warnings: kissing/making out, tiny bit suggestive, ni-ki is not discreet at all, fluff, i think that’s it
YOUR DORM WAS empty tonight. your other members having their own plans for the night, which made it all the more better for ni-ki to come over. you placed the last shirt up in your closet when you heard a knock from the front door.
your heart skipped a beat as you quickly walked to the door, unlocking and opening it. on the other side stood ni-ki. hood up, mask on and his backpack in hand. his finger unhooked the strings of his mask, showing you his small crooked smile. “hi, riki.” you purred softly, arms moving to wind around his broad shoulders. he hummed lowly, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tightly.
he pressed a kiss against your temple, his nose gently nudging your cheek after. you smiled and turned your head towards him, lips brushing against his. ni-ki let out a small huff of amusement before closing the small gap and pressing his lips to yours.
your eyes closed and your hands winded into his hair, gently brushing through. he purred lowly into the kiss, his hands squeezing your hips enough to make you squirm. the kiss broke with a shy laugh from you, cheeks flushing pink from his gesture. “come inside.” you mumbled, tugging on his hand.
ni-ki followed you inside to your room, tossing his backpack onto your desk chair. he looked around almost impressed and your brows furrowed. “what?” he laid down on your bed, hands behind his head looking relaxed as ever.
“you actually cleaned your room.” he mocked teasingly
“hey!” you sat beside him, one hand resting on his stomach and the other holding his. “it was only messy like that cause i was sick!”
his brows raised, pressing a small kiss to the back of your hand. “you weren’t sick during your comeback.”
“that was stress.”
“what about your birthday?”
you scoffed “yeah exactly, it’s my birthday.”
ni-ki laughed and pulled you into his side. “whatever you say.” your head rested on his shoulder, legs tangled with his. “how was your week?” he asked
“it was…” you sighed, eyes closing “stressful. the company really wanted us to get the choreography down by today, which we did. it was just a lot.” riki hummed understandingly, arm adjusting you more comfortably. “and i couldn’t sleep two nights this week. it was like my body was still awake no matter how tired i was.”
he felt you shake your head, arms winding around his waist. “i don’t care anymore. i’m just happy you’re here.”
“me too. i missed you.” he whispered, kissing your cheek. a smile formed on your face, head tilting up to face his. he brushed some stray hairs away from your face, thumb gently dragging across your bottom lip. “i miss you all the time, pretty.”
you felt your stomach dip, butterflies forming. “don’t say things like that.” you mumbled, eyes looking away from his.
“why? it’s true.” even in the soft amber glow of your room, ni-ki could see the way your cheeks flushed. he gently kissed you, hand cupping your cheek. you kissed him back, one of your hands moving to rest on his jaw. you two kissed for a while, lips moving slowly, feeling like you had all the time in the world.
you broke away first, growing breathless from the intense kiss. ni-ki’s lips trailed down your jaw and neck, lightly nipping at the skin. “ki, you can’t.” you reminded him softly, hand resting at the nape of his neck. he ignored you, lips never leaving your neck as he pulled you onto his lap.
“riki!” you whined his name softly, lips downturning into a small frown. he pulled away with a sly smile, his hands resting on your hips.
“i’m sorry, baby. just can’t help myself when it comes to you.” his eyes raked over the small pink marks blooming on your neck. pride filled his chest as he settled more comfortably against your headboard, his hands moving down to your thighs. “i’ll make it up to you.”
your eyes lit up “will you buy me a new miffy?!” he chuckled and watched as you reached for your phone, excitedly searching up the collectible you want.
“i’ll buy you anything you want.” you smiled at him and pecked his lips before showing him the new collection that launched. he held you close to him all night, heart light, and a small smile on his face all night.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
THE HOTEL ROOM was cold when you stepped out of the bathroom. you shivered despite wearing ni-ki’s hoodie. you moved quietly around the room, very aware of the weverse live he was on. his deep timbre filling the room as he answered questions. his phone was propped up against a water bottle. he sat against the small table next to the window with the curtains open and tucked away in the corner.
his eyes tracked you without trying to make it too obvious. he would read a question and pretend to be looking around in thought when really he was just watching you. he could smell your shampoo faintly, the vanilla perfume you always wore mixing in.
you went about your routine before turning off the bathroom light. ni-ki’s eyes traced your figure again, purring lowly. you pulled back the covers and went on your phone, turning on your side to get comfortable. ni-ki answered a few more questions before ending the live and joining you in bed.
the bed dipped and ni-ki’s body covered yours, his warmth making you shiver. you let out a soft hum, pressing back against him as he kissed your cheek repeatedly. “you smell so good.” he murmured, burying his nose against the crook of your neck.
you laughed and set your phone down on the nightstand. “it’s the same perfume i always wear.”
“it still smells good.”
you two laid there in a comfortable silence, pressed closely together. your nails lightly scratched against his arms, small purrs coming from him occasionally. ni-ki could feel his eyes growing heavy the longer you two stayed like that. “turn around.” he mumbled, gently tugging at your waist.
you turned off the bedside lamp before turning in his arms. you hooked one leg over his hip, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. ni-ki pressed himself as close as he could, cheek pressed against the top of your head. “goodnight, ki.”
“goodnight, pretty.”
the next morning quick knocks came on the hotel door, rudely waking up you and ni-ki. you whined and pulled a pillow over your ears while ni-ki got up. he rubbed his eyes trying to wake up quickly. the door opened and there stood jungwon not looking happy.
“hyung-“
“what were you doing last night?” ni-ki blinked and glanced around briefly before shrugging
“nothing?” jungwon sighed and walked into the hotel room. ni-ki’s eyes widened and he quickly walked behind jungwon, going over to the bed and sitting on your side of the bed. “you can’t just walk in here-“
“have you two seen anything?” jungwon cut him off, reaching over ni-ki to move your pillow. you winced at the sunlight before sitting up sluggishly, eyes narrowing at jungwon.
“seen what?” ni-ki asked. he watched his leader pull out his phone and type something in before passing it to the both of them. you peered over ni-ki’s shoulder and read the screen.
rikismole: did anyone see ni-ki’s live last night?? tell me that’s NOT someone else in the reflection of the window
drunkdzed: does that not look like y/n to y’all?
enha292: her member was on live last night and they have the same curtains…
y/nnieschip: you guys are crazy lmfao😭
y/nsluvr: not every guy and girl idol that are friends are dating
you and ni-ki looked at each other and then jungwon. “we didn’t know?” you offered quietly, brows upturning a little. jungwon sighed and took his phone back, crossing his arms.
“you two need to be more careful. you two being public is that last thing either group needs. just…be mindful.” you and ni-ki nodded your heads, apologizing to jungwon again before he left.
you sighed and laid back down staring at the ceiling. “we’re not very good at this, huh?” ni-ki laughed and moved to lay on top of you.
“i don’t think so.”
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
“RIKI, WE HAVE to be-mmph!” your eyes widened slightly as he kissed you feverishly. you melted against him letting him press you against the wall. you two were supposed to be joining your groups backstage waiting to perform but ni-ki had ideas of his own.
“just so pretty, want you to myself.” he exhaled, kissing down your neck. he nipped at your jugular making you whine softly beneath him.
“ki, no! you’re gonna get me in trouble!” ni-ki smoothed the nip with a small lick before kissing you again. your hands fisted his shirt, pulling him closer to you. his hands traced your waist, gently kneading the skin.
you broke away from the kiss, turning your head away from him “okay riki, we have to stop.” you said breathlessly, head spinning from how hotly he was kissing you.
“we still have time.” his lips tracing along your collarbones now, leaving wet kisses in his wake. you sighed, head tipping back momentarily before you snapped back to reality.
“later.” you grabbed his jaw putting an end to his onslaught of kisses. “later, baby.” you kissed him slowly this time, thumb rubbing small circles against his cheek.
ni-ki let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around your waist. “i think i need a minute to myself.” you scoffed lightly and slapped his chest.
“well you have fun, i need to go.” he chased your lips one last time giving you a gentle, loving kiss compared to his earlier ones.
“you’re going to do amazing, pretty.” he gently pat your hip before letting you leave, watching you go until you rounded the corner. he tilted his head back, letting out a quiet swear and inhaling deeply.
but unfortunately for you two, that small nip he had given you wasn’t as soft as he thought. no one had noticed until after the performance was done and everyone was getting ready to leave.
your heart dropped and you quickly went online to see if any fans had noticed. and of course, they did.
y/nscherry: HELLOOOO? who is giving miss girl a special treatment backstage😭
star3: call me delusional but y/n has a hickey on her neck, her lips were visibly swollen and more pink. ni-ki was there and his lips were the same…guys…
kiskiss: y/n, i think you missed something…
you were given another talk about being more careful and to know the right time and place, blah blah blah. your face was in a scowl, eyes narrowing at your smiling boyfriend. “what’s wrong- hey! what was that for?” you slapped his arms repeatedly, groaning a little
“you! you’re the problem! you and your stupid, pretty lips!” ni-ki’s smile widened as he caught your hands.
“you think my lips are pretty?” you rolled your eyes and tried to wriggle out of his grip. “woah, woah. tell me what’s got you so bothered.”
“have you not been on social media?” he shook his head, thumb rubbing small circles on the inside of your wrist. you pulled out your phone and showed him the tweets and photos people were trying to use as ‘proof’
“well…at least they know.”
“nishimura riki!”
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
FOUR STRESSFUL MONTHS later you had some downtime after practice and decided to go live. you sat inside a small practice room, computer screen glowing softly “am i excited for the upcoming comeback? yes! i really think you guys are going to like what we’ve been planning!” a soft smile formed on your face
“give us a spoiler?” you hummed in thought, pushing away from your phone in your rolling chair. you shook your head, playfully shrugging you shoulders “it’s better to be surprised!”
you read questions and comments, talked about what had been going on in your life, what practice was like for the comeback. you glanced at the computer typing in a song recommendation when the door opened. your brows furrowed in confusion and turned around.
“i think i walked into three different rooms before i found you.” ni-ki laughed, oblivious to your phone. your mouth opened to warn him about your live but he dipped quickly and kissed you. your eyes widened, but you couldn’t find yourself to pull away.
“hi, pretty.” he whispered once he pulled away, brushing your hair behind your ear. he straightened up and the stiffened, eyes flicking to you and then the phone. you snapped out of your daze and awkwardly glanced back at your phone, then back at him.
you cleared your throat, pretending to not see the comments moving faster than you could read. “um riki- i mean ni-ki is here guys! wow…” you could feel your cheeks burning as you avoided eye contact with him and the camera.
the sound of your typing filled the room before ni-ki pulled out the chair next to you and sat down like nothing happened. he tried to read some comments, eyes narrowing as he purred quietly.
you clicked on the song you had been trying to play, lowering the volume so the fans could hear you two. you moved a little closer to ni-ki, still trying to keep space. he side eyed you before pulling closer. you shot him a look and he shrugged, resting his head against your shoulder.
“are we dating?” ni-ki read a comment outloud. you were ready to respond, almost eager to do damage control. “of course. she’s my girlfriend.” he replied all to casually, eyes skimming the comments.
you tried to act as normal as possible for the remainder of the live, but ni-ki’s presence was flustering you too much. you ended the live with shaky hands and a breathless goodbye.
“we’re going to be in so much trouble. you know that, right?” ni-ki shrugged holding your hands in his.
“everyone knows we’re together now though. no more hiding.”
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
“AH Y/N, SHE’S honestly my whole world.” ni-ki admitted on live softly, his eyes drifting to your sleeping body beside him. you tried to stay up to do a live with him, but his bed mixed with his body heat had you sleepy within minutes. your head rested in his lap, eyes closed and lashes touching your cheek, lips pouted together in the cutest way.
he gently brushed his knuckle against your cheek, eyes softening even more. “she feels like home. not just my girlfriend.” his brows furrowed and his cheeks turned a light pink “i dunno, it makes sense to me.”
he sighs and glances at the camera before looking back down at you. “i love her a lot.”
it was then that fans realized ni-ki never tried to hide the affection he held for his girlfriend, even in the past before they were official. he had a certain smile that seemed to be reserved for only her, and the way he knew even the smallest details about her without having been told. how he was always ready to help her without question.
fans and management couldn’t keep him from you even if they tried.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO you, happy birthday to you! happy birthday, dear y/n! happy birthday!” your friends cheered and whistled, urging you to blow out the candles on your cake. your eyes quickly looked up making eye contact with ni-ki’s. he grinned at you holding his phone recording the moment.
“make a wish, baby!” your eyes closed as you made your wish, everyone cheering louder and clapping. you laughed and stood up hugging everyone who came while your members started cutting your cake and serving it to everyone.
“can i steal the birthday girl?” you turned around smiling up at ni-ki.
“depends. what’s in it for me?” he chuckled and grabbed your hand, gently tugging on it. you followed him out to your balcony shutting the door behind you. the city glimmered in front of you two, the building and street lights casting shadows along your face.
ni-ki wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly, swaying you a little. “happy birthday, princess. did you have fun today?” you nodded your head and leaned into his embrace.
“mhm. it was perfect.” his smile grew as he cupped your cheek with one hand.
“what’d you wish for?”
“nothing.” his brows raised in surprise
“nothing?” he repeated, the confusion evident in his tone.
“i already have everything i need.” you whispered, finger hooking around his belt loop to pull him closer. ni-ki stared at you momentarily, taking in all of his favorite details about you.
“i have something for you.” his voice was quiet. almost like if he spoke too loudly it would shatter the romantic moment between you two.
he let go of you and reached into his back pocket pulling out a small black velvet box. your heart skipped a beat and you quickly looked at him. “i was hoping our proposal would be a little more extra.” you teased
he leaned down to kiss you lovingly, a small knowing smile on his face. “i have that already planned, baby. but for now, this is for you.” he placed the box in your hand and you felt your excitement skyrocket.
his eyes watched you open the box, jaw dropping in disbelief. ni-ki bought you a custom chrome hearts locket. it was intricately made, delicate details adorning the necklace. you gently opened the locket to see a photo of you and him posed together. he was kissing your cheek while you smiled, the photo a little blurry from how much you were giggling. it was taken on your first date.
tears bloomed in your eyes, the gesture making your heart soar. and engraved on the other side of the locket was his initials and yours. “ki…” his eyes widened briefly, panic surging through his body.
“you hate it?! i can take it back-“
“are you kidding me? i love it.” you cut him off softly. “i love you.” you looked up at him, a tear rolling down your cheek. he wiped it away and cupped your face, forehead resting against yours.
“i love you forever, my beautiful girl.” he leaned in and kissed you like you were the only thing worth living for. it was just you two, madly in love despite everything that shouldn’t have made it work. and that was enough for both of you.
you two, together, everyday.
a/n: thank you guys for all the love on my last two posts! i’m happy to know people like them lollll. hope you enjoyed this one too! <3
⟢ some guys say they like crazy girls, but hate when they act crazy. not riki though, he loves it over here #skillissue.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: 𝓷ishimura riki x 𝓯!reader
⤷ (smau, 10 scs), fluff, reader is described to be a little crazy, tiny bit angst, possessiveness, reassurance, riki is down bad, mentions of alcohol, suggestive, [baby, angel, pretty girl] 𝓶.list
ʟɪɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: i couldn't find it in me to write but i haven't done a smau in a hot sec :p
ᴇɴʜʏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @saeivra @shawnyle @kookiesnkim @itsnotawrongnumber @shaiimuraaa @yerinhusband @chaebbys @feedrinplz @summerboyeom @noirellee @wonscapes @tamedhoon @enlov3vampxo @simplyangelixa @keiteu @waeclr @lunarprisonknight @nikisleftside (comment or send me an ask if you want to be tagged or removed <33)
BTS deciding not to summit their work for the Grammys after knowing they’d most likely win next year is precisely what integrity looks like and I wish a lot of Latin artists would do the same thing.
The Grammys didn’t create that “Best Asian Music” category this year to be diverse. They did it to continue boxing non English speaking artists but especially BTS, so they won’t have to nominate them in the main categories with the rest of their peers. This was the Grammys telling BTS they’ll give them a Grammy win but under their own boxed category. We give you the scraps and you are supposed to take them. They said no.
