emma

I write sometimes,   s/h, 01 liner

[beargyu313]

Enhypen masterlist

am always open to hearing suggestions/requests <3 current members (3) I'm writing for:

Jake

adult swim (s)

blurred lines (s, a)

desire unleash (s), ☆

Sunghoon

cliffside (a, s, f), ✩

we be outside (s, a),

desire unleash (s), ☆

Ni-ki

adult swim (a, s)

heal my desire (f, s)

we be outside (s), ✩

desire unleash (s), ☆

let's not do this again (a, f, s)

Airport goodbyes (f, s)

ENHYPEN astrology

Find me on Ao3, TXT masterlist (not writing anymore)

[yeokii]

WHAT CAN WE DO TO HELP HEESEUNG AND ENHYPEN? please read below.

hi guys, i redownloaded tumblr again just to make this statement but heeseung leaving enhypen has caught many of us off gaurd. i think everyone is devasted by this and yes i know everyone is thinking about a future with enhypen as six and honestly I don’t want that either.

i came here to spread awareness about what we could do as a fandom. please refer to this thread first of all.

link one — HEESEUNG did not make the decision to leave—he was kicked out of ENHYPEN.

this shows everything that adds up to heeseungs departure if anyone was also fishy about his sudden announcement like me. honestly, it makes sense.

but now that we are aware, what can we as engenes do? thankfully, twitter engenes made a thread of everything we could do from our side to fully support heeseung and bring him back.

link two — things you can do to help enhypen

sign the petition.

link three — template to email journalists about the situation.

link four — guidance on calling / faxing hybes investment companies !

link five — i found this account very helpful with keeping up with updates and finding out ways to help enhypen.

please sign the petitions ( as to my knowledge, we already have just over 500k ), rich engenes donate if you can. and most of all, do not stop talking about it.

this is genuinely the least we can do and it’s heartbreaking to me that we have to take action when their shitty company can’t do jack.

reblog this post, share it, do anything you can to raise awareness because this isn’t a simple decision you make, this is injustice.

tags : @mirukiu @isoobie @manariee @chrrific @perlleta @yeuvio @callikari @j4eyxn @jjwoned @murastqr @amatariki @coqhee @flwrstqr @bywons

please tag more people! reblog the post!

[yeokii]

guys omg we hit 700k signatures!! i think everyones goal is to hit 1 million but lets get to 800k please

[beargyu313]

Hey! Just dropping by cuz I've been thinking about u and ur (incredible) fics lately 🤭 Miss u sm and love u tons! Hope ure doing great! Fighting! ✨✨

Thank you so much! I love you too and hope you have a great year ahead :***

[beargyu313]

Miss u and ur works sm, take ur time with ur things but plsplspls never leave enhamblr :)) u r the best out here

Thxthxthx<333

[beargyu313]

we be outside remains one of the best ff i've ever read. even if it was published long time ago i still think about it frequently. i miss your writing so much. i hope you are doing well <3

Thank you so much! That one's my baby as well. I'm doing good hope you are too !! <33

[jaysguitars]

OUR BOYS WON THE DAESANG!!! WE DID IT ENGENES!! LETS GOOOOOOOOOO!!! I love them soooooo freaking much, May God bless them all with good fortune, health and happiness 🥺🥺🥺🥺

[beargyu313]

Hiii popping in to say how super awesome and inspiring you are. How much I love your fics and to give you hugs and smooches (with consent!)

Omg thank you so much 🥹🫶🏻 I'm returning your hugs and smooches as i type hihi🩷🩷

[beargyu313]

Airport Goodbyes ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Summary: Your best friend moves abroad and leaves you stuck with her younger brother — the same younger brother you’ve been lowkey avoiding because he’s hot and off-limits. Cue guinea pig babysitting, late-night calls, accidental sleepovers, and way too much tension to keep pretending you don’t want him.

✧˚⋆｡˚ Word Count: 10.3k

°⋆*:･Tags: Fluff, slowburn, yearning, semi-forbidden romance, noona!OC, 2 year age gap, best friend’s brother trope, smut tags: size kink, praise kink, heavy marking (scratching, hickeys)

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ A/N: goodbye hiatus, hello Tumblr !! I’m back, this was written on my tablet (which is new for me), so hopefully the structure is fine! Anyways something slightly different and shorter from me.

Find more from me here.

You’ve been stuck in the same row of molded plastic chairs for nearly an hour, and you’re fairly certain your tailbone will file a complaint as soon as you stand up. The fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead, mixing with the steady chatter of travelers and the occasional burst of an overhead announcement.

You blow out a raspberry and glance sideways at the two siblings flanking you.

“Stop being such a pain, Riki,” your bestie mutters, tugging her hoodie tighter.

“Bro,” he sighs, rolling his eyes with dramatic flair, “how am I being a pain by looking out for you?” He turns his head toward you, catching your gaze before you can dart away. “Right?” His lips twitch into a half-smirk. “Tell her she’s being unreasonable.”

He says your name, and you hate how your stomach does a little flip at the sound. You smooth down the legs of your baggy jeans, trying to look busy.

“Oh no,” you say, forcing a laugh as you rise from your seat. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Annie asks you.

“Bathroom.”

“Well, hold up. I’m coming with you.”

The two of you weave down a long hallway, the floor echoing with the click of wheeled suitcases and the squeak of sneakers against polished tiles. The bathroom door swings open with a creak, revealing a surprisingly spacious interior, bright and a little too sterile with its lemon-scented cleaner.

“Woah, it’s bigger than it looks,” she says, before ducking into one of the stalls.

You do the same, then rejoin her at the sinks a few minutes later. The automatic faucet sputters to life under your hands, the water too hot. As you reach for the coarse paper towels, her phone pings.

She frowns, brows knitting as she reads over the notification.

“What’s up? Who is it?” you ask, leaning over just as you’re drying your hands.

“Ugh, Sammie,” she groans, shoving the screen toward you. “She wants to know if Riki’s single. Gross. As if.”

You can’t help but laugh, though you quickly cover it with a cough. “Well, I mean… he is kind of—”

“Don’t even say it,” she cuts in, glaring at you in the mirror. “It’s disgusting how obsessed some of my friends get with him. Like, yeah, he’s decent-looking, but he’s my little brother. They don’t get how weird it feels.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, nodding along, guilt pricking at your ribs like pins.

She sighs, tucking her phone away and shaking her head. “Promise me you won’t ever be one of them. I couldn’t handle it if my best friend tried to hit on him.”

Your throat goes dry, but you force a smile. “Promise.”

Back at the gate, the final boarding call echoes overhead, and after a flurry of hugs and teary goodbyes, Annie pulls you aside for one last word. Her suitcase handle rattles behind her as she leans in close.

“Look out for Riki, okay? Make sure he doesn’t eat junk all the time. You know how he is.”

You nod, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Yeah. Of course.”

A few feet away, she corners her brother. He stands with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, trying to look unbothered.

“And you,” she says firmly, poking his chest. “Check in on her. She overworks herself and won’t admit it. Don’t let her run herself into the ground.”

Riki huffs, muttering, “Yeah, yeah,” but his eyes flicker toward you just for a second.

You stand by Rikis side as Annie disappears past the gate, her carry-on bumping against her heels until she rounds the corner and is gone. The crowd swallows her easily, like she was never here at all.

It was supposed to be a slight relocation, just a temporary move for work. That’s what she’d kept insisting, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But the not-knowing, plus the fact that there isn’t a set return date… it makes the goodbye ache heavier.

You find yourself staring too long at the empty space she left behind, fighting the urge to chase after her and squeeze in just one more hug. Your tailbone throbs from those awful plastic chairs, but the hollowness inside feels worse. You shouldn’t feel this untethered. She’ll call. She’ll text. But still—

“You look like someone died,” Riki’s voice cuts into your thoughts. He’s watching you with that half-bored, half-amused look that makes it impossible to know if he’s joking or serious. “Relax. It’s Annie, she’ll be back in no time.”

You blink, snapping out of it, lips parting to argue before he adds casually, “Besides, aren’t you on guinea pig duty this week?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, like he knows exactly what he’s doing — tugging you out of your spiral, grounding you with something small and ridiculous. You exhale a laugh despite yourself.

“Oh no,” you grin at him, “don’t try to hand them over already, you and I both know-“

Riki cuts you off, his shoulder bumping into you, as you two walk towards the parking lot, “we both know Annie made us a schedule yes,” he laughs at the ridiculousness of this situation.

Baby-sitting two bonded guinea pigs is the last thing one would expect two adults in their early 20’s to be doing, yet here you are. Co-parenting two tiny animals. And despite yourself you can’t shake the smile off your face. Even as you step in the passenger seat.

The drive starts quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space while the city lights smear past the windows. You sit a little too straight in your seat, hands knotted in your lap, and every so often you mumble another “thanks” for driving, for waiting, for hauling Annie’s bag.

By the fourth one, Riki lets out a laugh under his breath. “Do you say thank you this much to everyone, or is it just me?”

You whip your head toward him. “What? No, I—”

He cuts you a sideways look, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Feels like I’m chauffeuring a grandma. Or, I don’t know, the queen.”

Your face heats instantly. “I’m just being polite.”

“Too polite.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, like he’s thinking it over. Then, casually “What, do I make you nervous?”

Your pulse stumbles. “N-no. Why would you think that?”

He huffs out a laugh, clearly pleased. “You sound like you’re about to faint every time you open your mouth.”

You gape at him, then snap your head forward, staring hard at the windshield. “I do not.”

“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced, still smirking. He doesn’t push it further, but the silence that follows isn’t the same as before. It crackles, alive, every breath loud in your ears.

For the first time all night, you’re hyperaware of how small the car feels.

The drive stretches on, headlights washing over the empty highway. By the time you’re close to the city, you realize Annie’s probably midair, and it hits you again that she’s gone, at least for now.

Riki breaks the silence, again. “Her flight’s, what, three hours? By the time we’re back, she’ll be landing.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question, just drops it like a fact. “I’ll walk you up to your apartment. Then we’ll call her together.”

You part your lips to protest or at least remind him you never actually agreed to that but he cuts you a quick glance, the corner of his mouth twitching like he already knows what you’ll say.

“Don’t argue. It makes sense.”

You sink back into the seat, muttering under your breath about him being bossy. Still, a tiny part of you relaxes. He’s right. And maybe you don’t hate the idea of him following you upstairs.

A beat of silence, then he nudges his chin toward the center console. “Put your address in. GPS.”

You hesitate, then reach for the screen. He does too. His hand lands on the edge of the console at the same time yours hovers over it, your knuckle brush… the touch brief, but enough to jolt a spark up your arm.

You freeze.

He doesn’t pull away, just smirks, leaning in close enough that his shoulder presses against yours as his finger taps the screen. “You type like an old lady,” he murmurs, watching the letters fill in.

Your breath catches. His cologne, a clean, sharp and a little dizzying scent fills the space between you. You bite your lip, lashes slightly fluttering, and glance up at him. “Wow, so I’m the old lady now? Should I start knitting or something?”

The teasing noticeably flusters him, and you smirk at his reaction. He blinks, a little caught off guard, and his smirk falters for the briefest second. “Wait… what?” He clears his throat, suddenly aware of how close you are. “I-I didn’t mean it like—”

“Relax,” you murmur, eyes darting down, cheeks heating. “Just making sure you know I can play back at you, too.”

Riki shakes his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, still smirking but a little more awkward now. “Right. Yeah… noted.” His fingers drum nervously against the wheel for a beat, then he leans back, though his gaze keeps flicking to you.

The GPS chirps to life just then, but your pulse hasn’t slowed.

You drive in mostly silence for the remainder of the drive with J. Cole softly playing through the car radio. Once near your place you direct Riki to the best parking spot for the visitors.

And then he’s following after you into the apartment building. The elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding, and the space inside feels suddenly smaller than it should. The metal walls reflect the two of you, close, your shoulders almost brushing.

Riki shifts behind you, leaning just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. The faint scent of his cologne lingers, clean and sharp, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Interesting buttons,” he murmurs, nudging forward slightly so his hand hovers just behind yours. The proximity is electric. Your fingers brush as you press the button, and you flinch, heat rushing to your ears.

“Careful,” you murmur, heart thudding. “You might give me a heart attack.”

He smirks, eyebrow quirking. “Or maybe I like seeing you flustered.”

You glance back, meeting his eyes in the mirrored wall, and the corner of his mouth quirks into that knowing smile. You almost stumble over your words. “I… I’m not that easy to fluster.”

“No?,” he hums, unconvinced, leaning just slightly closer again. Your pulse leaps. Every movement feels magnified in the narrow space, even the slight brush of his arm as he shifts weight makes your stomach flutter.

By the time the elevator dings at your floor, your hands are shaking a little, and you realize just how aware you are of him — the way he smells, the warmth of his body, the sharp glint in his eye.

You step into the hallway, fumbling with your keys. He’s close enough that your shoulders brush when you turn to pull the door open, and for a heartbeat, the air between you feels charged with possibility.

“Well, here’s me,” you say, cheeks warming, fumbling to step aside. “It’s… small, but it’s home.”

Riki doesn’t answer immediately. He kicks off his shoes, lingering near the threshold, eyes flicking to yours with that same smirk. The moment stretches and your chest hammers, because for just a second, it feels like the room is smaller and your bodies are closer than they should be.

But then his gaze flickers to your place. The kitchen and living room are one open space, small but cozy. A tiny round table sits tucked into the corner, two mismatched chairs shoved beneath it. The counter is speckled with a few stray mugs, a half-open cookbook leaning against the wall, and a small potted plant that’s surprisingly thriving despite your sometimes-forgetful nature.

Two doors punctuate the walls; one leads to a tiny bathroom, its mirror streaked faintly from last night’s shower, the other opens into your bedroom. The wood floors creak softly beneath your steps, and the warm glow from a single lamp casts long, inviting shadows.

Finally, you step in fully, locking the door behind you. Riki steps into your living room and soon he’s sprawled on your couch like he owns the place, long legs stretched out, while you fuss with the video call setup. You’re perched on the rug, back against the couch.

When Annie’s face finally appears on the screen, pixelated but familiar, a wave of relief floods your chest. You place your laptop on the table and move to sit up. Riki sits next to you and soon you three are smiling at each other.

“Hey!” she beams, hair a little messy from travel but her energy the same as always. “You guys made it back safe?”

“Yeah,” Riki answers easily, leaning closer into frame. His shoulder brushes yours, casual but warm enough that you’re suddenly hyperaware of the contact.

The call continues, you asking Annie about her flight, her hotel room. At one point, Riki leans in again, deliberately too close, to make some dry remark that has you snorting laughter. Annie raises a brow.

“Wow,” she says, smirking faintly. “You two get along better than I thought.”

The comment hangs in the air.

Your laughter dies in your throat, replaced by a nervous flutter in your stomach. You glance at Riki, trying to read if he took it the same way you did, but he just smirks at the screen like nothing’s out of place.

“Relax, Annie. You really thought we’d fall apart the second you left?”

You paste on a smile for Annie, hoping she can’t see the heat crawling up your neck. Guilt coils tighter in your chest, because she’d brought it up so lightly, and because you wish it didn’t feel like she might be right.

The three of you chat some more, with Annie showing you and Riki her accommodations, and her sharing her schedule for the week. Before you know it the call ends and Riki leaves. You thought about offering him dinner, but Annie’s comment still looms over you. Leading to a quick departure.

Throughout the next couple of days you spiral. You catch yourself counting down the days when you’ll see Riki again. The next video call (just a mere three days later) you keep catching yourself staring at him, did he get his hair dyed? You couldn’t really tell with the beanie covering most of his head. You try not to stare but, it doesn’t help that you feel like he kept staring at you as well.

The next day, while you’re commuting home from work, you see a follow request from him on insta. Suddenly you’re hyper aware of your heartbeat and now you’re overthinking how long should you wait before accepting it and following him back.

You don’t last long.

Before your stop you’ve already followed him back and stalked most of his profile. His feed is effortlessly cool, with sleek shots of modern architecture, sunlit streets, casual outfits that somehow look curated, and occasional dance clips that you definitely don’t bookmark. There’s also one selfie, posted just a day ago. His hair is a bright, icy blonde, that’s slicked back to reveal his shaved sides, it’s styled perfectly and it’s exactly the kind of look that makes your stomach flutter even as you try to be subtle. You don’t notice you’re biting your lip as you scroll, lost in the little details that make him… him.

You nearly miss your stop, slamming the stop button just in time and rushing off the metro.

Nothing happens that night. But the next morning, you wake up to a DM from Riki. Your heart races as you open it.

It’s a photo. Sent just twenty minutes ago.

You tap to view it. The image shows the two guinea pigs sitting side by side (in what you assume is Riki’s bed), one nuzzling the other, looking wide-eyed and curious. Riki’s caption reads, playful and teasing:

"Your future tenants are ready for inspection… Auntie’s place better be ready for these two troublemakers tomorrow 🐹🐹"

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat, your cheeks warming, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you type a reply.

"Guess that makes me responsible… better make sure you’re pulling your weight, Uncle Riki 🐹"

It takes less than a minute for the typing dots to appear.

“Relax. I’ll even set an alarm for 5am so you get the full experience. Cosmo and Wanda don’t believe in sleep.”

You roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. The two of you keep messaging back and forth the rest of the day; dumb jokes, more photos of the two piggies, the occasional jab about how unprepared you probably are. When you finally put your phone down that night, you’re smiling into your pillow like an idiot.

But when morning comes, there’s no Riki at your door at dawn. He doesn’t show up until well into the afternoon, cage in hand and smug grin firmly in place. His freshly dyed hair covered by a beanie, huge black hoodie engulfed his frame, and suddenly you felt star-struck for a moment.

“Some alarm,” you tease, ushering him inside.

He just shrugs, setting the guinea pigs on the table. “Hey, I needed my beauty sleep. You’ll thank me for it.”

Then he surprises you by going into full responsible mode, explaining their setup: an open pen with hay and water, how they’re free-roaming most of the time, how they’re puppy pad trained, etc. He hands you their toys, before a fond look takes over his face, “these two are basically married,” he says, scratching behind Wanda’s ear while Cosmo wiggles against his palm. “Annoying, loud, and a little dramatic. So… you should get along just fine.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpan, though you can’t help smiling as you watch him handle them with practiced care.

“Here, let me show you how to hold them,” he tells you, and then he’s by your side, slightly hunching so he doesn’t tower over you.

You focus on breathing normally and try not to stare at his huge hands as he holds the small piglet between his palms.

“One of your hands should be right behind the front paws,” he cups your hand and gently places it under the piglet, “and the other-“ he starts, guiding your hand under the piggies bum.

“Oh,” you softly say once he carefully lets go, and suddenly you’re holding a guinea pig.

“Oh my gosh, they seemed way smaller when you were holding them,” you note. The piglet squeaks just then, and you carefully place it back on the floor.

Riki smirks, leaning back on his heels. “Nah, they just look smaller next to you. Everything does… makes me wonder how you’d handle anything bigger.”

You laugh under your breath. “Bold of you to assume I’d even let you test that theory.”

Riki freezes for half a beat, then scoffs, trying to play it off “Oh please, you’d fold in two seconds.”

