position that demanded a kind of respect. people noticed, because it’s not every day someone new comes in with authority, but you didn’t really walk around like you were trying to prove anything. he figured that would be the extent of it – you'd be the manager, he'd be the guy who knew where everything was, and you'd nod at each other in meetings like professional adults.
but by the end of the week, it was clear you weren’t going to blend into the background. not because you were loud or trying to prove a point, but because you had this way of slipping into situations that weren’t technically yours and making them feel lighter. like in the wednesday meeting, when the boss went on his third rant about “synergy” and jake was half checked out, you caught his eye across the table and raised your brows like you were saying, can you believe this guy? it was maybe two seconds, but jake had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
then later that same day, you appeared at his desk holding one of those paper cups from the break room, looking like you'd been personally victimized by the coffee machine. "okay, i need insider information," you said. "how do you make that thing work without it spitting hot water everywhere?"
so jake walked you through the whole process: how you had to hold the first button down for exactly three seconds, how the second one only worked if you pressed it twice, how you had to jiggle the cup holder or it wouldn't sit right. you listened like he was explaining rocket science, which was kind of funny since it was just a broken coffee machine. when he was done, you looked at him with this expression that was grateful and amused at the same time.
"let me guess," you said. "you're also the guy who knows how to unjam the printer and make the air conditioning stop making that weird noise."
and the weird part was, you weren't wrong.
thursday you leaned over his desk to ask about some client portal thing, and maybe it was nothing, but you stood close enough that he caught a hint of whatever perfume you wore. friday, when the boss completely butchered a word during his presentation, you pressed your lips together trying not to laugh and immediately looked over at jake like you were checking if he'd noticed too. he hadn't even been paying attention to the presentation, but the second he saw your face, he was fighting his own smile.
it kept happening. small moments that probably didn't mean anything but somehow felt like they did. and before jake really understood what was going on, he realized he was looking for those moments. waiting for them, even.
the thing that got to him wasn't that you were good at your job or smart in meetings – though you were both of those things. it was more like... you noticed him back. when he fixed something that everyone else just accepted was broken, when he remembered details that other people forgot, when he did the kind of small helpful things that usually went unnoticed. you'd give him these looks, curious and a little impressed, like you were seeing something that other people missed.
and jake found himself wanting to be worth looking at. here's the thing though – jake wasn't oblivious, and he definitely wasn't stupid. he could tell when someone was watching him, even when they thought they were being subtle about it. and you? you weren't being subtle at all.
take monday morning. you had some big client presentation in like forty minutes, everything was set up perfectly, and then excel decided to have a complete meltdown. just froze. wouldn't respond to anything, clicking, keyboard shortcuts, so you were quiet cursing under your breath. jake was walking past your desk on his way to the printer, minding his own business, when he heard you say his name in this slightly panicked voice.
he stopped, walked over, and you started talking fast – something about how the file was locked up and if you force-quit it you might lose all the formatting you'd spent an hour fixing. jake didn't even look fazed. just set his papers down on your desk, pulled up the chair next to you, and said "let me see what i can do."
what he did was magic, basically. opened task manager, ran some keyboard shortcuts you'd never seen before, saved a backup, restarted the program, and somehow got your entire file back exactly the way it was supposed to be. took him maybe ninety seconds.
you sat there staring at him while he worked, which probably wasn't smart, but you couldn't help it. he had this focused expression, lips pressed together slightly, eyes moving across the screen like he already knew exactly what was going to fix it. and up close like this, you noticed things you'd missed from across the office – how his eyelashes were unfairly long, how his jaw tensed when he was concentrating, how he had this warm undertone to his skin that made him look like he'd been outside all day.
when he leaned back and said "you should be good now," you were still processing the fact that he'd just saved your entire morning without breaking a sweat. also processing the fact that jake sim was considerably more attractive than you'd given him credit for, which was saying something because you'd already noticed he was good-looking.
you tried to play it cool. "so you're my spreadsheet savior now?"
he glanced over with this half-smile like he wasn't sure if you were joking. "wouldn't go that far."
"no, seriously," you said, spinning your chair slightly to face him better, "i would've had a complete breakdown if i lost that file."
his ears went a little pink, which was adorable and also made you wonder if he wasn't used to people appreciating the fact that he was basically the office problem-solver. "it's just shortcuts," he said, already gathering his papers.
but it wasn't just shortcuts to you. it was jake being completely calm when you were freaking out, knowing exactly what to do, fixing your problem like it was nothing. there was something incredibly attractive about someone being that competent, and jake was getting more attractive by the minute.
especially after what happened during office cleanup day. and mind you, nobody volunteers for office cleanup day. the boss announces that the storage room needs organizing and suddenly everyone remembers urgent deadlines they have to work on. you weren't exactly thrilled about it either, but somehow you ended up in the back room with jake, surrounded by boxes that looked heavier than they had any right to be.
you tried to help at first, grabbed one of the smaller boxes and started dragging it across the floor. before you'd gotten more than two steps, jake was already lifting one of the massive ones like it weighed nothing. just bent down, wrapped his arms around it, and stood up without even straining. carried it across the room and set it down in a neat stack. you stopped what you were doing and watched, because honestly? it was kind of mesmerizing. jake in his button-down with the sleeves rolled up, muscles working under the fabric as he lifted something that probably would've thrown out your back, not even breathing hard. when he turned around and caught you staring, he just looked curious.
"what?" he asked, not defensive or anything, just genuinely wondering why you had that expression on your face.
you leaned against the nearest shelf. "nothing. just didn't realize this job came with a personal moving service."
that got a quiet laugh out of him, and he shook his head. "here, let me get that for you."
he crouched down right in front of where you were standing and reached for the box you'd been struggling with. which was fine, except from this angle – him kneeling on the floor, looking up at you while his hands slid under the cardboard – your brain decided to wander in directions that were definitely not appropriate for the workplace.
"this go with the others?" he asked, nodding toward the corner where you'd been trying to stack the smaller boxes.
you blinked, refocusing. "yeah, that pile."
he lifted it like it was empty and walked it over to the corner. "come on, these really aren't that heavy," he called over his shoulder, and when he turned back, there was this slight smirk on his face like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having.
"easy for you to say," you replied, crossing your arms. "my contribution here is moral support."
he set the box down perfectly aligned with the others and brushed his hands off. "that's not moral support. that's just standing there watching me work."
"watching is important," you said, stepping a little closer. "if one of these falls on you, someone needs to be able to tell hr what happened. you should be grateful."
he laughed for real this time, head tilted as he looked at you. "so you're saying i should thank you for standing around making commentary?"
"exactly. minimum a coffee. maybe lunch, depending on how many more boxes you handle."
"sounds like blackmail," he said, but he was still smiling.
"sounds like a business transaction," you shot back. "unless you'd rather i actually help, but i'm warning you – someone's definitely getting hurt, and it's probably gonna be me."
he shook his head, reaching for another box. "yeah, let's stick with the current system. i'll handle the heavy lifting."
and you let him, because watching jake sim quietly show off was way more entertaining than pretending you were actually useful.
a few days later you were at your desk, not thinking about boxes or how good he looked carrying them, until you realized you had completely missed a deadline. there was an email thread in your inbox – one you'd somehow completely ignored – with your name on it and a timestamp from yesterday. the finance department needed numbers. numbers you were supposed to have sent. numbers that were now officially late.
you were in the middle of a quiet breakdown, digging through your drafts to see if there was anything salvageable, when jake walked by with his coffee. he took one look at your face and slowed down. "what happened?" he asked, and something about his tone made you want to tell him the truth instead of pretending everything was under control.
"i fucked up," you said flatly. "forgot to send the quarterly numbers to finance. completely spaced on it."
jake set his coffee down on your desk and pulled up the chair next to you. "actually, no you didn't."
you turned to stare at him. "what do you mean, no i didn't? the deadline was yesterday."
"yeah," he said, opening his laptop like this was a normal tuesday conversation. and it was, in fact, tuesday. "so i sent them yesterday."
for a second, you couldn't process what he'd just said. "you... what?"
"you seemed swamped this week, so i pulled the numbers and sent them in." he was calmly clicking through his email. "cc'd you in case anyone had questions, but they didn't."
you leaned back in your chair, staring at him. jake sim had not only noticed you were drowning, but had quietly fixed your mistake before you even knew you'd made it. without being asked. without making it into a thing. "jesus," you said, running a hand through your hair. "do you have any idea how..."
"how what?" he asked when you trailed off.
you caught yourself before you said something stupid like how wet that makes me and settled for: "how much i owe you right now?"
"you don't owe me anything," he said, but there was something in his voice that hadn't been there before. something that made you look at him a little longer.
"no, seriously," you said, turning your chair to face him properly. "most people would've let me figure it out on my own. or at least mentioned it."
he shrugged, but his ears were getting pink again. "seemed easier to just handle it."
there was something about the way he said handle it that made your stomach flip. maybe it was the way he was looking at you, or maybe it was the fact that competence was apparently your biggest weakness, but suddenly the air felt different. "you're dangerous," you said before you could stop yourself.
jake's eyebrows went up. "dangerous?"
"yeah." you were committed now, might as well lean into it. "this whole... responsible guy thing you have going on. it's a problem."
"a problem," he repeated, and now he was definitely smiling.
"a big problem," you confirmed, trying to keep your voice steady. "like, i'm trying to be professional here, and you keep doing things that make me want to–"
you stopped yourself, but jake was already leaning forward slightly. "make you want to what?"
the way he asked it, quiet and curious, like he genuinely wanted to know what you were thinking, made heat crawl up your neck. you shook your head. "nevermind."
"nah," he said, still smiling but his voice dropped lower. "finish that sentence."
"absolutely not."
he laughed, but it was different from his usual laugh. warmer. "fair enough."
he stood up to leave, grabbing his coffee, but paused next to your desk. "try not to panic about deadlines anymore," he said. "i'll keep an eye out."
that's not helping the situation at all, you thought. but you were too far gone at this point, especially because of what happened next. hours later, the office was empty except for you and the glow of your computer screen. you'd gotten so caught up in work that you'd missed dinner entirely. when you finally looked up, jake was standing by your desk holding takeout containers.
"you're still here," you said, blinking at him.
"so are you." he set the food down in front of you. "and you haven't eaten."
you stared at the containers, then at him. "did you... buy me dinner?"
"i bought myself dinner," he said, sitting down in the chair next to you. "got extra."
"jake."
"what?"
"you can't keep doing this."
"doing what?"
you gestured at the food, at him, at the general situation. "this. the taking care of me thing."
"why not?"
the question caught you off guard. you'd expected him to laugh it off or make a joke, not ask why not like he genuinely wanted to know what your objection was. "because," you said, scrambling for a reason that didn't sound like because it makes me want to lick your face. "because you don't have to."
"i know i don't have to," he said quietly. "i want to." the way he said it, simple and honest, made your chest tight. you opened one of the containers just to have something to do with your hands. "it's from that place on fifth street," he said. "the one you mentioned liking."
you stopped chewing. "you remembered that?"
"you said their pad thai was better than the place by your apartment."
he'd been listening. not just hearing you talk, but actually listening, filing away random details about your food preferences. you set your chopsticks down and looked at him. "you're doing it again."
"doing what again?"
"being..." you searched for the right word. "responsible. thoughtful. it's making me—"
you stopped yourself, but jake was already watching you with that patient expression, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to finish your sentence. "making you what?" he asked, and his voice was soft enough that it felt like a dare.
“nothing, it's just, you’re literally the reason half of us don’t get fired,” you said around another bite, trying to sound casual. “you send deadlines, fix the printer, smooth over client emails. you’re basically… office dad.”
he made a face at that, but he was smiling too. “office dad? that’s what i get?”
“well,” you said, leaning back in your chair now, “dad, but… a hot dad.”
he laughed quietly, shaking his head, eyes dropping to the table like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to react. “that’s not a category, you know.”
“it is if i say it is.”
he looked back up then, meeting your eyes, and you could tell he was weighing whether to push the joke further. instead, he went with, “so what does that make you? office trouble?”
“excuse me,” you said, pretending to be offended, but already smiling.
“you forgot a deadline this week and almost had a meltdown over a spreadsheet,” he pointed out, matter of fact, but his tone gave him away, he was enjoying this.
“fine,” you said, stabbing a piece of food with your chopsticks. “office trouble. but fun trouble. like… essential trouble.”
“right,” he nodded, lips tugging at the corner like he was trying not to grin. “essential.”
you held his gaze for a second too long before shaking your head and focusing back on your food. the conversation had been harmless enough on the surface, just work banter, but underneath it you could feel the edges of something else. it wasn’t just joking anymore. it was the way he was looking at you, the way he let your words hang there a little too long, like he was filing them away.
and jake started to notice that you might sound like trouble, because little things kept tripping him up. like when you leaned over his desk to ask about something, standing close enough that he had to concentrate on your question instead of wondering what would happen if he just turned his chair around and pulled you closer. or that afternoon when the coffee machine broke and you smacked it with your palm, cursing under your breath like a mechanic with a stubborn engine. he fixed it in under a minute, but the look you gave him when it started working again, like pure admiration, made something twist in his chest.
"my hero," you'd said, and even though you were obviously joking, the way you looked at him wasn't entirely a joke.
that was the problem. these little comments you kept making – calling him competent, saying he made spreadsheets look good, that whole thing about him being dangerously responsible. it should have been easy to brush off, except you had this way of looking at him when you said it that made his brain go places it had no business going. places like wondering how you'd look if he had you pressed against his desk instead of leaning over it. wondering what other things you'd call him if he gave you the chance.
he told himself it was just harmless attraction, a coworker crush he’d eventually get over. except harmless didn’t usually feel this consuming, and crushes didn’t usually make him want to forget his own rules.
that’s what he kept telling himself, especially at the office happy hour later that month. it was was supposed to be a safe space. neutral territory. but jake should have known better, because nothing involving you stayed neutral for long.
half the team was three drinks deep and getting louder by the minute. jake, predictably, was stone sober and playing designated dad – holding hair back in the bathroom, ordering ubers for people who couldn't see straight, making sure everyone had water. it was routine at this point, the kind of thing he did without thinking about it.
except tonight, he kept catching you watching him. not obviously, but he'd look up from helping sunghoon not fall off his chair and find your eyes on him across the table. you'd look away quickly, take a sip of your drink, but the damage was already done. because that look - curious, almost fond – was making it hard for him to focus on being the responsible one.
when he finally sat down after his latest rescue mission, you leaned toward him with that familiar smirk. "you know you're giving off serious single dad vibes right now, right?"
he raised an eyebrow. "that again?"
"i'm just saying," you continued, eyes bright with amusement, "most people would've stopped babysitting after the first round. but here you are, still making sure everyone gets home safe."
"someone has to," he said, but he was smiling despite himself.
"sure, but..." you paused, tilting your head in that way that always meant trouble. "what would happen if you just let go for once?"
the question hit different than he expected. jake found himself really looking at you – the way the bar lighting caught your eyes, how you were leaning just close enough that he could smell your perfume. "and what," he said, voice dropping lower, "let you handle things instead?"
"maybe i could," you shot back, matching his tone.
"no offense," he said, leaning in despite himself, "but i don't think i trust you with that kind of power."
it was supposed to be a joke, but something in the air between you shifted. you were close enough now that he could see the way your breath caught slightly, close enough that when you whispered "zero faith in me," it felt more like a dare than an accusation.
"not zero," he said, and he meant to keep it light, but his voice came out rougher than intended. "just... not enough to bet on."
your knee brushed his under the table – maybe by accident, maybe not. neither of you moved away. for a moment it was just you and him and the dangerous territory you were both pretending not to notice. "guess i'll have to prove you wrong then," you said finally, picking up your drink with hands that weren't quite steady.
"looking forward to it," jake replied, and the words came out before he could stop them.
later, outside the bar, jake told himself he was just being responsible when he followed you out. making sure you got home safe. that's what he did – he looked out for people. it had nothing to do with the way you'd been looking at him all night, nothing to do with how that conversation had left him feeling like he was standing on the edge of something dangerous.
you were leaning against the wall checking your phone when he approached, and you startled when he got close. "jesus, you can't just sneak up on people like that," you said, but you were smiling.
"wasn't sneaking," he said, letting his arm settle across your shoulders. it was supposed to be casual, friendly, but the moment he did it, he realized his mistake. because having you this close, feeling the warmth of you against his side, was definitely not helping his self control situation. "just making sure that guy across the street doesn't get any ideas."
you followed his gaze to where some random man was definitely staring in your direction, and jake felt you tense slightly under his arm. "my personal security detail?" you asked, trying to keep it light.
"comes with the office dad package," he said. "spreadsheets, technical support, and late night safety patrol."
"so generous," you laughed. "do i tip for this service?"
"depends. you planning on behaving at the next happy hour?"
"i wasn't the one puking in the bathroom," you pointed out, and he had to admit you had him there. your phone buzzed – uber notification. three minutes away. you showed him the screen, and he knew he should step back, let you handle it from here. that would be the smart thing. the responsible thing.
instead, he found himself saying, "text me when you get home."
you looked up at him, eyebrow raised. "what, you don't trust uber drivers either?"
"i don't trust other men, period," he said, and the honesty in his voice surprised even him. "humor me."
for a second, you just looked at him. then you bit your lip – a habit he was starting to notice – and nodded. "fine. i'll text you." you paused, eyes meeting his with something that looked almost like mischief. "daddy."
the word hit jake like a punch to the gut. he'd been expecting your usual smartass comeback, some joke to break the tension that had been building all night. he had not been expecting that. not the way you said it, looking him dead in the eye like a challenge. not the way you bit your cheek right after, like you knew exactly what you'd just done to him.
his brain split in two directions at once. half of him was screaming abort mission, reminding him about his rule, about keeping things professional. the other half was betraying him completely, flooding his mind with images of you saying that word again, but softer, breathier, in very different circumstances.
because the thing was, you hadn't just thrown it out there as a joke. you'd given it to him, deliberate and pointed, and jake couldn't stop wondering if you'd been thinking about it as much as he suddenly was. he managed to keep his expression steady, even smirked a little like it hadn't affected him at all. but inside, he was rattled. the kind of rattled that made him question everything he thought he knew about this situation, about you, about his own rule, even.
when your uber arrived and you climbed in with a little wave, jake shoved his hands deep in his pockets and told himself he was fine. but he already knew he'd be staring at the ceiling later, replaying that moment, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now that you'd gone and changed all the rules. and the worst part is that a piece of him really wanted to find out.
after that night outside the bar, something shifted. you got bolder, but in ways that could fly under the radar if someone wasn't paying close attention. problem was, jake was paying attention to everything now.
like the morning you leaned over his desk with some excuse about a report, your breasts stupidly close to his face. and it shouldn’t have meant anything, except you didn’t move away. you just stayed there, shoulder pressed to his, scrolling on his screen. jake told himself not to stiffen, not to flinch, but every nerve in his body was screaming, hyper-aware of the fact that you were too close. he tried to keep his tone flat, strictly professional, explaining the numbers. but in his head, he was counting the beats of your breathing, wondering if you could feel his chest tighten every time you leaned just an inch closer.
then there was the elevator incident. packed as usual, you slipped in just as the doors were closing, squeezing into the tiny space between him and the wall. instead of grabbing the handrail like a normal person, you hooked two fingers through his belt loop. casual. like it was nothing. like people did that all the time.
jake's entire body went rigid. not because he didn't like it – that was the problem. he liked it way too much. your fingers were barely touching him, but it felt like a live wire. he stared straight ahead at the floor numbers, counting down the seconds until he could escape to his desk and pretend his pulse wasn't racing. you acted like nothing had happened, chatting with someone about weekend plans while your fingers stayed exactly where they were.
every interaction left him more wound up than the last. he'd lie in bed replaying moments - the weight of your shoulder against his, your fingers tugging at his belt, the casual intimacy of anything. all things that should have been easy to brush off, except they weren't. because you weren't just being friendly. you were being deliberate. and jake was losing his mind trying to figure out what to do about it.
the problem was, jake wasn't giving you much to work with. sure, he smiled at your jokes and didn't pull away when you got too close, but he never actually pushed back. never escalated. never gave you a clear sign that he was feeling whatever this was too. so you started thinking maybe you were embarrassing yourself. maybe he really did just see you as the office trouble you joked about being.
especially after that one day in the hallway. he’d just wrapped a presentation to a new client, and you’d sat through the whole thing practically biting your tongue off because it wasn’t fair how good he was at it. calm, sharp, answering questions before they even finished asking, the kind of performance that made everyone in the room look at him like he carried the company on his back. when it was over, he walked out into the hallway, tie loosened, shoulders relaxed, still in that glow of someone who knew they’d nailed it. you didn’t think, you just let it slip. you leaned against the wall and said, casual as you could manage, “you look even hotter when you’re smarter.”
and all he said was "thank you" in the most neutral tone possible, you decided you might have been reading the whole situation wrong.
maybe he really did just see you as a coworker. maybe all those moments that felt charged to you were just normal interactions to him. maybe you'd been making an ass of yourself this entire time. the thought was mortifying enough to make you take a step back, way back. you stopped with the casual touches, the suggestive comments, the lingering looks. kept everything strictly professional. meetings about work, small talk about the weather, nothing that could be misinterpreted as flirting.
what you didn’t know was that jake had spent the rest of that afternoon in a private hell of his own making. because what kind of sane person got hard over a coworker calling them smart? what kind of responsible, rule-following adult nearly lost it in a hallway because someone leaned in and whispered something like that with a straight face? and he’d wanted to laugh, to throw something back at you, keep the banter alive. but the second you said it, his brain had shorted out. his body reacted before he had time to form a response, heat rushing in a way that had nothing to do with the tie around his neck. so he defaulted to the safest word he had, a flat thank you, and walked away before he betrayed himself completely.
jake hated that it was this easy, that the stupidest interactions between you two left him horny for hours. a look, a throwaway comment, your fingers brushing against his when you handed him a file, it all rewired his system like someone had flipped a switch he couldn’t turn off again. and yeah, maybe you thought he wasn’t giving you anything. but jake was giving you everything he had left just by keeping himself from showing it.
but still, you decided to take a step back. you stopped with the offhand comments, the shameless little touches, the smirks that used to land squarely in his chest. you kept it professional, meetings, emails, small talk in the break room, nothing extra. at first, jake thought he was imagining it. maybe you were just busy, maybe he was reading into things again. but after a week, he noticed the silence. no teasing when he fixed the coffee machine (seriously, they need to replace that), no sly grin when he reminded the team of a deadline, no bold comments in the hallway about how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up. you treated him like everyone else, and the absence of it sat heavier than he expected.
after a week of this, he couldn't take it anymore. "hey," he said, appearing at your desk one afternoon with some flimsy excuse about a client file. "got a second?"
you looked up with a perfectly pleasant expression. "sure, what do you need?"
he explained the non-issue, watching your face for any sign of the warmth that used to be there. you answered efficiently, then turned back to your computer like the conversation was over. "everything okay?" he asked before he could stop himself.