They’ve been doing this for years under the disguise of diversity. “Best Traditional Country Album” a new category introduced after Beyoncé won in the Best Country Album category because they couldn’t stand a non white artist redefining that genre. “Best African Music” being introduced in 2024 to keep Tyla away from other pop girls. And “Best Latin Song” being introduced for this year along with Best Asian Music after Bad Bunny right fully dominated all of the charts last year. And mind you, Brazilian artists cannot even submit their work for this category because the rules say it has to be 51% in Spanish, even when Brazilians speak Portuguese but are Latin people.
It was never about diversity. It’s about boxing and categorizing these artists when global music (or more like non English music) is becoming bigger each year and this is the only way they can keep their American/British peers safe in their space.
In BTS’ latest album ARIRANG, they have a song called Alien where they describe feeling alienated by the industry duo to their xenophobic behavior. Them creating this category when they released one of the biggest albums of the year is proving them right. At the end, this was the right choice.
Great of BTS for rejecting the Grammys full on and not play into their very tokenization game.
⟢ ┆ stray kids x reader. ot8. established relationship.
⟢ author’s note: so i had this prompt in my list for the longest time and now finally i was hit with enough inspiration to write it for all eight of them lol. i have no idea if this qualifies as comfort or slight angst or what, but i hope you guys enjoy and as always i would love to read your thoughts on it<3
( 애인 ) when you get dating rumors with seungmin because you both love pochacco. thank twitter. or don't.
💭 :: 28ss fluff illit member!rea changbin being a freak no one thinks seungy/n can pull one (1) tadc reference
𑣲⋆ note ⸝⸝ @kloversung & @yawwni cameo in there #girlfriends
pairing: ot8!skz, bf!skz x fem!reader
tags: reader jokes about jumping off a bridge, slightly suggestive, general chaos, jisung needs to be more careful
skz masterlist
⊹ ˖ Ი𐑼 author's note - first smau fic!! i've been wanting to do these for a while so please let me know if you'd want more of them . . . as always, reqs are open <3
synopsis✧˖°. you've spent your whole life depending on a stuffed bear that smells like amber and musk to sleep, so when he vanishes from your jacket at a laundromat, you unravel into twelve sleepless nights, panic attacks, and a shame you can't explain. when you finally find him in the pocket of a stranger's jacket, you discover that the boy wearing your coat smells exactly like home, and maybe you've been looking for the wrong kind of comfort all along.
notes✧˖°. okay... here's my big one! im not exactly sure if i like this because it does get very angsty and serious at times, but i tried to make a long story! so.. the stuffed animal is lowk based on one i have (sue me) i did make it a little more dramatic for the plot line, but yeah! i'll say it in the authors note, but guys PLEASE send me some sort of asks i beg!! it helps me stay motivated!! i hope you guys enjoy!! also @ptolemaeiia u asked to be tagged so here! (I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOUR STUFF IS SO BOMB BRO)
many people have 'a thing'.
something that helps them feel at ease when they're down, something that distracts them from the real world, or something that they just love.
your thing was your stuffed animal, as childish as it may sound.
bear. that's what his name was!
a winnie the pooh, rattle toy stuffed animal, with a white shirt from another animal, that has faded more and more yellow as time passed.
you've had this stuffed animal for years, and it was your favorite! so much to the point where you brought it everywhere when you were a kid.
doctors office? dentist? your sisters band concert? bear was there for all of it.
now, you had many stuffed animals, but none of them really ever clicked with you like how bear did.
bear was just different. it was something about his smell.
you would hold him up to your face and inhale and be brought immediate comfort.
it smelt like home.
lately, though, you had noticed you had to press your nose harder into his fur to find the smell.
it was fading, slowly, like a photograph left in sunlight. you told yourself it was just because he was old, because you had washed him too many times, but the thought made your stomach tight.
you couldn't remember when exactly the scent had started to thin, only that now you had to inhale twice as deep to get that same hit of comfort.
you carried bear around all the time and kept him around all the time, all the way to your adulthood.
around your teenage years, you started to get embarrassed about bear.
it felt odd.. you felt immature.
everyone else around never had stuffed animals around 24/7. you'd go over to a friends house and the layout of their bed would be completely different. no stuffed animals anywhere.
it only got worse as you grew older.
people started caring less and less and less about their childhood toys, while you were still stuck.
you even tried to convince yourself at one point some random day in highschool.
"i don't need bear! i'm not even gonna sleep with him tonight" you thought to yourself.
you tried to sleep that night… keyword 'tried'
it was probably the worst sleep of your life. you couldn't sleep until 5 in the morning, and even when you did fall asleep, you'd stir yourself awake every 10 mins.
after that you gave up.
you never bothered to tell anyone about bear, but it was just a little secret you had. you needed him in order to get any sort of comfort.
cut to now, you're an adult. living a full life, with lots of friends. bear still always by your side.
one day, it was laundry day.
living in the apartment you had, you didn't own a washer or dryer, you had to go to laundromat in order to wash anything.
you stand in front of your hamper and stare at it like it's a problem to be solved.
it's overflowing. socks are spilling over the side like they're trying to escape.
you've been putting this off for eleven days now, ever since you wore your last clean pair of jeans to that party at mayas and spilled wine on them.
you look down at your jacket, hanging on the hook by the door. bear is in there. he's always in there.
you grab the hamper with both hands and kick the door open with your foot, maneuvering down the narrow hallway of your building.
the stairs creak under your weight. the third floor always feels higher when you're carrying three weeks of dirty clothes.
the laundromat is four blocks away. you walk there because the bus costs two fifty and you'd rather spend that on coffee.
the autumn air is sharp enough to make your nose run, and you burrow deeper into your jacket, your hand finding the front pocket automatically.
bear is there. you can feel the soft bulk of him through the denim. your thumb traces the edge of his shirt, that faded yellow fabric that used to be bright white.
you don't take him out. you never take him out in public anymore. but you know he's there.
the laundromat is called spin cycle, which you think is a stupid name but whatever. the bell above the door jingles when you push it open with your hip.
the smell hits you immediately. detergent and warm cotton and that particular steamy humidity that only exists in places where clothes are being dried. it smells like clean, which is different from how bear smells, but somehow related.
you set your hamper down in front of an empty washer near the back.
number fourteen. you have a preference for the back machines. less chance of someone seeing you talk to your jacket pocket.
you sort your clothes with the efficiency of someone who's done this many times. darks in one pile, lights in another. you check pockets out of habit, even though you know exactly what's in yours.
your hand hesitates on the zipper of your jacket pocket.
you could take him out. just for a second. just to make sure he's okay before you put everything in the machine.
but the door opens behind you and an older woman comes in with a rolling cart, and you drop your hand like you've been caught.
you stuff your clothes into the machine instead. jeans first, then sweaters, then the delicates bag with your underwear because you're not brave enough to wash those in public view.
you toss the detergent pod on top and shove four quarters into the slot.
the machine groans to life. water starts rushing in.
you stand there for a moment, watching your clothes disappear under the suds.
your jacket is still on. you never take it off at the laundromat. the machines run hot and the room gets warm, but you keep it zipped up to your chin. bear stays close to your heart that way.
your phone buzzes in your actual pocket.
it's a text from your roommate, sarah. she needs you to pick up her prescription while you're out. she'll pay you back. she even adds three pleading emojis.
you sigh and look at the washer. it has thirty two minutes left on the cycle.
you could wait here. sit on the orange plastic chair and scroll through your phone and try not to think about how your jacket is starting to make you sweat.
or you could be productive.
you check the pocket one more time, patting the bulge that is bear. he's there. he's fine.
you walk out into the afternoon.
the pharmacy is two blocks north. you pass a coffee shop and smell espresso and almost stop, but sarah said urgent, so you keep walking. your hand stays in your jacket pocket the whole way, fingers wrapped around bears soft body.
the prescription pickup line is four people deep. you wait. you shift your weight from foot to foot. you think about your clothes spinning in circles back at the laundromat.
when it's your turn, you give sarahs name and date of birth. the pharmacist is slow. she types with one finger. you try not to tap your foot.
finally, you get the small white bag with sarahs name printed on it. you tuck it into your purse and head back out.
on the way back to the laundromat, you stop at the corner store for a bottle of water. the clerk knows you and waves. you wave back.
you're gone for twenty three minutes total.
when you push back through the door of spin cycle, the bell jingles again. the humidity hits your face.
your washer is still running. you can hear it churning, that wet slapping sound of clothes being beaten clean.
you sit down on the orange chair to wait. you pull out your phone. you scroll through instagram for four minutes. you watch a video of a cat falling off a counter.
then you get up to check the time left on your machine.
and you realize.
your jacket is gone.
you stand there staring at the orange chair where you were just sitting, and your jacket is not there.
you left it there. you know you left it there. you always take it off when you sit, even for a second, because the heat is too much, and you draped it over the back of the chair, and now it's gone.
your heart starts beating in your throat.
you look around the laundromat like the jacket might have just fallen on the floor. like it slipped down behind the chair. like you're imagining things.
but it's not on the floor. it's not behind the chair. it's not on any of the other chairs or folded on the counter or hanging on the coat hook by the door.
someone took it.
or someone moved it.
you walk in a circle around the laundromat, checking every surface, every chair, every windowsill.
you stand in the middle of spin cycle laundromat and your washer beeps, signaling that the cycle is done, and you can't move.
your clothes are done.
your jacket is gone.
bear is gone.
you walk back to the orange chair and you sit down heavily. the plastic creaks under you. your hands are shaking so badly you have to press them between your knees to make them stop.
you try to think logically.
maybe someone moved it. maybe an employee put it somewhere. maybe it got mixed in with someone elses stuff by accident.
you get up and walk to the front counter. there's a girl there with blue hair and a nose ring, reading a paperback with a dragon on the cover. she looks up when you approach.
"hi," you say, and your voice sounds wrong. thin and shaky.
"did anyone turn in a jacket? navy blue denim? oversized?"
she shakes her head. "not that i've seen. did you check the lost and found?"
you nod. you checked. it was just a sock and a hanger.
she gives you a sympathetic look. "sometimes people move stuff if it's in their way. check the other chairs?"
you already checked. you checked everywhere.
you walk back to the orange chair and sit down again. the washer has stopped beeping now. your clothes sit in the dark behind the glass, wet and heavy and waiting.
you should get them. you should transfer them to the dryer. you should finish your laundry like a normal person.
you can't get up.
your phone buzzes. it's sarah, texting to ask if you got her prescription. you stare at the screen and your thumbs hover over the keyboard but you can't think of what to type. you can't think of anything except the empty space where your jacket should be.
you start to cry.
you didn't mean to.
you blink hard and press your palms against your eyes but the tears come anyway, hot and fast and embarrassing. you're twenty years old crying in a laundromat over a lost jacket. over a stuffed animal. over bear.
a woman folding towels nearby glances at you. you turn away and hide your face in your hands.
you stay like that for a long time.
eventually you force yourself to stand up. you wipe your face with your sleeve.
you go to the washer and pull out your wet clothes and carry them to a dryer. you put in quarters you can barely see through your tears. you start the machine.
you sit back down on the orange chair.
you don't know what to do.
you think about calling the police, but what would you say? someone stole my jacket and inside the pocket was a winnie the pooh stuffed animal and i need it to sleep?
they'd laugh. or worse, they wouldn't laugh. they'd look at you with that concerned expression that says they're wondering if you're safe to be around.
you think about going home without him.
the thought makes your chest tighten until you can't breathe.
you put your head between your knees and count backwards from one hundred. you learned that in therapy sophomore year when the panic attacks got bad. it doesn't help much now.
the dryer hums.
you sit there and you wait for your clothes to be done and you try not to think about where bear is right now.
if he's on the floor somewhere. if someone threw him away. if someone found him and is holding him and wondering why a grown woman carries a baby toy in her jacket pocket.
the shame burns hot in your throat.
but underneath it is something worse. something empty and cold. the knowledge that tonight you'll go home to your small apartment and you'll lie in your bed and you won't sleep.
you know this because you've tried to sleep without him before.
you remember junior year. the night at your grandmothers house.
you'd been so careful all evening, checking your pocket every ten minutes, feeling the reassuring lump of him against your hip. but when you got home and reached in to pull him out for bed, your hand met only empty fabric.
you'd left him on your grandmothers couch. three hours away. three days before you could go back.
that first night without him, you lay in bed with your eyes wide open and stared at the ceiling until the sun came up.
you counted sheep. you counted your breaths. you listened to every creak of the house settling, every car passing on the street outside, every beat of your own heart that seemed too loud and too fast.
you didn't sleep for one minute.
the second night was worse. your body ached with exhaustion but your mind wouldn't stop spinning. you got up and walked circles around your room at three am.
you sat on the floor and pressed your face against your knees and rocked back and forth like a child.
by the third night you were hallucinating. shadows moved in the corners of your vision. sounds came from inside your walls.
you'd tried to remember the smell exactly, sitting there in the dark at your grandmother's house, but you couldn't conjure it.
you could remember that it was warm, that it was sweet like vanilla and something else, but the specific scent eluded you. it worried you more than the sleeplessness, that your brain couldn't hold onto something so essential.
you called your grandmother at four in the morning crying so hard you couldn't make words.
you got him back on the fourth day. you slept for fourteen hours straight and woke up with his face pressed against your cheek and your pillow soaked with tears.
you can't do that again.
but you don't know how to fix this.
the dryer stops.
you sit there for five more minutes before you get up and pull out your warm clothes. you fold them mechanically. shirts first, then pants, then socks matched into pairs. you put them in your hamper.
you carry the hamper home through the darkening streets.
the autumn air bites at your cheeks. you didn't realize how late it'd gotten. the streetlights are on now, orange and humming.
you walk up the three flights of stairs to your apartment. sarah is home. she's making pasta in the kitchen and she looks up when you come in.
sarah sees the expression on your face, hers immediately becoming concerned. "are you.. okay?" she asks cautiously.
you nod and pull the white bag from your purse and hand it to her. "fine," you say. "i'm just tired."
she takes the bag but she doesn't look away from you. "you don't look fine," she says. "you look like you've been crying."
you turn away and hang your keys on the hook by the door. "i'm fine," you say again, but your voice cracks on the second word.
"hey," she says, softer now. she puts down the wooden spoon she was holding and comes over to you. "what happened? did something happen at the laundromat?"
you shake your head. you can't talk about it. if you try to explain you'll start crying again and you don't think you'll ever stop.
"i just need to lay down," you say.
sarah reaches out and touches your arm. "are you sure? you can talk to me, you know. whatever it is."
you nod and pull away gently. "i'm sure," you say. "just tired."
you go to your room and close the door.
you sit on your bed and you look at the empty jacket hook by the door.
you lie down on top of your covers still wearing your shoes.
you stare at the ceiling.
you wait.
the first night is exactly as bad as you remember.
you lie there with your eyes open and your hands clenched into fists at your sides. you try to slow your breathing. you try to relax your jaw. you try to think about nothing.
but your brain won't turn off. it keeps circling back to the same thought. bear is gone. bear is gone. bear is gone.
you get up at midnight and search your room again. under the bed. in the closet. in your laundry hamper even though you know you already checked. you go to the living room and look behind the couch cushions. you check the bathroom, the kitchen, the hallway outside your door.
you know he's not there. you knew before you looked. but you can't stop yourself from checking.
by two am you're back in bed and your heart is racing like you've been running. you press your hand against your chest and feel it thumping against your ribs.
you don't sleep.
the sun comes up and you haven't closed your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. your body feels wired and heavy at the same time. your eyes burn. your head aches in a low constant throb behind your temples.
sarah knocks on your door at eight. "i'm heading to class," she calls through the wood. "are you up?"
you don't answer. you can't make your voice work.
you hear her hesitate. "y/n?" she calls again. "you in there?"