You shrug, fighting back a smile, “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t too bad you won’t find out, anyways want some tea?”

“Sure,” he says, a smile stretching over his face as if he knows he’s got you.

You head for the kettle, the smell of tea leaves filling the small kitchen. By the time you hand him his cup, he’s already wandered over, peering into your fridge.

He groans. “Do you actually live here? There’s, like, nothing to eat. What is this- heavy cream, pickles, and… are those mushrooms?”

You laugh, covering your face with one hand. “Don’t judge me.”

“I already am,” he says, triumphant. Then, softer, almost offhand “No wonder Annie told me to look out for you.”

Your breath catches at that. Annie always worries over you, but hearing it from him, his voice teasing but touched with something more, warms you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You clear your throat, trying to shake it off. “Well, jokes on you, I’ve got everything for pasta. Chicken, mushrooms, cream. We just need to cook it.”

That makes him perk up instantly, mischief flickering across his face. “Oh yeah? Show me, then. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Somehow, you’re standing side by side at the counter, chopping vegetables while he hums under his breath. His movements are quick, precise, like he’s done this a hundred times before. You steal a glance at the way his blonde hair falls into his eyes, how easily he fits into your too-small kitchen, like he belongs there.

But then he glances up at the exact moment you’re staring.

Your knife stills, and heat rushes up your neck. You look away too fast, pretending to focus on the cutting board.

He smirks. “What? Got caught admiring me?”

Your laugh comes out nervous, bubbling. “Please. You wish.”

“Mm.” He leans a little closer, voice dropping just slightly. “You’re blushing, though.”

“I’m not!” you protest, and that only makes him grin wider.

And then, without meaning to, you’re laughing too. It’s the kind that shakes your shoulders, the kind you can’t quite stop. It eases the charge in the air, leaving behind something warmer, more comfortable.

By the time the food is ready, the apartment smells rich and cozy, steam curling from the plates you carry to the couch. You sit shoulder to shoulder, a random movie playing in the background, guinea pigs squeaking softly occasionally.

And for a moment, it doesn’t feel like babysitting Annie’s pets, or filling the silence she left behind. It just feels… easy.

The pasta is good. Better than you expected. Riki insists it’s because he handled the important parts; you insist it’s because you boiled the noodles perfectly. It turns into another round of playful banter, laughter bubbling out of you until your cheeks ache.

And then, in a quiet moment between jokes, you realize how natural it feels. How easy it is to have him here. Which makes the guilt creep in sharp and sudden. Annie’s voice echoing in your head, her pointed warnings about her brother. You tell yourself that it’s just sahring one meal together, that it’s not a big deal.

Still, when the movie starts, you don’t sit all the way apart. The couch is small, and maybe that’s why your legs end up brushing now and then, knees grazing when you both shift for more room. You tell yourself it’s nothing, but each faint touch sparks something warm in your chest.

At one point, you lean into the cushions, laughing at some dry remark he makes. His shoulder bumps yours, just enough to linger before he pretends to stretch, like he didn’t notice. You pretend not to notice either, though your skin tingles where it pressed against his.

And so dinner fades into the background, your plates half-finished on the table while the movie hums low. You’re curled close, not quite cuddling but close enough that you’re hyperaware of the space between you, and how easy it would be to close it.

You’re mid-laugh when you hear it… the first soft patter of rain against the window.

At first, it’s nothing. Just a drizzle, background noise behind the dialogue on screen. But soon it’s louder, steadier, until you can hardly hear the movie over the sharp rhythm of it pelting against the glass.

“Damn,” you murmur, leaning forward to peek outside. The streetlights blur in the downpour, everything beyond the glass a streaky, storm-soaked haze. “It’s coming down hard.”

Riki follows your gaze, stretching to glance past you at the window. His arm brushes yours again as he leans, closer this time, his voice low. “Yeah… it’s kinda crazy.”

A flash of lightning forks across the sky, thunder rolling in right after. The guinea pigs squeak nervously in their pen, rustling the hay.

You turn back to him, biting your lip before blurting without thinking, “If it doesn’t calm down, you should just crash here.”

The words hang in the air.

Riki blinks at you, caught mid-sip of his tea. He almost chokes, setting the mug down a little too fast. “...What?”

You shrug, pretending at nonchalance though your pulse skips. “I mean—think about it. You’d be soaked before you even made it to the bus stop. It’s not a big deal. Couch is right there.”

His ears pink, just barely visible under the messy fall of his blonde hair. “You’re… seriously telling me to stay over?”

You roll your eyes, nudging his leg with your foot. “Don’t make it weird. I’m just saying it’s safer.”

“Yeah, but—” He breaks off, fumbling for words, then leans back against the cushions like he’s trying to play it cool. “You’re acting like you’re not gonna regret that invite in the morning when I eat all your cereal.”

“Joke’s on you,” you shoot back. “I don’t even have cereal.”

That earns a laugh out of him, quiet but real, the tension easing just enough. The rain pounds harder, sealing the deal without another word.

You fetch an extra blanket, tossing it toward him. He catches it awkwardly, still smirking but with a faint crease in his brow, like he’s not sure what to do with himself now.

“Guess you’re stuck with me, then,” he says softly.

The words make your chest tighten in ways you don’t want to examine.

“Okay, well—” you push up from the couch, brushing nonexistent lint from your sweatpants just to keep your hands busy. “If you’re staying, you should at least wash up. I might have something for you to change into.”

He blinks, looking almost.. shy? He nods. “Uh… yeah, sure.”

In your bedroom, you rummage through drawers until your hand snags on something unfamiliar. A pair of old gray sweats. You don’t even remember keeping them until you realize they must’ve been left behind by your ex. Your stomach twists, but before you can overthink it, you grab them anyway—along with a massive Hello Kitty shirt you sometimes wear to sleep. Oversized, ridiculous, probably perfect for Riki’s taller build.

When you return, Riki’s still on the couch, scrolling absently on his phone. He looks up as you hold out the clothes. “These should fit. Maybe. The pants, might be uh… a bit small.”

He takes them from you, holding the sweats up by the waistband with a raised brow. “These aren’t… your boyfriend’s, are they?”

Your laugh comes out a little too fast. “Oh—no. No boyfriend. They’re just… old.” You wave it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

Something flickers across his face. He shifts, scratching the back of his neck like he’s debating whether to say what’s on his mind. Finally, he mumbles, almost too casually “Yeah. Well… I don’t have a girlfriend either.”

The air stills. For a beat, neither of you moves, his dark eyes holding yours like he’s waiting for some kind of reaction. Your throat feels tight, a strange heat crawling up your neck.

You force yourself to break eye contact first, pressing the clothes against his chest with a soft cough. “Well. Guess you should wash up first, then.”

For the briefest moment, his lips twitch into a small smile, almost shy.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Guess I should.”

When he disappears into the bathroom, you exhale a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

By the time he returns, damp hair falling into his eyes and your oversized Hello Kitty t-shirt fitting him perfectly, if not a bit tightly (but you’re not complaining), you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or hide under the blanket forever.

You follow suit, going into the bathroom now that he’s out. But as soon as you reach your room you overthink.

All your drawers are open, closet doors spread wide and yet. Nothing feels right. Your regular sweats? Too ratty. What if he thought you looked… sloppy? The cute matching set you never wore around anyone? Too much. That would look like you’re trying too hard. You pick up one shirt, toss it aside, grab another, second-guess it immediately.

You groan into your hands. Why is this suddenly so hard?

Before you can unravel further, a knock at your door startles you.

“Yo,” Riki calls, his voice muffled but light. “Everything okay? You’ve been gone kind of a long time and I’m getting bored.”

Your heart kicks. You hesitate, then blurt before you can stop yourself, “I… don’t know what to wear.”

The silence on the other side stretches long enough that you regret every choice that’s led you here. But then his laugh cuts through, warm and sharp.

“You’re getting dressed for my benefit? That’s cute.”

Your cheeks flame. “What? No! I just—ugh, never mind.” You press your forehead to the door, wishing it would swallow you whole.

Another chuckle. Softer this time. “Relax. I’m literally wearing sweats and your Hello Kitty shirt. Pretty sure you’ll look better than me no matter what.”

You bite back a smile despite yourself.

In the end, you settle on simple oversized hoodie, cotton shorts, and knee high socks; it’s lowkey the kind of outfit you’d normally wear when you’re alone. Comfortable and warm. You tug it on, take a steadying breath, and step out before you can overthink it again.

Riki looks up from where he’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. For a second, his eyes skim over you like it’s no big deal, but then he blinks and sits up a little straighter, caught mid-stare.

“What?” you ask, pulling at your sleeve defensively.

He shakes his head quickly, that lopsided grin spreading slow. “Nothing. Just… guess I was right. You make it look easy.”

You roll your eyes to cover the way your pulse leaps. “Don’t get smug about it.”

“Too late,” he says, patting the spot next to him.

You cross the room, tucking yourself under the blanket he left draped across the couch. Riki found some cheesy horror move that flickers on the screen, the storm louder now, but all you can think about is the faint warmth where his shoulder brushes yours. It feels less like there’s a storm outside and more like the quiet pull of something starting inside.

Somewhere between the laughter and the thunder, your shoulders brush. You don’t pull away. Neither does he.

It isn’t charged not really. Just warm. Comforting. Easy in a way that makes you want to stay right there.

And when your head tips, just barely, toward his shoulder, he goes still for a second before relaxing into it.

The storm rages on, but the room feels warm. The guinea pigs shuffle softly in their pen, the screen flickers, and eventually your eyes flutter closed.

By the time sleep takes you, you’re both leaning into each other, the blanket tangled over your legs, his warmth steady beside you.

The guinea pigs squeak louder this time, rustling hay until Cosmo lets out a particularly indignant squeal. You groan into Riki’s shoulder, voice muffled.

“Why are they like this?”

Riki’s laugh is rough with sleep. His head tips against yours, “Told you. They don’t believe in sleep. It’s their thing.”

You both lie there for another minute, the blanket tangled around your legs, the couch creaking under your combined weight. His warmth beside you feels too good to leave, but the cushions dig into your spine, and your foot keeps slipping off the edge.

You exhale, hesitant but practical. “This couch is way too small. We should just… move to the bedroom. It’ll be easier to sleep there.”

That wakes him up a little more. His head shifts off yours, eyes narrowing as he searches your face. “You’re seriously inviting me into your bed? Bold.”

Your cheeks heat. You shove lightly at his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird. It’s just sleep. You’ll thank me when you’re not paralyzed from the waist down.”

He smirks, but you catch the way his ears go pink as he pushes himself upright. “Fine. Lead the way.”

In your room, the sheets are soft, cool against your skin as you both climb in from opposite sides. For a moment, you lie stiff as boards, the space between you like a live wire. You can hear the faint rhythm of his breathing, the occasional creak of the mattress whenever he shifts.

Your mind races. Annie’s voice echoes in your head, her teasing, her warnings. Don’t let anything happen. Don’t even think about it. But it’s impossible not to think about it, not when he’s right there, warm and solid, just inches away.

You roll onto your side, pretending to get comfortable. The movement must give him permission, because he shifts too. Slowly, cautiously, his arm brushes yours under the blanket. Neither of you pulls away.

The air thickens, but neither of you breaks it. You pretend your eyes are shut, pretend your breathing is steady. Still, you can feel him—awake, aware, mirroring your stillness.

And then, almost imperceptibly, he inches closer. His forehead just barely grazes your hairline, his arm settling lightly against your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your pulse skitters, but you don’t move. Instead, you let yourself ease into it, curling closer until the space between you disappears.

You both lie there, tangled in quiet, pretending to sleep. But you know he’s awake, you can sense it in the way his breath hitches when you shift, in the way his hand flexes like he’s fighting the urge to hold you properly.

And you’re awake too, heart thrumming against your ribs, wondering if this counts as breaking Annie’s rules or if it’s just what happens when two people can’t pretend anymore.

Two days later, you cave and DM him.

“I swear your married children are trying to starve. They’ve eaten through almost the whole bag already??”

His reply comes in seconds.

“Dw. We’ll go shopping. Is it okay if we go sometime around 9 though.”

You chew your lip, staring at the screen. Around 9? That’s kind of late, but you type back a quick yes before you can overthink it.

When you meet outside, you almost do a double take. Riki’s in baggy jeans and a leather jacket, clean sneakers, hair pushed back just enough to show the sharp cut of his jaw. He doesn’t look like the boy you’ve been sharing tea and pasta with in your tiny kitchen. He looks… older.

“Stop staring,” he teases, nudging your arm as you fall into step beside him.

You huff. “I wasn’t.”

“Sure,” he hums, satisfied, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The walk to the store is short, the air cool and quiet at this hour. Somewhere between the crosswalk and the corner shop, he mentions it offhand, like it’s nothing.

“My schedule’s kind of a mess lately. Practice runs late.”

“Practice?” you echo.

He cuts you a sideways glance, smirk tugging at his lips. “Dancing. It’s kind of my thing.”

Your brows lift. “Seriously? You never said that.”

“You never asked,” he shoots back, grinning. Then, after a beat he goes, “If you’re free Friday, come watch. You’ll get why I’m always tired.”

You try to play it cool, but your chest flutters anyway. “Maybe I will.”

He hums again, like he already knows you’ll say yes.

In the store, the two of you bicker lightly over brands of hay, his hand brushing yours once as you both reach for the same bag. Neither of you moves away right away.

At the register, you pull your card out first, triumphant. “I’ve got it.”

But before you can even tap, Riki leans over and slides his card across the counter, faster. The cashier takes it without hesitation.

“Hey—” you protest, glaring.

He grins, smug. “Guess you’ll just have to be quicker next time.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “That’s cheating.”

“Not cheating,” he says easily, leaning in just enough for his voice to dip lower, “just winning.”

Your pulse stutters, but you force a smirk. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he says, bagging up the hay like he owns the place. “But at least dinner’s on you now.”

By the time you leave, you’re laughing softly, wondering why errands with Riki feel less like chores and more like dates.

Thursday night, your phone buzzes with a notification.

Riki: Don’t forget. Tomorrow, 17:30. Studio’s near Hongdae. Don’t be late.

You bite your lip, smiling at the bluntness. You’re really expecting me to show up? you type back.

The reply comes instantly. Yeah. Who else am I supposed to impress?

Your cheeks heat, and you don’t respond. But you set your alarm anyway.

The studio smells faintly of sweat and wood polish, bass already humming through the floor when you slip inside. You hesitate at the door, nervous you’ll stick out, but Riki notices you almost immediately.

His face lights up. He jogs over, hair already damp at the temples, grinning wide. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” you murmur, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.” He smirks, cocky already, and tosses you a water bottle from his bag. “You’re gonna need this. Watching me’s exhausting.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

When practice starts, he shifts and it’s like flipping a switch. The teasing boy you know is gone, replaced by someone sharper, steadier, completely in his element. Every move cuts through the beat with precision, sweat slicking his temples, focus written all over his face.

It isn’t just him, either. The whole crew works together, their movements layered and seamless, a rhythm you can feel in your chest. A couple of other friends and girlfriends are seated along the back wall with you, murmuring now and then, but you barely register them. Your eyes keep finding him.

At one point, the choreographer calls for freestyle. Riki doesn’t hesitate, he drops low, spinning into a clean b-boy freeze that earns whoops and cheers from his crew. He pops back up smoothly, grinning through the mirror at you, like he knows you’re watching. Like that one was just for you.

Your stomach flips.

Then the real piece starts. It’s the one they’ve been practicing for, from the way everyone falls into position with extra sharpness. The music is groovy and smooth, R&B pulsing low and steady. It’s polished, ready, you realize with a jolt. Probably their last rehearsal before whatever stage or camera’s waiting.

You catch yourself staring, lips parted before you snap them shut.

And then the partner work begins. A girl from the crew steps forward, sliding easily into sync with him. They move close, coordinated, bodies brushing with the kind of practiced ease that only comes from hours together. The choreography is sensual, meant to be. Too smooth to be accidental.

Something in your chest tightens. You fold your arms across yourself, clapping politely when the song ends, hoping no one notices how quiet you’ve gone.

But Riki notices. Of course he does.

He jogs over, towel draped around his neck, hoodie slung over one arm. His grin is easy, but his eyes flick briefly to your folded arms. “Cold?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

He presses the hoodie into your hands anyway. “Here. You look like you need it more than me.”

You want to protest, but the fabric is warm and soft against your fingers, smelling faintly of his cologne and laundry detergent. You pull it on without another word, sleeves swallowing your hands.

When you look up again, he’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite read. Amusement, maybe. Or something heavier.

Practice wraps late, crew scattering in twos and threes with quick goodbyes. You’re still tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie when Riki falls into step beside you, gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hungry?” he asks, like it’s obvious.

You nod, and instead of heading toward the station, he veers left. “C’mon. I’ll show you my favorite spot.”

His favorite ramen shop is tucked into a narrow alley, modern wood paneling lit with warm light. Inside, it’s sleek, clean lines and polished counters, but the small space makes it feel intimate, cozy in a way bigger restaurants never could.

Steam curls from the bowls in front of you, when the waiter places the bowls in front of you two. Riki doesn’t talk much at first, just nudges the chili oil your way and asks if you want an egg in your bowl. The kind of small gestures that make your chest ache more than they should.

Halfway through slurping noodles, the words tumble out of you.

“Is it… normal? For dancers to date each other? Or is it really just dancing?”

His chopsticks pause mid-air. He sets them down slowly, eyes narrowing not in mockery but in something sharper, more searching.

“You mean today?”

Your throat tightens. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—” You shake your head, heat rushing up your neck. “Forget it.”

But he doesn’t let you. His voice softens, low enough that you almost miss it under the hum of the shop. “It’s just dancing. Nothing else.”

You risk a glance at him. He’s not smirking, not teasing. His gaze is steady, almost too much, and for the first time all night, you believe him.

The air shifts. You both keep eating, quieter now, but your hands end up resting on the table, so close your pinkies almost touch. Neither of you moves them away.

The ramen shop is hushed, only a few patrons left, their voices low. Under the table, Riki shifts, his knee brushing yours. Not an accident.

Your gaze drifts up. His smirk is gone, replaced by something heavier. His mouth tilts in a faint half-pout, lips plump and pink from the steam. His eyes are sharp, fixed on you, but there’s a hesitation there too, like he’s caught in the same push and pull as are you.

For a heartbeat, you think he’ll close the distance. His eyes dip to your mouth, just for a second, and the world shrinks to the space between you.

But someone laughs too loud across the room, breaking the spell. You both jerk back, fumbling with chopsticks as if the broth suddenly matters more than the gravity pulling you closer.

Still, your pulse doesn’t settle. When you glance at him again, his half-smile lingers… wistful, frustrated, like he’s thinking the same thing you are.

I wish I could just kiss you right now.

When it’s time to pay, you pull out your card quickly, determined this time. But Riki’s faster, again, sliding his across the counter before you can blink.

“Seriously?” you whisper, pouting. “You already got the groceries.”

He only grins, then and before you can argue reaches out and cups your cheek, squishing gently until your lips push out even poutier. Your breath stutters at the contact, his touch warm and careful, gaze dropping to your mouth, again.