"yeah, everything's fine," you said, not really looking at him. "why?"
because you've been avoiding me. because you stopped looking at me like you used to. because i miss the way you'd find excuses to be close to me and now you won't even meet my eyes.
"just checking," he said instead.
you gave him a small smile, the kind you'd give anyone, and that was somehow worse than if you'd been cold. because at least cold would have meant he'd gotten under your skin. this was just... nothing.
jake walked back to his desk frustrated. he'd lost something he never admitted he wanted, and for the first time since you started working there, he wondered if he'd screwed up. if playing it safe had cost him something that actually mattered. he tried reminding himself of the rule that kept his life simple: no coworkers, no exceptions. it made sense. practical, safe, smart. except now it felt less like wisdom and more like torture. what was the point of being disciplined if it left him lying awake thinking about a smile that wasn't even meant for him anymore?
maybe the rule wasn't smart. maybe it was the dumbest thing he'd ever committed to.
he was still thinking about it when he walked into the break room and found you there, back turned, waiting for coffee. you were scrolling on your phone, completely unaware he'd come in. jake realized he had a choice: grab his mug and leave, keep things professional, stick to his rule. or stop pretending that rule was working.
there was a box of mugs on the shelf directly above you – mugs he didn't need, in the most inconvenient spot possible. he reached for it anyway, stepping close behind you, chest nearly brushing your shoulder as he stretched up. the movement caged you against the counter without touching you, but the space felt electric. "excuse me," he said quietly, voice closer to your ear than necessary.
you went still, phone freezing in your hand. he could feel tension radiate through you, the way your breathing shifted. "sure," you managed, voice tight as you moved slightly to the side.
jake didn't step back right away. he took his time lowering the box, letting his sleeve brush your arm. he wanted to see if you'd move away, call him out, tell him he was too close. but you didn't. you stayed still, and something dangerous settled in his chest knowing you were just as affected. he finally stepped back, setting the box down casually. "new machine's working better," he said.
you exhaled slowly, still not turning around. "your expertise is no longer required," you said. it should have sounded playful, but there was an edge now.
"guess not," he agreed, but didn't leave. just stood there another beat, watching you try to compose yourself, before walking out with satisfaction he hadn't felt in weeks.
after that, jake stopped pretending he wasn't interested. not obviously, he was too careful for that, but in small ways that made it impossible to ignore.
like choosing the seat next to you in meetings when the whole table was free. he'd lean over to look at your notes, arm pressing against yours as he pretended to read along. every time he shifted, his sleeve brushed your skin.
or when you struggled with files in the hallway, papers threatening to spill. jake appeared out of nowhere, taking the whole pile from your hands.
"you're going to drop these," he said.
"i had it handled," you replied, but he was already walking beside you, files balanced against his chest, shoulder grazing yours.
"sure you did," he said. when you muttered about him being insufferably competent, he glanced sideways with that almost-smile. "i like helping you out, though."
the comment hung in the air between you, loaded with everything you'd been trying to ignore. and this wasn't the same jake who gave polite thank-yous and professional smiles. this jake was deliberate, testing boundaries, making sure you felt every contact. and the worst part was how much you wanted him to keep pushing.
it wasn't just physical either. he started appearing at your desk at day's end, asking if you'd eaten, if you needed anything before leaving. problems you didn't know existed would solve themselves, and you'd find out jake had quietly handled them before they blew up your inbox. he never asked for credit, never made it obvious, but always made sure you knew. he'd figured out exactly what got to you: competence, reliability, quietly taking care of things. and now he was using it against you in the most calculated way.
it should have annoyed you. instead, it was doing things to you that had no place at work. responsible jake was already attractive, but intentionally responsible jake – jake who knew exactly what he was doing and how it affected you – was devastating. and from the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching, you were pretty sure that was the point.
like later that week, when the office was quiet the way it only got after hours. jake had packed his laptop, was halfway to leaving, but then he noticed the light on in the copy room.
you were at the copier, hip against the counter, flipping through papers as the machine hummed. your hair was messy from the long day, blouse untucked, and your skirt – god, that skirt had been distracting him all afternoon. over the knee, perfectly professional, but every time you shifted in meetings he caught glimpses of skin that made it hard to focus on anything else.
he stood in the doorway watching you sort through copies before stepping inside. "working late?"
you looked up, startled, then rolled your eyes when you saw him. "just making extra copies for the client file. you?"
"same," he said, even though his hands were empty. "making sure you don't get stuck here all night."
you huffed out a laugh, turning back to the machine. "i can handle a copier on my own, thanks."
jake walked closer, taking his time. "funny. last time i checked you liked when i handled things for you."
you went still for a second before glancing at him over your shoulder. "are you really bragging about tech support right now?"
"not just that." he stepped in closer, heat pressing into your space, and reached past you to grab the fresh stack sliding from the tray. his arm brushed yours. "printers, deadlines, babysitting drunk coworkers... you've let me handle a lot."
your throat went tight. you forced a scoff. "so modest."
"just being honest," he said with that smug grin you'd grown too familiar with. he set the papers down, leaning against the counter and blocking your path. "besides... thought you liked it when i played daddy."
the air shifted. he said it low, finally acknowledging what you'd thrown at him weeks ago, but not exactly a joke this time. the copier beeped announcing the job was done, but neither of you moved. the tension hummed between you, and for the first time, jake wasn't pretending he didn't enjoy watching you squirm.
you tilted your head, forcing a smirk. "funny, i thought you liked acting like one."
he didn't answer right away. his eyes dragged over your face slowly, like he was trying to figure out how far you'd let this go. up close, you noticed things you usually tried to ignore. the way his jaw flexed when he held back words. the small scar on his chin. his eyes scanning you like he was reading something there if he looked long enough. your pulse stuttered under the weight of it.
jake leaned in slightly, mouth tugging at the corner. "i'm not a dad," he said steadily. then softer, "i just follow rules."
your lips curved despite your jumping pulse. "yeah? what's rule number one?"
he hesitated like he regretted letting you steer here, but his eyes stayed on yours. when he answered, his voice was lower. "don't hook up with coworkers."
the words landed heavy. you held his gaze, stomach knotting, mouth dry. he looked at you like he was waiting to see if you'd flinch, if you'd laugh, if you'd call him out for drawing that line while standing close enough for his tie to brush your arm. but you didn't flinch. you let the silence stretch, eyes flicking to his mouth before you could stop yourself, and jake caught it. you knew he did because his breath hitched barely noticeably, and the tiniest smirk crossed his lips.
you tilted your head, voice low and sharper than intended. "so you've never thought about breaking that rule?"
his eyes flicked over your face like he was deciding if you were joking, but the smirk came back slow. "are you asking if i've thought about it... or if you're offering?"
your breath hitched but you didn't look away. "maybe both."
he let out the smallest laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. he stepped closer, the space shrinking until his tie brushed your blouse. "you're gonna get yourself in trouble saying shit like that."
the truth was, jake knew you liked trouble. he'd seen it in how you poked at him in meetings, lingered at his desk for things you didn't need, called him daddy once and looked smug about it. you weren't clueless, you knew exactly how to push, and it was driving him fucking insane. "maybe i want trouble," you said quietly.
something in his expression shifted. darker. "yeah?"
"yeah."
he moved closer, hand coming up to rest on the counter beside your hip, caging you in without touching you. "you know what happens if we do this?"
"we break your rule," you said.
"we break a lot more than that." you tilted your face up at him then, slow, and your hand lifted, grazing the end of his tie at first, like you were testing. then you dragged your fingers along the silk, smoothing it down, winding it loosely between your hands. jake's eyes searched yours, and whatever he found there made his jaw tighten. "fuck," he breathed out, almost to himself.
"what?"
"you," he said bluntly. "you're making this impossible."
"making what impossible?"
"staying professional. keeping my distance. pretending i don't think about you constantly." the admission came out frustrated, like he'd been holding it in too long. "pretending i don't want to–" he stopped himself, but you could see it in his face. how badly he wanted to close the distance. how hard he was fighting it.
"want to what?" you pushed, voice barely above a whisper.
"don't do that," he said, voice dropping as he leaned in, closing the space inch by inch without touching you yet. "you're trouble."
you blinked up at him, lips curving. "me? never. i'm such a good girl."
he let out a low sound, almost a hum. "yeah... that's what you want people to think, isn't it?" his hand lifted slowly, one finger tracing along your jaw. the touch was light, maddening, his thumb barely grazing the corner of your mouth before pulling back. "always so polite. so well behaved."
jake stepped in closer, his thigh brushing yours, then easing between your legs as he shifted his weight. not pressing hard, just enough to make you aware of how little space was left. his other arm braced against the counter behind you, boxing you in. he didn't need to touch more than he already had – the implication was enough. he was in control and you both knew it.
his thumb slid from your jaw to your mouth, pressing against your lower lip. you parted for him instantly, breath hitching at the command in the touch. "i can behave for you," you whispered, voice thin and needy.
jake's jaw flexed. the sound shot straight through him, left his thoughts going places they had no business going at work. behave for me? behave bent over my desk, behave with your knees on the floor, behave with my hand tangled in your hair – he cut the thought before it consumed him, but too late. the picture was already burned in his head.
"fuck – y/n..." his voice was low, warning, but his thumb was still at your lip, pressing harder just to watch you yield. "you don't know what you're saying."
then he shifted, thigh pressing higher, firmer, right where you couldn't ignore it. your body reacted before your mind could, a sharp moan breaking from your throat, breathless and unguarded. that sound nearly undid him. he huffed out a laugh, dark and amused, tilting his head as his lips brushed close to yours. "i fucking knew it."
your hand shot up, grabbing his tie, pulling him down. the silk tightened between your fingers, dragging him closer until his mouth hovered just above yours. he stopped himself there, barely.
"what do you want?" his voice was rough, restraint stretched to breaking.
your eyes were wide, pupils blown, lips parted under his thumb. "don't make me say it."
he ground his thigh higher between yours, smirk curling at the corner of his mouth when you shivered. "do i have to make you beg?"
"please, jake..." your grip on his tie tightened, pulling him down, closer, voice desperate. "kiss me."
that last thread snapped. he closed the gap, finally crashing his mouth onto yours, heat and relief spilling over him all at once.
the kiss deepened fast, his hand sliding from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you there. you leaned harder into him, lips parting wider when his tongue pressed, and the sound you made, a broken whimper, had his teeth catching your lower lip before he even thought about it. he bit down just enough to make you gasp, then chased the sound with another kiss, hungrier, less careful.
he walked you backward without breaking contact, guiding you until your spine hit the counter with a soft thud, papers crinkling under your hands. the copier hummed beside you, absurd backdrop for how fast the room had narrowed to nothing but him.
his hips pressed into yours and you felt the shift before you realized what he was doing. his hands gripped your thighs, strong and certain, and in one smooth motion he lifted you onto the counter. the skirt that had been distracting him all day rode higher, fabric sliding up your legs as you instinctively hooked one around his waist. he stepped in closer, guiding your knee to lock against his hip, his body pinning you there.
"knew you'd feel good like this," he murmured against your mouth, lips brushing yours as he spoke. you tried to answer but he pressed forward again, stealing the words before they formed. his body boxed you in, his hands spreading wider over your thighs, thumbs dragging against skin.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, lips wet, breathing uneven. "so much for being a good girl," he said, mouth twitching. "you're wrapped around me already." his hips rolled into yours again, slower this time, making sure you felt it. "tell me – this what you wanted?"
his hands were firm at your waist, grounding you. "i've been thinking about doing this for a while," you breathed, head tipping back as his mouth trailed down to your neck.
jake hummed against your skin, lips brushing over your pulse before he bit lightly and soothed it with his tongue. "oh yeah? thinking about me when you were supposed to be working?"
you let out a shaky laugh, fingers tightening in his tie. "don't tell me you weren't thinking about it too."
he pulled back to meet your eyes, that grin curling at his mouth. "yeah. i was." his hands slid higher, palms dragging up the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing slow circles just shy of where you needed them. he kissed along your neck again, lower, teeth catching the edge of your collarbone before working back up to your ear. when his mouth closed around your earlobe, you whimpered softly, and that made him laugh quietly against you.
"you wanna know what i've been thinking?" his voice was low, teasing, fingers pausing high on your thighs. you nodded, breath uneven, another sound slipping out. he chuckled, the vibration making you shiver. "i've been thinking about all the shit i wanna do to you. days now. every time you push, every time you open that smart mouth of yours like you know i won't bite back, i'm picturing you spread out on my desk, begging me not to stop. picturing what you'd sound like if i fucked that good girl act right out of you."
your thighs opened wider under his words, and he rewarded you with a slow drag of his fingers higher, the pressure maddening. "you know when it started?" he murmured, mouth hot against your ear. "when you called me daddy. thought you were being cute, thought you'd get away with it." his teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it into his mouth, making your body jolt. "but i knew right then – you're a fucking brat. and you like it. you want me to catch you being bad so i can put you back in line."
your breath broke on another whimper, nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt. he smirked against your skin, one hand gripping your thigh tighter, pushing you open for him. "see? knew it. you've been dying for me to make you behave."
"jake..." your voice cracked on his name, soft and needy. your nails curled harder into his shirt. "you've been making me crazy."
he stilled just enough to savor it, smirk brushing against your skin as he mouthed at your jaw. "yeah? finally admitting it?"
"mmh," you whined, rolling your hips against his thigh for relief that wasn't enough. "you walk around being so fucking hot." your tone pitched higher, half pout, half tease. "you know what you're doing to me, don't you?"
his fingers tightened on your thigh, digging in just enough to make you gasp. "say it like that and i might think you're blaming me."
"oh, i am blaming you," you shot back, bratty and breathless. "you've been making me want things i'm not supposed to want."
jake leaned in, dragging his teeth down your neck before sucking hard enough to mark. his voice was low, dangerous. "tell me what you want, baby."
you shivered, whining again, dragging his tie tighter between your fingers. "you fucking me until i can't even remember my own name. that what you wanted to hear?"
he laughed against your skin, the sound rough, smug, like he'd just confirmed something he already knew. "that's better." his hand slid higher, fingers brushing between your thighs. "say it again. tell me what i make you think about."
"fuck–" the word slipped out desperate, your thighs spreading wider around him as you ground down against his hand. "i think about you ruining me, daddy–"
the noise he let out was low, feral, his forehead pressing to yours like he needed the anchor. “fuck. knew it.” his mouth crashed back onto yours, kiss biting and messy, his hand finally cupping you through the thin fabric of your your skirt, pressure enough to make your hips buck. he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against your lips, voice dark, “and you’re gonna learn real fast that if you call me daddy, you don’t get to whine your way out of it. you’re gonna do what i tell you.”
your moan was wrecked, shameless, hips chasing his touch like you couldn’t help it. “that’s it. be a good girl now. show me you can behave when i’ve got you like this.” his hand finally slipped under the hem of your skirt, finding your already ruined panties, and he pressed there first, through the thin fabric, just to feel how badly you were shaking for him. then his mouth curved into a grin against your throat. “fuck, you’re soaked for me.” he said it like a fact.
you whimpered, your grip on his tie tightening as you tried to grind into his hand. “jake—”
“hm?” his tone was smug, steady, fingers brushing right over your clit now, lazy circles that made your hips stutter. “what happened to that good girl composure? thought you could behave for me.”
“i am,” you whined, breath catching. “i’m being good.”
he laughed under his breath, middle finger dipping down to tease your entrance, sliding just enough to feel how wet you were before pulling back. “no, baby, this isn’t good. this is filthy. you’re dripping on my hand in the fucking copy room.”
your moan broke high in your throat, your forehead pressing into his shoulder. he rewarded it with another drag over your clit, firmer this time, his breath rough against your ear. “been dreaming about this pussy for weeks,” he muttered, words harsh but reverent.
his finger pushed in slow, just one, testing, and your gasp went sharp, desperate. “fuck—” you whined, legs trembling around him. “more, please, i need—”
he cut you off with a growl, kissing you hard, his tongue swallowing your broken plea. when he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his hand working steady between your legs. “greedy little thing. can’t even get one finger before you’re begging for more.”
your hips rolled helplessly into his hand, chasing every stroke. “because it’s you,” you gasped, eyes glassy as you looked at him. “i need you.”
the words almost undid him. his jaw clenched, his cock straining against his slacks, and he pushed a second finger into you, stretching you open, groaning at how easily you took it. “yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, pumping into you, thumb pressing your clit with each thrust. “take me so well. you’re perfect, you know that? perfect little slut just for me.”
your cry was shameless, high-pitched, and he bit down on your neck to muffle his own curse. his head spun with how wet you were, how tightly you clenched around his fingers, how every whimper seemed to feed straight into his cock. he pressed harder, curling his fingers just right, his voice rough in your ear. “look at you—how the fuck am i supposed to let you walk back into that office tomorrow knowing you come undone this easy for me?”
he pulled his fingers out of you slow, and the sound you made at the loss was soft, broken, almost a protest. you shifted your hips forward, chasing him, but his hand was already leaving you. “ah, ah,” jake said, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. his voice was low, calm, but sharp enough to cut through your whimpers. “behave. be a good girl for daddy.”
you pouted, lips parted, chest rising fast, but you didn’t move. just stared at him with that wide, sulky look that made him grin. “strip,” he ordered, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. he slid you off the counter, your fingers working at the hem of your skirt first. his eyes never left you, tracking every button, every inch of skin you revealed. by the time your blouse was gone and your bra hit the floor, he was leaning back slightly, jaw tight, chest rising faster than before.
“fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. he stepped closer, mouth finding the line of your collarbone, kissing down hard. his hands moved over you, and he kissed lower, your nipples, the curve of your breast, the flat of your stomach, until he was sinking down, dropping to his knees in front of you.
his tie brushed against your thighs as he pushed them apart, his hands bracketing your hips with a grip that said you weren’t going anywhere. he looked up at you from there, hair falling into his face, his eyes dark and locked on yours, and something about the sight made your knees wobble. “jesus, look at you,” he said, voice rougher now, almost reverent. “so fucking perfect”
his mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh, hot and wet, and you gasped when he sucked a mark there. then he lifted one of your legs, guiding it up until it rested over his shoulder, his arm sliding under to hold the weight easily, and he was staring at you like he’d been starving for this. “hold on to me,” he muttered, both hands firm on your thighs, steadying you even though you were already trembling.
and then his mouth was on you, tongue flat and slow at first, savoring, before he licked a long stripe up your folds and sucked your clit into his mouth. the sound that tore out of you was sharp, your fingers tangling in his messy hair instantly. he groaned against you, the vibration making you shiver, his grip on your thigh tightening. he pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, he grinned up at you from between your legs. “been dreaming about this pussy,” he rasped, voice almost wrecked. “and now i get to taste it.”
his tongue worked fast, flat strokes over your clit before switching to short, sharp flicks. his nose pressed into you when he buried his mouth deeper, tongue fucking into your entrance, sloppy and wet. “fuck, you taste sweet,” he groaned against you, voice muffled. he didn’t ease up; he held you wide open, steady, forcing you to take every flick of his tongue. “dripping all over my fucking face. you like me on my knees for you?”
“y-yes—oh my god—” the words tumbled out, your moans breaking as his tongue circled your clit again. your nails dragged down the back of his head, tugging at his hair hard enough to make him grunt.
he pulled back just for a second, chin slick, eyes blazing up at you. “say it louder.”
“yes, daddy,” you whined, hips rolling against his mouth, your voice pitched so high it cracked.
that made him laugh, before his mouth sealed over your clit again. he sucked hard, his hand sliding lower to push two fingers inside you at the same time. the stretch made you cry out, your whole body trembling as he pumped them in deep, curling them just right while his mouth never left your clit. “so fucking tight,” he rasped, pulling off just long enough to growl the words against your skin.