"i'm sick," you manage. your voice sounds like gravel. "calling in sick."
there's a pause. "do you need anything?"
you close your eyes and shake your head even though she can't see you. "no," you say. "just sleep."
you hear her walk away.
you spend the day in a fog. you lie on the couch and stare at the wall. sarah comes back at four and finds you there in the same position she left you.
she sets her bag down and comes over to you. "you still haven't slept?" she asks.
you don't answer.
she sits down on the edge of the couch and puts her hand on your forehead like she's checking for a fever. "you're burning up," she says. "but you don't feel sick. what's going on?"
"just can't sleep," you whisper.
"since when?"
you close your eyes. "since i lost something."
she waits for you to say more. when you don't, she asks, "what did you lose?"
you shake your head. you can't say it out loud.
sarah sighs and stands up. "i'm making soup," she says. "you're eating something."
you don't eat. you drink half the broth she brings you and your stomach cramps around it.
you go back to your room when the sun starts to set. you lie down and you wait for the second night.
the second night is worse.
now your body knows what's coming. it starts to panic before you even get into bed. your hands shake as you brush your teeth. your stomach twists as you pull back the covers.
you lie down and your whole body is tense, waiting for the sleeplessness to start.
it doesn't disappoint.
you spend hours staring at the ceiling. you try counting backwards from one thousand. you try naming every state in alphabetical order. you try to remember the lyrics to every song you learned in elementary school.
nothing works.
your thoughts race in circles. where is he right now? is he cold? is he scared? does he think you abandoned him? the thoughts are ridiculous and you know they're ridiculous but you can't stop them.
at four am you get up and throw up in the bathroom. there's nothing in your stomach but bile. you rinse your mouth and look at yourself in the mirror. your eyes are red and swollen. your skin is gray. you look like you've been sick for weeks.
sarah finds you there. she's in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. "you're up?" she asks, then she sees your face. "oh my god. y/n. what's happening to you?"
"nothing," you say. "go back to bed."
"you've been throwing up," she says. "and you look terrible. i'm taking you to the hospital."
"no," you say, too fast. "i'm fine. i just can't sleep."
"for two nights?" she asks. "that's not normal. something is wrong."
you lean against the sink and close your eyes. "i just need to find him," you whisper.
"find who?" sarah asks.
you shake your head. you can't say it.
sarah puts her hand on your arm. "you're scaring me," she says quietly. "please tell me what's wrong."
you open your eyes and look at her. she looks scared. you hate that you're doing this to her. but you can't explain. it's too embarrassing
"i'm sorry," you say. "i just need to find something i lost. then i'll be fine. i promise."
she stares at you for a long moment. "what did you lose?" she asks again.
you push past her and go back to your room. you close the door and lean against it and slide down to the floor.
"i'm sorry," you call through the wood. "just please let me handle this."
you hear her hesitate. then you hear her walk away.
you get back in bed.
you lie there and watch the sky outside your window turn from black to gray to pink.
you don't sleep.
by the third day you're unraveling.
you try to go to work because you need the money and you can't afford to lose another day. you stand at the coffee shop counter and you can't remember what buttons to press. you stare at the register for thirty seconds while a customer waits and you can't make your brain work.
your manager sends you home.
"are you on something?" she asks quietly in the back room. "if you need help, we can get you help."
"i'm just tired," you say. "i haven't slept."
she looks at you and her expression softens into pity. "go home," she says. "get some rest. come back when you're better."
you walk back to the laundromat. you check the lost and found box. you ask the blue haired girl if anyone has turned anything in. she recognizes you now and her sympathy has started to turn into something else, something wary.
"no," she says. "nothing."
you put up a sign on the bulletin board.
lost. navy blue denim jacket. no questions asked. reward.
you put your phone number at the bottom.
you wait.
no one calls.
the third night is the worst yet.
now you're afraid to even try to sleep. the bed feels like a battlefield. you lie down and your whole body is rigid with dread. you know what's coming. the long hours of darkness. the racing thoughts. the way your mind turns against you.
you start to cry at eleven pm and you don't stop.
you cry until your throat is raw and your eyes feel like they've been scrubbed with sandpaper. you cry until your chest hurts and you can't catch your breath.
sarah finds you at two in the morning sitting on the kitchen floor with your knees pulled to your chest and your face wet and your whole body shaking.
she sits down on the floor with you. she puts her arm around your shoulders. she doesn't ask what's wrong. she just stays there.
"i'm sorry," you whisper. "i'm so sorry."
"shh," she says. "it's okay. whatever it is, it's okay."
you lean your head against her shoulder and you cry quieter, then, exhausted and empty.
she helps you to bed. she tucks the covers around you like you're a child. she sits on the edge of the mattress and strokes your hair until your breathing slows.
"do you want to tell me now?" she asks softly.
you shake your head against the pillow. "i can't," you whisper.
she sighs. "okay," she says. "but i'm here when you're ready."
she stays until you pretend to fall asleep. then she slips out and closes the door.
you lie there with your eyes open in the dark.
you don't sleep.
the fourth day you don't get out of bed at all.
sarah brings you water. she brings you toast. she sits on the edge of your bed and tries to get you to eat.
"just a bite," she says. "please."
you eat half a slice and your stomach cramps around it.
you stare at the wall and you think about bear. you think about his soft fur. you think about his smell. you think about the way he fit in your hand just right, the perfect size to hold against your heart.
you wonder if you'll ever sleep again.
the fifth night comes.
you've been awake for so long that time has stopped making sense. hours blur together. you can't remember if you ate today. you can't remember what day it is.
you lie in bed and you stare at the ceiling and you wait for morning.
your body is screaming for rest. your eyes burn constantly. your head feels like it's full of static, white noise that never stops.
but your mind won't let you go.
it keeps you awake like a punishment. like a curse.
you start to think that maybe this is just your life now. that you lost the one thing that let you rest and now you'll never rest again. you'll spend the rest of your existence exhausted and hollow and reaching for something that isn't there.
you get up and walk to the window.
you look out at the street below, empty and dark, and you wonder if he's out there somewhere. if he's cold. if he's alone.
you press your forehead against the glass and you close your eyes.
you don't sleep.
you don't sleep on the sixth night either.
or the seventh.
by the eighth day you're a ghost. you move through your apartment like you're haunting it. you don't eat. you don't speak. sarah has stopped asking if you're okay because she knows you're not.
she just brings you water and sits with you and waits.
she doesn't ask again what you lost. she just stays with you, her presence steady and warm, until the afternoon light fades and your room grows dark.
on the ninth day, sarah knocks on your door earlier than usual.
"i'm having some people over tonight," she says through the wood. "just a few friends. dinner. nothing crazy."
you don't answer. you're staring at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the plaster. there are eleven. you've counted them a hundred times.
"it would mean a lot to me if you came out," she continues. "just for an hour. please."
you close your eyes. the thought of being around people makes your skin crawl. you're so tired. you're so empty. you don't have the energy to pretend to be normal.
but sarah has been so patient. she has brought you water and toast and sat with you in silence. she hasn't pushed you to explain. she has just been there.
you owe her this.
"okay," you say. your voice sounds like rust.
you hear her exhale. "really?" she asks. "you'll come out?"
"yeah," you say. "i'll try."
you hear her smile. you can hear it in her voice. "thank you," she says. "just an hour. that's all."
she walks away and you lie there and wonder if you can do this.
you get up at six. you haven't slept in nine days and your body feels like it's made of glass, fragile and ready to shatter.
you go to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror.
you look terrible. your eyes are sunken and red rimmed. your skin is pale and splotchy. your hair is a tangled mess.
you try to make yourself look presentable.
you splash cold water on your face until your cheeks have some color. you brush your hair and pull it back into a low ponytail. you put on makeup for the first time in over a week, covering the dark circles under your eyes with concealer that's slightly too light.
you change out of the sweatpants you've been wearing for three days and put on jeans and a sweater.
you look in the mirror again.
you still look tired. you still look hollow. but you look like a person again. not a ghost.
you take a deep breath and open your bedroom door.
the apartment smells like garlic and rosemary. sarah is cooking pasta. music plays softly from her phone, something upbeat and indie.
she turns when she hears you and her face breaks into a smile.
"you look great," she says. she means it.
"thanks," you say.
she crosses the room and hugs you. she squeezes tight and you feel tears prick your eyes but you blink them back. you've cried enough.
"seriously," she whispers. "thank you for trying."
you nod against her shoulder.
the doorbell rings at seven.
sarah pulls away and wipes her hands on her apron. "that's probably maya and leo," she says. "can you get the door?"
you walk to the door on legs that feel unsteady. you open it.
maya and leo stand there holding wine and bread. they smile when they see you.
"hey," maya says. "long time no see. sarah said you've been sick."
"yeah," you say. "stomach thing. getting better now."
they come in and you take their coats and hang them on the hook by the door.
the hook is empty where your jacket should be.
you look away.
more people arrive. sarahs friends from class. a girl named priya who brings brownies. a guy named tom who talks loudly about his internship.
you stand in the kitchen and hold a glass of wine you don't drink. you smile when people look at you. you nod when they talk. you're performing being a person and you're not sure how convincing you are.
the doorbell rings again.
"i'll get it," sarah calls from the stove.
you stay in the kitchen and listen to the door open.
"hey," you hear sarah say. "i'm so glad you could make it."
"wouldn't miss it," a voice answers. male. soft. slightly rough. deep.
you don't think anything of it until they walk into the kitchen.
sarah enters first. then a boy.
he is tall. blonde hair. he's wearing a gray hoodie under a jacket that makes you stop breathing.
your jacket.
navy blue denim. oversized. frayed hem.
your jacket.
on his body.
you stare at him and the glass in your hand starts to shake.
"y/n," sarah says, "this is riki. he's in my art history class. riki, this is my roommate y/n."
riki looks at you and smiles. his eyes are warm and dark brown and he has full lips.
"hey," he says. "nice to meet you."
you force yourself to smile. "nice to meet you too."
you don't say anything about the jacket. your throat closed up. your heart starts hammering against your ribs.
when riki shrugged off the jacket to hang it by the door, you noticed he folded it carefully, smoothing the collar with his palm before stepping away. not the careless toss most people gave their coats, but something deliberate, almost tender.
you watch him from the corner of your eye all night. you watch him talk to maya about some movie. you watch him help sarah carry plates to the table. you watch the way the jacket moves on his shoulders, the way the front pocket bulges slightly with nothing in it now.
bear is not there.
you feel sick.
but you don't confront him. you can't. not in front of everyone. not when you're barely holding yourself together.
you make it through dinner. you laugh at the right times. you push food around your plate and pretend to eat.
when riki leaves, he shrugs into the jacket and zips it up and you watch him walk out the door and you feel like you're losing bear all over again.
but now you know who has him.
or at least who has your jacket.
you go to bed that night and you don't sleep. but now there's something else mixed with the exhaustion. hope.
the next week, sarah has people over again.
"rikis coming," she mentions casually while chopping vegetables. "he asked about you. said you seemed nice."
you freeze. "oh?"
"yeah. he's really into thrifting. you should see his apartment. it's like a vintage store exploded."
you nod and try to act normal.
when the doorbell rings, your stomach flips.
riki walks in wearing your jacket again. this time with a different hoodie underneath. he smiles when he sees you.
he looked at you differently this time, his eyes lingering on your face like he was looking for something.
"sarah said you've been sick," he said, and there was a note of suspicion in it, or confusion. "yeah," you said. "stomach thing." he nodded, but his brow stayed furrowed, like he knew you were lying but couldn't figure out about what.
he hangs the jacket on the coat rack by the door and you have to stop yourself from staring at it.
all night, your eyes drift to that jacket. you wonder if bear is still in the pocket. you wonder if he took bear out. you wonder where bear is now.
you don't sleep that night either. but you spend less time crying and more time thinking.
riki comes over again three days later. sarah invites him for movie night. he brings popcorn and wears your jacket again.
this time you sit next to him on the couch. you can smell the jacket from here. you can smell the musk, amber, and something warm.
it smells like bear.
it smells like home.
your eyes start to close during the movie. just for a second. the scent is so familiar. so comforting.
you jerk awake and riki is looking at you.
"you okay?" he whispers.
"yeah," you say. "just tired."
he nods and looks back at the screen. but after a minute, he shifts slightly and the jacket sleeve brushes against your arm.
you don't pull away.
the fourth time he comes over, you're ready.
sarah is in the kitchen making tea. the others haven't arrived yet. it's just you and riki in the living room.
he's wearing your jacket again. he wears it every time. it must be his favorite now.
you sit down next to him on the couch and your hands are sweating and your heart is racing but you have to ask.
"can i ask you something?" you say.
he looks at you. "yeah. of course."
"that jacket," you say. "where did you get it?"
riki looks down at himself. then back at you. "thrift store," he says. "downtown. why?"
you take a breath. "i think it might be mine," you say. "i lost a jacket just like that at the laundromat on fourth."
rikis eyes widen. "oh," he says. "oh wow. i'm sorry. i didn't know."
"it's okay," you say. "you didn't know. but... there was something in the pocket. when i lost it. something important."
riki stares at you. "something important?" he repeats.
"a stuffed animal," you say. your voice cracks. "a bear. he was in the front pocket. did you... did you find anything like that? when you bought the jacket?"
riki is quiet for a long moment, his brow furrows.
"there was something," he says slowly. "when i got home and checked the pockets. a bear. yeah. i remember."
your whole body goes weak. "you have him?"
riki looks at you. "i have him at my apartment," he says. "i didn't know what to do with him. i kept meaning to bring him back to the thrift store but i kept forgetting. i'm sorry. i should have turned him in."
you're crying. you can't help it. tears are streaming down your face and you don't care.
"can i have him?" you whisper. "please? he... he's really important to me."
riki stares at you. he looks confused but not judgmental. just curious. concerned.
"of course," he says. "i'm so sorry. i didn't realize. i can go get him right now. my apartment is only ten minutes away."
you shake your head. "no," you say. "you don't have to. just... next time you come over. please. bring him."
"i will," riki says. "i promise. tomorrow. i'll bring him tomorrow."
you nod and wipe your face. "thank you," you say. "thank you so much."
sarah comes out of the kitchen with two mugs. she sees your face and stops.
"...everything okay?" she asks.
"yeah," riki says before you can answer. "we were just talking about the jacket. turns out i accidentally bought y/ns lost jacket."
sarah looks between you two. "seriously?"
"yeah," you say. "small world."
sarah sits down and the conversation moves on. but riki keeps looking at you. not with pity. with something else. something gentle.
the next day, he texts sarah that he's running late but he'll be there soon.
you sit on the couch and wait. you haven't slept in twelve days now. you're beyond exhausted. you're running on fumes and hope.
the doorbell rings.
you answer it.
riki stands there holding a small plastic bag. inside is bear.
you make a sound. a sob. you reach out and take the bag with both hands.
"i'm sorry i kept him so long," riki says. "i really didn't know."
you open the bag and pull bear out and press him against your face.
but something was wrong. underneath the familiar notes of amber and musk, there was something else, something chemical and sharp. the thrift store, maybe, or someone else's detergent.
you pressed harder, trying to find the original smell, the one that had lived in his fur for years, but it was muffled, distant, like trying to hear a song through a wall.
but underneath bears familiar scent, there is something else. something that smells like musk and amber and warmth.
you look up at riki.
"you smell like him," you say.
riki blinks. "what?"
"like bear," you say. "like home."
riki stares at you. then he smiles slightly. "thats a weird thing to say," he says.
"i know," you say. "im sorry. i just... i havent slept in twelve days. and you smell like sleep. you smell like the only thing that lets me sleep."
riki steps closer. he looks at your face. at your red eyes and your pale skin.
"twelve days?" he asks quietly.
"not since i lost him," you say.
he is quiet for a moment. then he says, ""why do i smell like him?" he asks. "like the bear?"
you look at him. really look at him. at his warm eyes and his messy hair.
"i dont know, maybe its the jacket?" you say. "but you do. you smell exactly like him. like amber and musk."
riki smiles. "amber and musk," he repeats. "thats funny."
"why?"
"because thats what my soap smells like," he says. "my grandmother makes it. she sends me bars every month."
you stare at him.