For a second, it feels like the world holds its breath.

Then he exhales, low, steady. “I’m the one who invited you,” he murmurs. “So I’m paying.”

His hand lingers half a beat too long before he pulls away.

You’re still reeling as you step back out into the night. The September night air is crisp, the chill nipping at your cheeks. You tug his hoodie tighter around yourself, sleeves still swallowing your hands.

Riki falls into step beside you, quiet at first. The street is mostly empty, puddles gleaming under the neon glow of a convenience store sign.

Your hands brush once, twice, the faintest spark each time. Neither of you pulls away.

“You look good in that, you know,” he says suddenly, voice casual but eyes flicking down to the hoodie draped over you. “Almost better than me.”

You snort, trying to hide the way your stomach flips. “Doubt it.”

He grins, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled only with the sound of your steps and the hum of traffic a few streets over. But then he glances at you again, more serious this time.

“And hey…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking ahead as if the words are hard to get out. “Don’t worry about that partner stuff. It’s just dancing. That’s all it is.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, warmth spreading in your chest despite yourself. “I wasn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off with a small shake of his head.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says simply.

The station comes into view too soon, glowing pale under the streetlamps. You slow your steps, wishing the walk could stretch just a little longer.

When you finally stop, standing at the point where your buses split, you turn to him. His grin is easy, but there’s something else behind it, something that makes your pulse stumble.

“See you,” he says.

“Yeah,” you breathe, tugging his hoodie tighter. “See you.”

Your hands brush one last time before you part ways, and you carry the warmth of it with you all the way home.

The weekend passes in a blur. By Sunday evening, you’re at his doorstep, cage in hand, trading Cosmo and Wanda back like clockwork. You pretend it’s just routine, but the way his smile lingers makes it feel like more. He invites you for a drink, but you decline, needing time to yourself.

The whole week drags, but it’s the worst on Wednesday, it drags like sand through an hourglass. Assignments pile, emails ding, your brain buzzing with things left undone. By the time you finally flop face-first onto your bed, exhaustion pins you down.

Your phone buzzes.

Riki: Don’t overwork yourself.

You groan into your pillow, thumbs fumbling a reply. Too late.

Three dots blink, then: Piggies miss you. Just come over.

You stare at the screen, biting your lip. You should say no; you need to shower, catch up on work, actually sleep. Instead, you find yourself tugging on a jacket and heading for the bus stop.

When you arrive, Cosmo and Wanda squeak loudly from their pen like they’ve been expecting you.

Riki leans in the doorway, arms crossed, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. Behind him, you catch your first real look at his place: high ceilings, dark wood floors that gleam under recessed lighting, gray-toned walls broken up with sleek art and low, modern furniture. It’s elegant but lived-in, the faint scent of cologne and laundry softener grounding it in something undeniably him. A penthouse, you realize, with wide windows framing the glittering city below.

“See? Told you they missed you.”

“You mean you missed me,” you mumble, kicking off your shoes.

His grin widens, but he doesn’t argue.

You tell yourself it’s just a short visit, just to check on them. But one movie turns into two, your body heavier with every passing minute. The cushions cradle you, warmth and fatigue tugging you down until your head tips against the couch’s armrest.

At some point, you shift without realizing, body curling instinctively toward him until you’re half-leaning against his side. Riki glances down, a comment on the tip of his tongue, then stops.

You’re out cold. Completely limp, lips parted in sleep, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

For a moment, he freezes, caught between surprise and something else he doesn’t dare name. Then, with a soft huff, he tosses the blanket aside and carefully slides an arm under your knees, another around your back.

You stir faintly but don’t wake as he lifts you, weight easy against him.

His room is dim, the city lights spilling in through tall windows, dark wood and steel softened by the mess of pillows at the head of his bed. He lowers you onto the mattress as gently as he can, tugging the covers over you once you’re settled.

You sigh in your sleep, curling into the warmth, and something in his chest clenches tight.

He stands there for a moment, watching, running a hand through his hair like he can shake the feeling off. Then he sighs again and slips under the covers on the opposite side, careful to keep space between you. But as the night drags on, that space disappears inch by inch, until the warmth of your back brushes against his chest, and neither of you stirs.

The first thing you register is warmth. Not the kind from blankets, but from the body beside you.

You blink against the soft gray light filtering in through the tall windows, heart lurching when you realize you’re not in your own room. The sheets smell faintly of laundry soap and his cologne. His bed.

You roll slightly, careful not to shift too much. Riki’s still asleep, messy blond hair falling across his forehead, one arm draped loosely over the empty space between you. Like, even in his sleep, he’d been reaching for you.

Something squeezes in your chest. You almost lift a hand, tempted to brush the hair out of his face, but stop just short. Don’t be obvious. Don’t get caught staring—

Too late. His lashes flutter, and he catches you mid-look.

A slow grin spreads across his sleepy face. “Morning.”

Your cheeks blaze. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t staring.”

He shifts closer on the pillow, voice rough with sleep. “Sure you weren’t.”

You roll onto your back, groaning into the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, low and warm, before pushing himself upright. “C’mon. Lemme make you some breakfast.”

The kitchen matches the rest of his place: sleek lines, dark wood, all clean edges softened by morning light. You perch awkwardly at the counter while he rummages through the fridge, emerging with eggs, milk, and bread.

“I can cook,” he offers.

“Can you?” you deadpan, already cracking an egg one-handed.

His mouth drops open. “Yes, actually.”

“Mm.” You smirks, but slide the pan toward him anyway, watching as Riki scrambles with more determination than skill. When you nearly drop a shell in, he leans in, plucks it from your fingers, and tosses it aside. His shoulder brushes yours, casual but deliberate.

The air shifts. You pretend to focus on stirring, heart pounding as if eggs deserve your entire life’s attention.

By the time the toast pops, you’re both laughing, with his teasing, your mock-glares, the space between you narrowing in ways that feel far too natural.

It’s domestic. Too domestic. Which is exactly when your phone buzzes, Annie’s name lighting up the screen.

You both freeze.

You and Riki share a wide-eyed glance, like kids caught sneaking out after curfew. He gestures with his chin. “Answer.”

Your stomach knots. Still, you swipe to accept, propping the phone up against a mug. Annie’s face fills the screen, bright and smiling, hair pulled back loosely.

“Morning!” she chirps, eyes darting between the two of you. “Wow, you look… cozy.”

You freeze, conscious of the hoodie you’re still swimming in, of the way Riki is leaning against the counter right beside you.

“Where are you guys?” she asks, squinting at the background.

You fumble. “Uh—I’m just—”

Riki cuts in smoothly, “My place.”

Your heart lurches. Annie’s brows climb, lips twitching like she’s already amused. “Wait. Are you guys… together?”

It hits like a spark. Your pulse spikes, words tumbling out too fast. “No! We’re not—it’s not like that, we’re just—”

“Watching the piggies!” Riki adds, a little too loudly, and then winces.

Annie leans her chin on her hand, smirking. “Uh-huh. You both sound very convincing right now.”

You glance at Riki, flustered heat crawling up your neck. He’s no better—jaw tight, ears pink.

But then Annie’s smirk softens. “Relax. You’re adults. If you wanna date, I’m not gonna stop you. Honestly? Makes my life easier if you get along.”

You blink. “You’re… not mad?”

“Mad? No.” She shrugs. “Just don’t break up, because I am not picking sides. Got it?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. Riki chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained by your misery.

Annie beams, oblivious or pretending to be. “Okay, gotta run—meeting in ten. Love you both!”

The call ends, leaving only the soft hum of the fridge and the pounding in your chest.

You lower your hands slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Riki’s already watching you, eyes sharp, lips curved in a half-smile that feels more like a dare.

“What?” you whisper, trying for nonchalance, but your voice betrays you.

He shakes his head, still grinning. “You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Something snaps then; weeks of sidelong glances and almost-touches collapsing all at once. He closes the distance, lips crashing onto yours, urgent and hungry.

You gasp into the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He tilts his head, deepening it, one hand cradling your jaw like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

Finally, finally, you stop pretending.

The kiss deepens fast, like neither of you remember how to pace yourselves. His mouth is hot against yours, tasting faintly of broth and sesame, his hand cupping your jaw firm enough to keep you there, to keep you from slipping away.

You clutch his hoodie tighter, tugging him closer until your chest presses flush to his. The contact makes him groan low in his throat, vibration thrumming through you.

“Riki—” you start, but the word dissolves into another gasp as he nips your bottom lip, swallowing the sound before it can form.

He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, one that’s reckless, thoughtless and so him; he bends, hands gripping the backs of your thighs. Your breath catches as your feet leave the ground, the world tilting when he lifts you like you weigh nothing. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, fingers threading into his hair for balance.

“God,” he mutters against your mouth, voice husky, “you drive me insane.”

Your laugh is shaky, half-swallowed by the kiss. “Says the one who just carried me like it’s nothing.”

“Shut up.” He grins, breathless, and steals another kiss, bumping you into the doorframe on the way out of the kitchen. You squeak, swat at his shoulder, and he just laughs into your mouth before adjusting his grip.

By the time he drops onto the couch with you straddling his lap, you’re both flushed, panting, hearts racing like you’d sprinted the whole way. His hands find your hips, fingers pressing hard through the fabric of your sweats, grounding you in place.

You hover there for a moment, knees bracketing his thighs, chest rising and falling against his. The intensity in his eyes nearly undoes you. It’s dark, sharp and full of everything he’s been holding back.

“Still gonna tell me not to think about you like this?” he murmurs, thumb brushing the hem of your shirt.

Your breath stutters. Heat coils low in your stomach, and yet you manage a shaky smile, eyes locking on his. “Pretty sure you’re the one who started it.”

His laugh is quiet, disbelieving, before his lips crash onto yours again.

The couch creaks under your shifting weight, your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him like you’ve been waiting weeks for this exact moment. He pulls you closer, until there’s no space left, until even the air between you is burning.

“Riki,” you breathlessly murmur once he trails kisses down your neck. He sucks sharply, one of his hands holding you close to him by your waist. The other in your hair.

Your nails sink from his shoulders and into his back and he pulls your hair back, revealing your neck before he sucks another kiss into it.

His breathing is labored and all you can do is mewl against him. You try to pull back but his hold is too strong.

You shift your weight, hips dragging on his lap and you both moan.

“Need you so bad, Riki,” you whine, humping yourself against his bigger frame.

“Yeah? Show me how bad pretty, “ he murmurs, and then he’s flipping you two. You’re spread below him, your back against leather couch and Riki towering over you.

His hair is messy, lips bitten red and you can’t control the shiver overtaking you. Your hands are held together, right in front of your waist. You watch as Riki slips his shirt over his head, then his sweats.

The wild look he gives you makes your heart beat harder in your chest. He reaches out for you then, his huge hand engulfing your wrists together and holding your hands above your head.

He tugs the hoodie you’re wearing (his hoodie) up, letting his hand explore the soft skin he’s uncovering.

“Fuck,” you think you hear him whisper to himself.

“Stay here, beautiful, I’m just gonna go and get a condom.” Is all he says, before he almost runs to his room. The sight would be funny if you weren’t so turned on right now.

Instead you take your clothing off, thanking whomever for deciding to wear your lacy panties yesterday.

Riki comes back into the room just as you’re sat completely naked on the couch – save for your panties. He bites his lips, eyes raking you in and it’s at this point that you notice his tattoos.

“Leave them on,” he gestures to your panties, and then. He’s back on you.

He kisses you as if his life depended on it, nudging you softly so you’re laying down again. His hands go from soft to rough where he explores your body.

But you return the favor, where Riki grips – you grasp, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Need you Riki, c’mon,” you plead.

“Gonna let me ruin you a little?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

Instead of answering you press your hips into his, pouting as you shakily answer, “Only if I get to ruin you too.”

“Fuck,” is all he says and then you’re watching him fumble with the damn condom.

“Need some help?” you tease, but the breathlessness in your voice betrays you.

“Don’t rush me, I’m trying not to fuck this up,” he grins, but you can tell he’s getting frustrated.

So you grip his cock, your other hand pressing on the plastic wrap as you both push it over his cockhead.

“Riki, you’re so big,” you whine, lip caught between your teeth, “promise you’ll go slow?”

He looks at you then, looking almost surprised. His eyes soften, “Of course baby, we’ll go as slow as you need.” He tells you almost in a coo.

And then you feel his cock pressing against your entrance.

“So big Riki, you’re so big,” you whine before he’s even entered you.

You wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him down onto you and Riki groans when he feels your hips pushing forward.

His cockhead starts slipping in, your wetness almost sucking him in you.

“Shit—so fucking tight…” he groans, guttural and low. He sinks deeper and deeper, inch by inch and you feel your eyes watering from the pleasurable strech.

“Riki—feels so good,” you moan once he’s almost fully sheathed himself into your smaller body underneath his. Your nails sink into his back and he hisses, but you feel his dick twich.

You’re mewling as he fills you fully, his body tense against your limp one.

You’re smiling up at him as his hands grip your thighs tightly in a poor attempt to ground himself.

You tug on his hair a little bit and he’s groaning, pushing his hips out slowly, before pushing himself back into you.

“Been wanting this—fuck—been wanting you for so long,” his voice breaks between thrusts.

Meanwhile you’re panting hard, almost whining, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Told you I’d ruin you,” he whispers by your ear when he notices your teary eyes.

“Looks like I’m ruining you too,” you smirks as you feel just how hard his dick is. He slams deeper into you just then, groaning your name and you’re a goner.

Your hands are all over each other’s bodies, nails drawing sharp red lines across his back, while Riki sucks another bruise on your collar bones.

You feel your climax approaching, and that’s when Riki grips your wrists together, pinning your hands above your head.

He’s watching the way your tits bounce when you note his expression.

He was close.

“That’s it, good girl, just like that—taking me so well,” he rasps, his voice so low it’s making your stomach do backflips.

“Riki—gonna—” you’re barely coherent, as you attempt to praise him back. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and suddenly you still.

“Come with me pretty girl. Right here, with me. Wanna see you make a mess.”

And before you know it he’s cumming with you. His hips pressed against your, his dick filling you so good. So well, you feel his balls spasm as he comes alongside with you.

After a beat he collapses half on top of you, kissing your jaw, sweaty but soft.

“Not letting you go now. Don’t care what Annie says,” he murmurs, his forehead against yours.

You laugh breathlessly, stroking his hair, “You’re ridiculous.”

He’s kissing your neck, softer this time, as he softly replies “Maybe. Still not letting you go.”

[jaaayyneee]

This is incredible😫 Haven't read such a good fic in SO LONG... I can't... literally was giggling and kicking my feet the whole time😝😋🤭 BEST 2 hours of my life🤭🤭🤭

[beargyu313]

iii omg !! Tysm 🤭🩷🩷

[beargyu313]

Hi guys :)

What would you like to see more of from me? Been lowkey struggling for inspo

[beargyu313]

i wanted to share that's exactly how imagine cliffiside sunghoon😭💘

OKAY REAL!! I see it but also these were huge inspos while writing jfjfj

[beargyu313]

Hello! Wanted to say that ure so freaking sweet, like u are literally my fav writer here, I've recommended u to all my friends who likes kpop (1 🥲) I love u so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Take all my love and support :)

☹️🥹🥹tysm!!<33 i also don't have many friends who are into kpop >< hahah (mostly they grew out of it), so i get the struggle

Hope you have a wonderful day 🩷🩷🩷and love you too🫶🏻🫶🏻

[beargyu313]

just wanted to write to you and say i love your writing and all of your fics <3

Thank you so much 🫂🫂

[beargyu313]

hiii I wanted to know if you know this fic as I've been trying to find it (im p sure it's sunghoon) where y/n's boyfriend is toxic and while they're arguing in the car he abandons and dumps her and she finds his dad's house in the woods and starts living with him

hii, maybe this one? If not then I really don't know

Anyone else who could maybe help?

[beargyu313]

Airport Goodbyes ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Summary: Your best friend moves abroad and leaves you stuck with her younger brother — the same younger brother you’ve been lowkey avoiding because he’s hot and off-limits. Cue guinea pig babysitting, late-night calls, accidental sleepovers, and way too much tension to keep pretending you don’t want him.

✧˚⋆｡˚ Word Count: 10.3k

°⋆*:･Tags: Fluff, slowburn, yearning, semi-forbidden romance, noona!OC, 2 year age gap, best friend’s brother trope, smut tags: size kink, praise kink, heavy marking (scratching, hickeys)

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ A/N: goodbye hiatus, hello Tumblr !! I’m back, this was written on my tablet (which is new for me), so hopefully the structure is fine! Anyways something slightly different and shorter from me.

Find more from me here.

You’ve been stuck in the same row of molded plastic chairs for nearly an hour, and you’re fairly certain your tailbone will file a complaint as soon as you stand up. The fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead, mixing with the steady chatter of travelers and the occasional burst of an overhead announcement.

You blow out a raspberry and glance sideways at the two siblings flanking you.

“Stop being such a pain, Riki,” your bestie mutters, tugging her hoodie tighter.

“Bro,” he sighs, rolling his eyes with dramatic flair, “how am I being a pain by looking out for you?” He turns his head toward you, catching your gaze before you can dart away. “Right?” His lips twitch into a half-smirk. “Tell her she’s being unreasonable.”

He says your name, and you hate how your stomach does a little flip at the sound. You smooth down the legs of your baggy jeans, trying to look busy.

“Oh no,” you say, forcing a laugh as you rise from your seat. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Annie asks you.

“Bathroom.”

“Well, hold up. I’m coming with you.”

The two of you weave down a long hallway, the floor echoing with the click of wheeled suitcases and the squeak of sneakers against polished tiles. The bathroom door swings open with a creak, revealing a surprisingly spacious interior, bright and a little too sterile with its lemon-scented cleaner.

“Woah, it’s bigger than it looks,” she says, before ducking into one of the stalls.

You do the same, then rejoin her at the sinks a few minutes later. The automatic faucet sputters to life under your hands, the water too hot. As you reach for the coarse paper towels, her phone pings.

She frowns, brows knitting as she reads over the notification.

“What’s up? Who is it?” you ask, leaning over just as you’re drying your hands.

“Ugh, Sammie,” she groans, shoving the screen toward you. “She wants to know if Riki’s single. Gross. As if.”

You can’t help but laugh, though you quickly cover it with a cough. “Well, I mean… he is kind of—”

“Don’t even say it,” she cuts in, glaring at you in the mirror. “It’s disgusting how obsessed some of my friends get with him. Like, yeah, he’s decent-looking, but he’s my little brother. They don’t get how weird it feels.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, nodding along, guilt pricking at your ribs like pins.

She sighs, tucking her phone away and shaking her head. “Promise me you won’t ever be one of them. I couldn’t handle it if my best friend tried to hit on him.”

Your throat goes dry, but you force a smile. “Promise.”

Back at the gate, the final boarding call echoes overhead, and after a flurry of hugs and teary goodbyes, Annie pulls you aside for one last word. Her suitcase handle rattles behind her as she leans in close.

“Look out for Riki, okay? Make sure he doesn’t eat junk all the time. You know how he is.”

You nod, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Yeah. Of course.”

A few feet away, she corners her brother. He stands with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, trying to look unbothered.