“please—don’t stop—” you gasped, voice breaking into a sob.
he pinned you harder by the thigh, one big hand wrapped around your leg on his shoulder, holding you in place as you writhed against his face. his other hand kept working inside you, fingers fucking into you fast now, every thrust loud and wet. “i can feel you—fuck—you’re so close, aren’t you?”
your head dropped back, mouth open, moans spilling out sharp and broken. “yes—yes, i’m—fuck—”
he pressed harder, faster, relentless. “cum for me, baby.”
the pressure snapped quick, your whole body shuddering as your orgasm tore through you. you screamed his name, thighs clamping around his head as he held you open and kept working you through it. jake groaned low in his chest, eating it up, tongue lapping at everything you gave him like he was starving. “good fucking girl,” he praised against you, even as you whined and shook, too sensitive, begging weakly for a break.
only then did he pull back, chin glistening, lips swollen, a wild grin on his face. “fuck,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before licking it clean anyway. “you’re fucking addictive.”
jake stood, and when you looked up at him, your legs still trembling, he felt that rush of power go straight to his cock. towering over you, he cupped your jaw in one hand, his thumb pressing against your cheek while the other wrapped loosely around your throat. “are you gonna thank daddy now?” his voice was rough, smug, and you swallowed, lips parted, a weak nod the only answer you managed.
“on your knees,” he ordered, pulling you forward, he guided you down, his hand steady at the back of your neck, until you were kneeling on the floor in front of him.
you looked up, pupils blown wide, jake let out a low groan at the sight, his tie hanging loose around his shoulders now, his shirt rumpled and half untucked. your fingers worked fast at his belt, tugging until it came undone, sliding open the button of his slacks. when you dragged the zipper down and pushed the fabric aside, your breath caught, eyes going wide.
“fuck,” you whispered, and jake smirked, watching your expression with satisfaction.
he was thick, long, the head already flushed and leaking precum, and just the sight of your lips parting made him twitch in your hand. “yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through your hair as you wrapped your fingers around him. “big, isn’t it? but you can take it. come on, be a good girl for me.”
you gave him a bratty little look, lashes fluttering, and leaned in slow, pressing your tongue flat against the tip before pulling back with a smirk. “don’t tease,” he growled, pushing his hips forward just enough to bump against your lips. his hand tightened in your hair, steadying you. “open up. i know you can handle it.” you parted your mouth wider, letting him in, the stretch immediate as you worked your lips down his cock.
his breath hitched, a curse falling out of him as he watched you sink lower, your hand twisting around the base where your mouth couldn’t reach yet. “fuck, that’s it,” he rasped, his grip on your hair guiding you in rhythm. “take this cock. i wanna see that mouth full.”
your moan vibrated around him, and the sound made his head drop back for a second before his eyes snapped down to you again. your lips stretched around him, drool already starting to slick your chin as you tried to take him deeper. jake’s hand held firm in your hair, keeping you steady, but you pulled back just a little too soon, giving him a smug look with your tongue still pressed against his tip.
“seriously?” he laughed, but it came out rough, choked with restraint. “already trying to be a brat with my cock in your mouth?” you hummed in fake innocence, the sound vibrating against him before you licked slowly up the underside of his shaft, eyes locked on his. “fuck that,” he muttered, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the back of your head with both hands now. “open up. i’m done letting you tease.”
before you could smirk again, he pushed forward, guiding himself deeper into your mouth. you gagged softly, your throat tightening around him, and he groaned at the feeling. “yeah. that’s it. take it. you can take more.” he pulled back, then pushed in again, a little deeper this time, setting a rhythm that had your hands clutching his thighs for balance.
his cock slid over your tongue, brushing the back of your throat, and each thrust came sharper, more deliberate. “look at you,” he rasped, watching the way your lips stretched around him. “drooling, gagging, but still so fucking desperate. you love this, don’t you?” your eyes watered as you tried to nod, the motion clumsy with his cock filling your mouth. “uh-uh,” he corrected, voice low, hips pushing deeper until your nose brushed his stomach. “no nodding. say it.”
you pulled back just far enough to gasp for air, spit stringing from your lips to his cock. “i love it—” your voice was wrecked, breathless, “—daddy.”
that snapped something in him. with a growl, he pushed back into your mouth as he fucked your throat harder, faster. your gag reflex kicked, but he didn’t stop, groaning at the way you clenched around him. “fuck, that’s it,” he panted, his abs flexing as he drove deeper, the sounds wet and obscene. “good fucking girl. letting me use your throat like this.”
you moaned around him, the vibration making his hips stutter before he forced the rhythm steady again. spit ran down your chin, onto your chest, but you didn’t stop; you pushed yourself forward into him, taking as much as he gave. he looked down, the sight almost undoing him. your mascara smudged, your lips swollen, drool dripping while you still stared up at him with wide, glassy eyes. “oh, god,” he groaned, voice breaking. “so good, oh, fuck–”
jake’s thrusts grew rougher, he was right on the edge, when he yanked you back suddenly, spit spilling down your chin as he dragged you off him by the hair. you gasped, coughing, lips swollen and wet, but before you could whine he leaned down, his mouth hot on your ear. “i want to be inside you when i cum.”
then he hauled you up, his strength making it effortless, spinning you toward the nearest wall. your palms hit flat against it, your cheek pressing to the cool surface as he pushed you forward, bending you until your back arched perfectly for him. his cock slid heavy against your ass as he muttered, almost to himself, “fuck, i don’t have a condom.”
“i don’t care,” you whined, voice high, desperate. “i need it raw—please.”
that snapped the last of his restraint. “fuck, yeah, okay,” he hissed, his cock slapping hot and thick against your bare skin. he held himself there, grinding slow between your legs, coating himself in your slick before lining up. “you’re insane,” he growled, his chest pressed to your back, his breath ragged. “you’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”
you pushed back against him, needy, whining, “fuck me, please.”
he groaned low in his throat, fumbling for his tie that hung loose around his shoulders. in one smooth motion he looped it around your neck, tightening it just enough that you felt the snug pull at your throat. “there,” he muttered, voice dark and satisfied as he tugged lightly on the makeshift leash. “if you’re gonna act like a needy little pet, i’ll put you on a leash.”
you moaned needy for him, then he thrust into you in one sharp stroke, bottoming out so fast your moan cracked into a cry, your nails scraping the wall for balance. “fuck–so tight,” he groaned, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a brutal rhythm that had the tie tugging against your throat with every movement. “this pussy’s mine now. you hear me?”
you whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, your voice high and broken. “yes—yes, it’s yours.”
his hand gripped your hip hard, the other holding the tie, pulling you back into each thrust. the sound of skin slapping filled the small room, wet and obscene, your cries mixing with his sharp groans. “good fucking girl,” he praised, his voice rough, his thrusts getting faster. “taking it raw for me like this. letting me use you exactly how i want.”
the tie bit tighter against your throat as he yanked, forcing you to arch even more, the angle making him hit deeper, harder, until your knees trembled. “take it,” he growled into your ear, hips pounding into you. “take it all for daddy. you like being fucked like this? on your leash?” your reply was barely words, just high-pitched moans tangled with his name. he smirked against your shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave marks. “yeah, you fucking love it.”
his hand slid from your hip up to your stomach. he pressed flat against your belly, right above your cunt, holding you still while he buried himself all the way in. “feel that?” his voice was dark, low, his forehead pressed to the back of your head. “that’s me. i’m so deep inside you i can feel it right here.” his palm pushed harder on your belly, making you squirm. “fuck, you’re split open around me.”
your cry was sharp, broken, and he laughed against your ear, hips never slowing. “always knew you were dirty,” he said, punctuating it with a hard slap to your ass, the sting making you jolt forward. he grabbed your hip before you could move, pulling you back onto his cock. “knew there was no way that good girl act was real. this is who you are. daddy’s needy little pet, dripping and begging.”
“please—” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut, the tie biting into your throat with every thrust.
he yanked it again, harder this time, pulling your head back so he could look at your face while he pounded into you. your lips were parted, cheeks wet, spit smeared down your chin, and he groaned at the sight. “you fucking love it, don’t you? love when i treat you like this.”
“yes,” you cried, voice pitching higher as your nails clawed at the wall for balance. “yes, i love it.”
he slapped your ass again, harder, the sound sharp. “say it louder.”
“i love it!” you moaned, your voice cracked, raw.
his hand spread across your lower back, pressing you down while his hips slammed forward faster, deeper. the angle made you scream, your whole body shaking as he filled you again and again. “good girl,” he rasped, tugging the tie tight, making your throat constrict. “my perfect little slut, taking daddy’s cock raw. fuck, you’re everything i thought you’d be.”
jake pulled out of you fast, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, but before you could protest he spun you around and lifted you off the floor like you weighed nothing. you gasped, arms looping instinctively around his shoulders as he set you down hard on the counter, your back hitting the edge of the copier. papers scattered to the floor but neither of you cared.
his hands went to his shirt, undoing the buttons quick, his chest slick with sweat when he pushed it open. your eyes dragged over him – broad shoulders, the lines of muscle in his torso, the flex of his arms still holding you steady – and your mouth went dry.
“jesus, jake,” you whispered, almost in awe, eyes wide as your fingers reached to touch him.
he smirked, leaning forward to press the head of his cock against you again, sliding through your slick folds before pushing in slow, inch by inch. the stretch made you whimper, head tipping back, but he caught your chin and forced you to look at him. “eyes on me,” he muttered, voice low but sharp. “don’t look away.”
you nodded weakly, clinging to him as he sank all the way in. the burn of it gave way to a fullness that made your stomach flutter, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. he set a brutal rhythm almost instantly, hips slamming into yours, the copier shaking under the force of each thrust. his eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and hungry, his hand gripping your thigh tight enough you knew it would bruise.
“fuck, you feel unreal,” he groaned, his forehead pressing briefly to yours before pulling back. his gaze flicked to your mouth, to the way it was falling open with every moan, and his grin turned sharp. “ever think about what would happen if someone walked in right now? hm? you ever think about our boss catching you spread out like this?”
your moan was sharp, embarrassed and turned on all at once, your nails digging into his shoulders. “does he know what a good little slut you are?” jake kept going, his thrusts harder now, the tie still looped around your throat swaying with every movement. “sitting in meetings acting all proper, but the second i get you alone you’re begging me to fuck you raw.”
“oh my god,” you gasped, cheeks burning as you clenched tighter around him.
he laughed, but it came out ragged, his abs tightening with the effort of holding himself back. his hand slid from your thigh up your stomach, pressing flat right where his cock was stretching you, making you whimper louder. “bet no one’s ever filled you up like this.”
you shook your head frantically, your breath catching. “no–never–-fuck, jake.”
he slammed into you harder at that, groaning as your cunt squeezed around him. his free hand came down on your ass with a loud slap, the sting making you cry out before he gripped you there, pulling you closer to meet every thrust. “that’s right,” he growled. “mine now. nobody else gets to fuck you like this.”
one of his hands slid lower, his thumb finding your clit. he pressed down hard, rubbing fast circles that had you jerking under him instantly. “fuck—yes—” you gasped, your nails raking down his back. his thumb pressed harder, his rhythm rough and merciless. “daddy—” your voice cracked, high and broken, the word spilling out before you even thought about it.
“yeah, that’s right,” he muttered, hips slamming harder, his teeth grazing your jaw. “say it again.”
“daddy,” you whined, clinging to him, your voice wrecked. “please, daddy–”
his groan was low and sharp, his thumb circling faster. “fuck, i knew you’d sound perfect calling me that.” you clenched tight around him, your whole body trembling, and he praised you through it, voice rough but steady. “so fucking tight. you’re taking me so well. that’s my girl. daddy’s perfect little slut.”
your moans came higher, more frantic, each thrust making your voice catch. the copier rattled beneath you, his chest slick with sweat against yours. he buried his face against your neck, grunting into your skin. “fuck, i can feel you squeezing me. you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?”
“yes—yes, please, i’m so close—”
“then do it,” he growled, thumb rubbing harder, his cock slamming deep. “cum all over me. make a mess for daddy.” your orgasm hit sharp, your cry echoing off the walls as your body arched into him, thighs trembling. your cunt spasmed around his cock, clenching so tight it dragged a curse out of him, his hips stuttering but never stopping. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice breaking. “fuck–where do i cum?”
your answer was instant, desperate, screamed high and raw. “inside! please, inside!”
his groan was guttural, his forehead pressing to yours as his thrusts went brutal, chasing his own release. “fuck yeah,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “gonna fill my slut up, make you mine.”
two more thrusts and he was gone, spilling deep inside you with a sharp grunt, his hand still grinding against your clit to draw out every last wave of your orgasm. he held you there, pressed tight, his cock twitching as he emptied himself into you, groaning through the aftershocks. his grip loosened slowly, his thumb brushing your swollen lip before he kissed you hard, messy and breathless. your chest was still heaving when his thrusts slowed to nothing, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching breath in the silence thick with the sound of the copier’s faint hum.
he stayed inside you for a moment longer, his hand cradling your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek in a gesture almost too gentle for what he’d just done. “hey,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips this time, unhurried, grounding. “you okay?”
you nodded, still dazed, but a lazy grin tugged at your mouth. "and here i thought you were a responsible guy."
jake laughed, the sound low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you. "i am responsible," he shot back. "just also happen to be good at multitasking."
before you could answer, he slid out carefully, hands steady on your waist. your legs were shaky when your feet touched the floor, but he caught you easily, pulling you against his chest. "easy," he murmured, one hand smoothing down your back. "you good?"
"yeah," you breathed, leaning into him. "just... need a second."
he kissed your temple, then bent down to help you find your clothes scattered across the floor. handed you your underwear first, then your blouse, watching as you fumbled with the buttons. when you struggled with the third one, fingers still trembling, he brushed your hands away gently and did it himself.
"there," he said softly, fixing your collar. his thumb traced along your jaw. "come on. there's a shower in the executive bathroom down the hall."
"executive bathroom?"
"yeah. the boss never uses it after six." he was already pulling his own clothes back on, tucking his shirt in, taking his tie off your neck with a smirk, and straightening on his neck instead. "it's got an actual shower."
you followed him down the dimly lit hallway, the office eerily quiet at this hour. just the hum of computers left on and the distant sound of the building's ventilation. he kept one hand at the small of your back the whole way, guiding you.
the bathroom was nicer than you expected – marble counters, proper lighting, and a full shower stall in the corner. jake turned on the water, testing the temperature with his hand until it was warm enough.
"get in," he said, then caught your wrist when you reached for him. "i'll be right back. just gonna clean up the copy room real quick."
"jake–"
"five minutes," he promised, kissing your forehead. “kinda hard to explain toner paper soaked in your cum.”
you laughed and grabbed his wrist before he could leave. "nope. not letting you go."
his eyebrows shot up. "seriously? after all that?"
your grin turned sly, fingers curling tighter around his wrist. "can't help it," you whispered, lips brushing his jaw. "i get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy."
he groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder with a laugh that sounded half exasperated, half turned on. "you're gonna fucking kill me." but he was already starting to unbutton his shirt again, shaking his head. "fine. we'll deal with the copy room later."
he stripped down and followed you into the shower, immediately pulling you under the warm spray. his hands were gentle now, completely different from before, smoothing over your shoulders and down your arms. "you okay?" he asked quietly, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. "i wasn't too rough?"
"i'm perfect," you said, leaning into his touch. "more than perfect."
he reached for the soap, working up a lather in his hands before running them over your skin. careful, methodical, taking his time. washed your back, your arms, even knelt down to do your legs. when he stood back up, water streaming down his face, you caught his jaw and kissed him. slower this time, softer.
"what was that for?" he asked when you pulled back.
"just wanted to."
he smiled, that rare genuine one that made his whole face soften. "yeah?"
"yeah."
after the shower, he grabbed towels from the cabinet, wrapped one around you first before dealing with his own. found you sitting on the counter looking worn out and happy, and stepped between your knees without thinking about it.
"we should probably talk about this," he said, hands resting on your thighs.
"talk about what?"
"about how i just completely destroyed my number one rule."
you traced the line of his collarbone with one finger. "regret it?"
"not even a little bit," he admitted. "which is probably a problem."
"why a problem?"
"because now i can't stop thinking about doing it again." his hands squeezed your thighs gently. "and again. probably gonna be a disaster at work tomorrow trying not to stare at you."
"so don't try," you said simply. "stare all you want."
he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. "you're terrible for my productivity."
"good."
you stayed like that for a while, just breathing together in the quiet bathroom, steam still lingering in the air. eventually he helped you down, gathered both your clothes, and you got dressed slowly.
"my place or yours?" he asked as you headed back toward your desks.
"presumptuous," you teased.
"realistic," he corrected, grabbing his keys and laptop bag. "because there's no way i'm letting you go home alone after that."
and honestly? you didn't want him to.
#ronnie's notes: i’ve been wanting to write this jake fic inspired by tears literally since the first time i heard the song SO I DID ITTT!!!!! 😭 and yes this was even before his edit with it went viral on tiktok btw lmaooo i’m actually so happy it turned out exactly how i pictured it also shoutout to the anon who said they were shocked i never wrote anything w daddy kink before… well here u go enjoy 🫡 and tysm to my friends @hoonieyun @s1rawb3rry @heeseung64 for the collab on sabrina’s new album!! every single one of their works is insane in the best way and i hope u guys check them out when they drop bc u will NOT regret it <3
bf!werewolf!jake x gf!human!reader | established relationship | rut & heat | soft dom turns rough | rough smut & soft aftermath | porn with no plot 😔
a/n: THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG OMG ALSO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING FOR A WHILE I HATE UNI (no i don’t)
summary: Jake has always protected you from his heat. Every cycle, he locks himself away, scared of what his instincts might do to someone so soft, so precious to him. But you’re tired of being treated like you’ll break. This time, you want it—you want him, the way he really is. And this time…he’s not strong enough to hold back.
warning: rough sex, 69, MULTIPLE ROUNDS, reverse cowgirl, mating press, tit slapping, feral heat behavior, soft dom to rough dom switch, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, biting/marking, begging, possessiveness, desperate reader, filthy talk, love-infused primal smut, extremely explicit language, breeding and squirting— MINORS DNI
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
The smell of cedar hits you first.
It's faint at the edge of the hallway, then stronger—richer—by the time you reach his bedroom door. It's always like this when the full moon nears. His heat comes in waves. And when it does, he disappears.
You hate it.
Hate that he thinks he has to protect you from it.
From himself.
Jake isn't just your boyfriend—he's your mate, even if the mark isn't on your skin yet. The bond is deeper than blood. He was your best friend before anything else. He knows your heart like it's his own. But every time his heat approaches, he pulls away like he's some kind of danger to you.
Maybe he is.
But you're not scared of him.
You're scared of being shut out again.
You knock.
Silence.
"Jake," you murmur, voice low but firm. "I know you're in there."
Still no response. But the cedar smell grows stronger.
Your fingers hover on the doorknob.
"Please don't do this again." Your voice softens. "Just talk to me. I can't keep pretending I don't know what's happening."
A second passes. Then another.
Then—
A thump.
A growl.
And finally, his voice—hoarse, strained, like it's killing him to speak.
"Go home."
Another thud. You hear something crack.
"I'm not safe."
You lean your forehead against the door.
"I don't care."
You hear him inhale sharply. Like that got to him. Like he's been listening to every beat of your voice.
He speaks again, and this time, it's deeper—low and dangerous.
"You're making it worse."
Your heart clenches. But you don't back away.
"Then let me in."
His growl is more guttural this time, laced with something hungry.
"I can't be gentle right now."
"I don't want you to be."
Silence.
And then—
You hear the lock click.
And you feel it.
The shift in the air.
The thick, charged tension pulsing just beyond that door.
Like the second it opens, something caged will come undone.
But it's still closed.
Still a sliver of distance he's clinging to.
"Jake," you whisper. "Please."
You don't hear anything this time. Just another quiet, guttural exhale. And then—He speaks.
"You don't know what you're asking for."
But he doesn't lock the door again.
And he doesn't send you away.
You rest your hand on the knob. Not yet turning it.
Just breathing, heart racing.
Because you do know.
And you're ready.
But he's still fighting himself.
Still trying—desperately—to stay gentle.
_____________
The door creaks open slow.
You don't rush it.
You stand there, fingers curled around the knob, and when the wood gives way, what you see makes your breath catch—because you've never seen Jake like this.
Not fully.
He's shirtless, sweat-damp, every muscle taut like a stretched wire. His chest rises and falls like he's holding back a beast, not a breath. Jaw clenched. Hair messy. His eyes—golden brown, usually soft and warm—are darker now, glowing in the dim light, locked onto you like prey.
His hand is braced against the wall. The other is fisted so tight, claws start to peek out.
He looks feral.
He looks ruined.
And he still looks at you like you hung the goddamn moon.
"...Jake," you whisper.
He flinches.
"I told you not to come," he growls. "You need to leave before I—before I do something I can't take back."
You take a single step forward.
And he backs away.
Like the sight of you in his room—your soft cotton tee, bare legs, that look in your eyes—is the very thing setting him off.
"You're not going to hurt me."
"I will," he snarls. "Not because I want to. Because I won't be able to stop."
You reach for him. Slowly. Gently. Palm resting over his heartbeat, which slams against your skin like war drums.
"I don't want you to stop."
He swears under his breath.
"You don't know what it's like, baby. My heat—when it really hits—I don't just want to fuck. I need to. It's not slow. It's not soft. I'll take you too hard. I'll fuck you until you can't move. I'll make you come so many times you'll beg me to stop and I won't. You think you want that, but you—"
"I do."
Your voice cuts through the fog.
"I do want it, Jake. I want you. All of you. The part you hide. The part that wants to ruin me."
He groans, like the words physically hurt. He steps back—again—and slams a fist into the dresser behind him, knuckles denting wood. His body is trembling, not from fear—from restraint.
"I'm gonna break you."
You move closer.
"I want to be broken by you."
His gaze flicks to your lips. Your throat. Your chest. He's breathing like a wild animal now, nostrils flaring, hands twitching at his sides.
"God, baby," he whispers. "You smell like you want it."