"amber and musk," you whisper.
"yeah," he says. "weird coincidence, right?"
you look down at bear. at his faded white shirt.
riki is quiet. then he says, "so i smell like your childhood."
you look up at him. "yeah," you say. "you do."
he smiles again. this time it reaches his eyes. "thats not a bad thing to smell like," he says.
that night you sleep for fourteen hours straight.
you woke up once at 3 am, reaching for bear automatically. you pressed your face to his stomach and inhaled, but the sleep did not come back as fast as it used to.
the scent was there, but faint, like the last bit of perfume on a shirt. you had to bury your whole face in his fur to find it, and even then, it slipped away faster than it used to.
you wake up with bear pressed against your face and your pillow soaked with tears that you do not remember crying.
the sun is streaming through your window at an angle that suggests it is late afternoon. you check your phone. 3:47 pm.
you've slept through your alarm. through sarah leaving for class. through the morning and into the afternoon.
you don't care.
you bury your face in bears fur and inhale. amber and musk. home.
but underneath that familiar scent, you catch something else. something that makes your chest tighten with a different kind of comfort.
riki.
he smells like this too.
you lie there for another hour, just breathing. just existing in the softness of finally being able to rest.
when you finally get up, you feel like a person again. your eyes are still heavy but they do not burn anymore. your head feels clear for the first time in weeks.
sarah is in the living room when you emerge. she looks up from her laptop and her face breaks into a smile.
"you slept," she says. it is not a question.
"yeah," you say. your voice is rough but steady. "i slept."
she stands up and hugs you. she smells like lavender shampoo and coffee.
"im so glad," she whispers.
you hug her back and you realize you have not told her yet. you haven't explained about riki and the jacket and the soap that smells like your childhood.
"theres something i should tell you," you say.
she pulls back and looks at you. "about the bear?"
"yeah," you say. "and other things."
you sit down on the couch and she sits next to you and you tell her everything. about bear. about the laundromat. about the insomnia. about riki buying your jacket. about the amber and musk.
when you finish, sarah is quiet for a long moment.
"thats why you couldnt sleep," she says finally. "thats what you lost."
"yeah," you say.
"and riki... riki smells like the bear."
"his soap," you say. "his grandmother makes it."
sarah stares at you. then she laughs. not a mean laugh. a disbelieving laugh.
"thats insane," she says. "thats actually insane."
"i know," you say.
she shakes her head. "im glad you told me," she says. "i was so worried. i thought you were having a breakdown."
"i kind of was," you admit.
she reaches out and takes your hand. "next time," she says, "just tell me. even if it sounds crazy. especially if it sounds crazy."
"okay," you say.
she squeezes your hand. "and riki... hes a good guy. he was really worried about you too. after he saw you that night. he texted me asking if you were okay."
your stomach does something soft and warm. "he did?"
"yeah," she says. "he seemed really concerned. more than just polite concerned. like actually worried."
you look down at bear, who you are still holding.
there's a pause before sarah speaks again.
"..does he still smell like it? riki? does he still smell like... home?"
you think about yesterday. about standing in the doorway with riki in front of you. about how even with bear in your hands, you had wanted to lean closer to him. to breathe him in.
"yeah," you say quietly. "he does."
sarah smiles. "interesting," she says.
three days later, riki texts you.
you're surprised when your phone buzzes with an unknown number and a message
hey its riki. got your number from sarah. hope thats okay.
you stare at the screen for a full minute before you answer.
yeah of course. hi.
he texts back immediately.
hey. i was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee sometime. or if thats weird. since i technically stole your jacket and your bear.
you smile.
It wasn't weird until you said that.
his reply comes with a laughing emoji.
fair. but seriously. coffee?
sure, you type. when?
how about saturday?
saturday works.
you put your phone down and you feel something flutter in your chest. it is not anxiety. it is something lighter.
saturday comes and you meet him at a coffee shop downtown. not the one by the laundromat. a different one. quieter. with velvet chairs and exposed brick walls.
he is already there when you arrive. he stands up when he sees you and waves. he's wearing a different jacket today. a brown corduroy one. but you can still smell it when you get close. amber and musk. drifting from his skin.
you order a latte. he gets an americano. you sit at a small table by the window.
you learned he was gentle in small ways. when the barista called out your name wrong
riki didn't laugh or correct her loudly. he simply took your cup when it came out and said, "here you go, y/n" handing it to you with your actual name, soft and private, like it belonged only between you.
he stirred his coffee exactly three times, always clockwise.
"my mom used to say it made the sugar happier," he explained when he caught you watching, cheeks pinking. "stupid, I know." you thought it wasn't stupid at all.
"so," he says. "how are you sleeping?"
it's such a direct question. such an intimate question from someone who is practically a stranger.
"better," you say. "since you brought bear back."
"good," he says. "im glad."
he tells you about his classes. about his grandmother who makes the soap. about how he grew up in a small town upstate and moved to the city for school.
you tell him about your job at the coffee shop. about sarah being your roommate for two years. about how you’re studying graphic design online.
the conversation flows easier than you expected. he asks questions and actually listens to the answers. he remembers details. he laughs at your jokes.
then he set his cup down and looked at you seriously. "can i be honest?" he asked.
you nodded, stomach tight. "when i found that bear in the jacket pocket, i thought about throwing it away," he said. "i thought it was trash, or like, a weird mistake. and then when you asked about it, i thought maybe you were... i don’t know.. unstable." he said the word carefully.
"im telling you this because i want you to know that im trying to understand. but i don’t totally get it yet. is that okay?" you felt tears prick your eyes, but they were relief tears, or something close.
"that is okay," you said. "i don’t totally get it either."
when you finish your coffee, he walks you home. it is only six blocks but it takes twenty minutes because you keep stopping to look at things. a street performer playing violin. a cat in a window. a mural that is half finished.
he points things out to you. things you would not have noticed. the way the light hits a particular building at this time of day. the sound of a bird that should not be in the city.
"youre observant," you say.
"i like paying attention," he says.
at your door, he stops. "this was nice," he says. "we should do it again."
"yeah," you say. "id like that."
he smiles. "ill text you."
he does. the next day. and the day after that.
he starts coming over to your apartment more often. not just when sarah invites him. he texts you first. asks if you’re home. asks if you want to hang out.
the first time he shows up unannounced, you’re in your pajamas at two in the afternoon on a sunday. you open the door and he is standing there with a bag of bagels.
"sarah said you like everything bagels," he says. "and shes not here but i thought... maybe you'd want to share them."
you stare at him. "im in my pajamas," you say.
"i dont care," he says. "im wearing sweatpants."
he is. gray ones. with paint stains on the knee.
you let him in.
you eat bagels on the couch and watch a documentary about octopuses. he sits close enough that you can smell him. amber and musk. it mixes with the smell of your apartment. your candles. your shampoo. it starts to feel like he belongs here.
after that, he comes over all the time.
sometimes he brings food. sometimes he brings movies. sometimes he just brings himself and his presence.
you start to notice things about him. the way he runs his hand through his hair when he is thinking. the way he hums under his breath when he is focused on something. the way he always asks if you’re sleeping okay.
"and how is bear?" he asked casually, stirring his coffee. you looked at him, surprised.
"you never talk about him anymore," he said. "you used to carry him everywhere, secretly. now i never see him." you realized he was right. bear sat on your pillow now, untouched most days.
"his smell is fading," you admitted. "i think... i think he's getting too old." riki nodded, not judgmental, just observing.
"that must be scary," he said. "losing your safety net."
you nodded, throat tight. "but you’ve been sleeping anyway," he said. "without him, sometimes. i notice." you hadn’t realized he had noticed, or that you had been doing it. "yeah," you said. "i guess i have."
bear is back in his place on your pillow. but sometimes, when riki is over late and the three of you’re watching movies, you find yourself getting sleepy on the couch. your head drifting toward him. your body relaxing in a way that usually only happens with bear in your arms.
one night, sarah falls asleep first. she is in the armchair, snoring softly, her phone still in her hand.
riki looks at you. "shes out," he whispers.
"yeah," you whisper back.
you’re sitting close on the couch. closer than you were at the beginning of the movie. your thighs almost touching.
"does it bother you?" he asks. "that i smell like... like your thing? like your comfort thing?"
you look at him. his face is serious. his eyes are soft.
"no," you say honestly. "it doesn't bother me."
"does it help?" he asks. "when im around. does it actually help you feel better?"
you think about it. about the way your shoulders drop when he walks in the room. about the way your breathing slows when he sits next to you.
"yeah," you say. "it does."
he smiles. it is a small smile. private. just for you.
"good," he says. "im glad."
he reaches out and takes your hand. his fingers are warm. his palm is slightly rough.
you let him hold your hand until the movie ends.
after that, things shift.
he touches you more. casual touches. his hand on your shoulder when he walks past. his fingers brushing yours when he hands you something. his thigh pressed against yours when you sit together.
but one night, when you had leaned into him particularly hard, burying your face in his neck without thinking, he pulled back.
"hey," he said gently. "can you tell me when you’re doing that because you want to be close to me, versus when you just need the smell? i want to be here for you, but i also want to know if i am just... a pillow to you. or if im a person."
you froze, mortified. "you’re a person," you said quickly. "im sorry. i didn’t realize i was doing that." he softened, but his eyes were serious. "just check in with me," he said. "that is all i ask."
you start to need him there. not just for the scent. for him.
you text him when you’re having a bad day. he comes over. he doesn’t ask questions. he just sits with you. lets you lean against him.
one night, three months after he returned bear to you, you have a nightmare.
you wake up gasping. your heart is racing. the dream is already fading but the fear remains. you reach for bear and clutch him tight but the comfort is not coming. your body is still in panic mode. your mind is still spinning.
you lie there for an hour. two hours. staring at the ceiling.
you held him to your face until your nose hurt from pressing. you inhaled until you were dizzy. but the smell was gone, or nearly gone, replaced by something stale and empty. just cotton.
just old fabric. the magic had evaporated somewhere between the laundromat and riki's apartment, or maybe it had been dying for months and you had been too dependent to notice.
bear is not working.
you hold him to your face and inhale. amber and musk. but it is not reaching the place inside you that needs soothing. it is like the scent has lost its power. or your ability to receive it has broken.
you get up and walk to the kitchen. you get a glass of water. you stand in the dark and try to slow your breathing.
it does not work.
you go back to bed. you try again. you hold bear and you close your eyes and you will yourself to sleep.
nothing.
the sun comes up and you have not slept. your eyes burn. your head aches.
sarah finds you in the kitchen making coffee that you do not plan to drink. just something to do with your hands.
"you look tired," she says.
"didnt sleep," you say.
"bear not working?"
you shake your head. "not tonight."
she frowns. "thats weird."
"yeah," you say.
you go to work. you come home. you try again the second night.
the same thing happens.
you lie in bed with bear pressed against your heart and you cannot find the switch that lets you turn off. your mind will not stop. your body will not relax.
you get up at three am and sit on the floor. you press your forehead against your knees.
you do not understand. bear is here. bear is back. why is he not working?
the third night, you do not even try to sleep. you sit on the couch with all the lights on and you watch tv with the volume low. infomercials. cooking shows. anything to fill the silence.
riki texts you at midnight.
you up?
yeah, you reply.
can i come over?
you stare at the message. you don't want him to see you like this. exhausted. unraveling. but you need him. you need to know if it is just bear that is broken, or if you are broken.
please
you text back.
he is there in fifteen minutes. he is wearing a hoodie and his hair is messy like he rolled out of bed.
"couldnt sleep?" he asks when you open the door.
"no," you say. "three nights now."
he steps inside and closes the door behind him. he looks at you. really looks at you. at your red eyes and your shaking hands.
"bear not helping?" he asks quietly.
"no," you say. your voice breaks. "i dont know whats wrong with me."
"hey," he says. he steps closer. he puts his hands on your shoulders. "nothing is wrong with you."
"then why cant i sleep?" you ask. "i have him back. i have everything back. why isnt it working?"
he pulls you into a hug. you bury your face in his neck and inhale.
amber and musk.
and something else. something that is just him. skin and warmth and something clean underneath.
you breathe him in and you feel your shoulders drop. just slightly. just enough.
"do you want to try something?" he asks against your hair.
"what?"
"come to my place," he says. "tonight. just to sleep. my bed is bigger than yours. and... and maybe it will help. being somewhere different. with me there."
you pull back and look at him. "you want me to sleep at your house?"
"just to try," he says. "if it doesnt work, we can figure something else out. but... i want to help. and this is the only thing i know to offer."
you think about it. about going to his apartment. about sleeping in his space. about waking up with his scent all around you instead of just on bear.
"okay," you say.
his place is ten minutes away. you pack a bag with your toothbrush and a change of clothes and bear. you follow him in an uber because you’re too tired to walk.
the uber ride was too bright, the streetlights strobing across your tired vision in harsh yellow flashes.
you sat pressed against the door, your bag clutched to your chest, bear stuffed somewhere in the top where you could feel his soft bulk against your ribs.
riki sat in the middle seat, he'd insisted, saying he didn't mind, so he was close enough that every time the car turned, his knee bumped yours, warm and solid through the denim.
"almost there," he said, and his voice was pitched low, aware that loud noises felt like physical blows to your sleepless brain.
you nodded, not trusting your voice.
three nights without sleep had turned you into something raw and humming, a live wire dressed in sweatpants. your hands wouldn't stop shaking. you'd taken to pressing them between your thighs to still them, but then they'd start again the moment you released the pressure.
riki noticed. of course he did. he reached over and covered your closest hand with his own, pressing down gently. his palm was warm, slightly calloused, he'd mentioned once that he worked at a pottery studio on weekends, and now you could feel the evidence, the roughness of clay and stone against your skin.
"count the streetlights with me," he said.
"what?"
"count them. out loud. one, two, three. just until we get there."
"riki, i'm not a child,"
"i know," he said, and there was no pity in it, only steadiness. "but your brain is loud right now, isn't it? give it something else to say."
so you did. your voice came out rasped, broken, but he nodded along with each number, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of your hand, and by the time you reached seventeen, you realized you'd stopped shaking.
his apartment building was narrow, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a closed bakery.
the stairs creaked, old wood, old building, but he went slowly, turning every few steps to make sure you were still following, still there.
at the top, he unlocked three separate locks, the ritual of someone who valued the boundary of inside versus outside.
"welcome to my chaos," he said, pushing the door open.
it wasn't chaos. it was curated warmth.
the living room was small, dominated by a couch that looked soft from across the room, draped with a blanket that had been knitted in uneven rows, homemade, you thought. books stacked on the floor, not haphazardly but in towers, organized by color.
plants in every window, their leaves touching the glass, reaching for moonlight.
but it was the smell that made your knees weak.
amber and musk, yes, but layered with coffee grounds and old paper and the green, growing scent of the plants.
it smelled like a forest floor in a library. it smelled like him, amplified, concentrated, wrapped around you like a physical thing.
"you okay?" he asked, taking your bag and setting it by the door.
"yeah," you breathed. "it smells like..."
"like what?"
you shook your head, unable to explain that it smelled like the concept of sanctuary.
he showed you the bathroom first, clean, white tiles, a towel hung ready for you that was fluffier than anything you owned. then the kitchen, small but organized, a kettle on the stove. then the bedroom.
you hesitated at the threshold.
it was simple.
a queen bed with gray sheets that looked like clouds, a nightstand with a lamp that had a warm, low-wattage bulb already glowing.
more books. a window with curtains that looked thick enough to block out the sun. on the dresser, a small dish with loose change and a single, smooth stone.
"the bed is new," he said suddenly, and you turned to look at him.
he was standing in the doorway, giving you space, his hands in his pockets.
"i bought it last month. the old one was a twin from my childhood. i kept it too long. this one..." he gestured vaguely. "i wanted something that felt like a real place to rest. for when i was ready to rest."
you understood, then, that he was offering you not just his space, but something he'd built for himself. something he was still learning to use.