“And you,” she says firmly, poking his chest. “Check in on her. She overworks herself and won’t admit it. Don’t let her run herself into the ground.”

Riki huffs, muttering, “Yeah, yeah,” but his eyes flicker toward you just for a second.

You stand by Rikis side as Annie disappears past the gate, her carry-on bumping against her heels until she rounds the corner and is gone. The crowd swallows her easily, like she was never here at all.

It was supposed to be a slight relocation, just a temporary move for work. That’s what she’d kept insisting, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But the not-knowing, plus the fact that there isn’t a set return date… it makes the goodbye ache heavier.

You find yourself staring too long at the empty space she left behind, fighting the urge to chase after her and squeeze in just one more hug. Your tailbone throbs from those awful plastic chairs, but the hollowness inside feels worse. You shouldn’t feel this untethered. She’ll call. She’ll text. But still—

“You look like someone died,” Riki’s voice cuts into your thoughts. He’s watching you with that half-bored, half-amused look that makes it impossible to know if he’s joking or serious. “Relax. It’s Annie, she’ll be back in no time.”

You blink, snapping out of it, lips parting to argue before he adds casually, “Besides, aren’t you on guinea pig duty this week?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, like he knows exactly what he’s doing — tugging you out of your spiral, grounding you with something small and ridiculous. You exhale a laugh despite yourself.

“Oh no,” you grin at him, “don’t try to hand them over already, you and I both know-“

Riki cuts you off, his shoulder bumping into you, as you two walk towards the parking lot, “we both know Annie made us a schedule yes,” he laughs at the ridiculousness of this situation.

Baby-sitting two bonded guinea pigs is the last thing one would expect two adults in their early 20’s to be doing, yet here you are. Co-parenting two tiny animals. And despite yourself you can’t shake the smile off your face. Even as you step in the passenger seat.

The drive starts quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space while the city lights smear past the windows. You sit a little too straight in your seat, hands knotted in your lap, and every so often you mumble another “thanks” for driving, for waiting, for hauling Annie’s bag.

By the fourth one, Riki lets out a laugh under his breath. “Do you say thank you this much to everyone, or is it just me?”

You whip your head toward him. “What? No, I—”

He cuts you a sideways look, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Feels like I’m chauffeuring a grandma. Or, I don’t know, the queen.”

Your face heats instantly. “I’m just being polite.”

“Too polite.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, like he’s thinking it over. Then, casually “What, do I make you nervous?”

Your pulse stumbles. “N-no. Why would you think that?”

He huffs out a laugh, clearly pleased. “You sound like you’re about to faint every time you open your mouth.”

You gape at him, then snap your head forward, staring hard at the windshield. “I do not.”

“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced, still smirking. He doesn’t push it further, but the silence that follows isn’t the same as before. It crackles, alive, every breath loud in your ears.

For the first time all night, you’re hyperaware of how small the car feels.

The drive stretches on, headlights washing over the empty highway. By the time you’re close to the city, you realize Annie’s probably midair, and it hits you again that she’s gone, at least for now.

Riki breaks the silence, again. “Her flight’s, what, three hours? By the time we’re back, she’ll be landing.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question, just drops it like a fact. “I’ll walk you up to your apartment. Then we’ll call her together.”

You part your lips to protest or at least remind him you never actually agreed to that but he cuts you a quick glance, the corner of his mouth twitching like he already knows what you’ll say.

“Don’t argue. It makes sense.”

You sink back into the seat, muttering under your breath about him being bossy. Still, a tiny part of you relaxes. He’s right. And maybe you don’t hate the idea of him following you upstairs.

A beat of silence, then he nudges his chin toward the center console. “Put your address in. GPS.”

You hesitate, then reach for the screen. He does too. His hand lands on the edge of the console at the same time yours hovers over it, your knuckle brush… the touch brief, but enough to jolt a spark up your arm.

You freeze.

He doesn’t pull away, just smirks, leaning in close enough that his shoulder presses against yours as his finger taps the screen. “You type like an old lady,” he murmurs, watching the letters fill in.

Your breath catches. His cologne, a clean, sharp and a little dizzying scent fills the space between you. You bite your lip, lashes slightly fluttering, and glance up at him. “Wow, so I’m the old lady now? Should I start knitting or something?”

The teasing noticeably flusters him, and you smirk at his reaction. He blinks, a little caught off guard, and his smirk falters for the briefest second. “Wait… what?” He clears his throat, suddenly aware of how close you are. “I-I didn’t mean it like—”

“Relax,” you murmur, eyes darting down, cheeks heating. “Just making sure you know I can play back at you, too.”

Riki shakes his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, still smirking but a little more awkward now. “Right. Yeah… noted.” His fingers drum nervously against the wheel for a beat, then he leans back, though his gaze keeps flicking to you.

The GPS chirps to life just then, but your pulse hasn’t slowed.

You drive in mostly silence for the remainder of the drive with J. Cole softly playing through the car radio. Once near your place you direct Riki to the best parking spot for the visitors.

And then he’s following after you into the apartment building. The elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding, and the space inside feels suddenly smaller than it should. The metal walls reflect the two of you, close, your shoulders almost brushing.

Riki shifts behind you, leaning just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. The faint scent of his cologne lingers, clean and sharp, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Interesting buttons,” he murmurs, nudging forward slightly so his hand hovers just behind yours. The proximity is electric. Your fingers brush as you press the button, and you flinch, heat rushing to your ears.

“Careful,” you murmur, heart thudding. “You might give me a heart attack.”

He smirks, eyebrow quirking. “Or maybe I like seeing you flustered.”

You glance back, meeting his eyes in the mirrored wall, and the corner of his mouth quirks into that knowing smile. You almost stumble over your words. “I… I’m not that easy to fluster.”

“No?,” he hums, unconvinced, leaning just slightly closer again. Your pulse leaps. Every movement feels magnified in the narrow space, even the slight brush of his arm as he shifts weight makes your stomach flutter.

By the time the elevator dings at your floor, your hands are shaking a little, and you realize just how aware you are of him — the way he smells, the warmth of his body, the sharp glint in his eye.

You step into the hallway, fumbling with your keys. He’s close enough that your shoulders brush when you turn to pull the door open, and for a heartbeat, the air between you feels charged with possibility.

“Well, here’s me,” you say, cheeks warming, fumbling to step aside. “It’s… small, but it’s home.”

Riki doesn’t answer immediately. He kicks off his shoes, lingering near the threshold, eyes flicking to yours with that same smirk. The moment stretches and your chest hammers, because for just a second, it feels like the room is smaller and your bodies are closer than they should be.

But then his gaze flickers to your place. The kitchen and living room are one open space, small but cozy. A tiny round table sits tucked into the corner, two mismatched chairs shoved beneath it. The counter is speckled with a few stray mugs, a half-open cookbook leaning against the wall, and a small potted plant that’s surprisingly thriving despite your sometimes-forgetful nature.

Two doors punctuate the walls; one leads to a tiny bathroom, its mirror streaked faintly from last night’s shower, the other opens into your bedroom. The wood floors creak softly beneath your steps, and the warm glow from a single lamp casts long, inviting shadows.

Finally, you step in fully, locking the door behind you. Riki steps into your living room and soon he’s sprawled on your couch like he owns the place, long legs stretched out, while you fuss with the video call setup. You’re perched on the rug, back against the couch.

When Annie’s face finally appears on the screen, pixelated but familiar, a wave of relief floods your chest. You place your laptop on the table and move to sit up. Riki sits next to you and soon you three are smiling at each other.

“Hey!” she beams, hair a little messy from travel but her energy the same as always. “You guys made it back safe?”

“Yeah,” Riki answers easily, leaning closer into frame. His shoulder brushes yours, casual but warm enough that you’re suddenly hyperaware of the contact.

The call continues, you asking Annie about her flight, her hotel room. At one point, Riki leans in again, deliberately too close, to make some dry remark that has you snorting laughter. Annie raises a brow.

“Wow,” she says, smirking faintly. “You two get along better than I thought.”

The comment hangs in the air.

Your laughter dies in your throat, replaced by a nervous flutter in your stomach. You glance at Riki, trying to read if he took it the same way you did, but he just smirks at the screen like nothing’s out of place.

“Relax, Annie. You really thought we’d fall apart the second you left?”

You paste on a smile for Annie, hoping she can’t see the heat crawling up your neck. Guilt coils tighter in your chest, because she’d brought it up so lightly, and because you wish it didn’t feel like she might be right.

The three of you chat some more, with Annie showing you and Riki her accommodations, and her sharing her schedule for the week. Before you know it the call ends and Riki leaves. You thought about offering him dinner, but Annie’s comment still looms over you. Leading to a quick departure.

Throughout the next couple of days you spiral. You catch yourself counting down the days when you’ll see Riki again. The next video call (just a mere three days later) you keep catching yourself staring at him, did he get his hair dyed? You couldn’t really tell with the beanie covering most of his head. You try not to stare but, it doesn’t help that you feel like he kept staring at you as well.

The next day, while you’re commuting home from work, you see a follow request from him on insta. Suddenly you’re hyper aware of your heartbeat and now you’re overthinking how long should you wait before accepting it and following him back.

You don’t last long.

Before your stop you’ve already followed him back and stalked most of his profile. His feed is effortlessly cool, with sleek shots of modern architecture, sunlit streets, casual outfits that somehow look curated, and occasional dance clips that you definitely don’t bookmark. There’s also one selfie, posted just a day ago. His hair is a bright, icy blonde, that’s slicked back to reveal his shaved sides, it’s styled perfectly and it’s exactly the kind of look that makes your stomach flutter even as you try to be subtle. You don’t notice you’re biting your lip as you scroll, lost in the little details that make him… him.

You nearly miss your stop, slamming the stop button just in time and rushing off the metro.

Nothing happens that night. But the next morning, you wake up to a DM from Riki. Your heart races as you open it.

It’s a photo. Sent just twenty minutes ago.

You tap to view it. The image shows the two guinea pigs sitting side by side (in what you assume is Riki’s bed), one nuzzling the other, looking wide-eyed and curious. Riki’s caption reads, playful and teasing:

"Your future tenants are ready for inspection… Auntie’s place better be ready for these two troublemakers tomorrow 🐹🐹"

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat, your cheeks warming, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you type a reply.

"Guess that makes me responsible… better make sure you’re pulling your weight, Uncle Riki 🐹"

It takes less than a minute for the typing dots to appear.

“Relax. I’ll even set an alarm for 5am so you get the full experience. Cosmo and Wanda don’t believe in sleep.”

You roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. The two of you keep messaging back and forth the rest of the day; dumb jokes, more photos of the two piggies, the occasional jab about how unprepared you probably are. When you finally put your phone down that night, you’re smiling into your pillow like an idiot.

But when morning comes, there’s no Riki at your door at dawn. He doesn’t show up until well into the afternoon, cage in hand and smug grin firmly in place. His freshly dyed hair covered by a beanie, huge black hoodie engulfed his frame, and suddenly you felt star-struck for a moment.

“Some alarm,” you tease, ushering him inside.

He just shrugs, setting the guinea pigs on the table. “Hey, I needed my beauty sleep. You’ll thank me for it.”

Then he surprises you by going into full responsible mode, explaining their setup: an open pen with hay and water, how they’re free-roaming most of the time, how they’re puppy pad trained, etc. He hands you their toys, before a fond look takes over his face, “these two are basically married,” he says, scratching behind Wanda’s ear while Cosmo wiggles against his palm. “Annoying, loud, and a little dramatic. So… you should get along just fine.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpan, though you can’t help smiling as you watch him handle them with practiced care.

“Here, let me show you how to hold them,” he tells you, and then he’s by your side, slightly hunching so he doesn’t tower over you.

You focus on breathing normally and try not to stare at his huge hands as he holds the small piglet between his palms.

“One of your hands should be right behind the front paws,” he cups your hand and gently places it under the piglet, “and the other-“ he starts, guiding your hand under the piggies bum.

“Oh,” you softly say once he carefully lets go, and suddenly you’re holding a guinea pig.

“Oh my gosh, they seemed way smaller when you were holding them,” you note. The piglet squeaks just then, and you carefully place it back on the floor.

Riki smirks, leaning back on his heels. “Nah, they just look smaller next to you. Everything does… makes me wonder how you’d handle anything bigger.”

You laugh under your breath. “Bold of you to assume I’d even let you test that theory.”

Riki freezes for half a beat, then scoffs, trying to play it off “Oh please, you’d fold in two seconds.”

You shrug, fighting back a smile, “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t too bad you won’t find out, anyways want some tea?”

“Sure,” he says, a smile stretching over his face as if he knows he’s got you.

You head for the kettle, the smell of tea leaves filling the small kitchen. By the time you hand him his cup, he’s already wandered over, peering into your fridge.

He groans. “Do you actually live here? There’s, like, nothing to eat. What is this- heavy cream, pickles, and… are those mushrooms?”

You laugh, covering your face with one hand. “Don’t judge me.”

“I already am,” he says, triumphant. Then, softer, almost offhand “No wonder Annie told me to look out for you.”

Your breath catches at that. Annie always worries over you, but hearing it from him, his voice teasing but touched with something more, warms you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You clear your throat, trying to shake it off. “Well, jokes on you, I’ve got everything for pasta. Chicken, mushrooms, cream. We just need to cook it.”

That makes him perk up instantly, mischief flickering across his face. “Oh yeah? Show me, then. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Somehow, you’re standing side by side at the counter, chopping vegetables while he hums under his breath. His movements are quick, precise, like he’s done this a hundred times before. You steal a glance at the way his blonde hair falls into his eyes, how easily he fits into your too-small kitchen, like he belongs there.

But then he glances up at the exact moment you’re staring.

Your knife stills, and heat rushes up your neck. You look away too fast, pretending to focus on the cutting board.

He smirks. “What? Got caught admiring me?”

Your laugh comes out nervous, bubbling. “Please. You wish.”

“Mm.” He leans a little closer, voice dropping just slightly. “You’re blushing, though.”

“I’m not!” you protest, and that only makes him grin wider.

And then, without meaning to, you’re laughing too. It’s the kind that shakes your shoulders, the kind you can’t quite stop. It eases the charge in the air, leaving behind something warmer, more comfortable.

By the time the food is ready, the apartment smells rich and cozy, steam curling from the plates you carry to the couch. You sit shoulder to shoulder, a random movie playing in the background, guinea pigs squeaking softly occasionally.

And for a moment, it doesn’t feel like babysitting Annie’s pets, or filling the silence she left behind. It just feels… easy.

The pasta is good. Better than you expected. Riki insists it’s because he handled the important parts; you insist it’s because you boiled the noodles perfectly. It turns into another round of playful banter, laughter bubbling out of you until your cheeks ache.

And then, in a quiet moment between jokes, you realize how natural it feels. How easy it is to have him here. Which makes the guilt creep in sharp and sudden. Annie’s voice echoing in your head, her pointed warnings about her brother. You tell yourself that it’s just sahring one meal together, that it’s not a big deal.

Still, when the movie starts, you don’t sit all the way apart. The couch is small, and maybe that’s why your legs end up brushing now and then, knees grazing when you both shift for more room. You tell yourself it’s nothing, but each faint touch sparks something warm in your chest.

At one point, you lean into the cushions, laughing at some dry remark he makes. His shoulder bumps yours, just enough to linger before he pretends to stretch, like he didn’t notice. You pretend not to notice either, though your skin tingles where it pressed against his.

And so dinner fades into the background, your plates half-finished on the table while the movie hums low. You’re curled close, not quite cuddling but close enough that you’re hyperaware of the space between you, and how easy it would be to close it.

You’re mid-laugh when you hear it… the first soft patter of rain against the window.

At first, it’s nothing. Just a drizzle, background noise behind the dialogue on screen. But soon it’s louder, steadier, until you can hardly hear the movie over the sharp rhythm of it pelting against the glass.

“Damn,” you murmur, leaning forward to peek outside. The streetlights blur in the downpour, everything beyond the glass a streaky, storm-soaked haze. “It’s coming down hard.”

Riki follows your gaze, stretching to glance past you at the window. His arm brushes yours again as he leans, closer this time, his voice low. “Yeah… it’s kinda crazy.”

A flash of lightning forks across the sky, thunder rolling in right after. The guinea pigs squeak nervously in their pen, rustling the hay.

You turn back to him, biting your lip before blurting without thinking, “If it doesn’t calm down, you should just crash here.”

The words hang in the air.

Riki blinks at you, caught mid-sip of his tea. He almost chokes, setting the mug down a little too fast. “...What?”

You shrug, pretending at nonchalance though your pulse skips. “I mean—think about it. You’d be soaked before you even made it to the bus stop. It’s not a big deal. Couch is right there.”

His ears pink, just barely visible under the messy fall of his blonde hair. “You’re… seriously telling me to stay over?”

You roll your eyes, nudging his leg with your foot. “Don’t make it weird. I’m just saying it’s safer.”

“Yeah, but—” He breaks off, fumbling for words, then leans back against the cushions like he’s trying to play it cool. “You’re acting like you’re not gonna regret that invite in the morning when I eat all your cereal.”

“Joke’s on you,” you shoot back. “I don’t even have cereal.”

That earns a laugh out of him, quiet but real, the tension easing just enough. The rain pounds harder, sealing the deal without another word.

You fetch an extra blanket, tossing it toward him. He catches it awkwardly, still smirking but with a faint crease in his brow, like he’s not sure what to do with himself now.

“Guess you’re stuck with me, then,” he says softly.

The words make your chest tighten in ways you don’t want to examine.

“Okay, well—” you push up from the couch, brushing nonexistent lint from your sweatpants just to keep your hands busy. “If you’re staying, you should at least wash up. I might have something for you to change into.”

He blinks, looking almost.. shy? He nods. “Uh… yeah, sure.”

In your bedroom, you rummage through drawers until your hand snags on something unfamiliar. A pair of old gray sweats. You don’t even remember keeping them until you realize they must’ve been left behind by your ex. Your stomach twists, but before you can overthink it, you grab them anyway—along with a massive Hello Kitty shirt you sometimes wear to sleep. Oversized, ridiculous, probably perfect for Riki’s taller build.

When you return, Riki’s still on the couch, scrolling absently on his phone. He looks up as you hold out the clothes. “These should fit. Maybe. The pants, might be uh… a bit small.”

He takes them from you, holding the sweats up by the waistband with a raised brow. “These aren’t… your boyfriend’s, are they?”

Your laugh comes out a little too fast. “Oh—no. No boyfriend. They’re just… old.” You wave it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

Something flickers across his face. He shifts, scratching the back of his neck like he’s debating whether to say what’s on his mind. Finally, he mumbles, almost too casually “Yeah. Well… I don’t have a girlfriend either.”

The air stills. For a beat, neither of you moves, his dark eyes holding yours like he’s waiting for some kind of reaction. Your throat feels tight, a strange heat crawling up your neck.

You force yourself to break eye contact first, pressing the clothes against his chest with a soft cough. “Well. Guess you should wash up first, then.”

For the briefest moment, his lips twitch into a small smile, almost shy.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Guess I should.”