"I do."
"You're so wet right now, aren't you?" he mutters, low and raw. "You want me to bend you over, fuck you until your legs give out, make you scream my name like I own your body."
You swallow.
"I want to come until I cry, Jake."
That does it.
He lunges.
In one motion, you're pinned against the wall, wrists gripped above your head, his body flush to yours, caging you in. His nose brushes your cheek, then down to your neck, and he inhales you. Sharp. Animal. Desperate.
You gasp, your thighs pressing together from the sheer weight of his presence.
"Fuck," he grits. "I can smell your arousal through your panties."
His lips are right at your ear now, voice breaking.
"I was gonna be gentle. I swore I'd be gentle with you someday. But now you're here, soft and soaked and begging for it. You're begging, baby."
Your voice is barely a breath.
"I am."
He pulls back—just enough to look you in the eyes—and what you see there is shattering. Love. Heat. Madness.
And something else.
Possession.
"I'm gonna make you squirt all over this fucking room."
You whimper.
He presses his forehead to yours, body trembling.
"You have five seconds to leave, baby. Five."
You don't move.
"Four."
Your breathing quickens.
"Three."
His hand slides down your waist.
"Two."
He growls, low and wet against your jaw.
"One."
You kiss him.
And then—
He breaks.
Your back hits the bed. His body crashes onto yours. His mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Hands ripping at your shirt, panties already damp between your legs, heat radiating from every inch of his skin as he devours you.
He's still trying to be soft.
But not for long.
______________
The second your back hits the mattress, Jake’s mouth is on your chest.
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t warm you up with a sweet kiss or slow glide of his fingers. You’d told him—begged him—not to be gentle. And now he’s unraveling. Coming apart at the seams.
But only for you.
His teeth catch the hem of your shirt. It’s off in seconds. Your bra is yanked down, not unclasped, his hands too frantic, too desperate to care about hooks and closures. He growls when your tits bounce free, and then he’s on them.
“S’fuckin’ perfect,” he slurs, voice muffled as he sucks one nipple into his mouth so hard you yelp. “So soft… so warm. My baby. My girl. Mine.”
You arch off the bed with a strangled moan, one hand gripping the sheets, the other tangled in his hair.
He flicks his tongue over your nipple—once, twice—then bites down, just enough to make your thighs clench.
“Jake—”
“Say it again,” he pants. “Say you want it. Say you want me like this.”
“I want you,” you cry, your voice shaking. “I want it so fucking bad. I want you to fuck me stupid, Jake—please—don’t hold back—”
He growls so low it rattles through your ribs.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, switching to your other nipple, licking, biting, sucking so hard you’re almost crying. “Knew this pretty pussy was dripping the second you walked in. Knew you were fucking aching for it.”
He palms your breast, rough fingers squeezing while he sucks the other into his mouth again, and again, messy and wet and hungry.
You can’t stop moaning. You’re soaked. Your thighs are rubbing together and you can feel how wet your panties are, how sticky and hot you’ve gotten just from his mouth on your chest.
“J-Jake—please—need your fingers, baby, please—”
He grins against your skin, wild and wicked, and kisses your nipple one last time before pulling back, eyes glowing.
“You want my fingers, baby?” he growls. “Want me to ruin this sweet little cunt before I even put my cock in?”
You nod frantically. “Yes—yes—fuck, yes—”
He sits back on his knees between your thighs, eyes fixed on the wet patch soaking through your panties. He groans deep in his throat, like the sight alone nearly sends him over the edge.
“Look at this fucking mess,” he growls. “This is all for me? Just from my mouth on your tits?”
You whimper, nodding, legs shaking.
“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” he mutters, sliding your panties to the side with two fingers. “My perfect, desperate little girl…”
And then he shoves two fingers inside you.
No warning. No tease. Just a brutal thrust straight into your soaked heat, and your body jerks with a gasp.
“Fuuuck—”
You claw at the sheets, legs flying open wider as he curls his fingers hard, pumping into you like he’s chasing something violent.
“You like that?” he pants, leaning over you, mouth back on your nipple. “You like getting fucked open like this, baby?”
“Yes, Jake—don’t stop, please—please—fuck—”
He licks and bites your nipple while his fingers thrust in and out of you, wet and rough and relentless. Every time he curls them, they hit your spot just right, and your eyes roll back.
You’re already close.
You’re not even embarrassed.
He loves that about you. Loves that you’re not holding back. That you’re not afraid of him. That you want to be ruined.
“Gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he growls. “Wanna see you gush for me. Wanna see you fall apart before I even fuck you.”
“J-Jake—baby—so close, please—!”
Your hips are bucking off the bed, chasing his fingers, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how good it feels. And he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow.
He adds a third finger.
And you scream.
“Oh my *god—*Jake—!”
“That’s it,” he groans, mouth wet against your chest. “Come for me, baby. Come so hard you make a mess all over my hand. Show me how much you fuckin’ needed this.”
His fingers pound into you, the sounds slick and obscene, your juices dripping down your thighs, the mattress creaking from the rhythm of your body jerking.
And then—
You break.
Your legs fly up, shaking. Your walls clamp down hard. Your clit pulses as the orgasm rips through you like fire. You squirt, soaking his hand, your thighs, the sheets. You’re screaming his name, breathless and raw.
“JAKE—!”
He watches the way you tremble, the way your body convulses, mouth parted, drool on your chin, and he groans like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Fuckin’ knew you could squirt,” he breathes, slowly fucking you through the aftershocks. “Knew you had this in you, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my mate.”
You’re gasping, twitching, tears streaking down your face. “T-too much—fuck—it’s so—Jake—”
But he doesn’t stop.
Because you asked for this.
And he’s in heat.
And you’re his.
And this?
This is only the beginning.
______
You’re trembling.
Still slick, still dripping. His fingers leave you empty, and your cunt aches—fluttering, spasming, desperate for more. You barely have time to breathe before Jake’s flipping you, not to fuck you yet—but to taste you.
“Sit on my face.”
You blink through the haze. “What?”
His voice is deeper. Rougher. A low, guttural order that shakes you to your core.
“Sit. On. My. Face.* I just made you squirt all over my hand and you think I’m done?” He grins—feral and wide. “I haven’t even tasted you yet, baby.”
Your pussy clenches at the sound of that.
You straddle his chest, crawling up his body, and his hands find your ass immediately—gripping, squeezing, dragging you forward.
“I wanna drown in this pussy.”
You whimper, your thighs shaky, but he doesn’t wait. He pulls you down, seating you over his mouth—and the second his tongue touches you, you scream.
His mouth is everywhere. Tongue lapping through your folds, nose grinding against your clit. He groans, messy and obscene, as if your taste is feeding his heat. He eats you like he’s starving.
“F-fuck, Jake—oh my god—”
Your hips start moving—riding his face hard, fast, wet—and he lets you. Wants you to. He moans against your cunt, tongue fucking deep, lips wrapping around your clit to suck so hard your vision goes white.
You’re grabbing the headboard now. Grinding down, eyes rolled back, overstimulated and breathless.
And then—
You feel it.
His cock—hot, heavy, throbbing—pressed up against your chest.
Still fully hard.
Still untouched.
You look back at him. He’s panting into your cunt, pupils blown wide, completely lost in you.
You reach between his legs.
You grab him.
And he moans into your pussy.
“Ohhh fuck, baby—touch me—please—fuck, I need—”
You don’t tease. You don’t warm up.
You slide your mouth down on his cock and he bucks up hard under you.
“Shit—!”
His tongue stutters in your pussy, and you take him deeper—slow, then fast, then all the way down. His cock hits the back of your throat and your eyes water, drool spilling over your lips, but you don’t stop.
Your head bobs. His tongue drives into you. His hands clutch your ass, dragging your cunt over his face like he owns it, and you both fuck into each other’s mouths like animals in heat.
“Your mouth—fuck—so tight—so perfect—” he chokes.
You whimper around him.
“Mmph— taste so good—can’t stop, baby, you’re mine,” he growls into your cunt.
You start to shake again.
Your second orgasm rips through you on his tongue.
You squirt. Again. Right into his mouth.
And he moans, loud and filthy, drinking it.
“*Good fucking girl—*oh my god—yes—fuck—come for me, baby—come all over me—”
You sob around his cock as your body collapses, drool dripping, pussy twitching, thighs locking around his head.
He laps it all up.
He doesn’t stop.
But you pull off his cock—gasping, ruined, needy—because you need him inside you now.
You’re already moving—sliding down his chest, grabbing his cock, lining yourself up.
“Baby—” he pants, “You’re still shaking—”
“I don’t care,” you moan. “I want you. Now.”
His voice breaks.
“Then ride me, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock. Take it.”
You sink down—
_____
You slide down on him slow at first.
But even that hurts.
He’s thick, swollen from heat and sheer desperation. Your soaked cunt stretches wide around him, inch by inch, your walls fluttering from the aftershocks of your last orgasm.
Jake’s groaning beneath you, breathless.
“Fuuuck—so tight—you’re taking it so well, baby—so fucking good for me—”
Your back is to his chest, spine arching as you sink lower, your palms braced on his thighs behind you. His cock fills you deep, the stretch obscene. You can feel every vein, every twitch, every pulse.
When you bottom out, he grabs your waist like he owns it.
“You look so fucking good like this,” he growls, voice ragged in your ear. “Back arched, tits bouncing—fuck, baby—ride me.”
You lift your hips—and slam back down.
“Ahhh—!” You cry out, head tipping back. “J-Jake—!”
He groans, hands gripping your hips harder, thumbs digging into your flesh as you start to bounce.
Up.
Down.
Wet and fast. Loud and reckless.
You slam your ass against his thighs again and again, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, his cock punching deep inside with every thrust.
He growls behind you, one hand sliding up to grip your tits.
Then—
Smack.
You gasp.
He slaps your tits from underneath, hard enough to sting, and you feel it everywhere—your clit throbs, your walls squeeze tight around him, your whole body lights up.
He leans forward now, chest pressing to your back, arms curling around you like a cage. One hand still gripping your breast, the other sliding down to your throat.
You ride him harder.
Faster.
Your ass slaps down wet and rough, his cock splitting you open again and again, the squelch of your soaked pussy filling the room with every bounce.
Your body’s on fire.
Your thighs are shaking, your stomach tight, your clit grinding against the base of his cock with every thrust. You feel another orgasm building.
“Jake—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—!”
He groans, hand tightening slightly around your throat.
“You better come,” he pants into your ear. “You better make a mess all over my cock, baby. Let go. Let me feel it.”
You slam down again—and scream.
Your orgasm shreds through you. You squirt again, soaking his cock, your legs buckling.
But Jake doesn’t stop.
He thrusts up into you from below, chasing his own release, hips snapping hard. You’re crying now, gasping, begging.
“Too—much—Jake—please—”
“No,” he growls. “You begged for this. Said you wanted to be broken. You don’t get to tap out now, baby.”
He’s fucking you from beneath, and you’re just taking it, limp in his arms, choking on moans and tears and his cock buried inside you.
Then he grabs your hair, yanks your head back.
His lips brush your jaw.
“I’m gonna fill you.”
You sob. “Please—please, do it—”
“I’m gonna breed this pussy, baby,” he growls, slamming up into you. “Gonna fill you till it leaks out. Gonna fuck you again the second you stop shaking.”
You’re already shaking.
Then—he breaks.
Jake slams in one last time, cock pulsing deep, and you feel the heat of his cum flood you. He groans, low and deep, mouth open against your skin, hands locked around your waist as you both fall forward in a trembling heap.
You’re still twitching.
Still full.
Still his.
_______
You can barely move.
Your thighs are limp. Your cunt’s still twitching, his cum already dripping out of you in hot, slow waves. Your body’s been fucked senseless—your voice wrecked, your skin marked.
But he’s not done.
Jake moves slowly this time—not because he’s gentle, but because he’s possessive.
Careful with his prize.
He pulls out just long enough to see the mess he made. Your pussy spread open, fluttering, raw and leaking white. His cum everywhere. Coating your inner thighs. Smearing the backs of your legs. His cock still heavy and hard with the need to do it again.
“Oh, fuck, baby…” he pants, rubbing his tip against your slit. “You’re dripping for me. Look at this. You were made to be fucked like this.”
You moan weakly, fingers curling in the sheets. “Jake—baby—”
He kisses your thigh. Then the other. Then slides his hands under your knees—
And folds you.
Legs pushed back, knees to your chest. He looks down at you like he’s starving again. But this time… it’s deeper. Final.
You’re his.
And now he’s going to seal it.
“This,” he breathes, dragging his cockhead through your mess, “is how wolves breed.”
And then he thrusts.
Hard.
You scream.
The angle hits everything—deep, thick, brutal. He stretches you wide again, splits you open, his cock so big now it punches up into your guts.
He doesn’t move at first.
He just stays there, buried to the base, letting you feel how deep he is.
“You feel that, baby?” he whispers. “That’s your womb. I’m right there. Gonna pump you so full of my cum it won’t know what to do with it.”
You sob.
“Yes—*yes—*fuck, Jake—please, fill me—”
Then he moves.
And it’s everything.
His hands pin your thighs wide, his hips slam into yours with brutal force, and your body bounces under him with every thrust. The bedframe creaks. The mattress groans. Your tits shake with every impact and he’s watching all of it—memorizing it—like this is the moment he’s been holding back for years.
“Take it,” he grits. “Take my cock. Take my fucking pups.”
Your eyes roll back.
“I—fuck—I can’t—!”
“Yes, you can,” he growls, leaning in, sweat dripping off his jaw. “You were made for this, baby. Your body wants this. This cunt is sucking me in—begging for my cum.”
You sob, writhing beneath him, legs shaking as his cock slams deeper and deeper.
You feel it everywhere.
The stretch.
The weight.
The bulge in your belly when he bottoms out—
“Jake—you’re in my stomach—!”
“Damn right I am,” he growls. “And I’m gonna stay there.”
He pounds you harder.
Faster.
Your orgasm builds again—violent, brutal, unstoppable. You’re screaming, nails raking down his back, eyes flooding with tears as he destroys you.
“Come on,” he pants. “One more. One more for me, baby. Squirt all over this cock while I breed you.”
And you do.
Your orgasm explodes through you—wet, hot, endless. You squirt hard, crying out his name, your pussy milking him so tight he roars.
Then—
He locks his arms under your back.
Slams in deep one last time.
And comes.
Hot.
Hard.
So much it overflows instantly, thick spurts gushing out around his cock even as he stays buried.
“Fuck—*fuck—*baby—yes—yes—take it—take all of it—”
You’re gasping. Shaking. So full it hurts. Cum drips down your ass, stains the sheets, keeps coming.
And still—he doesn’t move.
He’s panting into your neck, body pressed flush to yours, cock twitching inside you. Your legs are still trembling around his waist when his lips brush your shoulder.
“You’re mine.”
You nod weakly.
His fangs drag against your skin.
Then—
Bite.
Sharp. Deep. Claiming.
You cry out—but not from pain. From completion. His heat, his cock, his love, his mark—all of it buried inside you, sealing something sacred.
He kisses the mark.
Then your lips.
Then your cunt.
“I love you,” you whisper, voice shaking, breath caught.
And for a moment, everything stops.
Jake’s breath hitches. His body goes still, still buried deep inside you, his cock softening slowly, locked in your twitching, overfilled cunt. Your thighs are still wrapped around his waist. His hands are still tangled in your hair, the tips of his claws sheathed just enough to not break skin.
Your body’s trembling from everything—heat, love, exhaustion—and when he lifts his head to look at you, the change is instant.
His expression breaks.
Not the rough, possessive Alpha that fucked you raw. Not the beast that growled into your throat and bred you like you asked for it.
Just Jake.
Your Jake.
Eyes wide. Lips parted. Full of everything he’s ever felt for you and never been brave enough to say.
“I love you, too.”
His voice cracks when he says it.
And you start crying.
You don’t even mean to. It just happens—soft, overwhelmed tears as your hands reach for him and his arms wrap around you like he never wants to let go.
“Hey, baby—hey, shh—it’s okay,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion as he kisses your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re mine.”
You cling to him.
“I didn’t say it because of the sex,” you murmur, sniffing, breath catching. “I mean, I did—but I do love you, Jake. Before this. Always.”
He groans softly, forehead pressing to yours.
“I know,” he whispers. “And I was so fucking scared to believe it.”
He kisses you again. Slow. Tender.
Then he pulls out.
You whimper at the sensation—wet, hot, and raw, his cum leaking instantly from your sore, swollen pussy. You feel the warmth drip down your thighs, pooling between them, your hole still fluttering from overstimulation.
He kisses your stomach.
Then between your thighs.
And licks.
You jolt, crying out, thighs twitching.
“J-Jake—too much—”
“Shh, I know,” he whispers, licking slow, gentle strokes through your folds. “Just need to clean you up, baby. Just want to take care of you.”
You moan helplessly as he licks the mess from your thighs, your core, soft kisses pressed to your clit between strokes. His hands never leave your body. He keeps whispering to you—
“You did so good for me.”
“You’re everything I ever needed.”
“My perfect mate.”
“My good girl.”
“My love.”
You’re crying again. But this time, you’re smiling, too.
Eventually, he pulls back, gently wipes you down with a warm cloth from the bathroom, and wraps you in his arms. You stay on top of him, your face buried in his neck, still full of his cum, still claimed. His mark on your shoulder throbs with heat and belonging.
He strokes your hair.
You fall asleep with his heart beating steady beneath your cheek and his arms holding you like nothing else matters.
Because to him—
Nothing else does.
________
Jake is panicking.
You’re barely awake, still curled up under the mess of blankets—completely naked, completely wrecked, and completely glowing. But he’s pacing.
Running a hand through his hair. Tripping over his own jeans on the floor. Muttering curses under his breath.
And you’re pretty sure his tail would be tucked if he had one out right now.
“Oh my god,” he groans, staring at the side of your thigh like it insulted his bloodline. “I knew I was too rough—fuck, baby, look at that—”
You squint, then glance down at your thigh.
Oh. Right. That one’s from when he grabbed you from behind during round two and held you in place while you came all over his cock.
It’s purple. Gorgeous, honestly.
You smile. “Hot.”
He freezes.
“No—not hot. Baby, that’s a bruise.”
“Mhm,” you hum. “A sexy bruise. From my boyfriend who wrecked my insides in the best way.”
Jake actually whimpers.
He drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, burying his face in your stomach like he’s trying to physically absorb the guilt back into his bloodstream.
“I hurt you,” he groans, voice muffled. “You’re covered in marks. Your neck—your hips—your *chest—*fuck, I shouldn’t’ve—”
You laugh.
It’s soft and sleepy, but he hears it. And he lifts his head, wide-eyed, ears perked like a kicked puppy.
“You’re laughing,” he mutters, voice fragile.
“Yes,” you reply gently. “Because I wanted it. Because you were perfect. Because you loved me so hard I forgot my own name for five hours straight.”
He makes a wounded sound and collapses onto the bed next to you, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he might disintegrate if you let go.
“I got possessive,” he says into your hair. “I couldn’t stop. You smelled like you wanted it and then you were moaning and crying and saying I was yours and I—I lost it. I bit you.”
You hum. “That’s called mating, babe. Very standard wolf stuff.”
He groans. “I *bit you—*you squirted, and I bit you—”
“Sounds like we hit all our goals for the evening.”
“You’re unbelievable,” he mumbles, even as he pulls you closer, tucking your face into his chest.
You grin against his skin. “So are you. You’re also dramatic. And hot. And very much in love with me.”
He pulls back, eyes soft, lips parted. “I am. So in love with you, I can’t even see straight. You’re my whole world. And I’m scared I’ll ruin you every time I touch you.”
You cup his jaw. “Jake.”
His eyes shimmer.
“I’d let you ruin me again. I’d ask for it. Because you love me while you do it. That’s the difference.”
He exhales shakily. “You always say the perfect thing.”
“Because you always feel too much,” you whisper. “But I love that about you.”
Jake kisses you—slow, deep, still trembling.
When he pulls back, he smiles. That crooked, chaotic, hopelessly in love smile.
SUMMARY: Being trapped in a loveless marriage with an unfaithful husband has led you to seek validation from others through your scandalous online persona. When an alluringly masked camboy keeps hitting your DMs, you can’t deny the undoubtable attraction you feel for a man you can’t have. And when a new neighbor sporting the same red hair and mole under his eyes moves into the apartment next door, you know you’re screwed. Is it really being unfaithful if your husband’s doing it too?
PAIRING: camboy!yeonjun x housewife!reader
WORD COUNT: 13k
GENRE: smut, angst
WARNINGS: nsfw, mdni, pwp, cursing, INFIDELITY, condom use, dacryphilia, mentions of financial abuse/lovebombing from the reader's husband, forced marriage, manipulation, dirty talk, soft(?) dom!yeonjun, big dick, overuse of the term ‘baby’, squirting, masturbation, filming during sex, slightly dubious consent, breeding kink (kind of), if i’m missing stuff feel free to lmk
A/N: Here is my magnum opus. Please follow if you enjoy reading and lmk what you think! I have some things cooking in my noggin for future stories… Anyway, enjoy! (I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING!!!)
–
This is the last time, you swear to yourself, that you would willingly participate in a conversation with the nosy middle-aged aunties in your apartment complex.
"You know you're running out of time," Mrs. Lee lectures. "It'll be good for you to have kids soon while you still have your youth."
Mrs. Park nods knowingly next to her as if Mrs. Lee spouted something incredibly profound. What was supposed to be a quiet walk to get a package from the mail room had once again turned into a conversation impossible to wiggle out of.