"i should change," you said, your voice small.
he nodded and pulled a t-shirt from his dresser, soft, worn gray, the collar stretched from use. "for sleeping," he said, handing it over. "it'll smell like me. if that helps."
you took it and went to the bathroom. changed out of your clothes, which felt dirty with exhaustion and anxiety, and pulled his shirt over your head.
it fell to mid-thigh, huge on you, and when you inhaled, it was like burying your face in his neck. you emerged with your own clothes folded in your hands, feeling vulnerable, exposed, but also wrapped in something that felt like safety.
he was in the bedroom, having changed into sweatpants and a thin white t-shirt. he'd turned down the lamp so the room glowed amber, matching the scent. he'd also, you noticed, placed bear on the pillow on the left side of the bed, propped up like he was waiting for you.
"i wasn't sure which side you preferred," riki said, gesturing to the bed. "i sleep on the right, usually, but i can move,"
"left is good," you said. "i sleep on the left."
"okay." he pulled back the covers. "do you need... i mean, is there anything? water? the window open or closed? i have a white noise app on my phone if the street is too loud."
you stood there, suddenly overwhelmed by his care, by the specificity of it. tears pricked your eyes, hot and embarrassing.
"i don't know," you whispered. "i don't know what i need. i've never... i've never done this. slept next to someone. not since i was small."
he nodded like this made perfect sense. "then we'll figure it out together," he said. "come here."
you climbed into the bed. it was firm but giving, the sheets cool against your overheated skin.
you pulled bear into your arms, clutching him tight, but you knew already that he wasn't enough tonight. the magic was thin, worn away by time and washing machines.
riki climbed in on the other side, keeping space between you. respectful. he lay on his back, his hands folded on his stomach, staring at the ceiling.
"tell me about the pottery," you said suddenly. you needed to hear his voice. needed something to follow into the dark.
"what about it?"
"anything. just... talk."
he did. his voice was soft, rhythmic, telling you about the wheel, about the way clay felt when it centered properly, smooth, responsive, like it wanted to become something.
he told you about the first mug he made that didn't leak, the first bowl that was actually round. he told you about his grandmother's soap, how she made it in her kitchen with lye and oils, how she'd send him bars wrapped in wax paper with little notes about the weather back home.
as he talked, you turned on your side to face him.
the lamp was still on, casting his profile in gold. you watched his mouth move, the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, the way his hands gestured slightly even though they were resting on his stomach.
"you're staring," he said, not looking at you, but smiling.
"sorry."
"don't be. i like it." he turned his head. his eyes were dark, soft.
there was a pause, the two of you just staring at each other.
"can i hold your hand?" riki spoke cautiously
the question was so gentle, so permission-seeking, that your chest ached. you nodded.
he reached across the space between you, still respectable, still careful, and found your hand where it clutched bear.
he didn't try to move the stuffed animal. he simply laced his fingers through yours, his palm warm and dry against your clammy skin.
"is this okay?" he asked.
"yeah," you whispered.
"and this?" he shifted, moving closer, slowly, giving you time to pull away. he settled on his side too, facing you, so that your knees were almost touching, so that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
close enough that the amber and musk wrapped around you like a blanket.
"yeah," you said again.
he reached out with his other hand, the one not holding yours, and touched your hair. just the ends, where it lay on the pillow.
"your hair is pretty," he said, and it was such a simple observation, delivered without expectation, that you felt something inside you crack open, something that had been clenched tight for years.
"riki?"
"mm?"
"will you... will you tell me if i'm too much? if this is too weird? i don't want to be a burden."
his hand stopped playing with your hair. he looked serious, intent.
"you could never be too much," he said. "and you're not a burden. you're..." he paused, searching.
"you're the person i want to give my best self to. the careful self. i haven't... i haven't wanted to be that person for anyone in a long time. it feels good. it feels like remembering."
you felt tears spill over, tracking down your temple into the pillow.
"i'm scared," you admitted. "i'm scared i won't sleep and i'll waste your night and you'll regret letting me come here."
"hey," he said, and his voice was firmer now, but still soft. still safe. he released your hand and reached up to wipe your tears with his thumb, a slow, careful stroke. "look at me."
you did.
"you're safe here," he said.
"whether you sleep or not. whether you sleep for five minutes or five hours or not at all. you are safe. i'm here. i am not going anywhere. i will be here when the sun comes up, and i'll make you coffee, and we will figure it out. okay? there's no failing here. there is only you, resting, however you can."
you nodded, sniffling, feeling foolish and cared for in equal measure.
he settled back down, but he didn't retreat.
he stayed close, close enough that you could feel his breath on your forehead.
he took your hand again, and with his other hand, he began to stroke your hair, slow and rhythmic, from temple to the nape of your neck, over and over.
"close your eyes," he whispered.
you did. the darkness was immediate but not frightening. his hand in your hair was anchoring.
his breathing was steady, a metronome.
time became liquid. you didn't know if minutes passed or hours.
you drifted in a half-state, aware of his presence, of the softness of the bed, of bear clutched against your chest, but also of riki's hand, still stroking, still present.
at some point, you realized you were crying again, but silently, tears leaking from closed eyes.
"hey," riki whispered, stopping his hand. "what's wrong?"
"nothing," you whispered back.
"i'm just... i'm relieved. i'm so relieved. i didn't know i could feel like this. safe, with someone else."
he made a small sound, something wounded and tender, and then he moved.
he shifted closer, closing the last few inches of space, and carefully, so carefully, he wrapped his arm around your waist. he didn't pull you against him, he asked with his body, and you answered by curling into him, tucking your head under his chin, pressing your face to the hollow of his throat where the scent was strongest.
his arm tightened, just enough. you could hear his heartbeat, steady and slow.
you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. you held bear between you, a soft barrier, but also a bridge.
"sleep," riki whispered into your hair. "i've got you. just sleep."
and because he was there, because the smell of home surrounded you, because his hand had resumed its slow stroke down your back, you did.
it wasn't immediate.
your mind still skittered, still tried to panic, still reached for the familiar spiral of thoughts. but every time it did, riki was there.
he hummed sometimes, wordless melodies that vibrated in his chest against your cheek.
he adjusted his arm when your shoulder twitched. he breathed slow and deep, and eventually, your breathing matched his.
you fell asleep to the sound of his heart, to the smell of amber and musk, to the feeling of being held like something precious.
when you woke, it was to golden afternoon light and the sound of rain against the window.
you were still curled against him, but sometime in the night, you'd shifted so that your leg was thrown over his, possessive and intimate.
bear had fallen to the side, nestled between your pillows, no longer needed as a shield.
riki was awake. you could tell by the way his chest moved differently, by the way his hand, still on your back, was tracing patterns now, letters maybe, or just shapes.
"hey," he said, his voice morning-rough.
"hey," you mumbled, not moving. not wanting to break the spell.
"you slept," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"yeah," you said, and then, because you needed him to know, "i slept because you were here. not just the smell. you."
he was quiet for a moment. then he pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering. "i know," he said. "i felt it. when you let go. i felt you decide to trust me."
you looked up at him. his eyes were soft, crinkled at the corners, his hair a mess from sleep. he looked beautiful.
"thank you," you said.
"thank you," he replied, "for letting me be the one."
you stayed there, wrapped in his arms, listening to the rain, breathing him in, knowing that you'd found something better than a childhood toy.
you'd found a person who smelled like home, who felt like safety, who would hold you through the dark until the light came back.
and for the first time in years, you weren't afraid of the night. because you knew where you'd be when it came.
⋆˚✿˖°
an✧˖°. i really hope you guys enjoyed this! i know it got a bit serious, but i needed to show the importance of bear. reblogs are ALWAYS welcome!! please any feedback is greatly appreciated :) also, PLEASE send me asks if you have anything you want to see me write, I BEGGG. i need inspiration in order to write something, or i wont be motivated!!!
…any chance of a non-binary s/o with Felix? Just thinking about his recent talk of gender… and his hilarious reaction to being called manly. I figured it’d be a good match? Thank you. PS: I loved the ‘wearing their shirt’ piece. So cute!
hey! thank you for requesting, i actually hadn’t seen his talk about gender and fashion until you sent this ask & it was very interesting. i didn’t realize how deeply personal fashion was to felix. it was super insightful
when you talk about how you’re feeling, your body, your name, your problems, he doesn’t interrupt or joke or rush to fix it. he sits close, knees brushing yours, nodding, asking quiet follow-up questions. later, you realize he’s remembered everything. the way he corrects someone gently but firmly without looking at you for approval. the way he checks in afterward like, “was that okay? do you want me to handle it next time?”
bf! felix — who loves your wardrobe like it’s an extension of you
he’s always tugging at a sleeve, admiring a silhouette, asking where you got something. “that cut is so you,” he says, eyes bright. he doesn’t care if it’s a dress, a suit jacket, oversized knits, sharp boots. he just loves how confident you look when you feel like yourself. sometimes he buys you clothes “just because,” holding them up with a hopeful grin. sometimes you steal his.
bf! felix — who never genders his affection
pet names aren’t loaded. they’re soft and playful and chosen with care. sweetheart. sunshine. love. pretty. darling. sometimes something ridiculous that makes you laugh. he never calls you something that feels wrong, never jokes at your expense. affection is warm hands, lingering touches, forehead kisses like punctuation.
bf! felix — who spoils you in quiet, thoughtful ways
your favorite snack appears in the cabinet after a bad week. he warms your hoodie in the dryer before handing it to you. when you’re overwhelmed, he wordlessly takes things off your plate: emails answered, errands run, dinner handled. not because he thinks you can’t, but because he wants to. acts of service are hid love language.
bf! felix — who checks in on you constantly
“hey,” he’ll say, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “how are you feeling today?” not about anything in particular. just… you. some days you shrug. some days you talk. either way, he nods, squeezes your hand, stays.
bf! felix — who mirrors your joy
when you’re excited about something. an outfit, a new haircut, a name you’re trying out, he matches your energy immediately. hypes you up like it’s his job. takes pictures you actually like. tells you how good you look without making it about gender at all. just you, radiant.
bf! felix — who is soft in his masculinity
he cries at movies. he laughs easily. he doesn’t mind being gentle, being pretty, being kind. he holds doors not because he thinks he has to, but because he wants to. he’s a gentleman in the way that matters. attentive, respectful, warm. his strength is in how safe you feel with him.
bf! felix — who creates happy, ordinary moments
shared showers where he washes your hair without comment. late-night grocery runs where you debate snacks. sitting on the floor trying on outfits while he offers earnest feedback. mornings where he wakes up smiling, like the day has already been kind to him just because you’re there.
bf! felix — who reminds you that you are loved exactly as you are
not in speeches. not in grand declarations. in the way he looks at you when you’re half-dressed and rambling. in the way he reaches for you instinctively. in the way he smiles, bright, open, sincere, every time he catches your eye, like loving you is the easiest thing he’s ever done.
Happy Stay Week! I am hoping I got the dates right; if not, this'll be embarrassing, but oh well. Anyway, this is my second Stay Week, so let's celebrate together, and I'm kicking the celebration off with a fic.
Chan woke up to the sweet smell of chocolate. It was coming from the kitchen. It was his day off, and he intended to spend the day sleeping with you in his arms, cuddled up. Chan reached a hand out, his eyes still closed. His hand touched the emptiness that was your side of the bed. Why was it cold? Where were you? The man let out a deep, needy whine.
“Honey!” He called out as he peeked an eye open. He let out a horrified gasp at what he saw.
Your side of the bed is empty. You’re nowhere to be found. He knows you’re off today, too.
Chan sits up quickly. The KIDS! They must have you. It makes sense. Obviously, they stole you away. Oh, those demons. How unfair; just because he was asleep doesn’t mean they can kidnap you.
The man flung the covers off his body and got out of bed. He grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around himself. He slowly walked to the bedroom door and opened it. He stepped out into the living room and looked around. You weren’t there.
Chan pouted and made his way to the kitchen. The bottom of the blanket dragged on the floor behind him. He could still smell chocolate. As he entered the kitchen, he instantly relaxed. There you were. Putting something into the oven.
He watched you close it before turning to the baked goods on the counter: gooey chocolate cookies, Butterly Fairy cakes, strawberry tarts, marshmallow brownies.
Chan walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He lowered his head to nuzzle the crook of your neck. He was practically wrapping you up in the blanket with him. “Honey. Why aren’t you cuddling me?” He asked you curiously as he pressed a kiss to your neck.
You get out a giggle. “Chan-ah, I was craving something yummy and just started baking. I have a chocolate cake in the oven right now.”
He looked around the kitchen for a moment. No one else seemed to be here. “Are you live? Where’s Innie?” He asked you, his voice tiny and full of sleep.
You smiled up at him over your shoulder. “I finished my live like five minutes ago. And Innie is having a Maknae day in the Happy Dorm. MaknaeLine only. Changbin pouted about it, but he, Min and Jinnie decided to go out for food instead.”
Chan slowly nodded as he squeezed your waist slightly. “So, no one tried to kidnap you?”
“Nooo.” You laughed as you organised the treats into the containers on the counter. Each container was a different colour. One for each member. “Minho did ask if I wanted to join, but I told him I wanted to spend my day with you.”
You poked his nose before kissing his cheek gently. You then turned around and continued organising the treats.
Chan laid his chin on your shoulder as he watched you. “Can I have an extra strawberry tart?” He asked you curiously.
You nodded lightly as you put another strawberry tart in his container. “You can have anything you want, my love.”
The Australian grinned at that. “Does that mean I can have you back in my bed?”
You looked up at him over your shoulder. “I suppose so. But only once the cake is done. I know you, once I’m back in bed, you’re not gonna let me get up. And I’d rather not burn down our kitchen.”
Chan let out a whiny grunt. “It is a nice kitchen.” He pouted. He shook his head. “It’s okay, I’ll buy us a new kitchen!” He quickly decided. He knew you were thinking of remodelling the kitchen anyway.
You let out a gasp. “Chris!” You turned around in his arms to look up at him. You placed your hands on his chest. “You can’t buy a new kitchen just so I’ll snuggle with you.”
Chan let out a huff, clearly not happy that he wasn’t getting his way. “Why not? I like spoiling you. If I had any say in it, you’d never spend a single penny from your own bank. I find it entirely unfair that you won’t use my card.”
You looked up at him in shock. “Chan, you pay for everything when we go out. I look at anything online or just window shopping, and the next thing I know, you’ve bought it for me. I can’t decide on something. You buy me both. You spoil me enough.” You explained as you squeezed his chest slightly.
Chan watched you with a sleepy look of amusement on his face. “I don’t spoil you enough. I wish you’d use my card more.”
You scoffed at him. “Channie, I made a lot of money. The group, the royalties on the songs I helped make, the ambassadorships, plus everything else I’ve done. It would be nice to spend some of my own money, ya know?”
The Australian let out a small hum. “You do spend your money. On the house and the kids.”
You shook your head at him and continued to sort out all the treats. You picked up a brownie and shoved it into his mouth, causing Chan to let out a happy groan as he ate it.
Chan held onto you as you sorted out the treats; every so often he’d comment how he CLEARLY deserved more cupcakes than Minho, or more cookies than Jisung or ugh, how dare you attempt to put an extra brownie in Felix’s box. That should be HIS brownie.
You smiled, you teased him, you mimicked him. But all the while enjoying his whining.
Once the cake was done, you got it out of the oven and placed it somewhere safe for it to cool down.
Once Chan saw that the oven gloves were off your hands and you took off your apron, he stepped forward and wrapped his blanket around you. He picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder, and retreated to the bedroom.
“Channie!” You squealed out in surprise as you reached down to slap his ass.
Chan opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. He closed it behind him. He walked over to the bed and set you down before immediately climbing onto the bed and pulling you close to his chest.
“Mine. We’ll stay here all cosy and together, and no one can take you because you're mine and you're pretty and you love me.” He rattled off as he closed his eyes and nuzzled his nose into the crown of your head.