When he disappears into the bathroom, you exhale a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

By the time he returns, damp hair falling into his eyes and your oversized Hello Kitty t-shirt fitting him perfectly, if not a bit tightly (but you’re not complaining), you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or hide under the blanket forever.

You follow suit, going into the bathroom now that he’s out. But as soon as you reach your room you overthink.

All your drawers are open, closet doors spread wide and yet. Nothing feels right. Your regular sweats? Too ratty. What if he thought you looked… sloppy? The cute matching set you never wore around anyone? Too much. That would look like you’re trying too hard. You pick up one shirt, toss it aside, grab another, second-guess it immediately.

You groan into your hands. Why is this suddenly so hard?

Before you can unravel further, a knock at your door startles you.

“Yo,” Riki calls, his voice muffled but light. “Everything okay? You’ve been gone kind of a long time and I’m getting bored.”

Your heart kicks. You hesitate, then blurt before you can stop yourself, “I… don’t know what to wear.”

The silence on the other side stretches long enough that you regret every choice that’s led you here. But then his laugh cuts through, warm and sharp.

“You’re getting dressed for my benefit? That’s cute.”

Your cheeks flame. “What? No! I just—ugh, never mind.” You press your forehead to the door, wishing it would swallow you whole.

Another chuckle. Softer this time. “Relax. I’m literally wearing sweats and your Hello Kitty shirt. Pretty sure you’ll look better than me no matter what.”

You bite back a smile despite yourself.

In the end, you settle on simple oversized hoodie, cotton shorts, and knee high socks; it’s lowkey the kind of outfit you’d normally wear when you’re alone. Comfortable and warm. You tug it on, take a steadying breath, and step out before you can overthink it again.

Riki looks up from where he’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. For a second, his eyes skim over you like it’s no big deal, but then he blinks and sits up a little straighter, caught mid-stare.

“What?” you ask, pulling at your sleeve defensively.

He shakes his head quickly, that lopsided grin spreading slow. “Nothing. Just… guess I was right. You make it look easy.”

You roll your eyes to cover the way your pulse leaps. “Don’t get smug about it.”

“Too late,” he says, patting the spot next to him.

You cross the room, tucking yourself under the blanket he left draped across the couch. Riki found some cheesy horror move that flickers on the screen, the storm louder now, but all you can think about is the faint warmth where his shoulder brushes yours. It feels less like there’s a storm outside and more like the quiet pull of something starting inside.

Somewhere between the laughter and the thunder, your shoulders brush. You don’t pull away. Neither does he.

It isn’t charged not really. Just warm. Comforting. Easy in a way that makes you want to stay right there.

And when your head tips, just barely, toward his shoulder, he goes still for a second before relaxing into it.

The storm rages on, but the room feels warm. The guinea pigs shuffle softly in their pen, the screen flickers, and eventually your eyes flutter closed.

By the time sleep takes you, you’re both leaning into each other, the blanket tangled over your legs, his warmth steady beside you.

The guinea pigs squeak louder this time, rustling hay until Cosmo lets out a particularly indignant squeal. You groan into Riki’s shoulder, voice muffled.

“Why are they like this?”

Riki’s laugh is rough with sleep. His head tips against yours, “Told you. They don’t believe in sleep. It’s their thing.”

You both lie there for another minute, the blanket tangled around your legs, the couch creaking under your combined weight. His warmth beside you feels too good to leave, but the cushions dig into your spine, and your foot keeps slipping off the edge.

You exhale, hesitant but practical. “This couch is way too small. We should just… move to the bedroom. It’ll be easier to sleep there.”

That wakes him up a little more. His head shifts off yours, eyes narrowing as he searches your face. “You’re seriously inviting me into your bed? Bold.”

Your cheeks heat. You shove lightly at his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird. It’s just sleep. You’ll thank me when you’re not paralyzed from the waist down.”

He smirks, but you catch the way his ears go pink as he pushes himself upright. “Fine. Lead the way.”

In your room, the sheets are soft, cool against your skin as you both climb in from opposite sides. For a moment, you lie stiff as boards, the space between you like a live wire. You can hear the faint rhythm of his breathing, the occasional creak of the mattress whenever he shifts.

Your mind races. Annie’s voice echoes in your head, her teasing, her warnings. Don’t let anything happen. Don’t even think about it. But it’s impossible not to think about it, not when he’s right there, warm and solid, just inches away.

You roll onto your side, pretending to get comfortable. The movement must give him permission, because he shifts too. Slowly, cautiously, his arm brushes yours under the blanket. Neither of you pulls away.

The air thickens, but neither of you breaks it. You pretend your eyes are shut, pretend your breathing is steady. Still, you can feel him—awake, aware, mirroring your stillness.

And then, almost imperceptibly, he inches closer. His forehead just barely grazes your hairline, his arm settling lightly against your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your pulse skitters, but you don’t move. Instead, you let yourself ease into it, curling closer until the space between you disappears.

You both lie there, tangled in quiet, pretending to sleep. But you know he’s awake, you can sense it in the way his breath hitches when you shift, in the way his hand flexes like he’s fighting the urge to hold you properly.

And you’re awake too, heart thrumming against your ribs, wondering if this counts as breaking Annie’s rules or if it’s just what happens when two people can’t pretend anymore.

Two days later, you cave and DM him.

“I swear your married children are trying to starve. They’ve eaten through almost the whole bag already??”

His reply comes in seconds.

“Dw. We’ll go shopping. Is it okay if we go sometime around 9 though.”

You chew your lip, staring at the screen. Around 9? That’s kind of late, but you type back a quick yes before you can overthink it.

When you meet outside, you almost do a double take. Riki’s in baggy jeans and a leather jacket, clean sneakers, hair pushed back just enough to show the sharp cut of his jaw. He doesn’t look like the boy you’ve been sharing tea and pasta with in your tiny kitchen. He looks… older.

“Stop staring,” he teases, nudging your arm as you fall into step beside him.

You huff. “I wasn’t.”

“Sure,” he hums, satisfied, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The walk to the store is short, the air cool and quiet at this hour. Somewhere between the crosswalk and the corner shop, he mentions it offhand, like it’s nothing.

“My schedule’s kind of a mess lately. Practice runs late.”

“Practice?” you echo.

He cuts you a sideways glance, smirk tugging at his lips. “Dancing. It’s kind of my thing.”

Your brows lift. “Seriously? You never said that.”

“You never asked,” he shoots back, grinning. Then, after a beat he goes, “If you’re free Friday, come watch. You’ll get why I’m always tired.”

You try to play it cool, but your chest flutters anyway. “Maybe I will.”

He hums again, like he already knows you’ll say yes.

In the store, the two of you bicker lightly over brands of hay, his hand brushing yours once as you both reach for the same bag. Neither of you moves away right away.

At the register, you pull your card out first, triumphant. “I’ve got it.”

But before you can even tap, Riki leans over and slides his card across the counter, faster. The cashier takes it without hesitation.

“Hey—” you protest, glaring.

He grins, smug. “Guess you’ll just have to be quicker next time.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “That’s cheating.”

“Not cheating,” he says easily, leaning in just enough for his voice to dip lower, “just winning.”

Your pulse stutters, but you force a smirk. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he says, bagging up the hay like he owns the place. “But at least dinner’s on you now.”

By the time you leave, you’re laughing softly, wondering why errands with Riki feel less like chores and more like dates.

Thursday night, your phone buzzes with a notification.

Riki: Don’t forget. Tomorrow, 17:30. Studio’s near Hongdae. Don’t be late.

You bite your lip, smiling at the bluntness. You’re really expecting me to show up? you type back.

The reply comes instantly. Yeah. Who else am I supposed to impress?

Your cheeks heat, and you don’t respond. But you set your alarm anyway.

The studio smells faintly of sweat and wood polish, bass already humming through the floor when you slip inside. You hesitate at the door, nervous you’ll stick out, but Riki notices you almost immediately.

His face lights up. He jogs over, hair already damp at the temples, grinning wide. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” you murmur, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.” He smirks, cocky already, and tosses you a water bottle from his bag. “You’re gonna need this. Watching me’s exhausting.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

When practice starts, he shifts and it’s like flipping a switch. The teasing boy you know is gone, replaced by someone sharper, steadier, completely in his element. Every move cuts through the beat with precision, sweat slicking his temples, focus written all over his face.

It isn’t just him, either. The whole crew works together, their movements layered and seamless, a rhythm you can feel in your chest. A couple of other friends and girlfriends are seated along the back wall with you, murmuring now and then, but you barely register them. Your eyes keep finding him.

At one point, the choreographer calls for freestyle. Riki doesn’t hesitate, he drops low, spinning into a clean b-boy freeze that earns whoops and cheers from his crew. He pops back up smoothly, grinning through the mirror at you, like he knows you’re watching. Like that one was just for you.

Your stomach flips.

Then the real piece starts. It’s the one they’ve been practicing for, from the way everyone falls into position with extra sharpness. The music is groovy and smooth, R&B pulsing low and steady. It’s polished, ready, you realize with a jolt. Probably their last rehearsal before whatever stage or camera’s waiting.

You catch yourself staring, lips parted before you snap them shut.

And then the partner work begins. A girl from the crew steps forward, sliding easily into sync with him. They move close, coordinated, bodies brushing with the kind of practiced ease that only comes from hours together. The choreography is sensual, meant to be. Too smooth to be accidental.

Something in your chest tightens. You fold your arms across yourself, clapping politely when the song ends, hoping no one notices how quiet you’ve gone.

But Riki notices. Of course he does.

He jogs over, towel draped around his neck, hoodie slung over one arm. His grin is easy, but his eyes flick briefly to your folded arms. “Cold?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

He presses the hoodie into your hands anyway. “Here. You look like you need it more than me.”

You want to protest, but the fabric is warm and soft against your fingers, smelling faintly of his cologne and laundry detergent. You pull it on without another word, sleeves swallowing your hands.

When you look up again, he’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite read. Amusement, maybe. Or something heavier.

Practice wraps late, crew scattering in twos and threes with quick goodbyes. You’re still tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie when Riki falls into step beside you, gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hungry?” he asks, like it’s obvious.

You nod, and instead of heading toward the station, he veers left. “C’mon. I’ll show you my favorite spot.”

His favorite ramen shop is tucked into a narrow alley, modern wood paneling lit with warm light. Inside, it’s sleek, clean lines and polished counters, but the small space makes it feel intimate, cozy in a way bigger restaurants never could.

Steam curls from the bowls in front of you, when the waiter places the bowls in front of you two. Riki doesn’t talk much at first, just nudges the chili oil your way and asks if you want an egg in your bowl. The kind of small gestures that make your chest ache more than they should.

Halfway through slurping noodles, the words tumble out of you.

“Is it… normal? For dancers to date each other? Or is it really just dancing?”

His chopsticks pause mid-air. He sets them down slowly, eyes narrowing not in mockery but in something sharper, more searching.

“You mean today?”

Your throat tightens. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—” You shake your head, heat rushing up your neck. “Forget it.”

But he doesn’t let you. His voice softens, low enough that you almost miss it under the hum of the shop. “It’s just dancing. Nothing else.”

You risk a glance at him. He’s not smirking, not teasing. His gaze is steady, almost too much, and for the first time all night, you believe him.

The air shifts. You both keep eating, quieter now, but your hands end up resting on the table, so close your pinkies almost touch. Neither of you moves them away.

The ramen shop is hushed, only a few patrons left, their voices low. Under the table, Riki shifts, his knee brushing yours. Not an accident.

Your gaze drifts up. His smirk is gone, replaced by something heavier. His mouth tilts in a faint half-pout, lips plump and pink from the steam. His eyes are sharp, fixed on you, but there’s a hesitation there too, like he’s caught in the same push and pull as are you.

For a heartbeat, you think he’ll close the distance. His eyes dip to your mouth, just for a second, and the world shrinks to the space between you.

But someone laughs too loud across the room, breaking the spell. You both jerk back, fumbling with chopsticks as if the broth suddenly matters more than the gravity pulling you closer.

Still, your pulse doesn’t settle. When you glance at him again, his half-smile lingers… wistful, frustrated, like he’s thinking the same thing you are.

I wish I could just kiss you right now.

When it’s time to pay, you pull out your card quickly, determined this time. But Riki’s faster, again, sliding his across the counter before you can blink.

“Seriously?” you whisper, pouting. “You already got the groceries.”

He only grins, then and before you can argue reaches out and cups your cheek, squishing gently until your lips push out even poutier. Your breath stutters at the contact, his touch warm and careful, gaze dropping to your mouth, again.

For a second, it feels like the world holds its breath.

Then he exhales, low, steady. “I’m the one who invited you,” he murmurs. “So I’m paying.”

His hand lingers half a beat too long before he pulls away.

You’re still reeling as you step back out into the night. The September night air is crisp, the chill nipping at your cheeks. You tug his hoodie tighter around yourself, sleeves still swallowing your hands.

Riki falls into step beside you, quiet at first. The street is mostly empty, puddles gleaming under the neon glow of a convenience store sign.

Your hands brush once, twice, the faintest spark each time. Neither of you pulls away.

“You look good in that, you know,” he says suddenly, voice casual but eyes flicking down to the hoodie draped over you. “Almost better than me.”

You snort, trying to hide the way your stomach flips. “Doubt it.”

He grins, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled only with the sound of your steps and the hum of traffic a few streets over. But then he glances at you again, more serious this time.

“And hey…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking ahead as if the words are hard to get out. “Don’t worry about that partner stuff. It’s just dancing. That’s all it is.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, warmth spreading in your chest despite yourself. “I wasn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off with a small shake of his head.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says simply.

The station comes into view too soon, glowing pale under the streetlamps. You slow your steps, wishing the walk could stretch just a little longer.

When you finally stop, standing at the point where your buses split, you turn to him. His grin is easy, but there’s something else behind it, something that makes your pulse stumble.

“See you,” he says.

“Yeah,” you breathe, tugging his hoodie tighter. “See you.”

Your hands brush one last time before you part ways, and you carry the warmth of it with you all the way home.

The weekend passes in a blur. By Sunday evening, you’re at his doorstep, cage in hand, trading Cosmo and Wanda back like clockwork. You pretend it’s just routine, but the way his smile lingers makes it feel like more. He invites you for a drink, but you decline, needing time to yourself.

The whole week drags, but it’s the worst on Wednesday, it drags like sand through an hourglass. Assignments pile, emails ding, your brain buzzing with things left undone. By the time you finally flop face-first onto your bed, exhaustion pins you down.

Your phone buzzes.

Riki: Don’t overwork yourself.

You groan into your pillow, thumbs fumbling a reply. Too late.

Three dots blink, then: Piggies miss you. Just come over.

You stare at the screen, biting your lip. You should say no; you need to shower, catch up on work, actually sleep. Instead, you find yourself tugging on a jacket and heading for the bus stop.

When you arrive, Cosmo and Wanda squeak loudly from their pen like they’ve been expecting you.

Riki leans in the doorway, arms crossed, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. Behind him, you catch your first real look at his place: high ceilings, dark wood floors that gleam under recessed lighting, gray-toned walls broken up with sleek art and low, modern furniture. It’s elegant but lived-in, the faint scent of cologne and laundry softener grounding it in something undeniably him. A penthouse, you realize, with wide windows framing the glittering city below.

“See? Told you they missed you.”

“You mean you missed me,” you mumble, kicking off your shoes.

His grin widens, but he doesn’t argue.

You tell yourself it’s just a short visit, just to check on them. But one movie turns into two, your body heavier with every passing minute. The cushions cradle you, warmth and fatigue tugging you down until your head tips against the couch’s armrest.

At some point, you shift without realizing, body curling instinctively toward him until you’re half-leaning against his side. Riki glances down, a comment on the tip of his tongue, then stops.

You’re out cold. Completely limp, lips parted in sleep, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

For a moment, he freezes, caught between surprise and something else he doesn’t dare name. Then, with a soft huff, he tosses the blanket aside and carefully slides an arm under your knees, another around your back.

You stir faintly but don’t wake as he lifts you, weight easy against him.

His room is dim, the city lights spilling in through tall windows, dark wood and steel softened by the mess of pillows at the head of his bed. He lowers you onto the mattress as gently as he can, tugging the covers over you once you’re settled.

You sigh in your sleep, curling into the warmth, and something in his chest clenches tight.

He stands there for a moment, watching, running a hand through his hair like he can shake the feeling off. Then he sighs again and slips under the covers on the opposite side, careful to keep space between you. But as the night drags on, that space disappears inch by inch, until the warmth of your back brushes against his chest, and neither of you stirs.

The first thing you register is warmth. Not the kind from blankets, but from the body beside you.

You blink against the soft gray light filtering in through the tall windows, heart lurching when you realize you’re not in your own room. The sheets smell faintly of laundry soap and his cologne. His bed.

You roll slightly, careful not to shift too much. Riki’s still asleep, messy blond hair falling across his forehead, one arm draped loosely over the empty space between you. Like, even in his sleep, he’d been reaching for you.

Something squeezes in your chest. You almost lift a hand, tempted to brush the hair out of his face, but stop just short. Don’t be obvious. Don’t get caught staring—

Too late. His lashes flutter, and he catches you mid-look.

A slow grin spreads across his sleepy face. “Morning.”

Your cheeks blaze. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t staring.”

He shifts closer on the pillow, voice rough with sleep. “Sure you weren’t.”

You roll onto your back, groaning into the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, low and warm, before pushing himself upright. “C’mon. Lemme make you some breakfast.”

The kitchen matches the rest of his place: sleek lines, dark wood, all clean edges softened by morning light. You perch awkwardly at the counter while he rummages through the fridge, emerging with eggs, milk, and bread.

“I can cook,” he offers.

“Can you?” you deadpan, already cracking an egg one-handed.

His mouth drops open. “Yes, actually.”

“Mm.” You smirks, but slide the pan toward him anyway, watching as Riki scrambles with more determination than skill. When you nearly drop a shell in, he leans in, plucks it from your fingers, and tosses it aside. His shoulder brushes yours, casual but deliberate.

The air shifts. You pretend to focus on stirring, heart pounding as if eggs deserve your entire life’s attention.

By the time the toast pops, you’re both laughing, with his teasing, your mock-glares, the space between you narrowing in ways that feel far too natural.

It’s domestic. Too domestic. Which is exactly when your phone buzzes, Annie’s name lighting up the screen.

You both freeze.

You and Riki share a wide-eyed glance, like kids caught sneaking out after curfew. He gestures with his chin. “Answer.”

Your stomach knots. Still, you swipe to accept, propping the phone up against a mug. Annie’s face fills the screen, bright and smiling, hair pulled back loosely.

“Morning!” she chirps, eyes darting between the two of you. “Wow, you look… cozy.”

You freeze, conscious of the hoodie you’re still swimming in, of the way Riki is leaning against the counter right beside you.

“Where are you guys?” she asks, squinting at the background.

You fumble. “Uh—I’m just—”

Riki cuts in smoothly, “My place.”

Your heart lurches. Annie’s brows climb, lips twitching like she’s already amused. “Wait. Are you guys… together?”

It hits like a spark. Your pulse spikes, words tumbling out too fast. “No! We’re not—it’s not like that, we’re just—”

“Watching the piggies!” Riki adds, a little too loudly, and then winces.