"It's not our place to pry," Mrs. Park chimes in. "Your husband would probably want you to have one sooner rather than later, right? Hell! At his age, he’s old enough even to be your father-"
Mrs. Lee punches her blabbering friend's shoulder lightly in an attempt to shut her up. Mrs. Park rubs her shoulder, flustered but taking the hint.
"Thank you for your wonderful advice," you muster a polite smile, "If that’s all, I'll be heading back up. I hope you two have a good day."
You walk past the two with a small package in hand, turning the corner of the hallway. Being curt with them would be the only way to escape their intrusive grasp. However, you find yourself slowing your steps when you hear bits and pieces of their lowered voices.
"You!" Mrs. Lee grumbles at Mrs. Park. “Why would you mention such a sensitive topic to that poor girl?! I’m sure she sees how big their age gap is! There's no need to bring it up.”
Mrs. Park grumbles.
“That’s the least of her worries when it comes to that husband of hers,” Mrs. Park scoffs. “You know, I heard from the security guy that he’s been coming home late every night, all disheveled with bruises all over his neck..."
You hear Mrs. Lee gasp, and you can’t help it when your grip on the cardboard box tightens.
"No wonder she's looked so out of sorts these days,” Mrs. Lee sighs. “She used to have such a bright personality. Much prettier back then, too…"
You grind your teeth, tempted to walk back and ask the two to continue their conversation right in front of you. You save yourself the embarrassment and walk towards the elevator.
It’s not like anything they said was a lie. There was no use in getting angry about the truth being spoken out loud; you convince yourself.
-
You sit at the dinner table, watching as the clock strikes midnight. He probably won't come home tonight either, you think to yourself.
Dinner is laid out so meticulously, two perfectly cooked salmon glistening with soy sauce glaze at the center of the table. All done by you to appease a husband who doesn’t even want to be home most of the time.
It’s the third night in a row he's been staying over at his lover's place.
Married life with Kwon Sehoon, a man you met through your parents, was ultimately a passionless one.
Straddled in debt from starting a failed business, your parents had married you off to an older man who was willing to pay a pretty penny for a young and beautiful wife.
You remember that day clearly, with you coming back home from an evening lecture, standing in front of your kneeling parents who begged you to save them from their financial ruin. The parents you once thought were invincible to pain and suffering were groveling right in front of you. So afraid of what the loan sharks would do to your parents, of having to pick up the pieces of their debt if they up and disappeared, you agreed. It seemed like the easy way out.
Sehoon seemed nice enough during your first meeting. He told you almost immediately how he didn’t like women his age.
"Younger women don't drain you like the older ones do," he once said.
You remember feeling flattered at first, not knowing the gravity of his words until you really got to know him.
You got married shortly after completing your degree, and at first, Sehoon was absolutely fixated on you. He doted on you like a pet, showering you with gifts and compliments. He lived quite modestly for someone with an affluent job. His apartment, the one you live in now, was practically empty before you came into his life. He gave you free rein to decorate as you pleased and insisted that you buy anything you wanted with his card.
He asked very little of you in return; all you had to do was be a good wife for him. And as you sit by yourself tonight, pondering his return, you feel like you failed even in that regard. Four years into marriage, you noticed the signs of waning interest trickle into everyday life.
His initial gestures of kindness led you to feel something akin to love towards him, just thankful that he didn’t treat your parents badly, like the loan sharks did. Though now that you look back, your affection seemed more akin to Stockholm Syndrome.
Your parents had promised him a warm and caring stay-at-home wife. At the ripe age of 45, he expected a lot from you– more than you could possibly give in your early 20s. Inexperienced nights of lackluster sex would drive him into fits of annoyance, giving you days of silent treatment when you would reject his advances to explore unsavory kinks in the bedroom.
You always tried to pick up the pieces, changing parts of yourself to match his ideal type of girl. Pleasant, obedient, and doll-like. It never worked.
He started accusing you of using him if you bought too many pastries from a bakery, immediately regulating your credit card use to groceries and household items. He started murmuring insults in hushed tones, knowing full well you could hear him.
Everything you thought he was crumbled within the first year of marriage. Sehoon morphed into someone unrecognizable. You never fathomed being in a situation where a man who wanted you so badly now wanted to act like you never existed. You never thought he could betray you after all the hoops he went through to have your hand in marriage.
You remember that night, just a year ago, when you heard his quiet voice in the bathroom. He was talking to someone over the phone. You couldn’t help but listen by the door that was slightly left ajar. Sehoon had been in such a bad mood at the time, lashing out at you at every chance he got.
"I miss you," he sighs lovingly, and you feel your heart sink. You hadn't heard him talk in such a gentle tone in years. "She's such a prude, you know? Always tenses up when I touch her. She can't even get me hard. I wish I were with you instead."
He cackled as the pit that you've always felt in your stomach when you were with him expanded. Though the affection you had for him had already waned by then, your husband's infidelity still felt like a shot to the chest. You wasted so many years trying to be who he wanted you to be, only for him to toss you to the side like an old toy with no batteries.
You were ashamed to say you followed him once during his escapades, watching across a dark alleyway as he entered a seedy hotel with a young beauty in his arms. Though she looked nothing like you, she reminded you of yourself. She seemed so nervous, so eager to please that treacherous man. All you could feel was pity, unsure if it was more for her or for yourself.
"You know I can't leave her right now, my love," he hummed into the phone, and you couldn’t help but gag. "I took her parents' debt in my name. I'm still paying it off. I feel nothing with her, I promise! Bitch can't even give a proper blowjob. She’s nothing like you."
Disgust seeped through your whole body that night. You couldn't even bear to face him in the bed you shared, tears welling up at the thought of having to be with him for any longer.
Your parents pleaded with you to hold out until the debt was fully repaid, until he no longer had control over them. Sehoon, ever the calculating person he was, wrote a clause stating that if you were to ever ask for a divorce, you would have to pay him back the remaining debt he still owed the loan sharks.
With no job and no escape plan, you had fallen into his trap. Sehoon would be the one to decide whether he ever wanted to set you free.
(nsfw content below)
-
You wait another 30 minutes, packing the leftovers on the table into the refrigerator when he doesn't show up. Your duties as a wife did not and could not stop even after finding out about his affair. Sehoon reported every mistake and any sign of resistance to your parents. He knew the power they held over you, about your unwavering need to appease them. They scold you over the stories they hear from him, and you attempt to right every wrong to mold yourself into what he wanted.
But he doesn't know one thing, you think to yourself as you head to your shared bedroom. You lock the door, just in case.
You pull your phone out and open Twitter without hesitation. Typing away, you draft up a post that reads like every other one of your complaints about your mundane life.
housewifeblues
husband left me home alone again… how can you leave your wife like this, feeling so lonely?
But you know that’s not why 2.4k people follow you.
You peel your shirt off your body, unclasping your bra and positioning yourself under the dim lights of the city outside your window. You let out a deep breath, psyching yourself up for what you’re about to do. You push out and accentuate the curves of your breasts as you arch your back forward.
You snap a few pictures with only the lower half of your face and naked chest visible.
You bite your nails as you hesitate to hit the ‘post’ button. You do it after a few seconds of indecisiveness. It’s not like it’s your first post, so why do you still feel so nervous? To Sehoon, you may be undesirable, but your online persona was worshipped like a goddess by so many.
The attention and validation of those who lusted after you on the internet filled in the hole of loneliness that Sehoon had opened in you.
The noticeable birthmark above your breasts was a point of self-consciousness since the start of your marriage. Sehoon always pushed you to have it removed, stating it was unsightly against your skin. But the thousands of followers who complimented it constantly led you to cancel that appointment. It gave you a sense of pride knowing that you could drown out your husband's harsh words with the positivity of your online fans.
Your followers enjoyed how openly you talked about your miserable marriage, your qualms about being a housewife, and your husband's infidelity. Your posts garnered traction from those who relate to your struggles and those who fetishize them. At some point, you stopped caring what kind of person interacted with your posts. You just wanted to bask in some flattering words for once.
The likes had started to roll in, but at an abnormal pace. Since when was your engagement this high? You see in your notification tab that someone named "yawnszn" retweeted your post almost immediately after you uploaded it.
yawnszn
if he doesn’t want you, i volunteer as tribute
You catch yourself chuckling. Who was this?
Clicking on his profile picture, a page pops up of a bright red-haired man with a mole underneath his right eye, wearing a black face mask. 300k followers? And he was reposting your content? You rub your eyes to check if you were seeing correctly.
Intrigued, you scroll down and you almost drop your phone from the shocking imagery that fills your screen. The pinned video on his feed was of him, stroking his perfectly curved length with such focused concentration. He was thick beyond comprehension, veins so beautifully etched on the underside of his heaviness.
You hesitantly click on the video, cheeks warming at the lewd sounds that start to echo through the bedroom.
"You like that?" he would say in between grunts of pleasure. "I bet you do, huh? Bet you wanna make a mess all over me."
His brows were furrowed, glistening chest heaving as he resisted the urge to buck his hips up into his large hands. If only you could see him with that stupid mask off.
The stranger was methodical with his strokes, slowing his relentless pace when he teetered too close to his high. He was edging himself into a stronger and more drawn-out climax, rolling his head back onto his chair as Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
Though his eyes were covered by wispy bangs, you could feel their intensity through the screen. The way he squinted and scrunched his nose in pleasure, staring daggers into the camera. He could tell you to lick the bottom of his shoe and you would probably do it.
Wait–
what?
You exit the app in a hurry, attempting to calm yourself. You were having very bad thoughts, ones you never even felt with your own husband. It wasn't right to think these things about another man, you tell yourself, as your thighs clench together from where you sat on your bed.
When Sehoon surprisingly comes home at 4 a.m., with his back turned towards you on the bed, you pretend to sleep. You replay the video of yawnszn in your head over and over again. You can't help but feel pathetic to feel so hot and heavy over a man retweeting you while your husband still reeks of another woman.
As Sehoon snores loudly next to you, you find yourself typing another post.
housewifeblues
he’s home with hickies on his neck... why does he even bother coming back?
It’s almost instant, the masked man’s reply. You bring a hand to your mouth to stifle a gasp.
yawnszn
let’s make it even. i can leave some on your pretty neck, too
You suppress a giggle that threatens to leave your lips. You stare back and forth between Sehoon’s hunched back and your phone to this masked man’s profile. There’s no harm in flattery, is there?
–
It's like an addiction, scrolling through his page on your burner account. You don't even follow him back on your main, but you can't help but refresh for more content. He posts daily, with livestreams every Friday. You tune in when Sehoon isn't around, which is almost all the time. Guilt is etched into your heart whenever you see his notifications, despite your husband's own infidelity not affecting his own psyche.
"Such fucking sluts," Yeonjun would scold his chat with his red hair pushed seductively away from his forehead. He plunges a plush fleshlight roughly down his pulsing cock. "You wish this were you riding me, huh? Too fucking bad."
The urge to touch yourself worsens after each livestream, but you hold out. You couldn't let yourself stoop to Sehoon's level. It’s not like you enjoyed posting photos with racy captions, you promise! It’s just a hobby, one that elicited flirty responses from a man you were very attracted to. You admit, maybe some photos were posted for him. He just didn’t know it.
During a livestream, you remember him talking about his love for doggy style. The next day, you miraculously posted a photo of your face planted on a pillow with your underwear-clad body arched eagerly with your ass in the sky.
housewifeblues
never been fucked in this position.
You swear it isn’t just for him specifically, even when you can’t wipe the stupid grin off your face at his comment the next day.
yawnszn
i think you need to take the picture at a better angle from behind… need help with that?
Even as you squirm in the shower and in the bed at the thought of a red-haired man plowing into you, you vowed to not be tempted to interact with him on your main account.
You were better than that, you convinced yourself. Better than Sehoon.
---
You're in the bed this time, lacy pink bra in full display on your phone’s camera. Your nipples are peaking through, and you lay your hand atop your chest to emphasize their shape. Tonight, you wanted to tease your followers.
yawnszn’s constant interactions with your page fueled you to post more frequently. You found different angles and poses, anything that would let you stay relevant (and always on yawnszn’s feed). At some point, you noticed his likes and retweets were filled with only you.
It made your heart flutter at the thought of him being just as obsessed with you as you were with him.
And even better, it was a Friday. You chuckle to yourself as you lie on your stomach, clicking on his profile like clockwork. His room looked emptier than usual, with boxes piled up in the corner. The red-haired man's toned body finally comes into frame, gleaming with sweat from the warm lighting of his floor lamp. He looked like he had just finished working out.
"Wow," he stares at the chat, voice muffled by his mask. "Must be real fucking horny to join so early."
You let out a chuckle. It felt like he was actually talking to you.
"Some new names in here," he says as he sinks into his chair, carefully unzipping his jeans. His abdomen glistened with sweat, white briefs peeking through his unzipped jeans. He reads comment after comment, palming his bulge almost mindlessly.
You groan in frustration, wishing he were quicker at taking his stupid pants off. You feel almost compelled to comment just that– and so you did.
You
you’re teasing us…
His eyes scan the screen, and you can tell he seems genuinely shocked by something despite his masked expression.
"Well, look who it is," he laughs darkly as he starts to grip his clothed member more roughly. "Thanks for tuning in, housewifeblues. I didn't take you for such an eager viewer, pretty girl."
Your blood turns cold. Did he just say your username? But that couldn't be possible. You were on your burner account. Unless-
You scroll up to your comment, clearly showing the profile picture of half of your face and cleavage as the commenter. Burying your face into your pillow to let out a scream of sheer humiliation, you kick your feet in the air.
This can't be real.
"I'm flattered," yawnszn continues, not knowing the stages of grief you were going through. "I've been thinking about those pretty tits all day."
He pulls out his throbbing cock. It looked painful, you thought. His fingers traced over his angry tip, red and beating like it ached for release.
You swallow, mouth watering at the view. His head was leaned back now, stroking himself languidly as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip. You clench your pillow.
"Why don't we have some fun together, hm?" he asks teasingly, his hand pumping with half the force he usually uses. "I bet I could make you feel so good, baby. We can make your useless ass husband watch if you want."
You let out a small whimper, scanning over the comments from equally shocked viewers.
"god I'd pay good money to see you two fuck"
"me next?"
“is this ur kink?”
"stop talking about another bitch!!!"
He chuckles, reading the last one.
"My jealous babies," he teases, tugging his hair back with his unoccupied hand and showing his beautiful forehead. "There’s plenty of me to go around."
A wave of possessiveness washes over you, suddenly conscious that this wasn't just for you. He was selling his fantasy to all the viewers who watched him. There was no affection there, only the delusions of your touch-starved self. You feel a sudden pang of guilt in your chest. You wanted this stranger so badly, but you couldn’t have him. You're married. And it wasn't up to anyone else but Sehoon to change that.
"I'd fuck you on every surface I could get you on," he sighs out so sensually, pumping himself in a steady rhythm. "Have you begging for my cock until you're dependent on it."
Though tears well in your eyes from the mix of humiliation and regret, you rest your head on the pillow and grind against your mattress to the sounds of his arousal.
"And you'd thank me each time I give it to you, wouldn’t you?" he laughs dryly. "Because that's all you want, right? Want me deep down in your throat. In your pussy. You'd even let me fuck your ass too, huh, baby?"
The comments flood in with crazed sentences, and you are no better.
You whimper at the vulgarity of his words, back arched against absolutely nothing. You wish he were positioned right behind you with those long fingers of his curling inside your deepest parts, coaxing your climax out of you. You’re almost tempted to slide a hand up your shirt, until you hear a familiar jangling of keys.
Quickly standing up, you exit that God forsaken app. Smoothing out your clothes, you prepare yourself to be ignored by Sehoon once again. He moves past you to walk to the bathroom, no greeting exchanged whatsoever. Your cheeks warm with frustration.
"Dinner is in the fridge," you say plainly. You sit back down on the bed, grabbing the phone to make sure his livestream was no longer playing. A few minutes pass, and you mindlessly stare at the wall as you hear your husband grumbling and mumbling in the bathroom. A notification pops up on your phone.
yawnszn has sent you a private message.
You feel the acceleration of your pulse almost immediately and check it against your better judgment.
yawnszn
come back, baby. i wasn't done with you yet. was putting on that show just for you ;)
You cover your mouth to stifle a scream, but immediately straighten your posture and harden your expression when Sehoon comes out of the bathroom. He reeks of cigarette smoke and cheap motel sheets.
“Would it hurt you to smile once in a while?" he sneers. “Look so fucking creepy all the time.”
You muster up a small grin, one that doesn't meet the eyes. All he does is sigh.
"Can't even follow simple instructions," he grumbles, slamming the door behind him. "Just leeching off me like a fucking parasite..."
You purse your lips. Sehoon always knew which words would hurt you the most, like he practices them in the mirror before he throws them at you. At one point, you wanted to be good for him. Wanted to show him that you could be the respectable wife he always wanted you to be.
So, how the hell did it end up like this?
What were you doing, squealing like a teenage girl over some camboy on the internet? You shake your head rapidly, quickly deleting the message yawnszn sent. You didn't even get a chance to put your phone back on your lap when you heard another buzz.
It's him again.
yawnszn
i wanna show you how a real man could make you feel. won't you let me?
And though you wanted nothing more, you leave him on ‘seen’.
--
An entire week goes by, and it was another Friday you couldn’t help but anticipate. You tried to stop viewing his page, you really did. But when the nights got cold and loneliness seeped through your bones, you couldn’t help but reread the messages yawnszn would boldly send you.
Today, you vowed not to think about that red-haired devil.
As you walk past the boxes stacked in the hallway, you make your way towards the unit right next to your apartment with Sehoon. A new neighbor was moving in. From sandwiches to tea cookies, you had spent your entire day making treats for the new addition to the ever-so-nosy apartment complex. With a cautious knock at the door, you stand in front of the unit with a basket of your handmade foods.
Sehoon had conditioned you to be a good neighbor, never wanting Mr. Do's family on the second floor to look better than him after they gave everyone in the building a bottle of whiskey for New Year's. He forced you to greet new tenants and make cards for everyone's birthdays so he could soak in the compliments of having such a loving and kind wife. Meanwhile, he never even bothered to learn the names of the people on your floor.
He always assumed with your "immense amount of free time as a housewife" that all of these responsibilities would be handled by you. You roll your eyes at the thought. He couldn't even bother to take showers to get rid of his mistress's rancid scent. Did he really think people in this apartment thought he was a good husband?
You almost knock again until your new neighbor finally opens the door. He's tall, wearing a tight-fitting black hoodie. It wasn't zipped up fully, and his naked chest was slightly visible underneath. Was he wearing nothing under?
You look up and tense at the sight. Red hair and black face mask. Mole under his right eye. You blink rapidly, almost as if his face would morph if you did it fast enough. It can't be… But who else could fit his description much better? This had to be yawnszn.
“Hello?” he greets, confused. His voice sends shivers down your spine. Was it wrong to assume that every strikingly red-haired man with fierce eyes and wearing a mask was your online crush?
"Hi," you say, stomping down the stutter that wanted to come out. "I'm [Y/N], your next-door neighbor. My husband and I wanted to welcome you to the building with some treats."
He looks past the top of your head as if searching for someone behind you.
"Where is this husband?" he asks in a teasing manner. You bite back a frown. Wasn't it a little inappropriate to ask these things?
"He's at work," you say plainly.
"I'll only give my thanks to you then," he replies, resting his body on the doorframe. You feel electricity course through your veins as he brushes your hand softly, taking the basket from your tightened grip.
"I would love to repay you," he says, leaning his head toward your flustered face. You shy away from his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable that you're wearing a V-neck shirt as he looks down at you. You sense a flash of emotion in his gaze, quickly replaced by a gentle stare.
Did he know it was you?
No, that’s ridiculous, you thought to yourself. How could he even tell?
"No need," you reply, embarrassingly quickly as you take a step back. "We don't expect anything in return."
"I insist," he says slyly. "Once I'm all settled in, I'll come see you."
He looks around the hallway again before bringing his masked mouth to your ear.
“Hopefully, when he’s not home.”
You freeze at his words as he closes the door with a small wave and a mischievous glint in his eyes. As soon as you rush to your apartment, you cross-examine his profile picture with the memory you had of your neighbor’s features. He didn’t even tell you his name! You scream into your living room cushion. You shake your head.
Nothing will come out of this, you try to convince yourself. He was just being friendly.
You stand up, ready to busy yourself with chores around the house to distract yourself from the feeling of dread forming in the pit of your stomach. He said he was stopping by, and you couldn't tell whether the funny feeling in your stomach was butterflies or something far more sinister… You touch your ear from where you felt his warm breath. Perhaps desire?
--
Later that day, you wait anxiously for his stream to start. Your back was against the headboard of your bed, twiddling your fingers from anticipation. Triple-checking, you made sure you were on your burner account this time. You click the notification as soon as it comes, and his empty room comes into view.
You stiffen at the new format, not at all like his old set-up. In fact, the walls and floor were the exact same shade as your own room. You groan, looking at the wall that faced your new neighbor’s place. That guy was definitely yawnszn.
His masked figure is already naked, save for the white towel draped around his waist and his signature black mask.
"Moved into my new place," he says to the chat. "Like my new room?"
He scans the comments and sighs in disappointment.
"Did I scare my baby away?" Your eyes widen. Was he looking for your username?
You can tell he's pouting through the mask, and you can't help but smile. Fuck. Why was this man so irresistibly hot and annoyingly cute at the same time?
"I don’t wanna do solo streams anymore, guys," he whines, his bulge already evident through the thin towel. You wonder how he's able to get hard so quickly.
"Wanna show y'all a different side of me," he sighs, dropping his towel to reveal the growing heaviness underneath. "Show you I'm not just all talk."