You giggled and snuggled closer to him. “I do love you.” You told him; your voice came out quiet but sincere. In a way that made Chan’s heart skip a beat. He knew you loved him. This wasn’t the first time you’d told him, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
But sometimes, hearing you say it took his breath away. Like he was being reminded that, hey, the woman he had been crushing on since he was like fifteen or sixteen loves him. The woman who had seen him through everything. The darkest parts of his mind, the happiest parts of his soul. The widest smiles and heartbreaking sobs.
It had always been you. The one he planned a life with. Not just a dream future but a joint reality that you both wanted and were working towards, no matter how hard or easy it was at times.
“I love you.” He whispered into the room, letting it settle.
He held you tight, and you both slowly fell asleep in each other's arms, Chan’s heartbeat easing you into dreamland as he held you in a secure but soft grip, keeping you close as his eyes closed and he fell back asleep.
Jeongin came home sooner than expected, simply to grab something he had accidentally left behind. The dorm was quiet. He checked every room for you and Chan, only to find you both tangled up in each other's arms, fast asleep in your bed.
He couldn’t help but smile. You both looked so soft and cute. The way Chan held you close, protective even in sleep. He melted at how you nuzzled closer to Chan in your sleep.
The Maknae pulled out his phone and took a picture before stepping out of the room and quietly closing the door behind him.
He went to his room to get what he needed before sending the picture to the group chat.
Choney Child🦊: Sent 1 image.
Choney Child🦊: Look at them! They’re so cute! It’s disgusting! And I’M the only one who got to see them in person. Cry about it!
FlowerTot🥺: THEY ARE SO CUUUUTE! I’m keeping this picture.
NinjaCat🍮: Good for them. They need the sleep.
Buff Bunny💪: Screenshotting this.
HAirJin🥟: They’re so precious! I wanna squish their cheeks! They are so soft. I love them! I love their love!
Sunny Dope🐿: Who changed my name again?
Sunny Dope🐿: How can I squeeze my way into their cuddles?
Puppy⚾: No, you leave them alone! Let them sleep. They need this. No one bother them until they text us first. Got it?
Sunny Dope🐿: Who made you the boss?
Choney Child🦊: Got it.
HAirJin🥟: Got it.
Buff Bunny💪: Got it.
NinjaCat🍮: He makes a good point… got it.
FlowerTot🥺: Got It! No complaints here! They’re so cute!!!!!!!
Puppy⚾: Got it, Jisung?
Sunny Dope🐿: Fine…got it.
Sunny Dope🐿: But no seriously, who keeps changing the names in the group chat?
Jeongin chuckled and shoved his phone into his pocket as he entered the kitchen. He cleaned up and shook his head. He didn’t mind cleaning up the mess; you normally did it, but he thought it would be a nice thing for you to wake up to.
He then put away the containers of treats. Except for his and the Maknae lines. He shoved them in his bag and walked towards the hallway. He put on his shoes and left the dorm quietly. A pleased smile on his face as he locked the door behind him.
Of course, you and Chan were none the wiser, still dead to the world in your bed. Wrapped in the warmth that is each other.
or: you didn't think a mere pheromone perfume would have this much of an effect on him. congratulations, you've earned his attention and the hatered of your neighbors, boo you whore
warnings: MDNI! ot8 x reader (separate), they go FERAL, probably highly unrealistic portrays of what a pheromone perfume does, dom/sub dynamics, overstim edging piv begging etc etc, scent kink?, they're really really needy, overuse of italics
bang chan
"P-please please, just -"
and it's the first you've heard him beg.
his voice breaks into a ragged exhale, forehead pressed against your shoulder, inhaling like he's trying to burrow into your skin. His hips stutter, losing rhythm entirely, and the bedframe bangs against the wall with every desperate push of his hips against yours.
He'd laughed when you uncapped the perfume bottle - "Really, babe? Pheromones?" - watching as you dabbed it behind your ears, along your wrists. "Cute," he’d teased, leaning in to sniff you with exaggerated flair. "Smells like -"
His breath caught.
"it actually smells...nice"
And within minutes he was on you.
You didn’t think it’d be this bad - didn’t think the perfume would turn him into this much of a mess, wrecking you like he’s trying to brand himself inside you.
He’s close, faster than any other time - you can tell by the way his rhythm stutters, the way his fingers tremble where they grip you. But he won’t cum, won’t let himself, not until you’re shaking apart under him first. "No wait-" he twitched when you clench around him, his hips jerking wildly, like he’s losing alll semblance of control.
His forehead drops to yours, sweat and tears and god knows what dripping between you, thrusting hard, grinding deep enough to make you sob. "Gonna - fuck, gonna ruin you-"
His thighs tense violently, muscles locking up as he tries - and fails - to hold back. You can feel him twitching inside you, his cock pulsing in erratic little jerks as his breath hitches against your skin. "you're - hnn -you're g-gonna -" His words dissolve into a broken whine when you tighten around him again, dragging a punched out moan from his throat.
His hand slides between you, thumb circling your clit with a precision that shouldn’t be possible when he’s this far gone, tipping you over with a scream that he swallows with his mouth.
He fucks you through it, rough, chasing his own release like he’ll die without it.
then entire body stills , eyes rolling back as he finally, finally gives in - cuming with a choked off cry that sounds more like pain than pleasure, his hips rutting forward in tiny thrusts as he spills into you.
But even as his orgasm crashes over him, he doesn't stop - can't stop. His hands scramble to grip your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer as his hips jerk forward again, his cock still hard and twitching inside you. "it's not -fuck- s'not enough."
lee minho
the perfume must've worn off by now, 'cuz it's been hours.
You try to push back against his thigh, your arms trembling, but he groans, and in one fluid motion, he wrenches your wrists behind your back, pinning them there with one hand.
"Thought you could - hngh - get away?" His voice is a dark laugh, but it cracks halfway through, betraying the desperation beneath the bravado. His hips stutter, losing rhythm for just a second, and he groans , forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. "Fuck - you’re ruining me -"
He’d been smirking when you first sprayed the perfume, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "Really, baby? You think that’s gonna work on me?"
but then it's like a switch flipped - One second he was teasing, the next he had you bent over the couch, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he ruined you.
Now, his free hand slides around your throat, holding , "Gonna - hnn - gonna fuck you stupid ," he rasps, but it sounds more like a plea than anything. His hips snap forward, and you feel him twitch inside you, again, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
The couch creaks so loud you worry it's gonna break, leather protesting under the force of his thrusts, and you try to push back against his thigh again - just to see what he’ll do.
His grip on your wrists tightens instantly, fingers digging in hard " Stay still ," he orders, and then his mouth is on your neck, sucking, marking you as his. His hips jerk forward again, erratic now, and you can feel him trembling - shaking - barely holding it together.
"M-Min, please -" Your voice cracks, barely audible over the wet smack of his hips slamming into yours,
He pulls your hair sharp, tipping your head back, and his lips brush your ear. "Please what , sweetheart?" He’s panting, voice wrecked, but there’s that smug edge to it, "Use your words."
You whimper, and he groans like the sound punched the air from his lungs. His grip tightens almost painfully, and you can feel him twitching inside you again, so close. "Wanna cum,"
"Then cum," he growls, biting down on your shoulder again.
And you do -
you shatter around him, vision going white, and he follows with a groan, his hips stuttering wildly as he spills inside you for the nth time tonight.
seo changbin
“You smell so good,” Changbin groans, and it's the first time he's been so turned on - so hard - by something like the mere scent of you, and the thinks you've unlocked something new in him.
“Yeah?” you murmur, running your tongue along the underside in one slow, filthy stroke. His breath punches out of him like he’s been hit, fingers scrambling to fist in your hair. “You like how I look too, or just the perfume?”
Changbin chokes - half laugh, half moan - before his head drops back against the mattress. “Fuck - both, obviously - ” His hips roll up, desperate, but you hold him down with a palm splayed over his stomach, relishing the way his abs jump under your touch.
“God, please-” His voice cracks, and you finally take him into your mouth, swallowing him down until your nose brushes the wiry hair at his base. His hips stutter, thighs trembling under your grip, and you hum around him just to feel the way his whole body seizes.
his thighs quiver under your palms as you hollow your cheeks, dragging your lips up his length. A string of broken curses spills from his lips, fingers tightening in your hair - not to guide, just to hold on.
The musk of his arousal mixes with the heady sweetness clinging to your skin, and when you swipe your tongue over the slit, he whimpers, hips jerking off the bed.
“F-fuck,” His voice is ragged, breath coming in shallow pants. You take him deep again, relishing the way his cock twitches against your tongue, the salt of him thick on your taste buds. His abs flex violently when you swallow around him, a choked-off moan tearing from his throat. “God, your mouth - shit, shit, shit-”
You pull off just to watch his face crumple, lips slick and swollen as you tease the tip with featherlight kisses. His chest heaves, eyes wild, and when you grin up at him, he makes a sound like he’s been gutted.
“Please,” he gasps, hips canting up uselessly. “Please, please, please-”
The desperation in his voice sends a thrill down your spine. You lick a slow stripe from base to tip, humming when his fingers spasm in your hair. “Gonna-” His warning is half swallowed by a groan as you take him all the way down again, nose pressed to his pelvis, and stay there, throat working around him until his legs shake.
He comes with a sob, hips stuttering as he spills down your throat, and you swallow every last drop, lapping at the oversensitive head until he’s whimpering.
Hwang Hyunjin
The shower spray is hot, steam curling around Hyunjin’s bare shoulders as he kneels on the tiled floor, hands clamped around your thighs to hold you still.
He'd crowded you against the tiled wall, his mouth already on your neck before the showerhead even finished warming up, frantically pulling both your clothes off as his hands slid down your waist, "Fuck," he muttered, voice rough, nose dragging along your collarbone "What the hell do you have on?"
You barely had time to answer - not that you could’ve, not with the way his tongue was suddenly all over you, his hips pressing into yours with a desperation that made your breath hitch.
The saleswoman had promised the perfume would be effective, but you hadn’t expected this. Hyunjin’s fingers dug into your thighs as he lifted you, your back hitting the slick tiles, and then his mouth was between your legs before you could even gasp.
His tongue was relentless, hot and wet and insistent, licking into you like he was trying to memorize your taste.
"Oh my god-" you choked out, fingers tangling in his dripping hair, tugging as his lips sealed around your clit, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. He moaned against you, the sound muffled but filthy, hips jerking forward, grinding against your leg.
"Taste - fuck -" he slurred, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in, tongue fucking into you with a broken noise.
Water cascaded over both of you, he was too busy lapping at you like he was starved.
"Fuck, you taste—" he groaned against your skin, the words muffled by your flesh as his lips sealed around you again, sucking hard enough to make your toes curl against the slick tiles. You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging as his tongue pressed deeper, fucking into you with a rhythm that had your vision spotting.
"Hyune—" you whined, back arching off the wall, water spraying across your heated skin. He didn’t let up, his hands sliding under your thighs to hike a leg higher, spreading you wider.
His nose brushed your clit as he licked a slow, filthy stripe up your slit, and you squeaked, hips bucking wildly. "God, you’re - hnn - you’re ruining me," you babbled, voice cracking as his tongue circled your clit again. your orgasm was building up, fast .
He pulled back just enough to pant against your thigh, lips slick and swollen, "Smell so good," he slurred, nuzzling into your skin like he was drunk on you, his hips rutting against your leg in frantic, aborted thrusts. "Taste even better- "
You barely had time to even breathe before his lips sealed around your clit again, and - oh god - your vision whited out. Your back arched off the wall as you came with a broken cry, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.
He didn’t stop, tongue lapping at you through it, drinking you down, rutting against your leg-
And then he broke.
His own climax hit him, hips stuttering as he came untouched, his cock twitching against your calf, stripes of white mixing with the water running down your skin.
his forehead pressed to your stomach, whole body shuddering as he rode it out. You carded your fingers through his sopping hair, watching as he trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps before he managed,
"please tell me you bought whatever you had on"
han Jisung
"please, please don’t stop," Jisung whines, voice cracking as his hands scramble uselessly at your hips, fingers slipping against your sweat slick skin. His thighs tremble under you, muscles jumping with every roll of your hips, every tight clench of your cunt around him.
You’re both a mess - his cock twitching inside you, oversensitive and leaking, your own thighs sticky with his spend and yours, dripping down onto his stomach in a slow, obscene trickles.
The room reeks of sex, of sweat and musk and the thick, honeyed scent of that godforsaken pheromone perfume you have on that got him so putty in your hands in the first place.
"You’re so good," he babbles, hips jerking up helplessly, chasing the drag of your walls around him even though he’s shaking with it, even though his cock is red and oversensitive and dripping.
"So pretty, so perfect - fuck, fuck, fuck, your pussy’s killing me-" His words are cut off when you grind down, the swollen head of his cock catching on that sweet spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
You’re exhausted, this is - what, the third orgasm? fourth? you've lost count. your thighs burning, cunt throbbing with every movement.
but with the way he’s looking at you, lips bitten raw, eyes wet and pleading, tears clinging to his lashes, you can’t stop. Not when he sounds like this, not when he’s begging so pretty.
His fifth (?) orgasm hits him so intensely, it's got his back arching off the bed, hands clawing at your thighs like he’s trying to ground himself, to survive it.
You feel him pulse inside you, but there’s barely anything left to spill, just weak little spurts that make him sob,
"N-no more, please-" he chokes, but his hips stutter up anyway, betraying him, fucking shallowly into you like his body’s forgotten how to stop.
"You can take it," you murmur, riding him through the aftershocks of his fifth release like it’s nothing, like his cock isn’t twitching pathetically inside you, oversensitive and spent.
"C’mon, baby, one more - just one. For me." You grind down, relishing the way his breath hitches, the way his hips jerk up helplessly, betraying him even as he sobs out a weak "No, no, ‘m gonna die-"
he looks ruined right now. it only spurrs you on, rolling your hips in tight, practiced circles, milking him dry until his sixth orgasm punches out of him with a choked gasp. It’s barely anything this time, just a weak dribbles that leak out around him.
You settle above him, panting, thighs trembling with the effort of holding still. His chest heaves, sweat slick and flushed, his hands limp at his sides like he’s given up.
You lean down, pressing a kiss to his jaw, humming when he whimpers at the contact. "So good for me," you coo, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. "Took it so well."
His breath hitches when you shift, and then you’re moving again, slow at first, then faster, his oversensitive cock stirring inside you despite his weak protests.
His hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in, his voice cracking around a "Fuck " that turns into a broken moan halfway through.
You lean down, pressing your lips to his ear, your voice dripping with sweetness. "Think you can handle another?" His
lee felix
Felix’s thighs tremble where they’re splayed open, his cock twitching pathetically in your hand - red and overstimulated, dripping precum onto his stomach in a messy trail.
His breath comes in shaky gasps, lips bitten raw, fingers clawing at the sheets, trying to anchor himself. "P-please - fuck - please," His voice breaks, high n' so desperate , tears welling in his lashes as you slow your strokes to a torturous crawl.
You remember the way he’d grinned when you first showed him the perfume bottle - how he’d rolled his eyes but bought it anyway because you’d pouted, because he always caves for you.
Who knew he'd be like this. His hips jerk off the bed, his cock leaking against your palm, his entire body wracked with shudders as you squeeze him justtt shy of release again.
"No - hnn - no more , I can’t -" He sobs , back arching, eyelashes rimmed with tears.
his stomach is drenched , a glossy mess of precum and sweat, his abs clenching with every thrust. His cock pulsing in your hand, the head flushed dark and aching.
You brush your thumb over it, slow , just to watch his entire body jerk, his mouth falling open in a soundless scream.
his arm flew up to cover his face, ashamed of the tear spilling down his cheeks. "Y-you’re killing me -"
"You bought it for me," you murmur, and his hips twitch up helplessly. "S’your fault , baby."
Felix whines, a high and broken sound, his fingers tangling in the sheets like he’s trying to rip them apart.
"D-didn’t - hngh - didn’t know -" His words are cut off when you speed up, wrist flicking up in quick strokes, his toes curling into the mattress. "F-fuck - stop , s’too much -"
But you don’t stop- you slow down instead, your strokes lazy, teasing, and Felix keens, his entire body bowing off the bed. "P- please ," he begs, "just - fuck - just let me cum -" His cock twitches, dripping, and you grin, " Ask nicely," you purr , and he chokes, his face flushing darker.