Annie leans her chin on her hand, smirking. “Uh-huh. You both sound very convincing right now.”

You glance at Riki, flustered heat crawling up your neck. He’s no better—jaw tight, ears pink.

But then Annie’s smirk softens. “Relax. You’re adults. If you wanna date, I’m not gonna stop you. Honestly? Makes my life easier if you get along.”

You blink. “You’re… not mad?”

“Mad? No.” She shrugs. “Just don’t break up, because I am not picking sides. Got it?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. Riki chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained by your misery.

Annie beams, oblivious or pretending to be. “Okay, gotta run—meeting in ten. Love you both!”

The call ends, leaving only the soft hum of the fridge and the pounding in your chest.

You lower your hands slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Riki’s already watching you, eyes sharp, lips curved in a half-smile that feels more like a dare.

“What?” you whisper, trying for nonchalance, but your voice betrays you.

He shakes his head, still grinning. “You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Something snaps then; weeks of sidelong glances and almost-touches collapsing all at once. He closes the distance, lips crashing onto yours, urgent and hungry.

You gasp into the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He tilts his head, deepening it, one hand cradling your jaw like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

Finally, finally, you stop pretending.

The kiss deepens fast, like neither of you remember how to pace yourselves. His mouth is hot against yours, tasting faintly of broth and sesame, his hand cupping your jaw firm enough to keep you there, to keep you from slipping away.

You clutch his hoodie tighter, tugging him closer until your chest presses flush to his. The contact makes him groan low in his throat, vibration thrumming through you.

“Riki—” you start, but the word dissolves into another gasp as he nips your bottom lip, swallowing the sound before it can form.

He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, one that’s reckless, thoughtless and so him; he bends, hands gripping the backs of your thighs. Your breath catches as your feet leave the ground, the world tilting when he lifts you like you weigh nothing. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, fingers threading into his hair for balance.

“God,” he mutters against your mouth, voice husky, “you drive me insane.”

Your laugh is shaky, half-swallowed by the kiss. “Says the one who just carried me like it’s nothing.”

“Shut up.” He grins, breathless, and steals another kiss, bumping you into the doorframe on the way out of the kitchen. You squeak, swat at his shoulder, and he just laughs into your mouth before adjusting his grip.

By the time he drops onto the couch with you straddling his lap, you’re both flushed, panting, hearts racing like you’d sprinted the whole way. His hands find your hips, fingers pressing hard through the fabric of your sweats, grounding you in place.

You hover there for a moment, knees bracketing his thighs, chest rising and falling against his. The intensity in his eyes nearly undoes you. It’s dark, sharp and full of everything he’s been holding back.

“Still gonna tell me not to think about you like this?” he murmurs, thumb brushing the hem of your shirt.

Your breath stutters. Heat coils low in your stomach, and yet you manage a shaky smile, eyes locking on his. “Pretty sure you’re the one who started it.”

His laugh is quiet, disbelieving, before his lips crash onto yours again.

The couch creaks under your shifting weight, your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him like you’ve been waiting weeks for this exact moment. He pulls you closer, until there’s no space left, until even the air between you is burning.

“Riki,” you breathlessly murmur once he trails kisses down your neck. He sucks sharply, one of his hands holding you close to him by your waist. The other in your hair.

Your nails sink from his shoulders and into his back and he pulls your hair back, revealing your neck before he sucks another kiss into it.

His breathing is labored and all you can do is mewl against him. You try to pull back but his hold is too strong.

You shift your weight, hips dragging on his lap and you both moan.

“Need you so bad, Riki,” you whine, humping yourself against his bigger frame.

“Yeah? Show me how bad pretty, “ he murmurs, and then he’s flipping you two. You’re spread below him, your back against leather couch and Riki towering over you.

His hair is messy, lips bitten red and you can’t control the shiver overtaking you. Your hands are held together, right in front of your waist. You watch as Riki slips his shirt over his head, then his sweats.

The wild look he gives you makes your heart beat harder in your chest. He reaches out for you then, his huge hand engulfing your wrists together and holding your hands above your head.

He tugs the hoodie you’re wearing (his hoodie) up, letting his hand explore the soft skin he’s uncovering.

“Fuck,” you think you hear him whisper to himself.

“Stay here, beautiful, I’m just gonna go and get a condom.” Is all he says, before he almost runs to his room. The sight would be funny if you weren’t so turned on right now.

Instead you take your clothing off, thanking whomever for deciding to wear your lacy panties yesterday.

Riki comes back into the room just as you’re sat completely naked on the couch – save for your panties. He bites his lips, eyes raking you in and it’s at this point that you notice his tattoos.

“Leave them on,” he gestures to your panties, and then. He’s back on you.

He kisses you as if his life depended on it, nudging you softly so you’re laying down again. His hands go from soft to rough where he explores your body.

But you return the favor, where Riki grips – you grasp, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Need you Riki, c’mon,” you plead.

“Gonna let me ruin you a little?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

Instead of answering you press your hips into his, pouting as you shakily answer, “Only if I get to ruin you too.”

“Fuck,” is all he says and then you’re watching him fumble with the damn condom.

“Need some help?” you tease, but the breathlessness in your voice betrays you.

“Don’t rush me, I’m trying not to fuck this up,” he grins, but you can tell he’s getting frustrated.

So you grip his cock, your other hand pressing on the plastic wrap as you both push it over his cockhead.

“Riki, you’re so big,” you whine, lip caught between your teeth, “promise you’ll go slow?”

He looks at you then, looking almost surprised. His eyes soften, “Of course baby, we’ll go as slow as you need.” He tells you almost in a coo.

And then you feel his cock pressing against your entrance.

“So big Riki, you’re so big,” you whine before he’s even entered you.

You wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him down onto you and Riki groans when he feels your hips pushing forward.

His cockhead starts slipping in, your wetness almost sucking him in you.

“Shit—so fucking tight…” he groans, guttural and low. He sinks deeper and deeper, inch by inch and you feel your eyes watering from the pleasurable strech.

“Riki—feels so good,” you moan once he’s almost fully sheathed himself into your smaller body underneath his. Your nails sink into his back and he hisses, but you feel his dick twich.

You’re mewling as he fills you fully, his body tense against your limp one.

You’re smiling up at him as his hands grip your thighs tightly in a poor attempt to ground himself.

You tug on his hair a little bit and he’s groaning, pushing his hips out slowly, before pushing himself back into you.

“Been wanting this—fuck—been wanting you for so long,” his voice breaks between thrusts.

Meanwhile you’re panting hard, almost whining, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Told you I’d ruin you,” he whispers by your ear when he notices your teary eyes.

“Looks like I’m ruining you too,” you smirks as you feel just how hard his dick is. He slams deeper into you just then, groaning your name and you’re a goner.

Your hands are all over each other’s bodies, nails drawing sharp red lines across his back, while Riki sucks another bruise on your collar bones.

You feel your climax approaching, and that’s when Riki grips your wrists together, pinning your hands above your head.

He’s watching the way your tits bounce when you note his expression.

He was close.

“That’s it, good girl, just like that—taking me so well,” he rasps, his voice so low it’s making your stomach do backflips.

“Riki—gonna—” you’re barely coherent, as you attempt to praise him back. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and suddenly you still.

“Come with me pretty girl. Right here, with me. Wanna see you make a mess.”

And before you know it he’s cumming with you. His hips pressed against your, his dick filling you so good. So well, you feel his balls spasm as he comes alongside with you.

After a beat he collapses half on top of you, kissing your jaw, sweaty but soft.

“Not letting you go now. Don’t care what Annie says,” he murmurs, his forehead against yours.

You laugh breathlessly, stroking his hair, “You’re ridiculous.”

He’s kissing your neck, softer this time, as he softly replies “Maybe. Still not letting you go.”

[beargyu313]

Airport Goodbyes ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

⋆.𐙚 ̊ Summary: Your best friend moves abroad and leaves you stuck with her younger brother — the same younger brother you’ve been lowkey avoiding because he’s hot and off-limits. Cue guinea pig babysitting, late-night calls, accidental sleepovers, and way too much tension to keep pretending you don’t want him.

✧˚⋆｡˚ Word Count: 10.3k

°⋆*:･Tags: Fluff, slowburn, yearning, semi-forbidden romance, noona!OC, 2 year age gap, best friend’s brother trope, smut tags: size kink, praise kink, heavy marking (scratching, hickeys)

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ A/N: goodbye hiatus, hello Tumblr !! I’m back, this was written on my tablet (which is new for me), so hopefully the structure is fine! Anyways something slightly different and shorter from me.

Find more from me here.

You’ve been stuck in the same row of molded plastic chairs for nearly an hour, and you’re fairly certain your tailbone will file a complaint as soon as you stand up. The fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead, mixing with the steady chatter of travelers and the occasional burst of an overhead announcement.

You blow out a raspberry and glance sideways at the two siblings flanking you.

“Stop being such a pain, Riki,” your bestie mutters, tugging her hoodie tighter.

“Bro,” he sighs, rolling his eyes with dramatic flair, “how am I being a pain by looking out for you?” He turns his head toward you, catching your gaze before you can dart away. “Right?” His lips twitch into a half-smirk. “Tell her she’s being unreasonable.”

He says your name, and you hate how your stomach does a little flip at the sound. You smooth down the legs of your baggy jeans, trying to look busy.

“Oh no,” you say, forcing a laugh as you rise from your seat. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Annie asks you.

“Bathroom.”

“Well, hold up. I’m coming with you.”

The two of you weave down a long hallway, the floor echoing with the click of wheeled suitcases and the squeak of sneakers against polished tiles. The bathroom door swings open with a creak, revealing a surprisingly spacious interior, bright and a little too sterile with its lemon-scented cleaner.

“Woah, it’s bigger than it looks,” she says, before ducking into one of the stalls.

You do the same, then rejoin her at the sinks a few minutes later. The automatic faucet sputters to life under your hands, the water too hot. As you reach for the coarse paper towels, her phone pings.

She frowns, brows knitting as she reads over the notification.

“What’s up? Who is it?” you ask, leaning over just as you’re drying your hands.

“Ugh, Sammie,” she groans, shoving the screen toward you. “She wants to know if Riki’s single. Gross. As if.”

You can’t help but laugh, though you quickly cover it with a cough. “Well, I mean… he is kind of—”

“Don’t even say it,” she cuts in, glaring at you in the mirror. “It’s disgusting how obsessed some of my friends get with him. Like, yeah, he’s decent-looking, but he’s my little brother. They don’t get how weird it feels.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, nodding along, guilt pricking at your ribs like pins.

She sighs, tucking her phone away and shaking her head. “Promise me you won’t ever be one of them. I couldn’t handle it if my best friend tried to hit on him.”

Your throat goes dry, but you force a smile. “Promise.”

Back at the gate, the final boarding call echoes overhead, and after a flurry of hugs and teary goodbyes, Annie pulls you aside for one last word. Her suitcase handle rattles behind her as she leans in close.

“Look out for Riki, okay? Make sure he doesn’t eat junk all the time. You know how he is.”

You nod, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Yeah. Of course.”

A few feet away, she corners her brother. He stands with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, trying to look unbothered.

“And you,” she says firmly, poking his chest. “Check in on her. She overworks herself and won’t admit it. Don’t let her run herself into the ground.”

Riki huffs, muttering, “Yeah, yeah,” but his eyes flicker toward you just for a second.

You stand by Rikis side as Annie disappears past the gate, her carry-on bumping against her heels until she rounds the corner and is gone. The crowd swallows her easily, like she was never here at all.

It was supposed to be a slight relocation, just a temporary move for work. That’s what she’d kept insisting, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But the not-knowing, plus the fact that there isn’t a set return date… it makes the goodbye ache heavier.

You find yourself staring too long at the empty space she left behind, fighting the urge to chase after her and squeeze in just one more hug. Your tailbone throbs from those awful plastic chairs, but the hollowness inside feels worse. You shouldn’t feel this untethered. She’ll call. She’ll text. But still—

“You look like someone died,” Riki’s voice cuts into your thoughts. He’s watching you with that half-bored, half-amused look that makes it impossible to know if he’s joking or serious. “Relax. It’s Annie, she’ll be back in no time.”

You blink, snapping out of it, lips parting to argue before he adds casually, “Besides, aren’t you on guinea pig duty this week?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, like he knows exactly what he’s doing — tugging you out of your spiral, grounding you with something small and ridiculous. You exhale a laugh despite yourself.

“Oh no,” you grin at him, “don’t try to hand them over already, you and I both know-“

Riki cuts you off, his shoulder bumping into you, as you two walk towards the parking lot, “we both know Annie made us a schedule yes,” he laughs at the ridiculousness of this situation.

Baby-sitting two bonded guinea pigs is the last thing one would expect two adults in their early 20’s to be doing, yet here you are. Co-parenting two tiny animals. And despite yourself you can’t shake the smile off your face. Even as you step in the passenger seat.

The drive starts quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space while the city lights smear past the windows. You sit a little too straight in your seat, hands knotted in your lap, and every so often you mumble another “thanks” for driving, for waiting, for hauling Annie’s bag.

By the fourth one, Riki lets out a laugh under his breath. “Do you say thank you this much to everyone, or is it just me?”

You whip your head toward him. “What? No, I—”

He cuts you a sideways look, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Feels like I’m chauffeuring a grandma. Or, I don’t know, the queen.”

Your face heats instantly. “I’m just being polite.”

“Too polite.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, like he’s thinking it over. Then, casually “What, do I make you nervous?”

Your pulse stumbles. “N-no. Why would you think that?”

He huffs out a laugh, clearly pleased. “You sound like you’re about to faint every time you open your mouth.”

You gape at him, then snap your head forward, staring hard at the windshield. “I do not.”

“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced, still smirking. He doesn’t push it further, but the silence that follows isn’t the same as before. It crackles, alive, every breath loud in your ears.

For the first time all night, you’re hyperaware of how small the car feels.

The drive stretches on, headlights washing over the empty highway. By the time you’re close to the city, you realize Annie’s probably midair, and it hits you again that she’s gone, at least for now.

Riki breaks the silence, again. “Her flight’s, what, three hours? By the time we’re back, she’ll be landing.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question, just drops it like a fact. “I’ll walk you up to your apartment. Then we’ll call her together.”

You part your lips to protest or at least remind him you never actually agreed to that but he cuts you a quick glance, the corner of his mouth twitching like he already knows what you’ll say.

“Don’t argue. It makes sense.”

You sink back into the seat, muttering under your breath about him being bossy. Still, a tiny part of you relaxes. He’s right. And maybe you don’t hate the idea of him following you upstairs.

A beat of silence, then he nudges his chin toward the center console. “Put your address in. GPS.”

You hesitate, then reach for the screen. He does too. His hand lands on the edge of the console at the same time yours hovers over it, your knuckle brush… the touch brief, but enough to jolt a spark up your arm.

You freeze.

He doesn’t pull away, just smirks, leaning in close enough that his shoulder presses against yours as his finger taps the screen. “You type like an old lady,” he murmurs, watching the letters fill in.

Your breath catches. His cologne, a clean, sharp and a little dizzying scent fills the space between you. You bite your lip, lashes slightly fluttering, and glance up at him. “Wow, so I’m the old lady now? Should I start knitting or something?”

The teasing noticeably flusters him, and you smirk at his reaction. He blinks, a little caught off guard, and his smirk falters for the briefest second. “Wait… what?” He clears his throat, suddenly aware of how close you are. “I-I didn’t mean it like—”

“Relax,” you murmur, eyes darting down, cheeks heating. “Just making sure you know I can play back at you, too.”

Riki shakes his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, still smirking but a little more awkward now. “Right. Yeah… noted.” His fingers drum nervously against the wheel for a beat, then he leans back, though his gaze keeps flicking to you.

The GPS chirps to life just then, but your pulse hasn’t slowed.

You drive in mostly silence for the remainder of the drive with J. Cole softly playing through the car radio. Once near your place you direct Riki to the best parking spot for the visitors.

And then he’s following after you into the apartment building. The elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding, and the space inside feels suddenly smaller than it should. The metal walls reflect the two of you, close, your shoulders almost brushing.

Riki shifts behind you, leaning just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. The faint scent of his cologne lingers, clean and sharp, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Interesting buttons,” he murmurs, nudging forward slightly so his hand hovers just behind yours. The proximity is electric. Your fingers brush as you press the button, and you flinch, heat rushing to your ears.

“Careful,” you murmur, heart thudding. “You might give me a heart attack.”

He smirks, eyebrow quirking. “Or maybe I like seeing you flustered.”

You glance back, meeting his eyes in the mirrored wall, and the corner of his mouth quirks into that knowing smile. You almost stumble over your words. “I… I’m not that easy to fluster.”

“No?,” he hums, unconvinced, leaning just slightly closer again. Your pulse leaps. Every movement feels magnified in the narrow space, even the slight brush of his arm as he shifts weight makes your stomach flutter.

By the time the elevator dings at your floor, your hands are shaking a little, and you realize just how aware you are of him — the way he smells, the warmth of his body, the sharp glint in his eye.

You step into the hallway, fumbling with your keys. He’s close enough that your shoulders brush when you turn to pull the door open, and for a heartbeat, the air between you feels charged with possibility.

“Well, here’s me,” you say, cheeks warming, fumbling to step aside. “It’s… small, but it’s home.”

Riki doesn’t answer immediately. He kicks off his shoes, lingering near the threshold, eyes flicking to yours with that same smirk. The moment stretches and your chest hammers, because for just a second, it feels like the room is smaller and your bodies are closer than they should be.

But then his gaze flickers to your place. The kitchen and living room are one open space, small but cozy. A tiny round table sits tucked into the corner, two mismatched chairs shoved beneath it. The counter is speckled with a few stray mugs, a half-open cookbook leaning against the wall, and a small potted plant that’s surprisingly thriving despite your sometimes-forgetful nature.

Two doors punctuate the walls; one leads to a tiny bathroom, its mirror streaked faintly from last night’s shower, the other opens into your bedroom. The wood floors creak softly beneath your steps, and the warm glow from a single lamp casts long, inviting shadows.

Finally, you step in fully, locking the door behind you. Riki steps into your living room and soon he’s sprawled on your couch like he owns the place, long legs stretched out, while you fuss with the video call setup. You’re perched on the rug, back against the couch.

When Annie’s face finally appears on the screen, pixelated but familiar, a wave of relief floods your chest. You place your laptop on the table and move to sit up. Riki sits next to you and soon you three are smiling at each other.

“Hey!” she beams, hair a little messy from travel but her energy the same as always. “You guys made it back safe?”

“Yeah,” Riki answers easily, leaning closer into frame. His shoulder brushes yours, casual but warm enough that you’re suddenly hyperaware of the contact.

The call continues, you asking Annie about her flight, her hotel room. At one point, Riki leans in again, deliberately too close, to make some dry remark that has you snorting laughter. Annie raises a brow.

“Wow,” she says, smirking faintly. “You two get along better than I thought.”

The comment hangs in the air.

Your laughter dies in your throat, replaced by a nervous flutter in your stomach. You glance at Riki, trying to read if he took it the same way you did, but he just smirks at the screen like nothing’s out of place.

“Relax, Annie. You really thought we’d fall apart the second you left?”