You clench your thighs, tensing when his large palm finds his towering length. He was always so vocal during his sessions, and even now, as he has barely just started, he was a mumbling mess. He’s seated now, clenched eyes in full view as he strokes himself in drawn-out movements.
Your eyes widen. You can hear him, but not just on video. His sounds reverberated through the wall. It's like you’re in the room with him as he's hunched over, drowning in his own pleasure.
"Don't be jealous when I bring someone in, okay?" he teases the chat that’s filled with comments of disapproval. "Just think it's you that I'll be fucking. Imagine how I’d cum inside a real pussy. How I’d shove it all back in. Doesn’t that sound nice? Making that pussy full of me."
You bite your lip at the thought, clenching the sheets beneath you as you hear his dirty whispers from the wall.
You didn’t want that, you thought to yourself darkly. You didn’t want to see him, moaning and talking so filthy like this, with anyone. You couldn’t bear it. You were already suffering at the thought of your husband fucking his much younger mistress, you couldn’t lose yawnszn too. He was the only sense of freedom you felt in your dull, repeating life.
As crazy as you felt, you sat up to press your ear against the wall to hear him better. Your fingers dangerously ghost over your pajama shorts.
"Wanna have sex so bad, baby," he whines out. "Won't you let me?"
You let out a squeak. You can't take your eyes off his perfectly sculpted body, nor could you take your ear off the wall that separated the two of you in real life. You feel like a sick, deranged pervert. Your twisted desires are egging you on as your hand trails down your stomach and into your underwear. Your fingers run up your slit, already so wet from just watching him.
"I'd have you on your fucking knees," he sighs out, letting out that grunting sound he does when he's nearing his climax. "Take you from behind. You'd have to beg me to get off of you. I'd be in that pussy every day, every fucking night."
Your eyes roll back at the thought. Your pace quickens with his, drawing rapid circles on your swollen bud. You're grinding down against your own fingers, searching for something that you knew only this intoxicating stranger could give you. In some way, the fact that you are masturbating next to your oppressive husband’s pillow made everything feel that much more erotic. He doesn’t need to know how another man makes you feel.
"Gonna cum," his nose scrunches. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
As white, hot liquid spurts out of his beautiful cock, you let out a silent scream as you come undone yourself. With your right hand sticky with your climax, you feel tears well up in your eyes. What the fuck were you doing?
–
The next day, you see your mysteriously masked neighbor in the halls. It was instinct to give a small smile, tensing as he approached your cowering figure.
“Do you need help with that?” he asks. You blink back your confusion as he gestures at your fistful of groceries. You completely forgot you were holding them the moment you saw him.
“N-no,” you reply a little too quickly. “I’m almost at my door.”
He chuckles. He attempts to grab one of the heavy-looking ones from you, but you dodge him just in time. The red-haired man had no idea what you did last night because of him. You felt dirty just being in his presence.
“I’m happy to help, you know?” he insists. “You don’t have to carry that all by yourself.”
Your grip on the groceries tightens. In all the years you were married to Sehoon, he never offered to help you with anything once. If it had nothing to do with finances or working, the rest was handled by you. It was sad to feel so happy hearing such minuscule gestures of kindness come from your neighbor of all people.
“I’ll let you know if I ever need it,” you smile at him, genuinely. To your surprise, he ruffles you on the head affectionately. He leans down, his face at the same level as yours.
“I’m Yeonjun,” he whispers as if he were saying a deep, dark secret. “I forgot to tell you yesterday.”
His name. He finally told you his name. How beautiful it sounds on those unseen lips.
His eyes meet yours, and for a second, you just want to lean in and kiss him through that stupid mask. But he stands up straight, towering over you once again.
“Don’t be a stranger, [Y/N],” he says teasingly, walking away with his hands shoved down his jean pockets. Your heart flutters, and your attempts to push down the butterflies in your stomach were thwarted once again.
–
It’s like you see him everywhere now. From the convenience store down the street to the garden rooftop of your apartment complex. Yeonjun seemed to permeate every part of your existence, offline and online. Though he was probably unaware of how often you were posting in your underwear just to get a flirtatious response from him in your comments, you swore he was flustering you on purpose.
The way he would casually help you out of carrying heavy packages from your hands when you’d see him in the apartment lobby, or how he would casually talk about missing “housewifeblues” at the start of each stream. He was driving you crazy.
You weren’t an idiot; you knew his intentions. And though you keep your interactions as polite as possible, you find out a little too much about the man you’ve been lusting over for the past few weeks.
Yeonjun tells you he doesn’t have many friends. He moved back home recently after doing university abroad and working there for a bit. He’s close with his mother and talks to her over the phone every day. He volunteers at pet sanctuaries over the weekends and wants to get a cat of his own someday. But when you pry, asking him how he’s able to afford the high rent your husband was paying for this swanky apartment complex at such a young age, he avoids answering completely. Simply says “I work a remote job,” but you know better.
You know how he posts on OnlyFans daily, subscriptions increasing after every sensual stream where he gets paid thousands a night to pleasure himself on camera.
It’s one of those days when you run into him in the hallway. You’re wearing a tank top and yoga pants, and you just finished an at-home workout routine while you waited for your laundry to finish drying. You were exiting your place to make a quick run to the grocery store to prepare dinner for the night.
Yeonjun was walking back to his apartment, eyes scanning you as you gave him a weak greeting.
“Heading out?” he asks in a low tone, hands in his pockets. You nod, growing nervous at his intense gaze. He’s eyeing you over now, and you don’t notice how he hyperfixates on a certain area of your chest.
“My husband wants me to cook pasta tonight, and I forgot some ingredients,” you lie through your teeth, always feeling an urge to mention Sehoon in Yeonjun’s presence. Like you had to remind yourself that you still have one.
“Can’t he pick them up for you?” he asks inquisitively. You let out a small laugh at the suggestion.
“Dinner should be done before a husband gets home from work,” you say, as if it were routine. It’s what your mom would tell you. It’s what Sehoon would tell you. So why did you feel so small when Yeonjun looked at you with such pity in his eyes?
“If I were him,” he steps forward, brushing a stray hair from your flushed face. “I wouldn’t let my pretty wife cook all by myself.”
Your breath hitches as he looks at you. What you would give to have him. What would you do to keep that same expression on your face at all times? It wasn’t fair, you thought to yourself, that you should be subjected to a life of dissatisfaction when the one who could cure it was so near.
“Are you free tomorrow?” he asks, the feeling of his hand still lingering by your ear.
“I always am,” you softly reply. And to that, he smiles.
You couldn’t look away, even as he walked away.
“I’ll see you soon then.”
–
You hear the doorbell ring. Today was your deep cleaning day. You already washed the dishes, watered all the plants, and got dinner started. It was also the day after yesterday, which meant Yeonjun was coming over.
You open the door a little too eagerly. It was a little pathetic, you admit to yourself, how much you wanted to see him.
His livestream after your conversation yesterday was intense, more so than usual. He propped his phone on his bathroom counter, stroking himself in the shower. You searched for his moans in your walls, imagining his hands on you like they were just hours prior. You ached to hear him, addicted to the way he sounded since the last time you watched him live and heard him through the walls.
Shaking your head to prevent yourself from getting carried away by your thoughts, you finally open the door.
It was him, red hair and all.
"Hey," your masked neighbor greets you with a bag in his hand. "I brought some cake. I finally got around to finishing everything in the welcome basket. They were all so delicious, thank you."
"You shouldn't have," you say politely, holding back your giddiness. "My husband’s at work right now, but I'll save some for him later."
He holds the bag up to you, and you take it from him cautiously, careful not to touch him. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your fingers quiver.
"Oh?" he looks past you at the empty apartment. "It's already dinner time, though?"
You smile sadly.
"He's not actually home that often," you say, trying to push down the bitterness in your voice. “He gets busy.”
You can't tell from his mask whether he feels sorry for you, but his eyes do seem rather intense.
"Shall we eat the cake together then?" he suggests. "I like sweet things."
Your heartbeat quickens. The only man who has ever set foot in your apartment was Sehoon and your father. It felt wrong to invite him in, but it felt even more wrong to say no to him. And so you take a step back as an invitation for this stranger (who isn't really a stranger) into your tidy space.
He's sitting next to you on the couch, a healthy distance away from you. He slices the cake evenly between you two, handing you the small plastic fork that came with the bakery.
"It's so rare for neighbors to greet each other these days," he commends you. "When you showed up at my door, I thought I was in a movie.”
“It’s just common courtesy,” you reply. “I’ve done it for everyone who’s moved into the complex.”
He chuckles.
“If I had known I'd be moving in next to someone so kind and beautiful, I would have signed my lease sooner."
You smile at his compliment, warmth seeping into your cheeks. You take a bite out of the cake. Strawberry shortcake. Your favorite. You notice that familiar gaze of his as it lingers on you. His foxy eyes scan you up and down slowly, and you'd never felt more exposed in your life despite being fully clothed.
"What a waste of a husband," he starts, leaning into you slowly, "to neglect you."
You freeze under his fiery gaze. His voice sounded different, unlike his playful teasing in the hallways. No, this was not Yeonjun. This was the camboy who moans out dirty words through unrelenting thrusts into his hand, biting back at viewers who command him to take it slow.
The fork falls from your mouth and onto your lap as he inches closer.
"You deserve a better man," he says closely in your ear. "Someone who doesn’t leave you lonely."
You hold a shaky hand against his chest, preventing him from getting closer.
“What do you mean?”
He’s grinning underneath the mask.
"[Y/N]," he draws your name out teasingly. "You're on a naughty part of Twitter, aren't you?"
You bring your hand down in an attempt to seem normal, but your nervous lip biting fails to make you look even remotely convincing.
"I have no idea what you're-"
"Don't worry," he interrupts, laying his arm around the couch behind you. "I'm not planning to dox you or anything."
He digs his phone out of his pocket with his other hand and shows you a sight you're already so familiar with: his Twitter profile.
"Look," he says, carelessly scrolling through his lewd content right in front of you like it was normal. "I know you know who I am. Like how I know who ‘housewifeblues' is.”
No, you tell yourself. This can’t be happening.
"Listen, Yeonjun," you start carefully. "I don't know what you're talking about or who you think I am, but I don't feel comfortable continuing this conversation with you."
You can sense a smirk behind that damn mask of his.
"You know you don't do a very good job of hiding who you are," he chides. “Not very quiet when you’re touching yourself either.”
Your eyes widen, and he lets out a muffled laugh.
"I didn't even have to see your beauty mark to know it was you, baby,” he continues lazily. “The way you looked when I mentioned your husband the first time I met you was enough for me to know. Reminded me about all the times you complained about him with those pretty pictures of yours."
His eyes fixated on your beauty mark and back up to your face, revelling in the way you nipped at your bottom lip anxiously.
"You don’t understand,” he whispers, his hand ghosting over your cheek. “How often I imagine it’s your hands on me when I go live.”
"Oh," you purse your lips, attempting to prevent noises of pleasure from coming out of your mouth.
"What's wrong?" he gazes into you. "Cat got your tongue?"
Yeonjun’s large hand hovers over your breasts, and you unknowingly arch your back toward him like it was instinct. When he sees nothing but lust clouding your vision, he takes a mound in his palm and massages you gently. You gasp at the feeling. It's been ages since you've been touched like this.
He kneads with both hands this time, intently watching your face for any signs of discomfort. But all he could see were your furrowed brows in pure ecstasy. He scoots closer to you, dragging his fingers across your abdomen as he lifts your shirt. Yeonjun's gaze darkens, your bare tits heavy in his hands. He massages, circling your nipples. They’re stiff from the cool air and his prodding fingers. Your head rolls back, moans coming out in meek bursts.
"I h-have a husband," you stutter out in between moans. It comes out like you’re reminding yourself more than to remind him. Yeonjun’s back rests on the couch, dragging you so that your spine is against his chest. He continues the push and pull of his eager hands on your breasts as you sit between his legs.
"According to you," he starts, burying his masked face into your cheek, directly whispering into your ear. "He's already cheating, isn't he? Is it fair that he gets to have all the fun?"
You rest your head back onto his shoulder as he continues to tease you, pulling at your erect nipples harshly and then soothing them with his soft thumbs.
It’s like he’s debating something in those furrowed brows of his, and when you roll your hips back into his, it feels like something snapped. Yeonjun pulls his mask down in one swift motion, and you almost moan out loud at the sight of his gorgeous face.
His features are simultaneously sharp and soft, his lips so full and so kissable. No wonder he kept his face hidden; he was too dangerous for the internet to see. Everyone would fall in love. He'd be swarmed on the streets. Wars would be waged over him.
"I wanna fuck you so bad," he says, his gaze following your parted mouth. His face hovers over yours, and you shut your eyes in anticipation. It's almost soft the way his lips meet yours, slowly molding you to follow his rhythm. He pushes his tongue into your mouth gently, prodding so deeply that your saliva mixes with his. He grinds up into you from behind, the tent of his pants meeting the curve of your ass at a perfect angle.
You kiss him back with an equal amount of fervor. You push yourself against him harder, eliciting a stifled moan from him.
Images of Sehoon flash in your mind, but are immediately erased as Yeonjun grounds your hips into his. He pulls down your pants hurriedly, his mouth never leaving yours. You spread yourself wide for him. You knew for the first time in your life what you wanted. He runs his finger through the wet spot of your lacy lilac underwear, latching his index finger to do small circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves just above your slit. His tongue clashing with yours as you attempt to stifle the low moans coming out of your throat.
He parts from your lips slowly, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you. He looks down to where he's touching you, a shit-eating grin on his gorgeous face. So that’s how he smiles, you think to yourself, lost in the feeling of his fingers on the soft material of your cloth-covered clit.
His pace is slow and methodical, leaving you conflicted on whether you should grind down on his twitching cock or buck your hips into his coaxing ministrations. It's not enough for you, but you'll take anything he can give.
"You're so wet already, baby," he croons. "Your underwear is soaked."
You whine when Yeonjun stops his movements suddenly, searching for friction by thrusting up into his still palm. You whine in relief when he pushes your panties to the side, running a teasing finger up and down your bare slit.
"Fuck," he looks over your shoulder and past your chest, to get a better look at the effect he has on you. He inserts his middle finger in, your folds practically engulfing him with a loud squelch. In and out, it disappears into you with fervor and stretches you out so deliciously. Everything about him was so long, you couldn’t imagine what his dick would feel like.
"You swallowed my finger so well, baby. Think you can fit another?"
You nod, breathing so heavy you can't find it in yourself to quell your anticipation.
"Yes," you practically plead. Yeonjun chuckles.
"Lift your hips up," he directs you, planting another open-mouthed kiss on your lips as you follow him mindlessly. "I'm gonna take these panties off you, okay?"
You nod again, your feet high in the air so your godforsaken underwear could finally be removed. He pumps his finger, now slow and controlled. When he feels you loosen up a bit, he inserts his index finger in too, with slightly more resistance from your tightness. You groan, from both pain and pleasure. His hands were so big. So veiny. The way he curled his fingers up to reach a spot you never knew you had in you. Fuck, you felt so full already.
You don't know how it happens or how you got there, but you're on your back as Yeonjun hovers over you, pistoning his fingers in and out at a faster pace. His palm is grinding down on your mound, hitting every right spot as his fingers scissor into you. His tongue finds yours again, battling for dominance to distract you from the dull ache of being stretched out. He inserts a third finger in, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You’re not sure your body could take it, but you would. For him. His fingers, so thick and relentless, buried deeper inside your aching folds.
"I feel weird," you say as a bubbling and fiery sensation starts at your toes. You’re a muttering mess. "Never... felt.. this… good…"
Yeonjun chuckles, purposefully removing his fingers inside of you slowly, preventing you from reaching that elusive high you didn’t know you were chasing. Your hips meet the sky, mourning the loss of his touch. He traces featherlight kisses down your body, his face now directly in front of your pretty cunt.
"Your husband's never made you feel like this, baby?" he says, giving a few teasing kisses on your inner thigh.
"N-no," you cry out loud. "H-he's never even gone down there."
He stops his lapping to look up at you.
"He's never eaten you out?" he scoffs. "What a fucking loser."
Yeonjun dips his head between your legs and drags his tongue along your wet folds in one long stroke. He laps at you like a dog, addicted to your nectar on his lips.
“Oh my god, Yeonjun-”
Your toes curl as he buries his tongue in you. He pumps it in and out of you as his hands grip your ass so tightly, you start to think you’d bruise from it. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. The fiery sensation building inside you returns almost immediately.
He peppers kisses on your mound, his mouth finding its new target. He sucked your clit hard, tongue circling your bundle of nerves until your stomach starts to tighten. Yeonjun lifts your hips up, pushing his face deeper into your folds. You clench around nothing, whining at both the pleasure and the loss of his tongue fucking into you. As if he read your mind, Yeonjun’s fingers find their way back to your folds. Teasing the entrance, you push yourself up into him, burying his digits deep in you as he continues his attack on your clit. Yeonjun licks and prods like a man starved of food, relishing in the messiness coating his chin and the addicting melody of your moans.
Your hips stutter as you feel the waves crash down on you.
"Ahhh," you whine. Your body writhed underneath him, fingers clawing the couch armrest above your head.
You plant your heels onto the couch with shaky legs, and you cry out again. You feel something, whatever it is, building inside you. Your moans come out in panicked bursts until you start to see white, your juices spraying all over Yeonjun's face. He groans at the feeling, still burying his face into you. He lets you ride out your high as you grind languidly onto his nose. It takes him years until he pulls away, chuckling at your fucked out face and splayed out hair.
"You squirt, baby?" he teases, getting back on his knees to tower over your lying figure on the couch. "To think you couldn't get more perfect."
You shake your head, chest heaving up and down.
"I didn’t know I could do that," you confess. Yeonjun laughs in response, a little distracted. He pulls his hair back away from his face, his forehead glistening against your warm living room light. You want to kiss those pouty lips of his again. Your eyes travel downwards, to his strained gray sweatpants. Though you couldn’t see it, you knew. He was bigger, much bigger in real life.
“He doesn’t know what to do with you,” he mutters to himself, his thumb finding your lips. “Can’t get you wet like I do, huh?”
You nod mindlessly, taking his thumb into your mouth as he pushes your tongue down with it.
“Probably fake your orgasms with him, hm?” His eye contact never broke away from your hooded lids. “Don’t ever need to pretend with me, baby. I can make you feel good.”
You barely notice it at first, but Yeonjun pulled his phone out. It’s quiet as he takes his thumb off of you to open the camera app. You stare silently as he props up his phone using the cake box he brought, sitting all neglected on the coffee table.
You say nothing, pursing your lips as you watch him put his face mask, soaked in your fluids, back on. He adjusts the camera. You look away in panic when he hits the red button to record a video.
“Don’t get my face,” you say hurriedly. You wonder why that’s the first thing you say. Not “stop”, not a refusal. Some part of you wanted this, craved it so badly your legs widened for him again. He chuckles, glad that you don’t seem displeased with him.
"Don't worry, baby," Yeonjun says as he strokes your hair affectionately. “I'll pixelize it."
He unzips his hoodie, the same one he wore the day you first met him, revealing his toned body underneath. He did not take it off, letting it hang from his body like an accessory. You couldn't take your eyes off Yeonjun and the way his chest gleamed with sweat.
"Fuck," he says breathlessly as he looks down at you, masked and still so hot. "I need to be inside you."
He pulls his pants down, and you bite your lip as a reflex. His cock was so pretty, standing tall as it slapped against his stomach. So big and so girthy, tip so vexingly red like in his videos. You've never taken anything his size ever.
"You want a taste?" he asks teasingly, slowly stroking himself up and down at the sight of you. You nod, but you don't know why. You hated giving blowjobs. The smell, the taste. You were even open about it on your account.
But here you are, climbing over Yeonjun as he lies down on the couch your husband always sleeps on when a soccer match is on. Your doe eyes were level with his pulsating length, mouth salivating in anticipation. Inhaling him, it was nothing like Sehoon's mustiness. He smelled clean, like fresh laundry.
"Need my help?" he teases. "Want to make me feel good?"
You nod. "Yes, please."
The voice you hear coming out of you doesn't feel like your own. Your eyes shift to the phone, shuttering at the lewd sight of you in between his naked thighs. What did Yeonjun turn you into?
His hand holds your head, wrapping your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He pushes your face down gently, closer to his cock. You take the hint and hold him in your hand, tightening your grip. You drag your tongue on the underside of his heaviness, and he lets out a hiss that makes you clench around nothing.
"Take it into your mouth," he commanded softly, propping you onto his shoulders to watch you more intently. "Use your tongue. No teeth. And stroke what you can't take, baby."
You listen to him without hesitation. Mouth enveloping his tip, you swirl your tongue around it. The further your head bobs down, the more confidence you gain as you hear Yeonjun curse under his breath. His hand gently guides you down deeper as you swallow around his throbbing length. You pump him up and down from his base, using your dripping saliva as lube. Yeonjun’s whines permeate the room, just like in his videos. Pride swells up in your chest to know that it was you who made him feel this good. He’s never had a video with anyone else. You were the first.
You want to make him feel even better, make him feel like how you did just minutes before. You take your hand off him and lower your mouth further down his length. You work your way up and down his cock to ease the stretch of him as he thrusts up into your mouth listlessly.
"So good," he says through muffled moans. "Fuck-"
Before you can bottom out, Yeonjun pulls you up haphazardly. Your mouth came off him with a small ‘pop’ that had you smiling slyly. His eyes are glazed over, dragging you up by your shoulders.