Felix’s breath hitches, his lips parted around ragged gasps, his eyes rolled back with desperation . "P-please," he whispers, voice breaking , "please let me cum, please-" His hips jerk up, pathetic , and you coo, "good boy ,"
Kim seungmin
gosh if Seungmin was in the right state of mind, he would be embarrassed right now.
his fingers settle against your hips - gentle at first, just the barest press of his thumbs into your skin as you rock back onto him at a pace so slow it’s cruel.
The headboard isn’t even knocking. The sheets aren’t even rumpled. You can feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs locked tight, his breath coming in little gasps every time you clench around him "F-fuck," he grits out, voice strained, "you’re - hnn -you’re killing me -"
and you shift backwards, just enough for your hair to brush his cheek - just enough for him to catch a whiff of you .
And then - oh - his head falls back against the pillows with a thud , his eyes rolling so far back they might stay there. "Oh," he chokes, voice gone , "oh fuck -" His hips jerk up violently, slamming into you so hard you yelp, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you upwards. "S-smell - fuck - smell so good -" His words slur together, his hips pistoning up mindlessly , his cock throbbing inside you.
"hnng- thought it 'wasn't gonna work' " you tease, grinding down, and Seungmin snaps , you don't even register him flipping you onto your back so fast the room spins .
His lips crash into yours, messy and so desperate , tongue licking into your mouth "gonna ruin you -" he gasps between kisses, his hips snapping forward with a wet slap, his cock pulsing and leaking inside you.
His hands wander, greedy, one tangling in your hair to yank your head back, the other groping at your throat , "M-mine," he murmurs, teeth scraping your jaw, "all fucking mine -"
yang jeongin
Jeongin hates you.
At least, that’s what he keeps saying into your skin between desperate bites - his hips pistoning into you from behind so hard the bed screeches across the floor.
"f-fuck" His voice cracks , stuttering , his cock twitching inside you "H-hate you - hate how you smell -"
And it’s hilarious , really, because he was the one who bought it for you.
Jeongin had shoved the little black box into your hands two days ago, muttering something about "thought you'd like it."
The box was sleek, expensive-looking, the kind of thing that made your brows raise when you peeled back the velvet lining. Pheromone Amplifier, the label read in delicate silver script. For enhanced attraction - effects may vary.
Idiot. He hadn’t even read the fine print.
Now? His teeth are sunk into your shoulder, his hips slamming into yours like he’s trying to punish you for his own mistake.
"S’your fault," he hisses, voice wrecked, his hands clawing at your waist, pulling you back onto him, "Should’ve - hngh - should’ve thrown it away -"
You laugh between a moan, grinding back just to hear him whine, and he stops , flipping you onto your back so fast the room spins. His pupils are blown , lips swollen from biting them, his cock throbbing where he quickly sheathed it back nside you.
"S’not funny ," he gasps, his hips are already stuttering , his rhythm falling apart as he chases his release.
His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips, and when you clench around him , he sobs , his entire body locking up. "N-no - stop " His voice is shattered, raw, his hips jerking forward helplessly. "gonna cum too fast-"
You wrap your legs around his waist to trap him, and Jeongin cums with a moan , his cock pulsing inside you as he spills, his body collapsing onto yours, "H-hate you," he whispers , but his arms are wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck, his lips pressing shaky kisses to your skin.
"it's your fault," he mumbles, and you laugh, running your fingers through his sweat damp hair.
"You bought it," you remind him, and Jeongin groans , his hips twitching against yours, he’s already hard again?
"shut up ," he whines, but he’s pulling you closer, his mouth sealing over yours in a messy, desperate kiss. "... Again ."
The staff smiled the second they saw your name on the schedule.
"Miss L/N has arrived."
One of the managers sighed.
"Again."
Another one laughed.
"Mr. Hwang's favorite regular."
"He would disagree."
"He absolutely would."
───────────── ☕︎
Hyunjin heard them before the door even opened. He already knew, of course it was you, again.
Every few weeks, different country, different outfit, different luxury handbag, same smile, same excitement, same impossible life.
He rubbed a hand over his face.
"She´s just a fan."
"Stop looking at her."
"Today's the last time."
The door opened, and there you were. A white Chanel dress that looked straight off the runway, diamond earrings that definitely weren't borrowed, a tiny Kelly bag hanging from your arm.
You looked like you belonged on the cover of Vogue, not in line for a fanmeeting.
The second your eyes met his, your entire face lit up.
"Hi!"
Why did you always sound so genuinely happy to see him?
Hyunjin smiled despite himself.
"Hi."
You walked over and sat across from him, carefully placing several shopping bags beside your chair.
"...Should I even ask?"
"Hm?"
"The bags."
"Oh!"
You looked down as if you'd forgotten they existed.
"I went shopping."
"I gathered."
"It wasn't that much."
He glanced toward the pile. There were at least eight bags, all designer.
"I was in Paris."
"Yesterday?"
"Mhm."
"You flew back today?"
"We landed this morning."
"You look... surprisingly awake."
"Oh."
You shrugged.
"I slept on the plane."
"Commercial?"
You looked at him like he'd asked whether water was dry.
"No."
"...Right."
"Dad doesn't really like commercial flights."
Of course he didn't.
"Anyway."
Your eyes sparkled.
"I was so excited because Dior invited you to Fashion Week."
Hyunjin chuckled.
"It was an amazing experience."
"I know!"
"You watched?"
"I watched everything."
"...Everything?"
"The livestream, the interviews, the airport videos, the behind-the-scenes clips."
He blinked.
"...Everything."
You nodded proudly.
"So..."
"I bought Dior."
"..."
"A lot of Dior."
"...How much is 'a lot'?"
You genuinely had to think.
"I don't know."
"Try."
"I stopped counting."
"..."
"I think..."
You looked toward the ceiling.
"...Maybe around two hundred pieces?"
Silence.
"Mostly clothes."
More silence.
"And some bags."
Hyunjin stared.
"...Some?"
"Ten."
"..."
"My stylist got mad."
"I can imagine."
"So Dad told me if it made me happy, I should buy whatever I wanted."
"...Naturally."
"And then he bought Mom some things too because he felt bad."
You smiled.
"I wanted to celebrate."
"You celebrated..."
"You."
"...By spending enough money to buy a house."
"I didn't think of it like that."
"I know you didn't."
That was exactly the problem. You never did.
Money simply...
Didn't exist as an obstacle in your world. It fascinated him.
And somehow...
It irritated him just as much.
"You know..."
He leaned back in his chair.
"...You're incredibly spoiled."
Your smile faltered.
"I am?"
"You don't realize it?"
"No..."
"I can tell."
You frowned, genuinely confused.
"I've always lived like this."
"I know."
"So..."
You looked at him carefully.
"...Are you mad at me?"
"No."
"Disappointed?"
"No."
"You keep making that face."
"What face?"
"The one where you're judging me."
"...Maybe I am."
"Oh."
You smiled again.
"...That's okay."
"...It is?"
"You always tell me when you think I'm wrong."
"I do."
"No one else does."
That caught him off guard. Your voice wasn't defensive, it wasn't arrogant, it was honest.
You really had grown up surrounded by people who never told you no, not because you demanded it, because everyone else simply gave in before you even had to ask.
Maybe...
That was why you were so unaware, not malicious.
Just...
Sheltered, dangerously sheltered.
He sighed.
"Someone really should teach you that the world doesn't revolve around you."
Your eyes widened.
"Can it be you?"
He blinked.
"...What?"
"You always explain things."
"You actually listen?"
"Of course."
"..."
"..."
God. You were impossible.
The event ended with the usual pictures, the usual goodbye, the usual promise that you'd "see him soon."
Which, somehow...
Always came true.
───────────── ☕︎
Later that night, Hyunjin collapsed onto the sofa in his hotel suite. He opened Instagram almost automatically. Your profile was already sitting in his search history. He shouldn't know your username, he definitely shouldn't have found it after your second fanmeeting, he definitely shouldn't still remember it.
And yet...
His thumb tapped it before he could think twice. A new story.
A blurry picture of the city skyline.
"Home for the next few days ✨🤍"
The next story. A photo of an extravagant living room, floor-to-ceiling windows, fresh flowers, agrand piano, abutler arranging dessert on the dining table.
The location tag made his stomach drop, his hotel.
He frowned.
No.
Impossible.
He tapped again. The concierge desk, the private elevator, the presidential suite.
He laughed under his breath.
"Of course she's in the presidential suite."
Where else would the billionaire's daughter stay?
He stared at the screen for another moment. Then stood, immediately regretting it.
"This is stupid."
He grabbed his room key anyway.
"I am absolutely not doing this."
Five minutes later...
He was standing outside your suite.
"..."
"What am I doing?"
Before he could leave...
The door opened.
You froze.
"...Hyunjin?"
You looked just as surprised as he felt.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then he held up his phone.
"...Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to post where you're staying on Instagram?"
You blinked.
"I..."
"You literally tagged the hotel."
"Oh."
"And showed the suite."
"Oh..."
"And the hallway."
"...I didn't think—"
"I know."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"That's exactly the problem."
You looked unexpectedly guilty.
"I'm sorry."
He looked at you for a long second.
"...Can I come in? I want to explain why that could put you at risk."
Without hesitation, you stepped aside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, it hit him how absurd this was.
He was standing inside the presidential suite of the girl he'd spent months trying not to think about.
And somehow...
That felt far more dangerous than anything you'd posted online.
He stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind him with a quiet click. You smiled awkwardly.
"So..."
You closed the door completely.
"...what are you doing here?"
Hyunjin opened his mouth, nothing came out, because he wasn't looking at you anymore. He was looking around.
The suite was...
Absurd.
It wasn't a hotel room, it was practically an apartment. A marble entrance hall, fresh white orchids arranged on a table, a grand piano facing floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a dining room that could seat ten people, a private study, two living rooms.
His own suite had been luxurious.
This?
This was another universe.
He let out a quiet laugh.
"...You're kidding."
"Hm?"
"You actually live like this."
You blinked.
"It's just the presidential suite."
"Just."
Of course.
His eyes wandered farther.
Your luggage sat neatly beside one of the sofas.
Hermès.
Every single suitcase.
He stopped walking.
"...Those are real."
You looked over.
"Oh."
"My luggage?"
He looked at you.
"...Your luggage."
"Dad bought them. They're easier to spot at the airport."
He almost laughed.
"Of course that's the reason."
You tilted your head, confused by his expression.
"What?"
His gaze moved again.
There was a silk robe draped across the sofa.
No...
Not a robe.
Pajamas.
He picked up the sleeve.
"...Fendi."
"Oh."
You smiled.
"I changed as soon as we got here."
He stared at the embroidered logo.
"...These are pajamas."
"Mhm."
"...Designer pajamas."
"...Yeah?"
"You sleep in Fendi?"
You looked genuinely puzzled.
"...Is that weird?"
He slowly lowered the fabric.
"...Who sleeps in designer clothes?"
You answered without thinking.
"...I do?"
Silence, complete silence.
You still didn't understand, not even a little. Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair.
"This..."
He gestured vaguely around the room.
"...This is exactly what I'm talking about."
"What do you mean?"
"You don't realize how spoiled you are."
You frowned.
"I know you said that earlier..."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"I've met rich people."
You looked at him quietly.
"I've met celebrities."
Another step closer.
"I work with luxury brands."
Closer.
"I've walked Fashion Week."
Closer.
"I've seen people with money."
Now only a couple of feet separated you.
"But you..."
He laughed softly, almost in disbelief.
"...You're something else."
You instinctively took a small step back. Your shoulders brushed the wall behind you.
"I..."
"You talk about private jets like they're taxis."
Another step.
"You buy hundreds of pieces from Dior because I attended one show."
Another.
"You don't even notice your pajamas are designer."
Your breath caught.
"I've just..."
You searched for the right words.
"...always lived like this."
"I know."
His voice softened.
"And that's the problem."
You looked up at him. There wasn't anger in his expression, there wasn't mockery, either, just frustration.
"And nobody's ever told you otherwise."
You swallowed.
"No."
"They've never told you 'no.'"
A tiny shake of your head.
"No."
"They've never made you question whether something was normal."
Another shake.
"No."
He smiled to himself.
"I knew it."
Your heart was beating much faster now.
"So..."
Your voice was barely above a whisper.
"...what are you going to do?"
He held your gaze.
"For months..."
His voice was quieter now.
"I've been telling myself I shouldn't even look at you."
You blinked.
"...What?"
"Every fanmeeting."
A faint, self-deprecating laugh.
"I tell myself you'll annoy me."
Another pause.
"Then you smile."
His eyes searched yours.
"And suddenly I forget every reason I shouldn't be interested."
The room felt impossibly still.
"You really..."
Your cheeks warmed.
"...noticed me that much?"
"I noticed you far more than I should have."
Neither of you moved.
The silence stretched between you, heavy, electric.
He lifted one hand slowly, giving you every chance to move away. You didn't. His fingertips brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face.
"You have no idea what you do to people."
"I don't..."
"I know."
His forehead almost touched yours.
"I know you don't."
Your eyes met his. Neither of you looked away.
The distance disappeared. His lips met yours in a brief, careful kiss. When he pulled back, he didn't move far, his breathing was uneven.
"So..."
A nervous smile tugged at one corner of his mouth despite himself.
"Before I make another terrible decision..."
He searched your face.
"...Please tell me you're over eighteen."
You couldn't help laughing softly at how suddenly serious he sounded.
"I'm twenty."
For a second, he simply closed his eyes in relief.
"You're twenty years old and you're still a fucking spoiled brat?"
When he looked at you again, there was still conflict in his expression—but now it wasn't about your age,it was about everything else.
"You know this is still a terrible idea, right?"
You smiled.
"I had a feeling you'd say that."
"And yet..."
His laugh was quiet.
"...I came here anyway."
Hyunjin didn't wait for you to answer.
His hand slid around your waist, pulling you in with a firmness that belied the softness of his lips. He kissed you again, but this time it was different—not the hesitant kiss from before, but one that laid claim to you, taking what you had been offering for months without even realizing it.
"The bed," he murmured against your mouth, and before you could process the words, he had swept you up into his arms.
"Hyunjin—"
"Hush."
The command was soft yet unyielding. He strode across the suite with purposeful steps, moving through the main living area and into the bedroom. The king-sized bed greeted you with silk sheets that felt like water against your skin as he laid you down upon them.
You gazed up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs, as he leaned over you, a knee on either side of your hips.
"Tonight," he began, his voice low and dangerously calm, "you’re going to learn something important."
His hand traced your jawline, his thumb grazing your lower lip with a possessiveness that made you shiver.
"What?" you managed to ask, though your voice came out weaker than you intended.
"Things aren't always going to go the way you want." His eyes gleamed with something dark—something you had never seen at fan meetings. "You’ve spent your whole life getting whatever you desire with the snap of your fingers. Right?"
You swallowed hard, giving a slight nod.
"Well, that’s over." He leaned in closer until his breath mingled with yours. "Now, things will be done my way. And only my way."
Before you could protest, he pulled back slightly.
"Do you have a scarf? A handkerchief? Something silk?"
You pointed toward the walk-in closet with a trembling hand. "Over there… in the top drawer. There’s one I bought yesterday."
Hyunjin disappeared for a moment, and when he returned, he was holding a navy blue silk square between his fingers, the Dior monogram embroidered in the corner. His expression darkened.
"Of course," he said with a bitter laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Of course your scarf would be Dior. Could you be any more predictable, any more…?" He left the question hanging, stepping closer to the headboard. "Give me your hands."
"What are you—?"
"I said give me your hands." His tone sharpened like a knife. "Now."
Something in his voice—an authority no one had ever exercised over you before—made you obey without thinking. You extended your hands over the headboard, and he took them, wrapping your wrists with the Dior silk once, twice, three times, before tying them with a precision that suggested this wasn't the first time he’d done something like this.