You paste on a smile for Annie, hoping she can’t see the heat crawling up your neck. Guilt coils tighter in your chest, because she’d brought it up so lightly, and because you wish it didn’t feel like she might be right.

The three of you chat some more, with Annie showing you and Riki her accommodations, and her sharing her schedule for the week. Before you know it the call ends and Riki leaves. You thought about offering him dinner, but Annie’s comment still looms over you. Leading to a quick departure.

Throughout the next couple of days you spiral. You catch yourself counting down the days when you’ll see Riki again. The next video call (just a mere three days later) you keep catching yourself staring at him, did he get his hair dyed? You couldn’t really tell with the beanie covering most of his head. You try not to stare but, it doesn’t help that you feel like he kept staring at you as well.

The next day, while you’re commuting home from work, you see a follow request from him on insta. Suddenly you’re hyper aware of your heartbeat and now you’re overthinking how long should you wait before accepting it and following him back.

You don’t last long.

Before your stop you’ve already followed him back and stalked most of his profile. His feed is effortlessly cool, with sleek shots of modern architecture, sunlit streets, casual outfits that somehow look curated, and occasional dance clips that you definitely don’t bookmark. There’s also one selfie, posted just a day ago. His hair is a bright, icy blonde, that’s slicked back to reveal his shaved sides, it’s styled perfectly and it’s exactly the kind of look that makes your stomach flutter even as you try to be subtle. You don’t notice you’re biting your lip as you scroll, lost in the little details that make him… him.

You nearly miss your stop, slamming the stop button just in time and rushing off the metro.

Nothing happens that night. But the next morning, you wake up to a DM from Riki. Your heart races as you open it.

It’s a photo. Sent just twenty minutes ago.

You tap to view it. The image shows the two guinea pigs sitting side by side (in what you assume is Riki’s bed), one nuzzling the other, looking wide-eyed and curious. Riki’s caption reads, playful and teasing:

"Your future tenants are ready for inspection… Auntie’s place better be ready for these two troublemakers tomorrow 🐹🐹"

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat, your cheeks warming, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you type a reply.

"Guess that makes me responsible… better make sure you’re pulling your weight, Uncle Riki 🐹"

It takes less than a minute for the typing dots to appear.

“Relax. I’ll even set an alarm for 5am so you get the full experience. Cosmo and Wanda don’t believe in sleep.”

You roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. The two of you keep messaging back and forth the rest of the day; dumb jokes, more photos of the two piggies, the occasional jab about how unprepared you probably are. When you finally put your phone down that night, you’re smiling into your pillow like an idiot.

But when morning comes, there’s no Riki at your door at dawn. He doesn’t show up until well into the afternoon, cage in hand and smug grin firmly in place. His freshly dyed hair covered by a beanie, huge black hoodie engulfed his frame, and suddenly you felt star-struck for a moment.

“Some alarm,” you tease, ushering him inside.

He just shrugs, setting the guinea pigs on the table. “Hey, I needed my beauty sleep. You’ll thank me for it.”

Then he surprises you by going into full responsible mode, explaining their setup: an open pen with hay and water, how they’re free-roaming most of the time, how they’re puppy pad trained, etc. He hands you their toys, before a fond look takes over his face, “these two are basically married,” he says, scratching behind Wanda’s ear while Cosmo wiggles against his palm. “Annoying, loud, and a little dramatic. So… you should get along just fine.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpan, though you can’t help smiling as you watch him handle them with practiced care.

“Here, let me show you how to hold them,” he tells you, and then he’s by your side, slightly hunching so he doesn’t tower over you.

You focus on breathing normally and try not to stare at his huge hands as he holds the small piglet between his palms.

“One of your hands should be right behind the front paws,” he cups your hand and gently places it under the piglet, “and the other-“ he starts, guiding your hand under the piggies bum.

“Oh,” you softly say once he carefully lets go, and suddenly you’re holding a guinea pig.

“Oh my gosh, they seemed way smaller when you were holding them,” you note. The piglet squeaks just then, and you carefully place it back on the floor.

Riki smirks, leaning back on his heels. “Nah, they just look smaller next to you. Everything does… makes me wonder how you’d handle anything bigger.”

You laugh under your breath. “Bold of you to assume I’d even let you test that theory.”

Riki freezes for half a beat, then scoffs, trying to play it off “Oh please, you’d fold in two seconds.”

You shrug, fighting back a smile, “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t too bad you won’t find out, anyways want some tea?”

“Sure,” he says, a smile stretching over his face as if he knows he’s got you.

You head for the kettle, the smell of tea leaves filling the small kitchen. By the time you hand him his cup, he’s already wandered over, peering into your fridge.

He groans. “Do you actually live here? There’s, like, nothing to eat. What is this- heavy cream, pickles, and… are those mushrooms?”

You laugh, covering your face with one hand. “Don’t judge me.”

“I already am,” he says, triumphant. Then, softer, almost offhand “No wonder Annie told me to look out for you.”

Your breath catches at that. Annie always worries over you, but hearing it from him, his voice teasing but touched with something more, warms you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You clear your throat, trying to shake it off. “Well, jokes on you, I’ve got everything for pasta. Chicken, mushrooms, cream. We just need to cook it.”

That makes him perk up instantly, mischief flickering across his face. “Oh yeah? Show me, then. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Somehow, you’re standing side by side at the counter, chopping vegetables while he hums under his breath. His movements are quick, precise, like he’s done this a hundred times before. You steal a glance at the way his blonde hair falls into his eyes, how easily he fits into your too-small kitchen, like he belongs there.

But then he glances up at the exact moment you’re staring.

Your knife stills, and heat rushes up your neck. You look away too fast, pretending to focus on the cutting board.

He smirks. “What? Got caught admiring me?”

Your laugh comes out nervous, bubbling. “Please. You wish.”

“Mm.” He leans a little closer, voice dropping just slightly. “You’re blushing, though.”

“I’m not!” you protest, and that only makes him grin wider.

And then, without meaning to, you’re laughing too. It’s the kind that shakes your shoulders, the kind you can’t quite stop. It eases the charge in the air, leaving behind something warmer, more comfortable.

By the time the food is ready, the apartment smells rich and cozy, steam curling from the plates you carry to the couch. You sit shoulder to shoulder, a random movie playing in the background, guinea pigs squeaking softly occasionally.

And for a moment, it doesn’t feel like babysitting Annie’s pets, or filling the silence she left behind. It just feels… easy.

The pasta is good. Better than you expected. Riki insists it’s because he handled the important parts; you insist it’s because you boiled the noodles perfectly. It turns into another round of playful banter, laughter bubbling out of you until your cheeks ache.

And then, in a quiet moment between jokes, you realize how natural it feels. How easy it is to have him here. Which makes the guilt creep in sharp and sudden. Annie’s voice echoing in your head, her pointed warnings about her brother. You tell yourself that it’s just sahring one meal together, that it’s not a big deal.

Still, when the movie starts, you don’t sit all the way apart. The couch is small, and maybe that’s why your legs end up brushing now and then, knees grazing when you both shift for more room. You tell yourself it’s nothing, but each faint touch sparks something warm in your chest.

At one point, you lean into the cushions, laughing at some dry remark he makes. His shoulder bumps yours, just enough to linger before he pretends to stretch, like he didn’t notice. You pretend not to notice either, though your skin tingles where it pressed against his.

And so dinner fades into the background, your plates half-finished on the table while the movie hums low. You’re curled close, not quite cuddling but close enough that you’re hyperaware of the space between you, and how easy it would be to close it.

You’re mid-laugh when you hear it… the first soft patter of rain against the window.

At first, it’s nothing. Just a drizzle, background noise behind the dialogue on screen. But soon it’s louder, steadier, until you can hardly hear the movie over the sharp rhythm of it pelting against the glass.

“Damn,” you murmur, leaning forward to peek outside. The streetlights blur in the downpour, everything beyond the glass a streaky, storm-soaked haze. “It’s coming down hard.”

Riki follows your gaze, stretching to glance past you at the window. His arm brushes yours again as he leans, closer this time, his voice low. “Yeah… it’s kinda crazy.”

A flash of lightning forks across the sky, thunder rolling in right after. The guinea pigs squeak nervously in their pen, rustling the hay.

You turn back to him, biting your lip before blurting without thinking, “If it doesn’t calm down, you should just crash here.”

The words hang in the air.

Riki blinks at you, caught mid-sip of his tea. He almost chokes, setting the mug down a little too fast. “...What?”

You shrug, pretending at nonchalance though your pulse skips. “I mean—think about it. You’d be soaked before you even made it to the bus stop. It’s not a big deal. Couch is right there.”

His ears pink, just barely visible under the messy fall of his blonde hair. “You’re… seriously telling me to stay over?”

You roll your eyes, nudging his leg with your foot. “Don’t make it weird. I’m just saying it’s safer.”

“Yeah, but—” He breaks off, fumbling for words, then leans back against the cushions like he’s trying to play it cool. “You’re acting like you’re not gonna regret that invite in the morning when I eat all your cereal.”

“Joke’s on you,” you shoot back. “I don’t even have cereal.”

That earns a laugh out of him, quiet but real, the tension easing just enough. The rain pounds harder, sealing the deal without another word.

You fetch an extra blanket, tossing it toward him. He catches it awkwardly, still smirking but with a faint crease in his brow, like he’s not sure what to do with himself now.

“Guess you’re stuck with me, then,” he says softly.

The words make your chest tighten in ways you don’t want to examine.

“Okay, well—” you push up from the couch, brushing nonexistent lint from your sweatpants just to keep your hands busy. “If you’re staying, you should at least wash up. I might have something for you to change into.”

He blinks, looking almost.. shy? He nods. “Uh… yeah, sure.”

In your bedroom, you rummage through drawers until your hand snags on something unfamiliar. A pair of old gray sweats. You don’t even remember keeping them until you realize they must’ve been left behind by your ex. Your stomach twists, but before you can overthink it, you grab them anyway—along with a massive Hello Kitty shirt you sometimes wear to sleep. Oversized, ridiculous, probably perfect for Riki’s taller build.

When you return, Riki’s still on the couch, scrolling absently on his phone. He looks up as you hold out the clothes. “These should fit. Maybe. The pants, might be uh… a bit small.”

He takes them from you, holding the sweats up by the waistband with a raised brow. “These aren’t… your boyfriend’s, are they?”

Your laugh comes out a little too fast. “Oh—no. No boyfriend. They’re just… old.” You wave it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

Something flickers across his face. He shifts, scratching the back of his neck like he’s debating whether to say what’s on his mind. Finally, he mumbles, almost too casually “Yeah. Well… I don’t have a girlfriend either.”

The air stills. For a beat, neither of you moves, his dark eyes holding yours like he’s waiting for some kind of reaction. Your throat feels tight, a strange heat crawling up your neck.

You force yourself to break eye contact first, pressing the clothes against his chest with a soft cough. “Well. Guess you should wash up first, then.”

For the briefest moment, his lips twitch into a small smile, almost shy.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Guess I should.”

When he disappears into the bathroom, you exhale a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

By the time he returns, damp hair falling into his eyes and your oversized Hello Kitty t-shirt fitting him perfectly, if not a bit tightly (but you’re not complaining), you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or hide under the blanket forever.

You follow suit, going into the bathroom now that he’s out. But as soon as you reach your room you overthink.

All your drawers are open, closet doors spread wide and yet. Nothing feels right. Your regular sweats? Too ratty. What if he thought you looked… sloppy? The cute matching set you never wore around anyone? Too much. That would look like you’re trying too hard. You pick up one shirt, toss it aside, grab another, second-guess it immediately.

You groan into your hands. Why is this suddenly so hard?

Before you can unravel further, a knock at your door startles you.

“Yo,” Riki calls, his voice muffled but light. “Everything okay? You’ve been gone kind of a long time and I’m getting bored.”

Your heart kicks. You hesitate, then blurt before you can stop yourself, “I… don’t know what to wear.”

The silence on the other side stretches long enough that you regret every choice that’s led you here. But then his laugh cuts through, warm and sharp.

“You’re getting dressed for my benefit? That’s cute.”

Your cheeks flame. “What? No! I just—ugh, never mind.” You press your forehead to the door, wishing it would swallow you whole.

Another chuckle. Softer this time. “Relax. I’m literally wearing sweats and your Hello Kitty shirt. Pretty sure you’ll look better than me no matter what.”

You bite back a smile despite yourself.

In the end, you settle on simple oversized hoodie, cotton shorts, and knee high socks; it’s lowkey the kind of outfit you’d normally wear when you’re alone. Comfortable and warm. You tug it on, take a steadying breath, and step out before you can overthink it again.

Riki looks up from where he’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. For a second, his eyes skim over you like it’s no big deal, but then he blinks and sits up a little straighter, caught mid-stare.

“What?” you ask, pulling at your sleeve defensively.

He shakes his head quickly, that lopsided grin spreading slow. “Nothing. Just… guess I was right. You make it look easy.”

You roll your eyes to cover the way your pulse leaps. “Don’t get smug about it.”

“Too late,” he says, patting the spot next to him.

You cross the room, tucking yourself under the blanket he left draped across the couch. Riki found some cheesy horror move that flickers on the screen, the storm louder now, but all you can think about is the faint warmth where his shoulder brushes yours. It feels less like there’s a storm outside and more like the quiet pull of something starting inside.

Somewhere between the laughter and the thunder, your shoulders brush. You don’t pull away. Neither does he.

It isn’t charged not really. Just warm. Comforting. Easy in a way that makes you want to stay right there.

And when your head tips, just barely, toward his shoulder, he goes still for a second before relaxing into it.

The storm rages on, but the room feels warm. The guinea pigs shuffle softly in their pen, the screen flickers, and eventually your eyes flutter closed.

By the time sleep takes you, you’re both leaning into each other, the blanket tangled over your legs, his warmth steady beside you.

The guinea pigs squeak louder this time, rustling hay until Cosmo lets out a particularly indignant squeal. You groan into Riki’s shoulder, voice muffled.

“Why are they like this?”

Riki’s laugh is rough with sleep. His head tips against yours, “Told you. They don’t believe in sleep. It’s their thing.”

You both lie there for another minute, the blanket tangled around your legs, the couch creaking under your combined weight. His warmth beside you feels too good to leave, but the cushions dig into your spine, and your foot keeps slipping off the edge.

You exhale, hesitant but practical. “This couch is way too small. We should just… move to the bedroom. It’ll be easier to sleep there.”

That wakes him up a little more. His head shifts off yours, eyes narrowing as he searches your face. “You’re seriously inviting me into your bed? Bold.”

Your cheeks heat. You shove lightly at his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird. It’s just sleep. You’ll thank me when you’re not paralyzed from the waist down.”

He smirks, but you catch the way his ears go pink as he pushes himself upright. “Fine. Lead the way.”

In your room, the sheets are soft, cool against your skin as you both climb in from opposite sides. For a moment, you lie stiff as boards, the space between you like a live wire. You can hear the faint rhythm of his breathing, the occasional creak of the mattress whenever he shifts.

Your mind races. Annie’s voice echoes in your head, her teasing, her warnings. Don’t let anything happen. Don’t even think about it. But it’s impossible not to think about it, not when he’s right there, warm and solid, just inches away.

You roll onto your side, pretending to get comfortable. The movement must give him permission, because he shifts too. Slowly, cautiously, his arm brushes yours under the blanket. Neither of you pulls away.

The air thickens, but neither of you breaks it. You pretend your eyes are shut, pretend your breathing is steady. Still, you can feel him—awake, aware, mirroring your stillness.

And then, almost imperceptibly, he inches closer. His forehead just barely grazes your hairline, his arm settling lightly against your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your pulse skitters, but you don’t move. Instead, you let yourself ease into it, curling closer until the space between you disappears.

You both lie there, tangled in quiet, pretending to sleep. But you know he’s awake, you can sense it in the way his breath hitches when you shift, in the way his hand flexes like he’s fighting the urge to hold you properly.

And you’re awake too, heart thrumming against your ribs, wondering if this counts as breaking Annie’s rules or if it’s just what happens when two people can’t pretend anymore.

Two days later, you cave and DM him.

“I swear your married children are trying to starve. They’ve eaten through almost the whole bag already??”

His reply comes in seconds.

“Dw. We’ll go shopping. Is it okay if we go sometime around 9 though.”

You chew your lip, staring at the screen. Around 9? That’s kind of late, but you type back a quick yes before you can overthink it.

When you meet outside, you almost do a double take. Riki’s in baggy jeans and a leather jacket, clean sneakers, hair pushed back just enough to show the sharp cut of his jaw. He doesn’t look like the boy you’ve been sharing tea and pasta with in your tiny kitchen. He looks… older.

“Stop staring,” he teases, nudging your arm as you fall into step beside him.

You huff. “I wasn’t.”

“Sure,” he hums, satisfied, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The walk to the store is short, the air cool and quiet at this hour. Somewhere between the crosswalk and the corner shop, he mentions it offhand, like it’s nothing.

“My schedule’s kind of a mess lately. Practice runs late.”

“Practice?” you echo.

He cuts you a sideways glance, smirk tugging at his lips. “Dancing. It’s kind of my thing.”

Your brows lift. “Seriously? You never said that.”

“You never asked,” he shoots back, grinning. Then, after a beat he goes, “If you’re free Friday, come watch. You’ll get why I’m always tired.”

You try to play it cool, but your chest flutters anyway. “Maybe I will.”

He hums again, like he already knows you’ll say yes.

In the store, the two of you bicker lightly over brands of hay, his hand brushing yours once as you both reach for the same bag. Neither of you moves away right away.

At the register, you pull your card out first, triumphant. “I’ve got it.”

But before you can even tap, Riki leans over and slides his card across the counter, faster. The cashier takes it without hesitation.

“Hey—” you protest, glaring.

He grins, smug. “Guess you’ll just have to be quicker next time.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “That’s cheating.”

“Not cheating,” he says easily, leaning in just enough for his voice to dip lower, “just winning.”

Your pulse stutters, but you force a smirk. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he says, bagging up the hay like he owns the place. “But at least dinner’s on you now.”

By the time you leave, you’re laughing softly, wondering why errands with Riki feel less like chores and more like dates.

Thursday night, your phone buzzes with a notification.

Riki: Don’t forget. Tomorrow, 17:30. Studio’s near Hongdae. Don’t be late.

You bite your lip, smiling at the bluntness. You’re really expecting me to show up? you type back.

The reply comes instantly. Yeah. Who else am I supposed to impress?

Your cheeks heat, and you don’t respond. But you set your alarm anyway.

The studio smells faintly of sweat and wood polish, bass already humming through the floor when you slip inside. You hesitate at the door, nervous you’ll stick out, but Riki notices you almost immediately.

His face lights up. He jogs over, hair already damp at the temples, grinning wide. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” you murmur, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.” He smirks, cocky already, and tosses you a water bottle from his bag. “You’re gonna need this. Watching me’s exhausting.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

When practice starts, he shifts and it’s like flipping a switch. The teasing boy you know is gone, replaced by someone sharper, steadier, completely in his element. Every move cuts through the beat with precision, sweat slicking his temples, focus written all over his face.