"Need to taste you again," he says through bated breaths, pushing you down where he was lying mere seconds ago. “Need this pussy all over my tongue.”
"Did I do good?" you ask, lips shimmering with his fluids, as he positions his face above your folds once more. He smiles up at you.
"Don’t ask dumb questions, baby," he says, lowering his mask down to plant a kiss right above your clit. “Was gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours from how good it fucking felt.”
Your thighs hide his face from view, hiding the brutal pace of his tongue on your wet cunt from the camera’s view. Yeonjun did not hold back, so different from earlier. His mouth was relentless on your clit, planting French kisses on it like his tongue was searching for something underneath. He grabs the plushness of your thighs, forcing you to wrap them around his face. Scared of suffocating him, you try to pull away, but Yeonjun keeps your legs locked in place with an unyielding grip.
Your eyes are blurry with tears from the sensitivity, eyes meeting the phone as you watch yourself get devoured so messily. You grasp at his red hair, pulling him away, but to no avail. You need him so bad it’s starting to hurt.
"Wanna cum with you inside me, please," you beg, already feeling that familiar coil in your stomach. "No more..."
He lifts his head up with a languid lick up your slit. Yeonjun licks his lips, his mouth and chin drenched in your fluids. He laughs as he looks up into your face, so eager and needy for him. Fuck, where were you all his life?
"You think you're ready, baby?" he asks, freeing himself from the cage of your supple legs that he willingly trapped himself in. He pulls his mask back on before crawling back up to you. His cock ghosts over the area below your belly button, guiding it down lower with his right hand.
“Think you can take all of me?”
He aligns his length atop your entrance, stroking it along your wet outer folds. He taps his angry, hot tip against your clit, and it’s enough to make you whine. Your tears threaten to spill over.
"Please," you cry out. "I want it so bad."
"Want what?" he teases.
"I can’t," you whine as you try to avoid his intense gaze. He laughs darkly.
“I need to hear you say it,” Yeonjun smirks. “How else am I supposed to know what you’re asking for?”
Your face contorts into a silent scream when you feel his rawness slowly sink into you. He holds it there, thrusting only the tip into you.
“I need you inside me,” you whine. “Please, I need you to fill me up with your cock and fuck me.”
Yeonjun smirks.
“That’s all you had to say.”
He digs out a condom from his hoodie's pocket. He rips the packet open with his mouth and hands it to you, chuckling at your confusion.
"Put it on me," he coaxes.
Your husband never ever used a condom, always assuming that you'd be okay with having unprotected sex and bearing his child. For the first time in your life, you wished a condom wasn't in the picture. You wanted to throw it to the other side of the room and beg him to fuck you raw and full. That you would be happy to carry his child and leave your husband for good.
But you push those twisted fantasies to the deep recesses of your mind and take the stretchy material in your hand anyway. He watches as you hesitantly run the condom down his pulsing length. You're slow and deliberate, like you’re waiting for him to change his mind and fuck you without it. All he does is smile, stroking your hair out of your face.
“Good girl.”
Yeonjun positions himself behind you in a sitting position, your legs draped over his thighs to give the camera a good view of your puffy folds. He lifts you up high as he grips the back of your knees from behind, rubbing his tip up and down your slit to pick more of your juices up.
“Look at you,” he whispers into your ear. “So fucking needy. Dripped all over my face, but all you wanted was this cock, huh?” You nod, mindlessly, whimpering in pathetic agreement.
Slowly, he impales you onto him.
You roll your head back onto his shoulder, biting down on his neck to distract yourself from the pain. Despite all the foreplay, you were still not used to his size. He was just too thick, still too large for you to take in. When you see his tip disappear into your folds, your tears start to fall down your face. It hurt, but you couldn’t have him pull away. You needed him right where he was. Inch by inch, you suction him in until-
"Shit," Yeonjun moans as the base of his cock hits your entrance. Fully engulfed in your folds, he steadies his breathing. You were so warm, so fucking irresistible in the way you clench around him in waves. He waits a few seconds until he starts to lift you up again. His hands are holding you from underneath your thighs, and with his support, you drop yourself back down on him. You cry out from the pressure you feel in your stomach. You can feel him against it, the small bulge visible underneath your belly button. He's hitting the deepest parts of you.
"Your pussy was made for me. So fucking tight.”
Yeonjun’s grip on you is tensing so suddenly. He bends you forward, so that your hands are on his knees as he pistons up into you. You can’t help but stare at the screen, moaning as you watch him push into you from behind.
"Oh my god," you cry out as he pulls your hips down against him. His length grinds against a spongy spot inside of you, and when he realizes he’s hit it from the way your mouth morphs into a silent O-shape, he smirks. What started as slow, cautious thrusts suddenly turned into a brutal and unforgiving pace of his monstrous cock within the deepest parts of your pussy. Yeonjun hit your G-spot again and again and again, his thrusts deep and unwavering.
"Look at how you’re letting me fuck you dumb," he groans out, grabbing your tits from behind as they bounce mercilessly in front of the camera. "So fucking wet for me."
You fall so forward that you're grabbing onto the coffee table now as Yeonjun stands up, while unrelenting in his thrusts into you. He kicks back the couch slightly, propping a leg up on it to have a better angle to fuck you. He pushes you down, having your back arched perfectly for the camera, as his thrusts quicken.
“Ngh— Ah— I can’t—”
You try to quiet your moans, afraid of who might hear. Afraid of who might come into the living room to see you getting railed so hard and so desperately by someone who isn't… Wait, who was he again?
"Taking me so well," Yeonjun grunts, pulling you away from your thoughts. "Like a fucking bitch in heat."
He slaps you hard on the ass, grabbing it right after, like you’d disappear if he didn’t. You squeal at the impact, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you.
“P-please, Yeo-” He stuffs his fingers in your mouth, preventing you from saying his name. You forget what this was, you forget that he was recording.
“Shut the fuck up and take it like a good girl,” he snarls.
“Wha-”
Pushing you off him, Yeonjun throws you onto the couch. You let yourself be manhandled by him, reaching out for his shoulders desperately, wanting so desperately for his dick to find its way back inside you.
“You like when I’m mean, huh?” Yeonjun laughs as your mouth holds open at the absence of his fingers. “Like when I break you, hm?”
Inserting himself back in your wetness, Yeonjun holds you against the couch in a mating press. His eyes gaze intensely into yours.
"Let me hear you, baby," Yeonjun coaxes, his thrusts slow and shallow just to hear you whine. "Let them know who this pussy belongs to.”
You whimper, grinding up against him. You're desperate for him to be rough again, to put you in your place. To have your mind only clouded with thoughts of him and his cock only. God, he made a mess of you.
“Or am I not doing enough to hear you scream?” he pouts underneath his mask, clearly enjoying your desperation. “Maybe I should go harder…so I can hear you better."
He laughs, and you don't even have a chance to reply as Yeonjun pushes into you with a force so guttural that you feel his tip hit the entrance of your cervix.
Like he predicted, you screamed at the painful ecstasy of being filled to the absolute brim.
“Fuck–”
He continues his pace hard and fast, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your nails are clawing at his back, his head buried deep in your neck. His own moans rival yours.
“Yes, baby. Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this pussy for so long–”
You don't realize the cry you let out when he hits that inner spot again. He thrusts, grinding against it again and again and again until you start seeing stars.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” you breathe out. “I’m–”
“Louder, baby,” Yeonjun coaxes. “Need to hear you.”
Your mind breaks as the world comes undone around you. Your moans have devolved into ear-piercing whines, tears running down your face in pure ecstasy.
Your climax hits you in droves as he continues to fuck you through it. He did not stop.
"I'm sensitive," you cry out in between your unintelligible babbling. "Please..."
Yeonjun shushes you, bringing your head close to his chest. You're practically sobbing now, pleasure overriding every other emotion in your body. Even the one nagging you about what Sehoon would think of you right now. About what your parents would think of their precious daughter.
"It's okay," he whispers soothingly as he continues to slowly thrust into you. "You can do it again, right? Just give me one more, baby."
Your face is contorted into a million different expressions as he adjusts to pick up his pace. It never stopped feeling good, but it was too much for your body to handle. Were you ever supposed to feel this much pleasure in your lifetime?
"I'm so close," he whines, his masked face buried deep in your neck. The noises your bodies produce are sinful. Squelches and slapping of bare skin echo throughout the living room. Your tits bouncing against his chest, your nipples rubbing against his. You can feel his breath quicken, and you tighten the grip of your folds to push him towards it. You want to see it, want to see how he comes undone from someone other than himself.
Yeonjun’s thrusts become erratic, and his hold on your ass intensifies. You wanted to see it bruise the next day. He brings his left hand to your clit, and you yelp at the sudden intensity. His thumb circles you softly, so different from the brutal pace of his cock. The different sensations have you moaning into his neck.
“I can’t. It’s too much, it’s too much, it’s–”
“Shh,” Yeonjun pushes out through his own whines. “Need you to cum with me, need to feel it.”
You never knew you could want someone so bad, to be so lustful over another. The way his brows contort, so focused on bringing both of you to your peaks. You wish you could kiss him, but his mask brings out a different desire inside of you.
You might be the only viewer of his to have seen him without it. A wave of pride consumes you; the thought of other people watching him fills you with rage mixed with lust.
You feel the dam of your floodgates come undone once again as you clench around at the thought. Wouldn’t it be so nice to have him all to yourself? No husband to worry about, no viewers to get jealous over. Just him and you, fucking every damn moment of your lives.
Your tears of hot pleasure surge once again, and he groans at the sight of you so fucked out by him.
“So fucking perfect,” he groans.
Your tightness propels him to grind into you harshly, the couch scratching the floor with his movements. One final thrust has him cumming hard into the condom, fully bottomed out inside you.
“Fuck-” Yeonjun moans as he buries his hair in the crook of your neck.
You milk him of his climax, your body grinding into his to soothe his comedown. What you would do to rip the stupid condom off him and let his cum trickle out of you and down your thigh. You think you’d be willing to actually be a mother if it meant that Yeonjun could fuck you raw.
He sighs as he rides out both your highs with small, steady thrusts. Shaking from oversensitivity, you stop his movement to pull him in closer.
Yeonjun collapses on top of you, not noticing the phone lying flat on its back from the impact of his roughness. You sigh out contentedly, petting his fiery hair.
'So this is what real sex feels like,' you think to yourself.
You felt like you were drifting on a cloud, with a man so beautiful lying on your chest. He scans your face, and a sudden wave of anxiety washes over you. Before you could push him off, Yeonjun removes his mask to plant a soft kiss on your flushed lips.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Yeonjun says with a sad smile, stroking your cheek. “Don’t ever let him think it’s the other way around.”
-
"Sorry for staying so late," Yeonjun apologizes, his plate fully cleaned out. "Your cooking is amazing."
You smile. He wasn’t wearing his mask anymore, as it sits in your laundry hamper desperately waiting for a wash. You couldn’t get over how glaringly beautiful he is. What did he do in a past life to be blessed with such features?
“It’s not all me,” you say, standing up from the dining table. “I had a great assistant.”
Yeonjun smirks.
“Cutting vegetables is the easy part,” he chimed in. “The fact you can season stuff perfectly without measurements is insane, [Y/N]. If he doesn’t come home to eat your dinners, I will gladly take them off his hands.”
You stand up, take the dishes, and put them in the sink. The guilt crept into the back of your mind. What were you doing letting this man fuck you in your home and help you cook dinner with you after?
This was not right. This is not the person you wanted to become. You can’t let this happen again.
‘I am married,’ you tell yourself over and over again. What would people think if they knew?
"Look, [Y/N]," Yeonjun stands up, making his way behind you. He dangles his phone in front of your face. The thumbnail of a pixelized girl and a masked man fucking on a pristinely white couch, one eerily similar to the one in your living room.
He uploaded the video. Without telling you.
"Yeonjun-" you gasp, your eyes widened with shock.
"Before you say anything," he starts. "I promise your face isn’t visible. But people may or may not have already picked up that it’s you– or at least the online version of you.”
56,000 likes and 5.4k retweets. You start to feel dizzy. Too many people have seen your body react in ways you hadn't even known it could until today. Although your face was pixelated, everything else was you. The way your toes curled when he fucked you with his tongue. The way your mouth wrapped around his big, veiny cock so willingly. The way you bounced on his dick, legs wide open just for him.
You felt your body turn cold at the thought of your husband finding out, of seeing you so intimate with another man. Would he tell your parents? Would you have to waste the years you spent with him by having to pay him back?
"You're at 20k followers now," Yeonjun continues, not noticing the inner turmoil you were going through. "I uploaded the full video on OnlyFans and we really raked it in. I'll send you the money we earned next week. So far we've made this much already."
Your eyes widen. Your whole body freezes when he turns the screen over to you. The amount of 0s had you doing a double-take.
"Like just from one hour?"
Yeonjun nods.
“More than usual for me, too.”
You weren't allowed to have a job. Sehoon said it would make him look bad to have a wife who works. You could never put your hard-earned degree to use, could never get some extra money to spend on yourself. He gave you nothing to work with. The money that Yeonjun showed you will be the first time you've had any type of income on your own since you got married.
"You like that, huh?" Yeonjun says teasingly, wrapping a hand around your waist from behind. He nuzzles his neck into your shoulder. "I'm sure you'll be living a good life in no time with what we're earning."
“What do you mean?” you ask cautiously. You can feel his face nearing yours.
“You know what I mean,” he starts slowly.
He brings his other hand to wrap around your neck, applying a soft pressure.
"I can satisfy your cravings," Yeonjun whispers darkly. "Make you forget all about that piece of shit.”
His hands trap you against the counter.
“Should we make more videos together, baby?" He draws out his pet name for you, and it almost makes you want to pounce on him.
Without your consent, he uploaded a video of you two having sex for the whole internet to see.
You should say no. Every part of you is telling you to say no, but you don't want to.
You don’t think you could live without his cock inside of you at least one more time. His attentiveness, his care for you… You wanted it all. Was it so wrong to be selfish?
"It's not cheating," Yeonjun assures you, filling in your silence. "We'd just be business partners after all."
He licks the back of your ear, coaxing you to look at him. His eyes are wide with expectation, so out of character for his usually hooded gaze.
“I won’t push your boundaries again,” Yeonjun insists. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
How could you say no to him with his fluffy hair and seductive eyes? He had you the moment he stepped through those doors. Hesitantly, you nod.
"Okay," you say shyly under his gaze. "Let's do it."
Yeonjun smiles through the mask. In swift movements, he reaches around you and underneath you to stuff his hand in your pants.
"You look good in this apron," Yeonjun whispers, pushing his sweats down with urgency. "Let's film another one right now."
synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.
a/n: hey loveliessss~ chapter 14 is finally uppppp!!!! thank you all so much for all your patience while waiting for me to push this chapter out :"))) i'm currently still in europe and could only write whenever i get back to my accommodation so i ask for your patience for chapter 15 too 🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️ i hope you guys enjoy reading this as this version had seen at least five revisions before i was okay with uploading it :"))) *cries* see you guys again in the next chapter! i'll be replying slowly to all your asks too in the meantime <3 i've also started writing a new fic so stay tuned everyone hehehehe! love you guys!!!!! (also i'm so sorry i wasn't able to tag any more readers into the taglist due to the 4096 word count thingy? i'm not sure what that is so if anyone knows how to deal with it do let me know🥹)
chapter music: the prophecy - taylor swift
sbu m.list | previous | next chapter
jeno had been your greatest heartbreak.
but jaemin’s words… they were a different kind of wound altogether. you never thought you’d feel this small again—not after you’d sworn you’d never let anyone reduce you the way jeno once did.
but it was jaemin.
and that was the cruelest betrayal of all, because you had trusted him to be different. you believed in him—in na jaemin—to be a constant in your life. the one who chose you and stayed. the one who, from the moment he decided to hold on, might even become someone for jun.
instead, na jaemin went back on his words and left you as if the two of you never crossed paths in the first place. as if whatever the two of you had, were just your own delusions. the quiet yearnings of wanting to run away together, the little acts of service, everything... everything wasn't real. or at least it was never real for jaemin.
you should've known better.
you stepped out of the office lobby, the metals doors closing behind you with a hush, when the elevator across the other side slid open. and out stepped soomin.
her presence struck you before her voice did—her gaze, unwavering and cold, hooking into yours across the distance. for a fleeting moment, you froze in that stare, as if like a deer caught in the headlights. then you turned, willing yourself to walk away, to keep your world separate from hers.
but her voice followed you, sharp and deliberate.
“well, look who it is,” she chuckled, each word sweetened with malice. “fancy seeing you here, when you shouldn’t have anything to do here anymore.”
her voice crawled under your skin, and your feet betrayed you, stopping in their tracks. something inside you tightened, an old ache stirring, and against your better judgment, you turned back to face her.
“yeah,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “fancy seeing you too. shouldn’t you be busy preparing for the trial with your lawyer?”
soomin smiled then, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that screamed joy. it was thin, curved with intent, the kind of smile that drew satisfaction from your unease. “i was,” she answered simply, “i was with jaemin, our new representative.”
the name struck you like a blow you hadn’t braced for. jaemin. the sound of it tore through the thin armour you had wrapped around yourself, exposing every raw edge. your stomach dropped, heart sinking fast as if gravity had suddenly chosen sides.
you tried to mask it—to grab ahold yourself under her gaze—but the truth was already written in the silence that followed. she had wanted to hurt you, and she had succeeded. and in that mere seconds of silence, you felt the ground beneath you shift, tilting the world into something colder, crueler, than it had been a breath ago.
“you didn’t know, huh?” soomin’s lips curled into a smirk, her words laced with quiet triumph. “don’t worry—you’ll get the official documents in a few hours.” her eyes traveled over you, eyeing you up and down, as if measuring every inch of your unraveling.
“you must be terrified,” you said, stepping closer, your voice steadier than your pulse. “switching lawyers at the last minute? hope jaemin told you that throughout our years at university, he never once beat me in a mock trial.” you said lowly.
soomin doesn't flinch, only leaning in just slightly, her presence brushing against yours like a shadow that refused to move. “past victories are just that—the past,” she whispered, her tone sharp but calm. “this is the present. and the present isn’t yours.”
she walks away, brushing by you before stopping again, turning just enough for her voice to reach you like a blade. “oh, and one more thing—stop clinging to jeno. he’s not coming back to you. get a hint.”
the words landed harder than you wanted to admit, a part of you wanting to go up to her and ask her what her deal was. but she was gone, leaving only the echo of her steps behind.
your footsteps quickened down the hall, each step heavy with the weight in your chest. by the time you reached your office, the sour taste of betrayal had already climbed up your throat.
then you saw it—on your desk, a brown envelope waiting like a trap.
“y/n—” renjun shot to his feet the second you entered.
“he wasn’t here, right?” you snapped, breath uneven as you pushed past him and snatched up the envelope. tearing it open, your eyes landed on the bold print.
change of legal representative notice.
and beneath it—jaemin’s name.
“what the fuck?” the words tore out of you, raw and furious. the paper crumpled in your fist before you threw it to the floor, as if rejecting the reality it carried. jaemin. the betrayal burned sharper than anything you had ever known. “why would he—” your voice cracked as you turned to renjun, eyes pleading, desperate for sense where there was none.
renjun only shook his head, his face tight with helplessness. “i don’t know either. he… he came and left without saying a word.” you couldn’t believe jaemin would do this to you. you never imagined he’d be the kind of man to hurt you this way—not after all the promises he’d whispered over the past few months, not after the plans he had painted for the two of you. even with the letter in your hand, a part of you still wanted to believe in him.
“what’s going on, y/n?” renjun’s voice broke through, gentle but urgent, as he noticed the tremor running through your body. he guided you down into a chair before hurrying off to fetch a glass of water.
“i don’t know, renjun…” your voice cracked as the words slipped out, barely a whisper. “he said we were never real. one day we’re us, and the next—this.” you gestured weakly toward the crumpled paper on the floor, your hands then burying into your hair. “it’s like he woke up and decided he doesn't want me anymore."
renjun’s brows furrowed disbelief clouding his face. he couldn’t connect your words with what he had seen himself—jaemin beaming just a week ago, asking him and chen le for vacation recommendations, already imagining a future where you’d be there, part of the picture.
jaemin had made plans. he had wanted you in his tomorrow. for him to treat you like this now felt not only cruel—it felt impossible.
you leaned into renjun’s arms, the last of your composure unravelling with a soft, helpless sound. “i’m so tired, renjun…” you whispered, voice gone thin. he turned you gently, shielding you from the open room so no passing colleague would see you fall apart.
the office buzzed on — phones, footsteps, polite small talk — a world that continued to spin while yours unraveled in silence. it was all too much: the letter on the floor, jaemin’s name like a cold wind, the way promises unmade now lay between you like broken glass.
you pressed your face into his jacket and let the tears fall. they felt less like relief than confirmation — proof that something you’d hoped for could be taken away so easily.
it was too much. all of it.
and somewhere in the mess of it all, a thought crept in, one you hated yourself for having—maybe you weren’t meant to have good things. maybe love was something you were never really meant to keep.
jaemin's pov
“this isn’t a choice, jaemin. it’s an order from your boss,” taeyong barked, his patience fraying. “and i’m telling you, you can’t order me on this,” jaemin snapped, voice rising. “i’m the one bringing in the biggest clients into this firm. that gives me the right to choose who i represent and i am not touching jewel corporations.” his hand raked through his hair, the frustration almost boiling over.
taeyong’s jaw tightened. “they’re a major shareholder. you take the case and win, senior partner is yours. why are you being so damn difficult?”