"Hyunjin, this is—"
"Too much?" He finished the knot, testing the tension. It wasn't tight enough to hurt, but you couldn't move. You couldn't lower your arms. You were completely at his mercy. "Good. That’s how it should feel when you aren't in control of the situation."
He stepped back to admire his handiwork, and you tried to move your wrists, feeling the silk slide against your skin like a whisper.
"This is ridiculous," you said, though your voice lacked conviction. "I’m your fan, not your—"
"My what?" He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on your knees. "My sexdoll? Because that’s what you need, isn’t it? Someone to tell you no. Someone who won’t cave to your spoiled-little-rich-girl whims."
"I’m not a little girl."
"Then stop acting like one."
His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress up until your lace panties were exposed. They weren't just any lace—they were a champagne color that cost more than the monthly rent on an average apartment.
"Victoria's Secret?" he asked wryly.
"Dolce & Gabbana," you automatically corrected, then bit your lip when he raised an eyebrow.
"Of course." His laugh was low, almost a growl. "Lingerie that costs hundreds of dollars, just so no one sees it. Except now, I’m seeing it."
His hands settled on the waistband of your panties, and you instinctively arched your back, expecting him to slide them down.
But he didn't.
Instead, he leaned forward, and you felt his breath against your neck.
"Do you want me to touch you?" he whispered against your skin.
"Please," the word escaped your lips before you could hold it back.
"Please, what?"
"Please… touch me."
"Where?" His lips grazed your collarbone, trailing down to the valley between your breasts. "Here?" He kissed the center of your sternum. "Or here?" His mouth found a nipple through the fabric of the dress, and you moaned as the dampness of his tongue seeped through the material. "Maybe here?"
He continued moving downward, kissing your abdomen, your navel, the curve of your hip. Each touch was a broken promise, a caress that pulled away before it could satisfy.
"Hyunjin, please…"
"Please what?" His voice came from lower down now, close to your belly. "Please take off your clothes? Please make you feel good? Tell me exactly what you want."
"I want… I want you to undress me."
"And what if I say no?"
You looked down at him, your wrists pinned against the headboard, feeling exposed in a way you had never experienced before. You had always been in control. You had always decided when, how, and with whom. But now…
Now you were helpless.
"Please," you repeated, and this time there was a tremor in your voice that wasn't feigned. "Please, take off my clothes."
Something shifted in his expression—an almost imperceptible softening, as if your plea had touched a weak spot he hadn't known he possessed.
"Good girl," he murmured, and his hands finally found the zipper of your dress.
He lowered it with deliberately slow movements, revealing your skin inch by inch. When the dress lay bunched around your waist, he looked at you with an intensity that made you want to cover yourself, but you couldn't move your arms.
"What a view," he said, almost to himself. "All this skin. All these gifts wrapped up for me, and you can't even reach them."
His hands roamed over your torso, moving up to your breasts and kneading them with a firmness that wrung involuntary moans from you.
"This," he said, pinching your nipples until they hardened, "this is mine now. Do you understand? You can't buy it. You can't demand it. You can only receive what I decide to give you."
"I understand," you gasped.
"I don't think you do yet."
He stepped off the bed, dragging your dress down with him until you were left in nothing but your underwear. Then, with methodical movements, he removed your panties, leaving you completely exposed before him.
You felt exposed, vulnerable, and for the first time in your life, you didn't have a shred of power to change the situation.
And strangely, that turned you on more than you would ever admit.
Hyunjin knelt at the edge of the bed, spreading your legs with his hands. He looked up at you from below, and you saw his tongue dart out to moisten his lips.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "Absolutely beautiful. And so, so fucking wet."
When his mouth finally made contact, it was like an electric shock. His tongue slid from your entrance to your clit in one long, sweeping stroke that made you cry out and tug at your restraints.
"Hyunjin!"
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he devoured you with a voracity that left you breathless. His tongue traced precise circles, his fingers dug into your thighs to hold you open for him, and every time you tried to move your hips to seek more friction, he pulled away just enough to deny you the contact.
"Please," you moaned, your head thrown back against the pillows. "Please, don't stop."
But he was an expert at torture. He’d bring you to the edge with the tip of his tongue, sucking gently, and just when you felt the orgasm approaching—that familiar tug deep in your belly—he’d pull away completely.
"What…?" you gasped, looking at him with glazed eyes.
"What is it?" he asked innocently, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did you want me to keep going?"
"Yes! Please, yes."
"But that would mean giving you what you want." He smiled—a cruel, possessive smile. "And we’re here to learn that you don’t always get what you want, remember?"
He moved closer again, and this time he used his fingers, too. One, then two, curling them inside you while his mouth attacked your clit with devastating precision. You felt the pressure building, the heat rising, your inner muscles tightening around his fingers.
"Hyunjin, I’m going to… I’m going to…"
"Going to what?" he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice nearly sending you over the edge.
"I’m going to cum!"
Just as you were about to explode, as the pleasure reached its peak, he pulled away completely.
You were left hanging in limbo, your body trembling, your breath ragged, the orgasm denied you just as it was about to consume you.
"No," you whimpered, tears of frustration welling in your eyes. "Please, don't do this."
Hyunjin stood up, stripping off his shirt with swift, efficient movements. His torso was a work of art—defined, sculpted, now before you in all their glory.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, unbuttoning his pants.
"Yes," you admitted, embarrassed by how desperate you sounded. "It hurts. I need… I need to finish."
"I know." His voice was soft, almost affectionate, as he pulled down his pants and underwear. "That's exactly the point. You need to feel what it's like to want something and not be able to have it immediately. You need to learn the patience you've never had to practice."
He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. You felt him hard against your entrance, and your body instinctively tried to push toward him, seeking the friction it desperately needed.
But he gripped your hips, holding you still.
"How many times have you had sex?" he asked suddenly.
The question caught you off guard. "What? I… a few times. Not many."
"And how many times has someone made you wait? Denied you what you wanted?"
Never, you thought. You had never had to wait for anything in your life.
"Never," you whispered.
"Then it’s time someone taught you."
He sank into you in one deep thrust that made you cry out. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that bordered on pain but instantly transformed into intense pleasure.
"Fuck," he swore, his eyes closed and his jaw tight. "So tight. So fucking perfect."
He held still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, and you tried to move against him, seeking the friction you needed to reach the orgasm he had denied you.
But his hands on your hips kept you firmly in place.
"Stay still," he ordered, opening his eyes to look at you. "Feel this. Feel what it’s like when someone else controls the pace. When you can't buy your pleasure, when you can't demand it."
He began to move, but slowly—almost cruelly slowly. Each thrust was a prolonged descent, a leisurely withdrawal, a measured return. There was no rush. There was no urgency—except for yours.
"Please," you moaned with every thrust. "Faster. Please, faster."
"Faster?" His laugh was a sound devoid of humor. "Why should I give you faster? Because you demand it? Because you want it?"
"Yes!"
"Good." He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head, his lips grazing yours. "Now you understand. Now you know what it feels like."
But then, something shifted in his expression. A crack in his facade of control. His movements became less measured, more desperate.
"Fuck," he cursed against your neck. "You’re so… so perfect. So fucking…"
He lost control.
His thrusts became deep, hard, and frenzied. The sound of his hips slamming against yours filled the room, mingling with your moans and his growls. The bed creaked under the force of his movements, and you felt every inch of him inside you, striking that spot that made you see stars.
"Hyunjin, please," you whimpered, feeling the orgasm returning—stronger this time, unstoppable. "Please, let me… I need…"
"Need what?" he growled, without stopping, without letting up. "Say it. Tell me exactly what you need."
"I need to come! Please, Hyunjin, please let me…!"
This time, when you climaxed, he didn't stop. He kept moving through your orgasm, thrusting deeper and faster, until you felt like you were completely coming undone. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, your body arched against the restraints, and you screamed his name over and over as if it were the only word you knew.
He kept moving through your climax, prolonging it until you thought you couldn't bear it anymore—until the pleasure bordered on the pain of sheer intensity.
And then, just as you finally began to come down, he stopped, burying himself deep one last time; you felt his heat spilling inside you as he groaned your name against your neck with a reverence that sounded almost like a prayer.
The silence that followed was broken only by your ragged breathing.
Hyunjin stayed over you for a moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he caught his breath. Then, moving slowly, he pulled away and began to undo the knots of the Dior scarf.
When your hands were finally free, there were red marks on your wrists—not painful, but distinct. Marks of his temporary possession.
He massaged your wrists with gentle fingers, kissing the inside of each one with a tenderness that stood in stark contrast to the brutality of moments before.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice husky.
A little, you thought. But you didn't want him to know how much.
"No," you lied.
He smiled, as if he knew the truth. "Liar."
He lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest. His heart pounded beneath your ear—a rhythm that hadn't quite settled yet.
"Did you learn anything?" he asked after a long moment.
You rested your chin on his chest to look at him. "That you're a sadist?"
He laughed—a genuine, warm sound. "Is that a yes?"
"It's a…" You searched for the right words. "It's a 'I don't know what to think.'"
His expression softened, and for the first time that night, you saw something vulnerable in his eyes. "Was it too much?"
"No." You said it more firmly than you felt. "It was… different. I’d never… no one had ever…"
"Tied you up?"
"That. And…" You paused, feeling self-conscious. "I’ve never had to ask for something so desperately. I’ve always had everything."
He nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "That’s what I wanted you to feel. The difference between having and wanting. Between demanding and receiving."
"And now?" you asked, tracing absent circles on his chest. "What happens now?"
Hyunjin looked at you with an intensity that made you gasp.
"Now," he said, kissing your forehead, "you learn that sometimes, when you let go of trying to control everything… things turn out better than you expected."
You smiled against his skin, feeling the post-orgasmic exhaustion pull you toward sleep.
"Are you going to stay?" you murmured, already half asleep.
You heard his deep breathing before he answered.
"This time," he whispered, "yes."
And as you drifted off into darkness, your aching, satisfied body pressed against his, you thought that maybe—just maybe—being a spoiled brat wasn't so bad after all, if someone like Hyunjin was willing to teach you how to be something more.
HEESEUNGㅤis oblivious. oblivious and oh so in love with you and the mischievous glint in your eyes falls blind to his gaze.
you can’t blame him— you’re so beautiful, it’s distracting. he can barely remember what he was trying to tell you. “oh, right! i was saying that i am working on a new song and maybe you’d—”
he doesn’t get to finish because in just one move, you pull him down by his collars and crash your lips against his in a soft, playful kiss.
for a split second he’s processing it, eyes wide, brain buffering. it’s his first kiss with you and he doesn’t even know where to put his hands without scaring you.
his cheeks are dusted pink and eyes are too shy to meet yours, despite the satisfied smile on his lips. “you...could’ve warned me,”
( he does not want a warning )
JONGSEONGㅤloosens his tie with a heavy sigh and sinks into his chair, already wanting to go home.
but then you enter his office with a knock, not really bothering to wait for a reply. “i got the files you asked for,”
and he visibly perks up like he won a lottery, which he did because it’s you— his secretary, but also his beloved girlfriend.
“anything else?” you ask, ever so professional like you weren’t with him a night ago. he hates how you seperate your personal and professional life so well while he hands are always itching to hold you.
“nope, thank you,” he smiles, expecting you to leave like you always do but you catch him by surprise, pulling onto his tie and capturing his lips with yours.
your boyfriend freezes before his hand comes up to your waist like it’s instinct, pulling you closer as he kisses you back softer than you expected.
“that was...unexpected,” he clears his throat, trying to play it cool as if your kiss didn’t sweep him off his feet. but after you leave, he is staring at the wall and replaying it.
JAEYUNㅤ is on cloud nine because he learnt a cool thing during his quantum mechanics lecture and now he gets to tell you all about it— he has never been happier.
“like, you can actually walk through a wall if your atoms align— how crazy is that?” he is so ecstatic, smiling ear to ear. then he looks at the soft smile on your lips and falls for you all over again. “it’so cool, isn’t it?”
“very cool, baby,” you nod and he feels like he’s in heaven right now.
“and it sounds fake but it’s a real process—”
in one swift move, you pull him closer by his belt hoop and shut him up with a kiss. it takes him a while to not freak out and kiss you back, losing himself into you.
and when you pull back, he actually whines, not wanting the kiss to end so soon but also equally flustered to say anything.
“that was so cool—” he doesn’t know why he is describing a kiss as cool. “cooler than quantum tunneling, which reminds me that it powers nuclear fusion in the sun which means it is a very real process...”
“sim jaeyun,” you put a finger on his lips and his heart does a backflip. “shut up and kiss me, please,”
the way you are looking at him— you’ve officially broke him. “yes, ma’am,” and the next second, he loses himself in the kiss again.
SUNGHOONㅤ thinks he is all that for wearing a black tank top while cooking for you, flexing his biceps because he knows just the effect they have on you.
“see something you like?” he smirks at the way you’ve been staring at him for past fifteen minutes— not that he minds it. it only fuels his already huge ego.
and you roll your eyes, feeling the heat creep up your face. “you wish,”
“you say that but you keep looking at me like i’m dinner,” he teases and honestly, he is right. he is girl dinner... and you look away shyly when he points out the way you keep staring at him. “don’t be shy, doll. you can look at me all you want,”
and it’s the shit eating grin on his face that you want to wipe— he’s so cocky and for what?
so you do the first thing your mind comes up with : tip toeing just enough to press your lips against his. he cannot even process while you kiss him, pulling onto his lower lip— he almost drops the spatula to the floor.
when you pull back, he is all red, cheeks and ears, not even meeting your eyes, and you know you’ve won the game he started. “who’s shy now?”
SUNOOㅤ returns from a long day at only, wanting nothing more than burying himself in your arms. he spots you lounging on the couch with a magazine and he beelines to you— loosening his tie, taking off his suit and throwing it somewhere on the floor.
“my angel, i missed you,” he whines, as if every inch of his body aches after being away from you ( it does. ) he goes in for a kiss and you dodge— he had no idea you were going to play in his face.
weird, but he tries again, only for you to dodge once more, biting back a smile— your boyfriend is now freaking out. “why are you doing this to me?”
you shrug and it’s fun watching how he is moments away from crashing out. when he gives up and tries to leave, you grab his collar and kiss him just the way he likes— sweet and slow.
his hand settles on your hips and you can feel him smile against your lips— and even after you pull back. “you had me worried for a second,”
JUNGWONㅤ watches you walk into his study and immediately clocks your intentions. he has been dating you for years now, just one look at you gives away what you’re upto.
so when you lean against his work desk and fiddle with his collar, a soft “hi, baby,” leaving your lips while waiting for the perfect moment to surprise him, he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls on on his lap.
one hand tilts your chin, the other on your thigh— he turns it into a moment. confident, slow, a little smug in a that makes you forget why you were here in the first place.
he doesn’t let up, lips moving against yours in a slow, passionate dance. it feels so good, your brain is a mush— if kissing him like this is how your pranks end everytime, you don’t mind losing.
with a soft nip at your lower lip, he pulls away, both of you breathing erratically. “so, what are you here for?” he asks ever so innocently, as if that even matters now that he has you on his lap.
RIKIㅤ follows you around the house as you do the chores. yes he helps, only as an excuse to be near you— folding laundry so he can ‘accidentally’ brush his hands against yours, bump into you and steal a kiss.
“riki,” you sigh, getting tired of his antics. not that you mind the kisses, but you need to finish up the chores!
“what? i’m just kissing my pretty girl,” and he is so proud saying it, tilting his head down to kiss you again, “can’t i kiss my girlfriend?”
he presses short pecks on your lips, making exaggerated ‘mwah!’ sound while you simply give up and accept the sudden love attack.
but when you finally melt under his kisses and try to kiss back, he pulls away with a shrug. “nope, thought you said no,”
he is so annoying, thriving off the flustered and pissed off look on your face, only for you to pull him by his belt loop and crash your lips against his— his eyes wide open trying to understand what just happened.
your boyfriend loses it, really, barely remembering how to kiss and when you break the kiss, his face is all red with eyes wide open. “don’t start things you cannot finish, ‘ki,”