It isn’t just him, either. The whole crew works together, their movements layered and seamless, a rhythm you can feel in your chest. A couple of other friends and girlfriends are seated along the back wall with you, murmuring now and then, but you barely register them. Your eyes keep finding him.

At one point, the choreographer calls for freestyle. Riki doesn’t hesitate, he drops low, spinning into a clean b-boy freeze that earns whoops and cheers from his crew. He pops back up smoothly, grinning through the mirror at you, like he knows you’re watching. Like that one was just for you.

Your stomach flips.

Then the real piece starts. It’s the one they’ve been practicing for, from the way everyone falls into position with extra sharpness. The music is groovy and smooth, R&B pulsing low and steady. It’s polished, ready, you realize with a jolt. Probably their last rehearsal before whatever stage or camera’s waiting.

You catch yourself staring, lips parted before you snap them shut.

And then the partner work begins. A girl from the crew steps forward, sliding easily into sync with him. They move close, coordinated, bodies brushing with the kind of practiced ease that only comes from hours together. The choreography is sensual, meant to be. Too smooth to be accidental.

Something in your chest tightens. You fold your arms across yourself, clapping politely when the song ends, hoping no one notices how quiet you’ve gone.

But Riki notices. Of course he does.

He jogs over, towel draped around his neck, hoodie slung over one arm. His grin is easy, but his eyes flick briefly to your folded arms. “Cold?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

He presses the hoodie into your hands anyway. “Here. You look like you need it more than me.”

You want to protest, but the fabric is warm and soft against your fingers, smelling faintly of his cologne and laundry detergent. You pull it on without another word, sleeves swallowing your hands.

When you look up again, he’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite read. Amusement, maybe. Or something heavier.

Practice wraps late, crew scattering in twos and threes with quick goodbyes. You’re still tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie when Riki falls into step beside you, gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hungry?” he asks, like it’s obvious.

You nod, and instead of heading toward the station, he veers left. “C’mon. I’ll show you my favorite spot.”

His favorite ramen shop is tucked into a narrow alley, modern wood paneling lit with warm light. Inside, it’s sleek, clean lines and polished counters, but the small space makes it feel intimate, cozy in a way bigger restaurants never could.

Steam curls from the bowls in front of you, when the waiter places the bowls in front of you two. Riki doesn’t talk much at first, just nudges the chili oil your way and asks if you want an egg in your bowl. The kind of small gestures that make your chest ache more than they should.

Halfway through slurping noodles, the words tumble out of you.

“Is it… normal? For dancers to date each other? Or is it really just dancing?”

His chopsticks pause mid-air. He sets them down slowly, eyes narrowing not in mockery but in something sharper, more searching.

“You mean today?”

Your throat tightens. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—” You shake your head, heat rushing up your neck. “Forget it.”

But he doesn’t let you. His voice softens, low enough that you almost miss it under the hum of the shop. “It’s just dancing. Nothing else.”

You risk a glance at him. He’s not smirking, not teasing. His gaze is steady, almost too much, and for the first time all night, you believe him.

The air shifts. You both keep eating, quieter now, but your hands end up resting on the table, so close your pinkies almost touch. Neither of you moves them away.

The ramen shop is hushed, only a few patrons left, their voices low. Under the table, Riki shifts, his knee brushing yours. Not an accident.

Your gaze drifts up. His smirk is gone, replaced by something heavier. His mouth tilts in a faint half-pout, lips plump and pink from the steam. His eyes are sharp, fixed on you, but there’s a hesitation there too, like he’s caught in the same push and pull as are you.

For a heartbeat, you think he’ll close the distance. His eyes dip to your mouth, just for a second, and the world shrinks to the space between you.

But someone laughs too loud across the room, breaking the spell. You both jerk back, fumbling with chopsticks as if the broth suddenly matters more than the gravity pulling you closer.

Still, your pulse doesn’t settle. When you glance at him again, his half-smile lingers… wistful, frustrated, like he’s thinking the same thing you are.

I wish I could just kiss you right now.

When it’s time to pay, you pull out your card quickly, determined this time. But Riki’s faster, again, sliding his across the counter before you can blink.

“Seriously?” you whisper, pouting. “You already got the groceries.”

He only grins, then and before you can argue reaches out and cups your cheek, squishing gently until your lips push out even poutier. Your breath stutters at the contact, his touch warm and careful, gaze dropping to your mouth, again.

For a second, it feels like the world holds its breath.

Then he exhales, low, steady. “I’m the one who invited you,” he murmurs. “So I’m paying.”

His hand lingers half a beat too long before he pulls away.

You’re still reeling as you step back out into the night. The September night air is crisp, the chill nipping at your cheeks. You tug his hoodie tighter around yourself, sleeves still swallowing your hands.

Riki falls into step beside you, quiet at first. The street is mostly empty, puddles gleaming under the neon glow of a convenience store sign.

Your hands brush once, twice, the faintest spark each time. Neither of you pulls away.

“You look good in that, you know,” he says suddenly, voice casual but eyes flicking down to the hoodie draped over you. “Almost better than me.”

You snort, trying to hide the way your stomach flips. “Doubt it.”

He grins, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled only with the sound of your steps and the hum of traffic a few streets over. But then he glances at you again, more serious this time.

“And hey…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking ahead as if the words are hard to get out. “Don’t worry about that partner stuff. It’s just dancing. That’s all it is.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, warmth spreading in your chest despite yourself. “I wasn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off with a small shake of his head.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says simply.

The station comes into view too soon, glowing pale under the streetlamps. You slow your steps, wishing the walk could stretch just a little longer.

When you finally stop, standing at the point where your buses split, you turn to him. His grin is easy, but there’s something else behind it, something that makes your pulse stumble.

“See you,” he says.

“Yeah,” you breathe, tugging his hoodie tighter. “See you.”

Your hands brush one last time before you part ways, and you carry the warmth of it with you all the way home.

The weekend passes in a blur. By Sunday evening, you’re at his doorstep, cage in hand, trading Cosmo and Wanda back like clockwork. You pretend it’s just routine, but the way his smile lingers makes it feel like more. He invites you for a drink, but you decline, needing time to yourself.

The whole week drags, but it’s the worst on Wednesday, it drags like sand through an hourglass. Assignments pile, emails ding, your brain buzzing with things left undone. By the time you finally flop face-first onto your bed, exhaustion pins you down.

Your phone buzzes.

Riki: Don’t overwork yourself.

You groan into your pillow, thumbs fumbling a reply. Too late.

Three dots blink, then: Piggies miss you. Just come over.

You stare at the screen, biting your lip. You should say no; you need to shower, catch up on work, actually sleep. Instead, you find yourself tugging on a jacket and heading for the bus stop.

When you arrive, Cosmo and Wanda squeak loudly from their pen like they’ve been expecting you.

Riki leans in the doorway, arms crossed, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. Behind him, you catch your first real look at his place: high ceilings, dark wood floors that gleam under recessed lighting, gray-toned walls broken up with sleek art and low, modern furniture. It’s elegant but lived-in, the faint scent of cologne and laundry softener grounding it in something undeniably him. A penthouse, you realize, with wide windows framing the glittering city below.

“See? Told you they missed you.”

“You mean you missed me,” you mumble, kicking off your shoes.

His grin widens, but he doesn’t argue.

You tell yourself it’s just a short visit, just to check on them. But one movie turns into two, your body heavier with every passing minute. The cushions cradle you, warmth and fatigue tugging you down until your head tips against the couch’s armrest.

At some point, you shift without realizing, body curling instinctively toward him until you’re half-leaning against his side. Riki glances down, a comment on the tip of his tongue, then stops.

You’re out cold. Completely limp, lips parted in sleep, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

For a moment, he freezes, caught between surprise and something else he doesn’t dare name. Then, with a soft huff, he tosses the blanket aside and carefully slides an arm under your knees, another around your back.

You stir faintly but don’t wake as he lifts you, weight easy against him.

His room is dim, the city lights spilling in through tall windows, dark wood and steel softened by the mess of pillows at the head of his bed. He lowers you onto the mattress as gently as he can, tugging the covers over you once you’re settled.

You sigh in your sleep, curling into the warmth, and something in his chest clenches tight.

He stands there for a moment, watching, running a hand through his hair like he can shake the feeling off. Then he sighs again and slips under the covers on the opposite side, careful to keep space between you. But as the night drags on, that space disappears inch by inch, until the warmth of your back brushes against his chest, and neither of you stirs.

The first thing you register is warmth. Not the kind from blankets, but from the body beside you.

You blink against the soft gray light filtering in through the tall windows, heart lurching when you realize you’re not in your own room. The sheets smell faintly of laundry soap and his cologne. His bed.

You roll slightly, careful not to shift too much. Riki’s still asleep, messy blond hair falling across his forehead, one arm draped loosely over the empty space between you. Like, even in his sleep, he’d been reaching for you.

Something squeezes in your chest. You almost lift a hand, tempted to brush the hair out of his face, but stop just short. Don’t be obvious. Don’t get caught staring—

Too late. His lashes flutter, and he catches you mid-look.

A slow grin spreads across his sleepy face. “Morning.”

Your cheeks blaze. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t staring.”

He shifts closer on the pillow, voice rough with sleep. “Sure you weren’t.”

You roll onto your back, groaning into the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, low and warm, before pushing himself upright. “C’mon. Lemme make you some breakfast.”

The kitchen matches the rest of his place: sleek lines, dark wood, all clean edges softened by morning light. You perch awkwardly at the counter while he rummages through the fridge, emerging with eggs, milk, and bread.

“I can cook,” he offers.

“Can you?” you deadpan, already cracking an egg one-handed.

His mouth drops open. “Yes, actually.”

“Mm.” You smirks, but slide the pan toward him anyway, watching as Riki scrambles with more determination than skill. When you nearly drop a shell in, he leans in, plucks it from your fingers, and tosses it aside. His shoulder brushes yours, casual but deliberate.

The air shifts. You pretend to focus on stirring, heart pounding as if eggs deserve your entire life’s attention.

By the time the toast pops, you’re both laughing, with his teasing, your mock-glares, the space between you narrowing in ways that feel far too natural.

It’s domestic. Too domestic. Which is exactly when your phone buzzes, Annie’s name lighting up the screen.

You both freeze.

You and Riki share a wide-eyed glance, like kids caught sneaking out after curfew. He gestures with his chin. “Answer.”

Your stomach knots. Still, you swipe to accept, propping the phone up against a mug. Annie’s face fills the screen, bright and smiling, hair pulled back loosely.

“Morning!” she chirps, eyes darting between the two of you. “Wow, you look… cozy.”

You freeze, conscious of the hoodie you’re still swimming in, of the way Riki is leaning against the counter right beside you.

“Where are you guys?” she asks, squinting at the background.

You fumble. “Uh—I’m just—”

Riki cuts in smoothly, “My place.”

Your heart lurches. Annie’s brows climb, lips twitching like she’s already amused. “Wait. Are you guys… together?”

It hits like a spark. Your pulse spikes, words tumbling out too fast. “No! We’re not—it’s not like that, we’re just—”

“Watching the piggies!” Riki adds, a little too loudly, and then winces.

Annie leans her chin on her hand, smirking. “Uh-huh. You both sound very convincing right now.”

You glance at Riki, flustered heat crawling up your neck. He’s no better—jaw tight, ears pink.

But then Annie’s smirk softens. “Relax. You’re adults. If you wanna date, I’m not gonna stop you. Honestly? Makes my life easier if you get along.”

You blink. “You’re… not mad?”

“Mad? No.” She shrugs. “Just don’t break up, because I am not picking sides. Got it?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. Riki chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained by your misery.

Annie beams, oblivious or pretending to be. “Okay, gotta run—meeting in ten. Love you both!”

The call ends, leaving only the soft hum of the fridge and the pounding in your chest.

You lower your hands slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Riki’s already watching you, eyes sharp, lips curved in a half-smile that feels more like a dare.

“What?” you whisper, trying for nonchalance, but your voice betrays you.

He shakes his head, still grinning. “You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Something snaps then; weeks of sidelong glances and almost-touches collapsing all at once. He closes the distance, lips crashing onto yours, urgent and hungry.

You gasp into the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He tilts his head, deepening it, one hand cradling your jaw like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

Finally, finally, you stop pretending.

The kiss deepens fast, like neither of you remember how to pace yourselves. His mouth is hot against yours, tasting faintly of broth and sesame, his hand cupping your jaw firm enough to keep you there, to keep you from slipping away.

You clutch his hoodie tighter, tugging him closer until your chest presses flush to his. The contact makes him groan low in his throat, vibration thrumming through you.

“Riki—” you start, but the word dissolves into another gasp as he nips your bottom lip, swallowing the sound before it can form.

He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, one that’s reckless, thoughtless and so him; he bends, hands gripping the backs of your thighs. Your breath catches as your feet leave the ground, the world tilting when he lifts you like you weigh nothing. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, fingers threading into his hair for balance.

“God,” he mutters against your mouth, voice husky, “you drive me insane.”

Your laugh is shaky, half-swallowed by the kiss. “Says the one who just carried me like it’s nothing.”

“Shut up.” He grins, breathless, and steals another kiss, bumping you into the doorframe on the way out of the kitchen. You squeak, swat at his shoulder, and he just laughs into your mouth before adjusting his grip.

By the time he drops onto the couch with you straddling his lap, you’re both flushed, panting, hearts racing like you’d sprinted the whole way. His hands find your hips, fingers pressing hard through the fabric of your sweats, grounding you in place.

You hover there for a moment, knees bracketing his thighs, chest rising and falling against his. The intensity in his eyes nearly undoes you. It’s dark, sharp and full of everything he’s been holding back.

“Still gonna tell me not to think about you like this?” he murmurs, thumb brushing the hem of your shirt.

Your breath stutters. Heat coils low in your stomach, and yet you manage a shaky smile, eyes locking on his. “Pretty sure you’re the one who started it.”

His laugh is quiet, disbelieving, before his lips crash onto yours again.

The couch creaks under your shifting weight, your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him like you’ve been waiting weeks for this exact moment. He pulls you closer, until there’s no space left, until even the air between you is burning.

“Riki,” you breathlessly murmur once he trails kisses down your neck. He sucks sharply, one of his hands holding you close to him by your waist. The other in your hair.

Your nails sink from his shoulders and into his back and he pulls your hair back, revealing your neck before he sucks another kiss into it.

His breathing is labored and all you can do is mewl against him. You try to pull back but his hold is too strong.

You shift your weight, hips dragging on his lap and you both moan.

“Need you so bad, Riki,” you whine, humping yourself against his bigger frame.

“Yeah? Show me how bad pretty, “ he murmurs, and then he’s flipping you two. You’re spread below him, your back against leather couch and Riki towering over you.

His hair is messy, lips bitten red and you can’t control the shiver overtaking you. Your hands are held together, right in front of your waist. You watch as Riki slips his shirt over his head, then his sweats.

The wild look he gives you makes your heart beat harder in your chest. He reaches out for you then, his huge hand engulfing your wrists together and holding your hands above your head.

He tugs the hoodie you’re wearing (his hoodie) up, letting his hand explore the soft skin he’s uncovering.

“Fuck,” you think you hear him whisper to himself.

“Stay here, beautiful, I’m just gonna go and get a condom.” Is all he says, before he almost runs to his room. The sight would be funny if you weren’t so turned on right now.

Instead you take your clothing off, thanking whomever for deciding to wear your lacy panties yesterday.

Riki comes back into the room just as you’re sat completely naked on the couch – save for your panties. He bites his lips, eyes raking you in and it’s at this point that you notice his tattoos.

“Leave them on,” he gestures to your panties, and then. He’s back on you.

He kisses you as if his life depended on it, nudging you softly so you’re laying down again. His hands go from soft to rough where he explores your body.

But you return the favor, where Riki grips – you grasp, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Need you Riki, c’mon,” you plead.

“Gonna let me ruin you a little?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

Instead of answering you press your hips into his, pouting as you shakily answer, “Only if I get to ruin you too.”

“Fuck,” is all he says and then you’re watching him fumble with the damn condom.

“Need some help?” you tease, but the breathlessness in your voice betrays you.

“Don’t rush me, I’m trying not to fuck this up,” he grins, but you can tell he’s getting frustrated.

So you grip his cock, your other hand pressing on the plastic wrap as you both push it over his cockhead.

“Riki, you’re so big,” you whine, lip caught between your teeth, “promise you’ll go slow?”

He looks at you then, looking almost surprised. His eyes soften, “Of course baby, we’ll go as slow as you need.” He tells you almost in a coo.

And then you feel his cock pressing against your entrance.

“So big Riki, you’re so big,” you whine before he’s even entered you.

You wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him down onto you and Riki groans when he feels your hips pushing forward.

His cockhead starts slipping in, your wetness almost sucking him in you.

“Shit—so fucking tight…” he groans, guttural and low. He sinks deeper and deeper, inch by inch and you feel your eyes watering from the pleasurable strech.

“Riki—feels so good,” you moan once he’s almost fully sheathed himself into your smaller body underneath his. Your nails sink into his back and he hisses, but you feel his dick twich.

You’re mewling as he fills you fully, his body tense against your limp one.

You’re smiling up at him as his hands grip your thighs tightly in a poor attempt to ground himself.

You tug on his hair a little bit and he’s groaning, pushing his hips out slowly, before pushing himself back into you.

“Been wanting this—fuck—been wanting you for so long,” his voice breaks between thrusts.

Meanwhile you’re panting hard, almost whining, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Told you I’d ruin you,” he whispers by your ear when he notices your teary eyes.

“Looks like I’m ruining you too,” you smirks as you feel just how hard his dick is. He slams deeper into you just then, groaning your name and you’re a goner.

Your hands are all over each other’s bodies, nails drawing sharp red lines across his back, while Riki sucks another bruise on your collar bones.

You feel your climax approaching, and that’s when Riki grips your wrists together, pinning your hands above your head.

He’s watching the way your tits bounce when you note his expression.

He was close.

“That’s it, good girl, just like that—taking me so well,” he rasps, his voice so low it’s making your stomach do backflips.

“Riki—gonna—” you’re barely coherent, as you attempt to praise him back. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and suddenly you still.

“Come with me pretty girl. Right here, with me. Wanna see you make a mess.”

And before you know it he’s cumming with you. His hips pressed against your, his dick filling you so good. So well, you feel his balls spasm as he comes alongside with you.

After a beat he collapses half on top of you, kissing your jaw, sweaty but soft.

“Not letting you go now. Don’t care what Annie says,” he murmurs, his forehead against yours.

You laugh breathlessly, stroking his hair, “You’re ridiculous.”

He’s kissing your neck, softer this time, as he softly replies “Maybe. Still not letting you go.”

[beargyu313]

HOWSSSSSSS WORK>!>>!?!?!??!!?

TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORT i just quit one of my jobs (i had to quit 3 times before they accepted it) and I'm FREEEEEEEEEEE jfjfjjf hope school is not stressful for u!!

[beargyu313]

BABY I WAS LOOKING THRU UR ACC JUST TOD. HOW R U

Mentally good but physically exhausted hfjfj I bought an ipad today and I think she's gonna be coming with me to work and I'll start writing again 😋 cause i miss it soooo much

How are u doing !!! What have you been upto