“because i said no.” jaemin’s glare was sharp enough to cut. “a year ago you would’ve killed for this opportunity.” taeyong shot back, leaning across the desk, refusing to back down. “what the hell changed?”
jaemin’s fists curled at his sides. his chest heaved, but he didn’t answer. because taeyong wasn’t wrong. a year ago, he would have jumped at the chance. senior partner had been everything—his finish line, his crown, the only thing that mattered after years of clawing his way through long nights and endless cases. he would have thrown himself into the fight head first, without question.
but somewhere along the way, jaemin had stopped chasing after it and it was all because of you.
you, who had became the centre of his thoughts. you’d come into his life quietly at first, then all at once, until you were everywhere. suddenly, the long nights didn’t feel so endless because they ended with your voice on the phone. the mornings weren’t so heavy because they began with your smile. you had crept into the center of his world without trying, and before he realised it, his ambitions bent towards you.
he started to think that maybe winning wasn’t everything. that maybe contentment didn’t look like a title on an office door but the way you fit into his arms at the end of the day. with you, he’d stopped chasing, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid of standing still.
and now, standing here, the thought of it being gone was unbearable.
he winced at the ache that came with pushing you away. the empty nights stretched long in his mind, the side of the bed cold, untouched. he could picture it too clearly—the way you reached for him in your sleep, how your hand would search for his chest in the dark. to know he had torn that away with his own hands was worse than anything taeyong could throw at him.
“it’s a conflict of interest,” jaemin shook his head, his voice calm but his jaw tight.
taeyong leaned back in his chair, a scoff slipping out as if jaemin’s words weren’t even worth the air. “because of that community lawyer?” he asked, mocking, his brows lifting. “you’ve lost your mind. get your shit together, jaemin. this isn’t worth throwing away over a girl.”
the words landed like a slap, but jaemin didn’t flinch. his arms folded across his chest, shoulders squared. “i’m not throwing it away because of her,” he bit out. “i can still get the title without this case.”
taeyong’s eyes hardened. the easy mockery vanished, replaced by a sharp, cutting authority that filled the room. “you don’t seem to understand how this works,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, heavy. “jewel corp didn’t just ask for representation. they asked for you. the case is already yours. you don’t get to pick and choose when shareholders are involved.”
he leaned forward then, elbows on the desk, gaze locking on jaemin with the weight of a man used to being obeyed. “and if you can’t handle that, maybe you’re not the man i thought you were.”
the silence stretched, thick and suffocating, before taeyong finally leaned back again, his attention already shifting to the glowing screen of his computer. “now get out of my office.”
the dismissal wasn’t loud, but it was final. the kind of final that left no room for argument. jaemin stood there, his defiance slipping, the fight in him drained by the sheer coldness of taeyong’s authority. the office air felt too tight, the walls too close, until the only option left was to storm out in frustration.
jeno knew it was wrong.
wrong to be standing outside your door when his pregnant girlfriend was waiting for him back at their temporary apartment. wrong to keep finding his way back into your life when he was the one who had chosen to walk away first.
but that night, with the smell of warm cookies drifting through your kitchen and jun asleep in his room, it all slipped away. he let himself remember—what it felt like to laugh with you, to call you his, to believe you were the love of his life.
and his memory carried him back to the first time he met you.
jeno had never cared for physics. not then, not ever. he was halfway through another yawn, eyes wandering anywhere but the projector screen where miss jung was droning on. stretching lazily, his gaze slid to the window. and there you were.
sitting by the window in the classroom below, hair ruffled slightly by the spring breeze, silver-framed glasses slipping down your nose. your head bent over your notes, ignoring chenle’s endless chatter beside you. jeno couldn’t recall seeing you before. maybe it was the way you frowned in concentration, or how absorbed you seemed, but something about you caught him. held him.
then, as if you had felt it, you lifted your head. your eyes met his.
jeno panicked, whipping his head away, hiding behind his hand. thirty seconds crawled by before he dared to look again—only to find you still watching him. your gaze was intense, curious, unflinching. the very same gaze that, years later, he would fall in love with over and over.
you tore a page from your notebook, scribbled quickly, and held it up.
creep.
jeno’s jaw dropped. heat rushed to his cheeks as he scrambled for his pen, writing the first thing that came to mind.
am not.
you laughed, shoulders shaking, before penning your reply.
kidding. pay attention to class!!!!
and jeno, who had never believed in love at first sight, felt his heart stumble, trip, and fall all at once. he would tell you many times later that it was that moment—the spring air, the window, the grin on your face—that made him want to marry you.
and so it began, the strange little routine between two classrooms. notes held up across the distance, teasing reminders to focus. nothing more, nothing less… until one day jeno realised that wasn’t enough. that he wanted to see you up close, not just through a pane of glass.
you were buried in your notes when jeno shyly stumbled into your classroom, sweat at his temples and hands jammed into his pockets as he scanned the room for you.
"y/n! y/n!" chen le jabbed your shoulder until you looked up, eyes widening at the boy who'd been trading crumpled notes with you for weeks — standing at the front of your classroom with a dumb, hopeful grin. you mouthed a soft hey and a stifled giggle escaped; jeno looked like his heart might burst.
he took a step forward, then froze as your homeroom teacher appeared behind him. "what are you doing here, kid?" mr. lee cleared his throat, and jeno jumped, scratching the back of his head. chen le snorted and rolled his eyes. "he doesn't look that bright, y/n," he teased.
"i… i just have to give y/n something," jeno blurted, then hurried over. he pressed a folded note onto your desk and melted back towards the door before anyone could say more, leaving mr. lee and the class watching the exchange like it was half a performance, half a scandal.
"try to focus on your studies, miss l/n. boys like that aren't worth your time," mr. lee warned, but you ignored him. with chen le peering over your shoulder like a nosy spectator, you unfolded the paper.
the handwriting was small and nervous, but the question was impossible to misread:
will you let me take you out on a date?
it was all very cheesy. but you'd always be the girl who stole lee jeno's heart.
and somehow jeno wished, he never forgot that. because at the end of the day, jeno always regarded you as the special person in his life.
what a shame, then—how easily he let you slip through his fingers.
“daddy!” jun practically launched himself forward the second he spotted jeno sitting on the doorstep, nearly knocking him back with the force of his hug. jeno caught him easily, arms wrapping tight around his son. you were just getting out of the car when you saw him too, soomin’s words instantly replaying in your head like a bruise pressed too hard.
“jeno? what are you doing here?” you asked as you unlocked the door. jun darted inside, then hesitated, glancing back at the two of you like he knew he was intruding on something fragile.
“i, uh—” jeno scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “i brought dinner. for the two of you. hope you don’t mind.”
“oh.” you forced a small smile. “yeah, of course not. come in, jen.” you stepped aside. your guard was up though, unsure if he knew you had ran into soomin earlier. jun, on the other hand, was buzzing, thrilled to see both parents in the same room again, like some part of him still believed that was possible.
jeno handed you the paper bag—warm and fragrant from the salt-baked chicken place the three of you used to go to—and you felt the tug at your chest, a ghost of easier days. “did you tell soomin you’re here?” you asked while sliding plates out of the cupboard and setting the table, fingers moving with practiced calm.
jeno sighed. “no.”
you paused, a dish towel still in your hand. “you can’t just hide things like this, jeno. it’s not healthy. i don’t want to be the person who breaks up someone else’s family.” the word family scraped like an old, half-healed wound and you flinched when you said it.
“i know,” he said quietly. “i just… wanted some time with jun.” his gaze lingered on you, like he was waiting for permission to exist here.
you finally set the food down and said, almost under your breath, “i met her today.” your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “your girlfriend thinks i’m clinging onto you.”
“what—no.” jeno’s head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes. “i’m sorry. i’ll talk to her, i’ll explain. it’s not you, it’s me. i promise.” his words tumbled out too fast, he could see the weight on you: the slump of your shoulders, the tired frown that made everything else look hollow. “are you okay? i can leave if you want.”
you stopped what you were doing and let the warmth of the kitchen settle around you. his concern was a small knife and a salve at the same time. tears pricked the corners of your eyes before you could stop them.
“no,” you croaked, voice thin. “stay.” you reached for jeno before you could talk yourself out of it, and he immediately embraced you into a hug so familiar it hurt—the kind that remembered the shape of you.
“what’s wrong, y/n?” he asked into your hair, his voice small.
you let yourself collapse into him, forehead against his shoulder. “i thought i could move on. start fresh. but everything… it’s all falling apart again.” your words stumbled out in ragged breaths. “i keep thinking i’m… unlovable. that everyone always leaves.” the sob that came after was ugly and honest— in a way that hurt jeno to the very core.
“you’re not unlovable, y/n.” jeno’s voice was barely a whisper, his hand moving in slow circles against your back—the same way he used to when nights got too heavy and silence felt unbearable.
“then why did you leave me?” your words cracked as you sniffled, pushing lightly at his chest until he let you look at him. your eyes searched his face, desperate, accusing, broken.
jeno swallowed hard, guilt written in every line of him. “because i was a coward,” he admitted, the words raw, dragged from someplace deep. “our marriage didn’t end because of you—it ended because i let my insecurities eat me alive. i doubted myself, doubted what i could give you… and instead of fighting for us, i ran.”
he reached for you again, his fingers trembling as they found yours. you didn’t pull away. you let him hold you, because this was lee jeno—the man who had been there through every high and every low, until the day everything finally burned to ash.
his voice broke when he said it, eyes glassy with the weight of a truth too long unsaid: “you are the most lovable person i’ve ever known. and leaving you… will always be my greatest regret.”
after jeno left, you stayed in jun’s room far longer than you meant to, curled up on the edge of his bed as he played quietly with his toys. you refused to leave his side, as if his small presence was the only thing anchoring you in place. somehow, though, jun seemed to sense the heaviness clinging to you.
“mummy?” he tilted his head, big eyes blinking up at you. “are you sad?”
the question made your breath hitched. you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “why do you ask, baby?” you pulled him gently into your lap, tucking him between your legs and wrapping your arms around him from behind, holding him close.
“i saw you crying just now,” he murmured softly, almost careful with his words, fingers fidgeting together.
your chest ached. you never wanted him to carry pieces of your sadness, never wanted your little boy to shoulder any part of your pain. “mummy’s okay. don’t worry, baby,” you whispered, combing your fingers through his hair the way you always did when he was restless.
“i hope mummy always stays happy,” jun mumbled, clutching his eevee plush to his chest. after a moment he stood on the bed to face you, small but earnest, his voice barely louder than a sigh.
his words pierced you, pulling back the conversation you’d once shared with jaemin—the whispered promises about leaving this place, about starting over somewhere far away. a life where you weren’t haunted by ghosts of the past, a life where jun might even have someone new to call father. for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe in it. but that dream felt further than ever now, fraying at the edges.
“what if we leave this place, jun?” you asked softly, your arms tightening around him. “would you like that?”
he pursed his lips, thinking in that serious way he sometimes did, before nodding. “i think that’s okay. if that makes mummy happy, junnie is okay.”
the simplicity of his answer shattered you. tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them, your body trembling as you buried your face against his small shoulder. how had you been given a son so gentle, so empathetic, with a heart so much bigger than his years?
jaemin hated himself for the way he’d left you at the lift lobby.
he never meant the words that came out of his mouth. they slipped past his pride before he could stop them, sharp and reckless, and now they haunted him. he knew how much they’d hurt you. he knew he’d gone too far. and he also knew it was already too late—you probably wanted nothing to do with him after the stunt he pulled.
“the nerve you have to call me here,” chenle sneered the second he spotted jaemin. jaemin didn’t even look up, just kept his eyes fixed on the table, shoulders sinking. chenle rolled his eyes and dropped into the chair opposite, crossing his legs like he was daring jaemin to waste his time.
“if you have something to say, say it now. or i’m leaving.”
jaemin stayed quiet for a moment before reaching into his bag. he pulled out a first edition copy of the alchemist—the one you’d been searching high and low for—and slid it across the table.
“y/n really wanted this book.” his voice was flat, almost swallowed by the noise of the café. he picked up his cup, taking a slow sip of earl grey. “could you hand it to her for me?”
“no.” chenle pushed it back without hesitation. “i’m not going to help you pass anything to her. if you’re going to disappear out of her life, then i think it’s best you disappear fully.” he leaned back, arms crossed tight.
jaemin’s eyes slipped shut. “you don’t have to say it’s from me.”
“she’ll know it’s from you. only you have the kind of money to buy any first edition books.” chenle’s tone was sharp, cutting.
anger flared in him then. “i can’t believe you had the cheek to ask for our blessings to go after our best friend and betray her like this!” chenle snapped, his voice low but full of venom. “i encouraged you, jaemin. i trusted you. and you still hurt her.”
“she’ll never love me! so what’s the point?” jaemin burst out, frustration finally breaking through. “i want to be with her more than anybody, but it’s clear as day she doesn’t see me that way either!”
chenle’s jaw dropped. “you must be fucking blind, jaemin!” his hands flew up, disbelief written all over his face. “y/n fucking loves you! you got the girl! but for some reason you decided—oh, fuck her, i don’t want anything to do with her anymore. and for what? because you think she doesn’t love you? you know what that is? pathetic.”
jaemin snapped back before he could stop himself. “if she’s so fucking in love with me, then what’s she doing with jeno? baking in her kitchen like they were back together, huh?”
“because you fucking broke her heart and he happened to be there to drop jun off!” chenle fired back, his voice rising. “she went to your place to confess to you, jaemin. and what did she find? you with another girl. what the hell was she supposed to think?”
jaemin faltered, his expression freezing. “i—what?”
chenle’s glare hardened. “for someone so smart, you’re actually pretty fucking stupid.” he shook his head, disgust written across his face. “we never did anything. she was just a friend.” jaemin tried, but the words felt hollow even to him.
“i don’t care,” chenle snapped. “i’m just glad you’re out of her life now. and out of mine too. because if you can’t understand that jeno will always be part of y/n’s life—that he’ll always be there because he’s jun’s father—then you’re not ready to have the conversation about whether you can accept both y/n and jun fully into your life.”
⤷ pairing: intak x fem!reader
⤷ tags: (slight) bondage, clothed sex, dry humping, dirty talk, umm that's about it loll
⤷ warnings: smut (MDNI) i will put dub-con just in case bc of the ending
⤷ synopsis: you and intak were getting ready for your best friend's wedding and you find another creative use for his tie
⤷ word count: 1.6k
★ A/N; this was inspired by this lovely script i read on scriptbin !
intak frowned as he looked in the mirror, the silk material of the tie feeling foreign in his hands. he had no idea how to maneuver the black fabric to mirror the neat tie that showed on his phone screen. with a frustrated sigh, he lets the ends of the tie fall uneven on either side of his collar. he peeks his head through the doorway of the bathroom into the connected bedroom, immediately finding your figure standing in front of a dresser fumbling with your jewelry.
he walks over to you. “hey, baby?” you’re still toying with the hoops in your ears as you turn towards him, eyebrows inching up in response. “you don’t mind helping me with this tie, do you?” he points to the undone tie hanging pathetically around his neck.
“aw,” you cooed, your lips forming into a thin smile. “i forgot you’re not used to dressing up like this.” a little while from now, intak was accompanying you as a plus one at your best friend’s wedding. you both wanted to show up as presentable as possible for her special day. you took the silk tie, situated it beneath his collar, and formed a snug knot. it was like muscle memory as you looped it in on itself. intak smiled to himself at the way your lips jutted out in concentration.
your eyebrows furrowed with focus as you finished the last loop.
“there,” you stepped back to admire your work with a soft smile, smoothing out any imperfections in the tie.
“thank you, i couldn’t get that no matter how hard i tried,”
“hm, what would you do without me?” your hand rested on the side of his face, thumb tracing along his jawline, moving to his nape to feel at the silky texture of his recent haircut. he leaned forward, your foreheads touching. “you look so handsome,” you mumbled into his lips. your forearms wrap around his shoulders, pressing your body into his.
“and you’re so beautiful, i mean, this dress..” his hands traversed the softness of your curves that lay beneath your body-con dress.
“i could take you right here,” his ears perk up at the mischievous lilt in your voice.
“and make us late? you would never.”
“you’re right,” you exhaled through your nose, looking away in thought before focusing back on him. “but, a little teasing wouldn’t hurt, though. we don’t even have to undress.” intak felt ensnared by your seemingly innocent gaze. both of you knew better, and you were sure your friends were noticing a pattern. the way you two would arrive late to events, your attire slightly disheveled and breaths a little short. you think that if you were careful, they wouldn’t catch on this time, right?
your hands rest on his chest, manicured nails grazing the fabric. with a firm grasp, you wrap your hand around his tie pulling him your way. you give him a soft peck, feeling him smile as your lips meet again slow and steady. the kiss grew messy as your tongue slipped into his mouth. you couldn’t care less about the makeup you just spent an hour and some change perfecting.
his hand hungrily grasps your waist, the other travelling down to grab a handful of your ass. the tie in your hand acted like a leash and kept him right where you wanted him.
your leg slots between his slack-clad thighs, brushing a knee against his growing bulge, and you devour the noises he made into your mouth. he shuffles backwards as you gently push him towards the edge of the bed. the bed whines under his weight as he sits down, looking up at you with those signature puppy eyes, lips slick with your spit.
the lipstick you put on earlier was smudged, and the splotchy red tint pasted across his face was enough evidence. you run your hand down the length of the tie before letting it drop to his shirt.
“lay down,” you spoke in that dangerously calm tone that had him following your command without hesitation.
“so, we’re doing this..” he smirked as he laid comfortably on the duvet. with a nod, you climbed onto the bed on top of him, your dress riding up your thighs as you mounted him. his hands are immediately drawn to your waist, sliding the fabric further upwards to reveal your panties underneath.
before he can comment, your lips are moving against his again, moaning at the contact. waxy lipstick prints adorned his tan skin with a sheen as you kissed down his neck. his hands greedily grasp at your ass, fingers wandering under the string of your thong. you tentatively slip your hands under the straps of your dress, letting them drop to reveal your breasts.
“what happened to not undressing?” he whispers into the air between your lips before dipping down to kiss your chest. lips wrap around one of your nipples, his warm, velvet tongue rolling over the nub relentlessly. you whine, hands finding purchase in his hair. you can feel yourself getting wetter as his hands tease your panty line. both of you were getting carried away, forgetting that you still have a wedding to attend.
“okay,” you breathe out with finality, reaching down to tug at his tie. the knot at his collar that you had so carefully constructed quickly comes undone.
intak mumbled with displeasure. “you’re undoing the tie? but it looked so nice..” you take his wrists and place them above his head, wrapping the tie around them before forming a tight knot.
“i know, you looked so pretty in it,” you grab hold of his jaw, tilting his chin up. “but, you look even prettier like this.”
you hold each other's gaze as you grind down against him, relishing the bulge you made straining through his pants.
“fuck, just like that,” he moans at the friction and the pressure of your hips pinning him to the mattress. he’s itching to touch you all over, to make you cum on his fingers as you moan his name like an incantation. his hands form into fists within his restraints. you wonder how long you can get away with teasing him, and how long you can keep this slow pace before he gets needy.
“baby..could you move a bit faster?” there it is. he lets out a low whine, squirming under you and trying to rut his hips up into yours.
an amused giggle leaves your mouth. “i can’t do that. we’re just teasing, remember?” he lets his head hit the bed with a heavy exhale. you moan out, the texture of the opening of his pants catching your clothed clit.
“fuck, those noises you’re making,” you bit down on your bottom lip, looking down at his features that continued to contort with pleasure.
“i’m sure i’d be louder if i was riding your cock. i bet you wish you were inside me, huh?” he chokes out a half laugh.
“you know i do. i want to fuck you so bad, make you come over and over again,” his words were broken up by heavy pants and whiny noises. your hips move at a faster pace, spurred on by the thought of him drilling his cock into you without mercy, filthy words gracing his lips. you know you’d find yourself somewhere during the reception in a secluded room as he pulls up your dress and uses you like a toy.
“oh, takie, i don’t think we can stop now,” you say with a smirk. you’re practically fucking him now, hips milking his throbbing cock through his pants.
“i’m so close… baby, i can’t cum with these pants on, listen to me.” he looks up at you with a slight look of apprehension because your hips weren’t slowing down at all and he could see where this was going. you liked his voice weakened as he failed to resist your ministrations.
“but i want you to cum, please gimme your cum, takie,” you whined, eyes never breaking contact with his.
“wait, no, stop before i-” a low groan cuts off his words, eyes clamping shut as his orgasm hits him like a truck. you let out a soft gasp as you feel his cum soak his pants. eventually, you stop moving and let him catch his breath.
intak’s face broke into a smile, chest heaving against the buttons of his dress shirt. “you mean, mean girl,” you giggle at his comment and give him a quick peck on the lips. “forgive me?” you ask with a mock pout. after you release the tie from around his wrists, he throws his head back with a groan, hands covering his face. “fuck, that conversation at the dry cleaners is gonna be so awkward.”
you hike your dress straps back up to your shoulders and pick up your phone to turn it on, eyes widening slightly at the numbers displayed on the screen. “shit, it’s already seven,” you hurl the phone back on the bed, rushing to get out of his lap.
“what? no way,” he shot up from the bed and his eyebrows knitted together. “uhh, start the car, i gotta go find a new pair of pants.”
his feet hit the floor with a thump, footsteps fading as he hurried towards the closet. not before he turned back to you with an accusing finger and half-squinted eyes. “you’re so gonna pay for this,” you put your hands up in surrender with a knowing look on your face.
he dips behind the door amongst his wardrobe, and quickly peaks his head back out with an awkward smirk. “but, can you redo my tie when we get there..?”
ty SAURR much for reading, look out for more works from me :'] !
